fort to wither all power of
endurance, the Soudan becomes a horror and anathema, particularly in
the summer time. Now, the camel is to me the personification of animal
wretchedness, a fit creature for the wilderness. The Arabs have a
legend that the Archangel Michael, anxious to try his skill at
creative work, received permission to make an attempt, and the camel
was the issue of his bungling handiwork. Poor brute, his capacity for
enjoyment is, perhaps, the most restricted of the whole animal
kingdom. Ferocious of aspect, with a terrible voice, he is
nevertheless the most timid of beasts, and his fine air of haughty
superciliousness is, like the rest, but a sham. It might be fancied
that he is for ever nursing some secret grief, for he takes you
unawares by lying down and suddenly dying. Yet that is ordinarily but
his method of proclaiming an attack of indigestion.

[Illustration: LOADING UP--BREAKING CAMP.]

I struck my tent at Dakhala on the 15th of August, packed my gear, and
during the course of the day crossed over to the west bank with my
servants, horses, camels and other belongings. Having obtained
permission from headquarters to go up to the front, I decided to go by
land, marching with the cavalry and guns, for I was not free to travel
except in their company, at least until we reached Metemmeh but of
that anon. The column in question was under Colonel Martin of the 21st
Lancers, and comprised three squadrons of that regiment, or about 300
men mounted upon Arab horses; three batteries, the 32nd R.A., the 37th
R.A. (howitzers), and the Egyptian Horse Artillery; two Maxims with
division and transport trains, and a number of officers' led horses.
As I have already explained, the guns of the 32nd and 37th field
batteries, together with the limbers and ammunition, were sent on to
Wad Habeshi by water. There was much merrymaking as usual that
evening, for we were to start on the morrow. I squatted like many more
in the low rough scrub by the river's brink with my caravan around me.
During the evening I went out to dine with some officer friends. As I
had over a mile to walk to their pitch, the poor glare of the camp
fires made the darkness more inky, and I had sundry narrow escapes
from tumbling into ditches and water holes. Our bivouac was an
ill-omened beginning to the route march of the column under Colonel
Martin. One of the periodical summer gales came on, raising whirlwinds
of dust and sand. To complete our