Two years had
passed since they left the Atlantic coast. For four months they had been
absolutely lost from human ken. They had fought with savages; they had
struggled with fever; they had climbed mountains and pierced the most
gloomy forests. Five days and five nights they had stood up to their necks
in swamp and water. A fifth of their number had perished; yet at last
they had carried out their mission and, arriving at Fashoda on the 10th
of July, had planted the tricolour upon the Upper Nile.
Moved by such reflections the British officers disembarked.
Major Marchand, with a guard of honour, came to meet the General.
They shook hands warmly. 'I congratulate you,' said the Sirdar, 'on all you
have accomplished.' 'No,' replied the Frenchman, pointing to his troops;
'it is not I, but these soldiers who have done it.' And Kitchener, telling
the story afterwards, remarked, 'Then I knew he was a gentleman.'
Into the diplomatic discussions that followed, it is not necessary
to plunge. The Sirdar politely ignored the French flag, and, without
interfering with the Marchand Expedition and the fort it occupied,
hoisted the British and Egyptian colours with all due ceremony,
amid musical honours and the salutes of the gunboats. A garrison was
established at Fashoda, consisting of the XIth Soudanese, four guns of
Peake's battery, and two Maxims, the whole under the command of Colonel
Jackson, who was appointed military and civil commandant of the
Fashoda district.
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