That Mohammed Ahmed really believed he was the Mahdi, no one could doubt.
In his own estimation he was no impostor.
His asceticism, his study, his extreme self-denial, all tended to make him believe in his mission.
But, although the Mahdi had faith in his divine authority, he was too good a soldier to neglect military precautions.
Every morning at sunrise the bugle sounded, and the soldiers and followers of the new prophet were drilled for an hour.
At ten o’clock they were again mustered and drilled in the manual of arms.
Sherif el Habib was given the command of a division, and he appointed Ibrahim as his chief of staff, while Max occupied the same post of responsibility under Mohammed.
Each knew that at any moment they might have to fight, and our young heroes were eager for the fray.
Truth to tell, Max was a soldier born. He was never so happy as when engaged in combat, either in a wordy war with his tongue or in the more deadly conflict with the sword.
When not engaged in some work of the kind his madcap proclivities were sure to manifest themselves, and he would make some one the victim of his practical jokes.