CHAPTER X.

BERBERAH AND ITS ENVIRONS.

It is interesting to compare the earliest with the latest account of the great

emporium of Eastern Africa.

Bartema, writing in the sixteenth century “of Barbara and the Island of

Ethiope,” offers the following brief description:—“After that the tempests were

appeased, we gave wind to our sails, and in short time arrived at an island

named Barbara, the prince whereof is a Mahometan.1 The island is not great but

fruitful and well peopled: it hath abundance of flesh. The inhabitants are of

colour inclining to black. All their riches is in herds of cattle.”

Lieut. Cruttenden of the I. N., writing in 1848, thus describes the place:—“The

annual fair is one of the most interesting sights on the coast, if only from the

fact of many different and distant tribes being drawn together for a short time,

to be again scattered in all directions. Before the towers of Berbera were

built2, the place from April to the early part of October was utterly deserted,

not even a fisherman being found there; but no sooner did the season change,

than the inland tribes commenced moving down towards the coast, and preparing

their huts for their expected visitors. Small craft from the ports of Yemen,

anxious to have an opportunity of purchasing before vessels from the gulf could

arrive, hastened across, followed about a fortnight to three weeks later by

their larger brethren from Muscat, Soor, and Ras el Khyma, and the valuably

freighted Bagalas3 from Bahrein, Bussorah, and Graen. Lastly, the fat and

wealthy Banian traders from Porebunder, Mandavie, and Bombay, rolled across in

their clumsy Kotias3, and with a formidable row of empty ghee jars slung over

the quarters of their vessels, elbowed themselves into a permanent position in

the front tier of craft in the harbour, and by their superior capital, cunning,

and influence soon distanced all competitors.”

“During the height of the fair, Berbera is a perfect Babel, in confusion as in

languages: no chief is acknowledged, and the customs of bygone days are the laws

of the place. Disputes between the inland tribes daily arise, and are settled by

the spear and dagger, the combatants retiring to the beach at a short distance

from the town, in order that they may not disturb the trade. Long strings of

camels are arriving and departing day and night, escorted generally by women

alone, until at a distance from the town; and an occasional group of dusky and

travel-worn children marks the arrival of the slave Cafila from Hurrur and

Efat.”

“At Berbera, the Gurague and Hurrur slave merchant meets his correspondent from

Bussorah, Bagdad, or Bunder Abbas; and the savage Gidrbeersi (Gudabirsi), with

his head tastefully ornamented with a scarlet sheepskin in lieu of a wig, is

seen peacefully bartering his ostrich feathers and gums with the smooth-spoken

Banian from Porebunder, who prudently living on board his ark, and locking up

his puggree4, which would infallibly be knocked off the instant he was seen

wearing it, exhibits but a small portion of his wares at a time, under a

miserable mat spread on the beach.”

“By the end of March the fair is nearly at a close, and craft of all kinds,

deeply laden, and sailing generally in parties of three and four, commence their

homeward journey. The Soori boats are generally the last to leave, and by the

first week in April, Berbera is again deserted, nothing being left to mark the

site of a town lately containing 20,000 inhabitants, beyond bones of slaughtered

camels and sheep, and the framework of a few huts, which is carefully piled on

the beach in readiness for the ensuing year. Beasts of prey now take the

opportunity to approach the sea: lions are commonly seen at the town well during

the hot weather; and in April last year, but a week after the fair had ended, I

observed three ostriches quietly walking on the beach.” 5

Of the origin of Berberah little is known. El Firuzabadi derives it, with great

probability, from two Himyar chiefs of Southern Arabia.6 About A.D. 522 the

troops of Anushirwan expelled the Abyssinians from Yemen, and re-established

there a Himyari prince under vassalage of the Persian Monarch. Tradition asserts

the port to have been occupied in turns by the Furs7, the Arabs, the Turks, the

Gallas, and the Somal. And its future fortunes are likely to be as varied as the

past.

The present decadence of Berberah is caused by petty internal feuds. Gerhajis

the eldest son of Ishak el Hazrami, seized the mountain ranges of Gulays and

Wagar lying about forty miles behind the coast, whilst Awal, the cadet,

established himself and his descendants upon the lowlands from Berberah to

Zayla. Both these powerful tribes assert a claim to the customs and profits of

the port on the grounds that they jointly conquered it from the Gallas. 8 The

Habr Awal, however, being in possession, would monopolize the right: a blood

feud rages, and the commerce of the place suffers from the dissensions of the

owners.

Moreover the Habr Awal tribe is not without internal feuds. Two kindred septs,

the Ayyal Yunis Nuh and the Ayyal Ahmed Nuh 9, established themselves originally

at Berberah. The former, though the more numerous, admitted the latter for some

years to a participation of profits, but when Aden, occupied by the British,

rendered the trade valuable, they drove out the weaker sept, and declared

themselves sole “Abbans” to strangers during the fair. A war ensued. The sons of

Yunis obtained aid of the Mijjarthayn tribe. The sons of Ahmed called in the

Habr Gerhajis, especially the Musa Arrah clan, to which the Hajj Sharmarkay

belongs, and, with his assistance, defeated and drove out the Ayyal Yunis.

These, flying from Berberah, settled at the haven of Bulhar, and by their old

connection with the Indian and other foreign traders, succeeded in drawing off a

considerable amount of traffic. But the roadstead was insecure: many vessels

were lost, and in 1847 the Eesa Somal slaughtered the women and children of the

new-comers, compelling them to sue the Ayyal Ahmed for peace. Though the feud

thus ended, the fact of its having had existence ensures bad blood: amongst

these savages treaties are of no avail, and the slightest provocation on either

side becomes a signal for renewed hostilities.

After this dry disquisition we will return, dear L., to my doings at Berberah.

Great fatigue is seldom followed by long sleep. Soon after sunrise I awoke,

hearing loud voices proceeding from a mass of black face and tawny wig, that

blocked up the doorway, pressing forward to see their new stranger. The Berberah

people had been informed by the Donkey of our having ridden from the Girhi hills

in five days: they swore that not only the thing was impossible, but moreover

that we had never sighted Harar. Having undergone the usual catechising with

credit, I left the thatched hat in which my comrades were living, and proceeded

to inspect my attendants and cattle. The former smiled blandly: they had

acquitted themselves of their trust, they had outwitted the Ayyal Ahmed, who

would be furious thereat, they had filled themselves with dates, rice, and

sugared tea—another potent element of moral satisfaction—and they trusted that a

few days would show them their wives and families. The End of Time’s brow,

however, betrayed an arriere pensee; once more his cowardice crept forth, and he

anxiously whispered that his existence depended upon my protection. The poor

mules were by no means so easily restored. Their backs, cut to the bone by the

saddles, stood up like those of angry cats, their heads drooped sadly, and their

hams showed red marks of the spear-point. Directing them to be washed in the

sea, dressed with cold-water bandages, and copiously fed, I proceeded to inspect

the Berberah Plain.

The “Mother of the Poor,” as the Arabs call the place, in position resembles

Zayla. The town,—if such name can be given to what is now a wretched clump of

dirty mat-huts,—is situated on the northern edge of alluvial ground, sloping

almost imperceptibly from the base of the Southern hills. The rapacity of these

short-sighted savages has contracted its dimensions to about one sixth of its

former extent: for nearly a mile around, the now desert land is strewed with

bits of glass and broken pottery. Their ignorance has chosen the worst position:

Mos Majorum is the Somali code, where father built there son builds, and there

shall grandson build. To the S. and E. lies a saline sand-flat, partially

overflowed by high tides: here are the wells of bitter water, and the filth and

garbage make the spot truly offensive. Northwards the sea-strand has become a

huge cemetery, crowded with graves whose dimensions explain the Somali legend

that once there were giants in the land: tradition assigns to it the name of

Bunder Abbas. Westward, close up to the town, runs the creek which forms the

wealth of Berberah. A long strip of sand and limestone—the general formation of

the coast—defends its length from the northern gales, the breadth is about three

quarters of a mile, and the depth varies from six to fifteen fathoms near the

Ras or Spit at which ships anchor before putting out to sea.

Behind the town, and distant about seven miles, lie the Sub-Ghauts, a bold

background of lime and sandstone. Through a broad gap called Duss Malablay10

appear in fine weather the granite walls of Wagar and Gulays, whose altitude by

aneroid was found to be 5700 feet above the level of the sea.11 On the eastward

the Berberah plain is bounded by the hills of Siyaro, and westwards the heights

of Dabasenis limit the prospect.12

It was with astonishment that I reflected upon the impolicy of having preferred

Aden to this place.

The Emporium of Eastern Africa has a salubrious climate 13, abundance of sweet

water—a luxury to be “fully appreciated only after a residence at Aden”14—a mild

monsoon, a fine open country, an excellent harbour, and a soil highly

productive. It is the meeting-place of commerce, has few rivals, and with half

the sums lavished in Arabia upon engineer follies of stone and lime, the

environs might at this time have been covered with houses, gardens, and trees.

The Eye of Yemen, to quote Carlyle, is a “mountain of misery towering sheer up

like a bleak Pisgah, with outlooks only into desolation, sand, salt water, and

despair.” The camp is in a “Devil’s Punchbowl,” stiflingly hot during nine

months of the year, and subject to alternations of sandstorm and Simum, “without

either seed, water, or trees,” as Ibn Batutah described it 500 years ago,

unproductive for want of rain,—not a sparrow can exist there, nor will a crow

thrive, 15—and essentially unhealthy. 156 Our loss in operatives is only

equalled by our waste of rupees; and the general wish of Western India is, that

the extinct sea of fire would, Vesuvius-like, once more convert this dismal cape

into a living crater.

After a day’s rest—physical not spiritual, for the Somal were as usual disputing

violently about the Abbanship 17—I went with my comrades to visit an interesting

ruin near the town. On the way we were shown pits of coarse sulphur and alum

mixed with sand; in the low lands senna and colocynth were growing wild. After

walking a mile south-south-east, from present Berberah to a rise in the plain,

we found the remains of a small building about eight yards square divided into

two compartments. It is apparently a Mosque: one portion, the sole of which is

raised, shows traces of the prayer niche; the other might have contained the

tomb of some saint now obsolete, or might have been a fort to protect a

neighbouring tank. The walls are of rubble masonry and mud, revetted with a

coating of cement hard as stone, and mixed with small round pebbles.18 Near it

is a shallow reservoir of stone and lime, about five yards by ten, proved by the

aqueduct, part of which still remains, to be a tank of supply. Removing the

upper slabs, we found the interior lined with a deposit of sulphate of lime and

choked with fine drift sand; the breadth is about fifteen inches and the depth

nine. After following it fifty yards toward the hills, we lost the trace; the

loose stones had probably been removed for graves, and the soil may have buried

the firmer portion.

Mounting our mules we then rode in a south-south-east direction towards the

Dubar Hills, The surface of the ground, apparently level, rises about 100 feet

per mile. In most parts a soft sand overlying hard loam, like work en pise,

limestone and coralline; it shows evidences of inundation: water-worn stones of

a lime almost as compact as marble, pieces of quartz, selenite, basalt, granite,

and syenite in nodules are everywhere sprinkled over the surface.19 Here and

there torrents from the hills had cut channels five or six feet below the level,

and a thicker vegetation denoted the lines of bed. The growth of wild plants,

scanty near the coast, became more luxuriant as we approached the hills; the

Arman Acacia flourished, the Kulan tree grew in clumps, and the Tamarisk formed

here and there a dense thicket. Except a few shy antelope,20 we saw no game.

A ride of seven or eight miles led us to the dry bed of a watercourse overgrown

with bright green rushes, and known to the people as Dubar Wena, or Great Dubar.

This strip of ground, about half a mile long, collects the drainage of the hills

above it: numerous Las or Pits, in the centre of the bed, four or five feet

deep, abundantly supply the flocks and herds. Although the surface of the

ground, where dry, was white with impure nitre, the water tasted tolerably

sweet. Advancing half a mile over the southern shoulder of a coarse and shelly

mass of limestone, we found the other rushy swamp, called Dubar Yirr or Little

Dubar. A spring of warm and bitter water flowed from the hill over the surface

to a distance of 400 or 500 yards, where it was absorbed by the soil. The

temperature of the sources immediately under the hill was 106° Fahr., the

thermometer standing at 80° in the air, and the aneroid gave an altitude of 728

feet above the sea.

The rocks behind these springs were covered with ruins of mosques and houses. We

visited a little tower commanding the source; it was built in steps, the hill

being cut away to form the two lower rooms, and the second story showed three

compartments. The material was rubble and the form resembled Galla buildings; we

found, however, fine mortar mixed with coarse gravel, bits of glass bottles and

blue glazed pottery, articles now unknown to this part of Africa. On the summit

of the highest peak our guides pointed out remains of another fort similar to

the old Turkish watchtowers at Aden.

About three quarters of a mile from the Little Dubar, we found the head of the

Berberah Aqueduct. Thrown across a watercourse apparently of low level, it is

here more substantially built than near the beach, and probably served as a

force pipe until the water found a fall. We traced the line to a distance of ten

yards, where it disappeared beneath the soil, and saw nothing resembling a

supply-tank except an irregularly shaped natural pool.21

A few days afterwards, accompanied by Lieut. Herne, I rode out to inspect the

Biyu Gora or Night-running Water. After advancing about ten miles in a

south-east direction from Berberah, we entered rough and broken ground, and

suddenly came upon a Fiumara about 250 yards broad. The banks were fringed with

Brab and Tamarisk, the Daum palm and green rushes: a clear sparkling and shallow

stream bisected the sandy bed, and smaller branches wandered over the surface.

This river, the main drain of the Ghauts and Sub-Ghauts, derives its name from

the increased volume of the waters during night: evaporation by day causes the

absorption of about a hundred yards. We found its temperature 73° Fahr. (in the

air 78°), and our people dug holes in the sand instead of drinking from the

stream, a proof that they feared leeches.22 The taste of the water was bitter

and nauseous.23

Following the course of the Biyu Gora through two low parallel ranges of

conglomerate, we entered a narrow gorge, in which lime and sandstone abound. The

dip of the strata is about 45° west, the strike north and south. Water springs

from under every stone, drops copiously from the shelves of rock, oozes out of

the sand, and bubbles up from the mould. The temperature is exceedingly

variable: in some places the water is icy cold, in others, the thermometer shows

68° Fahr., in others, 101°—the maximum, when we visited it, being 126°. The

colours are equally diverse. Here, the polished surface of the sandstone is

covered with a hoar of salt and nitre. 24 There, where the stream does not flow,

are pools dyed greenish-black or rust-red by iron sediment. The gorge’s sides

are a vivid red: a peculiar creeper hangs from the rocks, and water trickles

down its metallic leaves. The upper cliffs are crowned with tufts of the

dragon’s-blood tree.

Leaving our mules with an attendant, we began to climb the rough and rocky gorge

which, as the breadth diminishes, becomes exceedingly picturesque. In one part,

the side of a limestone hill hundreds of feet in height, has slipped into the

chasm, half filling it with gigantic boulders: through these the noisy stream

whirls, now falling in small cascades, then gliding over slabs of sheet rock:

here it cute grooved channels and deep basins clean and sharp as artificial

baths in the sandstone, there it flows quietly down a bed of pure sparkling

sand. The high hills above are of a tawny yellow: the huge boulders, grisly

white, bear upon their summits the drift wood of the last year’s inundation.

During the monsoon, when a furious torrent sweeps down from the Wagar Hills,

this chasm must afford a curiously wild spectacle.

Returning from a toilsome climb, we found some of the Ayyal Ahmed building near

the spot where Biyu Gora is absorbed, the usual small stone tower. The fact had

excited attention at Berberah; the erection was intended to store grain, but the

suspicious savages, the Eesa Musa, and Mikahil, who hold the land, saw in it an

attempt to threaten their liberties. On our way home we passed through some

extensive cemeteries: the tombs were in good preservation; there was nothing

peculiar in their construction, yet the Somal were positive that they belonged

to a race preceding their own. Near them were some ruins of kilns,—comparatively

modern, for bits of charcoal were mixed with broken pieces of pottery,—and the

oblong tracery of a dwelling-house divided into several compartments: its

material was the sun-dried brick of Central Asia, here a rarity.

After visiting these ruins there was little to detain me at Berberah. The town

had become intolerable, the heat under a mat hut was extreme, the wind and dust

were almost as bad as Aden, and the dirt perhaps even worse. As usual we had not

a moment’s privacy, Arabs as well as the Somal assuming the right of walking in,

sitting down, looking hard, chatting with one another, and departing. Before the

voyage, however, I was called upon to compose a difficulty upon the subject of

Abbanship. The Hammal had naturally constituted his father-in-law, one Burhale

Nuh, of the Ayyal Gedid, protector to Lieut. Herne and myself. Burhale had

proved himself a rascal: he had been insolent as well as dishonest, and had

thrown frequent obstacles in his employer’s way; yet custom does not permit the

Abban to be put away like a wife, and the Hammal’s services entitled him to the

fullest consideration. On the other hand Jami Hasan, a chief and a doughty man

of the Ayyal Ahmed, had met me at Aden early in 1854, and had received from me a

ring in token of Abbanship. During my absence at Harar, he had taken charge of

Lieut. Stroyan. On the very morning of my arrival he came to the hut, sat down

spear in hand, produced the ring and claimed my promise. In vain I objected that

the token had been given when a previous trip was intended, and that the Hammal

must not be disappointed: Jami replied that once an Abban always an Abban, that

he hated the Hammal and all his tribe, and that he would enter into no

partnership with Burhale Nuh:—to complicate matters, Lieut. Stroyan spoke highly

of his courage and conduct. Presently he insisted rudely upon removing his

protege to another part of the town: this passed the limits of our patience, and

decided the case against him.

For some days discord raged between the rivals. At last it was settled that I

should choose my own Abban in presence of a general council of the Elders. The

chiefs took their places upon the shore, each with his followers forming a

distinct semicircle, and all squatting with shield and spear planted upright in

the ground. When sent for, I entered the circle sword in hand, and sat down

awaiting their pleasure. After much murmuring had subsided, Jami asked in a loud

voice, “Who is thy protector?” The reply was, “Burhale Nuh!” Knowing, however,

how little laconism is prized by an East-African audience, I did not fail to

follow up this answer with an Arabic speech of the dimensions of an average

sermon, and then shouldering my blade left the circle abruptly. The effect was

success. Our wild friends sat from afternoon till sunset: as we finished supper

one of them came in with the glad tidings of a “peace conference.” Jami had

asked Burhale to swear that he intended no personal offence in taking away a

protege pledged to himself: Burhale had sworn, and once more the olive waved

over the braves of Berberah.

On the 5th February 1855, taking leave of my comrades, I went on board El Kasab

or the Reed—such was the ill-omened name of our cranky craft—to the undisguised

satisfaction of the Hammal, Long Guled, and the End of Time, who could scarcely

believe in their departure from Berberah with sound skins.25 Coasting with a

light breeze, early after noon on the next day we arrived at Siyaro, a noted

watering-place for shipping, about nineteen miles east of the emporium. The

roadstead is open to the north, but a bluff buttress of limestone rock defends

it from the north-east gales. Upon a barren strip of sand lies the material of

the town; two houses of stone and mud, one yet unfinished, the other completed

about thirty years ago by Farih Binni, a Mikahil chief.

Some dozen Bedouin spearmen, Mikahil of a neighbouring kraal, squatted like a

line of crows upon the shore to receive us as we waded from the vessel. They

demanded money in too authoritative a tone before allowing us to visit the

wells, which form their principal wealth. Resolved not to risk a quarrel so near

Berberah, I was returning to moralise upon the fate of Burckhardt—after a

successful pilgrimage refused admittance to Aaron’s tomb at Sinai—when a Bedouin

ran to tell us that we might wander where we pleased. He excused himself and his

companions by pleading necessity, and his leanness lent conviction to the plea.

The larger well lies close to the eastern wall of the dwelling-house: it is

about eighteen feet deep, one third sunk through ground, the other two thirds

through limestone, and at the bottom is a small supply of sweet clear water,

Near it I observed some ruined tanks, built with fine mortar like that of the

Berberah ruins. The other well lies about half a mile to the westward of the

former: it is also dug in the limestone rock. A few yards to the north-east of

the building is the Furzeh or custom-house, whose pristine simplicity tempts me

to describe it:—a square of ground surrounded by a dwarf rubble enclosure, and

provided with a proportional mosque, a tabular block of coralline niched in the

direction of Meccah. On a little eminence of rock to the westward, rise ruined

walls, said by my companions to have been built by a Frank, who bought land from

the Mikahil and settled on this dismal strand.

Taking leave of the Bedouins; whose hearts were gladdened by a few small

presents, we resumed our voyage eastwards along the coast. Next morning, we

passed two broken pyramids of dark rock called Dubada Gumbar Madu—the Two Black

Hills. After a tedious day’s sail, twenty miles in twenty-four hours, the

Captain of El Kasab landed us in a creek west of Aynterad. A few sheep-boats lay

at anchor in this “back-bay,” as usual when the sea is heavy at the roadstead;

and the crews informed us that a body of Bedouins was marching to attack the

village. Abdy Mohammed Diban, proprietor of the Aynterad Fort, having

constituted me his protector, and remained at Berberah, I armed my men, and

ordering the Captain of the “Reed” to bring his vessel round at early dawn,

walked hurriedly over the three miles that separated us from the place. Arrived

at the fort, we found that Abdy’s slaves knew nothing of the reported attack.

They received me, however, hospitably, and brought a supper of their only

provision, vile dates and dried meat. Unwilling to diminish the scanty store,

the Hammal and I but dipped our hands in the dish: Long Guled and the End of

Time, however, soon cleared the platters, while abusing roundly the unpalatable

food. After supper, a dispute arose between the Hammal and one of the Habr Tul

Jailah, the tribe to whom the land belongs. The Bedouin, not liking my looks,

proposed to put his spear into me. The Hammal objected that if the measure were

carried out, he would return the compliment in kind. Ensued a long dispute, and

the listeners laughed heartily at the utter indifference with which I gave ear.

When it concluded, amicably as may be expected, the slaves spread a carpet upon

a coarse Berberah couch, and having again vented their hilarity in a roar of

laughter, left me to sleep.

We had eaten at least one sheep per diem, and mutton baked in the ship’s oven is

delicious to the Somali mouth. Remained on board another dinner, a circumstance

which possibly influenced the weak mind of the Captain of the “Reed.” Awaking at

dawn, I went out, expecting to find the vessel within stone’s throw: it was

nowhere visible. About 8 A.M., it appeared in sight, a mere speck upon the

sea-horizon, and whilst it approached, I inspected the settlement.

Aynterad, an inconsiderable place lying east-north-east of, and about forty

miles from, Berberah, is a favourite roadstead principally on account of its

water, which rivals that of Siyaro. The anchorage is bad: the Shimal or north

wind sweeps long lines of heavy wave into the open bay, and the bottom is a mass

of rock and sand-reef. The fifty sunburnt and windsoiled huts which compose the

settlement, are built upon a bank of sand overlying the normal limestone: at the

time when I visited it, the male population had emigrated en masse to Berberah.

It is principally supported by the slave trade, the Arabs preferring to ship

their purchases at some distance from the chief emporium.26 Lieut. Herne, when

he visited it, found a considerable amount of “black bullion” in the market.

The fort of Aynterad, erected thirty years ago by Mohammed Diban, is a stone and

mud house square and flat-roofed, with high windows, an attempt at crenelles,

and, for some reason intelligible only to its own Vitruvius, but a single

bastion at the northern angle. There is no well, and the mass of huts cluster

close to the walls. The five guns here deposited by Sharmarkay when expelled

from Berberah, stand on the ground outside the fort, which is scarcely

calculated to bear heavy carronades: they are unprovided with balls, but that is

a trifle where pebbles abound. Moreover, Abdy’s slaves are well armed with

matchlock and pistol, and the Bedouin Tul Jailah27 find the spear ineffectual

against stone walls. The garrison has frequently been blockaded by its

troublesome neighbours, whose prowess, however, never extended beyond

preliminaries.

To allay my impatience, that morning I was invited into several huts for the

purpose of drinking sour milk. A malicious joy filled my soul, as about noon,

the Machiavellian Captain of the “Reed” managed to cast anchor, after driving

his crazy craft through a sea which the violent Shimal was flinging in hollow

curves foam-fringed upon the strand. I stood on the shore making signs for a

canoe. My desires were disregarded, as long as decency admitted. At last, about

1 P.M., I found myself upon the quarter-deck.

“Dawwir el farman,”—shift the yard!—I shouted with a voice of thunder.

The answer was a general hubbub. “He surely will not sail in a sea like this?”

asked the trembling Captain of my companions.

“He will!” sententiously quoth the Hammal, with a Burleigh nod.

“It blows wind—” remonstrated the Rais.

“And if it blew fire?” asked the Hammal with the air goguenard, meaning that

from the calamity of Frankish obstinacy there was no refuge.

A kind of death-wail arose, during which, to hide untimely laughter, I retreated

to a large drawer, in the stern of the vessel, called a cabin. There my ears

could distinguish the loud entreaties of the crew vainly urging my attendants to

propose a day’s delay. Then one of the garrison, accompanied by the Captain who

shook as with fever, resolved to act forlorn hope, and bring a feu d’enfer of

phrases to bear upon the Frank’s hard brain. Scarcely, however, had the head of

the sentence been delivered, before he was playfully upraised by his bushy hair

and a handle somewhat more substantial, carried out of the cabin, and thrown,

like a bag of biscuit, on the deck.

The case was hopeless. All strangers plunged into the sea,—the popular way of

landing in East Africa,—the anchor was weighed, the ton of sail shaken out, and

the “Reed” began to dip and rise in the yeasty sea laboriously as an alderman

dancing a polka.

For the first time in my life I had the satisfaction of seeing the Somal unable

to eat—unable to eat mutton. In sea-sickness and needless terror, the captain,

crew, and passengers abandoned to us all the baked sheep, which we three, not

being believers in the Evil Eye, ate from head to trotters with especial

pleasure. That night the waves broke over us. The End of Time occupied himself

in roaring certain orisons, which are reputed to calm stormy seas: he desisted

only when Long Guled pointed out that a wilder gust seemed to follow as in

derision each more emphatic period. The Captain, a noted reprobate, renowned on

shore for his knowledge of erotic verse and admiration of the fair sex, prayed

with fervour: he was joined by several of the crew, who apparently found the

charm of novelty in the edifying exercise. About midnight a Sultan el Bahr or

Sea-king—a species of whale—appeared close to our counter; and as these animals

are infamous for upsetting vessels in waggishness, the sight elicited a yell of

terror and a chorus of religious exclamations.

On the morning of Friday, the 9th February 1855, we hove in sight of Jebel

Shamsan, the loftiest peak of the Aden Crater. And ere evening fell, I had the

pleasure of seeing the faces of friends and comrades once more.

1 I cannot guess why Bartema decided “Barbara” to be an island, except that he

used “insula” in the sense of “peninsula.” The town is at very high tides

flooded round, but the old traveller manifestly speaks of the country.

2 These are the four martello towers erected, upon the spot where the town of

huts generally stands, by the Hajj Sharmarkay, who garrisoned them with thirty

Arab and Negro matchlockmen. They are now in ruins, having been dismantled by

orders from Aden.

3 The former is an Arab craft, the latter belongs to the Northern Coasts of

Western India.

4 A turban.

5 The wild animals have now almost entirely disappeared. As will afterwards be

shown, the fair since 1848 has diminished to one third its former dimensions.

6 This subject has been fully discussed in Chap. IV.

7 The old Persians.

8 Especially the sea-board Habr Gerbajis clans,—the Musa Arrah, the Ali Said,

and the Saad Yunis—are interested in asserting their claims.

9 Yunis and Ahmed were brothers, children of Nuh, the ninth in descent from

Ishak el Hazrami. The former had four sons, Hosh Yunis, Gedid Yunis, Mahmud

Yunis, and Shirdon Yunis; their descendants are all known as the Ayyal or

progeny of Yunis. The Ayyal Ahmed Nuh hold the land immediately behind the town,

and towards the Ghauts, blend with the Eesa Musa. The Mikahil claim the Eastern

country from Siyaro to Illanti, a wooded valley affording good water and bad

anchorage to wind-bound vessels.

10 In the centre of the gap is a detached rock called Daga Malablay.

11 It was measured by Lt. Herne, who remarks of this range that “cold in winter,

as the presence of the pine-tree proves, and cooled in summer by the Monsoon,

abounding in game from a spur fowl to an elephant; this hill would make an

admirable Sanitarium.” Unfortunately Gulays is tenanted by the Habr Gerhajis,

and Wagar by the Eesa Musa, treacherous races.

12 This part of Somali land is a sandy plain, thinly covered with thorns and

bounded by two ranges, the Ghauts and Sub-Ghauts. The latter or maritime

mountains begin at Tajurrah, and extend to Karam (long. 46° E.), where they

break into detached groups; the distance from the coast varies from 6 to 15

miles, the height from 2000 to 3000 feet, and the surface is barren, the rock

being denuded of soil by rain. The Ghauts lie from 8 to 40 miles from the sea,

they average from 4000 to 6000 feet, are thickly covered with gum-arabic and

frankincense trees, the wild fig and the Somali pine, and form the seaward wall

of the great table-land of the interior. The Northern or maritime face is

precipitous, the summit is tabular and slopes gently southwards. The general

direction is E. by N. and W. by S., there are, however, some spurs at the three

hills termed “Ourat,” which project towards the north. Each portion of the plain

between these ranges has some local name, such as the “Shimberali Valley”

extending westwards from the detached hill Dimoli, to Gauli, Dinanjir and

Gularkar. Intersected with Fiumaras which roll torrents during the monsoon, they

are covered with a scrub of thorns, wild fig, aloe, and different kinds of

Cactus.

13 The climate of Berberah is cool during the winter, and though the sun is at

all times burning, the atmosphere, as in Somali land generally, is healthy. In

the dry season the plain is subject to great heats, but lying open to the north,

the sea-breeze is strong and regular. In the monsoon the air is cloudy, light

showers frequently fall, and occasionally heavy storms come up from the southern

hills.

14 I quote Lieut. Cruttenden. The Berberah water has acquired a bad name because

the people confine themselves to digging holes three or four feet deep in the

sand, about half-a-mile from high-water mark. They are reconciled to it by its

beneficial effects, especially after and before a journey. Good water, however,

can be procured in any of the Fiumaras intersecting the plain; when the Hajj

Sharmarkay’s towers commanded the town wells, the people sank pits in low ground

a few hundred yards distant, and procured a purer beverage. The Banyans, who are

particular about their potations, drink the sweet produce of Siyaro, a roadstead

about nineteen miles eastward of Berberah.

15 The experiment was tried by an officer who brought from Bombay a batch of

sparrows and crows. The former died, scorbutic I presume; the latter lingered

through an unhappy life, and to judge from the absence of young, refused to

entail their miseries upon posterity.

16 The climate of Aden, it may be observed, has a reputation for salubrity which

it does not deserve. The returns of deaths prove it to be healthy for the

European soldier as London, and there are many who have built their belief upon

the sandy soil of statistics. But it is the practice of every sensible medical

man to hurry his patients out of Aden; they die elsewhere,—some I believe

recover,—and thus the deaths caused by the crater are attributed statistically

to Bombay or the Red Sea.

Aden is for Asiatics a hot-bed of scurry and ulcer. Of the former disease my own

corps, I am informed, had in hospital at one time 200 cases above the usual

amount of sickness; this arises from the brackish water, the want of vegetables,

and lastly the cachexy induced by an utter absence of change, diversion, and

excitement. The ulcer is a disease endemic in Southern Arabia; it is frequently

fatal, especially to the poorer classes of operatives, when worn out by

privation, hardship, and fatigue.

17 The Abban is now the pest of Berberah. Before vessels have cast anchor, or

indeed have rounded the Spit, a crowd of Somal, eager as hotel-touters, may be

seen running along the strand. They swim off, and the first who arrives on board

inquires the name of the Abban; if there be none he touches the captain or one

of the crew and constitutes himself protector. For merchandise sent forward, the

man who conveys it becomes answerable.

The system of dues has become complicated. Formerly, the standard of value at

Berberah was two cubits of the blue cotton-stuff called Sauda; this is now

converted into four pice of specie. Dollars form the principal currency; rupees

are taken at a discount. Traders pay according to degree, the lowest being one

per cent., taken from Muscat and Suri merchants. The shopkeeper provides food

for his Abban, and presents him at the close of the season with a Tobe, a pair

of sandals, and half-a-dozen dollars. Wealthy Banyans and Mehmans give food and

raiment, and before departure from 50 to 200 dollars. This class, however,

derives large profits; they will lend a few dollars to the Bedouin at the end of

the Fair, on condition of receiving cent. per cent., at the opening of the next

season. Travellers not transacting business must feed the protector, but cannot

properly be forced to pay him. Of course the Somal take every advantage of

Europeans. Mr. Angelo, a merchant from Zanzibar, resided two months at Bulhar;

his broker of the Ayyal Gedid tribe, and an Arab who accompanied him, extracted,

it is said, 3000 dollars. As a rule the Abban claims one per cent. on sales and

purchases, and two dollars per head of slaves. For each bale of cloth,

half-a-dollar in coin is taken; on gums and coffee the duty is one pound in

twenty-seven. Cowhides pay half-a-dollar each, sheep and goat’s skins four pice,

and ghee about one per cent.

Lieut. Herne calculates that the total money dues during the Fair-season amount

to 2000 dollars, and that, in the present reduced state of Berberah, not more

than 10,000_l. worth of merchandize is sold. This estimate the natives of the

place declare to be considerably under the mark.

18 The similarity between the Persian “Gach” and this cement, which is found in

many ruins about Berberah, has been remarked by other travellers.

19 The following note by Dr. Carter of Bombay will be interesting to Indian

geologists.

“Of the collection of geological specimens and fossils from Berberah above

mentioned, Lieut. Burton states that the latter are found on the plain of

Berberah, and the former in the following order between the sea and the summits

of mountains (600 feet high), above it—that is, the ridge immediate behind

Berberah.

“1. Country along the coast consists of a coralline limestone, (tertiary

formation,) with drifts of sand, &c. 2. Sub-Ghauts and lower ranges (say 2000

feet high), of sandstone capped with limestone, the former preponderating. 3.

Above the Ghauts a plateau of primitive rocks mixed with sandstone, granite,

syenite, mica schiste, quartz rock, micaceous grit, &c.

“The fawn-coloured fossils from his coralline limestone are evidently the same

as those of the tertiary formation along the south-east coast of Arabia, and

therefore the same as those of Cutch; and it is exceedingly interesting to find

that among the blue-coloured fossils which are accompanied by specimens of the

blue shale, composing the beds from which they have been weathered out, are

species of Terebratula Belemnites, identical with those figured in Grant’s

Geology of Cutch; thus enabling us to extend those beds of the Jurassic

formation which exist in Cutch, and along the south-eastern coast of Arabia,

across to Africa.”

20 These animals are tolerably tame in the morning, as day advances their

apprehension of man increases.

21 Lieut. Cruttenden in considering what nation could have constructed, and at

what period the commerce of Berberah warranted, so costly an undertaking, is

disposed to attribute it to the Persian conquerors of Aden in the days of

Anushirwan. He remarks that the trade carried on in the Red Sea was then great,

the ancient emporia of Hisn Ghorab and Aden prosperous and wealthy, and Berberah

doubtless exported, as it does now, ivory, gums, and ostrich feathers. But

though all the maritime Somali country abounds in traditions of the Furs or

ancient Persians, none of the buildings near Berberah justify our assigning to

them, in a country of monsoon rain and high winds, an antiquity of 1300 years.

The Somal assert that ten generations ago their ancestors drove out the Gallas

from Berberah, and attribute these works to the ancient Pagans. That nation of

savages, however, was never capable of constructing a scientific aqueduct. I

therefore prefer attributing these remains at Berberah to the Ottomans, who,

after the conquest of Aden by Sulayman Pacha in A.D. 1538, held Yemen for about

100 years, and as auxiliaries of the King of Adel, penetrated as far as

Abyssinia. Traces of their architecture are found at Zayla and Harar, and

according to tradition, they possessed at Berberah a settlement called, after

its founder, Bunder Abbas.

22 Here, as elsewhere in Somali land, the leech is of the horse-variety. It

might be worth while to attempt breeding a more useful species after the manner

recommended by Capt. R. Johnston, the Sub-Assistant Commissary General in Sindh

(10th April, 1845). In these streams leeches must always be suspected;

inadvertently swallowed, they fix upon the inner coat of the stomach, and in

Northern Africa have caused, it is said, some deaths among the French soldiers.

23 Yet we observed frogs and a small species of fish.

24 Either this or the sulphate of magnesia, formed by the decomposition of

limestone, may account for the bitterness of the water.

25 They had been in some danger: a treacherous murder perpetrated a few days

before our arrival had caused all the Habr Gerbajis to fly from the town and

assemble 5000 men at Bulhar for battle and murder. This proceeding irritated the

Habr Awal, and certainly, but for our presence, the strangers would have been

scurvily treated by their “cousins.”

26 Of all the slave-dealers on this coast, the Arabs are the most unscrupulous.

In 1855, one Mohammed of Muscat, a shipowner, who, moreover, constantly visits

Aden, bought within sight of our flag a free-born Arab girl of the Yafai tribe,

from the Akarib of Bir Hamid, and sold her at Berberah to a compatriot. Such a

crime merits severe punishment; even the Abyssinians visit with hanging the

Christian convicted of selling a fellow religionist. The Arab slaver generally

marries his properly as a ruse, and arrived at Muscat or Bushire, divorces and

sells them. Free Somali women have not unfrequently met with this fate.

27 The Habr Tul Jailah (mother of the tribe of Jailah) descendants of Ishak el

Hazrami by a slave girl, inhabit the land eastward of Berberah. Their principal

settlements after Aynterad are the three small ports of Karam, Unkor, and Hays.

The former, according to Lieut. Cruttenden, is “the most important from its

possessing a tolerable harbour, and from its being the nearest point from Aden,

the course to which place is N. N. W., —consequently the wind is fair, and the

boats laden with sheep for the Aden market pass but one night at sea, whilst

those from Berberah are generally three. What greatly enhances the value of

Kurrum (Karam), however, is its proximity to the country of the Dulbahanteh, who

approach within four days of Kurrum, and who therefore naturally have their

chief trade through that port. The Ahl Tusuf, a branch of the Habertel Jahleh,

at present hold possession of Kurrum, and between them and the tribes to

windward there exists a most bitter and irreconcileable feud, the consequence of

sundry murders perpetrated about five years since at Kurrum, and which hitherto

have not been avenged. The small ports of Enterad, Unkor, Heis, and Rukudah are

not worthy of mention, with the exception of the first-named place, which has a

trade with Aden in sheep.”

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