I rose to take
leave; but the crowd, eager to see what was going forward, pressed
closely upon the entrance of the approach, seeing which, the king gave
certain orders, and immediately four or five men with long heavy
bludgeons rushed at the mob and belabored them right and left, putting
the mass to flight pell-mell through the narrow lanes of the camp.
I was then carried back to my camp at Kisoona, where I was received by a
great crowd of people.
CHAPTER XXIII.
The hour of deliverance - Triumphal entry into Gondokoro - Home-bound -
The plague breaks out - Our welcome at Khartoum to civilization.
The hour of deliverance from our long sojourn in Central Africa was at
hand. It was the month of February, and the boats would be at Gondokoro.
The Turks had packed their ivory; the large tusks were fastened to poles
to be carried by two men, and the camp was a perfect mass of this
valuable material. I counted 609 loads of upward of 50 lbs. each;
thirty-one loads were lying at an out-station; therefore the total
results of the ivory campaign during the last twelve months were about
32,000 lbs., equal to about 9,630 pounds sterling when delivered in
Egypt. This was a perfect fortune for Koorshid.
We were ready to start. My baggage was so unimportant that I was
prepared to forsake everything, and to march straight for Gondokoro
independently with my own men; but this the Turks assured me was
impracticable, as the country was so hostile in advance that we must of
necessity have some fighting on the road; the Bari tribe would dispute
our right to pass through their territory.
The day arrived for our departure; the oxen were saddled, and we were
ready to start. Crowds of people cane to say "good-by;" but, dispensing
with the hand-kissing of the Turks who were to remain in camp, we
prepared for our journey toward HOME. Far away though it was, every step
would bring us nearer. Nevertheless there were ties even in this wild
spot, where all was savage and unfeeling - ties that were painful to
sever, and that caused a sincere regret to both of us when we saw our
little flock of unfortunate slave children crying at the idea of
separation. In this moral desert, where all humanized feelings were
withered and parched like the sands of the Soudan, the guilelessness of
the children had been welcomed like springs of water, as the only
refreshing feature in a land of sin and darkness.
"Where are you going?" cried poor little Abbai in the broken Arabic that
we had taught him.
