Between the two Highland battalions was posted a battery of Maxims under Captain Smeaton, whom I had seen in Crete a year and a half ago. Just behind the Maxims a detachment of Engineers did excellent work in organising the ammunition supply. One is always glad to hear the conduct of this fine corps appreciated, for frequently the sappers, from the nature of their work, are not sufficiently noticed in the literature of our "little wars." They did much excellent work at the Atbara, with scarcely a word of subsequent recognition from the Press; and here in the Omdurman zeriba they were posted in the middle of the fighting line, and took their chance as well as anyone else. The Maxims poured forth an unceasing stream of bullets. A belt of cartridges was fixed, and instantly began to glide through the breech mechanism; then ta-ta-ta-ta-ta--the belt was empty and thrown aside to make way for another. It was not difficult to see how the gun was doing its terrible work, for if the aim became unduly depressed, a screen of dust and sand was thrown up in front of the enemy's line, and the only thing needed was a trifling elevation of the barrel. There is a sort of fascination about a Maxim in full swing. Water is placed round the barrel in a metal casing, in order to keep the steel from becoming red hot. As it is, in three minutes after the water is poured in it boils furiously, and steam rushes out of the valves. Still, as long as the barrel is in contact with water of any kind, all goes well. In the midst of the Dervish attack the water suddenly gave out in Captain Smeaton's battery, and the machinery would speedily have ceased work from overheating but for the ready help of the men who stood by, and immediately emptied their water-bottles into the empty tubing. The Maxims, thus refreshed, continued their work, and up to 8.30 a.m. no less than ninety thousand rounds of ammunition had been fired from these weapons alone. About seven o'clock a marvellous attempt to break our lines was made by the enemy. The Dervish leader in the centre--perhaps Yakub, the Khalifa's brother--actually dispatched a body of about one hundred and fifty cavalry against the British position. That any sane man could be guilty of such criminal folly is almost incredible. The devoted band galloped towards the zeriba over the open desert in the very teeth of Maxims and Lee-Metford volleys! Needless to say, not one of these brave fellows got within five hundred yards of our lines. The Maxims and rifles rained bullets upon them, the murderous sheet of lead mowed them down, and they simply vanished from sight. One heroic leader struggled on in front of his comrades, until he too, with his beautiful Arab charger, went down like the rest, and lay there, a silent witness to the magnificent valour of the Khalifa's followers. Not one man in twenty returned from this wild charge, which, for the utter recklessness of its bravery, must be almost unexampled in military history.