Henty George Alfred
With Kitchener in the Soudan: A Story of Atbara and Omdurman
The Arab's face cleared.
"Truly you have discovered a way out of it, Fatma, at any rate for the present."
He turned to Gregory for the first time.
"Do you speak our tongue?" he asked.
"Yes, Emir, as well as my own."
"Then you understand what we have said. Had I not been bound by my oath, I would have embraced you as a brother. We Arabs can appreciate a brave deed, even when it is done by an enemy. When one of the boatmen ran into the battery where I was directing the guns against your boat, and said that the boat in which my wife, with other women, were crossing had been sunk, by a shell from our batteries on the other side, I felt that my blood was turned to water. He said he believed that all had been killed or drowned, but that he looked back as he swam, and saw a white man jump overboard, and a short time after another followed him; and that, when he reached the shore, they were supporting a woman in the water.
"I rode hither, having but small hope indeed that it was my wife, but marvelling much that a white officer should thus risk his life to save a drowning woman. My oath pressed heavily upon me, as I rode. Even had it been but a slave girl whom you rescued, I should no less have admired your courage. I myself am said to be brave, but it would never have entered my mind thus to risk my life for a stranger. When I found that it was my wife who was saved, I still more bitterly regretted the oath that stood between me and her preserver, and truly glad am I that she has herself shown me how I can escape from its consequences.
"Now I see you, I wonder even more than before at what you have done; for indeed, in years, you are little more than a boy."
"What I did, Emir, I believe any white officer who was a good swimmer would have done. No Englishman would see a woman drowning without making an effort to save her, if he had it in his power. As to the fact that she was not of the same race or religion, he would never give it a thought. It would be quite enough for him that she was a woman."
"And you," Mahmud said, turning to Zaki, "you are a Jaalin, are you not?"
"I am."
"Jaalin or Baggara, you are my friend," Mahmud said, placing his hand on Zaki's shoulders. "And so you, too, leapt overboard to save a woman?"
"No, Emir," he replied, "I jumped over because my master jumped over. I had not thought about the woman. I jumped over to aid him, and it was to give him my help that I took my share in supporting the woman. The Bimbashi is a good master, and I would die for him."
Mahmud smiled at this frank answer.
"Nevertheless, whatever may have been your motive, you were enabled to save the life of my wife, and henceforth you are my friend."
Then he turned to the horsemen, who were still grouped on the bank above.
"You have heard what has been said? The white man is under the protection of my harem; the Jaalin is henceforth my friend."
Mahmud was a fine specimen of the tribesmen of the Soudan–tall, well built, and with pure Arab features. He was the Khalifa's favourite son; and was generous, with kindly impulses, but impatient of control. Of late, he had given way to outbursts of passion, feeling acutely the position in which he was placed. He had advanced from Omdurman confident that he should be able to drive the infidels before him, and carry his arms far into Egypt. His aspirations had been thwarted by the Khalifa. His requests for stores and camels that would have enabled him to advance had been refused, and he had been ordered to fall back. His troops had been rendered almost mutinous, from the want of supplies.
He had seen the invaders growing stronger and stronger, and accomplishing what had seemed an impossibility–the bringing up of stores sufficient for their sustenance–by pushing the railroad forward towards Berber. Now that their forces had been very greatly increased, and the issue of the struggle had become doubtful, he had received the order for which he had been craving for months; and had been directed to march down and attack the Egyptian army, drive them across the Nile, and destroy the railway.
By means of spies he had heard that, ere long, a large force of British soldiers would come up to reinforce the Egyptians; so that what might have been easy work, two months before, had now become a difficult and dangerous enterprise. The manner in which the Dervishes had been defeated in their attacks upon Wolseley's desert column, and in the engagements that had since taken place, showed how formidable was the fighting power, not only of the British troops, but of the native army they had organized; and his confidence in the power of the tribesmen to sweep all before them had been shaken.
The Dervishes scowled, when they heard that they were not to have the satisfaction of massacring this Englishman, whose countrymen were still keeping up a terrible fire on their redoubt. It was not one of their wives who had been rescued, and Gregory's act of jumping overboard seemed to them to savour of madness; and if that plea had been advanced, they would have recognized it as rendering the person of the man who had performed it inviolable. However, as he was under the protection of their leader's harem, there was nothing more to be said; and at an order from Mahmud all but four of them rode off, while the others fell in behind him.
Mahmud did not mount again, but walked with his wife to a deserted mud hut, two hundred yards away. There he left her, telling Gregory and Zaki to sit down outside, and placing the four men on guard.
"I must rejoin my men," he said, as he mounted. "When your vessels have gone, I will return."
Half an hour later, the fire ceased. Soon afterwards Mahmud rode up with a score of men, followed by some dozen women, and a slave leading a donkey. On this Fatma took her seat, and the women surrounded her. Gregory and Zaki walked close behind them. Mahmud, with his horsemen, rode in front.
After proceeding for a mile, they came upon a group of tents. Mahmud's banner was flying on a pole in front of the largest of these. Behind, and touching it, was another almost as large. This was the abode of the ladies of Mahmud's harem. The other tents were occupied by his principal Emirs. A hundred yards away was the encampment of the army, which was sheltered in hastily constructed huts, or arbours, made of bushes.
By Mahmud's order, a small tent was erected, with blankets, close to the after entrance into the harem tent, for Gregory's use; so that, should he be attacked by fanatics, he could at once take refuge in the harem, whose sanctity not even the most daring would dare to violate.
A handsome robe was brought for Zaki; and as Mahmud presented it to him, he said:
"You are my friend, but you must now go back to your vessels, or to Berber. My orders were to kill all the Jaalin, and we have spared none who fell into our hands, at Metemmeh or since. I cannot keep you here. As long as you stay by my side, you will be safe; but you could not leave me for a moment. It is as much as I can do to save the life of this infidel officer, and it is to him that I owe most, for it was he who first leapt into the river.
"The white men's boats have already fastened up, behind the island where they before stationed themselves. Make your way down there, at daybreak, and wave a white cloth. Doubtless they will send a boat ashore, thinking that you bear a message from me; or if you see they do not do this, you can swim out to them."
"I would rather stay with my master. Cannot you let him go, too?"
"That is impossible," Mahmud said shortly. "It is known throughout the camp that I have a white man here. The news will travel fast to the Khalifa. My actions have already been misrepresented to him, and were I to let this officer go, my father might recall me to Omdurman and send another to command here.
"He must stay, but you may go without harm. You can scarcely have been noticed yet, and I can well declare, should the Khalifa hear of you, that you have escaped."
"May I speak with my master?" Zaki said. "If he says stay, I shall stay, though it might cost me my life. If he says go, I must go."
"You may speak to him," Mahmud said.
Zaki went round to Gregory's tent, and told him what Mahmud had said.
"Go, certainly, Zaki. You can do me no good by remaining here, and might even do me harm; for if you were killed I also might be murdered. Moreover, I wish to send the news of my capture, and how it occurred. I do not think any, save yourself, noticed that I was missing; and when the fight was over, and they found that I was absent, they might suppose that I had been shot and had fallen overboard.
"I will write a note for you to carry. It is, in all respects, better that you should go. Were we to be seen talking together, it might be supposed that we were planning some way of escape, and I should be more closely watched. As it is, I see that Mahmud will have difficulty in protecting me. Were you to ride about with him, as he says, your presence would remind his followers that he has a white man a captive here; whereas, if I remain almost in concealment near the harem, the fact that there is a white man here will pass out of the minds of those who know it, and will not become the common talk of the camp.
"Mahmud is running some risk in having spared my life, and I do not wish to make it harder for him. Go, therefore, and tell him that you will leave tonight. I cannot write now; my pocketbook is soaked through. But I will tear out some leaves and dry them in the sun; and write what I have to say, before you start. I shall speak highly of you in my letter, and recommend you to Colonel Wingate; who will, I have no doubt, give you employment.
"I hope I shall see you again, before long. I am very sorry that we must part, but it is best for us both."
Very reluctantly, Zaki returned to Mahmud.
"My master says I must go, Emir; and I must obey his orders, though I would rather stay with him. Tonight, I will leave."
"It is well. I would that I could let him go, also, but my oath prevents me from giving him his freedom. I trust, however, that when the Khalifa hears of his noble action, and how he has made me his debtor, he will say that Allah himself would not blame me for that. Gratitude is even more binding than an oath.
"Still, until I hear from him, I can do nothing. We have not seen matters in the same light, for some time. When I wanted to strike, he was unwilling that I should do so. Now, when it seems to me that the time for that has passed, and that I had best retire on Omdurman, he says go forward and fight. It is not for me to question his commands, or his wisdom. But I may not give him cause for anger.
"My advice to you is, when you get to Berber, do not stay there. We shall assuredly be there before long, and as none would know that you were under my protection, you would be slain. Go straight to Abu Hamed; and when you hear that we have defeated the infidels, and have entered Berber, leave by this road they have made, upon which, as they tell me, carriages run without horses, and stay not until you reach Cairo.
"There you can live quietly, until you hear that the Khalifa's army is approaching. After that, fly. I cannot say whither, but seek a shelter until the black flag waves over the whole of the land. When there is no more fighting, then come to me and I will give you a post of honour."
"I will do so, Emir. When the time comes, I will remind you of your promise."
"I have neither silver nor gold with which I can reward you, now; but we shall gather these things in Egypt, and I will make you wealthy."
Zaki thought that it would be unwise to wander from Mahmud's encampment, and he accordingly sat down by his tent. Presently, one of the slaves came out, with a large dish of food that Mahmud had sent him. As evening approached, he went round to Gregory's little tent, with the intention of trying to persuade him to attempt to escape with him; but two of the tribesmen, with rifles in their hands, were stationed there. They offered no opposition to his entry, but their presence showed that Mahmud was determined that his master should appear to be a close prisoner; as, indeed, his escape might well jeopardize the Emir's position, even among his followers.
Gregory had a letter ready for him to carry to Captain Keppel. It ran as follows:
"Dear Captain Keppel,
"I am a prisoner in Mahmud's hands. This is the result of my own impetuosity–I will not say folly, for I cannot regret that I yielded to the sudden impulse that seized me. A boat containing some women was sunk by a shell, when but a few yards astern of the gunboat. Most of its occupants were killed, but I saw a woman struggling in the water and, without thinking of the consequences, jumped overboard to save her, my servant following me. When we reached her, we found that the current was too strong to regain the gunboat, and so landed about half a mile down, hoping to find shelter in the bushes until the boat came down the stream. What I did, however, had been observed by the Dervishes; and as soon as I landed a party rode up, headed by Mahmud himself, who was aware that his favourite wife was in the boat that had sunk.
"Most fortunately, it turned out that she was the woman I had saved. Upon her appeal Mahmud spared our lives. He has released my man, who will carry this to you; but, having sworn that he would spare no white man, he retains me in his hands as a prisoner, until he can lay the facts before the Khalifa and obtain his permission to let me go. I trust that all will be well, and that some day I may rejoin the army. However, there is no saying how matters may turn out.
"I am happy in knowing that there is no one who, if the worst comes to the worst, will grieve over my loss. I recommend my faithful servant to you. I should wish the balance of pay coming to me to be handed to him, as well as my camel and horse, and all other belongings. By the sale of these he would be able, at the end of the war, to buy a piece of land and settle down among his own people.
"Will you kindly report my capture to Colonel Wingate or General Hunter? Thanking you for your kindness to me, I remain,
"Yours faithfully,
"Gregory Hilliard.
"P. S. In my cabin is a tin box containing documents of importance to me. I shall be greatly obliged if you will take charge of these, until–as I hope will be the case–I rejoin you."
He handed the paper to Zaki, who took his hand and raised it to his forehead, with tears in his eyes.
"I go because you order me, master," he said, in a broken voice; "but I would a thousand times rather remain, and share your fate, whatever it might be."
Then he turned, and abruptly left the tent.
Twice that day, Gregory had received food from a female slave of the harem. Although he knew that he should miss Zaki greatly, he was very glad that he had been sent away; for he felt that, although for the time he had been reprieved, his position was very precarious, and that his servant's would have been still more so. A white prisoner was a personage of some consequence, but the death of a Jaalin was a matter that would disturb no one. Thousands of them had been massacred; and one, more or less, could not matter at all. But, however much the Dervishes might hate a white infidel, it would be a serious matter for even the most powerful Emir to harm a prisoner under the protection of the harem of the Khalifa's son.
Mahmud had been very popular among them, but his position had been gravely shaken by the events of the last six months. Having unlimited confidence in themselves; the Baggara had seen, with increasing fury, the unopposed advance of the Egyptians. They could not understand why they should not have been allowed, after the capture of Metemmeh, to march across the desert to Merawi, and annihilate the infidels assembled there. It was true that these had repulsed the force defending Dongola, but this was a comparatively small body; and it was the gunboats, and not the Egyptian troops, who had forced them to evacuate the town.
The fall of Abu Hamed had added to their discontent, and they were eager to march with all speed to Berber, to join the five thousand men comprising its garrison, and to drive the invaders back across the Nile.
But they had been kept inactive, by the orders of the Khalifa and by the want of stores. They had, for months, been suffering great privations; and while remaining in enforced inactivity, they had known that their enemy's strength was daily increasing; and that what could have been accomplished with the greatest of ease, in August, had now become a very serious business.
Mahmud had chafed at the situation in which he found himself placed, by his father's refusal to support him or to allow him to take any action. This had soured his temper, and he had taken to drinking heavily. He had become more harsh with his men, more severe in the punishment inflicted for any trifling disobedience of orders. Although no thought that the rule of the Khalifa could be seriously threatened entered their minds, fanatical as they were, they could not but feel some uneasiness at the prospect.
A great army was gathering at Berber. Kassala was in the hands of the British, and the forces that had been beleaguering it had been defeated, with heavy loss. Abyssinia had leagued itself against them. The insurrection of the Jaalin had been crushed, but there were signs of unrest in Kordofan, and other parts.
Of course, all this would be put right. An army of sixty thousand men was at Omdurman; and this, with Mahmud's command, would suffice to sweep away all their enemies. Their enthusiasm would never have wavered, had they been called upon for action; but these months of weary waiting, and of semi-starvation, without the acquisition of any booty or plunder–for little, indeed, had been obtained at the capture of Metemmeh–sapped their energy; and the force that crossed the Nile for an advance upon Berber was far less formidable than it would have been, had it been led forward against Merawi and Dongola directly after the capture of Metemmeh. Still, it needed only the prospect of a battle to restore its spirits.
A fortnight after Gregory's capture, the Dervish army was set in motion. A few thousand men had already been sent forward, along the banks of the river, to check any advance that might be made from Fort Atbara. Had it not been for this, Gregory might have attempted to escape. It would not have been very difficult for him to creep out at the back of his little tent, unperceived by his guards; but the dangers to be encountered in making his way to the British fort would have been immense.
It would have been necessary for him to keep by the river, for from this source alone could water be obtained. The country had been stripped of its crops, of all kinds, by the Dervishes; the villages had been razed to the ground; and the last head of maize, and other grain, gleaned by the starving people who had taken refuge in the bush and jungle.
Therefore, although by keeping near the river he could quench his thirst at will, he would assuredly have to face starvation. Moreover, he would have no chance of searching for any ears of corn which might have escaped the eyes of the searchers, for he must travel only by night and lie up by day, to avoid capture by one or other of the bands that had gone on; in which case he would at once be killed, being beyond the influence of Mahmud, and the protection of the harem.
On the other hand, he had nothing to complain of, except the monotony and uncertainty of his position. Fatma kept him well supplied with food; and, from the gossip of the slaves who brought this to him, he learnt how matters were progressing. He was longing for the Dervish army to make a move, for he felt that when they neared the British position, the greater would be the chance of escape; and none among the followers of Mahmud rejoiced more than he did, when he knew that the long-expected advance was about to take place.
Once in motion, the spirits of the Dervishes revived. At last they were going to meet these insolent invaders, and none doubted that they would easily defeat them. The greater portion of the harem and attendants were left behind, at Shendy, for but few camels were available. Fatma and another of Mahmud's wives rode on one. A tent was carried by another. Half a dozen slaves followed, and Gregory walked with these.
He could not help admiring the attitude of the tribesmen–tall, powerful men, inured to hardship, and walking or riding with an air of fierce independence, which showed their pride in themselves, and their confidence in their prowess.
The party always started early in the morning, so as to get the tents erected at the halting place before the main body of the Dervishes came up. On the march, they kept some distance from the river and, being but a small group, the gunboats did not waste their shot upon them; but each day there was a sharp exchange of fire between them and Mahmud's force.
Gregory supposed that Mahmud's plan was to cross the Atbara, which was fordable at several points, and to attack the fort there; in which case, he had no doubt the Arabs would be driven off, with much loss. The Sirdar was of the same opinion, and in order to tempt them to do so, he maintained only one Egyptian brigade in the fort, the remainder of the force being concentrated at Kennur, four miles away. From this point they would be able to advance and take the Dervishes in flank, while they were engaged in the attack of the fort.
Mahmud, however, was kept well informed of the movements of the troops, and instead of continuing his course down the river bank when he reached Gabati, he struck across the desert; and, after two days' march, crossed the Atbara at Nakheila. From this point, owing to the bend in the river, he would be able to march direct to Berber, avoiding the Atbara fort and the force gathered round it.
Altogether the desert march, although only lasting two days, was a trying one. The heat was overpowering, and even the ladies of the harem had the scantiest supply of water. They had, at starting, given Gregory a gourd of water for his own use. This he had taken sparingly, and it lasted him until they reached the Atbara.
It was now dead low water, and the river offered no obstacle to crossing, as the bed was for the most part dry, with pools here and there. The Arab encampment was formed in a thick grove of trees, which afforded some shelter from the sun.
Day after day passed. Mahmud was now informed as to the strength of the force he should have to encounter, and for the first time felt some doubt as to the issue of the fight. He determined, therefore, to stand on the defensive. This decision, however, he kept to himself. The Dervishes were burning to be led to the assault, and became almost mutinous, on account of the delay. Mahmud was obliged to take the strongest measures, and several of those who were loudest in their dissatisfaction were summarily executed. The rest were pacified with the assurance that he was only waiting for a fortunate day.
In the meantime, the men were employed in fortifying the position. Deep holes were dug along the edge of the wood, and behind these were trenches and pitfalls. Mahmud's own temper grew daily more sullen and fierce. His own fighting instinct was in favour of the attack his followers longed to deliver, but in his heart he was afraid that the result might be fatal. It was not the rifles of the infantry that he feared–of these he had no experience–but the artillery, which he had learned, already, could be used with terrible effect.
As Mahmud was drinking heavily, and as the fact that the white soldiers were near at hand added to the fanatical hatred of the emirs and tribesmen, Fatma sent a message by a slave to Gregory, warning him not to show himself outside the little shelter tent, composed of a single blanket, in which he now lived.
At length it became known that the English host was approaching. As soon as the gunboats brought down news that the Dervishes were no longer following the river bank, but were disappearing into the desert, the Sirdar guessed their intentions. Nothing could have suited him better. A battle now must be a decisive one. There was no way of retreat open to the Dervishes, except to cross the waterless desert; or to fly south, keeping to the course of the Atbara, which would take them farther and farther from the Nile with every mile they marched.
Bringing up all his force, therefore, from Kennur and the Atbara fort, which one battalion was left to guard, the Sirdar took up his post at Hudi. The position was well chosen. It lay halfway between Mahmud's camp at Nakheila and the Atbara fort, and left Mahmud only the option of attacking him; or of making a long detour, through the desert to the east, in order to reach Berber. The British, on the other hand, could receive their supplies by camels from the Atbara fort.
The cavalry went out to reconnoitre, and had constant skirmishes with the enemy's horse; but when day after day passed, and Mahmud did not come, as the Sirdar had expected, to attack him, it was determined to take the offensive. General Hunter was ordered to move forward, with the whole of the cavalry and a Maxim-gun battery, to discover the exact position of the enemy.
The camp had been well chosen; for, like Abu Hamed, it lay in a depression, and could not be seen until an enemy came within six hundred yards of it. Thus the superiority of range of the British rifles was neutralized, and their guns could not be brought into play until within reach of the Dervish muskets. The wood was surrounded by a high zareba, behind which a crowd of Dervishes were assembled. They had anticipated an attack, and held their fire until the cavalry should come nearer. This, however, General Hunter had no intention of doing, and he retired with the information he had gained. His account of the strength of the position showed the difficulty of taking it by assault.
Next day he again went out with the same force, but this time the Dervishes were prepared. Their mounted men dashed out from the wood, and galloped round to cut off the cavalry; while the footmen crowded out to attack them in front. The cavalry fell back in perfect order, and one squadron charged forty of the Dervish cavalry, who barred the line of retreat. These they drove off, but the main body still pressed forward, and the Maxims opened upon them. The hail of bullets was too much for the horsemen, and they drew off. Several times they gathered again for a charge, but on each occasion the Maxims dispersed them. The unmounted Dervishes were soon left behind, but the horsemen, in spite of the lesson they had received, followed almost to the camp.
On the afternoon of the 7th of April, the Anglo-Egyptian force marched out. They started at five in the afternoon, and halted at seven. The horses were first taken down to water, the infantry by half battalions; all then lay down to sleep. At one o'clock the word to advance was passed round quietly. The moon was full and high overhead, so there was no difficulty in avoiding obstacles. Each brigade marched in square, accompanied by the guns and the Maxims, and the camels with provisions and spare ammunition.
At four o'clock they halted again. They had been well guided, and were now but a short distance from the enemy's position. At sunrise the men were again on their feet, and advanced to within two hundred yards of the position from which they were to deliver their attack. The British brigade–the Camerons, Warwicks, Seaforths, and Lincolns–were on the left. Next to them came Macdonald's brigade–the three Soudanese regiments in front, the 2nd Egyptian in support. Farther still to the right, and touching the river, was Maxwell's brigade, comprising also three Soudanese regiments and an Egyptian one. Two of the three Egyptian battalions of Lewis's brigade were placed on the left rear of the British brigade, the third battalion was in square round the camels. Two field batteries were in front of the infantry, and two to the right of Maxwell's brigade.
Half a mile from the zareba the infantry halted, and the artillery and Maxims opened fire. For an hour a tremendous fire was poured into the enemy's position, but not a shot was fired in reply, although the Dervishes could be seen moving among the trees, apparently unconcerned at the storm of shell and bullets.
Gregory's position had been growing more critical every day. Food was extremely short; the scanty supplies that the force had brought with them had been long since exhausted, and they were now subsisting upon palm nuts. Of these, two were served out daily to each man, a quantity barely sufficient to keep life together. In spite of the vigilant watch kept by the more fanatical of Mahmud's followers, desertions had become frequent, notwithstanding the certain death that awaited those who were overtaken.
The evening after the cavalry made their first reconnaissance, the slave who brought Gregory's food told him that Fatma wished to speak to him. It was but three paces to the entrance of the tent, and his guards made no objection. The entrance was closed as the slave entered, but half a minute later it was opened an inch or two, and, without showing herself, Fatma said:
"Listen to me."
"I am listening," Gregory replied.
"I am in great fear for you. You are in much danger. The Emirs say to Mahmud that you ought to be killed; their followers are well-nigh starving–why should an infidel prisoner be eating? His friends are now close to us, and there will be a battle. None will be spared on either side–why should this man be spared?
"Mahmud has many cares. The men are furious because he will not lead them out to fight. Even the emirs are sullen; and Osman Digna, who was on bad terms with him a short time ago, and who, Mahmud suspects, is intriguing with them against him, is foremost in urging that an attack should take place; though everyone knows he is a coward, and never shows himself in battle, always running away directly he sees that things are going against him. Still, he has five thousand followers of his own.
