But The Bodies Thickly
Scattered In The Scrub Were Convincing Evidences.
In one space not much
more than a score of yards square lay all the most famous Emirs of the once
far-reaching Dervish domination.
The Khalifa Abdullah, pierced by several
balls, was stretched dead on his sheepskin; on his right lay Ali-Wad-Helu,
on his left Ahmed Fedil. Before them was a line of lifeless bodyguards;
behind them a score of less important chiefs; and behind these, again,
a litter of killed and wounded horses. Such was the grim spectacle which
in the first light of the morning met the eyes of the British officers,
to some of whom it meant the conclusion of a perilous task prolonged over
many years. And while they looked in astonishment not unmingled with awe,
there scrambled unhurt from under a heap of bodies the little Emir Yunes,
of Dongola, who added the few links necessary to complete the chain.
At Omdurman Abdullah had remained mounted behind the hill of Surgham,
but in this his last fight he had set himself in the forefront of the
battle. Almost at the first discharge, his son Osman, the Sheikh-ed-Din,
was wounded, and as he was carried away he urged the Khalifa to save
himself by flight; but the latter, with a dramatic dignity sometimes
denied to more civilised warriors, refused. Dismounting from his horse,
and ordering his Emirs to imitate him, he seated himself on his sheepskin
and there determined to await the worst of fortune.
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