Nor is it easy to believe that men who had made such
splendid efforts would have willingly lost a single moment. On the fourth
day he embarked on two of Gordon's steamers, which awaited the relieving
column, and taking with him twenty British soldiers and a few blue-jackets
set forth towards the Shabluka Gorge and the town that lay beyond. On the
27th of January the rescuers came in sight of Khartoum and under the fire
of the enemy. Many of their perilous adventures seem to belong to romance
rather than to reality: the tiny gimcrack boats struggling with the strong
stream of the cataract, running the gauntlet of the Arab guns, dropping
disconsolately down the river with their terrible news, or wrecked and
stranded on the sandbank; Stuart-Wortley rowing to the camp before Metemma
for help; Beresford starting in the remaining steamer; the bursting of the
boiler by a Dervish shell; Benbow mending it in a single day; Wilson's
rescue and the return to the entrenchment at Gubat. But the scene that
appeals to the imagination above all the others is that where with both
banks ablaze with musketry and artillery, the black smoke pouring through
the shot-holes in the funnels, the water rising in spurts from the bullets,
the men who had come so far and braved so much stared at the palace roof
and, seeing no flag flying, knew that all was over and that they had come
too late.
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