This event made Abdullah exert a still stricter surveillance over the "whites," and now escape became more difficult than ever. Moreover, Wad en Nejumi's expedition to Egypt closed the road to pilgrims, and during that period flight would have been a pure impossibility. In the meantime I had to do something to gain a livelihood. Lupton advised me to try soap-boiling; so I went into partnership with him, changed my house, and now took up my abode just beyond the Greek and Syrian quarter.
I was always thinking of escape, and in consequence kept a great deal to myself, seldom paid visits, and was seldom called upon. Two of the Mission sisters were living near me; they earned a precarious living by needlework; but this hardly brought in enough money to purchase the bare necessities of life, for several of the women who had survived the Khartum massacre were employed at similar work, and the competition was considerable.
Poor Lupton died very suddenly, so our soap-boiling plan had to be abandoned, and I had to turn my thoughts to something else. It occurred to me to make hooks out of telegraph wire, which the sisters sewed on to purses, takias, &c., and this being a novelty was for a time a fairly lucrative business: but it was long and tedious work. Gradually the novelty wore off, and the demand grew less; provisions were expensive, and a famine close at hand. All idea of mutual support had come to an end, for the Greeks, Syrians, and Jews had been prohibited from leaving the town, and nothing was to be made out of trade in Omdurman itself. Thus my condition went from bad to worse, the famine was now raging, and in desperation I had to do something to gain enough to keep body and soul together.
It was the fashion for the women in Omdurman to wear long garments trimmed with various sorts of ribbons, and it occurred to me to learn how to make these ribbons; for this purpose I acquired a small and simple loom. The few men in the market, who had the monopoly of this trade, regarded my acquisition with great jealousy, and would not teach it to any one under a less payment than forty or fifty dollars, and this sum I was quite unable to raise; however, necessity knows no law, and hunger sharpens the inventive faculties. I carefully unravelled a piece of ribbon and studied the way it was made with the greatest attention. I had a dim and hazy recollection of European looms, and, after many vain attempts, I at length succeeded in making one. The work is very trying, and at first I thought my back would break from the exertion; it was only with the greatest difficulty that I managed, after working all day, to turn out four yards, which I sold for four piastres, out of which I had to purchase the thread. However, after continuous practice, I succeeded, at the end of a month, in turning out sixteen yards a day. But loom work should be learnt when one is young, and to begin it at my age was a terrible strain on my back; still, it brought in sufficient money to keep us alive.
For seven months we lived on dhurra bread and a few boiled vegetables, without oil, butter, or meat. Hard work and insufficient food were telling on our strength: however, we were far better off than hundreds of others, who were willing to work, but, finding nothing to do, were obliged to starve. During all this time I never once abandoned hope of escape, and again succeeded in getting some one to take a message from me to Cairo seeking advice; but the undertaking was so beset with difficulties that it seemed next to impossible.
My companions in adversity watched me closely—they often volunteered to attempt an escape with the sisters; but as I was responsible for them to the Khalifa, this could not be done, and the idea of myself and the two sisters ever escaping alone seemed too absurd to be thought of. It seemed most improbable that the Government would again take possession of the Sudan; though I confess that a ray of hope was kindled when Saleh Bey of Korosko suddenly arrived at Abu Hamed with his Ababdehs and killed the notorious Suleiman Wad Naaman, the murderer of Colonel Stewart and his companions. The news of this affair caused the greatest excitement in Omdurman, and we really believed that the time for our release was approaching; but Saleh Bey disappeared as quickly as he came.
The capture of Tokar, in February 1891, also raised our hopes; but we were again doomed to disappointment. In 1890 a young Ababdeh Arab had come to Omdurman and had asked me to give him a letter to my friends in Cairo. I did not trust him, for I had written several letters which were entirely without result. I had learnt by experience that the Arabs were untrustworthy, and that the letters never reached those for whom they were intended. It also occurred to me that the man might be a spy, so I sent him away with the answer "Neshauer" (i.e. "I shall think about it"), a word very often used by the Sudanese when they wish to gain time to consider a matter.
Meanwhile I made full inquiries about the man, and heard nothing but good of him. Soon afterwards he returned and asked me to give him a few lines of greeting to my friends. I was told that the man expected to get some reward if he succeeded in bringing letters to the Government from the prisoners, which might give them some information on the situation in the Sudan. When I was thoroughly convinced as to his trustworthiness, we then had a consultation, of which the upshot was that I would, with his assistance, attempt to escape, provided he could obtain the necessary support from Cairo; I therefore gave him a letter to our Reverend Vicar Apostolic, Franz Sogaro, and commissioned him to negotiate verbally with him.
The man's plan was to return when the Nile was high—that is to say, almost a year later—escape in a boat or on a raft, which the swift current would carry to Berber in about three days, where camels would be in readiness to take us across the desert to Korosko. I urged him to keep these plans absolutely secret, for their disclosure would bring most certain punishment on our heads, and I further urged him to provide arms for the journey.
Ahmed Hassan—for that was the man's name—went off, and, to tell the truth, I had little hope that he would do anything more than others had done before him. Besides, who could say what changes might not take place in a year in Omdurman, which might entirely frustrate our plans? The sword of Damocles was for ever hanging over our heads. Then might not death intervene any day? Both the sisters and myself were thoroughly debilitated by constant work and hardship, and it was always possible that a slight fever might extinguish the spark of life which was then burning but dimly.