I forget now, very clearly what did happen when we arrived at Baghdad
South, because we had stopped some time, shunting about, and did not
know that we were there. When at last we discovered that we were at the
station the train was just moving off. Brown shouted to me to jump out
and take our bags. I did so as best I could, but found myself up to my
ankles in liquid mud, not a good position at any time for catching heavy
baggage at a height, but singularly awkward in view of the fact that
Brown in the dark could not see where I was and hurled the bags just out
of reach, but sufficiently near to me to cover me with a kind of soup.

[Illustration: A NOCTURNE OF BAGHDAD]

My next recollection is that of Brown, dark against the sky, describing
a parabolic curve and alighting further up the line. The train had gone,
and a sloppy gurgling noise mingled with muffled exclamations growing
more distinct indicated that Brown was endeavouring to walk in my
direction. These were the only sounds that interrupted the steady noise
of pouring rain. There was nothing in sight. Not only was it that we
could not see the splendour of Baghdad; we could not see each other.

After an interval of groping about and finding bearings, we began to get
accustomed to the gloom and discerned some sheds or buildings up the
line. Thinking this was the station we plodded on as steadily as
possible through the mud. Dimly, through the rain, we could make out
some palms and what appeared to be a domed building and a minaret. Then
we reached a large wooden shed out of the shadow of which loomed an
engine. It evidently had steam up, so we stopped and gave it a hail.

I think I shall never forget the surprise of the next few minutes. As if
in answer to our hail, a door opened in the dark mass of the shed and