ELABORATE WELCOMES 167 



who came to meet me seemed so hurt, not so much 

 at my not stopping there, but at my not drinking " a 

 cup of water," that, to please them, I had to break 

 through my rule of not drinking on the march, and 

 have some. 



The country had changed greatly in the last few 

 miles. We were no longer in the hills, and the 

 ground was much more sandy, " Kordofan-like," than 

 otherwise. 



Just before reaching the very excellent huts that the 

 Sultan was running up for me I met the latter, who 

 had only then been apprised of my approach. 



We had had to capture a guide, as he had refused 

 to show us the way, and the long march and the 

 10 A.M. sun combined, with this contretemps, in 

 making me rather wroth. But when I saw one man 

 hoisting the Sultan into his scarlet robe of honour, 

 for which he had sent, another trying to make his 

 new tarbush stay on his head, another to lasso him 

 with the tinsel slings of his scimitar, and then turned 

 to my party — myself the worse for wear, two rank tatter- 

 demalions carrying on top of their all, on their heads, 

 a big piece of raw meat from the last-killed antelope, 

 and proudly bearing aloft the two flags, a yard or 

 so square each, and behind them my orderly driving 

 a donkey, and with one puttee on and the other round 

 the neck of a wretched naked native, it was all I 

 could do, without laughing, to repeat the endless 

 "taib aiwa taib el Hamdililah" 's of salutation, rendered 

 necessary by politeness. 



Murad Ibrahim, of the Kreish Hofraui — which latter 



