instant as he puckered his mouth; but it was only for an instant--then
he smiled and asked for another stroke for another shilling. This
seemed to indicate to the officers that there was something more than
fanaticism in the Soudanese. Their warriors were tall, powerfully
built men--we used to say they were dressed in palm oil and
mosquitoes. Their hair stood straight up, and their bodies were
greased. I think it was the general opinion of our officers that if
these men could be disciplined and drilled as European soldiers are,
they would make the finest fighters in the world. Perhaps Kipling has
described this opinion better than anybody else when he says:

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan;
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man;
An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air--
You big black boundin' beggar--for you broke a British square!

There was somewhat of a mixture of my sentiment and feeling on this
war. I wanted Gordon released, I wanted the war ended and the
Soudanese beaten; but when I contrasted the spirit of the campaign
with the spirit of Jesus, I often wished that I could lend my
assistance to these black men of the desert who were fighting for the
thing under their feet, and the home life of their tribe. But it was
not until I was completely out of the desert that I was possessed of a
loathing and disgust for the game of war, as such. This disgust grew
until I had completely ridden myself not only of the war spirit, but
of the paraphernalia of the soldier. The officer whose servant I was,
was so hated by everybody who knew him that if he had ever gotten in
front of the ranks, as was the ancient custom in war, he would have
been the first man to drop, and he would have dropped by a bullet from
one of his own men. But leaders no longer lead on the field of