surprising their camp, inflicted severe loss and captured much booty.  The temporary Negus who had been appointed to fill the vacancy caused by the death of King John was among the killed.  The body of that courageous monarch fell into the hands of the Dervishes, who struck off the head and sent it—­ a tangible proof of victory—­to Omdurman.  The Abyssinians, still formidable, made good their retreat; nor did Zeki Tummal venture to follow into the mountains.  Internal difficulties within his dominions prevented the new Negus from resuming the offensive, and thus the Dervish-Abyssinian war dwindled down to, as it had arisen out of, frontier raids.

The arrival in Omdurman of King John’s head intoxicated the Khalifa with joy.  Abyssinia was regarded throughout the Soudan as a far greater power than Egypt, and here was its mighty ruler slain and decapitated.  But the victory had been dearly purchased.  The two great battles had been fought with indescribable ferocity by both sides, and the slaughter was appalling.  No reliable statistics are avaliable, but it may be reasonably asserted that neither side sustained a loss in killed during the war of fewer than 15,000 fighting men.  The flower of the Dervish army, the heroic blacks of Abu Anga, were almost destroyed.  The Khalifa had won a Pyrrhic triumph.  Never again was he able to put so great a force in the field, and, although the army which was shattered at Omdurman was better armed and better drilled, it was less formidable than that which broke the might of Abyssinia.

During the progress of the struggle with Abyssinia the war against Egypt languished.  The Mahdi, counting upon the support of the population, had always declared that he would free the Delta from ‘the Turks,’ and was already planning its invasion when he and his schemes were interrupted by death.  His successor inherited all the quarrel, but not all the power.  Much of Mohammed Ahmed’s influence died with him.  Alive, he might conquer the Moslem world; dead, he was only a saint.  All fanatical feeling in Egypt soon subsided.  Nevertheless the Khalifa persisted in the enterprise.  The success of the Abyssinian war encouraged and enabled him to resume the offensive on his northern frontier, and he immediately ordered Wad-el-Nejumi, who commanded in Dongola, to march with his scanty force to the invasion of Egypt.  The mad enterprise ended, as might have been foreseen, in the destruction of both Emir and army at Toski.  The Khalifa received the news with apparent grief, but it is difficult to avoid suspecting him of dark schemes.  He was far too clever to believe that Egypt could be conquered by five thousand men.  He knew that besides the Egyptians there was a strange white tribe of men, the same that had so nearly saved Khartoum.  ‘But for the English,’ he exclaimed on several occasions, ‘I would have conquered Egypt.’  Yet, knowing of the British occupation, he deliberately sent an army to its inevitable ruin.  It is difficult