THE ETHIOPIAN FRONTIER.
A Draught of Water—Abou-Hammed—The Island of Mokràt—Ethiopian
Scenery—The People—An Ababdeh Apollo—Encampment on
the Nile—Tomb of an Englishman—Eesa’s Wedding—A White
Arab—The Last Day of the Year—Abou-Hashym—Incidents—Loss
of my Thermometer—The Valley of Wild Asses—The Eleventh
Cataract—Approach to Berber—Vultures—Eyoub Outwitted—We reach
El Mekheyref—The Caravan Broken up.
Achmet and I began to feel thirst, so we hurried on in advance, to the
mud hamlet of Abou-Hammed. We dismounted on the bank of the river, where
we were received by a dark Ababdeh, who was officiating in place of the
Governor, and invited me to take possession of the latter’s house. Achmet
gave him a large wooden bowl and told him to fill it from the Nile, and
we would talk to him afterwards. I shall never forget the luxury of that
long, deep draught. My body absorbed the water as rapidly as the hot sand
of the Desert, and I drank at least a quart without feeling satisfied.
I preferred my tent to the Governor’s house, and had it pitched where I
could look out on the river and the palms. Abou-Hammed is a miserable
village, inhabited by a few hundred Ababdehs and Bishàrees; the Desert
here extended to the water’s edge, while the opposite banks were as green
as emerald. There was a large mud fortress, with round bastions at the
corners, to the west of the village. It formerly belonged to an Ababdeh
Shekh, but was then deserted.
[Illustration: The Tent-Door, at Abou-Hammed.]
In the afternoon I crossed to the island of Mokràt, which lies opposite.
The vessel was a sort of a canoe, made of pieces of the doum-palm, tied
together with ropes and plastered with mud. My oarsmen were two boys of
fifteen, half-naked fellows with long, wild hair, yet very strong and
symmetrical limbs and handsome features. I landed in the shade of the
palms, and walked for half an hour along the shore, through patches of
dourra and cotton, watered by the creaking mills. The whole island, which
is upwards of twenty miles long, is level and might be made productive,
but the natives only cultivate a narrow strip along the water. The trees
were doum and date palm and acacia, and I saw in the distance others
of a rich, dark green, which appeared to be sycamore. The hippopotamus
is found here, and the boatmen showed me the enormous tracks of three,
which had made havoc among their bean-patches the day before. As I was
returning to the boat I met three natives, tall, strong, stately men. I
greeted them with “Peace be with you!” and they answered “Peace be with
you,” at the same time offering their hands. We talked for some time
in broken Arabic, and I have rarely seen such good-will expressed in
savage features. In fact, all the faces I now saw were of a superior
stamp to that of the Egyptians. They expressed not only more strength and
independence, but more kindness and gentleness.
I procured a lean sheep for eight piastres, and after Achmet had chosen
the best parts for my dinner, I gave the remainder to Eyoub and the
Bishàrees. The camels were driven down to the river, but only three drank
out of the six. I took my seat in the shade of the tent, and looked at
the broad blue current of the Nile for hours, without being wearied of
the scene. Groups of tall Bishàrees stood at a respectable distance,
gazing upon me, for a Frank traveller was no common sight. In the evening
I attempted to reduce my desert temperature by a bath in the river, but I
had become so sensitive to cold that the water made me shudder in every
nerve, and it required a double portion of pipes and coffee to restore my
natural warmth.
I left Abou-Hammed at noon the next day, having been detained by some
government tax on camels, which my Bishàrees were called upon to pay.
Our road followed the river, occasionally taking to the Desert for a
short distance, to cut off a bend, but never losing sight of the dark
clumps of palms and the vivid coloring of the grain on the western bank.
The scenery bore a very different stamp from that of Egypt. The colors
were darker, richer and stronger, the light more intense and glowing,
and all forms of vegetable and animal life penetrated with a more full
and impassioned expression of life. The green of the fields actually
seemed to throb under the fiery gush of sunshine, and the palm-leaves
to thrill and tremble in the hot blue air. The people were glorious
barbarians—large, tall, full-limbed, with open, warm, intelligent faces
and lustrous black eyes. They dress with more neatness than the Egyptian
Fellahs, and their long hair, though profusely smeared with suet, is
arranged with some taste and clothes their heads better than the dirty
cotton skull-cap. Among those I saw at Abou-Hammed were two youths of
about seventeen, who were wonderfully beautiful. One of them played a
sort of coarse reed flute, and the other a rude stringed instrument,
which he called a _tambour_. He was a superb fellow, with the purest
straight Egyptian features, and large, brilliant, melting black eyes.
Every posture of his body expressed a grace the most striking because it
was wholly unstudied. I have never seen human forms superior to these
two. The first, whom I named the Apollo Ababdese, joined my caravan,
for the journey to Berber. He carried with him all his wealth—a flute,
a sword, and a heavy shield of hippopotamus hide. His features were
as perfectly regular as the Greek, but softer and rounder in outline.
His limbs were without a fault, and the light poise of his head on the
slender neck, the fine play of his shoulder-blades and the muscles of
his back, as he walked before me, wearing only a narrow cloth around
his loins, would have charmed a sculptor’s eye. He walked among my
camel-drivers as Apollo might have walked among the other shepherds
of King Admetus. Like the god, his implement was the flute; he was a
wandering minstrel, and earned his livelihood by playing at the festivals
of the Ababdehs. His name was Eesa, the Arabic for Jesus. I should have
been willing to take several shades of his complexion if I could have had
with them his perfect ripeness, roundness and symmetry of body and limb.
He told me that he smoked no tobacco and drank no arakee, but only water
and milk—a true offshoot of the golden age!
[Illustration: Abebdeh Flute and Tambour Players.]
We encamped for the night in a cluster of doum-palms, near the Nile. The
soil, even to the edge of the millet-patches which covered the bank,
was a loose white sand, and shone like snow under the moon, while the
doum-leaves rustled with as dry and sharp a sound as bare boughs under a
northern sky. The wind blew fresh, but we were sheltered by a little rise
of land, and the tent stood firm. The temperature (72°) was delicious;
the stars sparkled radiantly, and the song of crickets among the millet
reminded me of home. No sooner had we encamped than Eesa ran off to some
huts which he spied in the distance, and told the natives that they must
immediately bring all their sheep and fowls to the Effendi. The poor
people came to inquire whether they must part with their stock, and
were very glad when they found that we wanted nothing. I took only two
cucumbers which an old man brought and humbly placed at my feet.
The next morning I walked ahead, following the river bank, but the camels
took a shorter road through the Desert, and passed me unobserved. After
walking two hours, I sought for them in every direction, and finally
came upon Ali, who was doing his best to hold my dromedary down. No
sooner had I straddled the beast than he rose and set off on a swinging
gallop to rejoin the caravan. During the day our road led along the
edge of the Desert, sometimes in the sand and sometimes over gravelly
soil, covered with patches of thorny shrubs. Until I reached the village
of Abou-Hashym, in the evening, there was no mark of cultivation on
the eastern bank, though I saw in places the signs of fields which had
long since been deserted. I passed several burying-grounds, in one of
which the guide showed me the grave of Mr. Melly, an English gentleman
who died there about a year previous, on his return to Egypt with his
family, after a journey to Khartoum. His tomb was merely an oblong
mound of unburnt brick, with a rough stone at the head and foot. It had
been strictly respected by the natives, who informed me that large sums
were given to them to keep it in order and watch it at night. They also
told me that after his death there was great difficulty in procuring a
shroud. The only muslin in the neighborhood was a piece belonging to an
old Shekh, who had kept it many years, in anticipation of his own death.
It was sacred, having been sent to Mecca and dipped in the holy well of
Zemzem. In this the body was wrapped and laid in the earth. The grave was
in a dreary spot, out of sight of the river, and surrounded by desert
thorns.
We had a strong north-wind all day. The sky was cloudless, but a fine
white film filled the air, and the distant mountains had the pale,
blue-gray tint of an English landscape. The Bishàrees wrapped themselves
closely in their mantles as they walked, but Eesa only tightened the
cloth around his loins, and allowed free play to his glorious limbs. He
informed me that he was on his way to Berber to make preparations for
his marriage, which was to take place in another moon. He and Hossayn
explained to me how the Ababdehs would then come together, feast on
camel’s flesh, and dance their sword-dances. “I shall go to your wedding,
too,” I said to Eesa. “Will you indeed, O Effendi!” he cried, with
delight: “then I shall kill my she-camel, and give you the best piece.” I
asked whether I should be kindly received among the Ababdehs, and Eyoub
declared that the men would be glad to see me, but that the women were
afraid of Franks. “But,” said Achmet, “the Effendi is no Frank.” “How is
this?” said Eyoub, turning to me. “Achmet is right,” I answered: “I am a
white Arab, from India.” “But do you not speak the Frank language, when
you talk with each other?” “No,” said Achmet, “we talk Hindustanee.” “O,
praised be Allah!” cried Hossayn, clapping his hands with joy: “praised
be Allah, that you are an Arab, like ourselves!” and there was such
pleasure in the faces of all, that I immediately repented of having
deceived them. They assured me, however, that the Ababdehs would not
only admit me into their tribe, but that I might have the handsomest
_Ababdiyeh_ that could be found, for a wife. Hossayn had already asked
Achmet to marry the eldest of his two daughters, who was then eleven
years old.
I passed the last evening of the year 1851 on the bank of the Nile, near
Abou-Hashym. There was a wild, green island on the stream, and reefs of
black rock, which broke the current into rapids. The opposite shore was
green and lovely, crowned with groups of palms, between whose stems I had
glimpses of blue mountains far to the south and west. The temperature was
mild, and the air full of the aroma of mimosa blossoms. When night came
on I enjoyed the splendid moon and starlight of the tropics, and watched
the Southern Cross rise above the horizon. The inhabitants of the village
beat their wooden drums lustily all night, to scare the hippopotami away
from their bean-fields. My dream before waking was of an immense lion,
which I had tamed, and which walked beside me—a propitious omen, said the
Arabs.
The morning was so cold that the Bishàrees were very languid in their
movements, and even I was obliged to don my capote. Eesa helped the men
in all the freedom of his naked limbs, and showed no signs of numbness.
The village of Abou-Hashym extends for three or four miles along the
river, and looked charming in the morning sunshine, with its bright
fields of wheat, cotton and dourra spread out in front of the tidy clay
houses. The men were at work among the grain, directing the course of
the water, and shy children tended the herds of black goats that browsed
on the thorns skirting the Desert. The people greeted me very cordially,
and when I stopped to wait for the camels an old man came running up to
inquire if I had lost the way. The western bank of the river is still
richer and more thickly populated, and the large town of Bedjem, capital
of the Beyooda country, lies just opposite Abou-Hashym. After leaving
the latter place our road swerved still more from the Nile, and took a
straight course over a rolling desert tract of stones and thorns, to
avoid a very long curve of the stream. The air was still strong from the
north, and the same gray vapor tempered the sunshine and toned down the
brilliant tints of the landscape.
We passed several small burying-grounds in which many of the graves were
decked with small white flags stuck on poles, and others had bowls of
water placed at the head—a custom for which I could get no explanation.
Near El Bagheyr, where we struck the river again, we met two Bedouins,
who had turned merchants and were taking a drove of camels to Egypt. One
of them had the body of a gazelle which he had shot two days before,
hanging at his saddle, and offered to sell to me, but the flesh had
become too dry and hard for my teeth. Ali succeeded in buying a pair of
fowls for three piastres, and brought me, besides, some doum-nuts, of the
last year’s growth. I could make no impression on them until the rind had
been pounded with stones. The taste was like that of dry gingerbread, and
when fresh, must be very agreeable. In the fields I noticed a new kind of
grain, the heads of which resembled rice. The natives called it _dookhn_,
and said that it was even more nutritious than wheat or dourra, though
not so palatable.
I signalized New-Year’s Day, 1852, by breaking my thermometer, which
fell out of my pocket as I was mounting my dromedary. It was impossible
to replace it, and one point wherein my journey might have been useful
was thus lost. The variations of temperature at different hours of the
day were very remarkable, and on leaving Korosko I had commenced a
record which I intended to keep during the whole of my stay in Central
Africa.[2] In the evening I found in the Nile a fish about four feet
long, which had just been killed by a crocodile. It was lying near the
water’s edge, and as I descended the bank to examine it, two slender
black serpents slid away from before my feet.
We struck the tent early the next morning, and entered on the _akaba_,
or pass of the _Wady el-homar_ (Valley of Asses). It was a barren, stony
tract, intersected with long hollows, which produced a growth of thorns
and a hard, dry grass, the blades of which cut the fingers that attempted
to pluck it. We passed two short ranges of low hills, which showed the
same strata of coal-black shale, as in the Nubian Desert. The _akaba_
takes its name from the numbers of wild asses which are found in it.
These beasts are remarkably shy and fleet, but are sometimes killed and
eaten by the Arabs. We kept a sharp look-out, but saw nothing more than
their tracks in the sand. We met several companies of the village Arabs,
travelling on foot or on donkeys. The women were unveiled, and wore the
same cotton mantle as the men, reaching from the waist to the knees. They
were all tolerably old, and, unlike the men, were excessively ugly. An
Ababdeh, riding on his dromedary, joined company with us. He was naked
to the loins, strongly and gracefully built, and sat erect on his high,
narrow saddle, as if he and his animal were one—a sort of camel-centaur.
His hair was profuse and bushy, but of a fine, silky texture, and “short
Numidian curl,” very different from the crisp wool of the genuine negro.
In the afternoon we reached the Nile again, at his Eleventh Cataract.
For a space of two or three miles his bed is filled with masses of black
rock, in some places forming dams, over which the current roars in its
swift descent. The eastern bank is desert and uninhabited, but the
western delighted the eye with the green brilliance of its fields. In a
patch of desert grass we started a large and beautiful gazelle, spotted
like a fallow-deer. I rode towards it and approached within thirty yards
before it moved away. At sunset we reached a village called Ginnaynetoo,
the commencement of the Berber country. The inhabitants, who dwelt mostly
in tents of palm-matting, were very friendly. As I was lying in my
tent, in the evening, two, who appeared to be the principal persons of
the place, came in, saluted me with “Peace be with you!” and asked for
my health, to which I replied: “Very good, Allah be praised!” Each of
them then took my hand in his, pressed it to his lips and forehead, and
quietly retired.
We resumed our march through a dry, rolling country, grown with thorns,
acacias in flower, and occasional doum-trees. Beyond the Nile, whose
current was no longer to be seen, stretched the long mountain of Berber,
which we first discerned the day previous, when crossing the rise of
the Wady el-homar. The opposite bank was a sea of vivid green, as far
as the eye could reach. Near the water the bean and lupin flourished in
thick clusters; behind them extended fields of cotton, of a rich, dark
foliage; and still beyond, tall ranks of dourra, heavy with ripening
heads. Island-like groups of date-trees and doum-palms studded this
rich bed of vegetation, and the long, blue slope of the mountain gave a
crowning charm to the landscape. As we approached the capital of Berber,
the villages on our right became more frequent, but our path still lay
over the dry plain, shimmering with the lakes of the mirage. We passed a
score of huge vultures, which had so gorged themselves with the carcase
of a camel, that they could scarcely move out of our way. Among them were
several white hawks, a company of crows, and one tall black stork, nearly
five feet in height, which walked about with the deliberate pace of a
staid clergyman. Flocks of quail rose before our very feet, and a large
gray dove, with a peculiar cooing note, was very abundant on the trees.
My _shaytan_ of a guide, Eyoub, wanted to stop at a village called El
Khassa, which we reached at two o’clock. El Mekheyref, he said, was far
ahead, and we could not get there; he would give us a sheep for our
dinner; the Effendi must prove his hospitality (but all at the Effendi’s
expense), and many other weighty reasons — but it would not do. I pushed
on ahead, made inquiries of the natives, and in two hours saw before me
the mud fortress of El Mekheyref. The camel-men, who were very tired,
from the long walk from Korosko, would willingly have stopped at El
Khassa, but when I pointed out Berber, and Achmet told them they could
not deceive me, for I had the truth written in a book, they said not a
word.
We entered the town, which was larger, cleaner and handsomer than any
place I had seen since leaving Siout. Arnaout soldiers were mixed
with the Arabs in the streets, and we met a harem of Cairene ladies
taking a walk, under the escort of two eunuchs. One of them stopped
and greeted us, and her large black eyes sparkled between the folds of
her veil as she exclaimed, in great apparent delight: “Ah, I know you
come from Cairo!” I passed through the streets, found a good place for
my tent on the high bank above the water, and by an hour before sunset
was comfortably encamped. I gave the men their backsheesh—forty-seven
piastres in all, with which they were well satisfied, and they then left
for the tents of their tribe, about two hours distant. I gave Eesa some
trinkets for his bride, which he took with “God reward you!” pressed my
hand to his lips, and then went with them.