ith a stern man of strongly marked features. This
man--towards whom all of them showed great deference--was engaged when
the captives entered; they were therefore obliged to stand aside for a
few minutes.

"Who is he?" asked Molloy of the negro interpreter.

"Our great leader," said the negro, "the Mahdi."

"What! the scoundrel that's bin the cause o' all this kick-up?" asked
Jack Molloy, in surprise.

The interpreter did not quite understand the seaman's peculiar language,
but he seemed to have some idea of the drift of it, for he turned up his
up-turned nose in scorn and made no reply.

In a few minutes an officer led the captives before the Mahdi, who
regarded them with a dark frown, directing his attention particularly to
Jack Molloy, as being the most conspicuous member of the party, perhaps,
also, because Molloy looked at him with an air and expression of stern
defiance.

Selecting him as a spokesman for the others, the Mahdi, using the negro
as an interpreter, put him through the following examination:--

"Where do you come from?" he asked, sternly.

"From Suakim," answered Molloy, quite as sternly.

"What brought you here?"

"Your dirty-faced baboons!"

It is probable that the negro used some discretion in translating this
reply, for the chief did not seem at all offended, but with the same
manner and tone continued--

"Do you know the number of men in Suakim?"

"Yes."

"Tell me--how many?"

To this Molloy answered slowly, "Quite enough--if you had only the pluck
to come out into the open an' fight like men--to give you such a lickin'
that there wouldn't be a baboon o' you left in the whole Soudan!"

Again it is probable that the interpreter did not give this speech
verbatim, for while he was delivering it, the Mahdi was scanning the
features of the group of prisoners with a calm but keen eye.

Making a sign to one of his attendants to lead Molloy to one side, he
said a few words to another, who thereupon placed Miles in front of his
master.

"Are you an officer?" was the first question put.

"No," answered our hero, with quiet dignity, but without the slightest
tinge of defiance either in tone or look.

"Will you tell me how many men you have in Suakim?"

"No."

"Dare you refuse?"

"Yes; it is against the principles of a British soldier to give
information to an enemy."

"That's right, John Miles," said Molloy, in an encouraging tone; "give
it 'im hot! They can only kill us on