Almost at this moment a well-aimed shell blew Yacoub and his bodyguard “high in the air,” and before the Khaleefa’s eyes; the black flag was planted, but the dervishes had had a lesson. Yunis, breaking through Abdullahi’s bodyguard, ran to him, saying, “Why do you sit here? Escape; every one is |275| being killed;” but Abdullahi sat still, dazed and stupefied with what he had seen. With the help of others, Yunis raised him to his feet, and actually pushed and bundled him along. Then Abdullahi started running on foot. He refused to mount a horse or camel; after stumbling and falling three times, Yunis persuaded him to mount a donkey. His army was now in full retreat, and “Where, oh, Abdullahi—where is the victory you promised?” assailed his ears. Calling his camel syce, Abou Gekka, he told him to hurry on a fast camel to Omdurman, collect his wives, children, and treasures, and conduct them to the Zareeba-el-Arrda (parade-ground) to the west of Omdurman, where he would meet them, and then all were to fly together. On reaching the zareeba, his household were not visible, and hearing that there were still thousands of his troops in Omdurman, he was persuaded to enter the town, and make a last stand at the praying-ground. When nearing the mosque, Abdullahi saw Yacoub’s eunuch waiting there. Telling him to collect Yacoub’s wives, children, etc., and take them to the zareeba, the eunuch asked, “Where is my master?” Abdullahi then probably for the last time exercised his power of life and death. Turning to one of those near him, he said, “Who is this slave, to question my orders?” and the eunuch fell dead at Abdullahi’s feet with a bullet through his head.
Reaching the large praying enclosure, Abdullahi ordered the drums and ombeyehs to be sounded, but few or none obeyed the summons; some came, looked |276| at him sitting there mute, and slunk off; some, I have heard, jibed at him by asking if he was “sitting on his farwah.” The farwah, or prayer-skin, is what the leaders formerly stood upon when the day was lost, and awaited their death. Finding himself deserted by all, he called for his secretary, Abou-el-Gassim, and asked what could be done. Gassim, whether in a sarcastic vein or not, recommended that he should continue praying where he was, and, maybe, his prayers would still bring victory; but there being none to join in the prayers, he asked Gassim to collect his household, and bring them to him. Gassim went off, and did not return.
At this time the Taaishi, Baggara, Berti Habbanieh, Rhizaghat, Digheem and other tribes, whom he formerly depended upon for support, were streaming off to the number of probably fifteen thousand, from the south of the town. Calling two men, he asked them to go outside the town, and see how far the Government troops were distant. The messengers, on reaching the Tombs of the Martyrs, about twelve hundred yards from where Abdullahi was sitting, suddenly came across the Sirdar and his staff standing at the angle of the great wall; they watched the staff move off towards the Beit-el-Mal, and returned and reported this to Abdullahi. Slipping through the door communicating with his house, he changed his clothes, collected the remainder of his household, and quietly slipped off while the Sirdar was making the complete circuit of Omdurman with the exception of those twelve hundred yards. It is a thousand pities, as things |277| actually were, that the staff did not continue in the direction they were then taking, for a few minutes’ trot along the deserted street leading to the prayer-ground would have allowed the Sirdar to lay his hands upon Abdullahi, as he sat there absolutely alone, on the spot where he had hoped that his faithful would make their last stand.
The sun was falling, and still we in prison did not know exactly how the day had gone. We had heard the drums and ombeyehs, which told us that Abdullahi was calling upon the faithful to assemble at the prayer-ground; a cloud of dust on the desert and the gunboats slowly steaming up, meant that the troops were advancing on the town. Idris es Saier came and asked me what he was to do—to go to his master or wait for the English. I advised him to close the gates of the prison, use his rifles upon any of the Baggara trying to force an entrance, and wait and see who would ask for the keys—the expected Sirdar or the Khaleefa. In all cases, I told him, it was his duty to protect the prisoners in his charge, and reminded him of Fauzi’s tale of the two gaolers. When we heard the shrill cries of the women, we knew that some one was being welcomed, and guessed correctly that it was the English at last. Idris, in his anxiety to secure his prisoners, had us all chained in gangs earlier than usual, and this linking of my gang to the common chain had only just been completed when Idris came, frightened out of his life, as one could tell by his voice, to tell me that the “place was filled with my English brothers,” that a big, tall man, who, he was told, was |278| the dreaded Sirdar, had asked for me, and that I was to come at once.
It seemed an age while the chain was being slipped from my shackles, and then, led by Idris, I made my way to the gate of the Saier. I was crying dry eyed; I could see a blurred group, and then I was startled out of my senses by hearing English spoken—the only words of a European language I had heard for seven long years. From that blurred group, and through the gloom, came a voice, “Are you Neufeld? are you well?” And then a tall figure stepped towards me, and gave my hand a hearty shake. It was the Sirdar. I believe I babbled something as I received a handshake from one, and a slap on the shoulder from another, but I do not know what I said. Looking down at my shackles, the Sirdar asked, “Can these be taken off now?—I am going on.” I believe a second’s discussion went on with Idris, and then I heard the last order I was to receive and obey in the Saier, “Neufeld, out you go!” It was the Sirdar’s order, and, half carried by the friendly and strong arms supporting me, I obeyed. The next thing I remembered was a British officer slipping off his horse, lifting me into the saddle, and trudging along at my side after the terribly trying and arduous day he must have had.
I was taken to the “head-quarters’ mess” at the camp; the Sirdar had, I believe, allowed himself the luxury of a broken angareeb on which to rest; the staff were lying in all positions on the sand, fagged out, but hard at work with despatches and orders by the light of |279| guttering candles. It was a hungry, thirsty, and deadbeat head-quarters’ mess I had been invited to on the night of the memorable 2nd of September. While the comfort of the troops had been looked to, the Sirdar and his staff had evidently neglected themselves. Their canteen and mess were miles away on slow-travelling camels; one of the most brilliant victories of the nineteenth century was being celebrated by a supper of a few biscuits, poor water, some of my prison bread, which I shared with others around me, and Cairo cigarettes, with the sand of the desert for seats, and the canopy of heaven as the roof over our heads.
Soon after reaching the “mess,” I heard a voice calling, “Where’s Neufeld?” and the inquirer introduced himself to me; it was Mr. Bennet Burleigh, of the Daily Telegraph. I had heard, and yet had not heard, much English spoken to me, but the flood of language he poured out when he found me still in chains came as a revelation to me; it was as picturesque as his description of the battle which I have since read. Rushing off, he was back in a few moments with some farriers with their shoeing implements to try and remove my chains; off again, he came with some engineers, and amidst a running torrent of abuse, anent cold chisels and other implements which he required and which were not forthcoming, he questioned me. Every one had a try at those chains; some one I heard use language concerning the Khaleefa when he found his thumb between the hammer and the links, but with a great deal of strong language, and equally as strong blows, the links connecting with the anklets |280| were cut through, but the anklets themselves were only removed, owing to want of appliances, on board Colonel Gordon’s steamer a few minutes before he led the way to the troops who were to take part in the funeral-service at the spot where his hero uncle fell.
While Slatin’s countryman, Joseppi, was imprisoned with me, I was able to exercise my mother tongue, and correct his broken German, which gave me, at all events, some little amusement; but after his murder, and the escape of Father Ohrwalder, I never had another opportunity of speaking a European language except in my dreams, and when I discovered myself talking to myself. For seven long years, with the exception of the word “torpedo,” by which name the Algerian called his mines, I had not heard a syllable of a European tongue. The last Europeans I had spoken to before leaving Egypt were English; the first language I was to hear on my release was English, and then a strange thing happened. As far as language was concerned, my brain became a blank from the moment I left Wadi Halfa, to the moment when the Sirdar called out, “Are you Neufeld?” so that when the German Military Attaché spoke to me in German, while hearing, and in the main understanding what he said, I could not, much to his very evident annoyance, find words in my mother tongue to reply. It was weeks after my return to Egypt before I was able to express myself properly in the German language. While to myself this was not to be greatly wondered at, yet the fact might be of interest to some scientist, who has made cerebral affections his particular study.
CHAPTER XXIII THE SIRDAR AND SAVAGE WARFARE
On the morning following the battle of Omdurman, a number of the townspeople came out to the camp, complaining of the rough usage which they had been subjected to at the hands of the Soudanese troops left in charge of the town, and of the looting of their houses. The majority, not knowing that the Sirdar and his staff were fluent Arabic scholars, brought their complaints to me, and asked me to interpret for them. In my then excited and half-dazed state, I rushed off to report the matters. Colonel Maxwell at once called up a hundred men, and with an officer and sergeant, instructed me to proceed to the town and see the men posted to the houses of the complainants. The real truth of the matter, of course, only came out later, and as I do not know of any one else who is in as good a position as I am to relate it, I submit the following.