As it happened, our evening at Sururab was scarcely troubled at all by Dervish bullets. A few rifle shots came from the scrub, and a bullet whistled overhead as I was chatting with Villiers—the first one of the campaign! I heard two revolver shots during the night, but these were accidental, and came from inside the camp. One of the bullets unfortunately penetrated the thigh of a Warwickshire private, but he ultimately recovered.
No one, I think, who experienced the subsequent wretchedness of the night at Sururab is likely to forget it. There was a threatening look about the clouds as the sun went down, but we struck our tents and lay down to sleep hoping for the best. About ten o'clock, however, we were awakened by heavy drops of rain splashing on our faces, and then down came the torrent! I had, most fortunately, left my tent loose upon the ground, so, after putting on my mackintosh, I dragged a portion of the waterproof tent over me. The exclamations of many of my colleagues around me showed that they were not so comfortably bedded. Some had not brought waterproofs with them; others had packed their tents over night. There is an undeniable satisfaction during a heavy shower in feeling that one is on the right side of a window pane, and witnessing the hurried passage along a street of dripping pedestrians; and as I heard the rain beating down upon the tent canvas drawn over my bed, I experienced the same sort of selfish complacency. Clothed as I was in a kharki suit and boots, and covered over with a blanket, a mackintosh, and the waterproof canvas, I felt as if I was being boiled alive; but still I was safe from any moisture ab extra. Nemesis, however, was close upon me in my splendid isolation. I made a slight movement of my hand under the rug, and instantly felt a sharp prick in the palm. At the same moment, on the inside of the canvas within six inches of my face, appeared a large scorpion. I had evidently disturbed the beast, which stung me and then ran up the canvas. I felt perfectly horrified for a moment. The idea that the scorpion might run over my face was sickening. Fancy the effects of a scorpion's sting in the eye! With a sudden sweep of my arm I dashed the whole tent covering, scorpion and all, off the bed. Anything in the rain line was better than scorpions as bed-fellows. All this time the pain in my hand increased. I tied a piece of string tightly round the wrist and sucked the wound hard, and then waited for the agony which I fully expected. Fortunately, however, the pain in an hour's time or so gradually wore off, and I think the scorpion must have stung me through the blanket, and so failed to penetrate the hardened skin of one's palm to an appreciable depth. We were now nearly all in the same plight. Everybody in the camp, with few exceptions, was soaked through that night. One general officer told me that, as he found himself lying in a large pool of water which had collected under his back, he got up and spent the night sitting in a camp-chair, without getting a wink of sleep,—a cheerful experience, forsooth! It is amazing that our men escaped fever after experiences such as these. During the Emin Relief Expedition, it was noted that every wetting, whether from wading a stream or a downpour of rain, invariably resulted in fever to man and beast alike.
Despite the soaking rain, I dropped off to sleep, but was awaked about one o'clock by a commotion on my left. Mr. Villiers had also been stung in the neck by a scorpion, and was in great pain. He told me the sting felt like a red-hot knife plunged into his flesh, and the whole of his left side became temporarily paralysed. His faithful servant rubbed some ammonia into the wound, and after somebody had given him nearly a bottle of raw whisky, he managed to get to sleep.
Reveille sounded at 4 a.m., and we all rejoiced to see the dawn. The rain still fell in sheets, but notwithstanding the inclement weather, Mr. Scudamore was sitting and calmly shaving himself before a looking-glass, with a piece of waterproof over his shoulders. The dripping servants emerged from their nooks and crannies in the lowest depths of depression, and the camels snorted with increased petulance as they floundered through the mud to be loaded. The camel hates wet almost as much as his masters. I have often been amused at their cat-like unwillingness to put their feet into quite shallow water. This is due, I believe, to the fact that the animal's feet, if wetted, have a tendency to crack in the sun and become very painful.
How servants contrive to light fires with slush all round and rain pouring down in torrents I cannot imagine, but Ali brought me a cup of hot cocoa and some biscuit—a delicious meal when one is draped in soaking garments.
Villiers awoke from the heavy sleep into which the raw spirit had driven him, and he and I set out to march with the troops, who were now streaming from the zeriba. He still suffered from a semi-paralysis of the left side; but despite this and a general weakness caused by the virus, he kept up on foot with the infantry battalions.
September 1st, drizzling rain and thick mud! The familiar collocation, helped out by an occasional covey of sand-grouse in lieu of partridges, brought one's thoughts back to the joys of English stubble and turnip-field left four thousand miles behind us! As the sun rose higher in the sky the rain gradually ceased, and as we dried our spirits rose. The bushes along the line of our march were full of many beautiful birds with vivid plumage, and a valuable collection might probably have been put together if anyone had had a light gun and time to use it. Every now and then, too, a hare would dart up from its "form" and race across our front, pursued by two small regimental doggies. These hares, like many other species of animal in the Sudan, have assumed the colour of their sandy environment most marvellously. It is almost impossible to see them sitting. They have ears of extraordinary length, and are altogether odd-looking creatures. They did not run as well as their British cousins, and occasionally one was caught by a dog or clubbed by a Sudanese soldier. I never tasted the flesh, but an officer told me he found it very good eating.
Long before we reached Kerreri we saw the figures of several Lancer scouts silhouetted against the sky-line along the summit of the ridge. Our cavalry had, as usual, pushed on ahead through the scrub and climbed the hills. Some of them rode up the lesser slopes towards the east and west, while others, leaving their chargers below, clambered up the steep crags in the middle. As Lieutenant Montmorency and another officer reached the top a Dervish suddenly fired a "right and left" at them from a huge elephant gun; but fortunately he missed with both barrels, and then bolted. With the exception of this man, who seemed to be a sort of "caretaker" in the empty camp, there was not a Dervish to be seen. The shell fire of the gunboats had rendered the ridge untenable. In every direction lay the débris of a deserted camp. Some of the fires were still smoking, and here and there were dotted the small wattled shelters which the Sudanese Arabs rejoice to make. In one place a feeble sort of entrenchment had been commenced, but speedily abandoned.
By this time the dampness of the early morning had been succeeded by blazing sunshine. The march was the longest and most tedious one of the campaign, and scarcely a sound we heard except the muffled tramp, tramp, of thousands of men traversing the sand. Suddenly, as we were crossing a dried-up water-course in the Wady Suetne, a little to the north of Kerreri, the roar of a heavy gun reached our ears from the south—then another, and another! A general murmur of satisfaction ran along the ranks. The tired men brightened up, and stepped out with renewed vigour, while the Sudanese almost broke into a run from excitement. Major Elmslie's Lyddite battery had got into position, and was shelling the city from the other side of the river. As I was a free agent, I ran as hard as I could up the rough slopes, and reached the crest of the ridge. Little could be seen from the lower slopes, but from the summit a splendid spectacle presented itself. The terrible fifty-pounder shells had found the range, and were playing havoc with the walls and public buildings of Omdurman. Nothing can resist Lyddite. Thick walls were pierced like brown paper, and the stones hurled high in the air amid clouds of dust and flame. A shell had torn a vast hole through the lofty dome-like structure which covered the Mahdi's sepulchre, the gilded top of which had been carried clean away. The effect of the shells upon the wretched people who chanced to be near to the Mahdi's tomb at the time of the bombardment was truly awful, as I saw with my own eyes two days afterwards.
Below on the vast plain, which, broken only by the mass of Gebel Surgham, stretched from Kerreri to the outskirts of Omdurman our cavalry were manœuvring with the Baggara horse "very prettily," as one of the generals remarked. Our regiment of Lancers, three hundred and twenty all told, would ride pluckily towards the dense masses of the enemy, and then withdraw as lines of riflemen advanced to meet them, or large bodies of mounted Baggaras attempted to cut off their retreat. The Khalifa's entire army, incensed by the bombardment and by the galling fire which our dismounted troopers took every opportunity of pouring into them, were now moving forward to attack and annihilate the infidels.