CHAPTER IV ARRIVAL IN DONGOLA
Instead of our starting off the next morning at sunrise, a sort of “fantasia” was held. This consisted of men riding up and down the camp with mimic combats between individuals—a sort of circus display. Stricter watch was placed over me, and my guards warned against allowing me to hold conversation with any one. At sunset we were off again, and the following day halted in the desert, El Ordeh (Dongola) being then, I was told, a few hours’ distant. We rested probably a couple of hours, and marched until evening, but had not yet sighted Dongola. A final search was made for concealed loot, and a piece of my leather bag having been discovered on one of the men, he was flogged, and, offering to confess, confessed that he had found the bag empty on the ground. His clothing, and that of his section was searched, and resulted in the discovery of seventeen of my Turkish dollars; a further application of the courbag resulted in the discovery of the remainder of the three hundred dollars, and a third one, of the greater part of the jewellery. The flogging and searching delayed us, |42| and instead of travelling that night, we only got away in the morning, arriving within sight of Dongola at noon, when men were sent in to report our arrival.
While awaiting the return of the messengers, discipline—what there was of it—was relaxed, and the camp given over to jubilations. The attentions bestowed upon me were not pleasant; both by words and actions I was given to understand what the men hoped and expected would be my fate. A respite was granted, when the man who had received the floggings was brought to me so that I might certify that all the things discovered on him and his companions were extracted from my cash-bag, and that all the articles had been recovered. He seemed none the worse for his experiences, and the matter was explained to me. When the Ansar are flogged, upon an expedition, for a theft which, as the Emirs know, every one would commit, so many stripes are ordered to be given; these are given with the courbag (rhinoceros-hide whip) on the fleshy part of the back, and over the clothing.
He forgave me, and blamed the sugar for his discovery. The sugar-loaves, which were part of the goods of the Arabs who had joined the caravan at Wadi Halfa, had been broken up and distributed. At the wells some of the men had been noticed dipping pieces in the water and munching them, and none of the sugar having been handed in when the loot was collected, the first search was instituted, and this resulted in the discovery of other hidden loot. I do not happen to know who might be |43| the “father of sugar,” but I trust that the curses and imprecations showered on his head by my dervish friend may not reach him.
Hasseena was brought to be searched, and stripped naked; she cleverly dropped my seal in the sand, and pressed it in with her foot. I had asked her to get this seal from Elias, as, with this in their possession, the dervishes might have written, through my clerk, whatever letters they chose, and sealing them with my seal, have made them appear authentic. Hasseena was again questioned as to who I was, and persisted in saying that I was a merchant and not a Government official, and while she was being threatened with the courbag, which in this instance would have been applied as the cat-o’-nine-tails is at home, the Emir Hamza came forward as a witness in my favour. Hamza was another who, friendly as he was to the “Government,” had been driven into the ranks of the dervishes. After the final search, a move was made towards Dongola, opposite which town we arrived between two and three o’clock in the afternoon. Before the town we descried a grand parade of troops taking place, and as we halted a band struck up; from the sound which reached us, the band must have been composed of bugles and trumpets of all shapes, sizes, and pitch, with just as varied an assortment of drums. In the medley they played could be heard snatches of the so-called Khedivial hymn.
When the prisoners had been ranged up in such a manner as to make their exhibit most effective, and when I, as the prisoner of the occasion, had been |44| placed in the midst of the Emirs, a signal was given, on which the horsemen of the paraded army charged down upon us in their much-lauded and over-rated exhibition of horsemanship. This exhibition consists of individual and collective charges right on to the opposing line of onlookers, a sudden pulling up of the horse which throws it on to its haunches, a meaningless shaking of swords and spears over one’s head, a swerve to the left or right, the direction being dominated by the half-broken jaw for which the sudden pulling up with the brutal ring-bit with which the horses are ridden (?) is responsible; another charge, and so on until the rider is tired or the horse jibs. This is the usual programme, but it is occasionally varied by accidents to horses and riders and onlookers, as, for example, the affair of Khaleefa Ali Wad Helu, who, some few days before the battle of Omdurman, gave an inspiriting exhibition to the faithful in front of the Mahdi’s tomb, in order to instruct them how to charge the British lines, and spoiled the whole thing by being thrown, breaking his wrist, laming the horse, and nearly killing half a dozen of his most ardent admirers who were in the front rank. This is not fiction.
THE KHALEEFA’S TENDER MERCIES.
The parade and exhibition, called El Arrdah, given in celebration of our capture, lasted more than an hour, when a move was made towards Dongola, and on arrival at the town, Wad Hamza and Wad Farag led me to the gateway of Nejoumi’s enclosure. We were kept waiting at the entrance for some time, and it was as much as my guards could do to protect me from the rabble; the people were in a most excited |45| state, and my position was not rendered any the more comfortable by my understanding the language. I was prodded with spears and swords, and maybe for a quarter of an hour—it may have been more, it may have been less—I was subjected to as severe an ordeal for patience as ever man was put to. Many of those in the rabble knew me from pre-abandonment days, but the cringing supplicants of former days were now my bitterest foes and tormentors. Curses and imprecations are such common accompaniments in ordinary disputes in the East—disputes over the most trivial matters—that little new could assail my ears in a country where a child just learning to babble may be heard, in childish innocence, to lisp to its mother, “Il la'an abook,” or a much shorter expression which, owing to the large number now understanding Arabic, I cannot here use, but both of which expressions are in constant use. It was the suggestive actions—some of beheading, some of mutilations, others of a description which I may not even hint at, which nearly drove me to exasperation; they did so actually, but I controlled myself, and did not allow my exasperation to exhibit itself in any way, either by word or deed.
On entering the enclosure, I was shown to a small room, on the floor of which three people were sitting; one rose, and, taking my hand, said, “El Hamdu lillah,” “Bis-Salaamtuk” (thanks be to God for your safety). I was told to sit down. The three scrutinized me, and I returned their gaze. For some moments nothing was said, and I was determined not to be the first to break the silence. Presently food was brought |46| in, and I was told to partake of it. As with the first meal with the Emirs, I set to with a will, and continued eating after the others had finished, taking not the slightest notice of my hosts. I was acting a part, I admit, for indifferent as I might have appeared to all taking place around me, I was at the same time “all eyes and ears.”
When I had finished, the one who had first spoken to me, and whom I had guessed was Nejoumi, “introduced” himself to me. He prefaced the series of questions he put to me by saying, “Do not be afraid; I hope it will be my pleasure to receive you into the true religion, and we shall be good friends.” Nejoumi assured me that I should soon get accustomed to my new mode of life, and would in the end bless him for having saved me. He then told me that he knew perfectly well who I was, and, not being a “Government man,” my life was safe at his hands, but my property, having been found in a caravan of enemies, must be confiscated. I did not follow his reasoning, nor was I allowed to, for he sent me off to the house of the Amin Beit-el-Mal (storekeeper or director of the Beit-el-Mal), with instructions that I should be well attended to. Hasseena was sent into the hareem of the same house.
Early the next morning Nejoumi sent for me, and upon arriving at his enclosure, I saw that he had a number of Sheikh Saleh’s men under examination. I learned later that some had admitted that I was once in Government employ, and had fought against the Mahdi, but that now I was a merchant only. There were, of course, numbers in the town who remembered |47| me in connection with the expedition, and in order to curry favour, they were not averse to credit me with exploits and prowess which, if related to and believed in by the British authorities, would have placed me upon an unearned pedestal. In this instance they were related in the hope that I should be placed on the now well-known “angareeb,” which in a few seconds would be drawn away, leaving me suspended by the neck. When my turn for interrogation came, my letter-wallet was handed to Nejoumi; he had, no doubt, had the contents examined the night before. His first question was, “Which are the Government papers?” I declared that there were none, and that all the papers were business ones. He then inquired, “Are there no papers from the friends of the Government?”—to which I answered, “There may be; I am a merchant; I buy gum, hides—anything from the Soudan, and sell them again to any one else who will buy them from me. It is ‘khullo zai baadoo’ (all the same) to me who the people are—friends or enemies of the Government—provided they pay me. I gave good money for what I bought, and wanted good money for what I sold.” Nejoumi then told me that he had had the letters translated by a girl educated in the “Kanneesa” (church) of Khartoum. General Stephenson’s letter had been translated as a “firman” appointing me the “Pasha” of the Western Soudan, with orders to wage war on the dervishes, for which purpose I had been provided with money, rifles, and ammunition, and about forty or fifty men as my personal bodyguard.
At first I was dumfounded; then, serious as my |48| position was, I could not restrain myself from bursting out laughing. I protested that the translation was false, and asked to be shown the document. I was not shown it. To a man whom I surmised was the Kadi, I said, “If the letter is a ‘firman,’ then it should be written in Arabic, as the Soudanese did not read or understand English.” This remark appealed to Nejoumi, who said that he did not believe the translation himself, as it was quite different from the news he had received from Hassib-el-Gabou. I made inquiries about this black female convert to Christianity, and learned that she knew not a single word of English, but few of Italian, and, like the remainder of such converts so-called, went to the mission for what she could get out of it. I have forgotten her name, but hope to discover it before completing my notes, when I shall give it. It would be interesting to learn how much Christian money had been wasted on the education of this supposed convert, married then to a Danagli, and a shining light amongst the most fanatical of the women, who, with their songs and dances, fanned the flame of fanaticism amongst the men.
More of Saleh’s men were brought in and questioned—I questioned with them. In the end, I admitted that General Stephenson’s letter asked me, if I was passing Sheikh Saleh’s district, to tell him that arms and ammunition were awaiting him at Wadi Halfa; but that I had nothing to do with the sale of them, was proved by my arriving after they had been taken over, and my papers would show that I had not sold them to him, and that I was not going to collect the money for them, |49| as they believed. The remainder of that conference is only a haze to me now, but I remember that later the same day I was told that Nejoumi, pressed by the other Emirs, had, in order to elicit the truth by frightening the others, ordered the execution of fourteen of the Arabs who had joined us at Wadi Halfa. Emin, my guide, for some reason or another which I never discovered, was ordered to be executed at the same time, and was first to be beheaded. My surmises upon this incident had better be left to my next chapter.
On the following morning, the Amin Beit-el-Mal ordered me to get ready to attend a “fantasia” which Wad en Nejoumi had arranged, and at which he had ordered me to be present; but, being his prisoner, I must appear as one, for which purpose a light ring and chain was placed on my neck, and a light chain fastened to my ankles. On arrival at Nejoumi’s place, I found the Kadi trying to persuade Darb es Safai and about twelve or thirteen of Saleh’s men to become Mahdists. Darb es Safai was their spokesman. They scorned the exhortations of the Kadi, and heaped on his head whatever insults they could. Nejoumi was present, and to him Darb es Safai said, “We have ridden behind our master, Sheikh Saleh, and we refuse to follow you on foot as slaves; we have come here to die—let us die.” Being told that if they persisted in their stubbornness they would be killed, Darb es Safai repeated, “We have come to die—let us die.” I was then removed to a small mud hut, told to sit down, and here hundreds of the populace came to see me, flinging at me all the abuse their rich language is |50| capable of, striving with each other to excel in virulence. Darb es Safai and the others had been marched off a short distance, and set to dig a shallow trench; when this was finished, they were ordered to kneel at its edge, and their hands were tied behind them; this action is practically the declaration of the death sentence. Es Safai asked to be beheaded last, as he wished to see how his men could die. Only one jumped to his feet when a few heads had rolled into the trench, when Es Safai called out, “Kneel down. Do you not see these cowards are looking at us?” This was the “fantasia” I was to have assisted at, but, by some misunderstanding, I was spared the horrible spectacle.
When the executions were over, my chains were removed, and I was again taken before Nejoumi, and questioned as to what property I had in the caravan, and also if I had any slaves. I said I might not possess slaves, but had two servants—Elias, my clerk, and Hasseena, who was a freed slave, and now my female servant. Elias had been cross-examined, but had evidently, in his fright, contradicted himself time after time. First he said he was my clerk, then he was the servant of some Ali Abou Gordi of the Alighat tribe, then trading in the Soudan. Nejoumi told me that, if Elias’s last tale was true, he could not be returned to me, as he must be an enemy. I did my best for Elias, telling Nejoumi that he was a good clerk and good writer, and that he might be very useful to him in writing letters. Hasseena was brought in and protested that she was my slave, not my servant; |51| that I had bought her, but, as slaves were not allowed by the Government, I had had to give her a shehaada (certificate) declaring her free. Nejoumi made a present of her to one of the men present, and on this Hasseena squatted on the ground and refused to budge. She screamed to Nejoumi that he might, if he chose, marry her himself, but said that whoever her husband might be, he would die the same night, since she knew how to poison people secretly. She knew nothing whatever about poisons, but this remark probably was the reason for her being sent to the Khaleefa, as she might be useful. She was sent back as “property” to the Beit-el-Mal.
My ordeal was not yet over; other chiefs came in, and the conference opened soon developed into a heated, if not acrimonious, discussion and dispute. I did not know Soudani sufficiently to follow all that was said, besides which three or four were speaking rapidly at the same time; but I gathered that Nejoumi wished to keep me by him, as he believed that I might be made useful in signing letters which my clerk would have to write. The others, believing the girl’s translation of the letter, were for despatching me to the next world, and sending my head as a gruesome present to the commandant at Wadi Halfa, accompanied by the supposed “firman.” It is not a pleasant experience to sit down and hear your fate being discussed, conscious that the sentence will be carried out immediately. No criminal ever scanned the face of a jury on its return to court as I did those of my savage captors, with ears strained to catch every familiar |52| word; and, difficult as it is after all these years to attempt to give a real analysis of one’s feelings then, I can remember gloating over the thought that, if death were the sentence, I would spring at the throat of the first Emir I could reach, with my nails buried in and tearing at the flesh, until a blow would finish all, and so rob the fanatical horde outside of the pleasure of seeing a hated “Turk” publicly executed. That the recollection is no imaginary one may be guessed from the fact that, when I asked about Gabou’s “health” at Assouan after my release, one part of that conjured scene sprang up, and doubtless would have been acted, had Gabou been alive.
Nejoumi only partly won his point—I was to be sent to the Khaleefa. Seven men were sent for, and Hasseena and I placed in their charge. Nejoumi gave me some clothing, and also a hundred dollars from the three hundred taken from me, and we were ordered off that night.
CHAPTER V THE REAL HISTORY OF THE CAPTURE
(Extracts.)
“He (Nejoumi) captured in the Oasis of Selima a large part if not the whole of the rifles. This was mainly owing to the imprudence of an enterprising German merchant named Charles Neufeld, who had accompanied the convoy, and, desirous of obtaining a supply of water, had descended to the Oasis, where he was captured by the enemy.”
“. . . Most of them were killed, and a few, including Neufeld, were taken captive to Dongola; there they were beheaded, with the exception of Neufeld, who was sent to Omdurman, where he arrived on March 1, 1887.”
March 21, 1887.—“Sixty Kabbabish have arrived, sent by their chief to take over arms and money.”
May 15, 1887.—“Mr. Neufeld is reported to have diverged from caravan of Kabbabishes to Sheikh Saleh to Bakah Wells, and to have been taken prisoner by the dervishes, as well as a few Kabbabish letters are said to have been captured; none from this office were entrusted to him” (Blue Book No. 2, 1888—Nos. 50 and 90).
“Neufeld was now free. His release was owing to one of the Emirs representing to Abdullah Khalifa the great service Neufeld had been in enabling arms and ammunition to be taken from the Kabbabishes at the time Neufeld was captured” (Letter to Mrs. Neufeld from War Office. Cairo, 10.3.90). |54|
It would be as well to give at once the real history of my capture as regards the circumstances and the arrangements made to effect it. I received the details first from Ahmed Nur Ed Din, who, some months after my capture, came to Omdurman on his own initiative to try and effect my escape. His version was confirmed and amplified by my intended companion Hogal, who again fell into the hands of the dervishes in 1897, and was imprisoned with me until we were finally released a few months ago.
The treachery of Gabou has also been confirmed by Moussa Daoud Kanaga, who has just arrived from the Soudan to meet me, he having heard of my release and arrival at Cairo. Moussa was one of the Soudan merchants with whom I had had many dealings in former days, and believing he could do something towards effecting my escape, he, after many attempts to reach me, finally succeeded in doing so in September, 1889.
Instead of wearying my readers with snatches from one narrative and the other, I will try, combining all, to make one clear and connected story, having for this purpose deleted from the last chapter remarks and questions put to me by Nejoumi at Dongola in order to introduce them here.
The guide I had engaged for the journey, Hassib-el-Gabou, belonged to the Dar Hamad section of the Kabbabish tribe which was settled in and around Dongola. Gabou was employed as a spy by the military authorities on the frontier, but there is not the slightest doubt that he was at the same time in |55| the pay of Wad Nejoumi. He related to each side just sufficient to keep himself in constant good grace and pay, and failing authentic news of any description, he was able to fall back upon his intimate local knowledge, his double dealings, his knowledge of the people and language, and a fund of plausibility which at the present day would not pass current for five minutes.
Between the Dar Hamad section, and the section acknowledging Saleh Bey Wad Salem as their head, there were a number of old outstanding jealousies which had not been settled; what they were all about I cannot pretend to say, but one of the principal was, whether Sheikh Saleh or the head of the Dar Hamads should be considered the senior. It may not have been forgotten by those who have taken an interest in Soudan affairs, that the existence of these tribal jealousies and disputes between divided tribes was taken full advantage of by the Mahdi and Khaleefa, in very much the same way as a political agent runs one section of a party against another, and gains his point, at the cost and discomfiture of the others who, for the time being, were unconsciously playing his game for him. Sheikh Saleh’s party were the real Bedawi (men of the desert), and, therefore, more reliable than the Dar Hamads, who had the “belladi” (town) taint or stigma attached to them.
Gabou’s first plan was, according to his lights, to act loyal to his section of the tribe, and so to arrange matters that the arms intended for his rivals, Sheikh Saleh’s section, should fall into the hands of his people; with those arms turned against the |56| dervishes, he might see his section come to the front as the support of the Government, and maybe be in possession of the coveted title of Bey and a Nishan (decoration), if his plans succeeded. I have no doubt that, had his first plan succeeded, he would have been prepared with a plausible tale, and gaining any slight advantage over the dervishes would certainly have atoned for his defections. His plan as originally conceived was as follows:—First, he wrote to his own sheikh giving him full details of the arms and ammunition awaiting Saleh’s caravan, and there is every reason to believe that the letters sent by General Stephenson to Sheikh Saleh in the first instance, were delayed by Gabou until his plans were complete. The guide Hassan, whom I believed had been engaged at the last moment, had been engaged some time before, and fully instructed in the part he had to play. Gabou had promised his people that after Sheikh Saleh’s caravan left El Selima Wells, they would be led towards the Wadi el Kab instead of El Agia Wells, so that even had we filled our water-skins at leisure at Selima, we should only have been provided with four, instead of eight days’ water, and two days on the desert without water has its discomforts. When a Bedawi will travel two or three days without water and not murmur, it can be better imagined than described what Gabou’s promise to hand us over “thirsty” meant; it meant precisely what actually did occur—the madness of thirst approaching—the lips glued together, the tongue swollen and sore in vain attempts to excite the salivary |57| glands—the muscles of the throat contracted, and the palate feeling like a piece of sandstone, the nostrils choked with fine sand, and the eyes reddened and starting, with the eyelids seeming to crack at every movement. Only those who have experienced what we did during those last days on our journey to Wadi el Kab, can fill in the missing details in the history of Esau selling his birthright for a mess of pottage.
The Dar Hamads, on receiving Gabou’s news, made their preparations; arms buried in the ground to conceal them from the dervishes were unearthed, but the very evident activity of the people excited the suspicions of Wad Nejoumi. Believing that a revolt was intended, he prepared to meet it; but, having his spies about, bits of the real truth leaked out. Gabou was put to the test; either written messages or messengers were sent to him by Nejoumi, asking about Saleh’s caravan and the purposes for which they had gone to Wadi Halfa. When Gabou saw that his first scheme had miscarried, rather than the caravan should fall into the hands of his rivals, he preferred to reveal to Nejoumi the plot he had planned for the benefit of his own people. It was on this account that he had, as related, tried at one time to get me to abandon the projected journey; and, as can be understood, there were many reasons for his sending word to Nejoumi saying I was to accompany the caravan. His keeping back of Ismail, the leader, day after day, was only to allow of his messages reaching Nejoumi in time for him to make complete preparations for intercepting us. |58|
Hogal arrived at Wadi Halfa the very evening of our departure, and sent over his message. Gabou met him and gave him his confidence. He told Hogal the means he had used to try and get me to abandon the journey, but that he dared not give me the real reasons, as he knew I should report the matter, and his head would then be in danger; he had done the best he could by letting Nejoumi know who and what I was. Still dexterously playing his cards, and to keep Hogal quiet, he said that he knew that the English were going away; they certainly would not take him with them, and as he and Hogal had their family ties in the Soudan, unless he worked with Nejoumi, his “good word” would be of no avail to his family and friends when the dervishes came down to occupy the abandoned towns.
I trust that my readers are now beginning to see the light through this dark conspiracy, and that I am making the narrative sufficiently intelligible and clear without constantly requesting you to turn back to earlier pages.
Gabou, playing a double part himself, and being naturally suspicious of every one in consequence, thought that I might have divined his treachery when the camels did not overtake us, and might change our route in consequence; these suspicions he communicated to Nejoumi. Had he not done this, I might have forgiven him—for it was every one for himself in those days. There was not the least necessity for him to warn Nejoumi that we might change our route on discovering that the guide was leading |59| us in the wrong direction, for had Nejoumi’s men not found us, Gabou would not have been blamed.
Nejoumi, on receiving the news, despatched a large number of dervishes under Wad Bessir to Umbellila, opposite Abou Gussi, and another under Osman Azrak to El Kab opposite to El Ordeh (Dongola), and Said Mohammad Wad Farag, Mohammad Hamza, Makin en Nur and Wad Umar to the various wells in the Wadi el Kab, the latter having orders to keep the Dar Hamads in check. I am giving this list of now famous names from recollections of what I was told at Dongola and Omdurman, not for the purpose of thereby investing with a halo of barbaric romance an incident which was nothing more nor less than a bit of highway robbery, but more with the idea, that should any of those named be still living, and eventually come into the hands of the Government, they might be questioned as to this affair, and their account compared with the series of contradictory passages which head the present chapter.
Wad Farag sent a flying party to Selima Wells, led by a slave of Wad Eysawee, named Hassib Allah. It was Hassib Allah who had fired the shot we heard on the day of our arrival at Selima. When taken before Wad Nejoumi at Dongola, one of the questions put me was, “Did you see any one, or hear a shot fired the day you reached Selima,” to which I answered “Yes,” as regards the latter part of the question, thereby making an everlasting friend of Hassib Allah, as a reward had been promised to whoever should first sight us and hurry back to the main body with the news; |60| he had fired the shot, so that the question might be put. Even in this you may gauge the amount of faith or confidence the Ansar had in the word of their Emirs, and the amount of credence a European might give to their tales when they lied to, and deceived each other with such charming impartiality.
After despatching Hassib, Wad Farag divided his party, sending one to the district between Wadi el Kab and the Nile, and the second, commanded by himself, he led to the desert to intercept us. The Alighat Arab sent out as a scout, who did not return, must have either been captured by Farag, or what is more likely, as he was sent out by Hassan, was an emissary of Hassan’s to Wad Farag or any of the other dervishes to give them the news, as Hassan must have been aware of our position and the proximity of the dervishes. The tracks we had picked up on the road, when the embers of the caravan’s fires were found still hot, were the remains of the fires of Hassib’s men, who had kept within touch of us the whole time, only losing touch on the day following the disappearance of the Alighats.
On reaching the broken ground leading to El Kab, my guide Amin and the two others had been allowed to pass unchallenged intentionally, as the dervish plan was to form themselves into three parties, which were to rush us from three sides at the same moment. It was in direct disobedience of orders that the first shots were fired at us, but it was probably done by some one to gain the promised reward for sighting us, and it ended, as already related, in a general fusilade. The |61| camels loaded with filled water-skins were left behind purposely, but their being left was a happy thought at the moment of Farag’s men. When they retired, it was only to join the other section which was to have rushed us from the left; the section to rush us in the rear being a little further out in the desert than the plan shows.
Our leader Ismail I never saw or heard of again; he may have succeeded in escaping altogether, only to be killed when the virtual extermination of the tribe took place and Sheikh Saleh, standing on his sheepskin, fell fighting to the last.
This account of the capture of the caravan, and the explanations given, though not agreeing in essentials with the accounts given officially, may be accepted as being as nearly correct in every detail as it is possible for memory to give them, and the occasion was one of those in life where even twelve years’ sufferings are not sufficient to obliterate the incidents from the mind.
I feel some little confidence in offering to the world my version of the circumstances attending my departure from Wadi Halfa for Kordofan, the date upon which I really did leave Egypt—as unfortunate a date for me as it evidently has been to some of my biographers,—and the actual circumstances attending my capture, as I happened to be present on the various occasions spoken of, and I do not think it will be asking too much if I request that the same amount of credence be given to my own story as has been given to that of others referred to in my introduction, and in the extracts which head the present chapter. |62|
It now remains, before closing this chapter, to deal with Dufa'allah Hogal and his part in the affair. In my first letter from Omdurman, which letter was written for me by dictation of the Khaleefa, I am made to say that I blamed Hogal for his deceit, but at the same time thanked him for his deceit, as it had led me to grace. This was a clever invention of the Emir’s at Dongola, or the Khaleefa himself, to get Hogal into trouble with the Government, and draw away suspicion from Hassan and Gabou. This letter was received by one of my clerks at Assouan, who fortunately retained a copy before forwarding it on to Cairo; a translation of it will be given later.
Hogal is not to be blamed for keeping his own counsel after Gabou had given him his confidence. He had nothing to gain by telling the authorities the truth, and he had everything to lose if he did. The Khaleefa’s spies were everywhere in the Government and out of it, just as the Government spies were amongst the Mahdists, and there can be no doubt but that they were paid by both sides—and who is to blame them? Hogal’s family ties and relations were in the Soudan, and there was no use in his raising a question over a dead man. I may have something to say about guides and spies later on, but it will not be with the idea of calling any of them to justice. The only justice they knew of was that contained in “Possession is nine points of the law,” or “Might conquers right,” and it suited their natures admirably to play a double game, rendered so easy for them with a Khaleefa who, having made up his mind to |63| do a certain thing, ever kept that object in view, and worked for its accomplishment, whilst on the other hand was a Government which in their opinion did not seem to know its own mind from one day to another as to what should be done with the Soudan and its subjects resident there.