Eminent Victorians — The End of General Gordon, Part 4

In the meantime, Gordon, with the Sudan upon his lips, with the Sudan in his imagination, had hurried to Brussels, to obtain from the King of the Belgians a reluctant consent to the postponement of his Congo mission.

On the 17th he was recalled to London by a telegram from Lord Wolseley.

On the 18th the final decision was made.

'At noon,' Gordon told the Rev. Mr. Barnes, Wolseley came to me and took me to the Ministers.

He went in and talked to the Ministers, and came back and said: "Her Majesty's Government wants you to undertake this.

Government is determined to evacuate the Sudan, for they will not guarantee future government.

Will you go and do it?"

I said: "Yes."

He said: "Go in."

I went in and saw them.

They said: "Did Wolseley tell you your orders?"

I said: "Yes."

I

said: "You will not guarantee future government of the Sudan, and you wish me to go up and evacuate now."

They said: "Yes", and it was over.'

Such was the sequence of events which ended in General Gordon's last appointment.

The precise motives of those responsible for these transactions are less easy to discern.

It is difficult to understand what the reasons could have been which induced the Government, not only to override the hesitations of Sir Evelyn Baring, but to overlook the grave and obvious dangers involved in sending such a man as Gordon to the Sudan.

The whole history of his life, the whole bent of his character, seemed to disqualify him for the task for which he had been chosen.

He was before all things a fighter, an enthusiast, a bold adventurer; and he was now to be entrusted with the conduct of an inglorious retreat.

He was alien to the subtleties of civilised statesmanship, he was unamenable to official control, he was incapable of the skilful management of delicate situations; and he was now to be placed in a position of great complexity, requiring at once a cool judgment, a clear perception of fact, and a fixed determination to carry out a line of policy laid down from above.

He had, it is true, been Governor-General of the Sudan; but he was now to return to the scene of his greatness as the emissary of a defeated and humbled power; he was to be a fugitive where he had once been a ruler; the very success of his mission was to consist in establishing the triumph of those forces which he had spent years in trampling underfoot.

All this should have been clear to those in authority, after a very little reflection.

It was clear enough to Sir Evelyn Baring, though, with characteristic reticence, he had abstained from giving expression to his thoughts.

But, even if a general acquaintance with Gordon's life and character were not sufficient to lead to these conclusions, he himself had taken care to put their validity beyond reasonable doubt.

Both in his interview with Mr. Stead and in his letter to Sir Samuel Baker, he had indicated unmistakably his own attitude towards the Sudan situation.

The policy which he advocated, the state of feeling in which he showed himself to be, was diametrically opposed to the declared intentions of the Government.

He was by no means in favour of withdrawing from the Sudan;

he was in favour, as might have been supposed, of vigorous military action.

It might be necessary to abandon, for the time being, the more remote garrisons in Darfur and Equatoria; but Khartoum must be held at all costs.

To allow the Mahdi to enter Khartoum would not merely mean the return of the whole of the Sudan to barbarism; it would be a menace to the safety of Egypt herself.

To attempt to protect Egypt against the Mahdi by fortifying her southern frontier was preposterous.

'You might as well fortify against a fever.'

Arabia, Syria, the whole Mohammedan world, would be shaken by the Mahdi's advance.

'In self-defence,' Gordon declared to Mr. Stead, the policy of evacuation cannot possibly be justified.'

The true policy was obvious.

A strong man--Sir Samuel Baker, perhaps--must be sent to Khartoum, with a large contingent of Indian and Turkish troops and with two millions of money.

He would very soon overpower the Mahdi, whose forces would 'fall to pieces of themselves'.

For in Gordon's opinion it was 'an entire mistake to regard the Mahdi as in any sense a religious leader'; he would collapse as soon as he was face to face with an English general.

Then the distant regions of Darfur and Equatoria could once more be occupied; their original Sultans could be reinstated; the whole country would be placed under civilised rule;

and the slave-trade would be finally abolished.

These were the views which Gordon publicly expressed on January 9th and on January 14th; and it certainly seems strange that on January 10th and on January 14th, Lord Granville should have proposed, without a word of consultation with Gordon himself, to send him on a mission which involved, not the reconquest, but the abandonment of the Sudan; Gordon, indeed, when he was actually approached by Lord Wolseley, had apparently agreed to become the agent of a policy which was exactly the reverse of his own.

No doubt, too, it is possible for a subordinate to suppress his private convictions and to carry out loyally, in spite of them, the orders of his superiors.

But how rare are the qualities of self-control and wisdom which such a subordinate must possess!

And how little reason there was to think that General Gordon possessed them!

In fact, the conduct of the Government wears so singular an appearance that it has seemed necessary to account for it by some ulterior explanation.

It has often been asserted that the true cause of Gordon's appointment was the clamour in the Press.

It is said--among others, by Sir Evelyn Baring himself, who has given something like an official sanction to this view of the case--that the Government could not resist the pressure of the newspapers and the feeling in the country which it indicated; that Ministers, carried off their feet by a wave of 'Gordon cultus', were obliged to give way to the inevitable.

But this suggestion is hardly supported by an examination of the facts.

Already, early in December, and many weeks before Gordon's name had begun to figure in the newspapers, Lord Granville had made his first effort to induce Sir Evelyn Baring to accept Gordon's services.

The first newspaper demand for a Gordon mission appeared in the "Pall Mall Gazette" on the afternoon of January 9th; and the very next morning, Lord Granville was making his second telegraphic attack upon Sir Evelyn Baring.

The feeling in the Press did not become general until the 11th, and on the 14th Lord Granville, in his telegram to Mr. Gladstone, for the third time proposed the appointment of Gordon.

Clearly, on the part of Lord Granville at any rate, there was no extreme desire to resist the wishes of the Press.

Nor was the Government as a whole by any means incapable of ignoring public opinion; a few months were to show that, plainly enough.

It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that if Ministers had been opposed to the appointment of Gordon, he would never have been appointed.

As it was, the newspapers were in fact forestalled, rather than followed, by the Government.

How, then, are we to explain the Government's action?

Are we to suppose that its members, like the members of the public at large, were themselves carried away by a sudden enthusiasm, a sudden conviction that they had found their saviour; that General Gordon was the man--they did not quite know why, but that was of no consequence--the one man to get them out of the whole Sudan difficulty--they did not quite know how, but that was of no consequence either if only he were sent to Khartoum?

Doubtless even Cabinet Ministers are liable to such impulses; doubtless it is possible that the Cabinet of that day allowed itself to drift, out of mere lack of consideration, and judgment, and foresight, along the rapid stream of popular feeling towards the inevitable cataract.

That may be so; yet there are indications that a more definite influence was at work.

There was a section of the Government which had never become quite reconciled to the policy of withdrawing from the Sudan.

To this section--we may call it the imperialist section--which was led, inside the Cabinet, by Lord Hartington, and outside by Lord Wolseley, the policy which really commended itself was the very policy which had been outlined by General Gordon in his interview with Mr. Stead and his letter to Sir Samuel Baker.

They saw that it might be necessary to abandon some of the outlying parts of the Sudan to the Mahdi; but the prospect of leaving the whole province in his hands was highly distasteful to them; above all, they dreaded the loss of Khartoum.

Now, supposing that General Gordon, in response to a popular agitation in the Press, were sent to Khartoum, what would follow?

Was it not at least possible that, once there, with his views and his character, he would, for some reason or other, refrain from carrying out a policy of pacific retreat?

Was it not possible that in that case he might so involve the English Government that it would find itself obliged, almost imperceptibly perhaps, to substitute for its policy of withdrawal a policy of advance?

Was it not possible that General Gordon might get into difficulties, that he might be surrounded and cut off from Egypt'?

If that were to happen, how could the English Government avoid the necessity of sending an expedition to rescue him?

And, if an English expedition went to the Sudan, was it conceivable that it would leave the Mahdi as it found him?

In short, would not the dispatch of General Gordon to Khartoum involve, almost inevitably, the conquest of the Sudan by British troops, followed by a British occupation?

And, behind all these questions, a still larger question loomed.

The position of the English in Egypt itself was still ambiguous; the future was obscure; how long, in reality, would an English army remain in Egypt?

Was not one thing, at least, obvious--that if the English were to conquer and occupy the Sudan, their evacuation of Egypt would become impossible?

With our present information, it would be rash to affirm that all, or any, of these considerations were present to the minds of the imperialist section of the Government.

Yet it is difficult to believe that a man such as Lord Wolseley, for instance, with his knowledge of affairs and his knowledge of Gordon, could have altogether overlooked them.

Lord Hartington, indeed, may well have failed to realise at once the implications of General Gordon's appointment--for it took Lord Hartington some time to realise the implications of anything; but Lord Hartington was very far from being a fool; and we may well suppose that he instinctively, perhaps subconsciously, apprehended the elements of a situation which he never formulated to himself.

However that may be, certain circumstances are significant.

It is significant that the go-between who acted as the Government's agent in its negotiations with Gordon was an imperialist--Lord Wolseley.

It is significant that the 'Ministers' whom Gordon finally interviewed, and who actually determined his appointment were by no means the whole of the Cabinet, but a small section of it, presided over by Lord Hartington.

It is significant, too, that Gordon's mission was represented both to Sir Evelyn Baring, who was opposed to his appointment, and to Mr. Gladstone, who was opposed to an active policy in the Sudan, as a mission merely 'to report'; while, no sooner was the mission actually decided upon, than it began to assume a very different complexion.

In his final interview with the 'Ministers', Gordon we know (though he said nothing about it to the Rev. Mr Barnes) threw out the suggestion that it might be as well to make him the Governor-General of the Sudan.

The suggestion, for the moment, was not taken up; but it is obvious that a man does not propose to become a Governor-General in order to make a report.

We are in the region of speculations; one other presents itself.

Was the movement in the Press during that second week of January a genuine movement, expressing a spontaneous wave of popular feeling?

Or was it a cause of that feeling, rather than an effect?

The engineering of a newspaper agitation may not have been an impossibility--even so long ago as 1884. One would like to know more than one is ever likely to know of the relations of the imperialist section of the Government with Mr. Stead.

But it is time to return to the solidity of fact.

Within a few hours of his interview with the Ministers, Gordon had left England forever.

At eight o'clock in the evening, there was a little gathering of elderly gentlemen at Victoria Station.

Gordon, accompanied by Colonel Stewart, who was to act as his second-in-command, tripped on to the platform.

Lord Granville bought the necessary tickets; the Duke of Cambridge opened the railway-carriage door.

The General jumped into the train; and then Lord Wolseley appeared, carrying a leather bag, in which was L200 in gold, collected from friends at the last moment for the contingencies of the journey.

The bag was handed through the window.

The train started.

As it did so, Gordon leaned out and addressed a last whispered question to Lord Wolseley.

Yes, it had been done.

Lord Wolseley had seen to it himself; next morning, every member of the Cabinet would receive a copy of Dr. Samuel Clarke's Scripture Promises.

That was all.

The train rolled out of the station.

Before the travellers reached Cairo, steps had been taken which finally put an end to the theory--if it had ever been seriously held--that the purpose of the mission was simply the making of a report.

On the very day of Gordon's departure, Lord Granville telegraphed to Sir Evelyn Baring as follows: 'Gordon suggests that it may be announced in Egypt that he is on his way to Khartoum to arrange for the future settlement of the Sudan for the best advantage of the people.'

Nothing was said of reporting.

A few days later, Gordon himself telegraphed to Lord Granville suggesting that he should be made Governor-General of the Sudan, in order to 'accomplish the evacuation', and to 'restore to the various Sultans of the Sudan their independence'.

Lord Granville at once authorised Sir Evelyn Baring to issue, if he thought fit, a proclamation to this effect in the name of the Khedive.

Thus the mission 'to report' had already swollen into a Governor-Generalship, with the object, not merely of effecting the evacuation of the Sudan, but also of setting up 'various Sultans' to take the place of the Egyptian Government.

In Cairo, in spite of the hostilities of the past, Gordon was received with every politeness.

He was at once proclaimed Governor-General of the Sudan, with the widest powers.

He was on the point of starting off again on his journey southwards, when a singular and important incident occurred.

Zobeir, the rebel chieftain of Darfur, against whose forces Gordon had struggled for years, and whose son, Suleiman, had been captured and executed by Gessi, Gordon's lieutenant, was still detained at Cairo.

It so fell out that he went to pay a visit to one of the Ministers at the same time as the new Governor-General.

The two men met face to face, and, as he looked into the savage countenance of his old enemy, an extraordinary shock of inspiration ran through Gordon's brain.

He was seized, as he explained in a State paper, which he drew up immediately after the meeting, with a 'mystic feeling' that he could trust Zobeir.

It was true that Zobeir was 'the greatest slave-hunter who ever existed'; it was true that he had a personal hatred of Gordon, owing to the execution of Suleiman--'and one cannot wonder at it, if one is a father'; it was true that, only a few days previously, on his way to Egypt, Gordon himself had been so convinced of the dangerous character of Zobeir that he had recommended by telegram his removal to Cyprus.

But such considerations were utterly obliterated by that one moment of electric impact of personal vision; henceforward, there was a rooted conviction in Gordon's mind that Zobeir was to be trusted, that Zobeir must join him at Khartoum, that Zobeir's presence would paralyse the Mahdi, that Zobeir must succeed him in the government of the country after the evacuation.

Did not Sir Evelyn Baring, too, have the mystic feeling?

Sir Evelyn Baring confessed that he had not.

He distrusted mystic feelings.

Zobeir, no doubt, might possibly be useful; but, before deciding upon so important a matter, it was necessary to reflect and to consult.

In the meantime, failing Zobeir, something might perhaps be done with the Emir Abdul Shakur, the heir of the Darfur Sultans.

The Emir, who had been living in domestic retirement in Cairo, was with some difficulty discovered, given L2,000, an embroidered uniform, together with the largest decoration that could be found, and informed that he was to start at once with General Gordon for the Sudan, where it would be his duty to occupy the province of Darfur, after driving out the forces of the Mahdi.

The poor man begged for a little delay; but no delay could be granted.

He hurried to the railway station in his frockcoat and fez, and rather the worse for liquor.

Several extra carriages for his twenty-three wives and a large quantity of luggage had then to be hitched on to the Governor-General's train; and at the last moment some commotion was caused by the unaccountable disappearance of his embroidered uniform.

It was found, but his troubles were not over.

On the steamer, General Gordon was very rude to him, and he drowned his chagrin in hot rum and water.

At Assuan he disembarked, declaring that he would go no farther.

Eventually, however, he got as far as Dongola, whence, after a stay of a few months, he returned with his family to Cairo.

In spite of this little contretemps, Gordon was in the highest spirits.

At last his capacities had been recognised by his countrymen; at last he had been entrusted with a task great enough to satisfy even his desires.

He was already famous; he would soon be glorious.

Looking out once more over the familiar desert, he felt the searchings of his conscience stilled by the manifest certainty that it was for this that Providence had been reserving him through all these years of labour and of sorrow for this!

What was the Mahdi to stand up against him!

A thousand schemes, a thousand possibilities sprang to life in his pullulating brain.

A new intoxication carried him away.

'Il faut etre toujours ivre.

Tout est la: c'est l'unique question.'

Little though he knew it, Gordon was a disciple of Baudelaire.

'Pour ne pas sentir l'horrible fardeau du Temps qui brise vos epaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans treve.'

Yes--but how feeble were those gross resources of the miserable Abdul-Shakur!

Rum?

Brandy?

Oh, he knew all about them;

they were nothing.

He tossed off a glass.

They were nothing at all.

The true drunkenness lay elsewhere.

He seized a paper and pencil, and dashed down a telegram to Sir Evelyn Baring.

Another thought struck him, and another telegram followed.

And another, and yet another.

He had made up his mind; he would visit the Mahdi in person, and alone.

He might do that; or he might retire to the Equator.

He would decidedly retire to the Equator, and hand over the Bahr-el-Ghazal province to the King of the Belgians.

A whole flock of telegrams flew to Cairo from every stopping-place.

Sir Evelyn Baring was patient and discrete; he could be trusted with such confidences; but unfortunately Gordon's strange exhilaration found other outlets.

At Berber, in the course of a speech to the assembled chiefs, he revealed the intention of the Egyptian Government to withdraw from the Sudan.

The news was everywhere in a moment, and the results were disastrous.

The tribesmen, whom fear and interest had still kept loyal, perceived that they need look no more for help or punishment from Egypt, and began to turn their eyes towards the rising sun.

Nevertheless, for the moment, the prospect wore a favourable appearance.

The Governor-General was welcomed at every stage of his journey, and on February 18th he made a triumphal entry into Khartoum.

The feeble garrison, the panic-stricken inhabitants, hailed him as a deliverer.

Surely they need fear no more, now that the great English Pasha had come among them.

His first acts seemed to show that a new and happy era had begun.

Taxes were remitted, the bonds of the usurers were destroyed, the victims of Egyptian injustice were set free from the prisons; the immemorial instruments of torture--the stocks and the whips and the branding-irons were broken to pieces in the public square.

A bolder measure had been already taken.

A proclamation had been issued sanctioning slavery in the Sudan.

Gordon, arguing that he was powerless to do away with the odious institution, which, as soon as the withdrawal was carried out, would inevitably become universal, had decided to reap what benefit he could from the public abandonment of an unpopular policy.

At Khartoum the announcement was received with enthusiasm, but it caused considerable perturbation in England.

The Christian hero, who had spent so many years of his life in suppressing slavery, was now suddenly found to be using his high powers to set it up again.

The Anti-Slavery Society made a menacing movement, but the Government showed a bold front, and the popular belief in Gordon's infallibility carried the day.

He himself was still radiant.

Nor, amid the jubilation and the devotion which surrounded him, did he forget higher things.

In all this turmoil, he told his sister, he was 'supported'.

He gave injunctions that his Egyptian troops should have regular morning and evening prayers; 'they worship one God,' he said, 'Jehovah.'

And he ordered an Arabic text, 'God rules the hearts of all men', to be put up over the chair of state in his audience chamber.

As the days went by, he began to feel at home again in the huge palace which he knew so well.

The glare and the heat of that southern atmosphere, the movement of the crowded city, the dark-faced populace, the soldiers and the suppliants, the reawakened consciousness of power, the glamour and the mystery of the whole strange scene--these things seized upon him, engulfed him, and worked a new transformation on his intoxicated heart.

England, with its complications and its policies, became an empty vision to him; Sir Evelyn Baring, with his cautions and sagacities, hardly more than a tiresome name.

He was Gordon Pasha, he was the Governor-General, he was the ruler of the Sudan.

He was among his people--his own people, and it was to them only that he was responsible--to them, and to God.

Was he to let them fall without a blow into the clutches of a sanguinary impostor?

Never!

He was there to prevent that.

The distant governments might mutter something about 'evacuation'; his thoughts were elsewhere.

He poured them into his telegrams, and Sir Evelyn Baring sat aghast.

The man who had left London a month before, with instructions to 'report upon the best means of effecting the evacuation of the Sudan', was now openly talking of 'smashing up the Mahdi' with the aid of British and Indian troops.

Sir Evelyn Baring counted upon his fingers the various stages of this extraordinary development in General Gordon's opinions.

But he might have saved himself the trouble, for, in fact, it was less a development than a reversion.

Under the stress of the excitements and the realities of his situation at Khartoum, the policy which Gordon was now proposing to carry out had come to tally, in every particular, with the policy which he had originally advocated with such vigorous conviction in the pages of the Pall Mall Gazette.