A RECONNAISSANCE OF THE ABYSSINIAN BORDER, 1892
First news of Abyssinian aggression—Start for
Milmil—Unfortunate Bulhár—Across the “Haud” waterless
plateau—Extraordinary landscape—Sudden meeting with the Rer
Ali—Their consternation and pleasant greeting—News of a
raid—Water-supply statistics—Great display at Milmil in honour
of Au Mahomed Sufi—Agitation against Abyssinia—Unsuccessful
lion hunt—Display in honour of the English—Interesting
scene—The vulture-like elders—Success of an Arab pony—Our
camp at Túli—The “Valley of Rhinoceroses”—Two rhinoceros
hunts—Four bagged—Death of a bull rhinoceros—The Waror
wells—Abbasgúl complaints against Abyssinia—First meeting
with Abyssinians—Disturbed country—English sportsmen met at
Hargeisa—Fresh start from Hargeisa—Incessant rains—Thousands of
hartebeests near Gumbur Dúg—Scouting for the Abyssinians—Visit
to the Abyssinian fort at Jig-Jiga—We approach Gildessa—The
caravan imprisoned by the Abyssinians—Embarrassing situation—A
letter to Rás Makunan of Harar—Exciting time at Gildessa—We
retire by night—The answer of the Rás—March to Zeila.
The capture of Harar by the Abyssinians in January 1887 was an important
event to the Somális, because, under the Emir Abdillahi, Harar had
hitherto been a very effective little “buffer state” against Abyssinian
encroachments. When the British Government first took over the Somáli
coast in 1884 there was no Abyssinian question, and the authorities had
only to deal with the Somáli tribes, which, although turbulent, were in
fair equilibrium as regards power. Of late years, however, the Abyssinian
question has risen into some importance, as will be seen by the narrative
of later trips. The Abyssinians import large quantities of breech-loading
small-arms from ports west of Zeila and outside the British Protectorate,
while the Somáli tribes are only armed with spears or bows and arrows,
and are not allowed to import firearms, of any sort whatever, from their
own coast, which is administered by the British. Hence the equilibrium
of power is affected, the Abyssinians help themselves to Somáli cattle
when they like, and the owners, who are all Mahomedans, turn their eyes
towards us for protection against their natural enemies. They place the
most implicit faith in the British, and are quite persuaded in their own
minds that our Government will never stand by and see them seriously
pushed by the Abyssinians without giving them, at any rate, moral help
of some sort. They turn to us as their natural protectors, as they would
have turned to the Egyptians had that Government continued to hold the
coast.
As related in the last chapter, we received the first news of Abyssinian
interference with the Jibril Abokr when surveying in June ’91. A chief
named Banagúsé had demanded tribute in cattle, and had also sent out
marauding parties from Jig-Jiga, the fortified post which had been pushed
out by the Abyssinians into the Marar Prairie, to lift cattle from the
Jibril Abokr. This tribe, which is really a sub-tribe of the Habr Awal,
who are under British protection, appealed to us for help from Aden, at
a meeting of the elders held by me at Ujawáji, June ’91, in front of my
tent. The elders there told us that the principal authors of the trouble
were Banagúsé and Basha-Basha, two Abyssinian generals, the former being
the responsible person at Jig-Jiga and the latter in western Ogádén.
It appears that these two chiefs had been using the Bertiri tribe, who
live in the Harar Highlands, as a “cat’s paw” in making requisitions for
cattle on the Habr Awal and Ogádén tribes. The tribute of cattle was
always collected at Jig-Jiga and then sent up in a great mob to Harar,
where the people were reported to be starving, and where the large number
of Abyssinian soldiers occupying the place required to be rationed.
The fortified post of Jig-Jiga was also a constant menace to the large
village of Hargeisa, within the British Protectorate, and the elders said
that every year the trouble between the outlying Abyssinian chiefs and
the nomad Somáli tribes near the coast would increase, unless something
could be done to make the former cease their buccaneering raids.
The substance of the statement made by the spokesman at the meeting in my
camp was as follows:—
“The Bertiri come from Jig-Jiga armed with rifles and demand tribute of
cattle from us, and in certain cases have looted our live stock when
out grazing. We cannot make reprisals on the Bertiri, as they are
protected by the Abyssinians. Ordinary feuds with our neighbours we think
fair-play, but these Bertiri raids are a losing business for us all
round. We are not allowed to import firearms, the only effective weapons
against the Abyssinians; and we ask the British, who have occupied our
ports, either to protect us, or to allow us to import guns with which we
can protect ourselves.”
Owing, I believe, to action from Aden, the trouble was stopped, to the
lasting satisfaction of the tribes on the northern side.[26] On the east,
however, in Ogádén, the Abyssinians became more active than ever; and
on another journey, in 1890, this time through Milmil, we again had to
listen to complaints against them.
We arrived at Berbera for the Milmil trip, which was the first
exploration of the eastern Abyssinian border by Europeans, on 1st July
1892. The _Haga_ wind was at its height, and as nothing could be done
during the first half of each day, owing to the storms, it was fully a
week before we got our caravan under way.
The day before we left Berbera an enormous column of black smoke, which
we estimated to be over two thousand feet high, was seen to rise from
the sea-level in the west, over the site of Bulhár, forty miles away.
Soon the news arrived that Bulhár had been burnt to the ground. This
has always been an unlucky place. It has been burnt three times since
the British occupation, and in 1892 was depopulated by cholera; and
three years before that it was raided by the Esa in a dust-storm, and
sixty-seven of the people killed.
We marched by easy stages to Hargeisa, by following the Aleyadéra nala,
the home of the beautiful lesser koodoo, of which I managed to bag a
couple of bucks the day before we reached Hargeisa, which we entered
on 17th July, and found deserted. Sheikh Mattar had gone to Haraf,
four miles up the river, according to his custom at the _Haga_ season,
because of the better pasture there; he, however, came with a lot of
religious mullahs to meet us, and was very pleasant, giving us letters
of introduction to the chiefs of the Rer Ali and Abbasgúl, Ogádén tribes
to whose country we were bound.
For the first time we had to face the crossing of the waterless Haud
plateau, there being a hundred miles between Hargeisa and Milmil without
a drop of water. To accomplish this we took up two hundred and fifty
gallons in the _háns_ of plaited bark which we had brought for the
purpose.
This was the first time my brother and I had had an opportunity of
crossing the Haud plateau, which is here some five thousand feet above
sea-level. I have traversed it many times since, and the description of
this our first crossing will give an idea of the peculiar nature of the
country. I will not give an account of our daily sport, but I may mention
that in feeding our thirty men we shot many oryx or Sœmmering’s gazelles
in the bush country, and hartebeests when crossing the open _ban_.
On the 20th of July we marched up to the level of the plateau behind
Hargeisa village, over thorn-covered rolling ground, the soil being red
earth. We did eleven miles and halted at Bombós, in a splendidly grassed
hollow, just beyond some Habr Awal karias. Hearing from the karia people
that there had been rain at Garabíss, near here, at about 9 P.M. we sent
a camel with four _háns_, and the men returned with the water at 1 A.M.
The next day we made a morning march of twelve miles to Dobóya, over
rolling ground, which is stony on the elevations and has good grass in
the depressions, the whole country being covered with flat-topped thorn
jungle about twenty feet high. Near our midday camp some Midgáns were
skinning an oryx which had been killed by a lion the night before, and at
Garabíss we crossed the tracks of a number of Eidegalla horsemen, who had
come north to loot the karias which we had passed through the day before.
In the evening march, after going a little over five miles, we came to
the end of the thorn-trees, and emerged on to a great open plain of short
grass called Ban-ki-Aror, about five miles across, and stretching far
away to the east and west, without a bush. Our caravan travelled through
abundance of game, chiefly oryx, hartebeests, and Sœmmering’s gazelles,
which followed our steps while we were in the _ban_. The sight of these
open grass plains covered with wild animal life was always a source of
the greatest pleasure to me.
Our caravan had now swelled to a long procession, as a number of people
had come with us from the last karias to take advantage of our protection
past the Eidegalla country.
[Illustration: Game on the Plains]
We camped on the farther side of this great plain, near some Samanter
Abdalla karias. Here we heard that a lion roared nightly round them,
and next evening, at Gudaweina, we saw his pugs in the path. Thus we
had found lion, ostrich, oryx, hartebeest, and Sœmmering’s gazelle, all
living at least forty miles from water. The effect of thirst on our
domestic animals was to make them abnormally tame. Often as I lay in my
tent at the noon camp the donkeys and ponies would force their heads
within the tent door, and the goats would walk straight in, putting
their muzzles into every cup to look for water. As we arrived at one
halting-place at dusk, a wild fox came trotting like a dog behind the
caravan, a few yards from the last camel, having smelt the water which we
carried in the _háns_ on the camels’ backs.
Travelling constantly over rolling, densely-wooded country, we were now
entering the part of the Haud which is grazed over by the Ogádén from the
south, and struck the Warda-Gumaréd, one of the great trade arteries
between Berbera and the Webbe Shabéleh. The track here, for thirty miles
at least, over red powdery earth, is so well worn and smooth that a
bicycle might easily be ridden at full speed on it. On either side of the
path all was thorn forest and grassy glades. The grasses were chiefly the
_darémo_, growing in tufts to about a foot, and _durr_, growing to six
feet, both very fattening for live stock. The umbrella mimósa, called
_khansa_, grows to a height of ten feet, the bushes spreading out till
their tops meet, forming shady tunnels which are the favourite haunt of
lions and leopards during the heat of the day. They come out at night
into the great plains and feed on the herds of game which live in the
open. Sometimes, when gorged and lazy, the lions are caught in the early
morning returning over the plains, and are ridden to a standstill by the
Somális, and killed with poisoned arrows and spears.
[Illustration: DIK-DIK ANTELOPE (_Sakdro gussuli_).]
After passing Garodki Mayagód, an ancient clearing in the thorn forest,
we came to the usual caravan halting-place, a zeríba of thorns, occupied
occasionally by the nomads or by caravans as they pass along the road.
At the side of the track were shallow depressions in the soil where
rain-water had rested, and round these dry pools were rows of small pits
six inches deep, dug by Somális in order to stand up the water _háns_ to
be filled.
The jungle now began to get more open and the glades wider, the _durr_
grass growing in beautiful feathery clumps. Huge red ant-hills appeared
at every hundred yards or so, often twelve feet thick at the base, and
with a pinnacle twenty-five feet high, looking like a giant hand and
beckoning forefinger.
[Illustration: Buck Gerenúk feeding
WALLER’S GAZELLE.]
On the evening of the third day we got on to high ground almost
imperceptibly, and camped at the southern side of an old fire clearing
near Gudaweina. Looking back we could see, in the clear air of the
elevated Haud, beyond the tops of the nearer thorn-trees, the various
gradations of tint—yellow, brown, green, or blue—on the several bits of
jungle or grass glades which we had come through; and beyond all a high
rim of deep indigo blue, looking like a sea-horizon, running without a
single landmark, showing the great expanse of the Haud forest stretching
in every direction in everlasting dips and rises of ground. All the
hills about Hargeisa had long ago sunk out of sight.
On the fourth day we marched on to Kheidub-Ayéyu. For a mile we went
slowly in the dawning light through thorny jungle, and then we came out
into a glade of _durr_ grass, the camels swinging along faster as the
path became more visible. We passed a chief’s grave, encircled by a
stockade of trunks of thorn-trees twelve feet high.[27] We afterwards
emerged on to open rising ground, where we saw oryx and Waller’s gazelles
feeding, and in the centre of the path a wart-hog had been rooting up the
ground.
The open pasture here was dotted with the old zeríbas of the Samanter
Abdalla, Habr Awal, who come from the north for a season every year. They
were here six weeks before us, but the rain falling, they had returned to
Aror, where we had seen them a few days previously when crossing the open
_ban_. These were also the most northern pastures of the Ogádén tribes,
none of which we had ever visited, and we were doubtful as to the nature
of our reception.
We entered a patch of bush, when suddenly the jungle became alive with
camels and sheep, and several young women rushed at the caravan with
their hands spread out and eyes flashing, screaming loudly for help,
while others plied sticks and stones to drive off the flocks, in a
deafening clamour and clouds of dust; and boys ran off in haste to summon
the fighting men of the tribe.
I sat down in the path, trying to look as amiable as possible, for I
realised what our sudden appearance must have been to these natives.
Several of my men, more ready, raced forward and caught the flying
messengers, and brought them back to me as prisoners. The women were sure
we were Abyssinians, for we carried guns; but finding we were English, a
revulsion of feeling set in, and the boys went off to tell the tribe the
joyful news, and the women to get milk for our men.
The mounted guard soon galloped up to us, a sturdy-looking lot, some
twenty of the Rer Ali tribe; they expressed their delight by circling
their horses, shouting, “_Mót! Mót! io Mót!_” and coming up again and
again, bending down in the saddle to shake hands with us; and their
steaming ponies formed a dense circle round us as we endeavoured to do
justice to the hands.
The people asked us to stop for a few hours to shoot rhinoceroses, but
of course we were unable to spare the time, as we were carrying on a
rapid survey, and also had too little water to be able to loiter here in
the centre of the Haud. We passed enormous flocks of fat sheep, and near
camp we met a pretty young woman driving along her dowry of a hundred
camels. Our men said this Rer Ali wealth was good to look at, and that a
few determined horsemen armed with guns could have taken off ten thousand
camels at one swoop.
While camped at Kheidub-Ayéyu we observed a long strip of jungle-fire
creeping along the ridge of thorn forest in our front. Clouds of smoke
were floating far ahead of the fire, and it must have been driven by a
strong south-west gale, judging by the pace. The Habr Gerhajis and two
sub-tribes of the Habr Awal had at different times taken advantage of
this solitary occupation by trying to loot the karias, but were always
driven off. Although living in only two, there were a large number of
fighting men in proportion to the women and children in this clan; and
they were some of the best mounted of the Rer Ali, always a warlike
tribe. The chief of the clan was called Mahomed Liba.
We marched through patches of burnt jungle, with the trees still
smouldering, and pits left in the ground full of white ashes, where the
roots had been burnt out.
Near Yoaleh we came to stony ground, the first since leaving Aror. On
25th July we left the Haud and descended into the valley of the Tug
Milmil, a sandy nala wooded with _gób_[28] trees about eighty feet high,
fringing the river-bed and growing on islands in the centre of the
expanse of sand, some seventy yards wide at this point. We found ponies,
sheep, and camels of the Rer Harún and Rer Ali, Ogádén, watering at
Milmil wells. One continuous stream of camels marched up and down the
river-bed, and we must have seen some twenty thousand in all.
There had been a quarrel just before our arrival between the Rer Harún
here and Mahomed Liba’s clan which we had met at Kheidub-Ayéyu, in which
two men had been killed and two hundred camels had changed owners.
On the day of our arrival at Milmil, at the end of the Haud crossing of
one hundred and five miles, I had still seven full _háns_ in my portion
of the caravan, nine having been expended, say forty gallons of water for
fifteen men for five days. About fifteen gallons of this had been spilt
from various causes, so that fifteen men, one Arab fast camel, and two
goats drank only twenty-seven gallons, or a little over five gallons a
day, including cooking water. I attribute this moderation partly to the
coolness of the weather in the elevated Haud. We had crossed in five
days, thus doing twenty-one miles a day; this fact will indicate the good
state of the caravan track over the red stoneless soil. Indeed, as I have
stated before, a bicycle might have been ridden at speed over nine-tenths
of the distance.
The Haud ends at Milmil in a succession of bluffs a hundred feet high,
and as one descends between them to the Milmil nala, one emerges on to
the general level of Ogádén, and farther on at the wells the country
opens up, disclosing several hills; two of these, called Firk-Firk,
resemble the remarkable twin hills at Hargeisa which are called “Náso
Hablod,” or the “Maiden’s Breasts.”
Soon after we had pitched camp at the part of Milmil which is called
Gagáb an important travelling sheikh arrived. The Somáli so-called sheikh
is a religious mullah who has gained a great and wide-spread reputation
for piety, and being intelligent, even among mullahs, can often read and
write Arabic, although he is generally as black or brown in skin as any
other Somáli.
The horsemen of the Rer Ali came down in scores, attired in all their
finery of red-tasselled saddlery and red and blue _khaili_ tobes, to
go through the usual _dibáltig_ before the great man, whose name is Au
Mahomed Sufi. They formed a large crowd on the sand of the river-bed
below our tent, which was pitched under some large trees overhanging
the Milmil nala. The sheikh’s own bivouac was on the same bank of the
river, about five hundred yards to the north of us. I joined the crowd
of onlookers with my brother, and Au Mahomed Sufi, the recipient of the
honours of the day, came forward and shook hands with us, and gave us a
place by his side.
This man was travelling through Ogádén, and was, I afterwards learnt,
part of an organised plot for rousing the Somáli tribes to combine
against the Abyssinians. After the _dibáltig_ he lifted his spear and
addressed the assembled people, beginning by himself singing what
appeared to be a composition of his own.
In the evening, taking my hunters, I followed the tracks of a lion which
had stolen a sheep from the Rer Ali flocks in broad daylight. Getting
into broken country at the base of one of the bluffs, we put up two
lions. We could not see them, although we heard them roar significantly,
as though they had seen us. We found their lair, and part of the carcase
of the sheep, close by, and within a yard of it was a dead vulture, which
the lions had just killed, no doubt, by springing out of the ambush from
which they had kept watch over the meat. Several vultures were perched on
the branches of the trees around, looking wistfully down, but not daring
to come to the feast. The lions eventually got on to stony ground and we
lost them.
Next day a large number of horsemen came to welcome us at our own camp,
and said they had come to _dibáltig_ to us as representatives of the
English Government. We appointed midday for this ceremony.
Meanwhile I went after a lion, climbing one of the bluffs, which are two
or three hundred feet high; and after hunting through thick high grass
for some time, I sat down to rest below the edge of a bluff. While my men
were wandering about, the lion got up with a low grunt, a few yards above
the rock on which I sat, and made off into the grass. Following, I found
his lair, and the half-eaten carcase of a young camel, about as large as
a donkey, which the lion had dragged to the top of the hill, afterwards
going to sleep by its side. It was within a few yards of the sleeping
lion that I had been unconsciously sitting for ten minutes. He went down
the stony, bush-covered hill, and eventually escaped us.
It was during the early part of the afternoon that some five hundred
horse and foot came to our camp for the promised ceremonies. Au Mahomed
Sufi attended, and we gave him a place beside us. On a signal being
given, the horsemen drew up in line in front of us, and the chief tribal
minstrel of the Rer Ali, while sitting in the saddle, sang a refrain in
honour of the English, and of myself and my brother, who had “deigned to
visit their poor oppressed country.” A splendid array they made, well
mounted and warlike, the biceps standing out on some of the men’s arms in
a way that is seldom seen on these sparely-built Somális.
On the conclusion of the song the horsemen gave a series of shrill yells,
and with arms and legs flying, they started off at full gallop in pursuit
of an imaginary enemy up the river-bed; and the pounding of the hoofs
could be heard long after they had been lost to sight in clouds of red
dust. Presently they came back again, the glinting of the sun on their
spears being first fitfully seen in the pall of dust; and darting up
furiously, they brought their ponies on to their haunches with the cruel
bit, forming a dense semicircle of horses’ heads within a foot of me,
the riders crying, “_Mót!_” and being answered by “_Kul leban_” and a
hand-shake.
Au Mahomed Sufi began a long speech, which was heard in dead silence by
the crowd, saying that now the white men had come it was time to attack
the Abyssinians, and that if we would lead them with our thirty rifles,
they could soon collect a large force and march on the Abyssinian chief,
Basha-Basha.
We interrupted him, broke up the meeting, and retired to our tents,
saying we had come to survey caravan routes and not to be mixed up in
their quarrels.
In the evening we gave a performance in return, parading the thirty
camp-followers in line, armed with their Snider carbines, advancing and
retiring in skirmishing order, and forming rallying groups; and we fired
off blank cartridge, each volley being echoed by an answering yell from
the delighted tribesmen.
They said that now the English, their masters, had come, the Abyssinians
would leave off raiding their camels and carrying off their women. Many
of the chiefs came to our tents begging for written testimonials, saying
that they were sure a scrap of paper written on by an Englishman was
enough alone to keep back an Abyssinian army. The women and children
hung round my camel and my brother’s pony in crowds, crying out, “Now
it’s all right; the English have come.”
Then came the question of presents. The people had brought us a few sheep
and a donkey, and long rows of their milk-vessels, which are prettily
decorated with white shells. We picked out an _ákil_ to whom Sheikh
Mattar of Hargeisa had given us a letter of introduction; then we put
into his hands several white tobes and two _khaili_ tobes, and asked him
to settle with the chiefs of clans. There arose a tremendous clamour,
each clan having sent an advocate to represent it in the scramble for
tobes, which occurred in the river-bed below. An indescribable uproar
continued until nightfall, the clamouring “wise men” squatting on the
ground in circles, looking for all the world like vultures with their
skinny necks and shaven skulls, clawing with lean fingers at the presents
spread out on the sand. There was a scuffle down at the wells, across the
river, where two men had retired to settle an old feud. After throwing
their spears, they closed and stabbed at each other, the spears striking
the shields with a hollow thud, which we could hear from our tents three
hundred yards away; but they were subsequently parted by a posse of
relations.
One of the things which pleased the Rer Ali most was my Arab pony, which
I had taken from Abdul Kader’s stables in Bombay to test the Somáli
climate. My brother mounted him and tried a friendly gallop with one
or two of the tribesmen in succession, and he proved, to their great
wonder, faster than any pony which the Rer Ali could bring against him.
He afterwards beat many Somáli ponies all over the country, and gained
a great reputation, although I had only bought him as a useful animal
up to weight, and he would be considered quite slow among Arab ponies
of his height, which was about 13.3. I have often since been identified
by Somális as the owner of “that Hindi pony which could gallop like the
wind.”
By nightfall we were glad that the long dusty day of ceremony was over,
and next morning, when a number of Rer Harún horsemen arrived and asked
to be allowed to repeat the show, we found ourselves obliged to decline
the honour, and continued our survey westward towards the Abyssinian
border.
Our men, on the night of the Rer Ali _dibáltig_, went to the karias and
danced till nearly daylight, the women clapping their hands and jumping
up and down, keeping up a monotonous refrain. Next day half our men were
ill, having gorged themselves upon the mutton and camel meat which had
been generously provided by the Rer Ali.
We passed the deserted village of Dagahbúr and reached a rounded grassy
hill called Túli, and it was while encamped here that we shot the first
Somáli rhinoceros, an animal which for many years we had expected to come
upon, but which up till then had never been seen or shot by an European.
We found plenty of game at Túli, and as I rode up to the rounded hill to
choose a site for my camp, a troop of ostriches went racing away into the
sea of bush and grass to the north-west.
To the west of Gumbur Túli lay a valley covered with dense dark mimósa
forest, called Dih Wiyileh,[29] or Rhinoceros Valley. Between Dagahbúr
and Waror, an interval of fifty miles, the country was waterless at this
season, and hearing that Waror was occupied by Abyssinian soldiers, I
deemed it advisable to arrive there with a supply of water on the camels;
so finding the _háns_ rather low, I had to wait at Túli a couple of days
while we sent back to Dagahbúr for more water.
The time had come when I hoped to make the acquaintance of the
long-sought rhinoceroses; and I left camp in the early morning with my
two gunbearers Géli and Hassan, and another man called Au Ismail, who led
our one camel and acted as guide.
Taking a line to the south-west across the Dih Wiyileh from Túli Hill,
we presently came on fresh rhinoceros signs. These we took up till
nearly midday, the two beasts we were following having made a maze of
tracks there while feeding in the morning. At last Géli pointed to our
game—two rhinoceroses standing, apparently asleep, under a shady thorn
bush. I advanced to forty yards, and opened fire with the four-bore,
putting a four-ounce bullet into the shoulder of each with a right and
left, making them tear away at a gallop through the jungle. I followed
at best pace, putting in two more cartridges as I ran, and so finishing
one of the rhinos. Passing this one, I found the other standing in
thick bush broadside on, listening and looking for its fellow. Feeling
for cartridges, I put my hand into empty pockets, the rest having fallen
out in my haste, so I ran back to the camel to snatch more out of a
haversack. Au Ismail saw me running back away from the rhinoceros, and
jumped to the conclusion that I was running away! So he began to bolt
with the camel. I ran harder and harder, shouting to him to stop, and
at last I got hold of him and explained what I wanted. Then, rearmed, I
returned to the rhinoceros, which had been standing meanwhile in the same
place, apparently unable to make out what I was about, and too sick to
charge. Another shot finished it. Unfortunately they were both cows, but
I was very pleased at the result of my first rhino hunt.
[Illustration: A trial of strength]
I returned with the two heads to camp, and sent half a dozen men to cut
off the shields, of which we obtained thirty-five from the two skins.
These men arrived in camp next morning, and said that while they had been
cutting up the rhinos by the light of torches, several more had come
round them, and a lion had roared to the westward.
On our second day at Túli we were unsuccessful with the rhinos, and when
the water came from Dagahbúr we marched to Gumbur Wedel, a small hill
four miles to the north-west across the Rhinoceros Valley. Here we found
oryx, ostriches, and Sœmmering’s and Waller’s gazelles very plentiful,
and rhino tracks numerous. My brother was very keen to get a rhino, but
had so far had no luck.
At 5 A.M. on 6th August we left Wedel, and for three miles struggled
through thick grass and jungle, and then struck a good path running
north-west. After going a mile along this I saw fresh rhino tracks where
a pair had crossed the path during the night, and so going on with the
caravan, I left my brother to take up the pursuit. At our evening camp
he arrived with the heads of both, a very fine bull and a cow, and we
skinned them by firelight.
On the morning of the 7th August the caravan marched sixteen miles to
a karia of the Rer Gedi, Abbasgúl, to us a new sub-tribe, at a place
called Haddáma. Early in the day, while walking along the path, I came on
the fresh tracks of a large bull rhino, so, as it was my turn, leaving
the caravan and traversing work in charge of my brother, I left the
path on these tracks, followed by Géli and Hassan. The rhinoceros had
taken a straight line for a ridge of low hills to the south, which are
a continuation of the Harar Highlands, and after following for several
miles through thick jungle and over burnt clearings, the sun getting
hotter and hotter, we at last put him up at about noon, making him rush
off through the forest without our even getting a sight of him. I took up
the tracking patiently for an hour more, and then we heard the trampling
and snorting and smashing of thorn-trees again. Following at a run, we
saw him standing broadside on, listening, in the centre of several acres
of very transparent but dense and thorny wait-a-bit cover. We at once lay
down. Not hearing our footsteps any more, the rhino trotted forward, head
held high, for fifty yards, and then stood and listened again. He looked
decidedly vicious. We crawled up to a small evergreen shrub, and I sat up
behind it, and taking a steady rest upon my knees, fired for his ear at a
range of seventy yards with my ten-bore rifle.
The bull dropped in his tracks, an inert mass. Going up, we found that
the ten-bore had hit him exactly where I had aimed, the bullet entering
under the left ear and stopping under the skin of the right temple.
I was twenty-five miles from camp, and as the camel was fully occupied
in carrying the massive head and a few shields, I had to tramp the whole
way. This, added to the hot tracking work of five hours before we got
the rhino, and the fast run after putting him up, made a long day’s
work, and I was right glad at sunset to meet some men whom my brother had
considerately sent back with water and dates to bring us on to my half of
the caravan, which he had halted for me at Haddáma. He had himself gone
on to Waror, for we never allowed shooting to delay the rate of progress,
and I came up with him there next morning; as usual, we reformed the
double camp, with our “Cabul” tents side by side. The camp was pitched
near the wells in a beautiful glade, covered with green grass, kept short
by the Abbasgúl herds. We found an immense number of cows watering here,
the chief wealth of the Abbasgúl being in cattle. The wells at Waror are
narrow, circular funnels seventy feet deep, sunk through the red alluvial
earth of the Jerer Valley. Steps were cut all the way down, and water was
passed to the surface by a chain of nine naked men, standing one above
the other, their feet resting on these steps, the full and empty leather
buckets being passed up and down from hand to hand to an accompaniment of
singing in chorus.[30] We showed the Abbasgúl how to do it with a large
bucket and a long rope, whereat they were greatly pleased.
[Illustration]
The Waror pasture, with its closely-cropped grass, under open thorn
jungle, looked like an English orchard; and the wind blowing coldly with
a leaden sky, heightened the resemblance. There was plenty of game about
here. Round the base of a small rock called Dubbur, perched on the top
of some high ground five miles from Waror, oryx and ostriches abound. At
one place, near Waror, my brother found the ground pounded up, where some
Midgáns’ dogs had brought an oryx to bay, and in the grass the blood of
the animal and a broken arrow; close by were the pugs of a lion. A lion
roared at night while we were at Waror. The people said one was in the
habit of showing himself about once a day in broad daylight, and that he
had killed twelve men, the last of whom fell a victim the day before we
halted at the wells.
The Abbasgúl headmen came to us and gave us quantities of milk, calling
us their protectors. They said that their tribe was once rich, but was
now poor, because of the Abyssinians. They were unfortunate in being next
to the east of the Bertiri, whom the Abyssinians had already absorbed.
The only Somáli tribes which may be said to be under Abyssinian influence
are the Géri, Bertiri, Abbasgúl, a few of the Esa, and Malingúr. But they
are all unwillingly so, and have at various times clamoured for help from
the British. They all trade with Berbera.
The Rer Amáden and the riverine negro population of the Webbe are well
disposed to the British, though not much connected with Berbera except to
the east in the Shabéleh district, whence a large proportion of Berbera
caravans are derived.
These headmen said that the Abyssinians every now and then came from
Jig-Jiga with rifles, and did what pleased them best; that they killed
Abbasgúl sheep and cattle for food, entered the karias and used the huts;
that they forced even the old chiefs to hew wood and draw water, and
interfered with the women; and that many Abbasgúl who had tried to defend
their homes had been shot down.
This tribe seemed utterly cowed, and quite unlike the warlike and
independent people whom we had met at Milmil. I noticed very few horses,
and the tribesmen said that all their best had been taken by the
Abyssinians.
The Abbasgúl told us that, three years before our trip, the Abyssinians
came from Harar and overran all this country, even as far as the Sheikh
Ash and Rer Ali tribes; and going into the Rer Harún country beyond
Milmil, they came back by way of the Rer Amáden and Adan Khair to the far
south, to Imé; here they were among the Gállas and the Adone, or riverine
negro population of the Webbe Shabéleh. The Abyssinians are said to have
got by threats or violence a tribute of camels, cattle, or sheep from
every tribe passed through on this far-reaching raid. We were beginning
to get very curious about these Abyssinians, whom neither of us had ever
met in all our wanderings.
One of our men stupidly told a crowd of people at the wells that we had
come to attack Banagúsé, the commander of the Jig-Jiga outpost, and it
was not till we heard shouts of delight from the men, women, and children
collected, that we discovered this foolishness, and put a stop to it.
An Abbasgúl _ákil_,[31] to whom Sheikh Mattar had given us an Arabic
letter, came to our camp. He said the Abyssinians were at Jig-Jiga, about
thirty miles in our front, and that there were quite a hundred soldiers
and a disorderly mob of Harar people there. So, as the object of our
journey was the construction of a route map, without coming to blows with
any one, we decided to defer our visit till a more fitting opportunity.
So far we had done three hundred miles of route in twenty-nine days,
or ten and a half miles a day including halts, all of the road having
been carefully traversed with prismatic compass, the main points being
fixed by observations of the stars with a transit theodolite. We had
travelled sixty-four miles without water between Dagahbúr and Waror, so
that between Hargeisa and the latter place we had gone over two hundred
miles of unexplored route with only two intermediate watering-places;
yet all this country had been very fertile and subject to a considerable
rainfall. With a proper system of tanks, involving, of course, a great
initial outlay, combined with a steady, cultivating population, instead
of the lazy, strife-loving Somáli nomads who now own the soil, much of
this tract could, I believe, be made to rival some of the best parts of
India. People who visit only the arid sandy Maritime Plain of the low
coast country near Berbera, or see it from ships, can get little idea of
the fine soil, good rainfall, and cool, healthy climate of these interior
plateaux.
About the middle of August we broke up our Waror camp and marched to
Abonsa, in the Harar Highlands, the elevation being six thousand feet,
whence a fine view was obtained over the distant Marar Prairie to the
north. On the way, at Koran, we passed six men carrying Remington
rifles, three of whom were Abyssinians, the first we had seen. They were
very civil and shook hands. Our guide said this was a party going to
Gerlogubi, in Central Ogádén, to get “tribute.”
We had now gone as near to Jig-Jiga as we dared, and we proposed to
return to Hargeisa to pick up some stores which we had left with Sheikh
Mattar, and to make a fresh start for the Harar border on the Gildessa
side, hoping to be able to include Jig-Jiga in the map if it should turn
out to have been vacated by the Abyssinians.
The whole of the country south of Waror and Abonsa was much disturbed by
a feud between the Ahmed Abdalla, Habr Awal, and the Rer Farah, Abbasgúl.
We divided our camps at Dubbur in order to survey more ground, and my
brother, in returning to Hargeisa across the Marar Prairie, passed
through the fighting tribes, and saw many of their mounted scouts, who
were uniformly civil to him. Meanwhile I struck across the Haud bush,
forty miles to the east of my brother’s route.
While I was encamped on 16th August among the Ahmed Abdalla karias
at Karígri, in open jungle, a surprise was attempted on them by the
Rer Farah, Abbasgúl. A hue and cry was raised, and the plain was soon
swarming with men, who came out of the karias with spears and shields to
repulse the attack. The enemy upon seeing this retired. The affair was so
sudden that the Gerád or Sultán of the Ahmed Abdalla was with his headmen
drinking coffee in my camp at the time. On the first news their horses
were brought up ready saddled from the karias, and they mounted without
delay and rode to the south, disappearing in the clouds of red dust
raised by the flocks and herds which were being driven in by the women.
We again met and formed the double camp over the wells at Hargeisa, and
during the few days we were there we had pleasant company; for two
sportsmen’s caravans—those of Col. R. Curteis of Poona, and of Captain
Harrison, 8th King’s—passed through Hargeisa on their way to the Haud
hunting-grounds.
The first fifty miles from Hargeisa being perfectly safe country, we
made our fresh start on 24th August in two half caravans, and as the
climate during this part of our wanderings was somewhat peculiar, showing
that the Haud and Marar Prairie share in the great rainfall of the high
Abyssinian plateau, I will give a short account of the first portion of
the journey, the facts being taken from our Diary.
_24th August._—We had only gone three miles when a deluge of
rain came on, and having taken refuge under some very thin
bushes for half an hour, we were drenched through. The storm
showing no signs of abating we went on again, splashing through
water up to our ankles; and so on for another mile, till we
came to the banks of a small watercourse, down which rushed a
yellow torrent which we tried to cross, but were obliged to
beat a retreat; one camel rolled over and over, and the bags
of rice were scattered along the bed of the stream, and fished
out by the men going breast-deep. So we looked out for a little
sandy rise, and camped under pelting rain, which continued till
7 A.M. next day. By 10.30, having waited for the stream to
become passable and for our kit to dry, we were able to march,
reaching Dofaré at 3.30 P.M. The karias of the Rer Samanter
were found all along the way from Haraf, and we met hundreds
of cows and thousands of camels. It rained all night long; and
another storm, with thunder and lightning, came on at 8 A.M.
next morning, just as things were beginning to get dry.
_26th August._—We started off in pouring rain at 9 A.M. It
rained more or less the whole day, and everything was soaked.
My brother went on ahead with his half of the caravan towards
Dubburro, but the caravan twice lost him and the guide, and
he was on foot from 9 A.M. till 4.30 P.M. in a deluge of
rain. Luckily we had before surveyed this ground. At last he
gave up trying to find the tracks of his caravan, and walked
to Dubburro, where he found it halted, after a march of
twenty-five miles under continuous rain. I had halted some
miles in rear of him, but had not the least notion where I was.
The whole country seemed flooded.
_27th August._—My brother arrived at 7.30 P.M. at my camp, his
own having gone on. He had lost his caravan, so I lent him my
pony, and he at last reached his men, after having gone thirty
miles, all but the last two miles being on foot, in rain-soaked
boots, with violent toothache added to his other miseries. The
last hour was in the dark, but he was kept from falling asleep
at the roadside by the roaring of a lion.
ÉLINTA KADDO, _28th August_.—It rained during the night. We had
a few days of pleasanter weather after this, but it rained,
more or less, daily during the whole of this trip till we
reached Gildessa.
We marched across the beautiful Marar Prairie, to Gumbur Dúg,
halting at several of the high conical hills which rise out
of the elevated plain to nearly seven thousand feet above
sea-level, as we wished to get a base from which to triangulate
in points of the Harar Highlands which we were not able to
visit.
We reached Gumbur Dúg on the morning of 1st September. Gumbur
Dúg is a low, grass-covered hill of white limestone. Jig-Jiga
was now close to us. Next morning vast herds of hartebeests
were seen on the plain, comprising several thousands; and when
we shot one, the plain was covered with a line of swiftly
galloping animals, a mile or two in length, half obscured in
clouds of red dust and flying turf.
To the south was a karia of the Bertiri tribe, and we sent
two scouts on in the evening to find out whether Jig-Jiga was
still occupied by the Abyssinians. These men returned late at
night, reporting the karia deserted, but that they had found
men tending camels. The Bertiri karias were all at Jig-Jiga,
and the Abyssinians were encamped some miles off in the Gureis
Hills, coming to Jig-Jiga every morning to water cattle and
horses, and returning to their villages at night. The scouts
reported that they met some Midgáns near the water, and that
these men ran at them and would have attacked them, but were
afraid of the two rifles. It afterwards transpired that my men
had been telling a lie; they had really met a large crowd of
Bertiri, who had run at them, thinking they were robbers; and
my two scouts, in their fright, had fired a round of buckshot
into their faces. They afterwards confessed to having knocked
down a woman with a pellet in the lip. On my instituting an
inquiry among the Bertiri next day, the elders said, “It is
so, and she is dead; she is only a Midgán woman, and has no
relations, so it doesn’t matter.” Asking them to show me the
grave, they said it didn’t matter, and that the Abyssinians
would have killed fifty instead of one, and that the English
were good people! Failing to get any sensible answers to my
questions, I explained the heinous nature of the offence, and
advised them to complain at the Resident’s Court at Berbera.
But no complaint was ever made, so I think that though a woman
was really knocked down by a spent pellet, she was not killed;
and the elders reported her death in the hope of a present.
On 2nd September we marched over some rolling and open _ban_ to the
Jig-Jiga Valley, and camped at the water within three hundred yards of
the ill-famed Abyssinian stockaded fort, which had been such a thorn in
the side of the Jibril Abokr tribe. We found it untenanted; and as the
Bertiri made no objection, we went over it and took some photographs.
The Jig-Jiga post is a work pushed out by the Abyssinians into the
Bertiri part of the Marar Prairie, and it commands the route from Berbera
to Harar. It is a strong redoubt surmounted by a rough stockade, the
thin tops of the interlaced branches being about thirteen feet from the
ground outside. The earthwork is a banquette four or five yards wide,
rising in two steps to seven feet above the ground. The banquette and
stockade are continuous round the enclosed space, which is a circle of
about one hundred yards in diameter. It is strong enough against attacks
by spearmen, but would give imperfect cover against musketry fire. On the
outside the small branches of the stockade are bent outwards to form very
flimsy _chevaux de frise_. There is one doorway, with a platform above
on which a sentry can stand. Inside the enclosure were some very good
circular huts, with perpendicular sides and conical thatched roofs.
A small watercourse, about eight feet deep, which would give cover for
men running along the bottom, goes half-way round the stockade on the
east side, at about fifty yards’ distance, so that men could collect
there at night, and with the help of straw and kerosene oil the place
might be burnt down and the inmates stabbed while trying to put out the
fire. The work stands on the southern side of the Jig-Jiga Valley within
three hundred yards of the usual wells, the Jig-Jiga Valley here being
merely a depression in the open grass plains of the Marar Prairie.
The Abyssinian garrison varies in strength; sometimes the work is left
deserted, as on the occasion of our visit, when the garrison had gone to
the Harrawa Valley for a few days, leaving the wells to the Bertiri and
their cattle.[32]
We were glad to have hit off our visit to this post so fortunately, and
without having come into collision with the Abyssinians. Our men were
very disinclined to come here, but we had been cautiously feeling our
way since leaving Milmil to avoid any chance of a hostile attack. The
Bertiri were very civil to us, bringing us more milk than our men, with
all their great capacity, could drink. Crowds of the people came to our
camp and begged us not to go away, but to stay with them, as they said
the Abyssinians would never return while we were camped here.
Having satisfied our curiosity, in the evening we marched to Eil Bhai
wells, arriving there as night closed in during a rain-storm. Hartebeests
abounded everywhere, and between Jig-Jiga and Eil Bhai I shot a beautiful
wild goose, which I afterwards found common in Ogádén.
On the 3rd September, having halted for two hours to let things dry a
little, we marched at 8.30 to Makanis Hill, arriving there at midday,
the whole march being over the open grass plains. Vast squadrons of
hartebeests and of Sœmmering’s gazelles, and some herds of oryx, were
passed by us. We also saw thirteen ostriches. It rained as night fell,
and on the 4th of September a high wind blew, with rain and sleet,
keeping us in camp all day. On 5th September we descended into the
Harrawa Valley in the Gadabursi country, and back on to the high _ban_
again at Sarír, four days later. We then marched along the base of
the Harar Highlands, reaching Sala Asseleh on 13th September. We had
experienced heavy thunder-storms with deluges of rain daily, and had
found the whole country deserted.
At Sala Asseleh we met a few Esa Somális who had just left the Abyssinian
post of Gildessa, now only half a day’s march distant. They said that
the Abyssinians were there in force. We could get no one to go forward
to warn the garrison of our approach and peaceful intentions, the only
native who knew the country being required as a survey guide.
The next morning we made our final march into Gildessa. We started early,
and winding up a watercourse we entered low trap hills, and after going
four miles we came in sight of an Abyssinian sentry-hut, perched on the
top of a rocky hillock, at a place where the path emerges from the hills
and makes an abrupt turn to the right into the Gildessa Gorge, down the
side of which it runs towards Zeila. On the rocks around us was a large
troop of dog-faced baboons, and there was no evidence, beyond the small
hut, that we were approaching a town.
I was marching a little ahead of the caravan, with my brother and five
or six camelmen; and turning to the right, round a shoulder of the hill,
we suddenly found, only one hundred paces in front of us, the town of
Gildessa—a group of some hundred mat huts, with a few thatched ones and
stone houses. In the middle of the town is a stone zeríba sixty yards
square, with walls ten feet high, having an opening five yards broad to
allow of the ingress and egress of laden animals.
The hut we had noticed was the Abyssinian guard-house, on a mound
overlooking the two converging roads from Harar and from Abósa to
Gildessa, the latter being the road we had traversed. On the west of the
guard-house was the bed of the Tug Gildessa, by the side of which wound
the road to Zeila, and this channel now contained a stream of running
water, which flowed to the east of the town.
The village through which we walked was very dusty, and a swarm of people
of mixed Eastern races blocked the way, bartering cloth, tobacco,
coffee, and other articles of trade; and among the Abyssinians, Gállas,
Somális, and Hararis I observed several men of the black Soudánese
type. We found the assembled crowd very entertaining, and although the
people looked surprised at our sudden arrival they evinced no want of
friendliness. We sat down under some large shady trees on the north side
of the town, and were presently joined by the elders, who were followed
by several villainous-looking retainers carrying Remington rifles and
swords.
Taken up with this interesting crowd, we did not at first notice the
non-arrival of our caravan, which had only been a few hundred yards
behind us during the march; at length missing the caravan, and inquiring
the reason of delay, we were told that the men and camels had been seized
upon by the Abyssinian soldiers who garrison the place, and taken into
the stone zeríba; they had been made to unload inside, and a sentry had
been put over the entrance to stop them from coming out again.
This would not do! So running to the spot, we entered a small house on
the right side of the entrance; and there we found, seated on carpets,
writing, one Dágo, who was pointed out to us as the Abyssinian in
authority over the town. We demanded an explanation, and Dágo said that
he had seen our caravan coming, and had decided that this would be a
suitable spot for our camp, and he had therefore ordered our men to
unload the camels.
We now strolled in to look at the place. Outside the zeríba entrance, to
the left, was a barrack; and on a wheezy bugle sounding, about twenty
soldiers, in white Soudánese uniforms and armed with Remingtons, ran out
and fell into line. Another bugle, and they presented arms in rather a
fantastic fashion. They were then dismissed, and stood loafing about
outside the entrance.
We looked into the stone square and found our camels sitting unloaded,
our kit and boxes scattered about, lying where they had been thrown from
the camels on to the ground. Our men were standing about, looking sullen
and sheepish. The zeríba was quite bare, without tree or shelter, exposed
to a powerful midday sun, and the ground was caked with camel’s dung. We
were told that this camping ground had been chosen for our advantage,
that we should be received with honour, and that water and camel’s milk
would be brought for the use of the caravan. We thanked Dágo for his kind
intentions, but said we preferred camping under the trees by the river.
[Illustration: GREATER KOODOO (_Strepsiceros Koodoo_).
Length of horns on curve, 52½ inches. Straight, 37¼ inches.]
Dágo and his friends made a thousand objections, and the native officer
in charge crowded the soldiers in front of the stone enclosure. Our
caravan had meanwhile been quietly loading up the kit by our orders,
but upon the camelmen trying to lead out the camels, they were stopped
by the soldiers, each of whom carried his rifle loaded, with a few more
cartridges held between the fingers of the left hand, taken out of the
belt ready for instant use. One big Soudánese soldier stood across the
entrance with his rifle at the “port.”
We now saw the intention of the Abyssinian leader, and, as it would never
do for our Somális to suppose that we could be detained against our will,
we decided to take the next step; and going up to Dágo, who was still
sitting on the carpet inside the little hut, I threatened to complain to
Rás Makunan, the Governor of Harar, if this attempt at our arrest should
be persisted in.
Dágo said that we ourselves might go where we liked, but that our
Somális, camels, and property must remain inside the enclosure. We
refused this separation, and told the officials simply that we were going
out. Some of the soldiers became excited, and began shouting, but were
silenced.
Again I walked over to Dágo, and he said the caravan could not go without
the order of the Rás; that it would take till to-morrow at noon for
a horseman to go to Harar and get this order, and our party must be
detained in custody till then.
I stayed talking to him for a moment, while my brother quietly told
off an advance and rear-guard, passing the word round for each of our
followers to mark his man, and to put a bullet into him should an attack
be made upon us. I then finally told Dágo that we were going, and walked
to the entrance, where my hunter Géli silently put into my hands the
double four-bore elephant rifle, loaded in each barrel with fourteen
drams of powder and fifty SSG slugs. This rifle, so loaded, scatters a
good deal, and would have been quite equal to the occasion.
We had not mistaken our friend Dágo. The forces were exactly equal, not
counting the Gildessa crowd, some of whom would have been for, and some
against us, and seeing we were capable of carrying our point, and afraid
of the great responsibility he would incur by using force, he called me
back and consented to our leaving, with our men, our camels, and our
baggage, provided I would write a letter to Rás Makunan, to state why we
had come to Gildessa. With my brother and half a dozen men, all having
their rifles ready, I entered Dágo’s hut, and we sat down on the carpets
in a circle, and he pushed me a reed pen, ink, and paper.
I wrote a short note to the Rás in English, stating that we had come to
examine caravan routes for the Aden authorities, and meant no harm. That
we had also had some shooting, and wished to go to Zeila; and I begged
him to accept, as an accompaniment to my letter, a pair of rhinoceros
horns, those of one of the two cows I had shot in the Dih Wiyileh.
The Abyssinian Dágo said he was sure Makunan would be pleased at the
trophy, which would be a very suitable compliment, because only important
Abyssinians are allowed to be in possession of rhino horns. They make
sword handles and drinking-cups of them; the latter are supposed to
neutralise the effect of any poison poured into them. He sent our letter
to Makunan at once by a mounted messenger, at the same time begging that
we would wait encamped here till noon the next day, when the answer might
be expected.
We said we could leave Gildessa whenever we chose, but that, as we wished
to be on friendly terms with the local authorities, and to respect their
rules, we would camp under the trees outside till the afternoon of the
next day. We now marched out and camped half a mile to the north of the
town, on the right bank of the river, at a spot where it was overlooked
by some low hills from a distance of a hundred yards.
In the afternoon the Abyssinian officials took us into their own huts,
in the town, and gave us tea, sitting on rugs. The soldiers also were
very friendly, and, now that business was over, they forgot the late
awkwardness, and tried to show us that they bore no ill-will, but had
only tried to do what they believed to be their duty to Rás Makunan. In
the evening I received them in my hut, giving them tea, which they seemed
to prefer to coffee.
When the Abyssinians were gone a large concourse of Gildessa people came
to camp, amongst them many Esa and Arab merchants. They carried presents,
among which were three large sugar-cane stems, with spreading leaves,
Indian-corn cobs, potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, and two sheep; all the
vegetables having been grown at Gildessa by the Abyssinians. The Arab
merchants were, some of them, Aden people; they came clad in their best
yellow and green silks; and being versed in the tastes of the white man,
heading the procession, they brought us gravely, as an acceptable gift, a
bottle of absinthe carefully wrapped up in a wet cloth! Apparently this
and breech-loading small-arms form the chief articles of commerce between
the French port of Jibúti and Harar. Neither Abyssinians, Esa, nor Arabs
would accept any return present, saying that we were their guests and not
expected to give anything.
The Esa insisted, before the Abyssinians, that they were British
“subjects.” One old man had been to London and Bombay as a ship’s
fireman; he advised us to send down to Zeila and let the assistant
Resident, Mr. Walsh, know of our whereabouts, as “something might happen”
if we were to try to leave Gildessa.
Next morning a score or two of young warriors, with the large Esa spear
and shield, gave us a dance in honour of the British Government, but it
was cut short by a mounted Abyssinian, Dágo’s son, who rode up on a pony
from the town and ordered them to desist. My own men all flew to arms and
stood ready for a row, and Géli handed me my four-bore, suitably loaded
as usual.
The Esa were silent for a moment; then, giving a derisive roar of
laughter, they went on with their dance, which was the _dibáltig_, or
acknowledgment of sovereignty, in our honour. The Abyssinian galloped
back to Gildessa, and returned with the soldiers, marching two deep with
loaded rifles; so the Esa suddenly stopped dancing. A young Esa, of
splendid physique, came forward and asked whether we would like them to
go on, for, as he courteously put it, “the Esa were the obedient slaves
of the English.” Thanking him and his comrades, we said they were under
Abyssinian control here, and they must do as they were bid.
They replied that they were sorry, for they felt great friendship for
us. The situation was for a moment awkward. The Abyssinians and my own
men stood drawn up opposite to each other near my tent, the young Esa
warriors in a sullen group between the two, and a large crowd of Esa,
Abyssinian, Arab, and Gálla townspeople, armed with long guns, swords,
and spears, had collected on one side.
The Abyssinians were satisfied by my answer that I had no intention of
insulting them, and without further word the commander marched them back
to the town.
This was already the second hitch, and we were anxious to get from
Makunan the answer to my letter. We could not foresee what trouble might
arise with these sensitive Abyssinians if we stayed long in Gildessa. We
also thought that instead of a letter reinforcements might be sent from
Harar, and our camp was in a spot difficult to defend.
By noon on the day of the Esa dance no answer had as yet come from Harar;
we had delayed over twenty-four hours to please the Abyssinians, but now,
the stipulated time having expired, at 2 P.M. we began loading up.
Some Abyssinian scouts, who had been posted along the road between our
camp and Gildessa, reported our preparations for departure to their
commander, and a crowd of Arab merchants and Esa elders came in haste
to our camp to prevent a quarrel; for they said that if we went without
permission we would certainly be attacked by the Abyssinians. They put
our staying so much in the light of a personal kindness to themselves,
that we agreed not to stay, but to march a mile or two to a more
defensible position, and camp for the night, going on in the morning
towards Zeila. If a large force should by any chance come from Harar, our
present camp was very unfavourably situated.
The Esa elders said they were sorry, as if they were ordered to seize our
camels, and we used force, a fight would ensue; and a fight with the
English was the last thing they wanted.
We answered that we would also deplore this, but would not allow our
free right to go to Zeila to be questioned. So we marched off, with most
of the men formed into a rear-guard thrown across the camel track and
extended at about two paces.
We followed the path which goes to the north between the low hills and
the forest which fringes the right bank of the Gildessa stream. My
brother afterwards crowned the hills with part of the rear-guard, while I
kept with the remainder in the fringe of the woods covering the retreat
till the caravan should be clear of Gildessa.
A number of the Abyssinian and Soudánese soldiers ran out with their
rifles to stop us, but when they had come a quarter of a mile they were
recalled by a bugle from the barrack.
We camped after two miles, as we had promised our friends the Esa and
Arab merchants. It rained as we halted, but we spent the first two hours
of the night in fortifying our camp with piled boxes of stores and rough
timber from the thorn-trees, so as to make them bullet-proof. We sent
back word notifying to the Abyssinians that we had camped, but that we
should make a very early morning march for Zeila; and we asked that the
Harar letter might be sent after us.
The messenger, on his return, reported that there had been high talk
among the Abyssinians of punishing our Esa guides Boh and Hadji Adan, who
had shown us the way to Gildessa, but the other Esa in the town had said
that if a hair of their heads were touched the Abyssinians would have to
deal with themselves also. The Esa had then been driven out of the town
by the soldiers, who had formed line and charged them.
The Esa are accounted the bravest of any of the Somáli tribes; they
seldom or never use light throwing-spears, but run up and stab at close
quarters with the large, heavy, broad-bladed spear. On a certain punitive
expedition which occurred in 1890,[33] it is well known that they managed
to get into a zeríba full of regular troops, and, although beaten off, to
leave their mark inside; and as fighting men they are by no means to be
despised. But having no guns they are obliged in Gildessa to give in to
the well-armed and numerous Abyssinians.
My brother and I watched by turns at this camp during the whole night,
and with the transit theodolite we took several pairs of stars for
latitude.
Sending three men half a mile back along the road to Gildessa, to keep a
look-out, we loaded by moonlight and marched at 4 A.M., and by dawn we
had gone five miles along a good track through thick jungle. At daylight
we came to Arrto, where Count Porro’s scientific expedition, including
nine Italian travellers, was destroyed in 1886. We crossed a wide nala
to the foot of a small hill, which was the last camping-place of Porro’s
party. Half a mile farther we came to the Garasleh stream. The banks
were beautifully wooded on both sides by large thorn-trees covered with
creepers, with an undergrowth of aloes.
At dawn next day, at our camp at Warrji, where we had put twenty-five
miles between our caravan and Gildessa, a number of Abyssinians came
riding after us on mules, bringing letters from Rás Makunan of Harar.
The letters were written in Amháric, and were couched in the most polite
terms. The Rás expressed himself glad to hear of the nearness to Harar of
British officers, and invited us to come to see him. The bearer of the
letter, who was the commander of the guard at Gildessa, further said that
one Gobau Desta had been sent to Gildessa to arrange for the journey, and
that by Gobau Desta the Rás had courteously sent his own riding mule,
with embroidered state saddlery, for my use on the way. The Rás thanked
me also for the rhino horns. Alluding to our affair with the Gildessa
soldiers, the Rás significantly wrote, “If they have been discourteous to
you they shall reap their reward.”
I sent an answer to this, saying our time was not our own, but that I
hoped at some future opportunity, when on leave, to pay him a visit.
I said that the soldiers had naturally rather lost their heads at our
sudden arrival, but that they had treated us with great hospitality.
On 20th September we arrived at Biyo-Kabóba fort, the small post pushed
out by the Abyssinians into the Esa country. And as we approached the
guard of fifteen men fired a salute in our honour. Strict orders had
come from Harar that we were to be given sheep, milk, and vegetables,
that we were not to be molested in any way, and above all, that the
Odahgub White Esa might dance to us if they liked. This they did, and
I took a photograph of them. I have never seen finer men in any Somáli
tribe than some of these Esa.
At So Madu, on 22nd September, a mail bag arrived from Mr. Walsh, from
Zeila, now about a hundred miles distant. News contained in these letters
necessitated my leaving my brother to finish the traverse. I started for
Zeila with two attendants and my three Arab trotting camels. We slept on
the side of the track for two nights, arriving in Zeila on the evening of
the second day.
[Illustration: ♂ SŒMMERING’S GAZELLE (_Gazella sœmmeringi_).
Length of horns on curve average 16 inches.]
My brother marched down to Loyi-Ada, between Jibúti and Zeila, to have
a look at a palm-tree which is supposed to mark the boundary between
the French and British spheres of influence. Here he had an amusing
conversation in the pitch darkness with a French officer, who thought
he was trying to break the cholera quarantine, the two parties of twenty
men or so standing opposite each other under arms; this awkwardness was
followed by explanations, my brother expressing regret that, through
long absence in the interior, he had no knowledge of the quarantine, and
the Frenchman apologising for having received him _en troupier_ under
a misapprehension; and there followed a pleasant breakfast with this
official, who said he lived at Jibúti.
A few days before reaching Zeila my brother’s caravan was struck down
with sickness, caused by bad water, several men having to be left at
Ambós police-hut, and many more coming into Zeila strapped on camels.
I rode fifty miles on a very hot day, with a native Indian hospital
assistant and medicines, in pursuit of my brother, but found he had come
to Zeila by another route.[34] Arriving at Zeila, we paid off the caravan
and returned to Aden. This was the last trip made in company with my
brother.
[Illustration: A Herd of Aoul
SŒMMERING’S GAZELLE.]