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Memories
of a British envoy to Abyssinia's Emperor Theodore.
In
CHAPTER IV and V he
describes the political situation in Tigre
land Massawa Habab and Barka.
A NARRATIVE OF
CAPTIVITY IN ABYSSINIA
HENRY BLANC
STAFF
ASSISTANT-SURGEON HER MAJESTY’S BOMBAY ARMY
(LATELY ON SPECIAL DUTY IN ABYSSINIA.)
On the morning of the
23rd, at a distance of about thirty miles from the shore, we
sighted the high land of Abyssinia, formed of several consecutive
ranges, all running from N. to S., the more distant being also the
highest; some of the peaks, such as Taranta, ranging between 12,000 and
13,000 feet.
As the outline of the
coast became more distinct, the sight of a small island covered with
white houses surrounded by green groves, reflecting their welcome
shadows in the quiet blue water of the bay, gave us a thrill of delight;
it seemed as if at last we had come to one of those enchanted spots of
the East, so often described, so seldom seen, and to the longing of our
anxious hearts the quick motion of the steamer seemed slow to satisfy
our ardent wishes. But nearer and nearer as we approached the shore, one
by one all our illusions disappeared; the pleasant imagery vanished, and
the stern reality of mangrove swamps, sandy and sunburnt beach, wretched
and squalid huts, stared us in the face. Instead of the semi-Paradise
distance had painted to our imagination, we found (and, alas! remained
long enough to verify the fact) that the land of our temporary residence
could be described in three words–sun, dirt, and desolation.
Massowah, latitude
15.36 N., longitude 39.30 E., is one of the many coral islands that
abound in the Red Sea; it is but a few feet above high-water mark, about
a mile in length, and a quarter in breadth. Towards the north it is
separated from the mainland by a narrow creek about 200 yards in
breadth, and is distant from Arkiko, a small town situated at the
western extremity of the bay, about two miles. Half-a-mile south of
Massowah, another small coral island, almost parallel to the one we
describe, covered with mangroves and other rank vegetation, the proud
owner of a sheik’s tomb of great veneration, lies between Massowah and
the Gedem peak, the high mountain forming the southern boundary of the
bay.
The western half of the
island of Massowah is covered with houses:
a few two stories high,
built of coral rock, the remainder small wooden huts with straw roofs.
The first are inhabited by the wealthier merchants and brokers, the
Turkish officials, and the few Banians, 32 European consuls; and
merchants whose unfortunate fate has cast them on this inhospitable
shore. There is not a building worth mentioning: the Pasha’s residence
is a large, ungainly mansion, remarkable only for its extreme
filthiness. During our stay the offensive smell from the accumulation of
dirt on the yards and staircases of the palace was quite overwhelming:
it is easier to imagine than to describe the abominable stench that
pervaded the whole place. The few mosques are without
importance–miserable whitewashed coral buildings. One, however, under
construction promised to be a shade better than the others.
[Illustration: Fort,
Mission House and Town of Massowah] The streets–if by this name we may
call the narrow and irregular lanes that run between the houses–are kept
pretty clean; whether with or without municipal intervention I cannot
say. Except in front of the Pasha’s residence, there is no open space
worthy of the name of square. The houses are much crowded together, many
even being half built over the sea on piles. Land is of such value on
this spot so little known, that reclamation was at several points going
on; though I do not suppose that shares and dividends were either issued
or promised.
The landing-place is
near the centre of the island, opposite to the gates of the town, which
are regularly shut at eight P.M.; why, it is difficult to say, as it is
possible to land on any part of the island quite as easily, if not more
so, than on the greasy pier. On the landing-place a few huts have been
erected by the collector of customs and his subordinates; these,
surrounded by the brokers and tallow-scented Bedouins, register the
imports, exacting such duties as they like, before the merchandise is
allowed to be purchased by the Banians or conveyed to the bazaar for
sale. This last-named place–the sine qua non of all Eastern towns–is a
wretched affair. Still, the Bedouin beau, the Bashi-bazouk, the native
girls, and the many flaneurs of the place, must find some attractions in
its precincts, for though redolent with effluvia of the worst
description, and swarming with flies, it is, during part of the day, the
rendezvous of a merry and jostling crowd. The eastern half of the
island contains the burial-ground, the water-tanks, the Roman Catholic
mission-house, and a small fort. The burial-ground begins almost with
the last houses, the boundary between the living and the dead being
merely nominal. To improve the closer relationship between the two, the
water-tanks are placed amongst the graves! but there are but few tanks
still in good condition. After heavy showers, the surface drainage finds
its way into the reservoirs, carrying with it the detritus of all the
accumulated filth of the last year or two, and adding an infusion of
human bodies, in all stages of decomposition. Still, the water 33 is
highly prized, and, strange to say, seems to have no noxious effects, on
the drinkers. At the north and south points of this part of the island
two buildings have been erected–the one the emblem of good-will and
peace; the other, of war and strife–the mission-house and the fort. But
it is difficult to decide which of the two means the most mischief; many
are inclined to give the palm to the worthy fathers’ abode. The fort
appears formidable, but only at a great distance; on near approach it is
found to be but a relic of former ages, a crumbled-down ruin, too weak
to bear any longer its three old rusty guns now lying on the ground: it
is the terror, not of the neighbourhood, but of the unfortunate gunner,
who has already lost an arm whilst endeavouring to return a salute
through their honeycombed tubes. On the other hand, the mission-house,
garbed in immaculate whiteness, smiles radiantly around, inviting
instead of repulsing the invader. But within, are they always words of
love that fill the echoes of the dome? Is peace the only sound that
issues from its walls? Though the past speaks volumes, and though the
history of the Roman Church is written in letters of blood all over the
Abyssinian land, let us hope that the fears of the people have no
foundation, and that the missionaries here, like all Christian
missionaries, only strive to promote one object–the cause of Christ.
Massowah, as well as
the immediate surrounding country, is mainly dependent on Abyssinia for
its supplies. Jowaree is the staple food; wheat is little used; rice is
a favourite amongst the better classes. Goats and sheep are killed
daily in the bazaar, cows on rare occasions; but the flesh of the camel
is the most esteemed, though, on account of the expense, rarely indulged
in except on great occasions.
The inhabitants being
Mussulmans, water is the ordinary beverage; tej and araki (made from
honey) can, however, be purchased in the bazaar. The limited supply of
water obtained from the few remaining tanks is quite inadequate to meet
the wants of even a small portion of the community; water is
consequently brought in daily from the wells a few miles north of
Massowah, and from Arkiko. The first is brought in leather bags by the
young girls of the village; the latter conveyed in boats across the bay.
The water in both cases is brackish, that from Arkiko highly so. For
this reason, and also on account of the greater facility in the
transport, it is cheaper, and is purchased only by the poorer
inhabitants. To avoid useless repetitions, before speaking of the
population, climate, diseases, &c., a short account of the immediate
neighbourhood is necessary.
About four miles north
of Massowah is Haitoomloo, a large village of about a thousand huts, the
first place where we meet with sweet water; a mile and a quarter further
inland we came upon Moncullou, 34 a smaller but better built village. A
mile westward of the last place we find the small village of Zaga.
These, with a small hamlet east of Haitoomloo, constitute all the
inhabited portions of this sterile region. The next village, Ailat,
about twenty miles from Massowah, is built on the first terrace of the
Abyssinian range, 600 feet above the level of the sea. All these
villages are situated in the midst of a sandy and desolate plain; a few
mimosas, aloes, senna plants, and cactuses struggle for life in the
burning sand. The country residences of the English and French consuls
shine like oases in this desert, great pains having been taken to
introduce trees that thrive even in such a locality.
[Illustration: Grove
House at Moncullou.]
The wells are the
wealth of the villages–their very existence. Most probably, huts after
huts have been erected in their vicinity until the actual prosperous
villages have arisen, surrounded as they are on all sides by a burnt and
desert tract. The wells number about twenty. Many old ones are closed,
but new ones are frequently dug, so as to keep up a constant supply of
water. The reason old wells are abandoned is, that after a while the
water becomes very brackish. In a new well the water is almost sweet.
The water obtained from these wells proceeds from two different sources:
First, from the high mountains in the vicinity. The rain filters and
impregnates the soil, but not being able to soak beyond a certain depth,
on account of the volcanic rocks of the undersoil, forms a small stratum
always met with at a certain depth. Secondly, from the sea by
filtration. The wells, though about four miles from the shore, are only
from twenty to twenty-five feet deep, and consequently on or below the
level of the sea.
The proof of an
undercurrent of water, due to the presence of the high range of
mountains, becomes more apparent as the traveller advances into the
interior; though the soil is still sandy and barren, and little
vegetation can as yet be seen, trees and shrubs become more plentiful,
and of a larger size. A few miles farther inland, even during the summer
months, it is always possible to obtain water by digging to the depth of
a few feet in the dried-up bed of a water-torrent.
It often struck me that
what artesian wells have done for the Sahara they could equally
accomplish for this region. The locality seems even more favourable, and
there is every hope that, like the great African desert, the now
desolate land of Samhar could be transformed into a rich date-bearing
land.
Taken as they are;
these wells could certainly be improved. On our arrival at Moncullou, we
found the water of the well belonging to the consular residence scarcely
used, on account of its very brackish taste; we had the well emptied, a
large quantity of saltish sand 35 removed, and we dug deeper until large
rocks appeared. The result was that we had the best well in the place,
and requests for our water were made by many, including the Pasha
himself. Unfortunately, the forefathers of the present Moncullites never
did such a thing to their wells, and as all innovations are distasteful
to a semi-civilized race, the fact was admired, but not imitated.
Arkiko, at the extremity of the bay, is much nearer the mountains than
the villages situated north of Massowah, but the village is built almost
on the beach itself; the wells, not a hundred yards from the sea, are
also much more superficial than those on the northern side, consequently
the sea-water, having a much shorter distance to filter through, retains
a greater proportion of saline particles, and I believe, were, it not
for the presence of a small quantity of sweet water from the hills, it
would be quite unpalatable. In the neighbourhood of Maasowah there are
several hot mineral springs. The most important are those of Adulis and
Ailat. In the summer of 1865 we made a short trip to Annesley Bay, to
inspect the locality. The ruins of Adulis are several miles from the
shore, and, with the exception of a few fragments of broken columns,
contain no traces of the former important colony. The place was even
hotter than Massowah; there was no vegetation, no trace of habitations
on that desolate shore. Fancy our surprise, on reaching the same spot in
May, 1868, to find piers, railways, bazaars, &c.–a bustling city had
sprung out of the wilderness.
The springs of Adulis
[Footnote: A short time before our departure for the interior, some of
the water of the hot springs of Adulis was collected and forwarded to
Bombay for analysis.] are only a few hundred yards from the sea-shore,
surrounded by a pleasing green patch covered with a vigorous vegetation,
the rendezvous of myriads of birds and quadrupeds, who, morning and
evening, swarm thither to quench their thirst.
At Ailat [Footnote:
Water collected and sent to Bombay, November, 1864.] the hot spring
issues from basaltic rocks on a small plateau between high and
precipitous mountains. At the source itself the temperature is 141
Fahrenheit, but as the water flows down the different ravines, it
gradually cools until it differs in no way from other mountain streams.
It is palatable, and used by the inhabitants of Ailat for all purposes:
it is also highly esteemed by the Bedouins. On account of its medicinal
properties, numbers resort to the natural baths, formed of hollowed
volcanic roots, for the relief of every variety of disease. From what I
could gather, it appears to prove beneficial in chronic rheumatism and
in diseases of the skin. Probably in these cases any warm water would
act as well, considering the usual morbid condition of the integument in
those dirty and unwashed races.
36
The population of
Massowah, including the surrounding villages (as far, at least, as I
could ascertain), amounts to 10,000 inhabitants. The Massowah race is
far from pure; being a mixture of Turkish, Arab, and African blood. The
features are generally good, the nose straight, the hair in many
instances short and curly; the skin brown, the lips often large, the
teeth even and white. The men are of the middle height; the women under
it. So much for their physical appearance. Morally they are ignorant and
superstitious, having apparently retained but few of their forefathers’
virtues, but a great many of their vices. A very good distinction can be
made, in the male portion of the community, between those who wear
turbans and long white shirts, and those hard-working wretches who,
girded with a single leather skin, roam about with their flocks in
search of pasture and water. The first live I know not how. They call
themselves brokers! It is true that three or four times a year caravans
arrive from the interior, but as a rule, with the exception of a skin or
two of honey, and a few bags of jowaree, nothing is imported. What
possible business can about 500 brokers have? How ten dollars’ worth of
honey and fifty of grain can give a brokerage sufficient to clothe and
feed, not only themselves but also their families, is a problem I have
in vain endeavoured to solve! In the East, children, instead of being a
burden to poor people, are often a source of wealth: at Massowah they
certainly are. The young girls of Moncullou, &c., bring in a pretty good
income to their parents. I know big, strong, but lazy fellows who would
squat down all day in the shade of their huts, living on the earnings of
two or three little girls, who daily went once or twice to Massowah
laden with a large skin full of water. The water-girls vary in age from
eight to sixteen. The younger ones are rather pretty, small, but well
made, the hair neatly braided and falling on the shoulders. A small
piece of cotton reaching from the waist to the knee is generally the
only garment of the poorest. Those better off wear also a piece of plaid
thrown gracefully across the shoulders. The right nostril is ornamented
with a small copper ring; as a substitute, a shirt-button is much
esteemed, and during our stay our buttons were in constant demand.
If we take into
consideration that Massowah is situated within the tropics, possessing
no running stream, that it is surrounded by burning deserts, and that
rain seldom falls, the conclusion we could beforehand have arrived at
is, that the climate is essentially hot and dry.
From November to March
the nights are cool, and during that period the day, in a good house or
tent, is pleasant enough. From April to October the nights are close,
and often very oppressive. During those hot months, both in the morning
before the sea-breeze springs up and in the evening when it has died
away, all animal creation falls into a torpid state. The perfect calm
that then reigns is 37 fearful in its stillness and painful in its
effects. From May to August sand-storms frequently occur. They begin
usually at four P.M. (though occasionally they appear in the morning),
and last from a few minutes only to a couple of hours. Long before the
storm is felt, the horizon towards the N.N.W. is quite dark; a black
cloud extends from the sea to the mountain range, and as it advances the
sun itself is obscured. A few minutes of dead calm, and then suddenly
the dark column approaches; all seems to disappear before it, and the
roar of the terrible hurricane of wind and sand now coursing over the
land is almost sublime in its horrors. Coming after the moist sea
breeze, the hot and dry wind appears quite cool, though the thermometer
rises to 110 or 115 degrees. After the storm a gentle land breeze
follows, and often lasts all night. The amount of sand carried by the
wind in these storms can be imagined by the mere mention of the fact
that we could not discern, at a short distance from us, such a large
object as a tent. It seldom rains; occasionally there are a few showers
in August and November.
As far as Europeans are
concerned, climates like the one we have just described cannot be
considered as unhealthy; they debilitate and weaken the system, and
predispose to tropical diseases, but seldom engender them. I expected to
find many cases of scurvy, due to the brackish condition of the water
and to the absence of vegetables; but either scurvy did not exist to a
great extent or did not come under my observation, as during my stay I
did not meet with more than three or four cases. Fevers affect the
natives after a fall of rain, but though some cases are of a very
pernicious type, the majority belong to the simple intermittent or
remittent, and yield rapidly to a proper treatment.
Small-pox now and then
makes fearful ravages. When it breaks out, a mild case is chosen, and
from it a great many are inoculated. The mortality is considerable
amongst those who submit to the operation. On several occasions during
the summer I received vaccine lymph, and inoculated with it. In no case
did it take; owing, I suppose, to the extreme heat of the weather.
During, the cold season I applied again, but could not obtain any. The
greatest mortality is due to childbirth–a strange fact, as in the East
confinements are generally easy. The practice in use here has probably
much to do with this unfavourable result. After her confinement the
woman is placed upon an alga or small native bed; underneath which, fire
with aromatic herbs is so arranged as almost to suffocate the
newly-delivered woman. Diarrhoea was frequent during the summer of 1865,
and dysentery at the same period proved fatal to many. Diseases of the
eyes are seldom met with, except simple inflammation caused by the heat
and glare of the sun. I suffered from a severe attack of ophthalmia, and
was obliged in consequence to proceed to Aden for 38 a few weeks. I have
met with no case of disease of the lungs, and bronchial affections seem
almost unknown. I had occasion to attend upon cases of neuralgia, and
one of gouty rheumatism. For several years locusts have been committing
great damage to the crops. In 1864 they occasioned a scarcity and
dearness of the first necessaries of life, but in 1865 the whole of
Tigr´e, Hamasein, Bogos, &c. had been laid waste by swarms of locusts,
and at last no supplies whatever reached from the interior. The local
Government sent to Hodeida and other ports for grain, and rice, and thus
avoided the horrors of a complete famine. As it was, numbers died, and
many half-starved wretches were ready victims for such a disease as
cholera. This last-named scourge made its appearance in October, 1865,
at the time we were making our preparations to proceed into the
interior. The epidemic was severely felt. All those who had been
suffering from the effects of insufficient or inferior food became an
easy prey; few, indeed, of those who contracted the disease rallied;
almost all died. During our residence at Massowah, out of the small
community of Europeans five died, two from heat apoplexy, two from
debility, and one from cholera. (None came under my care.) The Pasha
himself was several times on the point of death, from debility and
complete loss of tone of the digestive organs. He was at last prevailed
upon to leave, and saved his life by a timely trip to sea.
The Bedouins of the
Samhar, like all bigoted and ignorant savages, have great confidence in
charms, amulets and exorcisms. The ”medicine man” is generally an old,
venerable-looking Sheik–a great rascal, for all his sanctified looks.
His most usual prescription is to write a few lines of the Koran upon a
piece of parchment, wash off the ink with water, and hand it over to the
patient to drink; at other times the writing is enclosed in small
squares of red leather, and applied to the seat of the disease. The
Mullah is no contemptible rival of his, and though he also applies the
all-efficacious words of the revealed ”cow,” he effects more rapid cures
by spitting several times upon the sick person, muttering between each
ejection appropriate prayers which no evil spirit could withstand,
should his already sanctified spittle not have been sufficient to cast
them off. Massowah boasts, moreover, of a regular medical practitioner,
in the shape of an old Bashi-bazouk. Though superior in intelligence to
the Sheik and the Mullah, his medical knowledge is on a par with theirs.
He possesses a few drugs, given to him by travellers; but as he is not
acquainted with their properties or doses, he wisely keeps them on a
shelf for the admiration of the natives, and employs simples, with
which, if he effects no wonderful cures, he still does no harm. Our
conf‘ere is not at all conceited, though he no doubt imposes upon the
credulity of the aborigines; when we met in ”consultation,” he always,
with becoming meekness, acknowledged his ignorance.
39
Massowah, as I have
already stated, is built on a coral rock; the same formation exists on
many parts of the coast, and forms cliffs, some of them thirty feet
above the level of the sea. Further inland, towards Moncullou and
Haitoomloo, volcanic rocks begin to appear, scattered here and there as
if carelessly thrown on the sandy plain; at first isolated landmarts
over the level space, they soon become more united, increasing in
number, size, and importance, until the mountains themselves are
reached, where almost every stone declares the predominance of the
volcanic formation.
The flora is scanty,
and belongs, with but few exceptions, to the Leguminosae . Several
varieties of antelopes roam over the desert. Partridges, pigeons, and
several species of the Natatores at certain seasons, arrive in great
numbers. Apart from these, nothing useful to man is met with amongst the
other members of the animal creation, consisting principally of hosts of
hyenas, snakes, scorpions, and innumerable insects.
We remained at Massowah
from the 23rd of July, 1864, to the 8th of August,
1865, the date of our departure for Egypt, where we went in order to
receive instructions, when a letter at last reached us from the Emperor
Theodore. Massowah offered no attractions: the heat was so intense at
times that we could hardly breathe; and we ardently longed for our
return to Aden or India, as we had given up all hopes regarding the
acceptance of our mission by the Abyssinian Emperor. No pains were
spared, no stone was left unturned, no possible chance left untried to
obtain information as to the condition of the captives, to supply them
with the necessaries of life, or induce the obstinate potentate to call
for the letter it was said he was so anxious to receive. The very day of
our arrival at Massowah, efforts were made to engage messengers to
proceed to the Abyssinian court and inform his Ethiopian Majesty that
officers had arrived at the coast with the answer to his letter to the
Queen of England. But such was the dread of his name, that it was with
great difficulty, and only on the promise of a large reward, that any
could be obtained. On the evening of the 24th, the day after
our arrival, the messengers were despatched with the letters to the
Abouna and the Emperor from the Patriarch, one from Mr. Rassam to the
Abouna, and one to the Emperor, the messengers promising to be back in
the course of a month or so.
Mr. Rassam, in his
letter to the Emperor Theodoros, informed him, in courteous language,
that he had arrived at Massowah the day before, bearing a letter from
H.M. the Queen of England to his address, and that he was desirous of
delivering it into his Majesty’s hands. He also informed him that he
would await the answer at Massowah, and requested, should his Majesty
send for him, kindly to provide him with an escort. He, however, left to
Theodore the option of sending the prisoners down with a trustworthy
person to whom he could deliver the letter from the Queen of England. He
40 concluded by advising his Majesty that his embassy to the Queen had
been accepted, and should it reach the coast before his (Mr. Rassam’s)
departure for Aden, he would take the necessary steps to see that it
reached England in safety.
A month–six weeks–two
months, passed in hourly expectation of the return of the messengers.
All suppositions were exhausted: perhaps the messengers had not reached;
possibly the King had detained them; or they might have lost the packet
whilst crossing some river, etc.; but as no reliable information could
moreover be obtained, as to the exact condition of the captives, it was
impossible to remain any longer in such a state of uncertainty. Mr.
Rassam, therefore, despatched with considerable difficulty two more
messengers, with a copy of his letter of July 24, accompanied by an
explanatory note. Private messengers were, at the same time, sent to
the Emperor’s camp to report on his treatment of the captives, and to
different parts of the country, from whence we supposed information
might possibly be obtained. A short time afterwards, having succeeded in
securing the names of some of the Gaffat people who had formerly been in
communication with Consul Cameron, we wrote to them in English, French,
and German, not knowing what language they understood, earnestly
requesting that they would inform us as to what steps they considered
most advisable in order to obtain the release of the captives.
Again we waited on the
desert shore of Massowah for that answer so long expected; none came,
but on Christmas-day we received a few lines from Messrs. Flad and
Schimper, the two Europeans with whom we had communicated. All they had
to say was, that the misfortunes which had befallen the Europeans were
due to the Emperor’s letter not having been answered, and they advised
Mr. Rassam to send the letter he had brought with him to his Majesty.
However, Mr. Rassam thought it unbecoming the British Government to
force upon the Emperor a letter signed by the Queen of England, when, by
his refusing even to acknowledge its presence at Massowah, he clearly
showed that he had changed his mind and did not care any more about it.
In the meanwhile some
of the prisoners’ servants had arrived with letters from their masters;
other messengers despatched from Massowah were also equally successful;
stores, money, letters were now regularly forwarded to the captives,
who, in return, kept us informed as to their condition and the movements
of the King. So far our presence at Massowah was of the utmost
importance, since without the supplies and money we were able to provide
them with, their misery would have been increased tenfold, if even they
had not at last succumbed to privation and want.
The friends of the
captives and, to a great extent, the public, unaware of the efforts made
by Mr. Rassam to accomplish the object 41 of his mission, and of the
great difficulties that were to be contended with, attributed the
apparent failure to causes far removed; many suggestions were advanced,
a few even tried, but no result followed. It was said that one of the
reasons his Majesty did not vouch us an answer was, that the mission was
not of sufficient importance; that his Majesty considered himself
slighted, and therefore would not condescend to acknowledge us. To
remedy this, in February, 1865, Government decided on adding another
military officer to our party, and, as the press reported at the time,
it was confidently expressed that great results would follow this step.
Hence, Lieut. Prideaux, of her Majesty’s Bombay Staff Corps, arrived in
Massowah in May. As might reasonably be expected, his presence at the
coast did not in the least influence Theodore’s mind. The only advantage
gained by the addition of this officer to the mission was a charming
companion, who was doomed to spend with me in a tent on the sea-beach
the hot months of hot Massowah. More months elapsed: still no answer!
the condition of the prisoners was very precarious; they saw with great
apprehension another rainy season about to set in; their letters were
written in a most desponding tone; and though we had done our utmost to
supply them with money and a few comforts, the distance and the
rebellious state of the country made it difficult to provide more
abundantly for their wants.
At last, in March, we
determined on a last effort; should it fail we would request our recall.
We had heard of Samuel, how he had been in many respects mixed up in the
affair, and we knew that he enjoyed in some degree the confidence of his
master; so when we were informed that one of his relations was willing
to convey a letter and he assured us of an answer before forty days,
once more our hopes were excited and we trusted in the possibility of
success. The forty days expired, then two, then three months; but we
heard nothing!! It seemed as if a kind of fatality attended our
messengers: from whatever class they were taken–simple peasants,
followers of the Nab, or relatives of one of the Emperor’s courtiers–the
result was invariably the same; not only they did not bring back any
answer from the Emperor, but not even one returned to us. The prolonged
delay of Mr. Rassam’s mission at Massowah without any apparent good
results having been achieved, was so contrary to all expectations, that
it was at last decided to resort to other means. In February, 1865, a
Copt, Abdul Melak, presented himself at the consulate of Jeddah,
pretending to have just arrived from Abyssinia with a message from the
Abouna to the Consul-General, purporting that if he could bring from
H.M.’s Consul-General in Egypt a written declaration to the effect that,
should the Emperor allow the Europeans in chains to depart, no steps
would be taken to punish the offence, he, the Abouna, would engage
himself to obtain their liberation, and become their security. That
impostor, who had never been in 42 Abyssinia at all, gave such wonderful
details that he completely imposed upon the Consul of Jeddah and the
Consul-General. The fact that he pretended to have passed through
Massowah without entering into communication with Mr. Rassam was by
itself suspicious; but had these gentlemen possessed the slightest
knowledge of Abyssinia, they would at once have discovered the deception
when he purchased some ”suitable” presents for the Abouna, before
proceeding on the mission that had been intrusted to him. In Abyssinia
tobacco is considered ”unclean” by the priests; none ever smoke; and
even admitting that in his privacy the Abouna might have now and then
indulged in a weed, he would have taken great care to keep the matter as
quiet as possible. Therefore to present him with an amber mouthpiece
would have been a gratuitous insult to a man who was supposed to have
rendered an important favour. It was, indeed, the very last testimonial
any one in the slightest degree conversant with Abyssinian priesthood
would ever have selected. As it is, the man started, and lived for
months amongst the Arab tribes between Kassala and Metemma, on the
strength of a certificate that described him as an ambassador and
recommended him to the protection of the tribes that lay on his road. We
met him not for from Kassala; he acknowledged the deceit he had
practised, and was delighted when he heard that we had no intention of
requesting the Turkish authorities to make him a prisoner.
Government at last
decided on recalling us, and appointed Mr.
Palgrave, the
distinguished Arabian traveller, in our stead. In the beginning of July
we went for a short trip to the Habab country, situate north of
Massowah; on our return, we were met in the desert of Chab by some of
the Naib’s relations, who informed us that Ibrahim (the relative of
Samuel) had returned with an answer from his Majesty, and was expected
daily; that all our former messengers had obtained leave to depart; but
what was still more gratifying was the intelligence, brought down by
them, that Theodore, to show his regard for us, had liberated Consul
Cameron and his fellow-captives. On July 12, Ibrahim arrived. He gave
full details about the release of the Consul; a story which was
corroborated a few days afterwards by another relative of his, also one
of our former messengers. I believe, from what I afterwards learnt, that
Theodore himself was party to the lie, as he publicly, in presence of
the messengers, gave orders to some of his officers to go and remove the
Consul’s fetters; only the messengers improved on it by stating that
they had seen the Consul after the chains had been removed.
The reply Theodore had
at last granted to our repeated demands was not courteous, nor even
civil–it was neither signed nor sealed; he ordered us to proceed through
the distant and unhealthy route of the Soudan, and, once arrived at
Metemma, to inform him of our arrival there, and that he would then
provide us with an escort.
43
We did not like the
letter; it seemed more the production of a madman than of a reasonable
being. I select a few extracts from this letter, as they are really
curiosities in their way. He said:–
”The reason I do not
write to you in my name, because of Abouna Salama, the so-called Kokab
(Stern) the Jew, and the one you called Consul, named Cameron (who was
sent by you). I treated them with honour and friendship in my city. When
I thus befriended them, on account of my anxiety to cultivate the
friendship of the English Queen, they reviled me.
”Plowden and Johannes
(John Bell), who were called Englishmen, were killed in my country,
whose death, by the power of God, I avenged on those who killed them; on
account these (the three above mentioned) abused me, and denounced me as
a murderer.
”Cameron, who is called
Consul, represented to me that he was a servant of the Queen. I invested
him with a robe of honour of my country, and supplied him with
provisions for the journey. I asked him to make me a friend of the
Queen.
”When he was sent on
his mission, he went and stayed some time with the Turks, and returned
to me.
”I spoke to him about
the letter I sent through him to the Queen. He said, that up to that
time he had not received any intelligence concerning it. What have I
done, said I, that they should hate me, and treat me with animosity? By
the power of the Lord my creator, I kept silent.”
Although the steamer
Victoria only arrived in Massowah on the 23rd of July, we had
as yet received no letters from Consul Cameron, nor from any of the
captives. By the Victoria we were informed that Mr. Rassam was recalled
and Mr. Palgrave appointed. Under the new aspect matters had suddenly
taken, Mr. Rassam could but refer to Government for instructions. We
therefore at once started for Egypt, where we arrived on the 5th
of September. Through her Majesty’s Agent and Consul-General,
Government was apprised of the receipt of a letter from Theodore,
granting us permission to enter Abyssinia; that the letter was
uncourteous, and not signed; that Cameron was released, and though
Cameron had always insisted on our not proceeding into the interior with
or without safe-conduct, we were ready to go at once, should Government
consider it advisable. Mr. Palgrave was told to remain, Mr. Rassam and
his companions to go; a certain sum of money was allowed for presents;
letters for the governors of the Soudan were obtained; and, our
necessary stores and outfit being purchased; we returned to Massowah,
where we arrived on the 25th of September.
44
There we heard that
messengers had arrived from the prisoners; that they had been taken to
Aden by a man-of-war; and that they had verbally reported, that far from
having been released, hand-chains had been added to the captives’
previous fetters. As we could not find anybody to accompany us through
the Soudan (on account of its unhealthiness at that time of the year)
before the middle of October, we thought it advisable to proceed at once
to Aden, in order to gain correct information from the captives’
letters, as to their actual condition, and to confer with the Political
Resident of that station, as to the expediency of complying with the
Emperor’s requests, under the totally different aspect matters now
presented. Although Captain Cameron, in several of his former
communications, had repeatedly insisted that on no account we should
enter Abyssinia, in the note just received he implored us to come up at
once, as our declining to do so would prove of the utmost danger to the
prisoners. The Political Resident, therefore, taking into consideration
Captain Cameron’s earnest appeal for Mr. Rassam to acquiesce with
Theodore’s request, advised us to proceed and hope for the best. After
a short stay at Aden we again returned to Massowah, and, with the utmost
diligence, made all our arrangements for the long journey that lay
before us. Unfortunately cholera had broken out, the natives were
unwilling to cross the plains of Braka and Taka, on account of the
malarious fever, so deadly at that time of the year, and it required all
the influence of the local authorities to insure our speedy departure.
CHAPTER V.
From Massowah to
Kassala–The Start–The Habab–Adventures of M. Marcopoli–The Beni
Amer–Arrival at Kassala–The Nubian Mutiny–Attempt of De Bisson to found
a Colony in the Soudan.
On the afternoon of the
15th October, all our preparations being apparently complete,
the mission, composed of Mr. H. Rassam, Lieut. W.F. Prideaux, of her
Majesty’s Bombay Staff Corps, and myself, started on its dangerous
enterprise. We were accompanied by a nephew of the Naib of Arkiko; and
an escort of Turkish Irregulars had been graciously sent by the Pasha to
protect our sixty camels, laden with our personal luggage, stores, and
presents for the Ethiopian monarch. We also took with us several
Portuguese and other Indian servants, and a few natives of Massowah as
muleteers. On a first march something is always found wanting. On this
occasion many of the cameleers were unprovided with ropes: boxes,
portmanteau-bags, were strewed all over the road, and night was far
advanced before the last camel reached Moncullou. A halt was in
consequence absolutely necessary, so that the actual start was only made
on the afternoon 45 of the 16th.
From Moncullou our
route lay N.W. across the desert of Chab, a dreary wilderness of sand,
intersected by two winter torrents, generally dry: but by digging in
their sandy beds it is possible at all seasons to obtain some muddy
water. The rapidity with which these torrents fill up is most
astonishing.
During the summer of
1865, we had made a trip to Af-Abed, in the Hababs’ country. On our
return, whilst crossing the desert, we experienced a very severe storm.
We had just reached our encamping-ground on the Southern bank of one of
these water-courses, and half the camels had already crossed the dry bed
of the river, when, on a sudden, a tremendous roar was heard, shortly
afterwards followed by a fearful rush of water. In the former empty bed
of the torrent now dashed a mighty stream, tearing down trees and rocks,
so that no human being could possibly cross. Our luggage and servants
were still on the opposite bank, and although we were only a stone’s
throw from the party so suddenly cut off from us, we had to spend the
night on the bare ground, with no other covering than our clothing.
In the very centre of
the desert of Chab, arises, Amba Goneb, a conical basaltic rock several
hundred feet high, an advanced sentry detached from the now approaching
mountains. On the evening of the 18th, we reached Ain, and
from the glaring and dreary desert passed into a lovely valley, watered
by a small winding stream, cool and limpid, shaded by mimosas and
tamarinds, and glowing with the freshness and luxuriance of topical
vegetation. [Footnote: The distance from Massowah to Ain is about
forty-five miles.] We were fortunate enough to leave the cholera behind
us. Apart from a few cases of diarrhoea, easily checked, the whole party
was in excellent health; every one in high spirits at the prospect of
visiting almost unknown regions, and above all at having at last bid
adieu to Massowah, where we had spent in anxious expectation long and
dreary months.
From Ain to Mahaber
[Footnote: From Ain to Mahaber (direction E. by N.) about twenty
miles.] the road is most picturesque; always following the winding of
the small river Ain, here and there compressed to only a few yards by
perpendicular walls of trachyte, or basalt; further on expanding into
miniature green plateaus, bordered by conical hills, covered to the very
summit by mimosas and huge cactuses, alive with large hordes of
antelopes (the agazin), which, bounding from rock to rock, scared by
their frolics the countless host of huge baboons. The valley itself,
graced by the presence of gaudy-feathered and sweet-singing birds,
echoed to the shrill cry of the numerous guinea-fowls, so tame, that the
repeated reports of our fire-arms did not disturb them in the least.
46
At Mahaber we were
obliged to remain several days awaiting fresh camels. The Hababs, who
had now to supply us, frightened by the presence of the hairy nephew of
the Nab and the Bashi-hazouks, made themselves scarce, and it was only
after much parley and the repeated assurance that every one would be
paid, that the camels at last made their appearance. The Hababs are a
large pastoral tribe, inhabiting the Ad Temariam, a hilly and
well-watered district, about fifty miles north-west of Massowah,
included between longitude 38.39 and latitude 16 to 16.30. They
represent the finest type of the roving Bedouins; of middle height,
muscular, well made, they claim an Abyssinian origin. With the exception
of a darker hue of the skin, certainly in other respects they do not
differ from the inhabitants of the table-land, and have but few
characteristics of the aboriginal African races. Some fifty years ago
they were a Christian tribe–nominally, at least–but were converted to
Mohammedanism by an old Sheik, still alive, who resides near Moncullou,
and is an object of great veneration all over the Samhar. Once their
doubts removed, their suspicions lulled, the Hababs proved themselves
friendly, willing, and obliging. Gratitude is no common virtue in
Africa, at least as far as my own experience goes. Its rarity brings
back to my memory a fact that I will here record. On our previous trip
to the Ad Temariam, I had seen several patients, amongst them a young
man, suffering from remittent fever, and I gave him some medicine.
Hearing of our arrival at Mahaber, he came to thank me, bringing as an
offering a small skin of milk. He apologized for the absence of his aged
father, who also, he said, wished to kiss my feet, but the distance
(about eight miles) was too much for the old man’s strength. I may as
well mention here that a young commercial traveller, Mr. Marcopoli, had
accompanied us from Massowah. He was going to Metemma, viˆa Kassala, to
be present at the annual fairs held at that place in winter. He took
advantage of our short stay at Mahaber, to proceed to Keren, in the
Bogos, where he was called by business, intending to join again our
party a few stages ahead. We looked at our map, and estimated the
distance from our halting-place to the Bogos at the utmost eighteen
miles. As he was provided with excellent mules, in four or five hours he
naturally expected to reach his destination. He accordingly started at
daybreak, and never halted once; but night was far advanced before he
perceived the lights of the first village on the Bogos plateau: so much
for travellers’ maps. The poor man’s anxiety had been great. Soon after
dark he perceived–or, as I suspect, imagination worked to a high pitch
of excitement through fear, conjured to his fancy the phantom of some
huge animal–a lion, a tiger, he did not know very exactly; but, at all
events, he saw some horrid beast of prey, glaring at him through the
brushwood, with fiery and bloodshot eyes, watching all his movements for
a suitable opportunity to fall upon his 47 helpless prey. However, he
reached Keren in safety. He found that we were expected by the Bogos
people, who believed that we were proceeding by the upper route. Flowers
were to be strewed in our path, and our entrance was to be welcomed by
dances and songs in our praise; the officer in command of the troops was
to receive us with military honours, the civil governor intended to
entertain us on a large scale: in a word, a grand reception was to be
offered to the English friends of the mighty Theodore. The
disappointment was no doubt great when Mr. Marcopoli informed the
Bogosites that our route lay in an opposite direction to their fair
province. On that the military commander decided on accompanying Mr.
Marcopoli back, and paying us his respects at our halting-place.
Marcopoli was delighted; he had a too vivid recollection of his lion not
to be overjoyed at the idea of having companions with him.
Late in the evening
they started, the Abyssinian officer and his men having before marching
indulged in deep draughts of tej to keep out the cold. On their way
down, the ”warriors” cantered about in the most frantic manner; now
riding at a full gallop up to poor Marcopoli, the lance in rest, and
dexterously wheeling round when the weapon almost touched his breast;
then charging upon him at full speed and firing off their loaded pistols
quite close, and only a few feet above his head. Marcopoli felt very
uncomfortable in the society of his bellicose and drunken escort, but
not knowing their language, he had nothing to do but to appear pleased.
Early in the morning, at our second stage from Mahaber, these specimens
of Abyssinian soldiers made their appearance, and a batch of more
villanous-looking scoundrels I have never seen during my stay in
Abyssinia: evidently Theodore was not very particular as to whom he
selected for such distant outposts, unless he considered the roughest
and most disorderly the fittest for such duties. They presented us with
a cow they had stolen on the road, and begged us not to forget to
mention to their master that they had come all the distance from Bogos
to pay their respects to his guests. After having refreshed themselves
with a few glasses of brandy and partaken of a slight collation, they
kissed the ground in acknowledgment of the pleasant things they had
received in return for their gift, and departed–to our great
satisfaction.
On that 23rd
we started from Mahaber, going due west, and following for eight miles
longer the charming valley of Ain. Afterwards, we diverged to the left,
going in a south-west direction, until we reached the province of Barka;
when again our route lay west by north, until we came to Zaga. From this
point to Kassala the general direction is west by south. [Footnote: The
distance from Mahaber to Adart on the frontier of Barka is about fifty
miles; from Adart to Kassala about 130 miles.] From Mahaber to Adart the
road is very 48 pleasant; for several days we continually ascended, and
the more we advanced into the mountainous region the more agreeable and
pleasant did we feel it, and we enjoyed the sight of splendid and
luxuriant vegetation.
On the 25th
we crossed the Anseba, a large river flowing from the high lands of
Bogos, Hamasien, and Mensa, and joining the river Barka at Tjab.
[Footnote: Tjab, lat. 17 10’, long. 37 15’.] We spent a pleasant day in
the beautiful Anseba valley, but aware of the danger of remaining after
sunset near its flowery but malarious banks, we pitched our tent on a
rising ground at some distance, and the next morning proceeded to
Haboob, the highest point we had to gain before descending into the
Barka through the difficult pass of Lookum. After this abrupt descent of
more than 2,000 feet, the roads generally slope towards the low land of
Barka. From Ain to Haboob [Footnote: The Anseba, at the point we
crossed, is about 4,000 feet above the level of the sea; Haboob about
4,500.] the country is well wooded, and watered by innumerable small
streams. The soil is formed of the detritus of the volcanic rocks,
specially of feldspar; pumice abounds in the ravines. The channels of
the rivulets are the only roads for the traveller. This mountain chain
is, on the whole, a pleasant spot, more delightful for the reason that
it rises between the arid shores of the Red Sea and the flat, hot, and
level plains of the Soudan. The province of Barka is a boundless
prairie, about 2,500 feet above the level of the sea, covered at the
time of our journey with half-dried grass some five or six feet high,
and dotted here and there with small woods of stunted mimosas.
From Barka to Metemma
we find alluvium as the general formation. Water is scarce; even a
month after the rainy season all the rivers are dried up, and water is
only obtained by digging in the sand of the dry beds of the river Barka
and its tributaries. When we passed through these plains many spots were
still green; but a few months later we should have crossed a parched-up
prairie little better than the desert itself.
Our pretty songsters of
Ain were no more to be seen. The guinea-fowl was seldom met with, and
only a few tiny antelopes wandered over the solitary expanse. Instead,
we were aroused by the roar of the lion, the laugh of the hyena, and we
had to protect our sheep and goats, as the spotted leopard was lurking
around our tents. On the 31st of October we reached Zaga, a
large sloping plain situated at the junction of the Barka and the
Mogareib. Water can be obtained at that spot by digging wells in the
dried-up beds of the rivers, in sufficient quantity to have induced the
Beni Amer 49 to make it their winter encamping-ground.
We had that day made a
very long march, on account of the absence of water on the road.
Starting at two P.M., we only reached our halting ground (the bed of a
dried-up winter torrent, a few hundred yards below the Beni Amer’s
camp), a couple of hours before daybreak. We were so sleepy and tired
that during the latter part of the stage it had been with great
difficulty that we managed to keep in the saddle; and no sooner did our
guide give us the grateful intelligence that we had arrived, than we
stretched on the ground the piece of tanned cowhide we carried with us,
and covering ourselves with our cloaks, lay down to rest until daybreak.
I offered to Mr. Marcopoli to share my ”bedding,” as his own had not
arrived, and in a few minutes we both fell into that deep slumber that
follows the exhaustion of a long weary march. I remember my disgust at
being violently shaken by my bed companion; who, in a faint and
trembling voice, whispered into my ear: ”Look there!” I understood at
once his look of anguish and terror, for two splendid lions, not more
than twenty paces from us, were drinking near the wells that had been
sank by the Arabs. I thought, and told my companion, that as we had no
fire-arms with us; the wisest plan was to go to sleep and remain as
quiet as possible. I set him the example, and only woke up late in the
morning, when the sun was already high up and pouring its burning rays
over my uncovered head. Marcopoli, with an absent terrified look
impressed on his countenance, was still sitting near me. He told me that
he had not slept, but kept watching the lions: they had remained for a
long time, drinking, roaring and beating their sides with their tails;
and even when they departed he kept listening to their dreadful roar,
sounding more distant as the first rays of day appeared.
We had, no doubt, had a
narrow escape, as that night a lion had carried away a man and a child
who had strayed from the Arab encampment. The Sheik of the Beni Amer,
during the few days we remained at Zaga, with true Arab hospitality,
always placed at night a strong guard around our tent, to watch the
large fires that they kindle in order to keep at a respectful distance
these unwelcome night rovers.
We had agreed with the
Hababs that we would exchange camels at this spot, but none could be
obtained for love or money. It was lucky for us that the Bedouins had by
this time found out that all white men are not Turks, otherwise we
should have been cast helpless in the very centre of Barka. The Beni
Amers could never be induced even to acknowledge that they had camels,
though more than 10,000 were grazing under our very eyes.
The Beni Amers are
Arabs, speak the Arab language, and have preserved up to the present day
all the characteristics of their race. A roving Bedouin of the Yemen and
a Beni Amer are so much alike that 50 it seems hardly credible that the
Beni Amers possess no record of their advent on the African coast, or of
the causes that induced them to leave the land of their ancestors. Their
long, black, silky hair has not acquired the woolly texture of that of
the sons of Ham, and the small extremities, the well-knit limbs, the
straight nose and small lips, the dark bronzed complexion, distinguish
them alike from the Shankallas and the Barias, and from the mixed races
of the plateaus. They wear a piece of cloth a few yards in length,
folded round the body, with an elegance peculiar to the savage. Even
with this dirty rag, they must be admired, like the Italian beggar, not
only for their beautiful forms, but also for the look of impudence and
roguery displayed in the bright glare of their dark eyes. The Beni Amers
retain to a high degree that nuisance so well described by a
distinguished traveller in the East, and, like their brethren of the
Arabian shore, they are une race bavarde et criarde . They pay a nominal
tribute to the Egyptian Government, and the reason we could not obtain
camels was that, troops being moved about, they feared that on their
arrival at Kassala they would be pressed into the Government service,
and not only receive no pay, but most likely in the end lose the greater
number of their camels. This tribe roams along the banks of the Barka
and its many tributaries. Zaga is only their winter station; at other
times they wander over the immense plains north of Barka in search of
pasture and water for their innumerable flocks. All over the district of
Zaga camps appeared in every direction; the herds of cattle, especially
camels, seemed without number: this all indicates that they form a
wealthy, powerful tribe.
We encamped near their
head-quarters, where resides the Sheik of all the Beni Amers, Ahmed,
surrounded by his wives, children, and people. He is a man of middle
age, conspicuous among his cunning followers by a shrewd and crafty
look. He was friendly to us, and presented us with a few sheep and cows.
His camp covered several acres of ground, the whole enclosed by a strong
fence; the wigwams are built in a circle a few feet from the hedge; the
open space in the centre being reserved for the cattle, always driven in
at night. The chief’s small circular wood and grass huts contrasted
favourably with the dwellings of his followers. The latter, constructed
in a circle, are formed by thrusting into the ground the extremities of
small branches; a few pieces of coarse matting thrown over them complete
the structure. They cannot be more than four feet high, and their
average circumference is twelve feet; nevertheless, some eight or ten
unwashed faces were seen peeping through the small door, staring with
their black, frightened eyes at the strange white men. Small-pox was
raging at the time with great virulence; fever also was daily claiming
many victims. I gave medicine to several of the sufferers, and good
hygienic advice to Sheik Ahmed. He listened with all becoming respect to
the good things that fell from the Hakeem’s lips: he would see; but they
had never done so before, and with Mussulman bigotry and superstition he
put an end 51 to the conversation by an ”Allah Kareem.” [Footnote: ”God
is merciful”] On the 3rd of November we were again on the
march. On the 5th we arrived al Sabderat, the first permanent
village we had met with since leaving Moncullou. This village–in
appearance similar to those of the Samhar–is built on the side of a
large granitic mountain, cleft in two from the summit to the base.
Numerous wells are dug in the dried-up bed of the water-course that
separates the village. The inhabitants of this divided village often
contend between themselves for the possession of the precious fluid; and
when the rushing waters have disappeared, human passions too often fill
with strife and warfare the otherwise quiet bed of the stream. On the
morning of November 6 we entered Kassala. The Nab’s nephew had preceded
us, to inform the governor of our arrival, and present him with a letter
recommending us to the care of the authorities, written by the Pasha of
Egypt. To honour us according to his masters firman, the governor sent
all the garrison to meet us a few miles from the town, with a polite
apology for his absence, due to sickness. The senior partner of the
Greek firm of Paniotti also came to welcome us, and afforded us the
hospitality of his house and board. Kassala, the capital of Takka, a
walled town near the River Gash, containing about 10,000 inhabitants, is
on the model of most modern Egyptian towns, public as well as private
buildings being alike of mud. The arsenal, barracks, &c. are the only
structures of any importance. Beautiful gardens have been made at a
short distance from the town, near the Biver Gash, by the European
portion of the community. Just before, and immediately after the rains,
the place is very unhealthy. During those months malarious fever and
dysentery prevail to a great extent.
Kassala, formerly a
prosperous city, the centre of all the trade of the immense tract of
country included from Massowah and Suakin to the Nile, and from Nubia to
Abyssinia, was, at the date of our arrival, almost deserted, covered
with ruins and rank vegetation, destitute of the most common necessaries
of life, the spectre of its former self, haunted by its few remaining
ghost-like and plague-stricken citizens. Kassala had just gone through
the ordeal of a mutiny of Nubian troops. Pernicious fevers, malignant
dysenteries and cholera had decimated both rebels and loyalists; war and
sickness had marched hand in hand to make of this fair oasis of the
Soudan a wilderness painful to contemplate. The mutiny broke out in
July. The Nubian troops had not been paid for two years, and when they
claimed a portion of their arrears, they only met with a stern refusal.
Under these circumstances, it is not astonishing that they became ready
listeners to the treasonable words and extravagant promises made to them
by one of their petty chiefs, named Denda, a descendant of the former
Nubian kings. They matured their plot in great secresy, and every one
was horrified one morning to learn 52 that the black troops had broken
out in open mutiny and murdered their officers, and, no longer
restrained, had followed their natural inclinations to revel in carnage
and plunder. A few Egyptian regulars had, luckily, possession of the
arsenal, and held it against these infuriated savages until troops could
arrive from Kedaref and Khartoum. The Europeans and Egyptians gallantly
defended their part of the town. They erected walls and small earthworks
between themselves and the mutineers, and continually on the alert,
though few in number, they repulsed with great gallantry the assault of
the fiends thirsting for their lives and property. Egyptian troops
poured in from all directions and relieved the besieged city. More than
a thousand of the mutineers were killed near the gates of the town;
nearly a thousand more were tried and executed; and those who attempted
to escape the vengeance of the merciless pasha and fled for safety to
the wilderness, were hunted down like beasts by the roving Bedouins.
Though order was now restored, it was no easy matter to obtain camels.
It required all the power and persuasion of the authorities to induce
the Shukrie-Arabs to enter the town and convey us to Kedaref.
We heard at Kassala the
miserable end of Le Comte de Bisson’s mad enterprise. It appears that
the Comte, formerly an officer in the Neapolitan army, had married at an
advanced age a beautiful, accomplished and rich heiress, the daughter of
some contractor; it was ”a mariage de convenance,” a title bought by
wealth and beauty. In the autumn of 1864, De Bisson reached Kassala
accompanied by some fifty adventurers, the scum of the outcasts of all
nations, who had enrolled themselves under the standard of the ambitions
Comte, ”on the promised assurance that power and wealth would be, before
long, their envied portion.” De Bisson’s idea seems to have been to
personify a second Moses: he came not only to colonize, but also to
convert. The wild roving Bedouin of the Barka plains would, he believed,
not only at once and with gratitude acknowledge his rule, but would
soon, abandoning his false creed, fall prostrate before the altar he
intended to erect in the wilderness. About a hundred town Arabs were
induced to join the European party,–a useless set of vagabonds, who
adorned themselves with the regimental uniform, accepted the rifle,
pistol, and sword, drew their rations, were punctual in their attendance
and always ready to salaam, but showed much dislike to the drill and
other civilized notions the Comte and his officers endeavoured to
impress upon them. Their departure from Kassala for the land of milk
and honey was quite theatrical; in front rode on a camel, a gallant
captain (who had taken his discharge from the Austrian service,) playing
on the bugle a parting ”fanfare;” behind him, the second in command,
mounted on a prancing charger, and followed by the European part of the
force, who with military step, and shoulder to shoulder, marched as men
for whom victory is their slave. Behind came Le Comte himself, clad in a
general’s uniform, his breast covered with the many 53 decorations which
sovereigns had only been too proud to confer on such a noble spirit;
next to him rode gracefully his beautiful wife, looking handsomer still
in the picturesque kepi and red uniform of a French zouave; behind,
closing the march, the well-knit Arabs, with plunder written in their
dark bright eyes, marched with a quick elastic step and as much
regularity as could be expected from men who abhorred order and had been
drilled for so short a time. Need I say that the expedition failed
utterly? The Arabs of the plains declined to accept another pontiff and
king in the person of the gallant and noble Comte. They were even
vicious enough to induce those of their brethren who had accepted
service, to return to their former occupations, and forget to leave
behind them on their departure the arms, clothes, etc., which had been
dealt out to them on their entering the Comte’s service.
The return to Kassala
was humble: there was no trumpet this time; the brilliant uniforms had
given way to soiled and patched raiments: even the general adopted a
civilian’s dress; the lady alone was still smiling, laughing, beautiful
as ever; but no Arab in gaudy attire closed the hungry-looking and worn
out cortege. De Bisson had failed: but why?–Because the Egyptian
Government had not only afforded none of the assistance that had been
promised to him, but all at once stopped the supplies he considered
himself entitled to expect. A claim of I do not know how many millions
was at once made on the Egyptian Government. A commissioner was sent
out, who it appears took a very different view of the question, as he
declared the ”Comte’s” pretensions absurd and unreasonable. The Comte
soon afterwards, with his wife, returned to Nice, leaving at Kassala the
remnant of his European army; the few who had not succumbed to fever or
other malarious diseases.
At the time of the
mutiny of the Nubian troops, a few not in hospital or on their way to
Khartoum or Massowah, fought well; two even paid with their lives their
gallant attempt at a sortie, and they had gained for themselves, by
their bravery in those difficult times, the respect they had lost during
the long days of inaction. De Bisson was instrumental in spreading the
most fallacious reports as to the condition of the captives held by
Theodore, and even when an army was already marching to their rescue,
”correct” accounts appeared of the repulse of the British by Theodore;
at another time a mendacious report was spread that a great battle had
been fought in Tigr´e between Theodore and a powerful rebel–a battle
which was said to have lasted three days without any marked success
having been gained by either side; and that Theodore, having perceived
in the enemy’s camp some Europeans, had sent orders for our immediate
execution; the fulfilment of the sentence resting with the Empress, who
was residing at Gondar, and that his (De Bisson’s) agent was using his
influence to stay the execution. Absurd and ridiculous as were these
reports, they were not the less productive of great 54 distress to the
families and friends of the captives. During the five days we spent at
Kassala, I am happy to say that I was able to relieve many sufferers;
amongst them our host himself, and one of his guests, a young,
well-educated Egyptian officer, laid at death’s door by a severe attack
of dysentery. A Nubian colonel called on us one morning; he strongly
advised us to stop before it was too late. He had heard much about
Theodore’s doings, and assured us that we would meet but with deceit and
treachery at his hands. On our telling him that we were officers and
bound to obey, he said, nothing more, but bid us good-by in a sorrowful
voice.
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