THROWN INTO PRISON
On entering the prison I found myself in the company of about a hundred
poor wretches, Soudanese and Egyptians, and all chained. I was taken
at once to an anvil sunk in the ground until the striking surface was
almost level with it; first one foot and then the other had to be
placed on the anvil, while more anklets with chains connected, were
fitted to me. I had now three sets of shackles, and another ring and
chain was fastened to my neck. During my twelve years in chains, and
amongst the hundreds who came directly under my observation, I never
saw, as has been illustrated in some papers, any prisoner with chains
from the neck connected with the wrists or ankles. All prisoners were
shackled in the manner as shown in my photograph; the chain from the
neck was allowed to hang loose over the shoulder.
The shackling completed, I was taken to a room measuring about thirty
feet each way, but having a pillar about four feet wide to support the
roof, thus reducing the actual space to about twenty-six feet between
each face of the pillar and the walls. I was |81| assigned a place at
the wall furthest from the door, and between two men—in chains—dying
of small-pox. There were about thirty other prisoners in the room,
some lying down ill, to whom not the slightest attention had been paid
for days, as sickening visible evidences proved. Near the roof were a
few small apertures presumably for ventilation, but the only air which
could come into the place was through the doorway when it was opened.
The stench in the room was sickening—overpowering. I had little hopes
of surviving more than a few days in such a hole, and must have swooned
off soon after entering, for I remember little or nothing until roused
after the sun had set, when in the dim light I could see what appeared
to be an endless stream of prisoners coming through the door, and no
sooner was the door closed when a terrific din and uproar ensued.
Mingled with the clanking of chains, the groans of the sick, the moans
of the dying, and their half-uttered prayers to Allah to relieve them
of their sufferings, were the most fearful imprecations and curses as
the prisoners fought and struggled for a place near the walls or the
pillar, against which they could rest their backs; no sleep was to be
had; this had to be snatched during the day, when allowed out into the
zareeba. It is out of the question to try to describe my first night;
it is a confused horrible dream to me.
On the opening of the cell door next morning, I swooned again, and was
carried into the open air to come round, and I had no sooner partially
done so, when I was carried back, in order, as I was told, “to |82|
get accustomed to the place.” My first three days passed in fever
and delirium; my legs were swelling with the weight of the chains and
anklets; my earliest clear recollection was on what I knew later to be
the fourth day, when an Egyptian, Hassan Gammal, was sent to attend
to me. Later on, the same day, my servant Hasseena was sent to me to
prepare food and bathe my legs. Until now I had eaten nothing, and I
have no recollection of even taking a drink of water. Hasseena, on my
being sent into prison, had been sent into the Khaleefa’s hareem; but,
on her telling the women and eunuchs that she was with child, she was
promptly turned out. The money I had brought with me, and which had
been taken from me on my arrival, and sent to the Beit-el-Mal, was
given to Hasseena with which to purchase my food. On her entering the
prison enclosure, Idris-es-Saier, the head-gaoler, relieved her of the
money, saying he would take care of it, and shackling her with a light
chain, sent her into his hareem.
I now received permission to sit outside during the day, and also to
converse with the other prisoners. On my first entering the prison I
had been warned, under threats of the lash, not to speak to any one,
and the other prisoners, under the same threat, had been warned not to
speak to me. They, as may be guessed, were most anxious to talk to me,
and get some news from the outer world, but they were most guarded in
their inquiries. There were many prisoners in the place, who, to curry
favour with the gaoler or the Khaleefa, would have reported anything
|83| in the way of a complaint against their treatment—a wish on the
part of any one to escape, or an expressed hope that the Government
would soon send troops to release us. Knowing that the Government had,
for the time being, abandoned all thoughts of re-conquering the Soudan,
I told my fellow-captives, when they spoke to me about a probable
advance of the combined armies, that they must have patience until
the hot weather passed. Had I told them what I knew, their despair
could not have been concealed, and the truth would soon have reached
the Khaleefa’s ears. A number of the prisoners were old soldiers of
the Egyptian army, who had been taken at the fall of Khartoum and
elsewhere, and they waited day after day, week after week, and year
after year, still hoping that the Government for whom they had fought
would send troops to release them; but, with the greater number,
their release came only with death—at the gallows, at the Khaleefa’s
shambles, or by disease and starvation.
Imprisoned at one time with me was Mahmoud Wad Said, the Sheikh of the
Dabaanieh tribe, who for years had kept the Abyssinians in check on the
Egyptian frontier in the Eastern Soudan. At one time he was powerful,
rich in cattle, slaves, and lands, but had been taken prisoner early
in the Mahdist movement. When he had been imprisoned about three years
and four months, he became paralyzed, and his release was ordered by
the Khaleefa, who had so far relented as to allow of his dying with
his family, then at Omdurman, patiently waiting for |84| his promised
release. By their careful nursing and attention, the old man recovered,
only, when the Khaleefa heard of it, to be thrown into prison again,
where he passed another thirteen months, at the end of which time
he was once more released, on condition that he would collect the
remnants of his tribe, and attack his old enemies the Abyssinians, whom
the Khaleefa was then fighting with. A few months later I heard that
Mahmoud was dead, one report saying that he had died of a broken heart,
and the other that he had been “removed” by order of the Khaleefa, for
failing to bring together again a tribe, which the Khaleefa himself had
almost exterminated.
Another of my companions in adversity was Ajjab Abou Jinn, of the
Hammadah tribe; he fought with the Government troops at Sennar, and,
when defeated by the dervishes, he retired to his country with his
men until, on the fall of Sennar, he was attacked and defeated, his
property confiscated, and he taken prisoner to Omdurman, his wife being
sent into the Khaleefa’s hareem. After spending four years in prison,
he was considered sufficiently “educated,” and released, and in a few
months was allowed to return to his own country, when he set about
making preparations to attack the dervishes, and tried all means to
get into communication with the Government. Many of his people came to
see me in prison, in the hopes of learning news from me of a forward
movement.
[Illustration: Shereef. Zeigheir. Zeigheir’s father.
A GROUP OF PRISONERS.]
The three sons of Awad el Kerim, Pasha of the Shukrieh tribe, were also
in prison with me; their |85| father had died in prison shortly
before my arrival. After keeping the three brothers—Abdalla, Mohammad,
and Ali—for nineteen months, the Khaleefa promised to release them
on condition that their tribe came to Omdurman and tendered their
submission, which they did; but, coming unprovided with food, the
tribe in the four or five months they were kept waiting at Omdurman,
was decimated by disease and starvation, and then, and then only, the
Khaleefa kept his promise, and released their chiefs.
A man whom I almost struck up a real friendship with, was Sheikh
Hamad-el-Nil, a well-known religious teacher from the Blue Nile. Having
great influence over a large number of people, the Khaleefa, fearing he
might obtain a following, ordered him to Omdurman. Here a difficulty
arose as to what charge could be brought against him in order to
condemn him to imprisonment. Sheikh Hamad had taken neither one side
nor the other—Government nor Mahdieh, and had devoted his whole time
to a strict preaching of the Quoran, as he had done for years. No Kadi
dare condemn him on any charge made, suborn “witnesses” as the Khaleefa
would. But the Khaleefa was determined to effect his condemnation
by some means, more especially as Sheikh Hamad was rich, and the
Beit-el-Mal was short of funds. Men were sent to the Sheikh’s house
with orders to conceal some tobacco in the ground—others were sent to
discover it, and tobacco being forbidden by the Mahdi, Sheikh Hamad, in
spite of all protestations, was sentenced by the Kadi to imprisonment
and the |86| confiscation of his property. His health broke down after
about eighteen months’ privations, and he was released; but recovering
as did Mahmoud, he was again imprisoned, and died a few weeks later.
Of all those in the prison, Sheikh Hamad was the only one who dared
say openly to those whom he trusted that both Mahdi and Khaleefa were
impostors. Two of my first four years were spent mainly with the
Sheikh learning to read and write Arabic, discussing the tenets of the
Christian and Mohammedan religions, and telling him of our social life
and customs in Europe.
There was one arrival at the prison which I was rather pleased to
see—Ahmed Abd-el-Maajid, of Berber, a great supporter of the Mahdi and
Khaleefa, and one of the bitterest enemies of Christians and Europeans.
He was, for the Soudan, well educated, and he was also rich, and had
much influence, but his vanity got the better of him. He gave evidence
of his wealth in the richness of his dress and luxurious living, and
this had been reported to the Khaleefa, but as yet Maajid had not
accepted any of the Khaleefa’s pressing invitations to pay him a visit
to Omdurman. Maajid made up his mind to marry another wife—a young
and pretty one; preparations for the marriage ceremonies, and the
feastings which accompany it, were made on a large and lavish scale.
The Mahdi had fixed ten dollars as the sum to be paid to the parents of
the virgin upon her marriage; but Maajid paid one thousand, and this
scouting of the Mahdi’s orders coming to the ears of the Khaleefa,
he sent off a party to Berber with instructions to bring Maajid and
his bride back with |87| them. This party arrived at Berber while
the festivities were still going on, and Maajid could not refuse the
Khaleefa’s invitation this time. When he arrived at Omdurman, he was,
with his bride, who was reputed to be the most beautiful woman ever
seen in the Soudan, hurried before the Khaleefa and the Kadi. The
latter, having his brief ready, accused Maajid of having broken the
rules as laid down by the Mahdi, and also of having detained moneys
which should have been sent to the Beit-el-Mal, as was proved by his
having so much money when the coffers of the Beit-el-Mal were empty.
His property was confiscated and sent to the Beit-el-Mal; his bride was
taken possession of by the Khaleefa, and Maajid himself sent to prison,
where he spent six months, mainly occupied in cursing the face of his
bride, as it was this that had brought him to grief. At the end of the
six months, he was released and sent back to Berber “educated,” with a
strong recommendation from the Khaleefa not to be so ostentatious with
his wealth in future. The Khaleefa kept Maajid’s money—and also his
bride. It was this same Maajid, who, after Slatin’s escape, ferreted
out the people in Berber who had assisted Slatin’s guides, and had them
sent to the White Nile, where those who did not die on the journey
there died later.
Those I have mentioned above were what I might call the better class
of prisoners, with whom I mainly associated during my first two years
in prison; the remainder were slaves, thieves, ordinary criminals,
debtors, murderers, etc.
When I had recovered a little from my fever, I |88| was placed upon
a camel, and paraded past the huts, rukoobas, and zareebas, which at
that time constituted the town of Omdurman. A number of Hadendowas had
come in to tender their submission to the Khaleefa; and he had seized
the occasion to exhibit me to the “faithful” as the great Pasha sent
to conquer from him the Western Soudan, and to impress the Hadendowas.
A halt was made at the hut of the Emir Said Mohammad Taher, a relative
of the Mahdi, who, after relating his version of the death of Hicks
Pasha, and the destruction of his army, both of which events had,
according to him, been brought about through the agency of angels sent
by the Prophet for the purpose, gave me a long lecture on Mahdieh,
at the end of which he asked me my opinion of it. I told him that if
he wished for a few lessons himself on religion, and as to how the
God I prayed to dealt with His faithful, and the means His teachers
in Europe employed for converting people and making them religious,
I should be pleased to give him a few. The reply angered him, and
another batch of prisoners were, by his orders, told off to lecture
me the whole day long on Mahdieh. While quite ready to talk to them
about the Mohammedan religion as propounded in the Quoran, I would not
believe in the mission of the Mahdi or his new religion. When Taher
asked what progress I had made in my “education,” he was told that I
would make none in Mahdieh, but was ready to become a Mohammedan. I
knew perfectly well what an out-and-out acceptance of Mahdieh meant—my
release, but only to be put in charge of some troops, and, as I had
|89| fought with the British against the Mahdists, I had no wish to be
caught in the dervish ranks, fighting against them, or be found dead on
the field, after the fight, in the garb of a dervish, and pierced by a
British bullet.
Taher was not pleased, and reported my insubordination to the
Khaleefa. It was probably on my fifteenth day that, accompanied by
the Hadendowas, who had come in to make their submission, I was taken
by steamer to Khartoum, in order that I might be “impressed” with the
power of the Khaleefa and the truth of Mahdieh. We were first taken to
Gordon’s old palace, where Khaleel Hassanein, acting as the Mahdist
governor of the town, and at the same time director of the arsenal,
received us, and gave us food. We were taken through the rooms, then
dismantled, and shown at the head of the stairs what we were told were
the bloodstains of Gordon. After this, we were placed on donkeys, and
taken round the fortifications, while our “instructors” in Mahdieh,
pointing to the skeletons and dried bodies lying about, gave us word
pictures in advance of how the fortifications of Wadi Halfa and Cairo
would look after the Khaleefa, assisted by the angels, had attacked
them. It was a melancholy journey for me; and I am not ashamed to say
that as my thoughts flew back to that day at Kirbekan, when, full of
hopes, we pictured to ourselves the rescue of Gordon, fortifications
and skeletons grew dimmed and blurred, and finally were lost to view,
as a hot tear fell upon the back of my hand.
Taken back to prison, I became worse; the weight of the chains and
anklets dragging on me as I rode, |90| and the chafing of the skin,
set up an irritation, and the filth and dirt of the prison soon
contributed to the formation of large ulcers. It was while lying down
in the shade one morning, unable to move, at the time of the great
Bairam feast, that two camel men rode into the prison enclosure, and,
making one of the camels kneel down near me, ordered me at once to
mount, as the Khaleefa had sent for me. The other prisoners crowded
round and bade me good-bye, Mahmoud Wad Said telling me to pull myself
together, and to act as I did “when they tried to burst your head with
the ombeyehs.” There was a grand parade of the troops that day, and no
one but believed that I was to be executed in front of them.
The two men could tell us nothing but that the Khaleefa had sent for
me, and, living or dead, they were bound to take me. I was lifted on
to the camel, and taken off to the parade-ground outside the town.
The long, swinging stride of the camel communicated its motions to my
chains, and by the time I reached the Khaleefa, I was in a fainting
condition, with the ulcers broken, and their contents streaming down
the flank of the camel. The Khaleefa, noticing this, asked one of the
Emirs what had happened; although close to him, he would not address
a word directly to me, though I could hear what he said, and he could
hear my reply. When he heard the reason, he gave orders that the chains
were to be removed that night, and a lighter set fitted. The Khaleefa
was surrounded by his Emirs and bodyguard, and ranged on the plain
in front of us was his |91| great army of horse and camel men, and
foot-soldiers. I should have been marched past the whole army, but
before reaching the horsemen, the Khaleefa said to the Emir Ali Wad
Saad, “Tell Abdalla (myself) that he has only seen a quarter of the
army, and let him be brought for the parade to-morrow.”
The prisoners were astonished to see me return alive that evening, and
still more astonished at the orders given to Idris-es-Saier to remove
my chains at once, and put on a lighter set. For once, the Khaleefa’s
orders could not be carried out; the legs having swollen so much,
the anklets almost buried in flesh, could not be brought near enough
to the face of the anvil to allow of their being struck at, and the
following day I again attended parade in pretty much the same state
of collapse as the first. The Khaleefa was furious at this; he had no
wish to parade before his troops, as an evidence of his power, a man
who had to be held up on his camel. My gaoler was sent to, and asked
why he had disobeyed orders. He gave as reasons, first, that he had no
lighter chains, and secondly, that my legs were so swollen that he was
unable to get at the anklets. The Khaleefa replied that they were to
be removed that night, and they were, but it was a terrible ordeal for
me. Before leaving the parade-ground, he sent to me Said Gumaa’s donkey
and Slatin’s horse, telling me that I might ride either of them back
to town, as their motion would be better for me than the camel, but I
elected to remain on the camel.
I had done my best to get near Slatin, to have a |92| few words with
him, but he was hardly for a moment near the Khaleefa’s side, galloping
from one part of the army to another with his orders. Ali Wad Saad,
on the part of the Khaleefa, asked me what I thought of the army; to
which I replied, “You have numbers, but not training”—a reply which
gave little satisfaction to the Khaleefa, who could overhear it without
having to wait for Saad to repeat it to him. This was the last time
upon which I saw the Khaleefa, but I live in hopes of seeing him once
again.
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