Nasri Island had been converted into a vast depôt for stores. All the people who were obliged to remain at this station throughout the campaign seemed very depressed. There was nothing whatever to do out of work hours except to prowl along the river bank, on the chance of slaying a goose or catching a fish. One of the officers came on board, and, in answer to our query as to his welfare, said he felt "a bit cheap," as in addition to being soaked to the skin as he lay in bed, he had been stung by two scorpions during the night. As the Tamai's condensers had gone wrong, and the engineer seemed to have lost his head altogether, we tied up to the bank until 2 a.m., and four more hours brought us to Wad Hamed, where the Sirdar's forces were to be finally concentrated before the march upon Omdurman.
We thoroughly enjoyed the week's sojourn at Wad Hamed, as the camp seemed healthy, and along the Nile there were many charming bits of scenery. In fact, in some places where the enormous breadth of the river was broken up into narrower channels, one might almost imagine oneself on the Thames. The banks were clothed with the bright green foliage of the nebek and mimosa bushes, which afforded shelter to innumerable birds. The thorns of the nebek are worse even than those of the mimosa; they curl inwards, and are very strong. Nevertheless, the camel rejoices exceedingly when it can seize a mouthful of this prickly tree, and the yellow berries are not to be despised by human beings when they are really hungry. There is, however, one feature which is sadly lacking even in the nicest bits of Nile scenery; there are no flowers.
After we had pitched our tents amongst some mimosa scrub, during which process our barefooted servants leapt about like cats on hot bricks, we were informed that the Sirdar would receive the correspondents in his tent. Bennett-Burleigh had arrived in the meantime, having stolen away from the Lancers' camp and the other correspondents, and ridden forty miles that day—a fine performance, if not strictly in accord with military discipline. We thereupon collected our little cohort of fifteen, and went off to meet the General. I did not enjoy the interview, which was as barren of results as it was humiliating. The only parallel to it which I can think of is that of a row of curates before a brusque and autocratic bishop. During the brief commonplaces which passed between us, the general impression conveyed to me was the immeasurable condescension of our chief in even deigning to address the representatives of a Press which has never failed to extol even to the verge of exaggeration the achievements of the Anglo-Egyptian Army and its leader! How deep the gulf which appeared to separate the Egyptian commander-in-chief from the civilian correspondent! In short, I should advise anybody who cannot put his pride in his pocket to avoid the rôle of amateur war correspondent in Egypt. The professionals are, I suppose, to some extent inoculated by this time, and cling to the delusion that correspondents during a campaign are treated like officers.
At the same time, I am bound to confess that if I were a commanding officer I should not be favourably impressed with the genus "correspondent" as a whole. There is sometimes a blatant self-conceit and vulgar swagger about a war correspondent which is very irritating, while in other cases intolerance of discipline and incessant attempts to override military regulations for mere private ends have gone far to justify Lord Wolseley's dictum that correspondents are "the curse of modern warfare." Of course there are delightful exceptions to this sort of thing to be met with in a war correspondent's camp. Some of the men who engage in this most delightful occupation are good fellows in every sense of the phrase,—brave, generous, and clever,—and it is a privilege to enjoy the companionship of men like Steevens, Scudamore, Villiers, and others whom I could name.
Altogether, the little kosmos of our camp was full of interest, as the types of war correspondent one meets with vary considerably. There is the rough man who glories in his roughness, scorns luxury, and doesn't wash. An excellent fellow in his way, he yet renders himself more unhappy than he need be by his unstinted devotion to discomfort. To imitate an ancient Eremite by never changing one's shirt when you can purchase one for 2s. 11¾d., and to sleep on the ground when you have got plenty of money to buy a valise bed, may have certain charms when the weather is fair and you haven't got fever; but when rain is falling upon you, as it knows how to fall in the tropics, or you would give half your income for a little shade from the midday sun, which has got you by the back of the neck and made you limp and listless—it is then that the swashbuckler and old campaigner theory breaks down.
In signal contrast with the above type, one finds the war correspondent who makes himself as comfortable as possible. His editor does not grudge the supply, nor he the expenditure, of large sums of money. He puts on a clean shirt every day, and has his boots polished in the heart of the desert. He wears beautiful cummerbunds, and is all glorious within; his underclothing is of wrought silk. When less fortunate mortals drink muddy water this Sybarite calls for a whisky and Rosbach, and finishes off a dinner of five courses with a glass of excellent liqueur. But, after all, why shouldn't a man make his camp life as pleasant as possible as long as his comforts don't interfere with other people's? Indeed, so far from this being the case, the "comfortable" correspondent—as far as my experience goes—is often a really kind and generous fellow, who never grudges a friend a share in his good things; and as to his picturesque costume and careful toilette, a man preserves his self-respect all the better when he is clean and nicely dressed. The hospitality, too, which, when camels and servants abound, can be generously dispensed to agreeable and communicative officers, is a most valuable factor in the success of a war correspondent's career; its quality is like that of mercy—it blesses him that gives as well as him that takes.
Another type meets us in the veterans, the self-constituted doyens of the pressmen, who claim to regulate the camp and lay down the law generally. Some old persons of this sort, on the strength of their own antiquity and their experience of half a dozen campaigns, are loud in their denunciation of all "interlopers," as they are pleased to call all gentlemen who pay their own expenses and do literary work in connection with the campaign.
Again, all campaigners must know the type of correspondent, who, ignorant of any language except his own, and speaking that imperfectly, ill-treats his servants when they fail to understand his orders. Such persons as this are either too stupid or too lazy to master even a few common words of the vernacular, yet they imagine that for £2, 10s. a month they can secure an accomplished linguist as a servant! "Untwist that knot; not that knot, that other knot! Great Scot! You," etc. etc. The poor Arab boy stands perplexed and fearful—he cannot understand this bewildering utterance, and becomes helpless or makes a bad shot and begins to open a tin of marmalade or lay the table. Then "thud, thud," as a heavy stick falls on the servant's bare flesh, or the wretched boy emerges from the tent, his face streaming with blood from a cowardly blow by his master's fist. I have known an Arab servant to be followed for yards and beaten most cruelly with a heavy stick, because, owing to a breakdown of the telegraph, he was unable to forward a message sent by his master. The boy was absolutely blameless in the matter, but his master would not listen to a word of explanation, and the sound of the brutal strokes he showered upon the servant were audible far away. The foul abuse bellowed at servants frequently made our camp a disgrace to the zeriba. Everybody in the East swears at his servants, but still—whether the proposition be ethically sound or not—there is a gentlemanly way of swearing—brief and incisive, and not intended to reach the ears of others than the delinquent.
Moreover, if one treats one's Arab servants with kindness and firmness withal, they generally do their best, and often become quite devoted to their master. When after the battle Mr. Villiers was lost for some time, and fears were entertained about him, his servant was full of genuine distress and anxiety. If, on the other hand, no tie exists between master and servant except fear of the kurbash and the loss of the paltry wages, what can one expect in the way of zeal and devotion?