The Dallas Daily Herald

A Graphic Description of Life in the Far-Off East—How the Country Looks and Characteristics of the People—Latest Intelligence From "Chinese" Gordon's Beleaguered Camp.

I arrived here this morning, writes a correspondent at New Dongola, Lower Nubia, on the 19th of December to the New York World. I came up with a detachment of the Sussex regiment and twenty-two men of the camel corps. We are hurrying on to Korti, and are now encamped near the mudir's palace and facing the river. Great sleepy buffaloes wander about the outskirts of the encampment. Hooded crows are in close attendance on them. Vultures and kites hover near our place of rest. Ugly yellow parish dogs are everywhere. Stagnant pools of water, covered with green slime, dot the surrounding country. Rotting filth is plentiful. Garbage covers the streets, but is now being cleared away by fellaheen. Birds of many kinds are abundant. Sedge warblers chirrup from the dikes. Water wagtails come confidently close to our tents. Great flocks of blue pigeons are flying about. At New Dongola, like other places, towers have been built for their accommodation. As I look around me, I see the fantastic shapes in which some of the pigeon towers have been modeled. Harpies, with their gay plumage, graceful strutting and pretty crests, hop around the tents. Larks can almost be knocked down with a stick. The beautiful little white egrets are very tame. Long-legged and hook-beaked flamingoes are not more than thirty yards from where I write. I can see pelicans by looking either up or down the river. Multitudes of buzzing flies are in the air. Fleas swarm in the ground. They are of enormous size. Officers and men are using fly-flappers. Of late insect powder has been found useful as a protection against the pests.

It is market day. The place of rendezvous is at the other end of the village. Here the needy "effendi" or squireen has sent his lean goats, little sheep, fowl and dates in great quantities. He hopes to get a good price from the "infidels" who are now following the tortuous channel of the Nile. Bedouins, Nubians, negroes, Arabs and a few Copts are chattering with English quartermasters about the price of supplies. Women with blue tattoo marks on their temples, chins, noses or cheek-bones, go about carrying earthen pitchers full of water on their heads. Their complexions are yellow. The brown complexions of the men are well set off by the snowy white tarbooshes which cover their heads. Some of them come from afar. They live in camel's hair tents or hastily constructed dwellings of withes and grass in some oasis in the desert. Now their female camels, with their young, are strolling, pecking at the scanty herbage around the village. A "sabail" or drinking-fountain, stands at one side of the market-place. The weary, dolorous grating of the saklyah, or water-wheel, is harsh to the ear. Scarlet-coated soldiers mingle in the throng. Many of them are struggling with sheep and goats, which they are leading to be slaughtered. Others hold groups of fowl by the legs, and are marching gayly back to their tents. On their way they pass the whitewashed barracks, which has all the appearance of falling to decay. It is built of stone, and is dingy looking. Grass is growing through the crevices in the steps which lead to the gateway. The hinges are rusty, and the underwork is warped. The sentry is dressed in Egyptian uniform, and he moves indolently. He is muscular and haughty looking. His arms are in good order, and his clothes are not much soiled.

The mudir's palace is close at hand. It is one of the principal buildings in the town. The Coptic church, the chief mosque, and the "bosta," or postoffice, are the others. The mosque is going to decay. The wooden lathe work can be seen through the structure of the dome. The ceiling, rich in carving, has, in many places, fallen down. The minarets of the Coptic church are tottering and unsafe. In the "bosta" there are many sinecures for the mudir's favorites. The palace itself is a low, rambling structure of bastard construction. The original beauties of its Saracenic architecture have been impaired by tawdry attempts at European ornamentation. "In company with three other officers I was invited inside. I saw relics of gilded chairs, glaring carpets and articles de Paris. Instead of a Saracenic apartment, with all its rich mosaics, I saw painted Cupids, cheap looking-glasses, and gaudy curtains of exceptional ugliness. The divans were of the grandiose design. The beauties of the Saracenic art had been put away for the gaudy make-believe of Parisian manufacture. Instead of a maze of pillars forming long gray arcades, small windows of painted glass, with niches and miharabs or kubla, of inlaid marble, I saw apartments which reminded me of some third-rate Parisian cafe or establishment des bains. The garden of the palace was in good order. The vines and fig trees were well cared for. There were peach and apricot trees. Cherries and plums were plentiful. Long lines of geraniums gave a hot-house appearance to the place. Palm trees, gloomy cypress, or shady lotus darken the walks.

As we leave the mudir's palace ground we see whaler gigs moving up the river. They are approaching the place of our encampment. There are twelve men—ten soldiers and two sailors—in each boat. The soldiers are rowing, and a sailor is at the helm and another at the bow. The boats have two lug sails each, and these can be worked reefed. This allows an awning to be stretched over each boat. They are built of white pine and without gear weigh 920 pounds each. One of these boats will carry four tons of provisions, ammunition and camp appliances. The food each boat carries is sufficient for the twelve men for many days. The complexion of the men is bronzed almost to copper color. Their coats are off, and they have learned to "feather" their oars and row together. There are movable gunwales which can be raised for their protection against rifle shots from the shore. The arms and accoutrements of the men are close at hand. They look the picture of health. As they come closer I see that they belong to the Staffordshire regiment, and I learn that they are ordered up to join their command, which is now beyond Korti. Their clothes are torn with the work of travel. Willing hands help them on shore. The whaler gigs are beached and the men are paraded. There are only eighty-two of them, all told. The sailors remain in charge of the boats and the stores, the soldiers take their ammunition and accoutrements and "fall in" for inspection. The men are young looking and the picture of health. I cannot say that they are muscular. In some cases patches of blue cloth have been sewn on their scarlet blouses. But the stitches are close and the patches fit well. Their boots are strong and serviceable, while their helmets are a little soiled and dinged. They have discarded their spectacles for the present. When they reach Korti and cross the desert they will put them on again. As they stand in line they look a la guerre. At the word "Attention" they spring up as if touched by an electric wire. Their patchwork uniforms then become them all the more. Their bronzed complexions, stainless arms, and prompt obedience make the wondering crowd of pestering fellaheen around them open their eyes with wonder.

The half-Bedouins and sleepy Arabs, who loiter about the encampment, are not over civil. They are wandering about with provisions for sale. Their palms itch for our backsheesh, while they dislike our ways. They predict failure if we attempt to cross the desert. They remind us of the mirage seas, which may delude us to our ruin. They remind us that even the Egyptian troops of Said Pasha were deceived by these atmospheric phenomena. They tell us that when overcome with thirst we will see beautiful lakes overshadowed with trees and bordered with verdure and shrubbery. But some of us have seen these things already. It was a few days ago that a place down the river, near New Dongola, was seemingly encompassed by an imponderable mirror. In the distance we thought we saw rocks, mountains and old mimosa trees, where we knew that all was sand. In the afternoon the rocks and mountains had gone and a great sheet of motionless water was mirrored before us. We thought we could at times see the waves rippled by some passing breeze. Up to within 300 yards of us we thought we saw a regiment of red-coated soldiers marching at ease where we knew no soldier could be. We thought we saw camels, loaded with munitions of war, on the horizon. It was a mirage and none of us were deceived by it. But en route we saw more than that. Only yesterday I witnessed a sublime phenomenon. It was not a mirage, but a reality. I saw three sand spouts rising perpendicularly to a great height. Their heads were lost in swelling capitals, which appeared to reach the clouds. They looked like columns which had the sky as their vault. It looked like the ruins of some supernatural pantheon. Other sand spouts looked like balloons dragging their cars over the plains. On the desert these sand spouts are dangerous, but we will know how to guard against them as well as our Bedouin or Arab guides.

It is 11 o'clock p. m., and I have just returned from the mudir's. He invited seven of us to dinner. There were three Arab guests, including one military officer of the mudir's guards. He was dressed in a white uniform and wore some decorations. His men were principally recruited from the Bahr-el-Abrod tribe. They are all negroes, and make good soldiers. The dinner was served in European style. After it was over we were shown the "kamalalah." This is the nightly entertainment of the common soldiers. It is the dancing girls of Wady Halfa, in a coarser way. The girls who dance the "kamalaha" make no pretense at decency. Their dress is primitive. It could hardly be more so. The national girdle of leather strips encircles their waist only. Their necks, arms and legs are encased in steel or copper bracelets. These clink as the music goes on. The room in which the dance took place was hung with lamps, and we sat around on the divans, of which there were many. The mudir was not present, but the officer of his guard, who acted as our escort, did not appear to see any impropriety in the display. The "kamalalah" is not considered particularly indecent. The girls who took part in it were nearly black. They were selected because of their graceful limbs. It was to admire nature unadorned that the "kamalalah" was introduced as a public amusement in the valley of the upper Nile. At the "theatre" these girls dance before all comers. They are engaged to go to private houses, as the ones we saw at the mudir's were. They attend "fantasias," reunions and marriages. Women of good repute often witness these displays, and do not appear to think them demoralizing. The girls are generally from the Shygoah tribe, all of whom are noted for their immorality.

But I heard news from Khartoum at the mudir's. It will be old by the time this reaches you, and it would be waste of time to write it. Of the place itself the mudir has much to say. He described its palace, where Gordon lives, facing the river, the many boats on the beach, and the bales of cotton heaped on the banks. He told us of the tusks of ivory and the stevedore population, which crowds along the river front, the stacks of gum heaped in front of the steamers and dailabeghs. He reminded us of the 1000 black soldiers who garrisoned the place when the mehdi began his rebellion, and minutely described the narrow streets leading to the quay; the helmeted and casqued negroes of the guard, armed with battle-axes, spears, and shields, while the rest of the troops are armed with rifles. He laughed as he spoke of the beer circles and the aracki of which the people of Khartoum are said to be so fond. He asked for a pencil and some paper, and appeared proud of his knowledge of the art of drawing as he showed us, what we all well knew, how the city stands at the junction of the Blue and White Niles. But he surprised us with the light and shade he traced on the drawing, and then he handed us a fairly finished sketch of the neighborhood. It was the "Gate of Central Africa" he said, as he added with a smile, "Maleech bookrat inshallah." "Never mind; tomorrow, please God," meaning that we would see the high bluffs, stately palms, and large gardens of citron and orange trees, which he told us occupied so much space within the city walls. I cannot say that he told us anything about Khartoum that we did not know before. Every man in the expedition is prepared to see a badly drained, mud-built, half-Egyptian, half-Soudanese town; a place where there are some European traders among its 30,000 native population; where hunters come from central Africa to dispose of the skins of wild beasts, and where "sue-sue" (beads) are often given in return. The police and government buildings we know are built of stone. The mudir evidently forgot that we have been supplied with maps of the region, and yet his conversation was full of interest. He told us stories of the slave trade, how hippopotami were hunted and anacondas captured, and we took our leave of the old man about 10 o'clock and returned to our quarters.