Indeed, it was with consternation that they had heard of
the approach of the flotilla. The natives had carried the news swiftly up
the river that the Dervishes were coming back with five steamers, and for
three nights the French had been sleeplessly awaiting the assault of
a powerful enemy.
Their joy and relief at the arrival of a European force were undisguised.
The Sirdar and his officers on their part were thrilled with admiration at
the wonderful achievements of this small band of heroic men. Two years had
passed since they left the Atlantic coast. For four months they had been
absolutely lost from human ken. They had fought with savages; they had
struggled with fever; they had climbed mountains and pierced the most
gloomy forests. Five days and five nights they had stood up to their necks
in swamp and water. A fifth of their number had perished; yet at last
they had carried out their mission and, arriving at Fashoda on the 10th
of July, had planted the tricolour upon the Upper Nile.
Moved by such reflections the British officers disembarked.
Major Marchand, with a guard of honour, came to meet the General.
They shook hands warmly. 'I congratulate you,' said the Sirdar, 'on all you
have accomplished.' 'No,' replied the Frenchman, pointing to his troops;
'it is not I, but these soldiers who have done it.' And Kitchener, telling
the story afterwards, remarked, 'Then I knew he was a gentleman.'
Into the diplomatic discussions that followed, it is not necessary
to plunge.
