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In the Mahdi's Grasp, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 41. The Last Struggle |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY ONE. THE LAST STRUGGLE The night glided slowly on, seeming to be as long as several to the weary watchers, and during the latter part, when the bustle of preparation had long ceased in the women's part of the palace, even the horses and camels beyond the dividing wall had grown perfectly quiet. From time to time, watchful and silent, the officer of the guard had been to visit them, looking sharply round and then leaving without a word; while after one of his visits Frank and the professor stepped out into the open to visit the Sheikh's men, who were seated smoking patiently by their crouching camels, waiting for their chief's return. In this look round and another which followed, Frank found that the men of the bodyguard were fully on the alert, and that twice as many sentries as usual were about the place. But all was silent save a low murmur from the far-spreading city--a low, strange buzzing burr as if from some vast hive, suggesting that the whole place was awake and in expectation of something about to happen. At last there were the faint indications of the coming day, but to the watchers even they seemed cold and strange, differing from the early dawns they were accustomed to in their journeys across the vast stretch of sand. The light increased, and a strange restlessness, which they could not explain attacked the watchers. The drowsiness that had been felt from time to time had completely passed away, and while the Hakim sat looking stern and anxious, Sam relieved his feelings by making coffee, feeling sure all the time that no one would touch it, and Frank and the professor fidgeted about in and out to look at the camel-drivers seated as calmly as the quaint animals they tended, and then to see if the guard were still at their posts. But there was no further sign of preparation for a start, and the chief of the guard was nowhere to be seen. Sunrise came, and with it the hurrying of feet, which proved to be a large body of men making for the vast expanse of mud-houses nearest to the river, where the rough forts, of which Frank had never obtained a glimpse, lay. When the men had passed, the silence became oppressive once more, and Frank and his companion went in to find Harry nursing his arm, which had taken to throbbing violently. Just then Sam was ready with the coffee, borne in a steaming brass pot in company with a brass tray and so many brass cups. "You'll have some coffee, gentlemen?" he said respectfully; "it will be so refreshing," and setting down the tray he began, though no one answered, to fill the little cups. At that moment there came from far away the dull, short report of a gun, and Sam nearly dropped the coffee pot. "What's that?" he cried, with his eyes starting widely open. "A heavy gun," said Harry, starting up. "Then this is what all this gathering meant." He had hardly spoken before in rapid succession two more reports were heard, followed by crash after crash, distinct and peculiar, but unmistakable. "Bullets," said Harry, who began to pant with excitement, as he made for the door. "Hark at that, and that! Oh, it has come at last, and I am a prisoner here!" At that moment a camel was seen passing the window. One of the Sheikh's men was leading it, and directly after Frank uttered a cry of joy, and, followed by the professor, ran to the door, just in time to encounter Ibrahim, who hurried in, looking haggard and bent. The next minute he was shaking hands with all, and eagerly took the coffee Sam offered to him. He drank it with avidity, after adding to it some cold water from a jug close by. "Hah!" he ejaculated, and then quickly-- "I went out, Excellencies, to make a long round so as to find out all that was to be known. It has been hard work to avoid being cut off. But I have seen much." "Yes, yes; pray speak out," cried Frank. "The Khalifa has gathered his forces together, and yesterday evening they made their advance away from the town--an enormous army, seeming to drive their enemies back." "Their enemies!" cried Harry excitedly. "The English and Egyptian armies?" "Yes, Excellency; they are many miles away, by the river side, and there are gunboats coming on nearly opposite here." "At last!" cried Harry. "Oh, but it has been long, long! This time they will not be too late." "It seemed last night that the great battle was to take place; but at dusk the Khalifa halted his army, thousands upon thousands; their white garments seemed to spread for three or four miles, and I felt that at last the great time had come." "Yes, yes?" cried Frank, and the old Sheikh's voice sounded dull and strange now, overborne by the distant muttering thunder of the firing, which seemed to be on the increase. "But I would not come back till I could be sure of the tidings I had to bring, and I lay out with my camel among the hills over yonder, till just at daybreak I could see that the dervish army was in motion, and I mounted my camel, keeping to the highest parts I could find. I made a circuit, after seeing the British and Egyptian forces far back by the river, and the dervishes in one long, white wave sweeping steadily along as if to lap round and drive their foes into the stream." "And that they will never do!" said Harry proudly. "I don't know, Excellency. The dervishes looked so many. Your friends seemed so few. But I had learned all I wanted, for I could see that the great fight was about to begin, and I came with the tidings. What will your Excellencies do?" He looked at the doctor as he spoke, and the latter replied, "We can do nothing while we are here, Ibrahim. Our orders are to wait till our guard gives the word for us to start." "And then we hope to make for the desert if we can shake our guardians off," said the professor. The old Sheikh was silent, as if deep in thought. "I know not how to advise," he said. "If the English are beaten--" "They will not be!" cried Harry excitedly. "I pray not, Excellency, but if the day goes against them it would be madness to take to the desert, for the dervishes will be swarming everywhere, athirst for blood. We could not escape, and we should be safer here. Even if the Khalifa's army is routed it will be as bad, for we should have to mingle with the flying Baggara, while the pursuing Egyptians would be as dangerous as the dervishes themselves. I feel that we ought to stay." "But our orders are, to be ready to start at any time," said the doctor gravely. "Then, Excellency, we must accept our fate. We shall be taken to Khartoum, where the beaten force will rally and defend it to the last." "Not rally here, Ibrahim?" said Frank eagerly. "No, Excellency. This is no place to defend. The well-drilled troops would sweep through it after their heavy guns and scatter the mud-houses into heaps. No, the dervishes will hoist their standards at Khartoum. But we must make a brave effort to avoid being shut in there." He said no more, for there seemed to be no more to say, and the desire of all was to listen to the distant thunder, which had been increasing as he spoke, telling plainly enough of the terrible battle going on, while suddenly, and as if close at hand, there came the heavy reports of guns away to the east. "The gunboats," said Ibrahim quietly, "and the forts answering back. This is the day that the fate of the Soudan must be known." How the time went no one could tell in that wildly exciting, agonising time of doubt. The firing from miles away to the north continued, and the cannonading from the river was maintained, but there was no news of how the fight progressed, and a feeling of despair was attacking the prisoners when all at once the firing ceased. What did it mean? That the collected army of the Khalifa was immense they were well aware. Had it swept on and on in the great white wave the Sheikh had described, vastly overlapping the Anglo-Egyptian force, and, curling round its flanks, achieved the Baggara Emir's threat of sweeping the infidels into the river, now cumbered with the slain? For the silence was ominous; even the gunboats had ceased firing, and their guard had made no sign. In the hurried discussion which ensued, the professor drew attention to this; but it was repelled with contempt by Harry. "What of that?" he said. "The forts were so much mud, with a few poorly served guns. They have been silenced, and there is nothing more to fire at. Even now the boats may have landed men who are marching into the town." "But the firing on the field!" said Frank excitedly. "Oh, if we only knew!" Almost as he spoke the Emir's officer came in, and there was a look of triumph in his eyes as he said to the Sheikh-- "There will be no journey to-day, O Sheikh, for the enemies of Allah are being swept away. The Emir my master will be back before night, and all my prisoners are safe." He left them, and they saw that he went in the direction of the women's part of the palace, evidently to give his good news there and set the poor creatures at rest; but he could hardly have reached their quarters before the firing broke out again, certainly nearer and fiercer than before. "He spoke too soon!" cried Harry excitedly. "We shall beat the savage wretches yet!" The firing rose and fell, and rose again, and to the hearers the suspense grew unbearable, Frank and his brother feeling that at all risks they must try by some means to get tidings of how the battle fared. Again there was a cessation and a long interval of silence. Once more the dull thudding of the artillery was heard above the roar of rifle volleys and the snarling rattle of the machine guns; and when this ceased there was a hurried sound, mingled with wailing, within the walls of the Emir's house; two of the guards passed quickly by the windows of the Hakim's quarters, and the Sheikh's men were seen hurrying towards the door, where they were met by the chief of the guard, who rushed by them, to shout in a stern voice to Ibrahim-- "Quick! to your camels! We leave here now." That was enough. No trumpet-blast could have announced in clearer tones that the fight was won, and as he passed out a strange murmurous roar arose from the streets of the great mud city, a mingling of excited voices, those of the fugitives and those of the more resolute who elected to stay. There was a stern look in the officer's eyes as he stood, drawn sword in hand, looking on while the final preparations were made, and within ten minutes the prisoners were mounted on horse and camel and assembled in the well-guarded court, where the women and slaves of the Emir's household were already waiting. Directly after the long train moved out through the gateway with their watchful guards; and it was none too soon, for before they had passed down a couple of streets, a yelling mob of savage-looking armed men made for the Emir's palace, spreading through to loot and carry off everything that took their eye. It was the same throughout, for the first deed of about three thousand of the dervish army which had fled, routed from the field, was to make for the palaces of the Khalifa, and those of his chief Emirs, on plunder bent, while, where they dared, the ordinary dwellers of the city joined in to bear off the garnered stores of corn. Frank and his companions knew nothing of this as they were hurried along through the tortuous ways of the vast stretch of hovels, tents, and mud huts, till they reached the outskirts, and then the wide-stretching plain, where they had ample opportunity of learning the truth. For on every side, streaming towards Khartoum, where it lay whitened in the distance, were the routed dervishes, some in troops, displaying military order, but the greater part scattered and flying for their lives on horses, camels, and on foot. They had need--for the Emir's officer had stayed too long in his blind belief in the success of the Khalifa's troops--the avenging forces were close behind, and the dervishes were falling fast, dotting the plain with their white garments, while riderless horses and camels careered wildly here and there. The race was for Khartoum--the efforts of the Sirdar's troops, horse, foot, and artillery, to cut them off, and it was not long before the English party grasped the fact that it would be a marvel if they reached the distant city alive in the midst of the hurrying crowd. But the Emir's bodyguard worked well, keeping their charge together, hurrying on the camels, encouraging the women, and twice over forming up and attacking bands of their fellow fighting men who approached menacingly, seeing in the flying party of the Emir's household ample opportunities for securing plunder, but only to be beaten off. Any attempt at escape would only have been to invite recapture. Frank and his brother, well mounted as they were, like the guard, on a couple of the Emir's magnificent Arabs, could have galloped off with ease, but the slower going camels on which their friends rode could not have kept up with them, and even if an attempt had been made where were they to go? It was to run the gauntlet amongst the relics of the flying army, to risk being cut down by their friends before they had time to explain that they were not what they seemed. Harry seemed to have forgotten his injured arm, and he and Frank rode together, helping the officer of the guard, though it was only in keeping their own party together, and encouraging the followers of the Sheikh, who were losing their calmness in the wild rout, with the guns of the horse artillery sending forth grape wherever a knot of the enemy hung together, and the cavalry, white and black, charging here and there. It was while Frank was cheering on Sam, and then helping a dismounted man to a seat on a baggage camel, that the officer rode up, meeting Harry, who turned to him at once, to address him in the keen, commanding tones of the British officer, as he pointed towards the open plains and hills. "You can never get to Khartoum," he said. "Make for the desert." "Yes," said the officer calmly, as he fully grasped the position; for rapidly passing their left flank, and gradually cutting off their way, they saw a regiment of the Egyptian cavalry tearing along, riding down scores of the dervishes as they went. It seemed to be their only chance, and the two young men joined with their leader in heart and soul to hurry the camel train along. Turning then at right-angles, the leading man made for the shelter of some hills a couple of miles to the west, and as the camels were hurried along, there seemed for a few minutes a prospect of getting right away. "From Scylla into Charybdis," cried Harry bitterly. "But can we do better?" said Frank excitedly. "There is no better," said Harry sadly, "in a rout. It is every man for himself now. No one has a friend." They rode on as fast as they could get the groaning and complaining camels along, and were rapidly nearing the hills, when a warning cry came from their leader, in answer to which the guard turned back, leaving the camels to proceed alone, for the Emir's officer had suddenly become aware of the fact that a band of at least a hundred of the mounted dervishes in full retreat had swooped round, and were dashing at them, certainly with no peaceful intent. "It's all over, Frank, lad," cried Harry. "Let's get alongside Morris and Landon. They may make us prisoners, but the wretches' blood is up, and their only thoughts are to plunder and slay. Try and save them; here the wretches come." "Look, look!" cried Frank, for from their right front some four hundred yards away there was a gleam of steel, a glimpse of white helmets, and an opening outline of galloping horses racing out of a hollow. The evolution was brilliant, and before it seemed possible, the line of horsemen with lowered spears were upon the advancing dervish band, which had already got amongst the Emir's guard, fighting and dying in defence of their charge. A minute? More likely half a minute, and a couple of squadrons of British cavalry had ridden through the dervishes, leaving the earth cumbered with dead and wounded men, whose horses galloped wildly here and there. On went the cavalry, wheeled, and came back, cutting down all who resisted, the major portion of the enemy flying for their lives to east and north, for from the west a second squadron of the British horse was coming up at a gallop, a detachment checking and capturing the whole camel train. How it came about Frank hardly knew, but somehow, mounted as he was, he found himself with his brother close to where the Emir's officer, with a dozen of his men, had hacked their way from among a crowd of dervishes, just as the British cavalry had wheeled and come back, cutting up the assailants of the Emir's guards, and the next minute had nearly been Frank's last, for an English lancer rode in the _melee_ at the Emir's officer, who must have fallen had not a quick blow from Frank's sword turned the lance aside. The man passed on, but an officer dashed in, sword in hand, and Frank would have been laid low but for his brother's act. For Harry turned his horse and rode full at the advancing officer, their chargers coming together as he shouted wildly-- "Halt! Halt! English--English!" The officer turned upon him fiercely. "What?--Who are you?" "Frere, of Gordon's," shouted Harry. "But that black?" "My brother!" "Yes," cried Frank, in honest old English. "I was trying to save this brave man's life." "Then don't black your face first, youngster, next time," cried the officer, with a laugh, as he turned to find fresh food for his steel. But the enemy were flying fast, scattered, and leaving half their force upon the field. The recall was ringing out, and shortly after the English squadrons were making for Khartoum, with their prisoners and prizes, the former including the remains of the Emir's bodyguard, their captain and six of his followers, wounded to a man. That night Frank and his companions rested in Khartoum. It was the day of the oft-told scene when the Sirdar and his staff were gathered around with all the thrilling pomp of a military funeral, to pay the long-deferred honour at their hero's grave. The chaplain had read the solemn words, the volleys had been fired, to waken the echoes from where they had slumbered among the ruins of Khartoum, and the victorious general and his brave staff had paid their last duties of respect. As the combined flags floated and waved together with a soft rustle in the desert wind, the general and his officers drew back from the hero's grave and then stood fast, as a thin, worn-looking, sun-burned man in tattered white cotton garments, and bearing his left arm in a sling, stepped forward--a dervish slave in dress, but with the bearing of a British officer, and closely followed by a black. For the moment it seemed like an intrusion, and there was a movement amongst the Sirdar's guard as if to force them back. But an officer raised his hand, and then whispered to another at his side-- "Gordon's friend; a prisoner with him at his death." "Yes, but the black fellow?" said the other, in the same low tone. "Pst! Tell you after--brother--came in disguise--to seek him out." Then all stood watching in the midst of a painful silence as they saw the rescued victim of the Mahdi's reign of terror sink softly upon his knees by his leader's grave and lay upon it a leaf freshly taken from a neighbouring palm, while his companion stood reverently close behind. A minute had elapsed, and then those present drew back, and a hand was laid upon the kneeling man's shoulder. The latter rose slowly, and he who had silently warned him that it was time to go heard him murmur-- "Goodbye, brave soldier and truest friend. I did my best. But it is not Goodbye: for you will be always with us--one of Britain's greatest sons--your name will never die." Then turning to his companion with a faint, sad smile, he said softly-- "Our country was slow to move, but at last it has done its duty well. Mine was a bitter time of waiting, but it is as nothing now, for I have been here to see." He turned and looked up quickly, for there was a sharp fluttering sound as of wings. "The British flag!" he said, with a look of pride lighting up his deeply bronzed face. "There, Frank, lad, our work is done, and the way is open. Now for rest--for the home I never hoped to see again." A low murmur of admiration ran along the ranks of the British soldiers, officers and men, as the brothers walked slowly back to where a group was standing, one of whom was a good-looking, sun-browned Hakim in snowy turban and flowing robes, attended by a swarthy man in a _fez_--a man in white garb with a very English face, and just behind him a venerable Sheikh. For all who were present now had learned the facts, and as the brothers passed, one of the officers of the Sirdar's guard exclaimed-- "By George! and yet there are people who say we have no heroes now!" [THE END] _ |
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