Ponsonby should have thought of that, and have defeated the Mahdi before he counted his profits. The Mahdi was receiving recruits daily. Men who were fanatics; desperate fighters because they believed the triumph of the prophet was the triumph of religion. Every day these recruits were drilled; the discipline was of the strictest, but they would have suffered torture if they thought by so doing they could assist the Mahdi. Ponsonby had won over the chief of the Shiluk tribe to his ideas, and five thousand men were ready to take the field against the Mahdists. “Why wait?” asked Hubert Pasha, as he was called. “Will the Governor of the Soudan object?” asked the chief of the Shiluk. “The Governor of Fashoda will soon be Sultan of Egypt, and you will be the governor general of the Soudan.” And the poor barbarian was fired with ambition, and ready to fight against anybody, or any nation, as Ponsonby should direct. CHAPTER XXV. VICTORY. “Max, if anything happens to me, will you be good to Girzilla?” asked Ibrahim, one night. “Anything happen? What do you mean?” “I feel that we are about to have a battle, and I may fall.” “Of course, so may I.” “Yes; but I feel it here,” and Ibrahim placed his hand on his forehead. “Premonition, eh? Take a good stiff dose of quinine, and you will be all right.” “No, I am not sick.” “Perhaps not, but talking of being sick. Wasn’t that a lark I had with the Mahdi?” “What lark?” “I forgot you were not there. It was good fun. I could have split my sides with laughter, but I had to be sober as a judge.” “What did you do, Madcap?” “Swear you won’t give me away.” “Give you away?” repeated Ibrahim, surprisedly. “Don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell even Girzilla.” “No.” “Swear it.” “By the beard of the prophet, I swear!” “Well, you know the Mahdi has a great deal more ceremony shown him now than at first. His hands and feet are washed before he stretches himself on your uncle’s sacred carpet.” “Yes, I know that.” “You also know that he must pour the water into the basin himself.” “Yes.” “Well, the Mahdi stood ready for the water. A big Arab held the basin, another came with a leather bottle, filled with the sacred water. The Mahdi took the bottle and poured some into the basin; but he nearly fell with fright.” “Why?” “The water foamed and sizzed until it overflowed the basin. The Arab was so frightened that he dropped the bowl and fell on his knees. ‘Bring the other vessel,’ commanded the Mahdi. The other was brought, and the same thing occurred. ‘A miracle! A miracle!’ shouted your uncle, and Mohammed declared that it signified a great uprising of the Mahdi’s enemies; but just as the boiling and frothing of the water subsided, so would his enemies. Hadn’t I hard work to preserve a sober face, because----” “What did you do?”