The Downfall of the Dervishes; or, The Avenging of GordonBennett, E. N. (Ernest Nathaniel), Sir
History
The Downfall of the Dervishes; or, The Avenging of Gordon
Bennett, E. N. (Ernest Nathaniel), Sir
Sudan -- History -- 1821-1881
At length the obstinate creatures were ferried over the river, but
before they were loaded and ready to start it was already dark. On
the bank I met Howard for the first time since his Balliol days, and
he most kindly offered to lend me his second horse if I cared to ride
after the Lancers; but as Cross had no horse I decided to stay with
him.
As Cross, Howard, and myself stood there in the brief twilight, how
little we dreamt that I alone of the trio should live to return from
the campaign! No thought of coming disaster overshadowed us as we
laughed and chatted together. It is not always so. I have personally
known three cases in which brave men, accustomed to the perils of
battle, suddenly experienced a vivid presentiment that they would be
struck down in the approaching fight, and in each case a bullet found
its mark in their bodies.
Howard rode off, and then Cross and I set out to overtake the column
already encamped thirteen miles away. The general lie of the ground I
knew. If we followed the telegraph lines we should reach the village
of Abu Selim, and thence a sharp turn to the left would bring us to
the Lancers' camp beside the Nile. Starting as we did at seven, we
hoped to reach our goal by midnight, and then a few hours' sleep
would have intervened before a fresh move forward at four next
morning. But the scheme fell through. None of the servants knew the
way in the dark; there was no moon, and the starlight was not strong
enough to show the telegraph posts. We struggled on in the uneven
scrub, pushing through mimosa thorns and falling over logs of palm
wood, while our servants struck matches to look for the hoof-marks of
the cavalry. After two hours of this wearisome work we had advanced
less than three miles, and we saw that the enterprise was hopeless.
We sat down on a stump and reviewed the situation. Neither of us
had been overfed that day. Cross had had some cocoa at dawn, a cup
of bovril at midday, and tea and bread at four o'clock. My own diet
had been the same as his, minus the afternoon meal. I have a great
belief, personally, in the hygienic value of temporary starvation,
but as we sat there in the dark, Cross paid scant attention to my
eulogies upon the utility of emptiness, and very wisely voted for
our immediate return to the starting-place. I did not like to give
up our scheme, but there was not much in the way of alternative,
so after a noisy palaver with our servants, reinforced by three
suspicious-looking Arabs, who emerged from the bush, we finally sent
one camel and two servants along the bank, and after another two
hours' floundering through the scrub, found ourselves again opposite
the junction of the Atbara and Nile. We felt that the stores would
probably pick up the column sooner or later, but as for ourselves,
it would be foolish to be wandering about the west bank, nearer the
Dervish country, without military escort. Woe betide any stragglers
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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