Soon after reaching the “mess,” I heard a voice calling, “Where’s Neufeld?” and the inquirer introduced himself to me; it was Mr. Bennet Burleigh, of the _Daily Telegraph_. I had heard, and yet had not heard, much English spoken to me, but the flood of language he poured out when he found me still in chains came as a revelation to me; it was as picturesque as his description of the battle which I have since read. Rushing off, he was back in a few moments with some farriers with their shoeing implements to try and remove my chains; off again, he came with some engineers, and amidst a running torrent of abuse, anent cold chisels and other implements which he required and which were not forthcoming, he questioned me. Every one had a try at those chains; some one I heard use language concerning the Khaleefa when he found his thumb between the hammer and the links, but with a great deal of strong language, and equally as strong blows, the links connecting with the anklets |280| were cut through, but the anklets themselves were only removed, owing to want of appliances, on board Colonel Gordon’s steamer a few minutes before he led the way to the troops who were to take part in the funeral-service at the spot where his hero uncle fell. While Slatin’s countryman, Joseppi, was imprisoned with me, I was able to exercise my mother tongue, and correct his broken German, which gave me, at all events, some little amusement; but after his murder, and the escape of Father Ohrwalder, I never had another opportunity of speaking a European language except in my dreams, and when I discovered myself talking to myself. For seven long years, with the exception of the word “torpedo,” by which name the Algerian called his mines, I had not heard a syllable of a European tongue. The last Europeans I had spoken to before leaving Egypt were English; the first language I was to hear on my release was English, and then a strange thing happened. As far as language was concerned, my brain became a blank from the moment I left Wadi Halfa, to the moment when the Sirdar called out, “Are you Neufeld?” so that when the German Military Attaché spoke to me in German, while hearing, and in the main understanding what he said, I could not, much to his very evident annoyance, find words in my mother tongue to reply. It was weeks after my return to Egypt before I was able to express myself properly in the German language. While to myself this was not to be greatly wondered at, yet the fact might be of interest to some scientist, who has made cerebral affections his particular study. |281| CHAPTER XXIII THE SIRDAR AND SAVAGE WARFARE