General Gordon, Saint and Soldier

by Joseph Wardle

Arabs fell, and their force wavered, as a man stops to get his breath; but the forces behind them came leaping over their falling brethren, and came charging straight into our ranks. I was at that instant inside the square, when I noticed our men shuffling backwards. Some say Colonel Burnaby issued an order for the men to fall back, but I did not hear it. Burnaby rode out apparently to assist our skirmishers, who were running in, hard pressed: all but one succeeding in getting inside the square: Burnaby went, sword in hand, on his borrowed nag, for his own had been shot under him that morning—he put himself in the way of a Sheik who was charging down on horseback. Ere the Arab closed with him a bullet from some in our ranks brought the Sheik headlong to the ground. The enemy’s spearmen were close behind, and one of them clashed at Colonel Burnaby, pointing the long blade of his spear at his throat. Burnaby leant forward in his saddle and parried the Moslem’s thrusts; but the length of the weapon (8 feet or more) made it difficult to deal a blow as desired. Once or twice the Colonel managed to touch him. This only made him

the more alert. Burnaby fenced smartly, just as if he was playing in an assault-at-arms, and there was a smile on his features as he drove off the man’s awkward points. With that lightning instinct which I have seen the desert warrior display in battle, whilst coming to another’s aid, an Arab who had been pursuing a soldier, passed five paces to Burnaby’s right and rear, and, turning with a sudden spring, this second Arab ran his spear point into the Colonel’s right shoulder! It was but a slight wound, enough though to cause Burnaby to twist round in his saddle to defend himself from this unexpected attack. One of our soldiers saw the situation, and ran and drove his sword bayonet through this second assailant. As the soldier withdrew his steel the ferocious Arab wriggled round and tried to reach him. This he could not do, for he reeled and fell over. Brief as was Burnaby’s glance at this second assailant, it was long enough for the first Arab to deliver his spear-point thrust full in the brave officer’s throat. The blow brought Burnaby out of his saddle; but it required some seconds before he let go of the bridle-reins, and tumbled

upon the ground. Half-a-dozen Arabs were now about him. With the blood gushing in streams from his gashed throat the dauntless Burnaby leaped to his feet, sword in hand, and slashed at the ferocious group. They were the wild shrieks of a proud man dying hard, and he was quickly overborne, and left helpless and dying! The heroic soldier who sprang to his rescue, was, I fear, also slain in the meleé, for though I watched for him, I never saw him get back to his place in the ranks. But the square had been broken. The Arabs were driving their spears at our men’s breasts. Happily, however, the enemy’s ranks had been badly decimated by our bullets; yet they fought desperately, until bullet or bayonet stopped their career. Then from another quarter came a great onrush with spears poised and swords uplifted straight into our rear corner, the Arab horse struck like a tempest. The Heavies were thrown into confusion, for the enemy were right among them, killing and wounding with demoniacal fury. General Stewart himself rode into their midst to assist, but his horse was killed under him, and he was saved from the Arab spearmen

with great difficulty: Lord Airlie received two slight spear wounds, and so did Lord C. Beresford. The Dervishes made terrible havoc for a few minutes. It was an awful scene, for many of the wounded and dying perished by the hands of the merciless Arabs, infuriated by their Sheiks, whose wild hoarse cries rent the air, whilst the black spearmen ran hither and thither thirsting for blood. Lord St. Vincent had a most providential escape. So great was the peril that the officers in the Guards and Mounted Infantry placed their men back to back to make one last effort to save the situation. “To me,” says the writer, who was outside on the right face: “they appeared to spin round a large mound like a whirlpool of human beings.”

Soon the enemy showed signs of wavering, for the fire of our English lads was fierce and withering. A young officer rallied a number of men on the rear; and these delivered a most telling fire into the enemy’s ranks; the strained tension of the situation had been most severe, when at last the Arabs, two or three at first, then twenties and fifties, trotted off the field and in a very few minutes there was not an enemy to

be seen. With cheer upon cheer, shouting until we were hoarse, we celebrated this dearly won victory. “Thus ended one of several terrible conflicts the men of the Expedition had to go through on their way to the beleaguered city.” These lines of poetry, were written shortly after the news of this fierce engagement reached England:—

“They were gathered on the desert,
Like pebbles on the shore,
And they rushed upon the Christian
With a shout like cannon’s roar;
Like the dashing of the torrent,
Like the sweeping of the storm,
Like the raging of the tempest,
Came down the dusky swarm.
From the scant and struggling brush-wood,
From the waste of burning sand,
Sped the warriors of the desert,
Like the locusts of the land:
They would crush the bold invader,
Who had dared to cross their path;
They were fighting for their prophet,
In the might of Islam’s wrath,
They were savage in their fury,
They were lordly in their pride;
There was glory for the victor,
And heaven for him who died.
They were mustered close together,
That small devoted band;
They knew the strife that day would rage
In combat hand to hand.
And wild and weird the battle-cry
Was sounding through the air,
As the foe sprang from his ambush,
Like the tiger from his lair.
They knew the distant flashing
Of the bright Arabian spear,
As, spurring madly onward,
They saw the host appear
In numbers overwhelming,
In numbers ten to one;
They knew the conflict must be waged
Beneath the scorching sun;
They knew the British soldiers grave
Might lie beneath their feet;
But they never knew dishonour,
And they would not know defeat.
And swifter, ever swifter
Swept on the savage horde,
And from the serried British ranks
A murderous fire was poured;
And like the leaves in autumn
Fell Arab warriors slain,
And like the leaves in spring-time
They seemed to live again.
Midst the rattle of the bullets,
Midst the flashing of the steel,
They pressed to the encounter
With fierce fanatic zeal.
One moment swayed the phalanx,
One moment and no more;
Then British valour stemmed the tide,
As oft in days of yore.
At length the foe was vanquished,
And at length the field was won,
For the longest day had ended,
And the fiercest course was run.
Ye smiling plains of Albion!
Ye mountains of the north!
Now up and greet your heroes with
The honours they are worth.
Then pause and let a nation’s tears
Fall gently on the sod
Where thy gallant sons are sleeping,
Whose souls are with their God.”

Mr. Burleigh tells us that “History records no military events of a more stirring character, or situation more thrilling and dramatic than those through which Sir Herbert Stewart’s flying column passed on this dreadful march. Through those terrible struggles with the followers of the Madhi, many a brave soldier fell

and his body lies in the grave of the African desert. It did, however, seem as if through all the difficulties of the relieving forces, that Lord Wolseley would soon give the gallant defender of Khartoum succour and relief. The splendid victories won at Abu Klea Wells, and other places, and their march to join the Nile forces, clearly showed that they were terribly in earnest, and that they had the true British sympathetic heart.

Finding some of Gordon’s steamers on the Nile, it was their first impulse to man them and force their way up to Khartoum at once. This was on January 21st, 1885. The General in Command learned that the steamers needed some repairs, and he (Sir Charles Wilson) deemed it necessary for the safety of his troops to make a reconnaissance down the river towards Berber before starting up to Khartoum. He took the steamers, which, though small as the Thames pleasure boats, had been made bullet-proof by the ingenuity and industry of the hero in distress; and with a small British force and two hundred and forty Soudanese (they also had in tow a nugger laden with dhura), they proceeded