CHAPTER V.

FROM ZAYLA TO THE HILLS.

Two routes connect Zayla with Harar; the south-western or direct line numbers

ten long or twenty short stages1: the first eight through the Eesa country, and

the last two among the Nole Gallas, who own the rule of “Waday,” a Makad or

chief of Christian persuasion. The Hajj objected to this way, on account of his

recent blood-feud with the Rer Guleni. He preferred for me the more winding road

which passes south, along the coast, through the Eesa Bedouins dependent upon

Zayla, to the nearest hills, and thence strikes south-westwards among the

Gudabirsi and Girhi Somal, who extend within sight of Harar. I cannot but

suspect that in selecting this route the good Sharmarkay served another purpose

besides my safety. Petty feuds between the chiefs had long “closed the path,”

and perhaps the Somal were not unwilling that British cloth and tobacco should

re-open it.

Early in the morning of the 27th of November, 1854, the mules and all the

paraphernalia of travel stood ready at the door. The five camels were forced to

kneel, growling angrily the while, by repeated jerks at the halter: their

forelegs were duly tied or stood upon till they had shifted themselves into a

comfortable position, and their noses were held down by the bystanders whenever,

grasshopper-like, they attempted to spring up. Whilst spreading the saddle-mats,

our women, to charm away remembrance of chafed hump and bruised sides, sang with

vigor the “Song of Travel”:

“0 caravan-men, we deceive ye not, we have laden the camels!

Old women on the journey are kenned by their sleeping I

(0 camel) can’st sniff the cock-boat and the sea?

Allah guard thee from the Mikahil and their Midgans!” 2

As they arose from squat it was always necessary to adjust their little

mountains of small packages by violently “heaving up” one side,—an operation

never failing to elicit a vicious grunt, a curve of the neck, and an attempt to

bite. One camel was especially savage; it is said that on his return to Zayla,

he broke a Bedouin girl’s neck. Another, a diminutive but hardy little brute of

Dankali breed, conducted himself so uproariously that he at once obtained the

name of El Harami, or the Ruffian.

About 3 P.M., accompanied by the Hajj, his amiable son Mohammed, and a party of

Arab matchlockmen, who escorted me as a token of especial respect, I issued from

the Ashurbara Gate, through the usual staring crowds, and took the way of the

wilderness. After half a mile’s march, we exchanged affectionate adieus,

received much prudent advice about keeping watch and ward at night, recited the

Fatihah with upraised palms, and with many promises to write frequently and to

meet soon, shook hands and parted. The soldiers gave me a last volley, to which

I replied with the “Father of Six.”

You see, dear L., how travelling maketh man banal. It is the natural consequence

of being forced to find, in every corner where Fate drops you for a month, a

“friend of the soul,” and a “moon-faced beauty.” With Orientals generally, you

must be on extreme terms, as in Hibernia, either an angel of light or, that

failing, a goblin damned. In East Africa especially, English phlegm, shyness, or

pride, will bar every heart and raise every hand against you3, whereas what M.

Rochet calls “a certain rondeur of manner” is a specific for winning affection.

You should walk up to your man, clasp his fist, pat his back, speak some

unintelligible words to him,—if, as is the plan of prudence, you ignore the

language,— laugh a loud guffaw, sit by his side, and begin pipes and coffee. He

then proceeds to utilise you, to beg in one country for your interest, and in

another for your tobacco. You gently but decidedly thrust that subject out of

the way, and choose what is most interesting to yourself. As might be expected,

he will at times revert to his own concerns; your superior obstinacy will oppose

effectual passive resistance to all such efforts; by degrees the episodes

diminish in frequency and duration; at last they cease altogether. The man is

now your own.

You will bear in mind, if you please, that I am a Moslem merchant, a character

not to be confounded with the notable individuals seen on ‘Change. Mercator in

the East is a compound of tradesman, divine, and T. G. Usually of gentle birth,

he is everywhere welcomed and respected; and he bears in his mind and manner

that, if Allah please, he may become prime minister a month after he has sold

you a yard of cloth. Commerce appears to be an accident, not an essential, with

him; yet he is by no means deficient in acumen. He is a grave and reverend

signior, with rosary in hand and Koran on lip, is generally a pilgrim, talks at

dreary length about Holy Places, writes a pretty hand, has read and can recite

much poetry, is master of his religion, demeans himself with respectability, is

perfect in all points of ceremony and politeness, and feels equally at home

whether sultan or slave sit upon his counter. He has a wife and children in his

own country, where he intends to spend the remnant of his days; but “the world

is uncertain”—“Fate descends, and man’s eye seeth it not”—“the earth is a

charnel house”; briefly, his many wise old saws give him a kind of theoretical

consciousness that his bones may moulder in other places but his father-land.

To describe my little caravan. Foremost struts Raghe, our Eesa guide, in all the

bravery of Abbanship. He is bareheaded and clothed in Tobe and slippers: a long,

heavy, horn-hilted dagger is strapped round his waist, outside his dress; in his

right hand he grasps a ponderous wire-bound spear, which he uses as a staff, and

the left forearm supports a round targe of battered hide. Being a man of

education, he bears on one shoulder a Musalla or prayer carpet of tanned

leather, the article used throughout the Somali country; slung over the other is

a Wesi or wicker bottle containing water for religious ablution. He is

accompanied by some men who carry a little stock of town goods and drive a camel

colt, which by the by they manage to lose before midnight.

My other attendants must now be introduced to you, as they are to be for the

next two months companions of our journey.

First in the list are the fair Samaweda Yusuf, and Aybla Farih 4, buxom dames

about thirty years old, who presently secured the classical nicknames of

Shehrazade, and Deenarzade. They look each like three average women rolled into

one, and emphatically belong to that race for which the article of feminine

attire called, I believe, a “bussle” would be quite superfluous. Wonderful,

truly, is their endurance of fatigue! During the march they carry pipe and

tobacco, lead and flog the camels, adjust the burdens, and will never be induced

to ride, in sickness or in health. At the halt they unload the cattle, dispose

the parcels in a semicircle, pitch over them the Gurgi or mat tent, cook our

food, boil tea and coffee, and make themselves generally useful. They bivouack

outside our abode, modesty not permitting the sexes to mingle, and in the

severest cold wear no clothing but a head fillet and an old Tobe. They have

curious soft voices, which contrast agreeably with the harsh organs of the

males. At first they were ashamed to see me; but that feeling soon wore off, and

presently they enlivened the way with pleasantries far more naive than refined.

To relieve their greatest fatigue, nothing seems necessary but the “Jogsi:”5

they lie at full length, prone, stand upon each other’s backs trampling and

kneading with the toes, and rise like giants much refreshed. Always attendant

upon these dames is Yusuf, a Zayla lad who, being one-eyed, was pitilessly named

by my companions the “Kalendar;” he prays frequently, is strict in his morals,

and has conceived, like Mrs. Brownrigg, so exalted an idea of discipline, that,

but for our influence, he certainly would have beaten the two female ‘prentices

to death. They hate him therefore, and he knows it.

Immediately behind Raghe and his party walk Shehrazade and Deenarzade, the

former leading the head camel, the latter using my chibouque stick as a staff.

She has been at Aden, and sorely suspects me; her little black eyes never meet

mine; and frequently, with affected confusion, she turns her sable cheek the

clean contrary way. Strung together by their tails, and soundly beaten when

disposed to lag, the five camels pace steadily along under their burdens,—bales

of Wilayati or American sheeting, Duwwarah or Cutch canvass, with indigo-dyed

stuff slung along the animals’ sides, and neatly sewn up in a case of matting to

keep off dust and rain,—a cow’s hide, which serves as a couch, covering the

whole. They carry a load of “Mushakkar” (bad Mocha dates) for the Somal, with a

parcel of better quality for ourselves, and a half hundredweight of coarse Surat

tobacco6; besides which we have a box of beads, and another of trinkets,

mosaic-gold earrings, necklaces, watches, and similar nick-nacks. Our private

provisions are represented by about 300 lbs. of rice,—here the traveller’s staff

of life,—a large pot full of “Kawurmeh”7, dates, salt 8, clarified butter, tea,

coffee, sugar, a box of biscuits in case of famine, “Halwa” or Arab sweetmeats

to be used when driving hard bargains, and a little turmeric for seasoning. A

simple batterie de cuisine, and sundry skins full of potable water9, dangle from

chance rope-ends; and last, but not the least important, is a heavy box10 of

ammunition sufficient for a three months’ sporting tour.11 In the rear of the

caravan trudges a Bedouin woman driving a donkey,—the proper “tail” in these

regions, where camels start if followed by a horse or mule. An ill-fated sheep,

a parting present from the Hajj, races and frisks about the Cafilah. It became

so tame that the Somal received an order not to “cut” it; one day, however, I

found myself dining, and that pet lamb was the menu.

By the side of the camels ride my three attendants, the pink of Somali fashion.

Their frizzled wigs are radiant with grease; their Tobes are splendidly white,

with borders dazzlingly red; their new shields are covered with canvass cloth;

and their two spears, poised over the right shoulder, are freshly scraped,

oiled, blackened, and polished. They have added my spare rifle, and guns to the

camel-load; such weapons are well enough at Aden, in Somali-land men would

deride the outlandish tool! I told them that in my country women use bows and

arrows, moreover that lancers are generally considered a corps of

non-combatants; in vain! they adhered as strongly—so mighty a thing is

prejudice—to their partiality for bows, arrows, and lances. Their horsemanship

is peculiar, they balance themselves upon little Abyssinian saddles, extending

the leg and raising the heel in the Louis Quinze style of equitation, and the

stirrup is an iron ring admitting only the big toe. I follow them mounting a

fine white mule, which, with its gaudily galonne Arab pad and wrapper cloth, has

a certain dignity of look; a double-barrelled gun lies across my lap; and a rude

pair of holsters, the work of Hasan Turki, contains my Colt’s six-shooters.

Marching in this order, which was to serve as a model, we travelled due south

along the coast, over a hard, stoneless, and alluvial plain, here dry, there

muddy (where the tide reaches), across boggy creeks, broad water-courses, and

warty flats of black mould powdered with nitrous salt, and bristling with the

salsolaceous vegetation familiar to the Arab voyager. Such is the general

formation of the plain between the mountains and the sea, whose breadth, in a

direct line, may measure from forty-five to forty-eight miles. Near the first

zone of hills, or sub-Ghauts, it produces a thicker vegetation; thorns and

acacias of different kinds appear in clumps; and ground broken with ridges and

ravines announces the junction. After the monsoon this plain is covered with

rich grass. At other seasons it affords but a scanty supply of an “aqueous

matter” resembling bilgewater. The land belongs to the Mummasan clan of the

Eesa: how these “Kurrah-jog” or “sun-dwellers,” as the Bedouins are called by

the burgher Somal, can exist here in summer, is a mystery. My arms were peeled

even in the month of December; and my companions, panting with the heat, like

the Atlantes of Herodotus, poured forth reproaches upon the rising sun. The

townspeople, when forced to hurry across it in the hotter season, cover

themselves during the day with Tobes wetted every half hour in sea water; yet

they are sometimes killed by the fatal thirst which the Simum engenders. Even

the Bedouins are now longing for rain; a few weeks’ drought destroys half their

herds.

Early in the afternoon our Abban and a woman halted for a few minutes, performed

their ablutions, and prayed with a certain display: satisfied apparently, with

the result, they never repeated the exercise. About sunset we passed, on the

right, clumps of trees overgrowing a water called “Warabod”, the Hyena’s Well;

this is the first Marhalah or halting-place usually made by travellers to the

interior. Hence there is a direct path leading south-south-west, by six short

marches, to the hills. Our Abban, however, was determined that we should not so

easily escape his kraal. Half an hour afterwards we passed by the second

station, “Hangagarri”, a well near the sea: frequent lights twinkling through

the darkening air informed us that we were in the midst of the Eesa. At 8 P.M.

we reached “Gagab”, the third Marhalah, where the camels, casting themselves

upon the ground, imperatively demanded a halt. Raghe was urgent for an advance,

declaring that already he could sight the watchfires of his Rer or tribe12; but

the animals carried the point against him. They were presently unloaded and

turned out to graze, and the lariats of the mules, who are addicted to running

away, were fastened to stones for want of pegs13. Then, lighting a fire, we sat

down to a homely supper of dates.

The air was fresh and clear; and the night breeze was delicious after the steamy

breath of day. The weary confinement of walls made the splendid expanse a luxury

to the sight, whilst the tumbling of the surf upon the near shore, and the music

of the jackal, predisposed to sweet sleep. We now felt that at length the die

was cast. Placing my pistols by my side, with my rifle butt for a pillow, and

its barrel as a bed-fellow, I sought repose with none of that apprehension which

even the most stout-hearted traveller knows before the start. It is the

difference between fancy and reality, between anxiety and certainty: to men

gifted with any imaginative powers the anticipation must ever be worse than the

event. Thus it happens, that he who feels a thrill of fear before engaging in a

peril, exchanges it for a throb of exultation when he finds himself hand to hand

with the danger.

The “End of Time” volunteered to keep watch that night. When the early dawn

glimmered he aroused us, and blew up the smouldering fire, whilst our women

proceeded to load the camels. We pursued our way over hard alluvial soil to

sand, and thence passed into a growth of stiff yellow grass not unlike a stubble

in English September. Day broke upon a Somali Arcadia, whose sole flaws were

salt water and Simum. Whistling shepherds14 carried in their arms the younglings

of the herds, or, spear in hand, drove to pasture long regular lines of camels,

that waved their vulture-like heads, and arched their necks to bite in play

their neighbours’ faces, humps, and hind thighs. They were led by a patriarch,

to whose throat hung a Kor or wooden bell, the preventive for straggling; and

most of them were followed (for winter is the breeding season) by colts in every

stage of infancy. 15 Patches of sheep, with snowy skins and jetty faces, flocked

the yellow plain; and herds of goats resembling deer were driven by hide-clad

children to the bush. Women, in similar attire, accompanied them, some chewing

the inner bark of trees, others spinning yarns of a white creeper called Sagsug

for ropes and tent-mats. The boys carried shepherds’ crooks16, and bore their

watering pails 17, foolscap fashion, upon their heads. Sometimes they led the

ram, around whose neck a cord of white leather was bound for luck; at other

times they frisked with the dog, an animal by no means contemptible in the eyes

of the Bedouins.18 As they advanced, the graceful little sand antelope bounded

away over the bushes; and above them, soaring high in the cloudless skies, were

flights of vultures and huge percnopters, unerring indicators of man’s

habitation in Somali-land.19

A net-work of paths showed that we were approaching a populous place; and

presently men swarmed forth from their hive-shaped tents, testifying their

satisfaction at our arrival, the hostile Habr Awal having threatened to “eat

them up.” We rode cautiously, as is customary, amongst the yeaning she-camels,

who are injured by a sudden start, and about 8 A.M. arrived at our guide’s

kraal, the fourth station, called “Gudingaras,” or the low place where the Garas

tree grows. The encampment lay south-east (165°) of, and about twenty miles

from, Zayla.

Raghe disappeared, and the Bedouins flocked out to gaze upon us as we approached

the kraal. Meanwhile Shehrazade and Deenarzade fetched tent-sticks from the

village, disposed our luggage so as to form a wall, rigged out a wigwam, spread

our beds in the shade, and called aloud for sweet and sour milk. I heard

frequently muttered by the red-headed spearmen, the ominous term “Faranj”20; and

although there was no danger, it was deemed advisable to make an impression

without delay. Presently they began to deride our weapons: the Hammal requested

them to put up one of their shields as a mark; they laughed aloud but shirked

compliance. At last a large brown, bare-necked vulture settled on the ground at

twenty paces’ distance. The Somal hate the “Gurgur”, because he kills the dying

and devours the dead on the battle-field: a bullet put through the bird’s body

caused a cry of wonder, and some ran after the lead as it span whistling over

the ridge. Then loading with swan-shot, which these Bedouins had never seen, I

knocked over a second vulture flying. Fresh screams followed the marvellous

feat; the women exclaimed “Lo! he bringeth down the birds from heaven;” and one

old man, putting his forefinger in his mouth, praised Allah and prayed to be

defended from such a calamity. The effect was such that I determined always to

cany a barrel loaded with shot as the best answer for all who might object to

“Faranj.”

We spent our day in the hut after the normal manner, with a crowd of

woolly-headed Bedouins squatting perseveringly opposite our quarters, spear in

hand, with eyes fixed upon every gesture. Before noon the door-mat was let

down,—a precaution also adopted whenever box or package was opened,—we drank

milk and ate rice with “a kitchen” of Kawurmah. About midday the crowd retired

to sleep; my companions followed their example, and I took the opportunity of

sketching and jotting down notes. 21 Early in the afternoon the Bedouins

returned, and resumed their mute form of pleading for tobacco: each man, as he

received a handful, rose slowly from his hams and went his way. The senior who

disliked the gun was importunate for a charm to cure his sick camel: having

obtained it, he blessed us in a set speech, which lasted at least half an hour,

and concluded with spitting upon the whole party for good luck.22 It is always

well to encourage these Nestors; they are regarded with the greatest reverence

by the tribes, who believe that

“old experience doth attain

To something like prophetic strain;”

and they can either do great good or cause much petty annoyance.

In the evening I took my gun, and, accompanied by the End of Time, went out to

search for venison: the plain, however, was full of men and cattle, and its

hidden denizens had migrated. During our walk we visited the tomb of an Eesa

brave. It was about ten feet long, heaped up with granite pebbles, bits of black

basalt, and stones of calcareous lime: two upright slabs denoted the position of

the head and feet, and upon these hung the deceased’s milk-pails, much the worse

for sun and wind. Round the grave was a thin fence of thorns: opposite the

single narrow entrance, were three blocks of stone planted in line, and showing

the number of enemies slain by the brave.23 Beyond these trophies, a thorn

roofing, supported by four bare poles, served to shade the relatives, when they

meet to sit, feast, weep, and pray.

The Bedouin funerals and tombs are equally simple. They have no favourite

cemeteries as in Sindh and other Moslem and pastoral lands: men are buried where

they die, and the rarity of the graves scattered about the country excited my

astonishment. The corpse is soon interred. These people, like most barbarians,

have a horror of death and all that reminds them of it: on several occasions I

have been begged to throw away a hut-stick, that had been used to dig a grave.

The bier is a rude framework of poles bound with ropes of hide. Some tie up the

body and plant it in a sitting posture, to save themselves the trouble of

excavating deep: this perhaps may account for the circular tombs seen in many

parts of the country. Usually the corpse is thrust into a long hole, covered

with wood and matting, and heaped over with earth and thorns, half-protected by

an oval mass of loose stones, and abandoned to the jackals and hyenas.

We halted a day at Gudingaras, wishing to see the migration of a tribe. Before

dawn, on the 30th November, the Somali Stentor proclaimed from the ridge-top,

“Fetch your camels!—Load your goods!—We march!” About 8 A.M. we started in the

rear. The spectacle was novel to me. Some 150 spearmen, assisted by their

families, were driving before them divisions which, in total, might amount to

200 cows, 7000 camels, and 11,000 or 12,000 sheep and goats. Only three wore the

Bal or feather, which denotes the brave; several, however, had the other

decoration—an ivory armlet.24 Assisted by the boys, whose heads were shaved in a

cristated fashion truly ridiculous, and large pariah dogs with bushy tails, they

drove the beasts and carried the colts, belaboured runaway calves, and held up

the hind legs of struggling sheep. The sick, of whom there were many,—dysentery

being at the time prevalent,—were carried upon camels with their legs protruding

in front from under the hide-cover. Many of the dromedaries showed the Habr Awal

brand 25: laden with hutting materials and domestic furniture, they were led by

the maidens: the matrons, followed, bearing their progeny upon their backs,

bundled in the shoulder-lappets of cloth or hide. The smaller girls, who, in

addition to the boys’ crest, wore a circlet of curly hair round the head,

carried the weakling lambs and kids, or aided their mammas in transporting the

baby. Apparently in great fear of the “All” or Commando, the Bedouins anxiously

inquired if I had my “fire” with me26, and begged us to take the post of

honour—the van. As our little party pricked forward, the camels started in

alarm, and we were surprised to find that this tribe did not know the difference

between horses and mules. Whenever the boys lost time in sport or quarrel, they

were threatened by their fathers with the jaws of that ogre, the white stranger;

and the women exclaimed, as they saw us approach, “Here comes the old man who

knows knowledge!”27

Having skirted the sea for two hours, I rode off with the End of Time to inspect

the Dihh Silil28, a fiumara which runs from the western hills north-eastwards to

the sea. Its course is marked by a long line of graceful tamarisks, whose vivid

green looked doubly bright set off by tawny stubble and amethyst-blue sky. These

freshets are the Edens of Adel. The banks are charmingly wooded with acacias of

many varieties, some thorned like the fabled Zakkum, others parachute-shaped,

and planted in impenetrable thickets: huge white creepers, snake-shaped, enclasp

giant trees, or connect with their cordage the higher boughs, or depend like

cables from the lower branches to the ground. Luxuriant parasites abound: here

they form domes of flashing green, there they surround with verdure decayed

trunks, and not unfrequently cluster into sylvan bowers, under which—grateful

sight!—appears succulent grass. From the thinner thorns the bell-shaped nests of

the Loxia depend, waving in the breeze, and the wood resounds with the cries of

bright-winged choristers. The torrent-beds are of the clearest and finest white

sand, glittering with gold-coloured mica, and varied with nodules of clear and

milky quartz, red porphyry, and granites of many hues. Sometimes the centre is

occupied by an islet of torn trees and stones rolled in heaps, supporting a

clump of thick jujube or tall acacia, whilst the lower parts of the beds are

overgrown with long lines of lively green colocynth.29 Here are usually the

wells, surrounded by heaps of thorns, from which the leaves have been browsed

off, and dwarf sticks that support the water-hide. When the flocks and herds are

absent, troops of gazelles may be seen daintily pacing the yielding surface;

snake trails streak the sand, and at night the fiercer kind of animals, lions,

leopards, and elephants, take their turn. In Somali-land the well is no place of

social meeting; no man lingers to chat near it, no woman visits it, and the

traveller fears to pitch hut where torrents descend, and where enemies, human

and bestial, meet.

We sat under a tree watching the tribe defile across the water-course: then

remounting, after a ride of two miles, we reached a ground called Kuranyali30,

upon which the wigwams of the Nomads were already rising. The parched and

treeless stubble lies about eight miles from and 145° S.E. of Gudingaras; both

places are supplied by Angagarri, a well near the sea, which is so distant that

cattle, to return before nightfall, must start early in the morning.

My attendants had pitched the Gurgi or hut: the Hammal and Long Guled were,

however, sulky on account of my absence, and the Kalendar appeared disposed to

be mutinous. The End of Time, who never lost an opportunity to make mischief,

whispered in my ear, “Despise thy wife, thy son, and thy servant, or they

despise thee!” The old saw was not wanted, however, to procure for them a sound

scolding. Nothing is worse for the Eastern traveller than the habit of “sending

to Coventry:”—it does away with all manner of discipline.

We halted that day at Kuranyali, preparing water and milk for two long marches

over the desert to the hills. Being near the shore, the air was cloudy, although

men prayed for a shower in vain: about midday the pleasant seabreeze fanned our

cheeks, and the plain was thronged with tall pillars of white sand.31

The heat forbade egress, and our Wigwam was crowded with hungry visitors. Raghe,

urged thereto by his tribe, became importunate, now for tobacco, then for rice,

now for dates, then for provisions in general. No wonder that the Prophet made

his Paradise for the Poor a mere place of eating and drinking. The half-famished

Bedouins, Somal or Arab, think of nothing beyond the stomach,—their dreams know

no higher vision of bliss than mere repletion. A single article of diet, milk or

flesh, palling upon man’s palate, they will greedily suck the stones of eaten

dates: yet, Abyssinian like, they are squeamish and fastidious as regards food.

They despise the excellent fish with which Nature has so plentifully stocked

their seas.32 “Speak not to me with that mouth which eateth fish!” is a

favourite insult amongst the Bedouins. If you touch a bird or a fowl of any

description, you will be despised even by the starving beggar. You must not eat

marrow or the flesh about the sheep’s thigh-bone, especially when travelling,

and the kidneys are called a woman’s dish. None but the Northern Somal will

touch the hares which abound in the country, and many refuse the sand antelope

and other kinds of game, not asserting that the meat is unlawful, but simply

alleging a disgust. Those who chew coffee berries are careful not to place an

even number in their mouths, and camel’s milk is never heated, for fear of

bewitching the animal.33 The Somali, however, differs in one point from his

kinsman the Arab: the latter prides himself upon his temperance; the former,

like the North American Indian, measures manhood by appetite. A “Son of the

Somal” is taught, as soon as his teeth are cut, to devour two pounds of the

toughest mutton, and ask for more: if his powers of deglutition fail, he is

derided as degenerate.

On the next day (Friday, 1st Dec.) we informed the Abban that we intended

starting early in the afternoon, and therefore warned him to hold himself and

his escort, together with the water and milk necessary for our march, in

readiness. He promised compliance and disappeared. About 3 P.M. the Bedouins,

armed as usual with spear and shield, began to gather round the hut, and—nothing

in this country can be done without that terrible “palaver!”—the speechifying

presently commenced. Raghe, in a lengthy harangue hoped that the tribe would

afford us all the necessary supplies and assist us in the arduous undertaking.

His words elicited no hear! hear!—there was an evident unwillingness on the part

of the wild men to let us, or rather our cloth and tobacco, depart. One

remarked, with surly emphasis, that he had “seen no good and eaten no Bori 34

from that caravan, why should he aid it?” When we asked the applauding hearers

what they had done for us, they rejoined by inquiring whose the land was?

Another, smitten by the fair Shehrazade’s bulky charms, had proposed matrimony,

and offered as dowry a milch camel: she “temporised,” not daring to return a

positive refusal, and the suitor betrayed a certain Hibernian velleite to

consider consent an unimportant part of the ceremony. The mules had been sent to

the well, with orders to return before noon: at 4 P.M. they were not visible. I

then left the hut, and, sitting on a cow’s-hide in the sun, ordered my men to

begin loading, despite the remonstrances of the Abban and the interference of

about fifty Bedouins. As we persisted, they waxed surlier, and declared that all

which was ours became theirs, to whom the land belonged: we did not deny the

claim, but simply threatened sorcery-death, by wild beasts and foraging parties,

to their “camels, children, and women.” This brought them to their senses, the

usual effect of such threats; and presently arose the senior who had spat upon

us for luck’s sake. With his toothless jaws he mumbled a vehement speech, and

warned the tribe that it was not good to detain such strangers: they lent ready

ears to the words of Nestor, saying, “Let us obey him, he is near his end!” The

mules arrived, but when I looked for the escort, none was forthcoming. At Zayla

it was agreed that twenty men should protect us across the desert, which is the

very passage of plunder; now, however, five or six paupers offered to accompany

us for a few miles. We politely declined troubling them, but insisted upon the

attendance of our Abban and three of his kindred: as some of the Bedouins still

opposed us, our aged friend once more arose, and by copious abuse finally

silenced them. We took leave of him with many thanks and handfuls of tobacco, in

return for which he blessed us with fervour. Then, mounting our mules, we set

out, followed for at least a mile by a long tail of howling boys, who, ignorant

of clothing, except a string of white beads round the neck, but armed with dwarf

spears, bows, and arrows, showed all the impudence of baboons. They derided the

End of Time’s equitation till I feared a scene;—sailor-like, he prided himself

upon graceful horsemanship, and the imps were touching his tenderest point.

Hitherto, for the Abban’s convenience, we had skirted the sea, far out of the

direct road: now we were to strike south-westwards into the interior. At 6 P. M.

we started across a “Goban”35 which eternal summer gilds with a dull ochreish

yellow, towards a thin blue strip of hill on the far horizon. The Somal have no

superstitious dread of night and its horrors, like Arabs and Abyssinians: our

Abban, however, showed a wholesome mundane fear of plundering parties,

scorpions, and snakes.36 I had been careful to fasten round my ankles the twists

of black wool called by the Arabs Zaal37, and universally used in Yemen; a stock

of garlic and opium, here held to be specifics, fortified the courage of the

party, whose fears were not wholly ideal, for, in the course of the night,

Shehrazade nearly trod upon a viper.

At first the plain was a network of holes, the habitations of the Jir Ad38, a

field rat with ruddy back and white belly, the Mullah or Parson, a

smooth-skinned lizard, and the Dabagalla, a ground squirrel with a brilliant and

glossy coat. As it became dark arose a cheerful moon, exciting the howlings of

the hyenas, the barkings of their attendant jackals39, and the chattered oaths

of the Hidinhitu bird. 40 Dotted here and there over the misty landscape,

appeared dark clumps of a tree called “Kullan,” a thorn with an edible berry not

unlike the jujube, and banks of silvery mist veiled the far horizon from the

sight.

We marched rapidly and in silence, stopping every quarter of an hour to raise

the camels’ loads as they slipped on one side. I had now an opportunity of

seeing how feeble a race is the Somal. My companions on the line of march

wondered at my being able to carry a gun; they could scarcely support, even

whilst riding, the weight of their spears, and preferred sitting upon them to

spare their shoulders. At times they were obliged to walk because the saddles

cut them, then they remounted because their legs were tired; briefly, an English

boy of fourteen would have shown more bottom than the sturdiest. This cannot

arise from poor diet, for the citizens, who live generously, are yet weaker than

the Bedouins; it is a peculiarity of race. When fatigued they become reckless

and impatient of thirst: on this occasion, though want of water stared us in the

face, one skin of the three was allowed to fall upon the road and burst, and the

second’s contents were drunk before we halted.

At 11 P.M., after marching twelve miles in direct line, we bivouacked upon the

plain. The night breeze from the hills had set in, and my attendants chattered

with cold: Long Guled in particular became stiff as a mummy. Raghe was clamorous

against a fire, which might betray our whereabouts in the “Bush Inn.” But after

such a march the pipe was a necessity, and the point was carried against him.

After a sound sleep under the moon, we rose at 5 A.M. and loaded the camels. It

was a raw morning. A large nimbus rising from the east obscured the sun, the

line of blue sea was raised like a ridge by refraction, and the hills, towards

which we were journeying, now showed distinct falls and folds. Troops of Dera or

gazelles, herding like goats, stood, stared at us, turned their white tails,

faced away, broke into a long trot, and bounded over the plain as we approached.

A few ostriches appeared, but they were too shy even for bullet.41 At 8 P.M. we

crossed one of the numerous drains which intersect this desert—“Biya Hablod,” or

the Girls’ Water, a fiumara running from south-west to east and north-east.

Although dry, it abounded in the Marer, a tree bearing yellowish red berries

full of viscous juice like green gum,—edible but not nice,—and the brighter

vegetation showed that water was near the surface. About two hours afterwards,

as the sun became oppressive, we unloaded in a water-course, called by my

companions Adad or the Acacia Gum 42: the distance was about twenty-five miles,

and the direction S. W. 225° of Kuranyali.

We spread our couches of cowhide in the midst of a green mass of tamarisk under

a tall Kud tree, a bright-leaved thorn, with balls of golden gum clinging to its

boughs, dry berries scattered in its shade, and armies of ants marching to and

from its trunk. All slept upon the soft white sand, with arms under their hands,

for our spoor across the desert was now unmistakeable. At midday rice was boiled

for us by the indefatigable women, and at 3 P.M. we resumed our march towards

the hills, which had exchanged their shadowy blue for a coat of pronounced

brown. Journeying onwards, we reached the Barragid fiumara, and presently

exchanged the plain for rolling ground covered with the remains of an extinct

race, and probably alluded to by El Makrizi when he records that the Moslems of

Adel had erected, throughout the country, a vast number of mosques and oratories

for Friday and festival prayers. Places of worship appeared in the shape of

parallelograms, unhewed stones piled upon the ground, with a semicircular niche

in the direction of Meccah. The tombs, different from the heaped form now in

fashion, closely resembled the older erections in the island of Saad El Din,

near Zayla—oblong slabs planted deep in the soil. We also observed frequent

hollow rings of rough blocks, circles measuring about a cubit in diameter: I had

not time to excavate them, and the End of Time could only inform me that they

belonged to the “Awwalin,” or olden inhabitants.

At 7 P.M., as evening was closing in, we came upon the fresh trail of a large

Habr Awal cavalcade. The celebrated footprint seen by Robinson Crusoe affected

him not more powerfully than did this “daaseh” my companions. The voice of song

suddenly became mute. The women drove the camels hurriedly, and all huddled

together, except Raghe, who kept well to the front ready for a run. Whistling

with anger, I asked my attendants what had slain them: the End of Time, in a

hollow voice, replied, “Verily, 0 pilgrim, whoso seeth the track, seeth the

foe!” and he quoted in tones of terror those dreary lines—

“Man is but a handful of dust,

And life is a violent storm.”

We certainly were a small party to contend against 200 horsemen,—nine men and

two women: moreover all except the Hammal and Long Guled would infallibly have

fled at the first charge.

Presently we sighted the trails of sheep and goats, showing the proximity of a

village: their freshness was ascertained by my companions after an eager

scrutiny in the moon’s bright beams. About half an hour afterwards, rough

ravines with sharp and thorny descents warned us that we had exchanged the

dangerous plain for a place of safety where horsemen rarely venture. Raghe, not

admiring the “open,” hurried us onward, in hope of reaching some kraal. At 8

P.M., however, seeing the poor women lamed with thorns, and the camels casting

themselves upon the ground, I resolved to halt. Despite all objections, we

lighted a fire, finished our store of bad milk—the water had long ago been

exhausted—and lay down in the cold, clear air, covering ourselves with hides and

holding our weapons.

At 6 A.M. we resumed our ride over rough stony ground, the thorns tearing our

feet and naked legs, and the camels slipping over the rounded waste of drift

pebbles. The Bedouins, with ears applied to the earth, listened for a village,

but heard none. Suddenly we saw two strangers, and presently we came upon an

Eesa kraal. It was situated in a deep ravine, called Damal, backed by a broad

and hollow Fiumara at the foot of the hills, running from west to east, and

surrounded by lofty trees, upon which brown kites, black vultures, and

percnopters like flakes of snow were mewing. We had marched over a winding path

about eleven miles from, and in a south-west direction (205°) of, Adad. Painful

thoughts suggested themselves: in consequence of wandering southwards, only six

had been taken off thirty stages by the labours of seven days.

As usual in Eastern Africa, we did not enter the kraal uninvited, but unloosed

and pitched the wigwam under a tree outside. Presently the elders appeared

bringing, with soft speeches, sweet water, new milk, fat sheep and goats, for

which they demanded a Tobe of Cutch canvass. We passed with them a quiet

luxurious day of coffee and pipes, fresh cream and roasted mutton: after the

plain-heats we enjoyed the cool breeze of the hills, the cloudy sky, and the

verdure of the glades, made doubly green by comparison with the parched stubbles

below.

The Eesa, here mixed with the Gudabirsi, have little power: we found them poor

and proportionally importunate. The men, wild-looking as open mouths, staring

eyes, and tangled hair could make them, gazed with extreme eagerness upon my

scarlet blanket: for very shame they did not beg it, but the inviting texture

was pulled and fingered by the greasy multitude. We closed the hut whenever a

valuable was produced, but eager eyes peeped through every cranny, till the End

of Time ejaculated “Praised be Allah!”43 and quoted the Arab saying, “Show not

the Somal thy door, and if he find it, block it up!” The women and children were

clad in chocolate-coloured hides, fringed at the tops: to gratify them I shot a

few hawks, and was rewarded with loud exclamations,—“Allah preserve thy

hand!”—“May thy skill never fail thee before the foe!” A crone seeing me smoke,

inquired if the fire did not burn: I handed my pipe, which nearly choked her,

and she ran away from a steaming kettle, thinking it a weapon. As my companions

observed, there was not a “Miskal of sense in a Maund of heads:” yet the people

looked upon my sun-burnt skin with a favour they denied to the “lime-white

face.”

I was anxious to proceed in the afternoon, but Raghe had arrived at the frontier

of his tribe: he had blood to settle amongst the Gudabirsi, and without a

protector he could not enter their lands. At night we slept armed on account of

the lions that infest the hills, and our huts were surrounded with a thorn

fence—a precaution here first adopted, and never afterwards neglected. Early on

the morning of the 4th of December heavy clouds rolled down from the mountains,

and a Scotch mist deepened into a shower: our new Abban had not arrived, and the

hut-mats, saturated with rain, had become too heavy for the camels to carry.

In the forenoon the Eesa kraal, loading their Asses44, set out towards the

plain. This migration presented no new features, except that several sick and

decrepid were barbarously left behind, for lions and hyaenas to devour. 45 To

deceive “warhawks” who might be on the lookout, the migrators set fire to logs

of wood and masses of sheep’s earth, which, even in rain, will smoke and

smoulder for weeks.

About midday arrived the two Gudabirsi who intended escorting us to the village

of our Abbans. The elder, Rirash, was a black-skinned, wild-looking fellow, with

a shock head of hair and a deep scowl which belied his good temper and warm

heart: the other was a dun-faced youth betrothed to Raghe’s daughter. They both

belonged to the Mahadasan clan, and commenced operations by an obstinate attempt

to lead us far out of our way eastwards. The pretext was the defenceless state

of their flocks and herds, the real reason an itching for cloth and tobacco. We

resisted manfully this time, nerved by the memory of wasted days, and, despite

their declarations of Absi46, we determined upon making westward for the hills.

At 2 P.M. the caravan started along the Fiumara course in rear of the deserted

kraal, and after an hour’s ascent Rirash informed us that a well was near. The

Hammal and I, taking two water skins, urged our mules over stones and thorny

ground: presently we arrived at a rocky ravine, where, surrounded by brambles,

rude walls, and tough frame works, lay the wells— three or four holes sunk ten

feet deep in the limestone. Whilst we bathed in the sulphureous spring, which at

once discolored my silver ring, Rirash, baling up the water in his shield,

filled the bags and bound them to the saddles. In haste we rejoined the caravan,

which we found about sunset, halted by the vain fears of the guides. The ridge

upon which they stood was a mass of old mosques and groves, showing that in

former days a thick population tenanted these hills: from the summit appeared

distant herds of kine and white flocks scattered like patches of mountain

quartz. Riding in advance, we traversed the stony ridge, fell into another

ravine, and soon saw signs of human life. A shepherd descried us from afar and

ran away reckless of property; causing the End of Time to roll his head with

dignity, and to ejaculate, “Of a truth said the Prophet of Allah, ‘fear is

divided.’” Presently we fell in with a village, from which the people rushed

out, some exclaiming, “Lo! let us look at the kings!” others, “Come, see the

white man, he is governor of Zayla!” I objected to such dignity, principally on

account of its price: my companions, however, were inexorable; they would be

Salatin—kings—and my colour was against claims to low degree. This fairness, and

the Arab dress, made me at different times the ruler of Aden, the chief of

Zayla, the Hajj’s son, a boy, an old woman, a man painted white, a warrior in

silver armour, a merchant, a pilgrim, a hedgepriest, Ahmed the Indian, a Turk,

an Egyptian, a Frenchman, a Banyan, a sherif, and lastly a Calamity sent down

from heaven to weary out the lives of the Somal: every kraal had some conjecture

of its own, and each fresh theory was received by my companions with roars of

laughter.

As the Gudabirsi pursued us with shouts for tobacco and cries of wonder, I

dispersed them with a gun-shot: the women and children fled precipitately from

the horrid sound, and the men, covering their heads with their shields, threw

themselves face foremost upon the ground. Pursuing the Fiumara course, we passed

a number of kraals, whose inhabitants were equally vociferous: out of one came a

Zayla man, who informed us that the Gudabirsi Abbans, to whom we bore

Sharmarkay’s letter of introduction, were encamped within three days’ march. It

was reported, however, that a quarrel had broken out between them and the Gerad

Adan, their brother-in-law; no pleasant news!—in Africa, under such

circumstances, it is customary for friends to detain, and for foes to oppose,

the traveller. We rode stoutly on, till the air darkened and the moon tipped the

distant hill peaks with a dim mysterious light. I then called a halt: we

unloaded on the banks of the Darkaynlay fiumara, so called from a tree which

contains a fiery milk, fenced ourselves in,—taking care to avoid being trampled

upon by startled camels during our sleep, by securing them in a separate but

neighbouring inclosure,—spread our couches, ate our frugal suppers, and lost no

time in falling asleep. We had travelled five hours that day, but the path was

winding, and our progress in a straight line was at most eight miles.

And now, dear L., being about to quit the land of the Eesa, I will sketch the

tribe.

The Eesa, probably the most powerful branch of the Somali nation, extends

northwards to the Wayma family of the Dankali; southwards to the Gudabirsi, and

midway between Zayla and Berberah; eastwards it is bounded by the sea, and

westwards by the Gallas around Harar. It derives itself from Dirr and Aydur,

without, however, knowing aught beyond the ancestral names, and is twitted with

paganism by its enemies. This tribe, said to number 100,000 shields, is divided

into numerous clans47: these again split up into minor septs48 which plunder,

and sometimes murder, one another in time of peace.

A fierce and turbulent race of republicans, the Eesa own nominal allegiance to a

Ugaz or chief residing in the Hadagali hills. He is generally called

“Roblay”—Prince Rainy,—the name or rather title being one of good omen, for a

drought here, like a dinner in Europe, justifies the change of a dynasty. Every

kraal has its Oddai (shaikh or head man,) after whose name the settlement, as in

Sindh and other pastoral lands, is called. He is obeyed only when his orders

suit the taste of King Demos, is always superior to his fellows in wealth of

cattle, sometimes in talent and eloquence, and in deliberations he is assisted

by the Wail or Akill— the Peetzo-council of Southern Africa—Elders obeyed on

account of their age. Despite, however, this apparatus of rule, the Bedouins

have lost none of the characteristics recorded in the Periplus: they are still

“uncivilised and under no restraint.” Every freeborn man holds himself equal to

his ruler, and allows no royalties or prerogatives to abridge his birthright of

liberty.49 Yet I have observed, that with all their passion for independence,

the Somal, when subject to strict rule as at Zayla and Harar, are both apt to

discipline and subservient to command.

In character, the Eesa are childish and docile, cunning, and deficient in

judgment, kind and fickle, good-humoured and irascible, warm-hearted, and

infamous for cruelty and treachery. Even the protector will slay his protege,

and citizens married to Eesa girls send their wives to buy goats and sheep from,

but will not trust themselves amongst, their connexions. “Traitorous as an

Eesa,” is a proverb at Zayla, where the people tell you that these Bedouins with

the left hand offer a bowl of milk, and stab with the right. “Conscience,” I may

observe, does not exist in Eastern Africa, and “Repentance” expresses regret for

missed opportunities of mortal crime. Robbery constitutes an honorable man:

murder—the more atrocious the midnight crime the better—makes the hero. Honor

consists in taking human life: hyaena-like, the Bedouins cannot be trusted where

blood may be shed: Glory is the having done all manner of harm. Yet the Eesa

have their good points: they are not noted liars, and will rarely perjure

themselves: they look down upon petty pilfering without violence, and they are

generous and hospitable compared with the other Somal. Personally, I had no

reason to complain of them. They were importunate beggars, but a pinch of snuff

or a handful of tobacco always made us friends: they begged me to settle amongst

them, they offered me sundry wives and,—the Somali Bedouin, unlike the Arab,

readily affiliates strangers to his tribe—they declared that after a few days’

residence, I should become one of themselves.

In appearance, the Eesa are distinguished from other Somal by blackness,

ugliness of feature, and premature baldness of the temples; they also shave, or

rather scrape off with their daggers, the hair high up the nape of the neck. The

locks are dyed dun, frizzled, and greased; the Widads or learned men remove

them, and none but paupers leave them in their natural state; the mustachios are

clipped close, the straggling whisker is carefully plucked, and the

pile—erroneously considered impure—is removed either by vellication, or by

passing the limbs through the fire. The eyes of the Bedouins, also, are less

prominent than those of the citizens: the brow projects in pent-house fashion,

and the organ, exposed to bright light, and accustomed to gaze at distant

objects, acquires more concentration and power. I have seen amongst them

handsome profiles, and some of the girls have fine figures with piquant if not

pretty features.

Flocks and herds form the true wealth of the Eesa. According to them, sheep and

goats are of silver, and the cow of gold: they compare camels to the rock, and

believe, like most Moslems, the horse to have been created from the wind. Their

diet depends upon the season. In hot weather, when forage and milk dry up, the

flocks are slaughtered, and supply excellent mutton; during the monsoon men

become fat, by drinking all day long the produce of their cattle. In the latter

article of diet, the Eesa are delicate and curious: they prefer cow’s milk, then

the goat’s, and lastly the ewe’s, which the Arab loves best: the first is drunk

fresh, and the two latter clotted, whilst the camel’s is slightly soured. The

townspeople use camel’s milk medicinally: according to the Bedouins, he who

lives on this beverage, and eats the meat for forty-four consecutive days,

acquires the animal’s strength. It has perhaps less “body” than any other milk,

and is deliciously sweet shortly after foaling: presently it loses flavour, and

nothing can be more nauseous than the produce of an old camel. The Somal have a

name for cream—“Laben”—but they make no use of the article, churning it with the

rest of the milk. They have no buffaloes, shudder at the Tartar idea of

mare’s-milk, like the Arabs hold the name Labban50 a disgrace, and make it a

point of honor not to draw supplies from their cattle during the day.

The life led by these wild people is necessarily monotonous. They rest but

little—from 11 P.M. till dawn—and never sleep in the bush, for fear of

plundering parties, Few begin the day with prayer as Moslems should: for the

most part they apply themselves to counting and milking their cattle. The

animals, all of which have names51, come when called to the pail, and supply the

family with a morning meal. Then the warriors, grasping their spears, and

sometimes the young women armed only with staves, drive their herds to pasture:

the matrons and children, spinning or rope-making, tend the flocks, and the

kraal is abandoned to the very young, the old, and the sick. The herdsmen wander

about, watching the cattle and tasting nothing but the pure element or a pinch

of coarse tobacco. Sometimes they play at Shahh, Shantarah, and other games, of

which they are passionately fond: with a board formed of lines traced in the

sand, and bits of dry wood or camel’s earth acting pieces, they spend hour after

hour, every looker-on vociferating his opinion, and catching at the men, till

apparently the two players are those least interested in the game. Or, to drive

off sleep, they sit whistling to their flocks, or they perform upon the Forimo,

a reed pipe generally made at Harar, which has a plaintive sound uncommonly

pleasing.52 In the evening, the kraal again resounds with lowing and bleating:

the camel’s milk is all drunk, the cow’s and goat’s reserved for butter and

ghee, which the women prepare; the numbers are once more counted, and the

animals are carefully penned up for the night. This simple life is varied by an

occasional birth and marriage, dance and foray, disease and murder. Their

maladies are few and simple53; death generally comes by the spear, and the

Bedouin is naturally long-lived. I have seen Macrobians hale and strong,

preserving their powers and faculties in spite of eighty and ninety years.

1 By this route the Mukattib or courier travels on foot from Zayla to Harar in

five days at the most. The Somal reckon their journeys by the Gedi or march, the

Arab “Hamleh,” which varies from four to five hours. They begin before dawn and

halt at about 11 A.M., the time of the morning meal. When a second march is made

they load at 3 P.M. and advance till dark; thus fifteen miles would be the

average of fast travelling. In places of danger they will cover twenty-six or

twenty-seven miles of ground without halting to eat or rest: nothing less,

however, than regard for “dear life” can engender such activity. Generally two

or three hours’ work per diem is considered sufficient; and, where provisions

abound, halts are long and frequent.

2 The Mikahil is a clan of the Habr Awal tribe living near Berberah, and

celebrated for their bloodthirsty and butchering propensities. Many of the

Midgan or serviles (a term explained in Chap. II.) are domesticated amongst

them.

3 So the Abyssinian chief informed M. Krapf that he loved the French, but could

not endure us—simply the effect of manner.

4 The first is the name of the individual; the second is that of her father.

5 This delicate operation is called by the Arabs Daasah (whence the “Dosch

ceremony” at Cairo). It is used over most parts of the Eastern world as a remedy

for sickness and fatigue, and is generally preferred to Takbis or Dugmo, the

common style of shampooing, which, say many Easterns, loosens the skin.

6 The Somal, from habit, enjoy no other variety; they even showed disgust at my

Latakia. Tobacco is grown in some places by the Gudabirsi and other tribes; bat

it is rare and bad. Without this article it would be impossible to progress in

East Africa; every man asks for a handful, and many will not return milk for

what they expect to receive as a gift. Their importunity reminds the traveller

of the Galloway beggars some generations ago:—“They are for the most part great

chewers of tobacco, and are so addicted to it, that they will ask for a piece

thereof from a stranger as he is riding on his way; and therefore let not a

traveller want an ounce or two of roll tobacco in his pocket, and for an inch or

two thereof he need not fear the want of a guide by day or night.”

7 Flesh boiled in large slices, sun-dried, broken to pieces and fried in ghee.

8 The Bahr Assal or Salt Lake, near Tajurrah, annually sends into the interior

thousands of little matted parcels containing this necessary. Inland, the

Bedouins will rub a piece upon the tongue before eating, or pass about a lump,

as the Dutch did with sugar in the last war; at Harar a donkey-load is the price

of a slave; and the Abyssinians say of a millionaire “he eateth salt.”

9 The element found upon the maritime plain is salt or brackish. There is

nothing concerning which the African traveller should be so particular as water;

bitter with nitre, and full of organic matter, it causes all those dysenteric

diseases which have made research in this part of the world a Upas tree to the

discoverer. Pocket filters are invaluable. The water of wells should be boiled

and passed through charcoal; and even then it might be mixed to a good purpose

with a few drops of proof spirit. The Somal generally carry their store in large

wickerwork pails. I preferred skins, as more portable and less likely to taint

the water.

10 Here, as in Arabia, boxes should be avoided, the Bedouins always believe them

to contain treasures. Day after day I have been obliged to display the contents

to crowds of savages, who amused themselves by lifting up the case with loud

cries of “hoo! hoo!! hoo!!!” (the popular exclamation of astonishment), and by

speculating upon the probable amount of dollars contained therein.

11 The following list of my expenses may perhaps be useful to future travellers.

It must be observed that, had the whole outfit been purchased at Aden, a

considerable saving would have resulted:—

Cos. Rs.

Passage money from Aden to Zayla............................ 33

Presents at Zayla...........................................100

Price of four mules with saddles and bridles................225

Price of four camels........................................ 88

Provisions (tobacco, rice, dates &c.) for three months......428

Price of 150 Tobes..........................................357

Nine pieces of indigo-dyed cotton........................... 16

Minor expenses (cowhides for camels, mats for tents,

presents to Arabs, a box of beads, three handsome

Abyssinian Tobes bought for chiefs).....................166

Expenses at Berberah, and passage back to Aden.............. 77

Total Cos. Rs. 1490 = L149

====

12 I shall frequently use Somali terms, not to display my scanty knowledge of

the dialect, but because they perchance may prove serviceable to my successors.

13 The Somal always “side-line” their horses and mules with stout stiff leathern

thongs provided with loops and wooden buttons; we found them upon the whole

safer than lariats or tethers.

14 Arabs hate “El Sifr” or whistling, which they hold to be the chit-chat of the

Jinns. Some say that the musician’s mouth is not to be purified for forty days;

others that Satan, touching a man’s person, causes him to produce the offensive

sound. The Hejazis objected to Burckhardt that he could not help talking to

devils, and walking about the room like an unquiet spirit. The Somali has no

such prejudice. Like the Kafir of the Cape, he passes his day whistling to his

flocks and herds; moreover, he makes signals by changing the note, and is

skilful in imitating the song of birds.

15 In this country camels foal either in the Gugi (monsoon), or during the cold

season immediately after the autumnal rains.

16 The shepherd’s staff is a straight stick about six feet long, with a crook at

one end, and at the other a fork to act as a rake.

17 These utensils will be described in a future chapter.

18 The settled Somal have a holy horror of dogs, and, Wahhabi-like, treat man’s

faithful slave most cruelly. The wild people are more humane; they pay two ewes

for a good colley, and demand a two-year-old sheep as “diyat” or blood-money for

the animal, if killed.

19 Vultures and percnopters lie upon the wing waiting for the garbage of the

kraals; consequently they are rare near the cow-villages, where animals are not

often killed.

20 They apply this term to all but themselves; an Indian trader who had

travelled to Harar, complained to me that he had always been called a Frank by

the Bedouins in consequence of his wearing Shalwar or drawers.

21 Generally it is not dangerous to write before these Bedouins, as they only

suspect account-keeping, and none but the educated recognise a sketch. The

traveller, however, must be on his guard: in the remotest villages he will meet

Somal who have returned to savage life after visiting the Sea-board, Arabia, and

possibly India or Egypt.

22 I have often observed this ceremony performed upon a new turban or other

article of attire; possibly it may be intended as a mark of contempt, assumed to

blind the evil eye.

23 Such is the general form of the Somali grave. Sometimes two stumps of wood

take the place of the upright stones at the head and foot, and around one grave

I counted twenty trophies.

24 Some braves wear above the right elbow an ivory armlet called Fol or Aj: in

the south this denotes the elephant-slayer. Other Eesa clans assert their

warriorhood by small disks of white stone, fashioned like rings, and fitted upon

the little finger of the left hand. Others bind a bit of red cloth round the

brow.

25 It is sufficient for a Bedouin to look at the general appearance of an

animal; he at once recognises the breed. Each clan, however, in this part of

Eastern Africa has its own mark.

26 They found no better word than “fire” to denote my gun.

27 “Oddai”, an old man, corresponds with the Arab Shaykh in etymology. The

Somal, however, give the name to men of all ages after marriage.

28 The “Dihh” is the Arab “Wady”,—a fiumara or freshet. “Webbe” (Obbay, Abbai,

&c.) is a large river; “Durdur”, a running stream.

29 I saw these Dihhs only in the dry season; at times the torrent must be

violent, cutting ten or twelve feet deep into the plain.

30 The name is derived from Kuranyo, an ant: it means the “place of ants,” and

is so called from the abundance of a tree which attracts them.

31 The Arabs call these pillars “Devils,” the Somal “Sigo.”

32 The Cape Kafirs have the same prejudice against fish, comparing its flesh, to

that of serpents. In some points their squeamishness resembles that of the

Somal: he, for instance, who tastes the Rhinoceros Simus is at once dubbed “Om

Fogazan” or outcast.

33 This superstition may have arisen from the peculiarity that the camel’s milk,

however fresh, if placed upon the fire, breaks like some cows’ milk.

34 “Bori” in Southern Arabia popularly means a water-pipe: here it is used for

tobacco.

35 “Goban” is the low maritime plain lying below the “Bor” or Ghauts, and

opposed to Ogu, the table-land above. “Ban” is an elevated grassy prairie, where

few trees grow; “Dir,” a small jungle, called Haija by the Arabs; and Khain is a

forest or thick bush. “Bor,” is a mountain, rock, or hill: a stony precipice is

called “Jar,” and the high clay banks of a ravine “Gebi.”

36 Snakes are rare in the cities, but abound in the wilds of Eastern Africa, and

are dangerous to night travellers, though seldom seen by day. To kill a serpent

is considered by the Bedouins almost as meritorious as to slay an Infidel. The

Somal have many names for the reptile tribe. The Subhanyo, a kind of whipsnake,

and a large yellow rock snake called Got, are little feared. The Abesi (in

Arabic el Hayyeh,—the Cobra) is so venomous that it kills the camel; the Mas or

Hanash, and a long black snake called Jilbis, are considered equally dangerous.

Serpents are in Somali-land the subject of many superstitions. One horn of the

Cerastes, for instance, contains a deadly poison: the other, pounded and drawn

across the eye, makes man a seer and reveals to him the treasures of the earth.

There is a flying snake which hoards precious stones, and is attended by a

hundred guards: a Somali horseman once, it is said, carried away a jewel; he was

pursued by a reptile army, and although he escaped to his tribe, the importunity

of the former proprietors was so great that the plunder was eventually restored

to them. Centipedes are little feared; their venom leads to inconveniences more

ridiculous than dangerous. Scorpions, especially the large yellow variety, are

formidable in hot weather: I can speak of the sting from experience. The first

symptom is a sensation of nausea, and the pain shoots up after a few minutes to

the groin, causing a swelling accompanied by burning and throbbing, which last

about twelve hours. The Somal bandage above the wound and wait patiently till

the effect subsides.

37 These are tightened in case of accident, and act as superior ligatures. I

should, however, advise every traveller in these regions to provide himself with

a pneumatic pump, and not to place his trust in Zaal, garlic, or opium.

38 The grey rat is called by the Somal “Baradublay:” in Eastern Africa it is a

minor plague, after India and Arabia, where, neglecting to sleep in boots, I

have sometimes been lamed for a week by their venomous bites.

39 In this country the jackal attends not upon the lion, but the Waraba. His

morning cry is taken as an omen of good or evil according to the note.

40 Of this bird, a red and long-legged plover, the Somal tell the following

legend. Originally her diet was meat, and her society birds of prey: one night,

however, her companions having devoured all the provisions whilst she slept, she

swore never to fly with friends, never to eat flesh, and never to rest during

the hours of darkness. When she sees anything in the dark she repeat her oaths,

and, according to the Somal, keeps careful watch all night. There is a larger

variety of this bird, which, purblind daring daytime, rises from under the

traveller’s feet with loud cries. The Somal have superstitions similar to that

above noticed about several kinds of birds. When the cry of the “Galu” (so

called from his note Gal! Gal! come in! come in!) is heard over a kraal, the

people say, “Let us leave this place, the Galu hath spoken!” At night they

listen for the Fin, also an ill-omened bird: when a man declares “the Fin did

not sleep last night,” it is considered advisable to shift ground.

41 Throughout this country ostriches are exceedingly wild: the Rev. Mr. Erhardt,

of the Mombas Mission, informs me that they are equally so farther south. The

Somal stalk them during the day with camels, and kill them with poisoned arrows.

It is said that about 3 P.M. the birds leave their feeding places, and traverse

long distances to roost: the people assert that they are blind at night, and

rise up under the pursuer’s feet.

42 Several Acacias afford gums, which the Bedouins eat greedily to strengthen

themselves. The town’s people declare that the food produces nothing but

flatulence.

43 “Subhan’ Allah!” an exclamation of pettishness or displeasure.

44 The hills not abounding in camels, like the maritime regions, asses become

the principal means of transport.

45 This barbarous practice is generally carried out in cases of small-pox where

contagion is feared.

46 Fear—danger; it is a word which haunts the traveller in Somali-land.

47 The Somali Tol or Tul corresponds with the Arabic Kabilah, a tribe: under it

is the Kola or Jilib (Ar. Fakhizah), a clan. “Gob,” is synonymous with the

Arabic Kabail, “men of family,” opposed to “Gum,” the caste-less. In the

following pages I shall speak of the Somali nation, the Eesa tribe, the Rer Musa

clan, and the Rer Galan sept, though by no means sure that such verbal gradation

is generally recognised.

48 The Eesa, for instance, are divided into—

Rer Wardik (the royal clan).

Rer Abdullah.

Rer Musa.

Rer Mummasan.

Rer Guleni.

Rer Hurroni.

Rer Urwena.

Rer Furlabah.

Rer Gada.

Rer Ali Addah.

These are again subdivided: the Rer Musa (numbering half the Eesa), split up,

for instance, into—

Rer Galan.

Rer Harlah.

Rer Gadishah.

Rer Dubbah.

Rer Kul.

Rer Gedi.

49 Traces of this turbulent equality may be found amongst the slavish Kafirs in

general meetings of the tribe, on the occasion of harvest home, when the chief

who at other times destroys hundreds by a gesture, is abused and treated with

contempt by the youngest warrior.

50 “Milk-seller.”

51 For instance, Anfarr, the “Spotted;” Tarren, “Wheat-flour;” &c. &c.

52 It is used by the northern people, the Abyssinians, Gallas, Adail, Eesa and

Gudabirsi; the southern Somal ignore it.

53 The most dangerous disease is small-pox, which history traces to Eastern

Abyssinia, where it still becomes at times a violent epidemic, sweeping off its

thousands. The patient, if a man of note, is placed upon the sand, and fed with

rice or millet bread till he recovers or dies. The chicken-pox kills many

infants; they are treated by bathing in the fresh blood of a sheep, covered with

the skin, and exposed to the sun. Smoke and glare, dirt and flies, cold winds

and naked extremities, cause ophthalmia, especially in the hills; this disease

rarely blinds any save the citizens, and no remedy is known. Dysentery is cured

by rice and sour milk, patients also drink clarified cows’ butter; and in bad

cases the stomach is cauterized, fire and disease, according to the Somal, never

coexisting. Haemorroids, when dry, are reduced by a stick used as a bougie and

allowed to remain in loco all night. Sometimes the part affected is cupped with

a horn and knife, or a leech performs excision. The diet is camels’ or goats’

flesh and milk; clarified butter and Bussorab dates—rice and mutton are

carefully avoided. For a certain local disease, they use senna or colocynth,

anoint the body with sulphur boiled in ghee, and expose it to the sun, or they

leave the patient all night in the dew;—abstinence and perspiration generally

effect a cure. For the minor form, the afflicted drink the melted fat of a

sheep’s tail. Consumption is a family complaint, and therefore considered

incurable; to use the Somali expression, they address the patient with “Allah,

have mercy upon thee!” not with “Allah cure thee!”

There are leeches who have secret simples for curing wounds. Generally the blood

is squeezed out, the place is washed with water, the lips are sewn up and a

dressing of astringent leaves is applied. They have splints for fractures, and

they can reduce dislocations. A medical friend at Aden partially dislocated his

knee, which half-a-dozen of the faculty insisted upon treating as a sprain. Of

all his tortures none was more severe than that inflicted by my Somali visitors.

They would look at him, distinguish the complaint, ask him how long he had been

invalided, and hearing the reply—four months—would break into exclamations of

wonder. “In our country,” they cried, “when a man falls, two pull his body and

two his legs, then they tie sticks round it, give him plenty of camel’s milk,

and he is well in a month;” a speech which made friend S. groan in spirit.

Firing and clarified butter are the farrier’s panaceas. Camels are cured by

sheep’s head broth, asses by chopping one ear, mules by cutting off the tail,

and horses by ghee or a drench of melted fat.

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