Reason said no—upstream undoubtedly. But, you see, the bimbashi's geography was imperfect, and he was not aware of the existence of the Atbara, as a river, or he had forgotten it. He only knew of Fort Atbara; he thought he was following the Nile.
So Jones tried to satisfy the cravings of his appetite by chewing leaves and grasses, failing utterly; and long before morning came he sank exhausted to the ground, assuring himself that he could not possibly walk another yard.
Then, or soon after, a wonderful thing happened.
The dozing bimbashi heard in his dreams the droning of bagpipes, the sharp notes of the bugle, the dull booming of guns. His old dream began to flutter vaguely through his brain. He was the conquering hero again; he had put the Dervishes to flight; he had—but the noise was too loud for dozing and dreaming, and he awoke with a start.
"Good Heavens!" said poor Jones, half demented with weakness, "it is really the battle; my dream is coming true."
"It is really the battle."
Page 98.
The firing increased; it became almost continuous; it could scarcely be more than a mile or two away. The noise deafened and bewildered the youth, who was, as a matter of fact, in extremis.
Jones listened a little while. Then he started to his feet and rushed madly towards the din.