We arrived at Rojan Island before daybreak on the 28th, and were aroused out of sleep in the dark by the pleasing intelligence that an order had arrived from the Sirdar that we were to be turned out of the gunboat, bag and baggage, as the vessel was wanted for other purposes. Floundering about in the semi-darkness we got our luggage together as well as we could, and in less than twenty minutes found ourselves sitting on the river bank with our few goods and chattels round us. It would not have taken the gunboat five minutes to land us at Hagir on the opposite bank; in fact, after marooning us on the island, it actually touched at the camp on its return down the Nile. This was one of several instances in which, during the campaign, correspondents were treated with an utter disregard of consideration or even ordinary courtesy. It often seemed as if the Sirdar or his subordinates went out of their way to cause all the inconvenience they could to the representatives of the press. Certainly if this conduct was merely due to oversight or thoughtlessness, it was bad enough; if it was intentional, it was based upon a petty and ungenerous abuse of authority. On the present occasion we were left for seven mortal hours on this treeless island, although the _El Tahra_ was lying off Hagir, and could easily have been sent across the river for us. When at last the old ferry-boat came blundering across, the official in charge, who seemed, from his manner, to have caught the Sirdar's mental attitude towards correspondents, brusquely refused to take us over to Hagir, because no one had given him orders to do so. Consequently the _El Tahra_ left us and recrossed to the camp with her precious commander, although one of our number was suffering severely from the sun, and lay prostrate on the ground. As all our baggage was on the other side of the river, having been sent on by camels, we had absolutely nothing to protect us from the heat as it grew fiercer and fiercer every moment, so we simply sat on the ground and grilled in the sun. The misery of such an experience is very real indeed when the thermometer stands at 115° in the shade! As one lies amid a dreary waste of sand and rock, sub curru nimium propinqui Solis in terra domibus negata, with the pitiless rays of noontide beating down upon one's head, visions of iced cups and other delights rise like a mental mirage and mock one's misery! The thoughts stray far away in fantasy from the unlovely landscape, and rest upon an English tennis lawn, beside the cool Cherwell or under the cedars of the Wadham Gardens--the pleasant game, the refreshment of shade and drink which follows it!