s
fire flickered along a wide half-circle and developed continually
with greater vigour opposite the Egyptian left, which was consequently
reinforced. As the light improved, large bodies of shouting Dervishes
were seen advancing; but the fire was too hot, and their Emirs were
unable to lead them far beyond the edge of the wood. So soon as this was
perceived Wingate ordered a general advance; and the whole force, moving
at a rapid pace down the gentle slope, drove the enemy through the trees
into the camp about a mile and a half away. Here, huddled together under
their straw shelters, 6,000 women and children were collected, all of
whom, with many unwounded combatants, made signals of surrender and
appeals for mercy. The 'cease fire' was sounded at half-past six.
Then, and not till then, was it discovered how severe the loss of the
Dervishes had been. It seemed to the officers that, short as was the
range, the effect of rifle fire under such unsatisfactory conditions of
light could not have been very great. 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 f