PREPARATIONS FOR THE FLIGHT.

Ohrwalder forms plans for escape—The fate of other Europeans attempting to fly—Stricter surveillance—Ohrwalder's means of livelihood—Letters from Cairo—The faithful Ahmed Hassan discloses his plan—Archbishop Sogaro—Miseries of captivity in Omdurman—Death of Sister Concetta Corsi—Preparations for flight.

The reader will readily understand that all this time I had not lost sight of the object which had been next my heart, which was to regain my liberty and escape from my miserable surroundings.

When I quitted El Obeid, I then thought that, once in Omdurman, escape would not be so difficult, and during my long journey to the Mahdi's capital this thought had buoyed me up. At any rate I was one step nearer attaining my wish, for at that time the restrictions on Europeans were not so severe, and they were permitted to trade and travel as far as Ed Damer, to which place Egyptian merchants freely came and went.

On my arrival in Omdurman, a Greek offered me hospitality, which I gratefully accepted. I had resolved to search about in the town for a trusty friend, who would help me towards the attainment of my object. It had occurred to me that I might accompany a Greek or Syrian merchant to Damer, and from thence make my escape, but unfortunately at that time I had no money and little experience. I did not actually give way to despair, but I could find no one ready to give me the assistance I required; they all feared the Khalifa's vengeance in case of discovery.

I made inquiries of boatmen, with a view to going to Berber on a supposed trading journey, but none of them trusted me; and, indeed, I was afterwards thankful that they had not spoken of my design. However, in spite of failure, I did not give up hope; and during the long days, and often sleepless nights, I turned various plans over and over in my mind. On one occasion Gustav Klootz and I decided to make an attempt to reach Galabat, and escape thence into Abyssinia, but at the last moment the plan seemed impracticable. Klootz, however, set off, and without any money he begged his way from place to place; at length, utterly exhausted, he reached Galabat, only to die a few days afterwards.

I spent about eight months with the Greek, and then thought it was not fair to trespass further on his hospitality. Besides, it had occurred to me that in case a favourable opportunity for escape arrived, he would most certainly have been accused of complicity, and might have suffered on my account; I therefore built a small straw hut for myself, and lived with a Mission brother who had a small shop in the market. For almost five months an Arab held out hopes of assisting me to escape, but I eventually ascertained that he never really meant to help me. For nearly two years I had suffered from incessant diarrh[oe]a, which had greatly wasted my strength.

Meanwhile I had managed to send one of the Mission brothers to Berber, nominally to gain a living by repairing watches, but actually to find out whether flight from there was possible. It took him twenty-six days in a boat to reach Berber, and after staying there for a time he succeeded in escaping to Sawakin, whence he despatched a man with money and goods who was to aid in my escape; but the man never came, and must have stolen all that had been given to him.

The Mission brother's escape reached the Khalifa's ears, and at the same time certain Greeks petitioned him that their bakery might not be pulled down when the market was being repaired. The Khalifa sent for the mukuddum to inquire about the matter, and casually asked about the other Greeks, and where they were? The mukuddum replied that some were ill, others were travelling. This greatly annoyed the Khalifa, who ordered all who were in Omdurman to be brought before him the following day. Finding several absentees, his eyes seemed to be opened to the danger; he severely blamed the mukuddum for allowing the lay-brother to escape; said that he should have given immediate information, and then turning on us he threatened to cast us into the river, or cut off our hands. His actual words were, "What prevents me now from throwing you into the river, and making you food for fishes?" He spoke against us in a most vehement manner for about half an hour, and ended by saying that we should not in future be permitted to move one step south of Omdurman fort, or north of Khor Shambat. Any Europeans known to be beyond the limits of his capital, he ordered to be forcibly brought back, alive or dead. This sudden change of front obliged us to put aside for the time all idea of escape.

A Sherif of Mecca, who had come to greet the Mahdi and who had become thoroughly convinced of the falseness of his claims, expressed a desire to be allowed to return; his request was not granted, so he decided to make his escape; he bought a donkey and gaily set out on his journey. On reaching Kererri, some four hours' distance, he was stopped and asked where he was going; he replied that he was come to pay a visit to Sheikh el Tayeb's tomb at Kererri; but his story was not credited. He was brought back to the Khalifa, who handed him over to the Saier, where he died a few days afterwards.

This event made Abdullah exert a still stricter surveillance over the "whites," and now escape became more difficult than ever. Moreover, Wad en Nejumi's expedition to Egypt closed the road to pilgrims, and during that period flight would have been a pure impossibility. In the meantime I had to do something to gain a livelihood. Lupton advised me to try soap-boiling; so I went into partnership with him, changed my house, and now took up my abode just beyond the Greek and Syrian quarter.

I was always thinking of escape, and in consequence kept a great deal to myself, seldom paid visits, and was seldom called upon. Two of the Mission sisters were living near me; they earned a precarious living by needlework; but this hardly brought in enough money to purchase the bare necessities of life, for several of the women who had survived the Khartum massacre were employed at similar work, and the competition was considerable.

Poor Lupton died very suddenly, so our soap-boiling plan had to be abandoned, and I had to turn my thoughts to something else. It occurred to me to make hooks out of telegraph wire, which the sisters sewed on to purses, takias, &c., and this being a novelty was for a time a fairly lucrative business: but it was long and tedious work. Gradually the novelty wore off, and the demand grew less; provisions were expensive, and a famine close at hand. All idea of mutual support had come to an end, for the Greeks, Syrians, and Jews had been prohibited from leaving the town, and nothing was to be made out of trade in Omdurman itself. Thus my condition went from bad to worse, the famine was now raging, and in desperation I had to do something to gain enough to keep body and soul together.

It was the fashion for the women in Omdurman to wear long garments trimmed with various sorts of ribbons, and it occurred to me to learn how to make these ribbons; for this purpose I acquired a small and simple loom. The few men in the market, who had the monopoly of this trade, regarded my acquisition with great jealousy, and would not teach it to any one under a less payment than forty or fifty dollars, and this sum I was quite unable to raise; however, necessity knows no law, and hunger sharpens the inventive faculties. I carefully unravelled a piece of ribbon and studied the way it was made with the greatest attention. I had a dim and hazy recollection of European looms, and, after many vain attempts, I at length succeeded in making one. The work is very trying, and at first I thought my back would break from the exertion; it was only with the greatest difficulty that I managed, after working all day, to turn out four yards, which I sold for four piastres, out of which I had to purchase the thread. However, after continuous practice, I succeeded, at the end of a month, in turning out sixteen yards a day. But loom work should be learnt when one is young, and to begin it at my age was a terrible strain on my back; still, it brought in sufficient money to keep us alive.

For seven months we lived on dhurra bread and a few boiled vegetables, without oil, butter, or meat. Hard work and insufficient food were telling on our strength: however, we were far better off than hundreds of others, who were willing to work, but, finding nothing to do, were obliged to starve. During all this time I never once abandoned hope of escape, and again succeeded in getting some one to take a message from me to Cairo seeking advice; but the undertaking was so beset with difficulties that it seemed next to impossible.

My companions in adversity watched me closely—they often volunteered to attempt an escape with the sisters; but as I was responsible for them to the Khalifa, this could not be done, and the idea of myself and the two sisters ever escaping alone seemed too absurd to be thought of. It seemed most improbable that the Government would again take possession of the Sudan; though I confess that a ray of hope was kindled when Saleh Bey of Korosko suddenly arrived at Abu Hamed with his Ababdehs and killed the notorious Suleiman Wad Naaman, the murderer of Colonel Stewart and his companions. The news of this affair caused the greatest excitement in Omdurman, and we really believed that the time for our release was approaching; but Saleh Bey disappeared as quickly as he came.

The capture of Tokar, in February 1891, also raised our hopes; but we were again doomed to disappointment. In 1890 a young Ababdeh Arab had come to Omdurman and had asked me to give him a letter to my friends in Cairo. I did not trust him, for I had written several letters which were entirely without result. I had learnt by experience that the Arabs were untrustworthy, and that the letters never reached those for whom they were intended. It also occurred to me that the man might be a spy, so I sent him away with the answer "Neshauer" (i.e. "I shall think about it"), a word very often used by the Sudanese when they wish to gain time to consider a matter.

Meanwhile I made full inquiries about the man, and heard nothing but good of him. Soon afterwards he returned and asked me to give him a few lines of greeting to my friends. I was told that the man expected to get some reward if he succeeded in bringing letters to the Government from the prisoners, which might give them some information on the situation in the Sudan. When I was thoroughly convinced as to his trustworthiness, we then had a consultation, of which the upshot was that I would, with his assistance, attempt to escape, provided he could obtain the necessary support from Cairo; I therefore gave him a letter to our Reverend Vicar Apostolic, Franz Sogaro, and commissioned him to negotiate verbally with him.

The man's plan was to return when the Nile was high—that is to say, almost a year later—escape in a boat or on a raft, which the swift current would carry to Berber in about three days, where camels would be in readiness to take us across the desert to Korosko. I urged him to keep these plans absolutely secret, for their disclosure would bring most certain punishment on our heads, and I further urged him to provide arms for the journey.

Ahmed Hassan—for that was the man's name—went off, and, to tell the truth, I had little hope that he would do anything more than others had done before him. Besides, who could say what changes might not take place in a year in Omdurman, which might entirely frustrate our plans? The sword of Damocles was for ever hanging over our heads. Then might not death intervene any day? Both the sisters and myself were thoroughly debilitated by constant work and hardship, and it was always possible that a slight fever might extinguish the spark of life which was then burning but dimly.

A few days after Ahmed's departure the whole matter went quite out of our heads, and before long I was again negotiating with another Arab to assist us to escape, for I did not wish to leave a stone unturned. If it had been a question of my flight alone, there would not have been so much difficulty. As a man I could have stained my naturally brown complexion, dressed in rags, and begged my way along the banks of the Blue Nile to Abyssinia; but I could not leave the poor sisters behind, and therefore resolved to wait patiently until a deliverer should come.

Several of the merchants who had been to Egypt told me that Archbishop Sogaro had often sent us money vi Korosko, Halfa, and Sawakin; but the dishonest Arabs had always appropriated it for themselves. In fact, ever since 1884 our good Archbishop had never ceased in his efforts to assist us and to make our captivity more bearable. He left no stone unturned, and moved Moslems, Christians, the Government, and indeed His Holiness the Pope, on our behalf, and one of the missionaries was maintained on the Egyptian frontier with the special object of endeavouring to procure our release; they took it in turns to relieve each other, and were Fathers Dominicus Vicentini, Yohann Dichtl, Xavier Geyer, Alois Bonomi, Leon Henriot, and Alois Specke, the last of whom died at Assuan. We had many great difficulties, but perhaps the greatest was the continual bad faith of the Arabs.

The transport of letters endangered the lives not only of the bearers, but of the receivers as well, and any letter addressed to a European would, if discovered, undoubtedly end either in the intended recipient's death or imprisonment for life. But Archbishop Sogaro worked on with indefatigable earnestness. Early in 1890 he sent one of our Coptic Mission teachers, named Hanna Arraga, with money and goods to the frontier, whence, if possible, he was to proceed to Omdurman and assist us. It was thought the plan might succeed, for at that time Zogal was Emir of Dongola, and he was desirous of opening trade with Halfa. Hanna therefore sent an Arab on to find out how matters stood, while he himself remained on the frontier; but the Arab never returned.

It so happened that just at this time Zogal and the two Baggara emirs sent to watch him had a violent dispute, which resulted in all of them being recalled to Omdurman. The Khalifa decided in favour of the Baggaras, Zogal was thrown into chains, and Abdullah's nephew, Yunis, was appointed Emir of Dongola; the latter held very different views with regard to intercourse with Egypt, and that is why the Arab never returned to Halfa. About fifteen days, however, before I effected my escape, the Arab came to Omdurman and told me about the matter. His own master and son had been implicated in the Dongola dispute and had been thrown into chains; that was his reason for not returning, and after that I never saw him again.[T]

Meanwhile, Ahmed Hassan, whom I had sent to Cairo with the letter, duly delivered it to Archbishop Sogaro, who made a written agreement with him for our release; he also instructed Hanna to proceed from Halfa to Korosko, and there hand over to Ahmed Hassan the goods valued at £100. Through Archbishop Sogaro's intermediary, Ahmed Hassan was given every support by the Egyptian military authorities, who presented him with £20 and gave him a free passage to Korosko. On the 15th of September, 1891, he left that place for Omdurman with the goods.

At Omdurman the winter had come and gone, the Nile had risen to its full height and had subsided, but there was no sign of Ahmed. I was not surprised, for I had long been accustomed to disappointments of this sort. I merely remarked to myself that the number of persons who had deceived us had been increased by one, and that if a deliverer did not soon come from Egypt, there was another deliverer—death—whose approach was certain. The heavy work was sapping our waning strength, I began to spit blood, felt severe pains in my chest, and was little else than skin and bone.

The poor sisters were still nearer the grave. Our moral and physical sufferings during these ten long years of captivity had told on us terribly; death was what we most longed for and for which we patiently waited. The sad prospect of never regaining our liberty, of living a life of slavery, debarred from all the advantages and progress of the world, never again to worship in our grand churches and enjoy the comforts of our holy religion; but to live and die amongst the fiery rocks and sand of Omdurman, where the burning sun turned dead bodies into mummies—to die and be buried in slavery—the prospect of living was indeed unattractive, and what wonder we should long for death to free us from such misery!

After all these sufferings it was indeed hard to see our will-o'-the-wisp-like hope, which we had pursued so often, dissolve into nothing, and to find ourselves once more the victims of a fraud and deception. How fortunate we thought those who had been killed in battle, or had died of starvation or disease! We even envied the lot of those who had been massacred in Khartum. After all, the anguish of death had been but momentary, and now all suffering and pain was over, while we seemed to have passed through a hundred deaths, we had been in his clutches over and over again; hunger, thirst, and disease had all, at one time or another, almost claimed us as their victims. We had witnessed the destruction of cities, the annihilation of armies, the slaughter of thousands, and the ruthless massacre and bloodshed of innocent people; man's dignity trodden under foot, and human life valued far below that of a sheep or a goat. And after all this we must live and die forgotten and unknown, our lasting resting-place a strange land, and our bodies in all likelihood food for hyenas. Thus we longed for death to remove us from these scenes of perpetual cruelty and oppression. Our nerves had become so strained that the slightest knock at the door would make us start; the sound of the great onbeÏa made us positively tremble. Almost half the total number of Europeans, Greeks, Syrians, and Jews were dead, and all we hoped for was that we should soon follow them.

The death of one of our sisters only increased in me the desire to die as well. On the 4th of October, 1891, Sister Concetta Corsi, who was in a very weak state of health, was suddenly carried off by typhus. According to the Sudan custom, we wound her body in a cloth, tied it up in a mat (for there were no coffins to be had), and carried her, almost immediately after death, to a spot some six miles north of the town—the direction in which her eyes in lifetime had been so often turned. All the Greeks and Syrians followed, and there in the stillness of the desert we laid her in the warm sand, protecting her body from the ravenous hyenas by a few thorns. A short prayer was offered up for her and for the souls of those who had gone before; then we turned sadly back, hoping that before long we too might be lying beside her.

But I felt that my life was in God's hands, and comforted myself with the belief that God was dealing with me as He thought best, and that I must submit to His Divine will. My hut was gloomy in the extreme; for several days I did not speak to any one, and when night came I threw myself down on my angarib, but sleep would not come to me; then I would gaze up into the great vault of heaven and think that this same sky was over my fatherland, from which I was an exile, surrounded by suffering and sickness.

On the night of the 28th of October, 1891, Ahmed Hassan quite unexpectedly made his appearance. I took him to my hut, and after the usual Arabic greetings, he said to me, "Here I am, are you coming?" For a moment I was speechless, I quite understood what he meant; but a thousand thoughts flashed through my mind, my heart was beating violently, the dangers to which my frail companions in adversity would be subjected loomed before me, and for a few moments I could make no reply; then I collected my wandering thoughts and said: "If I did not intend to go with you I would not have sent you."

Then I began asking him all sorts of questions about Cairo, and he informed me briefly that he had seen Archbishop Sogaro and had made an arrangement with him regarding our release; that he had given up the plan of descending to Berber by boat, and that he had received £100 to purchase camels. He further told me that he had not brought any letter with him. He asked about the sisters, and when I told him that one had died almost a month ago, he almost wept, and striking his forehead with his hand, said, "Oh, that I had come a month earlier!" But I told him that I would take another sister in her place.

We then set to talking earnestly about our plans; I told him to purchase at least five good camels and to see that he had sufficient arms. In anticipation of flight, I had a long time ago secured and carefully concealed a hundred Remington cartridges. When Ahmed left the hut I began to doubt if he was really sincere; it seemed almost incredible that they should have sent him from Cairo without a line or even a signature on such an important undertaking.

The next day Ahmed reappeared, bringing with him two Arabs whom he had engaged in the cause, one at Korosko and the other at Berber. Ahmed seemed a little afraid that we would not dare to undertake the flight; he told me that he had brought a letter from Archbishop Sogaro, but had left it at Berber. The main difficulty for the Arabs would be leaving the house without being observed, but I reassured them on that point. It was almost full moon at that time, so it was decided to delay our departure until it should be on the decline, and we should thus be able to make our way out under cover of obscurity. I begged Ahmed not to come to us any more, to avoid exciting suspicion.

I now began to make preparations. My first object was to get one of the sisters, who was at that time living in a Greek's house, to come to my house. This was not an easy matter, for I dared not mention one word about our intentions to a soul, or our plans would undoubtedly have been frustrated. I therefore feigned illness, and said I could no longer carry on this hard work alone, so the sister was allowed to come, and, quite unwittingly, the Greek gladly lent me her services. She had now been with me some twenty days, so I felt that the Greek could not be held responsible for her disappearance, which occurred a few days later.

Ahmed gave me Archbishop Sogaro's letter, which he had procured from Berber, and with intense excitement I read the few lines, in which he wished me all success in the undertaking. This letter encouraged me greatly, and I had now no doubt of Ahmed's sincerity. We counted the days and hours preceding our departure, and I could not bear to think of the trials the sisters would have to undergo during the journey. I had also a little black girl, whom it would have been impossible for me to have left behind, as our departure would undoubtedly have been betrayed. She was named Adila, and had been born in the Khartum Mission house. After the fall of Khartum, she and her mother had been sold as slaves and sent to Gedaref.

Amongst Abu Anga's troops was a certain Panerazio Yusef, a very bright and intelligent young soldier, who subsequently rose to the rank of an emir; he had been told about Adila, bought her for five dollars, and took her with him when he accompanied the emir Zaki to Omdurman. On his arrival he presented her to me as a remembrance of former kindness; he also gave me a quantity of coffee, for which I was truly grateful.

The day of our intended departure was approaching, and we looked forward to it with almost breathless impatience. We had lost all appetite for food; fear, mental anguish, and the idea that we should be free, kept us in a perfect fever of excitement. I could not help thinking of my companions in adversity whom I should be obliged to leave behind, and who might, I thought, perhaps suffer after our departure. These had been constantly with us for the last ten years, sharing our life of pain and wretchedness, and now I could not but feel pained at the thought of separation. But all these feelings had to be put aside, and we had to concentrate all our thoughts on the present. I longed to be off, if only to be free from this feverish anxiety which was rending our very souls. Then Ahmed came just the day before we were to have started, and said that the Arabs with whom he had come from Korosko had not yet returned, and that we must await their departure before setting out.

I now began to think that our plans had been frustrated. Several Egyptians, including some women, had attempted to fly to Berber, whence they intended making their way back to Egypt, but had been intercepted, brought back and thrown into chains. It also happened that some Greeks who had been living at Gedaref, and had had their goods stolen, were also brought to Omdurman and put in prison, because it was thought that they had intended to escape to the Italians.

All this alarmed me, and I thought it probable the Khalifa would issue more stringent orders against Europeans. Ahmed told me that he had had considerable difficulty in purchasing the camels; he did not dare buy them in the market, as that would have aroused suspicion; he had also great difficulty in feeding them, for it would have certainly excited comment if he had collected them all in one place. He had, however, managed very well. When he saw a good-looking camel, towards evening he would follow it until he reached the owner's house, then early the next morning he would return and bargain for it; in this way he had acquired three good camels at from 120 to 150 dollars a piece, which he distributed amongst his various friends, and fed them up well. Meanwhile he used occasionally to come and see us, and bid us keep up a good hope in spite of our enforced delay.

On the 24th of November occurred the disturbance between the Khalifas which I have already narrated, and this seemed a most favourable moment to escape; but Ahmed did not come, and I was wildly impatient, for I could not even find out where he lived without exciting suspicion. In all this confusion we were lost sight of, and I avoided going to see anyone lest I should become involved in anything that was going on. I had no further preparations to make, for Ahmed had promised to provide everything.

At last, on Friday the 27th, he came to my hut, and it was decided we should leave on Monday evening. When I reproached him for not coming during the first day or two of the disturbances, he said that he too had thought of it, but that one of his friends had been locked up for being engaged in a quarrel, and he was obliged to wait until he was released.

Ahmed also told me a most important piece of news. There were no riding camels in the beit el mal. All had been despatched to the provinces on business connected with quelling the disturbances. It would not, therefore, be possible to pursue us at once. These disturbances had made all the other captives think that it was a favourable opportunity to fly, but, with one exception, none of them knew that my preparations were all made and that the next day I should be gone.