We had taken many camels off the Supply duties in order to assist Colonel Wynne’s Egyptian battalion in carrying the frame of the Lotus, a Stern wheeler, which we desired to put together and launch above the Cataract at Semneh. The beams of steel being very heavy, were troublesome in transport, for if the two camels on which they were placed rose at different moments, the girders either slipped backwards or forwards, occasionally fracturing a camel’s legs. All the riveters of the “Black Watch” and “Gordon Highlanders” were employed for a month in putting the Lotus together; she was ready when I passed, and instructed the Naval officer in charge to proceed.
Half a mile in front was an ugly belt of rocks, which extended, indeed, for 80 miles south of Wadi Haifa, and from a look in the Naval officer’s face I turned back and said: “Now, while I should regret the loss of the steamer, please understand I would prefer she should lie at the bottom rather than you did not try to get through.” “Yes, I understand.” “Would you like to have it in writing?” “No, I understand you accept all responsibility.”
Nevertheless, as I travelled up the Nile, at each successive telegraph station I received telegrams more and more pessimistic from the officer commanding the Lotus, and eventually he declined the task. Colonel Wynne,[273] who was the Station Staff-officer on the Line of Communication, telegraphed at the same time: “I have seen the Naval officer’s opinion, and while I agree there is danger, request permission to order the Bluejackets and Voyageurs off the steamer, and let me take her through hauled by Egyptian soldiers.” This he did; the Lotus proved to be worth her weight in gold to us in bringing down stream wounded and sick soldiers.[274]
When I was riding up the Nile the Consul-General in Cairo asked me my wishes about retaining command of the Egyptian Army, assuming that reductions then contemplated were carried out; and I replied, on the 10th December, that I wished to remain until Khartoum was taken, but afterwards not to remain on any terms.
Father Brindle[275] was travelling up in the boats of the Royal Irish, and I had determined, if it were possible, to overtake him and give him a Christmas dinner. We crossed to the left bank of the Nile, where the whalers moored, and were waiting, when the leading boat of the Irish appeared, the Reverend Father pulling stroke oar. His features were burnt by the sun, and, like his hands, were covered with blisters, as he stepped out of the boat stiff with the fatigue of pulling against the fast-running stream. Said I: “Father, why are you working like that?” “Oh, to encourage them.” “Any result?” “Very little.” The fact being, that the ordinary human creature was not endowed with the same energy and devotion as was my friend. Nevertheless the battalion won Lord Wolseley’s prize of £100 for the best time, from Wadi Halfa to Korti, and smallest loss of Supplies.
Father Brindle was doubtless the most popular man in the Expedition. His own flock naturally loved him, and he was respected by everyone, from Bugler to Lord Wolseley, who more than once tried to get him knighted. He had a pony which he never rode, it being used to carry footsore men in turn. Preaching one day in the desert during Lent, he said: “Now, my men, I cannot ask you here on Service to abstain, but you might do something which would be pleasing to the Almighty, and will gratify me,—abstain from the use of bad language.” Looking into the upturned faces, he thought from their sympathetic expression he had effected some good. When the parade was dismissed he stood for a few minutes speaking to some officers, and ten minutes later, walking behind two of his recent congregation, who, talking eagerly did not notice his footsteps on the soft sand, he overheard one say: “Bill, that was a bloody fine sermon the Father gave us.”
When Lord Wolseley heard at Korti that General Sir Herbert Stewart was dangerously wounded he sent Sir Redvers Buller across the Bayuda Desert to replace him, and I became Chief of the Staff, General Grenfell replacing me on the Line of Communication. A few days later Lord Wolseley heard that Gordon had been killed at Khartoum; and the accounts he received from the troops on the Nile at Metemmeh being unsatisfactory, he despatched me as his Representative, with instructions, after consulting with Buller, to order a retirement if it seemed to be necessary.
I started within an hour, although I was in pain, for two days previously I had sat down in a fold-up chair with my finger between the joints, crushing the top so that it was in a jelly-like condition. The arm was in a sling, and it is difficult to get on a camel, which puts its head back and tries to take a piece out of your leg as you mount, if you have only one hand. I reached Gakdul, however, on the 18th February, to find that Sir Redvers and his column were then returning from Abu Klea.
There was no longer any hope of further offensive operations. Although 2200 camels had crossed the desert on the first journey, the Heavy Cavalry Regiment had now only 22 riding and 10 baggage camels. The Light Cavalry Regiment was 100 short, and the transport animals had all died from overwork.
Buller went on to rejoin Lord Wolseley on the Nile, while I remained at Gakdul until sunset on the 3rd March, clearing out the sick and wounded, then ammunition, and last of all stores.[276] We remained until the whole of the water in the big pools had been exhausted, and had men 30 feet down in wells, bailing up water in pannikins, to give the friendly Arabs who were carrying the stores as much time as possible.