Far away to the southward the dust of a
Darfur caravan breaks the clear-cut skyline with a misty blur.
The prolonged beating of war-drums and loud booming notes of horns
chase away the silence of the night. It is Friday, and after the hour of
prayer all grown men must attend the review on the plain without the city.
Already the streets are crowded with devout and obedient warriors.
soon the great square of the mosque - for no roof could shelter so many
thousand worshippers - is filled with armed men, kneeling in humble
supplication to the stern God of Islam and his most holy Mahdi.
It is finished. They rise and hurry to the parade. The Emirs plant their
flags, and all form in the ranks. Woe to the laggard; and let the speedy
see that he wear his newest jibba, and carry a sharp sword and at least
three spears. Presently the array is complete.
A salute of seven guns is fired. Mounted on a fine camel, which is led
by a gigantic Nubian, and attended by perhaps two hundred horsemen in
chain armour, the Khalifa rides on to the ground and along the ranks.
It is a good muster. Few have dared absent themselves. Yet his brow is
clouded. What has happened? Is there another revolt in the west? Do the
Abyssinians threaten Gallabat? Have the black troops mutinied; or is it
only some harem quarrel?
The parade is over. The troops march back to the arsenal. The rifles
are collected, and the warriors disperse to their homes. Many hurry to
the market-place to make purchases, to hear the latest rumour, or to
watch the executions - for there are usually executions. Others stroll to
the Suk-er-Rekik and criticise the points of the slave girls as the
dealers offer them for sale. But the Khalifa has returned to his house,
and his council have been summoned. The room is small, and the ruler sits
cross-legged upon his couch. Before him squat the Emirs and Kadis. Yakub
is there, with Ali-Wad-Helu and the Khalifa Sherif. Only the Sheikh-ed-Din
is absent, for he is a dissolute youth and much given to drinking.
Abdullah is grave and anxious. A messenger has come from the north.
The Turks are on the move. Advancing beyond their frontier, they have
established themselves at Akasha. Wad Bishara fears lest they may attack
the faithful who hold Firket. In itself this is but a small matter,
for all these years there has been frontier fighting. But what follows
is full of menacing significance. The 'enemies of God' have begun to
repair the railway - have repaired it, so that the train already runs
beyond Sarras. Even now they push their iron road out into the desert
towards their position at Akasha and to the south. What is the object of
their toil? Are they coming again? Will they bring those terrible white
soldiers who broke the hearts of the Hadendoa and almost destroyed the
Degheim and Kenana? What should draw them up the Nile? Is it for plunder,
or in sheer love of war; or is it a blood feud that brings them?
True, they are now far off. Perchance they will return, as they returned
before. Yet the iron road is not built in a day, nor for a day, and of a
surety there are war-clouds in the north.
CHAPTER IV: THE YEARS OF PREPARATION
In the summer of 1886, when all the troops had retreated to Wady Halfa
and all the Soudan garrisons had been massacred, the British people
averted their eyes in shame and vexation from the valley of the Nile.
A long succession of disasters had reached their disgraceful culmination.
The dramatic features added much to the bitterness and nothing to the
grandeur of the tragedy. The cost was heavy. Besides the pain produced by
the death of General Gordon, the heavy losses in officers and men, and the
serious expenditure of public money, the nation smarted under failure and
disappointment, and were, moreover, deeply sensible that they had been
humiliated before the whole world. The situation in Egypt was scarcely
more pleasing. The reforms initiated by the British Administrators had as
yet only caused unpopularity. Baring's interference galled the Khedive
and his Ministers. Vincent's parsimony excited contempt. Moncrieff's
energy had convulsed the Irrigation Department. Wood's army was the
laughing-stock of Europe. Among and beneath the rotten weeds and garbage
of old systems and abuses the new seed was being sown. But England saw
no signs of the crop; saw only the stubborn husbandmen begrimed with the
dust and dirt, and herself hopelessly involved in the Egyptian muddle:
and so in utter weariness and disgust, stopping her ears to the gibes
and cat-calls of the Powers, she turned towards other lands
and other matters.
When the attention of the nation was again directed to Egypt
the scene was transformed. It was as though at the touch of an angel
the dark morasses of the Slough of Despond had been changed to the breezy
slopes of the Delectable Mountains. The Khedive and his Ministers lay
quiet and docile in the firm grasp of the Consul-General. The bankrupt
State was spending surpluses upon internal improvement. The disturbed
Irrigation Department was vivifying the land. The derided army held the
frontier against all comers. Astonishment gave place to satisfaction,
and satisfaction grew into delight. The haunting nightmare of Egyptian
politics ended. Another dream began - a bright if vague vision of Imperial
power, of trans-continental railways, of African Viceroys, of conquest
and commerce. The interest of the British people in the work of
regeneration grew continually. Each new reform was hailed with applause.
Each annual Budget was scrutinised with pride.
