Khartoum: The Ultimate Imperial Adventure, page 40
The odds were already mounting against him. At 0700 hours on the morning of 16 October the gunboat Zafir appeared suddenly opposite Metemma, together with Fateh and Nasr. The flotilla’s chief, Commander Colin Keppel, RN, ordered his Royal Marine gunners to open fire at a range of four thousand yards. As Metemma itself lay more than half a mile from the bank, the gunboats concentrated on the six forts Mahmud had built by the river. In an hour two of them had been reduced to debris, and the gunboats manoeuvred opposite the remaining four. They pounded them with shrapnel and high-explosive shells until the walls crashed down and the dervishes fled. As soon as the survivors emerged, the boats’ Maxims mowed them down.
The guns roared and rattled without pause until 1430 hours, when resistance ceased. The following day the boats returned for another four-hour pummelling, then sailed back downstream whence they had come. Their payloads were lighter by 650 shells, and several thousand machine-gun rounds, and they left behind an estimated five hundred enemy dead. Keppel had lost only one man killed.
On 31 October the railway reached Abu Hamed. It had taken nine months to span the Nubian desert, and it arrived with only seventeen miles of track and sleepers to spare. There was now a hiatus while more materials were imported, but Kitchener’s plan was to extend it as far as Berber, then further south in reach of the confluence of the Nile and the ‘Atbara, where he intended to establish his next – and final – forward operating base.
By January, Mahmud had realized that if he did not make an attempt to halt the enemy’s advance, his army would simply disintegrate. On the 16th, he wrote to ‘Abdallahi that he intended to cross to the east bank and march north against Anglo-Egyptian forces at ‘Atbara. For weeks, he had been requesting ‘Osman Digna to join his army in Metemma. The old fox had left his headquarters at Adarama in September, but resisted Mahmud’s requests until ordered to reinforce him by the Khalifa himself. He arrived at Metemma on 16 February with five thousand Beja troops.
It was not a happy combination. Both the Baggara and the Beja had a reputation as fearless warriors, but they were quite different in character. The Beja, proud of their ancient roots, looked down on the Baggara as Arab parvenus. The milieu in which the Baggara were raised – the goz – was lush in comparison with the Red Sea hills. The Beja were not good mixers. They spoke Tu-Bedawi, a language not closely related to Arabic, and were dour, moody and intolerant of strangers. The Baggara, like most Arab nomads, followed a code that exalted hospitality and generosity as well as courage, toughness and loyalty. The Beja were among the hardiest and most courageous fighters in the Sudan, but they did not welcome outsiders. To expect them to fight well with the Baggara was expecting oil and water to mix.
‘Abdallahi had written to his nephew to exercise tact in his dealings with ‘Osman Digna. ‘Osman was the senior emir and had answered the Mahdi’s call when Mahmud had still been a youth. More important, ‘Osman was the only dervish general who had fought the British. He knew that direct confrontation would be suicidal, and that guerrilla tactics were the only reliable approach. This advice cut no ice with Mahmud. He had never seen British troops in action, but had no intention of taking advice from a Bejawi, even a veteran like ‘Osman, who was old enough to be his father.
Mahmud cannot be blamed entirely for his refusal to listen to ‘Osman. To a Baggara nomad reared on the cult of bravery, and the heroic exploits of elephant- and giraffe-hunters, ‘Osman’s strategy must have seemed pusillanimous and feeble. Mahmud’s remark that, while the Beja might have learned how to survive, they had not learned how to defeat the enemy, hinted at cowardice. This was hardly justified – the Beja had been fighting British-led and British troops for fourteen years, with some notable successes. The British considered them among the most dangerous foes they had ever encountered.
Mahmud was a young man riding the crest of his people’s supremacy, caught up in his own sense of self-importance. He would have done well to listen to the advice of both ‘Abdallahi and ‘Osman, but he did not. His plan was simply to tramp up the banks of the Nile with his twelve thousand Baggara and smash Kitchener at the ‘Atbara. ‘Osman shook his head in despair. Marching along the river would expose their men to the fire of British gunboats. In a face-off with a well-disciplined and well-armed Anglo-Egyptian army, Baggara courage alone would not prevail. ‘Osman suggested that they should strike away from the Nile at ‘Aliyab, and march across the desert to the ‘Atbara river. This would be a tall order, but the dervishes were hardy enough to withstand a desert march, and the enemy’s steamers could not touch them there. Once they hit the ‘Atbara river, they could decide on the next step.
As for provisions, their warriors could live on the nuts of the dom palm-trees that grew on the river banks in abundance. These nuts did not form part of their normal diet, but they could be ground up and baked into a kind of bread in an emergency.
‘Osman appealed to the Khalifa for his opinion, but before an answer came back from Omdurman, Mahmud was already leading his army north along the river. Harassed by steamers all the way, precisely as ‘Osman had predicted, he halted at ‘Aliyab, where he received a letter from the Khalifa: he should follow ‘Osman’s suggestion, and turn away from the Nile.
Mahmud capitulated, and ordered his force to cross the forty miles of desert between ‘Aliyab and the ‘Atbara. It was a crippling march. The force carried no food and little water. Hundreds of tribesmen deserted on the way. By the time the remainder reached the ‘Atbara, thirty hours out of ‘Aliyab, they were exhausted, starving, and dying of thirst.
Here a new dispute broke out between Mahmud and ‘Osman. The old warrior suggested moving east, upriver, to his old headquarters at Adarama. Kitchener would not be able to ignore the concentration of such a large enemy force there, and would be obliged to attack before moving on Omdurman. His battalions would have to move up the ‘Atbara without gunboats in support, and could be lured into a trap.
Once again, Mahmud simply ignored ‘Osman and led his troops downriver towards the Anglo-Egyptian camp. On the way, though, he lost his nerve: perhaps, having seen Kitchener’s gunboats in action, he was, after all, chary of coming too close to them. Instead of pressing through his attack, he halted at the village of Nukhayla, about thirty-five miles east of the ‘Atbara– Nile confluence, and ordered his men to build a defensive position on the river’s floodplain.
For the final time, ‘Osman ventured to advise him. The position he had chosen was not sound. It was on low ground by the river bank, and vulnerable to fire from the rocky bluffs above. The dom palm-groves along the river could easily be set on fire by enemy artillery. In any case, the place itself was too near Kitchener’s base. The Anglo-Egyptian force could reach them in a single night’s march. Mahmud disregarded him again, and did not bother to consult the Khalifa. ‘Osman must have watched Mahmud’s men building their thorn-zariba and trenches, with a feeling that they were digging their own graves. It was perhaps then that he decided to take no part in the coming battle.
6
‘Osman was aware, too, that Kitchener’s army no longer consisted only of Egyptian and Sudanese troops. Salisbury had given the Sirdar permission to call for a British force if he felt it was needed. On New Year’s Day 1898, Kitchener wired Cromer, reporting a massive dervish advance from Omdurman. ‘I think British troops should be sent to Abu Hamed,’ he wrote, ‘and that reinforcements should be sent to Egypt… The fight for the Sudan would appear to be likely to take place at Berber.’5
Kitchener probably knew that reports of an advance by the main dervish army, sixty thousand strong, were false. In early December, ‘Abdallahi had attempted to revive flagging morale in Omdurman by holding a great parade. Afterwards the army had trekked out of the town as if starting for the north, but got only a few miles before halting. This, the Khalifa explained, was a result of disputes over command. In fact, the whole parade had been a bluff. ‘Abdallahi’s huge force was totally immobile: Kitchener’s great strength – his logistics and supply system – was the Khalifa’s Achilles’ heel. He was unable to support so vast an army: his supply system was non-existent. He had, in any case, long ago decided on his strategy. He had advised his cousin to withdraw to Sabaluka, but Mahmud had rejected that advice. Now, Mahmud was on his own. If he halted Kitchener’s advance, well and good. If not, the Khalifa would wait for the enemy and destroy them.
Kitchener’s ‘spin’ worked. By the end of February a British infantry brigade, moved quickly by the railway, arrived at Berber. Kitchener had learned his lesson from Wolseley, and had asked for no special troops, only solid line infantrymen – the 1st Battalion the Lincolnshire Regiment, the 1st Battalion the Royal Warwickshire Regiment, and the 1st Battalion the Cameron Highlanders. The 1st Battalion the Seaforth Highlanders were to follow.
These units had been part of the British army of occupation in Cairo, and were under the command of fifty-five-year-old Major General William Gatacre, Middlesex Regiment, a lean, thin-faced authoritarian who was universally hated. The brigade also included a Field Company of the Royal Engineers, and a Royal Artillery battery equipped with some heavy ordnance not seen previously in the Sudan – two forty-pound howitzers, designed to drop shells inside trenches and to demolish buildings. The artillery company had also brought with them six five-inch howitzers and six Maxim machine-guns.
There had been great strides forward in personal weaponry since the Gordon Relief Expedition. While the Egyptians and Sudanese troops had Martini-Henrys, the British were now equipped with the .303 calibre Lee-Metford, produced in 1888. The Lee-Metford was the first magazine-rifle ever used by the British army – instead of having to ram the shells into the chamber by hand, they were now fed in automatically by a spring-loaded magazine. The cartridges were thrust into the chamber by a breech-block operated by a hand-worked bolt, and ejected by the same method. The rate of fire was so fast that independent fire sounded like a volley of machine-guns. The smaller calibre increased both range and accuracy. The weapon had a muzzle velocity of two thousand feet per second and a maximum range of three and a half thousand yards. In practical terms this meant that at effective range its copper-nickel plated lead round would punch through a brick wall nine inches thick and would penetrate a chunk of solid oak to a depth of twenty-seven inches.
The Martini’s smoke problem had also been solved. The invention by Alfred Nobel in 1892 of cordite – a combination of nitroglycerine and nitrocellulose – meant that Lee-Metford cartridges were virtually smoke-free. This had created a revolution in infantry tactics. It meant that troops could now sustain rapid, accurate fire without their vision being obscured by smoke. The rifleman could fire from cover without exposing his position to the enemy, and attackers had to advance without a smokescreen across longer fields of fire.
Kitchener had now mustered an army of fourteen thousand men – British, Egyptian and Sudanese. On hearing that Mahmud had encamped at Nukhayla on 20 March, he immediately moved the bulk of his force up the ‘Atbara to Ras al-Hudi, a site shaded by dom palm-groves, thirteen miles short of the dervish position. He arrived there on the 21st and at 1030 hours sent his cavalry contingent – seven squadrons and a Horse Artillery battery, under Lieut. Colonel Broadwood – out to hunt dervishes.
Broadwood’s squadrons limped back into camp at midnight, carrying seven wounded troopers. They had left eight dead in the field, and had lost thirteen horses. Having cleared the country twenty-two miles up the river bank, one of the squadrons had been shadowed by Baggara horse, who had followed them back to the rendezvous. They had attacked suddenly out of the thick bush on the floodplain, but the Anglo-Egyptians had fought them off. Most casualties had been sustained during the follow-up, when Broad-wood’s men had gone on foot into the bush to search for the Baggara, and had run into a force much larger than they had anticipated.
For more than a week, Kitchener remained at Ras al-Hudi, hoping that Mahmud would initiate the attack. He was aware that the Baggara and Beja warriors were short of food. Every day deserters arrived at his camp, many of them suffering from diarrhoea as a result of eating dom nuts. The Sirdar was loath to advance, knowing that starvation would gradually wear Mahmud’s troops down. On the other hand, though, he did not want the enemy to escape. If Mahmud pulled out suddenly, Kitchener would look foolish. He would also have a large army behind his left flank when he moved towards Omdurman.
Every day Broadwood’s cavalry patrols scoured the river bank for dervish scouts. There were some inconclusive skirmishes. In the Anglo-Egyptian camp, the infantry grew restless, waiting for the order to march. On 27 March, Zafir, Nasr and Fateh steamed upriver from ‘Atbara camp, carrying the 15th Egyptian battalion and 150 Ja’aliyyin Friendlies. They landed at Shendi, where Mahmud had dumped all his food supplies and left a host of wives and children. The Egyptians stormed the town, and the small Baggara garrison fled. The Friendlies pursued them, killed 160, and captured 650 women and children. For the Ja’aliyyin it was sweet revenge for the massacre at Metemma.
Still, Kitchener fretted at Ras al-Hudi. Three days after the capture of Shendi, he sent Hunter up the ‘Atbara with six squadrons of horse, two companies of camelry, the Horse Artillery, and the Maxims and howitzers, to make a close reconnaissance of Mahmud’s zariba. Hunter returned having ridden right up to the zariba itself, without casualties. He reported that it was impregnable.
On 31 March the Sirdar assembled his staff – Hunter, Gatacre, Wingate and the brigade commanders – for a council. Gatacre was for attacking Mahmud at once. Hunter, the only one who had actually seen the zariba, advised against it. Kitchener was inclined to agree with Gatacre, but Hunter’s opinion dissuaded him – Hunter had long experience in the Sudan, and was known for his aggressive style. According to the textbook, Kitchener’s army was not large enough to assault a defended position – he would have required at least ten thousand more troops for that.
The next day he wired Cromer that he was ‘perplexed’ at Mahmud’s immobility. While he had no doubt that an attack on his zariba would succeed, he was worried that it might result in a large number of casualties. Cromer wired to London for advice. At the War Office, Garnet Wolseley was astonished by Kitchener’s hesitancy – it was axiomatic that the decision could only be taken by the commander on the ground. He wired back to Cromer that the best action was for the Sirdar to decide.
Impressed by the fact that Hunter had demurred, Cromer advised postponement. By the time his wire arrived, though, Kitchener had changed his mind, feeling that he could hold off no longer. His supplies were being brought up from ‘Atbara camp by camel caravan, protected by a small escort of camel-corps. As a logistics expert, he was acutely aware that Mahmud’s Baggara cavalry could cut his supply lines at any time. Hunter had finally come round, and agreed that action must be taken. Kitchener resolved to hit the zariba on Good Friday, 8 April.
On 5 April Hunter led another reconnaissance mission to Nukhayla, and was almost caught when Mahmud’s cavalry attacked unexpectedly. Meanwhile, Kitchener’s main force had left Ras al-Hudi and advanced to Umm Dabiyya, from where it could advance to Nukhayla in a few hours. On the evening of Thursday 7 April the Anglo-Egyptian army paraded ready for the attack. ‘Manifestly,’ wrote Cromer, the only one of the players who had been involved since the beginning, ‘the curtain had gone up on the last scene of the drama, which commenced with the destruction of General Hicks’s army fifteen years previously.’6
7
Today, the land where Mahmud’s zariba stood is cultivated by local farmers, but a century ago it was a wild belt of thick acacia scrub, with the many-branched trunks of dom palms tilting at strange angles above the forest. Neatly ploughed furrows now stand where tangled thorn-bush once grew, and the dom palms are gone. Due to erosion, the level of the land has dropped by several yards, so it is no longer possible to see precisely what the Anglo-Egyptian troops saw when they appeared suddenly on the bluffs above Mahmud’s zariba, just before dawn on Good Friday, 8 April 1898.
The rocky terraces were bathed in the silky light of a moon that had come up around midnight. The zariba lay in shadow, about nine hundred yards away. There was no sound from the dervish camp, and some of the British began to believe that the enemy had pulled out. ‘Soon we saw large fires appear in the valley beneath us,’ recalled Lieutenant R. Meiklejohn of the Warwick-shire Regiment, ‘and we realized the enemy were still there!’
The zariba was a rough oval, its rear edge touching the river bank and its forward edge tucked beneath the hard black cliffs of the desert. The enclosure was partly set in the acacia forest, so that only the front face was clearly exposed. It was constructed of cut thorn-bush, and was about a thousand yards in diameter, the interior being crammed with tents and huts. Inside the thorn-fence the dervishes had dug a complex system of trenches, three feet deep. Their seven artillery pieces were distributed around the perimeter, in gun-pits protected by embrasures. In the centre was a redoubt protected by a second zariba five feet high. The cliffs on the northern side ascended about two hundred feet to a treeless stony plateau, giving way to the undulating dark sarir of the Nubian desert.
The Anglo-Egyptian army had been marching much of the night in square formation. Now, orders were given and passed along in whispers. The squares began to unhitch themselves joint by joint, reforming with splendid precision into columns of assault. Soon the army was arranged in buffalo horns around the front of the dervish camp – Maxwell’s Sudanese on the right, MacDonald’s in the centre, and Gatacre’s British brigade on the left. The Egyptian brigade under Lewis was held in reserve at the rear, protecting the transport and water. The Egyptian cavalry was drawn up far to the left, and the artillery batteries positioned on the right and in the front centre. A Maxim battery lay on the left, next to a rocket detachment commanded by Lieutenant David Beatty, RN. In front of Beatty stood Kitchener’s command post under the red flag.
