nty British soldiers and a few
blue-jackets set forth towards the Shabluka Gorge and the town that lay
beyond. On the 27th of January the rescuers came in sight of Khartoum
and under the fire of the enemy. Many of their perilous adventures seem
to belong to romance rather than to reality: the tiny gimcrack boats
struggling with the strong stream of the cataract, running the gauntlet
of the Arab guns, dropping disconsolately down the river with their
terrible news, or wrecked and stranded on the sandbank; Stuart-Wortley
rowing to the camp before Metemma for help; Beresford starting in the
remaining steamer; the bursting of the boiler by a Dervish shell;
Benbow mending it in a single day; Wilson's rescue and the return to
the entrenchment at Gubat. But the scene that appeals to the imagination
above all the others is that where with both banks ablaze with musketry
and artillery, the black smoke pouring through the shot-holes in the
funnels, the water rising in spurts from the bullets, the men who had
come so far and braved so much stared at the palace roof and, seeing no
flag flying, knew that all was over and that they had come too late.

The news of the Dervish defeats at Abu Klea and Abu Kru impelled the
Mahdi to a desperate venture. The English were but 120 miles away. They
were few, but victorious. It was difficult to say what force could stop
such men. In spite of the wrath of the true God and the valour of Islam
they might prevail. The Mahdi depended on success for existence. The
tremendous forces of fanaticism are exerted only in a forward direction.
Retreat meant ruin. All must be staked on an immediate assault. And,
besides, the moment was ripe. Thus the Arab chiefs reasoned, and wisely
resolved to be reckless. Thus the night of the 25th of January arrived.

The band played as usual in the evening. Gradually the shadows fell and
it became dark. The hungry inhabitants betook themselves to bed. The
anxious but indomitable commander knew that the crisis impended, and
knew also that he was powerless to avert it. Perhaps he slept, satisfied
that he had done his duty; and in the silence of the night the savage
enemy crawled stealthily towards the town. The weary and disheartened
sentinels, weakened by famine and tired of war, maintained a doubtful
vigilance along the ramparts. The subsiding waters of the river had
left a bare gap between the White Nile and the wall. Perhaps there was
treachery besides. On a sudden the