Читать книгу A Prisoner of the Khaleefa: Twelve Years Captivity at Omdurman - Charles Neufeld - Страница 5

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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

see better image

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.