"There is a better thing on earth than wealth, a better thing than
life itself, and that is to have done something before you die, for
which good men may honour you, and God your Father smile upon your
work."
--GEO. MACDONALD.
The last Arab messenger that came from Khartoum before it fell, said,
"Gordon goes every morning at sunrise to the top of his Palace wall, and
with his large field glass, sweeps the horizon as far as possible, and
notes as clearly as may be the position of the Madhi's forces, which now
surrounded the City. As night falls, he visits the men at their various
stations, to give them advice, or encouragement, as the case might be
deemed necessary. In the daytime he studies his maps and reads his
Bible, and a work on "Holy living," by Thomas a Kempis, and preserves
such a faith in God as inspired all around him with a courage akin to his
own.
"He held the city, he so long
Faithful mid falterers, mid much weakness strong,
Upon those ramparts now he fought, he planned,
That Citadel was by one true man well manned."
A letter from Kitchener reached Gordon, which raised his hopes and
considerably brightened his prospects for the time being. It ran thus:--
"Dear General Gordon.--Mr. Edgerton has asked me to send you the
following:--'August 30th. Tell Gordon steamers are being passed over
the Second Cataracts, and that we wish to be informed through Dongola
exactly when he expects to be in difficulties as to provision and
ammunition.' Message ends--"Lord Wolseley is coming out to command;
the 35th regiment is now being sent from Halfa to Dongola. Sir E.
Wood is at Halfa, General Earle, Dormer, Buller, and Freemantle are
coming up the Nile with troops. I think an expedition will be sent
across from here to Khartoum, while another goes with steamers to
Berber. A few words about what you wish to be done would be
acceptable."
{Gordon's last slumber: p118.jpg}
In Gordon's journal he says:--"My view is this as to the operations of
British forces. I will put three steamers each with two guns on them,
and an armed force of infantry at the disposal of any British authority;
will send these steamers to either Methemma opposite Shendy, or to the
cataract below Berber to meet there any British force which may come
across country to the Nile. . . . I cannot too much impress upon you
that this expedition will not encounter any enemy worth the name in a
European sense of the word; the struggle is with the climate and
destitution of the country. It is one of time and patience, and of small
parties of determined men backed by native allies, which are to be got by
policy and money. . . . It is the country of the irregular, not of the
regular. If you move in mass you will find no end of difficulties;
whereas if you let detached parties dash out here and there, you will
spread dismay in the Arab camps. The time to attack is the dawn, or
rather before it, but sixty men would put the Arabs to flight just before
dawn, while one thousand would not accomplish in daylight. The reason is
that the strength of the Arabs is in their horsemen, who do not dare to
act in the dark. I do hope that you will not drag on the artillery, it
will only cause delay and do no good."
To his sister he writes:--
_November 5th_, _1884_.
"Your kind letter, August 7th, came yesterday. We have the Madhi
close to us, but the Arabs are very quiet. . . . . Terrible news--I
hear the steamer I sent down with Stewart, Power, and Herbin (French
Consul) has been captured and all are killed. I cannot understand
it--whether an act of treachery by someone, or struck on a rock, it is
to me unaccountable, for she was well armed and had a gun with her; if
she is lost, so is the journal of events from Jan. 3rd, 1884, to Sept.
10th, 1884. A huge volume illustrated and full of interest. I have
put my steamers at Metemma to wait for the troops. I am very well but
very gray, with the continual strain upon my nerves. I have been
putting the Sheikh-el-Islam and Cadi in prison; they were suspected of
writing to the Madhi. I let them out yesterday. I am very grieved
for the relatives of Stewart, Power, and Herbin."
Again he writes:--
_Dec. 14th_, _1884_.
"This may be the last letter you will receive from me, for we are on
our last legs, owing to the delay of the expedition. However, God
rules all, and I know He will rule to His glory and our welfare. I
fear that, owing to circumstances, my affairs pecuniarily are not over
bright.
Your affectionate brother,
C. G. GORDON."
P.S.--"I am very happy, thank God, and, like Lawrence, 'I have tried
to do my duty.'"
Meanwhile, Gordon is thus hemmed in. General Wolseley and his noble band
are on their way to his relief. Many and peculiar are the difficulties
of both climate, country, and foes; yet they face them like brave, true
Englishmen. The journey from Cairo to Ambukol, a distance of more than
one thousand miles, had been traversed without serious opposition. From
here, however, as they near Khartoum, now about two hundred and fifty
miles, taking the nearest desert route. Lord Wolseley seems here to halt
and hesitate, whether it is best to go by the Nile, which, as shown on a
map, takes a bend, forming the shape of a letter 'S' nearly; or whether
to take the shortest cut and risk the opposition that may be expected. He
eventually decides that the Camel Corps and a portion of the Infantry
shall take the short cut; the desert route to Metemmeh: the rest to go by
the Nile. It is evidently Wolseley's wish to punish the tribes who
murdered Stewart, and his companions; so he orders the South
Staffordshire, 38th, and the Royal Sussex, 35th, and the Black Watch,
42nd, to advance to Abu Hamed, which lies at the northern bend of the
'S,' which the Nile makes between Dongola and Metemmeh.
The Camel Corps are ordered to make a dash across the desert to the same
place. Little did our force dream of the difficulties, dangers and
deaths that lay before them as they entered upon that desert march. We
only indicate some of them. On their march we are told that having
nearly reached Abu Klea "we were turning into our zareba, when it was
noticed that a group of some two hundred Arabs were on the hills, not far
from us. Two shells were sent amongst them, which caused them to retire,
but we soon found their sharpshooters had crept to within 1,200 yards of
our right flank. Also they began to drop bullets into our midst, which
were annoying and destructive. Half a company of Mounted Infantry were
told off to drive them away. All officers were to see that the men were
at their posts, with bayonets fixed, ready to jump to their feet at the
very first alarm. With their overcoats on and their blankets wrapped
around them, men lay down on that memorable night. All lights put out,
all talking and smoking strictly prohibited. A deadly stillness,
disturbed only by the whizzing or thud of the shot from the enemy's guns.
Colonel Burnaby, who had managed somehow to find a place in the
Expedition, expressed his great delight in having arrived in time to
engage in what he now saw to be the prospect of a terrible struggle.
He stated, "that he had arrived at that time of life when the two things
that interested him most were war and politics; and was just as happy in
the desert fighting the Arabs, as he was at home slating an unworthy
politician. Here, however, he was, and must face the conflict." January,
16th, 1885. About 10 p.m. The sentries came rushing into the lines. The
officers called out, "stand to your arms men." The alarm, however, was
false--only a feint on the part of the enemy. Still (says the writer),
they kept harassing us by a continual dropping of shot from their long
rangers. About 7.30 a.m., General Stewart prepared to send out an
attacking column, with the object of driving them from the wells, which
were now only four or five miles distant. The troops marched out--Mounted
Infantry, Royal Artillery with three guns, Guards (this was the Front
Face); Right Face--Guards, Royal Sussex; Left Face--Mounted Infantry,
Heavy Cavalry Regiment. The 19th Hussars, under Colonel Barrow,
numbering 90 sabres, were sent to left flank to advance along the spur of
land on the north of the wady. Their duty was to move forward on a line
paralleled with the Square, and prevent the enemy on our left from
gaining the high ground across the little wady. A squadron of the 19th,
thirty sabres strong, followed the Square, marching by the front right to
assist the skirmishers. The Heavies were in charge of Colonel Talbot;
the Guards by Colonel Boscowen; the Mounted Infantry by Major Barrow; the
Naval Brigade by Lord Charles Beresford; the Royal Sussex by Major
Sunderland; the Royal Artillery by Captain Norton; and the Royal
Engineers by Major Dorwood. So they marched slowly forward. The
progress was like that of some ponderous machine, slow, regular, compact,
despite the hail of bullets that came from front, left and right, and
ultimately from the rear. Some ten or twelve thousand Arabs it was seen
had surrounded the Zareba. There was no retreat; it was "do or die!"
About 9.50 a.m., about 5000 of the enemy were seen on the opposite side
of the square, 400 or 500 yards distant, and seemed as if they would make
a dash for our square. Dervishes on horseback, and some on foot,
marshalled them, standing a few paces in front of the frantic host. With
banners fluttering, tom-toms clamouring, and shouts of Allah, they began
to move towards our square. The skirmisher's fire seemed to have no
effect; though a few of them fell, they ultimately made a run towards us
like the roll of a black surf. Lord Charles Beresford's superintendence
was moved to the left face, rear corner, to be brought into action; for
here they seemed to press the attack. Unhappily, before many rounds had
been fired, the cartridges stuck and the weapon was useless. Still down
came the Arab wave. One terrible rush of swordsmen and spearmen--scarcely
any carrying guns--their rifle fire had practically ceased. In wild
excitement, their white teeth glistening and the sheen of their
brandished weapons flashing like thousands of mirrors; onward they came
against us."
The writer says:--"A volley of shot was sent into them at 150 yards; at
least one hundred Arabs fell, and their force wavered, as a man stops to
get his breath; but the forces behind them came leaping over their
falling brethren, and came charging straight into our ranks. I was at
that instant inside the square, when I noticed our men shuffling
backwards. Some say Colonel Burnaby issued an order for the men to fall
back, but I did not hear it. Burnaby rode out apparently to assist our
skirmishers, who were running in, hard pressed: all but one succeeding in
getting inside the square: Burnaby went, sword in hand, on his borrowed
nag, for his own had been shot under him that morning--he put himself in
the way of a Sheik who was charging down on horseback. Ere the Arab
closed with him a bullet from some in our ranks brought the Sheik
headlong to the ground. The enemy's spearmen were close behind, and one
of them clashed at Colonel Burnaby, pointing the long blade of his spear
at his throat. Burnaby leant forward in his saddle and parried the
Moslem's thrusts; but the length of the weapon (8 feet or more) made it
difficult to deal a blow as desired. Once or twice the Colonel managed
to touch him. This only made him the more alert. Burnaby fenced
smartly, just as if he was playing in an assault-at-arms, and there was a
smile on his features as he drove off the man's awkward points. With
that lightning instinct which I have seen the desert warrior display in
battle, whilst coming to another's aid, an Arab who had been pursuing a
soldier, passed five paces to Burnaby's right and rear, and, turning with
a sudden spring, this second Arab ran his spear point into the Colonel's
right shoulder! It was but a slight wound, enough though to cause
Burnaby to twist round in his saddle to defend himself from this
unexpected attack. One of our soldiers saw the situation, and ran and
drove his sword bayonet through this second assailant. As the soldier
withdrew his steel the ferocious Arab wriggled round and tried to reach
him. This he could not do, for he reeled and fell over. Brief as was
Burnaby's glance at this second assailant, it was long enough for the
first Arab to deliver his spear-point thrust full in the brave officer's
throat. The blow brought Burnaby out of his saddle; but it required some
seconds before he let go of the bridle-reins, and tumbled upon the
ground. Half-a-dozen Arabs were now about him. With the blood gushing
in streams from his gashed throat the dauntless Burnaby leaped to his
feet, sword in hand, and slashed at the ferocious group. They were the
wild shrieks of a proud man dying hard, and he was quickly overborne, and
left helpless and dying! The heroic soldier who sprang to his rescue,
was, I fear, also slain in the melee, for though I watched for him, I
never saw him get back to his place in the ranks. But the
square had been broken. The Arabs were driving their spears at our men's
breasts. Happily, however, the enemy's ranks had been badly decimated by
our bullets; yet they fought desperately, until bullet or bayonet stopped
their career. Then from another quarter came a great onrush with spears
poised and swords uplifted straight into our rear corner, the Arab horse
struck like a tempest. The Heavies were thrown into confusion, for the
enemy were right among them, killing and wounding with demoniacal fury.
General Stewart himself rode into their midst to assist, but his horse
was killed under him, and he was saved from the Arab spearmen with great
difficulty: Lord Airlie received two slight spear wounds, and so did Lord
C. Beresford. The Dervishes made terrible havoc for a few minutes. It
was an awful scene, for many of the wounded and dying perished by the
hands of the merciless Arabs, infuriated by their Sheiks, whose wild
hoarse cries rent the air, whilst the black spearmen ran hither and
thither thirsting for blood. Lord St. Vincent had a most providential
escape. So great was the peril that the officers in the Guards and
Mounted Infantry placed their men back to back to make one last effort to
save the situation. "To me," says the writer, who was outside on the
right face: "they appeared to spin round a large mound like a whirlpool
of human beings."
Soon the enemy showed signs of wavering, for the fire of our English lads
was fierce and withering. A young officer rallied a number of men on the
rear; and these delivered a most telling fire into the enemy's ranks; the
strained tension of the situation had been most severe, when at last the
Arabs, two or three at first, then twenties and fifties, trotted off the
field and in a very few minutes there was not an enemy to be seen. With
cheer upon cheer, shouting until we were hoarse, we celebrated this
dearly won victory. "Thus ended one of several terrible conflicts the
men of the Expedition had to go through on their way to the beleaguered
city." These lines of poetry, were written shortly after the news of
this fierce engagement reached England:--
"They were gathered on the desert,
Like pebbles on the shore,
And they rushed upon the Christian
With a shout like cannon's roar;
Like the dashing of the torrent,
Like the sweeping of the storm,
Like the raging of the tempest,
Came down the dusky swarm.
From the scant and struggling brush-wood,
From the waste of burning sand,
Sped the warriors of the desert,
Like the locusts of the land:
They would crush the bold invader,
Who had dared to cross their path;
They were fighting for their prophet,
In the might of Islam's wrath,
They were savage in their fury,
They were lordly in their pride;
There was glory for the victor,
And heaven for him who died.
They were mustered close together,
That small devoted band;
They knew the strife that day would rage
In combat hand to hand.
And wild and weird the battle-cry
Was sounding through the air,
As the foe sprang from his ambush,
Like the tiger from his lair.
They knew the distant flashing
Of the bright Arabian spear,
As, spurring madly onward,
They saw the host appear
In numbers overwhelming,
In numbers ten to one;
They knew the conflict must be waged
Beneath the scorching sun;
They knew the British soldiers grave
Might lie beneath their feet;
But they never knew dishonour,
And they would not know defeat.
And swifter, ever swifter
Swept on the savage horde,
And from the serried British ranks
A murderous fire was poured;
And like the leaves in autumn
Fell Arab warriors slain,
And like the leaves in spring-time
They seemed to live again.
Midst the rattle of the bullets,
Midst the flashing of the steel,
They pressed to the encounter
With fierce fanatic zeal.
One moment swayed the phalanx,
One moment and no more;
Then British valour stemmed the tide,
As oft in days of yore.
At length the foe was vanquished,
And at length the field was won,
For the longest day had ended,
And the fiercest course was run.
Ye smiling plains of Albion!
Ye mountains of the north!
Now up and greet your heroes with
The honours they are worth.
Then pause and let a nation's tears
Fall gently on the sod
Where thy gallant sons are sleeping,
Whose souls are with their God."
Mr. Burleigh tells us that "History records no military events of a more
stirring character, or situation more thrilling and dramatic than those
through which Sir Herbert Stewart's flying column passed on this dreadful
march. Through those terrible struggles with the followers of the Madhi,
many a brave soldier fell and his body lies in the grave of the African
desert. It did, however, seem as if through all the difficulties of the
relieving forces, that Lord Wolseley would soon give the gallant defender
of Khartoum succour and relief. The splendid victories won at Abu Klea
Wells, and other places, and their march to join the Nile forces, clearly
showed that they were terribly in earnest, and that they had the true
British sympathetic heart.
Finding some of Gordon's steamers on the Nile, it was their first impulse
to man them and force their way up to Khartoum at once. This was on
January 21st, 1885. The General in Command learned that the steamers
needed some repairs, and he (Sir Charles Wilson) deemed it necessary for
the safety of his troops to make a reconnaissance down the river towards
Berber before starting up to Khartoum. He took the steamers, which,
though small as the Thames pleasure boats, had been made bullet-proof by
the ingenuity and industry of the hero in distress; and with a small
British force and two hundred and forty Soudanese (they also had in tow a
nugger laden with dhura), they proceeded towards Berber some distance,
and then, returning for their important work of relief, they pressed on
to Khartoum in the face of the greatest dangers from the numerous
fanatical Arabs, until they could see the city, and found to their horror
and disappointment that Gordon's flag was torn down. The city had
surrendered to the forces of the Madhi, and it could be seen to swarm
with his followers! Treachery had been at work, as Gordon feared; and
the brave defender of Khartoum sealed his fidelity with his own blood. We
never doubted but he would "die at his post."
The Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone was on a visit to Holker Hall to see the
Duke of Devonshire, when the sad tale was told of Gordon's betrayal and
death. To add to the grief, the Queen, whose inmost soul had been
stirred by the terrible news, sent to Mr. Gladstone and Lord Hartington a
telegram couched in terms of anger and of blame, and this, not in cypher
as was her wont, but plain and open.
Mr. Gladstone addressed to Her Majesty by return, in the most courteous
manner possible, what may be considered a vindication of his actions in
the matter and also that of his Cabinet:--
"To the Queen,--
"Mr. Gladstone has had the honour this day to receive your Majesty's
telegram, _en clair_, relating to the deplorable intelligence received
this day from Lord Wolseley, and stating that it is too fearful to
consider that the fall of Khartoum might have been prevented and many
precious lives saved by earlier action. Mr. Gladstone does not
presume to estimate the means of judgment possessed by your Majesty,
but so far as his information and recollection at the moment go, he is
not altogether able to follow the conclusion which your Majesty has
been pleased thus to announce. Mr. Gladstone is under the impression
that Lord Wolseley's force might have been sufficiently advanced to
save Khartoum, had not a large portion of it been detached by a
circuitous route along the river, upon the express application of
General Gordon, to occupy Berber on the way to the final destination.
He speaks, however, with submission on a point of this kind. There
is, indeed, in some quarters, a belief that the river route ought to
have been chosen at an earlier period, and had the navigation of the
Nile, in its upper region, been as well known as that of the Thames,
this might have been a just ground of reproach. But when, on the
first symptoms that the position of General Gordon in Khartoum was not
secure, your Majesty's advisers at once sought from the most competent
persons the best information they could obtain respecting the Nile
route, the balance of testimony and authority was decidedly against
it, and the idea of the Suakin and Berber route, with all its
formidable difficulties, was entertained in preference; nor was it
till a much later period that the weight of opinion and information
warranted the definite choice of the Nile route. Your Majesty's
Ministers were well aware that climate and distance were far more
formidable than the sword of the enemy, and they deemed it right,
while providing adequate military means, never to lose from view what
might have proved to be the destruction of the gallant army in the
Soudan. It is probable that abundant wrath and indignation will on
this occasion be poured out upon them. Nor will they complain if so
it should be; but a partial consolation may be found on reflecting
that neither aggressive policy, nor military disaster, nor any gross
error in the application of means to ends, has marked this series of
difficult proceedings, which, indeed, have greatly redounded to the
honour of your Majesty's forces of all ranks and arms. In these
remarks, which Mr. Gladstone submits with his humble devotion, he has
taken it for granted that Khartoum has fallen through the exhaustion
of its means of defence. But your Majesty may observe from the
telegram that this is uncertain. Both the correspondent's account and
that of Major Wortley refer to the delivery of the town by treachery,
a contingency which on some previous occasions General Gordon has
treated as far from improbable; and which, if the notice existed, was
likely to operate quite independently of the particular time at which
a relieving force might arrive. The presence of the enemy in force
would naturally suggest the occasion or perhaps even the apprehension
of the approach of the British army. In pointing to these
considerations, Mr. Gladstone is far from assuming that they are
conclusive upon the whole case; in dealing with which the government
has hardly ever at any of its stages been furnished sufficiently with
those means of judgment which rational men usually require. It may be
that, on a retrospect, many errors will appear to have been committed.
There are many reproaches, from the most opposite quarters, to which
it might be difficult to supply a conclusive answer. Among them, and
perhaps amongst the most difficult, as far as Mr. Gladstone can judge,
would be the reproach of those who might argue that our proper
business was the protection of Egypt, that it never was in military
danger from the Madhi, and that the most prudent course would have
been to provide it with adequate frontier defences, and to assume no
responsibility for the lands beyond the desert."
"Heroes have fought, and warriors bled,
For home, and love, and glory;
Your life and mine will soon be sped,
Then what will be the story?"
--J. RUSHTON.
The agonizing suspense in which our nation had been kept for weeks, was
now at an end, and we learned the worst. The news fell like a
thunderbolt upon our country! Within forty-eight hours of the time when
Gordon would have heard the triumph ranting of English cheers, and once
more clasped the faithful hands of British brother soldiers; treachery
had done its worst. Thus ended this unique life's drama of one of the
noblest hearts that ever beat in soldier's bosom, and one of the truest
to his Queen, to his country, and to his God. The heart that had caused
him to share his home with the homeless, and his bread with the hungry,
that had led him to kneel in prayer by the dying; the heart that had so
often throbbed for the misery of slavery, and the slave trade, as to risk
his life as of no value to stop that cursed practice and traffic; that
heart was pierced by the treacherous hands (in all probability) of the
very man Gordon had made the greatest sacrifice to save. Such terrible
news threw our land into universal mourning, and thousands wept for the
hero that would never return.
The military correspondent of the "Daily News" at Dongola, writes: "Two
men arrived here yesterday, April 11th, 1885, whose story throws some
light on the capture of Khartoum. They were soldiers in Gordon's army,
taken at the time and sold as slaves, but who ultimately escaped. Their
names are Said Abdullah and Jacoob Mahomet. I will let them tell their
own history." "After stating they were first taken at Omdurman,
subsequently to the capture of Khartoum; were then stolen by arabs and
sold to two Kabbabish merchants, and afterwards escaped from Aboudom to
Debbah, from which place they had reached Dongola; they went on to relate
the doings of Farig Pasha previously to the taking of Khartoum. I have
given you some account of the story by telegraph, and it has been partly
made familiar substantially through other channels. They continued:
"That night Khartoum was delivered into the hands of the rebels. It fell
through the treachery of the accursed Farig Pasha, the Circassian, who
opened the gate. May he never reach Paradise! May Shaytan take
possession of his soul! But it was Kismet. The gate was called Bouri';
it was on the Blue Nile. We were on guard near, but did not see what was
going on. We were attacked and fought desperately at the gate. Twelve
of our staff were killed, and twenty-two of us retreated to a high room,
where we were taken prisoners, and now came the ending. The red Flag
with the crescent was destined no more to wave over the Palace; nor would
the strains of the hymns of His Excellency be heard any more at eventide
in Khartoum. Blood was to flow in her streets, in her dwellings, in her
very mosque, and on the Kenniseh of the Narsira. A cry arose, "To the
Palace! to the Palace!" A wild and furious band rushed towards it, but
they were resisted by the black troops, who fought desperately. They
knew there was no mercy for them, and that even were their lives spared,
they would be enslaved, and the state of the slave, the perpetual bondage
with hard taskmasters, is worse than death. Slaves are not treated well,
as you think; heavy chains are round their ankles and middle, and they
are lashed for the least offence until blood flows. We had fought for
the Christian Pasha and for the Turks, and we knew that we should receive
no mercy. The house was set on fire: the fight raged and the slaughter
continued till the streets were slippery with blood. The rebels rushed
onward to the Palace. We saw a mass rolling to and fro, but did not see
Gordon Pasha killed. He met his fate, we believe, as he was leaving the
Palace, near the large tree which stands on the esplanade. The Palace is
not a stone's throw, or at any rate a gun shot distance from the Austrian
Consul's house. He was going in that direction, to the magazine on the
Kenniseh, a long way off. We did not hear what became of his body, nor
did we hear that his head was cut off; but we saw the head of the traitor
Farig Pasha, who met with his deserts. We have heard it was the blacks
that ran away; and that the Egyptian soldiers fought well; that is not
true, they were craven. Had it not been for them, in spite of the
treachery of many within the town, the Arabs would not have got in, for
we watched the traitors. And now fearful scenes took place in every
house and building, in the large Market Place, in the small bazaars; men
were slain crying for mercy, but mercy was not in the hearts of those
savage enemies. Women and children were robbed of their jewels of
silver, of their bracelets, necklaces of precious stones, and carried off
to be sold to the Bishareen merchants as slaves. Yes, and white women
too, mother and daughter alike were carried off from their homes of
comfort. Wives and children of Egyptian merchants, formerly rich, owning
ships and mills; these were sold afterwards, some for 340 thaleries or
more, some for 25, according to age and good looks. And the poor black
women already slaves, and their children, 70 or 80 thaleries. Their
husbands and masters were slain before their eyes . . . . this fighting
and spilling of blood continued till noon, till the sun rode high in the
sky. There was riot, wrangling, hubbub and cursing, till the hour of
evening prayer. But the Muezzin was not called, neither were any prayers
offered up at the Moslem Mosque on that dark day in the annals of
Khartoum. Meanwhile the screeching devils bespattered with gore,
swarming about in droves and bands, found very little plunder, so were
disappointed, and sought out Farig Pasha, and found him with the
Dervishes. 'Where is the hidden treasure?' they at once demanded of him.
'We know that you are acquainted with the hiding place. Where is the
money and riches of the city and its merchants? We know that those who
left Khartoum did not take away their valuables, and you know where it is
hid.' The Dervishes seeing the tumult questioned him sharply, and
addressed him thus: "The long expected one our Lord, desires to know
where the English Pasha hid his wealth. We know he was very rich, and
every day paid large sums of money; that has not been concealed from our
Lord. Now therefore let us know that we may bear him word where all the
money is hidden. Let him be bound in the inner chamber and examined; and
the gates closed against the Arabs." Farig was then questioned, but he
"swore by Allah and by the souls of his fathers back to three
generations, that Gordon had no money, and that he knew of no hidden
treasure." "You lie (cried the Dervishes); you wish after a while to
come and dig it out yourself. Listen to what we are going to say to you.
We are sure you know where the money is hidden. We are not careful of
your life, for you have betrayed the man whose salt you had eaten; you
have been the servant of the infidel, and you have betrayed even him.
Unless you unfold this secret of the buried treasure, you will surely
die." Farig with proud bearing said, "I care not for your threats. I
have told you the truth, Allah knows. There is no money, neither is
there treasure. You are fools to suppose there is. I have done a great
deed, I have delivered to your lord and master (the Madhi), the city
which you never could have taken without my help. I tell you again there
is no treasure, and you will rue the day if you kill me."
One of the Dervishes then stepped forward and struck him, bound as he
was, in the mouth; then another rushed at him with his two-edged sword,
struck him behind the neck so that with this one blow his head fell from
his shoulders; (so perished the arch traitor); may his soul be afflicted!
But as for Gordon Pasha the magnanimous, may his soul have peace!" The
story of these men may, or may not be true, but it seems on the face of
it trustworthy.
It is, however, out of harmony with the description given of Gordon's
death by Slatin Pasha, who was taken a prisoner at the time of the fall
of Khartoum, and had been kept for eleven years in captivity, but
eventually made his escape. He was in attendance at the International
Geographical Congress held at the Imperial Institute, and devoted to
African affairs, when he told the story of his escape from Khartoum. He
says "The City of Khartoum fell on the 16th Jan., 1885, and Gordon was
killed on the highest step of the staircase of his Palace. His head was
cut off and exhibited to Slatin whilst the latter was in chains, with
expressions of derision and contempt."
We have no doubt now as to the fact that Gordon Pasha, the illustrious,
the saintly, the brave defender, died doing his duty. In all civilized
lands there are still men who tell of Gordon Pasha's unbounded
benevolence; of his mighty faith, of his heroism and self-sacrifice, and
they mourn with us the loss of one of the most saintly souls our world
has ever known.
"Warrior of God, man's friend, not laid below,
But somewhere dead far in the waste Soudan,
Thou livest in all hearts, for all men know
This earth hath borne no simpler, nobler man."
TENNYSON.
A most interesting and exquisitely touching letter was forwarded to the
bereaved and stricken sister of our hero from the Khedive of Egypt,
written from
"ABDUI PALACE,
"CAIRO,
"FEB. 24, 1885.
"MADAM,--
"Altho' I do not wish to intrude upon the great sorrow which has
fallen upon you in the death of your distinguished brother, the late
General Gordon Pasha, yet as Egypt and myself have so much reason to
deplore his loss, I desire to convey to you my heart-felt sympathy in
the terrible bereavement it has been God's will you should suffer. I
cannot find words to express to you the respect and admiration with
which your brother's simple faith and heroic courage have inspired me:
the whole world resounds with the name of the Englishman whose
chivalrous nature afforded it for many years its brightest and most
powerful example,--an example which I believe will influence thousands
of persons for good through all time. To a man of Gordon's character
the disappointment of hopes he deemed so near fruition, and the sudden
manner of his death were of little importance. In his own words, he
left weariness for perfect rest. Our mourning for him is true and
real; as is also our loss, but we have a sure hope that a life and
death such as his are not extinguished by what we call death. I beg
to renew to you, Madam, the assurance of my sincere sympathy and
respectful condolence.
"MEHEMIT TEWFIK."
Also from the Queen, a letter full of womanly and queenly sympathy is
here recorded from _The Daily News_:
"DEAR MISS GORDON,--How shall I write to you, or how shall I attempt
to express what I feel? To think of your dear, noble, heroic brother,
who served his country and his Queen so truly, so heroically, with a
self-sacrifice so edifying to the world, not having been rescued: that
the promises of support were not fulfilled--which I so frequently and
constantly pressed on those who asked him to go--is to me grief
inexpressible: indeed it has made me ill. My heart bleeds for you,
his sister, who have gone through so many anxieties on his account,
and who loved the dear brother as he deserved to be. You are all so
good and trustful, and have such strong faith, that you will be
sustained even now, when real absolute evidence of your brother's
death does not exist--but I fear there cannot be much doubt of it.
Some day I hope to see you again to tell you all I cannot express. My
daughter Beatrice, who has felt quite as I do, wishes me to express
her deepest sympathy with you. I hear so many expressions of sorrow
from abroad; from my eldest daughter The Crown Princess, and from my
cousin the King of the Belgians--the very warmest. Would you express
to your other sister, and your elder brother my true sympathy, and
what I do so keenly feel, the stain left upon England for your dear
brother's cruel, though heroic fate! Ever, dear Miss Gordon, yours
sincerely and sympathizingly,
V.R.I."
A second letter from Her Majesty the Queen to acknowledge Miss Gordon's
gift of her brother's Bible. The very Bible he used when with me in
Manchester. His companion at Gravesend, and during his sojourn in the
Soudan (first time). "It was so worn out (says Miss Gordon) that he gave
it to me. Hearing that the Queen would like to see it, I forwarded it to
Windsor Castle." And this Bible is now placed in an enamel and crystal
case called "The St. George's Casket," where it now lies open on a white
satin cushion, with a marble bust of General Gordon on a pedestal beside
it.
Her Majesty writes:--
"WINDSOR CASTLE,
"MARCH 16TH, 1885.
"DEAR MISS GORDON,--It is most kind and good of you to give me this
precious Bible, and I only hope that you are not depriving yourself
and family of such a treasure, if you have no other. May I ask you,
during how many years your dear, heroic brother had it with him? I
shall have a case made for it with an inscription, and place it in the
library here, with your letter and the touching extract from his last
to you. I have ordered, as you know, a Marble Bust of your Dear
Brother to be placed in the corridor here, where so many busts and
pictures of our greatest Generals, and Statesmen are, and hope that
you will see it before it is finished, to give your opinion as to the
likeness.--Believe me always yours very sincerely,
"VICTORIA R.I."
A most touching and I think true epitaph has been written in Greek and
translated by Professor Jebb, of the University of Glasgow touching the
death of General Gordon:--
"Leaving a perpetual remembrance, thou art gone; in thy death thou
wert even such as in thy life; wealth to the poor, hope to the
desponding, support to the weak. Thou couldst meet desperate troubles
with a spirit that knew not despair, and breathe might into the
trembling. The Lord of China owes thee thanks for thy benefits; the
throne of his ancient kingdom hath not been cast down. And where the
Nile unites the divided strength of his streams, a city saw thee long-
suffering. A multitude dwelt therein, but thine alone was the valour
that guarded it through all that year, when by day and by night thou
didst keep watch against the host of the Arabians, who went around it
to devour it, with spears thirsting for blood. Thy death was not
wrought by the God of war, but by the frailties of thy friends. For
thy country and for all men God blessed the work of thy hand. Hail,
stainless warrior! hail, thrice victorious hero! Thou livest and
shalt teach aftertimes to reverence the council of the Everlasting
Father."
Should he have been spared to return to our land--
"We had the laurels ready
That patient brow to crown,
But the traitors steel was swift and sharp
To strike our honours down.
God His own victor crowneth,
He counts not gain nor loss,
For the dauntless heart that battles
'Neath the shadow of the Cross.
Rest for the gallant soldier,
Where'er he lieth low,
His rest is still and deep to-day,
'Mid clash of friend and foe.
He stands amid the light he loved,
Whence all the clouds depart,
But there's a gap within our ranks,
And a void within our hearts."
Great men are usually measured by their character, not by their
successes; but measured by either standard Gordon must be considered a
_great_ man. In him were incarnated all the highest characteristics of
the heroes of our land, and other lands, and of the illustrious servants
of God in all ages. His life was swayed by a noble purpose, and by this
he was borne onward and upward in a career of noble doing and daring. He
had courage of the very highest quality, and by this he carved his way
into the very front rank of our heroes, and won remarkable distinctions
in life's fiercest battles. His crowning characteristics were, I think,
his genuineness, and unfailing trust in God. These, especially the
latter, were the inspiration of his life; and these alone offer the
truest explanation of his heroic deeds. Even in Spain his name had a
fragrance that was attractive and beautiful. One of the papers _The El
Dia_, of Madrid, wrote: "Where even the greatest events which occur
abroad hardly attract the attention of the general public, the daring
enterprises of General Gordon had excited the greatest interest. This
was partly because of the immense importance of the drama which was being
played in the Soudan, and because of the extraordinary development of the
drama; but it was chiefly due to the sympathy of the people with the
heroic champion of light and civilization; for his spotless honesty; for
his valour, tried times without number; for his British tenacity; for his
faith in his religion and country; for his keen insight; for his heroic
unselfishness, and for all his other fine qualities. Gordon has become
recognised in Spain as an original character, grand and complete, whom
future generations will idealize, and whom history will call by the name
of genius."
But Gordon, the great soldier and loveable Saint is dead; and he himself
could wish no nobler ending of an unselfish life, after such a life of
adventure, of heroism, and of humble trust in God.
A combination of strange, rare qualities helped to make him one of the
most remarkable men our country has ever seen. As a Christian of rarest
purity and consecration, and as a hero whose fame has filled two
hemispheres, "His name shall be had in everlasting remembrance." He has
added new chapters to the glorious stories of British pluck and heroism,
and has left a name to which our young men will look back upon with
pride; and the best of us will reverence, so long as truth, faith, self-
devotion, and lofty sense of duty stir the admiration of men who are
worthy to be called his fellow-countrymen. Our British nation thrills
with a proud joy as it reflects upon the splendid achievements of that
stainless life, now crowned with the laurels of martyrdom, and of an
Empire's love.
The memorial in St. Paul's Cathedral most beautifully sets forth the
leading traits in his character:--
"Major General Charles George Gordon, C.B., who at all times and
everywhere, gave his strength to the weak, his substance to the poor,
his sympathy to the suffering, his heart to God.
"Born at Woolwich, 28th Jan., 1838.
"Slain at Khartoum, 26th Jan., 1885.
"He saved an Empire by his warlike genius, he ruled vast provinces
with justice, wisdom, power. And lastly, obedient to his Sovereign's
command, he died in the heroic attempt to save men, women and children
from imminent and deadly peril. 'Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends.'--St. John, xv. ch., v.
13.
{The Memorial in St. Paul's Cathedral: p155.jpg}
"This monument is erected by his only surviving brother, whose eldest
son also perished in the service of his country, as Midshipman in
H.M.S. 'Captain,' and is commemorated with others in the adjoining
recess."
"Gordon! thou lost ideal of our time,
While men believe not, and belief grows pale,
Before the daring doubters that assail;
We need thy child-like faith, thy gaze sublime,
That pierced the nearer gloom,
And still onward strode
Through death and darkness, seeing only God."
"Servant of Christ, well done,
Praise be thy new employ;
And while eternal ages run,
Rest in thy Saviour's joy."
FINIS.
Footnotes.
{57} A work by the Rev. Wm. Arthur, which Gordon presented to me.
{63} The name of our Ragged School.