d the air, and although
their flesh, tasting when roasted like fried shrimps, might afford a
delicate meal to the natives, they took so heavy a toll of the crops
that the famine was prolonged and scarcity became constant. Since
their first appearance the locusts are said to have returned annually
[Ohrwalder, TEN YEARS' CAPTIVITY.] Their destructive efforts were aided
by millions of little red mice, who destroyed the seeds before they
could grow. So vast and immeasurable was the number of these tiny pests
that after a heavy rain the whole country was strewn with, and almost
tinted by, the squirrel-coloured corpses of the drowned.

Yet, in spite of all the strokes of fate, the Khalifa maintained his
authority unshaken. The centralisation which always occurs in military
States was accelerated by the famine. The provincial towns dwindled;
thousands and tens of thousands perished; but Omdurman continually grew,
and its ruler still directed the energies of a powerful army. Thus for
the present we might leave the Dervish Empire. Yet the gloomy city of
blood, mud, and filth that arose by the confluence of the Niles deserves
a final glance while still in the pride of independent barbarism.

It is early morning, and the sun, lifting above the horizon, throws the
shadows of the Khartoum ruins on the brimful waters of the Nile. The old
capital is solitary and deserted. No sound of man breaks the silence of
its streets. Only memory broods in the garden where the Pashas used to
walk, and the courtyard where the Imperial envoy fell. Across the
river miles of mud houses, lining the banks as far as Khor Shambat, and
stretching back into the desert and towards the dark hills, display
the extent of the Arab metropolis. As the sun rises, the city begins to
live. Along the road from Kerreri a score of camels pad to market with
village produce. The north wind is driving a dozen sailing-boats, laden
to the water's edge with merchandise, to the wharves. One of Gordon's
old steamers lies moored by the bank. Another, worked by the crew that
manned it in Egyptian days, is threshing up the Blue Nile, sent by the
Khalifa to Sennar on some errand of State. Far away to the southward the
dust of a Darfur caravan breaks the clear-cut skyline with a misty blur.

The prolonged beating of war-drums and loud booming notes of horns
chase away the silence of the night. It is Friday, and after the hour
of prayer all grown men must attend the review on the pl