de them
turn back. Mahmud determined, therefore, to invest his former adherents,
and, putting himself at the head of his troops, he advanced towards the
mountain; but the soldiers, concealed behind rocks, sent volley after
volley into the Dervish ranks. Mahmud received a bullet in his side,
but, nothing daunted, he continued to advance, carrying his own flag,
until another bullet, hitting him full on the forehead, killed him.

Already over a hundred Dervishes had fallen, and the remainder, hearing
that Mahmud was dead, turned tail and fled in disorder towards El Obeid.
The soldiers did not pursue, but took up Mahmud's body and gave him an
honourable burial befitting the brave man he was. In his death Mahdieh
lost perhaps the boldest of its adherents, and certainly the bravest of
the Mahdi's family. And though he had latterly given himself up to a
life of pleasure and debauchery, as all the rest had done, still he did
not fear exposing himself to every sort of danger.

Mahmud fell in the month of November 1885, and Khalifa Abdullah was by
no means displeased to be rid of a rival whose prowess and popularity he
greatly feared and envied.

In place of Sherif Mahmud, Abdullah despatched his brother Bakhit to
Kordofan; but he was a very different class of man, and was nicknamed
"Tor" ("The Bullock").

Soon afterwards Bakhit received orders to leave all his men at El Obeid
and to return to Omdurman. He was succeeded by the emir Wad el Hashmi,
who was followed by Osman Wad Adam (nicknamed "Ganu"), the Mahdi's
nephew.

Preparations were now made to transport all Mahmud's people to Omdurman,
and in order to convey so many thousand people, camels were forcibly
seized. We also were released, and permitted to go to Omdurman. I had
passed too many miserable years in Kordofan not to rejoice at the
change: for a time I had a faint hope that someone might be sent by
Father Bonomi to assist me to escape, but now it seemed useless to hope
for this any longer, whereas, once at Omdurman, I might manage to escape
by myself. Our departure was delayed for a month.

El Obeid had gradually become a dirty Arab village; except meat and
dokhn, there was absolutely nothing to be got in the market. I suffered
much from dysentery. There were no medicines to be had, so I had to
trust to the recuperative powers of nature, assisted by a little rice
which was grown in the marshes about Birket. I had not a civilized soul
with whom to associate.