The Downfall of the Dervishes; or, The Avenging of Gordon

by Ernest Nathaniel Bennett

FOOTNOTE:

[1] A brief list of the entomological specimens brought back from the campaign is given on [p. 253].

R. V. Darbishire 1898.

{Click on map for larger image.}

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[CHAPTER III]
THE WEEK BEFORE THE BATTLE

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,

sub curru nimium propinqui

Solis in terra domibus negata,

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 Ὁ Πόλεμος ἀπὸ Ποδηλάτου ("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 manœuvring 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."

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[CHAPTER IV]
THE BATTLE OF OMDURMAN

On 2nd September we rose from our broken slumbers in the dull grey light of daybreak, and by the time the first sunlight had flushed the surface of the Nile everybody was hard at work over his breakfast. When one knows that within an hour or two the normal routine of regular meals may be rudely interrupted by the exigencies of a whole day's fighting, it behoves one to eat at least as substantial a breakfast, if it can be got, as one does in London before catching a morning express to Edinburgh. Certainly it is impossible to imagine a more agreeable prelude to a battle than that which we experienced in our zeriba. There was plenty of time for a really comfortable meal, without being interrupted by an unpleasantly early visit from the Dervishes.

As Cross and I strolled up towards that part of the line held by the British, I stopped for a few minutes at the huts which had been converted into temporary shelters for the wounded. Everything was in its place, and the angaribs and stretchers ready for prospective employment. Having just emerged from the floating hospital, Cross was naturally very weak, and one of the medical staff, having noticed this, gave him a dose of sal volatile. Every British soldier carried on him a little packet of medical requisites for "first aid to the wounded." The packet was a marvel of condensed utility—lint, bandages, medicated silk, and other things, all compressed into a tiny parcel about three inches square.

By the time I reached the British portion of the zeriba the men were all in their places, with reserve companies in position a little to the rear. Every officer had seen to the working of his revolver, and all the Tommies had opened the breech of their Lee-Metfords and tested the magazine action—a very necessary precaution amongst the sand and dust of Egypt. The two batteries on the extreme left were drawn up, with the grim muzzles of the fifteen-pounders and the Maxim-Nordenfeldts pointing towards Gebel Surgham. Case upon case of shells lay ready to hand, and a number of these missiles were spread out on the sand close beside the gun-carriages.

Long before the advancing Dervishes came within range and sight of our infantry, the Egyptian cavalry, some two thousand strong, had left the northern side of the zeriba, and with the Camel Corps had come in touch with a large body of the enemy under the Sheikh Ed-Din. The Dervishes, certainly not less than fifteen thousand in number, immediately advanced against the Khedival cavalry, expecting, no doubt, an easy victory over the Egyptians: how often in the past had the fellahin horsemen fled in utter rout before them! But now the despised Egyptians retreated in excellent order, dismounting and firing volleys as steadily as on the parade ground at Cairo. The Camel Corps were blundering slowly along, scarcely able to keep ahead of the native spearmen, and were threatened every moment with annihilation. In fact, throughout the day's fighting, no troops were exposed to more serious risk than the cumbrous Camel Corps. The cavalry acted splendidly, halting repeatedly under a hot fire until the camel men came up. Captain Ricardo of the 17th Lancers, who was attached to the Egyptian cavalry, told me that he never wished to command better troops than the "Gyppies" showed themselves to be under these trying circumstances. Nevertheless, many saddles were emptied by Dervish bullets, two field-guns had to be temporarily abandoned, and it would have fared very ill with this gallant corps if they had been compelled to rely solely on their own efforts. As it was, the Egyptian battery posted on a knoll at the north-west corner of the zeriba had got the range of the Kerreri ridge accurately, and as the triumphant Dervishes appeared amongst the rocks in full pursuit of the retreating cavalry, round after round of twelve-pounder shells burst amongst them. At the same moment the Melik and Sultan had trained their quick-firing guns upon the Dervishes, and did splendid execution amongst the crowded ranks. Under this combined fire the enemy wavered, but not for long. They tried to dodge the projectiles and advance more cautiously under cover of various rocky gullies amongst the broken ground. It was like a terrible game of hide-and-seek. The white gibbehs, hidden for some minutes behind the hill, suddenly reappeared by fresh exits from the ridge; but shells met them at every turn, and finally the fanatics, balked of their prey, sullenly withdrew beyond the hills altogether with most of their wounded, leaving some twelve hundred of their number dead or dying on the field.

Inside the zeriba we were all alert and ready. Breakfast was over, and we simply waited for the enemy. I looked down into the hollow beside the river where the baggage camels, camp followers, and servants were stowed away in safety, and saw Ali grasping his enormous sword. The faithful creature came up and informed me that he intended to devote his attention exclusively to the defence of my person during the coming fight. I gently restrained the vaulting ambition of my cook, and pointed out to him the value of less ostentatious heroism—the protection, for example, of the camels from bullets, and the groceries from theft. Having shaken off this enthusiast, I walked along the zeriba to a point some way below the Lincolns. A large number of the Tommies had never been under fire before, e.g. the Guards and the Lancashire Fusiliers, and there was a curious look of suppressed excitement in some of the faces, as they stared over the desert to catch a glimpse of the enemy they were at last destined to behold, after many long marches by day and false alarms by night. Now and then I caught in a man's eye the curious gleam which comes from the joy of shedding blood—that mysterious impulse which, despite all the veneer of civilisation, still holds its own in a man's nature, whether he is killing rats with a terrier, rejoicing in a prize fight, playing a salmon, or potting Dervishes. It was a fine day, and we had come out to kill something. Call it what you like, the experience is a big factor in the joy of living: one speaks φωνᾶντα συνετοῖσι. Lower down the line the Sudanese showed their white teeth as they grinned with delight at the prospect of slaughter.

Suddenly the Lancers came trotting over the ridge between Gebel Surgham and the Nile, while several officers galloped across the plain and reported to the Sirdar that the Khalifa's forces were now rapidly advancing. The signallers from Gebel Surgham had come in by this time, and the cavalry, after a temporary halt beyond Geren Nebi, entered the zeriba by the gap beyond the batteries, and there waited ready for future emergencies.

"When they do show themselves," said an artillery officer, "we'll give them beans," and "beans" they certainly got! Even as he spoke, a long white streak far away in the distance suddenly spread itself over the yellow sand; the longed-for moment had arrived! "Here they come!" was on everybody's lips, and a rustle of excitement ran down the ranks.

True enough, on either side of Gebel Surgham, and then on towards the western slopes of Kerreri, line upon line of Dervish infantry and cavalry appeared. Gigantic banners fluttered aloft, borne on lofty flagstaffs. The rising sun glinted on sword blades and spearheads innumerable, and as the mighty host drew nearer, black heads and arms became visible amongst the white of the massed gibbehs. And now, too, a dense volume of sound came rolling over the desert as the fanatical Arabs raised continuous shouts of defiance, mingled with chants to Allah and the Prophet—their final battle-cry before the inevitable death awaiting them—the veritable requiem song of Mahdism! In the clear morning air the pageant was truly magnificent, a splendid panorama of some forty thousand barbarians moving forward all undismayed to do battle with the largest army which Great Britain has placed in the field for forty years. So marvellous a picture—once seen, never to be seen again—must surely have impressed itself indelibly upon the memory of all who witnessed it!

Our men stood unmoved within the zeriba. Suddenly a cloud of white smoke massed itself along the enemy's front, and one realised that the Dervishes had opened fire on us. The Khalifa's forces possessed eighteen thousand Martinis and a still larger number of Remingtons, captured from the ill-fated army of Hicks Pasha and the various garrisons of the Sudan. But as none of the Dervishes understood the sighting of their rifles, and many of them had actually knocked off the back-sights as a useless encumbrance, their opening volleys at over two thousand yards, being fired point blank, were useless. They simply wasted ammunition; for most of the bullets of course struck the sand hundreds of yards in front of us, and comparatively few got as far as the zeriba. No response came from our silent ranks for another five minutes. Then at 6.20 a roar came from the batteries on the left, and a shell shrieked through the air and burst about twenty yards in front of the formidable line advancing against the southern face of the zeriba. Almost simultaneously the other batteries opened fire on the dense masses of the enemy advancing round the western slopes of Surgham, and still farther away towards the ridge of Kerreri.

The battle had now commenced in dire earnest. As the enemy rapidly advanced, bullets of all sizes and shapes soon began to whistle over the zeriba from the Martinis, Remingtons, and nondescript weapons of the enemy. A battery, too, which they had placed on the western slope of Surgham, fired at the portion of our line held by the Camerons and Seaforths. More than forty rounds were fired from these Dervish field guns, but the shells did little, if any, damage, as, although the fuses were beautifully timed and the projectiles burst at an excellent height above the ground, the range was too long, and they all fell short. Moreover, after the fight some fragments of these shells were picked up and found to be made of very thin brass casing; so that the damage they could have inflicted, even had they reached our lines, must have been inconsiderable. As it was, they burst like maroons at the Crystal Palace, with a loud report and little else.

Our own artillery had very soon found the range accurately. The British fifteen-pounders and the short Maxim-Nordenfeldts of the Egyptian gunners were admirably worked, and the precision of the shell fire was marvellous. Scores of shrapnel burst just over the advancing line, and other shells struck the ground under their feet, tearing huge gaps in the ranks and throwing up clouds of earth and stones. The division of the enemy nearest to the zeriba was advancing over the ridge between Surgham and the river, and with a good field glass I could see the fearful havoc played by the fire of our guns. Beneath the descending shower of bullets from a well-placed shrapnel, a little crowd of men would fall torn and bleeding upon the sand, and sometimes a shell splinter would crash into a horse and hurl the animal with its rider to the ground. Despite this awful fire, the brave Dervishes came steadily on down the slope, though the line of their march was thickly strewn with dead and wounded. At length, to complete their discomfiture, the enemy in this part of the field came within long range of the rifles of the Guards, the Warwicks, and other battalions lining the more southern face of the zeriba. As withering volleys were poured into them, in addition to the incessant shell fire, the remnants of this brave division seemed to realise the hopelessness of a direct advance, and swerved to their left without any disorder to join their comrades who had advanced round Surgham from the west.

The main attack upon our position had now fully developed, and it was at this juncture that the Egyptian cavalry and the Camel Corps regained the shelter of their comrades' trenches after their lucky escape from Sheikh Ed-Din's spearmen. Thousands upon thousands of Dervish infantry and cavalry advanced all along the line in a rough semicircle, with frenzied shouts and a continuous but irregular fire upon the western face of the zeriba. Towards the left centre the Khalifa's black ensign stood out above the white gibbehs and red sashes of his bodyguard—that heroic and devoted band who rallied to the last round their leader's flag, and died to a man in its defence!

The din of battle was terrific. The roar of the artillery, the shriek of shells, the crisp volleys of the Lee-Metfords, and the unceasing rat-tat-tat of the deadly Maxims were so deafening that it was only occasionally in brief intervals that one realised that bullets by hundreds were flying around us.

Other proofs, however, of this were soon in evidence. In every direction the medical service men were to be seen carrying the dead and wounded on stretchers to the rear. As I walked across the zeriba with the Rifle Brigade, who were ordered to reinforce the line facing west, three men were hit by Dervish bullets, and immediately afterwards I saw a corporal of the Camerons shot clean through the head. As I said above, comparatively few bullets were heard, but every now and then a man fell to the ground. Colonel Money's horse was shot under him; he secured another mount, and in a few minutes his second horse rolled over, pierced by another Dervish bullet. Shortly afterwards, as I was watching the Maxim fire, a Highlander suddenly fell over two yards to my left. He was, I think, shot through the upper part of the arm; but what amused me was the self-conscious, shamefaced look which came over his face when the stretcher arrived. He looked sheepishly round to see if anybody noticed it, and was evidently quite ashamed of being carried off!

It was interesting to hear various occasional remarks which were made as flying bullets whistled overhead or made a splash in the loose sand of the zeriba. After a little experience in being under fire the ear gets to appreciate the relative distances of these invisible messengers, but the tendency at first is to imagine that the passing bullet is much nearer to one than it really is. I remember hearing a young soldier remark as a bullet whizzed over us, "By Jove, that nearly got me on the head!" whereas the missile was yards up in the air. It is, indeed, always satisfactory under such circumstances to note the whizz of bullets through the air; for, of course, if you hear the missile, it can't do you any harm. Some of the Dervish bullets played the oddest tricks. My friend, Captain Maclachlan of the Camerons, suddenly felt his side drenched with water, and, looking down, found that his water-bottle had been pierced from side to side. I found that this little anecdote had already reached England when I arrived, and had, moreover, been duly improved upon; for an old lady in the train spoke in sympathetic tones of the providential escape of the poor invalid officer who had been saved from a bullet as he lay in bed by the hot water bottle applied to his side! Another bullet passed through an ammunition pouch, cutting eight cartridges in half just between the lead and the cordite without exploding a single one. In another case, a Dervish bullet bored a hole through the helmet of the man in front, tore the shoulder-strap from the man behind, then wounded a sergeant in the leg, and finally dropped harmlessly on the toes of a private in the rear.

Between the two Highland battalions was posted a battery of Maxims under Captain Smeaton, whom I had seen in Crete a year and a half ago. Just behind the Maxims a detachment of Engineers did excellent work in organising the ammunition supply. One is always glad to hear the conduct of this fine corps appreciated, for frequently the sappers, from the nature of their work, are not sufficiently noticed in the literature of our "little wars." They did much excellent work at the Atbara, with scarcely a word of subsequent recognition from the Press; and here in the Omdurman zeriba they were posted in the middle of the fighting line, and took their chance as well as anyone else.

The Maxims poured forth an unceasing stream of bullets. A belt of cartridges was fixed, and instantly began to glide through the breech mechanism; then ta-ta-ta-ta-ta—the belt was empty and thrown aside to make way for another. It was not difficult to see how the gun was doing its terrible work, for if the aim became unduly depressed, a screen of dust and sand was thrown up in front of the enemy's line, and the only thing needed was a trifling elevation of the barrel.

There is a sort of fascination about a Maxim in full swing. Water is placed round the barrel in a metal casing, in order to keep the steel from becoming red hot. As it is, in three minutes after the water is poured in it boils furiously, and steam rushes out of the valves. Still, as long as the barrel is in contact with water of any kind, all goes well. In the midst of the Dervish attack the water suddenly gave out in Captain Smeaton's battery, and the machinery would speedily have ceased work from overheating but for the ready help of the men who stood by, and immediately emptied their water-bottles into the empty tubing. The Maxims, thus refreshed, continued their work, and up to 8.30 a.m. no less than ninety thousand rounds of ammunition had been fired from these weapons alone.

About seven o'clock a marvellous attempt to break our lines was made by the enemy. The Dervish leader in the centre—perhaps Yakub, the Khalifa's brother—actually dispatched a body of about one hundred and fifty cavalry against the British position. That any sane man could be guilty of such criminal folly is almost incredible. The devoted band galloped towards the zeriba over the open desert in the very teeth of Maxims and Lee-Metford volleys! Needless to say, not one of these brave fellows got within five hundred yards of our lines. The Maxims and rifles rained bullets upon them, the murderous sheet of lead mowed them down, and they simply vanished from sight. One heroic leader struggled on in front of his comrades, until he too, with his beautiful Arab charger, went down like the rest, and lay there, a silent witness to the magnificent valour of the Khalifa's followers. Not one man in twenty returned from this wild charge, which, for the utter recklessness of its bravery, must be almost unexampled in military history.

The interchange of shots continued until about 8.30, by which time the Dervish forces had been practically annihilated, with the exception of two or three large masses, which had retreated in excellent order behind the hills on the south-west and north-west. In fact, during the last half-hour of this portion of the engagement, the actual rifle fire of the Dervishes had been confined almost exclusively to a small body of sharpshooters, who had ensconced themselves in a sandy hollow some nine hundred yards away on our left centre. These riflemen, being sheltered from the hail of bullets which whizzed over their heads, continued to make very fair practice on our ranks for some time. At last a shell from Major Williams' battery pitched right into the middle of their retreat. What exactly happened I do not know, but, at anyrate, we were troubled by no more bullets from that quarter. Throughout the fighting up to this point I never saw a Dervish run; whenever he retreated he simply walked off the field. I noticed many of the wounded struggle to their feet, attempt to walk away, and then fall to rise no more as merciless volleys again struck them to the ground.

As the Sirdar appeared to think that all danger from Dervish attack was now past and over, the entire army received orders to leave the zeriba and march in échelon straight on Omdurman. Meanwhile, however, the Lancers had advanced over the ridge towards the river, with orders to harass the enemy and head them off from Omdurman as far as possible. The troopers trotted off in excellent spirits, glad to get a chance of some fighting after their forced inaction under cover during the assault upon the zeriba.

And now occurred the most graphic and sensational bit of fighting in the whole battle. A continuous stream of Dervishes was traversing the plain between Gebel Surgham and the suburbs of Omdurman. But before the Lancers had advanced far upon the flank of these fugitives they noticed what appeared to be a body of some two hundred spearmen, who were partly under cover of a low ridge of sand. These Dervishes soon showed that they had rifles as well as spears, for a hot fire was opened upon the cavalry. A charge was at once ordered, and the line of Lancers galloped down upon the enemy. Before they had reached the hollow, however, they saw beyond the riflemen a considerable body of Dervishes, whose presence, thanks to a further inequality in the ground, had not been revealed till that moment. I have heard it said that, previous to falling foul of these partly concealed Dervishes, the Lancers had advanced without any scouts being thrown forward who might have easily discovered how the land lay. Again, even when the white mass of men, some fifteen deep, suddenly rose up before the eyes of the cavalry, there would have been absolutely no shadow of discredit in retiring; for cavalry are not ordinarily required to charge unbroken infantry, nor was this course rendered necessary by the Sirdar's orders. There can be little doubt that if our men, immediately on sighting the large compact body in the rear of the riflemen, had withdrawn, dismounted, and poured volleys from their carbines into the massed ranks of the enemy, they would have inflicted far greater damage upon the Dervishes, with scarcely any appreciable loss to themselves. This course was not taken. So far from halting and retreating, our gallant Lancers quickened their chargers' pace, and hurled themselves boldly against the double rampart of fighting men. Colonel Martin led the way, riding well ahead of his regiment, and, without attempting to use his weapons, forced a passage through the dense masses in front of him. He did not, I believe, receive a scratch during this perilous exploit, though it was almost a miracle that he escaped with his life. A friend of mine who took part in this famous charge told me that as the cavalry galloped forward they were met by a perfect hail of bullets from the riflemen in front, which ought to have emptied many a saddle, but for the most part flew harmlessly overhead. As is usually the case in desperate fighting, none of the men who came safely through the charge appeared to know much about its details. My informant told me that he noticed an officer—probably Lieutenant Grenfell—standing a little on one side and fighting with a ring of Dervishes, three of whom suddenly turned upon himself. As they advanced he realised that he had better make some use of his weapons, so whipped out his revolver and shot the foremost Dervish. After this his horse struggled onward past the rest of the assailants. Until he had shot this man, he had quite forgotten to draw either sword or revolver!

The outer line of the enemy was soon broken up by the impact of the cavalry, and the riflemen tumbled head over heels amongst the horses' feet. But much greater resistance came from the two thousand Dervishes at the back. The confusion was terrible. Lances are not of much use in a crowd, and if our troopers had used their sabres they would have suffered less from the heavy sword blades which were hacking their bodies and hamstringing their horses. If any man was unhorsed he was as good as dead. The furious Arabs leapt upon him and slashed at his face till his features disappeared and his flesh hung in strips. Lieutenant Clerk's charger stumbled and fell forward as it breasted the edge of the nullah, but most fortunately its master kept his seat, and managed to get through the mêlée unhurt. This officer was on September 2nd far too ill and weak for any sort of military duty, but he pluckily kept to his regiment till the day's arduous work was over, and was then obliged to go into hospital worse than before. The fighting through the brief period of this charge—a few minutes all told from beginning to end—was wild and fierce. The Lancers never flinched in the face of an enemy six times as numerous as themselves, and, doing what they could with the clumsy lances, forced a path for their squadrons through the crowd in front. On the other hand, the Dervishes rejoiced, no doubt, to get to close quarters with the hated infidels after all the futile attempts and cruel losses of the morning. Their eyes gleamed with fury as they crowded round the hated Englishmen, and showered spear thrusts and sword cuts upon man and beast alike. The cross-handled Dervish sword is terribly heavy, and the long straight blades of several which I picked up had been freshly ground for subsequent employment upon the person of Tommy Atkins. The large Dervish spear, too, when properly handled, is a most formidable weapon, and if a thrust is driven well home into the body, the wound from the broad iron head is so wide and deep that a man has little chance of recovery.

My readers have all read in the newspapers of some of the many acts of heroism and narrow escapes which were crowded into the space of a few minutes. They have heard how gallantly men like Lieutenant Montmorency and Private Peddar, who had fought their way unhurt through the Dervishes' line, turned back to save their wounded and dismounted comrades—how Major Wyndham, when his horse fell dead beneath him, managed with the help of his friends to push his way through the press and escape the death which overtook almost every other Lancer who was unhorsed.

The enemy's line was completely broken up by the cavalry, and about seventy of the Dervishes were killed or wounded. But when the Lancers formed up some three hundred yards on the other side of the hollow, it was evident from even a cursory glance that the gallant charge had cost them dear. Lieutenant Grenfell with twenty troopers were missing, and of the fifty wounded men many were streaming with blood and scarcely able to keep their saddles. No less than one hundred and nineteen horses out of three hundred and twenty were killed or hopelessly wounded, and in some cases the faithful creatures, who had carried their masters safely through the fight, just managed to rejoin the ranks and then fell dead.

After the charge Colonel Martin ordered his men to dismount and fire volleys at the enemy, who still held their ground. The magazine fire of the carbines speedily dispersed the Dervishes, and the victorious Lancers returned to the scene of their charge and recovered the dead. All the bodies had been horribly mutilated; the faces were quite unrecognisable, and the flesh of the neck and shoulders was scored and lacerated in every direction with sword cuts and spear thrusts.

Indignation against the Dervishes for such mutilations may easily be exaggerated. Sickening as it is to gaze upon a comrade's features hacked out of all human semblance, one cannot forget that the men who did the deed had seen thousands of their brethren slain by our awful fire without a possibility of retaliation. It is worth remembering, too, that the mutilation of the human body is not the exclusive monopoly of barbaric peoples; anyone who has seen the effects of shell fire—bodies ripped open, jaws torn off, and kindred horrors—may find it difficult to differentiate very markedly between the accursed usages inseparable from every system of warfare—civilised and barbarous alike.

While the Lancers had met and engaged the enemy beyond Gebel Surgham, the whole of the infantry, artillery, and baggage-train had left the zeriba and advanced in échelon upon Omdurman. The British battalions led the way on the left; on the right marched the Egyptians and Sudanese—Maxwell's brigade in front, Lewis's next, and Macdonald's bringing up the rear. I joined Lewis's men, and as the line of our advance led us over the ground covered by a portion of the attack, we speedily found ourselves amongst dead and dying Dervishes. The first of these I came across was the brave leader who had led the charge of the Baggara cavalry. He and his horse were quite dead—both of them riddled with bullets. His spear lay beside him, and was seized by a Sudanese soldier as a present for his bimbashi. As we marched towards Gebel Surgham, and further out upon the plain, the efficacy of our shell and rifle fire became more apparent every yard we advanced. In every direction rows and clusters of white gibbehs and black bodies lay scattered over the sand.

Here and there, too, horses were stretched motionless, or else tossed restlessly to and fro, unable to rise. I cannot account for the fact, but the sight of a wounded horse is much more painful to myself, and, I know, to many other men, than the sight of a wounded man. As one walks over a battlefield one gazes with indifference or vague curiosity on mangled heaps of human bodies, but where one sees a horse cruelly torn by a shell splinter, raising and drooping its head upon the sand, with terror and anguish in its beautiful eyes—such a sight as this must fill the heart of any lover of animals with pain and pity.

Our native battalions were soon busily engaged in killing the wounded. The Sudanese undertook this task with evident relish, and never spared a single Dervish along their path. On our left front, at the foot of the Surgham slope, where the opening shell fire of the batteries on the left had covered the hillside with dead and wounded, a large number of servants and camp followers were also busy. These harpies, intent solely on loot, had armed themselves with various weapons. Some carried clubs or spears, others had managed to secure old rifles. They advanced with great caution, and I saw them fire repeatedly into bodies which were already quite dead, before they dared to rush in and strip the corpse of its arms and clothing. These cowardly wretches ought most certainly to have been prevented from carrying on this irresponsible shooting. They fired anyhow, without looking to see who was in front, and their bullets continually ricochetted against the rocks. One of these bullets passed quite close to the front of our brigade as we advanced, and I heard that an officer was wounded by another.

The barbarous usage of killing the wounded has become traditional in Sudanese warfare, and in some cases it must be looked upon as a painful necessity. The wounded Dervishes—as I saw with my own eyes, and on one occasion nearly felt with my own body—sometimes raised themselves and fired one last round at our advancing line. On one occasion a wounded Baggara suddenly rose up from a little heap of bodies and stabbed no less than seven Egyptian cavalry troopers before he was finally dispatched. Still, when all has been said in defence of this practice, it is certain that in many cases wounded Dervishes, unarmed and helpless, were butchered from sheer wantonness and lust of bloodshed. The whole formed a hideous picture, not easy to forget.

Some of the wounded turned wearily over, and paid no attention to our advance. For many of them, indeed, the bitterness of death was already past. They lay in the scorching heat, with shattered bodies and shattered hopes, awaiting the final thrust of the merciless bayonet. Many of them were doubtless good as well as brave men. They had trusted in Allah that he would deliver them, but their prayer had been in vain. There are few experiences in this world more cruel than the sudden extinction of religious hope, and the dying thoughts of some of these Dervishes must have been exceeding bitter.

As I tramped along with Lewis's brigade towards Omdurman, we were suddenly aware that something had gone wrong on the right flank and rear of the column. The "ispt," "ispt" of bullets was heard in every direction, and men began to fall. Turning round, I soon saw what had happened. The enemy had actually renewed the fight, and an orderly attack was being made on Macdonald's brigade by the large Dervish force under Sheikh Ed-Din, which had retreated under the fire of the gunboats at the beginning of the engagement, and held itself in readiness behind the Kerreri ridge for this flank attack. At the same time several other bodies of Dervishes appeared to the west of Surgham, and also from behind the low hills straight in front.

The brunt of this fresh attack fell upon the rear brigade. Colonel Macdonald did not lose a moment. His blacks were at once formed into two lines, meeting at an obtuse angle, and a steady fire was opened on the enemy, who advanced with marvellous rapidity. Towards the left centre, the black standard of the Khalifa rose again to view, and behind this, and on either flank, line after line of infantry swept once more over the undulating desert.

This was the only portion of the fight in which any part of our position was seriously threatened, and during this second battle—for it practically amounted to this—the Sudanese and Egyptian infantry had most of the fighting to themselves. Right well they fought—one native brigade against some twenty-five thousand Dervishes. Any wavering or panic on the part of these battalions would have been fatal, for during the really critical period of the fight they were quite isolated. Lewis's brigade—their nearest support—was at least nine hundred yards away, and most of the British columns were actually out of sight, advancing along the river a mile and a half in front. The men of the brigade, which comprised the 9th, 10th, and 11th Sudanese and the 2nd Egyptians, were armed with Martinis; and the smoke of the black powder they used interfered to some extent with the accuracy of their fire, which always tends, in the case of native troops, to become rather wild as the excitement of battle grows upon them. Thus it happened that the enemy managed to get to much closer quarters with us than previously. Their foremost ranks sometimes seemed to advance within one hundred and fifty yards of the Sudanese, and when a perfect flood of Sheikh Ed-Din's infantry was let loose from the Kerreri slopes upon Macdonald's rear, some of the Dervishes, despite the withering rifle fire, actually ran up and used their spears against our men, until they were bayoneted or shot down at the very muzzles of the rifles. Another brilliant attempt was made by the Khalifa's cavalry to break the Sudanese lines, and some of the horsemen got within a few yards of the line before they were shot down in detail. One determined standard-bearer, with nothing in his hands except his flagstaff, struggled on heroically to within a dozen yards of the blacks before he fell, riddled with bullets.

Efforts had, of course, been made all along the line to lend assistance to Macdonald in his one-handed struggle. The gunboats had joined with his own three batteries in shelling the dense masses under Sheikh Ed-Din, while on the left other batteries had galloped up, and now from the northern slopes of Surgham poured round after round of shell upon the indomitable enemy. Three battalions, too, of the 1st British Brigade had come up at the double, and the Lincolns had been dispatched to aid in the final dispersion of Ed-Din's Dervishes amongst the rugged slopes of Kerreri.

Still, valuable as this help was in completing the rout of the Dervishes, and driving them off finally beyond the hills to the west, there is no doubt that the repulse of the enemy was already a fait accompli long before the British battalions had wheeled to the right and traversed the long distance—at least one and a half miles—between their position near the river and the rear of our advance on the right. Colonel Macdonald had proved once more his sterling qualities as a leader. The Sudanese had shown that they could stand absolutely steady under a prolonged fire as well as rush impetuously to an attack. The "Gyppies," who in the old days of El Teb and Hicks Pasha's disaster threw away their rifles and were butchered as they fled or knelt to beg for mercy—these very Fellahin soldiers, now disciplined and taught the value of self-respect by British officers, fired regular volleys and stood firm as a rock against the stream of Dervishes which threatened every moment to engulf them.

I noticed, by the way, one very smart bit of fighting during the movement in support of Macdonald. The brigade under Colonel Maxwell advanced almost directly upon Gebel Surgham, and a number of Sudanese were ordered to clear the hill of Dervishes. Up went the blacks like monkeys. The whole eastern slope of Surgham was dotted with little white puffs of smoke as the lithe creatures leapt from boulder to boulder and drove the enemy before them. At the top of the hill the surviving Dervishes, under the Emir Osman Azrak, made a desperate stand, but were killed to a man.

It was not till nearly midday that "Cease fire" again sounded, and the victorious march to Omdurman was resumed. Scattered bands of Dervishes were to be seen in the distance, making westward to the shelter of the hills. Upon the rear of these fugitives the Egyptian cavalry was let loose; and as they galloped away to the right, and cut up the stragglers, they felt, no doubt, that they were getting some sort of compensation for their bad luck in the early morning. Captain Smeaton lent me his field glasses, which were more powerful than my own, and far away in front, on a ridge of rock, safe from cavalry and rifle bullets, I saw a little band of Dervishes—some sixty in all—painfully making their way to the west. With the fine binoculars in my hand I could even see the faces of the poor wretches, the majority of whom seemed to be wounded. Some limped along unaided over the rough hillside, others were supported by their comrades. How many hundreds, nay, thousands, of these wounded Dervishes ultimately succumbed to the fearful injuries inflicted by the "man-stopping" bullet, no one, I suppose, will ever know accurately; but one may be tolerably sure that behind the hills many a poor creature lay down to die.

In handing Captain Smeaton's glasses back, I noticed that one of the mules harnessed to the Maxims had just been struck by a bullet, which passed clean through the animal's neck. The wounded mule, by name Tommy, was evidently quite a pet amongst the gunners, and though it looked rather anxious and depressed, it dragged the Maxim with unabated vigour.

In places, as we marched along, the ground was strewn thickly with bodies, as the fire had struck the enemy down in little heaps. In one spot I saw a ring of nine men and three horses, all evidently slain by the explosion of a single shell. One Dervish, as I passed, raised his face to mine with a ghastly smile, as if deprecating our vengeance, and throwing his gibbeh on one side, displayed an awful wound. A shell splinter had struck the miserable man full in front, and literally ripped his body open from side to side. Another man lay face downward upon the sand, breathing bubbles through a pool of gore, and actually drowning in his own blood! As a rule, however, the features of the dead were not distorted. They lay as if asleep, with a peaceful look upon their faces, and many of them were handsome men of magnificent build.

The sun by this time was terribly hot, and, after the excitement of the fight, the fatigue of the day's work, and the absence of sleep on the previous night began to tell upon the men. Several halts were made, and at last a string of camels laden with fantasias (metal water tanks) made their appearance. The men crowded round, and filled their bottles to the brim. The water was quite warm, but the troops drank it with avidity. I filled my bottle, and then, plunging the whole thing into a bucket, waited till evaporation should cool the contents. Meanwhile I crawled under a Maxim carriage. The scanty shade was perfectly delicious, and I should have gone to sleep but for the mules, which became restless, and kicked out occasionally with their hoofs in unpleasant proximity to my head.

After half an hour's halt the onward march was resumed, and we saw the troops in front about two hundred yards away actually marching through a mirage of water, rocks, and bushes! Cross tried to photograph the curious scene, but the result did not prove a success. Why does one never get a decent photograph of a mirage in the desert? Men still fell out of the ranks from sheer exhaustion. One would see a soldier totter on for some yards, trying to pull himself together, and then suddenly step to one side and sink down on the sand, saying, "It's no good; I can't go on." On two occasions when this happened, the exhausted man had drained the entire contents of his bottle, which had been full an hour ago, and not a drop of water was to be got from any of the soldiers near! I mention this to show the utter lack of self-control in the matter of drink which prevailed amongst the "Tommies." My own bottle was the only one within reach that contained any water at all, and of course I did what everyone else would have done, and divided what remained between the two men, who seemed to be actually dying of thirst. They then got up and managed to struggle on to Omdurman, their rifles being carried for them by some of their comrades. A private of the Warwicks suddenly dropped down dead from heat apoplexy, and was buried on the spot. The comparatively mild sufferings of our own men turned one's thoughts to the crowded heaps of wounded wretches left behind us in the desert to the added tortures of that thirst which invariably accompanies gunshot wounds. How many thousands, too, of women and children would soon be weeping with all the wild lamentation of the East over the brave men who lay in the sleep of death far away upon the plain! Sorrow is the same all the world over—that dread factor in human life—and the terrific carnage of the day's fighting had taken away the bread-winner and protector from thousands of poor homes in the Sudan, and doomed many a household to starvation.

The battle was now to all intents and purposes over, and already vast flocks of vultures were wheeling round and round over the expanse of desert. Another halt was made on the edge of a khor on the outskirts of Omdurman. The water of this inlet was thick and yellow, and in the shallower parts dead animals—horses, mules, and donkeys—lay about in various stages of decay. Nevertheless, the thirsty troops rushed down the bank and drank greedily of the foul water. The want of self-control and common sense at this khor may quite well be partly responsible for the large number of typhoid cases which subsequently occurred. As I thought that ten minutes more of dry throat and parched lips were better than the chance of enteric fever, I walked down to the Nile. Here I found Captain Ricardo, Lord Tullibardine, and one or two others sitting under the scanty shade of a mud-hut, where I joined them after some tremendous draughts of running water, drunk out of a calabash which I had cut from the neck of a dead Dervish. Lord Tullibardine kindly gave me some brandy to flavour the water, and Captain Ricardo recounted the good deeds of the "Gyppy" cavalry. Then we all lay at full length and indulged in a little siesta.

The bugles soon sounded the "advance," and the final order came that the army was to occupy Omdurman forthwith. The weary troops advanced once more, and we all waded through the muddy khor. The water reached to our knees, and was very refreshing after the long tramp over the hot sand. Alongside one of the battalions rode the Presbyterian chaplain, mounted—oh tell it not in the Kirk, neither publish it amongst the Elders—upon a looted pony! It was, I think, a colt which I had seen earlier in the day standing unhurt amongst a heap of dead Dervishes, and calmly nibbling some scanty blades of desert grass.

As we marched on through the apparently interminable suburbs of the city, the regimental drums and fifes and the Highlanders' bagpipes struck up some lively tunes. The effect of music at such a time was simply marvellous: it put fresh heart and vigour into all of us. The Sudanese, with broad grins on their shiny black faces, played the various marching tunes of the British regiments, and were loudly cheered by their white comrades. All along the broad street which runs through Omdurman to the central square we were greeted by bands of women, who stood in clusters at the doors, and welcomed us with curious trilling cries of joy.

The Khalifa had escaped from the southern end of the town about an hour before our foremost troops arrived, and had been followed by a panic-stricken mob of men, women, and children, with camels and donkeys. In spite, however, of this exodus, the advance battalions, with the Sirdar and his staff, had met with some resistance from Dervishes still concealed in the houses along the main street. Here and there bullets were fired from windows and roofs across the line of our advance, and troops had to be detailed to clear out these dangerous assailants. Fortunately, a little light still came from the setting sun, and the Sudanese were soon able to rid themselves of their antagonists. Bullets had been repeatedly fired at the Sirdar and his staff as they advanced, and a little further on destruction nearly overtook them from the shells of our own field guns. The Sirdar had ordered the 32nd battery to shell the Khalifa's palace, and nevertheless saw fit to advance with his staff into the zone of fire. Suddenly four shells burst in rapid succession above their heads, close to the Mahdi's tomb and the great square. Everyone hurried away to shelter, but Howard had already dismounted and reached an upper room in the Khalifa's palace. Another shell screamed over the houses, and as it burst a fragment struck Howard on the back of the head, and killed him instantly—a tragic and untimely death, when the perils of the day seemed over and rest nigh at hand! Thus perished a man who was, I believe, absolutely fearless in the presence of danger. He was my junior at Oxford, but I remember that as an undergraduate at Balliol he was known for that reckless daring and courage which in after years led him to seek for adventure in Cuba, Matabeleland, and finally the Sudan. During the campaign in South Africa Howard displayed signal ability as adjutant of his corps; in fact, the splendid courage and unceasing energy which marked his whole career gave every promise of ultimately securing for him a still higher fame and distinction. As it was, his young life was cut short in the very midst of his restless activity, and he died as he had lived, eager to do his best, and utterly fearless of everything except failure.

"The untented Kosmos his abode

He passed, a wilful stranger—

His mistress still the open road

And the bright eyes of Danger!"

Our little band of fifteen had received, indeed, more than its fair share of casualties in the day's fighting. In addition to Howard's death, Colonel Rhodes had been shot through the shoulder, and another correspondent had been slightly wounded in the face with a spent bullet.

The street fighting was over, darkness had fallen upon the city, and the weary troops at length bivouacked for the night. In addition to the wear and tear of the actual fighting, they had marched at least fifteen miles, for the most part in the full heat of the sun. Many of the men simply lay down as they were, and at once fell fast asleep. After the army an apparently endless succession of baggage animals filed wearily through the town. I gave up all hope of finding camels and servants amid the general confusion, and betook myself to the Camerons. The other correspondents went on, and, failing to discover their baggage, had to sleep on the ground without food or blankets. I fared much better. Inside my pocket was a small tin of potted meat, and, as Captain Maclachlan had some biscuits, we intended to devour these before going to sleep with our helmets for pillows. But a joyful surprise was in store for us. By a great piece of good luck, some of the regimental baggage camels happened to pass by, and these were speedily annexed, with splendid results. My kind host invited me to dinner, and what a meal we had! On a central packing-case, which served as a buffet, stood several tins of "Suffolk pie" and ox tongue, and for every man a biscuit or two. How delightful it was to eat these tinned dainties—the only meat-food which had passed our lips that day! Then came the crowning mercy. Maclachlan unearthed a bottle of champagne from some mysterious source, and we shared the generous wine between us. Our tumblers were the lower halves of whisky bottles, cut round by string soaked in turpentine and then set alight. We drank many toasts—the Sirdar, the Army, Friends in England now Abed, etc. Our fatigues were all forgotten, and we felt so amiable that I really think that if the Khalifa had been within reach we should have sent him an invitation to join us, and bring Osman Digna with him. This dinner-party in the open street of Omdurman was one of the pleasantest I have ever attended—olim meminisse juvabit!

At length we wrapped ourselves in blankets for the night, and lay down upon the sand. All around was heard the heavy, regular breathing of strong men, utterly tired out by the excitement and labours of the eventful day. With the exception of occasional shots from Sudanese looters or Dervish "snipers" across the river, perfect stillness reigned over the thousands of men who lay in the large open spaces of the city. Not a sound broke the silence—the camp was asleep, and

"All that mighty heart was lying still!"

The moon had risen, and far away on the horizon gleamed the Southern Cross, like that celestial symbol which inspired the Roman Conqueror in his bivouac centuries ago, and helped to shape the destinies of Christendom. Per hoc vince—good men of our victory's true worth, and presage of our future work in these unhappy regions! The day's carnage had indeed been cruel; blood had been poured out like water; but there is a mysterious law in the working of Providence which forbids the continued existence of systems which have ceased to subserve the cause of progress. Mahdism has proved the most shameful and terrible instrument of bloodshed and oppression which the modern world has ever witnessed. It has reduced whole provinces to utter desolation, so that tracts once smiling and fertile are now but solitary wastes, the habitation of wild beasts. Thousands upon thousands of homesteads have been laid in ruins, and the innocent villagers outraged and tortured and murdered. As I entered the Mahdi's tomb on the following morning, I saw a band of natives casting stones with loud curses upon the spot where his body lay; and scores of unhappy creatures who on the night of the battle were liberated, after long years of imprisonment, lifted up their hands, and with streaming eyes thanked God for the destruction of their oppressor's rule. Mahdism has vanished, never to return, and once more the arms of Great Britain have advanced the cause of civilisation and "made for righteousness" in the history of the century.

R. V. Darbishire 1898.

{Click on map for larger image.}

Battle of Omdurman.
First Dervish attack.

Battle of Omdurman.
Second Dervish attack.

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[CHAPTER V]
GUNBOATS AND GAALIN

No account of the recent campaign could be in any way complete if it did not include some mention of the valuable assistance rendered to the Sirdar and the Anglo-Egyptian forces by the gunboats and the Friendlies. I have thought it better to keep this portion of the narrative distinct from the rest, and to mould the present chapter more or less into the form of a diary.

The Sirdar's fleet at the end of the campaign consisted of the following gunboats:—Sultan, Sheikh, Melik, Fatteh, Nasr, Hafir, Tamai, Metemmeh, and Abu Klea. In addition to these were the old unarmed El Tahra and, up to 25th August, the gunboat Zaphir.

The navigation of the Nile was full of difficulty. The river charts were bad or non-existent, and no reis, or native captain, could really be trusted to keep his boat in the deep channels with any certainty. Still, it must be remembered that the bed of the Nile is continually changing its position, and what are deep holes one year may be turned by next year's flood into shallow pools. On the whole, it is astonishing that the river service was not frequently overtaken by disaster. The engines on a boat like the Tamai were always on the verge of dissolution, the current was terrific, and all the vessels—gunboats, barges, and ghyassas—were loaded down to the water's edge. The barges, on which the troops were packed together with barely room to turn themselves, were especially liable to accident, as they were exceedingly top-heavy and loosely constructed. I remember seeing a gunboat gently collide with one of these barges as it lay, fortunately without any crew, off the bank at Wad Hamed. The whole structure collapsed at once; the top platform fell off, and in less than two minutes the remains of the barge and all its cargo that would float were drifting rapidly down the Nile.

One gunboat alone, the Zaphir, was overtaken by serious disaster. It happened as follows: On 23rd August the Zaphir left the Atbara at 4 p.m. The officers on board consisted of General Rundle, Prince Christian Victor, Lieutenant Micklem, R.E., Major Dodd, R.A.M.C., and, in command of the vessel, Commander Keppel, R.N. In the ghyassas, which were lashed to the gunboat, were packed "details" of various native battalions. All went well for two nights, although on the 23rd the Zaphir tied up to the bank in the midst of a violent storm of wind which suddenly swept over the river from the desert. At 4.45 p.m. on the 25th of August the officers were sitting on the upper deck taking tea, when Mr. Poole, the engineer, suddenly asked Commander Keppel to come below at once. Prince Christian meanwhile walked forward, and noticed that the ship lay very low in the water, so much so, in fact, that the rapid current was washing over the bows. As he walked back to General Rundle, Commander Keppel rushed up from the lower deck and informed the assembled officers that water had found its way into the hold, and the gunboat might go down any moment; meanwhile, he had ordered the engineer to make for the shore at full speed. On the receipt of this startling information the officers walked to the side of the vessel, and as they did so, the Zaphir, which was floundering in a clumsy fashion towards the bank, suddenly gave a heavy lurch to starboard, and seemed on the point of "turning turtle." A general exodus of natives followed; servants, sailors, and "Gyppy" soldiers sprang out of the nooks and crannies in which they hide themselves on board, and, leaping into the stream, swam easily to the shore. At the same instant General Rundle, Major Dodd, and Lieutenant Micklem jumped from the deck on to the ghyassas at the side. The Zaphir, however, righted herself again, but as the fires had been put out by the inrush of water, she drifted slightly and began to settle down. An attempt to get a rope from the ship to the shore failed. Prince Christian then jumped upon a ghyassa, and lastly, just as the gunboat sank within thirty yards of the bank, Commander Keppel followed his example. Most fortunately, someone had the presence of mind to cut the ghyassas adrift, otherwise they would certainly have been dragged down with the vessel as she foundered. On the return journey from Omdurman I noticed that part of the funnel was still out of the water, and a twelve-pounder gun projected from the stern battery a couple of feet above the stream. The whole party bivouacked on shore that night in rather a destitute condition. Nobody seemed to know how the leak was caused, but from the time the inrush of water was noticed, at 5.40, only eleven minutes elapsed before the vessel sank. A few stores had been saved, and off these the shipwrecked officers made a meal. Everyone by good luck had managed to land in his helmet, but otherwise the clothing of the party was rather nondescript. Prince Christian, for example, had nothing left except a pair of trousers and a canvas shirt. Next morning the natives dived about the wreck and fished out some odds and ends of clothing and baggage. At midday on the 26th, Major Drage, D.S.O., happened to pass up the river in the El Tahra, and conveyed the Zaphir's crew to Rojan Island, where Commander Keppel transferred his flag to the Sultan, accompanied by Prince Christian and Major Dodd.

On the day before the loss of the Zaphir, the "Irregulars" or "Friendlies" had assembled at Wad Hamed. This motley corps was composed of detachments from the following tribes:—Gaalin, Ababdeh, Shukriyeh, Batahin, Bishariyeh, Mersalamieh, Gimiab, and a few Hassaniyeh. All these tribes have for thirteen years been bitterly hostile to the English and Egyptians, but, thanks to the impolitic conduct of the Khalifa and the cruel devastation practised by his generals, many of his adherents amongst these Arab tribes have been alienated from the Mahdi's successor, and now look forward to an era of peace and security under a settled government. By far the most useful and important section of these Friendlies was furnished by the Gaalin, a brave and warlike tribe, who fought gallantly against the British at Abu Klea, Abu Kru, and Gubat in January 1885. In July 1897 Khalifa's army under the brutal Mahmoud—who was captured at the Atbara, and is now imprisoned at Wady Halfa—suddenly, on their march northwards, attacked the Gaalin, and butchered a large number of them at Metemmeh. Ever since this treacherous massacre a deadly feud had existed between this tribe and the Khalifa's government.

As a fighting force the Irregulars, numbering about two thousand five hundred, presented a rather quaint appearance. They were armed with every imaginable weapon. Some had rifles, others were equipped with old flint and steel muskets, elephant guns, ancient muzzle-loading pistols, spears, swords, and daggers. Their methods of locomotion were almost as varied as their accoutrements. Some were mounted on horses, some marched on foot, others ambled along on camels, mules, and donkeys. About twelve hundred Remingtons were supplied at Wad Hamed for distribution amongst the tribes in proportion to their numbers, and it was a proud day for many of these picturesque ruffians when they secured one of these rifles. The possession of guns always seems to exercise a peculiar fascination over semi-barbarous peoples. A friend and myself once bestowed three ancient Snider carbines, rubbed bright with Monkey Brand Soap, upon a small Arabian potentate, who was delighted with the present and had the rifles carried after him by three almost naked courtiers wherever he went. We took good care not to give the monarch any cartridges, but his attendants did not seem to mind the absence of ammunition. What they liked was to swagger about with the Sniders, and use them as a sort of glorified walking-stick with the muzzle stuck into the ground.

For the command of this extraordinary army the Sirdar had selected Major Stuart-Wortley, whose military ability and almost unique experience of Sudan campaigns marked him out as the proper man for the work of impressing some order and discipline upon the rough and turbulent material of the Friendly Contingents. Lieutenant Wood also accompanied the force as staff officer.

The Gaalin and the other Friendlies crossed over from Wad Hamed, and were ordered to proceed along the river parallel to the advance of the Anglo-Egyptian forces on the opposite bank. The various tribal contingents marched separately under their own sheikhs, and presented a most picturesque appearance across the river as their white-clad columns moved in and out of the green bushes. They first came into touch with the enemy on 29th August, when the village of Gaali was found to be occupied by a small detachment of Jehadieh infantry and Dervish cavalry. These were speedily routed by the Friendlies, who attacked the small force before them in fine style, and captured ten prisoners.

On 31st August three gunboats—the Sultan, Melik, and Fatteh—were ordered to advance up the river from Seg-et-taib and shell the advance post held by the Dervishes on the Kerreri ridge. Before midday the gunboats took up a position opposite Kerreri village, and proceeded to enfilade the Dervish camp on the hill. Some splendid practice was made, and great confusion was produced by the twelve-pounder shells as they burst in rapid succession amongst the enemy, who could be seen rushing about, collecting their property and striking their tents. The camp was soon rendered untenable by our fire, and as the Dervishes fled over the plain towards Omdurman, they were followed by shells from the gunboats, which knocked over about a dozen cavalry.

On 1st September some excellent work was done by an effective co-operation between the gunboats and the Friendlies. At 5.30 a.m. the Sultan, Sheikh, Melik, Fatteh, and Nasr steamed up the right bank of the river and met Major Stuart-Wortley. It was arranged that the gunboats should steam on ahead and shell the villages and forts from the river, while the Friendlies advanced along the bank. At 9.30 the vessels engaged and utterly destroyed a fort to the south of Halfayah. The villages of Hejra el Sharg and Halfayah were next shelled, and as a body of Dervish cavalry emerged into the open ground, some forty or fifty of them were knocked over by shrapnel.

On land, meanwhile, the Irregulars had not been idle. Notwithstanding the shells of the gunboats, several of the villages south of Halfayah were found to be held in considerable force by the enemy. Major Stuart-Wortley drew up his men for the attack, but an unexpected hitch occurred, as the Mersalamieh and Gimiab contingents posted in front did not seem at all disposed to advance against the Dervishes, who were waiting for them behind the shelter of numerous mud-houses. Instead of rushing to the attack, they suddenly halted and danced a "fantasia" instead! Major Stuart-Wortley did not waste time over these faint-hearted warriors, but brought up his trusty Gaalin, who, supported by the other tribes, gallantly attacked house after house, and routed the enemy, killing a large number, including Isa Zachnieh, a cousin of the Khalifa, and losing themselves over sixty killed and wounded.

The Gaalin made very little use of their rifles in the desperate fighting which practically cleared the right bank of the Dervishes. They loaded their guns and fired them into the air, calling upon Allah to direct the course of the bullets! Then throwing their Remingtons on one side, they gripped their broad-bladed spears, and used them so effectively that after the fight the Dervish casualties stood at three hundred and fifty killed, wounded none! At one moment Major Stuart-Wortley and Lieutenant Wood were in great danger. A troop of Baggara horsemen suddenly charged down upon the spot where they were standing, and the Ababdeh Arabs who were with the two officers, instead of waiting for the cavalry, simply turned tail and fled. Immediately after this fighting round Halfayah, two hundred and fifty Shukriyeh Friendlies were dispatched up the Blue Nile in pursuit of the Dervishes who had fled.

By 11.30 on the 1st, the fighting on the right bank was to all intents and purposes over. Five hundred Gaalin and one hundred and seventy-five British infantry, made up of details from the Guards, Rifle Brigade, Highlanders, etc., were embarked on the five gunboats. The original plan had been to land Stuart-Wortley's levies on Tuti Island, but this was abandoned owing to the close proximity of the Omdurman forts—a fact not disclosed on the Intelligence maps—and the presence on the island of a large force of Dervishes.

R. V. Darbishire 1898.

{Click on map for larger image.}

1. Khartum.	6. Mosque.
2. Omdurman.	7. Mahdi's Tomb.
3. Gordon's House.	8. Khalifa's House.
4. Tuti Island.	9. Khojali.
5. Great Wall.	10. Hejra el Sharg.

Meanwhile Major Elmslie's battery of howitzers had taken up a position on the bank opposite the centre of Omdurman, and at 1.30 opened fire on the Mahdi's tomb, at a range of three thousand one hundred and fifty yards. The two first shells missed their mark, but played havoc with the neighbouring buildings; the third wrecked the apex of the dome, and carried away the gilded ornaments which surmounted it. Later on three other shells crashed into the structure, tearing enormous holes in the stonework, and utterly destroying the whole of the interior. Subsequently the howitzers abandoned their artillery practice on tombs and their violation of the dead, and engaged in the more satisfactory demolition of the Omdurman ramparts. Vast breaches were torn in the big wall which ran along the river, and many of the principal buildings were utterly destroyed.

At 2 p.m. the gunboats, with the Sultan leading, advanced farther up the stream in order to shell the forts of Omdurman. As they steamed slowly up past the city, the boats were met by a heavy shell fire, and occasional volleys from Dervish riflemen. The enemy's shells burst all round the boats, but they only succeeded in scoring two hits the whole day, one of which splintered some woodwork on a barge, while the other struck an iron mantlet at an angle and glanced harmlessly off into the water. At such short range the Dervish gunners ought most certainly to have made better practice, but the fact is, that the aim of our quick-firing guns was so marvellously accurate that it was almost impossible for the enemy to work their artillery. Thanks very largely to the skill of two Royal Marine sergeants, our fire silenced one battery after another. In some cases actually two shells out of three penetrated the embrasures of the forts, dismounting the guns inside, and doing terrible execution amongst the Dervish gunners.

While the twelve-pounder guns were demolishing the forts, the Maxims were turned with deadly effect on the Dervishes who were running about the banks. As two more forts in Khartum—one at the juncture of the Blue and White Nile, the other close to Gordon's palace—continued to fire upon us, the gunboats steamed past the ruined city, and speedily converted these last defences of the enemy into mere heaps of rubbish. At 5 p.m. the Friendlies were disembarked on the right bank, where they remained with the howitzer battery and the British detachment under Captain Ferguson of the Northumberland Fusiliers. The five gunboats then returned and took up a position off El Genuaia opposite to the zeriba.

During the battle on the morning of 2nd September, the gunboats were posted at both ends of the zeriba, and made themselves extremely useful. As was mentioned above, the fire of these boats lying off Kerreri village practically saved the Camel Corps from annihilation. Throughout the rest of the fight, too, a galling shell fire was kept up on the Dervish forces advancing from the north-west and, more especially, from the south, over the sandy ridge between Surgham and the Nile.

Meanwhile the howitzer battery had again opened fire at daybreak, and continued its work of destruction amongst the buildings of Omdurman. The effect of the Lyddite shells was so terrible that the Khalifa seems to have abandoned his plan of falling back behind the walls of his capital. This was a most fortunate thing, so far as we were concerned, for if, after the fearful slaughter of his troops in the first half of the engagement, the Khalifa had retreated with ten or fifteen thousand men inside the tortuous streets and crowded houses of Omdurman, we should have had the utmost difficulty in driving the enemy out, and could not, in all probability, have occupied Omdurman on the evening of the 2nd. House-to-house fighting is always a costly and dangerous business, and had it taken place, the prophetic estimate popularly attributed to the Sirdar of "one thousand casualties before Khartum is ours," might well have been realised in fact. As it was, the Dervishes prepared to take their chance in the open desert, rather than await our onset under a continual fire of fifty-pounder shells which burst amid sheets of flame and clouds of dust, and sent huge fragments for hundreds of yards, wrecking every obstacle in their path.

When the battle was over, the gunboats steamed up side by side with the general advance, and were met at Omdurman by a hot rifle fire from Dervishes concealed in the houses along the margin of the river. The streets leading to the southern exit of the town were by this time crowded with a mass of fugitives. In addition to mounted Baggaras and Dervish infantry, a mob of inhabitants—men, women, and children, dragging after them camels, horses, and donkeys laden with goods and chattels—all this confused stream of human beings and animals was pressing madly forward in panic-stricken flight. Orders were given to fire upon the fugitives, and as the artillerymen on the gunboats, from their raised position, could see well over the walls, a deadly fire was opened upon the crowded thoroughfares. One street especially, which led down to the river, was swept by a frightful hail of Maxim bullets, which mowed the poor wretches down in scores.

After taking part in the battle and the subsequent destruction of fugitives, the gunboats proceeded, on the night of the 2nd, about one hundred miles farther up the river, and returned to Omdurman on 5th September with the report that they had seen no more Dervishes.

During the fighting off Omdurman on the 1st, two of the Khalifa's gunboats were destroyed. There was a pathetic interest attached to old vessels like the Bordein and Ismailia, as they had formed a part of Gordon's little fleet in the old days of thirteen years ago! The Bordein had been despatched northwards by Gordon, but, like the Abbas, had been wrecked. She struck on a rock in the Shabluka Cataract, on 30th January 1885, and foundered, but was subsequently raised by the Dervishes. When our gunners came within sight of the vessel, voices were raised to save the old boat for Gordon's sake. "Don't let us fire on the poor old Bordein!" But there is little room for sentiment or loving-kindness amid the exigencies of warfare, and under our fire the Bordein was headed for the shore, and sank as she reached it.

A still worse fate overtook the Ismailia. In some way or other she fouled one of the mines laid down by the Khalifa's engineers in midstream; the mine exploded, and the Ismailia, literally hoist by its own petard, was blown out of the water. Two other mines had also been laid in the channel, near the right bank opposite Omdurman. The ropes connecting these with the shore were afterwards found inside the ruined forts, but all our attempts to explode them were futile. The Dervish steamer which was subsequently captured by the Sirdar on his way to Fashoda was, I believe, the solitary survivor of Gordon's ill-starred flotilla. The Talawahiyah had been sunk off Rojan Island, on 29th January 1885, and was never recovered. The Abbas, which set out from Khartum with Colonel Stewart and Mr. Power on board,—the one last desperate attempt to reopen communications with the North,—was wrecked at Hebbeh, between Abu Hamed and Kirbekan, and now lies there, keel uppermost.

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[CHAPTER VI]
AFTER THE BATTLE

On the morning of 3rd September our troops moved out of Omdurman and encamped on the banks of the river some two miles to the north. The moment I had finished breakfast I made for the Mahdi's tomb. The interior was an absolute wreck. Vast quantities of stones and mortar, torn away by the Lyddite shells, were heaped upon the floor, and of the superstructure over the Mahdi's grave only the wooden framework remained. Some pieces of tawdry drapery which had covered the tomb lay on the ground, and these I brought away. Outside the tomb, a little to the right, I came across a truly awful spectacle. One of the terrible Lyddite shells had burst amongst some unfortunate Arabs near the Khalifa's palace. Eight men lay dead in a ghastly ring, some of them torn by horrid mutilations; but the curious point about some of the bodies was that they were not lying flat, but were sitting on the ground with fearfully contorted limbs and features. Could this be due to the deadly fumes of the picric acid contained in the Lyddite? The stonework of the tomb and the surrounding buildings was often stained yellow by this chemical. Outside in the open street fragments of Koran manuscripts were lying about in every direction.

I then set out to find Cross and the other correspondents. It was said that they were with the Staff, in strange and unwonted proximity to the Sirdar's tent. However, as nobody seemed to know where the Staff was, I wandered about for hours seeking my colleagues in vain.

As I passed along the river a barge drew up alongside to land the bodies of the British soldiers who had been killed. From some misunderstanding a wounded man slid out of the boat amongst the corpses, and began to walk up the bank, but was promptly sent back with the reprimand—"D——n you, what do you mean by coming ashore with this lot? You aren't dead!" Even amid such gruesome surroundings it was quite funny to see the disappointed look of the man as he returned to the barge to take his place under a separate category.

At last I came by accident upon Cross. The poor fellow was again in a state of prostration, and was lying under the blanket-tent of Captain Luther, R.A.M.C., in the camp of the Lancashire Fusiliers. The officers of this battalion had been most kind to Cross, and as the day was terribly hot he remained under the shelter of their tents until the evening, when he rejoined me in our own camp. He told me that on the previous night he had, like the rest of the correspondents, failed to get any food, and had slept on the sand without a blanket, though Steevens, with his usual kindness, had lent him an overcoat when the night air became chilly.

At length, after wandering up and down for miles in the blazing heat, I discovered the whereabouts of our camp out in the desert to the south-west of the town. All my colleagues were here except Villiers. Nobody seemed to know what had become him, and as the hours passed and he failed to turn up we began to get alarmed. His servant had pitched Villiers' umbrella tent, and beside it stood the bicycle, which was disfigured by an honourable scar, for the top of the valve was gone, and Hassan declared that it had been carried away by a Dervish bullet. I mounted the famous machine, intending to go for a ride to the execution ground, where several fine gibbets were standing, but as the back wheel was "buckled" I soon dismounted—with the proud consciousness, however, of being the first cyclist in Omdurman!

The streets of the town were perfectly loathsome. In every direction lay the decaying bodies of dead animals, and the stench was terrible. Moslems, from a curious intermixture of humanity and cruelty, never give a dying animal a coup de grâce, and they seldom take the trouble to bury the carcass. Moreover, in some parts of the town one could scarcely walk fifty yards without coming across the bodies of men, and occasionally, I am sorry to say, those of women and little children. At least five hundred dead people lay scattered about the streets, some destroyed by Lyddite shells, but the majority pierced with bullets. I saw some of these corpses lying in the shallow water near the bank of the river, and as it seemed to be nobody's business to bury them, it is not surprising that our Guardsmen and other soldiers contracted the germs of enteric fever at Omdurman!

Inside the Khalifa's arsenal there were many curious things—spears, bows and arrows, coats of chain mail, machine guns, Krupps, various kinds of ammunition, and other warlike apparatus, ancient and modern. Three carriages of European make were also visible, which were said to have been used by the Khalifa on state occasions, though these vehicles could never have got beyond the main streets, for the simple reason that outside the town no roads exist.

Most of the Dervish ammunition used in the battle seems to have been of home manufacture. All the Martini cartridges I picked up amongst their dead were extremely well made of "solid drawn" brass, and stamped with a Κ and a Π. I imagine that these letters may stand for Khartum and Pentekachi, the unfortunate Greek who succeeded in manufacturing gunpowder for the Mahdi, and was finally blown to atoms by an explosion of the magazine. On a Martini rifle which I secured from the battlefield, the Enfield stamp is still visible. Some disgraceful facts were revealed at the time when Berber was occupied, and the public documents fell into our hands, for, in addition to various offers of assistance addressed to the Khalifa from people in high positions at Cairo, some invoices were discovered which showed clearly that a certain Manchester firm had supplied the Khalifa with lead for the manufacture of bullets! It is difficult to believe that an Englishman could sink so low as to supply his country's enemy with munitions of war for the sake of filthy lucre!

A new bullet, by the way, was used in the recent campaign. Its title is sufficiently significant. It is called the "man-stopping bullet," and simply means that an ordinary .303 Lee-Metford bullet is scooped out at the end to the depth of about half an inch. When this missile strikes an object the hollow nose instantly expands like an umbrella, inflicting a tremendous shock, which was frequently not secured when the ordinary solid bullet, with its enormous velocity (two thousand feet a second at the muzzle), passed clean through an enemy's body, but failed to administer a sufficiently crushing blow. At Krugersdorp an ordinary Lee-Metford bullet was driven right through the brain of a Boer; and so far was the tiny puncture from being immediately fatal, that the Dutchman walked to church next Sunday—though it is true that on the Sunday following he went there again in a coffin. Of course this solid bullet, when it chanced to come in contact with a bone, served its purpose well, and shattered the bone to atoms. The first occasion, I believe, on which the Lee-Metford bullet was fired into a human body was at the well-known Featherstone riots; and I remember seeing a drawing made by a medical man at the time of the foot of one of the rioters, which had been struck. Not only was the lower part of the leg bone completely smashed, but almost every bone in the foot had been broken more or less by the terrific force of the bullet.

À propos of dum-dum bullets, man-stopping bullets, et hoc genus omne, a good deal of false sentiment has been evoked in England and France. The main object of a soldier in battle is to put his opponent out of action, and it is found by experience that the ordinary bullet does not adequately secure this result when employed against barbarous or semi-barbarous enemies. A civilised combatant, when he is struck by a bullet—even if the wound be a comparatively slight one, say through the shoulder—almost invariably sits down on the ground; but the nervous system of the savage is a far less delicate organism, and nothing short of a crushing blow will check his wild onset. Even in the Martini-Henry days scores of Dervishes rushed upon the British troops at Abu Klea and elsewhere, with the blood spurting from seven or eight bullet wounds, and then cut and thrust with deadly effect until loss of blood told, and they fell dead in or about the square. One of the two British officers who lost their lives at the Atbara fight was killed by a large elephant bullet, the hollow base of which had been filled with a fulminate. This was an explosive bullet, quite a distinct species from the missile described above.

The fire from our zeriba, which mowed the Dervishes down in rows and heaps, must have been simply appalling. The ordinary metaphors of "rain" and "hail" are scarcely adequate to describe the awful effect of modern rifles and machine guns when their fire is steady and concentrated. It is rather a wall of lead than a rain, which, as it advances, sweeps everything instantly from its track. There must be a limit to human endurance, one would think, even in the excitement of battle, and the time may well come when human art will prove superior to human courage and discipline, and civilised troops will refuse to expose themselves to what may have become practically the certainty of death or wounds, or, at anyrate, of enormous risk. The educational and social forces at work in modern life certainly do not tend to foster the old-fashioned virtue of unquestioning obedience, or the consolations to be derived from religious faith. Yet it is precisely these two things which alone have often enabled a leader to count with confidence upon a response to his call when he summons his followers to almost certain destruction—the surrender of life and all that life holds dear.

On 4th September, at 9.15 a.m., four gunboats conveyed the Sirdar and various detachments of troops, with most of the correspondents, across the Nile to Khartum. We moved alongside the quay in front of the ruins of Gordon's palace, and the troops formed a rough semicircle, with the Sirdar, his Staff, and the two foreign Attachés inside. Four chaplains took their stand with their faces to the river, ready to conduct a memorial service. At ten o'clock the Union Jack was run up from one of the flagstaffs which surmounted the ruined façade of the palace, and almost immediately afterwards the Crescent flag of Egypt was unfurled. The gunboat Melik fired twenty-one guns, but as no blank ammunition was forthcoming, twenty-one shells were sent screaming up the Nile—a most unique and realistic form of salute! After this hearty cheers were given for Her Gracious Majesty the Queen and His Highness the Khedive. Then came a brief and simple service to the memory of the brave man who, thirteen long years ago, had so often stood on the very terrace which lay in ruins before us, and, hoping against hope, looked northwards over the desert—but in vain—for any sign of help from England! The air of Gordon's favourite hymn was played, and as its cadence fell upon the ears, one's thoughts recalled the words of the exquisite verses—

"I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless,

Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.

. . . . . . .

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, oh abide with me!"

How truly must the spirit of these lines have been felt by Gordon, that noble and sincere Christian, deserted by man, yet doubtless sustained by the abiding presence of his Master in life and death.

During our brief stay at Omdurman every variety of loot was hawked about the camp for sale. Huge shields of hippopotamus hide, spears, swords, old rifles, Mahdist coins, and other trophies of battle or pillage, found ready purchasers. A negro paid me a visit who was clad in chain mail, cut rather after the fashion of a dress coat. There was, indeed, quite a flavour of the Margate sands about the appearance of this Ethiopian, with his striped cotton trousers and his metallic coat, the tails of which, like those of Burnand's hero, "positively swept the ground." These suits of mail were beautifully made of steel rings, and could be purchased for about twenty-five shillings each; but they were very heavy and awkward things to carry about. Everybody brought back a Dervish sword or two, which were often very interesting. Some blades had the famous Ferrara stamp, others were marked by the mail-clad figure which is said to belong to the period of the Crusades, from which, at anyrate, the general pattern of Dervish swords—a straight blade with a plain cross hilt—seems to date. The pretty gibbehs, too, were brought home in large numbers; there were nearly eleven thousand of them available for selection on the sandy plain three miles away! The history of the Dervish gibbeh is rather a quaint one. The original garment was, of course, the plain white cotton coat of the Arab; but the Mahdi, who was somewhat ascetic—in theory, at anyrate, if not in practice—ordered his followers to sew black patches upon their nice white coats, as tokens of humility. But alas for human frailty, what was intended to curb the spiritual pride of the faithful became a direct incentive to the vainglorious adornment of their persons! The ladies of Omdurman were strongly opposed to the dowdiness of the black patches upon their husbands and lovers, and, under the influence of the more æsthetic circles of Dervish society, the white gibbehs were gradually tricked out with gaudy squares of blue, red, and purple.

Many of the dead bodies in the field had rosaries round their necks, usually made of box or sandal wood. Nobody paid much attention to these ornaments, but from one point of view they are interesting. Was the use of a row of beads for religious purposes borrowed from the Christians by the Moslems, or vice versâ? Another curious relic was an insulator from a Dervish field telegraph, which had been worked between a point near Gebel Surgham and Omdurman during the battle. Many of the dead Emirs wore watches, one of which was marked "Dent, London."

Our soldiers seemed to thoroughly enjoy the rest at Omdurman. They had probably some very quaint ideas of our geographical surroundings and the reason for our presence in the Sudan. On 4th September some companies of Sudanese who had been sent up the river in pursuit of the Khalifa were seen returning in the distance with a long string of Dervish prisoners. There was great excitement amongst the British troops; whole battalions ran wildly over the sand expecting to catch a glimpse of the Dervish leader, and I heard one Tommy Atkins say to his comrade, "'Urry up, Bill, come along; they've cotched the bloody Khee-dive!"

In addition to Dervish prisoners who were captured by the active Sudanese, hundreds came in voluntarily and surrendered themselves. Many were wounded more or less seriously, but of the rest a large number were enrolled as soldiers of the Khedive! What amazing versatility! On one day the Dervish rushes boldly against our shells and bullets, and on the next he joins us as a comrade in arms! Some of the French papers declared ungenerously that the Sirdar had armed these Dervish allies in order to dispatch them against Major Marchand. Such an act would under the circumstances have been legitimate, and had these newly enrolled soldiers of the Khedive been given a free hand, "the evacuation of Fashoda" would have been ancient history by this time! But of course no such intention ever entered the Sirdar's head. The brave Marchand certainly deserved a better fate than to be wiped out by ex-Dervishes.

The prisoners were released from their fetters on the night of the battle. Amongst them were a number of jet black Abyssinians, survivors of the sanguinary battle of Galabat. I saw Charles Neufeld, and he looked very little the worse for his stay at Omdurman. A great deal of English sympathy has been wasted on this person. The harrowing stories we have read in the papers of the poor captive languishing in hopeless captivity are sheer nonsense. On two separate occasions Neufeld had the chance of escape, for a clever and courageous Arab called Oman had been dispatched by the Intelligence Department to rescue the captive. Neufeld, however, refused to leave Omdurman unless he was accompanied by a black woman, with whom he lived. This was obviously out of the question. So Father Rossignoli was rescued instead, and brought safely to Assouan.

An infinitely more pathetic case was that of the two Austrian Sisters who had been compelled to marry Greeks. One of these, who was childless, returned to Cairo; but the other, who had borne her husband three children, elected—so I heard—to remain for good at Omdurman. The poor woman felt that she could never face her co-religionists at home after her vows of celibacy had been broken. I remember as I walked along the bazaar on the morning after the fight I noticed a European woman in Arab dress standing amongst a crowd of natives. She looked wistfully and sadly at the British as they passed, and I always regret that I did not speak to her.

Slatin Pasha soon returned from his pursuit of the Khalifa. The Egyptian cavalry had followed the tracks of the fugitive for thirty miles up the river, but as the horses were dead beat and no forage could be landed from the gunboat accompanying the pursuit, owing to a long stretch of marshy ground, the squadrons were compelled to return without the Khalifa. I happened to be strolling past Slatin's tent at the time, and he called me in and told me how terribly disappointed he was at the failure of the pursuit. He was kept very busy all the time we were at Omdurman by continual visits from many old Dervish friends and acquaintances. One day when I was with him a handsome old Arab with a white beard came into the tent, and sinking down without a word, bent his head over Slatin's shoulder and wept. At length he found words to tell us that his only son had been killed in the fighting. "Oh, Hassan," said Slatin, and could get no further—his kind heart was too full of pity; and as he placed his hand on to his old friend's shoulder and tried to soothe his sorrow, I turned away, unable to bear the sight of the father's grief.

As Cross grew no better, and there was little else to do in Omdurman, I asked Colonel Wingate to allow us a passage on the first gunboat leaving for the North. Accordingly, on the morning of the 6th, Cross, René Bull, and myself embarked on the Metemmeh, and steamed away down the river. Nobody was sorry to say good-bye to the repulsive streets of Omdurman.

Two barges packed with the rank and file of the Warwicks were lashed to either side of the Metemmeh, which carried on board Colonel Forbes and the officers of the battalion, together with Lieutenant Clerk of the 21st Lancers. We were all in excellent spirits, and fully expected to reach the Atbara in about thirty hours. As steam and current bore us rapidly past the battlefield in the twilight, the vultures circling over the distant plain and the broken zeriba by the river's bank were the only visible signs which remained to tell of our momentous victory.

We were not destined to reach the Atbara in thirty hours! The sun had set, and the reis had been advised to tie up to the banks for the night; but the obstinate fellow denied the necessity of any stoppage for another hour or two, so we went tearing down the stream at a tremendous pace. Dinner was just over—a curious meal, supported almost entirely by voluntary contributions of tinned meats, rice, jams, etc.—when, without a moment's warning, a tremendous shock sent everything and everybody sprawling over the deck. Loud cries of "We are going over" came from the river, and through the semi-darkness one could see that the troop barge had been wrenched from its lashings by the shock, and was heeling over in a terrible manner. Everybody on board the gunboat shouted "Sit down," "Keep still"; and it was very fine to see how the soldiers immediately obeyed their officers, though for the moment they fully expected to be capsized into the flooded stream. By good luck the detached barge righted itself and remained fixed in midstream, about thirty yards from the gunboat and the other barge.

Nobody quite knew where we were or what had happened, but as it seemed certain that we were not likely to go much further that night, we all made preparations for going to sleep. The upper deck was quite a small affair, and the space at our disposal was curtailed by the presence of a large table and a number of camp chairs. Over these few square yards of deck we had to dispose the recumbent forms of some twenty-six human beings. The result was a sort of Chinese puzzle. I had always heard that Nature, when she had any close packing to do, employed the beautiful simplicity of the hexagon, and suggested a trial of this system; but the theory, owing, probably, to dissimilarities in our lengths and breadths, would not work at all. We lay in wild disorder, but so tightly wedged together that it was impossible to move about when one had finally secured one's berth in this casual ward! A friend's boots gently reposed upon my pillow all night, while my own feet were thrust against the ribs of a transverse form below.

When the sun rose next morning we saw that the incompetent reis had run us right on to a sandy island which is submerged when the Nile is in full flood. The whole of that day was spent in endeavouring to drag the gunboat and the barges off the sandbank. The Nasr, under the command of Lieutenant Hon. H. L. A. Hood, happened to come along, and did her best to help us, but the only hawser available snapped like a thread from the strain put upon it, and the Nasr departed. The troops were then ordered to get into the shallows and try to push the barges off. What had been foreseen by several of us happened! The soldiers managed to shove one of the barges into deep water, and then several of them, unable to check their movements, found themselves out of their depths in the strong current. One poor fellow was drowned under our eyes, and two others were just rescued in a state of utter exhaustion by natives with life-belts. The whole thing was a complete muddle, and we all felt angry at the incompetence and obstinacy which had brought about the needless loss of life.

Another night was spent on this depressing sandbank, and at dinner we became aware that something dreadful had attached itself to the vessel. We looked over the side, and from the space between the gunboat and the left-hand barge emerged the body of an Egyptian cavalry man. The corpse bobbed up and down on the swirling waters in a horribly grotesque fashion. Its spurs had caught the woodwork of the barge for a few moments and delayed its rapid passage down the Nile. I remember we remarked, "Oh, it's only a dead Gyppy," and then went back to our dinner.

Next day we made a desperate effort to get afloat, and finally succeeded. Instead, however, of being the first to reach Atbara Camp, and to secure the earliest train service to Wady Halfa, we had had the mortification of seeing the Seaforth Highlanders pass us the day before.

At Nasri Island I landed to get the tent and other baggage which we had left behind us on leaving Wad Hamed, but was informed that the five ghyassas containing officers' luggage—and our own unfortunate belongings amongst it—had capsized two days before. My precious tent, two Gladstone bags, and a case of stores lay fathoms deep in the Nile, and all the consolation I had was to draw up a pathetic claim for compensation from the impecunious Egyptian War Office.

By the time we arrived at the Atbara, Cross's illness had increased, and his temperature had gone up to 100°. The army surgeon on board the Metemmeh advised him to stay in hospital at the Atbara for a few days before proceeding to Cairo, and the officer in charge of the hospital gave the same advice. I had already heard from another medical man that he did not detect any traces of typhoid symptoms in Cross; so one thought that he was merely suffering from the common feverishness which comes from a "touch of the sun," and passes off after a few days. I remained at the Atbara for a night, and then went on with the Warwicks to Wady Halfa, leaving a servant with Cross, who had arranged to follow by the next train in two days' time.

The remainder of our homeward journey was comparatively uneventful. The bad luck, however, which seemed to follow the Warwicks delayed us for twenty-four hours on our journey to Wady Halfa, for the wretched engines which dragged our cattle pens (first class) and baggage trucks (third class) repeatedly broke down from overheating and lack of grease.

During a short wait at Shellal my servant called my attention to a woman on the bank, who was apparently in great distress, and told me that she was weeping because she had been divorced by her husband. Such cases are often very cruel, for Mohammedan law allows a husband to write his wife a bill of divorcement without pretext of any sort. At the same time, he is bound to maintain her for three months, and her dowry is restored. Many good Moslems deplore the obsolete character of their divorce laws, which have outlived their usefulness. Still, it must not be forgotten that in one respect Moslem wives have for centuries enjoyed a privilege which was not possessed by Englishwomen until a recent date, namely, the absolute control of their own money and property. Female education, too, which is increasing rapidly in the towns, and later on will spread to the country districts, will doubtless serve to improve the status and welfare of native women. Monogamy is already almost universal with the fellahin, and is steadily gaining ground amongst the educated classes. A good deal of false sentiment is often expended by good people in England over the lot of their Mohammedan sisters, but they may rest assured that women all the world over have the amelioration of their condition very largely in their own hands. Further, a very slight acquaintance at first hand with Oriental countries will show one that Moslem home life is full of happiness, and that nowhere in the world is greater devotion lavished by parents upon their children.

At Luxor the blessings of civilisation met us again, in the shape of a nice breakfast at the hotel and a big bath. Most of us had slept more or less in our ordinary clothes for several weeks, and everyone, from the Colonel downwards, wallowed joyfully in an unlimited supply of warm water. As we sat at breakfast, someone told me that a camel had died just near the hotel from the bite of an asp. The snake, a little creature some eight inches long, was lying under the sand, according to its wont, with its head just above the ground. The poor camel trod on it, and was bitten in the foot. It speedily died, swollen to nearly double its ordinary size, and the natives lit a fire over its carcass. The Arabs dread the little asp terribly, and its bite is nearly always fatal. A special antitoxin has been prepared by the Institut Pasteur from the serum of horses bitten by poisonous snakes. A subcutaneous injection of ten cubic centimetres of this fluid is alleged to be a sure specific against the bite of any known species of venomous land-snake. But this preparation is practically useless in the Sudan, as it loses its efficacy if much exposed to light or to a high degree of heat. Nor has it, so far as I know, ever yet been tried in the case of any human being bitten by a deadly snake. I took some with me last year when exploring in Sokotra with the late Mr. Theodore Bent, but despite the glowing accounts of the efficacy of dowa Inglizi and offers of large bakshish, the faith of the natives was never robust enough to allow them to voluntarily submit to a snake bite for experimental purposes.

On the final stage of our railway journey from Luxor to Cairo, Lieutenant Clerk and I shared a carriage between us, and were extremely comfortable. Ali redoubled his efforts in the cooking line, and for our final meal in the train, to which we invited a military chaplain, the Rev. E. H. Pulling, we used up all our remaining tins, and dined off pâté de foie gras, a curried blend of prawns and chicken, and stewed apricots—a good instance of what a clever Arab servant can turn out with a spirit-lamp and a couple of tin saucepans in a crowded third-class carriage.

After waiting four days in Cairo, and receiving a telegram from the Atbara which gave me no cause for the least apprehension about Cross's condition, I left Alexandra on the 17th of September for Marseilles. On board I renewed my acquaintance with Major Stuart-Wortley, and amongst the other passengers were Prince Francis of Teck and Prince Christian Victor. Prince Francis had been very ill throughout the latter part of the campaign, but during the fight had risen from his bed, in spite of medical advice, and worked a Maxim gun with good effect.

We left Marseilles by the morning rapide on the 21st, and as we were crossing the Channel on the 22nd, Prince Christian handed me the Morning Post, and pointed to a paragraph which announced the death of Cross from enteric fever on the 20th.

The news took away for the time being all the joy of one's return. Twice I have been fated to lose my travelling companion by death when the work was finished which we set ourselves to do. Cross was an old Hertford man, who had rowed five in the 'Varsity boat of 1889, and had afterwards been appointed to an assistant mastership at Bedford. He had always been very loyal to his old college, and our successes on the river were largely due to his "coaching." We shall all—seniors and juniors alike—miss him greatly. In spite of constant attacks of illness from exposure to the sun, each of which left him weaker than before, Cross had refused to return from the front, and, as I said above, had actually dragged himself out of hospital in order to be present at the battle. But while his natural vivacity and vigour were to some extent impaired by physical debility, he was always unselfish in the "give and take" of camp life, and bore uncomplainingly the many discomforts which are necessarily experienced by the sick during the advance of an army. Still side by side with his courageous endurance of physical suffering, and the coolness which he showed when under fire for the first time, the central thought which occupied Cross's mind was that of returning to his beloved work at Bedford.

"His was a soul whose master-bias leans

To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes—

More brave for this, that he had much to love!"

The Sudan campaign, which, thanks to the Sirdar's wonderful genius for organisation, has been so thoroughly successful, cannot be regarded as in any sense final. Unless our recovery of the Nile banks as far as Omdurman is followed by the possession of the Bahr-el-Ghazal, we may almost be said to have laboured in vain. If we stayed our hand at Khartum, or even Fashoda, the same remark which Lord Salisbury passed on the French possessions in the Sahara, that "the soil was rather light," would apply equally well to our arid conquests in the Sudan. The so-called French occupation of the Bahr-el-Ghazal must not be allowed to count for anything. Their utter failure as colonisers in French Congo, Senegal, and even Algeria, and the selfish tariffs with which they seek to exclude foreign industry from the regions which they reserve for Frenchmen who never come—these things deprive them of any moral claim to further annexations of vast territories in the interior of Africa. Moreover, the Bahr-el-Ghazal was indubitably a province of Egypt before the Mahdi's revolt, and must be restored to the Khedive intact. Under British control this fertile province will be able to develop its splendid resources. Coffee grows wild, timber abounds, and thousands of square miles are ready for the cultivation of corn, two crops of which can be grown in a single year. In ancient days Egypt was the granary of Europe. Rome and Byzantium were dependent almost entirely upon the Alexandrian corn-ships. In fact, one of the most serious accusations which could be brought against a citizen was that he was carrying on intrigues for the stoppage of these vessels. This actual charge was levied against the great Athanasius himself, and the philosopher Sopater, who was accused of delaying the corn supply by magical rites, was promptly decapitated by Constantine "because he was too clever" (δι' ὑπερβολὴν σοφίας). There is no reason why the Bahr-el-Ghazal, when connected by river and rail with the sea, should not take its place as one of the great corn-growing countries of the world. Again, an exploration of the Nuba region to the north of the province may lead to the discovery of mineral wealth. At anyrate, during an earlier campaign, a Dervish caravan was captured by the forces under Sir Francis Grenfell, and amongst the merchandise was found a large quantity of gold which had been dug out of the Nuba Hills.

But even when the possession and organisation of the Bahr-el-Ghazal has become an accomplished fact, we find ourselves barred by a belt of territory some two hundred miles across, from Uganda to the north of Lake Tanganyika. Despite the vital importance of securing a road between Uganda and Nyassaland, Lord Salisbury allowed Germany to make the western frontier of its East African possessions conterminous with that of the Congo State, and thus completely bar our advance from north or south. But in this case what was lost by the weakness of one Government may be recovered by the firmness of another; and if this result be happily secured, the territories regained to civilisation by Lord Kitchener's genius will be united to our vast possessions in the South, and Mr. Cecil Rhodes' magnificent idea of a British Empire in Africa, stretching from Cairo to the Cape, will at length be realised in actual fact.

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[A BRIEF NOTE ON A FEW ENTOMOLOGICAL SPECIMENS BROUGHT FROM THE SUDAN,
22nd September 1898.]

I have handed over my small collection of insects to Professor Poulton, F.R.S., of Oxford, who has had them set, and has kindly supplied me with materials for the following list, which may possibly be of some interest to any reader interested in Entomology.

Butterflies.

Three specimens of Limnas Chrysippus, a Danaine butterfly, found over all the warmer parts of the Old World. Of these three butterflies, one is the brown type form (Wad Hamed); one the Alcippus or Alcippoides variety, with white hind wings (Wad Hamed); one an Alcippoides, with much less white (near Kerreri).

Three specimens of Belenois mesentina. Two males (Zeidab and Wad Hamed) are typical. The female (near Pyramids of Meroe) is darker than usual. The specimen in the Hope Collection nearest to it comes from Somaliland.

One Teracolus. Very like T. auxo. The specimen is a male, small and white, with orange tip to the fore wing (near Pyramids of Meroe).

Three very small species of Lycænidæ. Two males and two females (two, Kerreri; two, Rojan Island).

Moths.

Noctuæ.—One Grammodes stolida (Battlefield of Omdurman), exactly like the Hope Specimens from India.

One dubious specimen, probably a species of Pandesema (on gunboat near Shabluka).

Bombycidæ.—One small female moth (Luxor), somewhat resembling Trichiura cratægi.

Tineina.—Three small pale specimens (two, on gunboats near Metemmeh; one, Wad Hamed).

Neuroptera.

Trichoptera.—A few species, very pale in colour (Luxor and Abu Ahmed).

Coleoptera.

One Cicindela. A very small and pale species, not represented in the Hope Collection (Wad Hamed).

One Buprestid, namely, Sternocera irregularis. A large brown species, with irregular tufts of straw-coloured hair on elytra and thorax (Um Teref).

One Longicorn. A large black shining Prionus, not represented in Hope Collection.

Heteromera. Two species, as yet uncompared with Hope Collection.

Two Lamellicorns, apparently melolontha, or very similar.

Hemiptera.

One immature form of a large species, pale in colour.

Homoptera.

Fulgoridæ. One small pale species.

Orthoptera.

Gryllidæ. Two pale species.

Acridiidæ. Two pale species.

Hymenoptera.

One winged ant—dark, with sand-coloured patches.

Arachnida—Araneina.

Six species of spiders. One of these is a beautiful mimic of an ant.

The above list is necessarily imperfect. It had to be compiled immediately for the publication of this volume, and there has been no time to properly "work out" many of the species. It is interesting to note the pale tint of so many of these Sudanese insects—a manifest adaptation to environment, for purposes of concealment amid the yellow sand of the desert.

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MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED
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A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS

AND ANNOUNCEMENTS OF
METHUEN AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS: LONDON
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CONTENTS

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FEBRUARY 1899

February 1899.

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Travel and Adventure

THE HIGHEST ANDES. By E. A. FitzGerald. With 40 Illustrations, 10 of which are Photogravures, and a Large Map. Royal 8vo. 30s. net.

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A narrative of the highest climb yet accomplished. The illustrations have been reproduced with the greatest care, and the book, in addition to its adventurous interest, contains appendices of great scientific value.

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The narrative of a bicycle ride right round the world, which covered over 19,000 miles and occupied 774 days. The book is full of adventure and incident, and contains as much matter as the ordinary book of travel published at six times the price.

THE HEART OF ASIA. By F. H. Skrine and E. D. Ross. With Maps and many Illustrations. Large crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.

This is an account, historical, political, economical, and descriptive of Russian Central Asia. The first part of the work contains a concise history of Turkestan, etc. from the earliest times. No such history has hitherto appeared in any European language, and many untranslated Oriental works have been put under contribution by Professor Ross. In the second part Mr. Skrine gives a complete account of Russian Central Asia, with all the latest statistics. Great attention has been paid to the production of accurate maps, and the information contained in this part of the book may be regarded as semi-official.

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Extracts from reviews of this great book, which The Times has called 'one of the greatest books of the century,' will be found on p. 15.

CHITRAL: The Story of a Minor Siege. By Sir G. S. Robertson, K.C.S.I. With 22 Illustrations, 4 Plans, and a Map. A New and Cheaper Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

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A limited edition will also be printed. This will contain 22 of Millais' great paintings reproduced in photogravure, with a case containing an extra set of these Photogravures pulled on India paper. The price of this edition will be £4, 4s. net.

In these two magnificent volumes is contained the authoritative biography of the most distinguished and popular painter of the last half of the century. They contain the story of his extraordinary boyhood, of his early struggles and triumphs, of the founding of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, now first given to the world in authentic detail, of the painting of most of his famous pictures, of his friendships with many of the most distinguished men of the day in art, letters, and politics, of his home life, and of his sporting tastes. There are a large number of letters to his wife describing the circumstances under which his pictures were painted, letters from Her Majesty the Queen, Lord Beaconsfield, Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Watts, Sir William Harcourt, Lord Rosebery, Lord Leighton, etc., etc. Among them are several illustrated letters from Landseer, Leech, Du Maurier, and Mike Halliday. The last letter that Lord Beaconsfield wrote before his death is reproduced in fac-simile. Sir William Harcourt contributes his reminiscences of Millais, and Mr. Val Prinsep has written a long and most interesting chapter to the same purpose.

Not the least attractive and remarkable feature of this book will be the magnificence of its illustrations. No more complete representation of the art of any painter has ever been produced on the same scale. The owners of Sir John Millais' most famous pictures and their copyrights have generously given their consent to their reproduction in his biography, and, in addition to those pictures with which the public is familiar, over two hundred pictures and sketches which have never been reproduced before, and which, in all probability, will never be seen again by the general public, will appear in these pages. The early chapters contain sketches made by Millais at the age of seven. There follow some exquisite drawings made by him during his Pre-Raphaelite period, a large number of sketches and studies made for his great pictures, water colour sketches, pen-and-ink sketches, and drawings, humorous and serious. There are ten portraits of Millais himself, including two by Mr. Watts and Sir Edward Burne Jones. There is a portrait of Dickens, taken after death, and a sketch of D. G. Rossetti. Thus the book will be not only a biography of high interest and an important contribution to the history of English art, but in the best sense of the word, a beautiful picture book.

THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. By Edward Gibbon. A New Edition, edited with Notes, Appendices, and Maps by J. B. Bury, LL.D., Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin. In Seven Volumes. Demy 8vo, gilt top. 8s. 6d. each. Crown 8vo. 6s. each. Vol. VII.

The concluding Volume of this Edition.

EVAGRIUS. Edited by Professor Léon Parmentier of Liége and M. Bidez of Gand. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

[Byzantine Texts.

THE HISTORY OF PSELLUS. By C. Sathas. Demy 8vo.

[Byzantine Texts.

A CONSTITUTIONAL AND POLITICAL HISTORY OF ROME. By T. M. Taylor, M.A., Fellow of Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge, Senior Chancellor's Medallist for Classics, Porson University Scholar, etc., etc. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.

An account of the origin and growth of the Roman Institutions, and a discussion of the various political movements in Rome from the earliest times to the death of Augustus.

A HISTORY OF EGYPT, from the Earliest Times to the Present Day. Edited by W. M. Flinders Petrie, D.C.L., LL.D., Professor of Egyptology at University College. Fully Illustrated. In Six Volumes. Crown 8vo. 6s. each.

Vol. IV. THE EGYPT OF THE PTOLEMIES. J. P. Mahaffy.

Vol. V. ROMAN EGYPT. J. G. Milne.

ANNALS OF SHREWSBURY SCHOOL. By G. W. Fisher, M.A., Assistant Master. With Numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

THE HISTORY OF THE MIDLAND RAILWAY. By Clement Stretton. With many Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

Uniform with Mr. Grinling's 'History of the Great Northern Railway.'

A HISTORY OF THE CHURCH OF CYPRUS. By John Hackett, M.A. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d.

Theology

ST. PAUL, THE MASTER-BUILDER. By Walter Lock, D.D., Warden of Keble College. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

An attempt to popularise the recent additions to our knowledge of St. Paul as a missionary, a statesman and an ethical teacher.

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE BOOKS OF THE BIBLE. By W. H. Bennett, M.A., and W. F. Adeney, M.A. Crown 8vo. 6s.

Oxford Commentaries.

General Editor, Walter Lock, D.D., Warden of Keble College
Dean Ireland's Professor of Exegesis in the University of Oxford.

Messrs. Methuen propose to issue a series of Commentaries upon such Books of the Bible as still seem to need further explanation.

The object of each Commentary is primarily exegetical, to interpret the author's meaning to the present generation. The editors will not deal, except very subordinately, with questions of textual criticism or philology; but taking the English text in the Revised Version as their basis, they will try to combine a hearty acceptance of critical principles with loyalty to the Catholic Faith. It is hoped that in this way the series may be of use both to theological students and to the clergy, and also to the growing number of educated laymen and laywomen who wish to read the Bible intelligently and reverently.

THE BOOK OF JOB. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by E. C. S. Gibson, D.D., Vicar of Leeds. Demy 8vo. 6s.

The Churchman's Bible.

General Editor, J. H. Burn, B.D., Examining Chaplain to the Bishop of Aberdeen.

Messrs. Methuen propose to issue a series of expositions upon most of the books of the Bible. The volumes will be practical and devotional rather than critical in their purpose, and the text of the authorised version will be explained in sections or paragraphs, which will correspond as far as possible with the divisions of the Church Lectionary.

The volumes will be produced in a very handy and tasteful form, and may be obtained in cloth or leather bindings.

The first volume will be:

THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS. Explained by A. W. Robinson, B.D., Vicar of All Hallows, Barking. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. Leather, 3s. net.

Handbooks of Theology.

General Editor, A. Robertson, D.D., Principal of King's College, London.

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF THE CREEDS. By A. E. Burn, Examining Chaplain to the Bishop of Lichfield. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

The Library of Devotion.

Pott 8vo. Cloth 2s.; leather 2s. 6d. net.
NEW VOLUMES.

A SERIOUS CALL TO A DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. By William Law. Edited, with an Introduction by C. Bigg, D.D., late Student of Christ Church.

This is a reprint, word for word and line for line, of the Editio Princeps.

LYRA INNOCENTIUM. By John Keble. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Walter Lock, D.D., Warden of Keble College, Oxford.

This is edited on the same scale as 'The Christian Year.' Dr. Lock has corrected the printed text by collating it with the MS. in the Keble College Library, and has added an Introduction, and an analysis and explanatory notes to each of the more difficult poems.

General Literature

The Arden Shakespeare.

General Editor, Edward Dowden, Litt. D.

Messrs. Methuen have in preparation an Edition of Shakespeare in single Plays. Each play will be edited with a full Introduction, Notes on the text, and a Commentary at the foot of the page.

The first volume will be:

HAMLET. Edited by Edward Dowden. Demy 8vo. 2s. 6d.

The Novels of Charles Dickens.

Crown 8vo. Each Volume, cloth 3s., leather 4s. net.

Messrs. Methuen have in preparation an edition of those novels of Charles Dickens which have now passed out of copyright. Mr. George Gissing, whose critical study of Dickens is both sympathetic and acute, has written an Introduction to each of the books, and a very attractive feature of this edition will be the illustrations of the old houses, inns, and buildings, which Dickens described, and which have now in many instances disappeared under the touch of modern civilisation. Another valuable feature will be a series of topographical notes to each book by Mr. F. G. Kitton. The books will be produced with the greatest care as to printing, paper and binding.

The first volumes will be:

THE PICKWICK PAPERS. With Illustrations by E. H. New. Two Volumes.

NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. With Illustrations by R. J. Williams. Two Volumes.

BLEAK HOUSE. With Illustrations by Beatrice Alcock. Two Volumes.

OLIVER TWIST. With Illustrations by E. H. New. Two Volumes.

The Little Library.

Pott 8vo. Each Volume, cloth 2s.; leather 2s. 6d. net.

Messrs. Methuen intend to produce a series of small books under the above title, containing some of the famous books in English and other literatures, in the domains of fiction, poetry, and belles lettres. The series will also contain several volumes of selections in prose and verse.

The books will be edited with the most sympathetic and scholarly care. Each one will contain an Introduction which will give (1) a short biography of the author, (2) a critical estimate of the book, (3) short bibliographical details. Where they are necessary, short notes will be added at the foot of the page.

The Little Library will ultimately contain complete sets of the novels of W. M. Thackeray, Jane Austen, the sisters Bronté, Mrs. Gaskell and others. It will also contain the best work of many other novelists whose names are household words.

Each book will have a portrait or frontispiece in photogravure, and the volumes will be produced with great care in a style uniform with that of 'The Library of Devotion.'

The first volumes will be:

A LITTLE BOOK OF ENGLISH LYRICS.

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. By Jane Austen. With an Introduction by E. V. Lucas. Two Volumes.

VANITY FAIR. By W. M. Thackeray. With an Introduction by S. Gwynn. Three Volumes.

EOTHEN. By A. W. Kinglake. With an Introduction.

CRANFORD. By Mrs. Gaskell. With an Introduction by E. V. Lucas.

JANE EYRE. By Charlotte Bronté. With an Introduction by R. Bayne. Two Volumes.

The Little Guides.

Pott 8vo, cloth 3s.; leather 3s. 6d. net.
NEW VOLUME.

SHAKESPEARE'S COUNTRY. By B. C. Windle, M.A. Illustrated by E. H. New.

Uniform with Mr. Wells' 'Oxford' and Mr. Thomson's 'Cambridge.'

Fiction

A NEW DEPARTURE IN PUBLISHING.

Messrs. Methuen contemplate a very interesting experiment in publishing. They are about to issue at Sixpence, under the general title of 'Methuen's Library of Fiction,' stories by some of the best known writers of the day. A few books will be reprints, but most will be new works hitherto unpublished in book form.

A considerable number of Sixpenny Editions of old books have already been issued by various publishers, but in no case has the work of an author of high repute been published in the first instance at that price. This Messrs. Methuen will attempt, and the first book thus published will be by E. W. Hornung. Mr. Robert Barr and Mr. Cutliffe Hyne will follow, and later will be published books by Mr. Baring Gould and others. In some cases the same book will be published simultaneously both at Sixpence and at a higher price. Messrs. Methuen recognise the inevitable tendencies of an age of cheap literature. The theatre has its stalls and its pit, the railway its first and its third classes: so the novelist may well have a double audience, and while the wealthy will still pay Six Shillings for their novels, those of limited means will be able to purchase the same book in a decent but less luxurious form.

A NEW NOVEL. By E. W. Hornung. Demy 8vo. 6d.

JENNY BAXTER. By Robert Barr. Demy 8vo. 6d.

---

THE COUNTESS TEKLA. By Robert Barr, Author of 'The Mutable Many.' Crown 8vo. 6s.

A romance of adventure.

THE CAPSINA. By E. F. Benson, Author of 'Dodo.' With Illustrations by G. P. Jacomb-Hood. Crown 8vo. 6s.

THE HUMAN BOY. By Eden Philpotts, Author of 'Children of the Mist.' Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

A series of studies of the English schoolboy, the result of keen observation, and of a most engaging wit.

ANNE MAULEVERER. By Mrs. Caffyn (Iota), Author of 'The Yellow Aster.' Crown 8vo. 6s.

RACHEL. By Jane Helen Findlater, Author of 'The Green Graves of Balgowrie.' Crown 8vo. 6s.

BETTY MUSGRAVE. By Mary Findlater, Author of 'Over the Hills.' Crown 8vo. 6s.

THE PATH OF A STAR. By Sara Jeanette Duncan, Author of 'A Voyage of Consolation.' Crown 8vo. 6s.

THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN. By E. W. Hornung, Author of 'Young Blood.' Crown 8vo. 6s.

THE PATHS OF THE PRUDENT. By J. S. Fletcher, Author of 'When Charles I. was King.' Crown 8vo, 6s.

GILES INGILBY. By W. E. Norris. Crown 8vo. 6s.

ROSE A CHARLITTE. By Marshall Saunders. Crown 8vo. 6s.

A romantic story of Acadie.

ADRIAN ROME. By E. Dowson and A. MOORE, Authors of 'A Comedy of Masks.' Crown 8vo. 6s.

THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED. By Dorothea Gerard, Author of 'Lady Baby,' 'Orthodox,' etc. Crown 8vo. 6s.

LONE PINE. By R. B. Townshend. Crown 8vo. 6s.

A romance of Mexican life.

TALES OF NORTHUMBRIA. By Howard Pease. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

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A CATALOGUE OF

Messrs. Methuen's

PUBLICATIONS

---

Poetry

Rudyard Kipling. BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. By Rudyard Kipling. 47th Thousand. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'Mr. Kipling's verse is strong, vivid, full of character.... Unmistakeable genius rings in every line.'—Times.

'The ballads teem with imagination, they palpitate with emotion. We read them with laughter and tears; the metres throb in our pulses, the cunningly ordered words tingle with life; and if this be not poetry, what is?'—Pall Mall Gazette.

Rudyard Kipling. THE SEVEN SEAS. By Rudyard Kipling. 41st Thousand. Cr. 8vo. Buckram, gilt top. 6s.

'The new poems of Mr. Rudyard Kipling have all the spirit and swing of their predecessors. Patriotism is the solid concrete foundation on which Mr. Kipling has built the whole of his work.'—Times.

'The Empire has found a singer; it is no depreciation of the songs to say that statesmen may have, one way or other, to take account of them.'—Manchester Guardian.

'Animated through and through with indubitable genius.'—Daily Telegraph.

"Q." POEMS AND BALLADS. By "Q." Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'This work has just the faint, ineffable touch and glow that make poetry.'—Speaker.

"Q." GREEN BAYS: Verses and Parodies. By "Q." Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

E. Mackay. A SONG OF THE SEA. By Eric Mackay. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.

'Everywhere Mr. Mackay displays himself the master of a style marked by all the characteristics of the best rhetoric.'—Globe.

H. Ibsen. BRAND. A Drama by Henrik Ibsen. Translated by William Wilson. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'The greatest world-poem of the nineteenth century next to "Faust." It is in the same set with "Agamemnon," with "Lear," with the literature that we now instinctively regard as high and holy.'—Daily Chronicle.

"A. G." VERSES TO ORDER. By "A. G." Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.

'A capital specimen of light academic poetry.'—St. James's Gazette.

James Williams. VENTURES IN VERSE. By James Williams, Fellow of Lincoln College, Oxford. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'In matter and manner the book is admirable.'—Glasgow Herald.

J. G. Cordery. THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER. A Translation by J. G. Cordery. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.

'A spirited, accurate, and scholarly piece of work.'—Glasgow Herald.

Belles Lettres, Anthologies, etc.

R. L. Stevenson. VAILIMA LETTERS. By Robert Louis Stevenson. With an Etched Portrait by William Strang. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. Buckram. 6s.

'A fascinating book.'—Standard.

'Full of charm and brightness.'—Spectator.

'A gift almost priceless.'—Speaker.

'Unique in Literature.'—Daily Chronicle.

G. Wyndham. THE POEMS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by George Wyndham, M.P. Demy 8vo. Buckram, gilt top. 10s. 6d.

This edition contains the 'Venus,' 'Lucrece,' and Sonnets, and is prefaced with an elaborate introduction of over 140 pp.

'One of the most serious contributions to Shakespearian criticism that have been published for some time.'—Times.

'A scholarly and interesting contribution to literature.'—Literature.

'We have no hesitation in describing Mr. George Wyndham's introduction as a masterly piece of criticism, and all who love our Elizabethan literature will find a very garden of delight in it.'—Spectator.

'Mr. Wyndham's notes are admirable, even indispensable.'—Westminster Gazette.

W. E. Henley. ENGLISH LYRICS. Selected and Edited by W. E. Henley. Crown 8vo. Buckram, gilt top. 6s.

'It is a body of choice and lovely poetry.'—Birmingham Gazette.

Henley and Whibley. A BOOK OF ENGLISH PROSE. Collected by W. E. Henley and Charles Whibley. Crown 8vo. Buckram, gilt top. 6s.

'Quite delightful. A greater treat for those not well acquainted with pre-Restoration prose could not be imagined.'—Athenæum.

H. C. Beeching. LYRA SACRA: An Anthology of Sacred Verse. Edited by H. C. Beeching, M.A. Crown 8vo. Buckram. 6s.

'A charming selection, which maintains a lofty standard of excellence.'—Times.

"Q." THE GOLDEN POMP. A Procession of English Lyrics. Arranged by A. T. Quiller Couch. Crown 8vo. Buckram. 6s.

'A delightful volume: a really golden "Pomp."'—Spectator.

W. B. Yeats. AN ANTHOLOGY OF IRISH VERSE. Edited by W. B. Yeats. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'An attractive and catholic selection.'—Times.

G. W. Steevens. MONOLOGUES OF THE DEAD. By G. W. Steevens. Foolscap 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'The effect is sometimes splendid, sometimes bizarre, but always amazingly clever.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

W. M. Dixon. A PRIMER OF TENNYSON. By W. M. Dixon, M.A. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d.

'Much sound and well-expressed criticism. The bibliography is a boon.'—Speaker.

W. A. Craigie. A PRIMER OF BURNS. By W. A. Craigie. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.

'A valuable addition to the literature of the poet.'—Times.

L. Magnus. A PRIMER OF WORDSWORTH. By Laurie Magnus. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.

'A valuable contribution to Wordsworthian literature.'—Literature.

Sterne. THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. By Lawrence Sterne. With an Introduction by Charles Whibley, and a Portrait. 2 vols. 7s.

'Very dainty volumes are these: the paper, type, and light-green binding are all very agreeable to the eye.'—Globe.

Congreve. THE COMEDIES OF WILLIAM CONGREVE. With an Introduction by G. S. Street, and a Portrait. 2 vols. 7s.

Morier. THE ADVENTURES OF HAJJI BABA OF ISPAHAN. By James Morier. With an Introduction by E. G. Browne, M.A., and a Portrait. 2 vols. 7s.

Walton. THE LIVES OF DONNE, WOTTON, HOOKER, HERBERT AND SANDERSON. By Izaak Walton. With an Introduction by Vernon Blackburn, and a Portrait. 3s. 6d.

Johnson. THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS. By Samuel Johnson, LL.D. With an Introduction by J. H. Millar, and a Portrait. 3 vols. 10s. 6d.

Burns. THE POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS. Edited by Andrew Lang and W. A. Craigie. With Portrait. Second Edition. Demy 8vo, gilt top. 6s.

This edition contains a carefully collated Text, numerous Notes, critical and textual, a critical and biographical Introduction, and a Glossary.

'Among editions in one volume, this will take the place of authority.'—Times.

F. Langbridge. BALLADS OF THE BRAVE; Poems of Chivalry, Enterprise, Courage, and Constancy. Edited by Rev. F. Langbridge. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. School Edition. 2s. 6d.

'A very happy conception happily carried out. These "Ballads of the Brave" are intended to suit the real tastes of boys, and will suit the taste of the great majority.'—Spectator.

'The book is full of splendid things.'—World.

Illustrated Books

John Bunyan. THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. By John Bunyan. Edited, with an Introduction, by C. H. Firth, M.A. With 39 Illustrations by R. Anning Bell. Crown 8vo. 6s.

This book contains a long Introduction by Mr. Firth, whose knowledge of the period is unrivalled; and it is lavishly illustrated.

'The best "Pilgrim's Progress."'—Educational Times.

'A choice edition.'—Westminster Gazette.

F. D. Bedford. NURSERY RHYMES. With many Coloured Pictures by F. D. Bedford. Super Royal 8vo. 5s.

'An excellent selection of the best known rhymes, with beautifully coloured pictures exquisitely printed.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

S. Baring Gould. A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES retold by S. Baring Gould. With numerous Illustrations and Initial Letters by Arthur J. Gaskin. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. Buckram. 6s.

'Mr. Baring Gould is deserving of gratitude, in re-writing in simple style the old stories that delighted our fathers and grandfathers.'—Saturday Review.

S. Baring Gould. OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES. Collected and edited by S. Baring Gould. With Numerous Illustrations by F. D. Bedford. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. Buckram. 6s.

'A charming volume.'—Guardian.

S. Baring Gould. A BOOK OF NURSERY SONGS AND RHYMES. Edited by S. Baring Gould, and Illustrated by the Birmingham Art School. Buckram, gilt top. Crown 8vo. 6s.

H. C. Beeching. A BOOK OF CHRISTMAS VERSE. Edited by H. C. Beeching, M.A., and Illustrated by Walter Crane. Cr. 8vo. gilt top. 3s. 6d.

'An anthology which, from its unity of aim and high poetic excellence, has a better right to exist than most of its fellows.'—Guardian.

History

Gibbon. THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. By Edward Gibbon. A New Edition, Edited with Notes, Appendices,

and Maps, by J. B. Bury, LL.D., Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin. In Seven Volumes. Demy 8vo. Gilt top. 8s. 6d. each. Also Cr. 8vo. 6s. each. Vols. I., II., III., IV., V., and VI.

'The time has certainly arrived for a new edition of Gibbon's great work.... Professor Bury is the right man to undertake this task. His learning is amazing, both in extent and accuracy. The book is issued in a handy form, and at a moderate price, and it is admirably printed.'—Times.

'This edition is a marvel of erudition and critical skill, and it is the very minimum of praise to predict that the seven volumes of it will supersede Dean Milman's as the standard edition of our great historical classic.'—Glasgow Herald.

'At last there is an adequate modern edition of Gibbon.... The best edition the nineteenth century could produce.'—Manchester Guardian.

Flinders Petrie. A HISTORY OF EGYPT, from the Earliest Times to the Present Day. Edited by W. M. Flinders Petrie, D.C.L., LL.D., Professor of Egyptology at University College. Fully Illustrated. In Six Volumes. Cr. 8vo. 6s. each.

Vol. I. Prehistoric Times to XVIth Dynasty. W. M. F. Petrie. Third Edition.

Vol. II. The XVIIth and XVIIIth Dynasties. W. M. F. Petrie. Second Edition.

'A history written in the spirit of scientific precision so worthily represented by Dr. Petrie and his school cannot but promote sound and accurate study, and supply a vacant place in the English literature of Egyptology.'—Times.

Flinders Petrie. RELIGION AND CONSCIENCE IN ANCIENT EGYPT. By W. M. Flinders Petrie, D.C.L., LL.D. Fully Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.

'The lectures will afford a fund of valuable information for students of ancient ethics.'—Manchester Guardian.

Flinders Petrie. SYRIA AND EGYPT, FROM THE TELL EL AMARNA TABLETS. By W. M. Flinders Petrie, D.C.L., LL.D. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.

'A marvellous record. The addition made to our knowledge is nothing short of amazing.'—Times.

Flinders Petrie. EGYPTIAN TALES. Edited by W. M. Flinders Petrie. Illustrated by Tristram Ellis. In Two Volumes. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. each.

'Invaluable as a picture of life in Palestine and Egypt.'—Daily News.

Flinders Petrie. EGYPTIAN DECORATIVE ART. By W. M. Flinders Petrie. With 120 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'In these lectures he displays rare skill in elucidating the development of decorative art in Egypt.'—Times.

C. W. Oman. A HISTORY OF THE ART OF WAR. Vol. II.: The Middle Ages, from the Fourth to the Fourteenth Century. By C. W. Oman, M.A., Fellow of All Souls', Oxford. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 21s.

'The book is based throughout upon a thorough study of the original sources, and will be an indispensable aid to all students of mediæval history.'—Athenæum.

'The whole art of war in its historic evolution has never been treated on such an ample and comprehensive scale, and we question if any recent contribution to the exact history of the world has possessed more enduring value.'—Daily Chronicle.

S. Baring Gould. THE TRAGEDY OF THE CÆSARS. With numerous Illustrations from Busts, Gems, Cameos, etc. By S. Baring Gould. Fourth Edition. Royal 8vo. 15s.

'A most splendid and fascinating book on a subject of undying interest. The great feature of the book is the use the author has made of the existing portraits of the Caesars and the admirable critical subtlety he has exhibited in dealing with this line of research. It is brilliantly written, and the illustrations are supplied on a scale of profuse magnificence.'—Daily Chronicle.

F. W. Maitland. CANON LAW IN ENGLAND. By F. W. Maitland, LL.D., Downing Professor of the Laws of England in the University of Cambridge. Royal 8vo. 7s. 6d.

'Professor Maitland has put students of English law under a fresh debt. These essays are landmarks in the study of the history of Canon Law.'—Times.

H. de B. Gibbins. INDUSTRY IN ENGLAND: HISTORICAL OUTLINES. By H. de B. Gibbins, M.A., D. Litt. With 5 Maps. Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

H. E. Egerton. A HISTORY OF BRITISH COLONIAL POLICY. By H. E. Egerton, M.A. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d.

'It is a good book, distinguished by accuracy in detail, clear arrangement of facts, and a broad grasp of principles.—Manchester Guardian.

'Able, impartial, clear.... A most valuable volume.'—Athenæum.

Albert Sorel. THE EASTERN QUESTION IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. By Albert Sorel, of the French Academy. Translated by F. C. Bramwell, M.A., with an Introduction by C. R. L. Fletcher, Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford. With a Map. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'The author's insight into the character and motives of the leading actors in the drama gives the work an interest uncommon in books based on similar material.'—Scotsman.

C. H. Grinling. A HISTORY OF THE GREAT NORTHERN RAILWAY, 1845-95. By Charles H. Grinling. With Maps and Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

'Admirably written, and crammed with interesting facts.'—Daily Mail.

'The only adequate history of a great English railway company.'—Times.

'Mr. Grinling has done for a Railway what Macaulay did for English History.'—The Engineer.

W. Sterry. ANNALS OF ETON COLLEGE. By W. Sterry, M.A. With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.

'A treasury of quaint and interesting reading. Mr. Sterry has by his skill and vivacity given these records new life.—Academy.

'A most attractive and admirably illustrated account.'—Daily Chronicle.

J. Sargeaunt. ANNALS OF WESTMINSTER SCHOOL. By J. Sargeaunt, M.A., Assistant Master. With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.

A. Clark. THE COLLEGES OF OXFORD: Their History and their Traditions. By Members of the University. Edited by A. Clark, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Lincoln College. 8vo. 12s. 6d.

'A work which will be appealed to for many years as the standard book.'—Athenæum.

Perrens. THE HISTORY OF FLORENCE FROM 1434 TO 1492. By F. T. Perrens. 8vo. 12s. 6d.

A history of the domination of Cosimo, Piero, and Lorenzo de Medicis.

J. Wells. A SHORT HISTORY OF ROME. By J. Wells, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Wadham Coll., Oxford. Second and Revised Edition. With 3 Maps. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

This book is intended for the Middle and Upper Forms of Public Schools and for Pass Students at the Universities. It contains copious Tables, etc.

'An original work written on an original plan, and with uncommon freshness and vigour.'—Speaker.

O. Browning. A SHORT HISTORY OF MEDIÆVAL ITALY, A.D. 1250-1530. By Oscar Browning, Fellow and Tutor of King's College, Cambridge. In Two Volumes. Cr. 8vo. 5s. each.

Vol. i. 1250-1409.—Guelphs and Ghibellines.

Vol. ii. 1409-1530.—The Age of the Condottieri.

'Mr. Browning is to be congratulated on the production of a work of immense labour and learning.'—Westminster Gazette.

O'Grady. THE STORY OF IRELAND. By Standish O'Grady, Author of 'Finn and his Companions.' Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.

Biography

S. Baring Gould. THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. By S. Baring Gould. With over 450 Illustrations in the Text and 12 Photogravure Plates. Large quarto. Gilt top. 36s.

'The best biography of Napoleon in our tongue, nor have the French as good a biographer of their hero. A book very nearly as good as Southey's "Life of Nelson."'—Manchester Guardian.

'The main feature of this gorgeous volume is its great wealth of beautiful photogravures and finely-executed wood engravings, constituting a complete pictorial chronicle of Napoleon I.'s personal history from the days of his early childhood at Ajaccio to the date of his second interment.'—Daily Telegraph.

'Nearly all the illustrations are real contributions to history.'—Westminster Gazette.

P. H. Colomb. MEMOIRS OF ADMIRAL SIR A. COOPER KEY. By Admiral P. H. Colomb. With a Portrait. Demy 8vo. 16s.

'An interesting and adequate biography of one who for a quarter of a century had a prominent part in the administration of the Navy. The whole book, in fact, is one of the greatest interest—peculiarly so, it may be, to the naval officer, but also to the average taxpayer and the reading public.'—Times.

Morris Fuller. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF JOHN DAVENANT, D.D. (1571-1641), Bishop of Salisbury. By Morris Fuller, B.D. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

J. M. Rigg. ST. ANSELM OF CANTERBURY: A Chapter in the History of Religion. By J. M. Rigg. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.

'Mr. Rigg has told the story of the life with scholarly ability, and has contributed an interesting chapter to the history of the Norman period.'—Daily Chronicle.

F. W. Joyce. THE LIFE OF SIR FREDERICK GORE OUSELEY. By F. W. Joyce, M.A. 7s. 6d.

'This book has been undertaken in quite the right spirit, and written with sympathy, insight, and considerable literary skill.'—Times.

W. G. Collingwood. THE LIFE OF JOHN RUSKIN. By W. G. Collingwood, M.A. With Portraits, and 13 Drawings by Mr. Ruskin. Second Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 32s.

'No more magnificent volumes have been published for a long time.'—Times.

'It is long since we had a biography with such delights of substance and of form. Such a book is a pleasure for the day, and a joy for ever.'—Daily Chronicle.

C. Waldstein. JOHN RUSKIN. By Charles Waldstein, M.A. With a Photogravure Portrait, Post 8vo. 5s.

'A thoughtful and well-written criticism of Ruskin's teaching.'—Daily Chronicle.

A. M. F. Darmesteter. THE LIFE OF ERNEST RENAN. By Madame Darmesteter. With Portrait. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

'A polished gem of biography, superior in its kind to any attempt that has been made of recent years in England. Madame Darmesteter has indeed written for English readers "The Life of Ernest Renan."'—Athenæum.

'It is interpenetrated with the dignity and charm, the mild, bright, classical grace of form and treatment that Renan himself so loved; and it fulfils to the uttermost the delicate and difficult achievement it sets out to accomplish.'—Academy.

W. H. Hutton. THE LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. By W. H. Hutton, M.A. With Portraits. Cr. 8vo. 5s.

'The book lays good claim to high rank among our biographies. It is excellently even lovingly, written.'—Scotsman.

'An excellent monograph.'—Times.

Travel, Adventure and Topography

Sven Hedin. THROUGH ASIA. By Sven Hedin, Gold Medallist of the Royal Geographical Society. With 300 Illustrations from Sketches and Photographs by the Author, and Maps. 2 vols. Royal 8vo. 36s. net.

'One of the greatest books of the kind issued during the century. It is impossible to give an adequate idea of the richness of the contents of this book, nor of its abounding attractions as a story of travel unsurpassed in geographical and human interest. Much of it is a revelation. Altogether the work is one which in solidity, novelty, and interest must take a first rank among publications of its class.'—Times.

'In these magnificent volumes we have the most important contribution to Central Asian geography made for many years. Intensely interesting as a tale of travel.'—Spectator.

'The whole story of the desert adventure is worthy to be added to the classics of its kind.'—World.

'These volumes are of absorbing and fascinating interest, their matter is wonderful, and Dr. Hedin's style is surcharged with strong and alluring personality. No romance exceeds in its intense and enthralling interest this story.'—Birmingham Post.

'One of the most remarkable books of travel of the century.'—Daily Chronicle.

'Profoundly interesting.'—Academy.

'A memorable book, gigantic of design, magnificent in execution, and without doubt one of the outstanding travel-volumes of the century.'—Black and White.

'Let any one who is desirous to learn about the wonderful continent of Asia as no one else can teach him, buy and read this work.'—Vanity Fair.

R. E. Peary. NORTHWARD OVER THE GREAT ICE. By R. E. Peary, Gold Medallist of the Royal Geographical Society. With over 800 Illustrations. 2 vols. Royal 8vo. 32s. net.

'The book is full of interesting matter—a tale of brave deeds simply told; abundantly illustrated with prints and maps.'—Standard.

'His book will take its place among the permanent literature of Arctic exploration.'—Times.

'It yields neither in interest nor in ability to Nansen's "Farthest North," while its results are no less valuable.'—Glasgow Herald.

'Crowded with adventures and intensely interesting.'—World.

'An exciting and thoroughly well-arranged book.'—St. James's Gazette.

G. S. Robertson. CHITRAL: The Story of a Minor Siege. By Sir G. S. Robertson, K.C.S.I. With numerous Illustrations and a Map. Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

'It is difficult to imagine the kind of person who could read this brilliant book without emotion. The story remains immortal—a testimony imperishable. We are face to face with a great book.'—Illustrated London News.

'A book which the Elizabethans would have thought wonderful. More thrilling, more piquant, and more human than any novel.'—Newcastle Chronicle.

'One of the most stirring military narratives written in our time.'—Times.

'A masterpiece of narrative.'—Daily Chronicle.

'As fascinating as Sir Walter Scott's best fiction.'—Daily Telegraph.

'Full of dashing feats of courage as any romance.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

'Not since the appearance of Lord Roberts's "Forty-one Years" have we had a record of Indian warfare which can be compared with this glowing and moving story.'—Daily Mail.

'The enthusiastic admiration of the reader cannot fail to be aroused.'—Morning Post.

'A classic of frontier literature.'—Scotsman.

'Any one proud of his name as Englishman may read in these stirring chapters abundant justification for his pride.'—Globe.

'A very fascinating, a singularly delightful book.'—Glasgow Herald.

'A noble story, nobly told.'—Punch.

'Every page is quick with heroism.'—Outlook.

H. H. Johnston. BRITISH CENTRAL AFRICA. By Sir H. H. Johnston, K.C.B. With nearly Two Hundred Illustrations, and Six Maps. Second Edition. Crown 4to. 18s. net.

'A fascinating book, written with equal skill and charm—the work at once of a literary artist and of a man of action who is singularly wise, brave, and experienced. It abounds in admirable sketches from pencil.'—Westminster Gazette.

'A delightful book ... collecting within the covers of a single volume all that is known of this part of our African domains. The voluminous appendices are of extreme value.'—Manchester Guardian.

L. Decle. THREE YEARS IN SAVAGE AFRICA. By Lionel Decle. With 100 Illustrations and 5 Maps. Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.

'A fine, full book.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

'Abounding in thrilling adventures.'—Daily Telegraph.

'Its bright pages give a better general survey of Africa from the Cape to the Equator than any single volume that has yet been published.'—Times.

'A delightful book.'—Academy.

'Unquestionably one of the most interesting books of travel which have recently appeared.'—Standard.

A. Hulme Beaman. TWENTY YEARS IN THE NEAR EAST. By A. Hulme Beaman. Demy 8vo. With Portrait. 10s. 6d.

'One of the most entertaining books that we have had in our hands for a long time. It is unconventional in a high degree; it is written with sagacious humour; it is full of adventures and anecdotes.'—Daily Chronicle.

'Packed with incident and eminently readable.'—Critic.

Henri of Orleans. FROM TONKIN TO INDIA. By Prince Henri of Orleans. Translated by Hamley Bent, M.A. With 100 Illustrations and a Map. Cr. 4to, gilt top. 25s.

R. S. S. Baden-Powell. THE DOWNFALL OF PREMPEH. A Diary of Life in Ashanti, 1895. By Colonel Baden-Powell. With 21 Illustrations and a Map. Cheaper Edition. Large Crown 8vo. 6s.

'A compact, faithful, most readable record of the campaign.'—Daily News.

R. S. S. Baden-Powell. THE MATABELE CAMPAIGN, 1896. By Col. Baden-Powell. With nearly 100 Illustrations. Cheaper Edition. Large Crown 8vo. 6s.

'A straightforward account of a great deal of plucky work.'—Times.

S. L. Hinde. THE FALL OF THE CONGO ARABS. By S. L. Hinde. With Plans, etc. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d.

A. St. H. Gibbons. EXPLORATION AND HUNTING IN CENTRAL AFRICA. By Major A. St. H. Gibbons. With full-page Illustrations by C. Whymper, and Maps. Demy 8vo. 15s.

'His book is a grand record of quiet, unassuming, tactful resolution. His adventures were as various as his sporting exploits were exciting.'—Times.

E. H. Alderson. WITH THE MASHONALAND FIELD FORCE, 1896. By Lieut.-Colonel Alderson. With numerous Illustrations and Plans. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

'A clear, vigorous, and soldier-like narrative.'—Scotsman.

Seymour Vandeleur. CAMPAIGNING ON THE UPPER NILE AND NIGER. By Lieut. Seymour Vandeleur. With an Introduction by Sir G. Goldie, K.C.M.G. With 4 Maps, Illustrations, and Plans. Large Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.

'Upon the African question there is no book procurable which contains so much of value as this one.'—Guardian.

Lord Fincastle. A FRONTIER CAMPAIGN. By Viscount Fincastle, V.C., and Lieut. P. C. Elliott-Lockhart. With a Map and 16 Illustrations. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'An admirable book, and a really valuable treatise on frontier war.'—Athenæum.

E. N. Bennett. THE DOWNFALL OF THE DERVISHES: A Sketch of the Sudan Campaign of 1898. By E. N. Bennett, Fellow of Hertford College. With Four Maps and a Photogravure Portrait of the Sirdar. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

J. K. Trotter. THE NIGER SOURCES. By Colonel J. K. Trotter, R.A. With a Map and Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 5s.

'A most interesting as well as a lucidly and modestly written book.'—Spectator.

Michael Davitt. LIFE AND PROGRESS IN AUSTRALASIA. By Michael Davitt, M.P. With 2 Maps. Crown 8vo. 6s. 500 pp.

'One of the most valuable contributions to our store of Imperial literature that has been published for a very long time.—Pall Mall Gazette.

W. Crooke. THE NORTH-WESTERN PROVINCES OF INDIA: Their Ethnology and Administration. By W. Crooke. With Maps and Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

'A carefully and well-written account of one of the most important provinces of the Empire. Mr. Crooke deals with the land in its physical aspect, the province under Hindoo and Mussulman rule, under British rule, its ethnology and sociology, its religious and social life, the land and its settlement, and the native peasant. The illustrations are good, and the map is excellent.'—Manchester Guardian.

A. Boisragon. THE BENIN MASSACRE. By Captain Boisragon. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'If the story had been written four hundred years ago it would be read to-day as an English classic.'—Scotsman.

'If anything could enhance the horror and the pathos of this remarkable book it is the simple style of the author, who writes as he would talk, unconscious of his own heroism, with an artlessness which is the highest art.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

H. S. Cowper. THE HILL OF THE GRACES: or, the Great Stone Temples of Tripoli. By H. S. Cowper, F.S.A. With Maps, Plans, and 75 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

'Forms a valuable chapter of what has now become quite a large and important branch of antiquarian research.'—Times.

W. Kinnaird Rose. WITH THE GREEKS IN THESSALY. By W. Kinnaird Rose, Reuter's Correspondent. With Plans and 23 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 6s.

W. B. Worsfold. SOUTH AFRICA. By W. B. Worsfold, M.A. With a Map. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

'A monumental work compressed into a very moderate compass.'—World.

Naval and Military

G. W. Steevens. NAVAL POLICY. By G. W. Steevens. Demy 8vo. 6s.

This book is a description of the British and other more important navies of the world, with a sketch of the lines on which our naval policy might possibly be developed.

'An extremely able and interesting work.'—Daily Chronicle.

D. Hannay. A SHORT HISTORY OF THE ROYAL NAVY, From Early Times to the Present Day. By David Hannay. Illustrated. 2 Vols. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. each. Vol. I., 1200-1688.

'We read it from cover to cover at a sitting, and those who go to it for a lively and brisk picture of the past, with all its faults and its grandeur, will not be disappointed. The historian is endowed with literary skill and style.'—Standard.

'We can warmly recommend Mr. Hannay's volume to any intelligent student of naval history. Great as is the merit of Mr. Hannay's historical narrative, the merit of his strategic exposition is even greater.'—Times.

C. Cooper King. THE STORY OF THE BRITISH ARMY. By Colonel Cooper King. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.

'An authoritative and accurate story of England's military progress.'—Daily Mail.

R. Southey. ENGLISH SEAMEN (Howard, Clifford, Hawkins, Drake, Cavendish). By Robert Southey. Edited, with an Introduction, by David Hannay. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'Admirable and well-told stories of our naval history.'—Army and Navy Gazette.

'A brave, inspiriting book.'—Black and White.

W. Clark Russell. THE LIFE OF ADMIRAL LORD COLLINGWOOD. By W. Clark Russell. With Illustrations by F. Brangwyn. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'A book which we should like to see in the hands of every boy in the country.'—St. James's Gazette.

'A really good book.'—Saturday Review.

E. L. S. Horsburgh. THE CAMPAIGN OF WATERLOO. By E. L. S. Horsburgh, B.A. With Plans. Crown 8vo. 5s.

'A brilliant essay—simple, sound, and thorough.'—Daily Chronicle.

H. B. George. BATTLES OF ENGLISH HISTORY. By H. B. George, M.A., Fellow of New College, Oxford. With numerous Plans. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

'Mr. George has undertaken a very useful task—that of making military affairs intelligible and instructive to non-military readers—and has executed it with a large measure of success.'—Times.

General Literature

S. Baring Gould. OLD COUNTRY LIFE. By S. Baring Gould. With Sixty-seven Illustrations. Large Cr. 8vo. Fifth Edition. 6s.

'"Old Country Life," as healthy wholesome reading, full of breezy life and movement, full of quaint stories vigorously told, will not be excelled by any book to be published throughout the year. Sound, hearty, and English to the core.'—World.

S. Baring Gould. AN OLD ENGLISH HOME. By S. Baring Gould. With numerous Plans and Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'The chapters are delightfully fresh, very informing, and lightened by many a good story. A delightful fireside companion.'—St. James's Gazette.

S. Baring Gould. HISTORIC ODDITIES AND STRANGE EVENTS. By S. Baring Gould. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'A collection of exciting and entertaining chapters. Delightful reading.'—Times.

S. Baring Gould. FREAKS OF FANATICISM. By S. Baring Gould. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

S. Baring Gould. A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG: English Folk Songs with their Traditional Melodies. Collected and arranged by S. Baring Gould and H. F. Sheppard. Demy 4to. 6s.

S. Baring Gould. SONGS OF THE WEST: Traditional Ballads and Songs of the West of England, with their Melodies. Collected by S. Baring Gould, M.A., and H. F. Sheppard, M.A. In 4 Parts. Parts I., II., III., 3s. each. Part IV., 5s. In one Vol., French morocco, 15s.

'A rich collection of humour, pathos, grace, and poetic fancy.'—Saturday Review.

S. Baring Gould. YORKSHIRE ODDITIES AND STRANGE EVENTS. By S. Baring Gould. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

S. Baring Gould. STRANGE SURVIVALS AND SUPERSTITIONS. By S. Baring Gould. Cr. 8vo. Second Edition. 6s.

S. Baring Gould. THE DESERTS OF SOUTHERN FRANCE. By S. Baring Gould. 2 vols. Demy 8vo. 32s.

Cotton Minchin. OLD HARROW DAYS. By J. G. Cotton Minchin. Cr. 8vo. Second Edition. 5s.

'This book is an admirable record.'—Daily Chronicle.

W. E. Gladstone. THE SPEECHES OF THE RT. HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P. Edited by A. W. Hutton, M.A., and H. J. Cohen, M.A. With Portraits. Demy 8vo. Vols. IX. and X., 12s. 6d. each.

E. V. Zenker. ANARCHISM. By E. V. Zenker. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.

'Herr Zenker has succeeded in producing a careful and critical history of the growth of Anarchist theory. He is to be congratulated upon a really interesting work.'—Literature.

H. G. Hutchinson. THE GOLFING PILGRIM. By Horace G. Hutchinson. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'Full of useful information with plenty of good stories.'—Truth.

'Without this book the golfer's library will be incomplete.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

'It will charm all golfers.'—Times.

J. Wells. OXFORD AND OXFORD LIFE. By Members of the University. Edited by J. Wells, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Wadham College. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'We congratulate Mr. Wells on the production of a readable and intelligent account of Oxford as it is at the present time, written by persons who are possessed of a close acquaintance with the system and life of the University.'—Athenæum.

J. Wells. OXFORD AND ITS COLLEGES. By J. Wells, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Wadham College. Illustrated by E. H. New. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. Leather. 3s 6d. net.

'An admirable and accurate little treatise, attractively illustrated.'—World.

'A luminous and tasteful little volume.'—Daily Chronicle.

'Exactly what the intelligent visitor wants.'—Glasgow Herald.

A. H. Thompson. CAMBRIDGE AND ITS COLLEGES. By A. Hamilton Thompson. With Illustrations by E. H. New. Pott 8vo. 3s. Leather. 3s. 6d. net.

This book is uniform with Mr. Wells' very successful book, 'Oxford and its Colleges.'

'It is brightly written and learned, and is just such a book as a cultured visitor needs.'—Scotsman.

'A very neat and tasteful little volume, intelligently condensing all available information.'—Literature.

C. G. Robertson. VOCES ACADEMICÆ. By C. Grant Robertson, M.A., Fellow of All Souls', Oxford. With a Frontispiece. Pott 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'Decidedly clever and amusing.'—Athenæum.

'A clever and entertaining little book.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

Rosemary Cotes. DANTE'S GARDEN. By Rosemary Cotes. With a Frontispiece. Fcp. 8vo. 2s. 6d.

'A charming collection of legends of the flowers mentioned by Dante.'—Academy.

Clifford Harrison. READING AND READERS. By Clifford Harrison. Fcp. 8vo. 2s. 6d.

'We recommend schoolmasters to examine its merits, for it is at school that readers are made.'—Academy.

'An extremely sensible little book.'—Manchester Guardian.

L. Whibley. GREEK OLIGARCHIES: THEIR ORGANISATION AND CHARACTER. By L. Whibley, M.A., Fellow of Pembroke College, Cambridge. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'An exceedingly useful handbook: a careful and well-arranged study.'—Times.

L. L. Price. ECONOMIC SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. By L. L. Price, M.A., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. Crown 8vo. 6s.

J. S. Shedlock. THE PIANOFORTE SONATA: Its Origin and Development. By J. S. Shedlock. Crown 8vo. 5s.

'This work should be in the possession of every musician and amateur. A concise and lucid history and a very valuable work for reference.'—Athenæum.

E. M. Bowden. THE EXAMPLE OF BUDDHA: Being Quotations from Buddhist Literature for each Day in the Year. Compiled by E. M. Bowden. Third Edition. 16mo. 2s. 6d.

Science and Technology

Freudenreich. DAIRY BACTERIOLOGY. A Short Manual for the Use of Students. By Dr. Ed. von Freudenreich, Translated by J. R. Ainsworth Davis, M.A. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.

Chalmers Mitchell. OUTLINES OF BIOLOGY. By P. Chalmers Mitchell, M.A. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

A text-book designed to cover the new Schedule issued by the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons.

G. Massee. A MONOGRAPH OF THE MYXOGASTRES. By George Massee. With 12 Coloured Plates. Royal 8vo. 18s. net.

'A work much in advance of any book in the language treating of this group of organisms. Indispensable to every student of the Myxogastres.'—Nature.

Stephenson and Suddards. ORNAMENTAL DESIGN FOR WOVEN FABRICS. By C. Stephenson, of The Technical College, Bradford, and F. Suddards, of The Yorkshire College, Leeds. With 65 full-page plates. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.

'The book is very ably done, displaying an intimate knowledge of principles, good taste, and the faculty of clear exposition.'—Yorkshire Post.

TEXTBOOKS OF TECHNOLOGY.

Edited by Professors GARNETT and WERTHEIMER.

HOW TO MAKE A DRESS. By J. A. E. Wood. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 1s. 6d.

A text-book for students preparing for the City and Guilds examination, based on the syllabus. The diagrams are numerous.

'Though primarily intended for students, Miss Wood's dainty little manual may be consulted with advantage by any girls who want to make their own frocks. The directions are simple and clear, and the diagrams very helpful.'—Literature.

CARPENTRY AND JOINERY. By F. C. Webber. With many Illustrations. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'An admirable elementary text-book on the subject.'—Builder.

PRACTICAL MECHANICS. By Sidney H. Wells. With 75 Illustrations and Diagrams. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

Philosophy

L. T. Hobhouse. THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE. By L. T. Hobhouse, Fellow of C.C.C., Oxford. Demy 8vo. 21s.

'The most important contribution to English philosophy since the publication of Mr. Bradley's "Appearance and Reality."'—Glasgow Herald.

'A brilliantly written volume.'—Times.

W. H. Fairbrother. THE PHILOSOPHY OF T. H. GREEN. By W. H. Fairbrother, M.A. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'In every way an admirable book.'—Glasgow Herald.

F. W. Bussell. THE SCHOOL OF PLATO. By F. W. Bussell, D.D., Fellow of Brasenose College, Oxford. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

'A clever and stimulating book.'—Manchester Guardian.

F. S. Granger. THE WORSHIP OF THE ROMANS. By F. S. Granger, M.A., Litt.D. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'A scholarly analysis of the religious ceremonies, beliefs, and superstitions of ancient Rome, conducted in the new light of comparative anthropology.'—Times.

Theology

S. R. Driver. SERMONS ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH THE OLD TESTAMENT. By S. R. Driver, D.D., Canon of Christ Church, Regius Professor of Hebrew in the University of Oxford. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

'A welcome companion to the author's famous "Introduction."'—Guardian.

T. K. Cheyne. FOUNDERS OF OLD TESTAMENT CRITICISM. By T. K. Cheyne, D.D., Oriel Professor at Oxford. Large Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.

A historical sketch of O. T. Criticism.

'A very learned and instructive work.'—Times.

H. Rashdall. DOCTRINE AND DEVELOPMENT. By Hastings Rashdall, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of New College, Oxford. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

'An attempt to translate into the language of modern thought some of the leading ideas of Christian Theology and Ethics.'—Scotsman.

'A very interesting attempt to restate some of the principal doctrines of Christianity, in which Mr. Rashdall appears to us to have achieved a high measure of success. He is often learned, almost always sympathetic, and always singularly lucid.'—Manchester Guardian.

H. H. Henson. APOSTOLIC CHRISTIANITY: As Illustrated by the Epistles of St. Paul to the Corinthians. By H. H. Henson, M.A., Fellow of All Souls', Oxford. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

'A worthy contribution towards some solution of the great religious problems of the present day.'—Scotsman.

H. H. Henson. DISCIPLINE AND LAW. By H. Hensley Henson, B.D., Fellow of All Souls', Oxford. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d.

'An admirable little volume of Lent addresses.'—Guardian.

H. H. Henson. LIGHT AND LEAVEN: Historical and Social Sermons. By H. H. Henson, M.A. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'They are always reasonable as well as vigorous.'—Scotsman.

W. H. Bennett. A PRIMER OF THE BIBLE. By W. H. Bennett. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d.

'The work of an honest, fearless, and sound critic, and an excellent guide in a small compass to the books of the Bible.'—Manchester Guardian.

C. H. Prior. CAMBRIDGE SERMONS. Edited by C. H. Prior, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Pembroke College. Crown 8vo. 6s.

A volume of sermons preached before the University of Cambridge by various preachers, including the late Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop Westcott.

William Harrison. CLOVELLY SERMONS. By William Harrison, M.A., late Rector of Clovelly. With a Preface by 'Lucas Malet.' Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

A volume of Sermons by a son-in-law of Charles Kingsley.

Cecilia Robinson. THE MINISTRY OF DEACONESSES. By Deaconness Cecilia Robinson. With an Introduction by the Lord Bishop of Winchester. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'A learned and interesting book, combining with no ordinary skill the authority of learned research with the practical utility of a descriptive manual.'—Scotsman.

E. B. Layard. RELIGION IN BOYHOOD. Notes on the Religious Training of Boys. By E. B. Layard, M.A. 18mo. 1s.

W. Yorke Fausset. THE DE CATECHIZANDIS RUDIBUS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. Edited, with Introduction, Notes, etc., by W. Yorke Fausset, M.A. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

An edition of a Treatise on the Essentials of Christian Doctrine, and the best methods of impressing them on candidates for baptism.

F. Weston. THE HOLY SACRIFICE. By F. Weston, M.A., Curate of St. Matthew's, Westminster. Pott 8vo. 6d. net.

A small volume of devotions at the Holy Communion, especially adapted to the needs of servers and those who do not communicate.

À Kempis. THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. By Thomas à Kempis. With an Introduction by Dean Farrar. Illustrated by C. M. Gere, and printed in black and red. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. Buckram. 3s. 6d. Padded morocco, 5s.

'Amongst all the innumerable English editions of the "Imitation," there can have been few which were prettier than this one, printed in strong and handsome type, with all the glory of red initials.'—Glasgow Herald.

J. Keble. THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. By John Keble. With an Introduction and Notes by W. Lock,

D.D., Warden of Keble College, Ireland Professor at Oxford. Illus. by R. Anning Bell. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. Buckram. 3s. 6d. Padded morocco. 5s.

'The present edition is annotated with all the care and insight to be expected from Mr. Lock. The progress and circumstances of its composition are detailed in the Introduction. There is an interesting Appendix on the MSS. of the "Christian Year," and another giving the order in which the poems were written. A "Short Analysis of the Thought" is prefixed to each, and any difficulty in the text is explained in a note.'—Guardian.

Handbooks of Theology.

General Editor, A. Robertson, D.D., Principal of King's College, London.

THE XXXIX. ARTICLES OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. Edited with an Introduction by E. C. S. Gibson, D.D., Vicar of Leeds, late Principal of Wells Theological College. Second and Cheaper Edition in One Volume. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d.

'Dr. Gibson is a master of clear and orderly exposition. And he has in a high degree a quality very necessary, but rarely found, in commentators on this topic, that of absolute fairness. His book is pre-eminently honest.'—Times.

'We welcome with the utmost satisfaction a new, cheaper, and more convenient edition of Dr. Gibson's book. It was greatly wanted. Dr. Gibson has given theological students just what they want, and we should like to think that it was in the hands of every candidate for orders.'—Guardian.

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF RELIGION. By F. B. Jevons, M.A., Litt.D., Principal of Bishop Hatfield's Hall. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.

'Dr. Jevons has written a notable work, which we can strongly recommend to the serious attention of theologians and anthropologists.'—Manchester Guardian.

'The merit of this book lies in the penetration, the singular acuteness and force of the author's judgment. He is at once critical and luminous, at once just and suggestive. A comprehensive and thorough book.'—Birmingham Post.

THE DOCTRINE OF THE INCARNATION. By R. L. Ottley, M.A., late fellow of Magdalen College, Oxon., and Principal of Pusey House. In Two Volumes. Demy 8vo. 15s.

'Learned and reverent: lucid and well arranged.'—Record.

'A clear and remarkably full account of the main currents of speculation. Scholarly precision ... genuine tolerance ... intense interest in his subject—are Mr. Ottley's merits.'—Guardian.

The Churchman's Library.

Edited by J. H. BURN, B.D.

THE BEGINNINGS OF ENGLISH CHRISTIANITY. By W. E. Collins, M.A., Professor of Ecclesiastical History at King's College, London. With Map. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

An investigation in detail, based upon original authorities, of the beginnings of the English Church, with a careful account of earlier Celtic Christianity.

'An excellent example of thorough and fresh historical work.'—Guardian.

SOME NEW TESTAMENT PROBLEMS. By Arthur Wright, Fellow of Queen's College, Cambridge. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'Bold and outspoken; earnest and reverent.'—Glasgow Herald.

THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN HERE AND HEREAFTER. By

Canon Winterbotham, M.A., B.Sc., LL.B. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

'A most able book, at once exceedingly thoughtful and richly suggestive.'—Glasgow Herald.

The Library of Devotion

Pott 8vo, cloth, 2s.; leather, 2s. 6d. net.

'This series is excellent.'—The Bishop of London.

'A very delightful edition.'—The Bishop of Bath and Wells.

'Well worth the attention of the Clergy.'—The Bishop of Lichfield.

'The new "Library of Devotion" is excellent.'—The Bishop of Peterborough.

'Charming.'—Record.

'Delightful.'—Church Bells.

THE CONFESSIONS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. Newly Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, by C. Bigg, D.D., late Student of Christ Church. Second Edition.

'The translation is an excellent piece of English, and the introduction is a masterly exposition. We augur well of a series which begins so satisfactorily.'—Times.

THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. By John Keble. With Introduction and Notes by Walter Lock, D.D., Warden of Keble College, Ireland Professor at Oxford.

'The volume is very prettily bound and printed, and may fairly claim to be an advance on any previous editions.'—Guardian.

THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. A Revised Translation, with an Introduction, by C. Bigg, D.D., late Student of Christ Church.

A practically new translation of this book, which the reader has, almost for the first time, exactly in the shape in which it left the hands of the author.

'The text is at once scholarly in its faithful reproduction in English of the sonorous Church Latin in which the original is composed, and popular.'—Scotsman.

'A beautiful and scholarly production.'—Speaker.

'A nearer approach to the original than has yet existed in English.'—Academy.

A BOOK OF DEVOTIONS. By J. W. Stanbridge, M.A., Rector of Bainton, Canon of York, and sometime Fellow of St. John's College, Oxford.

'It is probably the best book of its kind. It deserves high commendation.'—Church Gazette.

Leaders of Religion

Edited by H. C. BEECHING, M. A. With Portraits, Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

A series of short biographies of the most prominent leaders of religious life and thought of all ages and countries.

The following are ready—

CARDINAL NEWMAN. By R. H. Hutton.

JOHN WESLEY. By J. H. Overton, M.A.

BISHOP WILBERFORCE. By G. W. Daniell, M.A.

CARDINAL MANNING. By A. W. Hutton, M.A.

CHARLES SIMEON. By H. C. G. Moule, D.D.

JOHN KEBLE. By Walter Lock, D.D.

THOMAS CHALMERS. By Mrs. Oliphant.

LANCELOT ANDREWES. By R. L. Ottley, M.A.

AUGUSTINE OF CANTERBURY. By E. L. Cutts, D.D.

WILLIAM LAUD. By W. H. Hutton, B.D.

JOHN KNOX. By F. MacCunn.

JOHN HOWE. By R. F. Horton, D.D.

BISHOP KEN. By F. A. Clarke, M.A.

GEORGE FOX, THE QUAKER. By T. Hodgkin, D.C.L.

JOHN DONNE. By Augustus Jessopp, D.D.

THOMAS CRANMER. By A. J. Mason.

Other volumes will be announced in due course.

Fiction

SIX SHILLING NOVELS

Marie Corelli's Novels

Large crown 8vo. 6s. each.

A ROMANCE OF TWO WORLDS. Eighteenth Edition.

VENDETTA. Fourteenth Edition.

THELMA. Twentieth Edition.

ARDATH: THE STORY OF A DEAD SELF. Eleventh Edition.

THE SOUL OF LILITH. Ninth Edition.

WORMWOOD. Eighth Edition.

BARABBAS: A DREAM OF THE WORLD'S TRAGEDY. Thirty-third Edition.

'The tender reverence of the treatment and the imaginative beauty of the writing have reconciled us to the daring of the conception, and the conviction is forced on us that even so exalted a subject cannot be made too familiar to us, provided it be presented in the true spirit of Christian faith. The amplifications

of the Scripture narrative are often conceived with high poetic insight, and this "Dream of the World's Tragedy" is a lofty and not inadequate paraphrase of the supreme climax of the inspired narrative.'—Dublin Review.

THE SORROWS OF SATAN. Thirty-ninth Edition.

'A very powerful piece of work.... The conception is magnificent, and is likely to win an abiding place within the memory of man.... The author has immense command of language, and a limitless audacity.... This interesting and remarkable romance will live long after much of the ephemeral literature of the day is forgotten.... A literary phenomenon ... novel, and even sublime.'—W. T. Stead in the Review of Reviews.

Anthony Hope's Novels

Crown 8vo. 6s. each.

THE GOD IN THE CAR. Eighth Edition.

'A very remarkable book, deserving of critical analysis impossible within our limit; brilliant, but not superficial; well considered, but not elaborated; constructed with the proverbial art that conceals, but yet allows itself to be enjoyed by readers to whom fine literary method is a keen pleasure.'—The World.

A CHANGE OF AIR. Fifth Edition.

'A graceful, vivacious comedy, true to human nature. The characters are traced with a masterly hand.'—Times.

A MAN OF MARK. Fourth Edition.

'Of all Mr. Hope's books, "A Man of Mark" is the one which best compares with "The Prisoner of Zenda."'—National Observer.

THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. Third Edition.

'It is a perfectly enchanting story of love and chivalry, and pure romance. The Count is the most constant, desperate, and modest and tender of lovers, a peerless gentleman, an intrepid fighter, a faithful friend, and a magnanimous foe.'—Guardian.

PHROSO. Illustrated by H. R. Millar. Third Edition.

'The tale is thoroughly fresh, quick with vitality, stirring the blood.'—St. James's Gazette.

'A story of adventure, every page of which is palpitating with action.'—Speaker.

'From cover to cover "Phroso" not only engages the attention, but carries the reader in little whirls of delight from adventure to adventure.'—Academy.

SIMON DALE. Illustrated. Third Edition.

'"Simon Dale" is one of the best historical romances that have been written for a long while.'—St. James's Gazette.

'A brilliant novel. The story is rapid and most excellently told. As for the hero, he is a perfect hero of romance.'—Athenæum.

'There is searching analysis of human nature, with a most ingeniously constructed plot. Mr. Hope has drawn the contrasts of his women with marvellous subtlety and delicacy.'—Times.

Gilbert Parker's Novels

Crown 8vo. 6s. each.

PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE. Fifth Edition.

'Stories happily conceived and finely executed. There is strength and genius in Mr. Parker's style.'—Daily Telegraph.

MRS. FALCHION. Fourth Edition.

'A splendid study of character.'—Athenæum.

'But little behind anything that has been done by any writer of our time.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

'A very striking and admirable novel.'—St. James's Gazette.

THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE.

'The plot is original and one difficult to work out; but Mr. Parker has done it with great skill and delicacy. The reader who is not interested in this original, fresh, and well-told tale must be a dull person indeed.'—Daily Chronicle.

THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. Illustrated. Sixth Edition.

'A rousing and dramatic tale. A book like this, in which swords flash, great surprises are undertaken, and daring deeds done, in which men and women live and love in the old passionate way, is a joy inexpressible.'—Daily Chronicle.

WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC: The Story of a Lost Napoleon. Fourth Edition.

'Here we find romance—real, breathing, living romance. The character of Valmond is drawn unerringly. The book must be read, we may say re-read, for any one thoroughly to appreciate Mr. Parker's delicate touch and innate sympathy with humanity.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

AN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH: The Last Adventures of 'Pretty Pierre.' Second Edition.

'The present book is full of fine and moving stories of the great North, and it will add to Mr. Parker's already high reputation.'—Glasgow Herald.

THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. Illustrated. Ninth Edition.

'The best thing he has done; one of the best things that any one has done lately.'—St. James's Gazette.

'Mr. Parker seems to become stronger and easier with every serious novel that he attempts. He shows the matured power which his former novels have led us to expect, and has produced a really fine historical novel.'—Athenæum.

'A great book.'—Black and White.

'One of the strongest stories of historical interest and adventure that we have read for many a day.... A notable and successful book.'—Speaker.

THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES. Second Edition. 3s. 6d.

'Living, breathing romance, genuine and unforced pathos, and a deeper and more subtle knowledge of human nature than Mr. Parker has ever displayed before. It is, in a word, the work of a true artist.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG: a Romance of Two Kingdoms. Illustrated. Fourth Edition.

'Mr. Gilbert Parker has a master's hand in weaving the threads of romantic fiction. There is scarcely a single character which does not convince us.'—Daily Chronicle.

'Such a splendid story, so splendidly told, will be read with avidity, and will add new honour even to Mr. Parker's reputation.'—St. James's Gazette.

'No one who takes a pleasure in literature but will read Mr. Gilbert Parker's latest romance with keen enjoyment. The mere writing is so good as to be a delight in itself, apart altogether from the interest of the tale.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

'Nothing more vigorous or more human has come from Mr. Gilbert Parker than this novel. It has all the graphic power of

his last book, with truer feeling for the romance, both of human life and wild nature. There is no character without its unique and picturesque interest. Mr. Parker's style, especially his descriptive style, has in this book, perhaps even more than elsewhere, aptness and vitality.'—Literature.

S. Baring Gould's Novels

Crown 8vo. 6s. each.

'To say that a book is by the author of "Mehalah" is to imply that it contains a story cast on strong lines, containing dramatic possibilities, vivid and sympathetic descriptions of Nature, and a wealth of ingenious imagery.'—Speaker.

'That whatever Mr. Baring Gould writes is well worth reading, is a conclusion that may be very generally accepted. His views of life are fresh and vigorous, his language pointed and characteristic, the incidents of which he makes use are striking and original, his characters are life-like, and though somewhat exceptional people, are drawn and coloured with artistic force. Add to this that his descriptions of scenes and scenery are painted with the loving eyes and skilled hands of a master of his art, that he is always fresh and never dull, and it is no wonder that readers have gained confidence in his power of amusing and satisfying them, and that year by year his popularity widens.'—Court Circular.

ARMINELL. Fourth Edition.

URITH. Fifth Edition.

IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA. Sixth Edition.

MRS. CURGENVEN OF CURGENVEN. Fourth Edition.

CHEAP JACK ZITA. Fourth Edition.

THE QUEEN OF LOVE. Fourth Edition.

MARGERY OF QUETHER. Third Edition.

JACQUETTA. Third Edition.

KITTY ALONE. Fifth Edition.

NOÉMI. Illustrated. Third Edition.

THE BROOM-SQUIRE. Illustrated. Fourth Edition.

THE PENNYCOMEQUICKS. Third Edition.

DARTMOOR IDYLLS.

GUAVAS THE TINNER. Illustrated. Second Edition.

BLADYS. Illustrated. Second Edition.

DOMITIA. Illustrated. Second Edition.

'There is a wealth of incident, and a lively picture of Rome in the early days of the Empire.'—Scotsman.

'Mr. Baring Gould, by virtue of his lurid imagination, has given a forcible picture of the horrors and heroism of Imperial Rome.'—Spectator.

---

Conan Doyle. ROUND THE RED LAMP. By A. Conan Doyle. Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'The book is far and away the best view that has been vouchsafed us behind the scenes of the consulting-room.'—Illustrated London News.

Stanley Weyman. UNDER THE RED ROBE. By Stanley Weyman, Author of 'A Gentleman of France.' With Illustrations by R. C. Woodville. Fourteenth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'A book of which we have read every word for the sheer pleasure of reading, and which we put down with a pang.'—Westminster Gazette.

'Every one who reads books at all must read this thrilling romance, from the first page of which to the last the breathless reader is haled along. An inspiration of manliness and courage.'—Daily Chronicle.

Lucas Malet. THE WAGES OF SIN. By Lucas Malet. Thirteenth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

Lucas Malet. THE CARISSIMA. By Lucas Malet, Author of 'The

Wages of Sin,' etc. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

George Gissing. THE TOWN TRAVELLER. By George Gissing, Author of 'Demos,' 'In the Year of Jubilee,' etc. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

'Not only a story with a happy ending, but one which is in the main suffused with cheerfulness, and occasionally mounts to the plane of positive hilarity.'—Spectator.

'An admirable novel.'—Truth.

'It is a bright and witty book above all things. Polly Sparkes is a splendid bit of work. A book which contains Polly, the glorious row in the lodging-house, and such a brisk plot, moving so smartly, lightly, and easily, will not detract from Mr. Gissing's reputation.'—Pall Mall Gazette.

'The spirit of Dickens is in it; his delight in good nature, his understanding of the feelings.'—Bookman.

S. R. Crockett. LOCHINVAR. By S. R. Crockett, Author of 'The Raiders,' etc. Illustrated. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'Full of gallantry and pathos, of the clash of arms, and brightened by episodes of humour and love....'—Westminster Gazette.

S. R. Crockett. THE STANDARD BEARER. By S. R. Crockett. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'A delightful tale in his best style.'—Speaker.

'Mr. Crockett at his best.'—Literature.

'Enjoyable and of absorbing interest.'—Scotsman.

Arthur Morrison. TALES OF MEAN STREETS. By Arthur Morrison. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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Arthur Morrison. A CHILD OF THE JAGO. By Arthur Morrison. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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'Told with great vigour and powerful simplicity.'—Athenæum.

Mrs. Clifford. A FLASH OF SUMMER. By Mrs. W. K. Clifford, Author of 'Aunt Anne,' etc. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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Emily Lawless. HURRISH. By the Honble. Emily Lawless, Author of 'Maelcho,' etc. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

Emily Lawless. MAELCHO: a Sixteenth Century Romance. By the Honble. Emily Lawless. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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'There is no keener pleasure in life than the recognition of genius. A piece of work of the first order, which we do not hesitate to describe as one of the most remarkable literary achievements of this generation.'—Manchester Guardian.

Emily Lawless. TRAITS AND CONFIDENCES. By the Honble. Emily Lawless. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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Jane Barlow. A CREEL OF IRISH STORIES. By Jane Barlow, Author of 'Irish Idylls.' Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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Jane Barlow. FROM THE EAST UNTO THE WEST. By Jane Barlow, Author of 'Irish Idylls' etc. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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J. H. Findlater. THE GREEN GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE. By

Jane H. Findlater. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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'A singularly original, clever, and beautiful story.'—Guardian.

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J. H. Findlater. A DAUGHTER OF STRIFE. By Jane Helen Findlater. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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'Her thought has solidity and maturity.'—Daily Mail.

Mary Findlater. OVER THE HILLS. By Mary Findlater. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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'Will make the author's name loved in many a household.'—Literary World.

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Alfred Ollivant. OWD BOB, THE GREY DOG OF KENMUIR. By Alfred Ollivant. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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'It is a fine, open-air, blood-stirring book, to be enjoyed by every man and woman to whom a dog is dear.'—Literature.

B. M. Croker. PEGGY OF THE BARTONS. By B. M. Croker, Author of 'Diana Barrington.' Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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'All the characters, indeed, are drawn with clearness and certainty; and it would be hard to name any quality essential to first-class work which is lacking from this book.'—Saturday Review.

H. G. Wells. THE STOLEN BACILLUS, and other Stories. By H. G. Wells. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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H. G. Wells. THE PLATTNER STORY and Others. By H. G. Wells. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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Sara Jeanette Duncan. A VOYAGE OF CONSOLATION. By Sara Jeanette Duncan, Author of 'An American Girl in London.' Illustrated. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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'A most delightfully bright book.'—Daily Telegraph.

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C. F. Keary. THE JOURNALIST. By C. F. Keary. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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'Full of intellectual vigour.'—St. James's Gazette.

E. F. Benson. DODO: A DETAIL OF THE DAY. By E. F. Benson. Sixteenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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E. F. Benson. THE VINTAGE. By E. F. Benson, Author of 'Dodo.' Illustrated by G. P. Jacomb-Hood. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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'An original and vigorous historical romance.'—Morning Post.

Mrs. Oliphant. SIR ROBERT'S FORTUNE. By Mrs. Oliphant. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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Mrs. Oliphant. THE TWO MARYS. By Mrs. Oliphant. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

Mrs. Oliphant. THE LADY'S WALK. By Mrs. Oliphant. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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W. E. Norris. MATTHEW AUSTIN. By W. E. Norris, Author of 'Mademoiselle de Mersac,' etc. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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W. E. Norris. HIS GRACE. By W. E. Norris. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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W. E. Norris. THE DESPOTIC LADY AND OTHERS. By W. E. Norris. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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W. E. Norris. CLARISSA FURIOSA. By W. E. Norris. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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W. Clark Russell. MY DANISH SWEETHEART. By W. Clark Russell. Illustrated. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

Robert Barr. IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. By Robert Barr. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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Robert Barr. THE MUTABLE MANY. By Robert Barr, Author of 'In the Midst of Alarms,' 'A Woman Intervenes,' etc. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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Andrew Balfour. BY STROKE OF SWORD. By Andrew Balfour. Illustrated by W. Cubitt Cooke. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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Andrew Balfour. TO ARMS! By Andrew Balfour, Author of 'By Stroke of Sword.' Illustrated. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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J. Maclaren Cobban. THE KING OF ANDAMAN: A Saviour of Society. By J. Maclaren Cobban. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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J. Maclaren Cobban. WILT THOU HAVE THIS WOMAN? By J. Maclaren Cobban, Author of 'The King of Andaman.' Cr. 8vo. 6s.

J. Maclaren Cobban. THE ANGEL OF THE COVENANT. By J. Maclaren Cobban. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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R. N. Stephens. AN ENEMY TO THE KING. By R. N. Stephens. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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M. E. Francis. MISS ERIN. By M. E. Francis, Author of 'In a Northern Village.' Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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Robert Hichens. BYEWAYS. By Robert Hichens, Author of 'Flames, etc.' Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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Percy White. A PASSIONATE PILGRIM. By Percy White, Author of 'Mr. Bailey-Martin.' Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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Mrs. Alan Brodrick. ANANIAS. By the Hon. Mrs. Alan Brodrick. Crown 8vo. 6s.

Mrs. Orpen. CORRAGEEN IN '98. By Mrs. Orpen. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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'A vivid picture of the terrible times of 1798.'—Lloyd's.

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J. Keighley Snowden. THE PLUNDER PIT. By J. Keighley Snowden. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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W. Pett Ridge. SECRETARY TO BAYNE, M.P. By W. Pett Ridge. Crown 8vo. 6s.

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J. S. Fletcher. THE BUILDERS. By J. S. Fletcher, Author of 'When Charles I. was King.' Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

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J. B. Burton. IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. By J. Bloundelle-Burton. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

'Unusually interesting and full of highly dramatic situations.'—Guardian.

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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources.

In the Publisher's Book Catalog at the back of the book, numbers in italic phrases with currency are included in the italic markup. For example "Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d." is used instead of "Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d."

To avoid duplication, the page numbering in the Book Catalog has a suffix C added, so that for example page [23] displays as [23C].

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained. For example, conterminous; employé; semicircle, semi-circle; field-guns, field guns.

[Pg 21], 'bran new suits' replaced by 'brand new suits'.
[Pg 76], 'yclad in all' replaced by 'clad in all'.
[Pg 76], 'bran new kit' replaced by 'brand new kit'.
[Pg 122], 'atttained a great' replaced by 'attained a great'.
[Pg 147], 'artiilery crossed' replaced by 'artillery crossed'.
[Pg 228], 'Àpropos' replaced by 'À propos'.
Book Catalog:
[Pg 3C], 'art any painter' replaced by 'art of any painter'.
[Pg 23C], 'Newly Translanted' replaced by 'Newly Translated'.
[Pg 30C], 'Robert Hitchins' replaced by 'Robert Hichens'.