Here lay the great peril which threatened the expedition.  What was to be done with the troops during the hours of darkness?  In the daytime they recked little of their enemy.  But at night, when 400 yards was the extreme range at which their fire could be opened, it was a matter of grave doubt whether the front could be kept and the attack repelled.  The consequences of the line being penetrated in the darkness were appalling to think of.  The sudden appearance of crowds of figures swarming to the attack through the gloom; the wild outburst of musketry and artillery all along the zeriba; the crowds still coming on in spite of the bullets; the fire getting uncontrolled, and then a great bunching and crumpling of some part of the front, and mad confusion, in which a multitude of fierce swordsmen would surge through the gap, cutting and slashing at every living thing; in which transport animals would stampede and rush wildly in all directions, upsetting every formation and destroying all attempts to restore order; in which regiments and brigades would shift for themselves and fire savagely on all sides, slaying alike friend and foe; and out of which only a few thousand, perhaps only a few hundred, demoralised men would escape in barges and steamers to tell the tale of ruin and defeat.

The picture—­true or false—­flamed before the eyes of all the leaders that night; but, whatever their thoughts may have been, their tactics were bold.  Whatever advice was given, whatever opinions were expressed, the responsibility was Sir Herbert Kitchener’s.  Upon his shoulders lay the burden, and the decision that was taken must be attributed solely to him.  He might have formed the army into a solid mass of men and animals, arranged the infantry four deep all round the perimeter, and dug as big a ditch or built as high a zeriba as time allowed.  He might have filled the numerous houses with the infantry, making them join the buildings with hasty entrenchments, and so enclose a little space in which to squeeze cavalry, transport, and guns.  Instead he formed his army in a long thin curve, resting on the river and enclosing a wide area of ground, about which baggage and animals were scattered in open order and luxurious accommodation.  His line was but two deep; and only two companies per battalion and one Egyptian brigade (Collinson’s) were in reserve.  He thus obtained the greatest possible development of fire, and waited, prepared if necessary to stake everything on the arms of precision, but hoping with fervour that he would not be compelled to gamble by night.

The night was, however, undisturbed; and the moonlit camp, with its anxious generals, its weary soldiers, its fearful machinery of destruction, all strewn along the bank of the great river, remained plunged in silence, as if brooding over the chances of the morrow and the failures of the past.  And hardly four miles away another army—­twice as numerous, equally confident, equally brave—­were waiting impatiently for the morning and the final settlement of the long quarrel.