Two Explanations Of Their Advance And Halt Presented
Themselves.
Either they had offered battle in a position where they could
not themselves be attacked until four o'clock in
The afternoon, and hoped
that the Sirdar's army, even though victorious, would have to fight a
rear-guard action in the darkness to the river; or they intended to make
a night attack. It was not likely that an experienced commander would
accept battle at so late an hour in the day. If the Dervishes were anxious
to attack, so much the worse for them. But the army would remain strictly
on the defensive - at any rate, until there was plenty of daylight.
The alternative remained - a night attack.
Here lay the great peril which threatened the expedition.
What was to be done with the troops during the hours of darkness? In the
daytime they recked little of their enemy. But at night, when 400 yards
was the extreme range at which their fire could be opened, it was a matter
of grave doubt whether the front could be kept and the attack repelled.
The consequences of the line being penetrated in the darkness were
appalling to think of. The sudden appearance of crowds of figures swarming
to the attack through the gloom; the wild outburst of musketry and
artillery all along the zeriba; the crowds still coming on in spite of the
bullets; the fire getting uncontrolled, and then a great bunching and
crumpling of some part of the front, and mad confusion, in which a
multitude of fierce swordsmen would surge through the gap, cutting and
slashing at every living thing; in which transport animals would stampede
and rush wildly in all directions, upsetting every formation and destroying
all attempts to restore order; in which regiments and brigades would shift
for themselves and fire savagely on all sides, slaying alike friend
and foe; and out of which only a few thousand, perhaps only a few hundred,
demoralised men would escape in barges and steamers to tell the tale
of ruin and defeat.
The picture - true or false - flamed before the eyes of all the leaders
that night; but, whatever their thoughts may have been, their tactics were
bold. Whatever advice was given, whatever opinions were expressed, the
responsibility was Sir Herbert Kitchener's. Upon his shoulders lay the
burden, and the decision that was taken must be attributed solely to him.
He might have formed the army into a solid mass of men and animals,
arranged the infantry four deep all round the perimeter, and dug as big a
ditch or built as high a zeriba as time allowed. He might have filled the
numerous houses with the infantry, making them join the buildings with
hasty entrenchments, and so enclose a little space in which to squeeze
cavalry, transport, and guns. Instead he formed his army in a long thin
curve, resting on the river and enclosing a wide area of ground, about
which baggage and animals were scattered in open order and luxurious
accommodation. His line was but two deep; and only two companies per
battalion and one Egyptian brigade (Collinson's) were in reserve. He thus
obtained the greatest possible development of fire, and waited, prepared
if necessary to stake everything on the arms of precision, but hoping
with fervour that he would not be compelled to gamble by night.
The night was, however, undisturbed; and the moonlit camp,
with its anxious generals, its weary soldiers, its fearful machinery of
destruction, all strewn along the bank of the great river, remained plunged
in silence, as if brooding over the chances of the morrow and the failures
of the past. And hardly four miles away another army - twice as numerous,
equally confident, equally brave - were waiting impatiently for the morning
and the final settlement of the long quarrel.
CHAPTER XV: THE BATTLE OF OMDURMAN
SEPTEMBER 2, 1898
The bugles all over the camp by the river began to sound at half-past four.
The cavalry trumpets and the drums and fifes of the British division joined
the chorus, and everyone awoke amid a confusion of merry or defiant notes.
Then it grew gradually lighter, and the cavalry mounted their horses,
the infantry stood to their arms, and the gunners went to their batteries;
while the sun, rising over the Nile, revealed the wide plain, the dark
rocky hills, and the waiting army. It was as if all the preliminaries were
settled, the ground cleared, and nothing remained but the final act and
'the rigour of the game.'
Even before it became light several squadrons of British and Egyptian
cavalry were pushed swiftly forward to gain contact with the enemy and
learn his intentions. The first of these, under Captain Baring, occupied
Surgham Hill, and waited in the gloom until the whereabouts of the
Dervishes should be disclosed by the dawn. It was a perilous undertaking,
for he might have found them unexpectedly near. As the sun rose, the 21st
Lancers trotted out of the zeriba and threw out a spray of officers'
patrols. As there had been no night attack, it was expected that the
Dervish army would have retired to their original position or entered
the town. It was hardly conceivable that they would advance across the open
ground to attack the zeriba by daylight. Indeed, it appeared more probable
that their hearts had failed them in the night, and that they had melted
away into the desert. But these anticipations were immediately dispelled
by the scene which was visible from the crest of the ridge.
It was a quarter to six. The light was dim, but growing stronger
every minute. There in the plain lay the enemy, their numbers unaltered,
their confidence and intentions apparently unshaken. Their front was now
nearly five miles long, and composed of great masses of men joined together
by thinner lines. Behind and near to the flanks were large reserves.
From the ridge they looked dark blurs and streaks, relieved and diversified
with an odd-looking shimmer of light from the spear-points.
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