SANAA TO MENAKHA.
As long as I live I shall never forget my departure from Sanaa. In the
cold grey dawn, the temperature little if anything above freezing, worn
out with a night of raging fever that still throbbed in my veins, I was
lifted on to my mule at the door of the _conàk_, and, with a couple of
soldiers to accompany me, sent upon my way. Weird and wretched everything
looked. The houses, that only the day before had struck me as beautiful
in their strange oriental architecture, now looked like pallid ruins,
depressing in the extreme; while the few hurrying persons we passed
seemed but shadows in the grey light of dawn.
On through the bazaars with their closed shops; on by narrow streets
and byways, over which the tall houses seemed verily to hang suspended;
across the bridge that spans what is at times a roaring torrent but was
now but a dry bed; across a wide open space and through the dirty Jews’
quarter, and the garden suburb of Bir el-Azab; then out under the great
town gateway with its strange towers, on which a shivering sentry or two
kept guard, into the open country. A long level road leads one from the
city across the surrounding plain, a road as good as one could expect to
find in England. Then a range of bare hills seems to block the way, and
one begins to climb up and up by the winding twisting track, until the
summit is reached. Looking back, a fine view of Sanaa was obtained, lying
on the spur of Jibel Negoum, backed by still higher mountains. To right
and left extended the valley, until some way off to the north one could
see the town of Raudha, where not a month before the rebels had blown
up the Turkish barracks and some twenty-five soldiers with gunpowder.
From this spot one could obtain a better idea than we had as yet been
able to do of the size of Sanaa, as it lay mapped out below us, a great
flat-roofed city, dull yellow and white, upon still yellower and whiter
plains, the only break in which were the gardens at Bir el-Azab.
At the summit of the ascent a plateau is reached scattered with villages,
now all more or less knocked down by the Turkish artillery, after the
road from Hodaidah had been forced, and the Arab Shereef, Sid esh-Sheraï,
dislodged from Hajarat el-Mehedi, a spot a few miles farther on. Over the
plateau the road proceeded tolerably straight, though the going was by no
means good, in spite of the fact that the track was a wide one. But its
repair had evidently been neglected for a time, and it was strewn with
stones.
After the sun had risen it became very warm, but it was a change for the
better from the miserable cold of the early morning, and, weak as I was
from fever, I was glad to get off my mule for a time and stretch my limbs
by walking.
At the _café_ of Metneh we stopped for our mid-day meal. A large, low,
stone building forms the caravanserai, both for man and beast. The place
is roughly built, one storey in height, the roof being supported on
arches and stone columns, round the bases of which are little raised
platforms, on one of which we spread our carpet and rested for a time.
The _café_ was nearly full of Turkish troops, poor, ill-fed, and
ill-clothed fellows, but the very acme of good-humour. It was amusing to
hear them discussing my presence with some Arab merchants who happened
to be there at the same time. The conclusion they arrived at was that
the presence of a Christian in the country foretold the downfall of the
Yemen, and the sooner they, the Moslems, cleared out of it the better.
It was flattering certainty to hear one’s self considered of such vital
importance to a country the size of the Yemen; nor did the fact that
I was a prisoner in the hands of a Turkish guard seem to lessen their
opinion of me. On discovering at length that I spoke Arabic, we joined
parties and lunched together, and very polite they all were. The group
was a strange one, representing in the Arabs the rebel party, in the
Turks the conquerors and oppressors, and last, but not least, in my
humble self the future of the Yemen (for so they deemed my presence to
foretell). Yet we were a merry band, and shared the same hubble-bubble of
peace, and parted with protestations of profound respect and friendship
for one another.
One of the pleasantest recollections of the Yemen that I bore away with
me is, and always will be, the hours spent in these wayside _cafés_. Then
more than at any other time one saw the people as they really are. Then
all restraint was thrown aside; there was exhibited none of the suspicion
we habitually show to fellow-travellers; and often we unburdened our aims
and ideas to one another, the Arabs and I. As I write of it I long once
more to go back, to sit cross-legged on the floor and sip the beverage
of coffee-husks from the tiny Japanese and Chinese cups the Yemenis love
so much, and listen to the patient murmur of the hubble-bubble amongst a
group of half-naked Arabs.
Leaving Metneh in the afternoon, we pushed on through Bauan, with
its strange market, toward our night’s resting-place. The road still
continues to ascend, and is in most parts very rough and bad, rendering
travelling by no means pleasant. However, any unpleasantness from this
was amply repaid by the magnificent view that from time to time met our
gaze. The track was leading us along the summit of a mountain-top,
which to the north looked straight down into a great valley thousands
of feet below. What a wonderful valley it was, full of coffee-groves,
and luxuriating in all the glories of gorgeous vegetation, amongst
which banana-leaves could be plainly distinguished, waving their great
green heads! Amongst all this verdure, clinging as it seemed to the
mountain-sides, were villages, each crowned by its _burj_ or fort, the
whole perched on some overhanging rock. On to their very roofs we seemed
to look. Often on the road I would rest for a few minutes to gaze in
wonderment on this entrancing scene, until, as evening came on, filmy
mists rose from the valley, and concealed from view all but the opposite
mountain-peaks, torn and rugged, which rose above the sea of iridescent
cloud like great cathedral steeples. What a land it is, the Yemen! What
a world of romance and history lies hid in those great mountain valleys!
What tales the little, sparkling, dancing rivulets could tell, for often,
I wot, their limpid waters have run red with blood! Night fell, and the
scene became one of still grey silence, weird and strange.
After reaching an altitude of ten thousand feet above the sea-level the
road began to descend, and we passed once or twice through villages,
crowned by their strange towers, until at length Sôk el-Khamis, our
night’s resting-place, was reached. There are several of these villages
in its vicinity, and one we passed was occupied by Turkish troops, whose
riotous laughter and singing jarred on the peaceful sounds of night, the
humming of the insects and the soft hoot-hoot of the rock owls.
We stopped at one of these strange tower-like buildings, and my guard
informed me that this was our halting-place. After repeated knockings
at a heavy wooden door we were admitted into a yard, and from thence
entered the house—the way led by a dirty mountaineer in little else but
a sheepskin coat, who, with a small oil-lamp, lighted us up a flight of
stone stairs into the guest-chamber. A poor enough place it was, and none
too clean, its ceiling blackened by the fumes of charcoal-fires, its
floor of rough stones and mortar, the ups and downs of which a carpet
ill disguised. This was, however, the sole accommodation, and our host
plaintively asked us to make ourselves as comfortable as we could, while
he went off to search for provisions, adding that the Turkish garrison at
the neighbouring village had exhausted the supply.
So we spread our carpet, and Abdurrahman and Saïd, and the Turkish and
Arab soldiers who formed my guard, sat down together over a charcoal
brasier, in which bubbled one of the common narrow-necked earthenware
pots in which they brew their drink of coffee-husks, and smoked our
hookah in peace, sharing alike in its cracked amber mouthpiece. We were
all tired, and talked but little; but Saïd now and again would burst into
song, and very well he sang, too, the plaintive melodies of the country.
Presently our host returned with a scarecrow of a fowl and some
leathery bread, which was all the good fellow was able to raise, and
it was not long before a rather too savoury dish of rancid butter and
chicken-bones—for there was little else—had usurped the place of our
coffee-pot on the brasier. What jokes we made about that poor chicken!
After all, we agreed, it could not be anything but thin after having
lived through the late rebellion. However, we ate it all right.
The view as we left Sôk el-Khamis the next morning was almost as lovely
as that of the day before. As the night-mists rose at sunrise, range
after range of mountains loomed up before us, peak above peak, until in
the far west one great mass overtopped all the rest.
The road descends steeply, winding the while, in parts showing signs of
the repairs of the Turkish engineers, in others merely a foothold on the
mountain-side. Numbers of blue rock-pigeons fluttered hither and thither
in the morning sunlight; but lovely as they were, I was enticed to shoot
a few, for, after all, one fowl is not sufficient food for eight persons,
and there seemed every likelihood of our faring as ill at our next
halting-place as we had done the night before.
At one spot we passed one of the most lovely scenes I had as yet seen in
the Yemen. Half-way down a steep slope, wooded with forest-trees, was a
tomb and fountain, the clear cold water tumbling into a deep tank. Away
behind a peak of the mountain rose bare and rocky into the blue sky, its
lower slopes covered with trees, its summit crowned with the ruins of
a village which the Turkish artillerymen had destroyed, leaving little
but the walls to tell of its existence. The domed mosque, a tiny place,
glistening white against the foliage, and the sound of the running water,
added a charm to a scene of perfect peace and loveliness.
At length the descent was accomplished, and we entered a desolate valley,
keeping to the rock-strewn river-bed, now almost dry, as being better
than the road, which here is almost indistinguishable, winding and
turning amongst great boulders, which appear to have fallen from the
steeps above. An hour or so later we passed under the strange fortress
of Mefhak, grandly situated on a pinnacle of rock some five hundred feet
above the valley; and, leaving a large encampment of Turkish troops on
our left, once more began to ascend. For a while our way led through the
loveliest of little valleys, which seemed like the greater one we had
been passing through in miniature. On either side walls of rock some
fifty to a hundred feet in height rose precipitously, but, sheltered
from the sun, a number of varieties of wild-flowers had taken root, and
the place was a fairyland of colour. Great clusters of jasmine hung
over the precipices, while on every side bloomed acacias and aloes. A
gorgeous flowering-tree, bearing pale-pink blossoms, edged the narrow
water-course, just as if it had been planted there by the hand of man.
An hour more and we drew up at the caravanserai of Ijz for our mid-day
rest. Very hot it was; but the proprietor of the _café_, a wounded
Turkish soldier, full of grievances and very dirty, amused us much,
mumbling and grumbling as he leaned over the fire to cook my coffee and
the men’s drink of coffee-husks. Although coffee in very large quantities
is exported from the Yemen, it is drunk only by the Turks and the richer
classes, the poorer contenting themselves with, and preferring, they say,
the boiled husks.
We spent only an hour or two at Ijz, as I was anxious to push on to
Menakha before dark; and accordingly in the heat of the early afternoon
we said good-bye to our old host and the handful of Turkish troops who
had joined us in our meal, and mounted our mules once more.
[Illustration: _Gorge near Menakha._]
As our road proceeded it increased in magnificence, entering the heart
of the mountains, on the summit of one of which the town of Menakha is
perched. This river lies at an elevation of somewhat over five thousand
feet above the sea. Quite suddenly the valley comes to an end, and we
commenced one of those steep ascents to which we were almost becoming
accustomed now. The path is little but a boulder-strewn track in the
mountain-side, and one could not help wondering how our little mules
would ever accomplish the climb. Dismounting at the foot, Abdurrahman,
Saïd, and I raced ahead, scrambling and tumbling over the rocks, and
nearly frightening the wits out of a descending caravan, who probably
had never seen the like of us before; for although Saïd was in the Yemen
costume, Abdurrahman wore the there unknown dress of the mountaineers of
Morocco, while I was in riding-breeches, and flannel shirt, and a red fez
cap. Great proud-looking fellows the caravan-men were, and they watched
us with a startled stare, evidently putting us down as lunatics. However,
our laughter at their surprise so amused them that they became quite
friendly, and would not let me go on till I had shaken each singly by the
hand, which I was only too pleased to do. Up and up we toiled, leaving
the mules to follow with the muleteers. Every here and there are springs
which the natives have aided by building tanks, and now and again we
would stop to drink and bathe our faces and hands.
Almost suddenly we reached the summit, after a climb of over two thousand
five hundred feet up the execrable zigzag path, and the little town of
Menakha lay before me.
I determined to wait here for my soldier-guards, whom we had left a long
way behind us; so we threw ourselves down, panting and hot, upon a ledge
of rock, and gazed at the scene before us. Wonderful, stupendous it
was! Around us on all sides the bare fantastic peaks and perpendicular
precipices, on the edge of one of which we were perched, and up the
face of which we could see the path we had climbed winding in and out.
Below us, far, far below, like little ants, we could see our mules and
men toiling up. A thread of river, the Wadi Zaum, was distinguishable
down the valley, the few green thorny trees which grew along its banks
being, with the exception of some stunted brushwood and a few aloes and
creepers, the sole vegetation in view. A very entrance to the “Inferno,”
gloomy and dark. The rays of the setting sun lit up in contrast to all
this the roseate peaks of the mountains, many of which, thousands of
feet above us, were crowned with strange villages and towers. At length
our mules caught us up, and mounting again for the few yards that yet
remained between us and Menakha, we made our entry into the town, drawing
up at the principal Government building, where the Kaimakam resided.
My guard of Turkish soldiers had been intrusted with letters to the
governors respectively of Menakha and Hodaidah, and no sooner was our
missive presented than I was shown into the presence of the Kaimakam. I
found him pleasant, as nearly all Turks can be when they like, and an
hour or so passed very cheerily. Meanwhile he had given orders for a room
to be prepared for me within the precincts of the Government offices, and
on leaving him I was shown to a large, comfortable, airy chamber on the
ground-floor, with a window looking over a sort of drill-yard, beyond
which was a fine view of the mountains, the opposite spur of which, at
an altitude of some hundreds of feet above the town, was crowned with a
Turkish fort, near which some artillerymen were drilling.
It should have been mentioned already that the road we had been following
from Sanaa was almost identically the line taken by the Sanaa and
Hodaidah telegraph-wire, which, like all provincial Turkish telegraphs,
is, I believe, worked by the Government, from a representative of whom
one is obliged to obtain permission before making use of it. This
permission had been refused me at Sanaa. At Menakha there is quite a
pretentious office.
After leaving the Kaimakam I went for a stroll in the town, followed of
course by a guard, who, however, did not in the least interfere with
my actions, and in whose presence I was venturesome enough to sketch,
without calling forth any sterner reproof than that if they were caught
allowing me to draw they might get into trouble, so that I had better
creep behind a rock and make any sketches I wanted from a spot where I
would not be seen.
Of all the places it has ever been my lot to see, Menakha is the most
wonderfully situated. The town is perched on a narrow strip of mountain
that joins two distinct ranges, and it forms the watershed of two great
valleys—that up which we had proceeded on our arrival, and the second to
the west. So narrow is the ridge on which the town stands, that the walls
of the houses on both sides seem almost to hang over the precipices; and
there are spots—for instance, near the military hospital—where one can
sit and look down absolutely into the two great valleys at the same time.
Curious and wonderful as this is, the grand effect of the scene is doubly
increased by the extraordinary peaks which rise above the place—enormous
pinnacles, for no other word can express their fantastic shapes and
forms. Great, bare, rocky crags they are, perpendicular, and ending,
like sugar-loafs, in points, on which, in several places, the natives
have built their strange towers. How they ever ascend or descend seems
incredible, or from whence they obtain their water-supply.
The town of Menakha is quite a small one. It contains, perhaps, some
five thousand inhabitants, without counting the very considerable number
of Turkish troops stationed there at the time of my visit. The houses
are well built of stone, some of them four storeys, and many three, in
height. The Government offices and the military hospital and barracks
give the place quite a European appearance, for they are all built in
modern Turkish style, with glass windows and flat roofs.
The bazaar is tolerably well supplied with the necessaries of life,
though at the time of my visit meat and vegetables were scarce, on
account of the influx of troops. There are, too, several large shops,
one or two kept by Greeks. I was surprised, in passing through the town,
to be accosted in excellent English by one of these shopkeepers, who, he
told me, had been a servant to an Englishman in Suakin for some years.
I went with him to his store, where everything was purchasable, from
sardines to port wine, and spent half an hour or so talking with him. He
was evidently an intellectual man, and seemed well up in the affairs of
the Yemen. He had been present at the taking of Menakha by the Arabs, and
its recapture by the Turks; but his property had been respected in both
cases, and he had suffered little if any loss.
The great altitude at which Menakha is situated—some seven thousand six
hundred feet above the sea-level—renders it liable to sudden changes of
temperature; and two hours after we had arrived in blazing sunshine,
clouds gathered over the town, obscuring the view, and the temperature
fell to below 50°. We managed to procure a charcoal brasier, over which
my men and I huddled, our circle being joined by a couple of charming
Turkish officers, both of whom spoke Arabic well.
About eight o’clock I was taken suddenly ill with fever, which did not
leave me until ten the next morning, by which time I was so weak that
I could only stand with assistance, and accordingly travelling was out
of the question. The Kaimakam made no difficulties about my remaining
another day, and did all in his power to make me comfortable. During the
afternoon I had sufficiently recovered my strength to crawl out and seek
the shade of a hollow in the rocks, where my men lit a little fire and
brewed coffee. The spot we had chosen looked directly into the great
valley that runs west from Menakha, far down which we could see. Away
below us, tier above tier, were the terraced coffee and banana groves;
while the rocky precipices, here bare and frowning, were in other parts
hung with creepers, while in every crevice some strange flowering aloes
had found room to grow.
Amongst this mass of verdure, for, far away below us, lay villages,
their flat roofs upturned, as it were, to us, who were so high above
them, looking like the squares on some fairy chess-board. Away down the
valley a silvery thread of light told the presence of a river, fed by a
hundred little streams, which, issuing from the rocky slopes, leaped and
danced to join the larger stream below. Beyond, again, all was haze and
mountain-peaks, faint as a cloud and inexpressibly lovely.
Wild-flowers and ferns, especially maidenhair, grew in abundance round
our little nook in the rocks, in which we were shaded from the sun’s
rays by an overhanging crag. The whole scene was so framed by shrubs and
creepers and flowers, a mass of blossom and green, that one lost the
effect of distance; and, in the clear air, it seemed but a step from
our resting-place to the bottom of the valley, and a step more to the
far-away peaks.
But it is not on account of its gorgeous scenery that Menakha has become
an important place. Rather it is owing to its great strategical position;
for it dominates the two parts of the highroad from Hodaidah to Sanaa,
from each of which it is roughly equidistant. It is, no doubt, on this
account, and to the practical advantages it offers, owing to its fine
position for keeping up a line of communication between the capital and
the coast, that a considerable number of troops are stationed and some
forts erected there.
It played by no means an unimportant part during the rebellion; and
although this has been referred to elsewhere in a chapter dealing with
that subject, it may be as well to mention the facts here. Menakha was
one of the first Turkish strongholds to fall into the hands of the Arabs.
The governor was taken prisoner; numbers of the troops were killed in the
rebel rush; and what remained of its military population were sent to the
leader of the rebellion at Sadah. It was not, in fact, until after the
battle fought near Hojaila, on the road from Hodaidah, at a spot where
the Teháma ends and the mountains commence, that Menakha was retaken. To
Ahmed Feizi Pasha belongs the credit of the wonderful march from Hodaidah
to Sanaa, in which the Turks dragged their guns by execrable roads over
passes ten thousand feet in altitude; and it was upon this triumphal
entry of the new Governor-General of the Yemen that the town once more
came into the possession of the Turks, being deserted by the Arabs
before the arrival of the Osmanli troops. Had the native horde only been
better officered and possessed better arms; had they destroyed the road
more successfully than they did, and stood firmly to their impregnable
position at Menakha,—there is little doubt that the capital could not
have held out, and that the Yemen to-day would have been in the hands of
the Imam Ahmed ed-Din. At sunset, as had happened the evening before, the
place became wrapt in cloud, and the temperature fell to such an extent
that even in our room, with a fire, we suffered considerably. However,
one can bear the cold, provided one is free from fever; and, tired and
weary after a sleepless night, I lay like a log, and, in spite of the
cries of sentries and the occasional blowing of a bugle, did not awake
until grey dawn was creeping up, and my men were loading the mules.