338 THE DOWNFALL OF THE DERVISHES 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 Aletemmeh, 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, to-