Crescent, the town of Maala and the “Camp” or Aden proper. A road,
the only road in fact, extends from Steamer-Point on the west to Aden
proper on the east, and no one can boast of having seen Aden who has
not taken the ride in a _geri_ from the landing-pier to the tanks. The
Aden horses are of all creatures most miserable for the geri-drivers
whip their horses much, but feed them little. The Crescent is a
semi-circular range of houses and shops crowded against the mountain
side; with a Hotel de l’Univers and a Hotel de l’Europe (both equally
“Grand”); cafés, shops, banks, and offices. The post office, hospital,
churches and barracks are further west toward the telegraph-station. A
drive of about two miles brings us to the native town of Maala. Here
the road forks, the lower one leading to the barrier-gate and Sheikh
Othman, and the upper ascending the mountain through the gate of the
fortifications and by a sharp declivity leading down to the town of
Aden. It is not an Oriental town in its administration, but it has all
the motley character of Port Said on its streets. Europeans, Americans,
Africans, Asiatics and mixed races are all represented in the crowd
of the market or the loungers in the streets. The total population is
30,000, including Chinese, Persians, Turks, Egyptians, Somalis, Hindus,
Parsees, Jews and Arabs from every part of the peninsula. Aden is a
great centre for native shipping, and the dhows and buggalows that sail
every year from the Persian Gulf to Yemen and Jiddah alway call at Aden
_en route_. Also from Oman and Hadramaut the modern Sinbads run their
craft into Aden to exchange produce or to lay in supplies for their
voyages to the coast of Africa.
The distance from Aden to Yemen’s old capital, Sana is nearly 200
miles in a direct line, but on my second journey thither, in 1894, I
was obliged to take a roundabout journey to Taiz, because of an Arab
uprising. This and the mountainous character of the country made the
distance over 250 miles. This route passes through, or near, all the
important towns of Yemen south of Sana.
With my Bedouin companion, Nasir, I left Sheikh Othman early on the
second morning of July. We reached a small
[Illustration: TRAVELLING IN SOUTHERN ARABIA]
[Illustration: THE KEITH FALCONER MEMORIAL CHURCH IN ADEN]
village, Wahat, at noon, the thermometer registering 96° in the
shade. After a short rest we mounted the camels at seven o’clock in
the evening for an all-night journey. Our course was through a barren
region, and at daylight we entered Wady Mergia, with scanty vegetation,
resting at a village of the same name under a huge acacia tree. The
next day we entered the mountains, where rich vegetation showed a
cooler climate. We passed several villages, Dar El Kadim, Khoteibah,
Suk-el-Juma and others. As this was said to be a dangerous part of the
road all the caravan, which we joined at Wahat, was on the lookout,
with lighted rope-wicks for their flint-locks swinging from their
shoulders and looking in the dark like so many fireflies. At three
A.M. we had ascended to the head of the wady and rested for the day at
Mabek. All the houses here are of stone, the booths of date-mats and
twigs being only found on the maritime plain of Yemen. During the night
there had been talk among the wild Arabs of the village of holding
me as a hostage to obtain money from the English at Aden! But Nasir
quieted them with a threefold Bedouin oath that I was not a government
official nor an Englishman, but an American traveller.
The day after leaving Mabek brought us to the beginning of the happy
valleys of Yemen, very different from the torrid coast. A country where
the orange, lemon, quince, grape, mango, plum, apricot, peach, apple,
pomegranate, fig, date, plantain and mulberry, each yield their fruit
in season; where wheat, barley, maize, millet and coffee are staple
products and where there is a glorious profusion of wild flowers—called
“grass” by the unpoetic camel-drivers. A land whose mountains lift up
their heads over 9,000 feet, terraced from chilly top to warm valley
with agricultural amphitheatres, irrigated by a thousand rills and
rivulets, some of them perennial, flowing along artificial channels
or leaping down the rocks in miniature falls. A land where the oriole
hangs her nest on the dark acacia, the wild doves hide in clefts of the
rock and the chameleon sports his colors by the wayside under the tall
flowering cactus. Such is Yemen. The vegetation of Arabia Felix begins
just before reaching Mufallis, on this route, where a Turkish castle
and custom-house proclaim the boundary of Ottoman aggression.
Beautiful was the air and scenery on our march. Arab peasants were at
work in the fields, plowing[21] with oxen, repairing the walls of the
terraces and opening the watercourses. The women were all unveiled
and had the picturesque costume universal in southern Yemen; their
narrow trousers were fastened at the waist and ankles, while over their
shoulders hung long mantle-like garments, low in the neck, girded, and
fringed at the bottom with embroidered cloth of green or red. Here they
wear a kind of light turban, but on the Hodeidah coast broad-brimmed
straw hats cover the heads of the Yemen belles as they urge their
donkeys to market.
At sunrise we were in sight of the highest peaks to the left of the
wady-bed. One of them is crowned by a _walli_ or saint’s tomb of Saled
bin Taka. These tombs are common in Yemen and thousands of people
visit them annually to ask intercession, each saint having a special
day in the Moslem calendar. At Mocha the grave of the Arab sheikh
Abu-el-Hassan Shadeli, who first discovered the use of coffee, is
highly honored by distant pilgrims.
At eight o’clock on the morning of July fourth we reached the _burj_
called Mufallis and had our first experience of Turkish rule in Yemen.
Unexpectedly we here stumbled upon a Turkish custom-house, which I
had thought was located at Taiz, as the boundary of Turkish Yemen on
my maps did not extend further south. An unmannerly negro, calling
himself Mudeer of Customs, looked out of a port-hole and demanded my
ascent. Through dirt and up darkness I reached his little room and
stated my errand and purpose. No kind words or offered backsheesh
would avail; “_all_ the baggage must be opened and _all_ books were
forbidden entrance into Yemen by a recent order,” so he affirmed.
First, therefore, I unscrewed the covers of the two boxes with an old
bowie-knife. The books, after having been critically examined by eyes
that could not read, were seized; next my saddle-bags were searched,
and every book and map was also confiscated. I was refused even a
receipt for the books taken, and to every plea or question the only
reply was, to go on to Taiz and appeal to the Governor.
Despoiled of our goods, we left the “custom-house” at eleven A.M.,
taking an old man on a donkey armed with a spear, as guide and defence,
because Nasir heard that there was disturbance in this quarter. At two
o’clock we rested for half an hour under the shade of a huge rock in
the bed of the wady, and then warned by peals of thunder, we hastened
on, hoping to reach Hirwa before dark. In less than an hour, however,
the sky was black, rain fell in torrents, and we found it hopeless
to attempt to urge the slow camels on through the wady. There was no
shelter in sight, so we crouched under a small tree halfway up the mud
bank. The rain turned to hail—large stones that frightened the camels
so that they stampeded—and we became thoroughly chilled.
When the storm ceased, our donkey man came with looks of horror to tell
us that his poor beast had fallen down the slope and was being swept
away by the torrent! What had been a dry river bed half an hour before,
was now a rushing rapids. We decided to climb up the terraces to a
house which we saw on the mountain side. The camels had preceded us,
and after a vigorous climb over mud-fields and up the rocks we reached
the house and hospitality of Sheikh Ali. Over the charcoal fire, after
drinking plenty of _kishr_, (made from the _shell_ of the coffee bean,)
we had to listen to a long discussion concerning the lost donkey.
Finally, matters were smoothed over by my offering to pay one-half the
price of the animal on condition that our guide should proceed with us
to _Hirwa_.
The next day we were off early. Because of the steep ascents I was
obliged to walk most of the way, and I sprained my ankle severely.
It did not pain me until night, when it was swollen and kept me
“on crutches” for several days. _Hirwa_ is a small Arab village
with a weekly market, and we found shelter in the usual coffee-shop
characteristic of Yemen. The following day we reached _Sept Ez zeilah_,
where we found cleaner quarters than the night before. At about
midnight a war party of Bedouins came and frightened the peaceful
villagers with demands for food, etc. They had just returned from
setting fire to a small castle, and, numbering sixty hungry men, were
not to be intimidated. They were about to force their way into our
quarters when Nasir and the women promised to give them food. Within,
I kept quiet and listened to the noise of grinding and baking and
coffee-pounding. Without, some of the Arabs seized a cow belonging to a
poor woman and butchered it for their feast. At this there was a crying
of women and barking of dogs and swearing of oaths by the Great Allah,
such as I hope never to hear again. Finally, the Arabs went away with
full stomachs, and we slept a broken sleep for fear they might return.
The next day we proceeded to Taiz, and arrived at noon, one week after
leaving Aden.
The Mutasarrif Pasha, or Governor, was satisfied with my passports,
and expressed his regrets that the books had been seized at Mufallis,
but such was the law. He would, however, allow me to send for them
for inspection. What is written here in four lines was the work and
patience of four weary days! A soldier was sent to Mufallis; I was
obliged to entrust him with money to pay the custom dues; to hire a
camel to carry the books; finally to pay for two sticks of sealing
wax (price in Taiz one rupee) with which to seal the books and maps
lest they be tampered with—all this at the order of the enlightened
government of the Sublime Porte! The first messenger never reached
Mufallis; on the road he was attacked by Arabs, stabbed in the neck,
robbed of his rifle, and carried back to the military hospital at
Taiz. Then there was more delay to find and send a second soldier
with the same camel and money and sealing wax, but with a new rifle.
He returned with the books safely after five days! No Turk could set
a value on a book, and so the law is that books are taxed by weight,
boxes included. The customs receipt was attached for “200 kilograms
Jewish books (at twenty piastres a kilo), value, 4,000 piastres,
and custom dues amounting to 288 piastres.” In the same document I
was spoken of as “the Jew, Ishmail, Dhaif Ullah,”—a rather curious
combination of names. I was called a “Jew” because of the case of
Hebrew New Testaments; Ishmail was the equivalent for Samuel; and Dhaif
Ullah, my Arabic cognomen.
VI
YEMEN: THE SWITZERLAND OF ARABIA
“If the Turks would clear out of Yemen, a wonderful field for commerce
would be thrown open, for the Turkish government is vile and all
cultivators are taxed to an iniquitous extent.”—_Ion Keith Falconer._
While waiting at Taiz I had an opportunity to study Yemen town life
and the system of government, as well as to learn a little about the
cultivation of coffee and kaat, the two chief products of this part of
Yemen.
Taiz has not often been visited by travellers from the occident, and is
a most interesting place. It is a large fortified village of perhaps
5,000 inhabitants, the residence of a Mutasarrif whose authority
extends from the province of Hodeidah to the Aden frontier including
Mocha and Sheikh Seyyid on the coast, recently abandoned by France. The
place has five gates, one of which has been walled up, and five large
mosques in Byzantine style. The largest Mosque is called El Muzafer,
and has two large minarets and twelve beautiful domes. Taiz was once a
centre of learning and its libraries were celebrated all over Arabia.
Firozabadi, the Noah Webster of the Arabic language, taught in Taiz and
edited his “Ocean” dictionary there. He died at the neighboring town of
Zebid, in 1414 A.D., and his grave is honored by the learned of Yemen.
The bazaar is not large, but the four European shops kept by Greek
merchants are well supplied with all ordinary articles of civilization.
One public bath, in splendid condition, and a military hospital show
Ottoman occupation. The fort holds perhaps 1,300 soldiers and the
residence of the Mutasarrif is in a beautiful and comfortable little
building outside of the town. The mosques were once grand but are
now ruined and a home for bats; the famous libraries have disappeared
and the subterannean vaults of the largest Mosque formerly used as
porticoes for pupils are now Turkish horse-stables. There is a post
office and telegraph; the post goes once a week to Hodeidah via Zebid
and Beit el Fakih, and the telegraph in the same direction a little
more rapidly when the wires are in order.
Taiz is girt around by Jebel Sobr, the highest range of mountains in
southern Yemen. Hisn Aroos peak, near the town, has an elevation of
over 7,000 feet. According to Niebuhr and Defler, on a clear day one
can look from the summit of this peak across the lowlands and the Red
Sea into Africa. I was unable to reach the summit as my Arab guide
failed me and the days were misty and frequent rains fell.
Taiz is the centre of kaat-culture for all Yemen, and coffee comes here
on its way to Hodeidah or Aden. Amid all the wealth of vegetation and
fruitage every plant seems familiar to the tourist save kaat. It is a
shrub whose very name is unknown outside of Yemen, while there it is
known and used by every mother’s son, as well as by the mothers and
daughters themselves. Driving from Aden to Sheikh Othman, one first
learns the _name_. Why are those red flags hoisted near the police
stations, at intervals on the road, and why are they hauled down as
soon as those camels pass? Oh, they are taking loads of kaat for the
Aden market, and the flags are to prevent cheating of the customs.
Over 2,000 camel loads come into Aden every year, and each load passes
through English territory by “block-signal” system, for it is highly
taxed. As to its _use_, step into a kahwah in any part of Yemen shortly
before sunset, and you will see Arabs each with a bundle of green twigs
in his lap, chewing at the leaves of kaat.
At Taiz I first had an opportunity to meet the Jews of the interior of
Yemen. Altogether they number perhaps 60,000 in the whole province.
They live mostly in the large towns and very few are agriculturists.
They are a despised and down-trodden race, but they say at Sana, that
their condition is not so bad under the Turks as it was under the Arab
rulers before 1871. The accounts of their origin are discrepant. Some
say they are descended from the Jews of the Dispersion, but others
hold that they were immigrants from the North over 900 years ago.
They are more cleanly, more intelligent and more trustworthy than the
Arabs; and although they are out of all communication with the rest of
the world and in ignorance of their European countrymen they are not
ignorant of Hebrew and rabbinic learning. Their synagogue near Taiz is
a low stone building, twenty-five by fifteen feet. For furniture it
has only a few curtains of embroidered texts, a printed diagram of the
ancient candlestick, with the names of the twelve tribes, and a high
reading-desk. Such are all the synagogues of Yemen.
At Taiz the Jews seemed to have grown content under long centuries of
oppression and taxation. Many of the old Moslem laws against infidels,
such as those forbidding them to _ride_, to carry weapons or wear fine
clothes in public, are still rigorously enforced by custom if not by
the government. The Jew is universally despised, yet he cannot be
spared, for nearly all artisan work is in Jewish hands. The Moslem Arab
has learned nothing from the Jew outside of the Koran; but, alas! the
Jew has imbibed many foolish customs and superstitions foreign to his
creed from Islam.
When the Hebrew Scriptures reached Taiz I was again disappointed, for
the Governor would not permit the boxes to be opened, but they were to
be sent sealed and under guard to Sana. I afterward learned that the
“guard” was for me as well as the books, and that the soldier carried a
letter with this accusation written: “This is a converted Jew, who is
corrupting the religion of Islam, and sells books to Moslems and Jews.”
I had no alternative but to proceed to Sana; taking a Damar Arab as
servant, having dismissed the Aden camels.
I left Taiz on a mule July 26th, and arrived at Seyanee the same day.
The following night we reached Ibb. Here I was forced to lodge outside
of the town, as the guard had instructions not to let me “see things.”
I endured this impatiently, until I learned that our servant had been
imprisoned on our arrival because he told me the names of the villages
on the route! I then appealed to the Mayor, and on virtue of my
passports demanded the right of going about the town and the release of
my servant. After some delay, both requests were granted. The incident
is one of many to show the suspicion with which a stranger is regarded
by the authorities in Yemen. On Saturday the soldier and I hastened on
to reach the large town of Yerim before Sunday, and rest there, waiting
for the baggage camel. It was a long ride of twelve hours, but through
a delightful country everywhere fertile and terraced with coffee
plantations and groves of kaat.
Yerim, with perhaps 300 houses, lies in a hollow of the Sumara range of
mountains. It has a fortress and some houses of imposing appearance,
but the general aspect of the town is miserable. A neighboring marsh
breeds malaria, and the place is proverbially unhealthy in this
otherwise salubrious region. Niebuhr’s botanist, Forskal, died here
on their journey in 1763. The road from Ibb to Yerim has perhaps the
finest scenery of any part of Yemen; never have I seen more picturesque
mountains and valleys, green with verdure and bright with blossoms.
Scabiosa, bluebells, forget-me-nots, golden-rod, four-o’clocks and
large oleander-trees—
“All earth was full of heaven
And every bush afire with God.”
The cacti-plants were in full bloom, and measured twenty feet against
the mountain passes. Two thousand feet below one could hear the sound
of the water rushing along the wady-bed or disappearing under the
bridges that span the valleys. While high above, the clouds were half
concealing the summit of the “Gazelle Neck” (Unk el-Gazel).
Sunday, July 29th, was a cold day at Yerim; early in the morning the
temperature went down to 52°, and at night two blankets were needed.
Not until nine o’clock was it warm enough for the Yerim merchants to
open their shops.
A Jewish family, en route for Taiz, were stopping with us at the
caravansari, and at night I spoke for over two hours with them and the
Arabs about Christ. There was no interruption, and I was impressed
to see the interest of a Jew and Arab alike in what I told them from
Isaiah liii., reading it in Arabic by the dim candle light, amidst all
the baggage and beasts of an Oriental inn. At the little village of
Khader, eight miles from Waalan, angry words arose from the “guard”
because I tried to speak to a Jew. When I spoke in protest they began
to strike the Jew with the butt end of their rifles,[22] and when the
poor fellow fled, my best defence was silence. On my return journey, I
inadvertently raised trouble again, by mentioning that Jesus Christ and
Moses were _Jews_—which the Arabs considered an insult to the prophets
of God.
On the road beyond Yerim we passed a large boulder with an irregular
impression on one side. This is called Ali’s footprint, and the Arabs
who pass always anoint it with oil. The steep ascents and descents of
the journey were now behind us. From Yerim on to Sana the plateau is
more level. Wide fields of lentils, barley and wheat take the place of
the groves of kaat and coffee; camels were used for ploughing, and with
their long necks and curious harness, were an odd sight.
The next halt we made was at Damar, 8,000 feet above sea-level. It is a
large town, with three minaret-mosques and a large bazaar; the houses
are of native rock, three and four-stories high, remarkably clean and
well-built. Inside they are whitewashed, and have the Yemen translucent
slabs of gypsum for window-panes. From Damar the road leads northeast
over Maaber and the Kariet en-Nekil pass to Waalan; thence, nearly due
north, to Sana. From Damar to Waalan is thirty-five miles, and thence
to the capital, eighteen miles more. The roads near the city of Sana
are kept in good repair, although there are no wheeled vehicles, for
the sake of the Turkish artillery.
On Thursday, August 2d, we entered Sana by the Yemen gate. Three
years before I had entered the city from the other side, coming from
Hodeidah; then in the time of the Arab rebellion and now myself a
prisoner. I was taken to the Dowla and handed over to the care of a
policeman until the Wali heard my case. After finding an old Greek
friend from Aden, who offered to go bail for me, I was allowed liberty,
and for nineteen days was busy seeing the city and visiting the
Jews.[23]
Sana, anciently called Uzal, and since many centuries the chief city
of Yemen, contains some 50,000 inhabitants and lies stretched out in a
wide, level valley between Jebel Nokoom and the neighboring ranges. It
is 7,648 feet above sea-level. The town is in the form of a triangle,
the eastern point consisting of a large fortress, dominating the town,
and built upon the lowest spur of Nokoom. The town is divided into
three walled quarters, the whole being surrounded by one continuous
wall of stone and brick. They are respectively the city proper,
in which are the government buildings, the huge bazaars, and the
residences of the Arabs and Turks; the Jews’ quarter; and Bir-el-azib,
which lies between the two, and contains gardens and villas belonging
to the richer Turks and Arabs. The city had once great wealth and
prosperity, and to-day remains, next to Bagdad, the most flourishing
city in all Arabia. The shops are well supplied with European goods,
and a large manufacture of silk, jewelry and arms is carried on. The
government quarter, with its cafés, billiard-rooms, large Greek shops,
carriages, bootblacks, and brass-band reminds one of Cairo. Sana has
forty-eight mosques, thirty-nine synagogues, twelve large public-baths,
a military hospital with 200 beds, and is the centre of trade for all
northern Yemen and northwestern Hadramaut, as well as for the distant
villages of Nejran and fertile Wady Dauasir. Arabs from every district
crowd the bazaars, and long strings of camels leave every day for the
Hodeidah coast.
On August 14th I took an early morning walk to Rhoda, a village about
eight miles north of Sana, and in the midst of beautiful gardens. From
Roda the direct caravan route leads to Nejran, and from the outskirts
of the village, looking north, an inviting picture met the eye. A
fertile plateau stretched out to the horizon, and only two days’
journey would bring one into the free desert beyond Turkish rule. But
this time the way across the peninsula was closed by my bankruptcy;
robbed at Yerim in the coffee-shop, and already in debt at Sana, it
would have been impossible to proceed, except as a dishonest dervish.
On the 21st of August I left Sana for Hodeidah, receiving a loan of
twenty dollars from the Ottoman government, to be paid back at the
American consulate. We followed the regular postal route, the same
which I had travelled on my first journey.
The plateau or table-land between Sana’a and Banàn is a pasture
country. The Bedouins live in the stone-built villages and herd their
immense flocks on the plain; camels, cows and sheep were grazing by
the hundreds and thousands. After Banàn begins the difficult descent
to the coast down breakneck mountain _stairways_ rather than roadways,
over broken bridges, and through natural arches. Fertile, cultivated
mountain slopes were on every side, reminding one of the valleys of
Switzerland. In one district near Suk-el-Khamis the whole mountain-side
for a height of 6,000 feet was terraced from top to bottom. General
Haig wrote of these terraces: “One can hardly realize the enormous
amount of labor, toil and perseverance which these represent. The
terraced walls are usually from five to eight feet in height, but
toward the top of the mountain they are sometimes as much as fifteen
or eighteen feet. They are built entirely of rough stone, laid without
mortar. I reckon on an average that each wall retains a terrace not
more than twice its own height in width, and I do not think I saw a
single breach in one of them unrepaired.”[24]