"It is a nice place for a camp, isn't it, youngster?"
"Very nice, sergeant; but it will soon be spoiled with all these troops arriving. It is very pretty now with that grove of palm-trees, and the low green bushes that hide the sand, and the river with all the boats with white sails. I have just been counting them, there are thirty-two in sight. But when we get three or four regiments here they will soon cut down the scrub and spoil its appearance altogether."
"That is so, lad; troops make a pretty clear sweep of everything where they settle down."
Edgar had taken a good deal to Sergeant Bowen, who had shown him many little kindnesses on the way up. He was an older man than most of those engaged in the expedition, and Edgar judged him to be thirty-two or thirty-three years old. He was a fine, tall, soldierly-looking fellow, and had served in various parts of the world.
"Let us sit down," the sergeant said; "this bush will give us a little shade. How long have you been in the army, lad?"
"Better than two years. Directly the campaign is over I shall give up my trumpet, and hope I shall get my stripes soon."
"How old are you--nineteen?"
"Not for some months yet, sergeant."
"Hope to get your commission some day?" the sergeant said. "I suppose that is what you entered the army for."
"Yes, partly, sergeant; partly because I saw no other way of keeping myself."
"But what are your friends doing?"
"I have not any friends; at least none that I care to apply to," Edgar answered shortly.
"No friends, lad? That is bad. But I do not want to know your story if you do not choose to tell it. It is easy to see that you have had a good education. Keep steady, lad, and you will get on. I might have been a quarter-master years ago if it hadn't been for that. Drink and other things have kept me down; but when I was twenty I was a smart young fellow. Ah! that is a long time back."
"Why, one would think that you were an old man, sergeant," Edgar said, and smiled.
"Older than you would think by a good bit. How old do you take me to be?"
"Something past thirty."
"A good deal past that. I am just forty, though they don't know it, or I should not be here."
"Why, then, if you enlisted when you were my age, sergeant, you must have done over twenty years' service."
"It's twenty-two since I first enlisted. I served eight years in the infantry. I don't know why I am telling you this, but somehow I have taken a fancy to you. I was uncomfortable in the regiment. It does not matter why. I got my stripes twice, and had to give them up or I should have been put back for drinking. Then I left the regiment without asking leave. I was three or four years knocking about at home; but I had no trade and found it hard to get work, so at last I enlisted again. I was thirty then, but looked years younger than I was. Of course I had shaved off my moustache and put on a smock-frock when I went to enlist, and I gave my age as twenty-two. No one questioned it. I chose the cavalry this time, because I knew that if I entered an infantry regiment again they would spot me as an old soldier at once; but as it was all new in the cavalry I managed to pass it off, and now I have had ten years' service, the last six of them as sergeant. And as I gave up drink years ago I have a good character in the regiment, and when a steady non-commissioned officer was wanted for this business I had the luck to be chosen. Officers coming, lad!"
They rose to their feet and saluted as three officers passed. They were talking eagerly together, and returned the salute mechanically without glancing at the two soldiers.
"It is a rum chance, Clinton, our meeting here. I ran against Skinner at Assouan quite accidentally. I had seen his name in the list of the officers of the Marines going up; but we met quite by chance, and only forgathered here yesterday, and now here you are turning up as one of Stewart's A.D.C.'s. Who would have thought that we three should meet here, when we have never seen each other since we left Cheltenham?"
The sergeant stood looking after them with an air of interest till their voices died away. Then he turned to his companion.
"Hullo, lad, what is the matter? Are you ill?"
"No, I am all right," Edgar said huskily.
"Nonsense! Your colour has all gone, and you are shaking like a leaf. What! did you know any of those officers?"
"I knew them all once," Edgar said. "We were at school together. I did not know that any of them were out here. I would not have them recognize me for anything."
"Oh, that is it! I thought you must have run away from school; got into some scrape, I suppose. Well, my lad, as you have made your bed you must lie in it. But it is not likely that any of them would know you even if they ran up against you. Two years' service under this sun changes a lad of your age wonderfully. By the way, one of them called the other Clinton; do you happen to know whether he is the son of a Captain Clinton--Captain Percy Clinton?"
"Yes, he is."
"He was captain of my company when I was a young sergeant. Well, well, time flies fast, to be sure. Do you know whether this young fellow has a brother, and, if so, what he is doing?"
"No, he has no brother," Edgar said shortly.
"There were two of them," the sergeant said positively. "Perhaps one has died. I wonder which it was," he muttered to himself.
"Do you know the story?" Edgar asked suddenly.
"Do I know the story!" the sergeant repeated slowly. "What story do you mean?"
"The story of Captain Clinton's baby being confused with another."
"Oh, you know about that, do you?" Sergeant Bowen asked in turn. "So they made no secret of it. Ay, lad, I know it; every man in the regiment knew it. And good cause I had to know it, it was that that ruined me."
"Are you Sergeant Humphreys?" Edgar asked, putting his hand on the man's shoulder.
The sergeant started in surprise.
"Why, lad, how come you to know all the ins and outs of that story? Ay, I was Sergeant Humphreys, and for aught I know that young fellow who has just passed, whom they call Clinton, is my son."
"No, he is not, sergeant; I am your son!"
The sergeant looked at the young trumpeter in bewilderment, then his expression changed.
"You have got a touch of fever, lad. Come along with me to the hospital; I will report you sick. The sooner you are out of the sun the better."
"I am as sensible as I ever was in my life," Edgar said quietly. "I was brought up by Captain Clinton as his son. I was at Cheltenham with Rupert Clinton, who has just passed us. We believed that we were twins until the day came when a woman came down there and told me the story, and told me that I was her son and yours; then I ran away, and here I am."
"My wife!" the sergeant exclaimed passionately. "I have not seen or heard of her for fifteen years. So she came down and told you that. She is a bad lot, if ever there was one. And so she told you you were my son? You may be, lad, for aught I know; and I should be well content to know that it was so. But what did she come and tell you that for? What game is she up to now? I always knew she was up to some mischief. What was her motive in coming down to tell you that? Just let me know what she said."
"She said she had deliberately changed me as an infant for my good, and she proposed to me to continue the fraud, and offered, if I liked, to swear to Rupert's being her child, so that I might get all the property."
"And that she might share in it!" the sergeant laughed bitterly. "A bold stroke that of Jane Humphreys. And how did she pretend to recognize you as her child more than the other?"
"She told me that Captain Clinton's child had a tiny mole on his shoulder, and as Rupert has such a mark, that settled the question."
"Jane Humphreys told you more than she knew herself. Whether she intended to make the change of babies or not I don't know, but I believe she did; but whether it was done by chance, or whether she purposely mixed them up together, one thing I am certain of, and that is, that she confused herself as well as every one else, and that she did not know which was which. When I came into the room first she was like a woman dazed, and, clever as she was, I am sure she was not putting it on. She had thought, I fancy, that she could easily distinguish one from the other, and had never fancied that she could have been confused as well as other people. She undressed them, and looked them over and over, and it was then she noticed the little mole on the shoulder, and she turned to me and said, 'If I had but noticed this before I should always have told them apart.'
"We had a pretty bad time of it afterwards, for it made me the laugh of the whole regiment, and caused no end of talk and worry, and we had frightful rows together. She taunted me with being a fool for not seeing that there was money to be made out of it. She acknowledged to me over and over again that she had intended to change the children, and had dressed them both alike; and when I asked her what good had come out of her scheming, she said that in the first place we had got rid of the bother of bringing up the boy, and that if I were not a fool we might make a good thing out of it yet. But she was vexed and angry with herself for not having seen this little mark, and for having herself lost all clue as to which was her child. I told her that as she had intended to change them she could have cared nothing for her own boy, and that her only object could have been to make money.
"She did not deny it, but simply jeered at me for being content to remain all my life a non-commissioned officer when there might be a fortune made out of this. I do not say that if she had been able to tell one child from the other she would have told me, for if she had I should certainly have gone to Captain Clinton and told him; but she did not know. A woman can act well, but she cannot make herself as white as a sheet and put such a wild look into her eyes as she had when I found her turning those children over and over, and trying to make out which was which. I could take the Bible in my hand and swear in court that Jane Humphreys knew no more than I did which was her child, that she had never noticed the mark until after the change was made, and that to this day she does not know.
"One of the points we quarrelled on was that I made her start for the captain's quarters in such a hurry. She afterwards said that when it first came across her that she did not know which child was which, her blood seemed to go up into her head, and she lost her power of judgment altogether. She said over and over again that if I hadn't hurried her so, and had let matters be for a day or two, so that she could have slept on it and had looked at them quiet, she would have known which was her child. So that is how it is, lad. You may be Jane Humphreys' child and mine, or you may be Captain Clinton's, but no living soul can decide which. As to Jane Humphreys, she is a liar and a thorough bad un, and if it is only on her word that you have run away you have made a bad mistake of it. Still it is not too late to put that right. My word is as good as hers; and as she swore before she did not know which was which, her swearing now that she does, after all these years, will go for nothing at all."
Edgar was silent for some time, then he said, "I have thought a good many times since I ran away that I was wrong in not waiting to hear what Captain Clinton said. But I had no reason to doubt the story she told me, and when she proposed that I should go on with this fraud and cheat Rupert out of his position as heir, it was too horrible, and the thought that such a woman was my mother was altogether too much to bear. I will not make such a mistake again, or act in a hurry. My present thought is that as I have chosen my way I will go on in it. Before, Captain Clinton and his wife did not know which was their child and loved us both equally, now that they believe that Rupert is their son and that I was a fraud, they will have come to give him all their love, and I am not going to unsettle things again. That is my present idea, and I do not think that I am likely to change it.
"I shall be glad to know that I need not consider myself that woman's child, though it would not grieve me, now that I know you, to be sure that you were my father. But Captain Clinton and his wife were a father and mother to me up to the day when I ran away, and I could never think of anyone else in that light."
"Quite natural, quite natural, lad! You have never seen me or heard of me, and it would be a rum thing if you could all of a sudden come to care a lot about me. I know that you may be my son, but I don't know that at present I like you any the more for that than I did before. So we are quite of one mind over that. But we will be friends, lad, stout friends!"
"That we will," Edgar said, clasping warmly the hand the other held out to him. "You have been very kind to me up to now, and now that at any rate we may be father and son we shall be drawn very close together. When this campaign is over it will be time to talk again about the future. I do not think now that I am at all likely to change my mind, or to let the Clintons know what you have told me; but I need not trouble about it in any way until then. I was contented before, and I am contented now. If I have made a fool of myself, as I think I have, I must pay the penalty. I have much to be thankful for. I had a very happy time of it until the day I left Cheltenham. I have had a good education, and I have a first-rate chance of making my way up. I have made friends of some of the officers of my regiment, and they have promised to push me on. I had the luck to attract the colonel's attention at El-Teb, and was among the names sent in for the Victoria Cross; and although I did not get it, the fact that I was recommended will count in my favour."
"You are the right stuff, lad," the sergeant said, putting his hand on his shoulder, "whether I or the captain was your father. I reckon that it was he--I don't see where you can have got what there is in you from our side. And now it is time to be going back to camp. Who would have thought, when we strolled out together, that so much was to come out of our walk?"
While this conversation had been going on, Rupert Clinton and his two old school-fellows were sitting on the ground in the tent which Easton shared with another of General Stewart's aides-de-camp.
"The scene has changed," Easton said as he handed them each a tumbler of weak rum and water, "otherwise one might imagine that we were in my study at River-Smith's, and that Skinner was about to lay down the law about the next football match."
"Ah! if we had but Edgar here!" Rupert sighed.
"I did not like to ask whether you had found him, Clinton; but I guessed you had not by your keeping silence."
"No, we have heard nothing of him beyond the fact that we have occasionally a letter saying that he is well and comfortable. They were all posted in London, but I still believe that he is in the army. My father is as convinced as ever that the statement of that woman I told you of was a false one, and that Edgar is just as likely to be his son as I am. I know I would gladly give up my share of the heirship to find him. However, unless I run against him by pure chance I am not likely to do that. We still put in advertisements occasionally, but my people at home are as convinced as I am that we shall not hear from him until he has made his way in some line or other, and he is in an independent position."
"He always was a sticker," Skinner said, "and if he took a thing in hand would carry it through. You remember his rush in our last match with Green's, how he carried the ball right down through them all. I should not worry about it, Clinton; it will all come right in time. He will turn up some day or other; and when he finds that matters are just as they were before, and that your people believe him to be just as likely to be their son as you are, he will fall into his old place again--at least that is my opinion of it."
"Yes, that is what I hope and believe," Rupert said. "Well, Easton, how do you like the Guards, and how do you like campaigning? I see that you have given up white shirts, like the rest of us. I rather expected that if we did meet I should find that, in some miraculous way, you still contrived to get up immaculately."
Easton laughed. "No, I left my last white shirt at Cairo, Clinton. I consulted my soldier-servant about it. He was ready to guarantee the washing, but he did not see his way to starching and ironing; so I had to give them up and take to flannels. They were awful at first, and irritated my skin until they brought on prickly heat, and I was almost out of my mind for a few days. However, I have got over it now. What made you go into the Marines, Skinner?"
"Well, just before the exam, came off an uncle of mine, who is a great friend of the first lord, wrote to say that he could get me a commission. Well, in the first place I did not feel very sure of passing for the line; in the second place I had a liking for the sea, and in the third place, as my governor's living is not a very large one and I have a lot of sisters, and I thought I had had more than my share already in being sent to Cheltenham--and one can live a good deal cheaper in the Marines than in the line--I concluded the best thing I could do was to accept the offer; and I have not been sorry that I did it. It was awful luck my coming out in the Naval Brigade here; it was just a fluke. The man who was going was chucked off a horse and broke his arm the day before the brigade sailed from Suakim, and I was sent up in his place. Well, what is the last news, Clinton? You ought to know, as you are on the staff."
"They don't intrust aides-de-camp with their secrets," Rupert replied; "but I think it likely there will be a move in a day or two, and that the Camel Corps will push across to Metemmeh and wait there till the boats get round."
"Yes, that is what every one is talking about," Easton said. "The question that is agitating us is whether all the Camel Corps will go; and if not, which will be chosen?"
"Ah, that I know nothing about, Easton; but I should think if any go, the Guards would be sure to be in it. But whether the Heavies or the Lights will go, if only two are chosen, I cannot say. I should fancy one will go with the boats anyhow, so as to keep along parallel with them and protect them against any sudden attack while they are afloat."
"Will the chief go on, do you think?"
"Not if only a small body cross the desert. At least I should think not. I should say he would stay here until Metemmeh is occupied and the boat column is well on its way, and that then he will go on to Metemmeh, and take the command there when the whole force is assembled. In that case Stewart would of course command the desert column, and I should be all right."
"The great question is, will the beggars fight?" Skinner remarked; "and if so, where?"
"They are sure to fight," Easton said. "I don't think there is the least doubt about that, but I should not think there will be any fighting this side of Metemmeh; it will be some where between that and Khartoum. The Mahdi cannot help fighting after smashing up Hicks and giving himself out as invincible. He would lose his hold altogether of the people if he did not come down and fight. Of course there is no doubt about the result; but, judging from the way those fellows fought down by the Red Sea, it is likely to be pretty tough work I shall be sorry for the poor beggars with their spears against our breech-loaders, but it has got to be done."
Skinner and Rupert both laughed, for Easton spoke exactly as he used to do with regard to football.
"It will be a nuisance your having to exert yourself, won't it, Easton?"
"Yes, that is always a nuisance, and in a climate like this!" Easton said seriously. "Why nature made a place so hot, I cannot make out. I am sure if I were to be weighed I should find I had lost nearly a stone since I came out."
"You have quite enough flesh on you," Skinner said critically. "If you have lost a stone you must have been getting beastly fat. You fellows in the Guards do not take enough exercise. The time was when the Guards used to row and had a very good eight, but they never do that sort of thing now. It would do you all a lot of good if, instead of wandering between London and Windsor and Dublin, you were to take your turn for foreign service."
"But then we should not be Guards, Skinner."
"Well, you would be none the worse for that," Skinner retorted.
"He is just as bad as he used to be, Clinton," Easton laughed; "just the same aggressive, pugnacious beggar that he was at River-Smith's."
"He means well, Easton. We never expected more than that from him. He must make himself fearfully obnoxious to the fellows who have the misfortune to be shut up on board ship with him."
"I shall make myself obnoxious to you, Clinton, if you don't look out. It is only the heat that protects you. Have you met any others of our fellows out here?"
"Not from our house, but I know there are seven or eight fellows of about our own standing out here altogether."
"If we are up here in the cold weather," Skinner said, "that is, if there ever is any cold weather, we will get a football made and challenge a team from any other school."
"Don't talk about it," Easton said plaintively. "It throws me into a perspiration even to think about it. The dust would be something awful. Possibly if we are up here through the winter, or through the period they are pleased to call winter, we might get up cricket; but as for football, it is out of the question. Of course if we were stationed at Dongola, or Berber, or Khartoum, we could get the bats and stumps and things sent up to us. It would be fun if it were only to see how these lazy, squatting beggars would stare when they saw us at it."
"But you were never enthusiastic about cricket."
"No. But then, you see, I do not propose to play on our side. My idea is that I should sit down on the sands in the shade of the scrub and smoke my pipe quietly. That is the oriental idea of taking exercise; pay somebody to dance for you, and sit and watch them, but do not think of attempting to take a hand yourself. It would be fatal to any respect these Egyptians may feel for us if they were to see us rushing about the sand like maniacs in pursuit of a ball. However, though I should not play myself, I should take a lively interest, Skinner, in seeing you and Clinton working hard. But I must be going, it is near time for us to parade. Come across to my tent at nine o'clock this evening. I cannot ask you to dinner--that must be deferred until we get home again--but we can smoke a pipe and talk over old days; and I can give you a glass of good brandy and water, which is a change from the commissariat rum. I managed to smuggle up half a dozen bottles."
Edgar was much disturbed by the story he had heard so unexpectedly from the sergeant. He regretted now that he had acted so hastily. Certainly the story put a completely new complexion on the case, and his chance of being Captain Clinton's son was just the same as it had ever been. He wondered whether his father and mother--for so in his thoughts he always named them--had doubted the truth of this woman's statement to him, or whether they had believed it as he had done, and had put him out of their hearts as one with whom they had nothing to do, and who had been already too long imposed upon them. But he felt that this was an unjust view, and that however they might now be confident that Rupert was their son and heir they still cherished an affection towards him. "However," he said, "this will make no difference to me. The die is cast, and I cannot go back now. Still I shall be happier than I was before. Then I considered that I had been an impostor who had received affection and care and kindness to which I had no shadow of right. Now I know that this is not so, and that it is just as likely that I am their son as it is that Rupert is; and I stay away for my own choice, and because, having made them believe that Rupert was their son, I am not going to disturb and make them unhappy again by showing them that this was a mistake, and that everything is as unsettled as before.
"I told them that they would never hear of me until I had made my own way, and I shall stick to that. Who would have thought of meeting Rupert here? It has been a great piece of luck for him getting out here as General Stewart's aide-de-camp, but I know the general is a friend of my father, and that accounts for it. Perhaps this sergeant is my father. I did not seem to mind the thought before. I did not even know whether he was alive, and never really faced it; and yet, if Sergeant Bowen is to be my father, he is as good as another. He seems a fine fellow, and has had no hand in this fraud. I ought, indeed, to think myself lucky; for he is steady and respectable, a good soldier, and I can see liked by the officers as well as the men. It was curious that he should have taken a fancy to me.
"Still it does go against the grain, though I can see he has no intention of claiming me openly as his son. If he had, I think I should have kicked against it; but as it is, I am sure we shall be very good friends."
After drill was over next morning, and the camels had been seen to and the men dismissed, Sergeant Bowen came up to him--
"Let us take another turn together, lad. I have been thinking a lot," he went on when they were beyond the lines, "of our talk yesterday. Now, lad, you have been brought up as a gentleman, and to consider yourself as Captain Clinton's son; remember, I don't want you to think that I expect you to make any change about that. I have done nothing for you as a father; and whether I am your father or not you do not owe me anything, and I want to tell you again that I don't expect in the least that because it is possible you are my son you should regard me in the light of your father.
"I can understand that after all your life looking at the captain as your father, and after he and his wife being everything to you, you would find it mighty hard to regard me in that way. I don't expect it, and I don't want it. If he is not your father by blood, he is your father in right of bringing you up and caring for you and educating you, and it is quite right and quite proper that you should always regard him so. You can look upon me, lad, just as a foster-father--as the husband of the woman who was for a time your nurse, and who would gladly repair the wrongs he did to you. I just say this, lad, to make things straight between us. I want us to be friends. I am an old soldier, and you a young one. We are comrades in this expedition. We have taken to each other, and would do each other a good turn if we had a chance. I don't want more than that, lad, and I don't expect you to give more. If I can lend you a helping hand on or off duty, you know I shall do so. So let us shake hands on it, and agree to let the matter drop altogether until this campaign is over. Then we will talk over together what had best be done. A few months longer of this life will do you no harm, and you will make all the better officer for having had two or three years in the ranks. But I will say at once that I think that you are wrong, now you know how the matter stands, in not writing at once to the captain and letting him know the truth. Still there is no harm in its standing over for the present. You must go through the expedition as you are now, and they would be no easier for knowing that you are exposed to danger out here than they are at present when they know nothing of your whereabouts."
Edgar shook the sergeant heartily by the hand, and the bargain was sealed.
Every day troops kept on arriving, and by the 27th of December there were already at Korti a considerable portion of the Sussex, the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry, the Essex, Gordon Highlanders, Black Watch, and Staffordshire, all of whom had come up in the whale-boats; a large number of the commissariat, transport, hospital, and engineer train in native boats; the whole of the Guards' Camel Corps, and the greater portion of the Heavy and Light Camel Corps, a hundred men of the Marines, who were provided with camels, and appointed to form part of the Guards' Camel Corps, two squadrons of the 19th Hussars, and the Mounted Infantry.
In the few days that had passed since the troops to which Edgar was attached had arrived at Korti the change in the appearance of the place was great. The grove of palm-trees still stood near the bend of the river, but the green fields of grass and the broad patches of growing crops had been either levelled or trampled down, and the neighbourhood of the camp presented the appearance of the sandy wastes of Aldershot.
On the evening of that day Skinner rushed into Easton's tent.
"I have just seen Clinton," he said, "and the rumours are going to be fulfilled at last. They did not inspect our water-skins, arms, and accoutrements for nothing to-day. We are to start on the 30th across the desert. There is no secret about it, or of course Clinton wouldn't have told me. There are to be our regiment, a squadron of Hussars, the Mounted Infantry, and Engineers. We are to take with us baggage-camels and the camels of the heavy and light regiments. We are going to Gakdul, about a hundred miles off. There all the stores are to be left, and the camels and Mounted Infantry to come back here. We are to remain to guard the stores. As soon as the camels return here, the Heavies are to take their own beasts, and, with the Mounted Infantry, escort every baggage animal that can be got up here, when we shall all go on together. Sir Herbert Stewart commands."
"What about baggage?" Easton asked, after expressing his deep satisfaction that the advance was about to begin.
"Only what we can carry ourselves on our camels, and the weight is limited to forty pounds, which is abundant even for sybarites like you guardsmen. A quarter of that would be amply sufficient for me. A couple of blankets, a waterproof sheet, half a dozen flannel shirts, ditto socks, pair of slippers, and a spare karkee suit; sponge, tooth-brush, and a comb. What can anyone want more?"
"I should like to take my waterproof bath," Easton said.
"Pooh! nonsense, man! Where are you going to get your water from?"
"There is water at Gakdul, and there will be plenty when we get to Metemmeh," Easton said.
"Well, I will grant that," Skinner said; "but anyhow you can manage very well as we do. Make a hole in the sand and put your waterproof sheet into it, and there you have got as good a bath as anyone can want. What is the use of lumbering yourself up with things you do not want? Much better take those three bottles of brandy you have got left and a couple of pounds of tobacco. That is the utmost allowance I should give. The camels will have to go a long time without water, and the less you put on their backs the better. You know what a difference a few pounds makes to a horse; and I suppose it must be the same thing with them."
At three o'clock on the afternoon of the 30th the force intended for the desert march paraded, and after marching past Lord Wolseley moved off in solid formation, thirty camels abreast. The total force consisted of 73 officers, 1212 men and natives, and 2091 camels. The whole camp had turned out to see the departure of the column, and Edgar, with his helmet pressed down low over his eyes, watched Rupert as he rode after Sir Herbert Stewart, and Easton and Skinner with the Guards Camel Corps. The Heavies had been much disappointed at not forming part of the first advance, and especially at their camels being taken for baggage animals; but they consoled themselves by the fact that the native spies all reported that there were no bodies of the enemy between Korti and Gakdul, and it was not likely therefore that there would be any fighting until the whole force moved forward together from Gakdul to Metemmeh.
In front of the column were half a dozen natives on camels. These acted as the guides of the party. They had been extremely unwilling to go, and it was only when the general offered them the alternative of going willingly and receiving good pay for their work, or being lashed to their camels and forced to go without any pay whatever, that they elected the first. The Hussars scouted in front of the column, riding far ahead and scouring the country in search of lurking foes. Two hours after starting there was a halt, fires were lighted from the dry grass and mimosa bushes, and tea was made and served out. By this time it was five o'clock, and the sun had set. In an hour or two the moon, which was nearly full, rose, and afforded ample light for the journey.
For a time the silence of the desert was broken by the laughter and talk of the men, but as the time went on the sounds were hushed as sleepiness fell upon them. Short halts were of frequent occurrence, as the baggage animals in the rear lagged behind, or their loads slipped, and had to be readjusted. Then a trumpet was sounded by the rear-guard, and it was repeated by the trumpeters along the column, and all came to a halt until the trumpet in the rear told that the camels there were ready to advance again. So the march continued throughout the whole night.
The ground was of hard sand or gravel, with round smooth hills of dark stone rising from it. Near the hills the ground was covered with low mimosa bushes and long yellow grass, and in some places the mimosa trees rose to a length of ten or twelve feet. At five o'clock day broke, and at half-past eight the column halted at a spot where there were a good many trees. Here they dismounted, breakfasted, and slept for some hours. At three in the afternoon they started again, and at half-past eight arrived at the first wells, those of Hambok; but as they were found to contain very little water, the march was continued to the El Howeiyat Wells, thirteen miles further. Before they got there the watches told that midnight had arrived, and the commencement of the new year was hailed with a burst of cheering, and singing broke out all along the line, and was continued for an hour, until they reached the wells.
There was but little water here, but the men carried theirs in skins. The horses of the 19th Hussars received a bucketful apiece, which exhausted the supply of the wells. At six o'clock in the morning they again advanced, and after a rest of three hours at mid-day continued their way until midnight, when a light being seen at a distance the column was halted, and the Hussars went out and captured a caravan loaded with dates for the use of the Mahdi troops. It was not until eight o'clock in the morning that the weary troops and animals reached the wells of Gakdul.
