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The River War

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All this time the Dervishes were coming nearer, and the steady and
continuous advance of the great army compelled the Egyptian cavalry to
mount their horses and trot off to some safer point of view.
Colonel Broadwood conceived his direct line of retreat to camp threatened,
and shortly after one o'clock he began a regular retirement.
Eight squadrons of Egyptian cavalry and the Horse Artillery moved
off first. Five companies of the Camel Corps, a Maxim gun section, and the
ninth squadron of cavalry followed as a rear-guard under Major Tudway.
The Dervish horsemen contented themselves with firing occasional shots,
which were replied to by the Camel Corps with volleys whenever the ground
was suited to dismounted action. From time to time one of the more daring
Arabs would gallop after the retreating squadrons, but a shot from a
carbine or a threatened advance always brought the adventurous horseman
to a halt. The retirement was continued without serious interference,
and the boggy ground of the Khor Shambat was recrossed in safety.

As soon as the Egyptian squadrons--a darker mass under the dark hills
to the westward--were seen to be in retirement, the 21st Lancers were
withdrawn slowly along the sandy ridge towards the rocks of Surgham--
the position whence we had first seen the Dervish army. The regiment
wheeled about and fell back by alternate wings, dropping two detached
troops to the rear and flanks to make the enemy's patrols keep their
distance. But when the Arab horsemen saw all the cavalry retiring they
became very bold, and numerous small groups of fives and sixes began to
draw nearer at a trot. Accordingly, whenever the ground was favourable,
the squadrons halted in turn for a few minutes to fire on them. In this
way perhaps half-a-dozen were killed or wounded. The others, however,
paid little attention to the bullets, and continued to pry curiously,
until at last it was thought necessary to send a troop to drive them away.
The score of Lancers galloped back towards the inquisitive patrols in the
most earnest fashion. The Dervishes, although more numerous, were
scattered about in small parties, and, being unable to collect,
they declined the combat. The great army, however, still advanced
majestically, pressing the cavalry back before it; and it was evident
that if the Khalifa's movement continued, in spite of it being nearly
one o'clock, there would be a collision between the main forces
before the night.

From the summit of the black hill of Surgham the scene was extraordinary.
The great army of Dervishes was dwarfed by the size of the landscape to
mere dark smears and smudges on the brown of the plain. Looking east,
another army was now visible--the British and Egyptian army. All six
brigades had passed the Kerreri Hills, and now stood drawn up
in a crescent, with their backs to the Nile. The transport and the houses
of the village of Egeiga filled the enclosed space. Neither force could see
the other, though but five miles divided them. The array of the enemy was,
without doubt, both longer and deeper. Yet there seemed a superior strength
in the solid battalions, whose lines were so straight that they might
have been drawn with a ruler.

The camp presented an animated appearance. The troops had piled arms
after the march, and had already built a slender hedge of thorn-bushes
around them. Now they were eating their dinners, and in high expectation
of a fight. The whole army had been ordered to stand to arms at two o'clock
in formation to resist the attack which it seemed the Dervishes were about
to deliver. But at a quarter to two the Dervish army halted. Their drill
was excellent, and they all stopped as by a single command. Then suddenly
their riflemen discharged their rifles in the air with a great roar--
a barbaric feu de joie. The smoke sprang up along the whole front of their
array, running from one end to the other. After this they lay down on the
ground, and it became certain that the matter would not be settled
that day. We remained in our position among the sandhills of the ridge
until the approach of darkness, and during the afternoon various petty
encounters took place between our patrols and those of the enemy, resulting
in a loss to them of about a dozen killed and wounded, and to us of one
corporal wounded and one horse killed. Then, as the light failed,
we returned to the river to water and encamp, passing into the zeriba
through the ranks of the British division, where officers and men,
looking out steadfastly over the fading plain, asked us whether the enemy
were coming--and, if so, when. And it was with confidence and satisfaction
that we replied, and they heard, 'Probably at daylight.'

When the gunboats had completed their bombardment, had sunk a Dervish
steamer, had silenced all the hostile batteries, and had sorely battered
the Mahdi's Tomb, they returned leisurely to the camp, and lay moored close
to the bank to lend the assistance of their guns in case of attack. As the
darkness became complete they threw their powerful searchlights over the
front of the zeriba and on to the distant hills. The wheeling beams of
dazzling light swept across the desolate, yet not deserted, plain.
The Dervish army lay for the night along the eastern slope of the Shambat
depression. All the 50,000 faithful warriors rested in their companies near
the flags of their Emirs. The Khalifa slept in rear of the centre of
his host, surrounded by his generals. Suddenly the whole scene was lit
by a pale glare. Abdullah and the chiefs sprang up. Everything around them
was bathed in an awful white illumination. Far away by the river there
gleamed a brilliant circle of light--the cold, pitiless eye of a demon.
The Khalifa put his hand on Osman Azrak's shoulder--Osman, who was to lead
the frontal attack at dawn--and whispered, 'What is this strange thing?'
'Sire,' replied Osman, 'they are looking at us.' Thereat a great fear
filled all their minds. The Khalifa had a small tent, which showed
conspicuously in the searchlight. He had it hurriedly pulled down. Some of
the Emirs covered their faces, lest the baleful rays should blind them.
All feared that some terrible projectile would follow in the path of
the light. And then suddenly it passed on--for the sapper who worked the
lens could see nothing at that distance but the brown plain--and swept
along the ranks of the sleeping army, rousing up the startled warriors,
as a wind sweeps over a field of standing corn.

The Anglo-Egyptian army had not formed a quadrilateral camp, as on
other nights, but had lain down to rest in the formation for attack they
had assumed in the afternoon. Every fifty yards behind the thorn-bushes
were double sentries. Every hundred yards a patrol with an officer was
to be met. Fifty yards in rear of this line lay the battalions, the men in
all their ranks, armed and accoutred, but sprawled into every conceivable
attitude which utter weariness could suggest or dictate. The enemy,
twice as strong as the Expeditionary Force, were within five miles.
They had advanced that day with confidence and determination. But it
seemed impossible to believe that they would attack by daylight across the
open ground. Two explanations of their advance and halt presented
themselves. Either they had offered battle in a position where they could
not themselves be attacked until four o'clock in the afternoon, and hoped
that the Sirdar's army, even though victorious, would have to fight a
rear-guard action in the darkness to the river; or they intended to make
a night attack. It was not likely that an experienced commander would
accept battle at so late an hour in the day. If the Dervishes were anxious
to attack, so much the worse for them. But the army would remain strictly
on the defensive--at any rate, until there was plenty of daylight.
The alternative remained--a night attack.

Here lay the great peril which threatened the expedition.
What was to be done with the troops during the hours of darkness? In the
daytime they recked little of their enemy. But at night, when 400 yards
was the extreme range at which their fire could be opened, it was a matter
of grave doubt whether the front could be kept and the attack repelled.
The consequences of the line being penetrated in the darkness were
appalling to think of. The sudden appearance of crowds of figures swarming
to the attack through the gloom; the wild outburst of musketry and
artillery all along the zeriba; the crowds still coming on in spite of the
bullets; the fire getting uncontrolled, and then a great bunching and
crumpling of some part of the front, and mad confusion, in which a
multitude of fierce swordsmen would surge through the gap, cutting and
slashing at every living thing; in which transport animals would stampede
and rush wildly in all directions, upsetting every formation and destroying
all attempts to restore order; in which regiments and brigades would shift
for themselves and fire savagely on all sides, slaying alike friend
and foe; and out of which only a few thousand, perhaps only a few hundred,
demoralised men would escape in barges and steamers to tell the tale
of ruin and defeat.

The picture--true or false--flamed before the eyes of all the leaders
that night; but, whatever their thoughts may have been, their tactics were
bold. Whatever advice was given, whatever opinions were expressed, the
responsibility was Sir Herbert Kitchener's. Upon his shoulders lay the
burden, and the decision that was taken must be attributed solely to him.
He might have formed the army into a solid mass of men and animals,
arranged the infantry four deep all round the perimeter, and dug as big a
ditch or built as high a zeriba as time allowed. He might have filled the
numerous houses with the infantry, making them join the buildings with
hasty entrenchments, and so enclose a little space in which to squeeze
cavalry, transport, and guns. Instead he formed his army in a long thin
curve, resting on the river and enclosing a wide area of ground, about
which baggage and animals were scattered in open order and luxurious
accommodation. His line was but two deep; and only two companies per
battalion and one Egyptian brigade (Collinson's) were in reserve. He thus
obtained the greatest possible development of fire, and waited, prepared
if necessary to stake everything on the arms of precision, but hoping
with fervour that he would not be compelled to gamble by night.

The night was, however, undisturbed; and the moonlit camp,
with its anxious generals, its weary soldiers, its fearful machinery of
destruction, all strewn along the bank of the great river, remained plunged
in silence, as if brooding over the chances of the morrow and the failures
of the past. And hardly four miles away another army--twice as numerous,
equally confident, equally brave--were waiting impatiently for the morning
and the final settlement of the long quarrel.




CHAPTER XV: THE BATTLE OF OMDURMAN



SEPTEMBER 2, 1898

The bugles all over the camp by the river began to sound at half-past four.
The cavalry trumpets and the drums and fifes of the British division joined
the chorus, and everyone awoke amid a confusion of merry or defiant notes.
Then it grew gradually lighter, and the cavalry mounted their horses,
the infantry stood to their arms, and the gunners went to their batteries;
while the sun, rising over the Nile, revealed the wide plain, the dark
rocky hills, and the waiting army. It was as if all the preliminaries were
settled, the ground cleared, and nothing remained but the final act and
'the rigour of the game.'

Even before it became light several squadrons of British and Egyptian
cavalry were pushed swiftly forward to gain contact with the enemy and
learn his intentions. The first of these, under Captain Baring, occupied
Surgham Hill, and waited in the gloom until the whereabouts of the
Dervishes should be disclosed by the dawn. It was a perilous undertaking,
for he might have found them unexpectedly near. As the sun rose, the 21st
Lancers trotted out of the zeriba and threw out a spray of officers'
patrols. As there had been no night attack, it was expected that the
Dervish army would have retired to their original position or entered
the town. It was hardly conceivable that they would advance across the open
ground to attack the zeriba by daylight. Indeed, it appeared more probable
that their hearts had failed them in the night, and that they had melted
away into the desert. But these anticipations were immediately dispelled
by the scene which was visible from the crest of the ridge.

It was a quarter to six. The light was dim, but growing stronger
every minute. There in the plain lay the enemy, their numbers unaltered,
their confidence and intentions apparently unshaken. Their front was now
nearly five miles long, and composed of great masses of men joined together
by thinner lines. Behind and near to the flanks were large reserves.
From the ridge they looked dark blurs and streaks, relieved and diversified
with an odd-looking shimmer of light from the spear-points. At about
ten minutes to six it was evident that the masses were in motion and
advancing swiftly. Their Emirs galloped about and before their ranks.
Scouts and patrols scattered themselves all over the front. Then they began
to cheer. They were still a mile away from the hill, and were concealed
from the Sirdar's army by the folds of the ground. The noise of the
shouting was heard, albeit faintly, by the troops down by the river.
But to those watching on the hill a tremendous roar came up in waves
of intense sound, like the tumult of the rising wind and sea
before a storm.

The British and Egyptian forces were arranged in line, with their
back to the river. The flanks were secured by the gunboats lying moored
in the stream. Before them was the rolling sandy plain, looking from the
slight elevation of the ridge smooth and flat as a table. To the right rose
the rocky hills of the Kerreri position, near which the Egyptian cavalry
were drawn up--a dark solid mass of men and horses. On the left the
21st Lancers, with a single squadron thrown out in advance, were halted
watching their patrols, who climbed about Surgham Hill, stretched forward
beyond it, or perched, as we did, on the ridge.

The ground sloped gently up from the river; so that it seemed
as if the landward ends of the Surgham and Kerreri ridges curved in towards
each other, enclosing what lay between. Beyond the long swell of sand which
formed the western wall of this spacious amphitheatre the black shapes of
the distant hills rose in misty confusion. The challengers were already
in the arena; their antagonists swiftly approached.

Although the Dervishes were steadily advancing, a belief that
their musketry was inferior encouraged a nearer view, and we trotted round
the south-west slopes of Surgham Hill until we reached the sandhills on the
enemy's side, among which the regiment had waited the day before.
Thence the whole array was visible in minute detail. It seemed that every
single man of all the thousands could be examined separately. The pace of
their march was fast and steady, and it was evident that it would not be
safe to wait long among the sandhills. Yet the wonder of the scene
exercised a dangerous fascination, and for a while we tarried.

The emblems of the more famous Emirs were easily distinguishable.
On the extreme left the chiefs and soldiers of the bright green flag
gathered under Ali-Wad-Helu; between this and the centre the large
dark green flag of Osman Sheikh-ed-Din rose above a dense mass of spearmen,
preceded by long lines of warriors armed presumably with rifles; over the
centre, commanded by Yakub, the sacred Black banner of the Khalifa floated
high and remarkable; while on the right a great square of Dervishes was
arrayed under an extraordinary number of white flags, amid which the red
ensign of Sherif was almost hidden. All the pride and might of the Dervish
Empire were massed on this last great day of its existence. Riflemen who
had helped to destroy Hicks, spearmen who had charged at Abu Klea,
Emirs who saw the sack of Gondar, Baggara fresh from raiding the Shillooks,
warriors who had besieged Khartoum--all marched, inspired by the memories
of former triumphs and embittered by the knowledge of late defeats,
to chastise the impudent and accursed invaders.

The advance continued. The Dervish left began to stretch out
across the plain towards Kerreri--as I thought, to turn our right flank.
Their centre, under the Black Flag, moved directly towards Surgham.
The right pursued a line of advance south of that hill. This mass of men
were the most striking of all. They could not have mustered fewer
than 6,000. Their array was perfect. They displayed a great number
of flags--perhaps 500--which looked at the distance white, though they
were really covered with texts from the Koran, and which by their
admirable alignment made this division of the Khalifa's army look like
the old representations of the Crusaders in the Bayeux tapestry.

The attack developed. The left, nearly 20,000 strong, toiled across
the plain and approached the Egyptian squadrons. The leading masses of
the centre deployed facing the zeriba and marched forthwith to the direct
assault. As the whole Dervish army continued to advance, the division
with the white flags, which had until now been echeloned in rear of
their right, moved up into the general line and began to climb the
southern slopes of Surgham Hill. Meanwhile yet another body of the enemy,
comparatively insignificant in numbers, who had been drawn up behind the
'White Flags,' were moving slowly towards the Nile, echeloned still further
behind their right, and not far from the suburbs of Omdurman. These men
had evidently been posted to prevent the Dervish army being cut off from
the city and to secure their line of retreat; and with them
the 21st Lancers were destined to have a much closer acquaintance
about two hours later.

The Dervish centre had come within range. But it was not
the British and Egyptian army that began the battle. If there was one arm
in which the Arabs were beyond all comparison inferior to their adversaries,
it was in guns. Yet it was with this arm that they opened their attack.
In the middle of the Dervish line now marching in frontal assault were
two puffs of smoke. About fifty yards short of the thorn fence two
red clouds of sand and dust sprang up, where the projectiles had struck.
It looked like a challenge. It was immediately answered. Great clouds
of smoke appeared all along the front of the British and Soudanese brigades.
One after another four batteries opened on the enemy at a range of about
3,000 yards. The sound of the cannonade rolled up to us on the ridge,
and was re-echoed by the hills. Above the heads of the moving masses
shells began to burst, dotting the air with smoke-balls and the ground
with bodies. But a nearer tragedy impended. The 'White Flags' were nearly
over the crest. In another minute they would become visible to the
batteries. Did they realise what would come to meet them? They were in
a dense mass, 2,800 yards from the 32nd Field Battery and the gunboats.
The ranges were known. It was a matter of machinery. The more distant
slaughter passed unnoticed, as the mind was fascinated by the approaching
horror. In a few seconds swift destruction would rush on these brave men.
They topped the crest and drew out into full view of the whole army.
Their white banners made them conspicuous above all. As they saw the camp
of their enemies, they discharged their rifles with a great roar of
musketry and quickened their pace. For a moment the white flags advanced
in regular order, and the whole division crossed the crest and were exposed.
Forthwith the gunboats, the 32nd British Field Battery, and other guns
from the zeriba opened on them. About twenty shells struck them
in the first minute. Some burst high in the air, others exactly in their
faces. Others, again, plunged into the sand and, exploding, dashed clouds
of red dust, splinters, and bullets amid their ranks. The white banners
toppled over in all directions. Yet they rose again immediately, as other
men pressed forward to die for the Mahdi's sacred cause and in the
defence of the successor of the True Prophet. It was a terrible sight,
for as yet they had not hurt us at all, and it seemed an unfair advantage
to strike thus cruelly when they could not reply. Under the influence
of the shells the mass of the 'White Flags' dissolved into thin lines of
spearmen and skirmishers, and came on in altered formation and diminished
numbers, but with unabated enthusiasm. And now, the whole attack being
thoroughly exposed, it became the duty of the cavalry to clear the front
as quickly as possible, and leave the further conduct of the debate
to the infantry and the Maxim guns. All the patrols trotted or cantered
back to their squadrons, and the regiment retired swiftly into the zeriba,
while the shells from the gunboats screamed overhead and the whole length
of the position began to burst into flame and smoke. Nor was it long
before the tremendous banging of the artillery was swollen
by the roar of musketry.

Taking advantage of the shelter of the river-bank, the cavalry dismounted;
we watered our horses, waited, and wondered what was happening. And every
moment the tumult grew louder and more intense, until even the flickering
stutter of the Maxims could scarcely be heard above the continuous din.
Eighty yards away, and perhaps twenty feet above us, the 32nd Field Battery
was in action. The nimble figures of the gunners darted about as they
busied themselves in their complicated process of destruction. The officers,
some standing on biscuit-boxes, peered through their glasses and studied
the effect. Of this I had one glimpse. Eight hundred yards away a ragged
line of men were coming on desperately, struggling forward in the face
of the pitiless fire--white banners tossing and collapsing; white figures
subsiding in dozens to the ground; little white puffs from their rifles,
larger white puffs spreading in a row all along their front from the
bursting shrapnel.

The infantry fired steadily and stolidly, without hurry or excitement,
for the enemy were far away and the officers careful. Besides, the soldiers
were interested in the work and took great pains. But presently the mere
physical act became tedious. The tiny figures seen over the slide of the
backsight seemed a little larger, but also fewer at each successive volley.
The rifles grew hot--so hot that they had to be changed for those of the
reserve companies. The Maxim guns exhausted all the water in their jackets,
and several had to be refreshed from the water-bottles of the Cameron
Highlanders before they could go on with their deadly work. The empty
cartridge-cases, tinkling to the ground, formed a small but growing heap
beside each man. And all the time out on the plain on the other side
bullets were shearing through flesh, smashing and splintering bone;
blood spouted from terrible wounds; valiant men were struggling on through
a hell of whistling metal, exploding shells, and spurting dust--suffering,
despairing, dying. Such was the first phase of the battle of Omdurman.

The Khalifa's plan of attack appears to have been complex and ingenious.
It was, however, based on an extraordinary miscalculation of the power of
modern weapons; with the exception of this cardinal error, it is not
necessary to criticise it. He first ordered about 15,000 men, drawn chiefly
from the army of Osman Sheikh-ed-Din and placed under the command of Osman
Azrak, to deliver a frontal attack. He himself waited with an equal force
near Surgham Hill to watch the result. If it succeeded, he would move
forward with his bodyguard, the flower of the Arab army, and complete the
victory. If it failed, there was yet another chance. The Dervishes who were
first launched against the zeriba, although very brave men, were not by any
means his best or most reliable troops. Their destruction might be a
heavy loss, but it would not end the struggle. While the attack was
proceeding, the valiant left, consisting of the rest of the army of Osman
Sheikh-ed-Din, might move unnoticed to the northern flank and curve round
on to the front of the zeriba held by the Egyptian brigade. Ali-Wad-Helu
was meanwhile to march to the Kerreri Hills, and remain out of range and,
if possible, out of sight among them. Should the frontal and flank attacks
be unhappily repulsed, the 'enemies of God,' exulting in their easy victory
over the faithful, would leave their strong place and march to the capture
and sack of the city. Then, while they were yet dispersed on the plain,
with no zeriba to protect them, the chosen warriors of the True Religion
would abandon all concealment, and hasten in their thousands to the utter
destruction of the accursed--the Khalifa with 15,000 falling upon them from
behind Surgham; Ali-Wad-Helu and all that remained of Osman's army
assailing them from Kerreri. Attacked at once from the north and south,
and encompassed on every side, the infidels would abandon hope and order,
and Kitchener might share the fate of Hicks and Gordon. Two circumstances,
which will appear as the account proceeds, prevented the accomplishment of
this plan. The second attack was not executed simultaneously by the two
divisions of the Dervish army; and even had it been, the power of the
musketry would have triumphed, and though the Expeditionary Force might
have sustained heavier losses the main result could not have been affected.
The last hopes of barbarism had passed with the shades of night.

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