The End of General Gordon

DURING the year 1883 a solitary English gentleman was to be seen,

wandering, with a thick book under his arm, in the neighbourhood of

Jerusalem. His unassuming figure, short and slight, with its

half-gliding, half-tripping motion, gave him a boyish aspect, which

contrasted, oddly, but not unpleasantly, with the touch of grey on his

hair and whiskers. There was the same contrast--enigmatic and

attractive--between the sunburnt brick-red complexion--the hue of the

seasoned traveller--and the large blue eyes, with their look of almost

childish sincerity. To the friendly inquirer, he would explain, in a

row, soft, and very distinct voice, that he was engaged in elucidating

four questions--the site of the Crucifixion, the line of division

between the tribes of Benjamin and Judah, the identification of Gideon,

and the position of the Garden of Eden. He was also, he would add, most

anxious to discover the spot where the Ark first touched ground, after

the subsidence of the Flood: he believed, indeed, that he had solved

that problem, as a reference to some passages in the book which he was

carrying would show.

This singular person was General Gordon, and his book was the Holy

Bible.

In such complete retirement from the world and the ways of men, it might

have seemed that a life of inordinate activity had found at last a

longed-for, final peacefulness. For month after month, for an entire

year, the General lingered by the banks of the Jordan. But then the

enchantment was suddenly broken. Once more adventure claimed him; he

plunged into the whirl of high affairs; his fate was mingled with the

frenzies of Empire and the doom of peoples. And it was not in peace and

rest, but in ruin and horror, that he reached his end.

The circumstances of that tragic history, so famous, so bitterly

debated, so often and so controversially described, remain full of

suggestion for the curious examiner of the past. There emerges from

those obscure, unhappy records an interest, not merely political and

historical, but human and dramatic. One catches a vision of strange

characters, moved by mysterious impulses, interacting in queer

complication, and hurrying at last--so it almost seems--like creatures

in a puppet show to a predestined catastrophe. The characters, too, have

a charm of their own: they are curiously English. What other nation on

the face of the earth could have produced Mr. Gladstone and Sir Evelyn

Baring and Lord Hartington and General Gordon? Alike in their emphasis

and their lack of emphasis, in their eccentricity and their

conventionality, in their matter-of-factness and their romance, these

four figures seem to embody the mingling contradictions of the English

spirit. As for the mise-en-scene, it is perfectly appropriate. But

first, let us glance at the earlier adventures of the hero of the piece.

Charles George Gordon was born in 1833. His father, of Highland and

military descent, was himself a Lieutenant-General; his mother came of a

family of merchants, distinguished for their sea voyages into remote

regions of the Globe. As a boy, Charlie was remarkable for his high

spirits, pluck, and love of mischief. Destined for the Artillery, he was

sent to the Academy at Woolwich, where some other characteristics made

their appearance. On one occasion, when the cadets had been forbidden to

leave the dining-room and the senior corporal stood with outstretched

arms in the doorway to prevent their exit, Charlie Gordon put his head

down, and, butting the officer in the pit of the stomach, projected him

down a flight of stairs and through a glass door at the bottom. For this

act of insubordination he was nearly dismissed--while the captain of his

company predicted that he would never make an officer. A little later,

when he was eighteen, it came to the knowledge of the authorities that

bullying was rife at the Academy. The new-comers were questioned, and

one of them said that Charlie Gordon had hit him over the head with a

clothes-brush. He had worked well, and his record was on the whole a

good one; but the authorities took a serious view of the case, and held

back his commission for six months. It was owing to this delay that he

went into the Royal Engineers, instead of the Royal Artillery.

He was sent to Pembroke, to work at the erection of fortifications; and

at Pembroke those religious convictions, which never afterwards left

him, first gained a hold upon his mind. Under the influence of his

sister Augusta and of a 'very religious captain of the name of Drew', he

began to reflect upon his sins, look up texts, and hope for salvation.

Though he had never been confirmed--he never was confirmed--he took the

sacrament every Sunday; and he eagerly perused the Priceless Diamond,

Scott's Commentaries, and The Remains of the Rev. R. McCheyne. 'No

novels or worldly books,' he wrote to his sister, 'come up to the

Commentaries of Scott.... I, remember well when you used to get them in

numbers, and I used to laugh at them; but, thank God, it is different

with me now. I feel much happier and more contented than I used to do. I

did not like Pembroke, but now I would not wish for any prettier place.

I have got a horse and gig, and Drew and myself drive all about the

country. I hope my dear father and mother think of eternal things ...

Dearest Augusta, pray for me, I beg of you.'

He was twenty-one; the Crimean War broke out; and before the year was

over, he had managed to get himself transferred to Balaclava. During the

siege of Sebastopol he behaved with conspicuous gallantry. Upon the

declaration of peace, he was sent to Bessarabia to assist in determining

the frontier between Russia and Turkey, in accordance with the Treaty of

Paris; and upon this duty he was occupied for nearly two years. Not long

after his return home, in 1860, war was declared upon China. Captain

Gordon was dispatched to the scene of operations, but the fighting was

over before he arrived. Nevertheless, he was to remain for the next four

years in China, where he was to lay the foundations of extraordinary

renown.

Though he was too late to take part in the capture of the Taku Forts, he

was in time to witness the destruction of the Summer Palace at

Peking--the act by which Lord Elgin, in the name of European

civilisation, took vengeance upon the barbarism of the East.

The war was over; but the British Army remained in the country, until

the payment of an indemnity by the Chinese Government was completed. A

camp was formed at Tientsin, and Gordon was occupied in setting up huts

for the troops. While he was thus engaged, he had a slight attack of

smallpox. 'I am glad to say,' he told his sister, 'that this disease has

brought me back to my Saviour, and I trust in future to be a better

Christian than I have been hitherto.'

Curiously enough a similar circumstance had, more than twenty years

earlier, brought about a singular succession of events which were now

upon the point of opening the way to Gordon's first great adventure. In

1837, a village schoolmaster near Canton had been attacked by illness;

and, as in the case of Gordon, illness had been followed by a religious

revulsion. Hong-Siu-Tsuen--for such was his name--saw visions, went into

ecstasies, and entered into relations with the Deity. Shortly

afterwards, he fell in with a Methodist missionary from America, who

instructed him in the Christian religion. The new doctrine, working upon

the mystical ferment already in Hong's mind, produced a remarkable

result. He was, he declared, the prophet of God; he was more--he was the

Son of God; he was Tien Wang, the Celestial King; he was the younger

brother of Jesus. The times were propitious, and proselytes soon

gathered around him. Having conceived a grudge against the Government,

owing to his failure in an examination, Hong gave a political turn to

his teaching, which soon developed into a propaganda of rebellion

against the rule of the Manchus and the Mandarins. The authorities took

fright, attempted to suppress Hong by force, and failed. The movement

spread. By 1850 the rebels were overrunning the populous and flourishing

delta of the Yangtse Kiang, and had become a formidable force. In 1853

they captured Nankin, which was henceforth their capital. The Tien Wang,

established himself in a splendid palace, and proclaimed his new

evangel. His theogony included the wife of God, or the celestial Mother,

the wife of Jesus, or the celestial daughter-in-law, and a sister of

Jesus, whom he married to one of his lieutenants, who thus became the

celestial son-in-law; the Holy Ghost, however, was eliminated.

His mission was to root out Demons and Manchus from the face of the

earth, and to establish Taiping, the reign of eternal peace. In the

meantime, retiring into the depths of his palace, he left the further

conduct of earthly operations to his lieutenants, upon whom he bestowed

the title of 'Wangs' (kings), while he himself, surrounded by thirty

wives and one hundred concubines, devoted his energies to the spiritual

side of his mission. The Taiping Rebellion, as it came to be called, had

now reached its furthest extent. The rebels were even able to occupy,

for more than a year, the semi-European city of Shanghai. But then the

tide turned. The latent forces of the Empire gradually asserted

themselves. The rebels lost ground, their armies were defeated, and in

1859 Nankin itself was besieged, and the Celestial King trembled in his

palace. The end seemed to be at hand, when there was a sudden twist of

Fortune's wheel. The war of 1860, the invasion of China by European

armies, their march into the interior, and their occupation of Peking,

not only saved the rebels from destruction, but allowed them to recover

the greater part of what they had lost. Once more they seized upon the

provinces of the delta, once more they menaced Shanghai. It was clear

that the Imperial army was incompetent, and the Shanghai merchants

determined to provide for their own safety as best they could. They

accordingly got together a body of troops, partly Chinese and partly

European, and under European officers, to which they entrusted the

defence of the town. This small force, which, after a few preliminary

successes, received from the Chinese Government the title of the 'Ever

Victorious Army', was able to hold the rebels at bay, but it could do no

more. For two years Shanghai was in constant danger. The Taipings,

steadily growing in power, were spreading destruction far and wide. The

Ever Victorious Army was the only force capable of opposing them, and

the Ever Victorious Army was defeated more often than not. Its first

European leader had been killed; his successor quarrelled with the

Chinese Governor, Li Hung Chang, and was dismissed. At last it was

determined to ask the General at the head of the British Army of

Occupation for the loan of an officer to command the force. The English,

who had been at first inclined to favour the Taipings, on religious

grounds, were now convinced, on practical grounds, of the necessity of

suppressing them. It was in these circumstances that, early in 1863, the

command of the Ever Victorious Army was offered to Gordon. He accepted

it, received the title of General from the Chinese authorities, and

entered forthwith upon his new task. He was just thirty.

In eighteen months, he told Li Hung Chang, the business would be

finished; and he was as good as his word. The difficulties before him

were very great. A vast tract of country was in the possession of the

rebels--an area, at the lowest estimate, of 14,000 square miles with a

population of 20,000,000. For centuries this low-lying plain of the

Yangtse delta, rich in silk and tea, fertilised by elaborate irrigation,

and covered with great walled cities, had been one of the most

flourishing districts in China. Though it was now being rapidly ruined

by the depredations of the Taipings, its strategic strength was

obviously enormous. Gordon, however, with the eye of a born general,

perceived that he could convert the very feature of the country which,

on the face of it, most favoured an army on the defence--its complicated

geographical system of interlacing roads and waterways, canals, lakes

and rivers--into a means of offensive warfare. The force at his disposal

was small, but it was mobile. He had a passion for map-making, and had

already, in his leisure hours, made a careful survey of the country

round Shanghai; he was thus able to execute a series of manoeuvres which

proved fatal to the enemy. By swift marches and counter-marches, by

sudden attacks and surprises, above all by the dispatch of armed

steamboats up the circuitous waterways into positions from which they

could fall upon the enemy in reverse, he was able gradually to force

back the rebels, to cut them off piecemeal in the field, and to seize

upon their cities. But, brilliant as these operations were, Gordon's

military genius showed itself no less unmistakably in other directions.

The Ever Victorious Army, recruited from the riff-raff of Shanghai, was

an ill-disciplined, ill-organised body of about three thousand men,

constantly on the verge of mutiny, supporting itself on plunder, and, at

the slightest provocation, melting into thin air. Gordon, by sheer force

of character, established over this incoherent mass of ruffians an

extraordinary ascendancy. He drilled them with rigid severity; he put

them into a uniform, armed them systematically, substituted pay for

loot, and was even able, at last, to introduce regulations of a sanitary

kind. There were some terrible scenes, in which the General, alone,

faced the whole furious army, and quelled it: scenes of rage, desperation,

towering courage, and summary execution. Eventually he attained an

almost magical prestige. Walking at the head of his troops with nothing

but a light cane in his hand, he seemed to pass through every danger

with the scatheless equanimity of a demi-god. The Taipings themselves

were awed into a strange reverence. More than once their leaders, in a

frenzy of fear and admiration, ordered the sharp-shooters not to take

aim at the advancing figure of the faintly smiling Englishman.

It is significant that Gordon found it easier to win battles and to

crush mutineers than to keep on good terms with the Chinese authorities.

He had to act in cooperation with a large native force; and it was only

natural that the general at the head of it should grow more and more

jealous and angry as the Englishman's successes revealed more and more

clearly his own incompetence. At first, indeed, Gordon could rely upon

the support of the Governor. Li Flung Chang's experience of Europeans

had been hitherto limited to low-class adventurers, and Gordon came as a

revelation.

'It is a direct blessing from Heaven,' he noted in his diary, 'the

coming of this British Gordon.... He is superior in manner and bearing

to any of the foreigners whom I have come into contact with, and does

not show outwardly that conceit which makes most of them repugnant in my

sight.'

A few months later, after he had accompanied Gordon on a victorious

expedition, the Mandarin's enthusiasm burst forth.

'What a sight for tired eyes,' he wrote, 'what an elixir for a heavy

heart--to see this splendid Englishman fight!... If there is anything

that I admire nearly as much as the superb scholarship of Tseng Kuofan,

it is the military qualities of this fine officer. He is a glorious

fellow!' In his emotion, Li Hung Chang addressed Gordon as his brother,

declaring that he 'considered him worthy to fill the place of the

brother who is departed. Could I have said more in all the words of the

world?' Then something happened which impressed and mystified the

sensitive Chinaman.

'The Englishman's face was first filled with a deep pleasure, and then

he seemed to be thinking of something depressing and sad; for the

smile went from his mouth and there were tears in his eyes when he

thanked me for what I had said. Can it be that he has, or has had, some

great trouble in his life, and that he fights recklessly to forget it,

or that Death has no terrors for him?'

But, as time went on, Li Hung Chang's attitude began to change. 'General

Gordon,' he notes in July, 'must control his tongue, even if he lets his

mind run loose.' The Englishman had accused him of intriguing with the

Chinese general, and of withholding money due to the Ever Victorious

Army. 'Why does he not accord me the honours that are due to me, as head

of the military and civil authority in these parts?' By September, the

Governor's earlier transports have been replaced by a more judicial

frame of mind.

'With his many faults, his pride, his temper, and his never-ending

demand for money, (for one is a noble man, and in spite of all I have

said to him or about him) I will ever think most highly of him.... He is

an honest man, but difficult to get on with.'

Disagreements of this kind might perhaps have been tided over until the

end of the campaign; but an unfortunate incident suddenly led to a more

serious quarrel. Gordon's advance had been fiercely contested, but it

had been constant; he had captured several important towns; and in

October he laid siege to the city of Soo-chow, once one of the most

famous and splendid in China. In December, its fall being obviously

imminent, the Taiping leaders agreed to surrender it on condition that

their lives were spared. Gordon was a party to the agreement, and laid

special stress upon his presence with the Imperial forces as a pledge of

its fulfilment. No sooner, however, was the city surrendered than the

rebel 'Wangs' were assassinated. In his fury, it is said that Gordon

searched everywhere for Li Hung Chang with a loaded pistol in his hand.

He was convinced of the complicity of the Governor, who, on his side,

denied that he was responsible for what had happened.

'I asked him why I should plot, and go around a mountain, when a mere

order, written with five strokes of the quill, would have accomplished

the same thing. He did not answer, but he insulted me, and said he would

report my treachery, as he called it, to Shanghai and England. Let him

do so; he cannot bring the crazy Wangs back.'

The agitated Mandarin hoped to placate Gordon by a large gratuity and an

Imperial medal; but the plan was not successful.

'General Gordon,' he writes, 'called upon me in his angriest mood. He

repeated his former speeches about the Wangs. I did not attempt to argue

with him ... He refused the 10,000 taels, which I had ready for him,

and, with an oath, said that he did not want the Throne's medal. This is

showing the greatest disrespect.'

Gordon resigned his command; and it was only with the utmost reluctance

that he agreed at last to resume it. An arduous and terrible series of

operations followed; but they were successful, and by June, 1864, the

Ever Victorious Army, having accomplished its task, was disbanded. The

Imperial forces now closed round Nankin; the last hopes of the Tien Wang

had vanished. In the recesses of his seraglio, the Celestial King,

judging that the time had come for the conclusion of his mission,

swallowed gold leaf until he ascended to Heaven. In July, Nankin was

taken, the remaining chiefs were executed, and the rebellion was at an

end. The Chinese Government gave Gordon the highest rank in its military

hierarchy, and invested him with the yellow jacket and the peacock's

feather. He rejected an enormous offer of money; but he could not refuse

a great gold medal, specially struck in his honour by order of the

Emperor. At the end of the year he returned to England, where the

conqueror of the Taipings was made a Companion of the Bath.

That the English authorities should have seen fit to recognise Gordon's

services by the reward usually reserved for industrious clerks was

typical of their attitude towards him until the very end of his career.

Perhaps if he had been ready to make the most of the wave of popularity

which greeted him on his return--if he had advertised his fame and, amid

high circles, played the part of Chinese Gordon in a becoming

manner--the results would have been different. But he was by nature

farouche; his soul revolted against dinner parties and stiff shirts; and

the presence of ladies--especially of fashionable ladies--filled him

with uneasiness. He had, besides, a deeper dread of the world's

contaminations. And so, when he was appointed to Gravesend to supervise

the erection of a system of forts at the mouth of the Thames, he

remained there quietly for six years, and at last was almost forgotten.

The forts, which were extremely expensive and quite useless, occupied

his working hours; his leisure he devoted to acts of charity and to

religious contemplation. The neighbourhood was a poverty-stricken one,

and the kind Colonel, with his tripping step and simple manner, was soon

a familiar figure in it, chatting with the seamen, taking provisions to

starving families, or visiting some bedridden old woman to light her

fire. He was particularly fond of boys. Ragged street arabs and rough

sailor-lads crowded about him. They were made free of his house and

garden; they visited him in the evenings for lessons and advice; he

helped them, found them employment, corresponded with them when they

went out into the world. They were, he said, his Wangs. It was only by a

singular austerity of living that he was able to afford such a variety

of charitable expenses. The easy luxuries of his class and station were

unknown to him: his clothes verged upon the shabby; and his frugal meals

were eaten at a table with a drawer, into which the loaf and plate were

quickly swept at the approach of his poor visitors. Special occasions

demanded special sacrifices. When, during the Lancashire famine, a

public subscription was opened, finding that he had no ready money, he

remembered his Chinese medal, and, after effacing the inscription,

dispatched it as an anonymous gift.

Except for his boys and his paupers, he lived alone. In his solitude, he

ruminated upon the mysteries of the universe; and those religious

tendencies, which had already shown themselves, now became a fixed and

dominating factor in his life. His reading was confined almost entirely

to the Bible; but the Bible he read and re-read with an untiring,

unending assiduity. There, he was convinced, all truth was to be found;

and he was equally convinced that he could find it. The doubts of

philosophers, the investigations of commentators, the smiles of men of

the world, the dogmas of Churches--such things meant nothing to the

Colonel. Two facts alone were evident: there was the Bible, and there

was himself; and all that remained to be done was for him to discover

what were the Bible's instructions, and to act accordingly. In order to

make this discovery it was only necessary for him to read the Bible over

and over again; and therefore, for the rest of his life, he did so.

The faith that he evolved was mystical and fatalistic; it was also

highly unconventional. His creed, based upon the narrow foundations of

Jewish Scripture, eked out occasionally by some English evangelical

manual, was yet wide enough to ignore every doctrinal difference, and

even, at moments, to transcend the bounds of Christianity itself. The

just man was he who submitted to the Will of God, and the Will of God,

inscrutable and absolute, could be served aright only by those who

turned away from earthly desires and temporal temptations, to rest

themselves whole-heartedly upon the in-dwelling Spirit. Human beings

were the transitory embodiments of souls who had existed through an

infinite past, and would continue to exist through an infinite future.

The world was vanity; the flesh was dust and ashes.

'A man,' Gordon wrote to his sister, 'who knows not the secret, who has

not the in-dwelling of God revealed to him, is like this--[picture of a

circle with Body and Soul written within it]. He takes the promises and

curses as addressed to him as one man, and will not hear of there being

any birth before his natural birth, in any existence except with the

body he is in. The man to whom the secret (the indwelling of God) is

revealed is like this: [picture of a circle with soul and body enclosed

in two separate circles].

He applies the promises to one and the curses to the other, if

disobedient, which he must be, except the soul is enabled by God to

rule. He then sees he is not of this world; for when he speaks of

himself he quite disregards the body his soul lives in, which is

earthly.'

Such conceptions are familiar enough in the history of religious

thought: they are those of the hermit and the fakir; and it might have

been expected that, when once they had taken hold upon his mind, Gordon

would have been content to lay aside the activities of his profession,

and would have relapsed at last into the complete retirement of holy

meditation. But there were other elements in his nature which urged him

towards a very different course. He was no simple quietist. He was an

English gentleman, an officer, a man of energy and action, a lover of

danger and the audacities that defeat danger; a passionate creature,

flowing over with the self-assertiveness of independent judgment and the

arbitrary temper of command.

Whatever he might find in his pocket-Bible, it was not for such as he to

dream out his days in devout obscurity. But, conveniently enough, he

found nothing in his pocket-Bible indicating that he should. What he did

find was that the Will of God was inscrutable and absolute; that it was

man's duty to follow where God's hand led; and, if God's hand led

towards violent excitements and extraordinary vicissitudes, that it was

not only futile, it was impious to turn another way. Fatalism is always

apt to be a double-edged philosophy; for while, on the one hand, it

reveals the minutest occurrences as the immutable result of a rigid

chain of infinitely predestined causes, on the other, it invests the

wildest incoherences of conduct or of circumstance with the sanctity of

eternal law. And Gordon's fatalism was no exception. The same doctrine

that led him to dally with omens, to search for prophetic texts, and to

append, in brackets, the apotropaic initials D.V. after every statement

in his letters implying futurity, led him also to envisage his moods and

his desires, his passing reckless whims and his deep unconscious

instincts, as the mysterious manifestations of the indwelling God. That

there was danger lurking in such a creed he was very well aware. The

grosser temptations of the world--money and the vulgar attributes of

power--had, indeed, no charms for him; but there were subtler and more

insinuating allurements which it was not so easy to resist. More than

one observer declared that ambition was, in reality, the essential

motive in his life: ambition, neither for wealth nor titles, but for

fame and influence, for the swaying of multitudes, and for that kind of

enlarged and intensified existence 'where breath breathes most even in

the mouths of men'. Was it so? In the depths of Gordon's soul there were

intertwining contradictions--intricate recesses where egoism and

renunciation melted into one another, where the flesh lost itself in the

spirit, and the spirit in the flesh. What was the Will of God? The

question, which first became insistent during his retirement at

Gravesend, never afterwards left him; it might almost be said that he

spent the remainder of his life in searching for the answer to it. In

all his Odysseys, in all his strange and agitated adventures, a day

never passed on which he neglected the voice of eternal wisdom as it

spoke through the words of Paul or Solomon, of Jonah or Habakkuk. He

opened his Bible, he read, and then he noted down his reflections upon

scraps of paper, which, periodically pinned together, he dispatched to

one or other of his religious friends, and particularly his sister

Augusta. The published extracts from these voluminous outpourings lay

bare the inner history of Gordon's spirit, and reveal the pious

visionary of Gravesend in the restless hero of three continents.

His seclusion came to an end in a distinctly providential manner. In

accordance with a stipulation in the Treaty of Paris, an international

commission had been appointed to improve the navigation of the Danube;

and Gordon, who had acted on a similar body fifteen years earlier, was

sent out to represent Great Britain. At Constantinople, he chanced to

meet the Egyptian minister, Nubar Pasha. The Governorship of the

Equatorial Provinces of the Sudan was about to fall vacant; and Nubar

offered the post to Gordon, who accepted it.

'For some wise design,' he wrote to his sister, 'God turns events one

way or another, whether man likes it or not, as a man driving a horse

turns it to right or left without consideration as to whether the horse

likes that way or not. To be happy, a man must be like a well-broken,

willing horse, ready for anything. Events will go as God likes.'

And then followed six years of extraordinary, desperate, unceasing, and

ungrateful labour. The unexplored and pestilential region of Equatoria,

stretching southwards to the Great Lakes and the sources of the Nile,

had been annexed to Egypt by the Khedive Ismail, who, while he

squandered his millions on Parisian ballet-dancers, dreamt strange

dreams of glory and empire. Those dim tracts of swamp and forest in

Central Africa were--so he declared--to be 'opened up'; they were to

receive the blessings of civilisation, they were to become a source of

eternal honour to himself and Egypt. The slave-trade, which flourished

there, was to be put down; the savage inhabitants were to become

acquainted with freedom, justice, and prosperity. Incidentally, a

government monopoly in ivory was to be established, and the place was to

be made a paying concern. Ismail, hopelessly in debt to a horde of

European creditors, looked to Europe to support him in his schemes.

Europe, and, in particular, England, with her passion for extraneous

philanthropy, was not averse. Sir Samuel Baker became the first Governor

of Equatoria, and now Gordon was to carry on the good work. In such

circumstances it was only natural that Gordon should consider himself a

special instrument in God's band. To put his disinterestedness beyond

doubt, he reduced his salary, which had been fixed at L10,000, to

L2,000. He took over his new duties early in 1874, and it was not long

before he had a first hint of disillusionment. On his way up the Nile,

he was received in state at Khartoum by the Egyptian Governor-General of

the Sudan, his immediate official superior.

The function ended in a prolonged banquet, followed by a mixed ballet of

soldiers and completely naked young women, who danced in a circle, beat

time with their feet, and accompanied their gestures with a curious

sound of clucking. At last the Austrian Consul, overcome by the

exhilaration of the scene, flung himself in a frenzy among the dancers;

the Governor-General, shouting with delight, seemed about to follow

suit, when Gordon abruptly left the room, and the party broke up in

confusion.

When, 1,500 miles to the southward, Gordon reached the seat of his

government, and the desolation of the Tropics closed over him, the

agonising nature of his task stood fully revealed. For the next three

years he struggled with enormous difficulties--with the confused and

horrible country, the appalling climate, the maddening insects and the

loathsome diseases, the indifference of subordinates and superiors, the

savagery of the slave-traders, and the hatred of the inhabitants. One by

one the small company of his European staff succumbed. With a few

hundred Egyptian soldiers he had to suppress insurrections, make roads,

establish fortified posts, and enforce the government monopoly of ivory.

All this he accomplished; he even succeeded in sending enough money to

Cairo to pay for the expenses of the expedition. But a deep gloom had

fallen upon his spirit. When, after a series of incredible obstacles had

been overcome, a steamer was launched upon the unexplored Albert Nyanza,

he turned his back upon the lake, leaving the glory of its navigation to

his Italian lieutenant, Gessi. 'I wish,' he wrote, 'to give a practical

proof of what I think regarding the inordinate praise which is given to

an explorer.' Among his distresses and self-mortifications, he loathed

the thought of all such honours, and remembered the attentions of

English society with a snarl.

'When, D.V., I get home, I do not dine out. My reminiscences of these

lands will not be more pleasant to me than the China ones. What I shall

have done, will be what I have done. Men think giving dinners is

conferring a favour on you ... Why not give dinners to those who need

them?'

No! His heart was set upon a very different object.

'To each is allotted a distinct work, to each a destined goal; to some

the seat at the right hand or left hand of the Saviour. (It was not His

to give; it was already given--Matthew xx, 23. Again, Judas went to "HIS

OWN PLACE"--Acts i, 25.) It is difficult for the flesh to accept: "Ye

are dead, ye have naught to do with the world". How difficult for anyone

to be circumcised from the world, to be as indifferent to its pleasures,

its sorrows, and its comforts as a corpse is! That is to know the

resurrection.'

But the Holy Bible was not his only solace. For now, under the parching

African sun, we catch glimpses, for the first time, of Gordon's hand

stretching out towards stimulants of a more material quality. For months

together, we are told, he would drink nothing but pure water; and then

... water that was not so pure. In his fits of melancholy, he would shut

himself up in his tent for days at a time, with a hatchet and a flag

placed at the door to indicate that he was not to be disturbed for any

reason whatever; until at last the cloud would lift, the signals would

be removed, and the Governor would reappear, brisk and cheerful.

During, one of these retirements, there was grave danger of a native

attack upon the camp. Colonel Long, the Chief of Staff, ventured, after

some hesitation, to ignore the flag and hatchet, and to enter the

forbidden tent. He found Gordon seated at a table, upon which were an

open Bible and an open bottle of brandy. Long explained the

circumstances, but could obtain no answer beyond the abrupt words--'You

are commander of the camp'--and was obliged to retire, nonplussed, to

deal with the situation as best he could. On the following morning,

Gordon, cleanly shaven, and in the full-dress uniform of the Royal

Engineers, entered Long's hut with his usual tripping step, exclaiming

'Old fellow, now don't be angry with me. I was very low last night.

Let's have a good breakfast--a little b. and s. Do you feel up to it?'

And, with these veering moods and dangerous restoratives, there came an

intensification of the queer and violent elements in the temper of the

man.

His eccentricities grew upon him. He found it more and more

uncomfortable to follow the ordinary course. Official routine was an

agony to him. His caustic and satirical humour expressed itself in a

style that astounded government departments. While he jibed at his

superiors, his subordinates learned to dread the explosions of his

wrath. There were moments when his passion became utterly ungovernable;

and the gentle soldier of God, who had spent the day in quoting texts

for the edification of his sister, would slap the face of his Arab

aide-de-camp in a sudden access of fury, or set upon his Alsatian

servant and kick him until he screamed.

At the end of three years, Gordon resigned his post in Equatoria, and

prepared to return home. But again Providence intervened: the Khedive

offered him, as an inducement to remain in the Egyptian service, a

position of still higher consequence--the Governor-Generalship of the

whole Sudan; and Gordon once more took up his task. Another three years

were passed in grappling with vast revolting provinces, with the

ineradicable iniquities of the slave-trade, and with all the

complications of weakness and corruption incident to an oriental

administration extending over almost boundless tracts of savage

territory which had never been effectively subdued. His headquarters

were fixed in the palace at Khartoum; but there were various interludes

in his government. Once, when the Khedive's finances had become

peculiarly embroiled, he summoned Gordon to Cairo to preside over a

commission which should set matters to rights. Gordon accepted the post,

but soon found that his situation was untenable. He was between the

devil and the deep sea--between the unscrupulous cunning of the Egyptian

Pashas, and the immeasurable immensity of the Khedive's debts to his

European creditors. The Pashas were anxious to use him as a respectable

mask for their own nefarious dealings; and the representatives of the

European creditors, who looked upon him as an irresponsible intruder,

were anxious simply to get rid of him as soon as they could. One of

these representatives was Sir Evelyn Baring, whom Gordon now met for the

first time. An immediate antagonism flashed out between the two men. But

their hostility had no time to mature; for Gordon, baffled on all sides,

and deserted even by the Khedive, precipitately returned to his

Governor-Generalship. Whatever else Providence might have decreed, it

had certainly not decided that he should be a financier.

His tastes and his talents were indeed of a very different kind. In his

absence, a rebellion had broken out in Darfur--one of the vast outlying

provinces of his government--where a native chieftain, Zobeir, had

erected, on a basis of slave-traffic, a dangerous military power. Zobeir

himself had been lured to Cairo, where he was detained in a state of

semi-captivity; but his son, Suleiman, ruled in his stead, and was now

defying the Governor-General. Gordon determined upon a hazardous stroke.

He mounted a camel, and rode, alone, in the blazing heat, across

eighty-five miles of desert, to Suleiman's camp. His sudden apparition

dumbfounded the rebels; his imperious bearing overawed them; he

signified to them that in two days they must disarm and disperse; and

the whole host obeyed. Gordon returned to Khartoum in triumph. But he

had not heard the last of Suleiman. Flying southwards from Darfur to the

neighbouring province of Bahr-el-Ghazal, the young man was soon once

more at the head of a formidable force. A prolonged campaign of extreme

difficulty and danger followed. Eventually, Gordon, summoned again to

Cairo, was obliged to leave to Gessi the task of finally crushing the

revolt. After a brilliant campaign, Gessi forced Suleiman to surrender,

and then shot him as a rebel. The deed was to exercise a curious

influence upon Gordon's fate. Though Suleiman had been killed and his

power broken, the slave-trade still flourished in the Sudan. Gordon's

efforts to suppress it resembled the palliatives of an empiric treating

the superficial symptoms of some profound constitutional disease. The

root of the malady lay in the slave-markets of Cairo and Constantinople:

the supply followed the demand. Gordon, after years of labour, might

here and there stop up a spring or divert a tributary, but, somehow or

other the waters would reach the river-bed. In the end, he himself came

to recognise this. 'When you have got the ink that has soaked into

blotting-paper out of it,' he said, 'then slavery will cease in these

lands.' And yet he struggled desperately on; it was not for him to

murmur. 'I feel my own weakness, and look to Him who is Almighty, and I

leave the issue without inordinate care to Him.'

Relief came at last. The Khedive Ismail was deposed; and Gordon felt at

liberty to send in his resignation. Before he left Egypt, however, he

was to experience yet one more remarkable adventure. At his own request,

he set out on a diplomatic mission to the Negus of Abyssinia. The

mission was a complete failure. The Negus was intractable, and, when his

bribes were refused, furious. Gordon was ignominiously dismissed; every

insult was heaped on him; he was arrested, and obliged to traverse the

Abyssinian Mountains in the depth of winter under the escort of a savage

troop of horse. When, after great hardships and dangers, he reached

Cairo, he found the whole official world up in arms against him. The

Pashas had determined at last that they had no further use for this

honest and peculiar Englishman. It was arranged that one of his

confidential dispatches should be published in the newspapers;

naturally, it contained indiscretions; there was a universal outcry--the

man was insubordinate, and mad. He departed under a storm of obloquy. It

seemed impossible that he should ever return to Egypt. On his way home

he stopped in Paris, saw the English Ambassador, Lord Lyons, and

speedily came into conflict with him over Egyptian affairs. There ensued

a heated correspondence, which was finally closed by a letter from

Gordon, ending as follows:

'I have some comfort in thinking that in ten or fifteen years' time it

will matter little to either of us. A black box, six feet six by three

feet wide, will then contain all that is left of Ambassador, or Cabinet

Minister, or of your humble and obedient servant.'

He arrived in England early in 1880 ill and exhausted; and it might have

been supposed that after the terrible activities of his African exile he

would have been ready to rest. But the very opposite was the case; the

next three years were the most momentous of his life. He hurried from

post to post, from enterprise to enterprise, from continent to

continent, with a vertiginous rapidity. He accepted the Private

Secretaryship to Lord Ripon, the new Viceroy of India, and, three days

after his arrival at Bombay, he resigned. He had suddenly realised that

he was not cut out for a Private Secretary, when, on an address being

sent in from some deputation, he was asked to say that the Viceroy had

read it with interest. 'You know perfectly,' he said to Lord William

Beresford, 'that Lord Ripon has never read it, and I can't say that sort

of thing; so I will resign, and you take in my resignation.' He

confessed to Lord William that the world was not big enough for him,

that there was 'no king or country big enough'; and then he added,

hitting him on the shoulder, 'Yes, that is flesh, that is what I hate,

and what makes me wish to die.'

Two days later, he was off for Pekin. 'Every one will say I am mad,'

were his last words to Lord William Beresford; 'but you say I am not.'

The position in China was critical; war with Russia appeared to be

imminent; and Gordon had been appealed to in order to use his influence

on the side of peace. He was welcomed by many old friends of former

days, among them Li Hung Chang, whose diplomatic views coincided with

his own. Li's diplomatic language, however, was less unconventional. In

an interview with the Ministers, Gordon's expressions were such that the

interpreter shook with terror, upset a cup of tea, and finally refused

to translate the dreadful words; upon which Gordon snatched up a

dictionary, and, with his finger on the word 'idiocy', showed it to the

startled Mandarins. A few weeks later, Li Hung Chang was in power, and

peace was assured. Gordon had spent two and a half days in Pekin, and

was whirling through China, when a telegram arrived from the home

authorities, who viewed his movements with uneasiness, ordering him to

return at once to England. 'It did not produce a twitter in me,' he

wrote to his sister; 'I died long ago, and it will not make any

difference to me; I am prepared to follow the unrolling of the scroll.'

The world, perhaps, was not big enough for him; and yet how clearly he

recognised that he was 'a poor insect!' 'My heart tells me that, and I

am glad of it.'

On his return to England, he telegraphed to the Government of the Cape

of Good Hope, which had become involved in a war with the Basutos,

offering his services; but his telegram received no reply. Just then,

Sir Howard Elphinstone was appointed to the command of the Royal

Engineers in Mauritius. It was a thankless and insignificant post; and,

rather than accept it, Elphinstone was prepared to retire from the

Army--unless some other officer could be induced, in return for L800, to

act as his substitute. Gordon, who was an old friend, agreed to

undertake the work upon one condition: that he should receive nothing

from Elphinstone; and accordingly, he spent the next year in that remote

and unhealthy island, looking after the barrack repairs and testing the

drains.

While he was thus engaged, the Cape Government, whose difficulties had

been increasing, changed its mind, and early in 1882, begged for

Gordon's help. Once more he was involved in great affairs: a new field

of action opened before him; and then, in a moment, there was another

shift of the kaleidoscope, and again he was thrown upon the world.

Within a few weeks, after a violent quarrel with the Cape authorities,

his mission had come to an end. What should he do next? To what remote

corner or what enormous stage, to what self-sacrificing drudgeries or

what resounding exploits, would the hand of God lead him now? He waited,

in an odd hesitation. He opened the Bible, but neither the prophecies of

Hosea nor the epistles to Timothy gave him any advice. The King of the

Belgians asked if he would be willing to go to the Congo. He was

perfectly willing; he would go whenever the King of the Belgians sent

for him; his services, however, were not required yet. It was at this

juncture that he betook himself to Palestine. His studies there were

embodied in a correspondence with the Rev. Mr. Barnes, filling over

2,000 pages of manuscript--a correspondence which was only put an end to

when, at last, the summons from the King of the Belgians came. He

hurried back to England; but it was not to the Congo that he was being

led by the hand of God.

Gordon's last great adventure, like his first, was occasioned by a

religious revolt. At the very moment when, apparently forever, he was

shaking the dust of Egypt from his feet, Mahommed Ahmed was starting

upon his extraordinary career in the Sudan. The time was propitious for

revolutions. The effete Egyptian Empire was hovering upon the verge of

collapse. The enormous territories of the Sudan were seething with

discontent. Gordon's administration had, by its very vigour, only helped

to precipitate the inevitable disaster. His attacks upon the

slave-trade, his establishment of a government monopoly in ivory, his

hostility to the Egyptian officials, had been so many shocks, shaking to

its foundations the whole rickety machine. The result of all his efforts

had been, on the one hand, to fill the most powerful classes in the

community--the dealers in slaves and, ivory--with a hatred of the

government, and on the other to awaken among the mass of the inhabitants

a new perception of the dishonesty and incompetence of their Egyptian

masters. When, after Gordon's removal, the rule of the Pashas once more

asserted itself over the Sudan, a general combustion became inevitable:

the first spark would set off the blaze. Just then it happened that

Mahommed Ahmed, the son of an insignificant priest in Dongola, having

quarrelled with the Sheikh from whom he was receiving religious

instruction, set up as an independent preacher, with his headquarters at

Abba Island, on the Nile, 150 miles above Khartoum. Like Hong-siu-tsuen,

he began as a religious reformer, and ended as a rebel king. It was his

mission, he declared, to purge the true Faith of its worldliness and

corruptions, to lead the followers of the prophet into the paths of

chastity, simplicity, and holiness; with the puritanical zeal of a

Calvin, be denounced junketings and merrymakings, songs and dances, lewd

living and all the delights of the flesh. He fell into trances, he saw

visions, he saw the prophet and Jesus, and the Angel Izrail accompanying

him and watching over him forever. He prophesied and performed miracles,

and his fame spread through the land.

There is an ancient tradition in the Mohammedan world, telling of a

mysterious being, the last in succession of the twelve holy Imams, who,

untouched by death and withdrawn into the recesses of a mountain, was

destined, at the appointted hour, to come forth again among men. His

title was the Mahdi, the guide; some believed that he would be the

forerunner of the Messiah; others believed that he would be Christ

himself. Already various Mahdis had made their appearance; several had

been highly successful, and two, in medieval times, had founded

dynasties in Egypt. But who could tell whether all these were not

impostors? Might not the twelfth Imam be still waiting, in mystical

concealment, ready to emerge, at any moment, at the bidding of God?

There were signs by which the true Mahdi might be recognised--unmistakable

signs, if one could but read them aright. He must be of the family of

the prophet; he must possess miraculous powers of no common kind; and

his person must be overflowing with a peculiar sanctity. The pious

dwellers beside those distant waters, where holy men by dint of a

constant repetition of one of the ninety-nine names of God, secured the

protection of guardian angels, and where groups of devotees, shaking

their heads with a violence which would unseat the reason of less

athletic worshippers, attained to an extraordinary beatitude, heard with

awe of the young preacher whose saintliness was almost more than mortal

and whose miracles brought amazement to the mind. Was he not also of the

family of the prophet? He himself had said so, and who would disbelieve

the holy man? When he appeared in person, every doubt was swept away.

There was a strange splendour in his presence, an overpowering passion

in the torrent of his speech. Great was the wickedness of the people,

and great was their punishment! Surely their miseries were a visible

sign of the wrath of the Lord. They had sinned, and the cruel tax

gatherers had come among them, and the corrupt governors, and all the

oppressions of the Egyptians. Yet these things, 'Too, should have an

end. The Lord would raise up his chosen deliverer; the hearts of the

people would be purified, and their enemies would be laid low. The

accursed Egyptian would be driven from the land. Let the faithful take

heart and make ready. How soon might not the long-predestined hour

strike, when the twelfth Imam, the guide, the Mahdi, would reveal

himself to the world?' In that hour, the righteous 'Would triumph and

the guilty be laid low forever.' Such was the teaching of Mohammed

Ahmed. A band of enthusiastic disciples gathered round him, eagerly

waiting for the revelation which would crown their hopes. At last, the

moment came. One evening, at Abba Island, taking aside the foremost of

his followers, the Master whispered the portentous news. He was the

Mahdi.

The Egyptian Governor-General at Khartoum, hearing that a religious

movement was afoot, grew disquieted, and dispatched an emissary to Abba

Island to summon the impostor to his presence. The emissary was

courteously received. Mohammed Ahmed, he said, must come at once to

Khartoum. 'Must!' exclaimed the Mahdi, starting to his feet, with a

strange look in his eyes. The look was so strange that the emissary

thought it advisable to cut short the interview and to return to

Khartoum empty-handed. Thereupon, the Governor-General sent 200 soldiers

to seize the audacious rebel by force. With his handful of friends, the

Mahdi fell upon the soldiers and cut them to pieces. The news spread

like wild-fire through the country: the Mahdi had arisen, the Egyptians

were destroyed. But it was clear to the little band of enthusiasts at

Abba Island that their position on the river was no longer tenable. The

Mahdi, deciding upon a second Hegira, retreated south-westward, into the

depths of Kordofan.

The retreat was a triumphal progress. The country, groaning under alien

misgovernment and vibrating with religious excitement, suddenly found in

this rebellious prophet a rallying-point, a hero, a deliverer. And now

another element was added to the forces of insurrection. The Baggara

tribes of Kordofan, cattle-owners and slave-traders, the most warlike

and vigorous of the inhabitants of the Sudan, threw in their lot with

the Mahdi. Their powerful Emirs, still smarting from the blows of

Gordon, saw that the opportunity for revenge had come. A holy war was

proclaimed against the Egyptian misbelievers. The followers of the

Mahdi, dressed, in token of a new austerity of living, in the 'jibbeh',

or white smock of coarse cloth, patched with variously shaped and

coloured patches, were rapidly organised into a formidable army. Several

attacks from Khartoum were repulsed; and at last, the Mahdi felt strong

enough to advance against the enemy. While his lieutenants led

detachments into the vast provinces lying to the west and the

south--Darfur and Bahr-el-Ghazal--he himself marched upon El Obeid, the

capital of Kordofan. It was in vain that reinforcements were hurried

from Khartoum to the assistance of the garrison: there was some severe

fighting; the town was completely cut off; and, after a six months'

siege, it surrendered. A great quantity of guns and ammunition and

L100,000 in spices fell into the hands of the Mahdi. He was master of

Kordofan: he was at the head of a great army; he was rich; he was

worshipped. A dazzling future opened before him. No possibility seemed

too remote, no fortune too magnificent. A vision of universal empire

hovered before his eyes. Allah, whose servant he was, who had led him

thus far, would lead him onward still, to the glorious end.

For some months he remained at El Obeid, consolidating his dominion. In

a series of circular letters, he described his colloquies with the

Almighty and laid down the rule of living which his followers were to

pursue. The faithful, under pain of severe punishment, were to return to

the ascetic simplicity of ancient times. A criminal code was drawn up,

meting out executions, mutilations, and floggings with a barbaric zeal.

The blasphemer was to be instantly hanged, the adulterer was to be

scourged with whips of rhinoceros hide, the thief was to have his right

hand and his left foot hacked off in the marketplace. No more were

marriages to be celebrated with pomp and feasting, no more was the

youthful warrior to swagger with flowing hair; henceforth, the believer

must banquet on dates and milk, and his head must be kept shaved. Minor

transgressions were punished by confiscation of property or by

imprisonment and chains. But the rhinoceros whip was the favourite

instrument of chastisement. Men were flogged for drinking a glass of

wine, they were flogged for smoking; if they swore, they received eighty

lashes for every expletive; and after eighty lashes it was a common

thing to die. Before long, flogging grew to be so everyday an incident

that the young men made a game of it, as a test of their endurance of

pain.

With this Spartan ferocity there was mingled the glamour and the mystery

of the East. The Mahdi himself, his four Khalifas, and the principal

Emirs, masters of sudden riches, surrounded themselves with slaves and

women, with trains of horses and asses, with body guards and glittering

arms. There were rumours of debaucheries in high places--of the Mahdi,

forgetful of his own ordinances, revelling in the recesses of his harem,

and quaffing date syrup mixed with ginger out of the silver cups looted

from the church of the Christians. But that imposing figure had only to

show itself for the tongue of scandal to be stilled. The tall,

broad-shouldered, majestic man, with the dark face and black beard and

great eyes--who could doubt that he was the embodiment of a superhuman

power? Fascination dwelt in every movement, every glance. The eyes,

painted with antimony, flashed extraordinary fires; the exquisite smile

revealed, beneath the vigorous lips, white upper teeth with a V-shaped

space between them--the certain sign of fortune. His turban was folded

with faultless art, his jibbeh, speckless, was perfumed with

sandal-wood, musk, and attar of roses. He was at once all courtesy and

all command. Thousands followed him, thousands prostrated themselves

before him; thousands, when he lifted up his voice in solemn worship,

knew that the heavens were opened and that they had come near to God.

Then all at once the onbeia--the elephant's-tusk trumpet--would give out

its enormous sound. The nahas--the brazen wardrums--would summon, with

their weird rolling, the whole host to arms. The green flag and the red

flag and the black flag would rise over the multitude. The great army

would move forward, coloured, glistening, dark, violent, proud,

beautiful. The drunkenness, the madness of religion would blaze on every

face; and the Mahdi, immovable on his charger, would let the scene grow

under his eyes in silence.

El Obeid fell in January, 1883. Meanwhile, events of the deepest

importance had occurred in Egypt. The rise of Arabi had synchronised

with that of the Mahdi. Both movements were nationalist; both were

directed against alien rulers who had shown themselves unfit to rule.

While the Sudanese were shaking off the yoke of Egypt, the Egyptians

themselves grew impatient of their own masters--the Turkish and

Circassian Pashas who filled with their incompetence all the high

offices of state. The army led by Ahmed Arabi, a Colonel of fellah

origin, mutinied, the Khedive gave way, and it seemed as if a new order

were about to be established. A new order was indeed upon the point of

appearing: but it was of a kind undreamt of in Arabi's philosophy. At

the critical moment, the English Government intervened. An English fleet

bombarded Alexandria, an English army landed under Lord Wolseley, and

defeated Arabi and his supporters at Tel-el-kebir. The rule of the

Pashas was nominally restored; but henceforth, in effect, the English

were masters of Egypt.

Nevertheless, the English themselves were slow to recognise this fact:

their Government had intervened unwillingly; the occupation of the

country was a merely temporary measure; their army was to be withdrawn

as soon as a tolerable administration had been set up. But a tolerable

administration, presided over by the Pashas, seemed long in coming, and

the English army remained. In the meantime, the Mahdi had entered El

Obeid, and his dominion was rapidly spreading over the greater part of

the Sudan.

Then a terrible catastrophe took place. The Pashas, happy once more in

Cairo, pulling the old strings and growing fat over the old flesh-pots,

decided to give the world an unmistakable proof of their renewed vigour.

They would tolerate the insurrection in the Sudan no longer; they would

destroy the Mahdi, reduce his followers to submission, and re-establish

their own beneficent rule over the whole country. To this end they

collected together an army of 10,000 men, and placed it under the

command of Colonel Hicks, a retired English officer. He was ordered to

advance and suppress the rebellion. In these proceedings the English

Government refused to take any part. Unable, or unwilling, to realise

that, so long as there was an English army in Egypt they could not avoid

the responsibilities of supreme power, they declared that the domestic

policy of the Egyptian administration was no concern of theirs. It was a

fatal error--an error which they themselves, before many weeks were

over, were to be forced by the hard logic of events to admit. The

Pashas, left to their own devices, mismanaged the Hicks expedition to

their hearts' content. The miserable troops, swept together from the

relics of Arabi's disbanded army, were dispatched to Khartoum in chains.

After a month's drilling, they were pronounced to be fit to attack the

fanatics of the Sudan. Colonel Hicks was a brave man; urged on by the

authorities in Cairo, he shut his eyes to the danger ahead of him, and

marched out from Khartoum in the direction of El Obeid at the beginning

of September, 1883. Abandoning his communications, he was soon deep in

the desolate wastes of Kordofan. As he advanced, his difficulties

increased; the guides were treacherous, the troops grew exhausted, the

supply of water gave out. He pressed on, and at last, on November 5th,

not far from El Obeid, the harassed, fainting, almost desperate army

plunged into a vast forest of gumtrees and mimosa scrub. There was a

sudden, appalling yell; the Mahdi, with 40,000 of his finest men, sprang

from their ambush. The Egyptians were surrounded, and immediately

overpowered. It was not a defeat, but an annihilation. Hicks and his

European staff were slaughtered; the whole army was slaughtered; 300

wounded wretches crept away into the forest.

The consequences of this event were felt in every part of the Sudan. To

the westward, in Darfur, the Governor, Slatin Pasha, after a prolonged

and valiant resistance, was forced to surrender, and the whole province

fell into the hands of the rebels. Southwards, in the Bahr-el-Ghazal,

Lupton Bey was shut up in a remote stronghold, while the country was

overrun. The Mahdi's triumphs were beginning to penetrate even into the

tropical regions of Equatoria; the tribes were rising, and Emir Pasha

was preparing to retreat towards the Great Lakes. On the East, Osman

Digna pushed the insurrection right up to the shores of the Red Sea and

laid siege to Suakin. Before the year was over, with the exception of a

few isolated and surrounded garrisons, the Mahdi was absolute lord of a

territory equal to the combined area of Spain, France, and Germany; and

his victorious armies were rapidly closing round Khartoum.

When the news of the Hicks disaster reached Cairo, the Pashas calmly

announced that they would collect another army of 10,000 men, and again

attack the Mahdi; but the English Government understood at last the

gravity of the case. They saw that a crisis was upon them, and that they

could no longer escape the implications of their position in Egypt. What

were they to do? Were they to allow the Egyptians to become more and

more deeply involved in a ruinous, perhaps ultimately a fatal, war with

the Mahdi? And, if not, what steps were they to take?

A small minority of the party then in power in England--the Liberal

Party--were anxious to withdraw from Egypt altogether and at once. On

the other hand, another and a more influential minority, with

representatives in the Cabinet, were in favour of a more active

intervention in Egyptian affairs--of the deliberate use of the power of

England to give to Egypt internal stability and external security; they

were ready, if necessary, to take the field against the Mahdi with

English troops. But the great bulk of the party, and the Cabinet, with

Mr. Gladstone at their head, preferred a middle course. Realising the

impracticality of an immediate withdrawal, they were nevertheless

determined to remain in Egypt not a moment longer than was necessary,

and, in the meantime, to interfere as little as possible in Egyptian

affairs.

From a campaign in the Sudan conducted by an English army they were

altogether averse. If, therefore, the English army was not to be used,

and the Egyptian army was not fit to be used against the Mahdi, it

followed that any attempt to reconquer the Sudan must be abandoned; the

remaining Egyptian troops must be withdrawn, and in future military

operations must be limited to those of a strictly defensive kind. Such

was the decision of the English Government. Their determination was

strengthened by two considerations: in the first place, they saw that

the Mahdi's rebellion was largely a nationalist movement, directed

against an alien power, and, in the second place, the policy of

withdrawal from the Sudan was the policy of their own representative in

Egypt, Sir Evelyn Baring, who had lately been appointed Consul-General

at Cairo. There was only one serious obstacle in the way--the attitude

of the Pashas at the head of the Egyptian Government. The infatuated old

men were convinced that they would have better luck next time, that

another army and another Hicks would certainly destroy the Mahdi, and

that, even if the Mahdi were again victorious, yet another army and yet

another Hicks would no doubt be forthcoming, and that THEY would do the

trick, or, failing that ... but they refused to consider eventualities

any further. In the face of such opposition, the English Government,

unwilling as they were to interfere, saw that there was no choice open

to them but to exercise pressure. They therefore instructed Sir Evelyn

Baring, in the event of the Egyptian Government refusing to withdraw

from the Sudan, to insist upon the Khedive's appointing other Ministers

who would be willing to do so.

Meanwhile, not only the Government, but the public in England were

beginning to realise the alarming nature of the Egyptian situation. It

was some time before the details of the Hicks expedition were fully

known, but when they were, and when the appalling character of the

disaster was understood, a thrill of horror ran through the country. The

newspapers became full of articles on the Sudan, of personal

descriptions of the Mahdi, of agitated letters from colonels and

clergymen demanding vengeance, and of serious discussions of future

policy in Egypt. Then, at the beginning of the new year, alarming

messages began to arrive from Khartoum. Colonel Coetlogon, who was in

command of the Egyptian troops, reported a menacing concentration of the

enemy. Day by day, hour by hour, affairs grew worse. The Egyptians were

obviously outnumbered: they could not maintain themselves in the field;

Khartoum was in danger; at any moment, its investment might be complete.

And, with Khartoum once cut off from communication with Egypt, what

might not happen? Colonel Coetlogon began to calculate how long the city

would hold out. Perhaps it could not resist the Mahdi for a month,

perhaps for more than a month; but he began to talk of the necessity of

a speedy retreat. It was clear that a climax was approaching, and that

measures must be taken to forestall it at once. Accordingly, Sir Evelyn

Baring, on receipt of final orders from England, presented an ultimatum

to the Egyptian Government: the Ministry must either sanction the

evacuation of the Sudan, or it must resign. The Ministry was obstinate,

and, on January 7th, 1884, it resigned, to be replaced by a more pliable

body of Pashas. On the same day, General Gordon arrived at Southampton.

He was over fifty, and he was still, by the world's measurements, an

unimportant man. In spite of his achievements, in spite of a certain

celebrity--for 'Chinese Gordon' was still occasionally spoken of--he was

unrecognised and almost unemployed.

He had spent a lifetime in the dubious services of foreign governments,

punctuated by futile drudgeries at home; and now, after a long idleness,

he had been sent for--to do what?--to look after the Congo for the King

of the Belgians. At his age, even if he survived the work and the

climate, he could hardly look forward to any subsequent appointment; he

would return from the Congo, old and worn out, to a red-brick villa and

extinction. Such were General Gordon's prospects on January 7th, 1884.

By January 18th, his name was on every tongue, he was the favourite of

the nation, he had been declared to be the one living man capable of

coping with the perils of the hour; he had been chosen, with unanimous

approval, to perform a great task; and he had left England on a mission

which was to bring him not only a boundless popularity, but an immortal

fame. The circumstances which led to a change so sudden and so

remarkable are less easily explained than might have been wished. An

ambiguity hangs over them--an ambiguity which the discretion of eminent

persons has certainly not diminished. But some of the facts are clear

enough.

The decision to withdraw from the Sudan had no sooner been taken than it

had become evident that the operation would be a difficult and hazardous

one, and that it would be necessary to send to Khartoum an emissary

armed with special powers and possessed of special ability, to carry it

out. Towards the end of November, somebody at the War Office--it is not

clear who--had suggested that this emissary should be General Gordon.

Lord Granville, the Foreign Secretary, had thereupon telegraphed to Sir

Evelyn Baring asking whether, in his opinion, the presence of General

Gordon would be useful in Egypt; Sir Evelyn Baring had replied that the

Egyptian Government was averse to this proposal, and the matter had

dropped.

There was no further reference to Gordon in the official dispatches

until after his return to England. Nor, before that date, was any

allusion made to him as a possible unraveller of the Sudan difficulty,

in the Press. In all the discussions which followed the news of the

Hicks disaster, his name is only to be found in occasional and

incidental references to his work "In the Sudan". The "Pall Mall

Gazette", which, more than any other newspaper, interested itself in

Egyptian affairs, alluded to Gordon once or twice as a geographical

expert; but, in an enumeration of the leading authorities on the Sudan,

left him out of account altogether. Yet it was from the "Pall Mall

Gazette" that the impulsion which projected him into a blaze of

publicity finally came. Mr. Stead, its enterprising editor, went down to

Southampton the day after Gordon's arrival there, and obtained an

interview. Now when he was in the mood--after a little b. and s.,

especially--no one was more capable than Gordon, with his facile speech

and his free-and-easy manners, of furnishing good copy for a journalist;

and Mr. Stead made the most of his opportunity. The interview, copious

and pointed, was published next day in the most prominent part of the

paper, together with a leading article, demanding that the General

should be immediately dispatched to Khartoum with the widest powers. The

rest of the Press, both in London and in the provinces, at once took up

the cry: General Gordon was a capable and energetic officer, he was a

noble and God-fearing man, he was a national asset, he was a statesman

in the highest sense of the word; the occasion was pressing and

perilous; General Gordon had been for years Governor-General of the

Sudan; General Gordon alone had the knowledge, the courage, the virtue,

which would save the situation; General Gordon must go to Khartoum. So,

for a week, the papers sang in chorus. But already those in high places

had taken a step. Mr. Stead's interview appeared on the afternoon of

January 9th, and on the morning of January 10th Lord Granville

telegraphed to Sir Evelyn Baring, proposing, for a second time, that

Gordon's services should be utilised in Egypt. But Sir Evelyn Baring,

for the second time, rejected the proposal.

While these messages were flashing to and fro, Gordon himself was paying

a visit to the Rev. Mr. Barnes at the Vicarage of Heavitree, near

Exeter. The conversation ran chiefly on Biblical and spiritual

matters--on the light thrown by the Old Testament upon the geography of

Palestine, and on the relations between man and his Maker; but, there

were moments when topics of a more worldly interest arose. It happened

that Sir Samuel Baker, Gordon's predecessor in Equatoria, lived in the

neighbourhood. A meeting was arranged, and the two ex-Governors, with

Mr. Barnes in attendance, went for a drive together. In the carriage,

Sir Samuel Baker, taking up the tale of the "Pall Mall Gazette", dilated

upon the necessity of his friend's returning to the Sudan as

Governor-General. Gordon was silent; but Mr. Barnes noticed that his

blue eyes flashed, while an eager expression passed over his face. Late

that night, after the Vicar had retired to bed, he was surprised by the

door suddenly opening, and by the appearance of his guest swiftly

tripping into the room. 'You saw me today?' the low voice abruptly

questioned. 'You mean in the carriage?' replied the startled Mr. Barnes.

'Yes,' came the reply; 'you saw ME--that was MYSELF--the self I want to

get rid of.' There was a sliding movement, the door swung to, and the

Vicar found himself alone again.

It was clear that a disturbing influence had found its way into Gordon's

mind. His thoughts, wandering through Africa, flitted to the Sudan; they

did not linger at the Congo. During the same visit, he took the

opportunity of calling upon Dr. Temple, the Bishop of Exeter, and asking

him, merely as a hypothetical question, whether, in his opinion,

Sudanese converts to Christianity might be permitted to keep three

wives. His Lordship answered that this would be uncanonical.

A few days later, it appeared that the conversation in the carriage at

Heavitree had borne fruit. Gordon wrote a letter to Sir Samuel Baker,

further elaborating the opinions on the Sudan which he had already

expressed in his interview with Mr. Stead; the letter was clearly

intended for publication, and published it was in "The Times" of January

14th. On the same day, Gordon's name began once more to buzz along the

wires in secret questions and answers to and from the highest quarters.

'Might it not be advisable,' telegraphed Lord Granville to Mr.

Gladstone, to put a little pressure on Baring, to induce him to accept

the assistance of General Gordon?' Mr. Gladstone replied, also by a

telegram, in the affirmative; and on the 15th, Lord Wolseley telegraphed

to Gordon begging him to come to London immediately. Lord Wolseley, who

was one of Gordon's oldest friends, was at that time Adjutant-General of

the Forces; there was a long interview; and, though the details of the

conversation have never transpired, it is known that, in the course of

it, Lord Wolseley asked Gordon if he would be willing to go to the

Sudan, to which Gordon replied that there was only one objection--his

prior engagement to the King of the Belgians. Before nightfall, Lord

Granville, by private telegram, had 'put a little pressure on Baring'.

'He had,' he said, 'heard indirectly that Gordon was ready to go at once

to the Sudan on the following rather vague terms: His mission to be to

report to Her Majesty's Government on the military situation, and to

return without any further engagement. He would be under you for

instructions and will send letters through you under flying seal ... He

might be of use,' Lord Granville added, in informing you and us of the

situation. It would be popular at home, but there may be countervailing

objections. Tell me,' such was Lord Granville's concluding injunction,

'your real opinion.' It was the third time of asking, and Sir Evelyn

Baring resisted no longer.

'Gordon,' he telegraphed on the 16th, 'would be the best man if he will

pledge himself to carry out the policy of withdrawing from the Sudan as

quickly as is possible, consistently with saving life. He must also

understand that he must take his instructions from the British

representative in Egypt ... I would rather have him than anyone else,

provided there is a perfectly clear understanding with him as to what

his position is to be and what line of policy he is to carry out.

Otherwise, not ... Whoever goes should be distinctly warned that he will

undertake a service of great difficulty and danger.'

In the meantime, Gordon, with the Sudan upon his lips, with the Sudan in

his imagination, had hurried to Brussels, to obtain from the King of the

Belgians a reluctant consent to the postponement of his Congo mission.

On the 17th he was recalled to London by a telegram from Lord Wolseley.

On the 18th the final decision was made. 'At noon,' Gordon told the Rev.

Mr. Barnes, Wolseley came to me and took me to the Ministers. He went in

and talked to the Ministers, and came back and said: "Her Majesty's

Government wants you to undertake this. Government is determined to

evacuate the Sudan, for they will not guarantee future government. Will

you go and do it?" I said: "Yes." He said: "Go in." I went in and saw

them. They said: "Did Wolseley tell you your orders?" I said: "Yes." I

said: "You will not guarantee future government of the Sudan, and you

wish me to go up and evacuate now." They said: "Yes", and it was over.'

Such was the sequence of events which ended in General Gordon's last

appointment. The precise motives of those responsible for these

transactions are less easy to discern. It is difficult to understand

what the reasons could have been which induced the Government, not only

to override the hesitations of Sir Evelyn Baring, but to overlook the

grave and obvious dangers involved in sending such a man as Gordon to

the Sudan. The whole history of his life, the whole bent of his

character, seemed to disqualify him for the task for which he had been

chosen. He was before all things a fighter, an enthusiast, a bold

adventurer; and he was now to be entrusted with the conduct of an

inglorious retreat. He was alien to the subtleties of civilised

statesmanship, he was unamenable to official control, he was incapable

of the skilful management of delicate situations; and he was now to be

placed in a position of great complexity, requiring at once a cool

judgment, a clear perception of fact, and a fixed determination to carry

out a line of policy laid down from above. He had, it is true, been

Governor-General of the Sudan; but he was now to return to the scene of

his greatness as the emissary of a defeated and humbled power; he was to

be a fugitive where he had once been a ruler; the very success of his

mission was to consist in establishing the triumph of those forces which

he had spent years in trampling underfoot. All this should have been

clear to those in authority, after a very little reflection. It was

clear enough to Sir Evelyn Baring, though, with characteristic

reticence, he had abstained from giving expression to his thoughts. But,

even if a general acquaintance with Gordon's life and character were not

sufficient to lead to these conclusions, he himself had taken care to

put their validity beyond reasonable doubt. Both in his interview with

Mr. Stead and in his letter to Sir Samuel Baker, he had indicated

unmistakably his own attitude towards the Sudan situation. The policy

which he advocated, the state of feeling in which he showed himself to

be, was diametrically opposed to the declared intentions of the

Government. He was by no means in favour of withdrawing from the Sudan;

he was in favour, as might have been supposed, of vigorous military

action. It might be necessary to abandon, for the time being, the more

remote garrisons in Darfur and Equatoria; but Khartoum must be held at

all costs. To allow the Mahdi to enter Khartoum would not merely mean

the return of the whole of the Sudan to barbarism; it would be a menace

to the safety of Egypt herself. To attempt to protect Egypt against the

Mahdi by fortifying her southern frontier was preposterous. 'You might

as well fortify against a fever.' Arabia, Syria, the whole Mohammedan

world, would be shaken by the Mahdi's advance. 'In self-defence,' Gordon

declared to Mr. Stead, the policy of evacuation cannot possibly be

justified.' The true policy was obvious. A strong man--Sir Samuel Baker,

perhaps--must be sent to Khartoum, with a large contingent of Indian and

Turkish troops and with two millions of money. He would very soon

overpower the Mahdi, whose forces would 'fall to pieces of themselves'.

For in Gordon's opinion it was 'an entire mistake to regard the Mahdi as

in any sense a religious leader'; he would collapse as soon as he was

face to face with an English general. Then the distant regions of Darfur

and Equatoria could once more be occupied; their original Sultans could

be reinstated; the whole country would be placed under civilised rule;

and the slave-trade would be finally abolished. These were the views

which Gordon publicly expressed on January 9th and on January 14th; and

it certainly seems strange that on January 10th and on January 14th,

Lord Granville should have proposed, without a word of consultation with

Gordon himself, to send him on a mission which involved, not the

reconquest, but the abandonment of the Sudan; Gordon, indeed, when he

was actually approached by Lord Wolseley, had apparently agreed to

become the agent of a policy which was exactly the reverse of his own.

No doubt, too, it is possible for a subordinate to suppress his private

convictions and to carry out loyally, in spite of them, the orders of

his superiors. But how rare are the qualities of self-control and wisdom

which such a subordinate must possess! And how little reason there was

to think that General Gordon possessed them!

In fact, the conduct of the Government wears so singular an appearance

that it has seemed necessary to account for it by some ulterior

explanation. It has often been asserted that the true cause of Gordon's

appointment was the clamour in the Press. It is said--among others, by

Sir Evelyn Baring himself, who has given something like an official

sanction to this view of the case--that the Government could not resist

the pressure of the newspapers and the feeling in the country which it

indicated; that Ministers, carried off their feet by a wave of 'Gordon

cultus', were obliged to give way to the inevitable. But this suggestion

is hardly supported by an examination of the facts. Already, early in

December, and many weeks before Gordon's name had begun to figure in the

newspapers, Lord Granville had made his first effort to induce Sir

Evelyn Baring to accept Gordon's services. The first newspaper demand

for a Gordon mission appeared in the "Pall Mall Gazette" on the

afternoon of January 9th; and the very next morning, Lord Granville was

making his second telegraphic attack upon Sir Evelyn Baring. The feeling

in the Press did not become general until the 11th, and on the 14th Lord

Granville, in his telegram to Mr. Gladstone, for the third time proposed

the appointment of Gordon. Clearly, on the part of Lord Granville at any

rate, there was no extreme desire to resist the wishes of the Press. Nor

was the Government as a whole by any means incapable of ignoring public

opinion; a few months were to show that, plainly enough. It is difficult

to avoid the conclusion that if Ministers had been opposed to the

appointment of Gordon, he would never have been appointed. As it was,

the newspapers were in fact forestalled, rather than followed, by the

Government.

How, then, are we to explain the Government's action? Are we to suppose

that its members, like the members of the public at large, were

themselves carried away by a sudden enthusiasm, a sudden conviction that

they had found their saviour; that General Gordon was the man--they did

not quite know why, but that was of no consequence--the one man to get

them out of the whole Sudan difficulty--they did not quite know how, but

that was of no consequence either if only he were sent to Khartoum?

Doubtless even Cabinet Ministers are liable to such impulses; doubtless

it is possible that the Cabinet of that day allowed itself to drift, out

of mere lack of consideration, and judgment, and foresight, along the

rapid stream of popular feeling towards the inevitable cataract. That

may be so; yet there are indications that a more definite influence was

at work. There was a section of the Government which had never become

quite reconciled to the policy of withdrawing from the Sudan. To this

section--we may call it the imperialist section--which was led, inside

the Cabinet, by Lord Hartington, and outside by Lord Wolseley, the

policy which really commended itself was the very policy which had been

outlined by General Gordon in his interview with Mr. Stead and his

letter to Sir Samuel Baker. They saw that it might be necessary to

abandon some of the outlying parts of the Sudan to the Mahdi; but the

prospect of leaving the whole province in his hands was highly

distasteful to them; above all, they dreaded the loss of Khartoum. Now,

supposing that General Gordon, in response to a popular agitation in the

Press, were sent to Khartoum, what would follow? Was it not at least

possible that, once there, with his views and his character, he would,

for some reason or other, refrain from carrying out a policy of pacific

retreat? Was it not possible that in that case he might so involve the

English Government that it would find itself obliged, almost

imperceptibly perhaps, to substitute for its policy of withdrawal a

policy of advance? Was it not possible that General Gordon might get

into difficulties, that he might be surrounded and cut off from Egypt'?

If that were to happen, how could the English Government avoid the

necessity of sending an expedition to rescue him? And, if an English

expedition went to the Sudan, was it conceivable that it would leave the

Mahdi as it found him? In short, would not the dispatch of General

Gordon to Khartoum involve, almost inevitably, the conquest of the Sudan

by British troops, followed by a British occupation? And, behind all

these questions, a still larger question loomed. The position of the

English in Egypt itself was still ambiguous; the future was obscure; how

long, in reality, would an English army remain in Egypt? Was not one

thing, at least, obvious--that if the English were to conquer and occupy

the Sudan, their evacuation of Egypt would become impossible?

With our present information, it would be rash to affirm that all, or

any, of these considerations were present to the minds of the

imperialist section of the Government. Yet it is difficult to believe

that a man such as Lord Wolseley, for instance, with his knowledge of

affairs and his knowledge of Gordon, could have altogether overlooked

them. Lord Hartington, indeed, may well have failed to realise at once

the implications of General Gordon's appointment--for it took Lord

Hartington some time to realise the implications of anything; but Lord

Hartington was very far from being a fool; and we may well suppose that

he instinctively, perhaps subconsciously, apprehended the elements of a

situation which he never formulated to himself. However that may be,

certain circumstances are significant. It is significant that the

go-between who acted as the Government's agent in its negotiations with

Gordon was an imperialist--Lord Wolseley. It is significant that the

'Ministers' whom Gordon finally interviewed, and who actually determined

his appointment were by no means the whole of the Cabinet, but a small

section of it, presided over by Lord Hartington. It is significant, too,

that Gordon's mission was represented both to Sir Evelyn Baring, who was

opposed to his appointment, and to Mr. Gladstone, who was opposed to an

active policy in the Sudan, as a mission merely 'to report'; while, no

sooner was the mission actually decided upon, than it began to assume a

very different complexion. In his final interview with the 'Ministers',

Gordon we know (though he said nothing about it to the Rev. Mr Barnes)

threw out the suggestion that it might be as well to make him the

Governor-General of the Sudan. The suggestion, for the moment, was not

taken up; but it is obvious that a man does not propose to become a

Governor-General in order to make a report.

We are in the region of speculations; one other presents itself. Was the

movement in the Press during that second week of January a genuine

movement, expressing a spontaneous wave of popular feeling? Or was it a

cause of that feeling, rather than an effect? The engineering of a

newspaper agitation may not have been an impossibility--even so long ago

as 1884. One would like to know more than one is ever likely to know of

the relations of the imperialist section of the Government with Mr.

Stead.

But it is time to return to the solidity of fact. Within a few hours of

his interview with the Ministers, Gordon had left England forever. At

eight o'clock in the evening, there was a little gathering of elderly

gentlemen at Victoria Station. Gordon, accompanied by Colonel Stewart,

who was to act as his second-in-command, tripped on to the platform.

Lord Granville bought the necessary tickets; the Duke of Cambridge

opened the railway-carriage door. The General jumped into the train; and

then Lord Wolseley appeared, carrying a leather bag, in which was L200

in gold, collected from friends at the last moment for the contingencies

of the journey. The bag was handed through the window. The train

started. As it did so, Gordon leaned out and addressed a last whispered

question to Lord Wolseley. Yes, it had been done. Lord Wolseley had seen

to it himself; next morning, every member of the Cabinet would receive a

copy of Dr. Samuel Clarke's Scripture Promises. That was all. The train

rolled out of the station.

Before the travellers reached Cairo, steps had been taken which finally

put an end to the theory--if it had ever been seriously held--that the

purpose of the mission was simply the making of a report. On the very

day of Gordon's departure, Lord Granville telegraphed to Sir Evelyn

Baring as follows: 'Gordon suggests that it may be announced in Egypt

that he is on his way to Khartoum to arrange for the future settlement

of the Sudan for the best advantage of the people.' Nothing was said of

reporting. A few days later, Gordon himself telegraphed to Lord

Granville suggesting that he should be made Governor-General of the

Sudan, in order to 'accomplish the evacuation', and to 'restore to the

various Sultans of the Sudan their independence'. Lord Granville at once

authorised Sir Evelyn Baring to issue, if he thought fit, a proclamation

to this effect in the name of the Khedive. Thus the mission 'to report'

had already swollen into a Governor-Generalship, with the object, not

merely of effecting the evacuation of the Sudan, but also of setting up

'various Sultans' to take the place of the Egyptian Government.

In Cairo, in spite of the hostilities of the past, Gordon was received

with every politeness. He was at once proclaimed Governor-General of the

Sudan, with the widest powers. He was on the point of starting off again

on his journey southwards, when a singular and important incident

occurred. Zobeir, the rebel chieftain of Darfur, against whose forces

Gordon had struggled for years, and whose son, Suleiman, had been

captured and executed by Gessi, Gordon's lieutenant, was still detained

at Cairo. It so fell out that he went to pay a visit to one of the

Ministers at the same time as the new Governor-General. The two men met

face to face, and, as he looked into the savage countenance of his old

enemy, an extraordinary shock of inspiration ran through Gordon's brain.

He was seized, as he explained in a State paper, which he drew up

immediately after the meeting, with a 'mystic feeling' that he could

trust Zobeir. It was true that Zobeir was 'the greatest slave-hunter who

ever existed'; it was true that he had a personal hatred of Gordon,

owing to the execution of Suleiman--'and one cannot wonder at it, if one

is a father'; it was true that, only a few days previously, on his way

to Egypt, Gordon himself had been so convinced of the dangerous

character of Zobeir that he had recommended by telegram his removal to

Cyprus. But such considerations were utterly obliterated by that one

moment of electric impact of personal vision; henceforward, there was a

rooted conviction in Gordon's mind that Zobeir was to be trusted, that

Zobeir must join him at Khartoum, that Zobeir's presence would paralyse

the Mahdi, that Zobeir must succeed him in the government of the country

after the evacuation. Did not Sir Evelyn Baring, too, have the mystic

feeling? Sir Evelyn Baring confessed that he had not. He distrusted

mystic feelings. Zobeir, no doubt, might possibly be useful; but, before

deciding upon so important a matter, it was necessary to reflect and to

consult.