in the way of a complaint against their treatment — a wish on the part of any one to escape, or an expressed hope that the Government would soon send troops to release us. Knowing that the Government had, for the time being, abandoned all thoughts of re-conquering the Soudan, I told my fellow-captives, when they spoke to me about a probable advance of the combined armies, that they must have patience until the hot weather passed. Had I told them what I knew, their despair could not have been concealed, and the truth would soon have reached the Khaleefa's ears. A number of the prisoners were old soldiers of the Egyptian army, who had been taken at the fall of Khartoum and elsewhere, and they waited day after day, week after week, and year after year, still hoping that the Government for whom they had fought would send troops to release them; but, with the greater number, their release came only with death — at the gallows, at the Khaleefa's shambles, or by disease and starvation.
Imprisoned at one time with me was Mahmoud Wad Said, the Sheikh of the Dabaanieh tribe, who for years had kept the Abyssinians in check on the Egyptian frontier in the Eastern Soudan. At one time he was powerful, rich in cattle, slaves, and lands, but had been taken prisoner early in the Mahdist movement. When he had been imprisoned about three years and four months, he became paralyzed, and his release was ordered by the Khaleefa, who had so far relented as to allow of his dying with his family, then at Omdurman, patiently waiting for
