The battles of the British Army

by Robert Melvin Blackwood

“Yet more wonderful were the women,” says Steevens. “The multitude of women whom concupiscence had harried from every recess of Africa and mewed up in Baggara harems, came out to salute their new masters. There were at least three of them to every man. Black women from Equatoria, and almost white women from Egypt. Plum-skinned Arabs, and a strange yellow type ... the whole city was a monstrosity of African lust.”

The capture of the Khalifa himself was the one thought uppermost in every mind as the British troops streamed into Omdurman, and the Khalifa’s citadel was the first object of the quest. Here were found the numerous members of his bodyguard, but the leader himself had disappeared, slipping out of his conquered city, even as the white troops had marched in! All ranks were much chagrined by this failure to capture the wily dervish leader, but it was felt that his power was broken once and for all, as indeed proved to be the case. The work of disarming his bodyguard proceeded apace, and very soon, finding they had little to fear from the victorious troops, the inhabitants of Omdurman set to work to loot the Khalifa’s corn. Among the captives released were Sister Teresa, a captive nun, who had been forcibly married by the Khalifa’s orders to a Greek, and Charles Neufeld, a captive German merchant, who had suffered many years of imprisonment and brutality, and whose record of life in the Khalifa’s capital is full of interesting details and unique experiences.

By this time evening had set in, and all ranks were exhausted with the labours of the day, though the army continued to pour into Omdurman. “Where the bulk of the army bivouacked, I know not,” says the historian of the campaign, “neither did they. I stumbled on the second British brigade, and there, by a solitary candle, the Sirdar, flat on his back, was dictating his despatch to Colonel Wingate, flat on his belly. I scraped a short hieroglyphic scrawl on a telegraph form and fell asleep on the gravel with a half-eaten biscuit in my mouth.”

On the 3rd September the majority of the army moved out to Khor Shamba, where they camped. The stench of Omdurman was found to be intolerable. Dead donkeys lay about the streets, and filth and squalor were perceptible on every side; the boasted capital of Mahdism proved to be little more than a vast collection of miserable hovels, and one and all were glad to be out of it, if only into the fresh air of the desert. Preparations were now made for one of the crowning acts of the campaign—the visible avenging of Gordon, who had died so nobly at Khartoum, distant less than two miles up the Nile.

Here, on the morning of Sunday, 4th September, the Union Jack and the Egyptian crescent were flung to the desert breeze, above the ruins of the Residency of Khartoum, half a dozen paces from the spot where Gordon died.

The Sirdar, accompanied by the Divisional Generals, the Brigadiers, and the full staffs, together with detachments from all branches of the Anglo-Egyptian army, steamed up the Blue Nile to the ruins of Khartoum, early in the morning, and landed at the Masouri stage on the river bank opposite the Residency. Gordon’s old palace, though gutted, was still intact in its foundations. On the summit of the dismantled walls two flagstaffs were raised, and detachments of representative troops, with the band of the 11th Soudanese regiment, the drums and fifes of the Grenadier Guards, and the pipes of the Highland regiments, formed up reverently round the historic spot, the gunboat Melik being made fast to the quay beside the Residency. In the centre were the Sirdar and his full personal staff, on the right the Divisional Generals and their staffs, and on the left a detachment of officers and sappers of the Royal Engineers—Gordon’s old corps. The background was composed of the picturesque ruins of Khartoum, amid which were growing wild palms, acacias, and lemon trees.

At ten o’clock the Sirdar gave the signal, and amid the crash of the first saluting gun and the opening strains of the British National Anthem, the personal aide-de-camp to the Sirdar and Lieutenant Staveley unfurled the Union Jack. The Egyptian aide-de-camp to the Sirdar and Major Nutford next hoisted the Khedivial Crescent, and thus the cry for vengeance heard for fifteen long years was for ever stilled. Amid the booming of the salutes and the rolling bars of the British and Khedivial National Anthems could be heard the shrill cries of crowds of natives and slaves exulting at their emancipation from cruel serfdom. Then the music changed. The Highland pipers wailed out a dirge, and the fifes of the Grenadier Guards played a dead march in memory of Gordon and of the heroes fallen in the late battle.

Now the chaplains to the forces—the Rev. J. M. Simms (Presbyterian), the Rev. A. W. B. Watson (Anglican), and the Rev. Robert Bundle (Roman Catholic), read appropriate passages of Scripture and prayers. The religious service was followed by the firing of 15 minute guns. The impressive and touching service was brought to a close by the Sirdar calling on the troops to give three cheers for Her Majesty the Queen-Empress and the Khedive. They were given with a fervour which awoke the echoes for miles around.

What may be described as a side-ceremony then began. Fifes played the Dead March, pipes wailed a lament, and the band played Gordon’s hymn, “Abide with me.” When the solemn music ceased all the general officers stepped forward and congratulated the Sirdar, and half an hour was subsequently spent in visiting the chief historical points of the ruined city and the totally dilapidated remains of the steps on which Gordon was killed.

The Sirdar then re-embarked and returned to camp. There were those who said that during the closing ceremonies he could hardly speak or see for emotion. “What wonder? He had trodden this road to Khartoum for fourteen years, and he stood at the goal at last. Thus, with Maxim, Nordenfelt, and Bible we buried Gordon after the manner of his race.”