THE BATTLE OF OMDURMAN
On 2nd September we rose from our broken slumbers in the dull grey
light of daybreak, and by the time the first sunlight had flushed the
surface of the Nile everybody was hard at work over his breakfast.
When one knows that within an hour or two the normal routine of
regular meals may be rudely interrupted by the exigencies of a whole
day's fighting, it behoves one to eat at least as substantial a
breakfast, if it can be got, as one does in London before catching a
morning express to Edinburgh. Certainly it is impossible to imagine a
more agreeable prelude to a battle than that which we experienced in
our zeriba. There was plenty of time for a really comfortable meal,
without being interrupted by an unpleasantly early visit from the
Dervishes.
As Cross and I strolled up towards that part of the line held by
the British, I stopped for a few minutes at the huts which had been
converted into temporary shelters for the wounded. Everything was in
its place, and the _angaribs_ and stretchers ready for prospective
employment. Having just emerged from the floating hospital, Cross was
naturally very weak, and one of the medical staff, having noticed
this, gave him a dose of _sal volatile_. Every British soldier
carried on him a little packet of medical requisites for "first aid
to the wounded." The packet was a marvel of condensed utility--lint,
bandages, medicated silk, and other things, all compressed into a
tiny parcel about three inches square.
By the time I reached the British portion of the zeriba the men were
all in their places, with reserve companies in position a little to
the rear. Every officer had seen to the working of his revolver,
and all the Tommies had opened the breech of their Lee-Metfords and
tested the magazine action--a very necessary precaution amongst the
sand and dust of Egypt. The two batteries on the extreme left were
drawn up, with the grim muzzles of the fifteen-pounders and the
Maxim-Nordenfeldts pointing towards Gebel Surgham. Case upon case of
shells lay ready to hand, and a number of these missiles were spread
out on the sand close beside the gun-carriages.
Long before the advancing Dervishes came within range and sight of
our infantry, the Egyptian cavalry, some two thousand strong, had
left the northern side of the zeriba, and with the Camel Corps had
come in touch with a large body of the enemy under the Sheikh Ed-Din.
The Dervishes, certainly not less than fifteen thousand in number,
immediately advanced against the Khedival cavalry, expecting, no
doubt, an easy victory over the Egyptians: how often in the past
had the fellahin horsemen fled in utter rout before them! But now
the despised Egyptians retreated in excellent order, dismounting
and firing volleys as steadily as on the parade ground at Cairo.
The Camel Corps were blundering slowly along, scarcely able to keep
ahead of the native spearmen, and were threatened every moment with
annihilation. In fact, throughout the day's fighting, no troops were
exposed to more serious risk than the cumbrous Camel Corps. The
cavalry acted splendidly, halting repeatedly under a hot fire until
the camel men came up. Captain Ricardo of the 17th Lancers, who was
attached to the Egyptian cavalry, told me that he never wished to
command better troops than the "Gyppies" showed themselves to be
under these trying circumstances. Nevertheless, many saddles were
emptied by Dervish bullets, two field-guns had to be temporarily
abandoned, and it would have fared very ill with this gallant corps
if they had been compelled to rely solely on their own efforts. As
it was, the Egyptian battery posted on a knoll at the north-west
corner of the zeriba had got the range of the Kerreri ridge
accurately, and as the triumphant Dervishes appeared amongst the
rocks in full pursuit of the retreating cavalry, round after round
of twelve-pounder shells burst amongst them. At the same moment
the Melik and Sultan had trained their quick-firing guns upon the
Dervishes, and did splendid execution amongst the crowded ranks.
Under this combined fire the enemy wavered, but not for long. They
tried to dodge the projectiles and advance more cautiously under
cover of various rocky gullies amongst the broken ground. It was like
a terrible game of hide-and-seek. The white gibbehs, hidden for some
minutes behind the hill, suddenly reappeared by fresh exits from the
ridge; but shells met them at every turn, and finally the fanatics,
balked of their prey, sullenly withdrew beyond the hills altogether
with most of their wounded, leaving some twelve hundred of their
number dead or dying on the field.
Inside the zeriba we were all alert and ready. Breakfast was over,
and we simply waited for the enemy. I looked down into the hollow
beside the river where the baggage camels, camp followers, and
servants were stowed away in safety, and saw Ali grasping his
enormous sword. The faithful creature came up and informed me that
he intended to devote his attention exclusively to the defence of
my person during the coming fight. I gently restrained the vaulting
ambition of my cook, and pointed out to him the value of less
ostentatious heroism--the protection, for example, of the camels
from bullets, and the groceries from theft. Having shaken off this
enthusiast, I walked along the zeriba to a point some way below the
Lincolns. A large number of the Tommies had never been under fire
before, _e.g._ the Guards and the Lancashire Fusiliers, and there
was a curious look of suppressed excitement in some of the faces, as
they stared over the desert to catch a glimpse of the enemy they were
at last destined to behold, after many long marches by day and false
alarms by night. Now and then I caught in a man's eye the curious
gleam which comes from the joy of shedding blood--that mysterious
impulse which, despite all the veneer of civilisation, still holds
its own in a man's nature, whether he is killing rats with a terrier,
rejoicing in a prize fight, playing a salmon, or potting Dervishes.
It was a fine day, and we had come out to kill something. Call it
what you like, the experience is a big factor in the joy of living:
one speaks φωνᾶντα συνετοῖσι. Lower down the line the Sudanese showed
their white teeth as they grinned with delight at the prospect of
slaughter.
Suddenly the Lancers came trotting over the ridge between Gebel
Surgham and the Nile, while several officers galloped across the
plain and reported to the Sirdar that the Khalifa's forces were now
rapidly advancing. The signallers from Gebel Surgham had come in by
this time, and the cavalry, after a temporary halt beyond Geren Nebi,
entered the zeriba by the gap beyond the batteries, and there waited
ready for future emergencies.
"When they do show themselves," said an artillery officer, "we'll
give them beans," and "beans" they certainly got! Even as he spoke,
a long white streak far away in the distance suddenly spread itself
over the yellow sand; the longed-for moment had arrived! "Here they
come!" was on everybody's lips, and a rustle of excitement ran down
the ranks.
True enough, on either side of Gebel Surgham, and then on towards the
western slopes of Kerreri, line upon line of Dervish infantry and
cavalry appeared. Gigantic banners fluttered aloft, borne on lofty
flagstaffs. The rising sun glinted on sword blades and spearheads
innumerable, and as the mighty host drew nearer, black heads and
arms became visible amongst the white of the massed _gibbehs_. And
now, too, a dense volume of sound came rolling over the desert as
the fanatical Arabs raised continuous shouts of defiance, mingled
with chants to Allah and the Prophet--their final battle-cry before
the inevitable death awaiting them--the veritable requiem song of
Mahdism! In the clear morning air the pageant was truly magnificent,
a splendid panorama of some forty thousand barbarians moving forward
all undismayed to do battle with the largest army which Great
Britain has placed in the field for forty years. So marvellous
a picture--once seen, never to be seen again--must surely have
impressed itself indelibly upon the memory of all who witnessed it!
Our men stood unmoved within the zeriba. Suddenly a cloud of white
smoke massed itself along the enemy's front, and one realised that
the Dervishes had opened fire on us. The Khalifa's forces possessed
eighteen thousand Martinis and a still larger number of Remingtons,
captured from the ill-fated army of Hicks Pasha and the various
garrisons of the Sudan. But as none of the Dervishes understood the
sighting of their rifles, and many of them had actually knocked off
the back-sights as a useless encumbrance, their opening volleys at
over two thousand yards, being fired point blank, were useless. They
simply wasted ammunition; for most of the bullets of course struck
the sand hundreds of yards in front of us, and comparatively few got
as far as the zeriba. No response came from our silent ranks for
another five minutes. Then at 6.20 a roar came from the batteries on
the left, and a shell shrieked through the air and burst about twenty
yards in front of the formidable line advancing against the southern
face of the zeriba. Almost simultaneously the other batteries opened
fire on the dense masses of the enemy advancing round the western
slopes of Surgham, and still farther away towards the ridge of
Kerreri.
The battle had now commenced in dire earnest. As the enemy rapidly
advanced, bullets of all sizes and shapes soon began to whistle over
the zeriba from the Martinis, Remingtons, and nondescript weapons of
the enemy. A battery, too, which they had placed on the western slope
of Surgham, fired at the portion of our line held by the Camerons
and Seaforths. More than forty rounds were fired from these Dervish
field guns, but the shells did little, if any, damage, as, although
the fuses were beautifully timed and the projectiles burst at an
excellent height above the ground, the range was too long, and they
all fell short. Moreover, after the fight some fragments of these
shells were picked up and found to be made of very thin brass casing;
so that the damage they could have inflicted, even had they reached
our lines, must have been inconsiderable. As it was, they burst like
maroons at the Crystal Palace, with a loud report and little else.
Our own artillery had very soon found the range accurately. The
British fifteen-pounders and the short Maxim-Nordenfeldts of the
Egyptian gunners were admirably worked, and the precision of the
shell fire was marvellous. Scores of shrapnel burst just over the
advancing line, and other shells struck the ground under their feet,
tearing huge gaps in the ranks and throwing up clouds of earth and
stones. The division of the enemy nearest to the zeriba was advancing
over the ridge between Surgham and the river, and with a good field
glass I could see the fearful havoc played by the fire of our guns.
Beneath the descending shower of bullets from a well-placed shrapnel,
a little crowd of men would fall torn and bleeding upon the sand,
and sometimes a shell splinter would crash into a horse and hurl the
animal with its rider to the ground. Despite this awful fire, the
brave Dervishes came steadily on down the slope, though the line of
their march was thickly strewn with dead and wounded. At length, to
complete their discomfiture, the enemy in this part of the field
came within long range of the rifles of the Guards, the Warwicks,
and other battalions lining the more southern face of the zeriba. As
withering volleys were poured into them, in addition to the incessant
shell fire, the remnants of this brave division seemed to realise the
hopelessness of a direct advance, and swerved to their left without
any disorder to join their comrades who had advanced round Surgham
from the west.
The main attack upon our position had now fully developed, and it
was at this juncture that the Egyptian cavalry and the Camel Corps
regained the shelter of their comrades' trenches after their lucky
escape from Sheikh Ed-Din's spearmen. Thousands upon thousands of
Dervish infantry and cavalry advanced all along the line in a rough
semicircle, with frenzied shouts and a continuous but irregular fire
upon the western face of the zeriba. Towards the left centre the
Khalifa's black ensign stood out above the white _gibbehs_ and red
sashes of his bodyguard--that heroic and devoted band who rallied to
the last round their leader's flag, and died to a man in its defence!
The din of battle was terrific. The roar of the artillery, the shriek
of shells, the crisp volleys of the Lee-Metfords, and the unceasing
rat-tat-tat of the deadly Maxims were so deafening that it was only
occasionally in brief intervals that one realised that bullets by
hundreds were flying around us.
Other proofs, however, of this were soon in evidence. In every
direction the medical service men were to be seen carrying the dead
and wounded on stretchers to the rear. As I walked across the zeriba
with the Rifle Brigade, who were ordered to reinforce the line
facing west, three men were hit by Dervish bullets, and immediately
afterwards I saw a corporal of the Camerons shot clean through
the head. As I said above, comparatively few bullets were heard,
but every now and then a man fell to the ground. Colonel Money's
horse was shot under him; he secured another mount, and in a few
minutes his second horse rolled over, pierced by another Dervish
bullet. Shortly afterwards, as I was watching the Maxim fire, a
Highlander suddenly fell over two yards to my left. He was, I think,
shot through the upper part of the arm; but what amused me was the
self-conscious, shamefaced look which came over his face when the
stretcher arrived. He looked sheepishly round to see if anybody
noticed it, and was evidently quite ashamed of being carried off!
It was interesting to hear various occasional remarks which were
made as flying bullets whistled overhead or made a splash in the
loose sand of the zeriba. After a little experience in being under
fire the ear gets to appreciate the relative distances of these
invisible messengers, but the tendency at first is to imagine that
the passing bullet is much nearer to one than it really is. I
remember hearing a young soldier remark as a bullet whizzed over
us, "By Jove, that nearly got me on the head!" whereas the missile
was yards up in the air. It is, indeed, always satisfactory under
such circumstances to note the whizz of bullets through the air;
for, of course, if you hear the missile, it can't do you any harm.
Some of the Dervish bullets played the oddest tricks. My friend,
Captain Maclachlan of the Camerons, suddenly felt his side drenched
with water, and, looking down, found that his water-bottle had been
pierced from side to side. I found that this little anecdote had
already reached England when I arrived, and had, moreover, been duly
improved upon; for an old lady in the train spoke in sympathetic
tones of the providential escape of the poor invalid officer who had
been saved from a bullet as he lay in bed by the _hot water bottle_
applied to his side! Another bullet passed through an ammunition
pouch, cutting eight cartridges in half just between the lead and the
cordite without exploding a single one. In another case, a Dervish
bullet bored a hole through the helmet of the man in front, tore the
shoulder-strap from the man behind, then wounded a sergeant in the
leg, and finally dropped harmlessly on the toes of a private in the
rear.
Between the two Highland battalions was posted a battery of Maxims
under Captain Smeaton, whom I had seen in Crete a year and a half
ago. Just behind the Maxims a detachment of Engineers did excellent
work in organising the ammunition supply. One is always glad to
hear the conduct of this fine corps appreciated, for frequently the
sappers, from the nature of their work, are not sufficiently noticed
in the literature of our "little wars." They did much excellent work
at the Atbara, with scarcely a word of subsequent recognition from
the Press; and here in the Omdurman zeriba they were posted in the
middle of the fighting line, and took their chance as well as anyone
else.
The Maxims poured forth an unceasing stream of bullets. A belt of
cartridges was fixed, and instantly began to glide through the breech
mechanism; then ta-ta-ta-ta-ta--the belt was empty and thrown aside
to make way for another. It was not difficult to see how the gun was
doing its terrible work, for if the aim became unduly depressed, a
screen of dust and sand was thrown up in front of the enemy's line,
and the only thing needed was a trifling elevation of the barrel.
There is a sort of fascination about a Maxim in full swing. Water is
placed round the barrel in a metal casing, in order to keep the steel
from becoming red hot. As it is, in three minutes after the water is
poured in it boils furiously, and steam rushes out of the valves.
Still, as long as the barrel is in contact with water of any kind,
all goes well. In the midst of the Dervish attack the water suddenly
gave out in Captain Smeaton's battery, and the machinery would
speedily have ceased work from overheating but for the ready help of
the men who stood by, and immediately emptied their water-bottles
into the empty tubing. The Maxims, thus refreshed, continued their
work, and up to 8.30 a.m. no less than ninety thousand rounds of
ammunition had been fired from these weapons alone.
About seven o'clock a marvellous attempt to break our lines was made
by the enemy. The Dervish leader in the centre--perhaps Yakub, the
Khalifa's brother--actually dispatched a body of about one hundred
and fifty cavalry against the British position. That any sane man
could be guilty of such criminal folly is almost incredible. The
devoted band galloped towards the zeriba over the open desert in
the very teeth of Maxims and Lee-Metford volleys! Needless to say,
not one of these brave fellows got within five hundred yards of our
lines. The Maxims and rifles rained bullets upon them, the murderous
sheet of lead mowed them down, and they simply vanished from sight.
One heroic leader struggled on in front of his comrades, until he
too, with his beautiful Arab charger, went down like the rest,
and lay there, a silent witness to the magnificent valour of the
Khalifa's followers. Not one man in twenty returned from this wild
charge, which, for the utter recklessness of its bravery, must be
almost unexampled in military history.
The interchange of shots continued until about 8.30, by which time
the Dervish forces had been practically annihilated, with the
exception of two or three large masses, which had retreated in
excellent order behind the hills on the south-west and north-west.
In fact, during the last half-hour of this portion of the engagement,
the actual rifle fire of the Dervishes had been confined almost
exclusively to a small body of sharpshooters, who had ensconced
themselves in a sandy hollow some nine hundred yards away on our left
centre. These riflemen, being sheltered from the hail of bullets
which whizzed over their heads, continued to make very fair practice
on our ranks for some time. At last a shell from Major Williams'
battery pitched right into the middle of their retreat. What exactly
happened I do not know, but, at anyrate, we were troubled by no more
bullets from _that_ quarter. Throughout the fighting up to this point
I never saw a Dervish _run_; whenever he retreated he simply walked
off the field. I noticed many of the wounded struggle to their feet,
attempt to walk away, and then fall to rise no more as merciless
volleys again struck them to the ground.
As the Sirdar appeared to think that all danger from Dervish attack
was now past and over, the entire army received orders to leave
the zeriba and march in _échelon_ straight on Omdurman. Meanwhile,
however, the Lancers had advanced over the ridge towards the river,
with orders to harass the enemy and head them off from Omdurman as
far as possible. The troopers trotted off in excellent spirits, glad
to get a chance of some fighting after their forced inaction under
cover during the assault upon the zeriba.
And now occurred the most graphic and sensational bit of fighting in
the whole battle. A continuous stream of Dervishes was traversing the
plain between Gebel Surgham and the suburbs of Omdurman. But before
the Lancers had advanced far upon the flank of these fugitives they
noticed what appeared to be a body of some two hundred spearmen, who
were partly under cover of a low ridge of sand. These Dervishes soon
showed that they had rifles as well as spears, for a hot fire was
opened upon the cavalry. A charge was at once ordered, and the line
of Lancers galloped down upon the enemy. Before they had reached
the hollow, however, they saw beyond the riflemen a considerable
body of Dervishes, whose presence, thanks to a further inequality
in the ground, had not been revealed till that moment. I have heard
it said that, previous to falling foul of these partly concealed
Dervishes, the Lancers had advanced without any scouts being thrown
forward who might have easily discovered how the land lay. Again,
even when the white mass of men, some fifteen deep, suddenly rose
up before the eyes of the cavalry, there would have been absolutely
no shadow of discredit in retiring; for cavalry are not ordinarily
required to charge unbroken infantry, nor was this course rendered
necessary by the Sirdar's orders. There can be little doubt that if
our men, immediately on sighting the large compact body in the rear
of the riflemen, had withdrawn, dismounted, and poured volleys from
their carbines into the massed ranks of the enemy, they would have
inflicted far greater damage upon the Dervishes, with scarcely any
appreciable loss to themselves. This course was not taken. So far
from halting and retreating, our gallant Lancers quickened their
chargers' pace, and hurled themselves boldly against the double
rampart of fighting men. Colonel Martin led the way, riding well
ahead of his regiment, and, without attempting to use his weapons,
forced a passage through the dense masses in front of him. He did
not, I believe, receive a scratch during this perilous exploit,
though it was almost a miracle that he escaped with his life. A
friend of mine who took part in this famous charge told me that as
the cavalry galloped forward they were met by a perfect hail of
bullets from the riflemen in front, which ought to have emptied
many a saddle, but for the most part flew harmlessly overhead. As
is usually the case in desperate fighting, none of the men who came
safely through the charge appeared to know much about its details.
My informant told me that he noticed an officer--probably Lieutenant
Grenfell--standing a little on one side and fighting with a ring
of Dervishes, three of whom suddenly turned upon himself. As they
advanced he realised that he had better make some use of his weapons,
so whipped out his revolver and shot the foremost Dervish. After this
his horse struggled onward past the rest of the assailants. Until he
had shot this man, he had quite forgotten to draw either sword or
revolver!
The outer line of the enemy was soon broken up by the impact of
the cavalry, and the riflemen tumbled head over heels amongst the
horses' feet. But much greater resistance came from the two thousand
Dervishes at the back. The confusion was terrible. Lances are not
of much use in a crowd, and if our troopers had used their sabres
they would have suffered less from the heavy sword blades which were
hacking their bodies and hamstringing their horses. If any man was
unhorsed he was as good as dead. The furious Arabs leapt upon him
and slashed at his face till his features disappeared and his flesh
hung in strips. Lieutenant Clerk's charger stumbled and fell forward
as it breasted the edge of the _nullah_, but most fortunately its
master kept his seat, and managed to get through the _mêlée_ unhurt.
This officer was on September 2nd far too ill and weak for any sort
of military duty, but he pluckily kept to his regiment till the day's
arduous work was over, and was then obliged to go into hospital worse
than before. The fighting through the brief period of this charge--a
few minutes all told from beginning to end--was wild and fierce. The
Lancers never flinched in the face of an enemy six times as numerous
as themselves, and, doing what they could with the clumsy lances,
forced a path for their squadrons through the crowd in front. On
the other hand, the Dervishes rejoiced, no doubt, to get to close
quarters with the hated infidels after all the futile attempts and
cruel losses of the morning. Their eyes gleamed with fury as they
crowded round the hated Englishmen, and showered spear thrusts and
sword cuts upon man and beast alike. The cross-handled Dervish sword
is terribly heavy, and the long straight blades of several which I
picked up had been freshly ground for subsequent employment upon the
person of Tommy Atkins. The large Dervish spear, too, when properly
handled, is a most formidable weapon, and if a thrust is driven well
home into the body, the wound from the broad iron head is so wide and
deep that a man has little chance of recovery.
My readers have all read in the newspapers of some of the many acts
of heroism and narrow escapes which were crowded into the space of
a few minutes. They have heard how gallantly men like Lieutenant
Montmorency and Private Peddar, who had fought their way unhurt
through the Dervishes' line, turned back to save their wounded and
dismounted comrades--how Major Wyndham, when his horse fell dead
beneath him, managed with the help of his friends to push his way
through the press and escape the death which overtook almost every
other Lancer who was unhorsed.
The enemy's line was completely broken up by the cavalry, and about
seventy of the Dervishes were killed or wounded. But when the Lancers
formed up some three hundred yards on the other side of the hollow,
it was evident from even a cursory glance that the gallant charge
had cost them dear. Lieutenant Grenfell with twenty troopers were
missing, and of the fifty wounded men many were streaming with blood
and scarcely able to keep their saddles. No less than one hundred
and nineteen horses out of three hundred and twenty were killed or
hopelessly wounded, and in some cases the faithful creatures, who
had carried their masters safely through the fight, just managed to
rejoin the ranks and then fell dead.
After the charge Colonel Martin ordered his men to dismount and fire
volleys at the enemy, who still held their ground. The magazine fire
of the carbines speedily dispersed the Dervishes, and the victorious
Lancers returned to the scene of their charge and recovered the
dead. All the bodies had been horribly mutilated; the faces were
quite unrecognisable, and the flesh of the neck and shoulders was
scored and lacerated in every direction with sword cuts and spear
thrusts.
Indignation against the Dervishes for such mutilations may easily be
exaggerated. Sickening as it is to gaze upon a comrade's features
hacked out of all human semblance, one cannot forget that the men
who did the deed had seen thousands of their brethren slain by
our awful fire without a possibility of retaliation. It is worth
remembering, too, that the mutilation of the human body is not
the exclusive monopoly of barbaric peoples; anyone who has seen
the effects of shell fire--bodies ripped open, jaws torn off,
and kindred horrors--may find it difficult to differentiate very
markedly between the accursed usages inseparable from every system of
warfare--civilised and barbarous alike.
While the Lancers had met and engaged the enemy beyond Gebel
Surgham, the whole of the infantry, artillery, and baggage-train
had left the zeriba and advanced in _échelon_ upon Omdurman. The
British battalions led the way on the left; on the right marched the
Egyptians and Sudanese--Maxwell's brigade in front, Lewis's next,
and Macdonald's bringing up the rear. I joined Lewis's men, and as
the line of our advance led us over the ground covered by a portion
of the attack, we speedily found ourselves amongst dead and dying
Dervishes. The first of these I came across was the brave leader
who had led the charge of the Baggara cavalry. He and his horse
were quite dead--both of them riddled with bullets. His spear lay
beside him, and was seized by a Sudanese soldier as a present for
his _bimbashi_. As we marched towards Gebel Surgham, and further out
upon the plain, the efficacy of our shell and rifle fire became more
apparent every yard we advanced. In every direction rows and clusters
of white _gibbehs_ and black bodies lay scattered over the sand.
Here and there, too, horses were stretched motionless, or else tossed
restlessly to and fro, unable to rise. I cannot account for the fact,
but the sight of a wounded horse is much more painful to myself,
and, I know, to many other men, than the sight of a wounded man. As
one walks over a battlefield one gazes with indifference or vague
curiosity on mangled heaps of human bodies, but where one sees a
horse cruelly torn by a shell splinter, raising and drooping its head
upon the sand, with terror and anguish in its beautiful eyes--such a
sight as this must fill the heart of any lover of animals with pain
and pity.
Our native battalions were soon busily engaged in killing the
wounded. The Sudanese undertook this task with evident relish, and
never spared a single Dervish along their path. On our left front,
at the foot of the Surgham slope, where the opening shell fire of
the batteries on the left had covered the hillside with dead and
wounded, a large number of servants and camp followers were also
busy. These harpies, intent solely on loot, had armed themselves with
various weapons. Some carried clubs or spears, others had managed
to secure old rifles. They advanced with great caution, and I saw
them fire repeatedly into bodies which were already quite dead,
before they dared to rush in and strip the corpse of its arms and
clothing. These cowardly wretches ought most certainly to have been
prevented from carrying on this irresponsible shooting. They fired
anyhow, without looking to see who was in front, and their bullets
continually ricochetted against the rocks. One of these bullets
passed quite close to the front of our brigade as we advanced, and I
heard that an officer was wounded by another.
The barbarous usage of killing the wounded has become traditional
in Sudanese warfare, and in some cases it must be looked upon as
a painful necessity. The wounded Dervishes--as I saw with my own
eyes, and on one occasion nearly felt with my own body--sometimes
raised themselves and fired one last round at our advancing line. On
one occasion a wounded Baggara suddenly rose up from a little heap
of bodies and stabbed no less than seven Egyptian cavalry troopers
before he was finally dispatched. Still, when all has been said in
defence of this practice, it is certain that in many cases wounded
Dervishes, unarmed and helpless, were butchered from sheer wantonness
and lust of bloodshed. The whole formed a hideous picture, not easy
to forget.
Some of the wounded turned wearily over, and paid no attention to
our advance. For many of them, indeed, the bitterness of death was
already past. They lay in the scorching heat, with shattered bodies
and shattered hopes, awaiting the final thrust of the merciless
bayonet. Many of them were doubtless good as well as brave men. They
had trusted in Allah that he would deliver them, but their prayer had
been in vain. There are few experiences in this world more cruel than
the sudden extinction of religious hope, and the dying thoughts of
some of these Dervishes must have been exceeding bitter.
As I tramped along with Lewis's brigade towards Omdurman, we were
suddenly aware that something had gone wrong on the right flank and
rear of the column. The "ispt," "ispt" of bullets was heard in every
direction, and men began to fall. Turning round, I soon saw what had
happened. The enemy had actually renewed the fight, and an orderly
attack was being made on Macdonald's brigade by the large Dervish
force under Sheikh Ed-Din, which had retreated under the fire of
the gunboats at the beginning of the engagement, and held itself
in readiness behind the Kerreri ridge for this flank attack. At the
same time several other bodies of Dervishes appeared to the west of
Surgham, and also from behind the low hills straight in front.
The brunt of this fresh attack fell upon the rear brigade. Colonel
Macdonald did not lose a moment. His blacks were at once formed into
two lines, meeting at an obtuse angle, and a steady fire was opened
on the enemy, who advanced with marvellous rapidity. Towards the left
centre, the black standard of the Khalifa rose again to view, and
behind this, and on either flank, line after line of infantry swept
once more over the undulating desert.
This was the only portion of the fight in which any part of our
position was seriously threatened, and during this second battle--for
it practically amounted to this--the Sudanese and Egyptian infantry
had most of the fighting to themselves. Right well they fought--one
native brigade against some twenty-five thousand Dervishes. Any
wavering or panic on the part of these battalions would have been
fatal, for during the really critical period of the fight they were
quite isolated. Lewis's brigade--their nearest support--was at
least nine hundred yards away, and most of the British columns were
actually out of sight, advancing along the river a mile and a half
in front. The men of the brigade, which comprised the 9th, 10th, and
11th Sudanese and the 2nd Egyptians, were armed with Martinis; and
the smoke of the black powder they used interfered to some extent
with the accuracy of their fire, which always tends, in the case of
native troops, to become rather wild as the excitement of battle
grows upon them. Thus it happened that the enemy managed to get to
much closer quarters with us than previously. Their foremost ranks
sometimes seemed to advance within one hundred and fifty yards of the
Sudanese, and when a perfect flood of Sheikh Ed-Din's infantry was
let loose from the Kerreri slopes upon Macdonald's rear, some of the
Dervishes, despite the withering rifle fire, actually ran up and used
their spears against our men, until they were bayoneted or shot down
at the very muzzles of the rifles. Another brilliant attempt was made
by the Khalifa's cavalry to break the Sudanese lines, and some of the
horsemen got within a few yards of the line before they were shot
down in detail. One determined standard-bearer, with nothing in his
hands except his flagstaff, struggled on heroically to within a dozen
yards of the blacks before he fell, riddled with bullets.
Efforts had, of course, been made all along the line to lend
assistance to Macdonald in his one-handed struggle. The gunboats had
joined with his own three batteries in shelling the dense masses
under Sheikh Ed-Din, while on the left other batteries had galloped
up, and now from the northern slopes of Surgham poured round after
round of shell upon the indomitable enemy. Three battalions, too, of
the 1st British Brigade had come up at the double, and the Lincolns
had been dispatched to aid in the final dispersion of Ed-Din's
Dervishes amongst the rugged slopes of Kerreri.
Still, valuable as this help was in completing the rout of the
Dervishes, and driving them off finally beyond the hills to the
west, there is no doubt that the repulse of the enemy was already a
_fait accompli_ long before the British battalions had wheeled to
the right and traversed the long distance--at least one and a half
miles--between their position near the river and the rear of our
advance on the right. Colonel Macdonald had proved once more his
sterling qualities as a leader. The Sudanese had shown that they
could stand absolutely steady under a prolonged fire as well as rush
impetuously to an attack. The "Gyppies," who in the old days of El
Teb and Hicks Pasha's disaster threw away their rifles and were
butchered as they fled or knelt to beg for mercy--these very Fellahin
soldiers, now disciplined and taught the value of self-respect by
British officers, fired regular volleys and stood firm as a rock
against the stream of Dervishes which threatened every moment to
engulf them.
I noticed, by the way, one very smart bit of fighting during the
movement in support of Macdonald. The brigade under Colonel Maxwell
advanced almost directly upon Gebel Surgham, and a number of Sudanese
were ordered to clear the hill of Dervishes. Up went the blacks like
monkeys. The whole eastern slope of Surgham was dotted with little
white puffs of smoke as the lithe creatures leapt from boulder to
boulder and drove the enemy before them. At the top of the hill the
surviving Dervishes, under the Emir Osman Azrak, made a desperate
stand, but were killed to a man.
It was not till nearly midday that "Cease fire" again sounded, and
the victorious march to Omdurman was resumed. Scattered bands of
Dervishes were to be seen in the distance, making westward to the
shelter of the hills. Upon the rear of these fugitives the Egyptian
cavalry was let loose; and as they galloped away to the right, and
cut up the stragglers, they felt, no doubt, that they were getting
some sort of compensation for their bad luck in the early morning.
Captain Smeaton lent me his field glasses, which were more powerful
than my own, and far away in front, on a ridge of rock, safe from
cavalry and rifle bullets, I saw a little band of Dervishes--some
sixty in all--painfully making their way to the west. With the
fine binoculars in my hand I could even see the faces of the poor
wretches, the majority of whom seemed to be wounded. Some limped
along unaided over the rough hillside, others were supported by
their comrades. How many hundreds, nay, thousands, of these wounded
Dervishes ultimately succumbed to the fearful injuries inflicted
by the "man-stopping" bullet, no one, I suppose, will ever know
accurately; but one may be tolerably sure that behind the hills many
a poor creature lay down to die.
In handing Captain Smeaton's glasses back, I noticed that one of
the mules harnessed to the Maxims had just been struck by a bullet,
which passed clean through the animal's neck. The wounded mule, by
name Tommy, was evidently quite a pet amongst the gunners, and though
it looked rather anxious and depressed, it dragged the Maxim with
unabated vigour.
In places, as we marched along, the ground was strewn thickly with
bodies, as the fire had struck the enemy down in little heaps. In
one spot I saw a ring of nine men and three horses, all evidently
slain by the explosion of a single shell. One Dervish, as I passed,
raised his face to mine with a ghastly smile, as if deprecating our
vengeance, and throwing his _gibbeh_ on one side, displayed an awful
wound. A shell splinter had struck the miserable man full in front,
and literally ripped his body open from side to side. Another man
lay face downward upon the sand, breathing bubbles through a pool of
gore, and actually drowning in his own blood! As a rule, however, the
features of the dead were not distorted. They lay as if asleep, with
a peaceful look upon their faces, and many of them were handsome men
of magnificent build.
The sun by this time was terribly hot, and, after the excitement of
the fight, the fatigue of the day's work, and the absence of sleep
on the previous night began to tell upon the men. Several halts were
made, and at last a string of camels laden with _fantasias_ (metal
water tanks) made their appearance. The men crowded round, and filled
their bottles to the brim. The water was quite warm, but the troops
drank it with avidity. I filled my bottle, and then, plunging the
whole thing into a bucket, waited till evaporation should cool the
contents. Meanwhile I crawled under a Maxim carriage. The scanty
shade was perfectly delicious, and I should have gone to sleep but
for the mules, which became restless, and kicked out occasionally
with their hoofs in unpleasant proximity to my head.
After half an hour's halt the onward march was resumed, and we saw
the troops in front about two hundred yards away actually marching
through a mirage of water, rocks, and bushes! Cross tried to
photograph the curious scene, but the result did not prove a success.
Why does one never get a decent photograph of a mirage in the desert?
Men still fell out of the ranks from sheer exhaustion. One would see
a soldier totter on for some yards, trying to pull himself together,
and then suddenly step to one side and sink down on the sand, saying,
"It's no good; I can't go on." On two occasions when this happened,
the exhausted man had drained the entire contents of his bottle,
which had been full an hour ago, and not a drop of water was to
be got from any of the soldiers near! I mention this to show the
utter lack of self-control in the matter of drink which prevailed
amongst the "Tommies." My own bottle was the only one within reach
that contained any water at all, and of course I did what everyone
else would have done, and divided what remained between the two
men, who seemed to be actually dying of thirst. They then got up and
managed to struggle on to Omdurman, their rifles being carried for
them by some of their comrades. A private of the Warwicks suddenly
dropped down dead from heat apoplexy, and was buried on the spot. The
comparatively mild sufferings of our own men turned one's thoughts to
the crowded heaps of wounded wretches left behind us in the desert
to the added tortures of that thirst which invariably accompanies
gunshot wounds. How many thousands, too, of women and children would
soon be weeping with all the wild lamentation of the East over the
brave men who lay in the sleep of death far away upon the plain!
Sorrow is the same all the world over--that dread factor in human
life--and the terrific carnage of the day's fighting had taken away
the bread-winner and protector from thousands of poor homes in the
Sudan, and doomed many a household to starvation.
The battle was now to all intents and purposes over, and already
vast flocks of vultures were wheeling round and round over the
expanse of desert. Another halt was made on the edge of a _khor_
on the outskirts of Omdurman. The water of this inlet was thick and
yellow, and in the shallower parts dead animals--horses, mules, and
donkeys--lay about in various stages of decay. Nevertheless, the
thirsty troops rushed down the bank and drank greedily of the foul
water. The want of self-control and common sense at this _khor_ may
quite well be partly responsible for the large number of typhoid
cases which subsequently occurred. As I thought that ten minutes more
of dry throat and parched lips were better than the chance of enteric
fever, I walked down to the Nile. Here I found Captain Ricardo, Lord
Tullibardine, and one or two others sitting under the scanty shade
of a mud-hut, where I joined them after some tremendous draughts of
running water, drunk out of a calabash which I had cut from the neck
of a dead Dervish. Lord Tullibardine kindly gave me some brandy to
flavour the water, and Captain Ricardo recounted the good deeds of
the "Gyppy" cavalry. Then we all lay at full length and indulged in a
little siesta.
The bugles soon sounded the "advance," and the final order came
that the army was to occupy Omdurman forthwith. The weary troops
advanced once more, and we all waded through the muddy _khor_. The
water reached to our knees, and was very refreshing after the long
tramp over the hot sand. Alongside one of the battalions rode the
Presbyterian chaplain, mounted--oh tell it not in the Kirk, neither
publish it amongst the Elders--upon a looted pony! It was, I think,
a colt which I had seen earlier in the day standing unhurt amongst
a heap of dead Dervishes, and calmly nibbling some scanty blades of
desert grass.
As we marched on through the apparently interminable suburbs of the
city, the regimental drums and fifes and the Highlanders' bagpipes
struck up some lively tunes. The effect of music at such a time was
simply marvellous: it put fresh heart and vigour into all of us. The
Sudanese, with broad grins on their shiny black faces, played the
various marching tunes of the British regiments, and were loudly
cheered by their white comrades. All along the broad street which
runs through Omdurman to the central square we were greeted by bands
of women, who stood in clusters at the doors, and welcomed us with
curious trilling cries of joy.
The Khalifa had escaped from the southern end of the town about an
hour before our foremost troops arrived, and had been followed by
a panic-stricken mob of men, women, and children, with camels and
donkeys. In spite, however, of this exodus, the advance battalions,
with the Sirdar and his staff, had met with some resistance from
Dervishes still concealed in the houses along the main street. Here
and there bullets were fired from windows and roofs across the line
of our advance, and troops had to be detailed to clear out these
dangerous assailants. Fortunately, a little light still came from the
setting sun, and the Sudanese were soon able to rid themselves of
their antagonists. Bullets had been repeatedly fired at the Sirdar
and his staff as they advanced, and a little further on destruction
nearly overtook them from the shells of our own field guns. The
Sirdar had ordered the 32nd battery to shell the Khalifa's palace,
and nevertheless saw fit to advance with his staff into the zone
of fire. Suddenly four shells burst in rapid succession above their
heads, close to the Mahdi's tomb and the great square. Everyone
hurried away to shelter, but Howard had already dismounted and
reached an upper room in the Khalifa's palace. Another shell screamed
over the houses, and as it burst a fragment struck Howard on the
back of the head, and killed him instantly--a tragic and untimely
death, when the perils of the day seemed over and rest nigh at hand!
Thus perished a man who was, I believe, absolutely fearless in the
presence of danger. He was my junior at Oxford, but I remember that
as an undergraduate at Balliol he was known for that reckless daring
and courage which in after years led him to seek for adventure in
Cuba, Matabeleland, and finally the Sudan. During the campaign in
South Africa Howard displayed signal ability as adjutant of his
corps; in fact, the splendid courage and unceasing energy which
marked his whole career gave every promise of ultimately securing for
him a still higher fame and distinction. As it was, his young life
was cut short in the very midst of his restless activity, and he
died as he had lived, eager to do his best, and utterly fearless of
everything except failure.
"The untented Kosmos his abode
He passed, a wilful stranger--
His mistress still the open road
And the bright eyes of Danger!"
Our little band of fifteen had received, indeed, more than its fair
share of casualties in the day's fighting. In addition to Howard's
death, Colonel Rhodes had been shot through the shoulder, and another
correspondent had been slightly wounded in the face with a spent
bullet.
The street fighting was over, darkness had fallen upon the city, and
the weary troops at length bivouacked for the night. In addition to
the wear and tear of the actual fighting, they had marched at least
fifteen miles, for the most part in the full heat of the sun. Many of
the men simply lay down as they were, and at once fell fast asleep.
After the army an apparently endless succession of baggage animals
filed wearily through the town. I gave up all hope of finding camels
and servants amid the general confusion, and betook myself to the
Camerons. The other correspondents went on, and, failing to discover
their baggage, had to sleep on the ground without food or blankets. I
fared much better. Inside my pocket was a small tin of potted meat,
and, as Captain Maclachlan had some biscuits, we intended to devour
these before going to sleep with our helmets for pillows. But a
joyful surprise was in store for us. By a great piece of good luck,
some of the regimental baggage camels happened to pass by, and these
were speedily annexed, with splendid results. My kind host invited
me to dinner, and what a meal we had! On a central packing-case,
which served as a _buffet_, stood several tins of "Suffolk pie"
and ox tongue, and for every man a biscuit or two. How delightful
it was to eat these tinned dainties--the only meat-food which had
passed our lips that day! Then came the crowning mercy. Maclachlan
unearthed a bottle of champagne from some mysterious source, and we
shared the generous wine between us. Our tumblers were the lower
halves of whisky bottles, cut round by string soaked in turpentine
and then set alight. We drank many toasts--the Sirdar, the Army,
Friends in England now Abed, etc. Our fatigues were all forgotten,
and we felt so amiable that I really think that if the Khalifa had
been within reach we should have sent him an invitation to join us,
and bring Osman Digna with him. This dinner-party in the open street
of Omdurman was one of the pleasantest I have ever attended--_olim
meminisse juvabit_!
At length we wrapped ourselves in blankets for the night, and lay
down upon the sand. All around was heard the heavy, regular breathing
of strong men, utterly tired out by the excitement and labours of the
eventful day. With the exception of occasional shots from Sudanese
looters or Dervish "snipers" across the river, perfect stillness
reigned over the thousands of men who lay in the large open spaces of
the city. Not a sound broke the silence--the camp was asleep, and
"All that mighty heart was lying still!"
The moon had risen, and far away on the horizon gleamed the Southern
Cross, like that celestial symbol which inspired the Roman Conqueror
in his bivouac centuries ago, and helped to shape the destinies
of Christendom. _Per hoc vince_--good men of our victory's true
worth, and presage of our future work in these unhappy regions! The
day's carnage had indeed been cruel; blood had been poured out like
water; but there is a mysterious law in the working of Providence
which forbids the continued existence of systems which have ceased
to subserve the cause of progress. Mahdism has proved the most
shameful and terrible instrument of bloodshed and oppression which
the modern world has ever witnessed. It has reduced whole provinces
to utter desolation, so that tracts once smiling and fertile are
now but solitary wastes, the habitation of wild beasts. Thousands
upon thousands of homesteads have been laid in ruins, and the
innocent villagers outraged and tortured and murdered. As I entered
the Mahdi's tomb on the following morning, I saw a band of natives
casting stones with loud curses upon the spot where his body lay;
and scores of unhappy creatures who on the night of the battle
were liberated, after long years of imprisonment, lifted up their
hands, and with streaming eyes thanked God for the destruction of
their oppressor's rule. Mahdism has vanished, never to return,
and once more the arms of Great Britain have advanced the cause of
civilisation and "made for righteousness" in the history of the
century.
[Illustration:
Battle of Omdurman.
First Dervish attack.
Battle of Omdurman.
Second Dervish attack.
_R. V. Darbishire 1898._]