ke a
thunderbolt upon our country! Within forty-eight hours of the time when
Gordon would have heard the triumph ranting of English cheers, and once
more clasped the faithful hands of British brother soldiers; treachery
had done its worst. Thus ended this unique life's drama of one of the
noblest hearts that ever beat in soldier's bosom, and one of the truest
to his Queen, to his country, and to his God. The heart that had caused
him to share his home with the homeless, and his bread with the hungry,
that had led him to kneel in prayer by the dying; the heart that had so
often throbbed for the misery of slavery, and the slave trade, as to risk
his life as of no value to stop that cursed practice and traffic; that
heart was pierced by the treacherous hands (in all probability) of the
very man Gordon had made the greatest sacrifice to save. Such terrible
news threw our land into universal mourning, and thousands wept for the
hero that would never return.

The military correspondent of the "Daily News" at Dongola, writes: "Two
men arrived here yesterday, April 11th, 1885, whose story throws some
light on the capture of Khartoum. They were soldiers in Gordon's army,
taken at the time and sold as slaves, but who ultimately escaped. Their
names are Said Abdullah and Jacoob Mahomet. I will let them tell their
own history." "After stating they were first taken at Omdurman,
subsequently to the capture of Khartoum; were then stolen by arabs and
sold to two Kabbabish merchants, and afterwards escaped from Aboudom to
Debbah, from which place they had reached Dongola; they went on to relate
the doings of Farig Pasha previously to the taking of Khartoum. I have
given you some account of the story by telegraph, and it has been partly
made familiar substantially through other channels. They continued:
"That night Khartoum was delivered into the hands of the rebels. It fell
through the treachery of the accursed Farig Pasha, the Circassian, who
opened the gate. May he never reach Paradise! May Shaytan take
possession of his soul! But it was Kismet. The gate was called Bouri';
it was on the Blue Nile. We were on guard near, but did not see what was
going on. We were attacked and fought desperately at the gate. Twelve
of our staff were killed, and twenty-two of us retreated to a high room,
where we were taken prisoners, and now came the ending. The red Flag
with the crescent was destined no more to wave over the Palace; n