So sang Brown, with a map spread out, proving to me that we must alight at Baghdad South to get the best effect as we gazed entranced at the night glory of Bagdat’s shrines of fretted gold and walked on to find romance and mystery by many a shadow-chequer’d lawn.

“So much better,” he argued, “to approach it gradually like this instead of arriving in a matter-of-fact way by train.”  It was still raining hard, and I had grave doubts about the splendour we were enjoying so much in anticipation, but I did not throw all cold water on his scheme, especially as much of it was planned for my benefit.  Art would be the richer, although we, its humble devotees, might be the wetter.

I forget now, very clearly what did happen when we arrived at Baghdad South, because we had stopped some time, shunting about, and did not know that we were there.  When at last we discovered that we were at the station the train was just moving off.  Brown shouted to me to jump out and take our bags.  I did so as best I could, but found myself up to my ankles in liquid mud, not a good position at any time for catching heavy baggage at a height, but singularly awkward in view of the fact that Brown in the dark could not see where I was and hurled the bags just out of reach, but sufficiently near to me to cover me with a kind of soup.

[Illustration:  A NOCTURNE OF BAGHDAD]

My next recollection is that of Brown, dark against the sky, describing a parabolic curve and alighting further up the line.  The train had gone, and a sloppy gurgling noise mingled with muffled exclamations growing more distinct indicated that Brown was endeavouring to walk in my direction.  These were the only sounds that interrupted the steady noise of pouring rain.  There was nothing in sight.  Not only was it that we could not see the splendour of Baghdad; we could not see each other.

After an interval of groping about and finding bearings, we began to get accustomed to the gloom and discerned some sheds or buildings up the line.  Thinking this was the station we plodded on as steadily as possible through the mud.  Dimly, through the rain, we could make out some palms and what appeared to be a domed building and a minaret.  Then we reached a large wooden shed out of the shadow of which loomed an engine.  It evidently had steam up, so we stopped and gave it a hail.

I think I shall never forget the surprise of the next few minutes.  As if in answer to our hail, a door opened in the dark mass of the shed and revealed a workshop brilliantly lighted.  Out of this stepped an Arab with a lamp in his hand, and gave us an answering shout We stepped into the light.  I don’t know which was most surprised, the native at seeing such curious figures staggering under large bags through the mud, or we, at beholding in the beam of light from the shed a magic vignette of palms, Eastern buildings and a large South Western Railway engine.

Brown was delighted.