Around this square, which was
full of holes where the mud had been excavated for brickmaking,
were the better class of houses; this was the Belgravia of
Khartoum. In the centre of a long mud wall, ventilated by certain
attempts at frameless windows, guarded by rough wooden bars, we
perceived a large archway with closed doors; above this entrance
was a shield, with a device that gladdened my English eyes: there
was the British lion and the unicorn! Not such a lion as I had
been accustomed to meet in his native jungles, a yellow cowardly
fellow, that had often slunk away from the very prey from which
I had driven him, but a real red British lion, that, although
thin and ragged in the unhealthy climate of Khartoum, looked as
though he was pluck to the backbone.
This was the English Consulate. I regarded our lion and unicorn
for a few moments with feelings of veneration; and as Mr.
Petherick, the consul, who was then absent on the White Nile in
search of Speke and Grant, had very kindly begged me to occupy
some rooms in the Consulate, we entered a large courtyard, and
were immediately received by two ostriches that came to meet us;
these birds entertained us by an impromptu race as hard as they
could go round the courtyard, as though performing in a circus.
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