The Relief of Khartoum

by Terry Sofian

Just short of a mile above the brown waters of the Nile Captain Templer’s
aerial vessel the Crusader, shuddered as her engines drove her forward.
Trailing behind were three aerial passenger vessels; Blue Rover, Western
Star and Carpathia, chartered for the relief column by Thomas Cook.
The small squadron had been laboriously nursed up the river until as
dawn broke on January 26^th 1885 it was almost within sight
of Khartoum’s walls. Now for the final dash a picked group of soldiers
and sailors crowded aboard the four ships. Crusader, the private yacht
converted into an aerial gunboat, was thick with soldiers, weapons and
makeshift barricades. The aerolythic panels on all four of the ships
strained under their heavy loads.

The simple bridge of the Crusader was nearly buried beneath sandbags and
thick wooden planks. On the foredeck was a Gatling gun. Aft was a 7
pdr. Between the other aerial vessels and Crusader almost five hundred
rifles were headed up river at an astonishing 15 knots. The question
on every single warrior’s mind was; “would they be too late?”

Gordon and his stalwart garrison had defied the might of the Mahdi for months longer than anyone expected that they could. Reverses, including the
murder of Gordon’s aide de camp and messenger Colonel Stewart and
the destruction of much of the garrison in a luckless sortie, had not
sapped General Gordon’s famous resolve. But what the tribesmen and their
artillery couldn’t do the falling Nile was about to accomplish. The
walls of the besieged city were no longer be anchored on flowing water;
they hung on stinking mud flats. The equatorial sun would quickly dry
that to a surface harder than a metalled road. No messages had come
from the stricken city or her gallant garrison for some days. Were they
still holding out, or even now did barbarians pillage in the ruins?
For the officers in the advanced force the honor of the British Army,
the Royal Navy and the entire Empire hung in the answer. Could this
last dash undo Gladstone’s months of prevarication?

Finally ahead came the confluence of the White and the Blue Niles, and the site of Gordon’s fortress. Frighteningly the bright blue desert sky was slashed with black smoke columns; many appeared to be deep within the walls
of the city. As they approached the docks Madhist guns and riflemen
open fire from the shore, and the angry soldiers were only too happy
returning shot for shot. Quickly the determined British drove
the savages back from the riverbank. Crossing into the city itself Templer
signaled the other ships to circle while he sought a landing place.
The squadron did not have enough strength to keep the desert horde at
bay forever, but perhaps long enough for Templer to complete his mission.
Burdened by the heavy weight of weapons, armour and fighting men Templer’s
once beautiful aerial yacht just barely cleared the towers of the artillery-shattered city. Oaths were sworn as Gordon’s residence came into view. Smoke rose from it and Fuzzy Wuzzys swarmed towards it. Even above the chuff of
the steam engine and the deep whir of the airscrews they could hear
the shrieks of the fanatical Muslim warriors. The officer at the bow
gave a curt order and the Gatling began to sing its deadly song, carving
through the waves of attacking Dervishes; chewing men to bits as the
Royal Navy ratings swung the weapon back and forth, back and forth,
hungry breach needing to be fed with brass. The rating cranked until his arm could work no more, then the next took over. Soon the crews’ faces were stained black with powder smoke: as dark as the desert tribesmen
below them. Still they fed the weapon, and still it slaughtered the
Dervishes.

Templer took his ship right into the central courtyard of the palace. Now all of Crusader’s soldiers were firing, as tribesmen swirled all around
them. Templer was known as a hunter, sharp of eye and deft of touch.
Today he was both those things, and lucky and brave as well. The Crusader
dropped to the rubble strew courtyard light as a goose feather. As the
aerial vessel touched down Crusader’s landing party was away, vaulting
over the sandbagged rails. The soldiers took up their positions as the
Mahdists charged. With an oath Templer grabbed up his weapon, a lovely
walnut stocked hunting piece. In a single fluid motion he brought it
to his shoulder, sighted down the barrel and let fly. A scream of pain,
rather than fanatical devotion to a bloody handed cult, cut through
the din of battle. Watching all this from the veranda of the palace
stood Gordon, looking down in shock at the bullet nicked boat above
him. His pistol was empty and several dead Dervishes lay at the bottom
of the stairs. In his fury he hurled the Webley at the skyboat.

“Where have you been?”
He swept his arm across the smoke-scarred sky. “Why did you let
this happen? All my people are dead!”

It was obvious to Templer that General Gordon had been pushed passed human
endurance by the weight of his lonely command and the apparent abandonment
by the nation he served so diligently. The 7pdr was firing every few
seconds and the Gatling barrels were an invisible whirl as it roared
out. Along the edges of the courtyard red and khaki-coated riflemen
fired their bruising Martini-Henrys. Death sprayed out in all directions.
It was returned with fanaticism as Dervishes, uncaring for their own
safety, attempted to prevent the rescue of their hated enemy. Gordon
calmly reloaded his pistol, taking not a single step towards salvation.
Stone chips flew as Mahdist bullets spanged off the stairs and walls
all around him, and yet he stayed somehow untouched.

Templer knew Gordon would not willingly leave the soldiers of his defeated garrison,or even more so the civilians he had sworn to defend, to die. But he knew his own orders were for the rescue of Gordon, not to save the garrison.The few ships in his makeshift squadron would not safely hold all of Gordon’s people. Seeing the expression on the face of such a
brave Christian warrior Templer could do but one thing. He jumped from
the bridge of his little flyer and landed heavily next to the general.
Seeing their victim at the brink of salvation the tribesmen stormed
forward. If it had seemed before that the British could not have fired
any more rapidly the next three minutes made a lie of such thoughts,
for a veritable wall of flying lead met the headlong charge of the Dervishes
and their bodies piled up all along the edge of the palace courtyard.

In the brief silence that followed those devastating volleys Templer saluted
Gordon. “General I bring a message from the Queen”. From his
patrol jacket pocket Templer pulled a battered envelope. The Royal Seal
was clearly visible upon it.

Tearing it open Gordon read it quickly. “You know what this says?”
he asked the colonel.

“Yes,Wolseley told me of the contents when he entrusted it to me. General,
my orders are clear, and from Her Majesty herself. I cannot deny them,
no matter how much I would wish to. I am to return you to the safety
of the River Column, and then you have been ordered home. You have read
the letter from the Queen. She has spoken and it is not for one, or
even two, of her officers to gainsay her wishes.”

“Sir,nowhere in those orders does it say that you can not bring forth the
entire garrison. I see the sky has other ships than yours.”
Gordon was thoughtful for a moment. “Do your hulls have enough
lift for all my people?”

“Sir it would be very tight.”

“It would be nothing compared to the tight space we have found ourselves
in these last months…”

Signal flags were hoisted aboard Crusader. The other ships crews cheered as
they were read. They were to take the garrison and citizens back down
the Nile, right from beneath the Mahdi’s hooked nose. One by one the
merchantmen alighted and under the vicious fusillade of their companions
picked up the staving soldiers and citizens of Khartoum. It was hours
of deadly combat before the evacuation of the garrison and surviving
citizens of Khartoum was completed. Only Gordon’s palace was still
secure and its courtyard barely large enough for a single ship at a
time. In turn each of the three ships came in for a landing. As they
did the Mahdists surged forward. Crusader was constantly in action silencing
Mahdist guns and forcing back swarms of the fierce desert warriors.
Even with the losses during the siege and bloody assault there were
many hundreds of souls still within Khartoum’s battered walls. They
crowded into the courtyard crouching down just feet from their enemies
and a like distance from salvation.

Gordon was everywhere, directing fire and leading countercharges. In his city’s final hours he continued as the pillar he had been for all those months.
Gordon had long since considered his life spent in the service of God.
Such a man has no fear on the battlefield, knowing that God will call
him at a time of His choosing, not one minute sooner or later. As it
had been of battlefields the World over Gordon’s faith was his shield.
Bullets and spear thrusts alike went wide of the mark and although men
died all around him Gordon was spared more than a few small wounds.
His endurance was a thing beyond measure.

Finally the last survivors were aboard. Gordon was the last to leave climbing aboard Blue Rover. It was nearly dawn of the 27^th. All through
the long night the bullets of the Mahdists were like sand before a desert
wind, numberless and biting. It was through this hail that Blue Rover
labored aloft. As she reached her cruising altitude the squadron turned
north, for Egypt and safety.

Every man jack of the squadron knew that this day would be the most dangerous. The Mahdists would not willing let their victims escape. Gun emplacements had been built to stop the riverboats. The desert warriors were industrious and clever. Those guns would now be pointed skyward. Needing reserve feed water the aerial vessels could not stray far from the Nile. Their course would be known; traps would be set.

It was near dust that day, as the squadron crossed over the sixth cataract
that the jaws closed on them. As Blue Rover came to pump water the shores
erupted in flame. All along the western bank hidden batteries and groups
of riflemen opened fire. Templer did not waste time staring in horror.
He shouted orders and Crusader dove towards the Arab batteries. The
forward gatling roared bullets thrashing through the palm frond and
canvas camouflage. Mahdists died but the survivors stayed at their business.

Blue Rover was hit many times. Several of her port side panels were damaged.
Slowly she began to roll to her left side. From nearly a mile above
the garrison and citizens of Khartoum watched as Blue Rover reached
the critical point in her roll. The low side aerolyth panels crossed
beneath those on the ship’s starboard side. The results were as immediate
as they were terrible. Both sets of plates exploded releasing vicious
clouds of stone shards. It was over in seconds. Blue Rover cart wheeled
over her port rail and smashed into the hard sand a hundred yards west
of the Nile. The Arabs quickly turned their guns upon the shattered
wreckage.

Even as Crusader charged over her crashed sister Templer knew that the mission had failed. Gordon had been on Blue Rover’s bridge when she had been
struck and had stood stalwartly as she had rolled over died. He died
with her. Templer kept Crusader low, using her fins and the engines
to drag her down. She passed over the corpse of Blue Rover again and
again strafing the desert warriors until the barrels of the Gatling
grew red-hot and the weapon seized up. Aft the 7 pdr still kept up its
fire, but Templer knew he could stay no longer. He had not avenged Gordon;
he could honor his memory by shepherding the remaining ships and their
passengers to safety. Again he turned the squadron north.