THE ESCAPE OF FATHER BONOMI.
Ohrwalder continues to describe his personal experiences—Mahmud the emir of El Obeid—His unsuccessful attempts to entrap the Nubas—The arrival of Olivier Pain in El Obeid—His motives in joining the Mahdi—His journey towards Omdurman—His sad fate—Lupton Bey arrives at El Obeid from the Bahr el Ghazal—He is sent to Omdurman and thrown into chains—Life in El Obeid—The escape of Father Bonomi—Ohrwalder's solitude—The death of the Khojur Kakum.
I mustnow return to the narrative of my own personal experiences, which I broke off in order to follow those events of the Mahdi's career in which I did not take part.
Before the Mahdi left Rahad, I was again handed over to yet another master; this was Sherif Mahmud, the Mahdi's uncle, and Governor of Kordofan, and I was put into his charge when he came to Rahad to see the Mahdi off. I stayed a few days with Mahmud at Rahad. I was then in a wretched state of health; to my horror I discovered black spots on my body, my teeth were chattering, and then I knew that I had scurvy. I longed to escape to the Dobab hills, but my guards were always with me, and I could not succeed.
At length Mahmud started back for El Obeid, and he gave me one of the few surviving mules of the Hicks expedition, which had been wounded by a bullet in the neck and which had never healed. The heavy rain had entirely changed the aspect of the country, which was now a mass of green, and under any other circumstances the journey would have been pleasant enough. We were twice overtaken by terrible thunder-storms, which obliged us to halt, as the heavy rain made travellingimpossible; at night we had to sleep on the wet ground.
As we approached El Obeid we heard the war-drums beating, to announce the Governor's arrival. The great sandy plain around was transformed into green fields planted with dokhn. We halted for a time under the leafy Adansonia tree, under which the Mahdi's tent had been pitched, and I noticed that the entire bark of the tree had been peeled off. I afterwards learnt that the people believed the Mahdi's presence had hallowed the tree, and that in consequence the bark had been stripped off and boiled, the liquid being used as medicine or for witchcraft purposes.
Only a few huts were left standing in El Obeid, and Mahmud went to live in the Mudirieh. He had a great reception on his arrival, and the most profuse flattery was showered upon him. It was the usual thing to say that "during his absence the town had been as still as the grave and as dark as night, but, thanks be to God, on his return light was once more restored," &c., &c. The Sherif delighted in this adulation.
A few days after our arrival, Father Bonomi was brought from Rahad to El Obeid in chains, and he and I were given a small hut in the midst of his slaves' quarters, where it was thought we would be in safe custody.
Sherif Mahmud was a small thin man about fifty years of age, full of wiry strength and with evil, malignant-looking eyes. He had formerly been a slave-dealer in Dar Fertit and had then joined Zubeir Pasha's army. Even at Abba he was one of the Mahdi's most fanatical adherents. He pretended to hate the things of this world, was always poorly dressed, and before others always eat of the worst and humblest food. But he was inordinately proud, and loved the power of commanding. During his prayers he used to throw about his arms and legs and shout "Hoa! Hoa!" ("It is He! it is He!"i.e.God). His followers used to say that when he did this he saw God in his vision; but others who knew him of old laughed at these antics, though atthe same time they were afraid of him and indulged him with flattery. He was excessively severe and strict, but was impartial in his administration of justice.
He dealt very severely with the robbers who now infested El Obeid, and cut off a number of hands and feet. He thoroughly believed in the Mahdi's divine message, and had the reputation of being the bravest of the family. He had received a bullet wound at Gedir, and at Shekan he was always in front, carrying a flag, until he disappeared in the smoke; he fell pierced by two bullets and was thought to have been killed; after the battle, however, his people found him lying on the ground with both legs broken; but he recovered. He carried such a number of arms that men laughed at him. In addition to the two broad-bladed spears, he carried two smaller ones, as well as a number of javelins in a quiver; from his shoulder hung his sword and a small Remington rifle, while his girdle was stuck all over with revolvers and knives. Women always fled out of his path, for he whipped them ruthlessly; sometimes he would dash amongst a crowd of women on his horse and lay about him right and left. He had a very choice harem, and amongst his women was a young Egyptian girl; it is the great desire of a Mahdiist to possess a fair woman, and they often have recourse to the most violent and cruel practices in order to acquire what they want.
Mahmud frequently went through his prayers with his wives and concubines, and on one occasion they began to laugh, in consequence of which the Egyptian girl was sent away and the rest flogged. From this date he took an intense dislike to all the fair-skinned people, and the few Egyptian families who still lived in El Obeid were banished fromit.
He flattered himself that neither Abu Anga nor Nejumi understood how to wage war against the Nubas, and therefore he once more determined to attack these mountaineers; but he set about it in a very different manner from his predecessors. He armed 400 Takruris and instructed them to encamp at the footof the mountain; they were to say they were at enmity with the Dervishes and desired the friendship and assistance of the Nubas.
Meanwhile Mahmud pitched his camp at Rahad, and was in constant readiness for the attack. At first the Nubas were inclined to fall into the trap, and made a treaty of friendship with the Takruris; but they too had recourse to a still more successful stratagem, and when the Takruris seemed quite certain of their prey, the Nubas suddenly fell upon them during a wild, stormy night and killed almost all of them, very few escaped, and Mahmud was obliged to return crestfallen to El Obeid.
On the 15th of August, 1884, a great surprise came upon El Obeid. Quite unexpectedly, at about two o'clock in the afternoon, a European and three Arabs, mounted on good camels, entered the open yard of the Mudirieh, where Ali Bakhit, the chiefs, and a number of Dervishes were assembled. The European dismounted, and boldly advanced towards the crowd. He was tall, and gave one the impression of being a powerful and energetic man; he had a fair beard, and his face was very sunburnt. His appearance made a great commotion amongst the Dervishes.
Immediately all sorts of wild rumours were flying about; some said he was the King of France; others that he was one of the principal ministers of that nation. He wore a jibbeh, white cap and turban, and at once was directed to Ali Bakhit. Being unable to speak Arabic, Father Bonomi was immediately summoned to act as interpreter; but he had much difficulty in making himself understood.
The stranger informed Bonomi that he had marched from Dongola to El Obeid in thirteen days; that he had escaped from Dongola, as the English had endeavoured to thwart him in his projects; that his name was Olivier Pain, and that he was the bearer of letters from Zubeir Pasha to the Mahdi; but that fear of the English had obliged him to destroy them. He said that he came in the name of France, to place hisnation's submission in the Mahdi's hands; and that he was prepared to assist the Mahdi, both by advice and, if required, by deeds.
After this statement Olivier Pain was searched, and at once relieved of his money; a small hut was then pointed out, in which he was to live, in charge of a guard; the three guides were also secured in another place. The Dervishes did not credit Pain's statement; they could not believe it possible that a European would voluntarily come into the Sudan to join the Mahdi; they entirely distrusted Europeans, whose mental superiority they thoroughly recognised; they therefore concluded that Pain was a spy sent by the English to take stock of the situation.
On the following day Bonomi was again summoned; the various articles Pain had brought with him were laid before him, such as books of travels in the Sudan, an Arabic dictionary, a Kuran in French, a few maps, letters, and a passport. Bonomi had to explain these various articles to the Dervishes, who were not a little surprised about the maps of the Sudan, and more especially that of Kordofan. It is true there was nothing found in Pain's baggage of a suspicious nature; still, the Dervishes did not trust him; and he was kept under a very strict guard; we were not permitted to visit him.
The next day Pain complained of the bad food he was given; but the Dervishes gave him wholesome instruction: they told him that the true adherents of the Mahdi were dead to the things of this world. Poor Pain's mind must have been sadly disabused by this reception.
The Dervishes were full of curiosity about this strange Frenchman's doings and intentions, and kept worrying us to know why he should have come; but it was also a mystery to us; and when they asked him, he always gave the same answer—"The whole of the European nations, more especially France, and with the one exception of England, entirely sympathised with the Mahdi." He was asked if the Senussi had risen against the unbelievers in Egypt; but he replied that the Senussi feared the English. When asked what the English were doing, he replied that they were building forts at Assuan; whereupon Ali Bakhit observed—"May God destroy their forts." But, question as they would, Pain's arrival and his reasons for coming still remained a mystery to them. He was therefore sent, in charge of a large escort, to Mahmud at Rahad; Mahmud received him well, gave him a horse and a female slave, and sent him on to the Mahdi, who was then on his march to Omdurman.
On the 28th of August Pain arrived at Aigella, where one of our El Obeid Mission brothers was staying; the latter at once inquired of Pain what he was going to do. On this occasion, it appears, he spoke more openly; he asked if the brother understood French; but the latter replied that he could not speak it, though he understood it. Then Pain proceeded to say that he was correspondent of a newspaper, and came to see the Mahdi and his empire, about which he intended to write full accounts to his paper.
This brother endeavoured to explain to him the difficulties he would be sure to meet with, and on what dangerous ground he was treading, adding that it was most unlikely he would ever return; but Pain replied that if he succeeded in his undertaking, he would receive an immense reward; and that hitherto the Dervishes had not treated him badly; moreover, he was full of energy, and would not give up hope of escape in the future. Pain also explained to the brother the difficulties with which the English expedition would be sure to meet, and how he believed Khartum would certainly be lost.
Pain caught up the Mahdi at the village of Busata. Various were the surmises of those in camp regarding his intentions. Slatin, Klootz, and the other Europeans were especially perplexed. Olivier Pain had imagined that the immense services which he would be able to render the Mahdi would cause the latter to receive him with open arms; but the poor man was sadly deluded.He was presented to the Mahdi, who greeted him coldly, and asked him his reasons for coming. Pain replied—"To acknowledge you as Mahdi, and to lay before you the submission of the French nation." The Mahdi gave an ironic smile, as much as to say he did not believe a word Pain was saying; and then he ordered Abu Anga to take charge of him, guard him most carefully, and permit no one to see him.
During the march to Shatt, Klootz managed to approach Pain, and began talking to him; but for this disobedience he was at once seized and put in chains. On Slatin's representations, however, to the Khalifa Abdullah, he was released.
At Shatt, Pain began to suffer from dysentery and fever, brought on by over-fatigue and bad water. The Mahdi permitted Slatin to visit him; and Pain's wretched condition so disturbed Slatin that he begged the Mahdi to give him a little money, with which he could buy some better food, which it was absolutely necessary Pain should have.
But his disease became worse; and it was with the greatest difficulty he could continue his march to Om Sadik. Here his condition became hopeless; he explained that he could go on no longer, and begged for some medicine. The custom in the Sudan is to drink melted butter; and after Pain had taken a little, he was placed on a camel; but it had scarcely gone a few steps, when he was seized with a fainting fit, and fell off. As he lay unconscious on the ground, and was deathly pale, his guards believed that he must be dead; so they dug a rough grave, in which poor Pain was laid, covered him over with sand, and then hurried on. It is quite possible the unfortunate man was not dead. They marked his grave by planting his stick in the sand, and tying his sandals to it. This event occurred on the 15th of November, 1884.
Early in September, Lupton Bey, Mudir of Bahr el Ghazal arrived at El Obeid; he had been permitted to retain his property, and he was most kind to us; indeed, I have no words to express our gratitude to him for hisunvarying generosity to us. He told us a great deal about his own fights, and related how, after the destruction of General Hicks, the Mahdi had despatched the two slave-dealer brothers Karamallah and Kirkesawi from Dongola to the Bahr el Ghazal. Karamallah had summoned Lupton Bey to surrender; but Lupton, as his letters to Emin Pasha show, determined to fight; his subordinate officers, however, almost all deserted him, and joined the Mahdiists, and the few who remained loyal eventually refused to fight. Indeed, I have seen the actual document they drew up and signed to that effect. Lupton, who at that time was thoroughly exhausted by his constant warfare against the Dinkas, had therefore no alternative but to submit, which he did onthe 28th of April, 1884.
A few days later Lupton, with his kavass and clerk, were sent as prisoners to El Obeid,viâShakka. His arrival was a welcome addition to our little circle, and it was a very great comfort to us to have the society of such a genuine and kind friend as Lupton in these times of trial. He remained with us for about a month; at that time we had daily information about the movements of the English expedition, and we now hoped that the time for our deliverance was approaching. Many of the Mahdiists themselves were getting tired of the newrégime, which gave neither rest nor security of property to anyone. It was through these malcontents that we obtained news which gave us food for argument and speculation during the long and weary days of our captivity.
This life of a slave was terribly obnoxious to poor Lupton, who frequently gave way to bursts of indignation, and in one of these Sherif Mahmud arrested him, and in the first week of October he despatched him under escort to the Mahdi. On his arrival at Omdurman he was put in chains, where he remained for ten months, as he had attempted to escape to Khartum. During this period of captivity, Lupton underwent terrible sufferings, which I could not possibly describe.
Shortly after Lupton left us, we received a letterfrom Slatin, saying that Gordon intended holding out until the English arrived, at the same time he urged us to try and obtain leave to come to Omdurman; but this was impossible. Another friend also told us that he hoped shortly to be able to effect our release; but in his letter he wrote in such a manner that we alone were able to grasp his meaning, for he feared that what he had written might fall into the hands of the Dervishes.
Our anxiety can readily be understood, for we felt certain that if the English were victorious, we should be killed in revenge. Sherif Mahmud had already received orders from the Mahdi to encamp outside the town, and be prepared for any eventuality. So our days passed in a whirl of hopes and fears, and death would have been welcome.
But now a new disaster occurred; the circumstantial account of the death of Colonel Stewart and his party, and the fact that the state of Khartum was rapidly becoming desperate, made us full of doubt as to Gordon's fate. The fall of Omdurman further confirmed our fears, and we trembled to think that Khartum would fall before the English arrived. The prolonged resistance of the town, and the knowledge that the English were almost there, caused no small alarm amongst the people in El Obeid; when, therefore, Sherif Mahmud ordered a salute of one hundred guns to be fired to announce a great victory, the reaction was tremendous.
The news of the fall of Khartum and of the English victory at Abu Klea reached El Obeid the same day. Mahmud held a great review, and the Mahdiists were wild with joy. Thus the last bulwark of Egyptian authority in the Sudan had disappeared; the English turned back and left the Sudan to its fate. The Mahdi rested for a time on his laurels, and occupied himself with bringing into subjection the few who still resisted.
Sherif Mahmud now determined to make himself famous for his bravery, and resolved to conquer the whole of Nuba, and convert the inhabitants. As a firststep, he proceeded with a force of two thousand men straight to Delen; these good people had been left unmolested since Mek Omar had taken his departure, and had gone back to their peaceful ways and former mode of life, which consisted largely of breeding swine, planting tobacco, and drinking marissa to their heart's content.
The Baggaras, who lived in Nuba, and of whom many had been unwillingly forced to follow the Mahdi, were getting somewhat tired of the new faith. Khojur Kakum was just in the same position as before, and had gained considerably in reputation, as he had foretold correctly how the Mahdi would conduct himself. Mahmud duly arrived at Delen, and encamped at the foot of the hills.
On Mahmud's departure, we thought the time had at length arrived when we might attempt to escape, for long ago we had projected a plan to get the Kababish to assist us. Formerly this tribe did much of the carrying trade between Dongola and El Obeid, and they had already proved that they were loyal to the Government. It was said that when the English came to Dongola, this tribe was bringing thousands of camels laden with corn from Dar Hamer; but when Mahmud heard of it, he sent after them, and captured two thousand five hundred loads, so from that time no Kababish ever came to El Obeid. This, therefore, greatly interfered with our plans; besides, we had no money either to buy camels or pay the guides, so I reverted to my old idea, which I had formulated at Rahad, to escape to Jebel Dobab and live with the brave Nubas.
I was thinking over this plan, and casting up in my mind the chances of success, when, on the 4th of June, 1885, a Coptic friend of ours called Sideham arrived, and handed Father Bonomi a small note, saying at the same time that a man had come to take him back to Dongola, and that he would meet him in the market next day. Bonomi and I then retired to a place where we knew no one would see us, and there in fear and trembling we tore open the letter; then Bonomi, in the deepest agitation, read as follows:—
"Dear Friend, I am sending this man so that youmay escape with him. Trust him—he is honest. Monsignor Sogaro awaits you in Cairo with outstretched arms. Your fellow-countryman,Alois Santoni."
For some moments we were so excited we could scarcely speak; but my first thought was, "Why is Bonomi only sent for?" and the feeling that flight was debarred from me, filled me with the most utter dejection.
It was to be my sad fate to see my companion in adversity start without me; then a ray of hope flashed across my mind, possibly the man might be the bearer of a verbal message. It was the very moment for flight; there were very few Dervishes in El Obeid. Oh, the terrible length of that day and night! How slowly the hours went by!
The next morning Bonomi went alone to the place of rendezvous. I thought if I went with him it might create suspicion; but at the same time I begged him to urge the man to take me with him as well. Bonomi met the man, and it required only a very few moments to come to an arrangement. How I longed for him to return and know the result. At length he came, looking very pleased; but the man, he said, had definitely declined to take me with him; however, he promised that if he succeeded in conducting Bonomi safely, he would return for me in fifteen days.
I grieved terribly at the news that my flight must be deferred; but, on the other hand, I rejoiced that one of us should be fortunate enough to escape from this terrible bondage. The man told Father Bonomi not to trouble about anything, but merely to meet him on Mount Korbatsh, where he would find him with the camels.
On the afternoon of the 5th of June, Bonomi prepared himself for flight, taking a large knife with him. We left our huts, and proceeded to the rendezvous; our hearts were too full to speak. At last I left him; and pressing him to my heart, bade him farewell, saying—"Do not forget your poor companion in adversity, who is left behind."
"MANY A TIME DID I TURN AROUND TO LOOK BACK, UNTIL BONOMI DISAPPEARED FROM VIEW IN THE WOOD."
"MANY A TIME DID I TURN AROUND TO LOOK BACK, UNTIL BONOMI DISAPPEARED FROM VIEW IN THE WOOD."
Many a time did I turn round to look back, until Bonomi disappeared from view in the wood. It was just sunset, and a lovely evening, which made even that dull plain look beautiful. Wild, anxious thoughts kept careering through my brain, as I walked back to my wretched and solitary home. Would Bonomi succeed, and what would happen to me? for I knew that the Dervishes must conclude that I knew about Bonomi's flight. So immersed was I in these thoughts that I kept on losing my way, and did not get back till late.
My delay had already caused some suspicion; but I found a ready excuse. I said that I had been searching for corn; for at that time there was famine; and nothing was to be had in the market. My excuse was accepted, and fortunately they did not think of asking for Bonomi. I now threw myself down on my hard bed; but my weary eyes found no sleep. I kept revolving in my mind all that had occurred; but at length I determined to pluck up courage and put my trust in God; and then my thoughts turned to more practical considerations. How should I explain Bonomi's absence to the emir without saying anything which would implicate myself?
It was a hot, sultry night, but a refreshing shower fell just then; and in the midst of the patter of the rain-drops, I thought I heard Bonomi's voice in the hut. What could it be? Had he returned? A thousand wild thoughts crowded into my mind; but I did not dare make a noise, though it was all I could do to control my curiosity.
I rose very early the next morning, and searched about the hut; but found no one. It was at any rate quite certain Bonomi had gone; but yet I felt sure he must have come back during the night. It was not until six long years afterwards, when I returned to Cairo, that I solved the mystery; and then he himself told me how, after parting from me, he had lost his way, and could not find the guide or camels; after vainly wandering about, he had returned to the hut, where the Copt who had given him the note foundhim, and conducted him to the Arab with whom he had escaped.
I must here explain why it was the messenger had only been commissioned to rescue Father Bonomi; and this I did not learn till after my own escape. News had reached Cairo that I was in Omdurman, and that Bonomi had been left alone in El Obeid; and therefore arrangements had been made for his rescue only.[H]
Meanwhile, I kept Bonomi's escape concealed; and it was not until the fourth day after he had left, and when I was assured of his safety, that I informed the emin beit el mal[I]that he had gone to Khartum to fetch some medicine. I believe this man thoroughly knew that he had escaped; but he did not show the slightest suspicion, and ordered us to go to Khartum as well; and we were placed under close surveillance. He also wrote to Sherif Mahmud at Delen, and to Khartum; a few days later orders came from Mahmud that we were to be imprisoned in the zariba of the beit el mal. That evening, soldiers came and dragged us and our slender property to the zariba; and while waiting till huts should be made for us, we were housed with slaves suffering from small-pox.
This disease was then very prevalent in El Obeid, and horrible sights continually met our eyes. These unfortunate sufferers had no one to help them, and they were left to die, either of the disease, or of hunger; they lay about under the trees in the market-place, shunned by every one; often, when still living, they were dragged off by men, who tied ropes round their bodies, and pulled them along the ground till they were beyond the outskirts of the town; and there they were left to be devoured by the hyenas.
A dreadful famine prevailed, and the population wasdecimated by hunger; ten to twelve pounds of corn were sold for a dollar, and the man was fortunate who could buy it at this price. In the market, fights were frequent; meat, however, was not so expensive, and we lived for days on meat only, without any bread. The poor people used to dig about the streets and in the houses for gum, which they knew had been concealed during the siege; and this unwholesome food frequently caused their death.
The air in the zariba was poisoned by the number of people suffering from small-pox; but curiously enough, the disease never seemed to touch the white people. My new abode turned out to be not so bad as I expected. I became friends with some of the soldiers who used to be in the Government service, and sympathised with them in their wretched state; these poor men often tried to do me any little service they could.
It was about this time that Sultan Dud Benga, flying from Zogal, arrived, on his way to give himself up to the Mahdi in Omdurman, and also a certain Sherif, who set himself up to be the fourth Khalifa—Osman. The latter, however, on his arrival in Omdurman, was thrown into chains, and his wives, horses, and slaves confiscated. I planted a few water-melons round my hut, which grew well; and I used to amuse myself by watching the movements of the chameleons which disported themselves underneath the leaves; but one day a fire broke out, which destroyed my hut, water-melons, chameleons, and all; and so this little dissipation was denied me. However, I built a new hut in a few days.
Almost a month had now passed since Bonomi's departure, and I began to look about anxiously for the return of the Arab who was to help me to escape. During the night I had cautiously loosened the zariba hedge, so that I could easily get out, when the time came; but day by day passed, and I began to lose hope. I did hear a rumour once that a man had come to help us to escape, but that on hearing we were locked up in the zariba, he had gone away. This was very probably true; for the Arabs are excessively timid;and we were as universally shunned by all as if we were infested with a plague; if anyone dared to speak to us, he was almost sure to be arrested and locked up.
Thus we dragged out a miserable existence, devoid of hope, shunned by all, and suffering much from continual sickness. One event, however, unexpectedly occurred, which we thought would completely alter the state of affairs, and would produce a revolution, in which we again thought we saw some chance of escape.
Early in July 1885, the news of the Mahdi's death arrived. At first it was not credited, and the leading people thought it better to keep it a strict secret, but their dismal countenances belied them. It was a terrible blow to the Dervishes, and they themselves believed that disturbances would undoubtedly take place, for the number of malcontents was by no means small. The truth, however, soon came out, and the immediate effect on the ignorant masses was the realization that they had been deceived, and that the Mahdi was no Mahdi at all. Hitherto Mahdiism had been thoroughly admitted, and it was their belief in the Mahdi's divine mission which had given birth to the fanaticism which had made them so bold and fearless—the belief that to die in battle as martyrs assured them paradise with its myriads of lovely houris, its lovely gardens, laden with milk and honey, fruits and flowers.
All this was implicitly believed. What wonder then that they should throw themselves into the very thickest of the fight in the sure and certain hope that to die in the Mahdi's cause ensured eternal delights and pleasures! Now all these glorious visions had collapsed like a house of cards, and in the future Mahdiism to live would have to be enforced. From this time forth there was no voluntary seeking to obey, and it was clear that the new Religion was on the wane.
The family and adherents of the Mahdi were at variance with the followers of Khalifa Abdullah, the latter by his immense energy had made himself master of the situation. But the glow and fervour of religious enthusiasm was gone.
The blow of the Mahdi's death almost killed Sherif Mahmud; many of his chiefs and emirs muttered: "See how the Mahdi has deceived us. Had he been the real Mahdi he would not have died in Omdurman. Alas! what thousands of human lives have been sacrificed to this false Mahdi's caprice." Mahmud was at a loss to know what to say and contented himself with murmuring: "Even if the Mahdi be dead, his religion did not die with him; let us therefore fight in the cause of religion."
Nevertheless all obedience and discipline did not disappear, for these men had still their own interests to look after: but it was unfortunate there was no one to place himself at the head of the malcontents and openly declare that the Mahdi was no Mahdi.
Mahmud now returned without delay to El Obeid, and immediately on his arrival he ordered the criers to announce that he required some account of Father Bonomi's escape. He was furious at his flight; he sent for me and asked where he had gone; I simply replied, that he had disappeared one night and that the next morning I could find no trace of him in the hut. If Mahmud had not been so upset by the Mahdi's death, I believe I should have had to pay dearly for his flight. As it was he believed that Bonomi would be seized by the Dervishes in Dongola, and at the same time he sent out spies to try and discover who had assisted him to escape. Suspicion fell on Mohammed Suleiman, who had been our old captain at Delen and who was now the kadi's clerk; he was threatened with a flogging, which he would certainly have received had not his master begged him off.
Mahmud brought with him from Delen the unfortunate Khojur Kakum; this poor man was thrown into chains soon after his arrival, and his hut and the chair which he used for his religious ceremonies were burnt. The Nubas were solemnly abjured to desist from their superstitious beliefs, and Mahmud made a small straw mosque for them in which they were obliged to say prayers; but the Nubas set fire toit, and after Mahmud's departure they named their pigs after the Mahdi's important emirs.
When Kakum was on his way to El Obeid, he had had a bad fall from a bullock, which had injured him internally and made it almost impossible for him to move: he was put into our zariba, and soon after he came I went to see him and found him in a state of profound dejection. He was very pleased to see me, and the tears rolled down his black cheeks; he was so affected he could barely speak, and lost all control over himself. His two wives were sitting near him—one of them, Mea, was a thoroughly good woman, and many a happy hour did I spend playing with her little child of six years old. Kakum gave me coffee, and we talked over the old days at the Mission, then I left him to rest. That same night I was suddenly summoned by Mea, who said that Kakum was seriously ill; I hastened to the hut and found him almost unconscious, and in a few hours he was dead. He was a thoroughly good, sensible man, and had been a faithful friend to the Mission and to the Government. He died in July 1885, and I think he must then have been about fifty-five years of age. His second wife married the Khojur of Sobei, who had also been dragged to El Obeid by Mahmud; but Mea did not marry again. She devoted herself to her little child.
The boy delighted in being with me, and said he always wanted to stay with the Christians; but a month later Mea and her child were allowed to return to Delen. I gave the boy a little shirt, and in return Mea promised to send me some tobacco; and, true to her word, a messenger arrived soon afterwards with that luxury, in return for which I sent her some glass beads.
During his stay at Delen, Mahmud had captured Shirra, one of the renegade Baggara chiefs, and his two sons. This man had formerly been our sworn enemy, and had declared that he would kill every one of us Christians; but when this great chief and his sons came into the zariba they greeted me like lambs, and when, in fun, I recalled to them their former oaths, theyadmitted that they had been completely deceived, and now that they had not words sufficient to praise the Christians or to curse the Mahdi. It was no little satisfaction to me to find such an entire change of mind and purpose in one who had been our bitterest foe. Thus was justice tardily meted out to us.
Meanwhile Khalifa Abdullah had sent an order from Omdurman to Mahmud, telling him to set out forthwith for Omdurman to swear the Bea'a (or oath of allegiance) to the Mahdi's successor. Mahmud therefore, in August 1885, left El Obeid with a large number of followers.
FOOTNOTES:[H]Father Bonomi arrived safely in Dongola, and Mr. Santoni, who is now director of posts at Assiut, was rewarded by His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. with the Order of Gregory the Great, in recognition of the humane service he had rendered.[I]I.e.the official in charge of the beit el mal or Dervish storehouse and treasury.
[H]Father Bonomi arrived safely in Dongola, and Mr. Santoni, who is now director of posts at Assiut, was rewarded by His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. with the Order of Gregory the Great, in recognition of the humane service he had rendered.
[H]Father Bonomi arrived safely in Dongola, and Mr. Santoni, who is now director of posts at Assiut, was rewarded by His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. with the Order of Gregory the Great, in recognition of the humane service he had rendered.
[I]I.e.the official in charge of the beit el mal or Dervish storehouse and treasury.
[I]I.e.the official in charge of the beit el mal or Dervish storehouse and treasury.
REVOLT AGAINST THE DERVISHES.
The black soldiers of the old Sudan army—They revolt against the Dervishes in El Obeid—And march off to Dar Nuba—The emir Mahmud pursues and is slain—Ohrwalder quits El Obeid for Omdurman—Zogal and Abu Anga at Bara.
Theold Sudanese soldiers of the Egyptian army were perhaps, of all others, the most dissatisfied with Mahdiism. These brave blacks who, as they say in the Sudan, "had eaten the Khedive's bread," were now in a wretched state compared with the once miserable Gellabas, who now galloped about proudly on horseback, while in former years they had scarcely a donkey to their name. Several of these soldiers had been to Egypt, some had been servants to Europeans, and most of them had been in the various fights which had previously taken place in the Sudan. Sherif Mahmud, it is true, treated them with some deference, and gave them corn when he refused to give it to the Gellabas who were starving; but in spite of this, their previous condition was infinitely preferable to their life under Mahdiist rulers. There were about two hundred of these soldiers in El Obeid; shortly afterwards, a number of slaves arrived, and quite recently their numbers had been further increased by the addition of a company sent by Zogal.
Many of these men had fought under Munzinger Pasha, and under Slatin Bey, and were distinguished for their bravery; their total number was now three hundred, under the command of an Egyptian mowallid,[J]named Abdullah. These men used to complain of being always placed in the forefront of the battle; and they were further irritated by the arrogant way in which they were treated by the Danagla and their unbearable emir Wad el Hashmi, who used to call them "abd" (i.e.slave); they therefore decided to revolt against this tyrannical rule, and in this their emir supported them. It was agreed that they should await the great Dahiyeh festival, and when they were all out on parade, and the Dervishes were going through their prayers, they would suddenly separate themselves and, trusting to their good rifles, would be able to annihilate their hated enemies; but the thought that a number of innocent people would be thus sacrificed, decided them to await some other more favourable opportunity. It was often a matter of surprise to me how these blacks managed to keep their secret, which even all their women knew.
A clever young mukuddum lived near my hut, and did me many a kindness; he often used to bring me some meat to eat, as the soldiers who looked after the sheep and goats taken from the Arabs frequently killed some for their own food and then reported that they had died. At this time I suffered a great deal from fever, I could not remain in my close and small hut, and used to lie wide awake and tossing about on my hard bed outside. I often saw the mukuddum in secret conversation with some of his men, and then they would look at their arms to see they were all right; this made me feel certain that some plot was brewing.
Amongst the soldiers I had also another good friend, Hajji Selim, who was at all times ready to render me any little service, in return for which I used to give him a little coffee or some tobacco. Hajji Selim had a curious story. He was born in Bornu, and when young had joined his father, who was going with a caravan to Mecca. Whilst journeying through the Sahara, they came to a district in which two tribes were at war; he joined one of them, but was taken prisoner by the other, sold as a slave, and taken to Tunis; from here, he was brought to Constantinople, where he became the playfellow of his master's son, and in this way learnt the Turkish language. Soon afterwards his master was sent to Egypt as a Pasha, and he came with him, from thence they went on a pilgrimage to Mecca, hence his title of Hajji. On their return to Cairo, the master died, his property was confiscated, and Selim was taken into the army. He was sent to Sawakin, then he served under Munzinger Pasha at Massawa, and was with him at the time of his murder; from here he was sent to Darfur, then to Kordofan, and eventually to Delen, where he was taken prisoner with Mohammed Suleiman, and thus became attached to the Mahdiists.
This unfortunate man, though comparatively young, had become aged by constant travelling, he was homeless, and had neither wife nor child; he wore an old coat which had been given to him by some of Hicks Pasha's soldiers, it was riddled with bullet-holes, covered with patches of blood, and very dirty; however, that did not much matter to him, as he had no soap to wash it; he always wore the hood of his coat over his head, which further added to his curious appearance. He made his coat into a species of Dervish uniform by patching up the holes with the pieces of an old tarbush; but withal he was a thoroughly honest man, and I liked him. I also knew I could rely on him to carry out a secret mission, and therefore, after Bonomi had fled, I had made over to him some money and two volumes of the 'Popular Educator,' which Lupton Bey had given me, and which I looked upon as a priceless treasure. I did this because I was afraid that Sherif Mahmud would confiscate my little all; but when all fear was over, the honest man brought back everything just as I had given it to him. At that time I had no suitable place in my hut to hide them, so I asked him to keep them a few days longer; but, alas! my books were to become food for the flames, which soon afterwards devoured the camp, and this was an irreparable loss. I tried to find but from Hajji Selim what plot was brewing; but all my inquiries were fruitless. He would not breathe a word, and from that time I saw nomore of him, for he was afraid that my importunity might make him divulge the secret. I knew perfectly well that he must have been one of the conspirators, and as I never saw him again, I presume he must have been killed.
The above little incident is merely mentioned to show how zealously the soldiers kept their secret; but all the same, the people in El Obeid had a notion that something was going to happen, and one day an order was suddenly given that a hundred soldiers were to prepare to proceed to Dar Hamer. In this way they thought to split up the party, and then disarm them; but the men guessed that this was the intention, and therefore decided to execute their plan the following day.
That night I was lying outside as usual; the sky was particularly brilliant, and I was watching the myriads of shooting stars which, leaving bright trails behind them, burst suddenly like rockets, and illumined the night till it became for an instant almost as light as day. Every one wondered at this curious phenomenon, and foretold that it meant mischief of some sort, and, curiously, there was mischief enough in the air that night.
The next day, at about noon, I was startled by the sound of firing, and bullets were suddenly flying over my head. In my alarm I had rushed out of the hut, and saw that the firing was from the direction of the powder-magazine. To my intense surprise, I did not see a solitary soldier in the zariba; even their wives had gone, and had taken their household goods away with them. I shouted and cried out, but no one answered; a few women passed by, but they were too occupied to answer me; they, too, soon disappeared, and the whole place, which but a few moments before had been a Babel of din and noise, became silent as the grave. In the distance I could hear continuous firing, and occasionally I caught sight of women and children running away in a northerly direction.
I now thought it time to quit the zariba myself. I seized a bayonet, and tried to push aside the thorns,but they were so firmly fixed in the ground, that I could not move them. I then made for the gate, and here there was not a soul to be seen; even the slaves in chains had disappeared. Bullets were now flying in all directions. I went towards the Emir Abdullah's house, and found him standing by his door in a state of great agitation, with only two soldiers. In reply to my question as to what was the matter, he answered in a surly tone: "These beit el mal slaves have destroyed everything." These words were scarcely out of his mouth, when fifty Dervishes with drawn swords suddenly rushed up, and with frightful yells dragged him and his men off to the courtyard of the Mudirieh. I followed them. Here an enormous crowd of Dervishes was collected, and, wild with rage, they would have torn Abdullah to pieces had not Wad el Hashmi stopped them.
The Dervishes now accused Abdullah of having incited the soldiers; but he protested that he knew nothing of the affair, and in proof of his statement urged that he had not quitted his house; but it was useless. The air resounded with cries of "Cut off his head!" and he was obliged to kneel down. With one blow his head rolled on the sand; both the soldiers were also beheaded, and their bodies thrown down near the mosque, so that everyone might see them.
I now learnt that the soldiers had taken possession of the powder magazine, which consisted of a square yard, with small towers at the corners; it had been utilized as a magazine in Government days. All arms and ammunition were stored here, and a number of Egyptians were employed moulding bullets and filling cartridges; there were also quantities of caps, and all the necessary implements. The soldiers had broken into this place, killed the guards, made loopholes, and prepared for defence; they had burnt down most of the houses in the town, and forced all they met to join them. Two Egyptians who refused to do so were at once killed. The Dervishes had rushed, in a body, to attempt to recover the magazine, but had been shotdown in numbers; several emirs also fell in this assault, and no one dared to return to recover their bodies. At length, having rallied from their first failure, they again collected and advanced—this time with more order—to the attack; but the soldiers, who had learnt of their Emir Abdullah's death, fought with desperate courage, and again drove them back, with heavy loss.
The Dervishes now assembled beside the great gate of the Mudirieh, and consulted what was best to be done; they were thoroughly alarmed, and no wonder; for everyone who came within range of the fort was almost certainly shot down. Amongst these was Fiki Isa, of the Shanabla, who was struck in the neck by a bullet, and fell dead at once. Naturally, I fled as soon as possible from this dangerous proximity, and went to the house of a clerk, whose walls I knew would give me protection.
The firing now became faster, and the soldiers sounded the trumpet for the attack on the Mudirieh, intending to capture the guns which stood outside the gate; but the Dervishes had withdrawn them and closed it, so the troops were forced to retire; their ranks had been largely increased by a number of male and female slaves, who, on hearing of the mutiny, had at once left their masters.
Fighting lasted till nightfall; and at length, under cover of darkness, I made my way back to the zariba, to see what had become of my companions in adversity. I found it empty and deserted; even the cattle had escaped somehow; and only two miserable slaves, suffering from ferentit (guinea-worm), and who were unable to move, remained behind. I was feverish and restless; so returned again to the Mudirieh, to see what was going forward there. I found a crowd of Dervishes, exasperated at the idea of having been defeated by the "slave-soldiers," as they called them; more of their emirs had been killed; and the chief, Wad Hashmi, had been mortally wounded, and died the following day. When the Dervishes caught sight of me (hithertoI had passed unnoticed), they ordered me back to the zariba, threatening to kill me if I again left it; I suppose they did this because they thought I might join the mutineers. It was believed that the soldiers would attack and capture the town the next day. How I wish they had had a good leader!
My companions and I now found ourselves in the beit el mal again, under the guard of four soldiers. Worn out with excitement, I threw myself down on my angarib; the success of the mutineers again revived in my breast hopes of release; and with this pleasing thought, I dropped off into a sound slumber.
I was suddenly roused up by one of the guard prodding me with the butt end of his rifle, and saying—"When everyone is in terror of his life, how can you sleep?" So I reluctantly had to get up, and began chatting to the guard, as I feared any display of satisfaction on my part would probably call down vengeance from them. We talked over the events of the day; and I soon realised that the Dervishes were, in truth, greatly alarmed.
The powder magazine was not far from the beit el mal, so we could overhear a great deal of what was going on there; and one would have imagined that they were engaged in marriage festivities rather than in bloody warfare. The whole night through they kept up singing; the women were dancing, and the men drinking marissa: every now and then the trumpets were sounded, which seemed to add to the women's delight; they were all laughing over the Mahdi's doings, heaping insults on him and his religion; and still further exasperating the Dervishes by shouting out to them to come and join them in a drinking bout.
But whilst these good blacks were enjoying themselves in the magazine, the Dervishes had fortified the beit el mal, and placed bodies of troops, with their flags, in different parts. Occasionally, the blacks fired a volley into them, which made them disperse, leaving their flag behind them. Everyone was in a state of most anxious expectancy for the next day; it was lookedupon as certain that a fight would take place between the Dervishes and the soldiers, which would finally decide matters; and that night there was little sleep for anyone.
Early the next morning the soldiers played the Khedivial salute, which stirred us to the quick; and by the time the sun had risen, firing had recommenced, and was continued up till nine o'clock. The soldiers made a few raids on camels and donkeys, but did not attempt to attack the Dervishes; and it was not at all clear what they intended to do. The Dervish emir, being certain that the mutineers were quite demoralized, sent their imam (priest) to tell them that if they wished to surrender, they would receive pardon; this exasperated the blacks beyond measure; the imam was told not to talk nonsense; and was then deliberately dragged out about fifty paces from the fort, pierced through and through with his own spears, and his body thrown out in the direction of the Mudirieh, whilst the soldiers shouted out—"This is the head in return for the head of our Emir Abdullah." They continued to make desultory sorties during the day, and captured a quantity of animals.
In the afternoon they left the powder magazine; the band playing, women and children marching in front; then came the ammunition, surrounded by armed men, and lastly, the soldiers, marching in good order, and disposed in such a manner as to resist any sudden assault.
The Dervishes, however, determined to attack, and, marshalling their banners, they made for the powder magazine, which they found quite deserted; the soldiers had thrown into the wells all the powder they could not carry. There were only five fresh graves in the magazine, which showed that the soldiers had lost only five men, whilst the Dervishes had lost about five hundred.
Meanwhile, the blacks were marching gaily towards Melbeis; but the Dervishes, more furious than ever after their discoveries in the magazine, set off in hotpursuit; and when they had got within a short distance of their enemy, they were received by a well-directed volley, which killed some fifty of them; the remainder fled in disorder to El Obeid. The total number of the blacks, including the slaves who had joined them, did not exceed one thousand men, whilst the Dervishes more than trebled that number. Had they only had a competent commander, there is no doubt they could easily have captured El Obeid. They continued their march, unopposed, to Nuba, and arrived first of all at Delen, where they established themselves, and selected Beshir, an old soldier of Slatin Bey's, to be their Mudir. Mahdiism was entirely renounced, and the Khedive's Government proclaimed. Anyone who swore by the Mahdi's name received eighty lashes; the regular form of swearing was—"Hakk ras Effendina" ("By the Khedive's head!") Strict discipline was enforced. Any one found selling arms or ammunition to the Nubas was punished with death, and the sentence was carried out by shooting.
Shortly afterwards, they quitted Delen and marched to Jebel Naïma, the inhabitants of which place are known as the bravest of the Nubas; but here they still seemed to think themselves too close to their hated enemies, and therefore moved on to Golfan, where they took up a position in an inaccessible mountain, were recognized by their neighbours as the rulers of the country, and were supplied by them with quantities of cattle and sesame.
In the meantime Sherif Mahmud, in Omdurman, had been fully informed of all that had occurred. He fell into a terrible passion, accused all his emirs of cowardice, and proceeded forthwith to El Obeid. He would not even enter his house, but encamped outside the town. Khalifa Abdullah had ordered him to leave the mutineers alone, and to proceed,viâthe Es Safiyeh Wells, to Dongola; but Mahmud entirely disregarded this order. He thirsted for vengeance against these rebels, and determined to subdue them. Added to this, he had also conceived the idea of usurping Khalifa Abdullah'sauthority. His object, therefore, was to increase his power by regaining the co-operation of the soldiers, and so proud and self-confident was he, that he believed they would never attempt to fight against him.
Here, underneath the great Adansonia tree where the Mahdi had stayed so long, he pitched his camp and made preparations for his advance on Nuba. He called for volunteers, saying that he did not wish to force anyone to go to war, and at the same time he endeavoured to encourage the people by telling them that the Mahdi had appeared to him in a dream, and had told him to advance and attack the rebels, promising him certain victory. In spite of this summons, very few volunteered, and getting thoroughly annoyed, he now threatened with death anyone who refused to join him. Thus did Mahmud realise that the spirit of Mahdiism had almost died out, and that in future force would be required to carry out its behests.
He rapidly advanced with a force of 2,500 men, most of them armed with Remingtons. On his way he was joined by a number of Arabs, which raised his force to some 8,000 men. On arrival at Naïma he found that the mutineers had moved on; he therefore advanced to Golfan, and sent in a letter to the effect that if they surrendered he would give them a free pardon. But the soldiers had had previous experience of Mahdieh promises, and received the messengers with volleys, which soon made them turn back. Mahmud determined, therefore, to invest his former adherents, and, putting himself at the head of his troops, he advanced towards the mountain; but the soldiers, concealed behind rocks, sent volley after volley into the Dervish ranks. Mahmud received a bullet in his side, but, nothing daunted, he continued to advance, carrying his own flag, until another bullet, hitting him full on the forehead, killed him.
Already over a hundred Dervishes had fallen, and the remainder, hearing that Mahmud was dead, turned tail and fled in disorder towards El Obeid. The soldiers did not pursue, but took up Mahmud's body and gave himan honourable burial befitting the brave man he was. In his death Mahdieh lost perhaps the boldest of its adherents, and certainly the bravest of the Mahdi's family. And though he had latterly given himself up to a life of pleasure and debauchery, as all the rest had done, still he did not fear exposing himself to every sort of danger.
Mahmud fell in the month of November 1885, and Khalifa Abdullah was by no means displeased to be rid of a rival whose prowess and popularity he greatly feared and envied.
In place of Sherif Mahmud, Abdullah despatched his brother Bakhit to Kordofan; but he was a very different class of man, and was nicknamed "Tor" ("The Bullock").
Soon afterwards Bakhit received orders to leave all his men at El Obeid and to return to Omdurman. He was succeeded by the emir Wad el Hashmi, who was followed by Osman Wad Adam (nicknamed "Ganu"), the Mahdi's nephew.
Preparations were now made to transport all Mahmud's people to Omdurman, and in order to convey so many thousand people, camels were forcibly seized. We also were released, and permitted to go to Omdurman. I had passed too many miserable years in Kordofan not to rejoice at the change: for a time I had a faint hope that someone might be sent by Father Bonomi to assist me to escape, but now it seemed useless to hope for this any longer, whereas, once at Omdurman, I might manage to escape by myself. Our departure was delayed for a month.
El Obeid had gradually become a dirty Arab village; except meat and dokhn, there was absolutely nothing to be got in the market. I suffered much from dysentery. There were no medicines to be had, so I had to trust to the recuperative powers of nature, assisted by a little rice which was grown in the marshes about Birket. I had not a civilized soul with whom to associate.
The Nubas of Jebel Dair did their utmost to harass El Obeid; they were always hovering about in the outskirts, ready to pounce down on any cattle and slavesthey saw. It would have been madness to go an hour's distance from the town without an escort. The Dervishes frequently made attempts to clear the neighbourhood of these brigands, but I observed that they always returned considerably fewer in number, and I secretly rejoiced at their inability to cope with these brave Nubas. Taking everything into consideration, I was not sorry to say good-bye to this dreary and inhospitable town.
We were given four camels, whose owners acted as the drivers. It was agreed that on arrival in Omdurman we should pay them at the rate of seven dollars a camel.
On the 25th of March, 1886, we left El Obeid. What a flood of recollections welled up in my mind as we marched for the last time through the desolate ruins of the city! How strange had been the vicissitudes of this once flourishing place during the last few years! From a thriving and peaceful township it had been transformed into the theatre of constant warfare and bloodshed. It had then been the scene of the Mahdi's debaucheries, when he rested after his victories, and now it had dwindled down into a wretched Arab village.
Our road took us past the site of the El Obeid Mission-house, of which not a trace remained. In its place was the market, and a heap of white bones indicated the locality of the cook's shop. We halted that evening at Korbatsh; the next day we started very early; and after a two days' march, arrived at Bara. This beautiful little town is situated in a woody depression of the great Kordofan plain. In the distance we could see the white ruins through the high acacia trees. Formerly the place had been well planted with date-palms; but during the siege the inhabitants had cut them down, and lived upon the crushed core.
In the Government days Bara had been a sort of sanatorium for El Obeid, where the richer inhabitants used to spend the summer; they had made lovely gardens, full of date-trees, lemon-plants, banana-trees, and vines, while the vegetables used to be sold in El Obeid. The soil is exceptionally fertile, and there is an abundance of water obtainable at only six feet belowthe surface. But now the place was completely destroyed and neglected; and wild bushes and thorns grew apace amidst the ruins.
As we approached Bara, we heard the thunder of guns, and were told that it was a salute announcing the arrival of Zogal, the Governor of Darfur, with his troops. It was the 2nd of April. We halted under a large acacia tree, and took down our angaribs, over which mats were tightly stretched. The arrival of two large parties, one from El Obeid and one from Darfur, soon changed this dismal graveyard into a noisy camp.
Zogal had brought with him 2,500 infantry, 4,000 black soldiers and singers, and 1,500 good horses. He had over 10,000 dollars in his beit el mal, besides what each of his men possessed—and that was no inconsiderable quantity: for everyone had enriched himself in Darfur; and all this wealth was destined to become the Khalifa Abdullah's property. Zogal had organized bands in his army; and the same tunes which had been played in the days of the Government, now resounded over the deserted plains of Bara. Zogal's camp was a scene of pleasure and merry-making. Marissa was publicly sold and drunk openly; all idea of being within the Mahdi's jurisdiction seemed to have been forgotten. Zogal was a liberal man; his principle was "live and let live;" and he thoroughly enjoyed the good things of this life, which the Mahdi's revolt had placed within his reach. He was a powerfully built, stout man, of about sixty years of age, with a white beard, which gave him a patriarchal appearance. He was known as the father of many children, and was of an open-hearted and generous disposition.
Zogal's camp was pitched on the ruins of Bara; rich carpets were spread over the sand, and there he sat, ready to see anybody and everybody at any time of the day; abundance of food was always ready for all his guests. The only thing for which Zogal should be blamed was his shooting to death twenty-five Sanjaks and Turks, who had surrendered with Slatin, on the fall of Darfur. These Sanjaks had sworn to revoltagainst Mahdiism, but had been betrayed. With this exception, he had conducted his rule with great moderation; he did all he possibly could to further trade; and when in Bara I saw some French calico, which had come from Tunis,viâWadai, to Darfur. Zogal's Bazingers made a great impression on me; they were a wild and turbulent lot, capable of great marching power, and able to support long-continued privations.
Lupton Bey often used to tell me of the cannibal propensities of these black warriors. In many instances, their only dress consisted of the leather bandolier, or cartridge case, and a big leather bag, from which a human leg could often be seen protruding; and in almost every bag some human flesh or bones could be found. When I used to go to the market, crowds of these swarthy warriors would collect to gaze on my white skin, which, in truth, the sun had long since tanned to a very brown colour.
Zogal's nine days' halt in Bara soon came to an end. News came that disturbances had occurred in Omdurman between Khalifas Abdullah and Sherif; the latter had frequently written to Zogal to come to Khartum at once, as he was most anxious to have him there. News was brought at the same time that Abu Anga had arrived at El ObeidviâBirket; it was rumoured that Abu Anga had been sent by Abdullah to arrest Zogal, for it was reported that Zogal and Sherif had agreed to combine and wrest the authority from Abdullah. Zogal was quite strong enough to overturn Abdullah; but unfortunately he was no soldier, and Abdullah had secretly won over a number of his emirs to his side.
Abu Anga pressed on from El Obeid, and, arriving at Bara, summoned Zogal to surrender. The latter, however, prepared to fight; but most of his Bazingers and emirs went over to Abu Anga's side, and he was soon left with but a few followers, and easily fell into Abu Anga's hands; he was at once put in chains and handed over to Said Bey Guma, who was at that time commander of the artillery. All his property was confiscated. Abu Anga did this inrevenge, for Zogal had done exactly the same to Said Bey when he took possession of Darfur. Zogal was now dragged in chains to El Obeid, where he was left for a year to think over his changed state. His emin beit el mal, Ibrahim Ramadan, was also seized on his way to Omdurman, and brought back in chains to El Obeid, where he was mercilessly flogged to make him disclose the hiding-place of the money; but nothing would induce him to tell. He was subsequently taken to Omdurman, where Abdullah received him well and gave him a situation in the beit el mal.
Zogal's arrest was the signal for ill-treating all the Khalifa Sherif's adherents; these were deprived of all their positions, and were replaced by Abdullah's nominees. I had relied considerably on seeing a change for the better if this attempt of Sherif and Zogal to upset Abdullah had succeeded; but it had failed, and we again moved on towards Omdurman, still further depressed by the feeling that Abdullah was growing more and more powerful. By the time we arrived near Omdurman my camel had died; the poor Arab wept bitterly for his loss, and I could do nothing towards repaying him. On the evening of the 24th of April, 1886, we encamped close to the town. A fearful sandstorm was blowing, and we were enveloped in clouds of dust—a fitting advent to the capital of the Mahdi's empire!