A Prisoner of the Khaleefa: Twelve Years Captivity at OmdurmanNeufeld, Charles
History
A Prisoner of the Khaleefa: Twelve Years Captivity at Omdurman
Neufeld, Charles
Neufeld, Charles, 1856-1918; Prisoners -- Sudan -- Omdurman; Sudan -- History -- 19th century
It did not need the boy to call out when the gunboats moved down
stream that they, too, were opening fire on the dervish camps; we
could almost follow the tide of battle in that furious artillery duel
from the |271| alternate roars and silence as of waves breaking on a
rock-bound coast. There was no doubt in our minds now that the tactics
of the Atbara had been repeated, and that the zareebas were being
shelled preparatory to being stormed; the conjecture was wrong, as we
learned later. Then the rattle of musketry was borne down on the wind;
it was not the rattle of dervish rifles either; we knew the sound of
these when fired. Then followed a long silence, only to be succeeded by
another terrific fusillade; to us prisoners, it was the reserve zareeba
which was now being carried. But the tale of the battle is old, and
who has not heard of that second fight on the day of Omdurman, when
MacDonald’s brigade withstood the combined attack of the armies of
Sheikh ed Din and Yacoub?
One must go amongst the survivors of that attack to learn the details
of the fight. Those having glasses in the British lines must have
noticed Yacoub prancing about on horseback in front of his lines; this
was in imitation of the man he could see on horseback in front of the
brigade which was mowing down his men by hundreds at each volley. They
have learned since who the man was, and “MacDonald” with “Es-Sirdar”
is now a name to conjure with in the Soudan. It was not the first time
MacDonald had so terribly punished the dervishes, while commanding
troops which they had expected would throw down their arms and bolt, as
in olden days.
While all this was occurring on the field of battle, I in prison,
to hide my excitement—and really to calm my overstrung nerves,—took
the Ratib of Ibrahim |272| Wad-el-Fahel, and occupied myself with
“illuminating” its pages with red-and black-ink designs; this was an
occupation I had often earned a few dollars at, but Fahel still owes
me for my last exploit in “illumination.” I left the work unfinished
about noon to attend to two young men attached to the prison, who had
come in from the fight, one with a bullet over the left temple, and the
other with a bullet in the muscle of the left arm. Provided only with
a penknife, I made a cross cut over the spot where I could in one case
see, and the other feel the bullet imbedded, and pressed them out; both
bullets had kept their shape, and must have been encountered at extreme
range, or rather beyond it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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