had been without food since four o'clock that morning, and
were consequently in urgent need of provender as well as rest and
water--the last having been all consumed.

As it was imperative that the work should go on, it was found necessary
to serve out food by wings.

Accordingly, the men of one half-battalion received rations and water,
and were then sent to their zereba with the Gardner guns, while the
other half, still lying in reserve by their piled arms, received their
rations.

The marines also sat down for brief rest and refreshment. Among them
was our sedate friend Stevenson, who invariably carried his small Bible
with him in all his campaigns. After quickly consuming his allowance,
and while waiting for water, he sat down to read a few verses of the
23rd Psalm,--for Stevenson was one of those quiet, fearless men who
cannot be laughed out of doing right, and who have no fear of the face
of man, whether scowling in anger or sneering in contempt.

"Hallo, Tom!" said a light-hearted comrade near him, "this is a queer
time to be readin' your Bible. We'll be havin' you sayin' your prayers
next!"

"I've said _them_ already, Fred," replied the marine, replacing the book
in his pouch. "As you say, it _is_ a queer time to be readin' the Word,
but not an unsuitable time, for this may be the last chance that you and
I will ever have of readin' it. Our next orders may be to meet God face
to face."

Stevenson was yet speaking when a Lancer was seen approaching at a wild
gallop. He dashed up to the generals and informed them that the enemy
was gathering in front.

The message was barely delivered when another Lancer rode up and
reported the enemy close at hand.

The order, "Stand to your arms!" was promptly given and as promptly
obeyed, without flurry or disorder.

Next minute a wild uproar was heard, and the Lancers were seen galloping
towards the square with thousands of the swarthy warriors of the desert
at their heels--nay, even mixed up with them!

On they came, a dark, frantic, yelling host, with irresistible fury,
and, perchance, patriotism! Shall we deny to those men what we claim
for ourselves--love of hearth and home, of country, of freedom? Can we
not sympathise with men who groaned under an insolent and tyrannical
yoke, and who, failing to understand or appreciate, the purity of the
motives by which we British were actuated, could see nothing in us
except the supporters of their enemies?

T