The Siege of Khartoum, 1885. Muslim Religious Zeal Cracks the British Empire. British-Muslim Policy Established.

 Gordon’s fall shattered what remained of Egyptian authority in Sudan. The region, once claimed in maps and ledgers, slipped into the hands of the Mahdist state. But in Britain, the loss reverberated beyond strategy. It struck the national psyche... a public accustomed to victory saw one of its most revered officers abandoned and butchered. The outcry wasn’t fleeting. It hardened into a new imperial posture: less hesitant, more aggressive. From that point forward, British ambition in Africa intensified... not merely to reclaim lost territory, but to prove that the empire would never again tolerate humiliation at the hands of those it considered beneath its dominion.

Khartoum. March 12, 1884 - January 26, 1885.
Mahdist (Muslim) Forces: ~ 60,000 Men.
British/Egyptian Forces: ~ 8,000 Egyptian Regulars and ~ 3,000 Sudanese Volunteers.

Additional Reading and Episode Research:

• Neillands, Robin. The Dervish Wars.
• Farwell, Byron. Queen Victoria's Little Wars.
• Royle, Charles. The Egyptian Campaigns, 1882 to 1885.

Transcript

Thanks for tuning into the episode of History's Greatest Battles; season two, where we explore history's greatest sieges. If you know anybody that enjoys this genre of history, please share the podcast with them; and leave us a review.

In the early 1880s, the British Empire stood at its zenith, financially dominant, militarily unmatched, and politically entangled across the globe. Egypt, though nominally under Ottoman sovereignty, had effectively become a strategic holding of European powers. Its control over the Suez Canal rendered it indispensable to Britain's global trade and imperial logistics. Yet, Egypt itself was unstable, crippled by debt, governed by weak or self-serving leadership, and internally divided. South of Egypt, in the harsh and sparsely governed lands of Sudan, unrest began to harden into rebellion.

What emerged in that desert was not a traditional uprising but a religious and military movement led by a man claiming divine mandate. His followers believed him. His enemies underestimated him. The empire, distracted by bureaucracy and overreach, failed to act with urgency. That failure allowed a local force, poorly armed but unified in purpose, to confront and eventually overrun imperial troops that were meant to symbolize global supremacy.

The consequences extended far beyond the battlefield. The events in Sudan reshaped British military policy and colonial doctrine for decades. They undermined the credibility of political leadership at home. They hardened racial and cultural ideologies within imperial planning. And in a direct line, they gave rise to one of Britain’s most significant military figures, who would later play a decisive role in World War I, and whose approach to warfare would influence the handling of rebellions and colonial campaigns across Africa and Asia.

This episode traces that turning point, not as a tale of exotic lands or imperial romance, but as a sober examination of how a single collapse in command, commitment, and comprehension helped unmask the limits of empire, and shaped the modern legacy of Western intervention in the Muslim world.

Let's now experience, the Siege of Khartoum.

 Welcome to History's Greatest Battles, Season Two, Episode 44: The Siege of Khartoum: from the 12th of march, 1884; to the 26th of January, 1885.

Mahdist Forces: roughly sixty thousand men.
Egyptian Forces: roughly eight thousand regular soldiers, and three thousand Sudanese volunteers.

Gordon’s fall shattered what remained of Egyptian authority in Sudan. The region, once claimed in maps and ledgers, slipped into the hands of the Mahdist state. But in Britain, the loss reverberated beyond strategy. It struck the national psyche... a public accustomed to victory saw one of its most revered officers abandoned and butchered. The outcry wasn’t fleeting. It hardened into a new imperial posture: less hesitant, more aggressive. From that point forward, British ambition in Africa intensified... not merely to reclaim lost territory, but to prove that the empire would never again tolerate humiliation at the hands of those it considered beneath its dominion.

In the 1870s, Egypt was Ottoman territory in name only. Real power sat with Ismail Pasha, the Khedive, a man who ruled like a king, but with none of the restraint. His greed knew no limit. He emptied the treasury with reckless abandon until Egypt was drowning in debt. The British and French, alarmed and eager to protect their interests, muscled in. They sent in accountants with the authority of generals and took over the nation’s purse strings.

By 1880, numbers on paper weren’t enough. Europe sent boots. British infantry made up the bulk, landing not as guests, but as enforcers of order. The sight of foreign officers giving orders in Cairo sparked fury. Egyptians rallied under Colonel Arabi, a military man with fire in his blood. The British crushed him, fast and hard.

South of Egypt, in the brutal Sudanese desert, a new force emerged, this time driven not by politics, but by divine fire. A man named Mohammed Ahmed stood up and declared war on unbelievers. He called himself the Mahdi, the guided one, the Messiah. He wasn’t asking for followers. He was claiming them.

The prophecy of a Muslim savior wasn’t new. Across centuries, men had risen claiming that title, some mad, some brilliant, all dangerous. Mohammed Ahmed was the latest, and perhaps the most cunning. Whether he believed his own claim or not didn’t matter. His followers did, and they were ready to kill for him.

He began with a handful of fanatics in the dust. But every victory, every skirmish where his men stood and others broke, drew more to his banner. The British referred to his adherents as dervishes, a term borrowed from Sufi mysticism. Traditionally, a dervish was a mystic, spinning, chanting, lost in trance. But these warriors weren’t dancing. They were cutting down trained troops without blinking.

The British kept the name because what they saw in the field was death-defying, unflinching zeal. These men didn’t hesitate. They didn’t retreat. They died moving forward.

In 1881, the Mahdi struck with precision, his fighters took El Obeid. It was more than a victory. It was a message: the uprising had become a war. Prime Minister Gladstone barely raised an eyebrow, until the Mahdi’s men obliterated a full Egyptian column led by a British officer. That got London’s attention.

In 1883, General William Hicks marched 10,000 poorly trained troops into the heart of the Sudan. At Kashgil, they vanished. Ambushed, encircled, annihilated. Hicks and his men were wiped from the map. Hicks had brought an arsenal, modern Krupp field guns, thousands of rifles. The Mahdi now owned them all.

After Kashgil, the doubters fell silent. The Mahdi wasn’t just a preacher anymore, he was a conqueror. Tribes flocked to him. Among those who answered the call were the Hadendowa, fierce hill warriors from eastern Sudan. They rallied behind Osman Digna. Digna wasn’t beloved, and he wasn’t a polished officer. But he knew how to hit the enemy where it hurt, and he made sure his men got paid in plunder.

Late in 1883, Digna’s forces tore through two Egyptian armies near Saukin like paper. But it was on 5 February 1884 that Digna sealed his reputation.

Hicks’ successor was Valentine Baker, a veteran of both the British and Ottoman services. A man with credentials, if not luck. Baker was leading 3,800 men to relieve the garrison at Tokar. A mission that would become a disaster. His troops were a chaotic mix: seasoned black soldiers from the south, former slaves turned warriors, alongside European officers, and a mass of Egyptians who had no heart for the fight.

At El Teb, 1,200 Hadendowa launched a sudden, ferocious attack. The British mockingly dubbed them “Fuzzy-Wuzzy” for their greased hair, but behind the nickname was a reputation for raw, savage skill in close quarters. The Hadendowa charged with spears and clubs alone. No rifles. Still, the Egyptians broke almost instantly, fleeing in terror before a single blow landed.

The retreat turned into chaos. The disciplined black troops tried to hold, and the Europeans stood their ground, but they were overwhelmed and butchered. When the dust settled, Baker had lost 2,400 men. Thousands of rifles gone. Half a million rounds of ammunition, gone. And with them, four Krupp guns and two Gatlings, straight into Digna’s hands.

The British struck back hard, two punishing counterattacks that restored their honor, if only briefly. But while skirmishes lit up the Red Sea coast, the real contest, the storm that would define an era, was gathering in Khartoum.

Gladstone, ever cautious, chose retreat over confrontation. He dispatched General Charles Gordon to Khartoum, not to fight, but to evacuate. Gordon wasn’t Gladstone’s kind of man. He was a lone wolf, brilliant, bold, impossible to manage. He’d made his name in China and earned the love of the British public. He knew Sudan. He’d ruled it once already.

In late January 1884, Gordon landed in Cairo with Colonel Stewart at his side. He wasn’t just back in the game, he was at the heart of it. The mission was clear: get the Europeans out. But between Cairo and Khartoum, something shifted in Gordon. Withdrawal no longer sat right with him. Gordon saw the Mahdi not just as a threat, but as a fraud, an enemy of civilization and of God. He made his choice. Khartoum would not fall on his watch.

The crowd roared when he arrived in Khartoum. To Gordon, it felt like confirmation, this city wanted a defender. But it was a misread. The people thought he’d brought an army. He hadn’t. When he told them he’d brought only faith, not reinforcements, the cheers died fast.

London had made it clear, no army was coming. Still, Gordon fired off telegram after telegram. The people of Britain listened. They rallied.

Khartoum sat far from help, at the fork of the Blue and White Nile, beautiful, remote, nearly unreachable. Gordon had no choice but to hold. Help, if it came, would take months. His force was thin: 8,000 Egyptian troops he barely trusted, and 3,000 Sudanese volunteers with grit but little training. The city's geography offered one path in, from the south. Gordon wasted no time. He ordered trenches cut deep and blockhouses raised beyond the walls. Mines were buried, wire stretched tight. Gordon mounted his best guns on steamers along the riverbanks, floating firepower to rake any attack from the flanks.

In May 1884, the wires went dead. The Mahdi had severed Khartoum from Cairo. His first demand for surrender arrived not long after, confident, bold, and full of divine threat. Gordon read the terms: convert or fall. He didn’t hesitate. Rejected, absolutely.

Gordon struck back with a sortie, aimed at crushing the dervish patrols encircling him. But his Egyptian troops broke the moment the enemy charged, 400 killed, not one enemy felled. Furious, Gordon acted fast. He court-martialed and executed the company commanders without ceremony. Message received: fear him, or die.

The Mahdi handed the siege to his lieutenant, Abu Girgeh, a man who wasted no time. He opened fire on Khartoum with the very Krupp guns taken from Hicks’ grave. The guns roared from a safe distance. Gordon’s riverboats couldn’t touch them. Shells rained down day and night. The Mahdi’s forces controlled the river north and south. No food. No ammo. Nothing got in.

In August, Gordon gambled. He sent Mohammed Ali, one of the few Egyptian officers he believed in, on a mission to break the ring. Ali hit hard. He scattered the dervishes from their lines with barely a scratch on his men. It was a rare, clean win. Encouraged, Gordon escalated. He launched 1,000 men to crush the enemy’s main camp. The strike worked, until Ali chased too deep into the sands. The dervishes turned. Ambush. Massacre. Not one man returned.

Desperate for relief, Gordon put Colonel Stewart and two journalists on a steamer. Their mission: break the lines, reach Cairo, and shout for help. They slipped the siege with ease. But downstream, the river betrayed them. The boat ran aground. They trusted the wrong man, a local they believed was loyal. He handed them over. They were executed without ceremony. Heads taken.

Still, relief was coming. Too slow, but coming.

The Nile offered a path, but it was choked with cataracts, whitewater death traps that shredded supply lines. General Sir Garnet Wolseley, cold, meticulous, took command. He was late out the gate and buried in logistics. Boats were built from scratch. Canadian voyageurs were brought in. Camels were trained. Every trick in the imperial playbook was thrown at the river and the desert beyond.

By January 1885, they’d done the impossible. The expedition was moving, slowly, but surely. They battled heat, terrain, and dervish ambushes at Abu Klea and Abu Kru. They were close, days away. But Sir Charles Wilson, leading the final push, halted for three days to regroup and care for the wounded.

Then the boats arrived. Wilson loaded his men and steamed south, four long days to Khartoum. But it was too late. The Mahdi had taken the city two days before.

When word reached the Mahdi that British relief was nearing, he made his move. No more waiting. He hadn’t wanted to storm the city, not yet. But his commanders pressed him. They wanted Gordon broken. The Mahdi feared a trap, take Khartoum and be besieged in turn. But he wouldn’t let Gordon’s cross outlast his crescent.

One final offer: surrender. Gordon refused. At dawn on 26 January, the Mahdi unleashed his men. The Mahdi gave a rare order: take Gordon alive. He respected the man’s unshakable faith, even as an enemy.

Gordon called every male, from boys to old men, to the walls. But they were starved, broken, hollow-eyed. Most couldn’t fight. Legend says Gordon stood alone at the palace stairs, unarmed, defiant, run through by a spear and beheaded on the spot. But those who saw it say otherwise. Gordon didn’t die quietly. He fought to the end, blade in hand, fury in his eyes, as if something greater had taken hold of him.

For three hundred and seventeen days, General Gordon stood against the tide, not with reinforcements, not with promises, but with his will alone. The city behind him starved. The walls before him cracked. And still, he held. Until, at last, the gates gave way. And what followed... was slaughter. Not battle. Not war. Slaughter.

When the dust settled, they looked for someone to blame. They found him in London. Gladstone, indecisive, cautious, too slow to act. While Gordon died at his post, Gladstone hedged bets from behind a desk. And when the burden of empire grew too heavy, he turned away. He deemed a skirmish in Afghanistan more urgent. And he let Sudan burn.

The Mahdi didn’t live to enjoy his triumph for long. Disease took him, as it takes kings and prophets alike. His torch passed to the Khalifa, and the fire burned on.

The British did not return, at least, not immediately. They waited. They brooded. But when they came back in 1897, they came with fury. Kitchener led the charge, not as a man seeking justice, but as an executioner delivering sentence. The Nile ran red.

Kitchener became a legend. Lord Kitchener of Khartoum. He crushed the Boers, then rose again, this time to command the Empire’s armies in the Great War.

But let this be carved into the bones of memory: there was a time, fleeting, defiant, when desert warriors, barefoot and blood-soaked, struck fear into the heart of an empire. The dervishes. The Hadendowa. The men called Fuzzy-Wuzzy. They stood alongside the Afghans and the Zulus, in that narrow, sacred line of those who dared to challenge the greatest superpower the world had ever seen, and made it bleed.

This was not just a war. This was the moment when empire cracked.

 Thanks for listening. Let's now descend into the killing fields of the comment section like yesterday. I'm going to read a reply on, uh, the siege of the Alamo Our listener GPK song wrote, you forgot to mention slavery in Texas and the Texas Republic and the state of Texas.

Any slave state has no legitimacy, no moral, high ground, no claim to be protecting liberty or rights, or freedom. Texas is still a backward state of racism, inequality, and fascism. There are no heroes in your tale, just violent and greedy white guys. This was my response to GPK song and I'll read it. This response will be a couple of paragraphs and I'll probably highlight it in my next episode.

But here's my take on this subject GPK song. You raise a vital and difficult 0.1 that any honest historian must wrestle with when telling stories of the past. The presence in defense of slavery in the Republic of Texas and later in the state itself is an undeniable stain that cannot be dismissed. It shaped policies, drove political alliances and compromised any pure claim to liberty that Texan leaders might have made Texan.

Then when we say Texan, now slavery is a moral abyss. There is no justification for it today, and any history of Texas that omits it is incomplete at best and dishonest at worse. But to judge the past solely through the lens of today's values is to risk a certain kind of historical blindness. We do not excuse men for their sins by placing them in context, but we do understand them better.

That understanding is not exoneration. It is clarity. The men who fought at the Alamo did so for a variety of reasons, some for land, some for self-governance. Some with motivations, steeped in supremacy and economic ambition. Others believed rightly or wrongly that they were fighting tyranny.

History is rarely made by heroes or villains alone. It is shaped by people, people like you and me. Flawed, driven, sometimes noble, often contradictory. The Texas Revolution included men who upheld freedom. And men who denied it to others. That is the bitter paradox of a revolution fought under the banner of liberty by men who also claim the right to own other human beings, which is a tale that bleeds into all cultures, all lands, and for all of time until recently.

As for Texas today, like every state, it holds contradictions. It has dark legacies, as do all states. It also contains communities. Movements and individuals working tirelessly for justice, equality, and truth. To write off the whole as irredeemable is to surrender the field to the worst elements of its history, similar to judging you based on your worst qualities.

The danger in flattening history to a single moral judgment is that we stop learning from it. We give away wisdom for outrage. And once we do that, we are no longer seeking truth. We're just choosing sides, choosing narratives that suit our individual visions of ourselves. So yes, slavery must be named, so must the full uncomfortable truth.

But history asks us to do more than condemn. It asks that we understand, and through that understanding we gain the one thing. The past can still offer us perspective. Thanks for listening. See you guys tomorrow.