among the houses at the edge of the suburbs.  Several hundreds of these, with two or three Emirs, came out to make their submission; and we were presently so loaded with spears and swords that it was impossible to carry them, and many interesting trophies had to be destroyed.  It was just getting dark when suddenly Colonel Slatin galloped up.  The Khalifa had fled!  The Egyptian cavalry were at once to pursue him.  The 21st Lancers must await further orders.  Slatin appeared very much in earnest.  He talked with animated manner to Colonel Broadwood, questioned two of the surrendered Emirs closely, and hurried off into the dusk, while the Egyptian squadrons, mounting, also rode away at a trot.

It was not for some hours after he had left the field of battle that Abdullah realised that his army had not obeyed his summons, but were continuing their retreat, and that only a few hundred Dervishes remained for the defence of the city.  He seems, if we judge from the accounts of his personal servant, an Abyssinian boy, to have faced the disasters that had overtaken him with singular composure.  He rested until two o’clock, when he ate some food.  Thereafter he repaired to the Tomb, and in that ruined shrine, amid the wreckage of the shell-fire, the defeated sovereign appealed to the spirit of Mohammed Ahmed to help him in his sore distress.  It was the last prayer ever offered over the Mahdi’s grave.  The celestial counsels seem to have been in accord with the dictates of common-sense, and at four o’clock the Khalifa, hearing that the Sirdar was already entering the city, and that the English cavalry were on the parade ground to the west, mounted a small donkey, and, accompanied by his principal wife, a Greek nun as a hostage, and a few attendants, rode leisurely off towards the south.  Eight miles from Omdurman a score of swift camels awaited him, and on these he soon reached the main body of his routed army.  Here he found many disheartened friends; but the fact that, in this evil plight, he found any friends at all must be recorded in his favour and in that of his subjects.  When he arrived he had no escort—­ was, indeed, unarmed.  The fugitives had good reason to be savage.  Their leaders had led them only to their ruin.  To cut the throat of this one man who was the cause of all their sufferings was as easy as they would have thought it innocent.  Yet none assailed him.  The tyrant, the oppressor, the scourge of the Soudan, the hypocrite, the abominated Khalifa; the embodiment, as he has been depicted to European eyes, of all the vices; the object, as he was believed in England, of his people’s bitter hatred, found safety and welcome among his flying soldiers.  The surviving Emirs hurried to his side.  Many had gone down on the fatal plain.  Osman Azrak, the valiant Bishara, Yakub, and scores whose strange names have not obscured these pages, but who were, nevertheless, great men of war, lay staring up at the stars.  Yet those who remained