THE WEEK BEFORE THE BATTLE
We said good-bye to Wad Hamed on 26th August. Cross and I had,
with several others, selected to go by river rather than by land,
as this would afford us an opportunity of seeing the cataract of
Shabluka, which had become a household word in the army because
of the possibility of Dervish resistance at this point. The rest
of the correspondents accompanied the two British brigades toward
Beled Hagir, our next camping site, just south of the cataract, and
opposite Rojan Island.
As we were leaving Wad Hamed about forty Gaalins arrived on the
bank, and were embarked on the _Metemmeh_. These friendlies were
wonderfully spick and span, with nice clean clothes. Some of them
were equipped with large Dervish swords, while others had only
sticks, which they carried with a jaunty air at the "shoulder," in
anticipation, no doubt, of the Remington rifles which would be issued
to them before the fight. They were accompanied to the bank by a fine
old sheikh in flowing snow-white robes, and their farewells to the
venerable chieftain were very impressive. In the Sudan people are not
content with a single handshake. When one group is saying good-bye to
another the interchange of courtesies and caresses is interminable.
One man falls on the other's neck, without actually touching his
face or shoulder,--rather after the manner of a stage kiss,--and
then handshaking goes on _ad libitum_ all round, the same two people
often clasping and unclasping their hands half a dozen times or more,
according to the degree of intimacy.
The Shabluka cataract, through which the flooded Nile rushes with
amazing violence, lies in a gorge which has evidently in remote
ages been torn through the limestone ridge by the river. A width of
a thousand yards is here suddenly compressed into a hundred yards,
and in the face of the terrific current which is thus produced, our
gunboat could barely forge ahead at the rate of one and a half
miles an hour. It is an open secret that the new gunboats built for
the Nile service by Thorneycrofts are regarded as failures by naval
experts. One of them, the _Sheikh_, can only make two miles an hour
against the ordinary Nile current in August.
Even in the moonlight one could realise the amount of damage which
might have been inflicted by an effective occupation of Shabluka,
upon a force advancing up the river. When we passed the forts,
constructed, after the manner of Dervish engineers, on a level with
the water, we found them deserted, and their guns had been removed.
But if the enemy, who were posted here up to last May, had maintained
their position, we should have been compelled to halt and drive them
out of it from the land side, for none of our slow gunboats could
have forced the gorge had it been lined with artillery.
We arrived at Rojan Island before daybreak on the 28th, and were
aroused out of sleep in the dark by the pleasing intelligence that
an order had arrived from the Sirdar that we were to be turned out
of the gunboat, bag and baggage, as the vessel was wanted for other
purposes. Floundering about in the semi-darkness we got our luggage
together as well as we could, and in less than twenty minutes found
ourselves sitting on the river bank with our few goods and chattels
round us. It would not have taken the gunboat five minutes to land
us at Hagir on the opposite bank; in fact, after marooning us on the
island, it actually touched at the camp on its return down the Nile.
This was one of several instances in which, during the campaign,
correspondents were treated with an utter disregard of consideration
or even ordinary courtesy. It often seemed as if the Sirdar or his
subordinates went out of their way to cause all the inconvenience
they could to the representatives of the press. Certainly if this
conduct was merely due to oversight or thoughtlessness, it was
bad enough; if it was intentional, it was based upon a petty and
ungenerous abuse of authority. On the present occasion we were left
for seven mortal hours on this treeless island, although the _El
Tahra_ was lying off Hagir, and could easily have been sent across
the river for us. When at last the old ferry-boat came blundering
across, the official in charge, who seemed, from his manner, to have
caught the Sirdar's mental attitude towards correspondents, brusquely
refused to take us over to Hagir, because no one had given him orders
to do so. Consequently the _El Tahra_ left us and recrossed to the
camp with her precious commander, although one of our number was
suffering severely from the sun, and lay prostrate on the ground. As
all our baggage was on the other side of the river, having been sent
on by camels, we had absolutely nothing to protect us from the heat
as it grew fiercer and fiercer every moment, so we simply sat on the
ground and grilled in the sun. The misery of such an experience is
very real indeed when the thermometer stands at 115° in the shade! As
one lies amid a dreary waste of sand and rock,
sub curru nimium propinqui
Solis in terra domibus negata,
with the pitiless rays of noontide beating down upon one's head,
visions of iced cups and other delights rise like a mental mirage and
mock one's misery! The thoughts stray far away in fantasy from the
unlovely landscape, and rest upon an English tennis lawn, beside the
cool Cherwell or under the cedars of the Wadham Gardens--the pleasant
game, the refreshment of shade and drink which follows it!
As there was absolutely nothing else to do on the island--and it is
always a good thing to engage in some more or less arduous work when
one is inclined to take a pessimistic view of one's surroundings--I
scrambled up to the top of Gebel Rojan, a rocky hill about three
hundred feet high. From this Pisgah height one could trace far
away to the south the faint outlines of the hills of Omdurman, our
Promised Land! Below, on the desert plain, three Egyptian battalions
were marching forward, their right flank guarded by squadrons of
cavalry. The rifle barrels and steel scabbards glinted brightly in
the rising sunlight, and the columns themselves looked like sinuous
lines of ants threading their way through the scrub.
We were all very bad-tempered when the _El Tahra_ returned once more;
but this time, mercifully, the steamer was no longer in the hands
of the punctilious sapper, with his combination of red tape and
rudeness. The new commander ventured upon the independent exercise of
his own common sense, and most kindly conveyed us across the river
without further ado. Whether he was subsequently reprimanded by the
authorities for this act of ordinary politeness I do not know.
By the time we had landed from the steamer, and the servants had
discovered the whereabouts of our camels and luggage, it was nearly
two o'clock, and the camp had practically broken up. The native
battalions had left early in the morning, as I had seen from the
summit of Gebel Rojan, and had been followed by General Gatacre's
division. The Sirdar and his staff, the Intelligence Department,
the correspondents, and the baggage were to leave at four o'clock;
so there was barely time to get a scratch meal before we saw to
the loading of our camels, and again set out on our forward march
towards Omdurman. Both Cross and I had intended to walk, but Steevens
and Maud most kindly put a couple of their extra horses at our
disposal. The animal I rode was a polo pony from Cairo, in excellent
condition and full of "go." It hated to be alone for a moment,
and if in the scrub it found itself separated from the rest of the
column, either in the rear or on the flank, and the rein was at all
loose, it would suddenly, without any warning, make a clean bolt to
rejoin its companions; and when a borrowed horse tears at full gallop
through mimosa bushes and over the rough sandy soil intersected with
_nullahs_, one is precious glad to be able to return it to its owner
in the evening without a couple of broken knees or worse.
The air was delightfully cool, with a pleasant breeze from the river,
and this evening ride from Hagir will remain in one's memory as one
of the pleasant experiences of the campaign. The comparative novelty
of our surroundings, and the certainty that now at length we were
within measurable distance of the enemy, filled one with elation
and banished all the petty worries of the morning. As long as one
enjoyed good health, nothing could be more delightful than the simple
pleasures of our open-air existence, with all its hard work and
good-fellowship. But when fever or dysentery gets hold upon a man,
all the glamour of the campaign fades away, and one is forced to
realise all the sordid discomforts of the march. During the recent
advance upon Omdurman many a case of unobtrusive heroism occurred, in
which men, officers and privates alike, refused to avail themselves
of the field hospitals, which would have taken them for the time
being from their battalion, and preferred to march along with the
rest, though their heads were racked with pain and their strength
at vanishing point from fever. If a campaigner could secure from a
fairy godmother or other supra-mundane agency one supreme blessing,
he ought most certainly to ask for health. Yet there is one danger to
which the healthy man is exposed. He finds it difficult, sometimes,
to sympathise with others less fortunate than himself. To many who
enjoy vigorous health there is something positively irritating in a
sick man. It is a painful trait in some characters, and is a survival
possibly of that terrible instinct which leads almost every species
of lower animal to finish off those of their number who become
sick or maimed. I have known a man who experienced this peculiar
irritation in the presence of comrades who were ill, behave in the
most unselfish and generous way to the same men when they were in
sound health; and while he had to force himself, as it were, to show
sympathy with an ailing man, he would fetch water in his helmet for a
wounded donkey, and feel ready to weep at the sight of a dying horse.
As we rode along the edge of the Nile, well ahead of the crowd of
camels and the Lancer escort of the Sirdar, in order to avoid the
blinding clouds of dust which they raised, we noticed at intervals
along the line of march bands of Sudanese women. These faithful
creatures had managed by some means or other to accompany their
husbands to the front. Although unrecognised officially, and in
consequence not accorded any means of transport, they had contrived
to cross the Nile as stowaways, hidden under forage or flour sacks;
and they were now trudging slowly along with large bundles on
their heads, and in some cases a brace of babies slung over their
shoulders. When they arrived at the camp they cooked their husband's
food, mended his clothes, and introduced a general flavour of
domesticity into the rough camp life. The husbands seemed to be
very kind to their wives and children, and the Sudanese portion of
the camp was dotted with little family groups, each of them formed
under a tree and surrounded by a miniature zeriba. In fact, domestic
life has such charms in the eyes of the Sudanese warriors, that
they become quite depressed and morose if their women-folk are left
behind. The recent revolt in Uganda is alleged by some to have been
largely caused by the refusal of Major Macdonald to allow the wives
of the soldiers to accompany them on the advance northwards--a
refusal which, if it actually occurred, would most certainly run
counter to the military traditions of the Sudan.
During the earlier part of the day's march Mr. Scudamore's "drink
camel," _i.e._ the animal which carried his stores of alcohol and
soda water, occasionally came to a sudden halt and toyed with the
branches of a nebek or mimosa thorn. At such times his master showed
great kindness and forbearance; he did not urge on the hesitating
beast with gibes and blows, but calling several of us round him,
quietly dismounted and relieved the camel's load by "drinks all
round." How touching an example of humanity towards poor dumb
animals! Let the traveller and explorer, then, always remember that
when the whisky mule halts, it is a kindness to lighten his burden;
if after some hours he jibs and refuses to proceed, fate has clearly
marked out that spot for the site of the camp! The whisky mule must
not be left behind!
On the occasion of one of these halts I was astonished to see
a diminutive boy in very ragged clothes walking along with two
half-plucked pigeons in his hand and a large bag over his shoulder.
After mounting I rode beside him and found that he was a Greek. His
father and mother kept a small café in Cairo, and the boy, who was
only fourteen and very small for his age, had actually traversed some
twelve hundred miles by land and water in order to sell cigarettes
to the army. This adventurous urchin, Anastasios by name, became a
great pet with the Tommies, who bought his cigarettes and supplied
him with enough fragments of bully beef and biscuit to keep him going
throughout the campaign. As I spoke some Greek, I saw a good deal of
the boy subsequently, and succeeded in getting him allowed a passage
from Omdurman on board the _Metemmeh_; but at Atbara Camp some of
the officials rather needlessly refused to give him a place amongst
the baggage in the open trucks, and when I last saw the imp he was
being led away by a zaptieh, or native policeman, after a desperate
attempt to override authority and hide himself and the remainder of
his cigarette boxes under a heap of luggage.
During our advance by land from Hagir, Mr. Frederick Villiers'
bicycle was much in evidence. It is astonishing to what a number of
uses this versatile machine may be put in peace and war alike. An
Oxford professor, whose metaphysical researches are combined with
military enthusiasm and the study of minor tactics, has given to
the world a treatise in which is demonstrated with logical acumen
the value of the bicycle as a weapon or rather implement of defence
against a charge of cavalry. The academical tactician suggests, I
believe, that when the enemy's horse are galloping down upon you
their charge may be broken and rendered futile by the terrifying
aspect of a line of cyclists holding their machines in the air and
rapidly spinning the wheels round! No war-horse, it is maintained,
could face this fearsome spectacle, and utter discomfort would
overtake the charging squadrons! What a pity our 'Varsity cyclist
corps were not posted in front of the zeriba at Omdurman to obviate
the necessity of bullets when the Baggara horse came thundering down
upon us!
But the bicycle can be put to more regular uses in a campaign.
A correspondent, for example, who went through the whole of the
Greco-Turkish War was mounted on his machine, and published a book,
which, under the title of Ὁ Πόλεμος ἀπὸ Ποδηλάτου ("The War from a
Bicycle"), had a great sale in Athens. Still, despite their badness,
roads do exist between Larissa, Velestino, Domoko, etc., whereas in
the sandy, stony deserts of the Sudan the road is a very open one
indeed, and ill adapted for wheeled traffic. In consequence of this,
Mr. Villiers' bicycle, which was of a dull green tint, was usually to
be found in the charge of his servant, who had acquired considerable
skill in controlling the movements of his master's donkey with
one hand and his master's machine with the other. Certainly this
lugubrious-looking bicycle bore the battle and the breeze wonderfully
well, and the maker ought to secure a splendid advertisement out of
it; for tyres which can pass unpunctured through the terrors of the
mimosa scrub, and refrain from bursting under the rays of a Sudan sun
in August, may fairly be recommended for "strong roadster" work in
the country lanes of England.
It was almost dark when we reached the camp, which has been called
by everyone, as far as I know, "Um Teref," though this is incorrect,
for "Um Teref" is the name of the village on the opposite bank of
the river. Though it was difficult in the twilight to see far ahead
of our column, there was no possibility of mistaking the whereabouts
of the camp, for the wild music of the Sudanese bands was already
in full swing. The first thing these black troops do when they get
into camp is to strike up some of their unearthly tunes, and in the
absence of more normal appliances they have been known to fashion
old tin biscuit boxes into a species of wind instrument. Just as I
got within the zeriba, a squad of these blacks were giving hot chase
to a curious animal, which had been put up in the bush. The hunted
creature ran between my horse's legs; it had a fine brush, with
mottled fur, and looked like a wolverine or some beast of that kind.
The area required for some twenty-two thousand men, with hundreds
of camels, horses, and mules, was enormous, and we rode hopelessly
about in the gathering gloom, trying to find the space allotted
to correspondents. After a couple of hours' search we at length
succeeded in finding our camels and getting our tents pitched, and
then we did full justice to whatever sort of dinner the ingenuity of
our cooks could contrive for their hungry masters. The camp was an
extremely pretty one, and in places the vegetation by the river banks
was quite luxuriant. Bushes of all kinds, especially the "Dead Sea
apple," were dotted about; and as these prevented one from seeing
more than a hundred yards around, it was difficult to realise the
vast size of the camp. A zeriba had, of course, been formed, and just
behind it thousands of troops lay all night under arms, ready to
repulse any Dervish attempt to surprise the camp by a sudden rush.
Next morning a rumour got about that during the darkness a Dervish
had crept up to the zeriba and thrown his spear over with a shout of
defiance, and the veritable spear was produced by a sentry of the
Lancashire Fusiliers as a proof of the story's genuineness. The story
was substantially true, for whilst the troops were engaged in forming
the zeriba a Baggara cavalry scout, who, for some reason or other,
found himself within the enclosure, suddenly dashed at a gallop out
of the bush, knocking over several astonished Fusiliers, and hurling
his spear at them as he disappeared in the darkness.
Scorpions proved most troublesome in all our camps, but they were
especially numerous at Um Teref. In some places they simply swarmed,
and both officers and men, and, still more, native servants, suffered
from their painful stings. Those, like myself, who slept on a
raised bed--_e.g._ the "Salisbury" bed, made by Silvers--were not so
much exposed to risk as the possessors of the "Wolseley Valise"--a
mattress which lies on the ground, and forms a most inviting
hiding-place for creeping things innumerable. The pain experienced by
a European from a scorpion's sting is very acute while it lasts, but
passes off in a few hours. The natives were continually stung, and
one of the correspondents had attained a great reputation from the
skill with which he scarified the affected portions of native bodies,
prior to the application of Scrubb's Ammonia. One poor fellow--a
private in the Lancashire Fusiliers--was stung by a scorpion in three
places along his spine, and speedily died in a state of coma.
Another insect pest was a huge yellow spider of loathsome aspect and
malignant disposition, called by the natives "Abu Shebek" (Father
of Spiders). This creature was frequently captured and conveyed to
some regimental mess, where it was forced to engage in single combat
with a scorpion. These adversaries were, as a rule, pretty evenly
matched, and the "Warwickshire Pet," a monstrous spider, appeared to
be invincible until it was matched against the "Cameron Slogger," a
redoubtable scorpion, who vanquished his opponent after a desperate
struggle amid loud cheers from the victorious mess.
In the ordinary course of events we should have moved on from Um
Teref at daybreak on the 29th, but owing to a succession of storms on
the Nile the full complement of gunboats and _ghyassas_ laden with
stores and baggage had not yet arrived, and so the order to march
was countermanded, and we remained in the zeriba for another night.
The extra day, however, was not as pleasant as it might have been
amongst the shady trees, for the violent wind which was retarding
the progress of the gunboats swept incessant clouds of dust over the
camp all the morning. Later in the day, however, the wind sank, and I
enjoyed a delightful ramble along the river beyond the zeriba. Here I
found, amongst other treasures, an enormous brick-red beetle, which
clung to a tree with such pertinacity that I had to cut away a piece
of the branch and boil it and the beetle together before the latter
would abandon his hold and be duly pickled in the whisky.
Early in the morning some squadrons of Egyptian cavalry and the
Camel Corps had left the camp to make a reconnaissance, but none
of the correspondents were permitted to accompany this force. They
did not, however, lose much, for the cavalry brought back scarcely
any information, beyond the news that fresh tracks had been seen of
Dervish horsemen retreating southwards towards Omdurman.
On the morning of the 30th we were up by 4 a.m., and the camels
were loaded by lantern-light. Nobody was sorry to rise, for, acting
under orders, we had all struck our tents the night before to save
time in the morning, and, as bad luck would have it, a storm of rain
and lightning burst over the camp about midnight. There are few
things more disagreeable than to have rain pouring down upon one as
one sleeps, or tries to sleep, in the open. When the first heavy
drops begin to fall everybody knows what is to follow, and various
execrations are heard all around in the darkness, as the suddenly
awakened sleepers put some garments on, hide others under the pillow,
and do their best with a mackintosh to turn off the rain and keep
it from collecting in pools under their backs. The Arab servants
are always in the lowest depths of depression when it rains. Their
thin cotton garments soon get soaked through, but I felt somewhat
reluctant to lend them any of my wraps, as on a previous occasion,
during a tropical downpour, I told two Somali servants that they
might cover themselves with my waterproof, and during the night they
each rolled in a different direction, and split my splendid red-lined
mackintosh into two portions. These two Somali boys, by the way,
whenever a heavy shower overtook us in the daytime, always did their
very best to keep their heads dry. They would dash off and thrust
their shaven pates under a rock or inside an old packing-case, and
seemed to be comparatively indifferent about the rest of their black
bodies, which lay exposed to the weather.
When we left the camp _en masse_ at five, the rain gradually ceased,
and the sun rose in splendour across the Nile. The spectacle
before us was magnificent. Column after column of infantry--black,
chocolate, and white--advanced in perfect order, and squadrons
of cavalry scouted on the flanks and far ahead, searching out
every patch of scrub which might conceal a force of Dervishes. The
Sirdar and his staff advanced in front, and the numerous halts and
consultations which were made showed how carefully and cautiously
the army was advancing. The troops were actually marching in battle
order, ready at any moment to close into square formation if the
enemy appeared; and one realised, as never before during the
campaign, that we were really in a state of war. Our Lancer scouts
had at length come into touch with the enemy, and had even fired a
volley at one of several parties of Dervish horse who were sullenly
retreating through the bush towards Kerreri.
We were already well within twenty-five miles of Omdurman. Along
the line of march we came across several large Dervish villages,
abandoned by their inhabitants within the last day or two. In the
hurry of flight angaribs (native beds), calabashes, and even a
little food had been left behind. In some spots the fires which
had cooked the last meal of these unfortunate villagers were still
smouldering, and, either from accident or design, several of the
huts had been destroyed by fire. The ground was strewn with fragments
of earthenware cooking-pots, which the poor creatures had carefully
broken up before they fled away to the dubious protection of the
Omdurman walls. Close beside one of the deserted huts a tiny donkey
stood and gazed upon us--the sole surviving occupant of the village.
One of the servants, with a keen eye for loot, immediately annexed
the little donkey; but I refused to take it, as I thought it would
be happier amid its native surroundings, where it could eke out a
precarious living amongst the herbage on the river bank. As I rode
past several of the huts I noticed inside some strips of leather
rudely embroidered with cowries, which had been used to suspend a
gourd of water. The workmanship was so rough that I did not think
this loot worth taking, though several Lancers thought differently,
for I afterwards saw similar trophies hung over their saddles.
Towards the middle of this day's march a rather amusing incident
occurred. A small party of Lancers scouting in one of the deserted
villages suddenly came across an Arab clad in a fine _gibbeh_, with
a long spear in his hand. Here, at last, was a living Dervish within
five yards! He made no effort to escape, and was at once surrounded
and taken prisoner. On his being searched, five Maria Theresa dollars
were discovered in the folds of his clothing, and the triumphant
Lancers returned to the Sirdar and his staff with the proud
consciousness of having captured the first real Dervish prisoner of
the campaign. After a modest rehearsal of their achievement, they
begged that in memory of the event the _gibbeh_, dollars, and spear
of the captive might be handed over to themselves. No objection
being raised, the prisoner, who, throughout the affair, had looked
not at all alarmed, but only rather bored, was again led off to
be interrogated by the Intelligence Department, when the exultant
Lancers learned that the captive was one of Colonel Wingate's best
spies, and after doing some excellent work in front had been quietly
waiting to rejoin our forces! The five dollars had to be unearthed
from the depths of the Lancers' pockets, and the imitation Dervish
again strutted proudly about with his coat of many colours and his
broad-bladed spear.
The army advanced over the uneven ground in excellent order. The
long lines, now lost in the hollows, now broken for the moment by
impenetrable masses of thorn bush, kept their formation marvellously
well; and often, as they appeared over the crest of a sandy ridge,
the line was as perfect as on a field day at Aldershot. As regards
actual pace, the Sudanese blacks can easily outmarch the Tommies, and
would invariably have been well in the van if the _échelon_ formation
had not been carefully preserved.
The day's march on the 30th was not more than some eight or nine
miles. We halted for the night beside the river at a spot exactly
opposite a village called Merreh on the other bank. At some
little distance inland, on our right front, a hill rose up called
Seg-et-taib, and, for convenience, the camp has been generally named
after the hill. Trees and bushes grew abundantly within our zeriba,
and along the margin of the Nile large clumps of bright green grass
were greedily devoured by the ponies, which, like all Oriental
riding-horses, lashed out viciously at each other whenever their
tethering ropes allowed it, and sometimes fought and tore each other
with their teeth like tigers. The river banks at Seg-et-taib were
rather difficult of access, as strips of marshy land ran in every
direction parallel to the stream. Everyone who reached the water on
foot was covered with black slimy mud up to his knees; and as we rode
through the bog our horses sank up to their flanks in the soft ooze,
but managed somehow to flounder through it without rolling over with
their riders. A pleasant spot beneath some trees was assigned for
our camp, but when we reached it we found a bevy of Sudanese ladies
already in possession. A little _bakshish_, however, solved the
difficulty, and the fair ones withdrew, after cleverly tying up pots
and pans and babies within the folds of their voluminous garments.
At Seg-et-taib my companion Cross, who had been far from well for
some days past, and suffered especially from sleeplessness, became
so ill that I went off in search of his friend, Surgeon-General
Taylor, who throughout Cross' illness was invariably most kind and
thoughtful. This officer at once came to see the patient, and ordered
him to be placed on one of the hospital barges which were being sent
up the river to accompany the advance of the army. This was a great
relief to my mind, as our surroundings were most uncomfortable for a
sick man. We had left behind a good deal of baggage at Wad Hamed, and
all our tent except the outer fly, which afforded us only a feeble
shelter from sun or rain. On the hospital barges, of course, the
invalided men could get proper attention and diet--things practically
impossible in our rough camp life; and although I felt rather
solitary in the absence of my tent companion, I had every hope that
the illness which had attacked him would be speedily checked under
medical treatment.
During the latter portion of the advance upon Khartum, internal
disorders of various kinds were extremely common. Some of the
medical staff ascribed these derangements to the use of tinned
meat; but after all, the evidence of experts in England seems to
show conclusively that the virulent poison called "ptomaine" is so
rare, that the chance of injury from tinned meats is practically
infinitesimal. Others maintained, with greater probability, that the
drinking water was at fault. The native servants, to save themselves
trouble or a slight wetting, invariably filled their buckets from
the water close to the bank. Anyone who is acquainted with Oriental
habits can realise the peril of drinking such water as this, fouled
as it was by hundreds of horses, mules, and camels, and taken from a
river which is treated as a vast sewer by all the inhabitants along
its banks.
The water question was, indeed, a big one throughout the campaign.
Some filtered the muddy water as it was, but the process was a
very tedious one, for the Birkfeld filter became choked with mud
after about a pint of water had passed through it, and then all its
internal arrangements had to be cleaned. The native servants were so
stupid at any work of this sort, that one generally had to do one's
filtering for oneself; and the exercise was so vigorous that, by
the time one had filtered a pint, one was thirsty enough to drink
a quart. Another method was to precipitate the mud to some extent
by a few grains of alum; but there are hygienic reasons against the
employment of this astringent in drinking water. The safest plan is
to let the mud settle, and then boil the water. Yet, even if the
water is boiled, one is never secure from bacteria, for fresh germs
may enter it as it cools. Moreover, it is impossible to boil _all_
the water required for camp purposes; and if a servant "washes up"
the plates and cups in unboiled water, or one plunges one's head into
it, there can be no absolute guarantee against the intrusion of an
evil bacillus into one's system. The only hope is that one's internal
zeriba, so to speak, is well guarded by a valiant line of those good
bacilli whose chief delight--so bacteriologists tell us--is to gather
round the malignant invader and do him to death. Water taken from the
middle of the stream was said to be perfectly wholesome, but even
here the mud held in solution acted as an irritant. There was another
little thing, too, which rather set one against any Nile water at
the Atbara camp, to wit, the fact that almost every day a corpse or
two of the Dervishes killed at the fight--when the Atbara was nearly
empty--were caught up by the flooded stream, and carried down visibly
into the Nile. Still, these bodies were almost mummified from the
heat; so perhaps there was not much danger, after all, to be feared
from their presence in our water supply.
We again advanced with the utmost caution from Seg-et-taib. The
cavalry searched the scrub, and two gunboats steamed slowly up the
river in support. A party of the Lancers had climbed the hill of
Seg-et-taib, and from this point the Khalifa's forces were at length
seen by British eyes. A vast camp had been pitched about a mile and
a half from the river, in order, probably, to avoid the shells of
the gunboats. It stretched along the Wady Shamba, some three miles
in front of Omdurman. The alignment of the white tents was perfectly
visible with a good glass, and groups of Baggara horsemen were dotted
about the plain in front of the Dervish infantry. No incident worth
recording occurred during this day's advance along the plain, except,
perhaps, a rather gruesome find in one of several deserted villages
through which we passed. On the ground lay the corpse of one of
our native spies; the body was shockingly mutilated and partially
charred, so the poor wretch would seem to have been cruelly tortured
before death. Some six or seven miles ahead of us rose the bleak
ridge of Kerreri like a vast barrier across the line of our advance.
Here it was that the Khalifa had doubtless intended to await our
onslaught, but either his heart failed him at the last moment or the
rapidity of our advance upset his plans. Yet, in refusing to take his
stand on the hills of Kerreri, the Khalifa was acting in opposition
to the sentiment of his followers, who trusted in a prophecy of the
Mahdi, to the effect that one day Kerreri should be the scene of a
great victory over the infidel invaders. "It was called," writes Mr.
Bennett-Burleigh, "'the death-place of all infidels'; and thither at
least once a year repaired the Khalifa and his following, to look
over the coming battleground, and render thanks in anticipation for
the wholesale slaughter of the unbelievers, and the triumph of the
true Moslems."
_À propos_ of Kerreri, it may be worth noticing how misleading were
the accounts of this prospective battlefield which had appeared in
some newspapers, and how incorrect the maps were. One account stated
that along the _wady_ to the north of Kerreri white quartz stones lay
so thickly on the ground that at night-time the place appears to be
covered with snow. This description was simply absurd. There were
red quartz pebbles, but one came across very few white ones. Again,
the maps led one to suppose that the whole of the aforesaid _wady_
was densely overgrown with mimosa, whereas I did not see a bush of
any kind whatever as we crossed the gentle declivity leading up to
the ridge.
We had now arrived at the last camp which we occupied before leaving
Kerreri. Sururab was the least pleasant of all our halting-places,
and we pitched our tents on a bare piece of stony ground utterly
devoid of vegetation.
Suddenly, after lunch, as we sat under the shade and chatted, there
came borne to our ears the dull booming of artillery. The gunboats
which had accompanied us had advanced beyond Sururab, and were
hard at work shelling the Kerreri ridge, which was occupied by a
Dervish outpost. The sound of the guns was faint, and as the vessels
were some eight miles ahead of us, and the intervening ground was
uneven, we could not, alas, see the effect of their fire, though we
afterwards learnt all about it.
The space which was allotted to the correspondents at Sururab was so
confined that one could scarcely walk five yards without stumbling
across a camel or tripping over a tent-rope, and the donkeys brayed
so loudly that sleep was difficult. It was intensely annoying to
hear one ass lead off with a full-voiced bray, which died away in
spasmodic gasps. Almost immediately a brother donkey would lift up
his voice and utter a similar succession of notes, and then groups of
donkeys would join in the music, and a species of antiphonal braying
between the _decani_ and _cantoris_ donkeys ranged on either side
of one's tent would continue till one became absolutely savage, and
wished, like Balaam, that one had a sword in one's hand. If an ass
is permitted to get well on with its braying, you cannot stop it;
when in full voice it takes not the slightest notice of a good-sized
stone. I sometimes heard one of my correspondent colleagues call his
servant in the darkness, and say, "Hassan, take that moke away--right
away into the desert--or I'll kill it." The servant would seize the
offender and lead it, still braying, several hundred yards away. But
just as he got back again, the banished animal, dismayed to find
itself alone, would send forth an anxious bray of diabolical energy,
which reached the long ears of its companions, and made matters worse
than before.
At Sururab, as before, precautions were taken against night attack.
The order went round that lights were to be extinguished and tents
struck. Everyone lay down to rest as he was, in his clothes, and
officers slept with their swords and revolvers buckled on. Most of
us, I think, expected that the enemy, if they refrained from attack,
would at anyrate harass us by "sniping" into our camp during the
darkness. Nothing would have been easier, for, with the exception of
a few native spies, every soul in the army was within the zeriba, and
there was a quantity of scrub just along the river north of the camp
which would have afforded excellent cover for Dervish sharp-shooters.
Against "sniping," little, as a rule, can be done. No form of
retaliation is possible if the "snipers" are well concealed; one
simply has to sit still and take one's chance. Of course in our own
case, camped as we were in an absolutely flat plain, not commanded by
any rising ground, the risks from sniping were not considerable. In
the frontier wars of India, on the contrary, an appalling number of
casualties frequently result from the desultory fire of the hillmen
securely posted amongst the rocky heights above the camp.
As it happened, our evening at Sururab was scarcely troubled at all
by Dervish bullets. A few rifle shots came from the scrub, and a
bullet whistled overhead as I was chatting with Villiers--the first
one of the campaign! I heard two revolver shots during the night,
but these were accidental, and came from inside the camp. One of the
bullets unfortunately penetrated the thigh of a Warwickshire private,
but he ultimately recovered.
No one, I think, who experienced the subsequent wretchedness of the
night at Sururab is likely to forget it. There was a threatening look
about the clouds as the sun went down, but we struck our tents and
lay down to sleep hoping for the best. About ten o'clock, however,
we were awakened by heavy drops of rain splashing on our faces, and
then down came the torrent! I had, most fortunately, left my tent
loose upon the ground, so, after putting on my mackintosh, I dragged
a portion of the waterproof tent over me. The exclamations of many
of my colleagues around me showed that they were not so comfortably
bedded. Some had not brought waterproofs with them; others had
packed their tents over night. There is an undeniable satisfaction
during a heavy shower in feeling that one is on the right side of
a window pane, and witnessing the hurried passage along a street
of dripping pedestrians; and as I heard the rain beating down upon
the tent canvas drawn over my bed, I experienced the same sort of
selfish complacency. Clothed as I was in a kharki suit and boots,
and covered over with a blanket, a mackintosh, and the waterproof
canvas, I felt as if I was being boiled alive; but still I was safe
from any moisture _ab extra_. Nemesis, however, was close upon
me in my splendid isolation. I made a slight movement of my hand
under the rug, and instantly felt a sharp prick in the palm. At
the same moment, on the inside of the canvas within six inches of
my face, appeared a large scorpion. I had evidently disturbed the
beast, which stung me and then ran up the canvas. I felt perfectly
horrified for a moment. The idea that the scorpion might run over
my face was sickening. Fancy the effects of a scorpion's sting
in the eye! With a sudden sweep of my arm I dashed the whole tent
covering, scorpion and all, off the bed. Anything in the rain line
was better than scorpions as bed-fellows. All this time the pain in
my hand increased. I tied a piece of string tightly round the wrist
and sucked the wound hard, and then waited for the agony which I
fully expected. Fortunately, however, the pain in an hour's time or
so gradually wore off, and I think the scorpion must have stung me
through the blanket, and so failed to penetrate the hardened skin of
one's palm to an appreciable depth. We were now nearly all in the
same plight. Everybody in the camp, with few exceptions, was soaked
through that night. One general officer told me that, as he found
himself lying in a large pool of water which had collected under his
back, he got up and spent the night sitting in a camp-chair, without
getting a wink of sleep,--a cheerful experience, forsooth! It is
amazing that our men escaped fever after experiences such as these.
During the Emin Relief Expedition, it was noted that every wetting,
whether from wading a stream or a downpour of rain, invariably
resulted in fever to man and beast alike.
Despite the soaking rain, I dropped off to sleep, but was awaked
about one o'clock by a commotion on my left. Mr. Villiers had also
been stung in the neck by a scorpion, and was in great pain. He told
me the sting felt like a red-hot knife plunged into his flesh, and
the whole of his left side became temporarily paralysed. His faithful
servant rubbed some ammonia into the wound, and after somebody had
given him nearly a bottle of raw whisky, he managed to get to sleep.
Reveille sounded at 4 a.m., and we all rejoiced to see the dawn.
The rain still fell in sheets, but notwithstanding the inclement
weather, Mr. Scudamore was sitting and calmly shaving himself before
a looking-glass, with a piece of waterproof over his shoulders.
The dripping servants emerged from their nooks and crannies in the
lowest depths of depression, and the camels snorted with increased
petulance as they floundered through the mud to be loaded. The camel
hates wet almost as much as his masters. I have often been amused at
their cat-like unwillingness to put their feet into quite shallow
water. This is due, I believe, to the fact that the animal's feet, if
wetted, have a tendency to crack in the sun and become very painful.
How servants contrive to light fires with slush all round and rain
pouring down in torrents I cannot imagine, but Ali brought me a cup
of hot cocoa and some biscuit--a delicious meal when one is draped in
soaking garments.
Villiers awoke from the heavy sleep into which the raw spirit
had driven him, and he and I set out to march with the troops,
who were now streaming from the zeriba. He still suffered from a
semi-paralysis of the left side; but despite this and a general
weakness caused by the virus, he kept up on foot with the infantry
battalions.
September 1st, drizzling rain and thick mud! The familiar
collocation, helped out by an occasional covey of sand-grouse in lieu
of partridges, brought one's thoughts back to the joys of English
stubble and turnip-field left four thousand miles behind us! As the
sun rose higher in the sky the rain gradually ceased, and as we dried
our spirits rose. The bushes along the line of our march were full
of many beautiful birds with vivid plumage, and a valuable collection
might probably have been put together if anyone had had a light
gun and time to use it. Every now and then, too, a hare would dart
up from its "form" and race across our front, pursued by two small
regimental doggies. These hares, like many other species of animal
in the Sudan, have assumed the colour of their sandy environment
most marvellously. It is almost impossible to see them sitting. They
have ears of extraordinary length, and are altogether odd-looking
creatures. They did not run as well as their British cousins, and
occasionally one was caught by a dog or clubbed by a Sudanese
soldier. I never tasted the flesh, but an officer told me he found it
very good eating.
Long before we reached Kerreri we saw the figures of several Lancer
scouts silhouetted against the sky-line along the summit of the
ridge. Our cavalry had, as usual, pushed on ahead through the scrub
and climbed the hills. Some of them rode up the lesser slopes
towards the east and west, while others, leaving their chargers
below, clambered up the steep crags in the middle. As Lieutenant
Montmorency and another officer reached the top a Dervish suddenly
fired a "right and left" at them from a huge elephant gun; but
fortunately he missed with both barrels, and then bolted. With the
exception of this man, who seemed to be a sort of "caretaker" in the
empty camp, there was not a Dervish to be seen. The shell fire of
the gunboats had rendered the ridge untenable. In every direction
lay the _débris_ of a deserted camp. Some of the fires were still
smoking, and here and there were dotted the small wattled shelters
which the Sudanese Arabs rejoice to make. In one place a feeble sort
of entrenchment had been commenced, but speedily abandoned.
By this time the dampness of the early morning had been succeeded
by blazing sunshine. The march was the longest and most tedious one
of the campaign, and scarcely a sound we heard except the muffled
tramp, tramp, of thousands of men traversing the sand. Suddenly,
as we were crossing a dried-up water-course in the Wady Suetne, a
little to the north of Kerreri, the roar of a heavy gun reached our
ears from the south--then another, and another! A general murmur of
satisfaction ran along the ranks. The tired men brightened up, and
stepped out with renewed vigour, while the Sudanese almost broke
into a run from excitement. Major Elmslie's Lyddite battery had got
into position, and was shelling the city from the other side of the
river. As I was a free agent, I ran as hard as I could up the rough
slopes, and reached the crest of the ridge. Little could be seen from
the lower slopes, but from the summit a splendid spectacle presented
itself. The terrible fifty-pounder shells had found the range, and
were playing havoc with the walls and public buildings of Omdurman.
Nothing can resist Lyddite. Thick walls were pierced like brown
paper, and the stones hurled high in the air amid clouds of dust
and flame. A shell had torn a vast hole through the lofty dome-like
structure which covered the Mahdi's sepulchre, the gilded top of
which had been carried clean away. The effect of the shells upon the
wretched people who chanced to be near to the Mahdi's tomb at the
time of the bombardment was truly awful, as I saw with my own eyes
two days afterwards.
Below on the vast plain, which, broken only by the mass of Gebel
Surgham, stretched from Kerreri to the outskirts of Omdurman our
cavalry were manœuvring with the Baggara horse "very prettily," as
one of the generals remarked. Our regiment of Lancers, three hundred
and twenty all told, would ride pluckily towards the dense masses
of the enemy, and then withdraw as lines of riflemen advanced to
meet them, or large bodies of mounted Baggaras attempted to cut off
their retreat. The Khalifa's entire army, incensed by the bombardment
and by the galling fire which our dismounted troopers took every
opportunity of pouring into them, were now moving forward to attack
and annihilate the infidels.
With Wauchope's Brigade in front, the infantry and artillery crossed
the ridge sloping down to the river. On the left was the village of
Kerreri, guarded by an ancient redoubt, and here we imagined would be
the site for the camp. But orders were given to continue the march,
so we trudged more than a mile farther, to the deserted hamlet of El
Genuaia. Without further ado, mimosa branches were cut and a zeriba
was formed on a small scale round the village. The heliograph from
the top of Gebel Surgham was flashing incessantly, and keeping the
Sirdar well informed of the whereabouts and progress of the enemy's
advance. The Lancers too came trotting in, having done their best
to delay the onset of the Dervishes. "We expect," said Colonel
Wingate to me, "to be attacked in half an hour." Meanwhile fatigue
parties dragged the bushes on the southern face of our zeriba much
farther away in the direction of Omdurman, and the result was a vast
zeriba extending along the Nile from El Genuaia to a small village
called--so I gathered from the maps--Geren Nebi. The length of the
rough semi-circle must have been over nine hundred yards. Nearer
Geren Nebi it enclosed a number of mud-huts, which were ultimately
used for hospital purposes; and between this part of the zeriba and
our original site, there was a gentle declivity terminating in a
small inlet of the Nile, with thick black mud along its margin. A
little beyond this inlet, towards the south, the plain shelved down
to the river, and within the hollow thus formed the majority of the
baggage animals and native servants were posted. The cover thus
afforded must have been excellent, for I do not think that a single
baggage animal was killed throughout the fight. On the extreme left
of our line lay a gap between the end of the zeriba and the river,
left purposely, I presume, in order to admit the cavalry. Not to go
into more detail than needful about the position of our troops--the
line began on the left side with the 32nd Field Battery R.A., and
an Egyptian battery of twelve-pounder Maxim-Nordenfeldts. Next in
order came the two British Brigades with two Maxim batteries, and the
remaining two-thirds of the zeriba was held by the various native
battalions. Towards the northern side of the zeriba an Egyptian
battery was posted on a little mound of sand. The British infantry
were protected solely by the zeriba, but in front of the native
battalions under Colonels Lewis, Maxwell, and Macdonald ran a shallow
trench. Colonel Collinson's brigade was posted as a reserve inside
the zeriba some distance to the rear of Macdonald's division.
Ammunition boxes lay in rows behind each company, bayonets had been
fixed, and everyone looked eagerly over the plain for a glimpse of
the advancing Dervishes. For some reason or other, which has never
been adequately explained, the Dervishes did not advance to the
attack that afternoon. The Khalifa's army, after marching forward a
couple of miles, came to a sudden halt, and subsequently withdrew
to its camp for the night. None of the Emirs in the enemy's lines,
with the exception of the wily Osman Digna, had had any previous
experience of British methods of warfare. Still, some at least of
the Dervish leaders must have passed a night of anxiety, full of
gloomy anticipations of coming disaster. The brave Wad-Ed-Nejumi,
just before the battle of Toski, addressed the followers whom he had
led across the terrible Bayuda desert, and warned them in simple,
soldierly words that each one must be prepared on the morrow to meet
his Maker. Thoughts such as this were surely, one would think, enough
to keep the Khalifa and his generals awake that night with the awful
sense of responsibility! Not that the Moslem fighting man, whether
of high or low degree, has any fear of death itself. From what I
have seen of him in action, I should imagine that the contingency of
death never enters into his head as a factor of the fight which need
be regarded. Absolutely convinced as he is of a future existence in
which bravery and devotion will be rewarded, the Dervish faces the
muzzles of Maxim guns with a sword in his hand. It is civilisation
which sets Death upon his throne of terror. The greater the sum of
life's enjoyments the greater the dread of losing them, and as the
nervous organism of mankind becomes relaxed and softened by the
æsthetic and sentimental influences of social progress, physical pain
is accentuated in reality, and dreaded all the more in anticipation.
The ordinary belief in a future life amongst Christian peoples
is, for the most part, so nebulous and indefinite that it fails
altogether as a mainspring of action amid the risks of battle. Thus,
unless other sentimental or utilitarian considerations can step in to
fill the gap, _e.g._ patriotism, or the preservation of hearth and
home, the Christian is invariably at a disadvantage in contending
with his Moslem enemy. Look at the spectacle presented by the
Ottoman Empire, in which millions of Christians have been dominated
for centuries by a small but valiant minority of Osmanlis.
When it was known that the Khalifa's army had postponed the attack,
a general feeling of disappointment pervaded the whole zeriba. The
men, both white and black, had been as keen as possible; we had all
been waiting for the enemy, and he hadn't come! We were robbed of
our show, and it was positively annoying to hear, instead of the
warlike commands which had prefaced the afternoon, the pacific order
for fatigue parties to leave the zeriba and cut wood for cooking
purposes! What awful bathos! From Khalifa to kitchen utensils, from
battle and murder to bully beef and biscuit!
Few of the twenty-three thousand men who passed that night within
the zeriba are likely to forget it. We felt certain of a battle on
the morrow, for all doubts as to whether the Khalifa would stand and
fight, or flee away into the uttermost parts of the Sudan, were now
set at rest. The two armies actually lay encamped within five miles
of each other on an almost dead level! The whole of our force, from
the Sirdar downwards, was fully conscious of its strength and its
ability to resist the Dervish assault in the morning. But what if
the Khalifa resolved after all to attack our zeriba under the cover
of night? When one remembers the thinness of our extended line,
our miserably inadequate defences, the stealthiness and rapidity
of the Dervish infantry, the impossibility of accurate fire in the
darkness, the preponderating numbers of the enemy and their splendid
valour,--when one thinks of these and other things which may not be
discussed _coram populo_, one cannot be sufficiently thankful that
the Khalifa refrained from attacking us on that memorable night! Had
such an assault taken place, I feel _absolutely certain_ that of the
brave fellows who in the morning advanced unflinchingly against the
most terrific fire of the century's warfare, a vast number would have
broken through the zeriba in the darkness. The result would have
been terrible beyond words! The cut and thrust of the Dervish sword
and spear, with the cross fire of our own men, might have ended in a
fulfilment of the Mahdi's prophecy, instead of a decisive and almost
bloodless victory for the British arms!
With the exception of sentries, who were doubled, the troops were
allowed to sleep, though their rest was broken by several alarms
during the night. Two friendly Arabs had been sent out beyond Geren
Nebi with orders, in the event of a Dervish onset, to raise the
peculiar trilling cry which one hears in a higher key from Sudanese
women. Suddenly the trilling sound was distinctly heard, the men
were instantly roused, and our spies came racing in at full speed,
and jumped clean over the zeriba! They pretended that the Khalifa's
army was close upon their heels, but no Dervishes appeared. In all
probability these worthless creatures had been alarmed by some
"sniping" shots from the river bank, or else thought it would be more
agreeable inside than outside the zeriba, and so resolved to get back
and spend a comfortable night. The alarm over, our men lay down once
more; and now a note of comedy was added to the anxiety, for in the
dark a camel, with its forelegs tied together, suddenly ran _amok_
through the camp, leaping with clumsy bounds over the officers'
_angaribs_, and causing much confusion and laughter.
During the earlier part of the evening an order had been passed
round that all lights were to be extinguished in five minutes; but,
as usual, a number of people were selfish enough to disobey orders,
and incur the risk of Dervish sniping, rather than get into bed by
starlight. As a matter of fact, a number of shots were fired into
the camp from the Surgham ridge, and some desultory sniping from the
bushes beyond Geren Nebi sent occasional bullets whistling over the
sleeping camp.
Before I fell asleep, I was astonished to see Cross walking up from
the bank. He seemed much better, and said that he had been terribly
worried all day by the thought that, after all, he might not be
present at the battle. The floating hospital in which he lay was
moored at an island opposite the zeriba, and it seemed doubtful at
one time whether the barge would be moved over to our side. "If it
hadn't," said Cross, "I had made up my mind to swim across the river
to you."