In this desolate land, with a burning sky over it, there are no trees. It is all of a piece, and the different parts of it give no sense of varied locality. The stations are not named but numbered, and here the water is stored in zinc tanks. Command of the tanks means command of the country—an important fact in connection with possible _émeutes_ of native troops. At Abou Hamed we reached the Nile again, and saw vegetation. Warm baths are provided in the station. We jumped out of the train in our pyjamas and rushed into luxury. The railway follows the river to Helfiah, on the opposite side of the river to Khartoum. Here I first beheld our camels, the steadily stubborn source of infinite vexation. All that is hard and heart-breaking in the character of the desert is incarnate in the camel. At Helfiah we engaged Soudanese “boys,” settled matters with officials, and finished our preparations for shooting big game. I went to the Soudan Club at Khartoum, and strolled about the town in the spirit of an inquiring tourist. It is carefully administered, and is laid out in three sections. The best houses are being built by the riverbank. Plans of these must be submitted for approval. They are mostly of red brick, and well constructed. Smaller houses, the “second class,” have their sites behind the big residences. The “third-class” district is still further back. The object of this caste system applied to builders’ enterprise is to secure that there shall be a fine promenade along the river front, and no mean streets near to it. The British and Egyptian flags are hoisted side by side over the quarters of the army of occupation. The Gordon College—the other tribute to the man’s work—is a big, square, red-brick building. It seems to insist on its resemblance to barracks. No dahabeahs are seen on the Nile here; the boats are feluccas. Having made these notes of a tripper I returned to Helfiah. This was on December 5. We dined in our camp, and slept in our tents for the first time, and I ceased to be a tourist, and became a member of an expedition. My companions and I showed the servants how to pitch the tents and peg them, and we apportioned loads to the camels. The camel is—not metaphorically—foul-mouthed. We put some of the boys up to try the paces of the animals, trusting chiefly to one who had served in the Camel Corps under Kitchener. I watched the exhibition of ungainly shuffling with the face of one who judges, but I thought of the hours during which I should be shaken under the glaring sun.