[3] 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. [Illustration: 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|