“There is one comfort,” Brown gasped in an interval between two very energetic spells of sliding, “if we can’t move the Ford, nobody else can!”

In the circumstances of the moment I cannot say that I felt much “comfort” in contemplating the car’s condition.  In fact I didn’t care in the least whether I saw the thing again or not.  All I cared about was reaching the Khan and putting down my bag.  We found tracks where some scrubby plants were growing, where the surface was passable, but as we neared the entrance to the Khan, where carts and horsemen had made a veritable quagmire, we stuck, all three, without apparently any prospect of getting on at all unless we abandoned our baggage.  However, some Arabs came to our assistance and relieved us of our burdens, so that we gained our objective.

Beginning our toilet by scraping each other down with a ruler, so that we could see which was which, we soon evolved into something like our normal selves.  We had a few clothes to change into, but neither Brown nor I had a complete set of everything.  The result was that Brown looked like a naval officer that had taken up cement making and I appeared to be a cement worker, finished off, as the eye followed me downwards, with very smart trousers and regulation naval boots.

[Illustration:  MOONLIGHT, BAGHDAD]

The Khan was a poor enough shelter as far as accommodation went, but we managed to make up a good fire and get tolerably dry.  Some tea, made by the ever resourceful driver, raised our spirits considerably, and we talked over plans for the immediate future.  Enquiries revealed the fact that we were in great luck about trains, which appeared at intervals of several days, as one was due in a few hours that would reach Baghdad the same night.  The driver had found others held up with their cars, so we left him to stand by till better weather made movement possible and decided to put in a few days at Baghdad instead of waiting here.

At about 7 o’clock, a train of miscellaneous construction steamed in from the direction of Dhibban, bound for Baghdad.  This bit of line runs from Baghdad to the Euphrates and is important because it links up the two great waterways and is always available when motor transport is impossible on account of the state of the roads.

We clambered into a covered van, specially reserved—­a sort of Mesopotamian Pullman car.  It contained a great litter of odd baggage and two Hindu officers who were very luxuriously fitted up with beds and a table.  Divesting ourselves of our wet trench-coats, for it was still raining, we made some sort of a seat of our bags and were tolerably comfortable.  Brown, who, now that he was dry and warm and well fed, was in the highest spirits, prophesied that our arrival in the enchanted city of the Arabian Nights was well timed, for it was Friday night, when all the mosques would be lighted up.

  “A million tapers flaring bright
   From twisted silvers look’d to shame
   The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream’d
   Upon the mooned domes aloof
   In inmost Bagdat, till there seem’d
   Hundreds of crescents on the roof
     Of night new-risen."[2]