CHAPTER FIFTEEN: FAHRAN’S FIREWORKS

As I tried to digest this perfectly awful news, I was shown by another of Kitchener’s ‘boys’ to a comfortably appointed tent where Fahran was already engaged in organising my kit.

“Luncheon will be served in the Headquarters Staff Mess tent at one o’clock, sir,” said the ADC, “and directly after that there will be a briefing by the Sirdar for the advance on Omdurman. Your presence is required at the briefing and Sir Herbert is expecting you to address the Staff with your external communications policy and plan.”

Address the bloody Staff? On my propaganda strategy? I didn’t have one: what the hell was I going to say? I decided to skip luncheon and spend the time dreaming up a policy at very short notice.

“Thank you, Captain… Err?”

“Captain Fellowes, sir – Jake Fellowes,” he said giving me a knowing look. I ignored it: my days of saddling frisky colts was long since over. Fillies? That was another matter, for many of them seemed to prefer being ridden by the more mature jockey.

“At what time will the briefin’ start, Captain Fellowes?”

“Well, sir, the Sirdar doesn’t believe in long meals,” no surprises there, I thought, “or alcohol during the working day,” bloody typical: so I wouldn’t be missing anything at luncheon then, “I would say not later than one-thirty.”

“Where?”

“In the Mess.”

“In which case, please give my complements to the Sirdar and tell him that I will be in the Mess in time for the briefin’.”

The young ADC saluted and left me to the task of devising something even half-way coherent in under one hundred minutes. I threw myself into a camp chair, pulled a pad and pencil from my attaché case, which Fahran had just unpacked, headed the page with a suitable title and waited for inspiration. None came. I was about to ask Khazi’s boy if he had any bright ideas when he spoke first.

“Huzoor?”

“Yes, Fahran?”

“Do you think that there will be an opportunity for me to join in the battle?”

“Why on earth would you want to? You’re not a soldier.”

“I am not, huzoor, but I think that my father would have expected me to ‘do my bit’, perhaps in an intelligence role. I can, after all, speak Arabic and - with my father’s features and my mother’s skin - I look not unlike many of the people who live in these parts.” It was true: he did.

I pondered this offer for a moment. I had no desire to put Fahran at risk, particularly as he was not on Vicky’s or the Khedive’s payroll, but I had no objection to him slitting a Dervish throat or two if something came up that was on the safe side of risky.

“Let’s see what develops,” I said noncommittally. “In the meantime, what the devil am I goin’ to say at this dratted briefin’?”

“I’ve no idea, huzoor. But, if I was you, I would ask if I could speak at the end and that would give me the opportunity to glean some ideas from what has been said before.”

Smart boy, Fahran. As there was now nothing to be gained from missing a meal, I heaved myself out of the chair and headed for the Mess. The first person I bumped into was Slatin, who was chatting up one of Kitchener’s boys. He greeted me with the sort of faux public school bonhomie that I detest.

“Colonel Speedicut, old bean, how simply spiffing to see you again after all this bally time. I heard that you were to join the Sirdar’s merry band. It’s quite the old gang come together to revenge our late and deeply lamented pal, Charlie Gordon.”

“It’s a shame, then, Slatin that Stewart and Faversham aren’t here to enjoy the party,” I replied rather tartly. At the mention of Harry’s name, the absurdly moustachioed Austrian mountebank turned pale under his deep suntan, wondering doubtless if I would be telling what I knew. I decided to let him sweat and moved away to make my mark with Roly Martin,145 who commanded the 21st Lancers.

Luncheon was unremarkable and quickly over, the tables were cleared, and a large easel was brought in along with the inevitable map depicting the Nile from Berber to Khartoum. Kitchener rose, surveyed the tented room with a steely stare, gave a three-ring Navy type who scuttled in at the last minute a nasty look, cleared his throat and began.

“Gentlemen, tomorrow morning we commence the final stages of the grand advance to Omdurman. The Expeditionary Force, comprising a British Division of eight thousand two hundred men and an Egyptian Division of seventeen thousand six hundred men, supported by forty-four guns and twenty Maxims on land and a further thirty-six guns and twenty-four Maxims mounted on the River Flotilla, will concentrate just fifty-eight miles from Omdurman at Wad Hamad.” He stabbed at a point on the map just to the north of the Sabaluka Gorge.

“The Staff, the British infantry, the field guns and the stores will travel there by river.” That was an unexpected bonus. “Escorted by the cavalry, the Egyptian troops, all seven thousand of our horses, camels, mules and donkeys – plus the War Correspondents and the cattle - will march to Wad Hamad.” I noted Kitchener’s deliberate juxtaposition of the scribblers with the beasts of the field and thought, poor sods; then I realised that it was certain the bastard would want me to march with them. “Our Chief of Propaganda, Colonel Speedicut,” he pointed to me, “will accompany the War Correspondents.” Shit.

“On the 25th, the Flotilla and the transport boats will commence their passage up the cataract whilst the Army marches around the Sabaluka Heights and makes camp opposite Royan Island here.” He stabbed the map again at a point a tad to the south of the dratted gorge. “The distance, as the crow flies, is only seven miles, but for our land forces to circumnavigate the feature will require a two-day march. I have good reason to believe that the danger of attack is low, so the cavalry will not be required to provide a screen and won’t depart Wad Hamad until the 27th August.

“At the camp opposite Royan Island, all troops will draw sufficient rations and stores for twenty-one days.” There was a sharp intake of breath in the room at the prospect of such a burden. “But, as we will be advancing by the side of the Nile and will camp on its banks each night, soldiers will be required to carry only two days supplies with the rest being carried by the river transports.” You could hear the relief in the tent.

“From Royan we will advance on Omdurman in daily stages – and in battle formation. The east bank of the Nile will be cleared of the enemy by the Arab irregulars under the command of Major Stuart-Wortley.” I hadn’t seen him since I’d escaped from The Mahdi with Raffles in ’85. 146

“The Flotilla will hold the river, eliminate the enemy’s forts here,” he again stabbed at the map, “bombard Omdurman and provide supporting fire during any land engagements with the enemy. The cavalry will form a covering screen ten miles to our front with the 21st Lancers on the left flank nearest the river, the Egyptian Cavalry in the centre, and the Camel Corps with the Horse Artillery on the right flank.

“It is my intention that we will be before Omdurman on 1st September, although the enemy could engage us in force at any time after we move off from Wad Hamad. However, it is my belief that they will wait until the very last minute - but I may be wrong. Meanwhile, we must be prepared for surprise attacks, particularly after dark, which is why each night the cavalry, artillery and the pack animals will be located inside the zeriba, which will be defended by the infantry.” A groan escaped several footsloggers in the audience. “Fear not,” said Kitchener, “your turn will come. Any questions before we move on to propaganda?” The naval fellow, who’d slipped in late, raised a white gloved paw.

“Commander Keppel?”147

“Sir, shortly before this meeting – which is why, incidentally, I was very nearly late – I received a report from Mr Beatty which, if it is true, could have a material bearing on our ability to support you.”

“What information, Commander?”

“Mr Beatty was approached a short while ago by a man claiming to be a former gunner in the Egyptian Army and to have escaped from Omdurman. He’s not, as you well know, sir, the first and he won’t be the last, but the tale he told – if it’s true – would pose a major threat to my command.”

“So what did he say?” asked Kitchener, looking decidedly sceptical in the way that only former intelligence officers do when presented with information from a source not under their control.

“It seems, sir, that the Khalifa had taken this man and his superior officer from their captivity and ordered them to mine the river approaches to the forts above Omdurman.”

“But, as far as we know,” interjected Kitchener, “the Dervishes don’t have any naval mines.”

“That is correct, sir, but the old Egyptian gunnery officer was tasked by the Khalifa with constructing some. His solution was to use boilers taken from two of General Gordon’s river steamers, dry them out, then fill each of them with approximately half-a-ton of gun powder, in the midst of which would be a cocked and loaded pistol with a wire attached to the trigger. These boilers would then be caulked to make them water-tight and sunk into the river, whilst the trigger wires were carefully spooled to the nearest bank. Once the Flotilla was over the mines, the wires would be pulled and – boom!” There was silence in the room for a moment as we all considered this news. Then Kitchener spoke.

“Do you suppose that this Egyptian would consent to return to Omdurman?”

“He might agree to do so, sir, but there is no guarantee that, once out of our sight, he wouldn’t slip away into the desert.”

“Indeed, so we have to ensure that he does return and carries out my instructions.”

“Which are, sir?” It was the question that everyone in the room would have asked given a chance.

“I’ll tell you that once we’ve worked out how to ensure the man’s return to Omdurman.” There was silence. Then I remembered Fahran’s request. I put up my hand.

“Colonel Speedicut?” Kitchener responded with a look that said it was impossible that I could have anything sensible to add.

“My orderly, Fahran Khazi, could easily pass as a Dervish and he speaks Arabic. He wants to see some action and, as he’s totally loyal to me, I’m confident that he would ensure that this man returned to Omdurman and carried out your instructions.”

“I see,” said the C-in-C looking even more sceptical than before. “Bring him to my tent after this meeting and I’ll decide. Are there any other questions?” There were none. “To your duties, gentlemen, and good hunting!” Phew, the two-star sod had forgotten to cue my non-existent briefing.

A couple of hours later, Fahran, dressed as a fuzzy-wuzzy and armed with his father’s Kyberi knife, slipped out of the camp with an evil looking Gyppo called Mubarak, wearing what had once been an Egyptian uniform. Kitchener had taken one look at my boy, who’d given him a wolfish grin and responded fluently to the questions in Arabic he’d been asked, then briefed him. It was obvious that Fahran’s handsome phiz had blinded Kitchener’s judgment and removed any misgivings he might have had, although I was confident that Khazi’s boy would do as instructed and probably more.

“Take care, Fahran,” had been my parting words to him.

“Worry not, huzoor, my father taught me well.” I hoped to God he had, for I didn’t fancy losing the lad, let alone having to find a new valet in the Soudanese desert.

Whilst Fahran was away I had a stroke of self-made good luck (that’s the sort I do believe in). Needless to say, Kitchener had not forgotten that he had failed to ask me to give my briefing and I was ordered to address the Orders Group held on the morning of the 29th.

“Gentlemen,” I opened, “my policy with regards to communications and propaganda is very simple: from today, until the battle has been fought, there will be no external communications and after that all telegrams and letters have to be vetted by me – and I reserve the right, a power given to me by the Prime Minister,” he hadn’t but no one knew that, “to censor them if I deem that to be necessary and to block them if the recipient is inappropriate.” Another groan, heightened by the rumble of a large but distant explosion, rolled across the room.

“That’s outrageous!” barked Gatacre,148 who commanded the British Division.

“Outrageous or not, it’s what’s goin’ to happen - whether you like it or not, General.”

And this is where my self-made good fortune came in: for even if Gatacre, or any of the others, disobeyed my instructions the line was dead anyway. You see, we were advancing too fast on Omdurman for telegraph poles to be erected and so the cable was being laid in the sand. Fortunately, during dinner the night before, I’d overheard a Sapper Major in charge of the telegraph say that sand was a good insulator when dry but made telegraphic communication impossible when it was wet – and it had been pissing with rain every night since we’d left Wad Hamed. You think it doesn’t rain in the desert? Well, think again. There was, of course, the saving grace that we quickly dried out during the day in the searing heat, but – for some reason - the sand around the telegraph cables didn’t.

Meanwhile, I had started to worry about Fahran when he appeared without warning on the night of 31st August. He was alive, but the backs of his hands and his forearms were burned and the hair on his face and the front part of his scalp were missing.

“What the hell happened to you? You look as though you’ve been roasted alive.” I asked when he appeared unannounced at my tent in the pouring rain.

“It’s like this, huzoor…” I interrupted him.

“Come in, sit down and have a large shot of brandy,” I said, reaching for my flask and handing it to him. “Get that inside you and then tell me.” He did as I instructed. Only when he returned the flask to me empty did I allow him to recount his story.

“We got to Omdurman easily enough, huzoor, for the Dervishes maintain no patrols or guards. We found that the first mine was ready and had been loaded onto the streamer Ismailia; the second mine was still on the dockside waiting to be filled with gun powder.

“The morning after we arrived, the Ismailia steamed downstream to a point between the shore batteries and the mine was lowered over the side. Mr Mubarak and I had been tasked by his former officer with rowing the line connected to the detonator back to the river bank. We’d got about half way there and, when Mubarak wasn’t looking, I yanked on the cord and seconds later there was a huge explosion right under the steamer. A great spout of water erupted from the Nile bed, the boat and all on board were blown to bits, our boat was tossed up into the air by a huge wave and I got badly singed by the flash.

“Thank goodness my mother had taught Atash and me to swim at the Westminster Municipal Baths or, as did Mr Mubarak, I might have drowned. As it was, I swam to shore where I found the Khalifa and his Emirs dancing up and down with joy.”

“Why joy? They’d just lost a valuable Nile steamer, its entire crew and the inventor of the infernal device.”

“But it had worked, huzoor! And, as I was the only one of the party who’d survived, the Khalifa instructed me to prepare the second mine and get it into the river without delay.”

“But that would have meant either laying the blasted bomb or blowing yourself up. You are self-evidently here, so I suppose that the river is now mined.” Damn, I thought, Kitchener won’t be very happy with that.

“Not at all, huzoor. As there was only one empty boiler of the necessary size left in Omdurman - and that was still waiting to be filled – and as the Khalifa had assumed that the first one had been detonated accidentally, he told me to take care that a premature explosion didn’t happen a second time.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did as he instructed me, although to an extent he wouldn’t have approved of. I palmed the cartridges from the pistol in the way that my father had taught me, so there was absolutely no danger of an explosion, premature or otherwise. Anyway, we loaded the second mine onto another steamer and lowered it into place, spooled out the wire to one of the shore batteries and reported the job done to the Khalifa.149 He was so pleased that he gave me this.” Fahran reached into his robe and from it produced a large gold ring. “I hope you don’t mind if I wear it once the skin on my hand has regrown.”

“Mind? I’m goin’ to buy you another one to go with it just as soon as we get back to Cairo,” I cried in delight. “Now you’d better go and give your report to the Sirdar.”

Needless to say, Kitchener was as pleased as the Khalifa, although for very different reasons, and said that he would see what he could do to get Fahran some public recognition for his bravery, even though he wasn’t in uniform. There was also a bonus for me.

“Colonel Speedicut, when we close tomorrow with the enemy, instead of riding with the Lancers I would be grateful if you could stay in close attendance upon me – and bring your orderly with you, if he’s fit enough to ride.”

Ah, ha, I thought, so it wasn’t me but Fahran who the lascivious sod really wanted in ‘close attendance’. Well, I wasn’t going to make difficulties if the Sirdar’s lust kept me out of harm’s way. Would that it had.