Headed by the great Raya Zerga, held in awe throughout the Soudan from
Assouan even unto Lado, we of the Jihadieh, two hours later, under the
heat of the brilliant sun, rode forth from the city gate, amid the
vociferous shouting of the women, the frantic beating of war drums, the
ear-piercing blast of great _onbeias_ and the encouraging yells of old
men and children. Then, with a parting war-cry, our gleaming swords
flourishing in air, we left the cupolas and minarets of Omdurman behind,
and spurred forward in huge compact bodies towards the low, distant
hills, half hidden in their mystic haze, but supposed to be the abode of
the Jinns, or genii, which our dead lord, the Mahdi, declared always
fought in thousands on our side. Some of my comrades-in-arms declared
that they had had visions of these strange creatures, but I confess I
have never seen one, and am inclined to agree with what one of the White
Fathers once told us in El Obeid, that their existence is purely
imaginary. But perhaps I am a sceptic. Indeed, my white skin betrayed
my Arab parentage, and, because of it, I had long ago been nicknamed by
my dark-visaged comrades, "The Unbeliever." Not because I had ever
expressed doubt as to the truth of the Mahdist teaching, but my pale
face was alone responsible for the epithet which had, in fun, been
bestowed upon me.
My personal appearance, as a horseman of the great Khalifa, was,
perhaps, not such as would commend itself to the Roumis, the enemies of
Allah and His Prophet. My Jibbeh, or Dervish uniform coat, was dirty
and patched with multi-coloured strips of cotton; on my head was the
white skull-cap, called the _takia_, bound by a broad white turban;
while I wore a pair of loose cotton unmentionables with a red girdle,
and my bare feet were thrust into rough slippers of undressed cowhide.
My weapons consisted of a circular shield which bore the deep dints of
past combats, two small spears, one long one, a rifle, and a heavy sword
with cross hilt strapped up under my left arm.
Light-hearted, laughing among ourselves, and eager for the fray, we
crossed the hills, but saw nothing of the mysterious Jinns; then,
continuing our ride into the stony, waterless desert of Bayuda, that
immense country forgotten of Allah, we halted at sundown for the
_maghrib_, and journeyed forward yet another three hours before
encamping. The expedition was under the leadership of Ali Wad Helu,
chief of the Baggara Arabs, upon whose crimson flag, borne before him,
was inscribed in gold in the Arabic character, `_Nekhrib ed Dunia wa
nammir el Akher_.' (We shall destroy this, and create the next world).
This was his motto. A fierce and fanatical warrior, he had acted a
conspicuous and unenviable part in that terrible storm of 1885 which
deluged the Soudan with blood, and now thought not of sparing the lives
of his men, but urged that, by dying by the sword, we should go direct
to the Jannat-al-Ferdaws, where the great lote-tree throws a cool shade,
and where the houris have lips of musk and eyes bright and sparkling as
stars of night.
Resting during the day, on account of the furnace-heat of sunshine, and
travelling during the clear, starlit nights over the sands with our
black standard ever waving at our head, the hosts of the Khalifa swept
onward through the land of sun and silence, like a great swarm of
locusts, bent upon ruthless pillage and destruction. Day by day, week
by week, we travelled over the immense plain, always in the crimson
track of the dying day. Everywhere spread vast solitudes, an
interminable country of desolation and sad monotony, without a plant or
a vestige of life--only shifting, brown sand-hills, boundless horizons
and a blinding glare of sun. Through Foja and El Fasher we passed, then
over the great, bare mountains to Kol-Kol. Three journeys from that
place, however, Ali Wad Helu, fearing attack by hostile tribes, sent
forward fifty spearmen--of whom I was one--to act as scouts. The orders
we received we obeyed promptly, and, heedless of heat and sand storms,
we travelled rapidly onward to Abu Guerra, across infinite, mysterious
solitudes, where the blazing heat and the loose sand retarded our
advance, until, at last, we reached El-Asagga, on the shore of Lake
Tsad, exactly one moon after our departure from Omdurman.
Inured as the cavalry of the Khalifa were to the burning breath and
silent gloom of the desert, the privations of the march and the fatigue
of long travel, we found in this journey that our horses were utterly
unfit to negotiate the stony wilderness that lay between ourselves and
Kano, known to the desert wanderers as the City of the Mirage by reason
of the amazing mirages seen in the vicinity almost daily; therefore, on
arrival at the Well of Sabo-n-Gari, four days' journey south from the
Lake, and two days' beyond the boundary of the territory of the Sultan
of Sokoto, we resolved to encamp under the palms and await our main body
in order to utilise the spare camels which they had brought with them in
case of need. To attempt to approach nearer to the city we intended to
attack would, we knew, result in speedy death.
The last fires had faded from the west; moonless night had fallen. The
poison-wind blew in sharp hot gusts, the heat from the sand was
reflected into one's face, black clouds hung low and ominous, and the
atmosphere, laden with particles of grit, was stifling. We prayed our
_isha_, ate our dhurra, and leaving three of our comrades on the alert,
in case of surprise, stretched ourselves in our tents and endeavoured to
snatch a brief repose. The neighbourhood of the well was not a safe
place after sundown, for wild beasts came there for water, and we had
seen the marks of lions on the sands. Wearied, my eyes at length closed
in sleep, and I was dreaming of cool, idle hours at my mountain home in
the far-off Aures, and of bygone days amid the civilisation of London,
when suddenly I was startled by the quick rattle of musketry, followed
by fiendish yells, while, at the same moment, there was a flash of
powder as a bullet tore its way through the canvas of my little tent,
whistling unpleasantly near my head. Seizing my rifle, I sprang up,
and, with my comrades who had been sleeping by my side, rushed forth.
Next second I knew the truth. The place was alive with horsemen, led by
a minor sheikh mounted upon a splendid grey. We had fallen into the
trap against which our spies had repeatedly warned us, and were
evidently being attacked from every side by the Tuaregs. In the Great
Desert there are two terrors ever present--the sand and the Tuaregs.
The latter are the forbidding-looking pirates of the desert, held in awe
from El Fasher to Timbuktu. It is said that ages ago they were
compelled to migrate south from the fertile Atlas into the Great Desert,
and owing to their eyes being unaccustomed to the terrible glare, nor
their lungs to the sand storms, they adopted a head dress with two
veils. One, the _nicab_, is rolled round the temples, hanging down in
front to protect the eyes; the other, the _litham_, reaches from the
nostrils to the edge of the clothing, completely covering the lower part
of the face. Hence they are known to-day, everywhere in the Soudan, as
the "Veiled Men of the Desert," while upon all those who do not adopt
their mysterious-looking costume they bestow the sobriquet, "mouths for
flies." The veils are never removed, even at meal times, and the garb
has become so much a part of them that any one, being deprived of it, is
unrecognisable to his friends and relatives. If one of their number is
killed in battle and divested of his veil, no one can identify him until
it has been restored to its place. And this, in spite of the fact that
the bridge of the nose and the eyes alone are visible. Their power is
felt in nearly every part of the Great Desert, and to such an extent
have they carried their depredations that until quite recently almost
every town was compelled to pay them tribute. These nomads are thieves
of the worst character, travellers and merchants being their principal
victims. Their vague form of Islamism they have reduced to a belief in
talismans, and their chest and back are covered with bags of black and
yellow, like a cuirass. Ruse is their principal weapon, even though
they never show themselves without spear or gun, a sword at their side
and a poniard attached to the left arm. We, of the Khalifa's army, had
bestowed upon them three epithets which epitomise their
psychology--"Thieves, Hyenas, and the Abandoned of Allah."
There had been a deadly feud of long standing between us, and they,
learning that a small party of Dervishes was in the vicinity, had
apparently come forth to check our advance. But the horsemen of the
Khalifa Abdullah, Sultan of the Soudan, know not fear, as their valiant
actions at Abu Klea, Berber, El Obeid and Toski had already proved, and
now, even though we saw ourselves surrounded by hundreds of yelling
"Veiled Men," who poured into us a withering fire from their
long-barrelled guns, not a man among us was dismayed although many bit
the dust ere reaching cover.
That it must be a struggle to the death we knew, therefore, unable to
mount, we obtained what protection we could among the few palm-trunks,
and replied to the hail of bullets with careful precision, picking off a
white-robed figure whenever one showed itself. Behind every rock or
tree large enough to shelter a human form a veiled man lurked, and,
well-practised in the use of fire-arms, they proved themselves superior
shots. As far as we could discern in the gloom they outnumbered us by
about ten to one, and their weapons, aimed deliberately at us from the
security of the ambuscade, had already taken deadly effect. On every
side white robes fluttered as rifles shed their weird red light, and ere
long many of our men, stumbling forward, sank upon the sand and died
with fierce curses upon their lips. Unable to approach our opponents
sufficiently near to effectively use our long spears we continued our
erratic fire, determined to make a stubborn stand until the end. During
a quarter-of-an-hour this continued, when suddenly wild piercing yells
sounded above the incessant rattle of musketry as, with one accord,
about two hundred Tuaregs, their villainous faces encircled by their
black veils, and standing in their stirrups, swept down upon us with a
ringing shout of triumph. In a moment a fierce hand-to-hand struggle
ensued, for horses and riders plunged upon our spears, and dozens of the
desert pirates fell impaled, their burnouses dyed with blood. One man,
tall and sinewy, his breast loaded with talismans, riding a
magnificently-caparisoned horse, and evidently a sheikh, I held in the
grip of death, and he fell by my hand. Indeed, so strenuous was our
defence that, on glancing round, I felt half inclined to believe that
the fierce onslaught would not be repeated; yet, almost before this
thought had crossed my mind, another shrill war-cry resounded as an
additional force on foot emerged from the dark clump of trees with
burnouses flying, eyes blazing, and firing as they ran they rushed
together upon us in such numbers as to prove absolutely overwhelming.
With rifles held high above their heads, and yelling fiercely, they sped
onward, driving us from our cover, and shooting us down, although we
slashed, stabbed and hacked like very demons. Prodigies of strength and
valour were performed by my comrades, the Dervishes, in their last
defence. The struggle inflamed them, as it ever does men courageous by
nature and born brave. They sold their lives dearly, but to effectually
repulse the attack or to crave for quarter were alike futile. Alas, the
soldiers of the Black Standard, who for years had fought long and
fearlessly for the holy Mahdi and his successor, were now falling
helpless victims to the cunning and rapidity with which the Tuaregs had
delivered their terrible onslaught.
Full of breathless anxiety were those fatal moments. Elated by their
success and filled with a deadly hatred against us, our enemies were
evidently determined to sweep us into eternity. The ground was
encumbered with dead and dying. Several of my comrades, believing that
the Jinns had deserted us, and therefore resistance was useless, threw
down their arms, and falling on their knees, cried, in the name of the
_One_ for their lives to be spared, but the Veiled Men of the Desert
only jeered, and shot them down as ruthlessly as they would slaughter
dogs, crying, "Kill the black-faced sons of offal! Let not one escape,
or he will give warning unto the hosts of the accursed tyrant, the
Khalifa. Kill the dogs! Kill them!" My comrades' death-wail uplifted,
and, sharpened in soaring, hung in anguish at its height; then, like
hope's expiring sigh, it faltered downward and fell mute.
Escape was hopeless; we had fallen into an ambush. Our enemies had
surrounded us by hundreds. Amid the shrieks, the firing, the fiendish,
exultant cries of the victors and the fierce, hoarse curses of the
dying, I fought on with spear and shield, unhorsing more than one of our
deadly foes. My comrades were apparently all being ruthlessly
slaughtered, when suddenly a gigantic son of the desert, lithe as a
deer, black veiled, and sitting his white horse as if he were part of
it, galloped straight towards me with a loud cry, his whirling blade
flourishing in mid-air ready to match me, strength to strength. In a
second my spear left my hand, and striking him full in the breast,
felled him to earth a corpse, but ere I could draw breath, another
piercing yell sounded behind me, and I felt a sharp twinge in the left
shoulder. Then a horrible, choking sensation seized me, and I have a
vague recollection of a man's dark face, hideously distorted by hatred,
and with a black _rawani_, or shawl wrapped around it, within a few
inches of mine, so near that I could feel his hot, foetid breath upon my
cheek.
A sudden darkness next instant fell upon me, and all consciousness
became blotted out.
Of events that immediately followed, or of how long I remained
insensible I have no knowledge. Thoughts, strange and confused, grim
and pleasant, incongruously mixed flitted through my unbalanced mind,
but I had no idea of place, of time, of anything. A darkness, black and
impenetrable, had obliterated my senses and held me powerless, until a
sharp spasm of pain shot through my limbs, and then I recollected, in a
half dreamy manner, that I had fallen in the desperate fight. I tried
to repeat the first _sura_, but my lips, cold and clammy, refused to
utter sound. The pain increased in intensity until my whole body became
racked by a torture so acute and horrible that I believe I must have
fainted. Many are the scars I had received in battle, but never had I
experienced such suffering. Indeed, the pain was so intense that I felt
myself writhing in terrible agony, while the perspiration stood in great
beads upon my neck and brow, and the tightness in my chest held me, as
in a vice, breathless, with all the horrible pangs of asphyxiation.
An interval of senselessness was followed by a brief period of calm;
then gradually, with a feeling that I was struggling hand-to-hand with
Azrael, the dreaded Angel of Terrors, I slowly struggled back to
consciousness. Blindly enduring, I suffered alternately torments of
fire and of ice. Memories haunted me, vivid, voluptuous; scenes of a
passionate past recurred. I stood in a magical Hall of Echoes, where
every echo seemed the voice it mocked, and through some flaw in each
illusion drove the shattering spear of truth.
In the impenetrable darkness my fingers wandered involuntarily to seek
the objects around. On either side I stretched forth my hands, but
clutched at air. Faint sibilations, like the sound of hushed whispering
fell upon my ear, and in that moment filled me with a strange fear. My
resting-place seemed soft and comfortable, and as again my hands sought
to discover something that would give me a clue to my whereabouts, my
fingertips suddenly came into contact with embroidered satin. I could
feel the raised pattern upon the smooth, glossy surface at my side, and
became aware that I was not stretched upon the sand, where I had fallen,
but upon a divan. I felt the cushion upon which my aching head was
pillowed. It was also of satin, soft as down. The air seemed heavy
with the sensuous intoxicating odour of attar of rose rising from a
perfuming-pan--a subtle scent that still vibrates my memory--and as I
touched the pillow I made a further discovery. Raising my hand to wipe
my clammy brow, I became aware of the reason of my obscurity of vision.
My forehead and eyes had been bandaged with a folded square of thick
black silk.
By frantic movement I endeavoured to tear away the tightly-bound fabric,
but failed. It had been dexterously knotted, and no effort of mine
could remove it. Again, with words of haste upon my lips, I tried to
tear it from my eyes, but did not succeed, for when I tried to lift my
left hand to my head I again experienced a spasm of pain that was
excruciating.
Suddenly I was conscious of the presence of someone near me, and a voice
in low, soft, musical tones, scarcely above a whisper, exclaimed in the
Hausa tongue,--
"_Barka, sanu sanu_."
My acquaintance with this language of the people beyond Lake Tsad was
very imperfect, but I nevertheless knew that the words gave me peace,
and, being translated, were, "Allah, bless thee. Gently, gently."
"Peace be upon thee, O unknown friend," I answered fervently, in Arabic.
"Thou who hast given succour unto the wounded, I beseech of thee allow
mine eyes to behold the mirror of thy face."
"Of a verity thine eyes shall ere long witness things that,
peradventure, will amaze thee," answered the low voice of the unknown,
in tones in which severity and gentleness were strangely mingled.
Soft hands deftly unloosed the double knots at the back of my head, the
scarf was drawn away, and on eagerly opening my bewildered eyes they
were dazzled by a strange flood of bright light that poured down upon
them.
Next second, however, my vision grew accustomed to the extraordinary
brilliance, and the scene which met my wondering gaze was so strange and
bewildering, so inexplicable and stupendous, so awe-inspiring yet
entrancing, that, in sheer amazement, I slowly raised myself upon my arm
and gazed aghast in stupefaction, fascinated, open-mouthed, petrified.