Soon after his return from Selassié, his merciful mood being over, Theodore sent orders to have seven prisoners executed; amongst them the wife and child of Comfou (the storekeeper who had run away in September)—poor innocent beings on whom the despot vented his rage for the desertion of the husband: they were shot by the "brave Amharas," and their bodies hurled over the nearest precipice. Theodore sent me word to go and visit Bardel, who was lying dangerously ill in a tent close by. Having seen him and prescribed, I afterwards visited some of the Europeans and their families; I found them all exceedingly anxious and none could arrive at any conclusion as to the probable course Theodore would adopt.
Early on the morning of the 9th some of the European workmen informed us that Theodore was making roads to drag part of his artillery to Fahla, where it overlooks the Bechelo; they also told us that before parting he had given orders for the release of about one hundred prisoners, most of them women or poor people. Towards 2 P.M. the Emperor returned, and sent us word by Samuel that he had seen a quantity of baggage coming down from Dalanta to the Bechelo—four elephants, but very few men. He had also remarked, he said, some small white animals, with black heads, but he could not make out what they were. Did we know? We made a rough guess, and answered that they were probably Berbera sheep. He sent a last message, saying, "I am tired from looking out so long; I am going to rest awhile. Why are your people so slow?"
A severe storm then broke out; and it had hardly subsided when we saw soldiers rushing from all directions towards the side of the precipice—a couple of hundred yards from our tent. We soon heard that his Majesty, in a fearful passion, had left his tent, and had gone to Mr. Rassam's servants' houses, where the Magdala prisoners had been shut up since they had been taken down to Islamgee.
As I have said, that morning Theodore had released a large number of his prisoners. Those who remained, believing that they might avail themselves of the Emperor's good disposition, clamoured for bread and water, as for two days they had been deprived of both, all their servants having decamped and kept away since they had been removed from Magdala. At the cries of "abiet, abiet," [Footnote: "Abiet," master, lord. The usual expression used by beggars when asking alms.] Theodore, who was reposing after indulging in deep potations, asked his attendant, "What is it?" He was told that the prisoners begged for water and bread. Theodore, seizing his sword, and telling the man to follow him, exclaimed, "I will teach them to ask for food when my faithful soldiers are starving." Arrived at the place where the prisoners were confined, blind with rage and drink, he ordered the guards to bring them out. The two first he hacked to pieces with his own sword; the third was a young child; though it arrested his hand, it did not save the poor creature's life, and he was hurled alive over the precipice by Theodore's order. He seems to have been somewhat calmer after the two first murders, and something like order prevailed during the remainder of the executions. As every prisoner was brought out he inquired his name, his country, and his crime. The greater part were found guilty, hurled over the precipice, and shot below by musketeers sent there to despatch any one who still showed signs of animation, as many had escaped with life from the awful fall. Some 307 were put to death, and 91 reserved for another day. These last, strange to say, were all chiefs of note; many of whom had fought against the Emperor, and all, he knew, were his deadly enemies.
What our feelings were all this time can easily be surmised: we could see the deep line of soldiers standing behind the Emperor, and counted up to two hundred discharges of fire-arms, when we left off the agonizing calculation of how many victims were being slaughtered. A friendly chief came to us, and implored us to remain very quiet in our tents, as it would be very dangerous if Theodore remembered us in his present mood. At dusk he returned, followed by an admiring crowd. He, however, took no notice of us; and, after a while, seeing all quiet, we felt pretty confident that we were safe for that day at least.
There is no doubt that when Theodore sent for us and all the prisoners, he had made up his mind to kill every one. His apparent clemency was merely used as a blind to mask his intent and inspire hopes of freedom in the hearts of those whose death he had already determined upon.
Early on the morning of the 10th his Majesty sent us word to get ready to return to Magdala. Shortly afterwards one of his servants brought us the following message:—"Who is that woman who sends her soldiers to fight against a king? Send no more messengers to your people: if a single servant of yours is missing, the covenant of friendship between you and myself is broken." A few minutes afterwards a boy whom I had some days previously sent to General Merewether, with a request that a letter should be sent to Theodore, who had on several occasions manifested great astonishment at not receiving any communication from the army, returned with a letter from his Excellency the Commander-in-Chief for the Emperor. The letter was perfect; just what we had wished for—firm, courteous; it contained no threats, no promises, except that Theodore would be honourably treated if he delivered the prisoners uninjured into his hands. We at once sent Samuel to inform the Emperor that a letter from Sir R. Napier had arrived for him. His Majesty declined to receive it. "It is of no use," he said; "I know what I have to do." However, shortly afterwards he sent for Samuel privately, and asked him its contents, and as Samuel had translated it, he informed him of the principal points. His Majesty listened attentively, but made no remarks. A mule from the Imperial stables was sent for Mr. Rassam's use to ride; Lieutenant Prideaux, Captain Cameron, and myself were told that we might ride our own mules; but this favour was denied to the other captives. On our return to Magdala we were hailed by our servants, and the few friends we had on the mountain, as men who had returned from the grave. We sent for our tents, bedding, &c., and awaited with anxiety the next move of the fickle despot.
About noon the whole of the garrison of the Amba were told to arm and proceed to the King's camp; a few old men only and the ordinary prisoners' guard remaining on the mountain. Between 3 and 4 P.M. a violent thunder-storm burst over the Amba. We thought now and then that we could distinguish amidst the peals of thunder distant guns, and some close at hand. At other times we were almost certain that the sound we had just heard was a volley; but we only laughed at the idea, and wondered how the echoes of the almost constant thunder could to our excited imagination bear such close resemblance to the welcome music of an attack by the army of rescue. Shortly after 4 P.M. the storm subsided, and then no mistake was possible; the deep, dull sound of guns, and the sharp reports of small arms, now reached us plainly and distinctly. But what was it? No one would or could say. Twice during the next hour the joyous elelta resounded from Islamgee to the Amba above, where it was responded to by the soldiers' families. Then all doubts vanished: evidently the King was only "fakering;" no fight could have taken place, as no elelta would be heard if Theodore had ventured to encounter the British troops.
We were fast asleep, quite unaware of the glorious battle that had taken place a few miles from our prison, when we were aroused by a servant, who told us to dress quickly, and come over to Mr. Rassam's house, as messengers had just arrived from his Majesty. We found on entering Mr. Rassam's room Messrs. Waldmeier and Flad, and several of the Emperor's chiefs, who had come up to deliver the Imperial message. Then for the first time we heard of the battle of Fahla; heard, indeed, that we were now safe; that the humbled despot had acknowledged the greatness of the power he had for years despised. The Imperial message was as follows:—"I thought that the people that are now coming were women; I now find that they are men. I have been conquered by the advance guard alone. All my musketeers are dead. Reconcile me with your people."
Mr. Rassam sent him back word that he had come to his country to make peace, and now, as well as formerly, he only wished to see that happy result obtained; he proposed, he said, sending Lieutenant Prideaux for himself, and that his Majesty should send Mr. Flad, or any other European whom he trusted, together with one of his noblemen, to the British camp to make terms; but that unless he was willing to deliver over to the Commander-in-Chief all the prisoners, the proposed steps would be quite useless. The two Europeans and the other messenger remained some time with us to rest and refresh themselves: they told us that his Majesty had mistaken a battery of artillery for Baggage, and seeing only a few men at Arogié, he had given in to the importunities of his chiefs, and allowed them to have their own way. On a cannon being fired, the Abyssinians, excited by the prospect of a large booty, rushed down the hill. His Majesty commanded the artillery, which was served by Abyssinian workmen, under the direction of a Copt, the former servant of the Bishop, and of Lij Engeddah Wark, the son of a converted Bengal Jew. At the first discharge the largest piece of ordnance, "Theodoros," burst, the Abyssinians by mistake having rammed in two cannon balls. Towards dusk he had sent to recall his troops, but messenger after messenger was despatched to no purpose: at last the broken-down remnants of his army were seen slowly climbing the steep ascent, and he heard for the first time the dismal tale of their disaster. Fitaurari [Footnote: Fitaurari, the commander of the advanced guard.] Gabrié, his long-attached friend, the bravest of the brave, lay dead on the battle-field; he inquired for others, but the answer was Dead, dead, dead!! Cast down, conquered at last, Theodore, without saying a word, walked back to his tent with no other thought but an appeal to the friendship of his captives and to the generosity of his foe.