accurately, and as the triumphant Dervishes appeared amongst the rocks in full pursuit of the retreating cavalry, round after round of twelve-pounder shells burst amongst them. At the same moment the Melik and Sultan had trained their quick-firing guns upon the Dervishes, and did splendid execution amongst the crowded ranks. Under this combined fire the enemy wavered, but not for long. They tried to dodge the projectiles and advance more cautiously under cover of various rocky gullies amongst the broken ground. It was like a terrible game of hide-and-seek. The white gibbehs, hidden for some minutes behind the hill, suddenly reappeared by fresh exits from the ridge; but shells met them at every turn, and finally the fanatics, balked of their prey, sullenly withdrew beyond the hills altogether with most of their wounded, leaving some twelve hundred of their number dead or dying on the field. Inside the zeriba we were all alert and ready. Breakfast was over, and we simply waited for the enemy. I looked down into the hollow beside the river where the baggage camels, camp followers, and servants were stowed away in safety, and saw Ali grasping his enormous sword. The faithful creature came up and informed me that he intended to devote his attention exclusively to the defence of my person during the coming fight. I gently restrained the vaulting ambition of my cook, and pointed out to him the value of less ostentatious heroism--the protection, for example, of the camels from bullets, and the groceries from theft. Having shaken off this enthusiast, I walked along the zeriba to a point some way below the Lincolns. A large number of the Tommies had never been under fire before, _e.g._ the Guards and the Lancashire Fusiliers, and there was a curious look of suppressed excitement in some of the faces, as they stared over the desert to catch a glimpse of the enemy they were at last destined to behold, after many long marches by day and false alarms by night. Now and then I caught in a man's eye the curious gleam which comes from the joy of shedding blood--that mysterious impulse which, despite all the veneer of civilisation, still holds its own in a man's nature, whether he is killing rats with a terrier, rejoicing in a prize fight, playing a salmon, or potting Dervishes. It was a fine day, and we had come out to kill something. Call it what you like, the experience is a big factor in the joy of living: one speaks φωνᾶντα συνετοῖσι. Lower down the line the Sudanese showed their white teeth as they grinned with delight at the prospect of slaughter.