At first I was handed over to a fiki, who bothered me with his useless and nonsensical talk; his name was Mahmud, and he came from Tuti Island, near Khartum; he joined the Mahdi after Hicks's defeat, and brought a donkey and a few dollars with him. The first thing he did was to sell his donkey and purchase a concubine, but in two days the latter purchase ran away, so he lost both his donkey and his money. He then joined the Khalifa Abdullah, who recommended him to Idris as a good man to instruct me in the right way; but instead of convincing me of the Mahdi's divinity, I very soon convinced him of the reverse, and it was by no means difficult to do so; the fiki used frequently to go to the beit el mal to try and get a concubine, but no one took the smallest notice of him. On the other hand he used constantly to see the numerous concubines of Idris, who was rich, while he was but a poor man. From this I made him understand that the chiefs of Mahdieh sought only how they could best gain riches and honour at the expense of their poorer brethren. Soon afterwards he fell sick at Rahad, and there was no one to look after him or care for him; I knew that in his heart he had had quite enough of the Mahdi, but he was ashamed to acknowledge it before me. One night, not hearing his voice in the miserable hut which had been given to him, I looked in and found him lying stretched out dead on the ground. I felt sorry for the poor creature who had died away from his own home.
Another reason which made me glad to go away to Dair, was that I was ill and suffering much from my old complaint, which forced me to frequently retire outside the camp amidst the jeers of the Arabs; but suddenly the ray of hope which had come to me with the thought of a change to the mountain, was as suddenly extinguished, for it transpired that Idris had arranged with Abdullah, without my knowledge, to leave me at Rahad.
The war against the Nubas was continued, and from Rahad I could see the columns of smoke ascending, showing where the villages had been burnt by these cruel Dervishes. At length these poor but brave mountaineers, overwhelmed by superior numbers, became discouraged, and agreed to submit on condition that they should remain free, and be allowed to live in their mountains. The Mahdi approved, for the Dervishes were quite worn out with their long and bloody war. The brave inhabitants descended from their hills—men, women, and children—in astonishing numbers, and established themselves at the foot of the mountain, and near the Dervish camp, while Mek Kumbo and the principal chiefs went to the Mahdi to take the Bea'a (oath of allegiance).
There was now great rejoicing. The Mahdi received them kindly, gave them presents, and handed back to them those who still remained in the beit el mal; but before they left his presence he ordered them and their wives and children to follow him to the White Nile. This was quite contrary to the agreement made between them, but the Mahdi cared little about honour and keeping his word, his main object was to attain his point by any fraud or deception he could practise. The Nubas promised to do so, and went back to their camp; but on talking to their people, they agreed to escape during the night, preferring rather to starve in the caves and recesses of their own mountains, than to leave their native country. Like one man, they rose and fled to the hills, and the fight was once more renewed. Many of them fought with the most stubborn desperation; several were killed, but the Dervish loss was also very heavy. The Nubas retired into the inmost recesses of the hills, where the enemy could not possibly follow them. On one occasion the Dervishes all but captured Mek Kumbo; his horse and lance fell into their hands, but he himself escaped.
At length, thoroughly exhausted by this tedious and interminable war, they returned to Rahad; but heavy rain had fallen, the Khor was now a rushing torrent, and here hundreds of Mahdiists were drowned—victims to their rash fanaticism—for they believed that the Mahdi's power could save them from the wild impetuous stream. Many of them crossed on angaribs (native beds), to each post of which an inflated skin was attached.
Towards the end of June, 1884, Slatin Bey arrived at Rahad. The Khalifa Abdullah ordered the big war-drums to be beaten, and the whole of the cavalry left the camp to meet him and escort him in. The Mahdi received Slatin very kindly, and he was attached to Khalifa Abdullah's followers.
Abdullah delighted in collecting foreigners around him. One day Father Bonomi and I were summoned by Abdullah to meet Slatin, and this gave me a chance of meeting Father Bonomi, whom I had not seen for months.
It was about this time that Marietta Combotti, one of our black girls, came from Khartum to Rahad. After Hicks's defeat we sent her to Khartum to inform our people there about our condition and about the Mahdi's power, and urged everyone to leave Khartum as soon as possible. We gave her some letters which were sewn into the end of a mat. Consul Hansal had assisted Combotti in every way, and had given her several things for us, such as clothes, money, and medicines. She had suffered greatly on the journey, had been put in chains, and all she had succeeded in saving was her money. She had been away seven months.
Amongst other things Consul Hansal sent us a photograph of our new and highly-honoured bishop, Monsignor Imbrien, of the Tyrol. Marietta also brought a letter from the consul to me describing the condition of Khartum, and the defeat of Baker Pasha, about which we had heard nothing. The consul further added: "We hope that the English will energetically push forward into the Sudan, or we shall be lost. Our condition is desperate." This letter was dated early in January, 1884. Hansal also sent us the Tyroler Volksblatt newspaper, published in Posen, and in it I was surprised to read an account of my own death. The paper said I had been captured by the Mahdiists, and had died of fatigue and ill-treatment. So my friends believed I was dead! and, indeed, I felt then that death could not be far distant. My complaint was worse than ever, and I was suffering from scurvy as well. We did indeed feel grateful to the unfortunate Hansal who had done all he could to alleviate our distress; but God has disposed otherwise. How I wish poor Hansal had taken our advice and gone home.
The state of moral darkness in which we lived, the constant insults, being gazed upon by such multitudes, being at the mercy and sport of these savages, just as if one were a monkey or other curious animal, all had a dulling effect on one's spiritual nature, and I felt that I must be losing my mind; but yet in all these trials and afflictions God did not leave us. Again a ray of hope shone through the obscurity.