There is no doubt that when Theodore sent for us and all the prisoners, he had made up his mind to kill every one. His apparent clemency was merely used as a blind to mask his intent and inspire hopes of freedom in the hearts of those whose death he had already determined upon.
Early on the morning of the 10th his Majesty sent us word to get ready to return to Magdala. Shortly afterwards one of his servants brought us the following message:--"Who is that woman who sends her soldiers to fight against a king? Send no more messengers to your people: if a single servant of yours is missing, the covenant of friendship between you and myself is broken." A few minutes afterwards a boy whom I had some days previously sent to General Merewether, with a request that a letter should be sent to Theodore, who had on several occasions manifested great astonishment at not receiving any communication from the army, returned with a letter from his Excellency the Commander-in-Chief for the Emperor. The letter was perfect; just what we had wished for--firm, courteous; it contained no threats, no promises, except that Theodore would be honourably treated if he delivered the prisoners uninjured into his hands. We at once sent Samuel to inform the Emperor that a letter from Sir R. Napier had arrived for him. His Majesty declined to receive it. "It is of no use," he said; "I know what I have to do." However, shortly afterwards he sent for Samuel privately, and asked him its contents, and as Samuel had translated it, he informed him of the principal points. His Majesty listened attentively, but made no remarks. A mule from the Imperial stables was sent for Mr. Rassam's use to ride; Lieutenant Prideaux, Captain Cameron, and myself were told that we might ride our own mules; but this favour was denied to the other captives. On our return to Magdala we were hailed by our servants, and the few friends we had on the mountain, as men who had returned from the grave. We sent for our tents, bedding, &c., and awaited with anxiety the next move of the fickle despot.
About noon the whole of the garrison of the Amba were told to arm and proceed to the King's camp; a few old men only and the ordinary prisoners' guard remaining on the mountain. Between 3 and 4 P.M. a violent thunder-storm burst over the Amba. We thought now and then that we could distinguish amidst the peals of thunder distant guns, and some close at hand. At other times we were almost certain that the sound we had just heard was a volley; but we only laughed at the idea, and wondered how the echoes of the almost constant thunder could to our excited imagination bear such close resemblance to the welcome music of an attack by the army of rescue. Shortly after 4 P.M. the storm subsided, and then no mistake was possible; the deep, dull sound of guns, and the sharp reports of small arms, now reached us plainly and distinctly. But what was it? No one would or could say. Twice during the next hour the joyous _elelta_ resounded from Islamgee to the Amba above, where it was responded to by the soldiers' families. Then all doubts vanished: evidently the King was only "fakering;" no fight could have taken place, as no _elelta_ would be heard if Theodore had ventured to encounter the British troops.