I was only saved from death at the hands of the infuriated Baggara prisoners by Idris es Saier locking them all up in the Umm Hagar, and leaving myself, Fauzi, the Jaalin, and other Government sympathizers in the open. Then the tales of the fight came to us; two of the gunboats had been sunk, and the remainder had run away again! Fauzi and I sat there distracted, heartbroken. The attack on Khartoum, in 1885, had been enacted over again. I sat in a daze; the reaction from the madness of joy to that of despair was more than the strongest man could stand, after nearly twelve years’ captivity, but fortunately I broke down and sobbed like a child.
During the night we could hear the pat, pat, pat of at first a few dozen feet, until eventually we could tell that thousands were running into the town. It is no use relating the tales then told us, I will relate what actually occurred. After the bombardment of the forts, the Khaleefa sent messengers to bring in all news from Omdurman. When told that all the forts had been destroyed, he ordered a salute to be fired in token of his having gained a victory, and called out, “Ed deen mansour”—the Faith is Triumphant! But |267| other messengers were hurrying in, and as they came with grave faces and asked to see Yacoub before delivering their news to the Khaleefa, it was soon noised abroad that the volley from the rifles was only to try and hide something serious which had occurred. First, it was learned that, instead of the gunboats having been destroyed, it was the forts which had been battered to pieces. Then the more superstitious lost heart when it was related that one of the “devils” had entered the sacred tomb of the Mahdi, and numbers deserted desertwards, afterwards striking back to town. Later on, it became known that not only had one of the shells destroyed the Mimbar (pulpit), but had also destroyed the Mihrab—that sacred niche in the wall of the mosque giving the direction of Mecca. What rallying-place was there now for Mahdieh? And so more deserted.
Between ten and eleven at night a riderless horse from the British or Egyptian cavalry came slowly moving, head down, towards the dervish lines. The Khaleefa had related how, in one of his visions, he had seen the Prophet mounted on his mare riding at the head of the avenging angels destroying the infidels. This apparition of the riderless horse was too much; at least one-third of the Khaleefa’s huge army deserted terrified. When Yacoub told him of the desertions, Abdullahi merely raised his head to say, “The prophecy will be fulfilled, if only five people stay near me,” His Baggara and Taaishi stood by him, but they too were losing heart, for the Khaleefa, on his knees, with head bowed to the ground, was groaning, |268| instead of, as customary, repeating the name of the Deity. However, he pulled round a little as the night progressed, and invented visions enough to put spirits into the remaining but slightly despondent troops.
CHAPTER XXII AT LAST
It will, I believe, surprise but few when I admit that it is next to impossible for me to remember and relate the incidents which occurred during my last night and day in the Saier. Added to the general excitement shared by every one, I had also to contend against the mental excitement which, earlier in the day, had almost deprived me of reason. From where I lay chained to a gang of about forty prisoners, I could hear the infuriated Baggara in the Umm Hagar heaping their curses on the head of that “son of a dog—Abdallah Nufell,” and promising what would happen when they laid hands upon me. These were no idle promises that they made. Apart from the threats which may not be spoken of, those of “drinking my blood” at the moment my brothers reached Omdurman almost froze that blood in my veins.
The whole night through we could hear the soft pat, pat, pat of naked feet, and sometimes the hard breathing of men running a race. Not having heard any firing, we made all sorts of conjectures. At one moment it was thought that the troops had rushed one of the zareebas |270| under cover of darkness, and that these were the fugitives coming into town; at another moment it was believed that the Khaleefa had altered his plans, and had decided to stand a siege in Omdurman. Next it was thought that the dervishes had rushed the camp of the troops; but this idea was soon discarded, for the people running back to town would have still had breath to yell out the news of victory. I have already given the reasons for these people returning, but I only learned them later; to us prisoners, the night passed in anxiety, and amidst alternate hopes and fears.
Daylight was only creeping through the skies when we heard a low boom, followed by an ever-increasing volume of yells and screechings as of Pandemonium let loose, and then a terrific explosion which positively shook Omdurman. The town could not stand this sort of thing for ten minutes; we gave ourselves up for lost, but the bombardment ceased as suddenly as it began. I asked one of the gaoler’s boys to climb to the roof of the Umm Hagar to see what the gunboats were doing, as it was believed that the shells had been fired by them. He called back that they were “standing still” near Halfeyeh, and not firing at all. As we could hear the distant booming still going on, we knew then that the English were holding their own if nothing more, and hope returned.
It did not need the boy to call out when the gunboats moved down stream that they, too, were opening fire on the dervish camps; we could almost follow the tide of battle in that furious artillery duel from the |271| alternate roars and silence as of waves breaking on a rock-bound coast. There was no doubt in our minds now that the tactics of the Atbara had been repeated, and that the zareebas were being shelled preparatory to being stormed; the conjecture was wrong, as we learned later. Then the rattle of musketry was borne down on the wind; it was not the rattle of dervish rifles either; we knew the sound of these when fired. Then followed a long silence, only to be succeeded by another terrific fusillade; to us prisoners, it was the reserve zareeba which was now being carried. But the tale of the battle is old, and who has not heard of that second fight on the day of Omdurman, when MacDonald’s brigade withstood the combined attack of the armies of Sheikh ed Din and Yacoub?
One must go amongst the survivors of that attack to learn the details of the fight. Those having glasses in the British lines must have noticed Yacoub prancing about on horseback in front of his lines; this was in imitation of the man he could see on horseback in front of the brigade which was mowing down his men by hundreds at each volley. They have learned since who the man was, and “MacDonald” with “Es-Sirdar” is now a name to conjure with in the Soudan. It was not the first time MacDonald had so terribly punished the dervishes, while commanding troops which they had expected would throw down their arms and bolt, as in olden days.
While all this was occurring on the field of battle, I in prison, to hide my excitement—and really to calm my overstrung nerves,—took the Ratib of Ibrahim |272| Wad-el-Fahel, and occupied myself with “illuminating” its pages with red-and black-ink designs; this was an occupation I had often earned a few dollars at, but Fahel still owes me for my last exploit in “illumination.” I left the work unfinished about noon to attend to two young men attached to the prison, who had come in from the fight, one with a bullet over the left temple, and the other with a bullet in the muscle of the left arm. Provided only with a penknife, I made a cross cut over the spot where I could in one case see, and the other feel the bullet imbedded, and pressed them out; both bullets had kept their shape, and must have been encountered at extreme range, or rather beyond it.