[CHAPTER IV]
THE BATTLE OF OMDURMAN
On 2nd September we rose from our broken slumbers in the dull grey light of daybreak, and by the time the first sunlight had flushed the surface of the Nile everybody was hard at work over his breakfast. When one knows that within an hour or two the normal routine of regular meals may be rudely interrupted by the exigencies of a whole day's fighting, it behoves one to eat at least as substantial a breakfast, if it can be got, as one does in London before catching a morning express to Edinburgh. Certainly it is impossible to imagine a more agreeable prelude to a battle than that which we experienced in our zeriba. There was plenty of time for a really comfortable meal, without being interrupted by an unpleasantly early visit from the Dervishes.
As Cross and I strolled up towards that part of the line held by the British, I stopped for a few minutes at the huts which had been converted into temporary shelters for the wounded. Everything was in its place, and the angaribs and stretchers ready for prospective employment. Having just emerged from the floating hospital, Cross was naturally very weak, and one of the medical staff, having noticed this, gave him a dose of sal volatile. Every British soldier carried on him a little packet of medical requisites for "first aid to the wounded." The packet was a marvel of condensed utility—lint, bandages, medicated silk, and other things, all compressed into a tiny parcel about three inches square.
By the time I reached the British portion of the zeriba the men were all in their places, with reserve companies in position a little to the rear. Every officer had seen to the working of his revolver, and all the Tommies had opened the breech of their Lee-Metfords and tested the magazine action—a very necessary precaution amongst the sand and dust of Egypt. The two batteries on the extreme left were drawn up, with the grim muzzles of the fifteen-pounders and the Maxim-Nordenfeldts pointing towards Gebel Surgham. Case upon case of shells lay ready to hand, and a number of these missiles were spread out on the sand close beside the gun-carriages.
Long before the advancing Dervishes came within range and sight of our infantry, the Egyptian cavalry, some two thousand strong, had left the northern side of the zeriba, and with the Camel Corps had come in touch with a large body of the enemy under the Sheikh Ed-Din. The Dervishes, certainly not less than fifteen thousand in number, immediately advanced against the Khedival cavalry, expecting, no doubt, an easy victory over the Egyptians: how often in the past had the fellahin horsemen fled in utter rout before them! But now the despised Egyptians retreated in excellent order, dismounting and firing volleys as steadily as on the parade ground at Cairo. The Camel Corps were blundering slowly along, scarcely able to keep ahead of the native spearmen, and were threatened every moment with annihilation. In fact, throughout the day's fighting, no troops were exposed to more serious risk than the cumbrous Camel Corps. The cavalry acted splendidly, halting repeatedly under a hot fire until the camel men came up. Captain Ricardo of the 17th Lancers, who was attached to the Egyptian cavalry, told me that he never wished to command better troops than the "Gyppies" showed themselves to be under these trying circumstances. Nevertheless, many saddles were emptied by Dervish bullets, two field-guns had to be temporarily abandoned, and it would have fared very ill with this gallant corps if they had been compelled to rely solely on their own efforts. As it was, the Egyptian battery posted on a knoll at the north-west corner of the zeriba had got the range of the Kerreri ridge accurately, and as the triumphant Dervishes appeared amongst the rocks in full pursuit of the retreating cavalry, round after round of twelve-pounder shells burst amongst them. At the same moment the Melik and Sultan had trained their quick-firing guns upon the Dervishes, and did splendid execution amongst the crowded ranks. Under this combined fire the enemy wavered, but not for long. They tried to dodge the projectiles and advance more cautiously under cover of various rocky gullies amongst the broken ground. It was like a terrible game of hide-and-seek. The white gibbehs, hidden for some minutes behind the hill, suddenly reappeared by fresh exits from the ridge; but shells met them at every turn, and finally the fanatics, balked of their prey, sullenly withdrew beyond the hills altogether with most of their wounded, leaving some twelve hundred of their number dead or dying on the field.
Inside the zeriba we were all alert and ready. Breakfast was over, and we simply waited for the enemy. I looked down into the hollow beside the river where the baggage camels, camp followers, and servants were stowed away in safety, and saw Ali grasping his enormous sword. The faithful creature came up and informed me that he intended to devote his attention exclusively to the defence of my person during the coming fight. I gently restrained the vaulting ambition of my cook, and pointed out to him the value of less ostentatious heroism—the protection, for example, of the camels from bullets, and the groceries from theft. Having shaken off this enthusiast, I walked along the zeriba to a point some way below the Lincolns. A large number of the Tommies had never been under fire before, e.g. the Guards and the Lancashire Fusiliers, and there was a curious look of suppressed excitement in some of the faces, as they stared over the desert to catch a glimpse of the enemy they were at last destined to behold, after many long marches by day and false alarms by night. Now and then I caught in a man's eye the curious gleam which comes from the joy of shedding blood—that mysterious impulse which, despite all the veneer of civilisation, still holds its own in a man's nature, whether he is killing rats with a terrier, rejoicing in a prize fight, playing a salmon, or potting Dervishes. It was a fine day, and we had come out to kill something. Call it what you like, the experience is a big factor in the joy of living: one speaks φωνᾶντα συνετοῖσι. Lower down the line the Sudanese showed their white teeth as they grinned with delight at the prospect of slaughter.
Suddenly the Lancers came trotting over the ridge between Gebel Surgham and the Nile, while several officers galloped across the plain and reported to the Sirdar that the Khalifa's forces were now rapidly advancing. The signallers from Gebel Surgham had come in by this time, and the cavalry, after a temporary halt beyond Geren Nebi, entered the zeriba by the gap beyond the batteries, and there waited ready for future emergencies.
"When they do show themselves," said an artillery officer, "we'll give them beans," and "beans" they certainly got! Even as he spoke, a long white streak far away in the distance suddenly spread itself over the yellow sand; the longed-for moment had arrived! "Here they come!" was on everybody's lips, and a rustle of excitement ran down the ranks.