As we marched on through the apparently interminable suburbs of the city, the regimental drums and fifes and the Highlanders' bagpipes struck up some lively tunes. The effect of music at such a time was simply marvellous: it put fresh heart and vigour into all of us. The Sudanese, with broad grins on their shiny black faces, played the various marching tunes of the British regiments, and were loudly cheered by their white comrades. All along the broad street which runs through Omdurman to the central square we were greeted by bands of women, who stood in clusters at the doors, and welcomed us with curious trilling cries of joy.
The Khalifa had escaped from the southern end of the town about an hour before our foremost troops arrived, and had been followed by a panic-stricken mob of men, women, and children, with camels and donkeys. In spite, however, of this exodus, the advance battalions, with the Sirdar and his staff, had met with some resistance from Dervishes still concealed in the houses along the main street. Here and there bullets were fired from windows and roofs across the line of our advance, and troops had to be detailed to clear out these dangerous assailants. Fortunately, a little light still came from the setting sun, and the Sudanese were soon able to rid themselves of their antagonists. Bullets had been repeatedly fired at the Sirdar and his staff as they advanced, and a little further on destruction nearly overtook them from the shells of our own field guns. The Sirdar had ordered the 32nd battery to shell the Khalifa's palace, and nevertheless saw fit to advance with his staff into the zone of fire. Suddenly four shells burst in rapid succession above their heads, close to the Mahdi's tomb and the great square. Everyone hurried away to shelter, but Howard had already dismounted and reached an upper room in the Khalifa's palace. Another shell screamed over the houses, and as it burst a fragment struck Howard on the back of the head, and killed him instantly—a tragic and untimely death, when the perils of the day seemed over and rest nigh at hand! Thus perished a man who was, I believe, absolutely fearless in the presence of danger. He was my junior at Oxford, but I remember that as an undergraduate at Balliol he was known for that reckless daring and courage which in after years led him to seek for adventure in Cuba, Matabeleland, and finally the Sudan. During the campaign in South Africa Howard displayed signal ability as adjutant of his corps; in fact, the splendid courage and unceasing energy which marked his whole career gave every promise of ultimately securing for him a still higher fame and distinction. As it was, his young life was cut short in the very midst of his restless activity, and he died as he had lived, eager to do his best, and utterly fearless of everything except failure.
"The untented Kosmos his abode
He passed, a wilful stranger—
His mistress still the open road
And the bright eyes of Danger!"
Our little band of fifteen had received, indeed, more than its fair share of casualties in the day's fighting. In addition to Howard's death, Colonel Rhodes had been shot through the shoulder, and another correspondent had been slightly wounded in the face with a spent bullet.
The street fighting was over, darkness had fallen upon the city, and the weary troops at length bivouacked for the night. In addition to the wear and tear of the actual fighting, they had marched at least fifteen miles, for the most part in the full heat of the sun. Many of the men simply lay down as they were, and at once fell fast asleep. After the army an apparently endless succession of baggage animals filed wearily through the town. I gave up all hope of finding camels and servants amid the general confusion, and betook myself to the Camerons. The other correspondents went on, and, failing to discover their baggage, had to sleep on the ground without food or blankets. I fared much better. Inside my pocket was a small tin of potted meat, and, as Captain Maclachlan had some biscuits, we intended to devour these before going to sleep with our helmets for pillows. But a joyful surprise was in store for us. By a great piece of good luck, some of the regimental baggage camels happened to pass by, and these were speedily annexed, with splendid results. My kind host invited me to dinner, and what a meal we had! On a central packing-case, which served as a buffet, stood several tins of "Suffolk pie" and ox tongue, and for every man a biscuit or two. How delightful it was to eat these tinned dainties—the only meat-food which had passed our lips that day! Then came the crowning mercy. Maclachlan unearthed a bottle of champagne from some mysterious source, and we shared the generous wine between us. Our tumblers were the lower halves of whisky bottles, cut round by string soaked in turpentine and then set alight. We drank many toasts—the Sirdar, the Army, Friends in England now Abed, etc. Our fatigues were all forgotten, and we felt so amiable that I really think that if the Khalifa had been within reach we should have sent him an invitation to join us, and bring Osman Digna with him. This dinner-party in the open street of Omdurman was one of the pleasantest I have ever attended—olim meminisse juvabit!
At length we wrapped ourselves in blankets for the night, and lay down upon the sand. All around was heard the heavy, regular breathing of strong men, utterly tired out by the excitement and labours of the eventful day. With the exception of occasional shots from Sudanese looters or Dervish "snipers" across the river, perfect stillness reigned over the thousands of men who lay in the large open spaces of the city. Not a sound broke the silence—the camp was asleep, and
"All that mighty heart was lying still!"