“One huge giant was the very incarnation of savagery drunk with war,” writes Sir Charles Wilson.
When the steamers had passed the batteries the Soudanese crews screamed with delight, lifting up their rifles and shaking them above their heads.
Soon they saw the Government House at Khartoum above the trees, and excitement stirred every heart. The Soudanese commander, Khashm el Mus, kept on saying, “Do you see the flag?”
No one could see the flag.
“Then something has happened!” he muttered.
However, there was no help for it; they had to go on past Tuti Island and Omdurman, spattered and flogged with thousands of bullets.
“It is all over—all over!” groaned Khashm, as to the sound of the Nordenfeldt was added the deeper note of the Krupp guns from Khartoum itself.
As they reached the “Elephant’s Trunk”—so the sand-spit was called below Khartoum—they saw hundreds of Dervishes ranged under their banners in order to resist a landing; so the order was given with a heavy heart: “Turn her, and run full speed down.” Then the Soudanese on board, who till now had been fighting enthusiastically, collapsed and sank wearily on the deck. The poor fellows had lost their all—wives, families, houses!
“What is the use of firing? I have lost all,” said Khashm, burying his face in his mantle.