THE DEMBELAS ATTACK US, MAHOMET WOUNDED,—NARROW ESCAPE OF TWO
OF OUR PARTY—ACTIVITY IN CAMP, WE MAKE A ZAREEBA AND FIRE
THE COUNTRY—HOLD A COUNCIL OF WAR—OUR SILENT AND DANGEROUS
RIDE—HOODOO’S SAGACITY—ARRIVAL IN CAMP OF MAHOMET, WOUNDED—WE
RETREAT—MAHOMET’S DEATH AND BURIAL.
February 11th, 1882, was the most memorable day of the whole campaign.
Thinking it was not safe to leave the camp without protectors, Messrs. W.
D. and A. James and I remained in camp, whilst Messrs. F. L. James and
Colvin went out in one direction and Phillipps and Aylmer in another,
in search of big game. Each party went out mounted on ponies, which had
been bought for the purpose at Kassala and Heikota. Each party took an
agreegeer, or huntsman, a horse-boy, camel-boy, and camel with them, the
latter for the purpose of carrying home the game. They started soon
after 8 a.m., Messrs. Phillipps and Aylmer went in the direction of some
mountains on the Abyssinian border, whilst Messrs. James and Colvin took
the opposite side of the Mareb. We amused ourselves in camp in reading,
writing letters, or posting up diaries. Keeping my diary carefully and
correctly posted up day by day was a duty which I most religiously
attended to before ever I retired to rest, however fatigued I may have
been by the day’s march. Incidents and impressions written down at the
time are more likely to be correct than if left to memory. From my diary
I quote the following particulars:—
“About 1.30 p.m., just as we were about to sit down to luncheon, Messrs.
Aylmer and Phillipps came into camp looking considerably chop-fallen and
exhausted, and having only one horse between them. Of course we did not
expect either party home until 5 or 6 p.m., so I said to Aylmer—
“‘Hallo! how is it you are back so soon, and looking so precious serious?’
“‘I can tell you, doctor, this is no laughing matter,’ said he, ‘for we
have been attacked by the Abyssinians or Dembelas, and very likely they
will soon be down on our camp.’
“This certainly did look a serious business, especially as we had no
zareeba round the camp; so I said—
“‘Well, the best thing we can do is to have our luncheon at once; then we
shall be more fit for work.’”
The wisdom of this suggestion was apparent, and at once acted upon.
Whilst it was being brought I strapped on my revolver, brought out my
diary and entered the above conversation. Mahomet Sali and others were
at once sent out as scouts in search of Messrs. James and Colvin, with a
promise of five dollars each to those who brought them into camp. We then
sat down to luncheon, and the following account was given of this affair,
and was duly entered in my diary immediately afterwards, as we did not
know when we might be attacked, and I was desirous of leaving my diary
posted up complete to latest date.
Aylmer’s story:—“We had got about eight or nine miles from camp on the
sandy river-bed, quite in a hollow, precipitous rocks and trees on each
side of us, when suddenly about 30 strangers, who turned out to be
Dembelas, appeared. We thought they were Abyssinians, because they were
so much lighter in colour than Arabs, and, of course, quite different in
every respect from the Basé. Some of them seized our hands and commenced
kissing them profusely, exclaiming ‘Aman, aman,’ at the same time
beckoning us to lay down our rifles. Now, although we thought they were
friendly, we did not think it wise to be so confiding as this, until
Mahomet, the agreegeer (who, we supposed, knew more of the customs of
these people than we did), lay down his, beckoning us to do the same,
saying it would be better to do so. One fellow, wearing a felt hat, was
more demonstrative even than the others. Well, we followed Mahomet’s
example; no sooner had we done so (we had four rifles with us and about
50 cartridges) than they were immediately seized, and a struggle ensued
for their possession. The man wearing the felt hat seized a valuable
elephant rifle, vaulted on to the back of Mr. Phillipps’s horse and
galloped off. Attached to the saddle of that horse was his revolver, a
number of cartridges, and a field-glass. The horse-boy vanished like
smoke, whilst his horse was taken possession of by another of the enemy.
They attempted to spear the camel-boy, missed him and speared the camel.
Phillipps received a blow from the butt-end of a rifle which would have
prostrated him had not his helmet protected his head. He, however, turned
round, closed with his assailant, and succeeded in wrenching the rifle
from him. I pulled the trigger of my revolver, but on account of sand,
which obstructed it, I could not discharge it.
“In the hubbub which ensued Mahomet could nowhere be seen, and about 8 or
10 Basé (who had accompanied us, with the intention of having a feast and
cutting up the animal into quarters) vanished at once. We were now alone,
and by this time there were about 100 yelling demons brandishing their
spears, whooping and leaping about. Under such circumstances we thought
discretion the better part of valour, so we fled with one horse between
us, and have made the best of our way to camp, riding and walking by
turns.”
This really was very alarming news, and we quite expected that we should
soon be fully occupied in defending ourselves from an attack.
We now resolved to fire the country all round and construct a strong
zareeba. Before I fell to with the axe I once more sought out my diary
and chronicled the above. All then fell to with a will, cutting down all
the prickly trees in the neighbourhood, dragging them round the camp
and so forming a very strong zareeba. This was no joke when the solar
thermometer registered about 150°, and the heat was 100° in the shade.
Whilst we were thus employed the horse-boy made his appearance, streaming
with blood, his flesh being torn by the cruel thorns as he rushed
blindly on. We now set fire to all the tall grass and bushes in the
neighbourhood. The terrific speed with which it spread was surprising,
miles of country were soon in flames. The crackling of the grass and
trees resembled more than anything else the most fierce hailstorm I ever
saw.
Now the camel-boy turned up and this was his account of the affair:—Just
as he leaped off the camel he saw Mahomet on the ground, whilst one
of the Dembelas darted his spear at him several times; then left him
writhing. He went to his assistance, and helped him along some distance,
whilst poor Mahomet supported his intestines (which had gushed out) in
his tope. At last the poor fellow sank down under a tree, saying—
“I can go no further; I shall soon die. Save yourself; make haste to camp
and tell the gentlemen to make a strong zareeba at once as they will
certainly be attacked, probably to-night.”
By this time Messrs. F. James and Colvin, who had been found by the
scouts, arrived. We at once held a council of war, and determined not
only to go in search of Mahomet, but to attack the Dembelas if we could
find them, leaving two of our company in camp to command the men in case
of attack. All the neighbouring Basé, we found, had bolted—Elongi, the
Sheik from Koolookoo, and his men, alone remained, and promised to stand
by us and fight for us if necessary.
Our armoury consisted of about 22 shot-guns and rifles, and about a dozen
six-chambered revolvers. All the camel-men and native servants were
armed with spear and shield. Having provided ourselves each with rifle,
revolver, and cartridges, our two European servants; Suleiman, Ali, and
Cheriff also; we called up our native servants. To the most trusty of
these, including Beyrumfi, our guide, Mahomet Sali, Sali, the tracker,
and Ali Bacheet, the head camel-man, we entrusted the remainder of our
firearms, but unfortunately most of them had to be instructed in the use
of them.
I provided myself with a few bandages, lint, and my pocket case of
surgical instruments, and feeling that we were embarking on a very
perilous enterprise, left instructions respecting my immortal diary,
which would convey full information up to the time of our departure from
camp.
Just as we were getting into the saddle who should turn up but the Chief
Sheik, Hoodoo, who left our last camping place the morning after his
arrival. He _appeared_ surprised at all this commotion. Whether he was
really so or not I do not know, but I am sure, from the very first, I
did not feel that I should repose in him the trustful confidence of an
innocent child.
Our little army consisted now of Messrs. F. L. and A. James, Phillipps,
Aylmer, myself, six of our men with firearms, the Koolookoo Sheik, and 15
of his men with spear and shield. We started off, on what _might_ prove
to be our last journey, about 4 p.m. And I think we shall all remember
that silent ride of eight miles up the sandy river-bed of the Mareb to
Abyssinia, shaded often by trees which thickly adorned the banks. We well
knew, as we approached Abyssinia, that each bush may conceal an enemy,
who might at any moment spring out on us unawares, and knowing this,
each one clutched his rifle with a firm grip, ready for instant use, and
determined to sell his life dearly if the worst came to the worst. I felt
that our present position was something like that of Fitz-James, when he
held the interesting conversation with Rhoderick Dhu which Sir Walter
Scott so graphically describes—
Instant, through copse and heath, arose
Bonnets, and spears, and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprang up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles grey their lances start,
The bracken-bush sends forth the dart,
The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior armed for strife.
That whistle garrisoned the glen
At once with full five hundred men,
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterranean host had given.
No one spoke above a whisper as we stole silently and quickly on, until
at last we arrived at the scene of the scuffle.
It was a wild and strange retreat,
As e’er was trod by outlaw’s feet.
The dell, upon the mountain’s crest,
Yawned like a gash on warrior’s breast.
Here, and in the neighbourhood, we searched about for Mahomet or his
assailants. We spent two hours thus unsuccessfully, until darkness warned
us it was time to return to camp.
The shades of eve come quickly down,
The woods are wrapped in deeper brown,
The owl awakens from her dell,
The fox is heard upon the fell;
Enough remains of glimmering light
To guide the wanderer’s steps aright,
Yet not enough from far to show
His figure to the watchful foe.
As we were returning, our attention was attracted to a large baobob tree
full of vultures. Sali and Mahomet Sali thought we might find Mahomet’s
bones, picked clean by these foul birds, near the tree. We, therefore,
searched that neighbourhood, but found him not.
Darkness had come on ere we had retraced our way any distance, and we
returned as silently as we had advanced, keeping well on the alert until
we neared the camp.
In dread, and danger, all alone,
Famished and chilled, through ways unknown,
Tangled and steep, we journeyed on;
Till, as a rock’s huge point we turned,
Our camp fire close before us burned.
It was about 10 p.m. by the time we got to camp. Dinner was soon on the
table. This we at once discussed, also our plans for the next day. The
line of action determined on was this—sentries were to be posted about
the camp, and a few outside to guard against surprise. These, again,
would be looked after by Suleiman. We should load up in the morning, and
return to our former camp, first of all having another hunt for Mahomet.
We could not divest our minds of the idea that we ought to attack these
Dembelas if we could find them, and thought that perhaps our dirty old
friend Hoodoo would assist us with some of the Basé. Accordingly, whilst
seated round the camp fire after dinner, he was sounded on the matter,
and promised £100 if he would lend a 100 of his people next morning.
Hoodoo mentally said, “Hoo dont.” As a cautious look stole over his black
face he raised his eyes from the camp fire for a moment, stealing a
furtive glance at us; then, as he slowly shook his head, replied—
“I and my people will be here after you are gone, and if I was to do so
the Abyssinians would come down on us, burn our villages, kill our men,
and take our women and children as slaves.”
I assure you, reader, that when that old man shook his head he did not
shake all the sense out of it. There was a good deal of logic in his
remarks, and it is highly probable that had the old man accepted the
offer made, he and many of his braves would soon have been translated (to
use an orthodox phrase), and the merry dollars would have danced off into
possession of the Dembelas; therefore the old man “deserved well of his
country.” Indeed, his diplomatic action would almost entitle him to the
appellation of a grand old man, though he did not look it.
February 12th.—The stillness of the night fortunately was not broken by
the clash of arms, and I awoke, refreshed by a sound sleep, at 6 a.m.
Whilst we were at breakfast Mr. F. James proposed that we again ask Sheik
Hoodoo to let us have 200 of his men to assist us in making a raid on
the enemy, and if he would not, that we should send the caravan back to
the last camping place, and take about 20 of our own, as we were not at
all satisfied to leave poor Mahomet (who might still be living) to his
fate. Hoodoo was accordingly approached with the same result as before,
he adding—
“I am at peace with them, and I cannot make your quarrel mine.”
The old man was about right. Six camels had yesterday been sent to
Amadeb, a garrison town, for dhurra. We therefore had to divide their
loads with the remaining camels. When most of the camels had their loads
on, we told our men that we should want some of them to go with us. This
(with the exception of about half-a-dozen) they flatly refused to do,
saying that they were engaged as camel-drivers not to fight the Dembelas.
They were evidently bent on retreating from the Abyssinian frontier
whether we were or not. Suleiman, who knew these people pretty well, now
stepped forward—
“What good you gentlemen go fight Dembelas? You only six or seven, the
Dembelas hundreds. You do no good. Mahomet, he dead now, and the vultures
eat him. If you go, these men go off with their camels. How, then, we get
out of the country? The Basé and Abyssinians then turn round and kill us
all.”
This was good reasoning. Abdullah now brought my camel ready for
starting, so—pending the settlement of “to be or not to be”—I spread
my rug on the ground and lay down to read a book, with my rifle by
my side. It was now about 11 o’clock. I had not been here above ten
minutes when I saw everyone rushing across the camp, rifle in hand,
shouting—“Hakeem,” and “Doctor, doctor—quick!” I was up in an instant,
rifle in hand, and darted across in the same direction as the others,
naturally thinking—“The time has come at last. We are in for it now with
the Dembelas.”
It was not an attack at all, but a most pitiful sight. There was poor
Mahomet, who had managed to crawl into camp, then sank exhausted on the
ground. The poor fellow turned his large soft-looking eyes piteously on
to me. He was supporting with his hands and tope as much viscera—covered
with sand dried on it, and quite adherent—as would fill a good-sized
washing-basin. My rifle was at once dropped for my dressing-case; water
was obtained, the opening (made by a spear) slightly enlarged, the
viscera washed, replaced in the cavity of the abdomen, and the opening
secured by a suture or two. He was in a state of collapse, and death
pretty certain. He had also a wound in the fleshy part of the arm, and
two others in the muscles of the back, just by the spine. Whilst I
attended to these, some extract of beef and brandy was obtained, a fire
soon kindled, and a good supply of brandy and beef-tea, administered,
which soon revived him. An angarep was then rigged up, and twelve of
the Basé (six at a time) were told off at a dollar each to carry him on
to the next camp. I followed close by, giving him brandy and beef-tea
every half-hour; but all was of no avail, for he died at 9 o’clock next
morning. He was a Mahomedan. A tope as a shroud, with some needles and
thread, were given to the friends. They would not, however, use the
needle and thread, preferring the shreds of the palm leaf. A grave
was dug near the camp, and there the poor fellow was buried; Suleiman
remarking, “These Basé, they soon have Mahomet up; they not leave that
good tope there long.” And I have no doubt he was right in his prediction.
Mahomet’s account of the scrimmage, and his escape to camp, was this:
He stated that when the Abyssinians, or Dembelas, said “aman” it meant
“Put down your arms and take your lives; we are stronger than you, so
you must give up all you have.” He noticed that they were tremendously
out-numbered, so thought it was the best thing to do. When he saw Mr.
Phillipps trying to recover his rifle, another Abyssinian was about to
strike him with the butt-end of a rifle; he rushed to his assistance,
and it was then he received the fatal spear thrust in his abdomen,
causing him to fall down on the sand, where he received two or three
more, as detailed before. When everyone ran away, he tried to struggle
on, succeeding ere night came on in getting pretty near to camp by
alternately walking and resting awhile, until at last he sat under a
tree quite exhausted. He says that he both saw and heard us when we were
returning after our search for him, and that he cried out, but could
not make us hear. The greater part of the way to camp next morning he
accomplished by crawling on his hands and knees.
Who can imagine the sufferings of the poor fellow—out all night, sitting
with his back to a tree? He said he felt the cold very much; and well
he might, as, although the thermometer registered 101°F. in the shade
at 1 p.m., it dropped to 37° by 11 p.m. He passed the night in constant
expectation of a wild beast coming to tear him in pieces. We were very
glad that we had him with us during his last few hours, where he received
every attention that we could bestow.
February 13th.—Mahomet was buried, as I said before. Little was done
to-day; one nellut and three gazelles were shot.