Sir Charles Wilson, having collected his force, remained three days by the bank of the Nile before attempting any further advance on Khartoum.  He has explained why this delay was necessary, to the satisfaction of most military critics.  Nor is it easy to believe that men who had made such splendid efforts would have willingly lost a single moment.  On the fourth day he embarked on two of Gordon’s steamers, which awaited the relieving column, and taking with him twenty British soldiers and a few blue-jackets set forth towards the Shabluka Gorge and the town that lay beyond.  On the 27th of January the rescuers came in sight of Khartoum and under the fire of the enemy.  Many of their perilous adventures seem to belong to romance rather than to reality:  the tiny gimcrack boats struggling with the strong stream of the cataract, running the gauntlet of the Arab guns, dropping disconsolately down the river with their terrible news, or wrecked and stranded on the sandbank; Stuart-Wortley rowing to the camp before Metemma for help; Beresford starting in the remaining steamer; the bursting of the boiler by a Dervish shell; Benbow mending it in a single day; Wilson’s rescue and the return to the entrenchment at Gubat.  But the scene that appeals to the imagination above all the others is that where with both banks ablaze with musketry and artillery, the black smoke pouring through the shot-holes in the funnels, the water rising in spurts from the bullets, the men who had come so far and braved so much stared at the palace roof and, seeing no flag flying, knew that all was over and that they had come too late.

The news of the Dervish defeats at Abu Klea and Abu Kru impelled the Mahdi to a desperate venture.  The English were but 120 miles away.  They were few, but victorious.  It was difficult to say what force could stop such men.  In spite of the wrath of the true God and the valour of Islam they might prevail.  The Mahdi depended on success for existence.  The tremendous forces of fanaticism are exerted only in a forward direction.  Retreat meant ruin.  All must be staked on an immediate assault.  And, besides, the moment was ripe.  Thus the Arab chiefs reasoned, and wisely resolved to be reckless.  Thus the night of the 25th of January arrived.

The band played as usual in the evening.  Gradually the shadows fell and it became dark.  The hungry inhabitants betook themselves to bed.  The anxious but indomitable commander knew that the crisis impended, and knew also that he was powerless to avert it.  Perhaps he slept, satisfied that he had done his duty; and in the silence of the night the savage enemy crawled stealthily towards the town.  The weary and disheartened sentinels, weakened by famine and tired of war, maintained a doubtful vigilance along the ramparts.  The subsiding waters of the river had left a bare gap between the White Nile and the wall.  Perhaps there was treachery besides.  On a sudden the loud explosion of musketry broke the stillness of the night and the slumbers of the people; and with a continual shouting thousands of Dervishes swarmed through the unprotected space and entered Khartoum.