TOO LATE. 117 self-forgetful despatches of his ! He shall be saved, come what may. But those guns from the city are ominous, ominous.

Undaunted, through the din, calmly they press on. But it is hard work. The water is shallow and the c mrse difficult. At noon Tuti is reached. A frightful fusilade ensues, and is kept up for four hours. Many shells burst on board, and many are wounded. Still they keep on ; push their way to Khartoum itself; come within six hundred feet of the city ; and see clear into its very streets.

What do they see? It can be told in a few words. The guns still blazing at them from the heights ; the streets one mass of howling savages, exidtingly shouting defiance at the two little steamers peering at them from the water ; on every side signs of victorious hostility ; hatred open and blatant; rage run riot; the Palace gutted ; the flag-staff flying the Mahdi’s flag ; and—General Gordon ?—what of him ?—who knows ? Who can tell ? No one. The one man in that city they came to see ; the man whom ten thousand fighting men came three thousand miles to save ; the man England is waiting daily to welcome back—is not there. Disappointment unutterable. Success at. the moment of achievement turned into bitterest disaster. All these long months of pain and toil utterly thrown away. The object of their search irretrievably lost. The bravest of brave warriors gone.

Now truly did their hearts sink within them. Dangers they can face ; difficulties they can overcome ; but to be the bearers of this so sad news ; to return having accomplished nothing ; to be the first to tell England her all was lost;—this was terrible.

Yet there was naught else to do. To land and oppose those shrieking hordes ; to hew their way through these exulting foes ; to wreak vengeance in their blood ;—this were tempting. But duty demands that they shall calmly retreat and report to the relieving force the fate of the man for whom they sought.

So it is done. The boats are turned northwards, and the journey back is commenced.