THEY WHO MUST BE OBEYED
Few mightier monarchs than Menelek II of Abyssinia ever swayed the
destinies of a people. Throughout the vast territory of the Abyssinian
highlands his individual will is law to some millions of subjects; law
also to hordes of savage Mohammedan and pagan tribesmen without the
confines of his kingdom. His court includes no councillors. Alone
throughout the long years of his reign Menelek has dealt with all
domestic and foreign affairs of state.
But now this last splendid survival of the feudal absolutism exercised
and enjoyed by mediaeval rulers is about to disappear beneath
encroaching waves of civilization, that do not long spare the
picturesque. Cables from far-off Adis Ababa, Menelek's capital, bring
news that he has formed a cabinet and published the appointment of
Ministers of War, Finance, Justice, Foreign Affairs, and Commerce. And
this change has come, not from the pressure of any party or faction
within his kingdom, for such do not exist, but out of the fount of his
own wisdom. So sound is this wisdom as to prove him a most worthy
descendant of the sage Hebrew King whom Menelek claims as ancestor--if,
indeed, more proofs were necessary than the statesmanlike way in which
he has dealt with jealous diplomats, and the martial skill with which,
at Adowa in 1896, he defeated the flower of the Italian army and won
from Italy an honorable truce.
No existing royal house owns lineage so ancient as that claimed by
Menelek II, Negus Negusti, "King of the Kings of Ethiopia, and
Conquering Lion of Judah."
Old Abyssinian tradition has it that in the tenth century, B.C., early
in her reign, Makeda, Queen of Sheba, paid a ceremonial visit to the
Court of King Solomon, coming with her entire court and a magnificent
retinue bearing royal gifts of frankincense and balm, gold and ivory
and precious stones. Her gorgeous caravan was bright with the
many-colored plumes and silks of litters, blazing with the golden
ornaments of elephant and camel caparisons, glittering with the glint
of spears and bucklers.
That the two greatest souls of their time, so met, should fuse and
blend is little to be wondered at. She of Sheba bore Solomon a son and
called him Menelek, so the legend runs. Later the boy was twitted by
playmates for that he had no father. In this annoyance the Queen sent
an embassy to Solomon asking some act that should establish their son's
royal paternity. Promptly Solomon returned the embassy bearing to
Sheba's court in far southwest Arabia a royal decree declaring Menelek
his son, and accompanied it by a son of each of the leaders of the
twelve tribes of Israel, enjoined to serve as a sort of juvenile royal
court to Menelek.
Whether or not the claim of Menelek II be true, that he himself is
lineally descended from the son of Solomon and Sheba's Queen, certain
it is that in race type Abyssinians are plainly come of sons of Israel,
crossed and modified with Coptic, Hamite, and Ethiopian blood. To this
day they cling closely as the most orthodox Hebrew, to some of the
dearest Israelitish tenets, notably abstention from pork and from meat
not killed by bleeding, observance of the Sabbath, and the rite of
circumcision. Notwithstanding this the Abyssinians have been
Christians since the fourth century of this era, when, only eight years
after the great Constantine decreed the recognition of Christianity by
the State, a proselytising monk came among them with a faith so strong,
a heart so pure, and an eloquence so irresistible, that, singlehanded,
he accomplished the conversion of the Abyssinian race.
Throughout the centuries the Abyssinians have held fast to their faith
as first it was taught them. The great wave of Mohammedanism that
swept up the Nile and across the Indian Ocean broke and parted the
moment it struck the Abyssinian plateau. It completely surrounded, but
never could mount the tableland.
Thus cut off for centuries from all other Christian Churches, the
Abyssinian religion remains to-day but little changed. Could Paul or
John return to earth, of all the Christian sects throughout the world,
the forms and tenets of the Abyssinian Church would be the only ones
they would find nearly all their own; for the ritual is older than that
of either Rome or Moscow.
And remembering the Abyssinian folklore tale of the twelve sons of the
chiefs of the twelve tribes of Israel sent by Solomon to Makeda as
attendants on Menelek I, it is most curious and interesting to know
that the heads of certain twelve Abyssinian families (none of whom are
longer notables, some even the rudest ignorant herdsmen), and their
forebears from time immemorial, have had and still possess inalienable
right of audience with their monarch at any time they may ask it, even
taking precedence over royalty itself. Indeed Mr. George Clerk, for
the last five years assistant to Sir John Harrington, British Minister
to the Court of Menelek, recently told me that he and other diplomats
accredited to Adis Ababa, were not infrequently subjected to the
annoyance of having an audience interrupted or delayed by the
unannounced coming for a hearing of one of these favored twelve.
Many of Menelek's judgments are masterpieces. Recently two brothers
came before him, the younger with the plaint that the elder sought the
larger and better part of certain property they had to divide.
Promptly Menelek ordered the elder to describe fully the entire
property and state what part he wanted for himself. It was done.
"And this," questioned Menelek, "you consider a just division of the
property into two parts of equal value?"
"Yes, Negus," answered the elder.
"Then," decreed Menelek, "give your brother first choice!"
Over wide territory beyond the Abyssinian border, Menelek's power is as
much feared and his will as much respected as among his own subjects.
Of this there occurred recently a most dramatic proof.
Bordering Abyssinia on the east is the Danakil country. It adjoins the
Province of Shoa, of which Menelek was Ras, or feudal King, before his
accession to the Abyssinian throne. The Danakils are a savage pagan
people of mixed Hamite (early Egyptian) and Ethiopian ancestry. They
are perhaps the most tirelessly warlike race in all Africa. Often
severely beaten by their Italian and Somali neighbors, they have never
been subdued. Indeed slaughter may, in a way, be said to be a part of
their religion, for it is the fetich every young warrior must provide
for the worship of the woman of his choice before he may hope to win
and have her. It is necessary that he should have killed royal
game--lion, rhinoceros, or elephant--but not enough. Singlehanded he
must kill a man and bring the maid a trophy of the slaughter before she
will even consider him, and Danakil maids of spirit often demand some
plurality of trophies. Thus the license for each Danakil mating is
written in the life blood of some neighboring tribesman; thus are the
few poltroons in Danakil-land condemned to stay celibate.
Only Menelek's word do they heed; his might they dread.
Through the Danakil country, between Errer Gotto and Oder, not long ago
travelled the caravan of William Northrup McMillan, conveying the
sections of several steel boats with which he purposed navigating and
exploring the Blue Nile from its source to Khartoom, a region that had
never been traversed by white men. In the party was M.
Dubois-Desaulle, a gay and reckless ex-officer of the French Foreign
Legion who had long served in Algiers against raiding Arab sheiks. He
harbored no fear of the unorganized wild tribesmen through whose
country they were travelling. McMillan knew them better, however; he
held his command under strict military discipline, marched in close
order with scouts out, forbade straying from the column, and
_zareba_-ed his night camps. For the march was a severe one and he had
neither the time nor sufficient force to search for or to succor
missing stragglers.
Urged with the rest never to go unarmed and to stay close with the
caravan, Dubois-Desaulle's only reply was a laughing, "_Jamais!
Jamais. Je ne porte pas des armes pour ces babouins! Je les ferai
s'enfuir avec des batons! N'inquiètez pas de moi._"
Interested in botany and entomology, holding the natives in utter
contempt, repeatedly he strayed from the column for hours without even
so much as a pistol by way of arms, until finally McMillan told him
that if he again so strayed he would be placed under guard for the
balance of march. But the very next day, riding a mule with the
advance guard led by H. Morgan Brown, Dubois-Desaulle slipped
unobserved into the bush, probably in pursuit of some winged wonder
that had crossed his path.
Camp was made early in the afternoon on the banks of the Doha River,
and a strong party, with shikari trackers, led by Brown, was sent out
in search of the straggler. Night came on before they could pick up
his trail, and nothing further could be done except to build signal
fires on adjacent hills; but all without result. Anxiety for his
safety crystallized into chill fear for his life, when the dull glow of
the signal fires was suddenly extinguished by the next morning's sun;
for the desert knows neither twilight nor dawn--the sun bursts up
blood-red out of shrouding darkness like a rocket from its case, and at
once it is day.
An hour later Brown's shikaris found the place where Dubois-Desaulle
had strayed from the column, followed his trail through the bush hither
and thither for two miles, to a point where he had found a native
warrior seated beneath a tree. They read, with their unerring skill at
"sign" lore, that there he had stood and talked for some time with the
native, and then pressed on, rider and footman travelling side by side,
till, within the shelter of especially dense surrounding bush, the
footman had dropped behind the rider--for what dastardly assassin's
purpose the next twenty steps revealed. There stark lay the body of
gay Dubois-Desaulle, dropped from his mule without a struggle by a
mortal spear-thrust in his back, the manner of his mutilation a
Danakil's sign manual!
Immediately messengers were sent to the caravan bearing the news and
asking reinforcements. At this time the indomitable chief, McMillan,
was laid up with veldt sores on the legs, unable to walk or even to
ride except in a litter. Promptly, however, he despatched Lieutenant
Fairfax and William Marlow, with about thirty more men, to Brown's
support, with orders never to quit till he got the murderer. By a
forced march, Fairfax reached Brown at four in the afternoon.
When journeying in desert places and amid deadly perils, it is always
an unusually terrible shock to lose one from among so few, and to be
forced to lay him in unconsecrated ground remote from home and friends.
So it was a sobbing, saddened trio that stood by while a grave was dug
to receive all that was mortal of their gallant comrade. And within it
they laid him, wrapped in the ample folds of an Abyssinian _tope_;
stones were heaped above the grave--at least the four-footed beasts
should not have a chance to rend him!--and three volleys were fired as
a last honor to Dubois-Desaulle, ex-legionary of the Army of Algiers.
Tears dried, eyes hardened, jaws tightened, and away on the plain trail
of the murderer marched the little column. Turning at the edge of the
thick jungle for a last look back, the three noted an extraordinary
circumstance that touched them deeply and made them feel that even the
savage desert sympathized. A miniature whirlwind of the sort frequent
in the desert was slowly circling the grave; and even as they looked it
swung immediately over it and there stood for some moments, its tall
dust column rising up into the zenith like the smoke of a funeral pyre!
Then on they marched and there they left him, sure that by night lions
would be roaring him a requiem not unfitting his wild spirit.
Just at dusk the party reached a large Danakil town into which the
murderer's trail led, and camped before it.
Told that one of his men had killed their comrade and that they wanted
him, Ali Gorah, the chief, was surly and insolent. He refused to give
him up, said that he wished no war with them, but that if they wanted
any of his people they must fight for them. Then guards were set about
the camp and the little command lay down to sleep within a spear's
throw of thousands of Ali Gorah's wild Danakils. The night passed
without alarms, and then conference was resumed. Fairfax cajoled and
threatened, threatened summoning an army that would wipe Danakil's land
off the map; but all to no purpose. The chief remained obdurate.
Early in the day a courier was sent to McMillan with the story of their
plight and a request for supplies and more men. These were instantly
sent, leaving McMillan himself well nigh helpless, fuming at his own
enforced inaction, alone with the Marlow, his personal attendant, a
handful of men, and a total of only two rifles, as the sole guard of
the caravan for ten more anxious days.
Daily councils were held, always ending in mutual threats. Fairfax
could make no progress, but he would not leave.
One day Ali Gorah lined up two thousand warriors in battle array before
Fairfax's small command and ordered him to move off, under pain of
instant attack. But there Fairfax stubbornly stayed, in the very face
of the certainty that his command could not last ten minutes if the
chief should actually order a charge. His dauntless courage won, and
the war party was withdrawn.
In the meantime some of his Somalis had learned from the Danakils that
the murderer's name was Mirach, and that he was the greatest warrior of
the tribe, a man with trophies of all sorts of royal game and of no
less than forty men to his matrimonial credit. By the eleventh day
mutual irritation had nigh reached the fusing point. Fairfax had
carefully trained a gun crew to handle a Colt machine-gun that McMillan
was bringing as a present to Ras Makonnen, the victor of the field of
Adowa, and debated with his mates the question of risking an attack.
Luckily, however, the previous day McMillan had bethought him of a
letter of Menelek's he carried, a letter ordering all his subjects to
lend the bearer any aid or succor he might need. This letter he sent
by his Abyssinian headman to Mantoock, the nearest Abyssinian Ras and a
sort of overlord of the Danakils, with request for his advice and aid.
Promptly came Mantoock, with only one attendant, heard the story,
begged McMillan to have no further care, and raced away for Ali Gorah's
village, where happily he arrived in mid afternoon of the eleventh day,
just as Fairfax was making dispositions for opening a finish fight.
Mantoock's first act was to advise Fairfax to withdraw his command and
rejoin the caravan; and, assured that Mirach would be brought away a
prisoner, Fairfax assented and withdrew. Then Mantoock entered alone
the village of Ali Gorah and there spent the night. What passed that
night between the Christian and the pagan chiefs we do not know.
Probably little was said; nothing more was needed, indeed, than the
interpretation of the letter of the Negus and the exhibition of the
royal seal it bore. Full well Ali Gorah knew the heavy penalty of
disobedience.
So it happened that near noon of the twelfth day Mantoock brought
Mirach into McMillan's camp, accompanied by thirty of his family and
the headmen of the tribe, Mirach marching in fully armed with spears
and shield, insolent and fearless.
Asked why he had done the deed, Mirach replied:
"I was resting in the shade. The Feringee approached and asked me to
guide him to the river. I told him to pass on and not to disturb me.
Then he stayed and talked and talked till I got tired and told him not
to tempt me further; for I had never yet had such a chance to kill a
white man. Still he annoyed me with his foolish talk until, weary of
it, I led him away into the thickets to his death and won trophies dear
to Danakil's maidens."
Three camels, worth twenty dollars each, or a total of sixty dollars,
is usual blood-money in Abyssinia. When that is paid and received,
feuds among the tribesmen end, and murders are soon forgotten. But
Mirach was so highly valued as a warrior by his people that they
offered McMillan no less than three hundred camels for his life. They
were dumbfounded when their offer was refused.
Disarmed and shackled, Mirach remained a sullen but defiant prisoner
with the caravan for the next two weeks' march, when the crossing of
the Hawash River brought them well into Abyssinian territory and made
it safe to rush him forward, in the charge of a small escort, to Adis
Ababa.
There he was tried beneath the sombre shade of the famous Judgment
Tree, condemned, and two months later hanged in the market place: and
there for days his grinning face and shrivelling carcass swung, a
menacing proof to the wildest visiting tribesmen of them all of the
vast power of the Negus Negusti.