Summary

Portrait of Charles Neufeld Charles Neufeld A Prisoner of the Khaleefa: Twelve Years Captivity at Omdurman

There was I, a European, a Prussian, a man who had fought with the British troops in what transpired to be the “too late” expedition for the rescue of Gordon, now in the clutches of the tyrant and his myrmidons, whom we had hoped to rescue Gordon from; a white and a Christian—and the only professing Christian—chained and helpless, being flogged by a black, as much a captive and a slave as I was, and yet my superior and master. It is impossible for any one not having undergone a similar experience to appreciate the mental agonies I endured.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Charles Neufeld Charles Neufeld A Prisoner of the Khaleefa: Twelve Years Captivity at Omdurman

Swift and silent in their movements, covering the ground at four or five times the speed of trained troops, every man, when the moment of attack came, accustomed to fight independently of orders, lithe and supple, nimble as cats and as bloodthirsty as starving man-eating tigers, utterly regardless of their own lives, and capable of continuing stabbing and jabbing with spear and sword while carrying half a dozen wounds, any one of which would have put a European hors de combat—such were the 75,000 to 80,000 warriors which the Khaleefa had ready to attack the Sirdar’s little army.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Charles Neufeld Charles Neufeld A Prisoner of the Khaleefa: Twelve Years Captivity at Omdurman

Often and often, when allowed to sleep in the open air at night-time, instead of experiencing all the horrors of a night in the common cell, the cool night-air would send me off into a sound sleep, from which I would start up from some confused dream of old days, and, looking up to the sky, would wonder to myself, half awake and half asleep, which was the dream and which the reality, the old loved scenes, or the prison of es-Saier at Omdurman.
Source: Gutenberg

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