about a million of people who had not enough to eat at any time. We
had only gone a couple of blocks away when some wildly excited niggers
rushed after us and informed us: "Plenty men kill 'um back there!" We
went back at the double and there was as ugly a riot as ever Irishman
longed for. There seemed to be a couple of thousand yelling maniacs
packing both sides of the street. Our instructions were to prevent the
gathering of crowds. There were only ten of us and we had but our
improvised batons, but I told the boys to get into the crowd and tell
them once to "imshi" (get) and then hit. "Be sure and never speak
twice." We soon dispersed the crowd. There was something about our
"Nulla-nullas" [1] that looked very businesslike, and none stopped to
argue the point.

Sometimes the boys were pretty thirsty in those long tramps through the
streets, and the open cafes were very inviting. But we had an
experience that warned me against allowing any of them to go in and get
a drink. One of them had certainly not been gone more than a couple of
minutes, and he swears he only had one drink; nevertheless, he had to
be put in a cab and sent back to the barracks. We had pretty dull
times in those barracks--the Kasr-el-nile just alongside the bridge of
the same name. The chief amusement was to feed the hawks that all day
hovered in the courtyard. We would drop pieces of meat and bread from
the balcony, but so quick were the birds that I never knew a piece to
reach the ground.

Jerry was one of the officers of the picket, and we had to report to
him at midnight at a shelter in a part of the city with an evil
reputation. From here we would issue in force to close for the night
the various dens of iniquity. Jerry would generally stroll ahead with
his cane and walk into the resort of the worst ruffians on earth with