ACROSS THE TURKISH FRONTIER.
We had left the Amir of Bishi’s village some way behind when the sun rose
the following morning. The track continues along the river-bed until
the valley terminates in a steep ascent. However, the old-world Arabs
have built a paved way up the slope, which renders its surmounting much
easier than it otherwise would be,—not that it is by any means a simple
process as it is. Scrambling up on foot, we reached the summit some time
before the camels, and were able to rest for a time and watch the poor
grunting brutes toiling in and out the intricate turns in the path; for
it is a mere track winding through great piles of overturned rock, and
along the edges of steep inclines. I found the ascent from the valley of
Khoreiba to the summit to be over six hundred and fifty feet, giving us
an altitude of nearly five thousand feet above the sea-level. The view
looking back was a very lovely one. Below us lay the valley of Khoreiba,
shut in with its precipitous walls of rock, under which, amongst green
fields and shady trees, flowed the river, a streak of silver thread. Away
beyond at the farther end of the valley one caught glimpses of the peaks
of other mountains, rearing their fantastic heads into the clear morning
sky.
When the camels caught us up we filled up our water-bottles at a spring
of clear water and set off again. These water-bottles—_zemzemiya_ they
call them in the Yemen, and in Morocco _guerba_ (plural _guerab_)—are a
regular institution of Arab travel, nor would it be possible to proceed
without them. They are made of leather, those in Arabia being cut into
shape, while those of Morocco are the whole skins.
Now and then we would catch a glimpse of a herd of apes scampering away
up the steep rocks with resounding grunts; but more often we could only
hear their cries, for their colour does much to conceal them from view
amongst the limestone rocks.
So cool and pleasant was the air at the elevation we had reached, that
instead of remounting our camels, who, poor beasts, were tired with
the rocky ascent, we strode out on foot. Leaving the village of Dar
en-Nekil on our right, we passed through a gorge of low walls of rock,
and then descended to the level of the plateau, which here extends for a
considerable distance, broken now and again by rocky peaks and hills.
This plateau, one with that on which Dhala is situated, may be said to
circle round Jibel Jahaf, a limestone mountain situated just above the
large village of Jelileh, where, although not within their frontier as
delimitated, there is a small Turkish fort. The plain is well cultivated,
and ploughing was in active progress at the time of my visit, besides
being dotted with trees; but from the fact that the young corn had not
yet commenced to push, the country looked somewhat barren and dreary.
Across the plateau all passage seems to be blocked by an immense range of
mountains, one continued precipice without any apparent break. The range
bears two names,—the eastern part Jibel Mrais, and the western Jibel
Haddha. A few miles over the plain brought us to a steep ascent leading
to the village of Jelileh. Although the absolute frontier of the Turks
is at Kátaba, a town a few hours’ distance to the north-west, they have
erected here a fort, and over a round tower perched on a hillock floated
the red flag with its star and crescent.
[Illustration: _A Girl of the Yemen._]
One of my camel-men was a native of this village, and it was to please
the good fellow that I decided to spend a night there, as otherwise
I should have been tempted to push on and try to cross the frontier
that day. Wishing to avoid as much attention as possible on the part
of the inhabitants, I did not spend any time in the village street,
but alighted from my camel at the door of the yard of my man’s house,
and at once entered his abode. As a typical Yemen house of the poorer
class, some description may not be out of place. Like all the dwellings
in the highlands of the Yemen, it was built of solid squared stone, and
consisted of two large towers, some thirty feet square at the base and
twenty at the summit. The lower floor contained an arched stable, the
roofing supported on pillars of stone. To the next storey an outside
stairway led one. This floor contained a passage and two decent-sized
rooms, the walls plastered on the inside and the ceiling made of wood.
The floors, like the walls, were coated in cement. The staircase
continuing led one on to the flat terraced roof, round which ran a stone
wall some three feet high. The whole showed a great amount of labour and
no little skill in its construction. The second tower was larger, but
being put aside for the women, I did not of course see the interior of
it. It contained, however, four storeys. Into one of these rooms in the
men’s tower I was shown by my host, who, no sooner was this accomplished,
was flying all over the place stirring up his womenfolk with entreaties
and curses to prepare a meal befitting such a guest. Meanwhile from my
window I could obtain a very good view of the surrounding country, ay,
and more, of my host’s wives and daughters. How ugly they were! What
little attraction nature might have given them was completely concealed
under their artificial adornments. Their hair, plastered with butter over
their foreheads in straight fringes, literally dripped with grease, while
their copper skins were thick with paint the colour of red-lead, arranged
in a triangle on either cheek, as well defined as is that of the clown in
our Christmas pantomimes. Their loose upper garment was more attractive,
being of dark-blue linen embroidered round the neck, sleeves, and edge
in coloured silks; but to do away with any grace which this simple and
classical garment might give them, they encased their legs in ill-fitting
indigo trousers, with embroidery round the ankles. However, my host was
evidently very proud of his ladies; for no sooner did he catch a glimpse
of them peeping over the parapet of their apartments, or straining their
heads out of the little windows, than he would shout vociferously to them
to retreat, which they would do, again to reappear and continue their
criticisms of the newly arrived stranger. Meanwhile the male relations
of my camel-man had appeared, to join me in the feast which was being
prepared,—men and youths and boys, nearly a score in all, who quite
filled up the two rooms and passage of our apartments, while nearly every
one brought his long straight pipe or his hubble-bubble, and there was
a murmur and gurgling of water as we inhaled the cool smoke. Besides
the guests who arrived to call we had other visitors, those tamest of
wild beasts—the fleas. It is strange that while many an author has told
of the friendly fellowship of the dog and the horse toward mankind, the
intense love of companionship of the flea toward the human being has
been neglected. There is no need to tame him artificially: the moment he
is old enough to swallow food he becomes the friend of man—nay, more,
he will never willingly part company with him, especially in Arabia.
His only equal is the mosquito, and for affection he almost beats the
flea. As I write these lines one has been settling on my hand, and on my
refusing to notice him he called attention to his presence by a gentle
nip—result, a large white lump; and when I tried playfully to catch him,
he flew away: they always do.
On my next day’s march depended the success of my journey. Once across
the Turkish frontier, I felt that unless any unforeseen event occurred I
should reach my goal. But I knew how strict the orders were to allow no
stranger to enter Turkish Yemen, lest news of the rebellion, which had
for some months been disturbing the country, should leak out. However, I
felt that I was attacking the least probable frontier of the country,
and one where they would scarcely be expecting a stranger to attempt to
enter.
A ride of only a few hours brought us the following day from Jelileh to
the _jimerouk_ or custom-house of Kátaba, situated on the south side of
the Wadi Esh-Shari, and about three miles distant from the town, which
lies to the north, off the caravan-road. The ride was a short but a hot
one, and except that all the plain was under plough, the country seemed
dry and desolate. Away to the right could be seen the large village
of Thoba, a collection of towers on a rocky hill, from which stand
up prominently the white domes of a mosque and tomb, forming quite a
landmark on a scene otherwise a monotone in yellow.
The buildings of the frontier custom-house consist of a low block,
forming a fort and a large enclosure for the camels and mules of the
caravan-owners, the whole covering a large extent of ground. The lower
rooms of the main building are used as stores for the goods in transit,
while the portion of the upper storey not inhabited by the officials is
divided up into small rooms for the use of people passing and repassing,
being let out on hire at so much per night. The whole place wore a
depressing and a depressed look. For three months no caravans had passed
over the roads, and trade was dull. The goods on their way up from Aden
to Sanaa lay strewn about the place, as there were no means for their
further transit. Three months before, the last caravan to go through had
been looted, and a ransom of three hundred and sixty dollars had to be
paid before the merchants had been released by the mountaineers.
It seemed strange to think that on that yellow building depended the
success of my journey, and it was with anxious thoughts that I passed
through its open gateway, by the side of which, in the depth of a
cave-like chamber, an old Arab was brewing coffee. Dismounting in the
yard, I sought a shady corner to sit down in while my men went and routed
out the authorities. A few minutes later they appeared, and such a group
they formed! First came an exceedingly dirty Turk in a filthy shirt and
a well-worn pair of military trousers; following him appeared a gorgeous
creature arrayed in purple and fine raiment, no less a person than the
Sheikh Besaisi, well known for his influence amongst the Arab tribes,
and by happy fortune a kinsman of the most disreputable and savage of
my camel-men. His clothes, too, need description. On his bullet-shaped
head he wore an immense yellow-and-crimson turban, wound round with a
camel-hair and gold cord; flowing robes of dark-blue silk were fastened
at the waist with a yellow sash, in which was stuck one of the most
beautiful daggers I have ever seen. This _jambiya_ was of exquisite
silver-work inlaid with gold Byzantine coins of the reign of Constantine.
A few rough turquoises in the sheath gave a tint of colour to one of the
most beautiful weapons I ever saw. I longed to make a bid for it; but I
knew that should I ever mention so large a sum as its value, my chance of
getting on would be so much the more diminished, for it was certain that
I should be gently squeezed before being allowed to proceed, and that
did I let out that I had any considerable sum of money with me, it would
make the squeezing a more serious process, and perhaps prevent my getting
on at all, and certainly announce to the world in general that I was
worth robbing. Following the Besaisi crept a wizened man of perhaps some
thirty-five years of age, dressed in the costume of the people of Mecca.
These three were the officials of the _jimerouk_, though they resembled
rather three characters of opera-bouffe.
Salutations over, I was asked to ascend, and a few minutes later found
myself seated with my hosts in a small, stuffy, and very dirty room. They
were too polite to ask straight out who I was, so I began to open the
attack myself. I had been to Turkey; the man who had not seen Stamboul
had never lived! Glorious Stamboul! All the world over it was a pleasure
to meet the Turk; he was always a gentleman, always kind and polite; and
how inexpressibly glad I was to meet the Turk before me he might imagine,
after I had been travelling all the way from Aden with only camel-men and
a couple of uneducated servants; and would he accept a box of cigarettes
and an amber cigarette-holder, which I had brought from my little
shop in Port Said with me,—where, by the by, my wife and children were
starving—(signs of tears)—owing to this accursed rebellion; three months
the coffee I had bought in Sanaa had been lying there, and for the dear
wife and little ones’ sakes—(tears)—I was imperilling my life in these
strange lands to get my coffee down: meanwhile my brother, a Greek like
myself, was looking after the shop; and how delightful the Turks always
were, &c., &c. So much for number one, my friend in the dirty shirt; now
for number two.
Was this, then, the Sheikh Besaisi? No; it could not be that my infidel
eyes were blessed with the sight of his honourable corpulency. His fame
was all over the world. Port Said rang with his name. His honour, his
boundless wealth—(exorbitant old tax-gatherer!)—his immense charities,
were famous throughout all countries: indeed this was a blessed day for
me. (Box of cigarettes and amber mouthpiece)—number two dead.
Whence came he, number three? No; it could not be that his family was
from Fez. Mulai Idris, their patron saint, might he protect me! Had I
known that I was destined to meet a Fez Moor here, I should have hurried
up from Aden. Fez, every street of it, I knew, from the tomb of Sidi Ali
bou Rhaleb to the Dar al Makhzen: and here was Abdurrahman, a Tangier
Moor. How good the Deity had been in joining us together in the bonds
of friendship!—cigarettes and amber mouthpiece; general embracings and
_tableau_! _Exeunt_ officials. Screams of laughter from Saïd, which I had
to choke by sitting on him on the top of my mattress, lest he should be
heard—and then coffee.
No Englishman crossed the frontier into Turkish Yemen in January of 1892.
No; the only stranger was a penurious Greek shopkeeper of Port Said, who
rode his baggage-camel. He was attempting to reach Sanaa to obtain some
loads of coffee he had bought; and so great was his love for his wife and
children that he was running the risk of being murdered and plundered in
order to obtain money to buy them food, and to save them from an untimely
death from starvation. I think they believed my story: if they didn’t at
first, a few dollars wisely expended proved to them that it was true, and
after two days of artificial tears and real dollars permission was given
me to proceed. But the squeezing was not quite at an end, and my rifle
was taken from me, on account of no arms being allowed to enter the Yemen
during the rebellion. For this I demanded and obtained a receipt, and
eventually, after eight months’ delay, the rifle.[38] However, I would
willingly have sacrificed anything I had at the time, so long as I was
allowed to proceed. It was an anxious two days, for until within an hour
or two before my leaving the _jimerouk_ I had not received any answer to
my petition to be allowed to proceed.
At length they told me I might go on. Meanwhile Saïd had been at work.
Our camels were tired, and he had arranged that only one should proceed,
a couple of mules being supplied in the place of the other two. This
my men agreed to, as they preferred to hire mules on, rather than have
their camels attempt the next few days’ journey, one of the greatest
difficulty, and which necessitated as silent and as quick marches as
possible, as the country was in a most disturbed condition. Happily the
contract which I had made at Aden stipulated that in country in which
camels travelled with difficulty mules were to be supplied, and I had no
trouble in having this carried out, although, unfortunately, only two
mules were forthcoming. The simplicity with which my animals were changed
for me seemed extraordinary; but the fact is that these caravan-roads
are worked by “companies,” relays of animals being kept at various spots
along the road for transporting goods from district to district or town
to town.
No doubt the manner in which the country is split up into tribal
districts makes this necessary, while again the natural features of the
Yemen are such as to render it almost impossible to take the same animals
for any great distance. For instance, the fleet camels of the Abdali of
Foudtheli districts would be useless in the precipices and ascents of
the country between Kátaba and Yerim; while the mountain-mules suffer
exceedingly in desert-travelling, their feet sinking deep into the soft
hot sand.
As soon as permission was granted me to proceed I was off. I did not wish
to give the people in charge of the frontier any chance of changing their
minds, so at mid-day, when they had all retired for their siesta, we
sallied forth from the gate and entered Turkish Yemen.
[Illustration: _Village of Aredoah._]
I had told more untruths in the last forty-eight hours than I liked to
think about; but, curious to say, my delight at having crept through was
far more keen than any remorse I felt for my wickedness. The road does
not enter the town of Kátaba, for which I was by no means sorry; for
under the walls of the little place we could see a large Turkish camp
pitched, that of the division of the army under Ismail Pasha, which had
come on here after the retaking of Dhamar and Yerim, two of the larger
cities of the central Yemen. Giving them a wide range, we soon were out
of sight of the camp, and after crossing the Wadi Esh-Shari, we entered
wild broken country, the foot-hills of the great range of mountains that
appeared to block our way ahead. A sad incident happened before leaving
the _jimerouk_. A poor Turk, whom I had noticed slouching about the
place in rags, came to me just as I was leaving. Kissing my hand, he
besought my protection in Turkish, which an Arab in the Osmanli service
translated to me. His story was a pitiable one. He had been enrolled
in the conscription from some village near Smyrna, and sent with his
brother to fight in the Yemen. At length, after much fighting and many
privations, he reached Kátaba, where the roll of the surviving troops
was called. His name was not on the list, and it was found to have been
a mistake that he ever left his native country. Ismail Pasha, then at
Kátaba, commanded him to be stripped of his uniform and turned loose, on
the ground that he was not a soldier of the Sultan’s at all. This was
done, and the poor fellow wandered away, a stranger in a strange land,
until the Sheikh Besaisi took pity on him, and fed him and clothed him
(!) at the custom-house. He spoke no Arabic, and the Arab interpreting
for him was the only one who spoke a word of his native tongue. He
prayed me to take him on with me. This unfortunately was impossible. The
presence of a Turk with me would render me very liable to danger from the
Arabs; but I advised him to try and reach Aden, where, being as strong
and good-looking a young fellow as ever lived, I felt sure he would get
work, and in time find his way back. Beyond giving him the wherewithal to
find his way to Aden, I was unable in any way to assist him.
Rough as the country we were passing through was, it presented here and
there little patches and valleys rich in cultivation. In many places the
scenery resembled a lovely garden. The lawns were barley, scarcely three
inches high, while trees stood here and there about the fields. Little
streams and pools of water added an effect of coolness, while the rocky
hills were clothed in plants and flowers, noticeable amongst them being a
scarlet-flowering aloe and a variety of the euphorbia. Great ant-heaps,
some six and eight feet in height, stood like sugar-loaves amongst the
rich vegetation. After a glorious sunset, night came quickly upon us, and
the scenery was lost in the darkness.
On we plodded in the dark, our little mules carefully picking their way
over the rough boulders and stones with which our path, now a river-bed,
was strewn. The people of the surrounding tribes had taken advantage of
the rebellion to throw off any form of government, and it was therefore
necessary to proceed at night. Once or twice we could catch glimpses of
their village-fires glowing far up on the steep mountain-sides, and now
and again even catch the yelping of their dogs, whose quick ears had
heard the footfall of our animals on the hard stones; but the villagers
took no notice more than to shout to one another, their voices sounding
far away and sepulchral in the thick darkness. The river-bed over which
we were travelling commenced shortly to ascend, and the path was by no
means an easy one to get along in safety.
“We must wait here for the men,” said an old Arab, an acquisition from
the Besaisi. What men he meant I did not know, but as he seemed to be the
recognised head of our caravan I refrained from asking. We dismounted
and lit a fire in a hole in the rock, round which we clustered to warm
ourselves at its welcome heat: not that it was allowed to blaze, for the
Arab, fearful lest its glare should attract notice, kept damping the wood
sufficiently to keep the blaze low without putting it out altogether.
For a time we waited, but there being no traces of “the men,” we left the
burning embers as a sign that we had passed on, and continued our journey.
It was a picturesque scene this little halt of ours, with the dark
figures of the half-nude Arabs, each one armed with a spear, bending
over the glowing fire, and one that will not easily be forgotten. It was
difficult to say which sparkled the most, their polished spear-heads or
their glossy locks. Every now and again a bright flame would leap into
the air in spite of our precautions, showing us that the cliff above was
hung in clusters of feathery creepers, while strange aloes and cacti
appeared in the crevices.
Rougher and steeper grew the road as we proceeded. At length in the
middle of a rocky ascent a shout from behind, answered by one of the
men, announced the arrival of the long-expected party, who had seen our
signal and were following us; and a few minutes later, in the starlight,
for the moon had not yet risen, we could discern dark shadows hurrying
along after us on the track. A wild crew they were too, six or seven of
them armed with matchlock-guns and spears. Of all the antiquated weapons
I have come across upon my travels, these guns of the Yemen are the most
curious. The stocks are straight, and end in a lump like a croquet-ball,
which forms the shoulder-piece; the barrels are long, and nearly always
rusty. A hole in the barrel communicates with a pan on the outside, into
which a little loose powder is dropped. The trigger possesses no spring
except a weak rebounding arrangement. The nipple is formed like a fork,
into which slides the fuse, made of aloe-fibre and slow burning. When the
trigger is pulled the “match” descends into the loose powder, and the gun
may go off or no. The chances are about equal, I should think.
For an hour more we crept along the dark road. Thorny mimosas tore our
clothes and baggage and the poor mules’ legs, and at places threatened
to bar our passage altogether. Then we left the path, and descending by
a steep rocky slope, we entered a deep nullah, half a mile or so along
which a halt was called, and my guides informed me that this was to be
our night’s resting-place. Fastening the strip of canvas sheeting, or
rather such as remained of it after the sandstorm, over the boughs of a
thorn-tree, as protection from the heavy dew, we lit a fire and set to
work to cook our supper of tough old goat and rancid butter.
This bivouac in the ravine below the large village of Azab was the last
night spent out in the open; for although we continued for the next
few days to take advantage of the darkness to push through the most
difficult country, we were able to rest in the _cafés_ of villages, and
after Yerim, in the regular caravanserais, some of which had pretensions
even to being clean and comfortable.
Next morning I was able to see more of my surroundings. We had spent the
night in the rocky course of a stream, in some of the pools of which
was water. Opposite us the hills rose almost precipitously, strewn with
boulders, and here and there tangled in clumps of mimosa-trees and other
thorny brushwood. Away up the nullah stood Azab, a village perched on the
very summit of a high hill, a confusion of walls and towers.
We spent the day quietly under the little shade the scanty trees gave.
A couple of the men went to the village to buy provisions, and returned
with a bowl of rancid butter, bread of a thin consistency that would have
served any purpose other than edible, from boot-soles to wrapping up
parcels in, and a goat whose age was unfathomable. However, one cannot be
too particular when travelling in such countries as the Yemen.
[Illustration: VIEW OF AZAB.]
At sunset our mules were packed, and we set off once more, creeping
out of the nullah so as not to be seen from the village above, the
inhabitants of which would be only too likely to take advantage of our
position to go shares in my belongings—probably forgetting to give me my
portion, unless they did so with one of their curved daggers. The last
glow of daylight still hovered in the sky; the last rays of the setting
sun still tinged with pink and purple and gold the huge jagged peaks
of the mountains before us. Very grand it is, this range of limestone,
torn into all manner of fantastic shapes, the peaks here resembling some
bewitched feudal castle, there the tapering spire of a cathedral.
The track was as rough as usual, and constant short ascents and descents
rendered our progress very slow. When darkness was complete, except for
the glimmer of the stars, our men called a halt, and ranging themselves
in line upon the soft white sand of a stream-bed, cried “Allah Akbar,”
and rose and fell with monotonous motion in prayer. Wild shadows they
appeared in their nudeness and shaggy locks,—wild shadows that some
fevered brain might imagine; but the odour of the rancid butter and oil
on their hair proved their reality. No decent ghost would smell as they
did.
Enjoining silence on every one, the men lit the fuses of their guns, and
a couple going ahead to keep a sharp look-out, we pushed on. Like the
glow of cigarette-ends, I could follow the spark of their guns as they
crept along.
The valley becomes more distinct as one proceeds, the mountains closing
in on either side, leaving but little level ground beyond the absolute
course of the stream, and that was uneven enough. Hanging over the
river-banks were trees and thick undergrowth, but the darkness prevented
one seeing anything but their outline. At length our path seemed
abruptly to end. Here a halt was called and we dismounted. From this
point commenced an ascent I shall never forget. A winding path, a mere
track in the face of the precipices, climbs the mountain-side until an
elevation of over eight thousand feet above the sea-level is reached.
The night was as yet moonless, and one could scarcely see a step in
front of one, and it was bitterly cold. Lightening the animals as much
as possible by dividing the baggage amongst the men, every one taking
his share, except Abdurrahman, who carried my shot-gun, we commenced the
ascent. Any moment man or beast might have made a false step and alighted
somewhere in the valley beneath. Not only was the ascent trying, but it
must be also remembered that we were now in rebel country, and that our
discovery would mean certain death, to myself if not to all of us. The
very tribe whose lands we were entering, the Kabyla el-Owd,[39] had only
a few months before thrown off the Turkish yoke, and celebrated their
day of independence by cutting up their Sheikh into small pieces and
distributing him over the country, as a warning to others. Our party,
including our new retinue supplied by El-Besaisi, numbered in all some
ten persons; but with the exception of my shot-gun and revolver we had
no weapons worth considering as such, unless it came to hand-to-hand
fighting, when ten-foot-spears may be useful. However, our numbers made
any attack from a small party improbable. Up and up we toiled, often on
all-fours. We had not ascended many hundreds of feet before we found
that our remaining camel was perfectly incapable of surmounting the
difficulties of the road, while his constant mumblings and gruntings
threatened every moment to bring the natives upon us, and already we
could hear their dogs barking in the villages below. Once or twice, too,
men called to one another, and lights could be seen moving about. Then we
would lie still and hold our animals so as to ensure silence. At length
it was decided to send the camel back, and two of the men undertook the
job, trusting to be out of danger’s way before daylight. This made extra
weights for the men and mules, but they cheerily lifted their burdens and
our scramble recommenced.
I began to think the ascent would never end. Steeper and steeper it
became, until, two hours after commencing, and having climbed over two
thousand feet in that time, we reached the summit, where on a ledge of
rock some humane person has built a well to rejoice the heart of man
and beast with its cool waters. Here we rested for ten minutes, but
more time we could not spare, tired as we were, for a long march had
yet to be covered before dawn. Passing through a gorge at the height
of eight thousand one hundred feet above the sea-level, we began once
more to descend; and scrambling down through thick undergrowth and over
loose rolling stones, we reached the level of a valley, along which our
road now lay, and through which flows the Wadi el-Banna, a large stream
which reaches the sea, when flooded, at Ras Seilan, some thirty miles
north-east of Aden. How the apes chattered and roared as we disturbed
their night’s rest; and every now and then we could hear the stones
rattling under their feet as they scampered away. Collecting our little
band together, and examining our weapons, we continued our march in
silence through the strongholds of the Kabyla el-Owd.