The
sudden appearance of the Arabs, the complete collapse of the
defence, saved him the necessity of making up his mind. He had
been on the roof, in his dressing-gown, when the attack began;
and he had only time to hurry to his bedroom, to slip on a white
uniform, and to seize up a sword and a revolver, before the
foremost of the assailants were in the palace. The crowd was led
by four of the fiercest of the Mahdi's followers--tall and
swarthy Dervishes, splendid in their many-coloured jibbehs, their
great swords drawn from their scabbards of brass and velvet,
their spears flourishing above their heads. Gordon met them at
the top of the staircase. For a moment, there was a deathly
pause, while he stood in silence, surveying his antagonists. Then
it is said that Taha Shahin, the Dongolawi, cried in a loud
voice, 'Mala' oun el yom yomek!' (O cursed one, your time is
come), and plunged his spear into the Englishman's body. His only
reply was a gesture of contempt. Another spear transfixed him; he
fell, and the swords of the three other Dervishes instantly
hacked him to death. Thus, if we are to believe the official
chroniclers, in the dignity of unresisting disdain, General
Gordon met his end. But it is only fitting that the last moments
of one whose whole life was passed in contradiction should be
involved in mystery and doubt.
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