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XXVII.

THE LAST OF FORT ATBARA.

THUS at Fort Atbara we sat, and sat, and sat. When there were any troops to see, coming in or going out, we went to see them. When there were not, we

galloped about in the desert, ate, drank, slept, and generally fulfilled the whole duty of correspondents. Why did you not make a dash for the front? the guileless editor will ask. But the modern war correspondent is not allowed to make unauthorised dashes, and the man who should commend the claims of his newspaper by slapping a British General's face would righteously be shot.

Besides, there was no front to speak of worth dashing for. The camp at Wad Habashi, we heard, had been encroached on by the ever-rising Nile, and it had been moved four miles up-stream to a spot in full view of the gorge of Shabluka. A Bimbashi of cavalry, who returned thence one day, pronounced the scenery finer than anything in Switzerland; but then you must remember that since seeing Switzer

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land he had seen the desert railway and Berber and Fort Atbara and all the other dry dead levels of the blank Sudan. More practical was the news that as yet there had been only one storm of rain with thunder and lightning. At Fort Atbara we had cloudy days and rainy sunsets, whereas in the spring we had never seen anything but hard blue for weeks together. On the whole, too, it was cooler: 115° in the shade on one or two clear afternoons, but often not so much as 100° all day. And the farther south you went, they said, the cooler it be

came.

Indeed, the nearer we actually got to the beginning of operations, the softer task the expedition seemed. The only people who did not seem to find it so were the two battalions that had the softest task of all— the Rifles and the Guards. These came into hospital in dozens. Both regiments had a bad reputation for going sick-the Rifles because they are mostly cockneys without constitutions, the Guards because they are too much pampered. Anyhow, they developed more sickness between them in a week than the whole of the First Brigade. Their failure to stand the sun and the dust-storms was not for want of officers' example-certainly in the Rifles, whose officers were keen sportsmen, riding out to stalk gazelle after lunch on the hottest afternoons. It was not for want of amusement, as amusement goes in standing camp, for the Rifles were alive with vocal

talent.

Almost every night, drifting down from their

camp, you might hear the familiar chorale

The Rifles were keeping their spirits up, and they were as smart and keen as you could wish. But they were not acclimatised, nor were the Guards, so that they sent nearly a hundred cases-mostly mild sunfever-into hospital in a week.

The first squadron of the 21st Lancers-they were travelling as three squadrons to be re-formed into four in the field-arrived on the 11th. The second half of the 5th Fusiliers came in on the 13th. Everything seemed strolling on satisfactorily and sleepily. Then suddenly the Sirdar aroused us with one of his lightning movements. You will have formed an idea of the sort of man he is-all patience for a month, all swiftness when the day comes. The day came on August 13. At eleven I saw him, grave as always, gracious and courteous, volunteering facilities. noon he was gone up the river to the front.

At

The waiting, the sudden start, the caution that breathed no word of his intention, yet dictated an official explanation of his departure before he left-it was the Sirdar all over. And with his departure

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Fort Atbara took on yet another metempsychosis. It became all at once the deserted base-camp, a caravanserai for reinforcements, a forwarding depot for stores. True, most of the staff remained-nobody pretending to know what had taken the Sirdar away so astonishingly, unless it was merely his idiosyncrasy of sudden and rapid movement. If anybody had been told any other reason, it was just the man or two that would not tell again.

But curiosity is a tactless futility when you have to do with generals. It was enough that the advance had come with a rush. The detachments of the 17th and 18th Egyptian, sitting about on the bank till steamers arrived to let them complete the brigade, disappeared magically in the Sirdar's wake. With them went their Brigadier, Collinson Bey. On that same evening the leading steamers passed up with parts of the First British Brigade from Darmali. Four days' voyage to below Shabluka and then they would come down in one day for the Second. Then we should be complete and ready for Omdurman.

Meanwhile there was hardly a fighting man in Fort Atbara. The three battalions of the Second Brigade were in camp just south of it, on the Atbara. The first third of the Lancers were across the river; the second came in on the afternoon of the 14th. It wanted only the third squadron and the Lancashire Fusiliers to complete the force. The cavalry was to start on the 16th with every kind of riding

and baggage animal to march up, and the more able-bodied of the correspondents were going with them.

So on the torrid Sunday morning of the 14th we filled the empty fort with a dress rehearsal of camels. In the Atbara campaign I had been part of a mess of three with nine camels: now it was a mess of four

with twenty. We marched them all up solemnly after breakfast and computed how much of our multitudinous baggage would go on to them. Fourteen of them were hired camels: a hired camel is cheaper than a bought one, but it generally has smallpox, carries much less weight, and is a deal lengthier to load.

The twenty gurgling monstrosities sat themselves down on the sand and threw up their chins with the camel's ineffable affectation of elegance. The men cast a deliberate look round and remarked, "The baggage is much and the camels are few." Next they brought out rotten nets of rope and slung it round the boxes. and sacks. That is to say, one man slung it round one box and the others stood statuesque about him and suggested difficulties. That done, the second man took up the wondrous tale, then the third, then the fourth. This took about two hours. Then they suggested that a camel could not without danger to its health carry more than two dozen of whisky, whereas anything worthy the name of a camel can carry four hundredweight. Altogether they made some fifty