MY SECOND IMPRISONMENT
It was some days after my return to the Saier before I learned that I
had been incarcerated against the wish of the Khaleefa and Yacoub; but
Hamadan and Khaleel-Hassanein, fearing that I might escape, declined
to be responsible for me any longer, arguing that Slatin’s escape had
been effected through Government agents, and that mine would certainly
follow. In deference to the wishes of Hassanein more than those of
Hamadan, the Khaleefa ordered my return to the Saier, but it is very
probable that he sent Idris es Saier instructions how to treat me; so
that, taking it all in all, my life was not rendered so unendurable as
it had been on my first entry into the prison. Added to Abdullahi’s
kindly interest (?) in me, Idris himself had become a sort of reformed
character; he had tasted the sweets of imprisonment and the lash which
he had been so generous with, and had also experienced himself what
it was to be robbed on the Nebbi Khiddr account. The tables had been
completely turned on him, and he had learned a lesson.
When Adlan was executed and his house searched |217| for incriminating
papers without result, Idris es Saier was accused by the Khaleefa of
having assisted Adlan in disposing of the documents which he was in
search of. Idris was imprisoned in his own house and flogged into the
bargain; he was in disfavour for some time, and this gave released
Baggara prisoners an opportunity of getting even with him. They
explained the Nebbi Khiddr affair to Abdullahi, who ordered Idris to
repay all the moneys he had collected on this account; he was deprived
of all he had, but right up to the end, any former Baggara prisoner in
want of a dollar knew where to find one. He presented himself to Idris,
and asked for a further contribution towards a settlement of his claim.
These importunities drove Idris into begging from the prisoners,
since the Nebbi Khiddr tale would only work with prisoners coming
in from outlying districts, and they were few. As Idris never knew
when the next call would be made upon him, he found it politic to be
as kind and considerate to the prisoners as possible, and to relax
discipline to the utmost. This state of affairs, added to the presumed
instructions of the Khaleefa regarding myself, must have accounted for
Idris’ assembling the gaolers, and telling them in my presence that I
was only brought into the Saier to prevent any Government people from
carrying me off to Egypt; that if any one of them begged money from
me or ill-treated me in any way, he would be imprisoned, flogged, and
deprived of his post; Umm es Shole and her child were to be allowed
to come into the prison at any hour they chose—but, |218| and this
spoiled all, I was never to be allowed to sleep out in the open, and
must pass my nights in the Umm Hagar.
[Illustration: FAUZI PASHA IN DERVISH DRESS.]
I have already described a night in this “Black Hole of Calcutta,”
but it might not be out of place to try and give a slight description
of the first night Ibrahim Pasha Fauzi—one of Gordon’s favourite
officers—spent in that inferno, especially as he wishes me to do so.
When taken to the anvil, as I have already remarked, Fauzi broke down
completely, was carried off in a swoon to the Umm Hagar, placed sitting
with his back in the angle of the wall furthest from the door, and
there left—as I was, to “come round.” When the first batch of prisoners
was driven in at sunset, there was room for all to lie down on the foul
and saturated ground. When the second batch was driven in about an hour
and a half later, those lying down had to sit up with the new-comers,
and Fauzi’s outstretched legs gave a dry and comfortable seat to four
big Soudanese. I was driven in with the third batch after the night
prayers, and then all in the Umm Hagar had to stand up or be trampled
on. Fauzi, still suffering from the effects of the shell wound he
received in one of the sorties from Khartoum, with four people sitting
or standing on him, and being heavily chained as well, was unable to
rise to his feet. I could hear him from my place near the door feebly
expostulating with the people who were standing upon him; I thought
that maybe he was being trampled to death, and in my then frenzied
state commenced to fight my way towards him, striking friend and foe
|219| indiscriminately, and striking harder as I received blows
in return. A general fight was soon in progress over the few yards I
had to travel, as none were certain in the darkness who struck the
blow they had received, and struck out at random in retaliation. My
friends told me afterwards that I was a “shaitan” (devil), a mad fool,
and showered other dubious compliments upon me; but I reached Fauzi.
The warders, hearing the uproar, had opened the doors, and, as usual,
commenced to belabour the heads of all they could reach with their
sticks and whips. While the uproar was at its height, and the prisoners
swaying from side to side, I recognized the voices of one or two near
Fauzi who were under obligations to me for occasional little kindnesses
in the way of food; and, enlisting their services on most extravagant
promises, we tackled the people standing on Fauzi’s legs, pushed
them away, and made a sort of barricade round him with our bodies.
In clearing the space, we must have struck each other as often as we
struck those whom we wished to get out of the way, and Fauzi could not
tell whether an attempt was being made to murder or to rescue him. When
we did at last get him clear, we had to use a bit of old rag as a sort
of punka in order to bring him round; then he babbled.
At midnight, the doors of the cell were thrown open again, and about
twenty men, each wearing a shayba, were thrust into the place;
practically there was no room for them, but they had to be driven in
by some means. To make space for them, the gaolers resorted to their
favourite device of throwing into the cell handfuls of |220| blazing
straw and grass, and at the same time laying about the bare heads
and shoulders of the prisoners with their whips. The scene must be
imagined. Fauzi, seeing the fire falling on the heads of the prisoners,
believed that he had really been sent to hell—but communed with himself
in a dazed sort of way as to whether he was in hell or not. He appeared
to call to memory all that he had ever read of the place of torment,
and tried to compare the picture his brain had formed of it from the
descriptions, with what he was experiencing, coming to the conclusion
that he could not be in hell, as hell could not be so bad. At this
stage I was able to get him to take notice of me, and we discussed
hell and its torments until sunrise; but nothing could even now shake
Fauzi’s opinion that hell could not be as bad as such a night in the
Umm Hagar, and the worst he can wish any one is to pass such a night.
To Youssef Mansour he wishes an eternity of them.[10]
[10] This Mansour was formerly an officer in the Egyptian
Army, who had surrendered with the garrison at El Obeid.
After this surrender, the governor of the town—Mohammad Said
Pasha—arranged with his old officers and black regiments to
seize their arms, on a given signal, and to turn against the
Mahdists. Mansour, who, as one of Said’s former subordinates,
was in the plot, is thought to have betrayed it to the Mahdi.
Said and his principal adherents were sent out of camp by
Mohammad Ahmed, and quietly done away with; but Mansour became
the favourite of the Mahdi, and commanded his artillery at the
battle of Omdurman. It is also said that the Christian captives
were circumcised on his representations, and that he suggested
the imprisonment of Fauzi, lest, when the Government troops
advanced, Fauzi should seize an opportunity of joining them.
Yet Mansour is reputed to be coming to Cairo to claim his back
pay and pension from the Egyptian Government.
Among others who spent that memorable night in the Saier, were Ahmed
and Bakheit Egail, Sadik Osman, Abou-el-Besher and others from Berber,
arrested for assisting in the escape of Slatin; they were later
transported to the convict station at Gebel Ragaf on the evidence of
the guide Zecki, who |221| conducted Slatin from Omdurman to Berber.
Zecki had been arrested with them on suspicion of complicity in the
escape, and confessed that he had been engaged by Egail and others to
bring away from Omdurman a man with “cat’s eyes,” but that he did not
know who the man was.
Close to the common cell was an offshoot of it—a smaller one named
“Bint Umm Hagar” (the daughter of Umm Hagar), which took the place of
the condemned cell in Europe. On my return to prison, I learned that
my old enemy, Kadi Ahmed, had been confined there for a year. The
ostensible reason for his imprisonment was that he had been in league
with the false coiners, and had made large amounts of money; but the
real reason was that the Khaleefa was angry with him on account of the
death of Zecki Tummal, who had conducted the Abyssinian campaign when
King John was killed. Kadi Ahmed had been induced by Yacoub to sentence
Zecki to imprisonment and starvation; so when Ahmed’s turn came, the
Khaleefa said, “Let him receive the same punishment as Zecki.” He was
placed in the Bint Umm Hagar, and after about ten months the doorway
was built up; there Ahmed was left, with his ablution bottle of water
only, for forty-three days according to one tale, and fifty days
according to another. When, for days, no sounds had been heard from
his living tomb, he was presumed to be dead; but on the doorway being
opened up, to the astonishment, not to say superstitious fear, of all,
he was still alive, but unconscious, though the once big fat Kadi had
wasted to a skeleton. |222| Abdullahi must have received a fright
too, for he ordered Ahmed to be tenderly nursed and given small doses
of nourishing food every twenty-four hours, until the stomach was able
to retain food given oftener; but in spite of all care and attention,
the Kadi died on or about May 3, 1895. He was regretted by no one but
the Khaleefa, in whose hands he had been a willing tool, dispensing
justice(?) as his master dictated it, only to die the lingering death
in the end to which he had condemned so many at his master’s nod.
Kadi Ahmed’s place in the “Bint” was soon taken by his successor—Kadi
Hussein Wad Zarah. His offence was that of refusing to sentence people
unjustly, when ordered by the Khaleefa and Yacoub to do so. When first
walled up in his tomb, he was given, through a small aperture left
for the purpose, a little food and water every four or five days, but
towards the end of July, 1895, the doorway was built up entirely,
and Zarah, not being a big stout man like Ahmed, starved, or rather
parched, to death in about twenty-two or twenty-three days. It is hot
in the Soudan in July.
[Illustration: NEUFELD’S HUT IN THE SAIER, SHOWING THE FAMOUS ANVIL.]
During the first weeks of my imprisonment, Umm es Shole had little
difficulty in begging a small quantity of grain, and borrowing an
occasional dollar to keep us in food. But soon people became afraid of
assisting us any further, and we were bordering upon semi-starvation,
when, in the month of September, an Abyssinian woman came into the
prison to see me under pretence of requiring medical treatment. She
handed me a small packet, which she said contained letters from my
friends, and which had been given to |223| her by a man outside, who
had said he also had money for me, and wished to know who he should pay
it to. Three days elapsed before I found an opportunity of opening the
packet unobserved, for with all letters received and written then, I
had to wait until I found myself alone in the pestilential atmosphere
of an annexe to the place of ablution. The packet contained a letter
from my sister posted in 1891, another from Father Ohrwalder, and a
note from Major Wingate. They were all to the same import—to keep up
hope, as attempts were to be made to assist me.
Nearly two months must have slipped away before I succeeded in getting
my replies written. I sent these to the guide, Onoor Issa, who promised
that he would return for me in a few months’ time. Father Ohrwalder
has handed me the letter I sent to him. The following is in brief its
contents:―
“I have received your letter enclosing that of my sister written
four years ago, and the note from Wingate. Before everything else,
let me thank you for the endeavours you are to make to assist me.
Your letter was delayed in reaching me owing to the imprisonment of
the guide, followed by the watch kept upon us after Slatin’s escape,
and my transfer to the Saier, from which I hope to be released soon.
There is great need of coins here; up to the present, no one has been
able to produce a silver-resembling dollar. If I could produce such a
coin, it would lead to my release from prison, and lend probability to
my chances of escape. Could you send me instructions for the simple
mixing of any soft metals to produce a silvery appearance, and send
me some ingredients? I should like also an instrument to imitate
the milling of coins; the dies can be cut here. I should be glad of
any tools or instruments which you think cannot be had here. If I
am not released by the time these arrive, I feel sure that I shall
be released through their agency. Please send the enclosed notes to
their respective destinations, and when the answers arrive, send them
|224| on with the things I ask for. Can you give me any news as to
how my business is progressing at Assouan, and the transactions of
my manager? Our common friends here are in a sad way. Slatin will
have told you all about the forced circumcisions; and now all the
Christians have been ordered to marry three or four wives, and are
engaged with marriage ceremonies. Beppo and I are in prison together
in chains; other prisoners are Ibrahim Fauzi, Ibrahim Hamza, of
Berber, who was arrested after Slatin’s escape; Ahmed and Bekheit
Egail; Sadik and Besher have been transported to Equatoria, with two
of their relations. Your messenger brought with him seventy dollars,
which have been given to Beppo, and I enclose his receipt for them.
Kindly translate the letter I enclose for Wingate; I have written it
in German, as no one here but me understands the language. Please keep
these letters secret. For God’s sake, do not let the newspaper people
get hold of them, as you know, if they did, it would cost me my head.
Perhaps, if you could get them to give as news something like this,
it would help me: ‘We hear that, after the escape of Slatin, Neufeld
was secured against escape; he has rendered great services to Mahdieh
with the saltpetre; he would be able to replace Osta Abdallah, who is
now old and feeble; Neufeld is in the greatest distress, and in prison
with his certain death close at hand; the people in the Soudan believe
he is a relation of Slatin.’”
Onoor Issa went off with my replies, undertaking to return in a few
months, after having made arrangements between Berber and Cairo for
my escape; and during his absence I was to scheme for any excuse to
get out of prison; escape from there was impossible. Onoor—or the
translators of his accounts—are mistaken in saying that he actually
met me in prison; all negotiations were carried on through the
Abyssinian woman whom he employed to come into the prison for “medical
attendance,” or Umm es Shole, and days and days elapsed between the
visits sometimes, in all amounting to maybe two months. There were
times |225| of mental tension in the Saier of Omdurman. To me ill luck
and good luck appeared to be ever striving for the ascendency during my
long captivity. Good luck gained in the end—the same good luck which
had accompanied the Sirdar throughout his daring campaign to conquer,
not only Abdullah, but the Soudan, and which, God grant, may ever
accompany him in future campaigns; but the cup-and-ball-catch-and-miss
strain was to me terrible. My one prayer was that an end might come.
Liberty, of course, I hoped for to the end; but I often discovered
myself speculating as to whether it was true or not that those suddenly
decapitated by a single blow experienced some seconds of really
intellectual consciousness, and wondering to myself whether, when my
head was rolled into the dust by the Khaleefa’s executioner, there
would be time to give one last look of defiance.
Yet when I come to think of it, there was nothing very strange in such
contemplations. What soldier or sailor has not often in his quiet
moments tried to picture his own death, defiant to the last as he
goes down before a more powerful enemy? And, after all, thousands and
thousands of men and women in civilized countries are enduring a worse
captivity and imprisonment than many did in the Soudan; but they are
unfortunate in this—that no one has thrown a halo of romance over their
sufferings. My lot was a hard, very hard one, I must admit; but the lot
of some other captives was such that thousands in Europe would have
been pleased to exchange theirs for it, and would have gained in the
exchange.
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