I had slept in the open by choice and felt it a luxury to awake on
the following morning with no prospect of a fatiguing journey. At
seven o’clock on December 20 we met again at Mr. Flemming’s house,
and busied ourselves with amateur photography.
“You are the last white men I shall see until June next year,”
said our host, “so I want to keep your faces.”
After breakfast we proceeded to the selection of seventeen “boys,”
who were to go up with our donkeys from Gallabat to Abyssinia. The
character of the country beyond the frontier of the Soudan renders
transit by camel impossible. It struck me as an interesting fact,
not without a bearing upon the doctrine of Evolution, that the
change from a flat or undulating to a mountainous region is here
accompanied not only by a variation in the means of access, in the
climate, in the flora and fauna, but in the race of inhabitants and
the creed which they profess. In fact, the highlands of Abyssinia
may be said to constitute “an island on the land,” if one may
borrow the phrase which Darwin applied to the peaks of the Andes. And
a similar peculiarity in the survival of types can be observed here
as that to which the great biologist referred in the other connection.
Mansfield Parkyns pointed out that the Abyssinians were, in his
time, poor swordsmen, ridiculous in their practice of musketry
and frequently wanting in genuine courage.[12] Their country has
constantly been the scene of civil war and other dissensions. Indeed
the Jews among them, to whom I shall refer in another chapter, at one
time established a separate state in the “mountain fastnesses of
Semien and Belusa, where, under their own kings and queens called
Gideon and Judith, they maintained till the beginning of the
seventeenth century a chequered and independent existence.”[13]
In spite of these hindrances and deficiencies the Abyssinian people,
government and creed, have survived among heights protected on
one side by the sea and on the other by a tract of country which is
uninhabitable and impassable from May to September, on account of the
incessant torrential rains and the floods which they cause. If these
favouring conditions had not existed, the Abyssinian nation would long
ago have been “converted” to Islamism or exterminated, and in the
former case they would have become assimilated by consanguinity to,
if not merged in, the surrounding Arab and negroid tribes. As it is,
the Abyssinians form, ethnologically, an entirely distinct race.
This digression has carried me a long way from the “donkey-boys”
at Gedaref. They were paraded to the number of a hundred for our
inspection—Dongolis, Abyssinians, Tokrooris, Dinkas, Hadendowas,
men from every clan in the district. An uglier-looking crowd I never
beheld, and, as I gazed at the sinister, villainous faces, I hoped
rather than believed that our choice of seventeen would not include
robbers or murderers. We adopted the plan of choosing one or two men
from each of the different races. Experience showed that the policy
was sound, for no tribal quarrel was raised during our journey in
Abyssinia. None of the groups was strong enough to commence a feud
with confidence.
The business of selection was completed after the haggling and
confusion inseparable from a bargain among Orientals, and I spent
most of the remainder of this and the following day in acquainting
myself with the features of life in Gedaref. As this place is a
type of the more important towns in the Soudan, in which Great
Britain has a permanent interest, I hope the reader will tolerate
the transcription of a few of my notes.
The inhabitants number about eight thousand, and live—to use
Mr. Dufton’s description—“in a number of scattered villages,
the principal called Hellet-es-Sook, or the market town.”[14]
The dwellings in this part of the Soudan and in Abyssinia are of the
same construction, and I cannot better convey a conception of their
simplicity and their appearance to those of my readers who have not
seen them than by quoting the following passage from Mr. Dufton’s
work:—“Some of the houses are built of sun-dried bricks and have
flat roofs, but most of them” (almost all in Western Abyssinia)
“are conical thatched huts. The latter are made in the following
manner:—In the first place a circle of about twenty feet diameter
is described on the ground and surrounded by strong posts, each a
yard apart, which are interlaced with thin pliable branches of trees,
the whole being covered outwardly with durrha stalks, tied together
with the long grass common on the banks of the river. A roof is
formed in skeleton on the ground. A number of beams, corresponding
to that of the posts, are made to converge at the top, and are held
in this position by concentric circles of plaited twigs; the whole
being then raised to its position on the house, where it is fastened
and made ready to receive the thatch of straw and grass. Not a nail
or rivet of any kind is used in the construction of these buildings,
and they are rendered totally impervious to the wet. Of course their
disadvantage in comparison with mud houses is their liability to
catch fire, one or two cases of which I have witnessed; but they
are generally built at sufficient distance not to endanger others,
and a house of this description is rebuilt in a day or two.”[15]
Hence the scattered appearance of the huts. They cover a distance
some five miles in length at Gedaref. These dwellings are called
“tokhuls,” and I shall have occasion to allude to them frequently
under that name. In the Soudan storks build their nests round the
upper part of the roofs, and are not molested.
In Mr. Dufton’s time an open-air market was held twice a week
in Gedaref. He thus describes it:—“One part is devoted to the
sale of camels, cattle, sheep, and goats; another to that of corn
and durrha; another milk and butter; another raw cotton, dates,
etc. The butcher slaughters his meat on the spot, whether ox, sheep,
or camel. The camel is killed somewhat differently from the rest; for
it may well be imagined that a camel with merely its throat cut might
be a long while in dying. They therefore adopt the mode of striking
it with a long knife at once to the heart, having previously taken
care to tie his long legs in a manner that he cannot move.”[16]
The commerce of the place has been resuscitated since the British and
Egyptian occupation. The market is now held daily. In addition there
are the usual bazaars of an Oriental town. Gedaref has the advantage
of possessing wells from which water of good quality is drawn. The
place suffered severely in the time of the Dervishes. They raided the
district as often as their supplies ran low, ruined the cultivation,
and destroyed the greater part of the habitations.
The people seemed to be peaceable and contented under the present
administration, and I was struck by their politeness towards
Europeans. As we passed, they rose, if they were squatting on the
ground; those riding dismounted as a token of respect; those who
were at work discontinued it and stood still.
There are a certain number of shops in the town kept by Greeks. The
commerce of the Eastern Soudan is almost entirely in the hands
of Hellenes, who import goods by way of Suakim. The merchandise
is brought up the country by camel-train. The articles most in
request among the natives are cheap mirrors, tumblers, coloured
silk handkerchiefs and similar goods—in short, cheap finery and
cheap small commodities. I am not a commercial man, and do not speak
upon the point with certainty, but I think German houses meet this
demand. The Greek retailers also carry on a brisk trade in olives,
which are imported in barrels. Olives and bread are the staple of
the diet of many Soudanese, and they eat this simple food with relish.
We found that we could purchase sugar, taken from the familiar
sugar-loaf, soap, similar sundries and tinned provisions at
Gedaref. I was pleased to observe—for my own sake and that
of British enterprise—that the latter bore the trade-mark of
Messrs. Crosse and Blackwell.
My impression with regard to commercial opportunities in these towns
is that a northern-bred storekeeper could not compete with the Greek
retailer. I do not refer, in making this inference, especially
to the singular astuteness of the latter. But it is an important
consideration that these men are able to live almost on the same
scale as the natives, and their profits are due to the frugality of
their life.
We managed to start our baggage-train on the journey from Gedaref
to Gallabat by a quarter to eight on the morning of the 22nd
December. Then we breakfasted with Mr. Flemming, and mounted our
camels to take the road again at 9.15. We moved forward at a trot,
and I, now making trial of my fourth “steed,” found I had good
luck for the second time. But I do not think that any one could devote
to the camel the affection which is so readily given to a horse after
a brief acquaintance. The animal with the “sculptured sneer” does
not invite friendship. It grunts and grimaces when one mounts, and
the rider can be under no illusion as to its sentiment towards him.
We saw some ariel, and my companions gave chase and tried to get
within rifle-range. But the animals were shy and wary. The hunters
exhausted their supply of ammunition, but brought no game. We lunched
as usual in the scrappy shade of a mimosa bush, and reached Shisana
well shortly after four o’clock.
We had now left the “cotton soil” region, and entered an
undulating country, where our road lay over rocky or stony ground. The
character of the vegetation changed, and we began to pass through
glades of the great mimosa forest which extends from the neighbourhood
of Gedaref almost to Gallabat. Here the mimosas are not bushes but
trees, and it is from them that the gum-arabic is collected which
gives Gedaref its highly valuable trade and its prosperity. Large
quantities of the gum are exported by way of Suakim, and there is a
market for it at Cairo and other towns of Lower Egypt. For instance,
much crape is manufactured in Damietta, where I have watched the
process. Gum from Gedaref is used to stiffen the texture, and serves
the same purpose in the preparation of various silken fabrics.
The industry might be largely developed. At present it is in the
hands of Greek traders. As the supply of coin in the Soudan is small,
the gum is used as a kind of currency by the natives, who barter
it for other goods. A small duty is levied by the Government on
the quantity exported, and no one seems appreciably the worse. I
present this detail of information to fiscal controversialists,
and make no demand upon their gratitude in doing so.
The gum-bearing mimosas are, on an average, I should say, about
twenty-five feet high. The boles are straight. Thorns grow thickly
on the branches. The white bark gives a characteristic and almost
haunting feature to the great forest. The gum exudes, chiefly,
at the junction of the branches with the trunk. Its appearance has
been excellently described by Sir Samuel Baker: “At this season
the gum was in perfection, and the finest quality was now before
us in beautiful amber-coloured masses upon the stems and branches,
varying from the size of a nutmeg to that of an orange. . . . This
gum, although as hard as ice on the exterior, was limpid in the
centre, resembling melted amber, and as clear as though refined by
some artificial process. . . . The beautiful balls of frosted yellow
gum recalled the idea of the precious jewels upon the trees in the
garden of the wonderful lamp of the ‘Arabian Nights.’ The gum was
exceedingly sweet and pleasant to the taste.”[17] The trees were
in flower when we saw them, and the blossoms scented the air sweetly.
The present method of collecting gum is primitive and
unsystematic. Natives go a two or three days’ journey from Gedaref
into the forest, when they are pressed by want of a commodity to sell
or exchange, and return with as much as they have gathered at hazard.
[Illustration: GUM BEARING MIMOSA TREES.
_See p._ 30.]
[Illustration: TRYING THE TEMPERATURE OF A PATIENT AT THE DOCTOR’S
PARADE.
_See p._ 115.]
Throughout the day’s march we had seen fires raging in the dried
grass, and we had frequently passed places where the charred surface
showed the effect of the flames. The custom of setting the undergrowth
alight would destroy the mimosa forest, but for the fact that the
fires burn low and travel quickly. The branches of the trees do not
spring from the lower expanse of the boles, and there is consequently
no combustion of the timber, except where a quantity of old, sapless
wood is ignited.
Trouble threatened us at Shisana well. Grain for the donkeys and boys,
that were to accompany us into Abyssinia, had been packed in sacks
at Gedaref. The friction caused by the camels’ movement had frayed
these open, and the grain was lying on the ground when we arrived. At
first we feared that we should be obliged to return to the town and
purchase new sacks; but luckily the camel-men were bringing with them
a stock of capacious and pliable baskets, made of slit palm-leaves,
which they had intended to sell at Gallabat. These we commandeered,
and so extricated ourselves from the difficulty.
Our journey next day was through entirely similar scenery, over
undulating, rocky ground. We saw some ariel, but again they were too
shy for us. Then we “declined upon” guinea-fowl, and bagged two
after a brisk, exciting run.
The heat was overpowering, and at lunch-time we had no rest. Bees
abound in this region, and get their honey from the flowers of the
mimosa trees. As the land is almost waterless in the dry season, these
insects suffer much from thirst. Even the moisture of perspiration
attracts them in their parched state, and, in addition, there was
the smell of water from our drinking-supply. The result was that they
swarmed upon us; in fact, they mobbed us. Every drinking vessel was
crowded with them. Our boys drank from calabashes; when these were
put upon the ground, bees clustered on the edges and crawled towards
the liquor. Impatient successors thronged upon the first comers and
pushed them into the water, so that in a few minutes the surface was
a mass of “struggle-for-lifers.” In spite of the heat we had to
keep moving; for when we settled, so did the bees—all over us.
That night we pitched our camp in the mimosa forest, six miles from
the village and watering-place called Doka.
Next day—Christmas Eve—we started at seven, carrying our guns, and
had not walked a mile when we disturbed a flock of guinea-fowl. Away
they sped through the tangle of dry grass, and we after them. We
blazed away here and there, but the birds, hit or not, were out
of sight in an instant amidst that cover, and we missed in this
way many that we had not missed in the other. Our bag consisted of
four. When a bird dropped, the Soudanese “gillies,” who were
carrying our rifles in case big game should be seen, pounced upon it
and decapitated it. Otherwise it would not have been clean meat for
a Mohammedan. The land around Doka is hilly, and the ground rises to
a height of which Primrose Hill would be a good example. We reached
the village about nine o’clock.
Here we found, to our surprise, that the camel-men wanted to water
every beast in our convoy. We were but a few miles from another
watering-place, where the business could have been done in the
evening without wasting the hours of daylight in which we were able
to travel. We compromised by hurrying up the animals as soon as we had
filled our tanks, and when half a score had drunk, the well ran dry.
We pushed on through the mimosa country. The temperature was
about 102°, and I found the heat extraordinarily oppressive. The
trees around us and overhead—they grow thickly in parts of the
forest—seemed to shut out every movement of air, such as had always
relieved us a little in the open tracts. Our extreme thirst constantly
tempted us. We had made it a rule not to draw upon our ration of water
till eleven in the morning, and abstinence till then was Spartan
discipline. If one began to drink, it was a sheer impossibility to
leave off, and the supply did not hold out. On calm reflection at a
distance, I doubt whether our normal breakfast of tinned sausages
and tea was wisely selected under the circumstances. But it could
be quickly prepared, and we seldom had time to be leisurely.
While we were traversing the forest, I neither saw nor heard any bird
except the guinea-fowl. The dried grass in which they wander was
the only undergrowth. Usually the place was as still as a tomb. Of
larger animals I saw none but antelopes, and not many of these.
We halted for lunch in a small ravine, and the bees did not find
us till we had nearly finished the meal. We “smoked” them with
cigarettes, cigars, and a bonfire, to no purpose. Then we shifted our
quarters, but they followed. All of us were stung, and we were not
quit of them till we mounted our camels and outdistanced the swarms.
We camped for the night among the mimosas about seven miles from the
watering-place called Zeraf Zaid. I thought we had been delivered
from the plague of insects, but I deceived myself. Our camp was
stormed by hosts of small creatures—tiny beetles, flying ants, and
the like. They thronged and crawled on one’s candle, one’s book,
one’s face, and one’s hands, and I found it difficult to write
my diary. Some of them—I do not know whether they were prompted
by hunger or malignity—added insult to injury by biting us.
On the morning of Christmas Day we started with our guns in advance
of the convoy and bagged two brace of the usual poultry. I had
not hitherto found the country unhealthy, though the climate tries
one’s condition; but on this occasion I felt “out of sorts,”
and was glad—for a wonder—to mount my camel after the tramp in
the sunshine.
At 9.30 we reached the village of Zeraf Zaid. Here a clean hut serves
as a rest-house. We found the place pleasant and cool. Within it
were trestle-beds, of the kind commonly used in the Soudan and called
“angareebs.” Sir Samuel Baker has given a concise description of
them: “The angareebs, or native bedsteads, are simple frameworks
upon legs, covered with a network of raw hide worked in a soft state,
after which it hardens to the tightness of a drum when thoroughly
dry. No bed is more comfortable for a warm climate than a native
angareeb with a simple mat covering; it is beautifully elastic, and
is always cool, as free ventilation is permitted from below.”[18]
I concur in this favourable opinion of the native bed, and hope that
its value in cases of sickness or injury that are not serious may
be brought to the notice of the medical authorities of the army. It
would be easy to furnish tent-hospitals with this simple appliance
in any part of the Soudan.
We rested in contentment, and then lunched while the camels were
watered. Our convoy started at noon, and we two hours later. We
overtook the baggage at half-past three.
At Zeraf Zaid there is an outpost of “the Arab Battalion,” which
consists of Soudanese natives and Soudanese (_i.e._ naturalized)
Abyssinians,[19] Egyptian non-commissioned officers, and two
Englishmen, first and second in command, with the rank respectively
of colonel and major. The strength is about two hundred, and the
permanent head-quarters are at Kassala. The duty of the battalion
is to protect the frontier and suppress the slave raids which are
frequently attempted by Abyssinian subjects. I doubt whether the
latter part of the supervision duty is quite successfully performed
owing to the smallness of the corps, and it is well to bear in mind
that these raids may upon some occasion lead to serious political
complications affecting the attitude of the Anglo-Egyptian Government
towards the _Negus Negesti_.[20] He has but slight control over
his more powerful feudatories near the frontier; moreover, the
succession to the throne will assuredly be disputed upon the death
of the present ruler, and the whole country will then be plunged
in misrule and civil war. It is clear that a very serious state of
affairs may at any time be established in this region. Questions
arising from incursions made into territory where the British flag
flies from districts where no effective or responsible government
exists may assume the gravest importance.
The “Arab Battalion” is a sort of legacy to us from our
predecessors, and the men still wear the picturesque uniform chosen
for them in the days of the Italian occupation. It consists of a
white tunic extending to the knees, loose white trousers, sandals
surmounted by white gaiters, a broad green sash round the waist, and
a red tarboush with a green tassel. I cannot offer a valid opinion
upon the sufficiency of this body as a frontier guard in the event
of disturbances over a wide area, and I am not able to judge what
effect the racial sympathy of some members of it with Abyssinians
“over the border” would have in such a case.
Shortly after we had left Zeraf Zaid on the road to Gallabat we saw a
great bustard near at hand. One of my comrades tried to shoot it for
our Christmas dinner, but his luck failed him. However, I had brought
the materials of a plum pudding with me from Cairo, and hoped that it
would be a solace and a pleasant surprise for the other two members
of our mess. The cook obtained some eggs in the village, and I gave
him careful and emphatic directions and swore him to secrecy. Ours
is a phlegmatic race. The cook did his work creditably, the pudding
came to table, and was eaten without comment. The poultry in these
villages is of a stunted size, but the flesh is tender and makes
good eating. Pigeons are to be had in all the hamlets.
Our camping-ground for the night was a pleasant spot, bare of
grass, and surrounded by high trees. In honour of the day, and in
expectation of entering Gallabat early on the following afternoon,
I discharged a professional man’s duty towards his toilet, and
scraped a week’s stubble from my face. In the wilderness even a
doctor can neglect appearances.
On Boxing Day we entered rising country with features different from
those seen in the mimosa forest.
The sides of the rocky hills have been seamed with ravines by the
rains. Nearly all the trees are still of the same order, but certain
species have broader leaves, and their appearance resembles that of
the timber found in the temperate zones. However, I saw no specimen
of the varieties common in England. I heard one songbird in this
district, the chaffinch. Water-wagtails abound.
As usual, we made an excursion ahead of the baggage with guns and
rifles. The game birds are sand-grouse and partridges, and we shot
a brace of the latter. Crawley brought down an ariel buck, which
was in good condition. This was our first venison. The shot caused
intense excitement in our convoy, and the guides and boys all made
a rush for the beast to cut its throat before it died of the bullet
wound. It had been hit in the neck.
We rested in a ravine called Otruk—a lovely wooded gorge in which a
small stream was flowing. A little further down the course the water
disappeared in the sand. Here, for the first time, I saw a troop of
baboons. No doubt they inhabit caves and clefts in the surrounding
rocks. Some were fully of human stature. Partridges and guinea-fowl
were numerous here, and beyond question the rivulet in the khor
attracts animals of every kind existing in the district. It was
the first running water we had seen since we left the Blue Nile. We
rested until two o’clock, and then rode on towards Gallabat.
When we were half an hour’s journey distant from the town, we were
met by Mr. Saville, the Inspector, who accompanied us to our quarters.