At three o’clock on the same afternoon the Sirdar and the gunboats resumed their journey to the south, and the next day reached the mouth of the Sobat, sixty-two miles from Fashoda.  Here other flags were hoisted and another post formed with a garrison of half the XIIIth Soudanese battalion and the remaining two guns of Peake’s battery.  The expedition then turned northwards, leaving two gunboats—­the Sultan and the Abu Klea—­at the disposal of Colonel Jackson.

I do not attempt to describe the international negotiations and discussions that followed the receipt of the news in Europe, but it is pleasing to remember that a great crisis found England united.  The determination of the Government was approved by the loyalty of the Opposition, supported by the calm resolve of the people, and armed with the efficiency of the fleet.  At first indeed, while the Sirdar was still steaming southward, wonder and suspense filled all minds; but when suspense ended in the certainty that eight French adventurers were in occupation of Fashoda and claimed a territory twice as large as France, it gave place to a deep and bitter anger.  There is no Power in Europe which the average Englishman regards with less animosity than France.  Nevertheless, on this matter all were agreed.  They should go.  They should evacuate Fashoda, or else all the might, majesty, dominion, and power of everything that could by any stretch of the imagination be called ‘British’ should be employed to make them go.

Those who find it difficult to account for the hot, almost petulant, flush of resolve that stirred the nation must look back over the long history of the Soudan drama.  It had always been a duty to reconquer the abandoned territory.  When it was found that this might be safely done, the duty became a pleasure.  The operations were watched with extravagant attention, and while they progressed the earnestness of the nation increased.  As the tides of barbarism were gradually driven back, the old sea-marks came one after another into view.  Names of towns that were half forgotten—­or remembered only with sadness—­re-appeared on the posters, in the gazettes, and in the newspapers.  We were going back.  ‘Dongola,’ ‘Berber,’ ’Metemma’—­who had not heard of them before?  Now they were associated with triumph.  Considerable armies fought on the Indian Frontier.  There was war in the South and the East and the West of Africa.  But England looked steadfastly towards the Nile and the expedition that crawled forward slowly, steadily, unchecked, apparently irresistible.

When the final triumph, long expected, came in all its completeness it was hailed with a shout of exultation, and the people of Great Britain, moved far beyond their wont, sat themselves down to give thanks to their God, their Government, and their General.  Suddenly, on the chorus of their rejoicing there broke a discordant note.  They were confronted with the fact that a ‘friendly Power’ had, unprovoked,