Daylight was only creeping through the skies when we heard a low boom, followed by an ever-increasing volume of yells and screechings as of Pandemonium let loose, and then a terrific explosion which positively shook Omdurman. The town could not stand this sort of thing for ten minutes; we gave ourselves up for lost, but the bombardment ceased as suddenly as it began. I asked one of the gaoler’s boys to climb to the roof of the Umm Hagar to see what the gunboats were doing, as it was believed that the shells had been fired by them. He called back that they were “standing still” near Halfeyeh, and not firing at all. As we could hear the distant booming still going on, we knew then that the English were holding their own if nothing more, and hope returned.
It did not need the boy to call out when the gunboats moved down stream that they, too, were opening fire on the dervish camps; we could almost follow the tide of battle in that furious artillery duel from the |271| alternate roars and silence as of waves breaking on a rock-bound coast. There was no doubt in our minds now that the tactics of the Atbara had been repeated, and that the zareebas were being shelled preparatory to being stormed; the conjecture was wrong, as we learned later. Then the rattle of musketry was borne down on the wind; it was not the rattle of dervish rifles either; we knew the sound of these when fired. Then followed a long silence, only to be succeeded by another terrific fusillade; to us prisoners, it was the reserve zareeba which was now being carried. But the tale of the battle is old, and who has not heard of that second fight on the day of Omdurman, when MacDonald’s brigade withstood the combined attack of the armies of Sheikh ed Din and Yacoub?
One must go amongst the survivors of that attack to learn the details of the fight. Those having glasses in the British lines must have noticed Yacoub prancing about on horseback in front of his lines; this was in imitation of the man he could see on horseback in front of the brigade which was mowing down his men by hundreds at each volley. They have learned since who the man was, and “MacDonald” with “Es-Sirdar” is now a name to conjure with in the Soudan. It was not the first time MacDonald had so terribly punished the dervishes, while commanding troops which they had expected would throw down their arms and bolt, as in olden days.