A Prisoner of the Khaleefa: Twelve Years Captivity at Omdurman

by Charles Neufeld

INTRODUCTION

Within seventy-two hours of my arrival in Cairo from the Soudan, I commenced to dictate my experiences for the present volume, and had dictated them from the time I left Egypt, in 1887, until I had reached the incidents connected with my arrival at Omdurman as the Khaleefa’s captive, when I became the recipient of a veritable sheaf of press-cuttings, extracts, letters, private and official, new and old, which collection was still further added to on the arrival of my wife in Egypt, on October 13.

My first feelings after reading the bulk of these, and when the sensation of walking about free and unshackled had worn off a little, was that I had but escaped the savage barbarism of the Soudan to become the victim of the refined cruelty of civilization. Fortunately, maybe, my rapid change from chains and starvation to freedom and the luxuries I might allow myself to indulge in, brought about its inevitable result—a reaction, and then collapse. While ill in bed I could, when the delirium of fever had left |2| me, and I was no longer struggling for breath and standing room in that Black Hole of Omdurman, the Saier, find it in my heart to forgive my critics, and say, “I might have said the same of them, had they been in my place and I in theirs.” But the inaccuracies written and published in respect to my nationality, biography, and, above all, the astounding inaccuracies published in connection with my capture and the circumstances attending it, necessitate my offering a few words to my readers by way of introduction; but I shall be as brief and concise as possible.

I have, both directly and indirectly, been blamed for, or accused of, the loss of arms, ammunition, and monies sent by the Government to the loyal Sheikh of the Kabbabish, Saleh Bey Wad Salem. Some have gone so far as to accuse me of betraying the party I accompanied into the hands of the dervishes; a betrayal which led eventually to the virtual extermination of the tribe and the death of its brave chief. The betrayal of the caravan I accompanied did lead to this result; it also led me into chains and slavery.

According to one account, I arrived at Omdurman on the 1st or 7th of March (both dates are given in the same book), 1887; yet, at this time, to the best of my recollection, the General commanding the Army of Occupation in Egypt, General Stephenson, was trying in Cairo to persuade me to abandon my projected journey into Kordofan. In a very recent publication, in the preface to which the authors ask their readers to point out any inaccuracies, I am credited with arriving as a captive at Omdurman in |3| 1885, when at this time I was attached as interpreter to the Gordon Relief Expedition, and stood within a few yards of General Earle at the battle of Kirbekan when he was killed. It is probable I was the last man he ever spoke to.

The guide and spy who reported my capture and death on the 13th or 14th of April, 1887, only reported what he thought had actually happened, as a possible result of arrangements he had made; while the refugee Wakih Idris, who reported in August, 1890, that I was conducting a large drapery establishment in Omdurman, must have been a Soudanese humorist, and, doubtless, hugely amused at his tale being believed in the face of the Mahdi’s and Khaleefa’s crusade against finery and luxuries (although the tenets may have stopped short at the entrance to their hareems), and when every one, from the highest to the lowest, had to wear the roughest and commonest of woven material. A drapery establishment is generally associated with fine clothing, silks, ribbons, and laces; in Omdurman, such an establishment, if opened, would have been consigned to the flames, or the Beit el Mal, and its proprietor to the Saier (prison).

Yet again, when I am more heavily weighted with chains, and my gaoler, to evidence his detestation of the Kaffir (unbeliever) entrusted to his charge, goes out of his way to invent an excuse for giving me the lash, I am reported as being at liberty, my release having been granted on the representations of some imaginary Emir, who claimed it on the ground that I had arranged the betrayal of Sheikh Saleh’s caravan. |4|

There is one subject I must touch upon, a subject which has made the life of my wife as much of a hell upon earth during my captivity, as that captivity was to me; and a subject which has caused the most poignant grief and pain to my near relatives. I refer to my Abyssinian female servant Hasseena. The mere fact of her accompanying the caravan opened up a quarry for quidnuncs to delve in, and they delved for twelve long years. It is needless to dilate upon the subject here; suffice it to say that if, when my critics have read through my plain narrative, they have conscience enough left to admit to themselves that they have more injured a woman than the helpless, and in this particular connection, ignorant captive, who has returned to life to confront them, and if they try in future to be as charitable to their own flesh and blood as some of the savage fanatics were to me in the Soudan, I shall rest content.

My narrative, and here I wish to say that it is presented as I first dictated it, notwithstanding my being confronted with, as it was put to me, “contradictions” based upon official and semi-official records and reports, may be depended upon as being as correct a record as memory can be expected to give of the events of my twelve years’ existence, from All Fools’ Day, 1887, when, in spite of all warnings, I rode away from life and civilization to barbarism and slavery.

At the beginning of 1887, Hogal Dufa'allah, a brother of Elias Pasha, a former Governor of Kordofan, came to me at Assouan and suggested my accompanying him to Kordofan, where large quantities of gum |5| were lying awaiting a favourable opportunity to be brought down, he possessing a thousand cantars (cwts.). The owners of the gum were afraid to bring it to the Egyptian frontier, believing that the Government would confiscate it. Hogal was of opinion that if I accompanied him, we should be able to induce the people to organize a series of caravans for the transport of the gum, he and I signing contracts to buy it on arrival at Wadi Halfa, and guaranteeing the owners against confiscation by the Government. Letters and messages, he said, would be of no avail; the people would believe they were traps set for them by the Government, and it was out of the question for us to attempt to take with us the large amount of money required to purchase the gum on the spot. I being looked upon as an Englishman, and an Englishman’s word being then considered as good as his bond, Hogal was sure of a successful journey; so it was finally agreed that Hogal and I should make up a small caravan, and get away as early as possible. At this time, February, 1887, the loyal sheikh, Saleh Bey Wad Salem, of the Kabbabish tribe, was holding his own against the Mahdists, and had succeeded in keeping open the caravan routes of the Western Soudan.

Hogal and I came to Cairo to make various business arrangements, and while here I called upon General Stephenson and Colonel Ardagh, and asked permission to proceed. They tried to persuade me to abandon what appeared to them a very risky expedition; but, telling them that I was bent upon |6| undertaking it, permission or not, I was asked if I would mind delivering some letters to Sheikh Saleh, as a visit to him was necessary to procure guides for the later stages of the journey. I was also to inform him verbally that his request for arms and ammunition had been granted; that he should send men at once to Wadi Halfa to receive them; and that a number of messages to this effect had already been sent him. General Stephenson evidently gave the matter further consideration, for, on calling for the letters, they were not forthcoming. He said he would write to me to Assouan; but, he continued, he would be glad if I would encourage Saleh, or any of the loyal sheikhs I met, to continue to harass the dervishes, and let him have what information I could on my return respecting the country and the people.

The precise circumstances under which I received his letter I have forgotten, but my former business manager tells me that, one evening at Assouan, he found lying on the desk an official envelope, unaddressed, opened it, and was still reading the letter it contained when I walked in, and exhibited great annoyance at his having seen it. This was the letter from General Stephenson to me, referred to by Slatin and Ohrwalder. I remember it but as a sort of private communication, not in any way official; and I think it well at an early moment to state so, as it has been borne in upon me that there is an impression in certain quarters that I might, on the strength of references made to it in Father Ohrwalder’s and Slatin |7| Pasha’s books, make some claim against the British Government, and I consider it advisable to say at once that no such idea ever occurred to me.

Completing our arrangements in Cairo, Hogal and I started south, Hogal going to Derawi to buy camels for the journey to Kordofan, and I going to Assouan and Wadi Halfa to make final arrangements and prepare food for the desert journey.

CHAPTER I I START FOR KORDOFAN

Before leaving Assouan for Cairo, I had made an agreement with Hassib el Gabou, of the Dar Hamad section of the Kabbabish tribe, and Ali el Amin, from Wadi el Kab, to act as guides for us as far as Gebel Ain, where we hoped to find Sheikh Saleh. Gabou was in the employ of the military authorities as spy, receiving a monthly gratuity or pay. He and Ali el Amin were each to receive three hundred dollars for the journey, a hundred and fifty dollars each to be paid in advance, and the remainder at the end of the journey. On arrival at Gebel Ain, they were to arrange for guides for us from amongst Saleh’s men. The route we had chosen is shown on the accompanying plan, taken from a map published by Kauffmann, a copy of which I had with me, and another copy of which I have been fortunate enough to find since my return.

AN ARAB GUIDE.

On arriving at Derawi, Hogal set about at once buying camels. Our party was to consist of Hogal, Hassib el Gabou, Ali el Amin, my Arabic clerk Elias, my female servant Hasseena, myself, and four men whom Hogal was to engage, to bring up our party to |9| ten people, so that we might be prepared to deal with any small band of marauding dervishes. Hogal was to purchase camels from the Ababdeh, who possessed, and probably still do, the best camels for the description of journey we were undertaking. He was to take them into the desert to test their powers of endurance, as, from the route chosen, they might have to travel fifteen days without water. He was also to purchase extra camels to carry water, so that if the necessity arose, we could strike further west into the desert than arranged for, and be able to keep away from the wells for thirty days. We were to take with us only such articles as were essential for the journey; food, arms and ammunition, three hundred dollars in cash, and our presents of watches, silks, jewellery, pipes, and ornaments for the sheikhs we met.

Hogal was to leave Derawi on or about the 20th March, and bringing the camels through the desert on the west of the Nile, was so to time his last stage as to reach Wadi Halfa at sunset on the 26th or 27th. The guides, my clerk, servant, and myself were to slip over by boat, and our caravan was to strike off west at once. Our departure was to be kept as secret as possible.

On my reaching Shellal after leaving Hogal at Derawi, I was overtaken by an old friend, Mohammad Abdel Gader Gemmareeyeh, who, having learned in confidence from Hogal the reason for his purchasing the camels, hurried after me to warn me against employing Gabou as guide, as he knew the man was not to be trusted. He told me that Gabou was acting |10| as spy for friend and foe, and was being paid by both, but this I did not then credit. I laughed at the man’s expressed fears, and telling him that as Hogal and I were to direct the caravan, and Gabou was to accompany us as guide, I had no intention of abandoning a journey, at the end of which a small fortune awaited me. I knew very well that not a single person was to be trusted out of sight and hearing, but as there was no reason why Gabou should not be kept within both, there was equally no reason why I should have any fears. Besides this, I was vain enough to believe that perhaps I might, as a result of my journey, be able to hand to the military authorities a report of some value, and the halo of romance, which still hung over everything Soudanese, was in itself no little attraction.

I reached Wadi Halfa about March 23, and set to work quietly with final arrangements. Hasseena had elected to accompany us, and this on the suggestion of Hogal, his reasons being first, that being accompanied by a woman, the peaceful intentions of our little caravan would be evidenced; secondly, that Hasseena, when the slave of her old master of the Alighat Arabs, had on a number of occasions made the journey between El Obeid, Dongola, and Derawi, and would be of great use to us in hareems in very much the same way that a lady in civilized countries, having an entrée to a salon, is occasionally able to further the interests of her male relatives or friends; and in the East, all women have the entrée to hareems.

The morning after my arrival at Wadi Halfa I |11| heard that forty of Sheikh Saleh’s men, led by one of his slaves, Ismail, had already arrived to take over the arms and ammunition. Gabou came to me the same day, and suggested our abandoning the proposed expedition, as he was afraid that the dervishes might hear of Saleh’s men coming in, and send out bands to intercept the caravan on its return, and we might fall into the hands of one of them. Believing that Gabou was simply trying to induce me to add to his remuneration for the extra risks, I told him I should hold him to his agreement. A day or two later, seeing that I was determined to go on, he suggested that we should, for safety, accompany Saleh’s men, but this I objected to. The Kabbabish were fighting the dervishes, and lost no opportunity of pouncing down upon any small bands, and I had no particular wish to look for more adventures than my expedition itself was likely to provide. There was also the question of time; Sheikh Saleh’s baggage camels would only move at the rate of about a mile an hour, while ours would cover two and a half to three miles easily.

On March 24, I received a telegram from Hogal, then at Assouan, announcing his arrival there with the camels, and his intention to come on at once, so that he should have reached Wadi Halfa on the 28th or 29th of the month. Gabou now exhibited particular anxiety that we should join Saleh’s party, and took upon himself to make an arrangement with them. On my remonstrating with him, he said that if the dervishes were on the road, they would certainly be met with between Wadi Halfa and the Selima Wells, |12| or, maybe, at the wells themselves, and this was the only part of our route where there was any likelihood of our coming in contact with them, our road, after Selima, being well to the west. “Now,” said he, “if Saleh’s caravan goes off, and the dervishes on the road are not strong enough to attack, they will allow the caravan to pass, but wait about the roads either in the hope of getting reinforcements in time to attack, or with the hope of attacking any smaller parties.” He believed the dervishes might go on to the wells, and encamp there, so that in either case we should fall into their clutches. It was Gabou’s opinion that Sheikh Saleh’s caravan was strong enough to annihilate the dervish bands, which he now said he had heard were actually on the road. This decided me. I asked him why he had not told me of this before. He had forgotten to do so!

The 28th, 29th, 30th, and 31st of the month passed, and still no appearance of Hogal and the camels. Ismail was impatient to be off, and Gabou suggested, that as my camels must be close at hand, Hasseena, Elias, El Amin and I should start with Saleh’s caravan, he following us as soon as our camels arrived. My camels being in good condition, and unloaded, would, he said, overtake the caravan in a few hours, and he was very anxious to test them for trotting speed while overtaking us. We were joined at Wadi Halfa by about twenty Arabs of different tribes, bringing our caravan up to sixty-four men and about a hundred and sixty camels. Gabou gave us as guide for Selima, a man named Hassan, also of the |13| Dar Hamads. Crossing to the western bank of the Nile early on the morning of April 1, 1887, by ten o’clock we had loaded up and started on that journey to the Soudan, which was to take me twelve long years to complete.

When we had been two days on the road, I began to feel a little uneasy at the non-appearance of my camels; but thinking that maybe Gabou had purposely delayed starting so as to give them a stiff test in hard trotting, I comforted myself with this reflection, though as day after day passed, my anxiety became very real. On the night of April 7, we judged we must be close to Selima Wells, and sent out scouts to reconnoitre; they reached the wells, and returned saying that they could not find traces of any one having been there for some time. Our caravan reached the wells between nine and ten o’clock in the morning, and about midday, while we were occupied in watering the camels and preparing food, we heard a shot fired from the south-east, and shortly afterwards one of our scouts came in saying that he had been sighted by a party of about twenty men on camels; one of the men had fired at him at long range, and the whole party had then hurried off to the south.

A hurried conference was held; it was the general opinion that this party must be scouts of a larger one, and that they had gone off for the purpose of apprising their main body. Ismail decided upon pushing on at once. There was little time for me to consider what to do; to return to Wadi Halfa was out of the question, as Ismail could not spare any of his men as a |14| bodyguard; to wait at the wells was not to be thought of, and the only other alternative was to go on with the caravan. I told Elias to write out short notes for Hogal and Gabou, which I had intended to leave at the wells; but as Ismail pointed out, I should have to leave them conspicuously marked in some way to attract attention, and, if the dervishes got to the wells first, or if those we had seen returned with others, they would be the first to get the notes, which would endanger our caravan, and the little party I was so anxiously expecting. There was nothing for it but to go on and hope for the best. If the worst came to the worst, it meant only that my gum expedition was temporarily delayed, and that I should, after reaching Sheikh Saleh, take my first opportunity of getting north again.

Map showing Proposed Route and Route actually taken by Caravan

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CHAPTER II BETRAYED BY GUIDES

There are five caravan routes running from Selima Wells—that furthest west leading to El Kiyeh, the next to El Agia, and the one in the centre leading to the Nile near Hannak, with a branch running to Wadi el Kab. Our objective being to meet Sheikh Saleh at Gebel Ain, we should have taken the route leading to El Agia, and this we had selected, because, as it was well out in the desert, there was little likelihood of our encountering any roving bands of dervish robbers. When we had been on the road a few hours, I ventured the opinion that we had taken the wrong route, and a halt was called while I examined the map I had with me, after which examination I felt certain that we were marching in the wrong direction. The guide Hassan was equally certain that we were on the El Agia road. A discussion ensued, which was ended by Hassan telling me, with what he intended to be withering sarcasm, “I never walked on paper” (meaning the map); “I have always walked on the desert. I am the guide, and I am responsible. The road you want us to go by leads to El Etroun (Natron district), |16| sixty marches distant; if we take your road and we all die of thirst in the desert, I should be held responsible for the loss of the lives, and your paper could not speak to defend me.” Hassan’s dramatic description of the scene of his being blamed by the Prophet for losing these valuable lives if he trusted to a “paper,” had more to do with his gaining his point than pure conviction as to whether we were on the right road or not. From El Agia, as Saleh’s men said, they knew every stone on the desert, but in this part they had to trust to Hassan.

During the whole of this first day we forced the baggage camels on at their best pace, travelling by my compass in a south and south-easterly direction. The arrangement I had made with Gabou for my own caravan, which arrangement Ismail had agreed to when Gabou suggested our travelling with them, was that we should travel a little to the west of the El Agia camel tracks, but keep parallel to them. When we halted that night I spoke to Ismail about this, and asked him to keep to this part of the agreement—that is to say, to travel parallel to, and not on, the track. Hassan objected, as it meant slower travelling. Still pressing on after a short rest, Hassan zigzagged the caravan over stony ground with the object of losing our trail, as our caravan, consisting of about 160 camels, was an easy one to track up.

We travelled fast until mid-day of the 10th, when we were obliged to take a rest owing to the extreme heat. We were in an arid waste; not the slightest sign of vegetation or anything living but |17| ourselves to be seen anywhere. Off again at sunset, we travelled the whole night through, my compass at midnight showing me that we were, if anything, travelling towards the east, when our direction should certainly have been south-west. At our next halt I spoke to Ismail again, but Hassan convinced him of his infallibility in desert routes. The following morning, the 11th, there was no disguising the fact about our direction: the regular guides travel by the stars at night-time, but they laugh at the little niceties between the cardinal points, as Hassan laughed at me when I tried to get him to believe in the sand diagram I showed him, with the object of proving to him that a divergence increases the further you get away from the starting-point. El Amin now joined me in saying that he thought we were on the wrong road, but Hassan was prepared. He had, he said, during the night, led us further into the desert to again break our trail, and that he was now leading us to the regular road. El Amin replied that it was his opinion that Hassan had lost the road in the night, and now was trying to find it. This led to a lively discussion and an exchange of compliments, which almost ended in a nasty scuffle, as some were siding with Hassan and others with El Amin.

Acting upon my advice, men were sent out east and west to pick up the regular caravan route. Hassan declared that a branch of the regular road would be found to the east, Amin and I declared for the west. Hassan took two men east, and Amin, accompanied by two others, went west. About an hour after sunset |18| both parties returned. El Amin arrived first, and reported that they had failed to find any trace of the road. Hassan came shortly afterwards, and, having heard before reaching Ismail of the failure of the others, came up to us jubilant and triumphant, as a road had been picked up where he said it would. They had not only picked up the road, but had come to the resting-place of a caravan of fifteen to twenty camels, which could only be a few hours ahead of us, as the embers of the caravan’s fire places were still hot. I judged it best to be silent on the subject of the route now, though Amin, jibed and scoffed at by the victorious Hassan, was loud in his declarations that we were on the wrong route, and that Hassan had lost his way; this nearly led to trouble again between him and the two men who had accompanied Hassan, as they considered their word doubted.

We travelled east during the night, and crossed the road which Hassan had, during the day, picked up. But there was a feeling of uncertainty and unrest in the caravan. One after another appealed to me, and I could but say that I was still convinced my “paper” was right and Hassan wrong. El Amin, pricked to the quick, spread through the caravan his opinion that Hassan had not lost his way, but was deliberately leading us in the wrong direction. When we halted on the 12th, Ismail, noticing the gossiping going on, and the manner of his men, decided upon sending out scouts to the east to see if they could pick up anything at all in the way of landmarks. El Amin joined the scouts, who were absent the whole day. They |19| returned at night with the news that we were nearer the river than El Agia Wells, and on this, our fourth day from Selima, we should have been close to El Agia. This report, coming not from El Amin only, but from Saleh’s own people who knew the district, created consternation. Again the “paper” was called for, and on this occasion Hassan was told that the paper knew better than he did.

That night scene of betrayed men, desperate, with death from thirst or dervish swords a certainty, can be better imagined than described. There had been no husbanding of the drinking-water, and it was almost out; many, in the hurry of departure from Selima, had not filled their water-skins. There was no doubt now that we were, as I had said from the beginning, on the road to Wadi el Kab, and travelling in the enemy’s country. But Hassan, threatened as he was, had still one more card to play. He acknowledged that he had lost his way, but said this was not altogether his fault; we, he said, had been travelling hard, and, feeling sure he was on the right track, he had been careless, or had neglected to look out for the usual marks, and that this was because Amin and I had annoyed him at the beginning of the march, as to the road. He now said that we were well to the west of El Kab, and on its extreme limits where the wady disappeared into desert water could be found, and being so far west, it was most improbable that we should find any dervishes there. Another council was held. Hassan was for continuing in an easterly direction; I proposed west, |20| believing now that the wady would be found to the west; while Ismail, advised by Amin, elected for a southerly direction. At last it was agreed that Ismail, Hassan, and some men should ride hard in a south-westerly direction, in the hopes of picking up some branch caravan route leading to El Agia. The remainder of the caravan, with myself and Amin, were to travel easily in a southerly direction for five hours, and then halt and await the return to us of Ismail.

We halted between three and four in the afternoon, but no sooner had we done so, when a heavy sandstorm burst upon us. There are varieties of sandstorms as there are of most other things, but this was one of the worst varieties. The air becomes thick with the finest particles, which gives one more the idea of a yellow fog in the north than of anything else I might liken it to. We were obliged to wrap our own and the camels’ heads in cloths and blankets to protect ourselves, if not from suffocation, from something very near it. The storm lasted until after sunset, and as it must have obliterated all traces of our tracks, scouts were sent out to sight Ismail. Up till midnight no signs of him were forthcoming. Breaking up what camel saddles we could spare, we lit fires to attract his attention to our position, and as these burned low, shots were fired at intervals of five minutes. After ten or twelve shots had been fired, I recommended that volleys of five should be fired at the same intervals, and when I believe six had been fired, we heard Ismail calling to us from the darkness. He had encountered the sandstorm, but evidently had had |21| a worse time of it than we had. He had heard our volleys, and had replied with single shots, but these we had not heard.

On reaching the caravan, Ismail ordered the fires to be put out, and the camels to be at once loaded and their fastenings well looked to. The rifles were cleared of the sand which had accumulated on them, and Ismail went round inspecting everything for himself. I called him aside and asked him what he had discovered. He whispered one word, “Treachery,” and returned to his inspection of the animals. When he had satisfied himself of the arms being in readiness, and the cases so secured that if the camels bolted they would not be able to throw off their load very easily, he gave the orders to march. Ignoring Hassan completely, he led us west, sending out as scouts, on fast camels, Darb es Safai and El Amin, my guide; but at sunrise they came back to us, saying that not a trace of road could be found.

I cannot weary my readers with a day-to-day record of our zigzagging in the desert—one day Hassan in the ascendant as guide, another day El Amin, and from this time I cannot pretend to remember the exact day on which particular incidents happened. There were too many incidents to attempt a complete record, even with a diary, had I kept one.

El Amin had confided to me and Ismail his firm conviction that Hassan was doing all this purposely, and that he knew precisely whereabouts we were, as he had noticed him making some sort of calculations, and drawing lines with his camel-stick in the sand. |22|

Perhaps it was because I did not wish to, that I could not credit the implied treachery. Gabou and Hassan belonged to the Kabbabish tribe, and as the rifles and ammunition we were carrying were to assist Sheikh Saleh to fight the common enemy, what object could there be in betraying us? Saleh’s men would certainly fight to the death; betrayer and betrayed would run equal risks of being killed—indeed, the betrayer would almost certainly be killed instantly by those he was leading. I therefore dismissed the idea from my head, took it for granted that the man had actually lost his way, and declined to fall in with El Amin’s suggestion to say “good-bye” to the caravan, make straight for the Nile, and take our chances of passing clear as merchants, should we meet any people on the road.

Sketch accompanying author’s account of capture

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On, I believe, our sixth day out from Selima, we crossed a caravan route running east and west, and, referring to my map, I had no hesitation in telling Ismail that this must be the caravan route between El Kab and El Agia, but on which part of the road we were I could not imagine. I wanted to attempt travelling along this road, but Hassan declared it led to El Kiyeh. That we must now be close to Wadi el Kab, every one knew. A “council of war” was held, at which it was decided to risk going on, as we must be travelling towards the wells on the extreme edge of the wady. We were to try and pick up the wells, water the camels, fill our skins, and then strike direct west and encamp at night-time, not to remain near the wells. While we were discussing the situation, some |23| men had been sent along the road to try and discover anything in the way of marks or tracks which would give an idea as to our exact position, and they reported that there could be little doubt of this being El Kiyeh road, and that El Kiyeh must be six days distant. This news decided us. Our water-supply was out. A six days’ march over that desert under such conditions meant perishing of thirst, and there was, again, the uncertainty as to whether we should be, after all, on the road to El Kiyeh or El Etroun.

One of the camels was ailing, so it was decided to kill it, and let the men have a good meal of meat. Early the next day, I believe our eighth or ninth day from Selima, an Alighat Arab was sent scouting to the west; he never returned. We halted and waited for his return as arranged, and lost the night’s travel in consequence. On the following day, unmistakable landmarks were picked up, which proved that we were but a few hours distant from the Wadi el Kab, and it was believed we could reach the wells by sunset. Unloading the camels, and leaving four men in charge of the baggage, we started off for the wells, expecting to return the same night. We travelled without incident until about two o’clock in the afternoon, when we reached the broken ground skirting the wady proper. My guide, El Amin, and two men, had been sent on ahead to reconnoitre. The place is dotted with sand-dunes and hillocks from fifty to a hundred feet high, and on nearing the first hillock, and when approximately at “A,” we heard a shot fired. El Amin and his companions had then reached the spot |24| marked “G” on the accompanying plan; we believed the shot to be a signal that they had found water, and pressed on until we reached “B,” when shot after shot was fired, the bullets whistling over our heads. At this moment we saw Amin and his companions hurrying back to us. Next came some broken volleys, but all the shots were high. Up to now we had not seen our assailants, but the smoke from the rifles now discovered their whereabouts—the hillock marked “C.”

I was slightly ahead of the main body, with Hassan, the guide, some yards away on my right. Being mounted on a large white camel, well caparisoned, and wearing a bright silk Kofeyeh on my head, I offered an excellent mark, and shot after shot whistled over me. I was turning my camel round to hurry back to the main body, when I saw Hassan fall to the ground. Calling to my clerk Elias, who was nearest to him, to help him back on the camel, or make the camel kneel to cover him, I tried to get mine to kneel so that I could dismount, but the brute was startled and restive. Elias called out that Hassan was “mayat khaalass” (stone dead). Our men were now quickly dismounting and loading their rifles. Bullet after bullet and volley after volley came, but no one was struck as yet except Hassan. Making the camels kneel, as a precaution against their bolting, we advanced in open order towards the hillock from whence the shots came, I on the extreme left, Ismail in the centre, and Darb es Safai on the right. Rounding the hillock “C,” we caught the first glimpse of the enemy, about fifty strong, and then rapidly retiring. |25| We fired a volley into them, on which they turned and replied, and a pretty hot fusilade was kept up for some minutes, but the firing was wild on both sides. I saw two of our men fall, and about eight to ten of the dervishes. Picking up their dead or wounded, they hurried off again, leaving two camels behind. Darb es Safai, who was leading the right, and was now well in advance, was the first to reach the camels, and discovered that they were loaded with filled water-skins. Calling out, “Moyia lil atshan;* Allah kereem!” (“Water for the thirsty; God is generous!”), he commenced to unfasten the neck of one of the skins. A mad rush was made for the water; arms were thrown down, and the men struggled around the camels for a drink. I tried for a few seconds, when I reached them, to counsel moderation, knowing the effect of a copious draught on the system under the circumstances and condition they were in. Some of the men had been three days without water, and the camel flesh they had eaten had not improved matters.

* Moyia lil atshan.

(Water for the thirsty.)

While the struggle was still in progress, Hasseena, who with Elias had followed us up, ran to me saying that the dervishes were returning, and, looking in the direction of “E,” I saw about a hundred and fifty men advancing at a rapid pace. I raised the alarm, and Ismail gave the call to arms; but few heard his voice in the din. Those few fired a few shots, but it was now too late; in a moment the dervishes were upon us, friend and foe one struggling mass. Above the noise could be heard the voice of the dervish leader reminding |26| his men of some orders they had received, and to “secure their men alive.” Even in that moment it flashed upon me that we had been led into an ambush, else why the reference to “our master’s orders” given by their leader? Elias, Hasseena, and I ran towards “F” to take cover; it was no use my using my fowling-piece on that struggling mass, as I should have struck friend and foe. Just as we reached the base of the hillock, Elias was captured, and the five or six dervishes who had pursued us occupied themselves with examining the contents of the bag he was carrying—my three hundred dollars, jewellery, etc. They gave a mere glance towards me, and then moved off.

Pushing a few stones together, I laid out my cartridges, reloaded my revolvers, and prepared to die fighting. Ismail, the leader of our caravan, had by some means managed to get clear of the mass, and, reaching my camel, mounted it and rode off, riding hard to the right of “F.” Seeing Hasseena and me, he called to us to try and secure camels and follow him up. Hasseena on this ran down the hillock; I had not noticed her disappearance from the immediate vicinity of the hillock, as I was too much occupied hurriedly making my diminutive zareeba of stones. Glancing over the stones later, I was astonished to see her walking at the head of the dervishes who had secured Elias, they following in Indian file. Hasseena called out that I was given quarter, and that I was to stand up unarmed. This I refused to do, and as they kept advancing, I kept my gun pointed at them from between the stones. Hasseena again called out, |27| saying that they had orders not to hurt me, in evidence of which they fired their rifles into the air, and then laid them on the sand.

By this time I could see that our men were bound, and grouped together on the plain; I left my cover, descended the hillock, and advanced to the dervishes, when I was saluted with yells and cries of “El Kaffir, El Kaffir” (“the unbeliever”). One, maybe more fanatical than the rest, after vituperating me, made a motion as if to strike at my head with his sword. Looking him in the eyes, I asked, “Is this the word of honour (meaning quarter) of your Prophet and master; you liar, you son of a dog? strike, unclean thing!” While, as is only to be expected, I was at that moment trembling with fear and excitement, I had lived too long in the East to forget that a bold front and fearless manner command respect, if not fear. My words and manner had the desired effect, for one, turning to my would-be assailant, asked, “What are you doing? Have you forgotten our master’s orders?” This was the second time something had been said about “orders.” I put a few questions to my captors, but they declined to reply to them, saying that I could speak to the Emirs Hamza and Farag, and they hurried me towards them. The Emir, whom later I knew to be Farag, asked my name, and what I wanted in his country; then, turning to his followers without waiting for a reply, called out, “This is the Pasha our master Wad en Nejoumi sent us to capture; thanks be to God we have taken him unhurt.” The latter remark was |28| made as a reproof to the man who had threatened to strike me, as the incident had been reported, and also as a warning to the others.

Taking me apart from the others, he continued, “I see you are thirsty;” and, calling up one of his men, told him to pour some water over some hard dry bread, and, handing it to me, said smilingly, “Eat—it is not good for you to drink.” I divined his meaning. Had our men not made that mad rush for the water, we might have had a very different tale to tell, and who knows if, had we won the day and reached Sheikh Saleh, the history of the Soudan for the past twelve years might not have read differently? Mine would have done so.

CHAPTER III IN THE HANDS OF THE DERVISHES

I was handed over to two men, who were held responsible for my well-being; Hasseena and Elias were placed together in the charge of others, and we were ordered to seat ourselves a little distance away. The dervishes had with them military tents which must have been taken at Khartoum, and one was soon pitched. Here the Emirs and principal men met to hold a conference and inquiry. Darb es Safai and others were taken up one by one, and the question put to them direct, “Where are the rifles and the cartridges?” for no case had, of course, been brought on with us to the wells. They denied any knowledge of them; then replied Farag, “We will find them for you, and show you how they are used.” My turn came, and in reply to the usual question, I said that I knew nothing at all about them; questioned still further, I admitted that I had seen a number of boxes, but I could not pretend to know what was inside of them. Asked then as to where they were, I said I could not tell—in the desert somewhere; they had been thrown away, as the camels, being tired and |30| thirsty, could not carry them any longer. Still interrogated, I replied that the guide who had brought us here was the first killed in the firing, and that I did not think any one else of our caravan could find their way back to the place where the boxes were left.

At this, rapid glances were passed from one to the other. Asked if I was sure he was killed, I could only reply that my clerk had told me so, that I had seen him fall, and indicated the place. Farag sent off a man in that direction after whispering some instructions to him, and during the few minutes he was away perfect silence reigned in the tent, with the exception of the click, click of the beads of the Sibha (rosary). When he returned, he whispered his reply to Farag. Two of the Alighat Arabs who had joined us at Wadi Halfa were next brought up and questioned; they did not give direct replies; they were taken aside, but not far enough away to prevent my overhearing part of what went on, when, as a result of promises and then threats, I gathered that they undertook to lead the dervishes to the spot where the cases had been left in the desert. It is quite certain, from the questions put by the dervishes, that they were ignorant of the precise spot where the baggage had been left, and it in a measure confirmed the death of Hassan; but I have always had a suspicion that the man shammed death and got away, to present himself later on to Nejoumi. He might easily have mingled with the dervishes and not been seen by us.

The sun had now set; the conference ended, and orders were given by Farag for all to march back by |31| the route we had come, the Alighat Arabs, with Amin between them, leading. We marched for only an hour or so, for our camels, being tired and not having been watered, gave trouble. A halt was called for the night, and what water the dervishes had was partly distributed. By sunrise the next day we were on the march again, twenty-five men, well mounted, having been sent on in advance with the guides. All Saleh’s men, wounded and sound, were compelled to walk, the dervishes and their wounded riding on camels.

In the afternoon we reached the spot where we had left the four men in charge of the baggage, to find them with their hands bound behind them. The advance party had reached them about ten o’clock in the morning, and had doubtless found them asleep, as no shots had been fired. The men were not to be blamed in any way, and it really mattered but little whether they were asleep or awake when taken, with the odds against them. I had, on starting for the wells, left them the little water I had saved; had they not had this, they could not have slept.

In the same way that Saleh’s men had forgotten everything in that mad rush for the water, so did the dervishes break loose, forget all about their prisoners, and rush on the pile of cases. The ground was soon littered with rifles, packets of ammunition, sugar, clothing, food, and the hundred and one articles to be found in a trading caravan, for the cases and bales of the Arabs who had joined us at Wadi Halfa contained only merchandise. My mind was soon made up; running towards the other prisoners with my |32| hunting-knife, I thought that at all events the thongs of a few might be cut, and making for the camels and scattering in different directions, a few might have got clear. It was a mad idea, but it was something. Before any part of my half-formed plan could be put into execution, the guards were down on us. I was taken to the Emir, Said Wad Farag, but I excused myself, saying that, being a medical man, I had gone to see if I could attend to any of the wounded. Complimenting me on my thought for the others, he recommended me to think of myself, appropriated the knife the guards had found in my hand, and told me he would let me know when to use it, warning me at the same time not to attempt to speak to any of the other prisoners.

When the excitement over the loot had cooled down a little, a camel was killed in honour of the occasion, and my servant Hasseena was ordered to prepare some of the dishes. I was invited to eat with the Emirs. Our first dish was the raw liver of the camel, covered with salt and shetta—a sort of red pepper. I had seen this dish being eaten, but had never partaken of it myself before. I had two reasons for eating it now: first, I was hungry and thirsty; secondly, one of the first signs of fear is a disinclination, I might say inability, to swallow food, and fear of my captors was the last thing I intended to exhibit. After the meal, my clothes were taken from me, as they looked upon them as the dress of a kaffir, and I was turned out into the night-air with my singlet, drawers, and socks as my complete wardrobe. My turban and Baghdad |33| Kofiyeh were also taken, so that I was bareheaded into the bargain.

When the dervishes had finished their food, and before they lay down for the night, the Emir Farag sent for all the loot to be collected and brought before his tent, when it would later on be distributed according to the rules of the Beit-el-Mal (Treasury). This institution and its working will be described later. Only a part of the loot was collected, for the men, knowing from experience the extraordinary manner in which loot “shrank” in bulk and numbers when placed in the hands of the Emirs to be distributed according to rule, concealed in the sand or beneath their jibbehs, whatever could be hidden there. The pipes and tobacco found in the baggage were burned, as their use was prohibited by the Mahdi. Amongst my things was found my letter-wallet, and this was handed to the Emirs, who afterwards sent for me and demanded to know the contents of the letters. I replied that they were only business documents, receipts for goods, and such like, but that if the wallet was handed to me, I would translate each document. Being satisfied with this answer, Farag kept the wallet. Complaining of my clothing having been taken, he allowed me to have my flannel shirt, and gave me a piece of rag as head-dress. In this guise, I lay down in the sand to doze and wake the whole night through, conscious yet unconscious, with the incidents of the last eighteen days chasing each other through my brain.

The camp was astir long before sunrise, and by sunrise we were on the move east towards El Kab, |34| which we reached about three o’clock in the afternoon. The “wells,” at the part we arrived at, are upon ascending ground; but the name “well” in this instance is a misnomer. They are shallow basins scooped out with the hands or any rough implement, the water being found about three feet below the surface, shrubs indicating where to scoop. The camels were watered and left to graze on the scanty herbage. Another camel was killed to celebrate the capture of the caravan, and again I was invited to take food with the Emirs. I was asked only the most commonplace questions, but I could not get any reply to those I put, except that Abdel Rahman Wad en Nejoumi would tell me all I wished to know. While still with the Emirs, Farag called up his followers again, and after congratulating them upon the capture of the “English Pasha” and the caravan (though the Emir knew very well who I was, from old days at Korti), he harangued them on the advisability of obeying to the letter the orders of the Mahdi transmitted to the Khaleefa, and by the Khaleefa to him, winding up his oration with threats of punishment and imprisonment to any of the faithful who robbed the Beit-el-Mal by concealing any of the loot, after which he ordered every one to be searched again. I had many opportunities later of seeing evidences of what the Emirs most relied upon, in regard to the handing over of any loot—an exhortation to their followers, and an appeal to their religious scruples—or threats of punishment and imprisonment. Both went together, and were administered in the order I have given them, and there was seldom an |35| occasion when a search did not follow the appeal to their honesty, and when punishment did not follow the search for concealed loot.

Wad Farag dismissed me for the night, but I had hardly lain down when two dervishes stole up, and asked me to describe all the baggage I had with me. I said that a list would be found in my wallet, which, if they would bring to me, would allow of me giving them the required information. One left me, for the purpose, I imagine, of asking the Emir for the wallet, but returned shortly saying that I should have to remember, and that the list I then gave would be compared with the list in the wallet. There was no list in the wallet, but there were one or two letters I wished to extract. I have thought since that, had I exhibited less anxiety to get hold of the wallet itself, I might have induced them to hand over these letters under one pretext or another. I soon discovered from their questions that the dervishes were spying one upon the other, for they asked me directly what were the contents of the bag taken from Elias my clerk. I told them three hundred dollars, gold and silver jewellery, and some jewellery which my servant Hasseena had asked Elias to carry for her. Hasseena was sent for to describe her jewellery. The information evidently gave these men huge satisfaction, and taking Hasseena with them, they sent her back with cooking utensils, food and firewood, and ordered her to prepare food for me. Having had my food with the Emirs but a little time before, I was at a loss to understand the meaning of this, but learned later on |36| that it was to prevent any one else approaching her for information. Whether these two men were, as they said, in charge of the Beit-el-Mal, or whether, having seen any of the money or jewellery, they wanted to get their share of it, I cannot say, but, in the light of subsequent events, I should be inclined to believe the latter.

When the food was ready, I invited my guards to eat it. I was hoping that a full meal, especially as their fatigue was very evident, would induce them to sleep, and feigning drowsiness myself, moved off a few yards, and scooped out a sand bed. I was prepared to risk anything for liberty; we were in the neighbourhood of the wells, and might travel for days without being out of reach of water. Explaining my plans to Hasseena, I told her, under the pretence of collecting firewood, to try and get up to Amin and Elias, cut their thongs with the large knife we had had to cut up the meat sent us for food, and tell them to creep towards a small tree which I had noticed during daylight, and await me there. Some camels with their feet fastened by ropes were grazing there, and I believed that we might get away unobserved, and get some hours’ start. But the guards of the prisoners were not asleep; they were very much awake, searching the prisoners for any valuables, an operation which was carried out by each relief of guards, so that the sun rose with us still in the hands of the dervishes.

THE KHALEEFA’S EUNUCHS AT ATTENTION.

It was just after sunrise that we moved off again; my guardian must have been impressed with my importance, for he saddled the camel for me himself, and |37| brought me a gourd of camel’s milk. During this day’s journey, the Emir Mohammad Hamza, of the Jaalin tribe, who was commanding a section of the dervishes, rode up to me and inquired about my health—the usual form of salutation. He told me not to be afraid of any harm coming to me, and then rode off again. That evening we arrived at a small encampment of dervishes close to some wells, when I was taken before another Emir whom I was told was Makin en Nur, and who, from the deference paid him by the others, was doubtless the chief. He, too, put a few questions to me of the same commonplace nature as the others, and waved his hand for me to be removed. On being sent for again, I was accused of being a Government spy, and asked what I had to say for myself. I replied, “I have told you the truth; what do you want me to do now? tell you a lie, and say I am a spy? If I do so you will kill me for saying I am one, and if I say again I am not, you will not believe me, and kill me just the same. I am not afraid of you; do as you please.” When he questioned me again, I said, “I refuse to answer any more questions.” My manner of speaking to them caused no little surprise, as it was doubtless different to what they had expected, and to what they had formerly experienced from captives.

A young dervish was called in, and told to conduct me to a spot removed from the other prisoners. As we walked along, the youth said, “God is just; God is bounteous; please God to-morrow our eyes shall be gladdened by seeing a white Kaffir yoked with |38| a shayba to a black one.” This shayba is the forked limb of a tree; the fork is placed on the neck pressing against the larynx, the stem projecting before the wearer; the right wrist is then tightly bound to the stem with thongs of fresh hide, which soon dry and “bite” the flesh, and the ends of the fork drawn as closely together as possible, and fastened with a cross-piece. It is a cruel instrument of torture, for the arm must be kept extended to its utmost; to attempt to relieve the tension means pressure on the larynx; but when yoked to another man he throws pressure on you, and you on him. A prod in the ribs under the arm of either victim, with sword or rifle, affords endless amusement to their tormentors in the victims’ gapes and grimaces as they gasp for breath; but the captor’s cup of happiness is filled when an extra hard prod knocks one man off his feet, and the poor wretches are only helped up again when they are almost choking.

Irritated beyond endurance by the youth’s jibes and jests, and hoping to put an end to everything at once, I threw my weight and strength into one blow—and I was a powerful man then—and felled him senseless. Taking his rifle, I strode back to the tent, almost foaming with rage, and entered; my eyes must have been blazing; I glared from one to the other, wondering whether to fire the one shot and then start “clubbing” until I was cut down. Hamza was the first to speak, and jumping up, held up his hand, saying, “Istanna” (wait). I hurriedly related what had occurred, and said what I intended to do. Hamza |39| came to me, saying, “La, la, la (no, no, no), there must be a mistake. You are not to be put in a shayba; our orders are to deliver you alive and well.” Then turning to the others, he continued, “Hand this man over to me; I shall deliver him alive and well to Wad en Nejoumi; I hold myself responsible for him.” Some demur was made, when, lowering the rifle, I placed the butt on the ground, rested my chin on the muzzle, and addressing myself to all, said that unless I was left in Hamza’s charge I should press the trigger—on which my great toe was then resting. Hamza again pressed his point, and said, “If you do not agree, and this man does any harm to himself, I declare myself free of blame and responsibility. I have heard of him; he will do as he says.” The effect of the words was magical. “Take him away—keep him; do what you wish with him; never let him come near us again—never. Never let him look upon us with his eyes.”*

* The Soudanese, indeed all Easterns, have a great horror of the “Evil Eye;” and the grey and grey-blue eyes of Europeans in anger, or even in a fixed stare, as I learned later, strike fear, if not terror, into the hearts of most.

Hamza, turning to me, said, “You must know now that our master, Wad en Nejoumi, knew of your coming, and sent us to conduct you to him. His orders were that you should be treated well; he wishes to speak to you. I will give you security until Dongola, where he is waiting for you. I do not know what he will do with you; maybe he will kill you—I cannot say; but, for myself, I promise you will arrive in Dongola alive. If anything happens to you, the Emir Wad en Nejoumi will kill me. Will you |40| promise that you will leave yourself in my hands, will not try to kill yourself, or attempt to escape?” I gave my promise, upon which Hamza said, “Leave this man to me.”

The conversation which took place between us was of much longer duration than the above would appear to indicate, but I cannot pretend to remember all that was said after the twelve years’ interval; the above is the gist of it. I handed Hamza the rifle, and he, taking me by the hand in the Bedawi manner, led me out of the tent, and towards his section of the dervishes. On the way, in a few hurried whispers, he gave me to understand that he was really still a friend of the Government, and that I might trust implicitly in him. On reaching his people, he called four men to attend to me, and sending for Hasseena, told her to prepare such food as I was accustomed to. Hasseena came in rags; her clothes, like mine, had been taken from her. He ordered one of her dresses to be returned, and on my showing him how the skin had been burned off my back and shoulders with the sun, he ordered that I, too, should be supplied with more clothing.