Summary

Henry Francis Brooke Private Journal of Henry Francis Brooke

Brigadier-General Brooke died not only a soldier's death, but the noblest death—for he fell not only at the call of duty but in an act of christian benevolence, in saving the life of a brother officer. There is not a Fermanagh man at home or abroad, by the country fireside or in a foreign land, but will join with our gracious sovereign in sympathy with the widow and the fatherless in their sad bereavement.
Source: Gutenberg

Henry Francis Brooke Private Journal of Henry Francis Brooke

Imagine the delights of an immense cloud of dust a mile square, or more, driven along by a red hot wind, and forcing its way into every hole and corner. While it is passing it is quite dark, even in mid-day, and when it is gone everything one possesses, every table, chair and book is covered with an inch of dust, and one's hair and beard turned into a whitey brown color, and stiff with dirt.
Source: Gutenberg

Henry Francis Brooke Private Journal of Henry Francis Brooke

A few tents here and there, huge piles of bags full of grain, a string of camels, or a procession of creaking carts, drawn by two bullocks each, make up a scene which, curious by itself, is made still more odd by the sight of railway engines moving about, and all the ordinary work of a railway station going on, as it were, in the midst of a desert. A little further on, at the back of one of the sandhills, we came to the tent of my friend General Burrows, who is commanding here, and hospitably arranged to put up William French and me, and feed us while we are here.
Source: Gutenberg

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