A Pris­on­er of the Kha­lee­fa; Twelve Years’ Cap­tiv­i­ty at Om­dur­man. By Charles Neu­feld.

A PRISONER OF THE KHALEEFA

NEUFELD IN CAPTIVITY.

A PRISONER OF · ·
· · THE KHALEEFA

Twelve Years’ Captivity at Omdurman

BY

CHARLES NEUFELD

WITH NUMEROUS PORTRAITS AND PLANS

LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD.

1899

PRINTED BY

WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.

LONDON AND BECCLES.

Dedication

TO

PUBLIC OPINION

CHARLES NEUFELD

• CONTENTS
  • [INTRODUCTION]
  • The calumnies of critics—My female slave—Real object of my journey—Preliminary arrangements—General Stephenson’s letter . . . 1–7
  • [CHAPTER I] I START FOR KORDOFAN
  • Engagement of guides—A neglected warning—Hasseena accompanies the party—Dervishes reported on the road—Non-arrival of Hogal—Dervishes sighted at Selima Wells . . . 8–14
  • [CHAPTER II] BETRAYED BY GUIDES
  • Different routes over the desert—A quarrel amongst the guides—Scouts sent out—Hassan convicted of error—Zigzagging in the desert—A council of war—Surprised by the dervishes—The fight—Taken prisoners . . . 15–28
  • [CHAPTER III] IN THE HANDS OF THE DERVISHES
  • Conference of the Emirs Farag and Hamza—Halt for the night—Baggage looted by dervishes—The Emirs confiscate all treasure for the Beit-el-Mal—Cross-questioned on my letters—Called a Government spy—Tortured by dervish guards—Rescued by Hamza and reserved for Wad en Nejoumi . . . 29–40
  • [CHAPTER IV] ARRIVAL IN DONGOLA
  • Display of dervish horsemanship—Flogging among the Ansar—Hasseena is searched—Insults of the rabble—I am brought before Nejoumi—I declare myself a merchant—Evidence of a Christian girl-convert against me—Execution of fourteen Arabs of the party—I am re-examined and sent to the Khaleefa . . . 41–52
  • [CHAPTER V] THE REAL HISTORY OF THE CAPTURE
  • Extracts from newspaper and official accounts—The antecedents of the guide Gabou—Dissensions in the Kabbabish tribe—Gabou schemes for his own section—Hassan’s part in the matter—Gabou reveals the plot to Nejoumi and enlists Hogal on his side—The Emirs prepare to intercept me—Capture of the caravan—Hogal’s deceit and its excuse . . . 53–63
  • [CHAPTER VI] DONGOLA TO OMDURMAN
  • Preparations for the journey—Nejoumi’s friendly disposition to the Government—His loss of faith in the Mahdist movement—Why the guide Amin was executed—Horrible death of an old Arab woman—In the market-place of Omdurman—First meeting with Slatin—I am chained and tortured—I defy the Khaleefa—A mock execution—The Khaleefa is merciful—Slatin intervenes—Letter to Mankarious Effendi—Imprisoned by Slatin’s advice . . . 64–79
  • [CHAPTER VII] THROWN INTO PRISON
  • Methods of shackling—My first night in prison—Hasseena sent to the head-gaoler’s hareem—Mahmoud Wad Said—Ajjab Abou Jinn—The three sons of Awad el Kerim—Sheikh Hamad El Nil—Ahmed Abdel Maajid and his bride—Lessons in Mahdieh—I visit Khartoum in chains—Again before the Khaleefa—My chains removed . . . 80–92
  • [CHAPTER VIII] PRISON LIFE
  • Prayers—Night in the Abou Hagar—Possibilities of escape—News from Egypt—Idris-es-Saier—His methods of extortion—A prison homily—Effectual blackmail . . . 93–104
  • [CHAPTER IX] MY FIRST CHANCE OF ESCAPE
  • Ahmed Nur ed Din—His relations with Gabou—We plan an escape—Death of Nur ed Din—My sickness and recovery—Treatment of typhus—I decline to be converted—Meal-time in the Saier—Father Ohrwalder’s charity—A famine—The struggle for food—Ministrations of Hasseena—Mutual help amongst the prisoners . . . 105–119
  • [CHAPTER X] PRISON JUSTICE
  • Escapes from the Saier—The advantages of matrimony—Tactics of the gaolers—I become doctor to the hareems—Discipline amongst women prisoners—My first flogging—The gaoler dismissed—Method of flogging—I am flogged again—My mental agony . . . 120–133
  • [CHAPTER XI] A SERIOUS DILEMMA
  • Newspaper calumnies—Hasseena’s condition—A disputed paternity—Mohammedan laws of marriage and divorce—I decide to claim the child—Idris disputes the claim—A jury of matrons decides in my favour—Birth of “Makkieh”—The Khaleefa’s congratulations—Joseppi, the German baker . . . 134–144
  • [CHAPTER XII] IBRAHIM WAD ADLAN
  • Friendship with Wad Adlan—His directorship of the Beit-el-Mal—The Khaleefa grows jealous—Adlan thrown into prison—The advantages of trading—Adlan reinstated—I design the Mahdi’s tomb—Letters to Mankarious Effendi—The guide Moussa Daoud el Kanaga—Reports from Egypt—Escape of Joseppi—Treachery of spies—Disgrace and death of Adlan . . . 145–159
  • [CHAPTER XIII] THE TRUE HISTORY OF MY ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE
    • [I.] Hassan Bey Hassanein . . . 325–331
    • [II.] Orphali . . . 332–337
    • [III.] Letter dictated by the Khaleefa to General Stephenson . . . 338–339
    • [IV.] Ibrahim Pasha Fauzi—Gordon’s favourite officer . . . 340–345
    • [V.] Ahmed Youssef Kandeel . . . 346–348
    • [VI.] The Soudan: its Past, Present, and Future . . . 349–359
  • Letters of the German Consul and my manager to Mankarious—Kanaga’s visit to Cairo—He receives a letter to Slatin—He is captured at Berber and turns back—The War Office letter to my wife—My answer to calumnies . . . 160–169
  • [CHAPTER XIV] A PRISONER AT LARGE
  • Belief in evil spirits—Shwybo as an alchemist—He is flogged for his pains—I am told to make saltpetre—Released from my fetters—The gunpowder factory at Halfeyeh—Death of Makkieh—I am transferred to Khartoum—Our gunpowder a deliberate failure—Visits of Father Ohrwalder—News of his escape . . . 170–184
  • [CHAPTER XV] DIVORCED AND MARRIED
  • Hasseena’s thievish propensities—I am compelled to divorce her—The Khaleefa finds me a wife—I forestall his good offices—Umm es Shole—Mohammedan divorce and re-marriage—A further dilemma—The second child dies—Hasseena proves irreclaimable . . . 185–194
  • [CHAPTER XVI] HOPE AND DESPAIR
  • Mankarious’ first envoy returns—Arrival of second envoy—Rossignoli’s guide Abdallah—Projected method of escape—Abdallah’s treatment of Rossignoli—Slatin escapes—My chains redoubled—The Khaleefa’s fury—Slatin’s reputation amongst the Mahdists—His letter read to the Muslimanieh—Confiscation of his wives and property—My deliverer returns—I am again in the Saier . . . 195–208
  • [CHAPTER XVII] A NEW OCCUPATION
  • Nahoum Abbajee engages me—Emptiness of the treasury—Unsatisfactory state of the currency—I am transferred to the arsenal—I design blocks for the Mint—We do great damage—The Khaleefa’s buried treasure . . . 209–215
  • [CHAPTER XVIII] MY SECOND IMPRISONMENT
  • Idris a reformed character—He ensures my kind treatment—Fauzi’s first night in prison—Kadi Ahmed’s captivity—His death by starvation—Death of Wad Zarah—Letters from Europe—My replies—My reflections in prison . . . 216–225
  • [CHAPTER XIX] RUMOURS OF RELIEF
  • Khartoum again—Thoughts of Gordon—At work in the arsenal—Extracting precious metals—Chemical experiments—The troops advancing—I invent a powder-mill—Its manifold defects—I scheme to gain time—Wholesale destruction of metal—Repairing a steamer—My letter to Onoor—In a fever for news . . . 226–241
  • [CHAPTER XX] PREPARING TO RECEIVE THE GUNBOATS
  • In the Saier as a visitor—I send intelligence to the English—Anxiety amongst my circle—Embassy from Abyssinia—The Khaleefa’s reply—Mahmoud disobeys orders—Defeat of Osman and Mahmoud at the Atbara—Manufacture of torpedoes—I decline to assist—My chains redoubled—The torpedoes explode—I become a centre for Government sympathizers—Frustrating the mines . . . 242–256
  • [CHAPTER XXI] NEARING THE END
  • Conflicting rumours—Appeals to prophecy—I suggest a night attack—I send more information to the army—Mad struggle with a gaoler—Negotiations with Idris—The Khaleefa sallies out—The gunboats open fire—I go mad—Arrival of fugitives—The riderless horse—The Khaleefa’s despair . . . 257–268
  • [CHAPTER XXII] AT LAST
  • Threats of the prisoners—The routed army in flight—Macdonald’s brigade—Illuminating the Ratib—Soudanese sang-froid—Sheikh ed Din repulsed—Attack upon Macdonald—Destruction of Yacoub—Flight of the Khaleefa—His narrow escape from the Sirdar—The Sirdar enters the prison—We meet—The head-quarters’ mess—Mr. Bennet Burleigh—My German tongue forsakes me . . . 269–280
  • [CHAPTER XXIII] THE SIRDAR AND SAVAGE WARFARE
  • The looting of Omdurman—Soudanese troops to the rescue—Genial horseplay—A war correspondent’s article—The Sirdar errs in giving quarter—Lex talionis—The ferocity of wounded dervishes—No succour desirable—A challenge to correspondents . . . 281–288
  • [CHAPTER XXIV] BACK TO CIVILIZATION
  • High hopes—Disillusionment—Attitude of the War Office—I am forced to defend myself—Newspaper calumnies—The News Agency representative—A good Samaritan—Sir George Newnes . . . 289–299
  • [CHAPTER XXV] HOW GORDON DIED
  • Conflicting accounts—A hero’s death—Hope deferred—Gordon’s last night—Value of my testimony—Father Ohrwalder’s evidence—“Ten Years’ Captivity” criticized—Justification of Gordon—The trader as missionary—A tribute to Gordon . . . 300–324
  • APPENDICES

• LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
  • [1.] Neufeld as found by the Sirdar . . . Frontispiece
  • [2.] An Arab Guide . . . 8
  • [3.] The Khaleefa’s Eunuchs at Attention . . . 37
  • [4.] The Khaleefa’s Tender Mercies . . . 45
  • [5.] Sheikh ed Din’s Eunuch in his Master’s Marriage-Jibbeh . . . 64
  • [6.] Writing under Difficulties . . . 77
  • [7.] A Group of Prisoners . . . 84
  • [8.] Learning the Mahdi’s Ratib . . . 94
  • [9.] Idris-es-Saier . . . 103
  • [10.] Catarina . . . 114
  • [11.] A Flogging by Order of the Khaleefa . . . 129
  • [12.] Meal-time in the Saier . . . 143
  • [13.] Moussa Daoud el Kanaga . . . 154
  • [14.] Mankarious Effendi with Guides . . . 164
  • [15.] Umm es Shole and two Children . . . 189
  • [16.] Said Bey Gumaa . . . 203
  • [17.] Fauzi Pasha in Dervish Dress . . . 218
  • [18.] Neufeld’s Hut in the Saier, showing the Famous Anvil . . . 223
  • [19.] Onoor Issa . . . 226
  • [20.] Powder-machines . . . 236
  • [21.] A Group—from Photograph taken at the Feast of Beiram, 1899 . . . 242
  • [22.] Neufeld doubly fettered . . . 252
  • [23.] Shereef, the “False Fourth Khaleefa” . . . 263
  • [24.] The Flag of Khaleefa Shereef . . . 273
  • [25.] Trophies taken at Omdurman . . . 282
  • [26.] Khaleel Agha Orphali . . . 303
  • [27.] Hassan Bey Hassanein . . . 325
  • [28.] Fauzi Pasha in Uniform . . . 340
  • [29.] Ahmed Youssef Kandeel . . . 346
  • [Map] showing Proposed Route and Route actually taken by Caravan . . . 15
  • [Sketch] accompanying Author’s Account of Capture . . . 23
  • [Plans] of Palace at Khartoum illustrating the Death of Gordon . . . 334

A PRISONER OF THE KHALEEFA

INTRODUCTION

Within seventy-two hours of my arrival in Cairo from the Soudan, I commenced to dictate my experiences for the present volume, and had dictated them from the time I left Egypt, in 1887, until I had reached the incidents connected with my arrival at Omdurman as the Khaleefa’s captive, when I became the recipient of a veritable sheaf of press-cuttings, extracts, letters, private and official, new and old, which collection was still further added to on the arrival of my wife in Egypt, on October 13.

My first feelings after reading the bulk of these, and when the sensation of walking about free and unshackled had worn off a little, was that I had but escaped the savage barbarism of the Soudan to become the victim of the refined cruelty of civilization. Fortunately, maybe, my rapid change from chains and starvation to freedom and the luxuries I might allow myself to indulge in, brought about its inevitable result—a reaction, and then collapse. While ill in bed I could, when the delirium of fever had left |2| me, and I was no longer struggling for breath and standing room in that Black Hole of Omdurman, the Saier, find it in my heart to forgive my critics, and say, “I might have said the same of them, had they been in my place and I in theirs.” But the inaccuracies written and published in respect to my nationality, biography, and, above all, the astounding inaccuracies published in connection with my capture and the circumstances attending it, necessitate my offering a few words to my readers by way of introduction; but I shall be as brief and concise as possible.

I have, both directly and indirectly, been blamed for, or accused of, the loss of arms, ammunition, and monies sent by the Government to the loyal Sheikh of the Kabbabish, Saleh Bey Wad Salem. Some have gone so far as to accuse me of betraying the party I accompanied into the hands of the dervishes; a betrayal which led eventually to the virtual extermination of the tribe and the death of its brave chief. The betrayal of the caravan I accompanied did lead to this result; it also led me into chains and slavery.

According to one account, I arrived at Omdurman on the 1st or 7th of March (both dates are given in the same book), 1887; yet, at this time, to the best of my recollection, the General commanding the Army of Occupation in Egypt, General Stephenson, was trying in Cairo to persuade me to abandon my projected journey into Kordofan. In a very recent publication, in the preface to which the authors ask their readers to point out any inaccuracies, I am credited with arriving as a captive at Omdurman in |3| 1885, when at this time I was attached as interpreter to the Gordon Relief Expedition, and stood within a few yards of General Earle at the battle of Kirbekan when he was killed. It is probable I was the last man he ever spoke to.

The guide and spy who reported my capture and death on the 13th or 14th of April, 1887, only reported what he thought had actually happened, as a possible result of arrangements he had made; while the refugee Wakih Idris, who reported in August, 1890, that I was conducting a large drapery establishment in Omdurman, must have been a Soudanese humorist, and, doubtless, hugely amused at his tale being believed in the face of the Mahdi’s and Khaleefa’s crusade against finery and luxuries (although the tenets may have stopped short at the entrance to their hareems), and when every one, from the highest to the lowest, had to wear the roughest and commonest of woven material. A drapery establishment is generally associated with fine clothing, silks, ribbons, and laces; in Omdurman, such an establishment, if opened, would have been consigned to the flames, or the Beit el Mal, and its proprietor to the Saier (prison).

Yet again, when I am more heavily weighted with chains, and my gaoler, to evidence his detestation of the Kaffir (unbeliever) entrusted to his charge, goes out of his way to invent an excuse for giving me the lash, I am reported as being at liberty, my release having been granted on the representations of some imaginary Emir, who claimed it on the ground that I had arranged the betrayal of Sheikh Saleh’s caravan. |4|

There is one subject I must touch upon, a subject which has made the life of my wife as much of a hell upon earth during my captivity, as that captivity was to me; and a subject which has caused the most poignant grief and pain to my near relatives. I refer to my Abyssinian female servant Hasseena. The mere fact of her accompanying the caravan opened up a quarry for quidnuncs to delve in, and they delved for twelve long years. It is needless to dilate upon the subject here; suffice it to say that if, when my critics have read through my plain narrative, they have conscience enough left to admit to themselves that they have more injured a woman than the helpless, and in this particular connection, ignorant captive, who has returned to life to confront them, and if they try in future to be as charitable to their own flesh and blood as some of the savage fanatics were to me in the Soudan, I shall rest content.

My narrative, and here I wish to say that it is presented as I first dictated it, notwithstanding my being confronted with, as it was put to me, “contradictions” based upon official and semi-official records and reports, may be depended upon as being as correct a record as memory can be expected to give of the events of my twelve years’ existence, from All Fools’ Day, 1887, when, in spite of all warnings, I rode away from life and civilization to barbarism and slavery.

At the beginning of 1887, Hogal Dufa'allah, a brother of Elias Pasha, a former Governor of Kordofan, came to me at Assouan and suggested my accompanying him to Kordofan, where large quantities of gum |5| were lying awaiting a favourable opportunity to be brought down, he possessing a thousand cantars (cwts.). The owners of the gum were afraid to bring it to the Egyptian frontier, believing that the Government would confiscate it. Hogal was of opinion that if I accompanied him, we should be able to induce the people to organize a series of caravans for the transport of the gum, he and I signing contracts to buy it on arrival at Wadi Halfa, and guaranteeing the owners against confiscation by the Government. Letters and messages, he said, would be of no avail; the people would believe they were traps set for them by the Government, and it was out of the question for us to attempt to take with us the large amount of money required to purchase the gum on the spot. I being looked upon as an Englishman, and an Englishman’s word being then considered as good as his bond, Hogal was sure of a successful journey; so it was finally agreed that Hogal and I should make up a small caravan, and get away as early as possible. At this time, February, 1887, the loyal sheikh, Saleh Bey Wad Salem, of the Kabbabish tribe, was holding his own against the Mahdists, and had succeeded in keeping open the caravan routes of the Western Soudan.

Hogal and I came to Cairo to make various business arrangements, and while here I called upon General Stephenson and Colonel Ardagh, and asked permission to proceed. They tried to persuade me to abandon what appeared to them a very risky expedition; but, telling them that I was bent upon |6| undertaking it, permission or not, I was asked if I would mind delivering some letters to Sheikh Saleh, as a visit to him was necessary to procure guides for the later stages of the journey. I was also to inform him verbally that his request for arms and ammunition had been granted; that he should send men at once to Wadi Halfa to receive them; and that a number of messages to this effect had already been sent him. General Stephenson evidently gave the matter further consideration, for, on calling for the letters, they were not forthcoming. He said he would write to me to Assouan; but, he continued, he would be glad if I would encourage Saleh, or any of the loyal sheikhs I met, to continue to harass the dervishes, and let him have what information I could on my return respecting the country and the people.

The precise circumstances under which I received his letter I have forgotten, but my former business manager tells me that, one evening at Assouan, he found lying on the desk an official envelope, unaddressed, opened it, and was still reading the letter it contained when I walked in, and exhibited great annoyance at his having seen it. This was the letter from General Stephenson to me, referred to by Slatin and Ohrwalder. I remember it but as a sort of private communication, not in any way official; and I think it well at an early moment to state so, as it has been borne in upon me that there is an impression in certain quarters that I might, on the strength of references made to it in Father Ohrwalder’s and Slatin |7| Pasha’s books, make some claim against the British Government, and I consider it advisable to say at once that no such idea ever occurred to me.

Completing our arrangements in Cairo, Hogal and I started south, Hogal going to Derawi to buy camels for the journey to Kordofan, and I going to Assouan and Wadi Halfa to make final arrangements and prepare food for the desert journey.

CHAPTER I I START FOR KORDOFAN

Before leaving Assouan for Cairo, I had made an agreement with Hassib el Gabou, of the Dar Hamad section of the Kabbabish tribe, and Ali el Amin, from Wadi el Kab, to act as guides for us as far as Gebel Ain, where we hoped to find Sheikh Saleh. Gabou was in the employ of the military authorities as spy, receiving a monthly gratuity or pay. He and Ali el Amin were each to receive three hundred dollars for the journey, a hundred and fifty dollars each to be paid in advance, and the remainder at the end of the journey. On arrival at Gebel Ain, they were to arrange for guides for us from amongst Saleh’s men. The route we had chosen is shown on the accompanying plan, taken from a map published by Kauffmann, a copy of which I had with me, and another copy of which I have been fortunate enough to find since my return.

AN ARAB GUIDE.

On arriving at Derawi, Hogal set about at once buying camels. Our party was to consist of Hogal, Hassib el Gabou, Ali el Amin, my Arabic clerk Elias, my female servant Hasseena, myself, and four men whom Hogal was to engage, to bring up our party to |9| ten people, so that we might be prepared to deal with any small band of marauding dervishes. Hogal was to purchase camels from the Ababdeh, who possessed, and probably still do, the best camels for the description of journey we were undertaking. He was to take them into the desert to test their powers of endurance, as, from the route chosen, they might have to travel fifteen days without water. He was also to purchase extra camels to carry water, so that if the necessity arose, we could strike further west into the desert than arranged for, and be able to keep away from the wells for thirty days. We were to take with us only such articles as were essential for the journey; food, arms and ammunition, three hundred dollars in cash, and our presents of watches, silks, jewellery, pipes, and ornaments for the sheikhs we met.

Hogal was to leave Derawi on or about the 20th March, and bringing the camels through the desert on the west of the Nile, was so to time his last stage as to reach Wadi Halfa at sunset on the 26th or 27th. The guides, my clerk, servant, and myself were to slip over by boat, and our caravan was to strike off west at once. Our departure was to be kept as secret as possible.

On my reaching Shellal after leaving Hogal at Derawi, I was overtaken by an old friend, Mohammad Abdel Gader Gemmareeyeh, who, having learned in confidence from Hogal the reason for his purchasing the camels, hurried after me to warn me against employing Gabou as guide, as he knew the man was not to be trusted. He told me that Gabou was acting |10| as spy for friend and foe, and was being paid by both, but this I did not then credit. I laughed at the man’s expressed fears, and telling him that as Hogal and I were to direct the caravan, and Gabou was to accompany us as guide, I had no intention of abandoning a journey, at the end of which a small fortune awaited me. I knew very well that not a single person was to be trusted out of sight and hearing, but as there was no reason why Gabou should not be kept within both, there was equally no reason why I should have any fears. Besides this, I was vain enough to believe that perhaps I might, as a result of my journey, be able to hand to the military authorities a report of some value, and the halo of romance, which still hung over everything Soudanese, was in itself no little attraction.

I reached Wadi Halfa about March 23, and set to work quietly with final arrangements. Hasseena had elected to accompany us, and this on the suggestion of Hogal, his reasons being first, that being accompanied by a woman, the peaceful intentions of our little caravan would be evidenced; secondly, that Hasseena, when the slave of her old master of the Alighat Arabs, had on a number of occasions made the journey between El Obeid, Dongola, and Derawi, and would be of great use to us in hareems in very much the same way that a lady in civilized countries, having an entrée to a salon, is occasionally able to further the interests of her male relatives or friends; and in the East, all women have the entrée to hareems.

The morning after my arrival at Wadi Halfa I |11| heard that forty of Sheikh Saleh’s men, led by one of his slaves, Ismail, had already arrived to take over the arms and ammunition. Gabou came to me the same day, and suggested our abandoning the proposed expedition, as he was afraid that the dervishes might hear of Saleh’s men coming in, and send out bands to intercept the caravan on its return, and we might fall into the hands of one of them. Believing that Gabou was simply trying to induce me to add to his remuneration for the extra risks, I told him I should hold him to his agreement. A day or two later, seeing that I was determined to go on, he suggested that we should, for safety, accompany Saleh’s men, but this I objected to. The Kabbabish were fighting the dervishes, and lost no opportunity of pouncing down upon any small bands, and I had no particular wish to look for more adventures than my expedition itself was likely to provide. There was also the question of time; Sheikh Saleh’s baggage camels would only move at the rate of about a mile an hour, while ours would cover two and a half to three miles easily.

On March 24, I received a telegram from Hogal, then at Assouan, announcing his arrival there with the camels, and his intention to come on at once, so that he should have reached Wadi Halfa on the 28th or 29th of the month. Gabou now exhibited particular anxiety that we should join Saleh’s party, and took upon himself to make an arrangement with them. On my remonstrating with him, he said that if the dervishes were on the road, they would certainly be met with between Wadi Halfa and the Selima Wells, |12| or, maybe, at the wells themselves, and this was the only part of our route where there was any likelihood of our coming in contact with them, our road, after Selima, being well to the west. “Now,” said he, “if Saleh’s caravan goes off, and the dervishes on the road are not strong enough to attack, they will allow the caravan to pass, but wait about the roads either in the hope of getting reinforcements in time to attack, or with the hope of attacking any smaller parties.” He believed the dervishes might go on to the wells, and encamp there, so that in either case we should fall into their clutches. It was Gabou’s opinion that Sheikh Saleh’s caravan was strong enough to annihilate the dervish bands, which he now said he had heard were actually on the road. This decided me. I asked him why he had not told me of this before. He had forgotten to do so!

The 28th, 29th, 30th, and 31st of the month passed, and still no appearance of Hogal and the camels. Ismail was impatient to be off, and Gabou suggested, that as my camels must be close at hand, Hasseena, Elias, El Amin and I should start with Saleh’s caravan, he following us as soon as our camels arrived. My camels being in good condition, and unloaded, would, he said, overtake the caravan in a few hours, and he was very anxious to test them for trotting speed while overtaking us. We were joined at Wadi Halfa by about twenty Arabs of different tribes, bringing our caravan up to sixty-four men and about a hundred and sixty camels. Gabou gave us as guide for Selima, a man named Hassan, also of the |13| Dar Hamads. Crossing to the western bank of the Nile early on the morning of April 1, 1887, by ten o’clock we had loaded up and started on that journey to the Soudan, which was to take me twelve long years to complete.

When we had been two days on the road, I began to feel a little uneasy at the non-appearance of my camels; but thinking that maybe Gabou had purposely delayed starting so as to give them a stiff test in hard trotting, I comforted myself with this reflection, though as day after day passed, my anxiety became very real. On the night of April 7, we judged we must be close to Selima Wells, and sent out scouts to reconnoitre; they reached the wells, and returned saying that they could not find traces of any one having been there for some time. Our caravan reached the wells between nine and ten o’clock in the morning, and about midday, while we were occupied in watering the camels and preparing food, we heard a shot fired from the south-east, and shortly afterwards one of our scouts came in saying that he had been sighted by a party of about twenty men on camels; one of the men had fired at him at long range, and the whole party had then hurried off to the south.

A hurried conference was held; it was the general opinion that this party must be scouts of a larger one, and that they had gone off for the purpose of apprising their main body. Ismail decided upon pushing on at once. There was little time for me to consider what to do; to return to Wadi Halfa was out of the question, as Ismail could not spare any of his men as a |14| bodyguard; to wait at the wells was not to be thought of, and the only other alternative was to go on with the caravan. I told Elias to write out short notes for Hogal and Gabou, which I had intended to leave at the wells; but as Ismail pointed out, I should have to leave them conspicuously marked in some way to attract attention, and, if the dervishes got to the wells first, or if those we had seen returned with others, they would be the first to get the notes, which would endanger our caravan, and the little party I was so anxiously expecting. There was nothing for it but to go on and hope for the best. If the worst came to the worst, it meant only that my gum expedition was temporarily delayed, and that I should, after reaching Sheikh Saleh, take my first opportunity of getting north again.

Map showing Proposed Route and Route actually taken by Caravan

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CHAPTER II BETRAYED BY GUIDES

There are five caravan routes running from Selima Wells—that furthest west leading to El Kiyeh, the next to El Agia, and the one in the centre leading to the Nile near Hannak, with a branch running to Wadi el Kab. Our objective being to meet Sheikh Saleh at Gebel Ain, we should have taken the route leading to El Agia, and this we had selected, because, as it was well out in the desert, there was little likelihood of our encountering any roving bands of dervish robbers. When we had been on the road a few hours, I ventured the opinion that we had taken the wrong route, and a halt was called while I examined the map I had with me, after which examination I felt certain that we were marching in the wrong direction. The guide Hassan was equally certain that we were on the El Agia road. A discussion ensued, which was ended by Hassan telling me, with what he intended to be withering sarcasm, “I never walked on paper” (meaning the map); “I have always walked on the desert. I am the guide, and I am responsible. The road you want us to go by leads to El Etroun (Natron district), |16| sixty marches distant; if we take your road and we all die of thirst in the desert, I should be held responsible for the loss of the lives, and your paper could not speak to defend me.” Hassan’s dramatic description of the scene of his being blamed by the Prophet for losing these valuable lives if he trusted to a “paper,” had more to do with his gaining his point than pure conviction as to whether we were on the right road or not. From El Agia, as Saleh’s men said, they knew every stone on the desert, but in this part they had to trust to Hassan.

During the whole of this first day we forced the baggage camels on at their best pace, travelling by my compass in a south and south-easterly direction. The arrangement I had made with Gabou for my own caravan, which arrangement Ismail had agreed to when Gabou suggested our travelling with them, was that we should travel a little to the west of the El Agia camel tracks, but keep parallel to them. When we halted that night I spoke to Ismail about this, and asked him to keep to this part of the agreement—that is to say, to travel parallel to, and not on, the track. Hassan objected, as it meant slower travelling. Still pressing on after a short rest, Hassan zigzagged the caravan over stony ground with the object of losing our trail, as our caravan, consisting of about 160 camels, was an easy one to track up.

We travelled fast until mid-day of the 10th, when we were obliged to take a rest owing to the extreme heat. We were in an arid waste; not the slightest sign of vegetation or anything living but |17| ourselves to be seen anywhere. Off again at sunset, we travelled the whole night through, my compass at midnight showing me that we were, if anything, travelling towards the east, when our direction should certainly have been south-west. At our next halt I spoke to Ismail again, but Hassan convinced him of his infallibility in desert routes. The following morning, the 11th, there was no disguising the fact about our direction: the regular guides travel by the stars at night-time, but they laugh at the little niceties between the cardinal points, as Hassan laughed at me when I tried to get him to believe in the sand diagram I showed him, with the object of proving to him that a divergence increases the further you get away from the starting-point. El Amin now joined me in saying that he thought we were on the wrong road, but Hassan was prepared. He had, he said, during the night, led us further into the desert to again break our trail, and that he was now leading us to the regular road. El Amin replied that it was his opinion that Hassan had lost the road in the night, and now was trying to find it. This led to a lively discussion and an exchange of compliments, which almost ended in a nasty scuffle, as some were siding with Hassan and others with El Amin.

Acting upon my advice, men were sent out east and west to pick up the regular caravan route. Hassan declared that a branch of the regular road would be found to the east, Amin and I declared for the west. Hassan took two men east, and Amin, accompanied by two others, went west. About an hour after sunset |18| both parties returned. El Amin arrived first, and reported that they had failed to find any trace of the road. Hassan came shortly afterwards, and, having heard before reaching Ismail of the failure of the others, came up to us jubilant and triumphant, as a road had been picked up where he said it would. They had not only picked up the road, but had come to the resting-place of a caravan of fifteen to twenty camels, which could only be a few hours ahead of us, as the embers of the caravan’s fire places were still hot. I judged it best to be silent on the subject of the route now, though Amin, jibed and scoffed at by the victorious Hassan, was loud in his declarations that we were on the wrong route, and that Hassan had lost his way; this nearly led to trouble again between him and the two men who had accompanied Hassan, as they considered their word doubted.

We travelled east during the night, and crossed the road which Hassan had, during the day, picked up. But there was a feeling of uncertainty and unrest in the caravan. One after another appealed to me, and I could but say that I was still convinced my “paper” was right and Hassan wrong. El Amin, pricked to the quick, spread through the caravan his opinion that Hassan had not lost his way, but was deliberately leading us in the wrong direction. When we halted on the 12th, Ismail, noticing the gossiping going on, and the manner of his men, decided upon sending out scouts to the east to see if they could pick up anything at all in the way of landmarks. El Amin joined the scouts, who were absent the whole day. They |19| returned at night with the news that we were nearer the river than El Agia Wells, and on this, our fourth day from Selima, we should have been close to El Agia. This report, coming not from El Amin only, but from Saleh’s own people who knew the district, created consternation. Again the “paper” was called for, and on this occasion Hassan was told that the paper knew better than he did.

That night scene of betrayed men, desperate, with death from thirst or dervish swords a certainty, can be better imagined than described. There had been no husbanding of the drinking-water, and it was almost out; many, in the hurry of departure from Selima, had not filled their water-skins. There was no doubt now that we were, as I had said from the beginning, on the road to Wadi el Kab, and travelling in the enemy’s country. But Hassan, threatened as he was, had still one more card to play. He acknowledged that he had lost his way, but said this was not altogether his fault; we, he said, had been travelling hard, and, feeling sure he was on the right track, he had been careless, or had neglected to look out for the usual marks, and that this was because Amin and I had annoyed him at the beginning of the march, as to the road. He now said that we were well to the west of El Kab, and on its extreme limits where the wady disappeared into desert water could be found, and being so far west, it was most improbable that we should find any dervishes there. Another council was held. Hassan was for continuing in an easterly direction; I proposed west, |20| believing now that the wady would be found to the west; while Ismail, advised by Amin, elected for a southerly direction. At last it was agreed that Ismail, Hassan, and some men should ride hard in a south-westerly direction, in the hopes of picking up some branch caravan route leading to El Agia. The remainder of the caravan, with myself and Amin, were to travel easily in a southerly direction for five hours, and then halt and await the return to us of Ismail.

We halted between three and four in the afternoon, but no sooner had we done so, when a heavy sandstorm burst upon us. There are varieties of sandstorms as there are of most other things, but this was one of the worst varieties. The air becomes thick with the finest particles, which gives one more the idea of a yellow fog in the north than of anything else I might liken it to. We were obliged to wrap our own and the camels’ heads in cloths and blankets to protect ourselves, if not from suffocation, from something very near it. The storm lasted until after sunset, and as it must have obliterated all traces of our tracks, scouts were sent out to sight Ismail. Up till midnight no signs of him were forthcoming. Breaking up what camel saddles we could spare, we lit fires to attract his attention to our position, and as these burned low, shots were fired at intervals of five minutes. After ten or twelve shots had been fired, I recommended that volleys of five should be fired at the same intervals, and when I believe six had been fired, we heard Ismail calling to us from the darkness. He had encountered the sandstorm, but evidently had had |21| a worse time of it than we had. He had heard our volleys, and had replied with single shots, but these we had not heard.

On reaching the caravan, Ismail ordered the fires to be put out, and the camels to be at once loaded and their fastenings well looked to. The rifles were cleared of the sand which had accumulated on them, and Ismail went round inspecting everything for himself. I called him aside and asked him what he had discovered. He whispered one word, “Treachery,” and returned to his inspection of the animals. When he had satisfied himself of the arms being in readiness, and the cases so secured that if the camels bolted they would not be able to throw off their load very easily, he gave the orders to march. Ignoring Hassan completely, he led us west, sending out as scouts, on fast camels, Darb es Safai and El Amin, my guide; but at sunrise they came back to us, saying that not a trace of road could be found.

I cannot weary my readers with a day-to-day record of our zigzagging in the desert—one day Hassan in the ascendant as guide, another day El Amin, and from this time I cannot pretend to remember the exact day on which particular incidents happened. There were too many incidents to attempt a complete record, even with a diary, had I kept one.

El Amin had confided to me and Ismail his firm conviction that Hassan was doing all this purposely, and that he knew precisely whereabouts we were, as he had noticed him making some sort of calculations, and drawing lines with his camel-stick in the sand. |22|

Perhaps it was because I did not wish to, that I could not credit the implied treachery. Gabou and Hassan belonged to the Kabbabish tribe, and as the rifles and ammunition we were carrying were to assist Sheikh Saleh to fight the common enemy, what object could there be in betraying us? Saleh’s men would certainly fight to the death; betrayer and betrayed would run equal risks of being killed—indeed, the betrayer would almost certainly be killed instantly by those he was leading. I therefore dismissed the idea from my head, took it for granted that the man had actually lost his way, and declined to fall in with El Amin’s suggestion to say “good-bye” to the caravan, make straight for the Nile, and take our chances of passing clear as merchants, should we meet any people on the road.

Sketch accompanying author’s account of capture

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On, I believe, our sixth day out from Selima, we crossed a caravan route running east and west, and, referring to my map, I had no hesitation in telling Ismail that this must be the caravan route between El Kab and El Agia, but on which part of the road we were I could not imagine. I wanted to attempt travelling along this road, but Hassan declared it led to El Kiyeh. That we must now be close to Wadi el Kab, every one knew. A “council of war” was held, at which it was decided to risk going on, as we must be travelling towards the wells on the extreme edge of the wady. We were to try and pick up the wells, water the camels, fill our skins, and then strike direct west and encamp at night-time, not to remain near the wells. While we were discussing the situation, some |23| men had been sent along the road to try and discover anything in the way of marks or tracks which would give an idea as to our exact position, and they reported that there could be little doubt of this being El Kiyeh road, and that El Kiyeh must be six days distant. This news decided us. Our water-supply was out. A six days’ march over that desert under such conditions meant perishing of thirst, and there was, again, the uncertainty as to whether we should be, after all, on the road to El Kiyeh or El Etroun.

One of the camels was ailing, so it was decided to kill it, and let the men have a good meal of meat. Early the next day, I believe our eighth or ninth day from Selima, an Alighat Arab was sent scouting to the west; he never returned. We halted and waited for his return as arranged, and lost the night’s travel in consequence. On the following day, unmistakable landmarks were picked up, which proved that we were but a few hours distant from the Wadi el Kab, and it was believed we could reach the wells by sunset. Unloading the camels, and leaving four men in charge of the baggage, we started off for the wells, expecting to return the same night. We travelled without incident until about two o’clock in the afternoon, when we reached the broken ground skirting the wady proper. My guide, El Amin, and two men, had been sent on ahead to reconnoitre. The place is dotted with sand-dunes and hillocks from fifty to a hundred feet high, and on nearing the first hillock, and when approximately at “A,” we heard a shot fired. El Amin and his companions had then reached the spot |24| marked “G” on the accompanying plan; we believed the shot to be a signal that they had found water, and pressed on until we reached “B,” when shot after shot was fired, the bullets whistling over our heads. At this moment we saw Amin and his companions hurrying back to us. Next came some broken volleys, but all the shots were high. Up to now we had not seen our assailants, but the smoke from the rifles now discovered their whereabouts—the hillock marked “C.”

I was slightly ahead of the main body, with Hassan, the guide, some yards away on my right. Being mounted on a large white camel, well caparisoned, and wearing a bright silk Kofeyeh on my head, I offered an excellent mark, and shot after shot whistled over me. I was turning my camel round to hurry back to the main body, when I saw Hassan fall to the ground. Calling to my clerk Elias, who was nearest to him, to help him back on the camel, or make the camel kneel to cover him, I tried to get mine to kneel so that I could dismount, but the brute was startled and restive. Elias called out that Hassan was “mayat khaalass” (stone dead). Our men were now quickly dismounting and loading their rifles. Bullet after bullet and volley after volley came, but no one was struck as yet except Hassan. Making the camels kneel, as a precaution against their bolting, we advanced in open order towards the hillock from whence the shots came, I on the extreme left, Ismail in the centre, and Darb es Safai on the right. Rounding the hillock “C,” we caught the first glimpse of the enemy, about fifty strong, and then rapidly retiring. |25| We fired a volley into them, on which they turned and replied, and a pretty hot fusilade was kept up for some minutes, but the firing was wild on both sides. I saw two of our men fall, and about eight to ten of the dervishes. Picking up their dead or wounded, they hurried off again, leaving two camels behind. Darb es Safai, who was leading the right, and was now well in advance, was the first to reach the camels, and discovered that they were loaded with filled water-skins. Calling out, “Moyia lil atshan;* Allah kereem!” (“Water for the thirsty; God is generous!”), he commenced to unfasten the neck of one of the skins. A mad rush was made for the water; arms were thrown down, and the men struggled around the camels for a drink. I tried for a few seconds, when I reached them, to counsel moderation, knowing the effect of a copious draught on the system under the circumstances and condition they were in. Some of the men had been three days without water, and the camel flesh they had eaten had not improved matters.

* Moyia lil atshan.

(Water for the thirsty.)

While the struggle was still in progress, Hasseena, who with Elias had followed us up, ran to me saying that the dervishes were returning, and, looking in the direction of “E,” I saw about a hundred and fifty men advancing at a rapid pace. I raised the alarm, and Ismail gave the call to arms; but few heard his voice in the din. Those few fired a few shots, but it was now too late; in a moment the dervishes were upon us, friend and foe one struggling mass. Above the noise could be heard the voice of the dervish leader reminding |26| his men of some orders they had received, and to “secure their men alive.” Even in that moment it flashed upon me that we had been led into an ambush, else why the reference to “our master’s orders” given by their leader? Elias, Hasseena, and I ran towards “F” to take cover; it was no use my using my fowling-piece on that struggling mass, as I should have struck friend and foe. Just as we reached the base of the hillock, Elias was captured, and the five or six dervishes who had pursued us occupied themselves with examining the contents of the bag he was carrying—my three hundred dollars, jewellery, etc. They gave a mere glance towards me, and then moved off.

Pushing a few stones together, I laid out my cartridges, reloaded my revolvers, and prepared to die fighting. Ismail, the leader of our caravan, had by some means managed to get clear of the mass, and, reaching my camel, mounted it and rode off, riding hard to the right of “F.” Seeing Hasseena and me, he called to us to try and secure camels and follow him up. Hasseena on this ran down the hillock; I had not noticed her disappearance from the immediate vicinity of the hillock, as I was too much occupied hurriedly making my diminutive zareeba of stones. Glancing over the stones later, I was astonished to see her walking at the head of the dervishes who had secured Elias, they following in Indian file. Hasseena called out that I was given quarter, and that I was to stand up unarmed. This I refused to do, and as they kept advancing, I kept my gun pointed at them from between the stones. Hasseena again called out, |27| saying that they had orders not to hurt me, in evidence of which they fired their rifles into the air, and then laid them on the sand.

By this time I could see that our men were bound, and grouped together on the plain; I left my cover, descended the hillock, and advanced to the dervishes, when I was saluted with yells and cries of “El Kaffir, El Kaffir” (“the unbeliever”). One, maybe more fanatical than the rest, after vituperating me, made a motion as if to strike at my head with his sword. Looking him in the eyes, I asked, “Is this the word of honour (meaning quarter) of your Prophet and master; you liar, you son of a dog? strike, unclean thing!” While, as is only to be expected, I was at that moment trembling with fear and excitement, I had lived too long in the East to forget that a bold front and fearless manner command respect, if not fear. My words and manner had the desired effect, for one, turning to my would-be assailant, asked, “What are you doing? Have you forgotten our master’s orders?” This was the second time something had been said about “orders.” I put a few questions to my captors, but they declined to reply to them, saying that I could speak to the Emirs Hamza and Farag, and they hurried me towards them. The Emir, whom later I knew to be Farag, asked my name, and what I wanted in his country; then, turning to his followers without waiting for a reply, called out, “This is the Pasha our master Wad en Nejoumi sent us to capture; thanks be to God we have taken him unhurt.” The latter remark was |28| made as a reproof to the man who had threatened to strike me, as the incident had been reported, and also as a warning to the others.

Taking me apart from the others, he continued, “I see you are thirsty;” and, calling up one of his men, told him to pour some water over some hard dry bread, and, handing it to me, said smilingly, “Eat—it is not good for you to drink.” I divined his meaning. Had our men not made that mad rush for the water, we might have had a very different tale to tell, and who knows if, had we won the day and reached Sheikh Saleh, the history of the Soudan for the past twelve years might not have read differently? Mine would have done so.

CHAPTER III IN THE HANDS OF THE DERVISHES

I was handed over to two men, who were held responsible for my well-being; Hasseena and Elias were placed together in the charge of others, and we were ordered to seat ourselves a little distance away. The dervishes had with them military tents which must have been taken at Khartoum, and one was soon pitched. Here the Emirs and principal men met to hold a conference and inquiry. Darb es Safai and others were taken up one by one, and the question put to them direct, “Where are the rifles and the cartridges?” for no case had, of course, been brought on with us to the wells. They denied any knowledge of them; then replied Farag, “We will find them for you, and show you how they are used.” My turn came, and in reply to the usual question, I said that I knew nothing at all about them; questioned still further, I admitted that I had seen a number of boxes, but I could not pretend to know what was inside of them. Asked then as to where they were, I said I could not tell—in the desert somewhere; they had been thrown away, as the camels, being tired and |30| thirsty, could not carry them any longer. Still interrogated, I replied that the guide who had brought us here was the first killed in the firing, and that I did not think any one else of our caravan could find their way back to the place where the boxes were left.

At this, rapid glances were passed from one to the other. Asked if I was sure he was killed, I could only reply that my clerk had told me so, that I had seen him fall, and indicated the place. Farag sent off a man in that direction after whispering some instructions to him, and during the few minutes he was away perfect silence reigned in the tent, with the exception of the click, click of the beads of the Sibha (rosary). When he returned, he whispered his reply to Farag. Two of the Alighat Arabs who had joined us at Wadi Halfa were next brought up and questioned; they did not give direct replies; they were taken aside, but not far enough away to prevent my overhearing part of what went on, when, as a result of promises and then threats, I gathered that they undertook to lead the dervishes to the spot where the cases had been left in the desert. It is quite certain, from the questions put by the dervishes, that they were ignorant of the precise spot where the baggage had been left, and it in a measure confirmed the death of Hassan; but I have always had a suspicion that the man shammed death and got away, to present himself later on to Nejoumi. He might easily have mingled with the dervishes and not been seen by us.

The sun had now set; the conference ended, and orders were given by Farag for all to march back by |31| the route we had come, the Alighat Arabs, with Amin between them, leading. We marched for only an hour or so, for our camels, being tired and not having been watered, gave trouble. A halt was called for the night, and what water the dervishes had was partly distributed. By sunrise the next day we were on the march again, twenty-five men, well mounted, having been sent on in advance with the guides. All Saleh’s men, wounded and sound, were compelled to walk, the dervishes and their wounded riding on camels.

In the afternoon we reached the spot where we had left the four men in charge of the baggage, to find them with their hands bound behind them. The advance party had reached them about ten o’clock in the morning, and had doubtless found them asleep, as no shots had been fired. The men were not to be blamed in any way, and it really mattered but little whether they were asleep or awake when taken, with the odds against them. I had, on starting for the wells, left them the little water I had saved; had they not had this, they could not have slept.

In the same way that Saleh’s men had forgotten everything in that mad rush for the water, so did the dervishes break loose, forget all about their prisoners, and rush on the pile of cases. The ground was soon littered with rifles, packets of ammunition, sugar, clothing, food, and the hundred and one articles to be found in a trading caravan, for the cases and bales of the Arabs who had joined us at Wadi Halfa contained only merchandise. My mind was soon made up; running towards the other prisoners with my |32| hunting-knife, I thought that at all events the thongs of a few might be cut, and making for the camels and scattering in different directions, a few might have got clear. It was a mad idea, but it was something. Before any part of my half-formed plan could be put into execution, the guards were down on us. I was taken to the Emir, Said Wad Farag, but I excused myself, saying that, being a medical man, I had gone to see if I could attend to any of the wounded. Complimenting me on my thought for the others, he recommended me to think of myself, appropriated the knife the guards had found in my hand, and told me he would let me know when to use it, warning me at the same time not to attempt to speak to any of the other prisoners.

When the excitement over the loot had cooled down a little, a camel was killed in honour of the occasion, and my servant Hasseena was ordered to prepare some of the dishes. I was invited to eat with the Emirs. Our first dish was the raw liver of the camel, covered with salt and shetta—a sort of red pepper. I had seen this dish being eaten, but had never partaken of it myself before. I had two reasons for eating it now: first, I was hungry and thirsty; secondly, one of the first signs of fear is a disinclination, I might say inability, to swallow food, and fear of my captors was the last thing I intended to exhibit. After the meal, my clothes were taken from me, as they looked upon them as the dress of a kaffir, and I was turned out into the night-air with my singlet, drawers, and socks as my complete wardrobe. My turban and Baghdad |33| Kofiyeh were also taken, so that I was bareheaded into the bargain.

When the dervishes had finished their food, and before they lay down for the night, the Emir Farag sent for all the loot to be collected and brought before his tent, when it would later on be distributed according to the rules of the Beit-el-Mal (Treasury). This institution and its working will be described later. Only a part of the loot was collected, for the men, knowing from experience the extraordinary manner in which loot “shrank” in bulk and numbers when placed in the hands of the Emirs to be distributed according to rule, concealed in the sand or beneath their jibbehs, whatever could be hidden there. The pipes and tobacco found in the baggage were burned, as their use was prohibited by the Mahdi. Amongst my things was found my letter-wallet, and this was handed to the Emirs, who afterwards sent for me and demanded to know the contents of the letters. I replied that they were only business documents, receipts for goods, and such like, but that if the wallet was handed to me, I would translate each document. Being satisfied with this answer, Farag kept the wallet. Complaining of my clothing having been taken, he allowed me to have my flannel shirt, and gave me a piece of rag as head-dress. In this guise, I lay down in the sand to doze and wake the whole night through, conscious yet unconscious, with the incidents of the last eighteen days chasing each other through my brain.

The camp was astir long before sunrise, and by sunrise we were on the move east towards El Kab, |34| which we reached about three o’clock in the afternoon. The “wells,” at the part we arrived at, are upon ascending ground; but the name “well” in this instance is a misnomer. They are shallow basins scooped out with the hands or any rough implement, the water being found about three feet below the surface, shrubs indicating where to scoop. The camels were watered and left to graze on the scanty herbage. Another camel was killed to celebrate the capture of the caravan, and again I was invited to take food with the Emirs. I was asked only the most commonplace questions, but I could not get any reply to those I put, except that Abdel Rahman Wad en Nejoumi would tell me all I wished to know. While still with the Emirs, Farag called up his followers again, and after congratulating them upon the capture of the “English Pasha” and the caravan (though the Emir knew very well who I was, from old days at Korti), he harangued them on the advisability of obeying to the letter the orders of the Mahdi transmitted to the Khaleefa, and by the Khaleefa to him, winding up his oration with threats of punishment and imprisonment to any of the faithful who robbed the Beit-el-Mal by concealing any of the loot, after which he ordered every one to be searched again. I had many opportunities later of seeing evidences of what the Emirs most relied upon, in regard to the handing over of any loot—an exhortation to their followers, and an appeal to their religious scruples—or threats of punishment and imprisonment. Both went together, and were administered in the order I have given them, and there was seldom an |35| occasion when a search did not follow the appeal to their honesty, and when punishment did not follow the search for concealed loot.

Wad Farag dismissed me for the night, but I had hardly lain down when two dervishes stole up, and asked me to describe all the baggage I had with me. I said that a list would be found in my wallet, which, if they would bring to me, would allow of me giving them the required information. One left me, for the purpose, I imagine, of asking the Emir for the wallet, but returned shortly saying that I should have to remember, and that the list I then gave would be compared with the list in the wallet. There was no list in the wallet, but there were one or two letters I wished to extract. I have thought since that, had I exhibited less anxiety to get hold of the wallet itself, I might have induced them to hand over these letters under one pretext or another. I soon discovered from their questions that the dervishes were spying one upon the other, for they asked me directly what were the contents of the bag taken from Elias my clerk. I told them three hundred dollars, gold and silver jewellery, and some jewellery which my servant Hasseena had asked Elias to carry for her. Hasseena was sent for to describe her jewellery. The information evidently gave these men huge satisfaction, and taking Hasseena with them, they sent her back with cooking utensils, food and firewood, and ordered her to prepare food for me. Having had my food with the Emirs but a little time before, I was at a loss to understand the meaning of this, but learned later on |36| that it was to prevent any one else approaching her for information. Whether these two men were, as they said, in charge of the Beit-el-Mal, or whether, having seen any of the money or jewellery, they wanted to get their share of it, I cannot say, but, in the light of subsequent events, I should be inclined to believe the latter.

When the food was ready, I invited my guards to eat it. I was hoping that a full meal, especially as their fatigue was very evident, would induce them to sleep, and feigning drowsiness myself, moved off a few yards, and scooped out a sand bed. I was prepared to risk anything for liberty; we were in the neighbourhood of the wells, and might travel for days without being out of reach of water. Explaining my plans to Hasseena, I told her, under the pretence of collecting firewood, to try and get up to Amin and Elias, cut their thongs with the large knife we had had to cut up the meat sent us for food, and tell them to creep towards a small tree which I had noticed during daylight, and await me there. Some camels with their feet fastened by ropes were grazing there, and I believed that we might get away unobserved, and get some hours’ start. But the guards of the prisoners were not asleep; they were very much awake, searching the prisoners for any valuables, an operation which was carried out by each relief of guards, so that the sun rose with us still in the hands of the dervishes.

THE KHALEEFA’S EUNUCHS AT ATTENTION.

It was just after sunrise that we moved off again; my guardian must have been impressed with my importance, for he saddled the camel for me himself, and |37| brought me a gourd of camel’s milk. During this day’s journey, the Emir Mohammad Hamza, of the Jaalin tribe, who was commanding a section of the dervishes, rode up to me and inquired about my health—the usual form of salutation. He told me not to be afraid of any harm coming to me, and then rode off again. That evening we arrived at a small encampment of dervishes close to some wells, when I was taken before another Emir whom I was told was Makin en Nur, and who, from the deference paid him by the others, was doubtless the chief. He, too, put a few questions to me of the same commonplace nature as the others, and waved his hand for me to be removed. On being sent for again, I was accused of being a Government spy, and asked what I had to say for myself. I replied, “I have told you the truth; what do you want me to do now? tell you a lie, and say I am a spy? If I do so you will kill me for saying I am one, and if I say again I am not, you will not believe me, and kill me just the same. I am not afraid of you; do as you please.” When he questioned me again, I said, “I refuse to answer any more questions.” My manner of speaking to them caused no little surprise, as it was doubtless different to what they had expected, and to what they had formerly experienced from captives.

A young dervish was called in, and told to conduct me to a spot removed from the other prisoners. As we walked along, the youth said, “God is just; God is bounteous; please God to-morrow our eyes shall be gladdened by seeing a white Kaffir yoked with |38| a shayba to a black one.” This shayba is the forked limb of a tree; the fork is placed on the neck pressing against the larynx, the stem projecting before the wearer; the right wrist is then tightly bound to the stem with thongs of fresh hide, which soon dry and “bite” the flesh, and the ends of the fork drawn as closely together as possible, and fastened with a cross-piece. It is a cruel instrument of torture, for the arm must be kept extended to its utmost; to attempt to relieve the tension means pressure on the larynx; but when yoked to another man he throws pressure on you, and you on him. A prod in the ribs under the arm of either victim, with sword or rifle, affords endless amusement to their tormentors in the victims’ gapes and grimaces as they gasp for breath; but the captor’s cup of happiness is filled when an extra hard prod knocks one man off his feet, and the poor wretches are only helped up again when they are almost choking.

Irritated beyond endurance by the youth’s jibes and jests, and hoping to put an end to everything at once, I threw my weight and strength into one blow—and I was a powerful man then—and felled him senseless. Taking his rifle, I strode back to the tent, almost foaming with rage, and entered; my eyes must have been blazing; I glared from one to the other, wondering whether to fire the one shot and then start “clubbing” until I was cut down. Hamza was the first to speak, and jumping up, held up his hand, saying, “Istanna” (wait). I hurriedly related what had occurred, and said what I intended to do. Hamza |39| came to me, saying, “La, la, la (no, no, no), there must be a mistake. You are not to be put in a shayba; our orders are to deliver you alive and well.” Then turning to the others, he continued, “Hand this man over to me; I shall deliver him alive and well to Wad en Nejoumi; I hold myself responsible for him.” Some demur was made, when, lowering the rifle, I placed the butt on the ground, rested my chin on the muzzle, and addressing myself to all, said that unless I was left in Hamza’s charge I should press the trigger—on which my great toe was then resting. Hamza again pressed his point, and said, “If you do not agree, and this man does any harm to himself, I declare myself free of blame and responsibility. I have heard of him; he will do as he says.” The effect of the words was magical. “Take him away—keep him; do what you wish with him; never let him come near us again—never. Never let him look upon us with his eyes.”*

* The Soudanese, indeed all Easterns, have a great horror of the “Evil Eye;” and the grey and grey-blue eyes of Europeans in anger, or even in a fixed stare, as I learned later, strike fear, if not terror, into the hearts of most.

Hamza, turning to me, said, “You must know now that our master, Wad en Nejoumi, knew of your coming, and sent us to conduct you to him. His orders were that you should be treated well; he wishes to speak to you. I will give you security until Dongola, where he is waiting for you. I do not know what he will do with you; maybe he will kill you—I cannot say; but, for myself, I promise you will arrive in Dongola alive. If anything happens to you, the Emir Wad en Nejoumi will kill me. Will you |40| promise that you will leave yourself in my hands, will not try to kill yourself, or attempt to escape?” I gave my promise, upon which Hamza said, “Leave this man to me.”

The conversation which took place between us was of much longer duration than the above would appear to indicate, but I cannot pretend to remember all that was said after the twelve years’ interval; the above is the gist of it. I handed Hamza the rifle, and he, taking me by the hand in the Bedawi manner, led me out of the tent, and towards his section of the dervishes. On the way, in a few hurried whispers, he gave me to understand that he was really still a friend of the Government, and that I might trust implicitly in him. On reaching his people, he called four men to attend to me, and sending for Hasseena, told her to prepare such food as I was accustomed to. Hasseena came in rags; her clothes, like mine, had been taken from her. He ordered one of her dresses to be returned, and on my showing him how the skin had been burned off my back and shoulders with the sun, he ordered that I, too, should be supplied with more clothing.

CHAPTER IV ARRIVAL IN DONGOLA

Instead of our starting off the next morning at sunrise, a sort of “fantasia” was held. This consisted of men riding up and down the camp with mimic combats between individuals—a sort of circus display. Stricter watch was placed over me, and my guards warned against allowing me to hold conversation with any one. At sunset we were off again, and the following day halted in the desert, El Ordeh (Dongola) being then, I was told, a few hours’ distant. We rested probably a couple of hours, and marched until evening, but had not yet sighted Dongola. A final search was made for concealed loot, and a piece of my leather bag having been discovered on one of the men, he was flogged, and, offering to confess, confessed that he had found the bag empty on the ground. His clothing, and that of his section was searched, and resulted in the discovery of seventeen of my Turkish dollars; a further application of the courbag resulted in the discovery of the remainder of the three hundred dollars, and a third one, of the greater part of the jewellery. The flogging and searching delayed us, |42| and instead of travelling that night, we only got away in the morning, arriving within sight of Dongola at noon, when men were sent in to report our arrival.

While awaiting the return of the messengers, discipline—what there was of it—was relaxed, and the camp given over to jubilations. The attentions bestowed upon me were not pleasant; both by words and actions I was given to understand what the men hoped and expected would be my fate. A respite was granted, when the man who had received the floggings was brought to me so that I might certify that all the things discovered on him and his companions were extracted from my cash-bag, and that all the articles had been recovered. He seemed none the worse for his experiences, and the matter was explained to me. When the Ansar are flogged, upon an expedition, for a theft which, as the Emirs know, every one would commit, so many stripes are ordered to be given; these are given with the courbag (rhinoceros-hide whip) on the fleshy part of the back, and over the clothing.

He forgave me, and blamed the sugar for his discovery. The sugar-loaves, which were part of the goods of the Arabs who had joined the caravan at Wadi Halfa, had been broken up and distributed. At the wells some of the men had been noticed dipping pieces in the water and munching them, and none of the sugar having been handed in when the loot was collected, the first search was instituted, and this resulted in the discovery of other hidden loot. I do not happen to know who might be |43| the “father of sugar,” but I trust that the curses and imprecations showered on his head by my dervish friend may not reach him.

Hasseena was brought to be searched, and stripped naked; she cleverly dropped my seal in the sand, and pressed it in with her foot. I had asked her to get this seal from Elias, as, with this in their possession, the dervishes might have written, through my clerk, whatever letters they chose, and sealing them with my seal, have made them appear authentic. Hasseena was again questioned as to who I was, and persisted in saying that I was a merchant and not a Government official, and while she was being threatened with the courbag, which in this instance would have been applied as the cat-o’-nine-tails is at home, the Emir Hamza came forward as a witness in my favour. Hamza was another who, friendly as he was to the “Government,” had been driven into the ranks of the dervishes. After the final search, a move was made towards Dongola, opposite which town we arrived between two and three o’clock in the afternoon. Before the town we descried a grand parade of troops taking place, and as we halted a band struck up; from the sound which reached us, the band must have been composed of bugles and trumpets of all shapes, sizes, and pitch, with just as varied an assortment of drums. In the medley they played could be heard snatches of the so-called Khedivial hymn.

When the prisoners had been ranged up in such a manner as to make their exhibit most effective, and when I, as the prisoner of the occasion, had been |44| placed in the midst of the Emirs, a signal was given, on which the horsemen of the paraded army charged down upon us in their much-lauded and over-rated exhibition of horsemanship. This exhibition consists of individual and collective charges right on to the opposing line of onlookers, a sudden pulling up of the horse which throws it on to its haunches, a meaningless shaking of swords and spears over one’s head, a swerve to the left or right, the direction being dominated by the half-broken jaw for which the sudden pulling up with the brutal ring-bit with which the horses are ridden (?) is responsible; another charge, and so on until the rider is tired or the horse jibs. This is the usual programme, but it is occasionally varied by accidents to horses and riders and onlookers, as, for example, the affair of Khaleefa Ali Wad Helu, who, some few days before the battle of Omdurman, gave an inspiriting exhibition to the faithful in front of the Mahdi’s tomb, in order to instruct them how to charge the British lines, and spoiled the whole thing by being thrown, breaking his wrist, laming the horse, and nearly killing half a dozen of his most ardent admirers who were in the front rank. This is not fiction.

THE KHALEEFA’S TENDER MERCIES.

The parade and exhibition, called El Arrdah, given in celebration of our capture, lasted more than an hour, when a move was made towards Dongola, and on arrival at the town, Wad Hamza and Wad Farag led me to the gateway of Nejoumi’s enclosure. We were kept waiting at the entrance for some time, and it was as much as my guards could do to protect me from the rabble; the people were in a most excited |45| state, and my position was not rendered any the more comfortable by my understanding the language. I was prodded with spears and swords, and maybe for a quarter of an hour—it may have been more, it may have been less—I was subjected to as severe an ordeal for patience as ever man was put to. Many of those in the rabble knew me from pre-abandonment days, but the cringing supplicants of former days were now my bitterest foes and tormentors. Curses and imprecations are such common accompaniments in ordinary disputes in the East—disputes over the most trivial matters—that little new could assail my ears in a country where a child just learning to babble may be heard, in childish innocence, to lisp to its mother, “Il la'an abook,” or a much shorter expression which, owing to the large number now understanding Arabic, I cannot here use, but both of which expressions are in constant use. It was the suggestive actions—some of beheading, some of mutilations, others of a description which I may not even hint at, which nearly drove me to exasperation; they did so actually, but I controlled myself, and did not allow my exasperation to exhibit itself in any way, either by word or deed.

On entering the enclosure, I was shown to a small room, on the floor of which three people were sitting; one rose, and, taking my hand, said, “El Hamdu lillah,” “Bis-Salaamtuk” (thanks be to God for your safety). I was told to sit down. The three scrutinized me, and I returned their gaze. For some moments nothing was said, and I was determined not to be the first to break the silence. Presently food was brought |46| in, and I was told to partake of it. As with the first meal with the Emirs, I set to with a will, and continued eating after the others had finished, taking not the slightest notice of my hosts. I was acting a part, I admit, for indifferent as I might have appeared to all taking place around me, I was at the same time “all eyes and ears.”

When I had finished, the one who had first spoken to me, and whom I had guessed was Nejoumi, “introduced” himself to me. He prefaced the series of questions he put to me by saying, “Do not be afraid; I hope it will be my pleasure to receive you into the true religion, and we shall be good friends.” Nejoumi assured me that I should soon get accustomed to my new mode of life, and would in the end bless him for having saved me. He then told me that he knew perfectly well who I was, and, not being a “Government man,” my life was safe at his hands, but my property, having been found in a caravan of enemies, must be confiscated. I did not follow his reasoning, nor was I allowed to, for he sent me off to the house of the Amin Beit-el-Mal (storekeeper or director of the Beit-el-Mal), with instructions that I should be well attended to. Hasseena was sent into the hareem of the same house.

Early the next morning Nejoumi sent for me, and upon arriving at his enclosure, I saw that he had a number of Sheikh Saleh’s men under examination. I learned later that some had admitted that I was once in Government employ, and had fought against the Mahdi, but that now I was a merchant only. There were, of course, numbers in the town who remembered |47| me in connection with the expedition, and in order to curry favour, they were not averse to credit me with exploits and prowess which, if related to and believed in by the British authorities, would have placed me upon an unearned pedestal. In this instance they were related in the hope that I should be placed on the now well-known “angareeb,” which in a few seconds would be drawn away, leaving me suspended by the neck. When my turn for interrogation came, my letter-wallet was handed to Nejoumi; he had, no doubt, had the contents examined the night before. His first question was, “Which are the Government papers?” I declared that there were none, and that all the papers were business ones. He then inquired, “Are there no papers from the friends of the Government?”—to which I answered, “There may be; I am a merchant; I buy gum, hides—anything from the Soudan, and sell them again to any one else who will buy them from me. It is ‘khullo zai baadoo’ (all the same) to me who the people are—friends or enemies of the Government—provided they pay me. I gave good money for what I bought, and wanted good money for what I sold.” Nejoumi then told me that he had had the letters translated by a girl educated in the “Kanneesa” (church) of Khartoum. General Stephenson’s letter had been translated as a “firman” appointing me the “Pasha” of the Western Soudan, with orders to wage war on the dervishes, for which purpose I had been provided with money, rifles, and ammunition, and about forty or fifty men as my personal bodyguard.

At first I was dumfounded; then, serious as my |48| position was, I could not restrain myself from bursting out laughing. I protested that the translation was false, and asked to be shown the document. I was not shown it. To a man whom I surmised was the Kadi, I said, “If the letter is a ‘firman,’ then it should be written in Arabic, as the Soudanese did not read or understand English.” This remark appealed to Nejoumi, who said that he did not believe the translation himself, as it was quite different from the news he had received from Hassib-el-Gabou. I made inquiries about this black female convert to Christianity, and learned that she knew not a single word of English, but few of Italian, and, like the remainder of such converts so-called, went to the mission for what she could get out of it. I have forgotten her name, but hope to discover it before completing my notes, when I shall give it. It would be interesting to learn how much Christian money had been wasted on the education of this supposed convert, married then to a Danagli, and a shining light amongst the most fanatical of the women, who, with their songs and dances, fanned the flame of fanaticism amongst the men.

More of Saleh’s men were brought in and questioned—I questioned with them. In the end, I admitted that General Stephenson’s letter asked me, if I was passing Sheikh Saleh’s district, to tell him that arms and ammunition were awaiting him at Wadi Halfa; but that I had nothing to do with the sale of them, was proved by my arriving after they had been taken over, and my papers would show that I had not sold them to him, and that I was not going to collect the money for them, |49| as they believed. The remainder of that conference is only a haze to me now, but I remember that later the same day I was told that Nejoumi, pressed by the other Emirs, had, in order to elicit the truth by frightening the others, ordered the execution of fourteen of the Arabs who had joined us at Wadi Halfa. Emin, my guide, for some reason or another which I never discovered, was ordered to be executed at the same time, and was first to be beheaded. My surmises upon this incident had better be left to my next chapter.

On the following morning, the Amin Beit-el-Mal ordered me to get ready to attend a “fantasia” which Wad en Nejoumi had arranged, and at which he had ordered me to be present; but, being his prisoner, I must appear as one, for which purpose a light ring and chain was placed on my neck, and a light chain fastened to my ankles. On arrival at Nejoumi’s place, I found the Kadi trying to persuade Darb es Safai and about twelve or thirteen of Saleh’s men to become Mahdists. Darb es Safai was their spokesman. They scorned the exhortations of the Kadi, and heaped on his head whatever insults they could. Nejoumi was present, and to him Darb es Safai said, “We have ridden behind our master, Sheikh Saleh, and we refuse to follow you on foot as slaves; we have come here to die—let us die.” Being told that if they persisted in their stubbornness they would be killed, Darb es Safai repeated, “We have come to die—let us die.” I was then removed to a small mud hut, told to sit down, and here hundreds of the populace came to see me, flinging at me all the abuse their rich language is |50| capable of, striving with each other to excel in virulence. Darb es Safai and the others had been marched off a short distance, and set to dig a shallow trench; when this was finished, they were ordered to kneel at its edge, and their hands were tied behind them; this action is practically the declaration of the death sentence. Es Safai asked to be beheaded last, as he wished to see how his men could die. Only one jumped to his feet when a few heads had rolled into the trench, when Es Safai called out, “Kneel down. Do you not see these cowards are looking at us?” This was the “fantasia” I was to have assisted at, but, by some misunderstanding, I was spared the horrible spectacle.

When the executions were over, my chains were removed, and I was again taken before Nejoumi, and questioned as to what property I had in the caravan, and also if I had any slaves. I said I might not possess slaves, but had two servants—Elias, my clerk, and Hasseena, who was a freed slave, and now my female servant. Elias had been cross-examined, but had evidently, in his fright, contradicted himself time after time. First he said he was my clerk, then he was the servant of some Ali Abou Gordi of the Alighat tribe, then trading in the Soudan. Nejoumi told me that, if Elias’s last tale was true, he could not be returned to me, as he must be an enemy. I did my best for Elias, telling Nejoumi that he was a good clerk and good writer, and that he might be very useful to him in writing letters. Hasseena was brought in and protested that she was my slave, not my servant; |51| that I had bought her, but, as slaves were not allowed by the Government, I had had to give her a shehaada (certificate) declaring her free. Nejoumi made a present of her to one of the men present, and on this Hasseena squatted on the ground and refused to budge. She screamed to Nejoumi that he might, if he chose, marry her himself, but said that whoever her husband might be, he would die the same night, since she knew how to poison people secretly. She knew nothing whatever about poisons, but this remark probably was the reason for her being sent to the Khaleefa, as she might be useful. She was sent back as “property” to the Beit-el-Mal.

My ordeal was not yet over; other chiefs came in, and the conference opened soon developed into a heated, if not acrimonious, discussion and dispute. I did not know Soudani sufficiently to follow all that was said, besides which three or four were speaking rapidly at the same time; but I gathered that Nejoumi wished to keep me by him, as he believed that I might be made useful in signing letters which my clerk would have to write. The others, believing the girl’s translation of the letter, were for despatching me to the next world, and sending my head as a gruesome present to the commandant at Wadi Halfa, accompanied by the supposed “firman.” It is not a pleasant experience to sit down and hear your fate being discussed, conscious that the sentence will be carried out immediately. No criminal ever scanned the face of a jury on its return to court as I did those of my savage captors, with ears strained to catch every familiar |52| word; and, difficult as it is after all these years to attempt to give a real analysis of one’s feelings then, I can remember gloating over the thought that, if death were the sentence, I would spring at the throat of the first Emir I could reach, with my nails buried in and tearing at the flesh, until a blow would finish all, and so rob the fanatical horde outside of the pleasure of seeing a hated “Turk” publicly executed. That the recollection is no imaginary one may be guessed from the fact that, when I asked about Gabou’s “health” at Assouan after my release, one part of that conjured scene sprang up, and doubtless would have been acted, had Gabou been alive.

Nejoumi only partly won his point—I was to be sent to the Khaleefa. Seven men were sent for, and Hasseena and I placed in their charge. Nejoumi gave me some clothing, and also a hundred dollars from the three hundred taken from me, and we were ordered off that night.

CHAPTER V THE REAL HISTORY OF THE CAPTURE

(Extracts.)

“He (Nejoumi) captured in the Oasis of Selima a large part if not the whole of the rifles. This was mainly owing to the imprudence of an enterprising German merchant named Charles Neufeld, who had accompanied the convoy, and, desirous of obtaining a supply of water, had descended to the Oasis, where he was captured by the enemy.”

“. . . Most of them were killed, and a few, including Neufeld, were taken captive to Dongola; there they were beheaded, with the exception of Neufeld, who was sent to Omdurman, where he arrived on March 1, 1887.”

March 21, 1887.—“Sixty Kabbabish have arrived, sent by their chief to take over arms and money.”

May 15, 1887.—“Mr. Neufeld is reported to have diverged from caravan of Kabbabishes to Sheikh Saleh to Bakah Wells, and to have been taken prisoner by the dervishes, as well as a few Kabbabish letters are said to have been captured; none from this office were entrusted to him” (Blue Book No. 2, 1888—Nos. 50 and 90).

“Neufeld was now free. His release was owing to one of the Emirs representing to Abdullah Khalifa the great service Neufeld had been in enabling arms and ammunition to be taken from the Kabbabishes at the time Neufeld was captured” (Letter to Mrs. Neufeld from War Office. Cairo, 10.3.90). |54|

It would be as well to give at once the real history of my capture as regards the circumstances and the arrangements made to effect it. I received the details first from Ahmed Nur Ed Din, who, some months after my capture, came to Omdurman on his own initiative to try and effect my escape. His version was confirmed and amplified by my intended companion Hogal, who again fell into the hands of the dervishes in 1897, and was imprisoned with me until we were finally released a few months ago.

The treachery of Gabou has also been confirmed by Moussa Daoud Kanaga, who has just arrived from the Soudan to meet me, he having heard of my release and arrival at Cairo. Moussa was one of the Soudan merchants with whom I had had many dealings in former days, and believing he could do something towards effecting my escape, he, after many attempts to reach me, finally succeeded in doing so in September, 1889.

Instead of wearying my readers with snatches from one narrative and the other, I will try, combining all, to make one clear and connected story, having for this purpose deleted from the last chapter remarks and questions put to me by Nejoumi at Dongola in order to introduce them here.

The guide I had engaged for the journey, Hassib-el-Gabou, belonged to the Dar Hamad section of the Kabbabish tribe which was settled in and around Dongola. Gabou was employed as a spy by the military authorities on the frontier, but there is not the slightest doubt that he was at the same time in |55| the pay of Wad Nejoumi. He related to each side just sufficient to keep himself in constant good grace and pay, and failing authentic news of any description, he was able to fall back upon his intimate local knowledge, his double dealings, his knowledge of the people and language, and a fund of plausibility which at the present day would not pass current for five minutes.

Between the Dar Hamad section, and the section acknowledging Saleh Bey Wad Salem as their head, there were a number of old outstanding jealousies which had not been settled; what they were all about I cannot pretend to say, but one of the principal was, whether Sheikh Saleh or the head of the Dar Hamads should be considered the senior. It may not have been forgotten by those who have taken an interest in Soudan affairs, that the existence of these tribal jealousies and disputes between divided tribes was taken full advantage of by the Mahdi and Khaleefa, in very much the same way as a political agent runs one section of a party against another, and gains his point, at the cost and discomfiture of the others who, for the time being, were unconsciously playing his game for him. Sheikh Saleh’s party were the real Bedawi (men of the desert), and, therefore, more reliable than the Dar Hamads, who had the “belladi” (town) taint or stigma attached to them.

Gabou’s first plan was, according to his lights, to act loyal to his section of the tribe, and so to arrange matters that the arms intended for his rivals, Sheikh Saleh’s section, should fall into the hands of his people; with those arms turned against the |56| dervishes, he might see his section come to the front as the support of the Government, and maybe be in possession of the coveted title of Bey and a Nishan (decoration), if his plans succeeded. I have no doubt that, had his first plan succeeded, he would have been prepared with a plausible tale, and gaining any slight advantage over the dervishes would certainly have atoned for his defections. His plan as originally conceived was as follows:—First, he wrote to his own sheikh giving him full details of the arms and ammunition awaiting Saleh’s caravan, and there is every reason to believe that the letters sent by General Stephenson to Sheikh Saleh in the first instance, were delayed by Gabou until his plans were complete. The guide Hassan, whom I believed had been engaged at the last moment, had been engaged some time before, and fully instructed in the part he had to play. Gabou had promised his people that after Sheikh Saleh’s caravan left El Selima Wells, they would be led towards the Wadi el Kab instead of El Agia Wells, so that even had we filled our water-skins at leisure at Selima, we should only have been provided with four, instead of eight days’ water, and two days on the desert without water has its discomforts. When a Bedawi will travel two or three days without water and not murmur, it can be better imagined than described what Gabou’s promise to hand us over “thirsty” meant; it meant precisely what actually did occur—the madness of thirst approaching—the lips glued together, the tongue swollen and sore in vain attempts to excite the salivary |57| glands—the muscles of the throat contracted, and the palate feeling like a piece of sandstone, the nostrils choked with fine sand, and the eyes reddened and starting, with the eyelids seeming to crack at every movement. Only those who have experienced what we did during those last days on our journey to Wadi el Kab, can fill in the missing details in the history of Esau selling his birthright for a mess of pottage.

The Dar Hamads, on receiving Gabou’s news, made their preparations; arms buried in the ground to conceal them from the dervishes were unearthed, but the very evident activity of the people excited the suspicions of Wad Nejoumi. Believing that a revolt was intended, he prepared to meet it; but, having his spies about, bits of the real truth leaked out. Gabou was put to the test; either written messages or messengers were sent to him by Nejoumi, asking about Saleh’s caravan and the purposes for which they had gone to Wadi Halfa. When Gabou saw that his first scheme had miscarried, rather than the caravan should fall into the hands of his rivals, he preferred to reveal to Nejoumi the plot he had planned for the benefit of his own people. It was on this account that he had, as related, tried at one time to get me to abandon the projected journey; and, as can be understood, there were many reasons for his sending word to Nejoumi saying I was to accompany the caravan. His keeping back of Ismail, the leader, day after day, was only to allow of his messages reaching Nejoumi in time for him to make complete preparations for intercepting us. |58|

Hogal arrived at Wadi Halfa the very evening of our departure, and sent over his message. Gabou met him and gave him his confidence. He told Hogal the means he had used to try and get me to abandon the journey, but that he dared not give me the real reasons, as he knew I should report the matter, and his head would then be in danger; he had done the best he could by letting Nejoumi know who and what I was. Still dexterously playing his cards, and to keep Hogal quiet, he said that he knew that the English were going away; they certainly would not take him with them, and as he and Hogal had their family ties in the Soudan, unless he worked with Nejoumi, his “good word” would be of no avail to his family and friends when the dervishes came down to occupy the abandoned towns.

I trust that my readers are now beginning to see the light through this dark conspiracy, and that I am making the narrative sufficiently intelligible and clear without constantly requesting you to turn back to earlier pages.

Gabou, playing a double part himself, and being naturally suspicious of every one in consequence, thought that I might have divined his treachery when the camels did not overtake us, and might change our route in consequence; these suspicions he communicated to Nejoumi. Had he not done this, I might have forgiven him—for it was every one for himself in those days. There was not the least necessity for him to warn Nejoumi that we might change our route on discovering that the guide was leading |59| us in the wrong direction, for had Nejoumi’s men not found us, Gabou would not have been blamed.

Nejoumi, on receiving the news, despatched a large number of dervishes under Wad Bessir to Umbellila, opposite Abou Gussi, and another under Osman Azrak to El Kab opposite to El Ordeh (Dongola), and Said Mohammad Wad Farag, Mohammad Hamza, Makin en Nur and Wad Umar to the various wells in the Wadi el Kab, the latter having orders to keep the Dar Hamads in check. I am giving this list of now famous names from recollections of what I was told at Dongola and Omdurman, not for the purpose of thereby investing with a halo of barbaric romance an incident which was nothing more nor less than a bit of highway robbery, but more with the idea, that should any of those named be still living, and eventually come into the hands of the Government, they might be questioned as to this affair, and their account compared with the series of contradictory passages which head the present chapter.

Wad Farag sent a flying party to Selima Wells, led by a slave of Wad Eysawee, named Hassib Allah. It was Hassib Allah who had fired the shot we heard on the day of our arrival at Selima. When taken before Wad Nejoumi at Dongola, one of the questions put me was, “Did you see any one, or hear a shot fired the day you reached Selima,” to which I answered “Yes,” as regards the latter part of the question, thereby making an everlasting friend of Hassib Allah, as a reward had been promised to whoever should first sight us and hurry back to the main body with the news; |60| he had fired the shot, so that the question might be put. Even in this you may gauge the amount of faith or confidence the Ansar had in the word of their Emirs, and the amount of credence a European might give to their tales when they lied to, and deceived each other with such charming impartiality.

After despatching Hassib, Wad Farag divided his party, sending one to the district between Wadi el Kab and the Nile, and the second, commanded by himself, he led to the desert to intercept us. The Alighat Arab sent out as a scout, who did not return, must have either been captured by Farag, or what is more likely, as he was sent out by Hassan, was an emissary of Hassan’s to Wad Farag or any of the other dervishes to give them the news, as Hassan must have been aware of our position and the proximity of the dervishes. The tracks we had picked up on the road, when the embers of the caravan’s fires were found still hot, were the remains of the fires of Hassib’s men, who had kept within touch of us the whole time, only losing touch on the day following the disappearance of the Alighats.

On reaching the broken ground leading to El Kab, my guide Amin and the two others had been allowed to pass unchallenged intentionally, as the dervish plan was to form themselves into three parties, which were to rush us from three sides at the same moment. It was in direct disobedience of orders that the first shots were fired at us, but it was probably done by some one to gain the promised reward for sighting us, and it ended, as already related, in a general fusilade. The |61| camels loaded with filled water-skins were left behind purposely, but their being left was a happy thought at the moment of Farag’s men. When they retired, it was only to join the other section which was to have rushed us from the left; the section to rush us in the rear being a little further out in the desert than the plan shows.

Our leader Ismail I never saw or heard of again; he may have succeeded in escaping altogether, only to be killed when the virtual extermination of the tribe took place and Sheikh Saleh, standing on his sheepskin, fell fighting to the last.

This account of the capture of the caravan, and the explanations given, though not agreeing in essentials with the accounts given officially, may be accepted as being as nearly correct in every detail as it is possible for memory to give them, and the occasion was one of those in life where even twelve years’ sufferings are not sufficient to obliterate the incidents from the mind.

I feel some little confidence in offering to the world my version of the circumstances attending my departure from Wadi Halfa for Kordofan, the date upon which I really did leave Egypt—as unfortunate a date for me as it evidently has been to some of my biographers,—and the actual circumstances attending my capture, as I happened to be present on the various occasions spoken of, and I do not think it will be asking too much if I request that the same amount of credence be given to my own story as has been given to that of others referred to in my introduction, and in the extracts which head the present chapter. |62|

It now remains, before closing this chapter, to deal with Dufa'allah Hogal and his part in the affair. In my first letter from Omdurman, which letter was written for me by dictation of the Khaleefa, I am made to say that I blamed Hogal for his deceit, but at the same time thanked him for his deceit, as it had led me to grace. This was a clever invention of the Emir’s at Dongola, or the Khaleefa himself, to get Hogal into trouble with the Government, and draw away suspicion from Hassan and Gabou. This letter was received by one of my clerks at Assouan, who fortunately retained a copy before forwarding it on to Cairo; a translation of it will be given later.

Hogal is not to be blamed for keeping his own counsel after Gabou had given him his confidence. He had nothing to gain by telling the authorities the truth, and he had everything to lose if he did. The Khaleefa’s spies were everywhere in the Government and out of it, just as the Government spies were amongst the Mahdists, and there can be no doubt but that they were paid by both sides—and who is to blame them? Hogal’s family ties and relations were in the Soudan, and there was no use in his raising a question over a dead man. I may have something to say about guides and spies later on, but it will not be with the idea of calling any of them to justice. The only justice they knew of was that contained in “Possession is nine points of the law,” or “Might conquers right,” and it suited their natures admirably to play a double game, rendered so easy for them with a Khaleefa who, having made up his mind to |63| do a certain thing, ever kept that object in view, and worked for its accomplishment, whilst on the other hand was a Government which in their opinion did not seem to know its own mind from one day to another as to what should be done with the Soudan and its subjects resident there.

CHAPTER VI DONGOLA TO OMDURMAN

During the early part of the night of April 27, the Amin Beit-el-Mal told me to prepare for my journey to Omdurman, as Wad Nejoumi had sent for me. There was little preparation I could make, except to beg some sesame oil to rub over my face, shoulders, back, and feet. The woollen shirt and clothing I had been allowed had not been sufficient to protect me against the burning rays of the sun, and the skin was peeling away from my face, shoulders and back, while my feet were blistered and cut. My stockings had been worn through in a day’s tramping through the sand. Taken to Nejoumi’s enclosure, Nejoumi and I sat together talking for a considerable time. He told me that he had wished to keep me by him for the purposes of “akhbar” (information, or news), but that the other Emirs had insisted upon my being killed at once, or sent to the Khaleefa with the supposed “firman” appointing me “The Pasha of the Western Soudan,” to be dealt with by the Khaleefa at Omdurman. Nejoumi said he had written asking that I should be sent back to him. He put to me many |65| questions about the Government, the fortifications of Cairo and Alexandria, Assouan, Korosko and Wadi Halfa, and in particular he was anxious to know all about the British army and “Ingleterra.” The advance up the Nile for the relief of Gordon had evidently given him a very poor opinion of our means of transport, at least as regards rapidity of movement, for when I told him of the distance between Alexandria and England, and assured him that steamers could bring in a large army in a week’s time, he smiled and said, “I am not a child, to tell me a tale like that.” He may or may not have gone to his grave believing that I was romancing, when I described to him what an ocean-going steamer was like, and did my best to give him some idea of the proportions of a Nile Dahabieh compared with an ocean-going steamer and a man-of-war.

SHEIKH ED DIN’S EUNUCH IN HIS MASTER’S MARRIAGE-JIBBEH.

I left him firmly impressed with the idea, and this impression was only intensified months later when a number of his chief men were ordered back to Omdurman and thrown into prison with me, that had Nejoumi had any one in whom he could repose his confidence and absolute trust in such a delicate matter, he would have sent in his submission to the Government, and laying hands upon the Emirs sent by the Khaleefa to spy upon him—for he was then under suspicion—would have led his army as “friendlies” to Wadi Halfa, and have asked assistance to enable him to turn the tables on the Khaleefa. What further leads me to make such a bold assertion or statement is that the Emirs, or chief men, referred to already as having |66| been thrown into prison with me at Omdurman, gave me, as their fellow-captive, first their sympathy, and then their complete confidence. I learned from them the fate of those of Saleh’s caravan whom I had left alive at Dongola. They had, they told me, been executed in batches of varying numbers at intervals of some days, Elias my clerk being the last to be executed, and he not being executed until about two months after my departure from Dongola. Nejoumi, for reasons which will be at once seen, kept him alive to the last, and then doubtless only gave the order for his execution when, despairing of my being sent back to him, he gave way to the importunities of the other Emirs anxious to see the last of Saleh’s people executed.

From what they confided to me, there could not be the slightest doubt that a conviction of the imposture of the Mahdi’s successor was growing and spreading amongst the Mahdists; but the system of espionage instituted by the Khaleefa nipped in the bud any outward show of it. There can be also no doubt that these confidants of Nejoumi had, in some way, compromised themselves when speaking in the presence of some of the Khaleefa’s agents, and that Nejoumi himself had only not been ordered back with them because of his popularity and the Khaleefa’s fear and jealousy of him. There was no one whom Nejoumi, or, for the matter of that, any one—not even excepting the Khaleefa himself, might implicitly trust in the Soudan. The man to whom you gave your innermost confidences might be friend or foe, and as all changed face as rapidly and constantly as |67| circumstances dictated, it would be safe to say that no one in the Soudan for a single moment trusted any one else.

Whatever Nejoumi’s convictions may have been in the earlier days of the Mahdist movement, it is certain that they underwent a great change. Indeed, his advance against the Egyptian Army at Toski, when he was killed, was, as I was told by some of his people imprisoned with me after their return, only undertaken when he was goaded to it by the reproaches of the Khaleefa, accusing him of cowardice and treachery, accompanied with threats of recalling him to Omdurman—and Nejoumi knew well what this implied.

In the last chapter I remarked that I would later offer some surmises as to the reason why my guide Amin was the first to be executed at Dongola, and it would be well to insert them here, while speaking of my fellow-prisoners from Nejoumi’s army. Though they could not be positive on the point, they were certain that Amin’s two or three passages-at-arms with the guide Hassan had been related to the assembled Emirs at Dongola immediately after our arrival, and Amin was in consequence ordered to be at once executed. I expressed my suspicions as to the actual death of Hassan at El Kab, and in face of what I was told, I cannot help but believe that his falling from the camel was an arranged affair, and that he came with the caravan to Dongola, and gave evidence against Amin. Following up this suspicion or supposition, it is very probable that he originated the “cock-and-bull” story related to the military authorities, |68| detailing the supposed incidents of the capture of Saleh’s caravan and myself. It will not have been forgotten that the published official and semi-official records report my capture at two different places a hundred and fifty miles apart, or, in other words, a minimum of five days’ journey, and at different dates,—in one instance announcing my arrival at Omdurman as a captive one month before the caravan which I was supposed to have betrayed—or been the cause of the capture of through “imprudence”—had even started from Wadi Halfa.

In the early morning of April 28, I and Hasseena were taken outside the town to where the guards and camels were awaiting us, and setting off on our journey, travelled through Hannak, Debbeh, Abou Gussi, and Ambukol. The incidents connected with our appearance at these places are not of sufficient interest to warrant my detaining my readers with them. From Ambukol we struck into the desert, making for the Nile at Gebel Roiyan, enduring the inevitable discomforts and privations of such a journey. On arrival at the village near Gebel Roiyan, we took possession of what we believed to be a deserted house, and, after taking a little food, lay down to sleep. During the night a wretched old woman crept into my room, and commenced that peculiar wailing known to those who have been in the East. She was, she said, “El umm Khashm-el-Mus” (the mother of Khashm-el-Mus—but the expression may be taken to imply merely that she was one of Khashm-el-Mus’s family or relatives), whom Gordon had sent with gunboats to Metemmeh to |69| accompany Sir Charles Wilson on his voyage to Khartoum. Her sons, the whole of her family (or tribe), had been killed by the Khaleefa’s order, and, as far as she knew, she was the only one left. Taking no notice of my guards, who had come in, attracted by the wailing and talking, she cursed the Mahdi, and every thing and every one connected with him. The wailings of the poor creature, her pinched, sunken cheeks, her glistening eyes, her skinny, hooked fingers, her vehement curses on the Mahdi and Khaleefa, and the faint glow from the charcoal embers which only served to outline the form of the old woman as some horrid spectre as she stood up and prophesied my death, completely unnerved me. If there was one night in my life upon which I required a few hours’ rest it was on this—the last, as I knew, before my entering Omdurman. But no sleep came to my eyes that night. Soon after the woman left, a sound of dull thuds, a shriek, a moan, and then silence told its own tale. She had been battered to death with curses on the Mahdi on her lips.

The night was one long, horrible, wakening nightmare, but all was real and not a fantasy of the brain. How I longed for the dawn! and how impatiently I waited for it! For the first time I had fears for my reason. The sensation I felt was as if a cord had been slipped round my brain, and was gradually but surely tightening. But enough of this; it is not necessary to interlard my experiences with painful mental sensations, real as they were.

It was with some little difficulty that I shuffled my |70| way to the camels next morning, to mount and get away on our last stage of the journey to Omdurman. We reached the town at noon, on Thursday, May 5, and passed in almost unnoticed until we reached the market-place, when the news having spread like wildfire, we were soon surrounded by thousands of people, and it was with the greatest difficulty we fought our way to the open praying-ground adjoining the burial-place of the Mahdi. (The tomb had not then been built.) Here I was placed in the shade of the rukooba. (The rukooba is a light structure of poles supporting a roof of matting and palm branches, in the shade of which the people rest during the heat of the day.) Two of my guards went off to deliver Wad Nejoumi’s despatches to the Khaleefa, and also to announce my arrival.

Shortly afterwards, Nur Angara, Slatin, Mohammad Taher, and the chief Kadi, with others, came to question me. Slatin addressed a few words to me in English, but not understanding him, I asked him to speak in German, upon which he said in an undertone, “Be polite; tell them you have come to join the Mahdieh in order to embrace the Mahdi’s religion; do not address me.” Nur Angara, who put the majority of the questions, asked, “Why have you come to Omdurman?” I hesitated a little before replying, but did not hesitate long enough to allow my European blood to cool sufficiently to reply “politely” to the imperious black confronting me. I told him, “Because I could not help myself; when I left Wadi Halfa it was to go and trade and not fight, |71| but your people have taken me prisoner, and sent me here; why do you ask me that question?” Slatin at this moved behind the other Emirs, and I believe made some attempt to make me understand that I should speak differently to them. My helplessness was galling to me; there was not a man there whom, pulled down as I was, I could not with sheer strength have crushed the life out of.

I was questioned about the number of troops at Wadi Halfa and Cairo, the fortifications, etc., but neither places would have recognized the fortresses I invented for the occasion, and the numbers of troops with which I invested them. When told that news had been received from Wad Nejoumi that the British troops were leaving, I admitted the truth of this, but said that they could all be brought back to Wadi Halfa in four days. All the questions, or nearly all, were in connection with the army and the movement of the troops, and this will be understood when it is remembered that, by some, I was believed to be “Pasha,” and all Pashas in the Soudan were military leaders.

I have been shown a statement to the effect that my readiness to talk “made a bad impression,” but this remark was not, at the time of writing, sufficiently explanatory—and yet it may have been. Other captives had grovelled at the feet of their captors; I did not, hence probably the “bad impression” created; and while the world may blame me for being so injudicious as to treat my powerful captors with such scant courtesy, it can hardly be expected that I, even had I not passed |72| six years in close connection with the British Army on the field of battle, and in times of comparative peace, should in a moment forget and lose my manhood, and cover with servile kisses the hands of a savage black—and one of the murderers of Gordon to boot. I thank God, now that I am restored to “life,” that my first appearance as the Khaleefa’s captive “made a bad impression,” for even in this I choose to accept an evidence that I was not what I have in some instances been represented as being.

On the Emirs and others leaving me, some dervishes advanced, stripped me of the jibbeh and clothes given me by Nejoumi, replacing them with a soldier’s old jersey and cotton drawers. My feet were next fettered, and a ring, with a long heavy chain attached, was fastened round my neck. During that evening—indeed, during the whole night, crowds came to look at me, while the ombeyeh (war-trumpet made from a hollowed tusk) was sounded the whole night through. A woman, a sort of Mahdist amazon, walked and danced up and down in front of me, singing and gesticulating, but I could not catch the full meaning of her words. Noticing Hasseena sobbing violently a few yards away, I called to her, and asked what was the matter with her. She told me that the ombeyeh was calling up the followers of the prophet to come and witness my execution, and that the woman, in her rude rhyme, was describing my death agonies, and my subsequent tortures in hell as an unbeliever. One of my guards told me that what Hasseena had related was true, and I had curiosity enough to ask him the |73| details of an execution; these having been described to me, I refused food and drink. I was determined to deprive the fanatics of one looked-for element connected with my execution—but I may not enter into details.

At dawn the following morning, a dervish came to me, and crossing my right hand over the left at the wrists, palms downward, proceeded to bind them together with a rope made of palm fibre. When the ropes had, with a bit of wood used as a tourniquet, been drawn well into the flesh, water was poured over them. The agony as the ropes swelled was excruciating; they “bit” into the flesh, and even now I cannot look at the scars on my hands without a shudder, and almost experiencing again the same sensations as those of twelve years ago.

With the perspiration rolling off me with the pain I was enduring, and no longer able to conceal that I was suffering, I was led forth to be the sport of the rabble. Made to stand up in the open space, bareheaded, with thousands around me, I believed the moment for my decapitation had come, and muttering a short prayer, I knelt down and bent my head, but was at once pulled to my feet again; the populace wanted their sport out of me first. Dervishes rushed at me prodding with spears and swords, and while this was going on, two men, one on each side of me, with the mouths of their ombeyehs placed against my ears, blew their loudest blasts. One powerful man in particular, with a large spear, gave me the idea that it was he who had been told to give the final |74| thrust, and when he had made a number of feints, I tried in successive ones to meet the thrust. One of the men guarding me, taking the chain attached to the ring round my neck, pulled me back each time, much to the delight of the assembled people.

The ropes with which I was bound had now done their work; the swollen skin gave way, and the horrible tension was removed as the ropes sank into the flesh. If I had exhibited any feeling of pain before, I was now as indifferent to it as I was to the multitude around me. A messenger of the Khaleefa, Ali Gulla, asked me, “Have you heard the ombeyehs?”—a bit of the Khaleefa’s supposed pleasantry, when it was by his orders that the mouths of the instruments had been placed against my ears. On nodding my reply, Gulla continued, “The Khaleefa has sent me to tell you that he has decided to behead you,” to which I replied, “Go back to your Khaleefa, and tell him that neither he nor fifty Khaleefas may so much as remove a hair from my head without God’s permission. If God’s will it is, then my head shall be cut off, but it will not be because the Khaleefa wills it.” He went to the Khaleefa with this message, and returned saying, “The Khaleefa has changed his mind; your head is not to be cut off; you are to be crucified as was your prophet Aisse en Nebbi” (Jesus the Prophet); after saying which, he told my guards to take me back to the rukooba while preparations were made.

By this time, what with the fatigue and privations on the journey, my head almost splitting as the result of the ombeyeh’s blasts, the agony caused by the |75| ropes binding my wrists, and the torture of scores of small irritating and stinging flies attacking the raw flesh of my hands, and the sun beating down on my bare head, I was about to faint. An hour later, I was ordered off to the place of crucifixion; being heavily chained, I was unable to walk, so had to be placed upon a donkey, on which I was held up by two men. On coming to a halt, instead of the crucifix I had expected, I found a set of gallows. I was lifted from the donkey and placed close to the “angareeb,” with the noose dangling just over my head. Pain and faintness at once left me. A few minutes more would end all, and I had made up my mind that that horde should respect me even in my death. I tried to mount the angareeb, but my chains prevented me. A tall black (the chief Kadi of the Khaleefa), placing his hand on my arm, said, “The Khaleefa is gratified at your courage, and, to show this, offers you the choice of the manner of your death.” I replied, “Go back to your Khaleefa, and tell him that he may please himself as to what form my death comes in, only if he wishes to do me a favour, be quick about it; the sun burns my brain.” To which the Kadi replied, “You will be dead in a few minutes; what will you die as, as a Muslim or a Kaffir?” I was growing desperate, and answered at the top of my voice, “Ed Deen mush hiddm terrayer nahaarda ou Bookra” (Religion is not a dress to be put on to-day and thrown off to-morrow).

My reply, and the manner in which I gave it, I was gratified to see, made him angry. While we were still talking, a man on horseback made his way through |76| the crowd to us, and spoke to the Kadi, who, turning to me, said, “Be happy, there is no death for you; the Khaleefa, in his great mercy, has pardoned you.” To which I asked, “Why? Have I asked for his pardon?” for I did not believe for a moment that such was actually the case. I was at once bundled on to the donkey, however, and taken back to the rukooba. Some one had reported to the Khaleefa about the state of my hands, and a man was sent at once with orders to have the ropes removed. Food in abundance was sent me, but this I gave to the ombeyeh men who had escorted me back to the rukooba, and I could even then smile at one of the men who complained that he could not enjoy the food, as his lips—great thick black ones they were, too—were as raw with blowing the ombeyeh all night as my hands were with the ropes.

WRITING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

On the following day I was taken before the Kadis, with whom was the Khaleefa and Slatin. I was asked, “Why have you come to Omdurman?” to which I gave the same reply as I had given to Nur Angara. The letter of General Stephenson was exhibited to me, and I was asked, “Is this your firman?” to which I replied that it was no firman, but a letter from a friend about business, and that it had nothing to do with the Government. Slatin was told to translate it, but, fortunately, did not translate it all. On his being asked his opinion of me, he told the Khaleefa that from the papers found in my wallet, I appeared to be a German and not an Englishman, but that I had the permission of the English Government |77| to go to Kordofan on merchant’s business. He also said that Sheikh Saleh’s name was mentioned, but only in connection with business of no consequence. I was then asked if I wished to send any message to my family. Naturally I did, and pen and paper being given me, I commenced a letter in German to my manager at Assouan; but, after a few lines had been written, the Khaleefa said the letter had better be written in Arabic. The letter, when finished, was handed to me to sign; but, not knowing the contents, I scrawled under the signature, as a flourish, “All lies,” or something to this effect.

The letter was sent down by one of the Khaleefa’s spies, and was delivered to the Commandant at Assouan. The word “Railway” appearing as part of the address, it was sent to Mankarious Effendi, the stationmaster, who, after taking a copy of it for reference, returned it to the commandant, with the address of my manager. Mankarious Effendi, having heard of my recent arrival in Cairo, has come to me with the original copy of the letter taken in June, 1887. The following is a literal translation of it:—

“In the name of the most merciful God, and prayers be unto our Lord Mohammad and his submissive adherents.

“From the servant of his lord Abdallah el Muslimani the Prussian whose former name was Charles Neufeld, to my manager Möller the Prussian in the Railway Assouan.

“I inform you that after departing from you I have come to the Soudan with the men of Saleh Fadlallah Salem el Kabbashi, who were carrying with them the arms and ammunition and other articles sent to Saleh by the Government.

“On our march from Wadi Halfa, notwithstanding our |78| precautions and care for the things in our charge, we arrived at the so-called Selima Wells, where we took sufficient water, and proceeded on our journey. Suddenly we were met by six of the adherents in the desert; they attacked us, and we fought against them. Our number was fifty-five men. At the same time, a number of men from Abdel Rahman Nejoumi came up; they reinforced the six men and fought us, and in the space of half an hour we were subdued by them. Some were killed, and the rest were captured with all the baggage we had. Myself, my servant Elias and my maidservant Hasseena were among the captives. All of us were taken to Abdel Rahman Nejoumi at Ordeh, and by him sent to the Khalifat el Mahdi, peace be unto him, at Omdurman. On our arrival at Omdurman, we were taken to his presence, where we were found guilty and sentenced to immediate death; but the Khalifat el Mahdi, peace be unto him, had mercy upon us, and proposed unto us to take the true religion, and we accepted El Islam, and pronounced the two creeds in his presence: ‘I testify (bear witness) that there is none but God, and Mohammad is his prophet’; and then, ‘I believe in God and his Prophet Mohammad, upon whom God has prayed and greeted; and in the Mahdi, praise, peace be upon him and upon his Khaleefa.’ I further requested the Mahdi to grant me the ‘bai'a’ (oath of allegiance) which he was pleased to grant me, and thereupon shook hands with me. He then named me Abdallah, after embracing the true religion. Therefore I was pardoned by the Khalifat-el-Mahdi from the execution which I have deserved. He pardoned me because he is gracious, and for the sake of the religion of Mohammad which I now adhere to. So I thought it well to inform you all about these events, and I inform you further that Dufa'allah Hogal, although he deceived me, I cannot sufficiently thank him, because his deceiving me has resulted in the great mercy and good which has come to me. Saleh Fadlallah Salem is deserting and hiding in the desert, for fear of his life. All that I have informed you is pure truth. I am still living, thanks be to God for this and my health. 17th Shaaban, 1304 (May 10, 1887).”

It is only now, November 25, 1898, that Mankarious has placed me in possession of the real details. My manager, who when he returned to Egypt a few |79| weeks ago, on hearing of my release, denied ever having received any communication from me, on August 6, 1887, addressed a letter to my father, written on my own business paper, saying that he had received the above letter, had had it translated, and communicated to the Egyptian Gazette, which paper published the letter in its issue of August.

Slatin I saw but once again during my long captivity, and then it was only in the distance on one occasion when he called at the prison to give some orders to the head-gaoler. The Khaleefa I saw twice again, on occasions to be referred to later.

After signing the letter, I was taken back to the rukooba, where, about sunset, a man carrying a long chain came to me and said he had orders to remove my fetters. Passing the chain through one of the anklets and round one of the posts, he took a short pole, and used this as a lever to force the anklets open. Whilst still engaged in removing the chains, the chief Kadi came in, and ordered the anklets to be hammered back again, and the ends cold welded.

I remained in the rukooba for the night, and the following morning was placed upon a donkey and taken to the prison. I was told that, to save my life, Slatin had suggested this course being taken, using as an argument that I could there be converted to the Mohammedan religion, and devote all my time to my instructors.

CHAPTER VII THROWN INTO PRISON

On entering the prison I found myself in the company of about a hundred poor wretches, Soudanese and Egyptians, and all chained. I was taken at once to an anvil sunk in the ground until the striking surface was almost level with it; first one foot and then the other had to be placed on the anvil, while more anklets with chains connected, were fitted to me. I had now three sets of shackles, and another ring and chain was fastened to my neck. During my twelve years in chains, and amongst the hundreds who came directly under my observation, I never saw, as has been illustrated in some papers, any prisoner with chains from the neck connected with the wrists or ankles. All prisoners were shackled in the manner as shown in my photograph; the chain from the neck was allowed to hang loose over the shoulder.

The shackling completed, I was taken to a room measuring about thirty feet each way, but having a pillar about four feet wide to support the roof, thus reducing the actual space to about twenty-six feet between each face of the pillar and the walls. I was |81| assigned a place at the wall furthest from the door, and between two men—in chains—dying of small-pox. There were about thirty other prisoners in the room, some lying down ill, to whom not the slightest attention had been paid for days, as sickening visible evidences proved. Near the roof were a few small apertures presumably for ventilation, but the only air which could come into the place was through the doorway when it was opened. The stench in the room was sickening—overpowering. I had little hopes of surviving more than a few days in such a hole, and must have swooned off soon after entering, for I remember little or nothing until roused after the sun had set, when in the dim light I could see what appeared to be an endless stream of prisoners coming through the door, and no sooner was the door closed when a terrific din and uproar ensued. Mingled with the clanking of chains, the groans of the sick, the moans of the dying, and their half-uttered prayers to Allah to relieve them of their sufferings, were the most fearful imprecations and curses as the prisoners fought and struggled for a place near the walls or the pillar, against which they could rest their backs; no sleep was to be had; this had to be snatched during the day, when allowed out into the zareeba. It is out of the question to try to describe my first night; it is a confused horrible dream to me.

On the opening of the cell door next morning, I swooned again, and was carried into the open air to come round, and I had no sooner partially done so, when I was carried back, in order, as I was told, “to |82| get accustomed to the place.” My first three days passed in fever and delirium; my legs were swelling with the weight of the chains and anklets; my earliest clear recollection was on what I knew later to be the fourth day, when an Egyptian, Hassan Gammal, was sent to attend to me. Later on, the same day, my servant Hasseena was sent to me to prepare food and bathe my legs. Until now I had eaten nothing, and I have no recollection of even taking a drink of water. Hasseena, on my being sent into prison, had been sent into the Khaleefa’s hareem; but, on her telling the women and eunuchs that she was with child, she was promptly turned out. The money I had brought with me, and which had been taken from me on my arrival, and sent to the Beit-el-Mal, was given to Hasseena with which to purchase my food. On her entering the prison enclosure, Idris-es-Saier, the head-gaoler, relieved her of the money, saying he would take care of it, and shackling her with a light chain, sent her into his hareem.

I now received permission to sit outside during the day, and also to converse with the other prisoners. On my first entering the prison I had been warned, under threats of the lash, not to speak to any one, and the other prisoners, under the same threat, had been warned not to speak to me. They, as may be guessed, were most anxious to talk to me, and get some news from the outer world, but they were most guarded in their inquiries. There were many prisoners in the place, who, to curry favour with the gaoler or the Khaleefa, would have reported anything |83| in the way of a complaint against their treatment—a wish on the part of any one to escape, or an expressed hope that the Government would soon send troops to release us. Knowing that the Government had, for the time being, abandoned all thoughts of re-conquering the Soudan, I told my fellow-captives, when they spoke to me about a probable advance of the combined armies, that they must have patience until the hot weather passed. Had I told them what I knew, their despair could not have been concealed, and the truth would soon have reached the Khaleefa’s ears. A number of the prisoners were old soldiers of the Egyptian army, who had been taken at the fall of Khartoum and elsewhere, and they waited day after day, week after week, and year after year, still hoping that the Government for whom they had fought would send troops to release them; but, with the greater number, their release came only with death—at the gallows, at the Khaleefa’s shambles, or by disease and starvation.

Imprisoned at one time with me was Mahmoud Wad Said, the Sheikh of the Dabaanieh tribe, who for years had kept the Abyssinians in check on the Egyptian frontier in the Eastern Soudan. At one time he was powerful, rich in cattle, slaves, and lands, but had been taken prisoner early in the Mahdist movement. When he had been imprisoned about three years and four months, he became paralyzed, and his release was ordered by the Khaleefa, who had so far relented as to allow of his dying with his family, then at Omdurman, patiently waiting for |84| his promised release. By their careful nursing and attention, the old man recovered, only, when the Khaleefa heard of it, to be thrown into prison again, where he passed another thirteen months, at the end of which time he was once more released, on condition that he would collect the remnants of his tribe, and attack his old enemies the Abyssinians, whom the Khaleefa was then fighting with. A few months later I heard that Mahmoud was dead, one report saying that he had died of a broken heart, and the other that he had been “removed” by order of the Khaleefa, for failing to bring together again a tribe, which the Khaleefa himself had almost exterminated.

Another of my companions in adversity was Ajjab Abou Jinn, of the Hammadah tribe; he fought with the Government troops at Sennar, and, when defeated by the dervishes, he retired to his country with his men until, on the fall of Sennar, he was attacked and defeated, his property confiscated, and he taken prisoner to Omdurman, his wife being sent into the Khaleefa’s hareem. After spending four years in prison, he was considered sufficiently “educated,” and released, and in a few months was allowed to return to his own country, when he set about making preparations to attack the dervishes, and tried all means to get into communication with the Government. Many of his people came to see me in prison, in the hopes of learning news from me of a forward movement.

Shereef. Zeigheir. Zeigheir’s father.

A GROUP OF PRISONERS.

The three sons of Awad el Kerim, Pasha of the Shukrieh tribe, were also in prison with me; their |85| father had died in prison shortly before my arrival. After keeping the three brothers—Abdalla, Mohammad, and Ali—for nineteen months, the Khaleefa promised to release them on condition that their tribe came to Omdurman and tendered their submission, which they did; but, coming unprovided with food, the tribe in the four or five months they were kept waiting at Omdurman, was decimated by disease and starvation, and then, and then only, the Khaleefa kept his promise, and released their chiefs.

A man whom I almost struck up a real friendship with, was Sheikh Hamad-el-Nil, a well-known religious teacher from the Blue Nile. Having great influence over a large number of people, the Khaleefa, fearing he might obtain a following, ordered him to Omdurman. Here a difficulty arose as to what charge could be brought against him in order to condemn him to imprisonment. Sheikh Hamad had taken neither one side nor the other—Government nor Mahdieh, and had devoted his whole time to a strict preaching of the Quoran, as he had done for years. No Kadi dare condemn him on any charge made, suborn “witnesses” as the Khaleefa would. But the Khaleefa was determined to effect his condemnation by some means, more especially as Sheikh Hamad was rich, and the Beit-el-Mal was short of funds. Men were sent to the Sheikh’s house with orders to conceal some tobacco in the ground—others were sent to discover it, and tobacco being forbidden by the Mahdi, Sheikh Hamad, in spite of all protestations, was sentenced by the Kadi to imprisonment and the |86| confiscation of his property. His health broke down after about eighteen months’ privations, and he was released; but recovering as did Mahmoud, he was again imprisoned, and died a few weeks later. Of all those in the prison, Sheikh Hamad was the only one who dared say openly to those whom he trusted that both Mahdi and Khaleefa were impostors. Two of my first four years were spent mainly with the Sheikh learning to read and write Arabic, discussing the tenets of the Christian and Mohammedan religions, and telling him of our social life and customs in Europe.

There was one arrival at the prison which I was rather pleased to see—Ahmed Abd-el-Maajid, of Berber, a great supporter of the Mahdi and Khaleefa, and one of the bitterest enemies of Christians and Europeans. He was, for the Soudan, well educated, and he was also rich, and had much influence, but his vanity got the better of him. He gave evidence of his wealth in the richness of his dress and luxurious living, and this had been reported to the Khaleefa, but as yet Maajid had not accepted any of the Khaleefa’s pressing invitations to pay him a visit to Omdurman. Maajid made up his mind to marry another wife—a young and pretty one; preparations for the marriage ceremonies, and the feastings which accompany it, were made on a large and lavish scale. The Mahdi had fixed ten dollars as the sum to be paid to the parents of the virgin upon her marriage; but Maajid paid one thousand, and this scouting of the Mahdi’s orders coming to the ears of the Khaleefa, he sent off a party to Berber with instructions to bring Maajid and his bride back with |87| them. This party arrived at Berber while the festivities were still going on, and Maajid could not refuse the Khaleefa’s invitation this time. When he arrived at Omdurman, he was, with his bride, who was reputed to be the most beautiful woman ever seen in the Soudan, hurried before the Khaleefa and the Kadi. The latter, having his brief ready, accused Maajid of having broken the rules as laid down by the Mahdi, and also of having detained moneys which should have been sent to the Beit-el-Mal, as was proved by his having so much money when the coffers of the Beit-el-Mal were empty. His property was confiscated and sent to the Beit-el-Mal; his bride was taken possession of by the Khaleefa, and Maajid himself sent to prison, where he spent six months, mainly occupied in cursing the face of his bride, as it was this that had brought him to grief. At the end of the six months, he was released and sent back to Berber “educated,” with a strong recommendation from the Khaleefa not to be so ostentatious with his wealth in future. The Khaleefa kept Maajid’s money—and also his bride. It was this same Maajid, who, after Slatin’s escape, ferreted out the people in Berber who had assisted Slatin’s guides, and had them sent to the White Nile, where those who did not die on the journey there died later.

Those I have mentioned above were what I might call the better class of prisoners, with whom I mainly associated during my first two years in prison; the remainder were slaves, thieves, ordinary criminals, debtors, murderers, etc.

When I had recovered a little from my fever, I |88| was placed upon a camel, and paraded past the huts, rukoobas, and zareebas, which at that time constituted the town of Omdurman. A number of Hadendowas had come in to tender their submission to the Khaleefa; and he had seized the occasion to exhibit me to the “faithful” as the great Pasha sent to conquer from him the Western Soudan, and to impress the Hadendowas. A halt was made at the hut of the Emir Said Mohammad Taher, a relative of the Mahdi, who, after relating his version of the death of Hicks Pasha, and the destruction of his army, both of which events had, according to him, been brought about through the agency of angels sent by the Prophet for the purpose, gave me a long lecture on Mahdieh, at the end of which he asked me my opinion of it. I told him that if he wished for a few lessons himself on religion, and as to how the God I prayed to dealt with His faithful, and the means His teachers in Europe employed for converting people and making them religious, I should be pleased to give him a few. The reply angered him, and another batch of prisoners were, by his orders, told off to lecture me the whole day long on Mahdieh. While quite ready to talk to them about the Mohammedan religion as propounded in the Quoran, I would not believe in the mission of the Mahdi or his new religion. When Taher asked what progress I had made in my “education,” he was told that I would make none in Mahdieh, but was ready to become a Mohammedan. I knew perfectly well what an out-and-out acceptance of Mahdieh meant—my release, but only to be put in charge of some troops, and, as I had |89| fought with the British against the Mahdists, I had no wish to be caught in the dervish ranks, fighting against them, or be found dead on the field, after the fight, in the garb of a dervish, and pierced by a British bullet.

Taher was not pleased, and reported my insubordination to the Khaleefa. It was probably on my fifteenth day that, accompanied by the Hadendowas, who had come in to make their submission, I was taken by steamer to Khartoum, in order that I might be “impressed” with the power of the Khaleefa and the truth of Mahdieh. We were first taken to Gordon’s old palace, where Khaleel Hassanein, acting as the Mahdist governor of the town, and at the same time director of the arsenal, received us, and gave us food. We were taken through the rooms, then dismantled, and shown at the head of the stairs what we were told were the bloodstains of Gordon. After this, we were placed on donkeys, and taken round the fortifications, while our “instructors” in Mahdieh, pointing to the skeletons and dried bodies lying about, gave us word pictures in advance of how the fortifications of Wadi Halfa and Cairo would look after the Khaleefa, assisted by the angels, had attacked them. It was a melancholy journey for me; and I am not ashamed to say that as my thoughts flew back to that day at Kirbekan, when, full of hopes, we pictured to ourselves the rescue of Gordon, fortifications and skeletons grew dimmed and blurred, and finally were lost to view, as a hot tear fell upon the back of my hand.

Taken back to prison, I became worse; the weight of the chains and anklets dragging on me as I rode, |90| and the chafing of the skin, set up an irritation, and the filth and dirt of the prison soon contributed to the formation of large ulcers. It was while lying down in the shade one morning, unable to move, at the time of the great Bairam feast, that two camel men rode into the prison enclosure, and, making one of the camels kneel down near me, ordered me at once to mount, as the Khaleefa had sent for me. The other prisoners crowded round and bade me good-bye, Mahmoud Wad Said telling me to pull myself together, and to act as I did “when they tried to burst your head with the ombeyehs.” There was a grand parade of the troops that day, and no one but believed that I was to be executed in front of them.

The two men could tell us nothing but that the Khaleefa had sent for me, and, living or dead, they were bound to take me. I was lifted on to the camel, and taken off to the parade-ground outside the town. The long, swinging stride of the camel communicated its motions to my chains, and by the time I reached the Khaleefa, I was in a fainting condition, with the ulcers broken, and their contents streaming down the flank of the camel. The Khaleefa, noticing this, asked one of the Emirs what had happened; although close to him, he would not address a word directly to me, though I could hear what he said, and he could hear my reply. When he heard the reason, he gave orders that the chains were to be removed that night, and a lighter set fitted. The Khaleefa was surrounded by his Emirs and bodyguard, and ranged on the plain in front of us was his |91| great army of horse and camel men, and foot-soldiers. I should have been marched past the whole army, but before reaching the horsemen, the Khaleefa said to the Emir Ali Wad Saad, “Tell Abdalla (myself) that he has only seen a quarter of the army, and let him be brought for the parade to-morrow.”

The prisoners were astonished to see me return alive that evening, and still more astonished at the orders given to Idris-es-Saier to remove my chains at once, and put on a lighter set. For once, the Khaleefa’s orders could not be carried out; the legs having swollen so much, the anklets almost buried in flesh, could not be brought near enough to the face of the anvil to allow of their being struck at, and the following day I again attended parade in pretty much the same state of collapse as the first. The Khaleefa was furious at this; he had no wish to parade before his troops, as an evidence of his power, a man who had to be held up on his camel. My gaoler was sent to, and asked why he had disobeyed orders. He gave as reasons, first, that he had no lighter chains, and secondly, that my legs were so swollen that he was unable to get at the anklets. The Khaleefa replied that they were to be removed that night, and they were, but it was a terrible ordeal for me. Before leaving the parade-ground, he sent to me Said Gumaa’s donkey and Slatin’s horse, telling me that I might ride either of them back to town, as their motion would be better for me than the camel, but I elected to remain on the camel.

I had done my best to get near Slatin, to have a |92| few words with him, but he was hardly for a moment near the Khaleefa’s side, galloping from one part of the army to another with his orders. Ali Wad Saad, on the part of the Khaleefa, asked me what I thought of the army; to which I replied, “You have numbers, but not training”—a reply which gave little satisfaction to the Khaleefa, who could overhear it without having to wait for Saad to repeat it to him. This was the last time upon which I saw the Khaleefa, but I live in hopes of seeing him once again.

CHAPTER VIII PRISON LIFE

My first spell in prison was one of four years. After nine months the rings and chains were removed from my neck, but the fetters I wore continuously—with the exception of thirteen days—during the whole of my captivity. A day-to-day record of my experiences is out of the question, besides being unnecessary, even were it possible to give them. I must content myself with a general description of the life passed there, and give an idea of the day’s routine.

When I reached Omdurman, the prison proper consisted of the common cell already mentioned (“Umm Hagar”—the house of stone), surrounded by a large zareeba of thorn trees and branches, and standing about six feet high. There were thirty guardians, each armed with a “courbag” (rhinoceros-hide whip) with which to keep their charges in order. There were no sanitary arrangements, not even of the most primitive description. All prisoners had to be fed by their friends or relatives; if they had neither they starved to death, as the prisoners, charitable as they were to each other in the matter of food, had barely enough to eat to keep body and soul together, for the |94| best, and greater part of the food sent in, was eaten by the guardians.

At sunrise each morning the door of the common cell was opened, and the prisoners were allowed to shuffle down to the banks of the Nile, a few yards distant, for their ablutions and for water for drinking. After this, we assembled for the first prayer of the day, in which all had to join. When not working, we had to read the Mahdi’s “ratib,” a description of prayer-book, containing extracts from the Quoran with interpolations of the Mahdi. All the faithful were ordered to learn this “ratib” off by heart,* and for this purpose each one had either to purchase a copy or write one out. At noon the second prayer was held, followed by another mid-time between noon and sunset, and a fourth at sunset. We should have repeated the night prayer when the night had set in, but as we were driven into the “Umm Hagar” at sunset, the time which should have been given to this prayer was fully taken up with brawls, fights, and those comprehensive curses of the Arabs, commencing with the second person’s father, going back for generations, and including all the female ancestors.

* The “Ratib” occupied about three-quarters of an hour in recitation, and, by the Mahdi’s orders had to be repeated daily by every one after the morning and afternoon prayer; it ranked in importance with the five obligatory daily prayers ordained by the Quoran. It was also looked upon as a sort of talisman, and it was given out, after such fights as Toski, Ginniss, and the Atbara, that those killed were those who had either not learned the Ratib or had not a copy with them. The book was carried in a small leather case suspended from the neck. A number of copies were printed on the old Government press, but it was considered more meritorious to write out a copy rather than to purchase one, and the Mahdi had hoped that this Ratib would eventually become a sort of Quoran accompanied by its volumes of “traditions,” hence his anxiety that every one should learn to write.

LEARNING THE MAHDI’S RATIB.

It has been found impossible, even in the most guarded and disguised language, to insert here a real word-picture of a night in the Saier. The scenes |95| of bestiality and filthiness, the means employed for bringing the most powerful man to his knees with a single blow, the nameless crimes committed night after night, and year after year, may not be recorded in print. At times, and sometimes for weeks in succession, from 250 to 280 prisoners were driven into that small room; we were packed in; there was scarcely room to move our arms; “jibbehs” swarmed with insects and parasites which in themselves made sleep an impossibility and life a misery. As the heat grew more oppressive, and the atmosphere—always vile with the ever-present stench of the place—grew closer with the perspiring bodies, and with other causes, all semblance of human beings was lost. Filth was thrown from one side of the room to the other by any one who could move his hand for the purpose of doing so, and as soon as this disgusting element was introduced, the mass, in its efforts to avoid being struck with it, swayed from side to side, fought, bit, and struggled as far as their packed-in condition would allow of, and kicked with their bars and chains the shins of those next them, until the scene became one that only a Dante might describe. Any prisoner who went down on such a night never got up again alive; his cries would not be heard above the pandemonium of clanking chains and bars, imprecations and cursings, and for any one to attempt to bend down to assist, if he did hear, only meant his going under also. In the morning, when we were allowed to stream out, five and six bodies would be found on the ground with the life crushed and trampled out of them. |96|

Occasionally, when the uproar was greater than usual, the guards would open the door, and, standing in the doorway, lash at the heads of the prisoners with their hide whips. Always when this occurred death claimed its five or six victims, crushed and trampled to death. I wish I might say that I had drawn upon my imagination for what is given above; I can but assure you that it gives but the very faintest idea of what really occurred.

Until we had been set to make bricks and build a wall round our prison, our life, in comparison with what it was later, was I might say endurable. By baksheeshing the guards, we were allowed to go down to the river during the day almost as often as we pleased; and these excursions, taken presumably for the purpose of ablution and drinking, gave us many opportunities of conversing with the townspeople. This life I enjoyed but for a few months. A large number of prisoners succeeded in escaping. Consequently the digging of a well for infiltration water to supply the prisoners, and the building of a wall round the prison were ordered by the Khaleefa to be completed as rapidly as possible.

The prisoners who escaped were mainly slaves, and as most slaves were chained to prevent their running away from their owners—hundreds going about the town fettered—they had little difficulty in effecting their escape from prison, and also from Omdurman. On being allowed to go to the river to wash, they would wade down the bank until they came opposite some large crowd of people, and |97| coming on the bank, their chains would excite no suspicion, for, as I have already said, hundreds similarly fettered were going about the town. Making their way to the nearest blacksmith, he would remove their chains in a few moments for the sake of obtaining the iron, which was valuable to him.

We were not at that time altogether without news; papers published in Egypt were constantly arriving, brought by the Khaleefa’s spies, who passed regularly backwards and forwards between Omdurman and Cairo, keeping up communications between the Khaleefa and some of the more fanatical Mohammedans resident at the capital. Since my return I have inquired as to an incident which happened on the frontier in connection with the army some years ago. I shall only relate what we heard, and as given out by the Khaleefa and his Emirs. All the English officers, according to the report received, had been dismissed, and had left with the Sirdar. The English soldiers had also been removed from Egypt; so the Khaleefa was jubilant, and looked forward to the near future when the Egyptian troops would attempt to attack him, and when not a man of them was to be left alive. I was to have been a witness of the great battles when the angels of Allah were to fight with the believers, and assist the Ansar to utterly exterminate the Turks. While this was still the topic of conversation, another messenger arrived to say that the trouble had been arranged; the English officers and troops were not leaving, and as the Khaleefa’s hopes fell, ours rose. |98|

Of all the people whom the Mahdi himself appointed to posts, two, and, I believe, two only, retained their positions up to the time of the taking of Omdurman. One was Khaleel Hassanein, the director of the arsenal, and the other Idris es Saier, the gaoler. Idris—for he is still living—is a man of the Gawaamah tribe, a tribe that the first missionary will have some little trouble with, unless he is prepared to revise one of the Ten Commandments out of the Pentateuch altogether, as the following story connected with my gaoler’s first appearance in the world may indicate. Idris’s mother had a sister who, tired of single blessedness, proposed to, and was accepted by, a swain of the tribe who was a constant visitor to their hut. Idris’s mother had also the intention of proposing to the same man, and having told her sister this, the sister popped the question first, was accepted, and then Idris’s mother upbraided her after the manner of her tribe, which evidently consisted more of actions than of words. When the happy swain put in his next appearance, Idris’s mother, with Idris in her arms, asked him how he dare go against the custom of her section of the tribe, and accept in marriage a girl who had had no children, while she had already had two! “Saier” in the Gawaamah language means “custom” and “customary,” and Idris was named Idris es Saier when, in after years, a satisfactory explanation could not be found for his not boasting a father. Idris’s mother afterwards married and ruled, with her legitimate son, Saier’s family. When appointed as gaoler by the Mahdi, his prison was |99| called “El-Beit-es-Saier” (the house of Saier), which later was contracted to “Saier,” and the name eventually replaced the proper word for prison, all prisons being called the “Saier,” and the head-gaoler, “Saier.”

Idris had been a famous robber and thief, and he was never tired of relating his exploits, and then winding up by pointing out what Mahdieh had done for him, for by his conversion he was now the honoured guardian of all thieves, robbers, and murderers, and there is little doubt but that he had a sneaking regard for all such, as a link between himself and his earlier days.

He was superstitious to a degree, and although the Mahdi and Khaleefa had strictly forbidden fortune-telling and the writing of talismans, Idris followed the example of the Khaleefa himself, and regularly consulted the fortune-tellers, most of his ill-gotten gains going to them in fees. He had had made twenty-five to thirty boards of hard wood, about eighteen to twenty inches square, and on these he had written daily, a Sourah from the Quoran. The ink with which the Sourahs were written was a mixture of wood-soot—or lamp-black, when that could be obtained—gum arabic, some perfume, and water. As soon as the writing was finished, Idris would, after carefully washing his hands, take a small vessel holding about two teacups of water, and carefully wash off the writing, allowing the water to drip back into the vessel; not a drop was to be spilled on the ground, otherwise the writing would have to be done over again, for the name Allah, and many of His attributes, |100| were then in the solution. Having washed the board clean, caught every drop of water, and then drunk it, he would come to us, and deliver himself of the following harangue, and as we heard it two or three times a week for years, I have an almost verbatim recollection of it.

“I am a born thief and robber; my people killed many on the roads, and robbed them of their property; I drank as no one else could, and I did everything possible against rule and religion. The Mahdi then came and taught me to pray and leave other people’s property alone.” (This last always raised a bitter smile from his hearers, as he used to torture us to deliver up for “the Khaleefa” any small coin or article of value we might come into possession of.) “How I have to thank the Mahdi for having made me a good, holy, and new man, and he will at the Day of Judgment be my witness, and take me with his ansars to heaven. Think what I have been, and see what I am now! I have been worse than any of you. If you stole anything, you stole when you were with the Government, and you only did what the Government and every one else did, you had authority to do so. I was worse than you, I had no authority. God has pardoned me, and will also pardon you if you repent and give to the Beit-el-Mal what you have taken from the poor, for there are many poor now in the town crying for food, and there is no money in the Beit-el-Mal to purchase any. I have given all my money in charity, and my wives and children are crying for food. I have no boats to bring me |101| merchandise, and I have no land to cultivate to grow dourra” (Sorghum, a grain in the Soudan, which takes the place of our wheat). “I am a prisoner as you are, and the pay I get is not sufficient to feed my family. Yesterday there was no dourra in my house to feed my children, they had to lie down hungry, and I thank God for His grace in supporting me through these trials for which I shall be rewarded in the next world. I am going to see my starving children now, and then I shall pray to God, and ask him to release you if you repent, and turn the Khaleefa’s heart to you. The Khaleefa knows everything you do, and sees you all the day, for ‘El Nebbi Khiddr’ is his eyes and ears, and El Nebbi Khiddr not only sees and hears what you are doing and saying, but sees what your thoughts are.”

After this, all but myself used to rise and kiss his hands; I never did so. At the end of the first harangue he gave in my presence, and at the end of his harangues for weeks later, he would continue:—“And now you man from the bad world, you understand Arabic well. The Khaleefa has told me to instruct you in the true religion; your fellow-prisoners will tell you how Hicks Pasha was, with all his army, killed by the angels; not a single shot was fired, or a spear thrown, by the Ansar; the spears flew from their hands, and, guided by the angels, pierced the breasts of the unbelievers, and burned up their bodies. God is great. You will soon learn that you are mistaken, and that all your world is wrong; there is no religion but that of the Mahdi. How happy you |102| should be to have lived in his time and entered into the company of the Ansar. God now loves you; it is He who has brought you to us, and with the Khaleefa’s blessing you will yet be numbered with the Ansar, and you will fight against the unbelievers and Turks as other converts have done. You have a strong mind, and the Khaleefa therefore has not a bad opinion of you. Thank him for his mercy that he did not kill you. Be converted, and I shall be pleased and proud of you, and be as your father. You others, you have seen the Mahdi and the Khaleefa and their dealings; tell him of them. You Hamad el Nil, you are a learned man, and know more of religion than I do; make Abdalla know who God is, and who is His prophet.”

IDRIS-ES-SAIER.

At the end of my first lecture, Abou Jinn asked me how much money I had. I inquired why. He replied, “Do you not understand? The Saier wants some money from you.” I told him of the money Hasseena had, and which the Saier was taking care of, on which he smiled and told me that the Saier would not take the money himself, but he would compel me to give it to him for his “starving children.” A few days later I was sent for to hear the Saier hold forth again, and on this occasion he finished up by saying that some of us must have done something wrong. The Nebbi Khiddr had reported it to the Khaleefa, who had in consequence ordered him to add more chains to our feet, but that we were to submit to this without bad feelings against the Khaleefa and him. If we repented, the |103| Nebbi Khiddr would report it, and the Khaleefa, as he was full of grace, would soon order the chains to be removed again. All the principal prisoners, with the exception of myself, were then marched to the anvil, and had their chains hammered on. I was spared, as, after the first lecture, I had, on Abou Jinn’s advice, sent word to the Saier to take fifteen of my dollars for his “starving children.” We prisoners held a conference, and it was decided to present more moneys. It took us two days to scrape together the requisite sum—about fifty dollars—to which I added seventeen of mine. This had the happy result of not only removing the extra chains of the prisoners, but Hasseena’s also. The Saier called us together, gave us a homily on repentance and good behaviour, and told us to continue in the same path, as it was evidently looked upon with approval by the Nebbi Khiddr.*

* The Nebbi Khiddr is a mythical character in Islam. Sects are divided as to whether he is a prophet or not. His name does not appear in the Quoran. By some of the old writers he is made the companion of Noah, Abraham, and Moses. Having drunk of the waters of the Fountain of Life, he is believed by some to be ever present at one of the holy places. His exact whereabouts and his attributes have never been defined. The Mahdi killed two birds with one stone by appropriating this unclaimed prophet to himself; first, his supposed presence made Omdurman a holy place, as the Nebbi only appeared at holy places, and then, by investing him with the powers as related by Idris es Saier, he was able to impress the more ignorant of his followers of his—the Khaleefa’s—omniscience and omnipresence through the Nebbi Khiddr’s agency. The Mahdi laying claim to this prophet and attributing to him the powers he did, raised in the minds of Hamad-el-Nil and others their first suspicions as to the Mahdi and his mission.

But this Nebbi Khiddr was never satisfied for long with our conduct. Every month he had something to report to the “Khaleefa,” and just as regularly we were given extra chains, until a few dollars, entrusted to Idris for the poor, had sent him to the Khaleefa with a favourable report. All these ill-gotten moneys, as I have said, went to soothsayers, fortune-tellers, and talisman writers, in whose absolute power the |104| Saier was, though part went in baksheesh to the servants and counsellors of the Khaleefa, whom the Saier had to keep in funds in order to retain his place.

The Saier knew very well that not a single one of us believed in this Nebbi Khiddr business, but as on the outside of the circle of the principal prisoners—and they were the only ones from whom money could be squeezed—were always gathered a number of the ignorant and, therefore, more fanatical of the Khaleefa’s adherents, he had invented this tale, which he gave year after year without the slightest variation in words, in order to hoodwink them and prevent any tales reaching the Khaleefa as to the sums “presented” by the prisoners.

CHAPTER IX MY FIRST CHANCE OF ESCAPE

It was during my first months in prison that Ahmed Nur ed Din of the Kabbabish succeeded in getting into prison, in the hope of effecting my escape. I had for some years had dealings with Nur ed Din in connection with the Intelligence Department, and also the caravan trade. When I left Wadi Halfa with Saleh’s caravan, Nur ed Din was then at Saleh’s camp with messages to him from the Government. On his return to Wadi Halfa, he heard of what had happened, and coming at once to Omdurman, he sent a message by my servant that he had come for me. All his applications to get into the prison being refused by the guards, and fearing to make an application to Idris es Saier or the Mehkemmeh, he arranged with a friend to have a petty quarrel in the market-place; his friend hurried him before the Kadi, and Nur ed Din was ordered into prison. On seeing me walk towards him as he entered, as I did not know then that he came as a prisoner, he gave me a “hooss,” the Soudan equivalent for our “ssh” (silence), and walked off in another direction. Later in the day, and when we were being |106| marshalled to be driven into the common cell, he came next to me, and whispered, “I have come for you; be careful; keep your eyes open; try and obtain permission to sleep outside the Umm Hagar.” Two weeks elapsed before we had another opportunity of exchanging a few words, but in the interval Nur ed Din was ingratiating himself with the prisoners who associated with me, and gradually allowing his curiosity to speak to the “white kaffir” to be evident. It was necessary for him to act in this cautious manner in order to avert suspicion, and another week passed after his introduction to our little circle, before he dare seize an opportunity to consult me about his health and numerous ailments—which was his explanation when questioned about our long conversation together.

It was a strange story he had to tell. On meeting Gabou, Gabou at once commenced to talk to him about some double dealings which he proposed with both dervishes and Government. Nur ed Din was suspicious, and did not fall in with the proposals; this then left Gabou at the mercy of Nur ed Din, and the former picked a quarrel, during which Nur ed Din accused Gabou of the betrayal of the caravan to Saleh. Others of the Kabbabish were already looking askance at Gabou, and wondering whether, if the truth once came out, they too would not be punished as conspirators. Gabou was, they believed, then engaged upon some plot which would render them harmless as regards himself should they make a report against him to the Government, and in self-preservation they held a conference with Nur ed Din. It was proposed that |107| some one, for the honour of the tribe, should try and effect my release or escape from Omdurman, while, as will have been seen, there was also the element of self-interest in the matter. There was now a feud between Gabou and Nur ed Din, and the latter volunteered to undertake the risk of the journey to Omdurman.

His plan, when he saw that there was not the slightest hope of my being released from prison, was a desperate one, and we ran every chance of being killed in the attempt to escape, but this risk I was quite willing to take. I knew Nur ed Din would make no mistakes. It was not as if he was actuated by avarice in assisting me; but being engaged in a death-feud, he sought every means to be the one left alive, and he knew that if he could conduct me to Wadi Halfa, Gabou would soon decorate a scaffold or be shot out of hand.

Nur ed Din, through the services of one of his party, a boy whom he had brought with him, and who came into the prison daily as Nur ed Din’s food servant, first arranged for relays of camels, then for the purchase of rifles and ammunition, which were buried in the desert a short distance from Omdurman. These preparations being complete, six of the ten men at his first relay station were sent for to cut a hole through the wall of the prison nearest the Nile, and this they were to do on the night we sent a message to them or gave a signal, one of the men being always near the bank, close to the selected part of the wall. Final instructions were given on hearing that the |108| camels were ready and well provided with water. After creeping through the aperture, we were to make our way to the river, dragging an old fishing-net behind us; rags were to be bound round the chains to deaden their rattling; this part of the scheme was to hide my chains, and prevent their clanging being heard. On passing the last of the huts, we were to leave the river, and, mounting the camels, we were to travel as fast as the camels would go, for twelve hours direct west, where we would pick up the first relay. We had sent the boy out with a message to our people to procure three revolvers and ammunition. Nur ed Din and I were to take one each for use in case necessity arose before we could reach the buried rifles; the other one of the men was to take, and, if our flight was at once discovered, he was to fire towards a boat which had been taken to the opposite bank, and swear that we had escaped by its means. This would put our pursuers on the wrong scent for some time. One revolver and seventeen cartridges only could be found then, and Nur ed Din decided on waiting a few days until others could be obtained.

Whilst these were being searched for, Nur ed Din became feverish, and to my horror I saw all the symptoms of typhus fever developing. This fever had been named Umm Sabbah (seven), as it invariably carried off its victims in seven days. It may be guessed how anxiously and carefully I nursed Nur ed Din, and how Hasseena was kept busy the whole day brewing from tamarinds, dates, and roots, |109| cooling draughts to allay his fever. He might have recovered, had he not kept himself excited over the fear of losing his vengeance on Gabou, but he gradually sank and died.

I was locked up in the Umm Hagar on the night of his death, and the fever was then taking hold of me; two days later I was senseless, and of course helpless. Hasseena, with two boys, used to carry me about from shade to shade as the sun travelled, but my neck-chain dragged, and sometimes tripped one or the other up, and then it was that orders were given to remove it. Hasseena had been told that the best remedy for me was a description of vegetable marrow soaked in salt water; the water was drunk and the marrow eaten as the patient recovered. The purgative properties of this medicine might suit Soudan constitutions, and it evidently suited mine at the time, but I should warn any of my readers, should they be so unfortunate as to contract this fever, against attempting the remedy. When the decoction has acted sufficiently, the mouth is crammed with butter, which to the throat, at this stage of the “cure,” feels like boiling oil, and you experience all the sensations of internal scalding. The next operation is to briskly rub the whole body, and then anoint it with butter or oil—butter by preference. The patient has nothing to say about his treatment—he is helpless; every bit of strength and will has left him, and when he has been rolled up in old camel-cloths and “sweated,” weakness hardly expresses the condition he has arrived at. It was on the thirteenth day of my attack that I reached |110| the final stage of my treatment, and then I fell asleep, waking some hours later with a clear head and all my faculties about me, though I was then but a living skeleton.

The Khaleefa, hearing of my condition, thought it a favourable opportunity for me to receive a few more lessons in Mahdieh, and my period of convalescence was much prolonged owing to the worry and annoyance which these teachers of Mahdieh were to me. Kadi Hanafi, one of Slatin’s old Kadis, then imprisoned with me owing to his open avowal that the justice and the sentences given by the Mehkemmeh (religious courts) were against the teachings of the Quoran, told me that it was a mistake on my part so openly to defy the Khaleefa, and that it would be more “politique” to submit as had Slatin, who had now his house, wives, slaves, horses and donkeys, and cultivated land outside the city. But in my then condition, a little procession, for which my dead body would be the reason, was much more to my liking, and I did not care in what shape death came, provided that it did come.

Hanafi used up all his arguments in trying to persuade me to become a good Muslim. Dilating on the power of the Khaleefa and my impotence, he pointed to my chains, then weighing about forty pounds, and said that the Khaleefa would certainly torture me with them until I submitted to become a good Muslim. To this last argument I replied that if I did say I would be converted, the Khaleefa, as soon as he heard of it, would make me proclaim my conversion publicly, |111| and just as certainly behead me immediately afterwards, to prevent my slipping back into Christianity. Hanafi believed that the Khaleefa would still let me live after embracing the Mohammedan faith in the hope of my accepting the Mahdieh; he failed though to convert me, and the Khaleefa, hearing of the result, and not believing that Hanafi had done all that he might have done with his arguments, for this and other reasons sent him later as a convict to Gebel Ragaf, near Lado, the convict station of the Soudan.

By the time I had gained sufficient strength to attempt the flight, the men engaged had lost heart, and there was no one to lead them. Nur ed Din was dead, and as they only came into the thing for the money they were to receive, and the dollars were not then forthcoming, they decided not to run any risk, disbanded the camel-posts, and scattered to their various homes.

How many hundreds of times have I regretted since that I did not take Nur ed Din’s advice and escape at the time, leaving him behind. As he said, there was no reason to be afraid that he would lose his head, as his being so ill and also his being left behind would prevent suspicion being directed towards him. During my twelve years’ captivity, this, my first chance of escape, risky and desperate as it was, was the only one which had in it a real element of success, for my conductor in saving me was to save himself.

As is customary in all oriental prisons, the prisoners in the Saier had either to purchase their own food, or their friends and relatives had to send it into the |112| prison for them; failing money, friends and relatives, the prisoners starved to death. I have already said that the best and greater part of the food sent to the prison gates was appropriated by the gaolers, that is to say, after Idris es Saier had seen to the wants of his “starving children” and numerous household first. Idris, even during the worst period of the famine, did not lose flesh; he was always the same tall, stout, flat-nosed black, both when I first saw him on May 10, 1887, and when I last saw him in September, 1898. Nor was Idris quite so bad as he had been painted; he would often—when the Nebbi Khiddr tale had had the desired effect in repentance, or when he was in a good humour after a bout of marrissa drinking—go out of his way to do his prisoners small kindnesses, such as the removal of extra chains, and giving permission to sleep in the open; but the Nebbi Khiddr institution left him so much at the mercy of the Khaleefa’s immediate attendants, that his periods of good humour were, in consequence, of very short duration. Some day, if I return to the Soudan, or Idris pays a visit to civilization, I may learn from him whom I have to thank for a few of the unnecessary hardships inflicted upon me.

It might be asked why we, knowing that the guards would purloin the greater part of the food sent in, did not arrange for a larger quantity to be sent. There are two reasons, and the first is the least of the two: the guards knew very well what was the minimum amount of food to keep us alive, and just that quantity of food |113| would be allowed to pass the portals of the Saier. The second reason was, that the sight of more or better food being brought to a prisoner proved one of two things: either the prisoner himself had received some money, or his friends had, and the following day the time-worn Nebbi Khiddr tale, properly translated, meant chains until more dollars were forthcoming. Under such circumstances, the unlucky offender against Saier politics would be called upon by the other mulcted prisoners to make good the money they had been bled of, for the Saier was most impartial in the matter of chains, and, certain of always getting the proper victim in the end, invariably loaded a dozen or so with extra chains, and ordered all into the Umm Hagar. An attenuated and burned chicken, or pigeon, cost a few dollars in repentance, and also the wearing of extra chains and the horrors of the Umm Hagar for nights, for it was advisable to keep Idris waiting some days for an evidence of repentance, so that he should believe, and the Khaleefa’s attendants believe also, that some little difficulty had been experienced in collecting the few dollars you had to pay.

Our usual food was “Asseeda,” the Soudan dourra (sorghum), roughly pounded moist, and mixed into a thick paste, feeling and tasting to the palate like sawdust. It was not a very nourishing dish, but it was a heavy one, and stayed the pangs and gnawings of hunger. A flavour might be imparted by allowing a quantity to stand for a day or two until fermentation set in. Occasionally, but only occasionally, a sauce |114| made from the pounded seed of the Baamia hybiscus, and called “Mulakh,” could be obtained, and this, with the fermented asseeda, made a veritable banquet. Friends in the town sent us, when they could either afford or obtain it, a little wheaten bread, a bit of cheese or butter, or a few pinches of coffee.

CATARINA.

Amongst the many captives in Omdurman who did so much for me stands out prominently Father Ohrwalder, the old Greek lady, Catarina—who was a ministering angel alike to prisoners and captives—Mr. Tramba and his wife Victoria, Nahoum Abbajee, and Youssef Jebaalee. Surely the recording angel has placed to the right side of the account the little deceptions practised by Father Ohrwalder to gain access to the prison, when the few piastres of baksheesh he could afford were not sufficient to satisfy the rapacity of the guards, in order to bring me some little dainty, when, God knows, he was bringing me the lion’s share of what he was in absolute need of himself. At one time he would present himself at the gates as being “Iyyan Khaalas” (sick unto death), and, of course, wished to see me once again before his dissolution. At another time it would be that he had heard I was dying, then, of course, he wished to see me; and the changes would be rung by his coming in on the pretext of wishing to see some other prisoner. With bowed head and bent back, exaggerating the weak state he was then in, he would crawl towards me, dragging one foot after the other, and, reaching me, would sit down on the ground and sway his body to and fro—a little pantomime which allowed of his |115| surreptitiously passing to me the dainties he had brought in the old leather bag slung from his left shoulder. Time after time he was turned away from the gates, and this, too, after having paid the baksheesh; but his persistence secured his seeing me every one or two months during my first three years in prison, and the scraps of news he brought from the outside world—news to both of us, though a year or two old—gave me something to think of and turn over in my brain until his next visit. Death, as I told Father Ohrwalder, I did not fear, but my great fear was insanity.

Often and often, when allowed to sleep in the open air at night-time, instead of experiencing all the horrors of a night in the common cell, the cool night-air would send me off into a sound sleep, from which I would start up from some confused dream of old days, and, looking up to the sky, would wonder to myself, half awake and half asleep, which was the dream and which the reality, the old loved scenes, or the prison of es-Saier at Omdurman. I would for some moments be afraid to look round at the men chained on each side of me, and when I mustered up courage to do so, and felt the weight of my irons and the heavy chain across my legs, which bound our gang of fifty or sixty together, I would speculate on how long it would be before the slender thread holding me between reason and insanity snapped under the strain.

That my reason did not give way during my first period of imprisonment I have but to thank Father |116| Ohrwalder and the friends mentioned. Each one of them risked his or her comparative freedom, if not life, to help me. Even during the worst nights in the Umm Hagar, when Hell itself might be defied to match such a scene, when Madness and Death stalked hand-in-hand amongst the struggling mass, and when, jammed in tight with a number of the more fanatical prisoners, I fought and struggled, bit and kicked, as did they for bare life, the thought of having friends in adversity, suffering almost as much as I did, kept that slender thread from snapping; but the mental strain caused me most violent headaches and periods of forgetfulness or loss of memory, which even now recur at times. But it was during the famine that the Christian—more than Christian—charity of my friends was put to the severest tests and never faltered. Food was at enormous prices, but, day after day, Catarina brought her scrap of dourra or wheaten bread; every day Youssef Jebaalee sent his loaves of bread, unmindful of how much the guards stole, provided that I got a mouthful.

All the food sent for the prisoners did not, of course, reach them; what little passed the gates of the Saier was fought for; those having longer chains, or bars, connecting their anklets stood the best chance in the race for food, as they were able to take longer strides. Had it been under other circumstances, the scenes enacted might have provided endless amusement for the onlookers, for they had in them all the elements but one of a sack-race and old country sports. Seeing thirty or forty living skeletons shuffling, leaping as |117| far as their weight of chains and strength would allow, you knew, when one fell, that it was the weakness caused by starvation which had brought him down. There he would lie where he fell, given over to despair, whilst those who did reach any messenger with food, rather than resenting the stripes given by the guards with the courbash, would almost appear glad of the open wounds these caused, so that they might caress the wounds with their hands and lick the blood from their fingers. This picture is not over- but underdrawn; but I have been advised to leave out minute details and other scenes, as unnecessarily harrowing.

We heard that cannibalism was being practised in the town, but none took place in the prison; in the Saier, when once the despair engendered by starvation and cruelty took hold of a prisoner, he would lie down and wait for death; food he would never refuse if offered, but if water without food was offered, it was refused. Day after day, for months, the bodies of eight or ten prisoners, who had died of starvation, would be thrown into the Nile, and thousands must have died in the Saier. The population of the prison was always kept up owing to the hourly arrivals of starving wretches committed there for trying to steal food in the market-place, and it was from such as these that the fighting for food in the prison emanated chiefly. It can be well imagined how the most civilized being might be driven to madness and desperation, when, as the result of his trying to steal a bit of food, maybe for himself, maybe for |118| a dying child, he is committed to an oriental prison, and there, as he is taken to the anvil, the body of the last victim to starvation is dragged up to have the shackles knocked off only to be fitted on to him. Yet this happened not twice, not scores, but hundreds of times in the prison of es-Saier during that terrible famine.

After my servant Hasseena had been knocked down a number of times and the food she was bringing me had been devoured by the starving prisoners, we hit upon an expedient. Buying a gazelle skin, she had this hung from her waist, under her dress, and left dangling between her knees; the food for me was placed in this, but Hasseena always carried, as a blind or decoy, a little food in her hands. This would be pounced upon, when Hasseena, who had a healthy pair of lungs, as Wad Nejoumi discovered at his first interview with her, would raise the echoes with her screams. These gave her a clear path to me, and she waited for a favourable opportunity to drop the gazelle skin on the ground beside me.

It must not be thought from the foregoing that the prisoners had no feelings for each other, and for those worse off in the matter of food than themselves. There was more charity shown by those wild fanatics, and almost savages, than is often shown in more civilized places. Mahmoud Wad Said, so long as his little property held out, sold portions of it day after day, and had sent into the prison for his poorer fellow-prisoners, a large “geddahh” of asseeda and milk, night and morning, and this gave thirty to forty |119| prisoners a meal each day; others divided with their less fortunate friends the little food they received. I have seen it stated that my charity to other prisoners created a very good impression; but, then, how could I, the only white and Christian in the prison—and, for the matter of that, the only avowed Christian in the Soudan—not strive to show just a little more self-denial and charity and kindness of heart than those “fanatics” showed me?*

* On reading over the foregoing to Father Ohrwalder, and asking him if he knew of any others who had assisted me with food while in prison, he first objected to my giving him any credit for what he had done, saying he had done but part of his duty towards me, and, in deference to his wishes, I have curtailed the account of his kindnesses towards me. He then expressed surprise that the name of Slatin did not figure amongst those of my benefactors, and it is only now that I hear from Father Ohrwalder of the risks Slatin ran in trying to help me. As can be well understood, this is hardly a subject on which, at the present time, I could approach Slatin, as it would practically be asking him how many dollars’ worth of thanks were due to him.

On my arrival at Omdurman, it was believed by the Khaleefa, and others, that I was a brother of Slatin, and had started for Sheikh Saleh’s country with the idea of organizing an expedition to attack the Khaleefa and effect Slatin’s release; the latter, in consequence, was looked upon with more suspicion than ever, and bad as my position or condition was, his, in a measure, may have been worse. People in Omdurman—my servant and the prison barber in particular—gauging Slatin’s position to a nicety, had little fear or compunction in blackmailing him, day after day, after his first contribution to my sustenance, for more money and food, and in each instance it was asked for in my name. Others doubtless did the same, and poor Slatin, as he was then, must have been robbed right and left, his robbers perfectly secure in the conviction that even, should he discover their trick, he would be powerless to punish them, for had he attempted to do so, he would have placed his head in a noose for disobeying the Khaleefa’s orders, which were that he was never to speak to, or have any dealings with me. It is the least that I can do here to place the matter on record in connection with my experience, and leave Slatin to await the appearance of this in print to learn that my heartfelt thanks go out to him, while, at the same time, the world will better understand from the foregoing the difficulties of Slatin’s position with the Khaleefa.

CHAPTER X PRISON JUSTICE

What I have written previously concerning the Nebbi Khiddr history will, in the following notes of prison life, assist the reader in better understanding how such mutual and transparent deceptions might be practised by the Khaleefa and the gaolers as are related here. It will be remembered that the Khaleefa, following the example of the Mahdi, laid claim to the Nebbi Khiddr as his prophet or constant messenger—a sort of modern Mercury amongst the Soudanese; hence the mutual, but unacknowledged deceptions which might be practised by the Khaleefa and his followers one against the other, but with always this proviso: as the Khaleefa had the power of life and death, and his spoken word was absolute, no one dare, even by suggestion, imply that he had in any way deceived or hoodwinked Abdullahi, else the Nebbi Khiddr would not have rested content until his detractor had been shortened by a head.

When the many escapes from the Saier zareeba became of too common gossip to be any longer concealed, Abdullahi ordered a wall to be built in place |121| of the thorn zareeba, and later, to obviate the necessity of the prisoners going to the Nile banks for drinking water and ablutions, a well was sunk to provide infiltration water for the purposes mentioned.* Until these works were ordered to be made, the prisoners were mainly employed in building mud-brick houses for the gaolers; and when these were finished we had to attend to certain of the household duties—the tending of children, sheep, goats, and the carrying of water from the Nile. Of all the tasks set the prisoners, the household duties were the most pleasant, or, at all events, the least distasteful. Most of the gaolers were able to keep up a large establishment on the proceeds of their baksheesh and ill-gotten gains, but with a multiplicity of wives or concubines a very natural result followed—household bickerings and squabbles, in which one wife or concubine was bound to come off worst; and this gave the wide-awake prisoner engaged upon household duties his chance. He would soon detect which concubine was being “put upon,” or whom the women-folk were most jealous of, and in a few days’ time, as a result of his attentions in carrying her pots and pans, and bringing her water as many times in the day as she wished, he would be bemoaning in her sympathetic ears the hard |122| fate of both of them, and trying to persuade her that what she was enduring was far worse than his imprisonment and chains. The old truism that “pity is akin to love” obtains equally as well under the dusky hide of a Soudanese damsel as under the white skin of her European sister, and very soon the pair would be maturing plans for an escape and elopement. The main difficulty was the removal of the man’s chains and a rapid flight to some distant village; but the Soudan ladies are not a whit behind in woman’s resourcefulness face to face with apparent impossibilities. Failing to arrange for a regular flight, the woman would secure some place of hiding in Omdurman itself. She would undertake all the arrangements, and I never knew of a failure in their plans.

* This well was named “Beer-el-Ummarra” (the well of the Emirs). When ordering its construction the Khaleefa instructed Idris es Saier to put all the important prisoners on the work, as the exercise would do them good. My gang consisted of Ibrahim Wad Adlan, Ajjab Abou Jinn, Mohammad Wad Bessir, Mohammad Abou Sinn, Abdalla Abou Sinn, Ali Wad-el-Hadd, Ahmed Abd-el-Maajid, Mahmoud Wad Said, Hassan Um Barak, and the Shereef Khaleel—the aristocracy, I might say, of the Soudan. We did little or no work ourselves, we paid the imprisoned slaves for doing it; but whenever Idris es Saier made his appearance he would find us all busy. When telling us of the Khaleefa’s orders, Idris hinted that it might be advisable for us to subscribe amongst ourselves for paid labour, and he would take charge of the money. At Wad Adlan’s advice, we said we rather liked the idea of having some work to do to keep us occupied, Adlan knowing that Idris would keep the money and make us work just the same, or else pay over again for another batch of slaves.

Each month a list of the prisoners in the Saier, and an account of their progress in “education” would be submitted to Abdullahi, with recommendations for the release of certain prisoners, and each month, coincident with the preparation of this list, some prisoner would be missing from his usual place that night and next morning—and for ever afterwards; and this is how Soudan romances were managed. Sheep and goats would stray unaccountably. As these accidents always happened about sunset, the concubine would set off with the chained prisoner to bring in the strayed animals at the precise moment when her lord and master was engaged upon his official duties and locking up the prisoners in the Umm Hagar. On his calling at his house, the temporary absence would excite little or no suspicion, but as the hours sped on |123| suspicions were aroused, and if on the following morning or the same night the sheep and goats found their way back unaided, the gaoler’s only way out of the difficulty was to present a favourable report of the conduct of the escaped prisoner, in the hope that his release would be ordered by the Khaleefa. To acknowledge that he had escaped while employed in tending his sheep and goats would be to place the gaoler’s head or liberty in danger, and the eloping couple well knew this. No sooner was the release ordered, than the happy couple would present themselves before the Kadi, to be married right off—the Soudanese damsel in the possession of a husband, with no other wives or concubines to worry her in the house, and her husband free of his chains. True, he might divorce his wife the same day if he so chose, but then his and her object had been gained—they were both clear of the gaoler, whom they knew dare not trump up any case against them in the hope of one or the other being again committed to prison, for, once released by the Khaleefa’s orders, a prisoner might only be recommitted on them. Moreover, if one of the two should relate what had actually occurred, the gaoler himself, having deceived the Khaleefa with his report of good conduct and “education,” would certainly be sent to prison or to the gallows.

I was too important a prisoner to make my escape at all possible by such happy means as those above described. My only hope lay in trusty natives and swift camels which would outstrip my pursuers. I often envied my fellow-prisoners who exchanged the |124| bonds of slavery for those of matrimony, for numbers of them came to see me after their “release,” but I shudder to think what might have happened had I been released by the Khaleefa’s orders, for, following the old adage that a drowning man clutches at a straw, I must have promised marriage to dozens of Soudan beauties (?) in the event of their doing anything towards wheedling their masters or the Khaleefa into releasing me, and it is quite certain that, on my release, I should have met at the prison-gates a clamouring crowd all claiming the honour.

But I should explain how it was that I came into direct contact with the hareems of the gaolers. Having studied physiology and medicine at Königsberg and Leipzig, I was often called upon by the natives in Upper Egypt, before the place was so well known to the travelling public as it is now, and in the absence of doctors, to attend them in cases of sickness or accident. My practice, being gratuitous, was a large one, and I soon became the “Hakeem Pasha” (principal medical officer). My reputation, if it did not precede me, at least accompanied me to Omdurman when I was captured, so that I was in constant requisition at the gaolers’ hareems, paying “professional” visits ranging from cases in which the Khaleefa was soon to be presented with another subject, to the most trivial and sometimes imaginary complaints. So long as the women kept ailing, my life was rendered endurable, for I was able to sit down and chat with them for hours, waiting to see the result of concoctions made from, to me, unknown |125| herbs and roots, of the properties of which I was ignorant; but the results were always satisfactory. The only medicine or chemical I came across of any value in the stores of the Beit-el-Mal was permanganate of potash, and I soon discovered that a Soudan constitution necessitated the application of this in crystals and not in liquid form. The effects, as may be imagined, were rapid, and, though my medical readers might be inclined to doubt the statement, the results were eminently satisfactory both to the patients and myself.

Occasionally I would be sent for to attend some one in the women’s prison, which was situated a short distance from the Saier of Idris. The women’s prison consisted of the common cell and a light zareeba, through which the curious might gaze on the women as they lay stretched on the ground during the day in the sun, undergoing their first period of imprisonment. The majority of the women prisoners were slaves locked up on some pretence or other to prevent their escaping. It might be that their master was arranging for some trading trip which would occupy him for weeks and, maybe, months. The simplest way of preventing his property from running away during his absence was to trump up some charge against her, and have her locked up, knowing that her release might not be obtained until he returned and requested it. As in the mean time she would have to be fed at his expense, and gave her services free to the household of one of the gaolers, he was equally sure that the gaoler would not be too anxious to secure her release. |126|

Married women were sent to prison on all sorts of charges, ranging from suspected conjugal infidelity to the delivery of a curtain lecture. The women prisoners wore light chains connecting their anklets, but their lot was little better than that of the men. A charge of infidelity “not proven,” as the Scotch have it, was followed by imprisonment and the application of three hundred stripes with the courbag, and when the woman had recovered from these, she would be sent into the house of one of the gaolers to be the maid-of-all-work for every one there; she would have to grind corn, attend to the children, carry water, and be driven as a slave night and day for weeks. A Mrs. Caudle or a termagant received from fifty to eighty lashes, and she too on recovery would be sent into one of the gaolers’ hareems to work as hard as her possibly innocent and more severely punished companion in misery. A few weeks of such treatment sent the women back home completely cured of the faults for which they were sent to prison to be corrected, besides which the relation of their experiences acted as an effective deterrent on budding Mrs. Caudles and others.

The unloading of boats was the hardest work we were set to, and we were kept up to the mark by the ever-present lash; we might only be tired and ill when we could afford the luxury of paying for the complaint, for this labour was the most lucrative task our gaolers could set us to; we had either to work, or pay many times the equivalent of our labour. It was in connection with the unloading of boats, and this, |127| too, when I was slowly recovering from my attack of typhus fever after the death of Ahmed Nur ed Din, that I received my first flogging. A young gaoler had pestered me for money, and as I had none to give him, he ordered me to slave at the unloading of the boats. The only way of exhibiting a real refusal was to sit down upon the ground, which I did, upon which the gaoler commenced to drag me towards the gateway of the Saier. On this I got upon my feet and knocked the gaoler off his. He ran to Idris es Saier, told his own tale, and Idris, approaching me, ordered me to get up—for I had again sat down—and assist in the unloading of the boats. I refused, and accused the gaoler of trying to extort monies from me. Upon this Idris struck me with his “safarog” (an instrument almost the exact counterpart of the Australian boomerang, and used by the Soudan tribes for precisely similar purposes); the blow he gave smashed the safarog and stunned me, and while only partly conscious I was turned over and condemned to receive there and then five hundred lashes.

Only sixty or seventy, I was told, were inflicted; the remainder were not given, as Idris, seeing that I was unconscious, believed that I was dead, and in consequence received a terrible fright. I was carried to my place in the cell, while Idris set about clearing himself with the other prisoners, and explaining that it was all the work of the young gaoler. Idris knew what it meant to him had I been flogged to death, and, believing that I would not recover, he, when I did recover, evidently made up his mind to pay out the gaoler who was |128| responsible for his fright in the first place, and for his servility to the other prisoners at the moment when he thought there were good grounds for it.

A FLOGGING BY ORDER OF THE KHALEEFA.

His opportunity came some little time later on, when the same gaoler invented another excuse for flogging me. I had bought from one of the gaolers a small mud hut, a few feet square, in the prison enclosure, and received permission from Idris es Saier to sleep in this at night instead of in the Umm Hagar. This young gaoler—and other gaolers as well—accepted baksheesh from prisoners to allow them to sleep in the open; and Idris, finding the contributions to his “starving children” falling off, suspected the reason, and lay in wait. Upon a night when a larger number than usual had been allowed to sleep outside the Umm Hagar, he suddenly made his appearance in the prison enclosure. There was nothing for our guardians to do but to pretend that the prisoners had been insubordinate, had refused to enter the Umm Hagar, and to lay about them with their whips. The young gaoler, not aware that I had paid the regulation baksheesh to Idris, made straight for my hut, dragged me out, and flogged me to the door of the common cell, a distance, maybe, of forty or fifty yards, but my thick jibbeh prevented the blows from telling with much effect as far as regards abrasion of the skin; nevertheless, their weight told on my diminished strength, and I again fell ill. The circumstance came to the ears of the Khaleefa through Idris, or the Nebbi Khiddr, and I had the huge satisfaction of seeing my tormentor dismissed from his lucrative post, |129| subjected to the two hundred lashes he was sentenced to receive, and then sent as a prisoner in chains to work at the very same boats, which he had had me flogged for refusing to assist in unloading. This, at the present moment, is the only bit of real justice I can remember during my twelve years’ captivity.

I have in a former chapter given a slight description of flogging as I saw it practised when first captured by the dervishes; but the flogging in the Saier was a very different matter. The maximum number of stripes ever ordered was a thousand, and this number was often actually given, but in every case the stripes were given over the clothing. The rules of flogging were generally as follows: the first two hundred on the back below the region of the lumbar vertebræ, the third and fourth hundred on the shoulders, and the fifth hundred on the breast. When the maximum number of one thousand lashes was ordered, they were always given on the same parts as those of the first two hundred, and this punishment was resorted to for the purpose of extorting confessions. After eighty or one hundred blows, the jibbeh was cut into shreds, and soon became saturated with the blood of the victim; and while the effect of the individual blows may not have been as great as those from the cat-o’-nine-tails, the number given made up in quantity for what might have been lacking in quality, as is evidenced by the large numbers who died under the castigation or as a result of it later.

On one occasion an old black soldier of the Egyptian |130| Army, named Mohammad Ajjami, who was employed as a runner (a foot-galloper—if I may invent the expression—of the Khaleefa on field days), was sent to me while in the prison to be cured of the effects of a flogging. He had by some means incurred the displeasure of Sheikh ed Din, the son of the Khaleefa, and by him had been sentenced to receive a public flogging, after which he was to be sent to the Saier to be “educated.” He was carried into the prison to me after his flogging. The fleshy part of his back was cut into ribbons, and the hip-bones were exposed. For six or eight weeks I was constantly employed bathing this man’s wounds with a dilute solution of carbolic acid, the carbolic crystals being sent to me by Sheikh ed Din himself for the purpose, for his father, the Khaleefa, jealous of his authority, had censured his son, telling him, as he constantly told others, that “In Usbaiee shareeknee fee mulkee, anna ikktahoo.”* Ajjami recovered, and often came to see me in prison to express his gratitude. Sheikh ed Din himself was so pleased at the man’s recovery that he begged his father to release me, so that I might practise the healing art amongst his Ansar, and teach it to others; but the Khaleefa was obdurate, and refused, his reasons for refusing to release me being better left to be related later by some of my fellow-captives.

* This expression was always used by the Khaleefa in any discussion. Holding up his forefinger, he said (translation of phrase): “Rather than this finger should be a partner in the governing of my realm, I should cut it off.”

My third flogging was received under the following circumstances. Having from Idris es Saier received permission to remain in my mud hovel, instead of |131| spending the nights in the Umm Hagar, and feeling secure in my comparative freedom and safe from the exactions of the other gaolers, as I had baksheeshed Idris well, I firmly refused to be bled any further. My particular guardian, not daring, after what had occurred to my former guardian, to order me into the Umm Hagar, went a step further, and refused to allow me to leave my mud hut at all for any purpose whatever. I insisted upon being allowed to go to the place of ablution—about one hundred yards distant—and being refused, set off, receiving at every step a blow from the courbag. Being heavily chained, I was helpless, and could not reach my tormentor, as he could skip away from my reach, which was limited to the length of the bars connecting my feet, which bars were fifteen inches in length. It was on this occasion, night-time too, that Idris es Saier paid another surprise visit to the prison enclosure to see what number of “unauthorized” prisoners were sleeping outside the Umm Hagar, and, furious at the number he discovered, he ordered all outside, without exception, to be flogged.

I and fifteen to twenty others received a hundred and fifty lashes each—at least, I received this number; others repented by crying out after twenty or thirty blows. I alternately clenched my teeth and bit my lips to prevent a sound of pain escaping, often as I was asked, “Will you not cry out? Is your head and heart still like black iron?” and the more they reminded me of the courage I was exhibiting, the more reason I had for not giving way or breaking down. But the mental ordeal was far, far more terrible than |132| the corporal punishment. There was I, a European, a Prussian, a man who had fought with the British troops in what transpired to be the “too late” expedition for the rescue of Gordon, now in the clutches of the tyrant and his myrmidons, whom we had hoped to rescue Gordon from; a white and a Christian—and the only professing Christian—chained and helpless, being flogged by a black, as much a captive and a slave as I was, and yet my superior and master. It is impossible for any one not having undergone a similar experience to appreciate the mental agonies I endured.

I may have been self-willed and strong-headed; I may, if you wish, have acted like a fool in my constant defiance of the Khaleefa and the tenets of the Mahdi; but now, looking back on those terrible times, I feel convinced that had poor Gordon lived, my actions would at least have met with his approbation, for the outward ceremony or observance of adherence to the Mohammedan faith was carried out on me under force, after the escape of Rossignoli. Death, in whatever form it came, would have come as a welcome visitor to me; but while doing all in my power to exasperate my captors to kill me, something—hope, courage, a clinging to life, pride in my race, or personal vanity in defying them to the end—restrained me from taking my own life, though Heaven knows that, if ever man had a good excuse for doing so, I had. But my conduct so impressed the Khaleefa that he told Wad Nejoumi, who asked for my release so that I might accompany him to Dongola to “open up trade,” and told many others later, “Neufeld I will |133| not release, but I will not kill him.” Invariably, in speaking of me to others, as I was still unconverted, the Khaleefa omitted the name “Abdalla” which I had been given, and spoke of me as “Nofal”—the Arabic pronunciation of Neufeld.

CHAPTER XI A SERIOUS DILEMMA

As I write, there lie before me three successive paragraphs culled from a recent edition of a London paper. These paragraphs were intended to be, and doubtless were, amusing to their readers, but they contain inaccuracies. I have ascertained that one misstatement owes its origin to a report drawn up in connection with the guide’s account of the successful escape of Father Rossignoli. The facts connected with that flight, and my reported refusal to escape when the opportunity (?) offered, find their place later in my narrative. For the moment I shall content myself with but one of the paragraphs, and fill in the details which, while not detracting from the humorous element introduced, will show that the episode referred to had somewhat of a pathetic, if not tragic, vein in it. This may have been lost sight of owing to the tale being recorded in an office about two thousand miles away from the scene of action, and the inaccuracies may be accounted for by the fact that the tale was told by one of that large class in the East whose greatest glory it is, when one of them has by constant |135| practice attained a certain standard of inventive faculty and plausibility, to prove to the world that the race of Haroun-el-Rashid’s story-tellers is not yet extinct. There can be little doubt that the guide and Wakih Idris, and maybe others, would be much entertained, if not a little surprised, if told that the whole of their tales had apparently been believed in.

On my servant Hasseena being sent into the Khaleefa’s hareem in May, 1887, she obtained her release, or dismissal, by declaring that she was with child; she was not. In November, 1888, she certainly was, and the fact could not be concealed. Hasseena, having been a slave, could not well be legally married, so that when dismissed from the Khaleefa’s hareem, she was sent as my property to the hareem of Idris es Saier, where she had, in addition to buying and preparing my food, to perform the housework and run messages for the women of Idris’s household.

Idris I knew had long coveted Hasseena, and her being with child appeared to him a favourable opportunity of securing her for himself, for under ordinary circumstances, the woman being a slave and the child being born in his hareem, he could lay claim to the paternity, when mother and child would become free, the mother ranking now as a wife. He talked the matter over with Hasseena, and then sent her to interview me. I submitted the case to my friends in prison, and they showed that Idris had misread, or misunderstood, Surah IV. of the Quoran, which only justified his position towards Hasseena in the event |136| of my being a prisoner of war, and he having captured Hasseena on the field. Things became still more complicated by Hasseena admitting to me that there were doubts in her own mind as to the child’s paternity. Hasseena was of a light copper colour; Idris was as black as the ace of spades. It would only be reasonable to expect that the child when born would exhibit in the colour of its skin an evidence of its paternity, and it was precisely on this account that Hasseena wished to defer making any declaration until the event came off. If she elected to declare Idris the father, and the child at birth gave the lie to her statement, her life would be in danger; but before continuing the narrative, and detailing the complications which Hasseena’s condition and her uncertainty on a vital point gave rise to—it might be well to refer briefly to one of the moral code of laws instituted by the Mahdi, as this will help the reader to a better understanding of the quandary we were placed in.

While a man, having already the regulation quota of four legal wives, might crowd his hareem with as many female slaves and concubines as he could support or keep in order, a woman was restricted to the one husband or master. All breakings of our seventh commandment were, if proved, followed by flogging in the case of unmarried women and slaves, and by the stoning to death of married women; but, in the latter case, the sentence could not be given, nor the punishment inflicted, unless the woman confessed. Very few stonings to death took place, and these were in the earlier days of Mahdieh, when religious fanaticism held sway. |137|

The flogging has already been described. When a stoning to death was to take place, a hole was dug in the ground, and the woman buried to her neck in it. The crowd stood facing the victim, about fifteen to twenty yards distant, and on a given signal the stoning commenced; but it is only right to say that the Soudanese themselves hated and feared taking part in such an execution. None of the stones thrown had, singly, the force or weight to cause stunning or death, and the horrid spectacle was presented of what appeared to be a trunkless head, slightly jerking backwards and forwards and from side to side to avoid the stones being hurled at it, and this ordeal continued for an hour or more. Sometimes a relative or friend, under pretence of losing his temper in upbraiding or cursing the woman, smashed in her head with one of the small axes usually carried by the Soudanese, thus putting her at once out of her torture and misery. Shortly before sunset, the relatives and friends would come out to take away the body and give it decent burial, for the soul had fled, purified with the woman’s blood, to the next world.

Knowing what would be the result of a confession, it will be wondered that any woman ever did confess; the number who did so is, admittedly, small. In one of the three cases of stoning to death I know of, the confession was extorted by torture, and the poor woman preferred the horrible but certain death by the time the sun set, to the lingering death she was enduring from day to day. Thousands of women were charged with the breaking of this particular rule |138| or commandment of the Mahdi, but almost all the charges were made by other women—and this, too, out of sheer jealousy, not from any feeling of outraged morality.

I may now proceed with the narration of the quandary Hasseena had placed us in, herself included. I had been kept chained and closely confined for nineteen months, and was under Idris es Saier’s particular supervision; Hasseena, during the same period, had been a servant in his hareem, and also in his entire charge. If I claimed the paternity of the child, the probabilities were that Idris would get into trouble with the Khaleefa; if Idris claimed it, his head might be in danger, for decapitation or hanging was the punishment ordered for the male offender, and in all cases Hasseena was liable to flogging or stoning to death. Again, if I claimed the paternity of the child, and there were reasonable grounds after its birth to believe that the paternity should be looked for in some other direction, and I knew that it should be; then, while Idris would clear himself to the Khaleefa, I should have been punished for lying to him, and Hasseena would be in the same predicament as before.

I had inquiries made outside as to Hasseena’s movements when marketing, and as to those whom she associated with, or went to see; being satisfied, as a result of the inquiries, that the expected arrival would be a shade lighter in colour than its mother, I, acting on the advice of my prison friends, claimed the child as mine, thus leaving Idris to get out of the thing as best he could. There was, as above indicated, |139| a risk in my claiming the paternity, but it was worth while running it. The Khaleefa, so my friends told me, would now certainly release me from prison, as my wife and child would be a guarantee for my good behaviour if released, and also guarantee me against any escape, for to try and escape with a woman and baby made success very problematical, while the woman would certainly hinder me in any attempt to escape, when it could only result in the death of herself and child. It was for this reason—to hinder escape—that the Khaleefa kept his captives well supplied with wives, and showed his displeasure very plainly if the expected results did not follow. But my claiming the paternity did not please Idris, as it deprived him of all chance of securing Hasseena for himself, and also left him at the mercy of the Khaleefa for his neglect of duty in allowing Hasseena to come near me, so he empanelled a jury of Soudanese matrons to inquire into the affair.

At the time when Hasseena startled our little world with her interesting condition, Omdurman was, and had been for some months, almost depleted of its male population; the rumours of an expedition (Stanley’s, to rescue Emin) had resulted in a considerable force being sent to Equatoria. The army to attack Abyssinia had been in the field for months, so also had the army which Wad Nejoumi was to lead a few months later to its destruction at Toski.

A number of the ladies empanelled for the jury ought not, unless they belonged to the Gawaamah tribe, to have been eligible for election, and others, |140| under the circumstances, should have avoided publicity; but here was an opportunity for them, and they were not going to miss it. They came together to save themselves—not Hasseena or Idris—hence the extraordinary verdict they gave: to the effect that it was not only possible for a woman to be with child nineteen months—as Hasseena presumably was, but for twenty-four months, while some hotly contested for an extension of the time to years!

Idris had still another card to play; he averred that it was impossible for the child to be mine, and he now swore it was not his. Then Hasseena ought to be flogged and sent to prison; but as Idris would be entrusted with the flogging himself, it was to be understood that he was not going to damage his prospective property. It was now the turn of those whom I remarked ought not to have been eligible for election to the jury; the tales they told to account for their own interesting condition are worthy of the best traditions of the “Thousand and One Nights;” but, even if written, they would be less fit for translation and publication than the originals of the famous tales. Idris now appealed to the Kadi, who, after interviewing the jury, supported their contentions, and related the whole story to the Khaleefa, much to his amusement and the discomfiture of Idris; for, while graciously sending me his congratulations on the coming event, he ordered the unconditional release of Hasseena, who went to live in what might be called the “Christian” quarter of the town.

In January the girl-child was born, and named |141| “Makkieh” (shackles), a name which appealed to the humorous side of the Khaleefa, who, being tickled at the idea of the name, in a fit of good-humour, sent word to me to ask if I would undertake the manufacture of gunpowder if he released me. I unfortunately replied that I did not understand the manufacturing of it, and this aroused his suspicions, which did not abate one jot when, shortly afterwards, a Bohemian baker, who had strayed from Halfa, was taken prisoner, and sent on to Omdurman as a captured spy. This man, whom I knew only by the name of Joseppi—though he had a string of other names, which I have forgotten—was a Bohemian by birth and a baker by trade. He was not of strong intellect, and what intellect he had, had maybe been impaired by a “music madness.” From the rambling statements he made to me during his year’s imprisonment, I gather that he had tramped Europe as a wandering musician, landing finally in Egypt, where he tramped from the Mediterranean to the frontier. It is quite evident that instead of coppers he received drinks in exchange for his strains, and this further added to his mental troubles, though the drunkenness he has been charged with was, in my opinion, more the result of circumstances and misfortune than a natural craving for ardent liquors.

On leaving Wadi Halfa, he had expected to find, as he had found in Europe and the part of Egypt he had tramped through, villages or towns within the day’s tramp. He had not the slightest idea of what the desert was until he found himself in it. After some days of wandering, during which he eat pieces of his |142| worn-out boots in lieu of other food, he struck the Nile, and, wandering along, ignorant of the direction he was taking, he came upon a party of dervishes, whom he tried to communicate with, and after, by gesticulations, showing them that he wanted bread or food, he commenced to “soothe the savage breast” with strains from his violin. They took him prisoner, destroyed his instrument, and sent him on to Omdurman as a spy. On arrival there, he was ushered into the presence of the Khaleefa, who was undecided as to whether he had a madman or an actor to deal with, for on dates being brought for Joseppi to eat, he threw them about, and then lay flat on his face. He was sent to prison and heavily chained; in the process of having his chains and bars fitted, he fainted away.

Gaoler.

Neufeld.

Gaoler.

Son of Fauzi Pasha.

Fauzi Pasha.

MEAL-TIME IN THE SAIER.

Joseppi was in my charge for about one year, and while being as harmless as a child, he caused me endless trouble. During the day he would remain perfectly quiet, but at night-time he would insist upon singing or humming. As his tunes had neither beginning nor end, and were composed of notes snatched from here and there, we soon tired of it, and Joseppi received a light flogging on one occasion for not “shutting his mouth” when requested to do so. I remonstrated with him after he had been flogged, and told him that he should not continue to hum after other prisoners had asked him to keep quiet. He ruminated over this, and thinking, maybe, at the moment that I was taking the part of the others against him, he went off to the Saier, and told him |143| confidentially that I was a great and well-known general in Europe, and a few other things. Joseppi had an enormous appetite, and was always hungry; he caused me a great deal of trouble during the worst days of the famine, when food was so scarce, for after sharing my scanty meal, he would wander off and pester every group for a scrap of food. Eventually, we had to provide three bowls for him; just when our food came in, we handed him his bowls, and thus were allowed a few moments’ peace. We had finished our meal before he had finished his food, so that our group, at least, was free of his importunities. He came to grief through eating pieces of camel-skin, which the gaolers used to sell to the poorer prisoners during the famine.

Fearing that he would die in the prison, I sent word to the “Christian” quarter, asking that the Khaleefa should be prayed to release Joseppi, which was done, and he found congenial employment for a time in the bakery of Youssef Sawar. Soon afterwards, he borrowed a few dollars here and there for the purpose of buying grain at El Fun; he started off dressed in a new jibbeh, carrying his dollars, and a well-stocked basket of provisions for his two days’ journey. At the very moment when Wad Adlan was pleading with the Khaleefa to release me from prison, so that I could assist him in the work of the Beit-el-Mal, a deputation of the captives arrived at the door of the house to tell the Khaleefa that Joseppi must have escaped, as he should have been back in Omdurman some days ago. Turning to Wad Adlan, |144| the Khaleefa said, “El boomi mahhgaad—Abdulla Neufeld ogud? Khallee ossbur.” (“The fool did not stop—when he had the chance to escape. Will Neufeld? Let him wait a bit.”) This was the second time the poor fellow had cost me my liberty. There is no doubt that the man was murdered for the sake of his food or money, for his remains were found later, on the road between Khartoum and El Fun.

CHAPTER XII IBRAHIM WAD ADLAN

A favourable opportunity here presents itself for referring to that little-written-about, and, therefore, little-known strange character in Mahdieh—Ibrahim Wad Adlan, the Amin Beit-el-Mal. Maybe in no one else did he confide as he confided in me while we were fellow-prisoners, and maybe he did so only because he knew that I was an avowed enemy of Mahdieh, that I was at the time defying the Khaleefa to do his worst against me, and that my interests lay elsewhere than in the Soudan. There was also a lurking suspicion that I had been sent up as a Government emissary, and that the letter of General Stephenson was purposely couched in the language it was, so that, if it fell into the hands of the Khaleefa, he would be led to believe that I had started upon a trading expedition pure and simple. The friendship formed during the two or three months, which Adlan and I spent as fellow-prisoners, was to end in the not least interesting of my experiences, but it also ended in a tragedy.

Wad Adlan, prior to the Mahdist revolt, had been |146| one of the principal and richest merchants in Kordofan. His business connections had taken him a number of times to Cairo and other parts of Egypt. For intelligence, and as a man of the world, he was far and away superior to all the “great” people who from time to time became my fellow-prisoners; I should be inclined to place him on a higher level than the best of the old Government officials; he read and wrote well, and, as will be seen later, he was not deficient in certain qualities which go far towards making a successful Oriental diplomatist. To the end he was loyal to the core to the old Government, but he was compelled to act a part—and well he acted it. Had there been one more Adlan in the Soudan—and many had the opportunity of being such—the rule of Abdullahi would have ended with the insurrection of Khaleefa Shereef. That insurrection just missed being successful, but it was through no fault of Adlan. Carefully and secretly he had paved the way to it, but his task ended when he had paved the way; it was for others to take the goal.

Adlan was the one man in the Soudan who had the courage of his opinions, and expressed them to Abdullahi; he was a man himself, acted as one, and despised heartily those who, in his opinion, were carrying their obedience to the confines of servility. Failing to induce Abdullahi to rule with some little semblance of justice and equity, as laid down in the Quoran, he set about to undermine his influence and power, but he had to carry out his work by subterfuge, and single-handed. There were, he told me, a number |147| of people he would have wished to take into his confidence, but some he was afraid might betray him, and the others he could not trust with the little discretion they could boast of. He feared they might unwittingly let slip a few words prematurely, and then his and their tongues would be silenced for ever.

As the director of the Beit-el-Mal, his first care was to keep the treasury and granaries full to repletion. During the famine this was an impossibility, but some grain and money had to be procured from somewhere. The poor, and those who had come by their little stores honestly, Adlan never made a call upon; indeed, he was the protector of the poor and the Muslimanieh (captive Christians). It was Adlan’s policy to create enemies of Abdullahi, so that was another reason for his protecting the poor, who were already bitter enemies of their savage ruler. On reporting to Abdullahi the depleted condition of the treasury and granaries—and Abdullahi was aware that the doors of the Beit-el-Mal and Adlan’s house were besieged night and day by thousands of starving wretches—Adlan would be given a verbal order to search for grain and bring it into the Beit-el-Mal. This order he would put into immediate execution against Abdullahi’s particular friends and adherents, for the whole of their stores were the proceeds of robbery, and the plundering and murdering of weaker tribes and people. To all remonstrances Adlan would reply that he was carrying out Abdullahi’s orders, and every one knew that disobedience to these, or any attempt to evade them, meant summary execution. Occasionally some |148| “strong” man would enter a mild protest to the Khaleefa himself, who would feign ignorance of having given any general orders to Adlan. Adlan would be summoned, but, questioned as to his actions in the presence of the complainant, he dare not reply that he had but obeyed the general orders given him; he would be obliged to answer in such a way that the “strong” man would believe that he had acted upon his own initiative. After the audience, the “strong” man would follow Adlan to the Beit-el-Mal, and demand the return of his grain and dollars; but Adlan had distributed all on the Khaleefa’s orders—which the registers proved, as nothing might leave the Beit-el-Mal without his sanction. The “strong” man now was undecided as to whether Abdullahi was playing with him or not, but his safest plan was to intrigue against Adlan. In this he would be helped might and main by Yacoub, Abdullahi’s brother, and the bitterest enemy of Adlan, for Yacoub, as the Emir of Emirs (prince of princes), was insane with jealousy at the hold which Adlan had on the masses. The respect and veneration paid to Adlan Yacoub considered himself entitled to by virtue of his position and rank.

It may, or may not, be the case that Abdullahi himself was growing jealous of Adlan. As Khaleefa, his power was so absolute that he could remove any dangerous person by a suggestive motion of the hand, so that when he sent Adlan into prison for a time, it was, in Adlan’s opinion, only to appease his enemies, to prevent any wavering in their allegiance, and to |149| stem the rapidly approaching tide of discontent. But Adlan’s committal to the Saier left a clear field for his enemies to intrigue against him, and being kept informed of every charge made, and the Khaleefa’s varying moods towards him, Adlan saw serious danger ahead.

Reports reached us that the Beit-el-Mal was in sore straits, and that the Khaleefa had already expressed his intention of reinstating Adlan if matters did not improve. Then it was that Adlan unbosomed himself to me practically unreservedly. Gradually, but surely, he gave me to understand that if ever he was reinstated he would do all in his power to secure my release, and he so often told me not to attempt flight, if I was released, that I saw clearly he meant to assist me in doing so. As the Beit-el-Mal went from bad to worse, Adlan’s spirits rose, and he appealed to me to advise him what to do in the event of his being reinstated. He saw that for a time, at least, he should have to abandon his old policy, and he did not know in what direction he might turn to revive the fallen fortunes of the treasury and granary.

Trading had been permitted to a certain extent, so I suggested its extension, but Adlan at first would not hear of this. Abdullahi’s purpose was to keep the Soudan as much a terra incognita as possible, and the further opening up of trade routes would defeat this object. My next suggestion was that the Beit-el-Mal should hand over to merchants gum, ivory, feathers, etc., at a fixed rate, to be bartered against specified articles required at Omdurman, which, being received |150| into the Beit-el-Mal to be distributed from there, would allow of it making double profits on the transactions. At first he scouted the idea, for there was not a single man he could trust, and if he gave merchants any goods and they did not return with the proceeds of their barter, Adlan would be held responsible. It was then I suggested that he should only advance goods to people who had families in Omdurman, which would ensure their returning; but he foresaw that the Khaleefa would raise objections, as these people might give information to the Government. As a matter of fact, they did do so eventually, returning to Omdurman and giving to Abdullahi as incorrect information of the Government as they had given the Government concerning him and affairs in the Soudan.

In the end, I drove home my point by falling into figurative language, a means of argument as general and effective in the East now as it was in ancient days. “Adlan,” I said, “you have been feeding Abdullahi on his own flesh; he is sick, but he is hungry; you have cut all the flesh from his bones; if you try to feed him on his bones, he will kill you, for he wants flesh to eat; you must cut flesh from some one else to feed him, and cover his bones again.” Adlan then jumped at the idea of trading, and said that as soon as his release came—for he felt sure he would be released—he would ask the Khaleefa to release me so that I might assist him in the work. The first essential, though, he told me, was to abandon my present attitude towards Mahdieh, and offer to become a Muslim. |151| I agreed to do so, and Adlan reported to the Saier, who in turn reported to the Kadi, that I was willing to embrace the faith. “What,” said the Kadi, “Abdalla Nufell a Muslim? No, his heart is the old black one; he is not with us; he is deceiving; his brain (head) is still strong; he is a deceiver; tell him so from me.” The Kadi had not forgotten my old discussions with him in the presence of others, where he perhaps had the worst of it, and would not forgive me. Failing my “conversion,” he knew that I should have to suffer the tortures of the Saier, and he intended that I should suffer them. Soon after this, Adlan was released and reinstated in his old post; but he sent word that I must be patient, as he could not speak to the Khaleefa about me until he had got back fully into favour.

I should have mentioned before, that on the Khaleefa asking for designs for the proposed tomb of the Mahdi, Kadi Hanafi and others suggested that I should prepare designs in the hope they would be accepted, when I should have to be released to see to their execution. Remembering the old tombs of the Khaliffs at Cairo, I had little difficulty in drawing a rough sketch of one, which I had submitted to Abdullah, as being an entirely original design. I was told by the Saier to make a clay model, and spent some three weeks in making one about two feet high. Hundreds came to see it, until it was knocked to pieces by a presumed fanatic, who objected to a dog of an unbeliever designing the tomb of the holy man; but from what I learned later, it was only kicked to |152| pieces after it had been copied. Adlan, knowing of this incident, sent me word to prepare designs for the mural decorations of the interior, and I spent some weeks over these; when they were finished, I sent them direct to the Khaleefa, who sent for Adlan, and told him to make inquiries as to how long the transfer of the designs to the walls would take, and how much the work would cost. I gave an estimate of sixty days for the completion of the work. Adlan said the cost would be nil, as he had the paint.

While these designs were being sketched out, I made preparations for flight as soon after my expected release as possible, and having paper and ink in comparative abundance, I was enabled to write letters surreptitiously. On October 12, 1888, I sent my servant to a Greek captive, asking him to write me a letter in Greek to my old friend, Mankarious Effendi, station-master at Assouan. The original letter is before me, and the following is a literal translation:—

“Mr. Neufeld has asked me to write this letter because he could not write it himself; you cannot know what a difficult position he is in; since he came here he was taken twice to the gallows, but was not hanged, and is still in chains, and subject to their mercy. He wants you to take over his business, and to act forthwith as his agent. He borrowed from the bearer a hundred medjedie (dollars), which refund to him, and give him something for his trouble, and try and send him back with two hundred pounds which he might buy his liberty for. This letter is to be kept secret, as there are people who carry all news here, so if the authorities got to know anything about it Mr. Neufeld will grow from bad to worse.

(Signed) “NIROGHOPOLO.”

On November 10, 1888, hearing that another old |153| acquaintance was in Omdurman, I got another Greek captive to write another letter to Mankarious Effendi. This letter also was delivered, and Mankarious Effendi hands it to me along with a number of other documents which he has carefully preserved. I again translate literally—

“MR. MANKARIOUS BEY,—

“I wish you will be kind, and have all my things made over to you by Mr. Möller (my manager), and I pray you to act as my wakeel (agent); also please try and send me some money which I may help myself with, say two hundred or three hundred pounds; this money will be for my own use. As I was in need, I have taken from the bearer a sum of a hundred medjedie, which you will refund him and something as well, because he has done me a favour, and his name is Akkar (the real name—Karrar, was doubtless purposely changed). The money you can give the bearer of this, please take a receipt for and keep it with you; write me a letter, and send it to Ahmad Abou Idris, or his brother Kabbassi, and mention the sum you have sent me; also give bearer any assistance he may want.

(Signed) “PROTHOMOS” (I am ready).

I had heard from people who had come to Omdurman of strange doings in connection with my business, and in order that my manager should understand that the letter was authentic, I also signed the letter, and used our cypher for payment of £200—“u.r.r.”

While in a fever of excitement and anxiety over the despatch of these messengers, Adlan sent me a secret messenger to say that Sulieman Haroun, of the Ababdeh tribe, then living at Omdurman, was sending his son Mohammad Ali to Cairo. Divining that Adlan wished me to communicate with Sulieman, I sent out word that I wished to see him. In a few |154| days’ time he gained admittance to the prison to see me, and I at once set to business, and asked him if he would undertake the arrangements for my escape. This he agreed to do, but only on condition that I succeeded in getting outside the prison walls. So that he should have some confidence that I would assist also, I asked him to call and see Adlan, and I believe it was Adlan who advanced to Sulieman the two hundred dollars he brought me, and for which I gave a receipt for £100. I gave him a letter for his son to deliver to my manager at Assouan, enclosing a receipt for £100, and an order for payment of a further £200. On receiving the money, he was to buy goods, arrange for relays of camels on his return journey, and bring the goods to the Beit-el-Mal, where Adlan assured him he would find me. Mohammad Ali was to leave immediately, and return to Omdurman at the earliest possible moment.