* * * * *
“This is the house that Jack built.”
* * * * *
KARNAC TO ORGOODT.
The well at Karnac. — Boota. — Friendly ostriches, — Broosh. — The
shiekh and the frying-pan. — A visit to a “tuckle.” — A novel banking
account. — “Tobes.” — “Merissa.” — An universal genius. — A little
letter. — My victory. — Abiad. — Hyenas. — Vultures. — Scorpions. —
Spiders.
THE well at Karnac is the widest and deepest in Darfoor. With the
exception of twelve feet of superimposed sandy soil, it is sunk through
solid sandstone rock; its width is from nine to ten feet, and its depth,
to the surface of the water, two hundred and eighty feet. When and by
whom made, is a mystery; it is however certain that the present
inhabitants of Darfoor have neither the energy nor the skill for such a
piece of work, and, moreover, they do not possess the necessary tools.
The well itself bears evidence of age; the four timbers, trunks of
trees, originally placed flat one on each of the four edges of what was
once the top of the well, are still there, and are worn in many parts
nearly through by the friction of the ropes used in drawing the water.
As each set of timbers in course of time became useless another set was
placed above it, to be in turn sawn nearly through in a hundred
different places. There are fifteen of these sets, one above the other,
each of which has served its time for several years. The wood used is
the hardest gum tree (sont), on which a sharp knife will scarcely make a
mark. Supposing each set of timbers to last only for twenty years, the
minimum age of the well would be three hundred years. I have, however,
been told that this wood will easily stand for fifty years.
The soldiers and some of the drivers sat on the ground round the well,
mending the water-skins with needles and pack-thread. The remainder of
the men, assisted by the villagers, drew water for the camels; there
being, however, but one well, the process was slow, and only about half
the number of the animals had drunk before night. As food was very
scarce in the neighbourhood, owing to so much of the ground having been
cleared for cultivation, I decided to go on with our journey next day to
Boota, only three hours distant, where the remainder of the camels could
drink, and where food for them was plentiful. Our road lay to the west,
over a spur of the mountains, up one valley and down another, the Wady
es Sayal, at the bottom of which lies Boota, very picturesquely placed,
with the rocks, Gebel Bobei, on the north covered to their tops with
thorn-bushes, and an extensive hummocky plain to the south. Like Karnac,
Boota has but one well, cut through the rock to a depth of one hundred
and fifty feet; and, judging from the number of timbers that have been
nearly worn through by the friction of the ropes, of even greater
antiquity. That part of it between the lowest timbers and the surface of
the sandstone, a depth of twenty feet, is built in with stone, not
cemented, but extremely well laid and certainly very different from
anything the people seem able to do at present, when their architecture
reaches the limit of its splendour in the “tuckle” and the mud walls of
the Sultan’s palace at El Fasher. The number of inhabitants in Boota is
three hundred and fifteen, possessing among them two hundred and forty
sheep, one hundred and fifty cows, and one tame ostrich. In addition to
“duchn” they grow “doura” and cotton, and have two looms in the village,
where a cloth similar to that of Old Dongola is woven.
On the following morning we left Boota early, as the journey before us
was a long one. The camels travelled light, as we were not now compelled
to carry water for more than a day, the villages on our route being not
more than a day’s journey apart. From the rocks on the right, which we
often climbed, we saw one or two villages among the scrub hidden from
view while we were on the path below. Twice on the path we came upon a
featherless ostrich from a neighbouring village, out on a foraging
expedition. One of these joined our caravan and marched side by side
with the camels; finding it impossible to drive him away, we were
obliged to give him in charge of the authorities on our arrival at
Broosh the same evening.
Broosh lies a little off the track among the scattered rocks to the
right. It has three wells, and is larger than any village we had yet
come to. The population is three hundred and eighty-two, with cattle,
sheep, donkeys and ostriches amounting to nearly fifteen hundred. A
market is held twice a week, and is resorted to by the dwellers in the
few villages scattered over the plain. Business was not quite finished
on my arrival; nothing, however, remained to be sold but about half an
ounce of green tobacco and some six or seven dry bamias (small
vegetables), the property of a supremely hideous old woman, whose
ghastly and withered face had probably frightened away the customers.
Returning to the tents, I went to hurry up the cook about the dinner, as
it was already past our time and no cloth was yet laid. I found him in
the midst of his labours entertaining a handsome and stalwart Foorawee.
The latter, the shiekh of the village, was examining with intense
curiosity every utensil in the kitchen, and at the moment of my arrival
his admiring gaze was riveted on a frying-pan which he held in his hand.
He first played on it with the fingers of his right hand, and not
satisfied with the tone elicited, he next handled it as though it were a
club, and finally laid it down evidently divided in his mind as to
whether it was a musical instrument or a weapon of war. He rose and
bowed, and told me he had brought a present, two kid skins filled with
tobacco. These I accepted and offered my hand, which he at first refused
to take, saying his own was _black_ from having handled the frying-pan.
He washed it very carefully with water that Jacoob gave him, and after
drying it on his wearing apparel gave it to me to shake.
I invited him into the tent and begged him to sit down. This he at once
did on the carpet, on which I offered him a chair. It was quite a novel
pleasure to watch his child-like delight at everything he saw in the
tent. His questions were as numerous as bewildering; the folding chairs,
and, above all, the folding bedsteads, afforded him matter for great
marvel and a hundred questions. He examined everything carefully, and
after many inquiries concerning each article, invariably finished up by
asking whether I had made it. I could only say “No,” and after each “no”
I felt that I sank lower in his estimation until the end of the
examination, when it was evident he only looked upon me as a very
ordinary kind of individual. Dinner arrived shortly, and he rose to
retire, his last question being, did I make the knives and forks? He
begged me to come, after dinner, to his “tuckle” to taste his “merissa”
and tobacco, which he assured me were very good, and that he should
esteem it a great honour if I would accept his invitation.
After dinner I walked over. I had been much amused by his conversation,
and it was now my turn to put questions, and to learn what I could of
the manners and customs of the people at Darfoor. The entrance to the
tuckle was about three feet high, and two feet wide, and getting inside
necessitated going down on hands and knees in a very undignified
position. The interior was in perfect darkness, and I suggested some
candles; these he volunteered to go and tell Jacoob to bring, as well as
a table and chairs, cigars, &c. &c. The furniture of the tuckle was not
sumptuous; it consisted of an “angereb,” on which was seated his wife, a
girl of about sixteen, nursing an infant; a few earthenware pots
containing sour milk, water, and “merissa”; a skin or two filled with
“duchn,” and two stones for grinding it. Besides these there was piled
up on one side a heap of dirty blue rags, which by no means added to the
elegance of the appartment, or to the purity of its atmosphere. These
were current coin of the realm, they were never made into clothes, or
converted to any other use; and, until the Egyptian occupation, the
people had known no other kind of money. The rags varied in size from
half a yard wide, and two or three yards long, to small pieces about the
size of a sheet of foolscap; these last counted in the market for two
piastres tariff, or nearly fivepence, and, from the magnitude of the
heap, I could readily believe my host’s assertion, that this odoriferous
banking account represented two hundred dollars, or £40. The cloth was
not of English manufacture, but was such as is woven in Bombay, and had
found its way into Darfoor through Massowah and Khartoom. Behind the
“angereb,” between it and the wall, was a heap of “tobes,” rolls of
Manchester cotton cloth of the poorest possible kind, such as is never
seen in Europe, manufactured solely for the “Oriental market”; the trade
mark of the firm was stamped outside, and in many cases the gilt-edged
paper ticket was still attached. The “tobe” is the money standard, and
had always served as a dollar; now, however, it fluctuated materially,
and he complained bitterly of his loss. The introduction of real silver
dollars, and the rejection of the “tobe” in exchange by the new comers,
had caused its value to diminish, and in some parts of Darfoor it had
fallen to a sixth part of its former value. In Broosh it had already
reached a third, and was falling still lower every day. As he had
already lost so much, I advised him to part with his blue rags, and
convert them into silver money, which, I told him, always fetched its
value in every part of the world. This proposition of mine was, however,
by no means warmly received; he firmly believed they must keep up their
value, the people would never do without them. He brought an armful from
the heap on to the table, and commenced expatiating on the fineness and
strength of the texture. Not wishing to get an attack of typhoid fever,
I told him to put them away; the lady, moreover, had commenced to put in
serious objections to parting with the family property, and was becoming
very voluble. She politely suggested that I should mind my own business,
which I did, and begged her to try a cigar; after this we were soon very
good friends.
The young shiekh now sat down and ordered his wife to serve up some
“merissa.” The flavour was as of sour milk mixed with rum, and, although
the heat of the spirit was mellowed by the milk, I could easily tell
that it must be very intoxicating. This, with the circumstance of its
surface being ornamented with several dead flies, and numerous legs and
wings of other insects, and covered with dust, prevented my indulging in
it copiously, which, however, my host and his lady did, occasionally
giving the infant a drop to quiet it. He entered into his affairs
voluntarily; he told me he had been shiekh only three months, having on
the death of his predecessor, been appointed, owing to his wealth, by
Ismail Pasha Ayoob, then Governor of Darfoor. He had just returned from
El Obeid, the capital of Khordofan, where he had been offered the
contract for the erection of the telegraph posts for the new line of
wires to El Fasher. The result of his visit was that he had refused the
contract; he could not understand the business of the telegraph. When
its use was explained, and the working of the instrument shown him, he
had come to the conclusion that some kind of sorcery must be connected
with it, and had come home in a state of great consternation, determined
never again to go anywhere in sight of a telegraph post. The contract
was accepted by the shiekh of the Hamr Arabs at Om-Badr, who emigrated
with half his tribe to El Obeid, and successfully put up the posts.
My host now asked me whether it was true, as he had been told, that far
away across the great sea to the north—further away than he could
say—but, at least, as far as the moon, there was a land whose people
were very learned, and knew everything, and could make everything;
whether I came from that land, and how it was I could not make the
wonderful things like the other people there? I told him there were such
lands, and that I came from one of them which was a long way off, but
not so far as the moon, and that the inhabitants were skilled workers,
and made the wonderful things he had seen in the tent, and many other
far greater things besides.
His emulation was excited; he pointed to his “angereb,” and told me he
had made that; then to the cloth he wore, he had woven it; the
“merissa,” too, he made himself, as well as the earthenware pots in
which it was kept; and his delight and pride reached their height when,
looking up and pointing to the top of his “tuckle,” he assured me that
he, unassisted, had built that also. It was fearfully and wonderfully
made; the earth rammed hard, not only inside, but for a yard or more on
the outside; the circle struck with geometrical accuracy; the upright
sticks, sought with great care and labour, fixed firm at equal distances
of three or four inches, and interwoven neatly and exactly, with the
longest obtainable stalks of “duchn”; the little interstices, where any
appeared, jealously filled with warm cotton, to keep the wind away from
his wife and child, and the whole, pulled tightly together at the top,
and securely fastened, and resembling in all but size and material, the
beautiful dome of St. Paul’s. Even this was not all; he had not
forgotten dangers other than the storms. He took me outside to show me
an old piece of blue plate he had fastened into the wall, about three
feet above the doorway; this was to keep away the evil eye, and the
“afreets,” or evil genii, who might otherwise come in the night and
swallow his child, drink up all his “merissa,” run away with his wife,
or commit other atrocities as appalling or unpleasant.
Here, then, was a man who not only made his own furniture, pots, and
clothes, and brewed his own drink, but built his own house, and
successfully insured it against all dangers, whether of the natural or
of the supernatural kind. I must confess that, compared to him, I felt
myself rather a helpless creature in the world. What could I say or do
to rival such universal ability? I might certainly tell him of
Shakespere, of Milton, of Martin Tupper, of Walter Scott, of the
“Pickwick Papers,” of “Robinson Crusoe”; of our great artists,
philosophers, and inventors; of our stupendous Lord Mayor; of our
boundless empire on which the sun never sets; of London itself, the
capital of the world, on which it never shines; of our invincible army;
of our matchless iron fleet demonstrating about in every nook and corner
of the globe, and of a thousand other wonderful persons and things that
form the envy of every foreign nation privileged to behold, or to read
about them; but no glory or light from these was reflected from me. I
was about to candidly and humiliatingly admit my inferiority, when
Jacoob came in with a short note in pencil: “Come and have a game at
double-dummy, the water is boiling.”
This little note, simple in its simplicity, was the victory of
civilisation over barbarism.
My host asked me whether I could read and write. I answered in the
affirmative. My superiority was at once established; his admiration knew
no bounds, I had overwhelmed him, he was completely dumbfounded; he had
no idea he was entertaining so exalted a personage. My victory was
absolute, and the rout of the enemy utter. Not wishing to lose my
advantage, I determined to beat a retreat, and left him to finish his
“merissa” alone. The lady had already succumbed to its influence, and,
after dropping her baby once or twice on the ground, had finally gone to
sleep on the “angereb.”
Next morning we passed, on the track, two villages each about the size
of Broosh—Om-es-Shay-es-Shat and Om-es-Seraydeh. After reaching the
latter the camel track turns northward over the rocks towards Abiad, the
only place about here where the wells are sufficiently numerous to
afford facilities for watering large caravans. We rested this night at
the small village of Welled Ghindi, near the Wady Ghindi. The scenery
towards the head of the valley is strikingly grand, the rocks assuming
every conceivable form, each of them in my imagination resembled some
temple, church, or palace with which my memory was familiar. At about
one o’clock next day we descended from the heights into the Wady Abiad,
and after four hours travelling due north along its bed, with the nearly
perpendicular wall of rocks on our right hand, we came to Abiad at the
top of the valley.
Abiad (white) is about half a mile from the wells among the mountains.
As villages go in Darfoor it is a very large one, and may be said to
rank as a town. The population amounts to thirteen hundred and fifty,
with large herds of cattle, sheep, and goats, and many donkeys and
ostriches. The architecture of the buildings is, however, in no way
varied from that of those I have described at Karnac. We remained here
one day to allow the camels to drink, and started next morning towards
Ergoodt along the track which, like that approaching Karnac, is bounded
on each side by thick bush. After about an hour’s journey I came upon a
gorged hyena gracefully reposing under a tree on the path. The camel
took no notice of him, but the hyena moved off a few yards into the bush
and lay down again to sleep. These animals are nearly as tame as the
ostriches. There are generally two or three round a village, into which
they are allowed free entry, all live stock being perfectly safe from
their depredations. Once or twice a week, during the nights, they pay
their visits and surfeit themselves on the offal which has accumulated
since they were last there. They are perfect scavengers, and the
inhabitants look upon them with favour accordingly. Vultures are more
numerous, but less regular in their attendance; they seem able to pick
up a good living in the country round, and never come to the villages
except on the occasion of an important death, such as that of a horse,
camel, or donkey, when they are always prompt to attend the funeral,
from whatever distance the duty may call them. It is the vulture that,
when in the desert a camel drops down under his load to die, picks its
bones clean, and leaves them whitening in the sun miles away from any
land in which the hyena can exist.
Insects, such as scorpions and hunting-spiders, are rather plentiful
about here; the latter, although their bite is poisonous, we never
interfered with. All evening and night, while the flies slept on the
inner surface of the tents, the spiders darted among them, destroying
hundreds. Of the two evils we preferred the spiders. To the scorpions,
however, we showed no mercy; they seem to be perfectly useless insects,
and possess no graces, either of appearance or character, to awaken
sympathy even in the most tender-hearted person. We sometimes found them
under the beds, and always thought it wise to carefully examine our
boots and clothes, and especially our hats, before induing them in the
morning. Fortunately I was never stung by one of them, and am
consequently not in a position to say whether their sting is fatal or
only painful, but judging from the unsightly and malicious aspect of the
bloated yellow insect, some two and a half inches in length, with the
small drop of purple venom visible in its transparent tail, I should
say, at least, that it was not pleasant. Of insects other than noxious,
with the exception of a few very large and beautifully-marked
grasshoppers, near Karnac, we had as yet not seen any. The bushes,
however, in this part, and for the preceding week of our travelling,
were thickly hung with tough white cocoons, about an inch and a half
long and a quarter of an inch in diameter. In some parts the scrub was
quite white with them, and from a distance it might easily be imagined
that a fall of snow had taken place.
At nine o’clock on the morning of March 19th, after passing Derrit
Homar, a considerable mountain with a ruined village at its foot,
deserted, owing to the wells having years ago dried up, we reached
Ergoodt, the capital of a governorship or small province, containing
twelve or fifteen hundred inhabitants.
[Decoration]