Notwithstanding The Numbers And The Valour Of The Arabs,
That They Penetrated The Square, And That They Inflicted On The
Troops
a loss of nine officers and sixty-five men killed and nine officers
and eighty-five men wounded - 10
Percent of the entire force - they were
driven from the field with great slaughter, and the Desert Column
camped at the wells.
On the morning of the 18th they rested, placed their wounded in the
small fort they had built, and buried their dead. In the afternoon they
continued their advance, marched all through the night, and, having
covered twenty-three miles, halted exhausted, almost within sight of
the river, at daylight on the 19th. Meanwhile the enemy had again
collected in great strength, and an effective rifle fire was opened on
the column. Sir Herbert Stewart received the wound of which a few weeks
later he died. The command devolved upon Sir Charles Wilson. The position
was desperate. Water was running short. The Nile was only four miles away;
but the column were impeded by their wounded and stores, and between the
river and the thirsty men lay the Dervish army, infuriated by their losses
and fully aware of the sore straits to which their astonishing enemy
was now reduced.
It now became necessary to divide the small force. Some must remain
to guard the baggage and the wounded; the others must fight their way to
the water. At three o'clock in the afternoon of the 19th, 900 men left the
hastily made zeriba and marched towards the river. Without their camels
or those of the transport they appeared insignificant, a mere speck on
the broad plain of Metemma. The Dervishes hastened to clinch the matter.
The square advances slowly and painfully over the stony ground,
with frequent jerky halts to preserve order and to pick up the wounded.
Little puffs of white smoke dot the distant sandhills. Here and there
a gaudy flag waves defiantly. In front the green tops of the palm-trees
by the Nile tantalise but stimulate the soldiers. On the left the great
mud labyrinth of Metemma stretches indefinitely. Suddenly the firing
stops. The low scrub in front is alive with the swarming figures of
the enemy. All the flags dance forward together. Ragged white figures
spring up in hundreds. Emirs on horses appear as if by magic. Everywhere
are men running swiftly forward, waving their spears and calling upon the
Prophet of God to speed their enterprise. The square halts. The weary men
begin to fire with thoughtful care, The Dervishes drop thickly. On then,
children of the desert! you are so many, they are so few. They are worn
with fatigue and their throats are parched. You have drunk deeply of
the Nile. One rush will trample the accursed under the feet of the
faithful. The charge continues. A bugle sounds in the waiting square.
The firing stops. What is this? They lose heart. Their ammunition is
exhausted. On, then, and make an end.
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