We said good-bye to Wad Hamed on 26th August. Cross and I had, with several others, selected to go by river rather than by land, as this would afford us an opportunity of seeing the cataract of Shabluka, which had become a household word in the army because of the possibility of Dervish resistance at this point. The rest of the correspondents accompanied the two British brigades toward Beled Hagir, our next camping site, just south of the cataract, and opposite Rojan Island.

As we were leaving Wad Hamed about forty Gaalins arrived on the bank, and were embarked on the Metemmeh. These friendlies were wonderfully spick and span, with nice clean clothes. Some of them were equipped with large Dervish swords, while others had only sticks, which they carried with a jaunty air at the "shoulder," in anticipation, no doubt, of the Remington rifles which would be issued to them before the fight. They were accompanied to the bank by a fine old sheikh in flowing snow-white robes, and their farewells to the venerable chieftain were very impressive. In the Sudan people are not content with a single handshake. When one group is saying good-bye to another the interchange of courtesies and caresses is interminable. One man falls on the other's neck, without actually touching his face or shoulder,—rather after the manner of a stage kiss,—and then handshaking goes on ad libitum all round, the same two people often clasping and unclasping their hands half a dozen times or more, according to the degree of intimacy.

The Shabluka cataract, through which the flooded Nile rushes with amazing violence, lies in a gorge which has evidently in remote ages been torn through the limestone ridge by the river. A width of a thousand yards is here suddenly compressed into a hundred yards, and in the face of the terrific current which is thus produced, our gunboat could barely forge ahead at the rate of one and a half miles an hour. It is an open secret that the new gunboats built for the Nile service by Thorneycrofts are regarded as failures by naval experts. One of them, the Sheikh, can only make two miles an hour against the ordinary Nile current in August.

Even in the moonlight one could realise the amount of damage which might have been inflicted by an effective occupation of Shabluka, upon a force advancing up the river. When we passed the forts, constructed, after the manner of Dervish engineers, on a level with the water, we found them deserted, and their guns had been removed. But if the enemy, who were posted here up to last May, had maintained their position, we should have been compelled to halt and drive them out of it from the land side, for none of our slow gunboats could have forced the gorge had it been lined with artillery.

We arrived at Rojan Island before daybreak on the 28th, and were aroused out of sleep in the dark by the pleasing intelligence that an order had arrived from the Sirdar that we were to be turned out of the gunboat, bag and baggage, as the vessel was wanted for other purposes. Floundering about in the semi-darkness we got our luggage together as well as we could, and in less than twenty minutes found ourselves sitting on the river bank with our few goods and chattels round us. It would not have taken the gunboat five minutes to land us at Hagir on the opposite bank; in fact, after marooning us on the island, it actually touched at the camp on its return down the Nile. This was one of several instances in which, during the campaign, correspondents were treated with an utter disregard of consideration or even ordinary courtesy. It often seemed as if the Sirdar or his subordinates went out of their way to cause all the inconvenience they could to the representatives of the press. Certainly if this conduct was merely due to oversight or thoughtlessness, it was bad enough; if it was intentional, it was based upon a petty and ungenerous abuse of authority. On the present occasion we were left for seven mortal hours on this treeless island, although the El Tahra was lying off Hagir, and could easily have been sent across the river for us. When at last the old ferry-boat came blundering across, the official in charge, who seemed, from his manner, to have caught the Sirdar's mental attitude towards correspondents, brusquely refused to take us over to Hagir, because no one had given him orders to do so. Consequently the El Tahra left us and recrossed to the camp with her precious commander, although one of our number was suffering severely from the sun, and lay prostrate on the ground. As all our baggage was on the other side of the river, having been sent on by camels, we had absolutely nothing to protect us from the heat as it grew fiercer and fiercer every moment, so we simply sat on the ground and grilled in the sun. The misery of such an experience is very real indeed when the thermometer stands at 115° in the shade! As one lies amid a dreary waste of sand and rock,

with the pitiless rays of noontide beating down upon one's head, visions of iced cups and other delights rise like a mental mirage and mock one's misery! The thoughts stray far away in fantasy from the unlovely landscape, and rest upon an English tennis lawn, beside the cool Cherwell or under the cedars of the Wadham Gardens—the pleasant game, the refreshment of shade and drink which follows it!

As there was absolutely nothing else to do on the island—and it is always a good thing to engage in some more or less arduous work when one is inclined to take a pessimistic view of one's surroundings—I scrambled up to the top of Gebel Rojan, a rocky hill about three hundred feet high. From this Pisgah height one could trace far away to the south the faint outlines of the hills of Omdurman, our Promised Land! Below, on the desert plain, three Egyptian battalions were marching forward, their right flank guarded by squadrons of cavalry. The rifle barrels and steel scabbards glinted brightly in the rising sunlight, and the columns themselves looked like sinuous lines of ants threading their way through the scrub.

We were all very bad-tempered when the El Tahra returned once more; but this time, mercifully, the steamer was no longer in the hands of the punctilious sapper, with his combination of red tape and rudeness. The new commander ventured upon the independent exercise of his own common sense, and most kindly conveyed us across the river without further ado. Whether he was subsequently reprimanded by the authorities for this act of ordinary politeness I do not know.

By the time we had landed from the steamer, and the servants had discovered the whereabouts of our camels and luggage, it was nearly two o'clock, and the camp had practically broken up. The native battalions had left early in the morning, as I had seen from the summit of Gebel Rojan, and had been followed by General Gatacre's division. The Sirdar and his staff, the Intelligence Department, the correspondents, and the baggage were to leave at four o'clock; so there was barely time to get a scratch meal before we saw to the loading of our camels, and again set out on our forward march towards Omdurman. Both Cross and I had intended to walk, but Steevens and Maud most kindly put a couple of their extra horses at our disposal. The animal I rode was a polo pony from Cairo, in excellent condition and full of "go." It hated to be alone for a moment, and if in the scrub it found itself separated from the rest of the column, either in the rear or on the flank, and the rein was at all loose, it would suddenly, without any warning, make a clean bolt to rejoin its companions; and when a borrowed horse tears at full gallop through mimosa bushes and over the rough sandy soil intersected with nullahs, one is precious glad to be able to return it to its owner in the evening without a couple of broken knees or worse.

The air was delightfully cool, with a pleasant breeze from the river, and this evening ride from Hagir will remain in one's memory as one of the pleasant experiences of the campaign. The comparative novelty of our surroundings, and the certainty that now at length we were within measurable distance of the enemy, filled one with elation and banished all the petty worries of the morning. As long as one enjoyed good health, nothing could be more delightful than the simple pleasures of our open-air existence, with all its hard work and good-fellowship. But when fever or dysentery gets hold upon a man, all the glamour of the campaign fades away, and one is forced to realise all the sordid discomforts of the march. During the recent advance upon Omdurman many a case of unobtrusive heroism occurred, in which men, officers and privates alike, refused to avail themselves of the field hospitals, which would have taken them for the time being from their battalion, and preferred to march along with the rest, though their heads were racked with pain and their strength at vanishing point from fever. If a campaigner could secure from a fairy godmother or other supra-mundane agency one supreme blessing, he ought most certainly to ask for health. Yet there is one danger to which the healthy man is exposed. He finds it difficult, sometimes, to sympathise with others less fortunate than himself. To many who enjoy vigorous health there is something positively irritating in a sick man. It is a painful trait in some characters, and is a survival possibly of that terrible instinct which leads almost every species of lower animal to finish off those of their number who become sick or maimed. I have known a man who experienced this peculiar irritation in the presence of comrades who were ill, behave in the most unselfish and generous way to the same men when they were in sound health; and while he had to force himself, as it were, to show sympathy with an ailing man, he would fetch water in his helmet for a wounded donkey, and feel ready to weep at the sight of a dying horse.

As we rode along the edge of the Nile, well ahead of the crowd of camels and the Lancer escort of the Sirdar, in order to avoid the blinding clouds of dust which they raised, we noticed at intervals along the line of march bands of Sudanese women. These faithful creatures had managed by some means or other to accompany their husbands to the front. Although unrecognised officially, and in consequence not accorded any means of transport, they had contrived to cross the Nile as stowaways, hidden under forage or flour sacks; and they were now trudging slowly along with large bundles on their heads, and in some cases a brace of babies slung over their shoulders. When they arrived at the camp they cooked their husband's food, mended his clothes, and introduced a general flavour of domesticity into the rough camp life. The husbands seemed to be very kind to their wives and children, and the Sudanese portion of the camp was dotted with little family groups, each of them formed under a tree and surrounded by a miniature zeriba. In fact, domestic life has such charms in the eyes of the Sudanese warriors, that they become quite depressed and morose if their women-folk are left behind. The recent revolt in Uganda is alleged by some to have been largely caused by the refusal of Major Macdonald to allow the wives of the soldiers to accompany them on the advance northwards—a refusal which, if it actually occurred, would most certainly run counter to the military traditions of the Sudan.

During the earlier part of the day's march Mr. Scudamore's "drink camel," i.e. the animal which carried his stores of alcohol and soda water, occasionally came to a sudden halt and toyed with the branches of a nebek or mimosa thorn. At such times his master showed great kindness and forbearance; he did not urge on the hesitating beast with gibes and blows, but calling several of us round him, quietly dismounted and relieved the camel's load by "drinks all round." How touching an example of humanity towards poor dumb animals! Let the traveller and explorer, then, always remember that when the whisky mule halts, it is a kindness to lighten his burden; if after some hours he jibs and refuses to proceed, fate has clearly marked out that spot for the site of the camp! The whisky mule must not be left behind!

On the occasion of one of these halts I was astonished to see a diminutive boy in very ragged clothes walking along with two half-plucked pigeons in his hand and a large bag over his shoulder. After mounting I rode beside him and found that he was a Greek. His father and mother kept a small cafÉ in Cairo, and the boy, who was only fourteen and very small for his age, had actually traversed some twelve hundred miles by land and water in order to sell cigarettes to the army. This adventurous urchin, Anastasios by name, became a great pet with the Tommies, who bought his cigarettes and supplied him with enough fragments of bully beef and biscuit to keep him going throughout the campaign. As I spoke some Greek, I saw a good deal of the boy subsequently, and succeeded in getting him allowed a passage from Omdurman on board the Metemmeh; but at Atbara Camp some of the officials rather needlessly refused to give him a place amongst the baggage in the open trucks, and when I last saw the imp he was being led away by a zaptieh, or native policeman, after a desperate attempt to override authority and hide himself and the remainder of his cigarette boxes under a heap of luggage.

During our advance by land from Hagir, Mr. Frederick Villiers' bicycle was much in evidence. It is astonishing to what a number of uses this versatile machine may be put in peace and war alike. An Oxford professor, whose metaphysical researches are combined with military enthusiasm and the study of minor tactics, has given to the world a treatise in which is demonstrated with logical acumen the value of the bicycle as a weapon or rather implement of defence against a charge of cavalry. The academical tactician suggests, I believe, that when the enemy's horse are galloping down upon you their charge may be broken and rendered futile by the terrifying aspect of a line of cyclists holding their machines in the air and rapidly spinning the wheels round! No war-horse, it is maintained, could face this fearsome spectacle, and utter discomfort would overtake the charging squadrons! What a pity our 'Varsity cyclist corps were not posted in front of the zeriba at Omdurman to obviate the necessity of bullets when the Baggara horse came thundering down upon us!

But the bicycle can be put to more regular uses in a campaign. A correspondent, for example, who went through the whole of the Greco-Turkish War was mounted on his machine, and published a book, which, under the title of ? ???e?? ?p? ??d???t?? ("The War from a Bicycle"), had a great sale in Athens. Still, despite their badness, roads do exist between Larissa, Velestino, Domoko, etc., whereas in the sandy, stony deserts of the Sudan the road is a very open one indeed, and ill adapted for wheeled traffic. In consequence of this, Mr. Villiers' bicycle, which was of a dull green tint, was usually to be found in the charge of his servant, who had acquired considerable skill in controlling the movements of his master's donkey with one hand and his master's machine with the other. Certainly this lugubrious-looking bicycle bore the battle and the breeze wonderfully well, and the maker ought to secure a splendid advertisement out of it; for tyres which can pass unpunctured through the terrors of the mimosa scrub, and refrain from bursting under the rays of a Sudan sun in August, may fairly be recommended for "strong roadster" work in the country lanes of England.

It was almost dark when we reached the camp, which has been called by everyone, as far as I know, "Um Teref," though this is incorrect, for "Um Teref" is the name of the village on the opposite bank of the river. Though it was difficult in the twilight to see far ahead of our column, there was no possibility of mistaking the whereabouts of the camp, for the wild music of the Sudanese bands was already in full swing. The first thing these black troops do when they get into camp is to strike up some of their unearthly tunes, and in the absence of more normal appliances they have been known to fashion old tin biscuit boxes into a species of wind instrument. Just as I got within the zeriba, a squad of these blacks were giving hot chase to a curious animal, which had been put up in the bush. The hunted creature ran between my horse's legs; it had a fine brush, with mottled fur, and looked like a wolverine or some beast of that kind.

The area required for some twenty-two thousand men, with hundreds of camels, horses, and mules, was enormous, and we rode hopelessly about in the gathering gloom, trying to find the space allotted to correspondents. After a couple of hours' search we at length succeeded in finding our camels and getting our tents pitched, and then we did full justice to whatever sort of dinner the ingenuity of our cooks could contrive for their hungry masters. The camp was an extremely pretty one, and in places the vegetation by the river banks was quite luxuriant. Bushes of all kinds, especially the "Dead Sea apple," were dotted about; and as these prevented one from seeing more than a hundred yards around, it was difficult to realise the vast size of the camp. A zeriba had, of course, been formed, and just behind it thousands of troops lay all night under arms, ready to repulse any Dervish attempt to surprise the camp by a sudden rush.

Next morning a rumour got about that during the darkness a Dervish had crept up to the zeriba and thrown his spear over with a shout of defiance, and the veritable spear was produced by a sentry of the Lancashire Fusiliers as a proof of the story's genuineness. The story was substantially true, for whilst the troops were engaged in forming the zeriba a Baggara cavalry scout, who, for some reason or other, found himself within the enclosure, suddenly dashed at a gallop out of the bush, knocking over several astonished Fusiliers, and hurling his spear at them as he disappeared in the darkness.

Scorpions proved most troublesome in all our camps, but they were especially numerous at Um Teref. In some places they simply swarmed, and both officers and men, and, still more, native servants, suffered from their painful stings. Those, like myself, who slept on a raised bed—e.g. the "Salisbury" bed, made by Silvers—were not so much exposed to risk as the possessors of the "Wolseley Valise"—a mattress which lies on the ground, and forms a most inviting hiding-place for creeping things innumerable. The pain experienced by a European from a scorpion's sting is very acute while it lasts, but passes off in a few hours. The natives were continually stung, and one of the correspondents had attained a great reputation from the skill with which he scarified the affected portions of native bodies, prior to the application of Scrubb's Ammonia. One poor fellow—a private in the Lancashire Fusiliers—was stung by a scorpion in three places along his spine, and speedily died in a state of coma.

Another insect pest was a huge yellow spider of loathsome aspect and malignant disposition, called by the natives "Abu Shebek" (Father of Spiders). This creature was frequently captured and conveyed to some regimental mess, where it was forced to engage in single combat with a scorpion. These adversaries were, as a rule, pretty evenly matched, and the "Warwickshire Pet," a monstrous spider, appeared to be invincible until it was matched against the "Cameron Slogger," a redoubtable scorpion, who vanquished his opponent after a desperate struggle amid loud cheers from the victorious mess.

In the ordinary course of events we should have moved on from Um Teref at daybreak on the 29th, but owing to a succession of storms on the Nile the full complement of gunboats and ghyassas laden with stores and baggage had not yet arrived, and so the order to march was countermanded, and we remained in the zeriba for another night. The extra day, however, was not as pleasant as it might have been amongst the shady trees, for the violent wind which was retarding the progress of the gunboats swept incessant clouds of dust over the camp all the morning. Later in the day, however, the wind sank, and I enjoyed a delightful ramble along the river beyond the zeriba. Here I found, amongst other treasures, an enormous brick-red beetle, which clung to a tree with such pertinacity that I had to cut away a piece of the branch and boil it and the beetle together before the latter would abandon his hold and be duly pickled in the whisky.

Early in the morning some squadrons of Egyptian cavalry and the Camel Corps had left the camp to make a reconnaissance, but none of the correspondents were permitted to accompany this force. They did not, however, lose much, for the cavalry brought back scarcely any information, beyond the news that fresh tracks had been seen of Dervish horsemen retreating southwards towards Omdurman.

On the morning of the 30th we were up by 4 a.m., and the camels were loaded by lantern-light. Nobody was sorry to rise, for, acting under orders, we had all struck our tents the night before to save time in the morning, and, as bad luck would have it, a storm of rain and lightning burst over the camp about midnight. There are few things more disagreeable than to have rain pouring down upon one as one sleeps, or tries to sleep, in the open. When the first heavy drops begin to fall everybody knows what is to follow, and various execrations are heard all around in the darkness, as the suddenly awakened sleepers put some garments on, hide others under the pillow, and do their best with a mackintosh to turn off the rain and keep it from collecting in pools under their backs. The Arab servants are always in the lowest depths of depression when it rains. Their thin cotton garments soon get soaked through, but I felt somewhat reluctant to lend them any of my wraps, as on a previous occasion, during a tropical downpour, I told two Somali servants that they might cover themselves with my waterproof, and during the night they each rolled in a different direction, and split my splendid red-lined mackintosh into two portions. These two Somali boys, by the way, whenever a heavy shower overtook us in the daytime, always did their very best to keep their heads dry. They would dash off and thrust their shaven pates under a rock or inside an old packing-case, and seemed to be comparatively indifferent about the rest of their black bodies, which lay exposed to the weather.

When we left the camp en masse at five, the rain gradually ceased, and the sun rose in splendour across the Nile. The spectacle before us was magnificent. Column after column of infantry—black, chocolate, and white—advanced in perfect order, and squadrons of cavalry scouted on the flanks and far ahead, searching out every patch of scrub which might conceal a force of Dervishes. The Sirdar and his staff advanced in front, and the numerous halts and consultations which were made showed how carefully and cautiously the army was advancing. The troops were actually marching in battle order, ready at any moment to close into square formation if the enemy appeared; and one realised, as never before during the campaign, that we were really in a state of war. Our Lancer scouts had at length come into touch with the enemy, and had even fired a volley at one of several parties of Dervish horse who were sullenly retreating through the bush towards Kerreri.

We were already well within twenty-five miles of Omdurman. Along the line of march we came across several large Dervish villages, abandoned by their inhabitants within the last day or two. In the hurry of flight angaribs (native beds), calabashes, and even a little food had been left behind. In some spots the fires which had cooked the last meal of these unfortunate villagers were still smouldering, and, either from accident or design, several of the huts had been destroyed by fire. The ground was strewn with fragments of earthenware cooking-pots, which the poor creatures had carefully broken up before they fled away to the dubious protection of the Omdurman walls. Close beside one of the deserted huts a tiny donkey stood and gazed upon us—the sole surviving occupant of the village. One of the servants, with a keen eye for loot, immediately annexed the little donkey; but I refused to take it, as I thought it would be happier amid its native surroundings, where it could eke out a precarious living amongst the herbage on the river bank. As I rode past several of the huts I noticed inside some strips of leather rudely embroidered with cowries, which had been used to suspend a gourd of water. The workmanship was so rough that I did not think this loot worth taking, though several Lancers thought differently, for I afterwards saw similar trophies hung over their saddles.

Towards the middle of this day's march a rather amusing incident occurred. A small party of Lancers scouting in one of the deserted villages suddenly came across an Arab clad in a fine gibbeh, with a long spear in his hand. Here, at last, was a living Dervish within five yards! He made no effort to escape, and was at once surrounded and taken prisoner. On his being searched, five Maria Theresa dollars were discovered in the folds of his clothing, and the triumphant Lancers returned to the Sirdar and his staff with the proud consciousness of having captured the first real Dervish prisoner of the campaign. After a modest rehearsal of their achievement, they begged that in memory of the event the gibbeh, dollars, and spear of the captive might be handed over to themselves. No objection being raised, the prisoner, who, throughout the affair, had looked not at all alarmed, but only rather bored, was again led off to be interrogated by the Intelligence Department, when the exultant Lancers learned that the captive was one of Colonel Wingate's best spies, and after doing some excellent work in front had been quietly waiting to rejoin our forces! The five dollars had to be unearthed from the depths of the Lancers' pockets, and the imitation Dervish again strutted proudly about with his coat of many colours and his broad-bladed spear.

The army advanced over the uneven ground in excellent order. The long lines, now lost in the hollows, now broken for the moment by impenetrable masses of thorn bush, kept their formation marvellously well; and often, as they appeared over the crest of a sandy ridge, the line was as perfect as on a field day at Aldershot. As regards actual pace, the Sudanese blacks can easily outmarch the Tommies, and would invariably have been well in the van if the Échelon formation had not been carefully preserved.

The day's march on the 30th was not more than some eight or nine miles. We halted for the night beside the river at a spot exactly opposite a village called Merreh on the other bank. At some little distance inland, on our right front, a hill rose up called Seg-et-taib, and, for convenience, the camp has been generally named after the hill. Trees and bushes grew abundantly within our zeriba, and along the margin of the Nile large clumps of bright green grass were greedily devoured by the ponies, which, like all Oriental riding-horses, lashed out viciously at each other whenever their tethering ropes allowed it, and sometimes fought and tore each other with their teeth like tigers. The river banks at Seg-et-taib were rather difficult of access, as strips of marshy land ran in every direction parallel to the stream. Everyone who reached the water on foot was covered with black slimy mud up to his knees; and as we rode through the bog our horses sank up to their flanks in the soft ooze, but managed somehow to flounder through it without rolling over with their riders. A pleasant spot beneath some trees was assigned for our camp, but when we reached it we found a bevy of Sudanese ladies already in possession. A little bakshish, however, solved the difficulty, and the fair ones withdrew, after cleverly tying up pots and pans and babies within the folds of their voluminous garments.

At Seg-et-taib my companion Cross, who had been far from well for some days past, and suffered especially from sleeplessness, became so ill that I went off in search of his friend, Surgeon-General Taylor, who throughout Cross' illness was invariably most kind and thoughtful. This officer at once came to see the patient, and ordered him to be placed on one of the hospital barges which were being sent up the river to accompany the advance of the army. This was a great relief to my mind, as our surroundings were most uncomfortable for a sick man. We had left behind a good deal of baggage at Wad Hamed, and all our tent except the outer fly, which afforded us only a feeble shelter from sun or rain. On the hospital barges, of course, the invalided men could get proper attention and diet—things practically impossible in our rough camp life; and although I felt rather solitary in the absence of my tent companion, I had every hope that the illness which had attacked him would be speedily checked under medical treatment.

During the latter portion of the advance upon Khartum, internal disorders of various kinds were extremely common. Some of the medical staff ascribed these derangements to the use of tinned meat; but after all, the evidence of experts in England seems to show conclusively that the virulent poison called "ptomaine" is so rare, that the chance of injury from tinned meats is practically infinitesimal. Others maintained, with greater probability, that the drinking water was at fault. The native servants, to save themselves trouble or a slight wetting, invariably filled their buckets from the water close to the bank. Anyone who is acquainted with Oriental habits can realise the peril of drinking such water as this, fouled as it was by hundreds of horses, mules, and camels, and taken from a river which is treated as a vast sewer by all the inhabitants along its banks.

The water question was, indeed, a big one throughout the campaign. Some filtered the muddy water as it was, but the process was a very tedious one, for the Birkfeld filter became choked with mud after about a pint of water had passed through it, and then all its internal arrangements had to be cleaned. The native servants were so stupid at any work of this sort, that one generally had to do one's filtering for oneself; and the exercise was so vigorous that, by the time one had filtered a pint, one was thirsty enough to drink a quart. Another method was to precipitate the mud to some extent by a few grains of alum; but there are hygienic reasons against the employment of this astringent in drinking water. The safest plan is to let the mud settle, and then boil the water. Yet, even if the water is boiled, one is never secure from bacteria, for fresh germs may enter it as it cools. Moreover, it is impossible to boil all the water required for camp purposes; and if a servant "washes up" the plates and cups in unboiled water, or one plunges one's head into it, there can be no absolute guarantee against the intrusion of an evil bacillus into one's system. The only hope is that one's internal zeriba, so to speak, is well guarded by a valiant line of those good bacilli whose chief delight—so bacteriologists tell us—is to gather round the malignant invader and do him to death. Water taken from the middle of the stream was said to be perfectly wholesome, but even here the mud held in solution acted as an irritant. There was another little thing, too, which rather set one against any Nile water at the Atbara camp, to wit, the fact that almost every day a corpse or two of the Dervishes killed at the fight—when the Atbara was nearly empty—were caught up by the flooded stream, and carried down visibly into the Nile. Still, these bodies were almost mummified from the heat; so perhaps there was not much danger, after all, to be feared from their presence in our water supply.

We again advanced with the utmost caution from Seg-et-taib. The cavalry searched the scrub, and two gunboats steamed slowly up the river in support. A party of the Lancers had climbed the hill of Seg-et-taib, and from this point the Khalifa's forces were at length seen by British eyes. A vast camp had been pitched about a mile and a half from the river, in order, probably, to avoid the shells of the gunboats. It stretched along the Wady Shamba, some three miles in front of Omdurman. The alignment of the white tents was perfectly visible with a good glass, and groups of Baggara horsemen were dotted about the plain in front of the Dervish infantry. No incident worth recording occurred during this day's advance along the plain, except, perhaps, a rather gruesome find in one of several deserted villages through which we passed. On the ground lay the corpse of one of our native spies; the body was shockingly mutilated and partially charred, so the poor wretch would seem to have been cruelly tortured before death. Some six or seven miles ahead of us rose the bleak ridge of Kerreri like a vast barrier across the line of our advance. Here it was that the Khalifa had doubtless intended to await our onslaught, but either his heart failed him at the last moment or the rapidity of our advance upset his plans. Yet, in refusing to take his stand on the hills of Kerreri, the Khalifa was acting in opposition to the sentiment of his followers, who trusted in a prophecy of the Mahdi, to the effect that one day Kerreri should be the scene of a great victory over the infidel invaders. "It was called," writes Mr. Bennett-Burleigh, "'the death-place of all infidels'; and thither at least once a year repaired the Khalifa and his following, to look over the coming battleground, and render thanks in anticipation for the wholesale slaughter of the unbelievers, and the triumph of the true Moslems."

À propos of Kerreri, it may be worth noticing how misleading were the accounts of this prospective battlefield which had appeared in some newspapers, and how incorrect the maps were. One account stated that along the wady to the north of Kerreri white quartz stones lay so thickly on the ground that at night-time the place appears to be covered with snow. This description was simply absurd. There were red quartz pebbles, but one came across very few white ones. Again, the maps led one to suppose that the whole of the aforesaid wady was densely overgrown with mimosa, whereas I did not see a bush of any kind whatever as we crossed the gentle declivity leading up to the ridge.

We had now arrived at the last camp which we occupied before leaving Kerreri. Sururab was the least pleasant of all our halting-places, and we pitched our tents on a bare piece of stony ground utterly devoid of vegetation.

Suddenly, after lunch, as we sat under the shade and chatted, there came borne to our ears the dull booming of artillery. The gunboats which had accompanied us had advanced beyond Sururab, and were hard at work shelling the Kerreri ridge, which was occupied by a Dervish outpost. The sound of the guns was faint, and as the vessels were some eight miles ahead of us, and the intervening ground was uneven, we could not, alas, see the effect of their fire, though we afterwards learnt all about it.

The space which was allotted to the correspondents at Sururab was so confined that one could scarcely walk five yards without stumbling across a camel or tripping over a tent-rope, and the donkeys brayed so loudly that sleep was difficult. It was intensely annoying to hear one ass lead off with a full-voiced bray, which died away in spasmodic gasps. Almost immediately a brother donkey would lift up his voice and utter a similar succession of notes, and then groups of donkeys would join in the music, and a species of antiphonal braying between the decani and cantoris donkeys ranged on either side of one's tent would continue till one became absolutely savage, and wished, like Balaam, that one had a sword in one's hand. If an ass is permitted to get well on with its braying, you cannot stop it; when in full voice it takes not the slightest notice of a good-sized stone. I sometimes heard one of my correspondent colleagues call his servant in the darkness, and say, "Hassan, take that moke away—right away into the desert—or I'll kill it." The servant would seize the offender and lead it, still braying, several hundred yards away. But just as he got back again, the banished animal, dismayed to find itself alone, would send forth an anxious bray of diabolical energy, which reached the long ears of its companions, and made matters worse than before.

At Sururab, as before, precautions were taken against night attack. The order went round that lights were to be extinguished and tents struck. Everyone lay down to rest as he was, in his clothes, and officers slept with their swords and revolvers buckled on. Most of us, I think, expected that the enemy, if they refrained from attack, would at anyrate harass us by "sniping" into our camp during the darkness. Nothing would have been easier, for, with the exception of a few native spies, every soul in the army was within the zeriba, and there was a quantity of scrub just along the river north of the camp which would have afforded excellent cover for Dervish sharp-shooters. Against "sniping," little, as a rule, can be done. No form of retaliation is possible if the "snipers" are well concealed; one simply has to sit still and take one's chance. Of course in our own case, camped as we were in an absolutely flat plain, not commanded by any rising ground, the risks from sniping were not considerable. In the frontier wars of India, on the contrary, an appalling number of casualties frequently result from the desultory fire of the hillmen securely posted amongst the rocky heights above the camp.

As it happened, our evening at Sururab was scarcely troubled at all by Dervish bullets. A few rifle shots came from the scrub, and a bullet whistled overhead as I was chatting with Villiers—the first one of the campaign! I heard two revolver shots during the night, but these were accidental, and came from inside the camp. One of the bullets unfortunately penetrated the thigh of a Warwickshire private, but he ultimately recovered.

No one, I think, who experienced the subsequent wretchedness of the night at Sururab is likely to forget it. There was a threatening look about the clouds as the sun went down, but we struck our tents and lay down to sleep hoping for the best. About ten o'clock, however, we were awakened by heavy drops of rain splashing on our faces, and then down came the torrent! I had, most fortunately, left my tent loose upon the ground, so, after putting on my mackintosh, I dragged a portion of the waterproof tent over me. The exclamations of many of my colleagues around me showed that they were not so comfortably bedded. Some had not brought waterproofs with them; others had packed their tents over night. There is an undeniable satisfaction during a heavy shower in feeling that one is on the right side of a window pane, and witnessing the hurried passage along a street of dripping pedestrians; and as I heard the rain beating down upon the tent canvas drawn over my bed, I experienced the same sort of selfish complacency. Clothed as I was in a kharki suit and boots, and covered over with a blanket, a mackintosh, and the waterproof canvas, I felt as if I was being boiled alive; but still I was safe from any moisture ab extra. Nemesis, however, was close upon me in my splendid isolation. I made a slight movement of my hand under the rug, and instantly felt a sharp prick in the palm. At the same moment, on the inside of the canvas within six inches of my face, appeared a large scorpion. I had evidently disturbed the beast, which stung me and then ran up the canvas. I felt perfectly horrified for a moment. The idea that the scorpion might run over my face was sickening. Fancy the effects of a scorpion's sting in the eye! With a sudden sweep of my arm I dashed the whole tent covering, scorpion and all, off the bed. Anything in the rain line was better than scorpions as bed-fellows. All this time the pain in my hand increased. I tied a piece of string tightly round the wrist and sucked the wound hard, and then waited for the agony which I fully expected. Fortunately, however, the pain in an hour's time or so gradually wore off, and I think the scorpion must have stung me through the blanket, and so failed to penetrate the hardened skin of one's palm to an appreciable depth. We were now nearly all in the same plight. Everybody in the camp, with few exceptions, was soaked through that night. One general officer told me that, as he found himself lying in a large pool of water which had collected under his back, he got up and spent the night sitting in a camp-chair, without getting a wink of sleep,—a cheerful experience, forsooth! It is amazing that our men escaped fever after experiences such as these. During the Emin Relief Expedition, it was noted that every wetting, whether from wading a stream or a downpour of rain, invariably resulted in fever to man and beast alike.

Despite the soaking rain, I dropped off to sleep, but was awaked about one o'clock by a commotion on my left. Mr. Villiers had also been stung in the neck by a scorpion, and was in great pain. He told me the sting felt like a red-hot knife plunged into his flesh, and the whole of his left side became temporarily paralysed. His faithful servant rubbed some ammonia into the wound, and after somebody had given him nearly a bottle of raw whisky, he managed to get to sleep.

Reveille sounded at 4 a.m., and we all rejoiced to see the dawn. The rain still fell in sheets, but notwithstanding the inclement weather, Mr. Scudamore was sitting and calmly shaving himself before a looking-glass, with a piece of waterproof over his shoulders. The dripping servants emerged from their nooks and crannies in the lowest depths of depression, and the camels snorted with increased petulance as they floundered through the mud to be loaded. The camel hates wet almost as much as his masters. I have often been amused at their cat-like unwillingness to put their feet into quite shallow water. This is due, I believe, to the fact that the animal's feet, if wetted, have a tendency to crack in the sun and become very painful.

How servants contrive to light fires with slush all round and rain pouring down in torrents I cannot imagine, but Ali brought me a cup of hot cocoa and some biscuit—a delicious meal when one is draped in soaking garments.

Villiers awoke from the heavy sleep into which the raw spirit had driven him, and he and I set out to march with the troops, who were now streaming from the zeriba. He still suffered from a semi-paralysis of the left side; but despite this and a general weakness caused by the virus, he kept up on foot with the infantry battalions.

September 1st, drizzling rain and thick mud! The familiar collocation, helped out by an occasional covey of sand-grouse in lieu of partridges, brought one's thoughts back to the joys of English stubble and turnip-field left four thousand miles behind us! As the sun rose higher in the sky the rain gradually ceased, and as we dried our spirits rose. The bushes along the line of our march were full of many beautiful birds with vivid plumage, and a valuable collection might probably have been put together if anyone had had a light gun and time to use it. Every now and then, too, a hare would dart up from its "form" and race across our front, pursued by two small regimental doggies. These hares, like many other species of animal in the Sudan, have assumed the colour of their sandy environment most marvellously. It is almost impossible to see them sitting. They have ears of extraordinary length, and are altogether odd-looking creatures. They did not run as well as their British cousins, and occasionally one was caught by a dog or clubbed by a Sudanese soldier. I never tasted the flesh, but an officer told me he found it very good eating.

Long before we reached Kerreri we saw the figures of several Lancer scouts silhouetted against the sky-line along the summit of the ridge. Our cavalry had, as usual, pushed on ahead through the scrub and climbed the hills. Some of them rode up the lesser slopes towards the east and west, while others, leaving their chargers below, clambered up the steep crags in the middle. As Lieutenant Montmorency and another officer reached the top a Dervish suddenly fired a "right and left" at them from a huge elephant gun; but fortunately he missed with both barrels, and then bolted. With the exception of this man, who seemed to be a sort of "caretaker" in the empty camp, there was not a Dervish to be seen. The shell fire of the gunboats had rendered the ridge untenable. In every direction lay the dÉbris of a deserted camp. Some of the fires were still smoking, and here and there were dotted the small wattled shelters which the Sudanese Arabs rejoice to make. In one place a feeble sort of entrenchment had been commenced, but speedily abandoned.

By this time the dampness of the early morning had been succeeded by blazing sunshine. The march was the longest and most tedious one of the campaign, and scarcely a sound we heard except the muffled tramp, tramp, of thousands of men traversing the sand. Suddenly, as we were crossing a dried-up water-course in the Wady Suetne, a little to the north of Kerreri, the roar of a heavy gun reached our ears from the south—then another, and another! A general murmur of satisfaction ran along the ranks. The tired men brightened up, and stepped out with renewed vigour, while the Sudanese almost broke into a run from excitement. Major Elmslie's Lyddite battery had got into position, and was shelling the city from the other side of the river. As I was a free agent, I ran as hard as I could up the rough slopes, and reached the crest of the ridge. Little could be seen from the lower slopes, but from the summit a splendid spectacle presented itself. The terrible fifty-pounder shells had found the range, and were playing havoc with the walls and public buildings of Omdurman. Nothing can resist Lyddite. Thick walls were pierced like brown paper, and the stones hurled high in the air amid clouds of dust and flame. A shell had torn a vast hole through the lofty dome-like structure which covered the Mahdi's sepulchre, the gilded top of which had been carried clean away. The effect of the shells upon the wretched people who chanced to be near to the Mahdi's tomb at the time of the bombardment was truly awful, as I saw with my own eyes two days afterwards.

Below on the vast plain, which, broken only by the mass of Gebel Surgham, stretched from Kerreri to the outskirts of Omdurman our cavalry were manoeuvring with the Baggara horse "very prettily," as one of the generals remarked. Our regiment of Lancers, three hundred and twenty all told, would ride pluckily towards the dense masses of the enemy, and then withdraw as lines of riflemen advanced to meet them, or large bodies of mounted Baggaras attempted to cut off their retreat. The Khalifa's entire army, incensed by the bombardment and by the galling fire which our dismounted troopers took every opportunity of pouring into them, were now moving forward to attack and annihilate the infidels.

With Wauchope's Brigade in front, the infantry and artillery crossed the ridge sloping down to the river. On the left was the village of Kerreri, guarded by an ancient redoubt, and here we imagined would be the site for the camp. But orders were given to continue the march, so we trudged more than a mile farther, to the deserted hamlet of El Genuaia. Without further ado, mimosa branches were cut and a zeriba was formed on a small scale round the village. The heliograph from the top of Gebel Surgham was flashing incessantly, and keeping the Sirdar well informed of the whereabouts and progress of the enemy's advance. The Lancers too came trotting in, having done their best to delay the onset of the Dervishes. "We expect," said Colonel Wingate to me, "to be attacked in half an hour." Meanwhile fatigue parties dragged the bushes on the southern face of our zeriba much farther away in the direction of Omdurman, and the result was a vast zeriba extending along the Nile from El Genuaia to a small village called—so I gathered from the maps—Geren Nebi. The length of the rough semi-circle must have been over nine hundred yards. Nearer Geren Nebi it enclosed a number of mud-huts, which were ultimately used for hospital purposes; and between this part of the zeriba and our original site, there was a gentle declivity terminating in a small inlet of the Nile, with thick black mud along its margin. A little beyond this inlet, towards the south, the plain shelved down to the river, and within the hollow thus formed the majority of the baggage animals and native servants were posted. The cover thus afforded must have been excellent, for I do not think that a single baggage animal was killed throughout the fight. On the extreme left of our line lay a gap between the end of the zeriba and the river, left purposely, I presume, in order to admit the cavalry. Not to go into more detail than needful about the position of our troops—the line began on the left side with the 32nd Field Battery R.A., and an Egyptian battery of twelve-pounder Maxim-Nordenfeldts. Next in order came the two British Brigades with two Maxim batteries, and the remaining two-thirds of the zeriba was held by the various native battalions. Towards the northern side of the zeriba an Egyptian battery was posted on a little mound of sand. The British infantry were protected solely by the zeriba, but in front of the native battalions under Colonels Lewis, Maxwell, and Macdonald ran a shallow trench. Colonel Collinson's brigade was posted as a reserve inside the zeriba some distance to the rear of Macdonald's division.

Ammunition boxes lay in rows behind each company, bayonets had been fixed, and everyone looked eagerly over the plain for a glimpse of the advancing Dervishes. For some reason or other, which has never been adequately explained, the Dervishes did not advance to the attack that afternoon. The Khalifa's army, after marching forward a couple of miles, came to a sudden halt, and subsequently withdrew to its camp for the night. None of the Emirs in the enemy's lines, with the exception of the wily Osman Digna, had had any previous experience of British methods of warfare. Still, some at least of the Dervish leaders must have passed a night of anxiety, full of gloomy anticipations of coming disaster. The brave Wad-Ed-Nejumi, just before the battle of Toski, addressed the followers whom he had led across the terrible Bayuda desert, and warned them in simple, soldierly words that each one must be prepared on the morrow to meet his Maker. Thoughts such as this were surely, one would think, enough to keep the Khalifa and his generals awake that night with the awful sense of responsibility! Not that the Moslem fighting man, whether of high or low degree, has any fear of death itself. From what I have seen of him in action, I should imagine that the contingency of death never enters into his head as a factor of the fight which need be regarded. Absolutely convinced as he is of a future existence in which bravery and devotion will be rewarded, the Dervish faces the muzzles of Maxim guns with a sword in his hand. It is civilisation which sets Death upon his throne of terror. The greater the sum of life's enjoyments the greater the dread of losing them, and as the nervous organism of mankind becomes relaxed and softened by the Æsthetic and sentimental influences of social progress, physical pain is accentuated in reality, and dreaded all the more in anticipation. The ordinary belief in a future life amongst Christian peoples is, for the most part, so nebulous and indefinite that it fails altogether as a mainspring of action amid the risks of battle. Thus, unless other sentimental or utilitarian considerations can step in to fill the gap, e.g. patriotism, or the preservation of hearth and home, the Christian is invariably at a disadvantage in contending with his Moslem enemy. Look at the spectacle presented by the Ottoman Empire, in which millions of Christians have been dominated for centuries by a small but valiant minority of Osmanlis.

When it was known that the Khalifa's army had postponed the attack, a general feeling of disappointment pervaded the whole zeriba. The men, both white and black, had been as keen as possible; we had all been waiting for the enemy, and he hadn't come! We were robbed of our show, and it was positively annoying to hear, instead of the warlike commands which had prefaced the afternoon, the pacific order for fatigue parties to leave the zeriba and cut wood for cooking purposes! What awful bathos! From Khalifa to kitchen utensils, from battle and murder to bully beef and biscuit!

Few of the twenty-three thousand men who passed that night within the zeriba are likely to forget it. We felt certain of a battle on the morrow, for all doubts as to whether the Khalifa would stand and fight, or flee away into the uttermost parts of the Sudan, were now set at rest. The two armies actually lay encamped within five miles of each other on an almost dead level! The whole of our force, from the Sirdar downwards, was fully conscious of its strength and its ability to resist the Dervish assault in the morning. But what if the Khalifa resolved after all to attack our zeriba under the cover of night? When one remembers the thinness of our extended line, our miserably inadequate defences, the stealthiness and rapidity of the Dervish infantry, the impossibility of accurate fire in the darkness, the preponderating numbers of the enemy and their splendid valour,—when one thinks of these and other things which may not be discussed coram populo, one cannot be sufficiently thankful that the Khalifa refrained from attacking us on that memorable night! Had such an assault taken place, I feel absolutely certain that of the brave fellows who in the morning advanced unflinchingly against the most terrific fire of the century's warfare, a vast number would have broken through the zeriba in the darkness. The result would have been terrible beyond words! The cut and thrust of the Dervish sword and spear, with the cross fire of our own men, might have ended in a fulfilment of the Mahdi's prophecy, instead of a decisive and almost bloodless victory for the British arms!

With the exception of sentries, who were doubled, the troops were allowed to sleep, though their rest was broken by several alarms during the night. Two friendly Arabs had been sent out beyond Geren Nebi with orders, in the event of a Dervish onset, to raise the peculiar trilling cry which one hears in a higher key from Sudanese women. Suddenly the trilling sound was distinctly heard, the men were instantly roused, and our spies came racing in at full speed, and jumped clean over the zeriba! They pretended that the Khalifa's army was close upon their heels, but no Dervishes appeared. In all probability these worthless creatures had been alarmed by some "sniping" shots from the river bank, or else thought it would be more agreeable inside than outside the zeriba, and so resolved to get back and spend a comfortable night. The alarm over, our men lay down once more; and now a note of comedy was added to the anxiety, for in the dark a camel, with its forelegs tied together, suddenly ran amok through the camp, leaping with clumsy bounds over the officers' angaribs, and causing much confusion and laughter.

During the earlier part of the evening an order had been passed round that all lights were to be extinguished in five minutes; but, as usual, a number of people were selfish enough to disobey orders, and incur the risk of Dervish sniping, rather than get into bed by starlight. As a matter of fact, a number of shots were fired into the camp from the Surgham ridge, and some desultory sniping from the bushes beyond Geren Nebi sent occasional bullets whistling over the sleeping camp.

Before I fell asleep, I was astonished to see Cross walking up from the bank. He seemed much better, and said that he had been terribly worried all day by the thought that, after all, he might not be present at the battle. The floating hospital in which he lay was moored at an island opposite the zeriba, and it seemed doubtful at one time whether the barge would be moved over to our side. "If it hadn't," said Cross, "I had made up my mind to swim across the river to you."