That
good-looking fellow at the end is not darker than a sun-browned
Englishman, while that stout, round-faced, thick-lipped one next to him
is as black as the polished boot seen in an advertisement. He is a
Nubian, for here we are on the borders of Nubia, now counted part of
Egypt. The porters are making a tremendous hullabaloo, chattering and
quarrelling at the tops of their voices, so a native policeman in khaki
comes along and smacks one of them hard on the side of his face, and
then catches him a crack on the other side to make him keep his balance;
the man does not resent it at all--he rubs his cheek and takes the hint.
Fancy a policeman in our country smacking a porter on the face; what a
row there would be!

Here is the train! The engine-driver and his mate are dressed in shabby
European clothes crowned by turbans which have gaudy orange and red
handkerchiefs twisted round them. They get down on the platform, and
suddenly the fireman sees a rather unpleasant-looking man, with a beard,
standing away from the others; he rushes at him, bows low before him,
and finally kisses both his hands. The man is probably a sheikh of the
Mohammedan church.

The train is a corridor one, and we mount the platform at the end of a
carriage and find ourselves in a compartment thick with dust, where the
seats vary from straight leather-covered benches to comfortable-looking
basket-chairs. The place is crammed with "kit"; dispatch-boxes,
helmet-cases, sword-cases and leather bags fill every corner.

"Allow me," says a pleasant-voiced sunburnt man as he stoops to remove
some of his things to make room for us. "We've come right up from Cairo
and things get a bit scattered," he adds apologetically.

When we get clear of the town we find that in addition to glass windows
and wooden shutters there are also windows of blue glass to keep off the
glare, a splendid idea, as they do not hinder the view. One of these is
up, and peeping through it we get our first real glimpse of the desert,
transformed as if it lay beneath bright moonlight. From the other side
we can see it as it is in its yellow colouring. How fascinating! Its
runs away in sweeping low waves to a line of hills and is crossed by
caravan tracks; even as we watch we see a man riding a small donkey
ahead of a string of camels laden with huge bales. The railway is still
but a small thing in Egypt; it runs right ahead, with few side-lines,
and from it the desert tracks lead off