THE HORRORS OF THE DESERT. 105 for it is the signal to jump up with unwilling energy and load our moaning camels, and prepare to jog on again wearily in the da*rk To load a camel properly, even in daylight, is a work of art. The cargc must be balanced exactly, one half on either side of his back, otherwise it will inevitably, sooner or later, tumble off, and there is nothing more heartbreaking than to see one’s baggage tumble off on the line of march—particularly when in an enemy’s country. The last rope had hardly been fastened when the ‘ fall in’ sounded, and then for an hour men and camels grouped into their places in the dark ; and at half-past two we moved off our ground, the pebble-strewed desert glistening in the dim moonlight as if it were covered with a coat of yellow shining varnish. Frequently would the bugles sound the halt in rear, to allow time for stragglers to close up, for the officer commanding the rear guard had the usual orders to leave nothing behind. With him were the spare camels, and if a loaded one tumbled, or lay down to die, as they fre¬ quently did, a fresh beast at once took his place, and so wearily until morning we silently marched—few cared to converse—gliding across the desert like one long shadow. At half-past five what looked like the reflection of a huge conflagration appeared on the horizon. It signalled the approach of day ; and when it was light the bugles sounded a merry march, the men shouted and talked cheerily, and even the camels looked mildly contented. At ten we halted for breakfast, and tried to get a little sleep until two, when we were away again, striding on sometimes across stretches of sand, sometimes over stony ground, and anon through mimosa country ; but ever the sun shone fiercely overhead. A peculiarity of the deserts that border the Nile is that the mouths of men and beasts who traverse them are always parched. Those who have experience know that it is no use to drink continuously. That only increases the torture, but it is difficult to resist the temptation. There was scarcity of water with all. Lucky was he who, having ventured to bring with him a horse, could give that horse a drink ; and never shall I forget the blank look of despair with which one journalist announced that he ‘had no water for his horse and none for himself.’ But it was not always the skins that had leaked ; sometimes, too, had the honesty of the servants in charge, for soldiers were foraging about, offering any price, even a dollar for as much as would make a single drink.

“ Again, early in the morning, we started, but there was now no unwill¬ ingness to get on ; for with many delay meant torture—perhaps death—while progress meant water and life. The Wells of Hambok, forty-seven miles out from Korti, were found empty. Only a bucketful of the precious fluid was there, and that was given to a couple of horses that otherwise would have died. The column did not even halt at Hambok, but pushed on to El Howeyet, eight miles further, where a better supply was expected. But a