Long before dawn on Saturday, the 13th January, the mules were saddled,
bridled, and charged with our scanty luggage. After a hasty breakfast we
shook hands with old Sultan the Eunuch, mounted and pricked through the
desert streets. Suddenly my weakness and sickness left me--so potent a
drug is joy!--and, as we passed the gates loudly salaming to the warders,
who were crouching over the fire inside, a weight of care and anxiety fell
from me like a cloak of lead.
Yet, dear L., I had time, on the top of my mule for musing upon how
melancholy a thing is success. Whilst failure inspirits a man, attainment
reads the sad prosy lesson that all our glories
"Are shadows, not substantial things."
Truly said the sayer, "disappointment is the salt of life"--a salutary
bitter which strengthens the mind for fresh exertion, and gives a double
value to the prize.
This shade of melancholy soon passed away. The morning was beautiful. A
cloudless sky, then untarnished by sun, tinged with reflected blue the
mist-crowns of the distant peaks and the smoke wreaths hanging round the
sleeping villages, and the air was a cordial after the rank atmosphere of
the town. The dew hung in large diamonds from the coffee trees, the spur-
fowl crew blithely in the bushes by the way-side:--briefly, never did the
face of Nature appear to me so truly lovely.
We hurried forwards, unwilling to lose time and fearing the sun of the
Erar valley. With arms cocked, a precaution against the possibility of
Galla spears in ambuscade, we crossed the river, entered the yawning chasm
and ascended the steep path. My companions were in the highest spirits,
nothing interfered with the general joy, but the villain Abtidon, who
loudly boasted in a road crowded with market people, that the mule which
he was riding had been given to us by the Amir as a Jizyah or tribute. The
Hammal, direfully wrath, threatened to shoot him upon the spot, and it was
not without difficulty that I calmed the storm.
Passing Gafra we ascertained from the Midgans that the Gerad Adan had sent
for my books and stored them in his own cottage. We made in a direct line
for Kondura. At one P.M. we safely threaded the Galla's pass, and about an
hour afterwards we exclaimed "Alhamdulillah" at the sight of Sagharrah and
the distant Marar Prairie. Entering the village we discharged our fire-
arms: the women received us with the Masharrad or joy-cry, and as I passed
the enclosure the Geradah Khayrah performed the "Fola" by throwing over me
some handfuls of toasted grain. [1] The men gave cordial _poignees de
mains_, some danced with joy to see us return alive; they had heard of our
being imprisoned, bastinadoed, slaughtered; they swore that the Gerad was
raising an army to rescue or revenge us--in fact, had we been their
kinsmen more excitement could not have been displayed. Lastly, in true
humility, crept forward the End of Time, who, as he kissed my hand, was
upon the point of tears: he had been half-starved, despite his dignity as
Sharmarkay's Mercury, and had spent his weary nights and days reciting the
chapter Y.S. and fumbling the rosary for omens. The Gerad, he declared,
would have given him a sheep and one of his daughters to wife,
temporarily, but Sherwa had interfered, he had hindered the course of his
sire's generosity: "Cursed be he," exclaimed the End of Time, "who with
dirty feet defiles the pure water of the stream!"
We entered the smoky cottage. The Gerad and his sons were at Wilensi
settling the weighty matter of a caravan which had been plundered by the
Usbayhan tribe--in their absence the good Khayrah and her daughters did
the duties of hospitality by cooking rice and a couple of fowls. A
pleasant evening was spent in recounting our perils as travellers will do,
and complimenting one another upon the power of our star.
At eight the next morning we rode to Wilensi. As we approached it all the
wayfarers and villagers inquired Hibernically if we were the party that
had been put to death by the Amir of Harar. Loud congratulations and
shouts of joy awaited our arrival. The Kalendar was in a paroxysm of
delight: both Shehrazade and Deenarzade were affected with giggling and
what might be blushing. We reviewed our property and found that the One-
eyed had been a faithful steward, so faithful indeed, that he had well
nigh starved the two women. Presently appeared the Gerad and his sons
bringing with them my books; the former was at once invested with a gaudy
Abyssinian Tobe of many colours, in which he sallied forth from the
cottage the admired of all admirers. The pretty wife Sudiyah and the good
Khayrah were made happy by sundry gifts of huge Birmingham ear-rings,
brooches and bracelets, scissors, needles, and thread. The evening as
usual ended in a feast.
"We halted a week at Wilensi to feed,--in truth my companions had been
faring lentenly at Harar,--and to lay in stock and strength for the long
desert march before us. A Somali was despatched to the city under orders
to load an ass with onions, tobacco, spices, wooden platters, and Karanji
[2], which our penniless condition had prevented our purchasing. I spent
the time collecting a vocabulary of the Harari tongue under the auspices
of Mad Said and All the poet, a Somali educated at the Alma Mater. He was
a small black man, long-headed and long-backed, with remarkably prominent
eyes, a bulging brow, nose pertly turned up, and lean jaws almost
unconscious of beard. He knew the Arabic, Somali, Galla, and Harari
languages, and his acuteness was such, that I found no difficulty in what
usually proves the hardest task,--extracting the grammatical forms. "A
poet, the son of a Poet," to use his own phrase, he evinced a Horatian
respect for the beverage which bards love, and his discourse, whenever it
strayed from the line of grammar, savoured of over reverence for the
goddess whom Pagans associated with Bacchus and Ceres. He was also a
patriot and a Tyrtaeus. No clan ever attacked his Girhis without smarting
under terrible sarcasms, and his sneers at the young warriors for want of
ardour in resisting Gudabirsi encroachments, were quoted as models of the
"withering." Stimulated by the present of a Tobe, he composed a song in
honor of the pilgrim: I will offer a literal translation of the exordium,
though sentient of the fact that modesty shrinks from such quotations.
"Formerly, my sire and self held ourselves songsters:
Only to day, however, I really begin to sing.
At the order of Abdullah, Allah sent, my tongue is loosed,
The son of the Kuraysh by a thousand generations,
He hath visited Audal, and Sahil and Adari [3];
A hundred of his ships float on the sea;
His intellect," &c. &c. &c.
When not engaged with Ali the Poet I amused myself by consoling Mad Said,
who was deeply afflicted, his son having received an ugly stab in the
shoulder. Thinking, perhaps, that the Senior anticipated some evil results
from the wound, I attempted to remove the impression. "Alas, 0 Hajj!"
groaned the old man, "it is not that!--how can the boy be _my boy_, I who
have ever given instead of receiving stabs?" nor would he be comforted, on
account of the youth's progeniture. At other times we summoned the heads
of the clans and proceeded to write down their genealogies. This always
led to a scene beginning with piano, but rapidly rising to the strepitoso.
Each tribe and clan wished to rank first, none would be even second,--what
was to be done? When excitement was at its height, the paper and pencil
were torn out of my hand, stubby beards were pitilessly pulled, and
daggers half started from their sheaths. These quarrels were, however,
easily composed, and always passed off in storms of abuse, laughter, and
derision.
With the end of the week's repose came Shaykh Jami, the Berteri, equipped
as a traveller with sword, praying-skin, and water-bottle. This bustling
little divine, whose hobby it was to make every man's business his own,
was accompanied by his brother, in nowise so prayerful a person, and by
four burly, black-looking Widads, of whose birth, learning, piety, and
virtues he spoke in terms eloquent. I gave them a supper of rice, ghee,
and dates in my hut, and with much difficulty excused myself on plea of
ill health from a Samrah or night's entertainment--the chaunting some
serious book from evening even to the small hours. The Shaykh informed me
that his peaceful errand on that occasion was to determine a claim of
blood-money amongst the neighbouring Bedouins. The case was rich in Somali
manners. One man gave medicine to another who happened to die about a
month afterwards: the father of the deceased at once charged the mediciner
with poisoning, and demanded the customary fine. Mad Said grumbled certain
disrespectful expressions about the propriety of divines confining
themselves to prayers and the Koran, whilst the Gerad Adan, after
listening to the Shaykh's violent denunciation of the Somali doctrine,
"Fire, but not shame!" [4] conducted his head-scratcher, and with sly
sarcasm declared that he had been Islamized afresh that day.
On Sunday, the 21st of January, our messenger returned from Harar,
bringing with him supplies for the road: my vocabulary was finished, and
as nothing delayed us at Wilensi, I determined to set out the next day.
When the rumour went abroad every inhabitant of the village flocked to our
hut, with the view of seeing what he could beg or borrow: we were soon
obliged to close it, with peremptory orders that none be admitted but the
Shaykh Jami. The divine appeared in the afternoon accompanied by all the
incurables of the country side: after hearing the tale of the blood-money,
I determined that talismans were the best and safest of medicines in those
mountains. The Shaykh at first doubted their efficacy. But when my diploma
as a master Sufi was exhibited, a new light broke upon him and his
attendant Widads. "Verily he hath declared himself this day!" whispered
each to his neighbour, still sorely mystified. Shaykh Jami carefully
inspected the document, raised it reverently to his forehead, and muttered
some prayers: he then in humble phrase begged a copy, and required from me
"Ijazah" or permission to act as master. The former request was granted
without hesitation, about the latter I preferred to temporize: he then
owned himself my pupil, and received, as a well-merited acknowledgment of
his services, a pencil and a silk turban.
The morning fixed for our departure came; no one, however, seemed ready to
move. The Hammal, who but the night before had been full of ardour and
activity, now hung back; we had no coffee, no water-bags, and Deenarzade
had gone to buy gourds in some distant village. This was truly African:
twenty-six days had not sufficed to do the work of a single watch! No
servants had been procured for us by the Gerad, although he had promised a
hundred whenever required. Long Guled had imprudently lent his dagger to
the smooth-tongued Yusuf Dera, who hearing of the departure, naturally
absconded. And, at the last moment, one Abdy Aman, who had engaged himself
at Harar as guide to Berberah for the sum of ten dollars, asked a score.
A display of energy was clearly necessary. I sent the Gerad with
directions to bring the camels at once, and ordered the Hammal to pull
down the huts. Abdy Aman was told to go to Harar--or the other place--Long
Guled was promised another dagger at Berberah; a message was left
directing Deenarzade to follow, and the word was given to load.
By dint of shouting and rough language, the caravan was ready at 9 A.M.
The Gerad Adan and his ragged tail leading, we skirted the eastern side of
Wilensi, and our heavily laden camels descended with pain the rough and
stony slope of the wide Kloof dividing it from the Marar Prairie. At 1
P.M. the chief summoned us to halt: we pushed on, however, without
regarding him. Presently, Long Guled and the End of Time were missing;
contrary to express orders they had returned to seek the dagger. To ensure
discipline, on this occasion I must have blown out the long youth's
brains, which were, he declared, addled by the loss of his weapon: the
remedy appeared worse than the disease.
Attended only by the Hammal, I entered with pleasure the Marar Prairie. In
vain the Gerad entreated us not to venture upon a place swarming with
lions; vainly he promised to kill sheep and oxen for a feast;--we took
abrupt leave of him, and drove away the camels.
Journeying slowly over the skirt of the plain, when rejoined by the
truants, we met a party of travellers, who, as usual, stopped to inquire
the news. Their chief, mounted upon an old mule, proved to be Madar Farih,
a Somali well known at Aden. He consented to accompany us as far as the
halting place, expressed astonishment at our escaping Harar, and gave us
intelligence which my companions judged grave. The Gerad Hirsi of the
Berteri, amongst whom Madar had been living, was incensed with us for
leaving the direct road. Report informed him, moreover, that we had given
600 dollars and various valuables to the Gerad Adan,--Why then had he been
neglected? Madar sensibly advised us to push forward that night, and to
'ware the bush, whence Midgans might use their poisoned arrows.
We alighted at the village formerly beneath Gurays, now shifted to a short
distance from those hills. Presently appeared Deenarzade, hung round with
gourds and swelling with hurt feelings: she was accompanied by Dahabo,
sister of the valiant Beuh, who, having for ever parted from her graceless
husband, the Gerad, was returning under our escort to the Gurgi of her
family. Then came Yusuf Dera with a smiling countenance and smooth
manners, bringing the stolen dagger and many excuses for the mistake; he
was accompanied by a knot of kinsmen deputed by the Gerad as usual for no
good purpose. That worthy had been informed that his Berteri rival offered
a hundred cows for our persons, dead or alive: he pathetically asked my
attendants "Do you love your pilgrim?" and suggested that if they did so,
they might as well send him a little more cloth, upon the receipt of which
he would escort us with fifty horsemen.
My Somal lent a willing ear to a speech which smelt of falsehood a mile
off: they sat down to debate; the subject was important, and for three
mortal hours did that palaver endure. I proposed proceeding at once. They
declared that the camels could not walk, and that the cold of the prairie
was death to man. Pointing to a caravan of grain-carriers that awaited our
escort, I then spoke of starting next morning. Still they hesitated. At
length darkness came on, and knowing it to be a mere waste of time to
debate over night about dangers to be faced next day, I ate my dates and
drank my milk, and lay down to enjoy tranquil sleep in the deep silence of
the desert.
The morning of the 23rd of January found my companions as usual in a state
of faint-heartedness. The Hammal was deputed to obtain permission for
fetching the Gerad and all the Gerad's men. This was positively refused. I
could not, however, object to sending sundry Tobes to the cunning idiot,
in order to back up a verbal request for the escort. Thereupon Yusuf Dera,
Madar Farih, and the other worthies took leave, promising to despatch the
troop before noon: I saw them depart with pleasure, feeling that we had
bade adieu to the Girhis. The greatest danger we had run was from the
Gerad Adan, a fact of which I was not aware till some time after my return
to Berberah: he had always been plotting an _avanie_ which, if attempted,
would have cost him dear, but at the same time would certainly have proved
fatal to us.
Noon arrived, but no cavalry. My companions had promised that if
disappointed they would start before nightfall and march till morning. But
when the camels were sent for, one, as usual if delay was judged
advisable, had strayed: they went in search of him, so as to give time for
preparation to the caravan. I then had a sharp explanation with my men,
and told them in conclusion that it was my determination to cross the
Prairie alone, if necessary, on the morrow.
That night heavy clouds rolled down from the Gurays Hills, and veiled the
sky with a deeper gloom. Presently came a thin streak of blue lightning
and a roar of thunder, which dispersed like flies the mob of gazers from
around my Gurgi; then rain streamed through our hut as though we had been
dwelling under a system of cullenders. Deenarzade declared herself too ill
to move; Shehrazade swore that she would not work: briefly, that night was
by no means pleasantly spent.
At dawn, on the 24th, we started across the Marar Prairie with a caravan
of about twenty men and thirty women, driving camels, carrying grain,
asses, and a few sheep. The long straggling line gave a "wide berth" to
the doughty Hirsi and his Berteris, whose camp-fires were clearly visible
in the morning grey. The air was raw; piles of purple cloud settled upon
the hills, whence cold and damp gusts swept the plain; sometimes we had a
shower, at others a Scotch mist, which did not fail to penetrate our thin
raiment. My people trembled, and their teeth chattered as though they were
walking upon ice. In our slow course we passed herds of quagga and
gazelles, but the animals were wild, and both men and mules were unequal
to the task of stalking them. About midday we closed up, for our path
wound through the valley wooded with Acacia,--fittest place for an
ambuscade of archers. We dined in the saddle on huge lumps of sun-dried
beef, and bits of gum gathered from the trees.
Having at length crossed the prairie without accident, the caravan people
shook our hands, congratulated one another, and declared that they owed
their lives to us. About an hour after sunset we arrived at Abtidon's
home, a large kraal at the foot of the Konti cone: fear of lions drove my
people into the enclosure, where we passed a night of scratching. I was
now haunted by the dread of a certain complaint for which sulphur is said
to be a specific. This is the pest of the inner parts of Somali-land; the
people declare it to arise from flies and fleas: the European would derive
it from the deficiency, or rather the impossibility, of ablutions.
"Allah help the Goer, but the Return is Rolling:" this adage was ever upon
the End of Time's tongue, yet my fate was apparently an exception to the
general rule. On the 25th January, we were delayed by the weakness of the
camels, which had been half starved in the Girhi mountains. And as we were
about to enter the lands of the Habr Awal [5], then at blood feud with my
men, all Habr Gerhajis, probably a week would elapse before we could
provide ourselves with a fit and proper protector. Already I had been
delayed ten days after the appointed time, my comrades at Berberah would
be apprehensive of accidents, and although starting from Wilensi we had
resolved to reach the coast within the fortnight, a month's march was in
clear prospect.
Whilst thus chewing the cud of bitter thought where thought was of scant
avail, suddenly appeared the valiant Beuh, sent to visit us by Dahabo his
gay sister. He informed us that a guide was in the neighbourhood, and the
news gave me an idea. I proposed that he should escort the women, camels,
and baggage under command of the Kalendar to Zayla, whilst we, mounting
our mules and carrying only our arms and provisions for four days, might
push through the lands of the Habr Awal. After some demur all consented.
It was not without apprehension that I pocketed all my remaining
provisions, five biscuits, a few limes, and sundry lumps of sugar. Any
delay or accident to our mules would starve us; in the first place, we
were about to traverse a desert, and secondly where Habr Awal were, they
would not sell meat or milk to Habr Gerhajis. My attendants provided
themselves with a small provision of sun-dried beef, grain, and
sweetmeats: only one water-bottle, however, was found amongst the whole
party. We arose at dawn after a wet night on the 26th January, but we did
not start till 7 A.M., the reason being that all the party, the Kalendar,
Shehrazade and Deenarzade, claimed and would have his and her several and
distinct palaver.
Having taken leave of our friends and property [6], we spurred our mules,
and guided by Beuh, rode through cloud and mist towards Koralay the
Saddle-back hill. After an hour's trot over rugged ground falling into the
Harawwah valley, we came to a Gudabirsi village, where my companions
halted to inquire the news, also to distend their stomachs with milk.
Thence we advanced slowly, as the broken path required, through thickets
of wild henna to the kraal occupied by Beuh's family. At a distance we
were descried by an old acquaintance, Fahi, who straightways began to
dance like a little Polyphemus, his shock-wig waving in the air: plentiful
potations of milk again delayed my companions, who were now laying in a
four days' stock.
Remounting, we resumed our journey over a mass of rock and thicket,
watered our mules at holes in a Fiumara, and made our way to a village
belonging to the Ugaz or chief of the Gudabirsi tribe. He was a middle-
aged man of ordinary presence, and he did not neglect to hold out his hand
for a gift which we could not but refuse. Halting for about an hour, we
persuaded a guide, by the offer of five dollars and a pair of cloths, to
accompany us. "Dubayr"--the Donkey--who belonged to the Bahgobo clan of
the Habr Awal, was a "long Lankin," unable, like all these Bedouins, to
endure fatigue. He could not ride, the saddle cut him, and he found his
mule restive; lately married, he was incapacitated for walking, and he
suffered sadly from thirst. The Donkey little knew, when he promised to
show Berberah on the third day, what he had bound himself to perform:
after the second march he was induced, only by the promise of a large
present, and one continual talk of food, to proceed, and often he threw
his lengthy form upon the ground, groaning that his supreme hour was at
hand. In the land which we were to traverse every man's spear would be
against us. By way of precaution, we ordered our protector to choose
desert roads and carefully to avoid all kraals. At first, not
understanding our reasons, and ever hankering after milk, he could not
pass a thorn fence without eyeing it wistfully. On the next day, however,
he became more tractable, and before reaching Berberah he showed himself,
in consequence of some old blood feud, more anxious even than ourselves to
avoid villages.
Remounting, under the guidance of the Donkey, we resumed our east-ward
course. He was communicative even for a Somali, and began by pointing out,
on the right of the road, the ruins of a stone-building, called, as
customary in these countries, a fort. Beyond it we came to a kraal, whence
all the inhabitants issued with shouts and cries for tobacco. Three
o'clock P.M. brought us to a broad Fiumara choked with the thickest and
most tangled vegetation: we were shown some curious old Galla wells, deep
holes about twenty feet in diameter, excavated in the rock; some were dry,
others overgrown with huge creepers, and one only supplied us with
tolerable water. The Gudabirsi tribe received them from the Girhi in lieu
of blood-money: beyond this watercourse, the ground belongs to the Rer
Yunis Jibril, a powerful clan of the Habr Awal, and the hills are thickly
studded with thorn-fence and kraal.
Without returning the salutations of the Bedouins, who loudly summoned us
to stop and give them the news, we trotted forwards in search of a
deserted sheep-fold. At sunset we passed, upon an eminence on our left,
the ruins of an ancient settlement, called after its patron Saint, Ao
Barhe: and both sides of the mountain road were flanked by tracts of
prairie-land, beautifully purpling in the evening air. After a ride of
thirty-five miles, we arrived at a large fold, where, by removing the
inner thorn-fences, we found fresh grass for our starving beasts. The
night was raw and windy, and thick mists deepened into a drizzle, which
did not quench our thirst, but easily drenched the saddle cloths, our only
bedding. In one sense, however, the foul weather was propitious to us. Our
track might easily have been followed by some enterprising son of Yunis
Jibril; these tracts of thorny bush are favourite places for cattle
lifting; moreover the fire was kept blazing all night, yet our mules were
not stolen.
We shook off our slumbers before dawn on the 27th. I remarked near our
resting-place, one of those detached heaps of rock, common enough in the
Somali country: at one extremity a huge block projects upwards, and
suggests the idea of a gigantic canine tooth. The Donkey declared that the
summit still bears traces of building, and related the legend connected
with Moga Medir. [7] There, in times of old, dwelt a Galla maiden whose
eye could distinguish a plundering party at the distance of five days'
march. The enemies of her tribe, after sustaining heavy losses, hit upon
the expedient of an attack, not _en chemise_, but with their heads muffled
in bundles of hay. When Moga, the maiden, informed her sire and clan that
a prairie was on its way towards the hill, they deemed her mad; the
manoeuvre succeeded, and the unhappy seer lost her life. The legend
interested me by its wide diffusion. The history of Zarka, the blue-eyed
witch of the Jadis tribe, who seized Yemamah by her gramarye, and our
Scotch tale of Birnam wood's march, are Asiatic and European facsimiles of
African "Moga's Tooth."
At 7 A.M. we started through the mist, and trotted eastwards in search of
a well. The guide had deceived us: the day before he had promised water at
every half mile; he afterwards owned with groans that we should not drink
before nightfall. These people seem to lie involuntarily: the habit of
untruth with them becomes a second nature. They deceive without object for
deceit, and the only way of obtaining from them correct information is to
inquire, receive the answer, and determine it to be diametrically opposed
to fact.
I will not trouble you, dear L., with descriptions of the uniform and
uninteresting scenery through which we rode,--horrid hills upon which
withered aloes brandished their spears, plains apparently rained upon by a
shower of stones, and rolling ground abounding only with thorns like the
"wait-a-bits" of Kafir land, created to tear man's skin or clothes. Our
toil was rendered doubly toilsome by the Eastern travellers' dread--the
demon of Thirst rode like Care behind us. For twenty-four hours we did not
taste water, the sun parched our brains, the mirage mocked us at every
turn, and the effect was a species of monomania. As I jogged along with
eyes closed against the fiery air, no image unconnected with the want
suggested itself. Water ever lay before me--water lying deep in the shady
well--water in streams bubbling icy from the rock--water in pellucid lakes
inviting me to plunge and revel in their treasures. Now an Indian cloud
was showering upon me fluid more precious than molten pearl, then an
invisible hand offered a bowl for which the mortal part would gladly have
bartered years of life. Then--drear contrast!--I opened my eyes to a heat-
reeking plain, and a sky of that eternal metallic blue so lovely to
painter and poet, so blank and deathlike to us, whose [Greek _kalon_] was
tempest, rain-storm, and the huge purple nimbus. I tried to talk--it was
in vain, to sing in vain, vainly to think; every idea was bound up in one
subject, water. [8]
As the sun sank into the East we descended the wide Gogaysa valley. With
unspeakable delight we saw in the distance a patch of lively green: our
animals scented the blessing from afar, they raised their drooping ears,
and started with us at a canter, till, turning a corner, we suddenly
sighted sundry little wells. To spring from the saddle, to race with our
mules, who now feared not the crumbling sides of the pits, to throw
ourselves into the muddy pools, to drink a long slow draught, and to dash
the water over our burning faces, took less time to do than to recount. A
calmer inspection showed a necessity for caution;--the surface was alive
with tadpoles and insects: prudence, however, had little power at that
time, we drank, and drank, and then drank again. As our mules had fallen
with avidity upon the grass, I proposed to pass a few hours near the well.
My companions, however, pleading the old fear of lions, led the way to a
deserted kraal upon a neighbouring hill. We had marched about thirty miles
eastward, and had entered a safe country belonging to the Bahgoba, our
guide's clan.
At sunrise on the 28th of January, the Donkey, whose limbs refused to
work, was lifted into the saddle, declaring that the white man must have
been sent from heaven, as a special curse upon the children of Ishak. We
started, after filling the water-bottle, down the Gogaysa valley. Our
mules were becoming foot-sore, and the saddles had already galled their
backs; we were therefore compelled to the additional mortification of
travelling at snail's pace over the dreary hills, and through the
uninteresting bush.
About noon we entered Wady Danan, or "The Sour," a deep chasm in the
rocks; the centre is a winding sandy watercourse, here and there grassy
with tall rushes, and affording at every half mile a plentiful supply of
sweet water. The walls of the ravine are steep and rugged, and the thorny
jungle clustering at the sides gives a wild appearance to the scene.
Traces of animals, quagga and gazelle, every where abounded: not being
however, in "Dianic humour," and unwilling to apprise Bedouins of our
vicinity, I did not fire a shot. As we advanced large trees freshly barked
and more tender plants torn up by the roots, showed the late passage of a
herd of elephants: my mule, though the bravest of our beasts, was in a
state of terror all the way. The little grey honey-bird [9] tempted us to
wander with all his art: now he sat upon the nearest tree chirping his
invitation to a feast, then he preceded us with short jerking flights to
point out the path. My people, however, despite the fondness for honey
inherent in the Somali palate [10], would not follow him, deciding that
on, this occasion his motives for inviting us were not of the purest.
Emerging from the valley, we urged on our animals over comparatively level
ground, in the fallacious hope of seeing the sea that night. The trees
became rarer as we advanced and the surface metallic. In spots the path
led over ironstone that resembled slag. In other places the soil was
ochre-coloured [11]: the cattle lick it, probably on account of the
aluminous matter with which it is mixed. Everywhere the surface was burnt
up by the sun, and withered from want of rain. Towards evening we entered
a broad slope called by the Somal Dihh Murodi, or Murodilay, the
Elephants' Valley. Crossing its breadth from west to east, we traversed
two Fiumaras, the nearer "Hamar," the further "Las Dorhhay," or the
Tamarisk waterholes. They were similar in appearance, the usual Wady about
100 yards wide, pearly sand lined with borders of leek green, pitted with
dry wells around which lay heaps of withered thorns and a herd of gazelles
tripping gracefully over the quartz carpet.
After spanning the valley we began to ascend the lower slopes of a high
range, whose folds formed like a curtain the bold background of the view.
This is the landward face of the Ghauts, over which we were to pass before
sighting the sea. Masses of cold grey cloud rolled from the table-formed
summit, we were presently shrouded in mist, and as we advanced, rain began
to fall. The light of day vanishing, we again descended into a Fiumara
with a tortuous and rocky bed, the main drain of the landward mountain
side. My companions, now half-starved,--they had lived through three days
on a handful of dates and sweetmeats,--devoured with avidity the wild
Jujube berries that strewed the stones. The guide had preceded us: when we
came up with him, he was found seated upon a grassy bank on the edge of
the rugged torrent bed. We sprang in pleased astonishment from the saddle,
dire had been the anticipations that our mules,--one of them already
required driving with the spear,--would, after another night of
starvation, leave us to carry their loads upon our own hacks. The cause of
the phenomenon soon revealed itself. In the rock was a hole about two feet
wide, whence a crystal sheet welled over the Fiumara bank, forming a
paradise for frog and tadpole. This "Ga'angal" is considered by the Somal
a "fairies' well:" all, however, that the Donkey could inform me was, that
when the Nomads settle in the valley, the water sinks deep below the
earth--a knot which methinks might be unravelled without the interposition
of a god. The same authority declared it to be the work of the "old
ancient" Arabs.
The mules fell hungrily upon the succulent grass, and we, with the most
frugal of suppers, prepared to pass the rainy night. Presently, however,
the doves and Katas [12], the only birds here requiring water, approached
in flights, and fearing to drink, fluttered around us with shrill cries.
They suggested to my companions the possibility of being visited in sleep
by more formidable beasts, and even man: after a short halt, an advance
was proposed; and this was an offer which, on principle, I never refused.
We remounted our mules, now refreshed and in good spirits, and began to
ascend the stony face of the Eastern hill through a thick mist, deepening
the darkness. As we reached the bleak summit, a heavy shower gave my
companions a pretext to stop: they readily found a deserted thorn fence,
in which we passed a wet night. That day we had travelled at least thirty-
five miles without seeing the face of man: the country was parched to a
cinder for want of water, and all the Nomads had migrated to the plains.
The morning of the 29th January was unusually fine: the last night's rain
hung in masses of mist about the hill-sides, and the rapid evaporation
clothed the clear background with deep blue. We began the day by ascending
a steep goat-track: it led to a sandy Fiumara, overgrown with Jujubes and
other thorns, abounding in water, and showing in the rocky sides, caverns
fit for a race of Troglodytes. Pursuing the path over a stony valley lying
between parallel ranges of hill, we halted at about 10 A.M. in a large
patch of grass-land, the produce of the rain, which for some days past had
been fertilising the hill-tops. Whilst our beasts grazed greedily, we sat
under a bush, and saw far beneath us the low country which separates the
Ghauts from the sea. Through an avenue in the rolling nimbus, we could
trace the long courses of Fiumaras, and below, where mist did not obstruct
the sight, the tawny plains, cut with watercourses glistening white, shone
in their eternal summer.
Shortly after 10 A.M., we resumed our march, and began the descent of the
Ghauts by a ravine to which the guide gave the name of 'Kadar.' No sandy
watercourse, the 'Pass' of this barbarous land, here facilitates the
travellers' advance: the rapid slope of the hill presents a succession of
blocks and boulders piled one upon the other in rugged steps, apparently
impossible to a laden camel. This ravine, the Splugen of Somaliland, led
us, after an hour's ride, to the Wady Duntu, a gigantic mountain-cleft
formed by the violent action of torrents. The chasm winds abruptly between
lofty walls of syenite and pink granite, glittering with flaky mica, and
streaked with dykes and veins of snowy quartz: the strata of the
sandstones that here and there projected into the bed were wonderfully
twisted around a central nucleus, as green boughs might be bent about a
tree. Above, the hill-tops towered in the air, here denuded of vegetable
soil by the heavy monsoon, there clothed from base to brow with gum trees,
whose verdure was delicious to behold. The channel was now sandy, then
flagged with limestone in slippery sheets, or horrid with rough boulders:
at times the path was clear and easy; at others, a precipice of twenty or
thirty feet, which must be a little cataract after rain, forced us to
fight our way through the obstinate thorns that defended some spur of
ragged hill. As the noontide heat, concentrated in this funnel, began to
affect man and beast, we found a granite block, under whose shady brow
clear water, oozing from the sand, formed a natural bath, and sat there
for a while to enjoy the spectacle and the atmosphere, perfumed, as in
part of Persia and Northern Arabia, by the aromatic shrubs of the desert.
After a short half-hour, we remounted and pursued our way down the Duntu
chasm. As we advanced, the hills shrank in size, the bed became more
level, and the walls of rock, gradually widening out, sank into the plain.
Brisk and elastic above, the air, here soft, damp, and tepid, and the sun
burning with a more malignant heat, convinced us that we stood once more
below the Ghauts. For two hours we urged our mules in a south-east
direction down the broad and winding Fiumara, taking care to inspect every
well, but finding them all full of dry sand. Then turning eastwards, we
crossed a plain called by the Donkey "Battaladayti Taranay"--the Flats of
Taranay--an exact representation of the maritime regions about Zayla.
Herds of camels and flocks of milky sheep browsing amongst thorny Acacia
and the tufted Kulan, suggested pleasing visions to starving travellers,
and for the first time after three days of hard riding, we saw the face of
man. The shepherds, Mikahil of the Habr Awal tribe, all fled as we
approached: at last one was bold enough to stand and deliver the news. My
companions were refreshed by good reports: there had been few murders, and
the sea-board was tolerably clear of our doughty enemies, the Ayyal Ahmed.
We pricked over the undulating growth of parched grass, shaping our
course for Jebel Almis, to sailors the chief landmark of this coast, and
for a certain thin blue stripe on the far horizon, upon which we gazed
with gladdened eyes.
Our road lay between low brown hills of lime and sandstone, the Sub-Ghauts
forming a scattered line between the maritime mountains and the sea.
Presently the path was choked by dense scrub of the Arman Acacia: its
yellow blossoms scented the air, but hardly made amends for the injuries
of a thorn nearly two inches long, and tipped with a wooden point sharp as
a needle. Emerging, towards evening, from this bush, we saw large herds of
camels, and called their guardians to come and meet us. For all reply they
ran like ostriches to the nearest rocks, tittering the cry of alarm, and
when we drew near each man implored us to harry his neighbour's cattle.
Throughout our wanderings in Somaliland this had never occurred: it
impressed me strongly with the disturbed state of the regions inhabited by
the Habr Awal. After some time we persuaded a Bedouin who, with frantic
gestures, was screaming and flogging his camels, to listen: reassured by
our oaths, he declared himself to be a Bahgoba, and promised to show us a
village of the Ayyal Gedid. The Hammal, who had married a daughter of this
clan, and had constituted his father-in-law my protector at Berberah, made
sure of a hospitable reception: "To-night we shall sleep under cover and
drink milk," quoth one hungry man to another, who straightways rejoined,
"And we shall eat mutton!"
After dark we arrived at a kraal, we unsaddled our mules and sat down near
it, indulging in Epicurean anticipations. Opposite us, by the door of a
hut, was a group of men who observed our arrival, but did not advance or
salute us. Impatient, I fired a pistol, when a gruff voice asked why we
disturbed the camels that were being milked. "We have fallen upon the
Ayyal Shirdon"--our bitterest enemies--whispered the End of Time. The same
voice then demanded in angrier accents, "Of what tribe be ye?" We boldly
answered, "Of the Habr Gerhajis." Thereupon ensued a war of words. The
Ayyal Shirdon inquired what we wanted, where we had been, and how we
dared, seeing that peace had not been concluded between the tribes, to
enter their lands. We replied civilly as our disappointment would permit,
but apparently gained little by soft words. The inhospitable Bedouins
declared our arrival to be in the seventeenth house of Geomancy--an advent
probable as the Greek Kalends--and rudely insisted upon knowing what had
taken us to Harar. At last, a warrior, armed with two spears, came to meet
us, and bending down recognized the End of Time: after a few short
sentences he turned on his heel and retired. I then directed Long Guled to
approach the group, and say that a traveller was at their doors ready and
willing to give tobacco in exchange for a draught of milk. They refused
point-blank, and spoke of fighting: we at once made ready with our
weapons, and showing the plain, bade them come on and receive a "belly
full." During the lull which followed this obliging proposal we saddled
our mules and rode off, in the grimmest of humours, loudly cursing the
craven churls who knew not the value of a guest.
We visited successively three villages of the Ayyal Gedid: the Hammal
failed to obtain even a drop of water from his connexions, and was taunted
accordingly. He explained their inhospitality by the fact that all the
warriors being at Berberah, the villages contained nothing but women,
children, servants, and flocks. The Donkey when strictly questioned
declared that no well nearer than Bulhar was to be found: as men and mules
were faint with thirst, I determined to push forward to water that night.
Many times the animals were stopped, a mute hint that they could go no
further: I spurred onwards, and the rest, as on such occasions they had
now learned to do, followed without a word. Our path lay across a plain
called Banka Hadla, intersected in many places by deep watercourses, and
thinly strewed with Kulan clumps. The moon arose, but cast a cloud-veiled
and uncertain light: our path, moreover, was not clear, as the guide, worn
out by fatigue, tottered on far in the rear.
About midnight we heard--delightful sound!--the murmur of the distant sea.
Revived by the music, we pushed on more cheerily. At last the Donkey
preceded us, and about 3 A.M. we found, in a Fiumara, some holes which
supplied us with bitter water, truly delicious after fifteen hours of
thirst. Repeated draughts of the element, which the late rains had
rendered potable, relieved our pain, and hard by we found a place where
coarse stubbly grass saved our mules from starvation. Then rain coming on,
we coiled ourselves under the saddle cloths, and, reckless alike of Ayyal
Ahmed and Ayyal Shirdon, slept like the dead.
At dawn on the 30th January, I arose and inspected the site of Bulhar. It
was then deserted, a huge heap of bleached bones being the only object
suggestive of a settlement. This, at different times, has been a thriving
place, owing to its roadstead, and the feuds of Berberah: it was generally
a village of Gurgis, with some stone-houses built by Arabs. The coast,
however, is open and havenless, and the Shimal wind, feared even at the
Great Port, here rages with resistless violence. Yet the place revives
when plundering parties render the plain unsafe: the timid merchants here
embark their goods and persons, whilst their camels are marched round the
bay.
Mounting at 6 A.M. we started slowly along the sea coast, and frequently
halted on the bushy Fiumara-cut plain. About noon we bathed in the sea,
and sat on the sands for a while, my people praying for permission to pass
the kraals of their enemies, the Ayyal Ahmed, by night. This, their last
request, was graciously granted: to say sooth, rapid travelling was now
impossible; the spear failed to urge on one mule, and the Hammal was
obliged to flog before him another wretched animal. We then traversed an
alluvial plain, lately flooded, where slippery mud doubled the fatigue of
our cattle; and, at 3 P.M., again halted on a patch of grass below the
rocky spur of Dabasenis, a hill half way between Bulhar and Berberah. On
the summit I was shown an object that makes travellers shudder, a thorn-
tree, under which the Habr Gerhajis [13] and their friends of the Eesa
Musa sit, vulture-like, on the look-out for plunder and murder. Advancing
another mile, we came to some wells, where we were obliged to rest our
animals. Having there finished our last mouthful of food, we remounted,
and following the plain eastward, prepared for a long night-march.
As the light of day waned we passed on the right hand a table-formed hill,
apparently a detached fragment of the sub-Ghauts or coast range. This spot
is celebrated in local legends as "Auliya Kumbo," the Mount of Saints,
where the forty-four Arab Santons sat in solemn conclave before dispersing
over the Somali country to preach El Islam. It lies about six hours of
hard walking from Berberah.
At midnight we skirted Bulho Faranji, the Franks' Watering-place [14], a
strip of ground thickly covered with trees. Abounding in grass and water,
it has been the site of a village: when we passed it, however, all was
desert. By the moon's light we descried, as we silently skirted the sea,
the kraals and folds of our foe the Ayyal Ahmed, and at times we could
distinguish the lowing of their cattle: my companions chuckled hugely at
the success of their manoeuvre, and perhaps not without reason. At
Berberah we were afterwards informed that a shepherd in the bush had
witnessed and reported our having passed, when the Ayyal Ahmed cursed the
star that had enabled us to slip unhurt through their hands.
Our mules could scarcely walk: after every bow-shot they rolled upon the
ground and were raised only by the whip. A last halt was called when
arrived within four miles of Berberah: the End of Time and Long Guled,
completely worn out, fell fast asleep upon the stones. Of all the party
the Hammal alone retained strength and spirits: the sturdy fellow talked,
sang, and shouted, and, whilst the others could scarcely sit their mules,
he danced his war-dance and brandished his spear. I was delighted with his
"pluck."
Now a long dark line appears upon the sandy horizon--it grows more
distinct in the shades of night--the silhouettes of shipping appear
against sea and sky. A cry of joy bursts from every mouth: cheer, boys,
cheer, our toils here touch their end!
The End of Time first listened to the small still voice of Caution. He
whispered anxiously to make no noise lest enemies might arise, that my
other attendants had protectors at Berberah, but that he, the hated and
feared, as the _locum tenens_ of Sharmarkay,--the great _bete noire_,--
depended wholly upon my defence. The Donkey led us slowly and cautiously
round the southern quarter of the sleeping town, through bone heaps and
jackals tearing their unsavoury prey: at last he marched straight into the
quarter appropriated to the Ayyal Gedid our protectors. Anxiously I
inquired if my comrades had left Berberah, and heard with delight that
they awaited me there. It was then 2 A.M. and we had marched at least
forty miles. The Somal, when in fear of forays, drive laden camels over
this distance in about ten hours.
I dismounted at the huts where my comrades were living. A glad welcome, a
dish of rice, and a glass of strong waters--pardon dear L., these details
--made amends for past privations and fatigue. The servants and the
wretched mules were duly provided for, and I fell asleep, conscious of
having performed a feat which, like a certain ride to York, will live in
local annals for many and many a year.