Thence the whole array was visible in minute detail. It seemed that every
single man of all the thousands could be examined separately. The pace of
their march was fast and steady, and it was evident that it would not be
safe to wait long among the sandhills. Yet the wonder of the scene
exercised a dangerous fascination, and for a while we tarried.
The emblems of the more famous Emirs were easily distinguishable.
On the extreme left the chiefs and soldiers of the bright green flag
gathered under Ali-Wad-Helu; between this and the centre the large
dark green flag of Osman Sheikh-ed-Din rose above a dense mass of spearmen,
preceded by long lines of warriors armed presumably with rifles; over the
centre, commanded by Yakub, the sacred Black banner of the Khalifa floated
high and remarkable; while on the right a great square of Dervishes was
arrayed under an extraordinary number of white flags, amid which the red
ensign of Sherif was almost hidden. All the pride and might of the Dervish
Empire were massed on this last great day of its existence. Riflemen who
had helped to destroy Hicks, spearmen who had charged at Abu Klea,
Emirs who saw the sack of Gondar, Baggara fresh from raiding the Shillooks,
warriors who had besieged Khartoum--all marched, inspired by the memories
of former triumphs and embittered by the knowledge of late defeats,
to chastise the impudent and accursed invaders.
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