WITH KITCHENER TO KHARTOUM.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIX, Issue 304, 24 December 1898, Page 4 (Supplement)

WITH KITCHENER TO KHARTOUM.

Mr G. W. Steevens, who telegraphed the final chapters of his book 'With Kitchener to Khartoum" to his publishers from the seat of war. is back again in London looking- lean and brown, and also bolder than he used to be. His story (coming- out as it did absolutely apropos) has made a big- hit. Nearly all the reviewers pronounce this still young man the finest descriptive journalist of the day. Even the chilly and .judicial 'Spectator' does not hesitate to declare 'Mr Steevens' account of the Battle of Omdurman reaches the high-water mark of literature. Sir William Napier might have known more about the details of the battle, but even he could not have brought the blood ot: the reader to his forehead in a more exciting way.' This, from such a source, is praise indeed. 'With Kitchener to Khartoum' may well be placed on book-shelves alongside Forbes Mitchell's 'Reminiscences of the Great Mutiny' and Dr. Ryan's (of Melbourne) "Under the Red Crescent.' The latter still remains the most vivid and impressive picture extant of the horrors of war in the nineteenth century.

One gathers it was Mr Steevens' thrilling account of Omdurman which achieved the enviable distinction of bringing the blood to the 'Spectator's' brow, but let us not omit to point out that the war correspondent proves equally felicitous in lighter vein. What, for instance, could be better in its way than the following stirring Bacchanalian picture of a Soudan thirst:—

'Now comes the sweet revenge of all the torments of the day. It is quite dark by now, unless the moon be up, leaning to you out of a tender blue immensity, silver, caressing, cool. Or else the sprightly candles beckon from your dining table, spread outside the tent, halo of light and white in the blackness, alert, inviting, cool. You too. by now. are clean and cool. You quite forget whether the day was more than warm or no. Hut you remember the thirst. You are cool, but within you are still dry. very dry and shrunken. Take a long* mug and think well what you will have poured into it. for this is the moment of the day—the moment that pays for the Soudan. You are very thirsty, and are about to slake your thirst. Let :it be alcoholic, for you have exuded much life in the day: let it above all be long. "Whisky and soda is n friend that, never falls you. l-but bettor still something tonic. Gin and soda? Gin and limejuiee. and soda? Gin and bitters and limejuice and soda? Or else that triumphant blend of all wetting flavours, an Abu Hamed—gin. vermouth, angostura. limejuice, soda? Mix in due proportions, put in especially plenty of soda, and then drink For this is to drink indeed. This splashes round your throat, slides softly down your gullet, till you fee! it run out into your stomach. It spreads blessedly through body and spirit—not swirling, like the Atbara, but irrigating, like the Nile. It is soil in the sand, substance in the wind, life in death. There is nothing like that first drink after sunset, but you are only half irrigated yet— the first drink at dinner, yes. and the second and the culminating whisky and soda, can give rich moments. Then your ang-a- ■ reb stands ready, the sky is your bedchamber, and the breath of the desert on your cheek is your good-night kiss.'