* * * * *
“Little Bo Peep _he_ lost _his_ sheep.”
NURSERY RHYMES.
* * * * *
OM-BADR.
Confiding animals. — A threat. — Our reply. — The Hamr Arabs. — The
Hakeem. — Hard bargains. — His patients. — His farm. — Serenading. —
Travelling merchants. — The Hamr camp. — A prescription. — A long ride.
BY one o’clock or half-past on the morning of our arrival at Om-Badr the
ten thousand camels and other animals, having finished their potations,
had all cleared away from the wells to the valleys among the rocks to
the west, and we saw no more of them until morning, at sunrise, when
they again came down to drink.
We had pitched our camp on the plain not very far from the wells, but
the camels arriving fast and numerous began to incommode us by too close
proximity to the tent-ropes, tumbling over them and endangering the
perpendicularity of the tents. The goats and sheep were even more
troublesome; many of them walked right into the tent to share with us
the shelter from the sun, while others sought the shade outside and lay
down close against the canvas. As we required our tents for our own use
and not for that of these confiding animals, we decided to move quarters
to a more desirable locality, for all our efforts to keep out the goats
and sheep, or to drive off the camels, were not of the least avail. As
soon as the crowd had moved away we selected a site on the north side of
the plain, and shifted camp a short distance up the gentle slope of a
hill where we were not likely to be molested.
In the course of the afternoon a large number of Arabs, armed with
spears and swords, came down in a body, and sent word by one of our
drivers that we must depart that night, and that they would prevent our
drinking at their wells. As this was a matter of life or death to us, it
can easily be conceived that we did not comply with their demand: it
was, however, necessary to come to an immediate understanding on a fixed
and satisfactory basis. We sent back word that we did not wish to be
interfered with or to interfere with them, but that if they attempted to
annoy us we should be compelled to take measures in our own defence, and
should prevent _them_ and _their_ animals from using the wells during
the time of our stay; nevertheless, if the shiekhs of the tribe would
come to the camp we should be glad to talk the matter over. Meantime our
sixteen soldiers and the two sergeants were drawn up in martial array,
with Mohommed, the commander-in-chief, strutting about in the front.
Their appearance was dangerous and produced its effect; the shiekhs came
into camp, we invited them into the tents, gave them good coffee and
tolerable cigars, and they informed us, with perfect gravity, that they
had only sent word that we were not to drink _all_ the water. To this
condition, with gravity less perfect than theirs, we unhesitatingly
agreed, and a lasting friendship was at once begun and continued as long
as we remained in the neighbourhood. I noticed, however, that my old
friend, the shiekh of the Beni-Hamran, did not put in an appearance; he
was, it afterwards appeared, thoroughly ashamed of himself.
The Hamr are the richest of all the nomads in this part of Africa, far
exceeding in numbers the nomad portion of the Kabbabbeesh, and almost
equalling the whole of that tribe including the settlers on the banks of
the Nile. They also roam over a great extent of territory. The
Kabbabbeesh seldom go further south than Bagghareeyeh, although, in
peaceful times, they are not considered trespassers at Om-Badr. The
Hamr, however, fix their temporary homes sometimes at Om-Badr, sometimes
in the west of Darfoor, and sometimes in the extreme south of Khordofan,
where much intermarrying and concubinage with the negro tribes still
further to the south has markedly impaired their purity as an Arab race.
Om-Badr has always been a favourite resting-place. Until the year before
our arrival it was outside Egyptian territory and free from taxation;
the altered state of affairs, consequent on the annexation of Darfoor,
had only been practically communicated to the Hamr round the wells
shortly before our arrival, and the disagreeable frame of mind in which
we found them may have been mainly due to this cause. Their ill-feeling
towards us did not, however, last long. Through some channel the
knowledge reached them that a “Hakeem” was with us in the camp, and this
fact at once secured for us the friendship of the whole tribe.
A doctor in the East, especially among Mohommedans, moves about in a
surrounding of respect amounting almost to adoration. An ignorant and
abject worship equal to that which the illiterate of the dark ages
offered to a priesthood almost as illiterate as themselves is, in the
East, now lavished ten times over upon any Bob Sawyer who elects to
wander away sufficiently far from civilisation. In Lower Egypt which,
without doing violence to truth, may be said to be not far removed from
a state approaching semi-civilisation, Bob Sawyer is to a very great
extent played out. Amongst the Fellaheen, with their thousand different
kinds of ills, he is still a great personage, and may, perhaps, reap a
tolerable harvest; but in Cairo and Alexandria, and the larger towns, he
is estimated at his just value, and only meets with the same courtesy
that is vouchsafed to ordinary mortals. It is in the far-off desert
among the wondering and superstitious Arabs that the word “Hakeem”
exercises its magic power. Often sick, often diseased, or maimed by
accident, the only resource the poor Arab has is prayer. Perhaps if the
shiekh, or any father of the tribe, is able to read, he may select from
the Koran a suitable passage and give it to the patient, copied out on a
piece of consecrated paper, to chew and swallow; other treatment there
is none.
The advent of a doctor at Om-Badr was therefore a great event, and on
the morning following our arrival patients flocked in crowds to his
tent. The “Hakeem Ingleesi” ranks amongst the Arabs before all others.
Two pairs of Aberdeen tartan trousers, hanging on the tent-ropes to air,
suggested to these benighted people no hint that the “Hakeem” was,
perhaps, not strictly entitled to be called “Ingleesi,” and the offer of
two or three dozen empty bottles marked “Glenlivat whisky,” offered in
exchange for as many fowls, or an equivalent in sheep, afforded them no
information that he hailed from that part of the British kingdom whose
inhabitants are famed alike for driving hard bargains, and for
distilling and drinking the mellow fluid which had not long ago formed
the contents of the bottles.
Trade commenced at once and very briskly; each bottle was carefully held
up to the light to see that it contained no flaw. The corks, which had
been religiously preserved, as they materially enhance the value of the
bottles, were alternately fitted in and withdrawn; and the beauties of
the labels, radiant in silver and gold, were duly pointed out by the
doctor, and expatiated upon in eloquent language, which elicited an
admiration almost bordering on the unbounded. The scrutiny at length
complete, an equal number of fowls was brought, and, after minute
examination of them each, the bargain was concluded.
The patients were nearly all women, all of the semi- or full negro type,
more or less pronounced. The Hamr keep their thoroughbred Arab wives at
home in seclusion; they have not many of them, and they prize them
accordingly; they treat them with tenderness and regard, and in every
respect like ladies. To be a Hamr wife is a lot envied by many of the
women of other tribes.
Most of the patients brought their encumbrances, infants in arms—not in
arms—strapped to the back; children, of from one to two years old, held
by the hand, walking barefooted over the stones, and grown girls of
eleven or twelve who came down with their mothers to see the “Hakeem
Ingleesi.”
The story of the pains of all these people was long and varied: many of
their ailments were real, some imaginary; some mentionable, others not;
some curable, others past hope; some known, others never hitherto heard
of.
One of the women at a time was admitted into the tent; the fee per visit
was half a sheep, half a goat, or nine fowls; no dead meat to be
considered legal tender. Two women, the one ailing, the other not,
possessed of a sheep between them, would club their halves together and
hand over the united living fee for the pleasure of seeing and of being
treated by the “Hakeem.”
The treatment was not much varied; one woman had a wen, another was
lame, a third suffered much from toothache; a dose of castor-oil, a
little pyretic saline, or a few pills, sent them away relieved, if not
in body, at least in mind.
The doctor was rapidly accumulating a large farm.
Later on in the afternoon the patients came down with their musical
instruments and serenaded their benefactor; their theme was his praise,
the song the usual monotonous drone. Mohommed Effendi made, at my
request, some notes of the words, which I give as literally as possible
below:
“The Hakeem came among us;
The Hakeem is good and wise;
The Hakeem will do us good;
Allah sent us the Hakeem.
We see the Hakeem’s face;
His face is as the moon;
He will always be remembered;
Our children see his face.
The Hakeem came from far,
From the ‘Bahr’[9] to cure our pain;
We cannot forget his face;
Allah sent us the Hakeem.
The sun shines on his path,
The moon on his tent at night;
He will always be remembered,
He has done our children good.”
The lieutenant read very much more in the same primitive and not
unpoetic strain. He devoted all the afternoon to listening to and
reporting the song, which was by no means continuous; it was, of course,
“impromptu,” and, although the same ideas occurred many times over, no
two sets of lines were precisely similar.
The professional visits were repeated next morning, and every following
morning; each afternoon was devoted to music and song, while the Hakeem
sat smiling in his tent, smoked his long “chibook,” and did his utmost
to empty a bottle, which he afterwards exchanged for a fowl. By the time
we were ready to proceed on our journey, he had earned by bottles and
fees so many sheep, goats, and fowls, that it was quite impossible for
us to carry water for them to drink; he was therefore constrained to
leave them behind in charge of one of the shiekhs. Neither the doctor,
nor any one of us, ever again saw that shiekh, or those sheep, goats,
and fowls.
Little Bo Peep had lost his sheep.
The tents, which, as I mentioned in chapter viii., were pitched on the
sand-hills at the top of the pass by which our caravan approached from
the Wady Milkh, belonged to travelling merchants from Old Dongola, on
the way to El Fasher, who had followed the same route as ourselves. The
merchants, whose camels had only been hired to carry them as far as Om-
Badr, had been here for fifty days haggling with the Hamr about the
price of others. The value of time counted with them for nothing, and
they told us they intended, if necessary, to remain fifty days longer,
on the chance of finding camels going that way. Fourteen dollars was the
price they offered per camel to El Fasher; this, however, the Arabs
refused to accept, although they were willing to sell camels at ten
dollars a piece. What arrangement was ultimately come to I do not know;
but, from their not arriving at El Fasher during the time we were there,
I have reason to believe that they continued at Om-Badr for three weeks
or a month at least.
The camp, or temporary village, where the Hamr had made their home, two
or three miles away, consisted of tents, probably a thousand in number,
extending for a length of more than a mile on each side of two nearly
parallel valleys, both debouching into the plain of Om-Badr. The tents
were erected with more view to comfort and seclusion than those of the
Kabbabbeesh at Sotaire; three rows of poles, the highest in the centre,
formed the supports, and the covering was securely fastened down on
three sides to pegs in the ground. The outline of the roof, two hanging
curves, gave the tents the form which has influenced the architecture of
many eastern nations, seen in the pagodas of the Mongols in China, and
in the kiosks of the Turks in Europe, and sometimes imitated in the
roofs of the summer-houses in our gardens at home.
For miles round the camp in all directions, the large herds, attended by
the children, browsed on the slopes of the hills, and in the hollows and
valleys. On the occasion of my visit one afternoon, only three or four
camels, and as many cattle, were in the camp, left at home invalided, in
charge of a mouldering Arabess learned in pathology. Charms were hung
from the necks of the sick animals, and a mess of crushed “duchn” (a
grain grown in Darfoor), prepared with milk, was given them for food, in
which a verse from the Korân, cut into little bits, was stirred up to
ensure the speedy and lasting efficacy of the treatment. The old lady
repeated to me the verse used on this occasion, and assured me it had
never been known to fail in curing all diseases to which camels and
cattle are subject. I give the translation I made at the time: “Thanks
to Allah, for He made the whole world, the earth, and the sky, and the
light, and the darkness. Those who know not Allah consider other gods
the same. He has made you of clay, and has written how long you shall
live. Only He knows how long; you know not, and do not believe.” I was
afterwards informed that the above lines form the commencement of
chapter vi. of the Korân, and that that chapter is specially devoted to
the subject of cattle.
In my wanderings through the camp I was well received by all, the
general desire evidently being to atone for their previous bad
behaviour. In one case I was pressed to share in a repast, the
inducement offered being a large piece of roast beef; but knowing that,
except on occasions of great festivities—such as a marriage or a
funeral—an ox is never killed by these Arabs, unless to save it from a
speedily approaching natural end, I declined the proffered kindness, and
walked home to the tents to partake of my own humble meal.
On March 6th we finished our sketch-map from Sotaire, the barometrical
readings were reduced, and the proposed centre-line was drawn on for the
guidance of the Khartoom party, who would be expected to carry their
work as far as Om-Badr, where we should join them with our own work on
our way back. One of our Arabs, whose “hygeem” we knew to be a good one,
was despatched with the map, and with letters for England, back to
Sotaire, thence to travel in a straight lines towards Khartoom, to find,
if possible, the party which was then working on that branch line. He
went away alone with a skin of water on one side of his camel, and a
skin of “doura” on the other. He reached Sotaire, a distance of nearly
three hundred miles, in five days, and in two days more discovered those
of whom he had been sent in quest, about a hundred miles further on,
midway between Sotaire and Khartoom. Resting a day for a reply to our
message, he rode in two days to Khartoom, a further distance of eighty
miles, posted our letters to England, and started off on his return
journey. He joined us in El Fasher, twenty-seven days after his
departure from Om-Badr, having travelled in that time a distance of over
eleven hundred miles on the same animal. He had not once replenished his
skin of “doura,” which held about three gallons, and which still
contained two or three handfuls on his arrival at El Fasher on the
afternoon of 2nd April.
[Decoration]