On the morning of January 12, we fulfilled our promise to the priest
of Tschenkar and went to see the church. It has the reputation of
being an exceptionally holy place, because the Dervishes made several
attempts to burn it down when they raided the village during their
incursion after the battle of Gallabat, and their endeavour failed. I
cannot tell how the roof fared, for it was made of the ordinary thatch
used in Abyssinia when I saw it and looked very inflammable. But it
was hardly necessary to attribute the preservation of the rest of
the fabric to a miracle. In many cases the entire structure consists
of a timber framework with a covering of thatch, and I never heard
that these buildings possessed the immunity of Shadrach, Meshach,
and Abednego. But the church at Tschenkar is built in part of hard
baked mud bricks and in part of stone, and the doorways are made of
an extremely tough wood which is found in the country. This had also
furnished the beams within the building. Under these circumstances
the only marvel seems to be that the Dervishes repeated their attempt
to kindle the materials.
The church is round and stands in a circular enclosure, according to
the custom in Abyssinia. The wall of the churchyard is of stone,
and there are four entrances, facing north, south, east, and
west. Cypresses—which I did not observe in other places—were
growing in the enclosure, which, as usual, is just a small grassy
expanse. No tombstones or other monuments to the dead are seen
in it. The church also has four doors and is divided into two
parts. These do not closely correspond to nave and chancel; for the
_sanctum sanctorum_ of an Abyssinian place of worship is walled in,
and makes a third enclosure. Moreover, it does not contain an altar
but a representation of the Jewish Ark of the Covenant, which is
called a _tabot_. I shall have occasion to allude to this custom
and its origin in a later chapter.
The priest showed us round the building. The walls are decorated with
the usual extraordinary “sacred subjects,” treated in the manner
which convention strictly prescribes. St. George and the Dragon and
the Virgin Mary are almost invariably depicted, and I was fortunate
enough to obtain some clear photographs in the church at Korata,[60]
which exemplify the singular devotional art of the Habashes. At
Tschenkar there were some rude carvings of cherubim and designs
of the Virgin drawn with burnt wood on the doorways. We were not
admitted to the _sanctum sanctorum_.
Outside I obtained a photograph of the theological class, which was
composed of one teacher and four pupils. Their library consisted of
a single book. I could not, of course, decipher the text, but the
volume had the appearance of a very dirty and greasy manuscript
missal. Probably it was a copy of the Scriptures, in the Gheez
language. There was a quaint thatched belfry in a tree, which looked
like a primitive bee-hive or an old bird’s-nest.
We had ordered that the baggage donkeys should be loaded and take the
road while we were at the church. But we found that confusion always
arose if no European was present at the start, and on this occasion,
when we had spent some forty minutes with the priest, and then made
our way to the track which we were to follow, we beheld no trace of
the expedition. When the train did draw in sight we found that one
part had been separated from the other, and the two divisions were
approaching from opposite sides. It was only a slight _contretemps_,
but we lost an hour by it on a day when we had a long march before
us. Matters were righted and we moved ahead.
Dupuis and I were bringing up the rear. At half-past eleven we
found that the whole expedition had halted on the bank of the
river Magetsch, and one of the guides was insisting that we must
camp there. He seemed to have no reason for the choice except that
there was water in the stream and that the place which we purposed
to reach, called Ambo, was, in his opinion, too far off. All the
Habashes were of the same mind as the guide, but we did not take
their view, and set to work to cross the river.
Here—about a mile and a half from the lake—the current was some
twenty feet wide. It was clear and shallow, running over a shingly bed
in a ravine. We forded it without difficulty, and moved on towards
the camping-ground which we had selected. We arrived at the place
shortly after two o’clock.
Our route crossed the two effluents of the lesser Gumara River not
far below Wansage. A concise and interesting account of the geology
and botany of the river-valley at that place has been given by
Dr. Stecker.[61] This morning while we were on the road we met the
“Sultan of Delgi.” The “Sultan,” notwithstanding his title,
is a subordinate official, the tax-collector of a district. It
was this man whose “Deputy” had met us when we arrived on the
plateau and raised difficulties. We found the “Sultan” a very
affable old man. He shook hands with us, asked if matters went well
with the expedition, and if we were in need of anything. This was
the more satisfactory as he was then returning from a visit to the
feudal lord of the district, Ras Gouksha.
The village of Ambo was destroyed by the Dervishes, and had not been
rebuilt. The site of it is on a beautiful little bay of the lake,
which at one part has a sandy beach that shelves into the clear
water and at another is bordered by a thick fringe of reeds. Snipe
swarm in these. There was no cultivated ground at this spot, and no
timber or “scrub.” Tall grass was growing everywhere, and I have
no doubt that the soil is extremely fertile.
The tents were pitched, and after lunch we took out our guns to
replenish the larder. We made a bag of some half-dozen snipe, and saw
an abundance of geese—but they are not very good eating—herons,
and other large and small water-fowl. On the way back to camp we
put up a flock of crown crane and could have brought down some of
them. They are excellent at table; but it seemed a scandal to kill
such fine fellows, and we did not shoot. These are noble-looking
birds.
In the afternoon some natives passed the camp, who had shot a
tree-boa. They were carrying the skin. Without the head, which
they had cut off, the snake measured ten and a half feet. As we
had avoided camping at a village—a course by which we cheated
innumerable vermin—we had no evident claim on any hamlet for free
viands. But I found that a fowl and some eggs had been brought into
camp, and, to do the Habashes justice, I do not think they grudged
the tribute in kind which our presence exacted from them. It is a
custom of the country to offer a gift in order to receive one of
greater value in return, but the rural folk of the lake country had
no such motive—as far as I could see—in furnishing supplies.
We started on the following morning at a quarter to eight. The
temperature was then below the freezing-point, and we felt the
cold keenly. Our road lay, for some distance, through the tall
jungle grass, but when we emerged from it the scenery changed
completely. We entered a broken, mountainous district, where the
heights rise directly from the lake, and the traveller passes from
one surpassingly lovely vista to another. Many palms grow here,
and the banks and dells are covered with wild flowers—a varied,
abundant growth excelling even that which we had seen on reaching
the lake plateau. Great numbers of butterflies, large and small,
familiar and unfamiliar, some of sober hue, others brightly gorgeous,
were flitting among the blossoms. The giant hemp abounds here, and
the stems, some eighteen feet high, tower above one. At that season
the daytime and the evening were alike cloudless. The whole region
is fertile and charming.[62]
It is—for that country—thickly populated. There are many
villages, groups of scattered _tokhuls_, and as we advanced we found
these yet more numerous. They lie, perhaps, four miles apart on an
average. Cattle are seen in all. Very few cases of serious sickness
came to my notice hereabout, and the people generally seemed healthy,
as well as prosperous. I saw no money in circulation, and all trade
appears to be carried on by barter.
As we drew near to our halting-place for the night, those who were
leading our column came upon two _tokhuls_ full of Habashes. They
were about fifteen in number, and, as they carried rifles of an old
French pattern, there is very little doubt that they were soldiers. I
was in the rear, and when I passed them they were squatting on the
ground and staring at those who rode by in a manner that was evidently
meant to be grossly insulting. Moreover, they had kindled the grass
on both sides of the track, and we were obliged to trot ahead in the
midst of smoke and flames. Oddly enough, both the donkeys and mules
took the adventure quite quietly, though the fire was close enough to
singe their hair and burn their feet. The Abyssinian “regulars”
are a class apart, and are unpopular; they are mostly rapacious,
hectoring, and ill-conditioned, and are a bane to all from whom they
can levy exactions.
Our camping-ground was close to the village of Tschera, which stands
on an islet near the lake-shore. It is reached by wading through
about fifty yards of water lying over firm sand. Further out is
the pretty island of Mitraha, on which we could see houses and a
church. My companions took out the boat and their guns and brought
back a brace of duck and a green pigeon. Earlier in the day five
guinea-fowl had been added to the larder.
We sent two soldiers to buy meat for the men. They purchased five
sheep, for which they paid four dollars. This works out at a rate
of about one and sixpence per sheep, English money.
We did not intend to resume the march on the following morning, so
none of us rose before half-past six, when “the day was aired”
a little. The lowest reading of the thermometer at night had
been thirty-two degrees. After breakfast, we three Englishmen and
Johannes the interpreter started in the boat to visit Mitraha. It
is a hilly, tree-clad little island with a population consisting
of six families. The people welcomed us on our approach and guided
us through a channel between rocks to a good landing-place. They
seemed pleased to show us over the ground.[63] It is a perfectly
pretty islet, with quaint thatched cottages among foliage and a
ruinous old church, and—for historic interest—it contains the
tomb of an ancient king of Abyssinia, John by name. We visited the
sepulchre and saw the open coffin, which was full of an agglomeration
of bones. If they belonged to the dead monarch, he must have been
the boniest man that ever lived, and embarrassed, into the bargain,
by possessing two right arms. However, it was an article of belief
with everybody on the island, including the priest, that nature had
once contrived to stow all that “anatomy” into one human body.
The island is traversed in all directions by narrow tracks marked by
trodden leaves, and there is a thick undergrowth of weeds, thistles,
and thorns. In this tangle I saw numbers of large spiders’ webs,
from three to four feet in circumference. The spiders are about the
size of a shilling, with a speckled abdomen and legs of enormous
length. I saw none of this species on the mainland.
The islanders had poultry but no cattle. We asked them about their
food. They said, “We eat durrha when we can get it.”
“Don’t you eat fish?” we asked. “Surely, there are plenty
of fish in the lake.”
“_No_,” they answered emphatically. “After King Johannes was
killed by the Dervishes[64] all the fish disappeared.”
It is quite likely that these people are too idle even to cast a
net,[65] for it is notorious that fish of many kinds and of large size
abound in Lake Tsana; but, knowing how superstitious the Habashes are,
I would not vouch for it that they did not sincerely believe what
they said. Probably they have little intercourse with the mainland
and invent their own news.
They took a keen interest in our boat, and asked many questions
about it. Their own rafts, called _tankoa_, consist merely of a
bundle of papyrus reeds strung together with strips of hippopotamus
hide and stiffened by a bamboo in the centre which serves as a kind
of keelson. They do not use a sail, but punt or paddle with a pole.
When we had finished the tour of the island Dupuis presented five
dollars to the church and community and thereupon received the
ceremonial blessing of the priest.[66]
We returned to camp. During the afternoon I tried my hand at
butterfly-hunting, fly-fishing in a sluggish stream near by called
the Kumon, and shooting beside the Lake. It was all pleasant enough
sport, but I had poor luck. The butterflies that were worth catching
were always seen when we were in “marching order,” and my net
was packed up. When I cast in the Kumon my tackle mostly got foul
of the reeds and the weeds, and while tramping along the shore I
found nothing to shoot, unless it were a huge hippo who was basking
in the sun about three hundred yards out. I should have been _impar
congressus Achilli_ if we had tried conclusions, so I did nothing
to provoke enmity.
In the afternoon I was on medical duty for native patients. The first
was a poor little fellow about seven years old, who was covered from
head to foot with craw-craw, a kind of aggravated _scabies_. He was
brought to me by his father, to whom I gave half a cake of soap,
and bade him take the child to the water and wash him. I saw that
this was properly done, and then treated the boy’s skin with a
weak solution of corrosive sublimate and afterwards smeared boric
ointment over him. The father was set to wash his son’s shama with
the remainder of the soap—an office of cleanliness which had been
neglected at home in accordance with Ethiopian usage.
My other patient was a man whose upper eyelids were inverted
(entropion), as a result of ophthalmia. This malady is very common
in the country. I removed the eyelashes with a forceps and applied
ointment, but the extent of the injury was already so great that
little good was likely to come from my intervention. The Russians
maintain a Red Cross Mission at Addis Abbiba,[67] which has
established a hospital on an adequate scale. Here natives receive
treatment free of charge.[68] European medical aid is sorely needed in
the country, and I wish that it might be found practicable to support
a British medical station in Western Abyssinia. Our popularity and
prestige would be increased by this step. An opportunity would be
given for valuable observation and research, and the benefit to the
inhabitants would be incalculable.
Gifts of bread (teff), eggs, and fowls were brought into our camp in
plenty, and some liberal Habash sent us a big jar of honey, the comb
and all packed in together. It was a welcome and useful present, and
served as a luxury in lieu of jam, of which we had a short supply. The
size of the jar—it rather suggested the lurking-places of the Forty
Thieves—embarrassed us, and we did not wish to carry quantities of
honey-comb through Abyssinia. So we consulted Johannes. He told us to
heat the jar until the honey just boiled, skim off the wax and pour
the clear liquor into bottles. Fortunately we had saved empty bottles,
and we filled up all we had; but half the jar remained after that, and
had to be returned to the giver. All three of us were interested and
busy in melting the honey and straining it through a piece of mosquito
curtain, and were splendidly sticky and messy when we left off.
While we were in the kitchen-quarters, we heard a loud grunting and
snorting about twenty yards away, which made the ground tremble, and
recognized at once that a hippo was in the reeds there. This badly
frightened the cook, who slept in the tent nearest that spot. We had
to assure him solemnly that the hippo would not carry out a night
attack upon him.
We struck our camp next morning (January 15), and marched to the
River Reb. The boat was brought into service in crossing it. At
one part the stream was about four feet six inches deep, and though
this dip in the bed was only a couple of yards wide, it prevented
the baggage animals from walking through. The water was shallow
over the rest of the ford, so that they could keep their feet. All
the mules and donkeys were unloaded while we lunched. The boat was
quickly got ready and about half-past two Crawley pulled across
with his first cargo. After he had had about an hour of the work,
I took my turn. Dupuis was superintending the pitching of the tents
and the stowing of the loads on the further side of the river. Then
the fun began with bringing the baggage animals over.
There was no great difficulty with the mules. One gave a lead,
and then the rest swam across, the boys swimming beside them. But
with the donkeys it was a different matter. The men tried coaxing
them, leading them, whacking them. It was all no good. The donkeys
settled into the firm, resolute stubbornness of their kind, which
is invincible, and it seemed as if the expedition would be left in
the condition of a wasp that has been cut through the middle—the
active half in one place and the “portage and storage” half
in another. Sunset began before progress had been made, and the
air was quickly becoming colder. Finally we solved the problem by
brute force. Five fixed nooses were tied in a long rope, and five
donkeys’ heads were put in the nooses. Then we, on the further side
of the stream, hauled on to the rope. It was a “tug of war,”
and we moved the donkeys. Then one of us took the rope back in
the boat, and the next batch came over by “cable ferry.” There
was a chance that the donkeys would struggle and strangle or drown
themselves, but all were pulled across without casualties. The last
three made the journey just after six o’clock. Of course our men
had to be in the water with the beasts to steady them, and keep
them in place, and all worked with a will. Some were in the stream,
off and on, for three or four hours, and the cold was sharp when the
sun sank. Unluckily there was no wood near our camping-ground, so
they had no fire to cheer them afterwards, and could not dry their
wet clothes. The Habashes, when they cross a ford of this kind,
roll all their garments into a bundle, which they carry on their
heads while they swim or wade. We were all sorry for the mischance
which denied the boys warmth after a wetting, and we served out a
nip of green chartreuse to those who had been in the water longest.
On the next day, January 16, we had before us the business of fording
the river Gumara, and, to avoid a repetition of the trouble with
the donkeys, we determined to strike away from the lakeside, so as
to reach the stream where we could go over on foot. Dupuis found
that this route would bring him close to the Debra Tabor road, and
at once resolved to set off, on the following morning, with a light
baggage train, to pay a visit of thanks to Ras Gouksha, who was at
that place. Crawley was to accompany him, while I stayed in charge
of the camp.
It was a short march from our halting-place beside the Reb to the
ford by which we were to cross the Gumara, and we did not start till
eleven o’clock. The baggage animals were able to have a feed of
grass, and they and the boys alike were warmed by the sun before
our journey began. All needed a little rest and comfort after the
previous day’s work.
It is a plain country between the Reb and the Gumara, partly covered
at that season by tall, dry grass, and partly by swamp-grass standing
in ooze. In the wet months the whole tract is a morass.
Many Habashes assembled to see us start. They were tiresome, but
quite friendly. I was much struck by the prevalence of eye disease
among them; _trachoma_ is very common, and most of the cases which
came under my notice were beyond hope of cure. A crowd gathered
round me to gaze at my camera, which was an unknown marvel in this
land; for Western Abyssinia has seldom been visited by Europeans,
and I heard of none who had been in the district since Stecker had
passed through it more than twenty years before. Even cigarettes were
a novelty. I put one between my lips when I had shut up my camera,
and offered another to a young man who was standing close to me. He
did not know what it was, and hesitated about taking it. To gratify
my curiosity, I pressed it on him, and he held it at arm’s length,
and looked at it with wonder and suspicion. But when he saw me light
mine and smoke issuing from my mouth, he dropped his cigarette as if
it were a live shell with a fuse smouldering in it and ran. Crawley
gave a cigarette one day to a Habash, who ate it, paper and all,
and said he liked it.
We reached the Gumara at half-past two, and pitched our camp beside
the ford; it is an unpleasant place, in the line of a frequented
highway. During the afternoon we passed the donkeys in review, and
picked out the best for Dupuis’s expedition to Debra Tabor. We
also made a selection of stores for the journey, which was expected
to last five days in all.