streets were slippery with blood. The rebels rushed onward to the Palace. We saw a mass rolling to and fro, but did not see Gordon Pasha killed. He met his fate, we believe, as he was leaving the Palace, near the large tree which stands on the esplanade. The Palace is not a stone’s throw, or at any rate a gun shot distance from the Austrian Consul’s house. He was going in that direction, to the magazine on the Kenniseh, a long way off. We did not hear what became of his body, nor did we hear that his head was cut off; but we saw the head of the traitor Farig Pasha, who met with his deserts. We have heard it was the blacks that ran away; and that the Egyptian soldiers fought well; that is not true, they were craven. Had it not been for them, in spite of the treachery of many within the town, the Arabs would not have got in, for we watched the traitors. And now fearful scenes took place in every house and building, in the large Market Place, in the small bazaars; men were slain crying for mercy, but mercy was not in the hearts of those savage enemies. Women and children were robbed of their jewels of silver, of their bracelets, necklaces of precious
stones, and carried off to be sold to the Bishareen merchants as slaves. Yes, and white women too, mother and daughter alike were carried off from their homes of comfort. Wives and children of Egyptian merchants, formerly rich, owning ships and mills; these were sold afterwards, some for 340 thaleries or more, some for 25, according to age and good looks. And the poor black women already slaves, and their children, 70 or 80 thaleries. Their husbands and masters were slain before their eyes . . . . this fighting and spilling of blood continued till noon, till the sun rode high in the sky. There was riot, wrangling, hubbub and cursing, till the hour of evening prayer. But the Muezzin was not called, neither were any prayers offered up at the Moslem Mosque on that dark day in the annals of Khartoum. Meanwhile the screeching devils bespattered with gore, swarming about in droves and bands, found very little plunder, so were disappointed, and sought out Farig Pasha, and found him with the Dervishes. ‘Where is the hidden treasure?’ they at once demanded of him. ‘We know that you are acquainted with the hiding place. Where is the
money and riches of the city and its merchants? We know that those who left Khartoum did not take away their valuables, and you know where it is hid.’ The Dervishes seeing the tumult questioned him sharply, and addressed him thus: “The long expected one our Lord, desires to know where the English Pasha hid his wealth. We know he was very rich, and every day paid large sums of money; that has not been concealed from our Lord. Now therefore let us know that we may bear him word where all the money is hidden. Let him be bound in the inner chamber and examined; and the gates closed against the Arabs.” Farig was then questioned, but he “swore by Allah and by the souls of his fathers back to three generations, that Gordon had no money, and that he knew of no hidden treasure.” “You lie (cried the Dervishes); you wish after a while to come and dig it out yourself. Listen to what we are going to say to you. We are sure you know where the money is hidden. We are not careful of your life, for you have betrayed the man whose salt you had eaten; you have been the servant of the infidel, and you have betrayed even him.
Unless you unfold this secret of the buried treasure, you will surely die.” Farig with proud bearing said, “I care not for your threats. I have told you the truth, Allah knows. There is no money, neither is there treasure. You are fools to suppose there is. I have done a great deed, I have delivered to your lord and master (the Madhi), the city which you never could have taken without my help. I tell you again there is no treasure, and you will rue the day if you kill me.”
One of the Dervishes then stepped forward and struck him, bound as he was, in the mouth; then another rushed at him with his two-edged sword, struck him behind the neck so that with this one blow his head fell from his shoulders; (so perished the arch traitor); may his soul be afflicted! But as for Gordon Pasha the magnanimous, may his soul have peace!” The story of these men may, or may not be true, but it seems on the face of it trustworthy.
It is, however, out of harmony with the description given of Gordon’s death by Slatin Pasha, who was taken a prisoner at the time of the fall of Khartoum, and had been kept for
eleven years in captivity, but eventually made his escape. He was in attendance at the International Geographical Congress held at the Imperial Institute, and devoted to African affairs, when he told the story of his escape from Khartoum. He says “The City of Khartoum fell on the 16th Jan., 1885, and Gordon was killed on the highest step of the staircase of his Palace. His head was cut off and exhibited to Slatin whilst the latter was in chains, with expressions of derision and contempt.”
We have no doubt now as to the fact that Gordon Pasha, the illustrious, the saintly, the brave defender, died doing his duty. In all civilized lands there are still men who tell of Gordon Pasha’s unbounded benevolence; of his mighty faith, of his heroism and self-sacrifice, and they mourn with us the loss of one of the most saintly souls our world has ever known.
“Warrior of God, man’s friend, not laid below,
But somewhere dead far in the waste Soudan,
Thou livest in all hearts, for all men know
This earth hath borne no simpler, nobler man.”Tennyson.
A most interesting and exquisitely touching letter was forwarded to the bereaved and stricken sister of our hero from the Khedive of Egypt, written from