 CHAPTER III It might seem at first a great advantage that the peoples of the Sudan, instead of being a multitude of wild, discordant tribes, should unite of their own accord into one strong community, actuated by a common spirit, living under fixed laws, and ruled by a single sovereign. But there is one form of centralized government which is almost entirely unprogressive and beyond all other forms costly and tyrannical, the rule of an army. Such a combination depends not on the good faith and good will of its constituents, but on their discipline and almost mechanical obedience. Mutual fear, not mutual trust, promotes the cooperation of its individual members. History records many such dominations, ancient and modern, civilized or barbaric. And though education and culture may modify, they cannot change their predominant characteristics, a continual subordination of justice to expediency, an indifference to suffering, a disdain of ethical principles, a laxity of morals, and a complete ignorance of economics. The evil qualities of military hierarchies are always the same. The results of their rule are universally unfortunate. The degree may vary with time in place, but the political supremacy of an army always leads to the formation of a great centralized capital, to the consequent impoverishment of the provinces, to the degradation of the peaceful inhabitants through oppression and want, to the ruin of commerce, the decay of learning, and the ultimate demoralization even of the military order through overbearing pride and sensual indulgence. Of the military dominations which history records, the Dervish Empire was probably the worst. All others have displayed compensating virtues. A high sense of personal honor has counterbalanced a low standard of public justice, and ennobling patriotism may partly repair economic follies. The miseries of the people are often concealed by the magnificence of the army. The laxity of morals is in some degree excused by the elegance of manners, but the Dervish Empire developed no virtue except courage—a quality more admirable than rare. The poverty of the land prevented magnificence. The ignorance of its inhabitants excluded refinement. The Dervish dominion was born of war, existed by war, and fell by war. It began on the night of the sack of cartoom. It ended abruptly thirteen years later in the battle of Omderman. Like a subsidiary volcano, it was flung up by one convulsion, blazed during the period of disturbance, and was destroyed by the still more violent shock that ended the eruption. After the fall of cartoom and the retreat of the British armies, the Mahdi became the absolute master of the Sudan. Whatever pleasures he desired he could command, and, following the example of the founder of the Mahabhanid faith, he indulged in what would seem to Western minds gross excesses. He established an extensive harem for his own peculiar use, and emured therein the fairest captives of the war. The conduct of the ruler was imitated by his subjects. The presence of women increased the vanity of the warriors, and it was not very long before the patched smock which had flaunted the holy poverty of the rebels, developed into the gaudy jibba of the conquerors. Since the unhealthy situation of cartoom amid swamps and marshes did not commend itself to the now luxurious Arabs, the Mahdi began to build on the western bank of the White Nile a new capital, which, from the detached fort which had stood there in Egyptian days, was called Omderman. Among the first buildings which he set his subjects to construct were a mosque for the services of religion, an arsenal for the storage of military material, and a house for himself. But while he was thus entering at once upon the enjoyment of supreme power and unbridled lust, the God whom he had served, not unfaithfully, and who had given him whatever he had asked, required of Muhammad Ahmed his soul, and so all that he had won by his brains and bravery became of no more account to him. In the middle of the month of June, scarcely five months after the completion of his victorious campaigns, the Mahdi fell sick. For a few days he did not appear at the mosque. The people were filled with alarm. They were reassured by remembering the prophecy that their liberators should not perish till he had conquered the earth. Muhammad, however, grew worse. Presently those who attended him could doubt no longer that he was attacked by typhus fever. The caliph Abdullah watched by his couch continually. On the sixth day the inhabitants and the soldiers were informed of the serious nature of their ruler's illness, and public prayers were offered by all classes for his recovery. On the seventh day it was evident that he was dying. All those who had shared his fortunes, the caliphas he had appointed, the chief priests of the religion he had reformed, the leaders of the armies who had followed him to victory, and his own family whom he had hallowed, crowded the small room. For some hours he lay unconscious or in delirium, but as the end approached he rallied a little, and, collecting his faculties by great effort, declared his faithful follower and friend the caliphah Abdullah his successor, and abjured the rest to show him honor. He is of me, and I am of him, as you have obeyed me, so should you deal with him. May God have mercy upon me." From Slatin fire and sword. Then he immediately expired. Grief and dismay filled the city. In spite of the emphatic prohibition by law of all loud lamentations, the sound of weeping and wailing arose from almost every house. The whole people, deprived at once of their acknowledged sovereign and spiritual guide, were shocked and affrighted. Only the Mady's wives, if we make credit Slatin, rejoiced secretly in their hearts at the death of their husband and master. And since they were henceforth to be doomed to an enforced and inviolable chastity, the cause of their satisfaction is as obscure as its manifestation was unnatural. The body of the Mady, wrapped in linen, was reverently interred in a deep grave dug in the floor of the room in which he had died. Nor was it disturbed until after the capture of Omderman by the British forces in 1898, when by the orders of Sir H. Kitchener the sepulchre was opened and the corpse exhumed. The caliphah Abdullah had been declared by the Mady's latest breath his successor. He determined to have the choice ratified once for all by the popular vote. Hurrying to the pulpit in the courtyard of the mosque he addressed the assembled multitude in a voice which trembled with intense excitement and emotion. His oratory, his reputation as a warrior, and the Mady's expressed desire aroused the enthusiasm of his hearers, and the oath of allegiance was at once sworn by thousands. The ceremony continued long after it was dark. With an amazing endurance he harangued till past midnight, and when the exhausted Slatan, who hard attended him throughout the crisis, laid down upon the ground to sleep. He knew that his master's succession was assured, or says he, I heard the passers-by loud in their praises of the late Mady and assuring each other of their firm resolve to support his successor. The sovereignty that Abdullah had obtained must be held, as it had been won, by the sword. The passionate agitation which the Mady had excited survived him. The whole of the Sudan was in a ferment. The success which had crowned rebellion encouraged rebels. All the turbulent and fanatical elements were aroused. As the various provinces had been cleared of the Egyptians, the new executive had appointed military governors by whom the country was ruled and taxed, subject to the pleasure of Muhammad Ahmad. His death was the signal for a long series of revolts of all kinds, military, political, and religious. Garrison's mutiny, Amir's plotted, prophets preached. Nor was the land torn only by internal struggles. Its frontiers were threatened. On the east the tremendous power of Abyssinia loomed terrible and menacing. There was war in the north with Egypt, and around Suaken with England. The Italians must be confronted from the direction of Massawa. Far to the south, Amin Pasha still maintained a troublesome resistance. Yet the Caliph triumphed over nearly all his enemies, and the greatest spectacle which the Sudan presented from 1885 to 1898 was of this strong, capable ruler bearing up against all reverses, meeting each danger, overcoming each difficulty, and offering a firm front to every foe. It is unlikely that any complete history of these events will ever be written in a form and style which will interest a later generation. The complications of extraordinary names and the imperfection of the records might alone deter the chronicler. The universal squalor of the scenes and the ignorance of the actors add discouragements. Nor, upon the other hand, are there great incentives. The tale is one of war of the cruelest, bloodiest, and most confused type. One savage army slaughters another. One fierce general cuts his rival's throat. The same features are repeated with wearying monotony. When one battle is understood, all may be imagined. Above the tumult, the figure of the Califa rises stern and solitary, the only object which may attract the interest of a happier world. Yet even the Califa's methods were oppressively monotonous. For although the nature or courage of the revolts might differ with the occasion, the results were invariable, and the heads of all his chief enemies, of many of his generals, of most of his counsellors, met in the capaceous pit which yawned in Omderman. During the thirteen years of his reign, Abdullah tried nearly every device by which oriental rulers have sought to fortify their perilous sovereignty. He shrank from nothing. Self-preservation was the guiding principle of his policy, his first object and his only excuse. Among many wicked and ingenious expedience, three main methods are remarkable. First, he removed or rendered innocuous all real or potential rivals. Secondly, he pursued what Sir Alfred Milner has called a well-considered policy of military concentration. Thirdly, he maintained among the desert and riverine people a balance of power on the side of his own tribe. All these three methods merit some attention or illustration. The general massacre of all possible claimants usually follows the accession of a usurper to an oriental throne. The Califa was able to avoid this extreme measure. Nevertheless, he took precautions, availing himself of the grief and terror that had followed Muhammad's death. He had extorted the oath of allegiance from the two other Califas and from the Ashraf, or relations of the Prophet. The Mahdi had superseded the original Muhammad as the Prophet. His relations consequently became Ashraf. But these complacent men soon repented of their submission. Each Califa boasted his independence. Each marched attended by a numerous retinue. Each asserted his right to beat his own great copper drum. Both the unsuccessful Califas combined against Abdullah. But while they had been busy with the beating of war drums and the preparation of pageants, that sagacious ruler had secured the loyalty of the Bagara tribe to a section of which he belonged, and of a considerable force of black riflemen. At length matters reached climax. Both parties prepared for war. Abdullah drew up his array without the city and challenged his rivals to the utmost proof. The combined forces of the ousted Califas were the more numerous, but the fierce Bagara waived their swords, and the Sudanese riflemen were famous for their valor. For some hours a bloody struggle appeared imminent. Then the Confederacy broke up. The Califa Ali Wad Helu, a prudent man, talked of compromise and amity. The Calif Sharif, thus seriously weakened, hastened to make peace while time remained. Eventually both bowed to the superior force of the ruler and the superior courage of his followers. Once they had submitted, their power was gone. Abdullah reduced their forces to a personal escort of fifty men each, deprived them of their flags and their war drums, the emblems of royalty, and they became for the future the useful supporters of a government they were unable to subvert. To other less powerful and more stubborn enemies he showed a greater severity. The Mahdi's two uncles, named respectively Abdel Karim and Abdel Qadar, were thrown chained into prison, their houses were destroyed, and their wives and other property confiscated. The numerous persons who claimed to be of the Ashraf found the saintly honor a burden upon earth, for in order to keep them out of mischief the Califa enjoined them to attend five times every day at the prayers in the mosque. Eighteen months of these devotions, declares the Christian chronicler, were considered the highest punishment from Orwalder, ten years' captivity. Still more barbarous was the treatment meted out to the unfortunate Amir who had charged of the treasury. Ahmed Wad Suleiman had been accustomed under the Mahdi's mild rule to keep no public accounts, and consequently he had amassed a large fortune. He was actively hostile to Abdullah and proclaimed his sympathy with the Ashraf, whereupon the Califa invited him to give an account of his stewardship. This he was, of course, unable to do. He was then dismissed from his appointment. His private property was taken to fill the deficiencies of the state, and the brutal population of Amderman applauded his punishment as an act of justice. From slatin, fire, and sword. Although the Califa might establish his authority by such atrocities, its maintenance depended on the military policy which he consistently pursued. The terrible power of a standing army may usually be exerted by whoever can control its leaders, as a mighty engine is set in motion by the turning of a handle. Yet to turn the handle some muscular force is necessary. Abdullah knew that to rule the Sudan he must have a great army. To make the great army obedient he must have another separate force, for the influences which keep European armies in subjection were not present among the dervishes. For some years indeed he was compelled to leave much to chance or the loyalty of his officers. But laterally, when he had perfected his organization, he became quite independent and had no need to trust anyone. By degrees and with astonishing ability he carried out his schemes. He invited his own tribe, the Taisha section of the Bagara Arabs, to come and live in Umbderman. Come, he wrote in numerous letters to them, and take possession of the lands which the Lord your God has given you. Allured by the hopes of wealth and wives and the promise of power, the savage herdsmen came to the number of seven thousand warriors. Their path was made smooth and easy. Granaries were erected along the route, steamers and sailing vessels awaited on the Nile. Arrived at the capital all were newly clothed at the expense of the state. An entire district of the city was forcibly cleared of its inhabitants for the accommodation of the strangers. What the generosity of the caliph forgot or refused, the predatory habits of his clansmen procured, and they robbed, plundered and swindled with all the arrogance and impunity of royal favorites. The populace of the city returned a bitter hatred for these injuries, and the caliph's object was attained. He had created a class in Umbderman who were indissolubly attached to him. Like him they were detested by the local tribes. Like him they were foreigners in the land. But like him they were fierce and brave and strong. His dangers, his enemies, his interests were their own. Their lives depended on their loyalty. Here was the motor-muscle which animated the rest. The Taisha Bagara controlled the Black Jihadiyah once the irregular troops of the Egyptians now become the regulars of the caliphah. The Black Jihadiyah overalled the Arab army in the capital. The army in the capital dominated the forces in the provinces. The forces in the provinces subdued the inhabitants. The centralization of power was assured by the concentration of military material. Cannon, rifles, stores of ammunition, all the necessities of war were accumulated in the arsenal. Only the armies on the frontiers, the Taisha tribe, and the caliphah's personal bodyguard, habitually carried firearms and cartridges. The enormous population of Omdremem was forced to be content with spears and swords. Rifles were issued to the Sudanese whenever safe and necessary, cartridges only when they were about to be used. Thus several millions of warlike and savage people, owning scarcely any law but that of might, and scattered about a vast roadless territory, were brought into the firm grip of a single man. The third principle of government which the caliphah was compelled, or inclined, to adopt was to keep the relative power of the various tribes and classes conveniently proportioned. If an amier rose to great influence and wealth, he became a possible rival, and suffered forthwith death, imprisonment, or spoliation. If a tribe threatened the supremacy of the Taisha, it was struck down while its menace was yet a menace. The regulation of classes and tribes was a far more complicated affair than the adjustment of individuals, yet for thirteen years the caliphah held the balance, and held it exact until the very end. Such was the stake-craft of a savage from Kordofan. His greatest triumph was the Abyssinian War. It is not likely that two great barbaric kingdoms living side by side, but differing in race and religion, will long continue at peace. Nor was it difficult to discover a cause of the quarrel between the Dervishes and the Abyssinians. For some time a harassing and desultory warfare disturbed the border. At length in 1885 a Dervish, half-trader, half-briggened, sacked an Abyssinian church. Bas Adal, the governor of the Emhara province, demanded that this sacrilegious robber be surrendered to justice. The Arabs haughtily refused. The response was swift. Collecting an army which may have amounted to thirty thousand men, the Abyssinians invaded the district of Galabat and marched on the town. Against this host the aimer Wad Arbab could muster no more than six thousand soldiers. But, encouraged by the victories of the previous four years, the Dervishes accepted battle in spite of the disparity of numbers. Neither valor nor discipline could withstand such odds. The Moslems, broken by the fierce onset, and surrounded by the overwhelming numbers of their enemies, were destroyed, together with their intrepid leader. Scarcely any escaped. The Abyssinians indulged in all the triumphs of savagery. The wounded were massacred. The slain were mutilated. The town of Galabat was sacked and burnt. The women were carried into captivity. All these tidings came to Omderman. Under this heavy and unexpected blow the Khalifa acted with prudence. He opened negotiations with King John of Abyssinia for the ransom of the captured wives and children, and at the same time he sent the aimer Yunus with a large force to Galabat. The immediate necessities having thus been dealt with, Abdullah prepared for revenge. Of all the Arab leaders which fifteen years of continual war and tumult throughout the Sudan produced, none displayed higher ability, none obtained greater successes, and none were more honorable, though several were more famous, than the man whom the Khalifa selected to avenge the destruction of the Galabat army. Abu Anga had been a slave in Abdullah's family long before the Madi had preached at Abba Island, and while Egypt yet oppressed the country. After the revolt had broken out, his adventurous master summoned him from the distant Kordifan home to attend him in the war, and Abu Anga came with that radiobedience and strange devotion for which he was always distinguished. Nominally as a slave, really as a comrade, he fought by Abdullah's side in all the earlier battles of the rebellion, nor was it until after the capture of El Obaid that he rose suddenly to power in place. The Khalifa was a judge of men. He saw very clearly that the black Sudanese troops, who had surrendered and were surrendering as town after town was taken, might be welded into a powerful weapon, and in Abu Anga he knew a man who could not only fashion the blade, but would hold it ever loyally at his master's disposal. The former slave threw himself into the duties of his command with extraordinary energy. His humble origin pleased the hardy blacks, who recognized in their leader their equal in birth, their superior in prowess. More than any other amure, Abu Anga contributed to the destruction of Hicks's army. The Jihadia, as his soldiers were called, because they had joined in the Jihad or Holy War, were armed with Remington rifles, and their harassing fire inflicted heavy losses on the struggling column until it was finally brought to a standstill, and the moment for the spearmint to charge arrived. Henceforward the troops of Abu Anga became famous throughout the land for their weapons, their courage, and their cruelty. Their numbers at first did not exceed 5,000, but as more towns were taken and more slaves were turned into soldiers they increased until at one time they reached the formidable total of 15,000 men. During the siege of Khartoum the black riflemen distinguished themselves by the capture of Omderman Fort, but their violent natures and predatory instincts made them an undesirable garrison even for the dervish capital, and they were dispatched under their general Dekortiphon, where they increased their reputation by a series of bloody fights with the Nubas, an aboriginal mountain people who cared for nothing but their independence. At the end of June Abu Anga reached Omderman with an army variously estimated at from 22,000 to 31,000 men, of whom at least 10,000 were armed with Remington rifles. The Khalifa received him with the utmost honor. After a private interview, which lasted for several hours, a formal entry into the town was arranged. At daybreak on the following morning the whole force marched into the city and camped along the northern suburbs, applauded and welcomed alike by the population and their ruler. A few days after this a great review was held under the Karari Hills, on the very ground where the dervish empire was doomed to be shattered, but the fateful place oppressed the Khalifa with no forebodings. He exalted in his power, and well he might, for after the cannon had thundered indefinite salutes, no fewer than 100,000 armed men defiled to the music of the war-drums and the ambias before the famous black flag. The spectacle of the enormous numbers provoked their enthusiasm. The triumphant Khalifa was cheered by his mighty host, who pressed upon him in their exuberant loyalty until he was almost crushed. It was indeed a stirring scene. The whole plain was filled with a throng. Banners of every hue and shape waved gaily in the breeze, and the sunlight glinted from innumerable spear-points. The swarming dervishes displayed their bright party-colored gibas. The wild bagara cavalry circled on the flanks of the array. The brown dome of the Mahdi's tomb, rising above the city, seemed to assure the warriors of supernatural aid. Abdullah was at the summit of his power. The movement initiated by the priest of Abba Island had attained its climax. Behind, in the plain, the frowning rocks of Sergam Hill rose ragged and gloomy, as if their silence guarded the secrets of the future. After the feast of Behram had been celebrated on a gigantic scale, Abu Anga was dispatched to Galabat with his army and considerable reinforcements from the troops in Omderman, and it became evident that war with Abbasinia was imminent. The great leader relieved the Amir Yunus, much to the latter's disgust, of the Chief Command, and since the strong Galabat garrison was added to his own force, Abu Anga was able to take the field at the head of 15,000 riflemen and 45,000 spearmen. The caliph had embarked on a great venture in planning the invasion of Abbasinia. The vast strength of the Nijus was known to the dervishes and has since been proved to the world. The Mahdi had forbidden such a war. An ill-Omen'd prophecy further declared that the King of Abbasinia would tether his horse to a solitary tree by Khartoum, while his cavalry should ride through the city, fetlock deep in blood. But Abdullah feared near the god nor man. He reviewed the political situation and determined at all risks to maintain his frontiers in violet. As Amir Wad Arbab had been killed, blood must settle the matter. The Abbasinians had not watched the extensive hostile preparations apathetically. Ras Adal had collected an army which in numbers actually exceeded that of the dervishes. But the latter were far superior in rifles, and the Black Infantry were of invincible valor. Nevertheless, confidence in his strength and relying on his powerful cavalry, the Abbasinian general allowed the Arabs to toil through all the mountainous country, to traverse the mintic pass, and to debouch unmolested on the plain of Debra Sin. Abu Anga neglected no precaution. He knew that since he must fight in the heart of Abbasinia, with the mountains behind him, a defeat would involve annihilation. He drew up his army swiftly and with skill. Then the Abbasinians attacked. The rifle fire of the Sudanese repulsed them. The onset was renewed with desperate gallantry. It was resisted with equal valor and superior weapons. After frightful losses the Abbasinians wavered, and the wise Arabs seized the moment for a counter-stroke. In spite of the devotion of his cavalry, Ras Adal was driven from the field. Great numbers of his army were drowned in the river in front of which he had recklessly elected to fight. His camp was captured, and a valuable spoil rewarded the victors, who also gratified their passions with the wholesale slaughter of the wounded, a practice commonly followed by savages. The effect of the victory was great. The whole of the Amharah province submitted to the invaders, and in the spring of 1887 Abu Anga was able to advance without further fighting to the capture and sack of Gondar, the ancient capital of Abbasinia. Meanwhile the Khalifa had been anxiously expecting tidings of his army. The long silence of thirty days which followed their plunge into the mountains filled him with fear, and Orwalder relates that he aged visibly during that period. But his judgment was proved by the event, and the arrival of a selected assortment of heads turned doubt to triumph. The dervishes did not long remain in Abbasinia as they suffered from the climate. In December the army returned to Galabat, which they commenced to fortify, and their victorious general followed his grisly but convincing dispatch to Omderman, where he received the usual welcome accorded by warlike peoples to military heroes. But the famous and faithful slave may have been more gratified by the tears of joy which his master and sovereign shed on beholding him again safe and successful. The greater struggle was still to come. The whole of Abbasinia was convulsed with fury, and King John in person prepared to take the field and settle the quarrel for ever. He assembled a mighty host, which is said to have amounted to one hundred thirty thousand foot and twenty thousand horsemen. The rumours of this formidable concentration reached Galabat and Omderman, and in spite of the recent victory caused deep alarm. The caliph saw his frontiers, even his existence, menaced, for King John had declared that he would sweep the dervishes from off the face of the earth, and in the hour of need the general on whom so much depended died of some poisonous medicine with which he had endeavored to cure himself of indigestion. Abu Anga was buried in his red brick house at Galabat, amid the lamentations of his brave black soldiers, and gloom pervaded the whole army. But since the enemy were approaching, the danger had to be faced. The caliph appointed Zeki Tumal, one of Anga's lieutenants, to the command of the forces at Galabat, which by strenuous exertions he brought up to a total of eighty-five thousand men. King John sent word that he was coming, lest any should say that he had come secretly as a thief. The dervishes resolved to remain on the defensive, and fortifying themselves in an enormous Zareba around the town awaited the onslaught. At dawn on the ninth of March, eighteen eighty-nine, the Abyssinians came within sight of their enemies, and early the next morning the battle began. Great clouds of dust obscured the scene, and all intelligible sounds were lost in the appalling din. The Abyssinians, undaunted by the rifle-fire of the Sudanese, succeeded in setting the Zareba alight. Then, concentrating all their force on one part of the defense, they burst into the enclosure in town. The division of Wad Ali, a fourth part of the entire dervish army, which bore the brunt of this attack, was almost completely destroyed. The interior of the Zareba was crowded with women and children who were ruthlessly butchered by the exultant Abyssinians. The assailants scattered in all directions in search of plunder, and they even had time to begin to disinter the body of Abu Anga, which they were eager to insult in revenge for Ghandar. The dervishes already wavered, their ammunition began to fail, when suddenly a rumor spread about among the Abyssinians that the king was killed. Seizing what booty they could snatch, the victorious army began a general retreat, and the Zareba was soon cleared. The Arabs were too exhausted to pursue, but when on the following day the attack was not renewed, they learned to their surprise that they were the victors, and that their enemy was falling back towards the Atbara River. Zeki Tommel resolved to pursue, and his army were further incited to the chase by the fact that the Abyssinians had carried off with them a large number of dervish women, including the harem of the late beloved Abu Anga. Two days after the battle the dervishes overtook the enemy's rear guard, and, surprising their camp, inflicted severe loss and captured much booty. The temporary Nages, who had been appointed to fill the vacancy caused by the death of King John, was among the killed. The body of that courageous monarch fell into the hands of the dervishes, who struck off the head and sent it, a tangible proof of victory, to Omderman. The Abyssinians, still formidable, made good their retreat, nor did Zeki Tommel venture to follow into the mountains. Internal difficulties within his dominions prevented the new Nages from resuming the offensive, and thus the dervish Abyssinian war dwindled down to, as it had arisen out of, frontier raids. The arrival in Omderman of King John's head intoxicated the Khalifa with joy. Abyssinia was regarded throughout the Sudan as a far greater power than Egypt, and here was its mighty ruler, slain and decapitated. But the victory had been dearly purchased. The two great battles had been fought with indescribable ferocity by both sides, and the slaughter was appalling. No reliable statistics are available, but it may be reasonably asserted that neither side sustained a loss and killed during the war of fewer than fifteen thousand fighting men. The flower of the dervish army, the heroic blacks of Abu Anga, were almost destroyed. The Khalifa had won a Pyrrhic triumph. Never again was he able to put so great a force in the field, and, although the army which was shattered at Omderman was better armed and better drilled, it was less formidable than that which broke the might of Abyssinia. During the progress of the struggle with Abyssinia, the war against Egypt languished. The Mahdi, counting upon the support of the population, had always declared that he would free the Delta from the Turks and was already planning its invasion when he and his schemes were interrupted by death. His successor inherited all the quarrel, but not all the power. Much of Muhammad's influence died with him. Alive, he might conquer the Muslim world. Dead, he was only a saint. All fanatical feeling in Egypt soon subsided. Nevertheless, the Khalifa persisted in the enterprise. The success of the Abyssinian war encouraged and enabled him to resume the offensive on his northern frontier, and he immediately ordered Wad El Najumi, who commanded in Dongala, to march with his scanty force to the invasion of Egypt. The mad enterprise ended, as might have been foreseen, in the destruction of both Amir and army at Toski. The Khalifa received the news with apparent grief, but it is difficult to avoid suspecting him of dark schemes. He was far too clever to believe that Egypt could be conquered by five thousand men. He knew that besides the Egyptians there was a strange white tribe of men, the same that had so nearly saved Khartoum. But for the English, he exclaimed on several occasions, I would have conquered Egypt. Yet, knowing of the British occupation, he deliberately sent an army to its inevitable ruin. It is difficult to reconcile such conduct with the character for sagacity and intelligence which Abdullah has deserved. There is no doubt that he wanted to conquer Egypt. Possibly by some extraordinary chance, Wad El Najumi might succeed even with his small force. If so, then the glory of God and the power of the Khalifa would advance together. If not, and herein lies the true reason for the venture, the riverine tribes would have received a crippling blow. The terrible slaughter of the Abyssinian War had fallen mainly on the Jihadiyah and the Eastern Arabs. The jealous tribes in the north had not suffered. The balance of power was in need of readjustment. The Jialin and Barabra were fast becoming dangerous. Najumi's army was recruited almost entirely from these sources. The reinforcements sent from Amderman consisted of men selected from the flag of the Khalifa Sharif, who was growing too powerful, and of the Batahin tribe who had shown a mutiny spirit, from Orwalder ten years' captivity. The success of such an army in Egypt would be glorious. Its destruction anywhere would be convenient. Whatever Abdullah's motives may have been, his advantage was certain, but the life of the empire thus compelled to prey upon itself must necessarily be short. Their forces were soon added to the work of exhaustion. The year following the end of the Abyssinian War was marked by a fearful famine. Sladden and Orwalder vie with each other in relating its horrors, men eating the raw entrails of donkeys, mothers devouring their babies, scores dying in the streets, all the more ghastly in the bright sunlight, hundreds of corpses floating down the Nile. These were among the hideous features, the deep population caused by the scarcity was even greater than that produced by the fighting. The famine area extended over the whole Sudan, and ran along the banks of the river as far as lower Egypt. The effects of the famine were everywhere appalling. Entire districts between Amderman and Berber became wholly depopulated. In the salt regions near Shendi, almost all the inhabitants died of hunger. The camel-breeding tribes ate their she-camels. The riverine peoples devoured their seed-corn. The population of Galabat, Gadarev, and Kasala was reduced by nine-tenths, and these once-considerable towns shrank to the size of hamlets. Everywhere the deserted mud-houses crumbled back into the plain. The frightful mortality, general throughout the whole country, may be gauged by the fact that Zeki Tumal's army, which before the famine numbered not fewer than eighty-seven thousand, could scarcely mustered ten thousand men in the spring of 1890. The new harvest came only in time to save the inhabitants of the Sudan from becoming extinct. The remnant were preserved for further misfortunes. War, scarcity, and oppression there had always been. But strange and mysterious troubles began to afflict the tortured tribes. The face of heaven was pitiless or averted. In 1890 innumerable swarms of locusts descended on the impoverished soil. The multitude of their red or yellow bodies veiled the sun and darkened the air, and although their flesh, tasting when roasted like fried shrimps, might afford a delicate meal to the natives, they took so heavy a toll of the crops that the famine was prolonged and scarcity became constant. Since their first appearance the locusts are said to have returned annually, from Orwalder ten years captivity. Their destructive efforts were aided by millions of little red mice who destroyed the seeds before they could grow. So vast and immeasurable was the number of these tiny pests that after a heavy rain the whole country was strewn with, and almost tinted by, the squirrel-colored corpses of the drowned. Yet, in spite of all the strokes of fate, the Khalifa maintained his authority unshaken. The centralization which always occurs in military states was accelerated by the famine. The provincial towns dwindled, thousands and tens of thousands perished, but Omderman continually grew, and its ruler still directed the energies of a powerful army. Thus for the present we might leave the dervish empire. Yet the gloomy city of blood, mud, and filth that arose by the confluence of the Niles deserves a final glance while still in the pride of independent barbarism. It is early morning, and the sun, lifting above the horizon, throws the shadows of the cartoom ruins on the brimful waters of the Nile. The old capital is solitary and deserted. No sound of man breaks the silence of its streets. Only memory broods in the garden where the Pashas used to walk, and the courtyard where the imperial envoy fell. Across the river miles of mud-houses lining the banks as far as Khor Shambat, and stretching back into the desert and towards the dark hills, display the extent of the Arab metropolis. As the sun rises, the city begins to live. Along the road from Khurrari a score of camels pad to market with village produce. The north wind is driving a dozen sailing-boats, laden to the water's edge with merchandise, to the wharves. One of Gordon's old steamers lies moored by the bank. Another, worked by the crew that manded in Egyptian days, is threshing up the blue Nile, sent by the Khalifa to Senar on some errand of state. 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 Amirs 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 armor, 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 Galabat? 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 marketplace to make purchases, to hear the latest rumour, or to watch the executions, for there are usually executions. Others stroll to this Sir L. Wreckick 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 Amirs and Qadis. Yaqab is there, with Ali Wad-Helu and the Khalifa Sharif. 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. Standing beyond their frontier they have established themselves at Akasha. Wad Bishara fears lest they may attack the faithful who hold furket. In itself this is but a small matter. For all these years there have 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 Saras. Even now they pushed 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 Hadandoah and almost destroyed the Deghame and Kanana? 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. Per chance 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. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of The River War The River War by Winston Churchill Chapter 4 The Years of Preparation In the summer of 1886, when all the troops had retreated to Wadi-Halfa and all the Sudan 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 nations 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. Bering's interference gulled the Khadib and his ministers. Vincent's parsimony excited contempt. Moncreus Energy had convulsed the irrigation department. Wood's army was the laughing stock of Europe. Among him 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 begrime 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 jibes and cat-calls of the powers, she turned toward 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 Khadib 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. Estonishment 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 transcontinental 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 scrutinized with pride. England exalted in the triumph of failure turned into success. There was a general wish to know more about Egypt and the men who had done these great things. In 1893 this desire was satisfied, and yet stimulated by the publication of Sir Alfred Milner's England in Egypt. His skillful pen displayed what had been overcome, no less than what was accomplished. By explaining the difficulties he enhanced the achievement. He showed how, while Great Britain was occupied elsewhere, her brilliant, persevering sons had repeated on a lesser scale in Egypt the marvellous evolution which is working out in India. Smaller systems circulate more rapidly. The administrators were guided by experience. The movement had been far swifter, and the results were more surprising. Such was the wonderful story, and it was told in a happy moment. The audience were eager and sympathetic. The subject was enthralling. The storyteller had a wit and a style that might have brightened the dullest theme. In these propitious circumstances the book was more than a book. The words rang like the trumpet call which rallies the soldiers after the parapets are stormed, and summons them to complete the victory. The regeneration of Egypt is not a theme which would fall within the limits of this account even if it had not been fully dealt with by Sir Alfred Milner, but the reorganization of the Egyptian army, the forging of the weapon of reconquest, is an essential feature. On the 20th of December, 1882, the old Egyptian army, or rather such parts as had escaped destruction, was disbanded by a single sentence of a British decree, and it was evident that some military body must replace that which had been swept away. All sorts of schemes for the employment of foreign legions or Turkish janissaries were devised. But Lord Dufrin adhered firmly to the principle of entrusting the defense of a country to its inhabitants, and it was determined to form a new Egyptian army. The poverty of the government, no less than the apparent folly of the experiment, demanded that the new army should be small. The force was intended only for the preservation of internal order, and the defense of the southern and western frontiers of Egypt against the Bedouin Arabs. The Sudan still slumbered out its long nightmare. Six thousand men was the number originally drawn by conscription, for there are no volunteers in Egypt, from a population of more than six million. Twenty-six British officers, either poor men attracted by the high rates of pay, or ambitious allured by the increased authority, and a score of excellent drill sergeants undertook the duty of teaching the recruits to fight. Sir Evelyn Wood directed the enterprise and became the first British surdar of the Egyptian army. The work began and immediately prospered. Within three months of its formation the army had its first review. The whole six thousand paraded in their battalions and marched past the Kediv and their country's flag. Their bearing and their drill extorted the half-contemptuous praise of the indifferent spectators. Experienced soldiers noticed other points. Indeed, the new army differed greatly from the old. In the first place it was paid. The recruits were treated with justice. Their rations were not stolen by the officers. The men were given leave to go to their villages from time to time. When they fell sick they were sent to hospital instead of being flogged. In short, the European system was substituted for the Oriental. It was hardly possible that the fertile soil and innervating climate of the Delta would have evolved a warrior race. Ages of oppression and poverty rarely produced proud and warlike spirits. Patriotism does not grow under the kurbash. The fellow soldier lacks the desire to kill. Even the mohabanan religion has failed to excite his ferocity. He may be cruel. He is never fierce. Yet he is not without courage. A courage which bears pain and hardship impatience, which confronts ill fortune within difference, and which looks on death with apathetic composure. It is the courage of downtrodden peoples, and one which stronger breeds may often envy, though they can scarcely be expected to admire. He has other military virtues. He is obedient, honest, sober, well-behaved, quick to learn, and above all physically strong. Generations of toiling ancestors, though they could not brace his nerves, have braced his muscles. Under the pressure of local circumstances there has been developed a creature who can work with little food, with little incentive, very hard for long hours under a merciless sun. Throughout the river campaigns, if the intellect of the army, if the spirit of the troops have come from without, Egypt herself has provided the sinews of war. Such was the material out of which the British officers have formed the new Egyptian army. At first, indeed, their task was embittered by the ridicule of their comrades in the British and Indian services. But as the drill and bearing of the force improved, the thoughtless scorn would have been diverted from the Englishmen to fall only upon the Egyptian soldiers. But this was not allowed. The British officers identified themselves with their men. Those who abused the fellow soldier were reminded that they insulted English gentlemen. Thus a strange bond of union was established between the officers and soldiers of the Egyptian service, and although material forces may have accomplished much, without this moral factor the extraordinary results would never have been achieved. It was not long before the new military organization was exposed to the stern test of war. The army that was raised to preserve internal order was soon called upon to guard the frontier. The revolt in the Sudan, which in its earlier stages seemed the least of the Egyptian difficulties, speedily dwarfed all the rest. The value of the new force was soon recognized. In June 1883 we find General Hicks, then preparing for his fatal march, writing to Sir Evelyn Wood, Send me four battalions of your new army, and I shall be content. But fortune protected the infant organization from such a disastrous beginning. The new army remained for a space in Cairo, and although during the Nile expedition of 1884 to 1885 the Egyptians were employed guarding the lines of communication, it was not until the British troops had been withdrawn from Dangala that they received at Guinness their baptism of fire. Henceforth their place was on the frontier, and from 1886 onward the Egyptian troops proved equal to the task of resisting the northward pressure of the dervishes. The numbers of the army grew with its responsibilities. Up to the end of 1883 the infantry still consisted of eight Felaheen battalions. In 1884 the first Sudanese battalion was raised. The Black Soldier was of a very different type from the Felaheen. The Egyptian was strong, patient, healthy, and docile. The Negro was in all these respects his inferior. His delicate lungs, slim legs, and loosely knit figure contrasted unfavorably with a massive frame and iron constitution of the peasant of the Delta. Always excitable and often insubordinate he required the strictest discipline. At once slovenly and auxorious he detested his drills and loved his wives with equal earnestness, and altogether Sambo, for such as the Sudanese equivalent of Tommy, was a lazy, fierce, disreputable child. But he possessed two tremendous military virtues. To the faithful loyalty of a dog he added the heart of a lion. He loved his officer, and feared nothing in the world. With the introduction of this element the Egyptian army became a formidable military machine. Chance or design has placed the blacks ever in the forefront of the battle. And in Lord Kitchener's campaigns on the Nile the losses in the six Sudanese battalions have exceeded the aggregate of the whole of the rest of the army. It was well that the Egyptian troops were strengthened by these valiant auxiliaries for years of weary war lay before them. Sir Reginald Wingate, in his exhaustive account of the struggle of Egypt with the modest power—Madism and the Egyptian Sudan by Sir Reginald Wingate—has described the successive actions which accompanied the defence of the Wadi Haifa frontier and of Suwakan. The ten years that elapsed between Guinness and the first movements of the expedition of reconquest were the dreary years of the Egyptian army. The service was hard and continual. Though the operations were petty, an untiring vigilance was imperative. The public eye was averted. A pitiless economy was everywhere enforced. The British officer was deprived of his leave and the Egyptian private of his rations, that a few pounds might be saved to the Egyptian treasury. The clothing of the battalions wore thin and threadbare, and sometimes their boots were so bad that the soldiers' feet bled from the cutting edges of the rocks, and the convoy escorts left their trails behind them. But preparation was ever going forward. The army improved in efficiency, and the constant warfare began to peruse, even among the Felaheen infantry, experienced soldiers. The officers, sweltering at Wiri, Wadi, Haifa, and Suwakan, looked at the gathering resources of Egypt and out into the deserts of the declining Dervish Empire, and knew that some day their turn would come. The sort of reconquest which Evelyn Wood had forged and Grenfell had tested was gradually sharpened, and when the process was almost complete, the man who was to wield it presented himself. Horatio Herbert Kitchener, the eldest son of a Lieutenant Colonel, was born in 1850, and, after being privately educated, entered in 1869 the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich as a cadet of the Royal Engineers. In the spring of 1871 he obtained his commission, and for the first ten years of his military service remained an obscure officer, performing his duties with regularity, but giving no promise of the talents and character which he was afterwards to display. One powerful weapon, however, he acquired in this time of waiting. In 1874 accident or instinct led him to seek employment in the surveys that were being made of Cyprus and Palestine, and in the latter country he learned Arabic. For six years the advantage of knowing a language with which few British officers were familiar brought him no profit. For procuring military preferment Arabic was in 1874 as valueless as Patagonian. All this was swiftly changed by the unexpected course of events. The year 1882 brought the British fleet to Alexandria, and the connection between England and Egypt began to be apparent. Kitchener did not neglect his opportunity. Securing leave of absence he hurried to the scene of crisis. Alexandria was bombarded. Detachments from the fleet were landed to restore order. The British government decided to send an army to Egypt. British officers and soldiers were badly wanted at the seat of war. An officer who could speak Arabic was indispensable. Thus Kitchener came to Egypt and set his feet firmly on the high road to Fortune. He came to Egypt when she was plunged in misery and shame, when hopeless ruin seemed already the only outcome of the public disasters, and when even greater misfortunes impended. He remained to see her prosperous and powerful, to restore empire to her people, peace to her empire, honour to her army, and among those clear-minded men of action by whom the marvellous work of regeneration has been accomplished, Herbert Kitchener will certainly occupy the second place. Lord Woosley on his arrival soon found employment for the active officer who could speak Arabic. He served through the campaign of 1882 as a major. He joined the new army which was formed at the conclusion of the war, as one of the original twenty-six officers. In the Nile expedition of 1885, Arabic again led him to the front, and in the service of the Intelligence Department he found ample opportunity for his daring and energy. His efforts to communicate with Gordon in Khartoum did not, however, meet with much success, and the journals bristle with so many sarcastic comments that their editor has been at pains to explain in his preface that there was really no cause for complaint. Major Kitchener, however, gave satisfaction to his superiors in Cairo, if not to the exacting general at Khartoum, and in 1886 he was appointed Governor of Suaken. This post, always one of responsibility and danger, did not satisfy Kitchener, whose ambition was now taking definite form. Eager for more responsibility and more danger, he harried and raided the surrounding tribes. He restricted and almost destroyed the slender trade which was again springing up, and in consequence of his measures the neighborhood of Suaken was soon an even greater ferment than usual. This culminated at the end of 1887 in the reappearance and advance of Osman Dignay. The movements of the Dervishes were, however, uncertain. The defences of the town had been greatly strengthened and improved by the skill and activity of its new governor. See the dispatch from Major General Dormer to the War Office, Cairo, April 22, 1888, quote, with regard to the military works and defences of the town, I was much struck with the great improvement that has been affected by Colonel Kitchener since my last visit to Suaken in the autumn of 1884, end quote. Osman Dignay retreated. The friendlies were incited to follow, and Kitchener, although he had been instructed not to employ British officers or Egyptian regulars in offensive operations, went out in support. At Handub on the morning of the 17th of January, 1888, the friendlies attacked the camp of Osman Dignay. They were at first successful, but while they dispersed to plunder, the enemy rallied and, returning, drove them back with loss. Kitchener arrived on the field with the support to find a defeat instead of a victory awaiting him. He bravely endeavored to cover the retreat of the friendlies, and in so doing was severely, as it first seemed, dangerously, wounded in the jaw. The loss among the friendlies and the support amounted to twenty men killed and two British officers and twenty-eight men wounded. The governor returned in great pain and some discomforture to Suaken. In spite of his wound and his reverse he was impatient to renew the conflict, but this was definitely forbidden by the British government. Colonel Kitchener's military conduct was praised, but his policy was prevented. The policy which it is desirable to follow in the eastern Sudan, wrote Sir Evelyn Bering on the 17th of March, in measured rebuke, should consist in standing purely on the defensive against any hostile movement or combination of the Arab tribes, in avoiding any course of action which might involve the ultimate necessity of offensive action, and in encouraging legitimate trade by every means in our power. From Sir Eve Bering to Consul Cameron, March 14, 1888. The governor could scarcely be expected to carry out a policy so much at variance with his views and inclinations, and in the summer of 1888 he was transferred to a purely military appointment and became adjutant general of the Egyptian army. For the next four years he worked busily in the war office at Cairo, affecting many useful reforms and hard economies, and revealing powers of organization which, although not yet appreciated by his comrades in the Egyptian service, were noticed by one vigilant eye. In 1892 Sir F. Grenfell resigned the post of Sardar, and the chief command of the Egyptian army was vacant. Two men stood out prominently as candidates, Colonel Wodehouse, who held the command of the Halfa Field Force, and the adjutant general. Colonel Wodehouse had undoubtedly the greater claims. He had been for several years in command of a large force in continual contact with the enemy. He had won the action of Arjin, and was known throughout the Sudan as the Conqueror of Wad El Nujumi. He had conducted the civil administration of the frontier province with conspicuous success, and he was popular with all ranks of the Egyptian army. Kitchner had little to set against this. He had shown himself a brave and active soldier. He was known to be a good official, but he had not been in accord with the government in his civil administration, and was, moreover, little known to his brother-officers. Sir Evelyn Bering's influence, however, turned the scale. Somewhat, therefore, to the astonishment of the Egyptian army, Kitchner was promoted Sardar. Lord Cromer had found the military officer whom he considered capable of reconquering the Sudan when the opportunity should come. The years of preparation, wasted by no one in Egypt, were employed by no department better than by the intelligence branch. The greatest disadvantage from which Lord Wulsley had suffered was the general ignorance of the Sudan and its peoples. The British soldiers had had to learn the details of dervish fighting by bitter experience, but the experience once gained was carefully preserved. The intelligence branch of the Egyptian army rose under the direction of Colonel, now Sir Reginald, Wingate, to an extraordinary efficiency. For ten years the history, climate, geography, and inhabitants of the Sudan were the objects of a ceaseless scrutiny. The sharp line between civilization and savagery were drawn at Wadi Haifa, but beyond that line, up the great river, within the great wall of Omderman, into the arsenal, into the treasury, into the mosque, into the Khalifa's house itself, the spies and secret agents of the government, disguised as traitors, as warriors, or as women, worked their stealthy way. Sometimes the road by the Nile was blocked, and the messengers must toil across the deserts to Darfur, and so by a tremendous journey creep into Omderman. At others a traitor might work his way from Suwakan or from the Italian settlements, but by whatever route it came, information, whispered at Haifa, catalogued at Cairo, steadily accumulated, and the diaries of the Intelligence Department grew in weight and number, until at last every important amir was watched and located, every garrison estimated, and even the endless intrigues and brawls in Omderman were carefully recorded. The reports of the spies were at length confirmed and amplified by two most important witnesses. At the end of 1891, Father Orwalder made his escape from Omderman and reached the Egyptian territory. Besides giving the Intelligence Department much valuable information, he published a thrilling account of his captivity, ten years' captivity, by Father Orwalder, which created a wide and profound impression in England. In 1895 a still more welcome fugitive reached Aswan. Early on the 16th of March, a weary, travel-stained Arab, in a tattered jibba, and mounted on a lame and emaciated camel, presented himself to the Commandant. He was received with delighted wonder, and forthwith conducted to the best bathroom available. Two hours later a little Austrian gentleman stepped forth, and the Telegraph hastened to tell the news that Slatin, sometime Governor of Darfur, had escaped from the Khalifa's clutches. Here at last was a man who knew everything that concerned the Dervish Empire. Slatin, the Khalifa's trusted and confidential servant, almost his friend, who had lived with him, who was even permitted to dine with him alone, and who had heard all his counsels, who knew all his amirs, and moreover Slatin, the soldier and administrator, who could appreciate all he had learned, was added with the rank of Pasha to the Staff of the Intelligence Department. While his accurate knowledge confirmed the belief of the Egyptian authorities that the Dervish power was declining, his tale of fire and sword in the Sudan increased the horror and anger of thoughtful people in England at the cruelties of the Khalifa. Public opinion began to veer towards the policy of reconquest. The year 1895 brought in a conservative and unionist administration. A government came into office supported by a majority which was so strong that there seemed little reason to expect a transference of power for five or six years. Ministers were likely to be able to carry to a definite conclusion any projects they might devise. They belonged chiefly to that party in the state which had consistently assailed Mr Gladstone's Egyptian policy. Here was an opportunity of repairing the damage done by their opponents. The comparisons that would follow such an accomplishment were self-evident and agreeable even to anticipate. The idea of reconquering the Sudan presented itself indefinitely, but not unpleasingly, alike to the government and the people of Great Britain. The unforeseen course of events crystallized the idea into a policy. On the 1st of March 1896 the Battle of Odawa was fought, and Italy at the hands of Abyssinia sustained a crushing defeat. Two results followed which affected other nations. First, a great blow had been struck at European prestige in North Africa. It seemed probable that the Abyssinian success would encourage the dervishes to attack the Italians at Kassala. It was possible that they might also attack the Egyptians at Suwaken or on the Wadi-Halfa frontier. Secondly, the value of Italy as a factor in European politics was depreciated. The fact that her defeat had been assisted by the arms and munitions of war which had been supplied to the Abyssinians from French and Russian sources complicated the situation. The Triple Alliance was concerned. The Third Partner had been weakened. The balance might be restored if Great Britain would make some open sign of sympathy. Moreover, the expectations of the Egyptian military authorities were soon fulfilled. The dervishes threatened Kassala as soon as the news of Odawa reached them, and indeed there were signs of increased activity in Amderman itself. In these circumstances the British government determined to assist Italy by making a demonstration on the Wadi-Halfa frontier. They turned to Egypt. It had always been recognized that the recovery of the lost provinces was a natural and legitimate aspiration. The doubtful point was to decide the time when the military and financial resources of the country were sufficiently developed to justify an assumption of the offensive. From Lord Cromer's reports, Egypt Number 2, 1896 From a purely Egyptian point of view the best possible moment had not yet arrived. A few more years of recuperation were needed. The country would fight the Sudan campaigns more easily if first refreshed by the great reservoirs which were projected. For more than two years both projects had been pressed upon the government of his highness the Kadeev, or to write definitely, upon Lord Cromer. At regular intervals Sir Herbert Kitchener and Sir William Garsten would successively visit the British agency. It would be treason to call it Government House. The one to urge the case for a war, the other to plead for a reservoir. The reservoir had won. Only a few weeks before the advance to Dangala was ordered, Garsten met Kitchener returning from the agency. The engineer inquired the results of the General's interview. I'm beaten, said a Kitchener abruptly. You've got your dam! And Garsten went on his way rejoicing. The decision of the British government came therefore as a complete surprise to the Karooine authorities. The season of the year was unfavorable to military operations. The hot weather was at hand. The Nile was low. Lord Cromer's report, which had been published in the early days of March, had in no way foreshadowed the event. The frontier was tranquil, with the exception of a small raid on a village in the Wadi-Halfa district and an insignificant incursion into the Tokar Delta, the dervish forces had during the year maintained a strictly defensive attitude, from Egypt No. 1, 1896. Lord Cromer, however, realized that while the case for the reservoirs would always claim attention, the reconquest of the Sudan might not receive the support of a liberal government. The increasing possibility of French intrigues upon the upper Nile had also to be considered. All politics are a series of compromises and bargains, and while the historian may easily mark what would have been the best possible moment for any great undertaking, a good moment must content the administrator. Those who guarded the interests of Egypt could hardly consent to an empty demonstration on the Wadi-Halfa frontier at her expense, and the original intention of the British government was at once extended to the reconquest of the Dangala Province, a definite and justifiable enterprise which must in any case be the first step towards the recovery of the Sudan. It will be convenient, before embarking upon the actual chronicle of the military operations, to explain how the money was obtained to pay for the war. I desire to avoid the intricate though fascinating tangles of Egyptian finance. Yet even when the subject is treated in the most general way, the difficulties which harass and impede the British administrators and insult the sovereign power of Egypt, the mischievous interference of a vindictive nation, the galling and almost intolerable financial fetters in which a prosperous country is bound, may arouse in the sympathetic reader a flush of annoyance, or at any rate, a smile of pitying wonder. About half the revenue of Egypt is devoted to the development and government of the country, and the other half to the payment of the interest on the debt and other external charges. And with a view to preventing in the future the extravagance of the past, the London Convention in 1885 prescribed that the annual expenditure of Egypt shall not exceed a certain sum. When the expenditure exceeds this amount, for every pound that is spent on the government or development of Egypt, another pound must be paid to the commissioners of the debt, so that, after the limit is reached, for every pound that is required to promote Egyptian interests, two pounds must be raised by taxation from an already heavily taxed community. But the working of this law was found to be so severe that, like all laws which exceed the human conception of justice, it has been somewhat modified. By an arrangement which was effected in 1888, the ques de la dette are empowered, instead of devoting their surplus pound to the sinking fund, to pay it into a general reserve fund, from which the commissioners may make grants to meet extraordinary expenses. Those expenses, that is to say, which may be considered, once for all, capital expenditure and not ordinary annual charges. The dangala expedition was begun, as has been said, without reference to the immediate internal condition of Egypt. The moment was a good one, but not the best. It was obviously impossible for Egypt to provide for the extraordinary expenses of the military operations out of revenue. The Ministry of Finance therefore appealed to the ques de la dette for a grant from the general reserve fund. Here was an obvious case of extraordinary expenses. The Egyptian government asked for five hundred thousand Egyptian pounds. The ques met in council. Six commissioners, representing England, France, Russia, Germany, Austria and Italy, duly discussed the application. Four commissioners considered that the grant should be made. Two commissioners, those representing France and Russia, voted against it. The majority decided. The grant was made. The money was handed to the Egyptian government and devoted to the prosecution of the war. Egypt, as a sovereign power, had already humbly begged to be allowed to devote part of the surplus of her own revenues to her own objects. A greater humiliation remained. The commissioners of France and Russia, who had been outvoted, brought an action against their colleagues on the grounds that the grant was ultra-virese, and against the Egyptian government for the return of the money thus wrongly obtained. Other actions were brought at French instigation by various people purporting to represent the bondholders, who declared that their interests were threatened. The case was tried before the mixed tribunals, an institution which exists in Egypt superior to and independent of the sovereign rights of that country. On the part of the Egyptian government and the four commissioners, it was contented that the mixed tribunals had no competency to try the case, that the attacking parties had no right of action, that the Egyptian government had, in applying, done all that the law of liquidation required, and that the act of sovereignty was complete as soon as the case, which was the legal representative of the bond-holding interests, had pronounced its decision. The argument was a strong one, but had it been ten times as strong the result would have been the same. The mixed tribunals, an international institution, delivered its judgment on strictly political grounds, the judges taking their orders from the different countries they represented. It was solemnly pronounced that war expenses were not extraordinary expenses. The proximate destruction of the Caliph's power was treated quite as a matter of everyday occurrence. A state of war was apparently regarded as usual in Egypt. On this wise and sensible ground the Egyptian government were condemned to pay back five hundred thousand Egyptian pounds together with interest and costs. After momentary hesitation, as to whether the hour had not come to join issue on the whole subject of the financial restrictions of Egypt, it was decided to bow to this iniquitous decision. The money had now to be refunded. It had already been spent. More than that, other sums were needed for the carrying on of the war. The army was by then occupying Dangala and was in actual expectation of a dervish counterattack, and it was evident that the military operations could not be suspended or arrested. It was impossible to stop, yet without money it seemed impossible to go on. And besides, it appeared that Egypt would be unable to repay the five hundred thousand Egyptian pounds which she had been granted and of which she was now deprived. Such was the painful and difficult situation which a friendly nation in the utmost exercise of her wit and the extreme compass of her legal rights had succeeded in producing in a country for whose welfare she had always professed an exaggerated regard. Such was the effect of French diplomacy. But there is a nemesis that waits on international malpractices, however cunning. Now, as before and since, the very astuteness of the French ministers and agents was to strike a terrible blow at French interests and French influence in Egypt. At this period France still exercised a considerable force on Egyptian politics. One Egyptian party, the weaker, but still by no means insignificant, looked towards her for support. The news of the French success cheered their hearts and raised their spirits. Orientals appreciate results. The result was a distinct reverse to the British. The conclusion to the native mind was obvious. Great Britain had been weighed in the European balances and found wanting. In all Eastern countries a large proportion of the population fluctuates uncertainly, eager only to be on the winning side. All this volume of agitation and opinion began to glide and flow towards the stronger power, and when the Egyptian government found their appeal from the decision of the Court of First Instance of the Mixed Tribunals to the International Court of Appeal at Alexandria quashed, and the original decision confirmed, the defeat of the British was no less complete than the triumph of the French. But meanwhile the consul general acted. On the 2nd of December he telegraphed to Lord Salisbury, reporting the judgment of the Court of Appeal, and asking that he might be authorized to state directly that Her Majesty's government will be prepared to advance the money on conditions to be hereafter arranged. The reply was prompt, though guarded. You are authorized, said Lord Salisbury, by the Chancellor of the Exchequer to state, that though of course the primary liability for the payment of the five hundred thousand Egyptian pounds rests with the Egyptian government, Her Majesty's government will hold themselves prepared to advance on conditions to be decided hereafter, such as some as they feel satisfied that the Egyptian treasury is powerless to provide. The original five hundred thousand pounds was afterwards increased to eight hundred thousand pounds, which some was paid by the British Exchequer to the Egyptian government, at first as a loan, and later as a gift. This obvious development does not seem to have been foreseen by the French diplomatists, and when on the 3rd of December it was rumoured in Cairo that Great Britain was prepared to pay the money, a great feeling of astonishment and of uncertainty was created. But the chances of the French interference proving effective still seemed good. It was believed that the English government would not be in a position to make an advance to the Egyptian government until funds had been voted by Parliament for the purpose. It was also thought that Egypt would be utterly unable to find the money immediately. In the meantime the position was humiliating. France conceived herself mistress of the situation. A complete disillusionment, however, awaited the French government. The taxes in Egypt, as in other countries, are not collected evenly over the whole year. During some months there is a large cash balance in the Exchequer. In others the money drains in slowly. It happened at this period of the year, after the cotton crop had been gathered, that a considerable balance had accumulated in the treasury. And on the guarantee of the English government being received, to the effect that they would ultimately assist Egypt with regard to the expenses of the expedition, Lord Cromer determined to repay the money at once. The event was foreshadowed. On the 5th of December the Egyptian Council of Ministers, presided over by the Kediv in person, decided on their own initiative to dispatch an official letter expressing in warm terms their gratitude for the financial help offered them by Her Majesty's Government. I am desired, said Butros Pasha, to beg your Lordship to be good enough to convey to His Lordship the marquess of Salisbury the expression of the lively gratitude of the Kediv and the Egyptian Government for the great kindness which Her Majesty's Government has shown to them on this occasion. From Egypt No. 1, 1897 On the 6th of December, 500,000 Egyptian pounds, together with 15,600 Egyptian pounds interests and costs, in gold, was conveyed in boxes in a cart from the Egyptian treasury to the offices of the Kesteladet. The effect was tremendous. All Cairo knew of the difficulty, all Cairo witnessed the manner in which it had been overcome. The lesson was too plain to be lost on the native mind. The reverse of the French diplomacy was far greater even than its success had appeared. For many years French influence in Egypt had not received so heavy a blow. Yet even in the short space of time which this story covers, it was to receive a still more terrible wound.