DONGOLA TO OMDURMAN
During the early part of the night of April 27, the Amin Beit-el-Mal
told me to prepare for my journey to Omdurman, as Wad Nejoumi had
sent for me. There was little preparation I could make, except to beg
some sesame oil to rub over my face, shoulders, back, and feet. The
woollen shirt and clothing I had been allowed had not been sufficient
to protect me against the burning rays of the sun, and the skin was
peeling away from my face, shoulders and back, while my feet were
blistered and cut. My stockings had been worn through in a day’s
tramping through the sand. Taken to Nejoumi’s enclosure, Nejoumi and I
sat together talking for a considerable time. He told me that he had
wished to keep me by him for the purposes of “akhbar” (information, or
news), but that the other Emirs had insisted upon my being killed at
once, or sent to the Khaleefa with the supposed “firman” appointing me
“The Pasha of the Western Soudan,” to be dealt with by the Khaleefa
at Omdurman. Nejoumi said he had written asking that I should be sent
back to him. He put to me many |65| questions about the Government,
the fortifications of Cairo and Alexandria, Assouan, Korosko and Wadi
Halfa, and in particular he was anxious to know all about the British
army and “Ingleterra.” The advance up the Nile for the relief of Gordon
had evidently given him a very poor opinion of our means of transport,
at least as regards rapidity of movement, for when I told him of the
distance between Alexandria and England, and assured him that steamers
could bring in a large army in a week’s time, he smiled and said, “I am
not a child, to tell me a tale like that.” He may or may not have gone
to his grave believing that I was romancing, when I described to him
what an ocean-going steamer was like, and did my best to give him some
idea of the proportions of a Nile Dahabieh compared with an ocean-going
steamer and a man-of-war.
[Illustration: SHEIKH ED DIN’S EUNUCH IN HIS MASTER’S MARRIAGE-JIBBEH.]
I left him firmly impressed with the idea, and this impression was only
intensified months later when a number of his chief men were ordered
back to Omdurman and thrown into prison with me, that had Nejoumi had
any one in whom he could repose his confidence and absolute trust in
such a delicate matter, he would have sent in his submission to the
Government, and laying hands upon the Emirs sent by the Khaleefa to spy
upon him—for he was then under suspicion—would have led his army as
“friendlies” to Wadi Halfa, and have asked assistance to enable him to
turn the tables on the Khaleefa. What further leads me to make such a
bold assertion or statement is that the Emirs, or chief men, referred
to already as having |66| been thrown into prison with me at Omdurman,
gave me, as their fellow-captive, first their sympathy, and then their
complete confidence. I learned from them the fate of those of Saleh’s
caravan whom I had left alive at Dongola. They had, they told me, been
executed in batches of varying numbers at intervals of some days, Elias
my clerk being the last to be executed, and he not being executed until
about two months after my departure from Dongola. Nejoumi, for reasons
which will be at once seen, kept him alive to the last, and then
doubtless only gave the order for his execution when, despairing of my
being sent back to him, he gave way to the importunities of the other
Emirs anxious to see the last of Saleh’s people executed.
From what they confided to me, there could not be the slightest doubt
that a conviction of the imposture of the Mahdi’s successor was growing
and spreading amongst the Mahdists; but the system of espionage
instituted by the Khaleefa nipped in the bud any outward show of it.
There can be also no doubt that these confidants of Nejoumi had, in
some way, compromised themselves when speaking in the presence of some
of the Khaleefa’s agents, and that Nejoumi himself had only not been
ordered back with them because of his popularity and the Khaleefa’s
fear and jealousy of him. There was no one whom Nejoumi, or, for the
matter of that, any one—not even excepting the Khaleefa himself, might
implicitly trust in the Soudan. The man to whom you gave your innermost
confidences might be friend or foe, and as all changed face as rapidly
and constantly as |67| circumstances dictated, it would be safe to say
that no one in the Soudan for a single moment trusted any one else.
Whatever Nejoumi’s convictions may have been in the earlier days of the
Mahdist movement, it is certain that they underwent a great change.
Indeed, his advance against the Egyptian Army at Toski, when he was
killed, was, as I was told by some of his people imprisoned with me
after their return, only undertaken when he was goaded to it by the
reproaches of the Khaleefa, accusing him of cowardice and treachery,
accompanied with threats of recalling him to Omdurman—and Nejoumi knew
well what this implied.
In the last chapter I remarked that I would later offer some surmises
as to the reason why my guide Amin was the first to be executed at
Dongola, and it would be well to insert them here, while speaking of
my fellow-prisoners from Nejoumi’s army. Though they could not be
positive on the point, they were certain that Amin’s two or three
passages-at-arms with the guide Hassan had been related to the
assembled Emirs at Dongola immediately after our arrival, and Amin
was in consequence ordered to be at once executed. I expressed my
suspicions as to the actual death of Hassan at El Kab, and in face of
what I was told, I cannot help but believe that his falling from the
camel was an arranged affair, and that he came with the caravan to
Dongola, and gave evidence against Amin. Following up this suspicion or
supposition, it is very probable that he originated the “cock-and-bull”
story related to the military authorities, |68| detailing the supposed
incidents of the capture of Saleh’s caravan and myself. It will not
have been forgotten that the published official and semi-official
records report my capture at two different places a hundred and fifty
miles apart, or, in other words, a minimum of five days’ journey, and
at different dates,—in one instance announcing my arrival at Omdurman
as a captive one month before the caravan which I was supposed to have
betrayed—or been the cause of the capture of through “imprudence”—had
even started from Wadi Halfa.
In the early morning of April 28, I and Hasseena were taken outside
the town to where the guards and camels were awaiting us, and setting
off on our journey, travelled through Hannak, Debbeh, Abou Gussi, and
Ambukol. The incidents connected with our appearance at these places
are not of sufficient interest to warrant my detaining my readers with
them. From Ambukol we struck into the desert, making for the Nile at
Gebel Roiyan, enduring the inevitable discomforts and privations of
such a journey. On arrival at the village near Gebel Roiyan, we took
possession of what we believed to be a deserted house, and, after
taking a little food, lay down to sleep. During the night a wretched
old woman crept into my room, and commenced that peculiar wailing
known to those who have been in the East. She was, she said, “El umm
Khashm-el-Mus” (the mother of Khashm-el-Mus—but the expression may be
taken to imply merely that she was one of Khashm-el-Mus’s family or
relatives), whom Gordon had sent with gunboats to Metemmeh to |69|
accompany Sir Charles Wilson on his voyage to Khartoum. Her sons,
the whole of her family (or tribe), had been killed by the Khaleefa’s
order, and, as far as she knew, she was the only one left. Taking no
notice of my guards, who had come in, attracted by the wailing and
talking, she cursed the Mahdi, and every thing and every one connected
with him. The wailings of the poor creature, her pinched, sunken
cheeks, her glistening eyes, her skinny, hooked fingers, her vehement
curses on the Mahdi and Khaleefa, and the faint glow from the charcoal
embers which only served to outline the form of the old woman as some
horrid spectre as she stood up and prophesied my death, completely
unnerved me. If there was one night in my life upon which I required a
few hours’ rest it was on this—the last, as I knew, before my entering
Omdurman. But no sleep came to my eyes that night. Soon after the woman
left, a sound of dull thuds, a shriek, a moan, and then silence told
its own tale. She had been battered to death with curses on the Mahdi
on her lips.
The night was one long, horrible, wakening nightmare, but all was real
and not a fantasy of the brain. How I longed for the dawn! and how
impatiently I waited for it! For the first time I had fears for my
reason. The sensation I felt was as if a cord had been slipped round
my brain, and was gradually but surely tightening. But enough of this;
it is not necessary to interlard my experiences with painful mental
sensations, real as they were.
It was with some little difficulty that I shuffled my |70| way to the
camels next morning, to mount and get away on our last stage of the
journey to Omdurman. We reached the town at noon, on Thursday, May
5, and passed in almost unnoticed until we reached the market-place,
when the news having spread like wildfire, we were soon surrounded
by thousands of people, and it was with the greatest difficulty we
fought our way to the open praying-ground adjoining the burial-place
of the Mahdi. (The tomb had not then been built.) Here I was placed in
the shade of the rukooba. (The rukooba is a light structure of poles
supporting a roof of matting and palm branches, in the shade of which
the people rest during the heat of the day.) Two of my guards went
off to deliver Wad Nejoumi’s despatches to the Khaleefa, and also to
announce my arrival.
Shortly afterwards, Nur Angara, Slatin, Mohammad Taher, and the chief
Kadi, with others, came to question me. Slatin addressed a few words
to me in English, but not understanding him, I asked him to speak in
German, upon which he said in an undertone, “Be polite; tell them
you have come to join the Mahdieh in order to embrace the Mahdi’s
religion; do not address me.” Nur Angara, who put the majority of the
questions, asked, “Why have you come to Omdurman?” I hesitated a little
before replying, but did not hesitate long enough to allow my European
blood to cool sufficiently to reply “politely” to the imperious black
confronting me. I told him, “Because I could not help myself; when I
left Wadi Halfa it was to go and trade and not fight, |71| but your
people have taken me prisoner, and sent me here; why do you ask me that
question?” Slatin at this moved behind the other Emirs, and I believe
made some attempt to make me understand that I should speak differently
to them. My helplessness was galling to me; there was not a man there
whom, pulled down as I was, I could not with sheer strength have
crushed the life out of.
I was questioned about the number of troops at Wadi Halfa and Cairo,
the fortifications, etc., but neither places would have recognized the
fortresses I invented for the occasion, and the numbers of troops with
which I invested them. When told that news had been received from Wad
Nejoumi that the British troops were leaving, I admitted the truth of
this, but said that they could all be brought back to Wadi Halfa in
four days. All the questions, or nearly all, were in connection with
the army and the movement of the troops, and this will be understood
when it is remembered that, by some, I was believed to be “Pasha,” and
all Pashas in the Soudan were military leaders.
I have been shown a statement to the effect that my readiness to
talk “made a bad impression,” but this remark was not, at the time
of writing, sufficiently explanatory—and yet it may have been. Other
captives had grovelled at the feet of their captors; I did not, hence
probably the “bad impression” created; and while the world may blame
me for being so injudicious as to treat my powerful captors with such
scant courtesy, it can hardly be expected that I, even had I not passed
|72| six years in close connection with the British Army on the field
of battle, and in times of comparative peace, should in a moment
forget and lose my manhood, and cover with servile kisses the hands
of a savage black—and one of the murderers of Gordon to boot. I thank
God, now that I am restored to “life,” that my first appearance as the
Khaleefa’s captive “made a bad impression,” for even in this I choose
to accept an evidence that I was not what I have in some instances been
represented as being.
On the Emirs and others leaving me, some dervishes advanced, stripped
me of the jibbeh and clothes given me by Nejoumi, replacing them with
a soldier’s old jersey and cotton drawers. My feet were next fettered,
and a ring, with a long heavy chain attached, was fastened round my
neck. During that evening—indeed, during the whole night, crowds came
to look at me, while the ombeyeh (war-trumpet made from a hollowed
tusk) was sounded the whole night through. A woman, a sort of Mahdist
amazon, walked and danced up and down in front of me, singing and
gesticulating, but I could not catch the full meaning of her words.
Noticing Hasseena sobbing violently a few yards away, I called to her,
and asked what was the matter with her. She told me that the ombeyeh
was calling up the followers of the prophet to come and witness my
execution, and that the woman, in her rude rhyme, was describing my
death agonies, and my subsequent tortures in hell as an unbeliever. One
of my guards told me that what Hasseena had related was true, and I had
curiosity enough to ask him the |73| details of an execution; these
having been described to me, I refused food and drink. I was determined
to deprive the fanatics of one looked-for element connected with my
execution—but I may not enter into details.
At dawn the following morning, a dervish came to me, and crossing my
right hand over the left at the wrists, palms downward, proceeded to
bind them together with a rope made of palm fibre. When the ropes had,
with a bit of wood used as a tourniquet, been drawn well into the
flesh, water was poured over them. The agony as the ropes swelled was
excruciating; they “bit” into the flesh, and even now I cannot look at
the scars on my hands without a shudder, and almost experiencing again
the same sensations as those of twelve years ago.
With the perspiration rolling off me with the pain I was enduring,
and no longer able to conceal that I was suffering, I was led forth
to be the sport of the rabble. Made to stand up in the open space,
bareheaded, with thousands around me, I believed the moment for my
decapitation had come, and muttering a short prayer, I knelt down and
bent my head, but was at once pulled to my feet again; the populace
wanted their sport out of me first. Dervishes rushed at me prodding
with spears and swords, and while this was going on, two men, one on
each side of me, with the mouths of their ombeyehs placed against my
ears, blew their loudest blasts. One powerful man in particular, with
a large spear, gave me the idea that it was he who had been told to
give the final |74| thrust, and when he had made a number of feints,
I tried in successive ones to meet the thrust. One of the men guarding
me, taking the chain attached to the ring round my neck, pulled me back
each time, much to the delight of the assembled people.
The ropes with which I was bound had now done their work; the swollen
skin gave way, and the horrible tension was removed as the ropes
sank into the flesh. If I had exhibited any feeling of pain before,
I was now as indifferent to it as I was to the multitude around me.
A messenger of the Khaleefa, Ali Gulla, asked me, “Have you heard
the ombeyehs?”—a bit of the Khaleefa’s supposed pleasantry, when it
was by his orders that the mouths of the instruments had been placed
against my ears. On nodding my reply, Gulla continued, “The Khaleefa
has sent me to tell you that he has decided to behead you,” to which I
replied, “Go back to your Khaleefa, and tell him that neither he nor
fifty Khaleefas may so much as remove a hair from my head without God’s
permission. If God’s will it is, then my head shall be cut off, but it
will not be because the Khaleefa wills it.” He went to the Khaleefa
with this message, and returned saying, “The Khaleefa has changed his
mind; your head is not to be cut off; you are to be crucified as was
your prophet Aisse en Nebbi” (Jesus the Prophet); after saying which,
he told my guards to take me back to the rukooba while preparations
were made.
By this time, what with the fatigue and privations on the journey,
my head almost splitting as the result of the ombeyeh’s blasts, the
agony caused by the |75| ropes binding my wrists, and the torture of
scores of small irritating and stinging flies attacking the raw flesh
of my hands, and the sun beating down on my bare head, I was about to
faint. An hour later, I was ordered off to the place of crucifixion;
being heavily chained, I was unable to walk, so had to be placed upon a
donkey, on which I was held up by two men. On coming to a halt, instead
of the crucifix I had expected, I found a set of gallows. I was lifted
from the donkey and placed close to the “angareeb,” with the noose
dangling just over my head. Pain and faintness at once left me. A few
minutes more would end all, and I had made up my mind that that horde
should respect me even in my death. I tried to mount the angareeb, but
my chains prevented me. A tall black (the chief Kadi of the Khaleefa),
placing his hand on my arm, said, “The Khaleefa is gratified at your
courage, and, to show this, offers you the choice of the manner of your
death.” I replied, “Go back to your Khaleefa, and tell him that he may
please himself as to what form my death comes in, only if he wishes to
do me a favour, be quick about it; the sun burns my brain.” To which
the Kadi replied, “You will be dead in a few minutes; what will you die
as, as a Muslim or a Kaffir?” I was growing desperate, and answered at
the top of my voice, “Ed Deen mush hiddm terrayer nahaarda ou Bookra”
(Religion is not a dress to be put on to-day and thrown off to-morrow).
My reply, and the manner in which I gave it, I was gratified to see,
made him angry. While we were still talking, a man on horseback
made his way through |76| the crowd to us, and spoke to the Kadi,
who, turning to me, said, “Be happy, there is no death for you; the
Khaleefa, in his great mercy, has pardoned you.” To which I asked,
“Why? Have I asked for his pardon?” for I did not believe for a moment
that such was actually the case. I was at once bundled on to the
donkey, however, and taken back to the rukooba. Some one had reported
to the Khaleefa about the state of my hands, and a man was sent at
once with orders to have the ropes removed. Food in abundance was sent
me, but this I gave to the ombeyeh men who had escorted me back to the
rukooba, and I could even then smile at one of the men who complained
that he could not enjoy the food, as his lips—great thick black ones
they were, too—were as raw with blowing the ombeyeh all night as my
hands were with the ropes.
[Illustration: WRITING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.]
On the following day I was taken before the Kadis, with whom was the
Khaleefa and Slatin. I was asked, “Why have you come to Omdurman?” to
which I gave the same reply as I had given to Nur Angara. The letter
of General Stephenson was exhibited to me, and I was asked, “Is this
your firman?” to which I replied that it was no firman, but a letter
from a friend about business, and that it had nothing to do with the
Government. Slatin was told to translate it, but, fortunately, did not
translate it all. On his being asked his opinion of me, he told the
Khaleefa that from the papers found in my wallet, I appeared to be a
German and not an Englishman, but that I had the permission of the
English Government |77| to go to Kordofan on merchant’s business.
He also said that Sheikh Saleh’s name was mentioned, but only in
connection with business of no consequence. I was then asked if I
wished to send any message to my family. Naturally I did, and pen and
paper being given me, I commenced a letter in German to my manager at
Assouan; but, after a few lines had been written, the Khaleefa said the
letter had better be written in Arabic. The letter, when finished, was
handed to me to sign; but, not knowing the contents, I scrawled under
the signature, as a flourish, “All lies,” or something to this effect.
The letter was sent down by one of the Khaleefa’s spies, and was
delivered to the Commandant at Assouan. The word “Railway” appearing
as part of the address, it was sent to Mankarious Effendi, the
stationmaster, who, after taking a copy of it for reference, returned
it to the commandant, with the address of my manager. Mankarious
Effendi, having heard of my recent arrival in Cairo, has come to me
with the original copy of the letter taken in June, 1887. The following
is a literal translation of it:―
“In the name of the most merciful God, and prayers be unto our Lord
Mohammad and his submissive adherents.
“From the servant of his lord Abdallah el Muslimani the Prussian whose
former name was Charles Neufeld, to my manager Möller the Prussian in
the Railway Assouan.
“I inform you that after departing from you I have come to the Soudan
with the men of Saleh Fadlallah Salem el Kabbashi, who were carrying
with them the arms and ammunition and other articles sent to Saleh by
the Government.
“On our march from Wadi Halfa, notwithstanding our |78| precautions
and care for the things in our charge, we arrived at the so-called
Selima Wells, where we took sufficient water, and proceeded on our
journey. Suddenly we were met by _six_ of the adherents in the
desert; they attacked us, and we fought against them. Our number was
fifty-five men. At the same time, a number of men from Abdel Rahman
Nejoumi came up; they reinforced the six men and fought us, and in the
space of half an hour we were subdued by them. Some were killed, and
the rest were captured with all the baggage we had. Myself, my servant
Elias and my maidservant Hasseena were among the captives. All of us
were taken to Abdel Rahman Nejoumi at Ordeh, and by him sent to the
Khalifat el Mahdi, peace be unto him, at Omdurman. On our arrival at
Omdurman, we were taken to his presence, where we were found guilty
and sentenced to immediate death; but the Khalifat el Mahdi, peace be
unto him, had mercy upon us, and proposed unto us to take the true
religion, and we accepted El Islam, and pronounced the two creeds in
his presence: ‘I testify (bear witness) that there is none but God,
and Mohammad is his prophet’; and then, ‘I believe in God and his
Prophet Mohammad, upon whom God has prayed and greeted; and in the
Mahdi, praise, peace be upon him and upon his Khaleefa.’ I further
requested the Mahdi to grant me the ‘bai'a’ (oath of allegiance) which
he was pleased to grant me, and thereupon shook hands with me. He then
named me Abdallah, after embracing the true religion. Therefore I was
pardoned by the Khalifat-el-Mahdi from the execution which I have
deserved. He pardoned me because he is gracious, and for the sake of
the religion of Mohammad which I now adhere to. So I thought it well
to inform you all about these events, and I inform you further that
Dufa'allah Hogal, although he deceived me, I cannot sufficiently thank
him, because his deceiving me has resulted in the great mercy and good
which has come to me. Saleh Fadlallah Salem is deserting and hiding in
the desert, for fear of his life. All that I have informed you is pure
truth. I am still living, thanks be to God for this and my health.
17th Shaaban, 1304 (May 10, 1887).”
It is only now, November 25, 1898, that Mankarious has placed me in
possession of the real details. My manager, who when he returned to
Egypt a few |79| weeks ago, on hearing of my release, denied ever
having received any communication from me, on August 6, 1887, addressed
a letter to my father, written on my own business paper, saying that he
had received the above letter, had had it translated, and communicated
to the _Egyptian Gazette_, which paper published the letter in its
issue of August.
Slatin I saw but once again during my long captivity, and then it was
only in the distance on one occasion when he called at the prison to
give some orders to the head-gaoler. The Khaleefa I saw twice again, on
occasions to be referred to later.
After signing the letter, I was taken back to the rukooba, where, about
sunset, a man carrying a long chain came to me and said he had orders
to remove my fetters. Passing the chain through one of the anklets and
round one of the posts, he took a short pole, and used this as a lever
to force the anklets open. Whilst still engaged in removing the chains,
the chief Kadi came in, and ordered the anklets to be hammered back
again, and the ends cold welded.
I remained in the rukooba for the night, and the following morning was
placed upon a donkey and taken to the prison. I was told that, to save
my life, Slatin had suggested this course being taken, using as an
argument that I could there be converted to the Mohammedan religion,
and devote all my time to my instructors.
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