The steamer with Stewart and Power on board ran aground. The crew was treacherously taken by a native sheikh, and Stewart, Power, and almost all the others were cruelly murdered and their bodies thrown into the Nile.
The news of the death of his two friends, and the ruin of his plan to hasten on the relief of Khartoum, cut Gordon's brave heart to the quick.
Before Mr. Power left, Gordon had given him a little book that he loved. It is called The Dream of S. Gerontius. Gordon had marked many passages in it.
Here are some:—
"Pray for me, O my friends."
"Now that the hour is come, my fear is fled . . ."
"Into thy hands
O Lord, into Thy hands . . ."
So it seemed that even then Gordon knew that Death was drawing near him, and was greeting with a fearless face the martyrdom that he was soon to endure.
Yet all the while he never wavered, and his bravery seemed to give courage to the feeblest hearted.
He who had never taken any pride in decorations or in medals—save one—tried to cheer his soldiers by having a decoration made and distributed—"three classes: gold, silver, pewter."
A Circassian in the Egyptian Service, speaking of Gordon in after years, said: "He never seemed to sleep. He was always working and looking after the people."