the map you will see that from
Korti (which you will find in the neighbourhood of Old Dongola, Ambukoi,
Merawi, places written large) the Nile stretches to the north for a
hundred miles and more as far as Abu Hamed, when it makes a bend
completely round, and goes south all the rest of its course. So that by
cutting across the desert from Korti to Shendy, or rather Matammeh,
which is on the nearer bank of the river, an enormous distance is cut
off.

And since time was of the utmost importance, if Khartoum and Gordon were
to be rescued, a force under General Stewart was to take the short cut,
while the rest followed the tedious windings of the Nile, actually
turning their backs for a precious hundred miles on the way they wanted
to go. It was provoking, but it could not be helped; water carriage was
absolutely necessary for the existence of the expedition.

Those who were to go with General Stewart's force were in high spirits,
and the others envied them exceedingly, for they were going straight at
the throat of the enemy, and would probably relieve Khartoum, disperse
the Arab hordes, finish the campaign; who knew? They might even bring
the Mahdi back in a cage, perhaps, before those following the river
would have a chance of distinguishing themselves. They need not have
distressed themselves; there would be plenty of hard fighting for all.

You might as well know how our friend Reginald Kavanagh was dressed when
he mounted his camel for the desert ride. Picture him then in a loose
red flannel tunic, corduroy knee-breeches, serge leggings, white pith
helmet with a puggaree round it. Over his shoulder he wore a bandolier
belt with sockets for fifty cartridges, and a rifle pocket, in which the
butt of the rifle was secured. The bandolier made him look something
like a mediaeval musketeer; or might have reminded an admirer of Dumas'
wonderful story--and who is not?--of Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and
Aramis.

The Naval Brigade was also mounted on camels, and it was great fun to
see them start. The camel has been called the ship of the desert, but
that was by a poet, who thought rightly enough that he said a pretty
thing, but who did not mean it literally. Jack did.

"How this craft does roll!" cried one.

"Hard a port, Bill, or you'll foul me."

"What d'ye come across my bows for, then?"

"Can't help it; this here won't answer the helm. Port, will you!"

"Port it is."

"Mind, messmate, your camel's going