ormed facing
south-east in column of brigade squares, the British brigade leading.
The mounted forces, with four batteries of artillery, waited in camp
until two o'clock the next morning, and did not break their march. The
distance from the river bank to the open plain was perhaps a mile and a
half, and the whole infantry force had cleared the scrub by six o'clock.
The sun was setting, and the red glow, brightening the sandy hillocks,
made the western horizon indefinite, so that it was hard to tell where
the desert ended and the sky began. A few gazelle, intercepted on their
way to the water by the unexpected movement of troops, trotted slowly
away in the distance--white spots on the rosy-brown of the sand--and on
the great plain 12,000 infantry, conscious of their strength and eager
to encounter the enemy, were beautifully arranged in four solid masses.
Then the march began. The actual distance from the camp to the Dervish
position was scarcely seven miles, but the circle necessary to avoid the
bushes and the gradual bends of the river added perhaps another five to
the length of the road. The pace of the advance was slow, and the troops
had not gone far when the sun sank and, with hardly an interval of
twilight, darkness enveloped everything. In the stillness of the night
the brigades moved steadily forward, and only the regular scrunching of
the hard sand betrayed the advance of an overwhelming force upon their
enemies.

No operation of a war is more critical than a night-march. Over and
over again in every country frightful disaster has overtaken the rash or
daring force that has attempted it. In the gloom the shape and aspect of
the ground are altered. Places well known by daylight appear strange and
unrecognisable. The smallest obstacle impedes the column, which can only
crawl sluggishly forward with continual checks and halts. The effect
of the gloom upon the nerves of the soldiers is not less than on the
features of the country. Each man tries to walk quietly, and hence all
are listening for the slightest sound. Every eye seeks to pierce the
darkness. Every sense in the body is raised to a pitch of expectancy. In
such hours doubts and fears come unbidden to the brain, and the marching
men wonder anxiously whether all will be well with the army, and whether
they themselves will survive the event. And if suddenly out of the black
silence there burst the jagged glare of rifles and the crash of a volley
followed by t