ield Battery at its northern angle, and then, accompanied
by the remaining four guns and the XIVth Soudanese, turned eastwards and
rode along the foot of the wall towards the river, seeking some means
of entry into the inner city. The breach made by the gunboats was found
temporarily blocked by wooden doors, but the main gate was open, and
through this the General passed into the heart of Omdurman. Within the
wall the scenes were more terrible than in the suburbs. The effects
of the bombardment were evident on every side. Women and children lay
frightfully mangled in the roadway. At one place a whole family had
been crushed by a projectile. Dead Dervishes, already in the fierce heat
beginning to decompose, dotted the ground. The houses were crammed with
wounded. Hundreds of decaying carcasses of animals filled the air with
a sickening smell. Here, as without the wall, the anxious inhabitants
renewed their protestations of loyalty and welcome; and interpreters,
riding down the narrow alleys, proclaimed the merciful conditions of the
conquerors and called on the people to lay down their arms. Great
piles of surrendered weapons rose in the streets, guarded by Soudanese
soldiers. Many Arabs sought clemency; but there were others who
disdained it; and the whirring of the Maxims, the crashes of the
volleys, and a continual dropping fire attested that there was fighting
in all parts of the city into which the columns had penetrated. All
Dervishes who did not immediately surrender were shot or bayoneted, and
bullets whistled at random along or across the streets. But while women
crowded round his horse, while sullen men filed carefully from houses,
while beaten warriors cast their spears on the ground and others, still
resisting, were despatched in corners, the Sirdar rode steadily onward
through the confusion, the stench, and the danger, until he reached the
Mahdi's Tomb.
At the mosque two fanatics charged the Soudanese escort, and each killed
or badly wounded a soldier before he was shot. The day was now far
spent, and it was dusk when the prison was reached. The General was the
first to enter that foul and gloomy den. Charles Neufeld and some thirty
heavily shackled prisoners were released. Neufeld, who was placed on a
pony, seemed nearly mad with delight, and talked and gesticulated with
queer animation. 'Thirteen years,' he said to his rescuer, 'have I
waited for this day.' From the prison, as it was now dark, the
Sirdar
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