A LION NEAR THE CAMP—THE MONKS OF CHARDAMBA—WE MEET ALI DHEEN
PASHA, GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF THE SOUDAN—ARRIVAL AT KEREN, OR
SANHÎT—THE PRIESTS AT KEREN—ACCOUNT OF KEREN—MERISSA—DRA, A
DOMESTIC SLAVE, MADE FREE—DESCENT FROM SANHÎT TO THE ANSEBA
VALLEY—THE BIRDS THERE—ALONG THE RIVER-BED OF THE LABAK—A BIG
MARCH—MASSAWA—FAREWELL TO CAMELS—MASSAWA TO SOUÂKIN—TAKE IN
CARGO—FAREWELL TO THE SOUDAN—ARRIVAL AT SUEZ.
April 9th.—About 9 o’clock we were off again, halting at 5.30 p.m. at
Adatur, on the River Bogoo. A fine leopard and hyæna were shot last
night. About 9 p.m., whilst I was writing my diary, alone in camp, the
others having gone out in search of lions, a native came up to me,
whispering, “Asset, asset, howaga” (a lion, a lion, sir). It was a lovely
moonlight night, so light that I could see to read or write distinctly.
I looked on to the river-bed in the direction indicated by the Arab, and
there, 40 yards off, I plainly saw a noble-looking lion. I was not long
in obtaining a rifle from my tent, and following him up the river-bed;
but to no purpose, as he was too far off to risk a shot at him. Finally
he turned off into a large palm grove on the opposite side, where, of
course, I did not follow him. I am told that about 14 years ago all this
neighbourhood belonged to Abyssinia, but now belongs to Egypt. From
this spot, not very far off, we noticed a most precipitous mountain,
called Chardamba, in Abyssinia; it is almost inaccessible, and can only
be ascended by taking off one’s shoes and stockings, on account of the
smoothness of the stones, at least, so Mr. Phillipps says. He and some of
his party had the curiosity to climb it last year, and nearly got killed
by stones being rolled down on them, for on the very summit of this
mountain dwell some monks who have quite eschewed the pomps and vanities
of this world. Many of them are withered, shrivelled old fellows who have
lived there without once coming down for the space of 30 or 40 years,
and, to all appearance, are one or two hundred years old. They possess a
deep well, a chapel, each one a separate apartment or den, and they grow
a little dhurra.
The next day we marched from 7.30 a.m. until 5.30 p.m., encamping
at Ashdera. On the road we met, about 1 p.m., Ali Dheen Pasha, the
Governor-General of the Soudan (who succeeded Ali Riza Pasha, a most
unpopular governor). He was coming from Massawa, and, I believe, going
on to Kassala. We had a very long pow-wow with him. He informed us that
our Abyssinian affair had created quite a sensation in Cairo, that the
Minister of the Interior had telegraphed to him asking if we were safe,
and that the Mudir of Kassala had been dismissed for not sending soldiers
with us, which, by the way, was not his fault, for we would not have
them. The palace at Massawa was built by Gordon Pasha when Governor of
the Soudan. This Ali Dheen kindly placed at our disposal, until a boat
could take us to Suez.
On the 10th April a march of about 10 miles only brought us to Keren,
or Sanhît. Soon after our arrival Réschid Pasha sent an officer, whom
Ali Dheen Pasha had sent on, to inquire if we had arrived safe, and
were comfortable. From here we sent telegrams to Massawa respecting
boats to Suez. Although our journey was a short distance, it took us
a considerable time to accomplish it. I should think, for about the
distance of a mile, we traversed a most precipitous ascent in a zig-zag
fashion; this was not far from Keren. On reaching the summit we found
ourselves in quite a different kind of country. We soon paid a visit to
the priests at Keren, who have an excellent garden. They kindly sent
us some fine cabbages leeks, carrots, potatoes, and lettuce. As we had
not seen anything of this kind for months they were, of course, a great
luxury for dinner in the evening. In the afternoon the army doctor (who
could speak French tolerably well) called on me, and as I had almost
finished my campaign I gave him the greater part of the contents of my
medicine chest. In the afternoon the tom-toms were set going, accompanied
by the peculiar trilling note of the women, to express their joy at our
arrival. They had heard that we had all been killed by the Abyssinians,
our men also, many of whom came from here—Ali Bacheet, Dra, Girgas,
and Mahomet Zanzimeer. The latter was thus called because he generally
attended to our zanzimeers when we arrived in or started from camp. Pere
Picard and another priest dined with us in the evening. After dinner
about 60 children, well clothed, nice and clean, from their schools, came
to witness the mysteries of the magic lantern; not only they, but Réschid
Pasha, with a number of officers, came also, and were much pleased. When
they took their departure rockets, together with red and blue fires, were
let off.
Keren, or Sanhît, is the capital and only town of Bogos. It is 4,469 feet
above the level of the sea, on the edge of the highlands of Abyssinia,
and on one side of a table-land, about four miles long by two broad,
surrounded by hills. Being situated in such a high position, it is
healthy at all times of the year.
This elevated plateau has for its southern boundary the Abyssinian
mountains, which come down to within about two miles of the town, which
is built just outside the gates of the fort, and consists of two short,
broad streets of very poor Greek stores, and some clusters of Abyssinian
houses and Arab huts.
About a mile distant across the plateau is the French monastery. With
the exception of the Pasha’s residence, the monastery and its adjacent
buildings are the only respectable-looking habitations there. They
have an Amharic printing press for publishing Bibles in the native
tongue, schools for educating Abyssinian boys for the priesthood, also
for the education of girls. When I was there, about four priests and a
few sisters fed, clothed, lodged, and educated upwards of 80 boys and
50 girls. They had a good schoolroom, chapel, dormitories, pharmacy,
and harmonium, which latter one of the sisters play. The children, who
looked very clean and orderly, sang very nicely a hymn in French for our
especial benefit. These priests print, bind books, have carpenter’s and
blacksmith’s shops, a dairy, vegetable garden, and appear to be a very
useful community, exercising, I should say, a great deal of self-denial
by residing in such a place as they do. They cannot certainly have a very
festive time of it, for the Egyptian authorities regard them as spies,
while, on the other hand, the Abyssinians, who distrust them, will not
allow them into their country. I must speak of these priests as I found
them. None of us were Roman Catholics, but they behaved with very great
kindness to us; and we must award them a great degree of credit for the
civilizing influence they exercised amongst these waifs and strays. The
thought that occurred to me was that if Roman Catholic priests could
be doing all this good, why not English missionaries also? There is
generally a garrison of about 1,000 soldiers at Keren. There is scarcely
any trade, as merchants will not risk their lives and goods, knowing the
hostility of the Abyssinians, who are anxious for the recovery of Keren
and the lost province of Bogos, added to which the Egyptian policy is
to isolate Abyssinia, thereby preventing the importation of arms and
ammunition for King John’s army. The Beni-Amirs and other neighbouring
tribes, who are all owners of large herds, on which they wholly subsist,
are the Egyptian subjects. Fuel is scarce, as it has to be brought from
the Anseba valley, four miles distant. Water also has to be brought
from a distance, but there is a well inside the fort which supplies the
garrison. Dhurra is dear, as the continual dread of Abyssinian raids
prevents people from cultivating, also from building decent houses. There
are no camels, and very few horses and mules.
[Illustration: MOUNTAIN PASS NEAR KEREN OR SANHÊT]
I once tasted at Kassala a kind of beer made from dhurra, called merissa,
and thought it exceptionally nasty. It is probably the same as that
mentioned by Herodotus, and is in common use in the Soudan and Upper
Egypt. I was again induced by a native, who thought he would be attentive
to me for some little professional attendance I had given to taste this
vile liquid. Thinking, perhaps, it might not be so nauseous as my last
dose, I drank some, and acted like a stoic and philosopher, for I did not
exhibit any outward and visible sign of the rebellious feelings taking
place within. But “no matter;” I mentally resolved that in whatever part
of the Soudan I might at some future time find myself, I would never
again degrade my esophagus by allowing any merissa to glide down it,
for I would just as soon have taken one of my own vile black draughts,
and infinitely have preferred a bottle of Bass’s pale ale. I have no
hesitation in saying that if merissa—a very euphonious name, so much
like Nerissa—was the usual beverage in England, the Blue Ribbon Army
would find in me a very ardent supporter, as it is more unpalatable,
thick stuff than schliva (a Bosnian drink, made from the juice of prunes,
possessing a strong asafœtida flavour). Merissa is made from dhurra,
which is allowed to germinate in the sun, then reduced to flour by
hand-mills. This, again, is converted into dough, boiled, and left to
ferment. I hope that if I ever again pollute my lips with merissa—not
Nerissa—I may be served in the same way, that is, that I may germinate in
the sun, be ground into powder, made into a pulp, boiled, and allowed to
ferment.
To-day a circumstance occurred in camp, illustrative of a curious custom
existing in the Soudan. Dra, who has been with us as a native servant
ever since we left Kassala, is, we find, a slave. Some altercation took
place this morning between Dra and another native, when the latter called
him a slave. This excited Dra’s anger to such an extent that he talked
about knifeing his accuser. However, Messrs. James and Co. enquired
into the matter, and found that he was what they call a slave—what we
should call a domestic slave or bondsman—and that it came about in this
way—Dra’s father had, some time ago, “pinched” a cow, _i.e._, purloined
it. He was ordered to pay back two within a month; failed to do so. The
fine was then doubled every month, until he owed about a hundred cows.
As there was just about as much probability of his being able to pay his
fines as there would be of my paying the National Debt, he and all his
children and children’s children became bondsmen and bondswomen of the
creditor. Should Dra, who was single, desire to marry, he would find it
difficult, under such circumstances, to obtain a wife; but should he
succeed in doing so, and children be born to him, all the males would
be slaves, and the females _compelled_ to become public women. This
little matter was talked over in the evening at the dinner table, when it
was ascertained that his freedom could be secured by the payment of 35
dollars, which my colleagues gave to the priests to effect his freedom
with. They say that papers will have to be made out and signed by the
Pasha at Keren, and that on payment of the 35 dollars he will be free. A
man then goes round the town with a trumpet, and proclaims the fact in
all directions. This, I am told, is quite typical of the system in vogue
here.
On the 11th of April, at 11 a.m., we were once more on the road to
Massawa, encamping at 5 p.m. at Gubana. Ere we left Keren a donation in
aid of the schools was given by the party, and the priests very kindly
sent us a sack of potatoes, carrots, and parsnips. As we had been without
fresh vegetables so long, these were really quite a treat. We descended
from Sanhît into the Anseba valley. About a mile from the town, in the
lowlands, were the gardens of the priests, full of vegetables, growing in
the most luxuriant manner. The trees, too, flourished, and were covered
with beautiful green foliage. Here, on reaching the river-bed, we found a
little water actually on the surface.
April 12th.—To-day we travelled 10 hours through quite a different kind
of country to what we have lately been accustomed. A great variety of
lovely plumaged birds are abundant in the Anseba valley. Even the doves
here are tinged with bright yellow, green and blue. I managed to secure
some specimens of them, the brilliant plumaged rollo-birds, paroquets,
and a fine eagle. Soon after starting our route lay up the side of a
frightfully precipitous mountain. The ascent was made by a most tortuous
pathway, where in very many places the camels walked on the brink of a
fearful abyss. Having at last reached the summit of this mountain in
safety, our descent was made by an equally horrible pathway, after which
we travelled for the greater part of our journey along a dry river-bed,
surrounded on each side by steep, precipitous mountains covered with
large cactus trees in full bloom, and gaunt, leafless, but enormous
baobob trees, and, of course, the never-to-be-forgotten prickly mimosas,
but I saw much less gum arabic exuding from them there than I did in the
Basé country. Large tamarisk trees, also, were numerous. The branches of
all kinds of trees lay scattered about in the greatest profusion, the
natives having chopped them off for the goats, sheep, and cows to feed on.
On the 13th April, another 10 hours’ march brought us to Kalamet, where
we pitched our tents for the night, having travelled through very
wild and picturesque scenery, the greater part of the distance being
along the river-bed of the Labak. Water was very near to, and in some
places on, the surface. For a distance of about two miles we journeyed
along a very deep pass; on either side of us extremely rugged, lofty,
precipitous crags, clothed with cactus trees and other bushes, through
which we occasionally discerned jackals and wild goats peeping at us with
astonishment. Scarcely any birds of any description were seen this day.
The pass, I believe, is called El Ain; a representation of it appeared
some months ago in the _Graphic_. Our camping and marching, like Bedouin
Arabs, is now nearly at an end, for in another day or two we expect to
reach Massawa, once more set our eyes on the Red Sea, and a steamer, don
decent apparel, and return to civilized life.
Our next day, April 14th, was occupied in marching to near Kamfar, a
distance of about 27 miles. This was an easy road for the camels, as
the greater part of the distance was along level ground, covered with
mimosas, more like the desert near Souâkin. We came across a few jackals,
ariels, gazelles, falcons, and extremely beautiful diminutive sun-birds,
so small that they ought to be shot with sand.
April 16th.—At 7.30 a.m. we once more, and for the last time, mounted our
camels, and made a good march of about 32 miles, arriving at Massawa at
8.30 p.m. Some of our Arabs had never before had an opportunity of seeing
the Red Sea; now that they did, their delight seemed great. We should not
have made such a long march to-day but that a messenger had been sent
from Massawa to meet us with the information that an Italian steamer
(Rubattino line) would be leaving on the morrow, and that if we missed
that we might, perhaps, have to wait two or three weeks ere we should get
another. However, we did not intend to wait, for we should have chartered
a stambouk from there to Aden, there catching a P. and O. boat for Suez.
Massawa, the principal sea-port of Abyssinia, is on a small barren
coral island in the Red Sea, about a mile long, by 400 yards broad, at
the northern extremity of the Bay of Arkeeko. It is connected with the
mainland by a causeway a mile in length, built across the shallow water.
There are barracks and huts for about 1,000 soldiers. It is badly off
for water. This has to be carried two miles to the town. The town is
built partly of stone and coral, but most of the houses are constructed
of poles and bent grass, and surrounded by a reed fence. The most
considerable buildings are the mosques, the houses of the traders, and a
few warehouses, which are built of coral, and the bazaar.
The surrounding country is little cultivated, and industry paralysed
by fear of raids by the Abyssinians. But little trade is done with the
Soudan; formerly a brisk trade was done with slaves, and that seems
likely to be the case again. Most of the imports come from Abyssinia.
They are grain, gold, cotton, manufactures, glass-wares, spices,
arms, cutlery, hides, butter, wines and spirits. Principal exports,
rhinoceros-horns, gold, ivory, honey and wax.
As usual, vexatious export and import duties are imposed by Egypt. No
guns or powder are allowed to be imported. There are very few camels, and
horses and mules are scarce and dear. The population has been estimated
at about 4,000. The island is dependent on Egypt, and is ruled by a
governor appointed by the Khedive. The chief inhabitants of Massawa are
a few Greeks and Italians, an Italian and French Consul, one Englishman,
and a small colony of Banians, through whose hands almost all the trade
passes.
On arriving at Massawa I took my leave of camel riding, and cannot say I
was sorry, having ridden, probably about 2,000 miles on caravan camels,
which roared at me when I mounted them, roared when I dismounted, roared
if I passed them, and roared if I looked at them. My knickerbockers were
just about done for, and I should not like to say how many hours I had
spent in repairing them, on two occasions, with a girba cut up. The Bey
soon put in an appearance; had a bit of a pow-wow; gave us coffee and
cigarettes, then showed us to the palace, where we had our camp-beds once
more unfolded.
April 17th.—So much had to be done to-day—paying servants, selling
camels, and tents, &c., that we found it impossible to get away. Word to
this effect was sent to the Italian steamer, so the Captain has postponed
his departure until to-morrow. Abdullah, a negro, who had always seen
to getting my camel ready, helping to pitch and take down my tent, and
otherwise proved a faithful henchman, presented me with his spear,
and kissed my hand. I rewarded him with a small pin-fire revolver, 50
cartridges, a good knife, a razor, two dollars, and my knickerbockers.
His delight was unbounded, possibly at receiving the last-named
unmentionables. I am told that at an island near here a considerable
pearl fishery is carried on, and that at another island close by large
quantities of fine melons are grown.
[Illustration: THE CAUSEWAY AT MASSAWAH.]
At 8.15 a.m. the next morning we took our leave of the Soudan. The Bey
had received orders to pay us every attention. He accordingly sent a
gunboat, manned by sailors of the navy, with an officer, and we were at
once rowed off to our steamer, bound for Suez. In the evening of the
next day, at 5.30 p.m., we anchored at Souâkin. I and two others went
ashore and spent the evening with Mr. Bulay (who was always most kind
and obliging), returning to the ship at 10.30 p.m. All sorts of dreadful
reports about the attack of the Dembelas on us had reached him, which,
fortunately, were not true. Other startling news he gave us, such as that
the Queen had been again shot at; that Arabi Pasha was getting a power
in the State, and that the Khedive was likely to be dethroned, and Arabi
substituted.
About an hour before we dropped anchor at Souâkin some of our boxes
arrived from Kassala. We are likely to remain here two or three days
taking in cargo. The day before we left Souâkin a French Consul
and two American gentlemen (a doctor and missionary, who were at
Shepheard’s Hotel in November last at the same time that we were), came
on board. They had been to the White Nile. We have quite a menagerie
on board—parrots, paroquets, tiger-cats, jackals, monkeys, baboons,
extraordinary looking geese, two enormous tortoises, and other animals.
We took on board a good many cattle for Suez, and left the Soudan for
good at 9 a.m. next day, April 22nd, arriving, after a very pleasant, but
warm voyage, at Suez about 3 a.m. At 8 we went ashore and breakfasted at
the Suez Hotel. Of course Mr. Clarke, the excellent and obliging manager
of this hotel, related the usual tale of our horrible massacre, &c.