HOPE AND DESPAIR
While still a prisoner in the Saier, Mankarious Effendi, with Mohammad
Fargoun and Selim Aly, engaged a man of the Ababdeh, Mohammad Ajjab,
to make his way to Omdurman with a threefold object: he was to inquire
if I was still alive; if so, to pay me a hundred dollars, and then to
try and make arrangements for my escape. On arrival in Omdurman, Ajjab
met two of his own people—Mohammad and Karrar Beshir—who recommended
him, when he inquired about me, never to mention my name if he wished
to keep his head on his shoulders. They could only tell him that I
was still in prison, chained, and under sentence of death. Similar
information and the same recommendation were given to him by people
in the Muslimanieh quarter; but a Greek whom Ajjab knew only by his
Mahdieh name of Abdallah, said that he would arrange for a meeting
between him and my servant. Through Hasseena, Ajjab sent me word of
the object of his coming to Omdurman. As the Greek offered to become
my trustee, Ajjab handed him the hundred dollars, taking from him a
receipt, and sending |196| the receipt to me concealed in a piece of
bread, to be countersigned. Ajjab was to return to Assouan, let my
friends know how matters stood, and tell them that I would try and
communicate with them, if I ever got released from prison, as escape
from the prison was an impossibility. Ajjab returned to Assouan, and
handed over the receipt; but the tale he had to tell put an end, for
the time being, to any attempts to assist me further.
When Father Ohrwalder escaped, bringing with him the two sisters
and negress, Mankarious set about immediately to find some reliable
messenger willing to undertake the journey to Omdurman with a view
of ascertaining if my escape was at all possible. He argued that if
Father Ohrwalder could escape with three women as an encumbrance to
his flight, there was nothing, provided I was at liberty, to prevent
my escaping; but those who knew the Soudan—and it was only such he
might employ—argued that if the remainder of the captives were not
already killed, they would be found chained in the prison awaiting
their execution. Months slipped away before he could find any one to
undertake the journey, and then an old but wiry desert Arab, El Haj
Ahmad Abou Hawanein, came to terms with him. Hawanein was given two
camels, some money, and a quantity of goods to sell and barter on his
way up.
Some time in June or July, 1894, Abou Kees, a man employed in the
Mission gardens, came to me while I was working at the mounds of
Khartoum, and whispered that a man who had news for me was |197|
hiding in the gardens, and that I was to try and effect a meeting
with him. The man was Hawanein. Always suspicious of traps laid for me
by the Khaleefa, I asked the man what he wanted. He replied that he
had come from friends to help me. He had brought no letters, but by
questioning him my suspicions disappeared, and I was soon deep in the
discussion of plans for my escape. The camels he had brought with him
were, he said, not up to the work of a rapid flight, and he suggested
that he should return to Assouan, procure two good trotting camels, and
also the couple of revolvers I asked for, as it was more than likely I
should have to use them in getting clear of Khartoum.
Soon after Hawanein’s departure, the guide Abdallah, who brought away
Rossignoli, put in his appearance. Ahmed Wad-el-Feki, employed in
Marquet’s old garden, asked that I might be allowed to call and see
a sick man at his house. On reaching the place, Feki introduced me
to a young man, Abdallah, who, after a few words, asked me to meet
him the following day, when he would bring me a letter. I met my
“patient” again, when he handed me a bit of paper on which faint marks
were discernible; these, he said, would come out clear upon heating
the paper, and, as cauterization is one of the favourite remedies
in the Soudan, some live charcoal was procured without exciting any
suspicion. The words, which appeared, proved that the man was no spy,
but had really come from the Egyptian War Office; however, before we
had time to drop into a discussion of plans, some men employed in the
place |198| came near, and we had to adjourn to the following day,
when I was again to meet my “patient.” On this occasion we were left
undisturbed, and fully discussed and settled upon our plans.
To escape along the western bank of the Nile was not to be thought
of; this would necessitate our passing Omdurman, and to pass the town
unobserved was very improbable. Abdallah, having left his camels and
rifle at Berber, was to return there for them, and come up the eastern
bank of the Nile, along which we were to travel when I escaped. During
his absence I was to send Umm es Shole on weekly visits to her friends
at Halfeyeh; as she was to escape with us, this arrangement was made
for a twofold purpose. First, her visits would not excite suspicion at
the critical moment, as the people both at Halfeyeh and Khartoum would
have become accustomed to them; she was also to bring me the promised
revolver concealed in her clothes, and then return to Halfeyeh for
another visit. She and Abdallah would keep a watch on the banks of the
Blue Nile for me and assist me in landing. My escape would have to be
effected in my chains, and these, of course, would prevent my using my
legs in swimming. I was to trust for support to the pieces of light
wood on the banks, used by children and men when disporting themselves
in the Nile, and to the current and whatever help I might get with my
hands for landing on the opposite shore.
Abdallah went off, but never came back. I kept to our agreement for
months, for the plan formed with |199| Abdallah was similar to that
arranged with Hawanein. Besides this, Abdallah, in the event of not
being able to find revolvers at Berber, was to continue his journey to
the first military post, obtain them there, and exchange his camels for
fast-trotting ones, as those he had left at Berber were of a poor race.
In order to prove to any officer he met that he was really employed to
effect my escape, I gave him two letters couched in such words that,
should they fall into the hands of the Khaleefa or any of the Emirs,
their contents would be a sort of puzzle to them. Each day during those
months I looked forward eagerly to a sign from any one of the people
entrusted with my escape.
For various reasons I considered it advisable to interview Abdallah
after my release, and did so; but to make certain of his explanations,
I also arranged that others should question him on the subject of
Rossignoli’s flight and his reasons for not keeping his engagement with
me, and this is what he says.
On leaving Cairo, he was given a sort of double mission; he was
promised three hundred pounds if he brought me away safely, and a
hundred pounds if he brought away any of the other captives. Seeing the
difficulties to be encountered in effecting my escape, and appreciating
the risks, unless we had revolvers and swift camels, he decided upon
“working out the other plan,” as he expresses it, viz. the escape of
Rossignoli, as “he was at liberty and could go anywhere he pleased,”
whilst I was shackled and constantly under the eyes of my guards.
Instead of returning |200| for the camels, Abdallah arranged for
Rossignoli to escape on a donkey as far as Berber. When some distance
from Omdurman, Rossignoli got off his donkey, squatted on the ground,
and refused to budge, saying he was tired. Abdallah tried to persuade
him to continue the journey, but Rossignoli refused, said Abdallah
was only leading him to his death, and demanded to be taken back to
Omdurman. For a few moments Abdallah admits that he was startled and
frightened. To go back to Omdurman was madness and suicide for him; to
leave Rossignoli squatting in the desert made Cairo almost as dangerous
for him as Omdurman, for who would believe his tale there? He felt sure
he would be accused of having deserted the man, and there was also the
chance of Rossignoli being discovered by pursuers, when a hue and cry
would be set up for Abdallah.
One cannot help but admire Abdallah’s solution of the difficulty.
There was a tree growing close by; he selected from it a good thick
branch, and with this flogged Rossignoli either into his right senses
or into obedience to orders; then placing him on the camel behind him,
he made his way to Berber. Here Rossignoli, instead of keeping in
hiding, wandered into the town, was recognized by some people, and,
when spoken to, told them that Abdallah was leading him to Egypt, but
that he preferred to return to Omdurman. Fortunately native cupidity
saved Abdallah; he baksheeshed the people into a few hours of silence,
with great difficulty got his charge clear of the town, and with
still greater difficulty |201| hammered and “bullydamned” him into
Egypt and safety. This is Abdallah’s own tale. He assures me, and I
believe him, that it was his intention, as soon as he had handed over
Rossignoli safe, to have asked for the revolvers and started back to
try and effect my escape, risky as he knew it to be; but as Rossignoli
had betrayed his name in Berber, he knew well that the Khaleefa would
have men waiting for him from Omdurman to the frontier, and he showed
no better sense in flogging Rossignoli, than he showed in settling down
with his well-earned hundred pounds rather than attempting to make it
into four hundred by passing the frontier.
Rossignoli’s absence was not noticed for a little time, and
fortunately, for a donkey leaves better tracks to follow than a camel.
The Khaleefa was not particularly angry about the affair, although he
imprisoned for a day Mr. Cocorombo, the husband of Sister Grigolini,
the former superioress of Father Ohrwalder’s Mission, and Rossignoli’s
lay companion, Beppo; but the latter, after Slatin’s escape, became my
fellow-prisoner in the Saier.
One would be inclined to believe that either myself or some dramatist
had purposely invented the series of accidents, which cropped up to
frustrate every one of my plans for escape. On February 28, 1895,
without a word of warning, I was so heavily loaded with chains that
I was unable to move, and I was placed under a double guard in the
house of Shereef Hamadan, the Mahdist Governor of Khartoum. At first I
surmised that either Abdallah or Hawanein |202| had been suspected and
imprisoned, or had confessed, or that our plots had been divulged in
some way, so that it was with no little surprise I heard the questions
put to me concerning the escape of Slatin. I denied all knowledge of
the escape, or any arrangement connected with it. I pointed out that I
had not seen, spoken to, or heard of Slatin directly for eight years,
as my gaolers and guards could prove. It was from no sense of justice
to me, but to prove that he had not neglected his duty in keeping a
strict watch upon me, that Hamadan took my part in the inquiry. I might
have been again released, had Hawanein not put in his appearance a few
days after the escape of Slatin was discovered.
Slatin’s absence from his usual post had not been reported to the
Khaleefa until three days after his escape; he was supposed to be ill.
On the third day, Hajji Zobheir, the head of the Khaleefa’s bodyguard,
sent to his house to inquire about him. Not being satisfied with the
reply he received, he informed the Khaleefa, who ordered an immediate
search. A letter from Slatin to the Khaleefa was found sticking in the
muzzle of a rifle, and was taken to Abdullahi. After the usual string
of compliments and blessings, the letter continues―
“For ten years I have sat at your gate; your goodness and grace has
been great to me, but all men have a love of family and country; I
have gone to see them; but in going I still hold to the true religion.
I shall never betray your bread and salt, even should I die; I was
wrong to leave without your permission; every one, myself included,
acknowledges your great power and influence; forgive me; your desires
are mine; I shall never betray you, |203| whether I reach my
destination or die upon the road; forgive me; I am your kinsman and of
your religion; extend to me your clemency.[9]
[Illustration: SAID BEY GUMAA.]
[9] This letter was found on the fall of Omdurman, and came
into the hands of people who, probably on the ground of its
contents differing from those given by Slatin after his escape,
published it in such a manner as to lead people to believe
that the protestations of loyalty it contained were sincere.
In my opinion the letter should be looked upon as a clever
composition to humbug Abdullahi, so that, in the event of
Slatin being retaken, the protestation of loyalty would at
least save him from the hands of the Khaleefa’s mutilator or
executioner.
Abdullahi, on first realizing that Slatin had actually escaped, and had
had about three days’ start of any pursuers he might send after him,
was furious; losing his temper, he anathematized him in the presence
of the assembled Emirs, Kadis, and bodyguard. He reminded them that
when Slatin first tendered his submission, he had been received with
honours because he had openly professed the Mohammedan faith and had
been circumcised while still the “Turk” Governor-General of Darfur;
he reminded them also how Slatin had been allowed to bring into the
camp his household, bodyguard, and servants, and had been attached to
the Mahdi’s personal suite, of which he, Abdullahi, was chief; how,
with Zoghal, his former subordinate, he had been entrusted with the
subjugation of Said Gumaa, who had refused to surrender El Fasher
when ordered by him to do so; how he himself had treated him as his
son and his confidant, never taking any step without his advice and
guidance; but, suddenly pulling himself up, seeing the mistake he had
made in showing how much he had been dependent on him, he broke off
short to say what he would do to Slatin if he ever laid hands on him,
and promised a similar punishment to any one else who returned him
ingratitude for his favours. Reading |204| out aloud Slatin’s letter
to him, he calmed down on reaching the protestations of loyalty, and
ordered the letter to be read in the mosque and the different quarters
of Omdurman. Abdullahi has been considered as an ignorant brutal
savage, devoid of all mental acumen, and but little removed from the
brute creation. As I may be able to show later, such an expression of
opinion either carries a denial with it, or it is paying a very poor
compliment to those who, once governors of towns and provinces, or high
officials, should have bowed down, kissed hands, and so far prostrated
themselves as to kiss the feet of the representatives of this “ignorant
brute,” by whom for years they had been dominated. Since Abdullahi
respected me, as a man, by keeping me constantly in chains, I respect
him for the intellectual powers he displayed, and which apparently
paralyzed those of others who submitted to him.
Slatin, having given a good account of himself in his many fights,
was, after his submission, looked up to as the military genius of the
Mahdist army; he could not, as I did, play any pranks with the work
he was entrusted with; the map he had drawn of Egypt, showing the
principal towns and routes, and upon which the former telegraph-clerk,
Mohammad Sirri, had been instructed to write the Arabic names, had
given some the idea that no expedition might be planned without
the aid of Slatin and this map. Abdullahi’s object in having the
letter publicly read will be divined; first, it would assure the
dervishes themselves that there was no fear of |205| Slatin, after
his protestations of loyalty, returning at the head of the Government
troops to overthrow the rule of the Mahdi, and without help from the
exterior the wavering Mahdists could not hope to throw off the yoke
of Abdullahi. Moreover, the reading of the letter to the Christian
captives would confirm the opinion formed by many, that Slatin was at
heart with the present Soudan dynasty, and that they could not expect
any help as a result of his escape.
There is another incident, which must be here mentioned, to show
how acute Abdullahi really was. Slatin had publicly proclaimed his
conversion to Mahommedanism before his submission to the Mahdi, so
that, when he did submit, he was accepted as one of the faithful, and
treated as one of themselves. The remainder of the captives—those
taken before and after the fall of Khartoum—had not, up to the time
of the escape of Rossignoli, been actually accepted as Muslims. At
the suggestion of Youssef Mansour, on January 25, 1895, the Khaleefa
was gracious enough to take all into his fold as real converts to the
faith, and, on the anniversary of Gordon’s death, all the Muslimanieh
(Christians) were ordered to be circumcised, the only two people not
being operated upon being, I believe, Beppo, who was overlooked while
in prison, and an old Italian mason, who pleaded old age as an excuse
for not undergoing the operation. The Christian quarter was, therefore,
at the time of Slatin’s escape, considered as a Muslim community,
and the practical immunity they had |206| enjoyed from a rigorous
application of the Mahdieh laws was thereby put an end to.
Consequently, when Slatin escaped, leaving behind him such
protestations of loyalty, the safest card the Khaleefa could play
was to read to them his letter. The reading of it caused some little
consternation and comment, no doubt, but I have already expressed my
opinion as to the light in which this letter should be considered.
It was a clever move of Abdullahi; the public reading of the letter
blasted all hopes on the part of the discontented Soudanese of any
assistance from Slatin in crumbling to dust the kingdom of the
Khaleefa, and put an end to all hopes on the part of the former
Muslimanieh captives of release, for the small proportion of old
Government employés who had, up to then, firmly believed that Slatin
was acting, as they express it, “politeeka” in all his dealings, now
joined the ranks of those who believed differently. But in this they
were, of course, mistaken.
After the public reading of the letter, the Khaleefa sent for the
officials of the Beit-el-Mal and ordered them to take possession of
Slatin’s house, wives, servants, slaves, land, and cattle, at the same
time giving them strict instructions, in the presence of all, that
the household were to be treated gently, as being the property of a
true Muslim. His Darfurian wife, Hassanieh, whom he had married when
Governor-General of Darfur, was claimed from the Beit-el-Mal by Dood
(Sultan) Benga as of a royal family, and was by him married to another
of the Darfurian royal |207| family. Desta, his Abyssinian wife, was
within a few days of her confinement, and either, as a result of fright
at the ransacking of the house and her reduction to the position of
a common slave, or as a result of what would be to her, in her then
delicate condition, rough handling, gave birth to a baby boy, who
survived but a few weeks.
It was while the Khaleefa was awaiting the return of the scouts
sent out to recapture Slatin that Hawanein put in his appearance at
Omdurman. He was at once seized, accused of assisting in the escape of
Slatin, and also of having returned to effect mine. Pleading ignorance
of myself and Slatin, he was not believed; he was first sent into
the Saier, and then, as he refused to confess, he was taken out and
publicly flogged. Even this did not extort a confession; the Khaleefa,
not being satisfied, ordered another flogging, but the Bisharas
interceded for Hawanein, and succeeded in obtaining his release. As my
would-be deliverer passed through the portals of the Saier, I passed in
(March 26, 1895). Hawanein lost no time in returning to Assouan, where
the relation of his experiences, with his torn back and unhealed wounds
to bear him out, put an end finally to all attempts in that quarter to
assist me in any way whatever.
It might be as well that I should not attempt to describe my mental
condition on finding myself again in the Saier. I have a faint idea
of what my state must have been; despair cannot describe it; insanity
at blasted hopes might. Yes, I must have been insane; but I was
mentally sound, if such a contradiction |208| of terms is permissible.
I remember that for days I shuffled about, refusing to look at or
speak to any one. Perhaps what brought me round was that, in my
perambulations, I came near the Saier anvil and heard a man crying.
It was Ibrahim Pasha Fauzi, Gordon’s old favourite, who was being
shackled. My expostulations on his acting as a child and bullying him
into a sense of manhood, again prevented that slender thread between
reason and insanity snapping. It must, in some way, have calmed and
comforted me to be brought to the knowledge that others were suffering
as much as I was; and just as a child, which requires care and
attention itself, gives all its affection and sympathy to a limbless
doll, so must I have given my sympathy to Fauzi, and in so doing
taken a step back from the abyss of insanity, which I was certainly
approaching.
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