A man whom I almost struck up a real friendship with, was Sheikh Hamad-el-Nil, a well-known religious teacher from the Blue Nile. Having great influence over a large number of people, the Khaleefa, fearing he might obtain a following, ordered him to Omdurman. Here a difficulty arose as to what charge could be brought against him in order to condemn him to imprisonment. Sheikh Hamad had taken neither one side nor the other—Government nor Mahdieh, and had devoted his whole time to a strict preaching of the Quoran, as he had done for years. No Kadi dare condemn him on any charge made, suborn “witnesses” as the Khaleefa would. But the Khaleefa was determined to effect his condemnation by some means, more especially as Sheikh Hamad was rich, and the Beit-el-Mal was short of funds. Men were sent to the Sheikh’s house with orders to conceal some tobacco in the ground—others were sent to discover it, and tobacco being forbidden by the Mahdi, Sheikh Hamad, in spite of all protestations, was sentenced by the Kadi to imprisonment and the |86| confiscation of his property. His health broke down after about eighteen months’ privations, and he was released; but recovering as did Mahmoud, he was again imprisoned, and died a few weeks later. Of all those in the prison, Sheikh Hamad was the only one who dared say openly to those whom he trusted that both Mahdi and Khaleefa were impostors. Two of my first four years were spent mainly with the Sheikh learning to read and write Arabic, discussing the tenets of the Christian and Mohammedan religions, and telling him of our social life and customs in Europe.
There was one arrival at the prison which I was rather pleased to see—Ahmed Abd-el-Maajid, of Berber, a great supporter of the Mahdi and Khaleefa, and one of the bitterest enemies of Christians and Europeans. He was, for the Soudan, well educated, and he was also rich, and had much influence, but his vanity got the better of him. He gave evidence of his wealth in the richness of his dress and luxurious living, and this had been reported to the Khaleefa, but as yet Maajid had not accepted any of the Khaleefa’s pressing invitations to pay him a visit to Omdurman. Maajid made up his mind to marry another wife—a young and pretty one; preparations for the marriage ceremonies, and the feastings which accompany it, were made on a large and lavish scale. The Mahdi had fixed ten dollars as the sum to be paid to the parents of the virgin upon her marriage; but Maajid paid one thousand, and this scouting of the Mahdi’s orders coming to the ears of the Khaleefa, he sent off a party to Berber with instructions to bring Maajid and his bride back with |87| them. This party arrived at Berber while the festivities were still going on, and Maajid could not refuse the Khaleefa’s invitation this time. When he arrived at Omdurman, he was, with his bride, who was reputed to be the most beautiful woman ever seen in the Soudan, hurried before the Khaleefa and the Kadi. The latter, having his brief ready, accused Maajid of having broken the rules as laid down by the Mahdi, and also of having detained moneys which should have been sent to the Beit-el-Mal, as was proved by his having so much money when the coffers of the Beit-el-Mal were empty. His property was confiscated and sent to the Beit-el-Mal; his bride was taken possession of by the Khaleefa, and Maajid himself sent to prison, where he spent six months, mainly occupied in cursing the face of his bride, as it was this that had brought him to grief. At the end of the six months, he was released and sent back to Berber “educated,” with a strong recommendation from the Khaleefa not to be so ostentatious with his wealth in future. The Khaleefa kept Maajid’s money—and also his bride. It was this same Maajid, who, after Slatin’s escape, ferreted out the people in Berber who had assisted Slatin’s guides, and had them sent to the White Nile, where those who did not die on the journey there died later.
Those I have mentioned above were what I might call the better class of prisoners, with whom I mainly associated during my first two years in prison; the remainder were slaves, thieves, ordinary criminals, debtors, murderers, etc.
When I had recovered a little from my fever, I |88| was placed upon a camel, and paraded past the huts, rukoobas, and zareebas, which at that time constituted the town of Omdurman. A number of Hadendowas had come in to tender their submission to the Khaleefa; and he had seized the occasion to exhibit me to the “faithful” as the great Pasha sent to conquer from him the Western Soudan, and to impress the Hadendowas. A halt was made at the hut of the Emir Said Mohammad Taher, a relative of the Mahdi, who, after relating his version of the death of Hicks Pasha, and the destruction of his army, both of which events had, according to him, been brought about through the agency of angels sent by the Prophet for the purpose, gave me a long lecture on Mahdieh, at the end of which he asked me my opinion of it. I told him that if he wished for a few lessons himself on religion, and as to how the God I prayed to dealt with His faithful, and the means His teachers in Europe employed for converting people and making them religious, I should be pleased to give him a few. The reply angered him, and another batch of prisoners were, by his orders, told off to lecture me the whole day long on Mahdieh. While quite ready to talk to them about the Mohammedan religion as propounded in the Quoran, I would not believe in the mission of the Mahdi or his new religion. When Taher asked what progress I had made in my “education,” he was told that I would make none in Mahdieh, but was ready to become a Mohammedan. I knew perfectly well what an out-and-out acceptance of Mahdieh meant—my release, but only to be put in charge of some troops, and, as I had |89| fought with the British against the Mahdists, I had no wish to be caught in the dervish ranks, fighting against them, or be found dead on the field, after the fight, in the garb of a dervish, and pierced by a British bullet.
Taher was not pleased, and reported my insubordination to the Khaleefa. It was probably on my fifteenth day that, accompanied by the Hadendowas, who had come in to make their submission, I was taken by steamer to Khartoum, in order that I might be “impressed” with the power of the Khaleefa and the truth of Mahdieh. We were first taken to Gordon’s old palace, where Khaleel Hassanein, acting as the Mahdist governor of the town, and at the same time director of the arsenal, received us, and gave us food. We were taken through the rooms, then dismantled, and shown at the head of the stairs what we were told were the bloodstains of Gordon. After this, we were placed on donkeys, and taken round the fortifications, while our “instructors” in Mahdieh, pointing to the skeletons and dried bodies lying about, gave us word pictures in advance of how the fortifications of Wadi Halfa and Cairo would look after the Khaleefa, assisted by the angels, had attacked them. It was a melancholy journey for me; and I am not ashamed to say that as my thoughts flew back to that day at Kirbekan, when, full of hopes, we pictured to ourselves the rescue of Gordon, fortifications and skeletons grew dimmed and blurred, and finally were lost to view, as a hot tear fell upon the back of my hand.
Taken back to prison, I became worse; the weight of the chains and anklets dragging on me as I rode, |90| and the chafing of the skin, set up an irritation, and the filth and dirt of the prison soon contributed to the formation of large ulcers. It was while lying down in the shade one morning, unable to move, at the time of the great Bairam feast, that two camel men rode into the prison enclosure, and, making one of the camels kneel down near me, ordered me at once to mount, as the Khaleefa had sent for me. The other prisoners crowded round and bade me good-bye, Mahmoud Wad Said telling me to pull myself together, and to act as I did “when they tried to burst your head with the ombeyehs.” There was a grand parade of the troops that day, and no one but believed that I was to be executed in front of them.
The two men could tell us nothing but that the Khaleefa had sent for me, and, living or dead, they were bound to take me. I was lifted on to the camel, and taken off to the parade-ground outside the town. The long, swinging stride of the camel communicated its motions to my chains, and by the time I reached the Khaleefa, I was in a fainting condition, with the ulcers broken, and their contents streaming down the flank of the camel. The Khaleefa, noticing this, asked one of the Emirs what had happened; although close to him, he would not address a word directly to me, though I could hear what he said, and he could hear my reply. When he heard the reason, he gave orders that the chains were to be removed that night, and a lighter set fitted. The Khaleefa was surrounded by his Emirs and bodyguard, and ranged on the plain in front of us was his |91| great army of horse and camel men, and foot-soldiers. I should have been marched past the whole army, but before reaching the horsemen, the Khaleefa said to the Emir Ali Wad Saad, “Tell Abdalla (myself) that he has only seen a quarter of the army, and let him be brought for the parade to-morrow.”
The prisoners were astonished to see me return alive that evening, and still more astonished at the orders given to Idris-es-Saier to remove my chains at once, and put on a lighter set. For once, the Khaleefa’s orders could not be carried out; the legs having swollen so much, the anklets almost buried in flesh, could not be brought near enough to the face of the anvil to allow of their being struck at, and the following day I again attended parade in pretty much the same state of collapse as the first. The Khaleefa was furious at this; he had no wish to parade before his troops, as an evidence of his power, a man who had to be held up on his camel. My gaoler was sent to, and asked why he had disobeyed orders. He gave as reasons, first, that he had no lighter chains, and secondly, that my legs were so swollen that he was unable to get at the anklets. The Khaleefa replied that they were to be removed that night, and they were, but it was a terrible ordeal for me. Before leaving the parade-ground, he sent to me Said Gumaa’s donkey and Slatin’s horse, telling me that I might ride either of them back to town, as their motion would be better for me than the camel, but I elected to remain on the camel.
I had done my best to get near Slatin, to have a |92| few words with him, but he was hardly for a moment near the Khaleefa’s side, galloping from one part of the army to another with his orders. Ali Wad Saad, on the part of the Khaleefa, asked me what I thought of the army; to which I replied, “You have numbers, but not training”—a reply which gave little satisfaction to the Khaleefa, who could overhear it without having to wait for Saad to repeat it to him. This was the last time upon which I saw the Khaleefa, but I live in hopes of seeing him once again.