Chapter IX
HARAR--THE MOSLEM ABYSSINIA--THE TIMBUCTOO OF EAST AFRICA, THE EXPLORATION OF WHICH HAD BEEN ATTEMPTED IN VAIN BY SOME THIRTY TRAVELLLERS.
Richard returned up the Red Sea to Egypt, and much enjoyed the rest and safety for a short time, and then returned to Bombay, his leave being up; but the wandering fever was still upon him, and as the most difficult place for a white man to enter was Harar, in Somali-land, Abyssinia, he determined that that should be his object. It is inhabited by a very dangerous race to deal with, and no white man had ever penetrated to Harar. The first white man who went to Abyssinia was kept prisoner till he died. The East India Company had long wished to explore it, because Berberah, the chief port of Somali-land, is the safest and best harbour on the western side of the Indian Ocean--far better than Aden. They went to work with that strange mixture of caution and generosity with which they treated those of their servants who stepped out of what Richard calls their "quarter-deck" routine, that is, to let him go as a private traveller, and the Government to give him no protection, but would allow him to retain the same pay that he would enjoy whilst on leave. Dr. Carter and others refused to do more than to coast along in a cruiser.
Richard applied for Lieutenant Herne, of the 1st Bombay Fusiliers, Lieutenant Stroyan, Indian Navy, and Lieutenant Speke, 46th Bengal Native Infantry. Herne was distinguished by his surveys, photography, and mechanics on the west coast of India, in Scinde, and on the Punjaub rivers; Stroyan as amateur surveyor; and Speke, collector of the Fauna of Tibet and the Himalayas and sportsman. Assistant-Surgeon Ellerton Stocks, botanist, traveller, and a first-rate man in all ways, died before the expedition started.
Jealousy, as usual, immediately rose up in opposition. First, Sir James Outram, Political Resident at Aden, called it a tempting of Providence, and Dr. Buist, the editor of the Bombay Times, was told to run down the Somali Expedition, in which task he was assisted by the unpopular chaplain. This was not very gratifying to four high-spirited men; so, instead of using Berberah as a base of operations, then westward to Harar, and then south-east to Zanzibar, the Resident changed the whole scheme and made it fail. Herne was to go to Berberah, where he was joined later by Stroyan. Speke was to land in a small harbour called Bunder Guray, and to trace the watershed of the Wady Nogal, to buy horses and camels, and collect red earth with gold in it; but his little expedition failed through his guide's treachery. Herne and Stroyan succeeded. Richard reserved for himself the post of danger. Harar was as difficult to enter as Mecca. It is the southernmost masonry-built settlement in North Equatorial Africa. He would go as an Arab merchant. Harar had never been visited, has its own language, its own unique history and traditions. The language was unwritten, but he wrote a grammar, and a vocabulary in which the etymology is given, and there he had enough savage anthropology to interest him. He writes--
"In the first place, Berberah is the true key of the Red Sea, the centre of East African traffic, and the only safe place for shipping upon the Western Erythræan shore, from Suez to Guardafui, backed by lands capable of cultivation, and by hills covered with pine and other valuable trees, enjoying a comparatively temperate climate, with a regular, though thin monsoon. This harbour has been coveted by many a foreign conqueror. Circumstances have thrown it into our arms, and if we refuse a chance, another and a rival nation will not be so blind. [We have since given it away, and kept the far inferior Aden.] We are bound to protect the lives of subjects on this coast. In 1825 the crew of the Mary Ann brig was treacherously murdered by the Somal. They continued in that state, and if to-morrow a Peninsular and Oriental Company steamer by any chance fell into their power, it would be the same history. Harar, scarcely three hundred miles distance from Aden, is a counterpart of the ill-famed Timbuctoo. A tradition exists that with the entrance of the first Christian, Harar will fall. All therefore who have attempted it were murdered. It was therefore a point of honour with me to utilize my title of Haji, by entering this City, visiting its Ruler, and returning in safety, after breaking the Guardian's spell."
[Sidenote: He starts for Harar in Somali-land.]
This exploration of Harar was one of Richard's most splendid and dangerous expeditions, and, for some reason or other, the least known; the reason being, as I think, that his pilgrimage to Mecca was still making a great noise, and that the Crimean War had cropped up, deadening the interest in all personal adventure. He therefore thought himself fortunate in being able to persuade Lord Elphinstone, Governor of Bombay, to patronize an expedition into Somali-land.
He was away four months. The journey was useful; at least, it has proved so to the Egyptians, to the English, and now to the Italians. He sailed away, leaving Herne, Stroyan, and Speke, each engaged on his respective work, and arrived at Zayla.
"My ship companions," he writes, "were the wildest of the wild, and as we came into port Zayla a barque came up to give us the bad news. Friendship between the Amir of Harar and the Governor of Zayla had been broken; the road through the Eesa Somal had been closed by the murder of Masúd, a favourite slave and adopted son of Sharmarkay; all strangers had been expelled the City for some misconduct by the Harar chief; moreover, small-pox was raging there with such violence that the Galla peasantry would allow neither ingress nor egress. The tide was out, and we waded a quarter of a mile amongst giant crabs, who showed gristly claws, sharp coralline, and seaweed so thick as to become almost like a mat. In the shallower pacts the sun was painfully hot even to my well-tried feet. I was taken immediately to the Governor at Zayla, a fellow Haji, who gave me hospitality.
"The well-known sounds of El Islam returned from memory. Again the melodious chant of the muezzin--no evening bell can compare with it for solemnity and beauty--and in the neighbouring Mosque, the loudly intoned 'Amin' and 'Allaho Akbar,' far superior to any organ, rang in my ear. The evening gun of camp was represented by the nakkarah, or kettle-drum, which sounded about seven p.m. at the southern Gate; and at ten a second drumming warned the paterfamilias that it was time for home, and thieves and lovers, that it was the hour for bastinado. Nightfall was ushered in by the song, the dance, and the marriage festival--here no permission is required for 'native music in the lines'--and muffled figures flitted mysteriously through the dark alleys.
* * * * *
"After a peep through the open window, I fell asleep, feeling once more at home.
[Sidenote: Preparations at Zayla.]
"I was too much of an Arab to weary of the endless preparations for forming a caravan. I used to provide myself with a Korán and sit receiving visitors, and would occasionally go into the Mosque, my servant carrying the prayer carpet, three hundred pair of eyes staring at me, and after reciting the customary two-bow prayer, in honour of the Mosque, I would place a sword and rosary before me, and, taking the Korán, read the cow-chapter, No. 18, in a loud and twanging voice. This is the character I adopted. 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 tradesmen, 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 seignior, with rosary in hand and Korán 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 eyes seeth it not'--'the earth is a charnel-house;' briefly, his many old saws give him a kind of theoretical consciousness that his bones may moulder in other places but his fatherland.
"For half a generation we have been masters of Aden, filling Southern Arabia with our calicos and rupees--what is the present state of affairs there? We are dared by the Bedouins to come forth from behind our stone walls and fight like men in the plain,--British protégés are slaughtered within the range of our guns,--our allies' villages have been burned in sight of Aden,--our deserters are welcomed and our fugitive felons protected,--our supplies are cut off, and the garrison is reduced to extreme distress, at the word of a half-naked bandit,--the miscreant Bhagi, who murdered Captain Mylne in cold blood, still roams the hills unpunished,--gross insults are the sole acknowledgements of our peaceful overtures,--the British flag has been fired upon without return, our cruisers being ordered to act only on the defensive,--and our forbearance to attack is universally asserted and believed to arise from mere cowardice. Such is, and such will be, the opinion and the character of the Arab!
"I stayed here for twenty-six days, rising at dawn; then went to the Terrace to perform my devotions, and make observation of my neighbours; breakfast at six, then coffee, pipe, and a nap; then receive visitors, who come by dozens with nothing to do or say. When they were only Somal, I wrote Arabic, or extracted from some useful book. When Arabs were there, I would recite tales from the 'Arabian Nights,' to their great delight. At eleven, dinner, more coffee and pipes; then the natives would go to sleep, and I wrote my journals and studies. At about two p.m. more visitors would come, and at sunset again to the Terrace, or walk to a mosque, where games are going on, or stroll to a camp of Bedawi. The Gates are locked at sunset, and the keys are carried to the Haji. It is not safe to be without the City later. Then comes supper.
"After it we repair to the roof to enjoy the prospect of the far Tajarrah Hills and the white moonbeams sleeping upon the nearer sea. The evening star hangs like a diamond upon the still horizon; around the moon a pink zone of light mist, shading off into turquoise blue and a delicate green-like chrysopraz, invests the heavens with a peculiar charm. The scene is truly suggestive; behind us, purpling in the night air and silvered by the radiance from above, lie the wolds and mountains tenanted by the fiercest of savages, their shadowy mysterious forms exciting vague alarms in the traveller's breast. Sweet as the harp of David, the night-breeze and the music of the water comes up from the sea; but the ripple and the rustling sound alternate with the hyæna's laugh, and the jackal's cry, and the wild dog's lengthened howl.
[Sidenote: Desert Journey.]
"This journey, which occupied nearly four months, was to be through a savage, treacherous, ferocious, and bloodthirsty people, whose tribes were in a constant state of blood-feud. The party consisted of nine, an abban or guide, three Arab matchlock men, two women cooks, who were called Shehrazade and Deenarzade after the 'Arabian Nights,' a fourth servant, and a Bedawin woman to drive a donkey, which camels will follow and which is the custom. We had four or five mules, saddled and bridled, and camels for the baggage. Every one wept over us, and considered us dead men. The abban objected to some routes on account of avoiding tribes with which he had a blood-feud."
This was, as I have said, far the most dangerous of Richard's explorations, quite as difficult as Mecca, and far more difficult than anything Stanley has ever done, with his advantages of men, money, and luxuries. The women seemed to be much hardier than the men; they carried the pipe and tobacco, led the camels, adjusted the burdens, at the halt unloaded the cattle, disposed the baggage, covered them with a mat tent, cooked the food, made tea and coffee, and bivouacked outside the tent.
He writes--
"The air was fresh and clear; and the night breeze was delicious after the stormy breath of day. The weary confinement of walls made the weary 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 the 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 description of the journey is filled in his notes by being hindered and almost captured by Bedawi, lamed with thorns, the camels casting themselves down from fatigue, famishing from hunger, and, worse, from thirst--the only water being sulphurous, which affected both man and beast--and attacks from lions, sleep being disturbed by large ants, three-quarters of an inch long, with venomous stings. Everywhere they went, everybody wept over them, as dead men. He finds time, nevertheless, to remark, that at the height of 3350 feet he found a buttercup and heard a woodpecker tapping, that reminded him of home. He describes a sham attack of twelve Bedawi, who, when they saw what his revolver could do, said they were only in fun.
At one of the kraals he gives an account of how, being surrounded by Somals, they were boasting of their shooting, and of the skill with which they used the shield, but they seemed not to understand the proper use of the sword.
"Thinking it was well to impress them with the superiority of arms, I requested them to put up one of their shields as a mark. They laughed very much, but would not comply. The Somal hate a vulture, because it eats the dead and dying; so, seeing a large brown bare-necked vulture at twenty paces distance, I shot it with my revolver; then I loaded a gun with swan-shot, which they had never seen, and, aiming at a bird that they considered far out of gunshot distance, I knocked it over flying. Fresh screams followed this marvellous feat, and they said, 'Lo! he bringeth down the birds from heaven.' Their Chief, putting his forefinger in his mouth, praised Allah, and prayed to be defended from such a calamity; and always after, when they saw me approach, they said, 'Here comes the Shaykh who knows knowledge.' I then gave a stick to the best man; I provided myself in the same way, and allowed him to cut at me as much as ever he liked, easily warding off the blows with a parry. After repeated failures, and tiring himself enormously, he received a sounding blow from me upon the least bony part of his person. The crowd laughed long and loud, and the knight-at-arms retired in confusion.
"Every now and then we got into difficulties with the Bedawi, who would not allow us to proceed, declaring the land was theirs. We did not deny the claim, but I threatened sorcery, death, and wild beasts, and foraging parties to their camels, children, and women. It generally brought them to their senses. They would spit on us for good luck, and let us depart. Once a Chief was smitten by Shehrazade's bulky charms, and wanted to carry her off. Once in the evening we came upon the fresh trail of a large Habr Awal cavalcade, which frightened my companions dreadfully. We were only nine men and two women, to contend against two hundred horsemen, and all, except the Hammal and Long Guled, would have run away at the first charge. The worst of the ride was over rough and stony road, the thorns tearing their feet and naked legs, and the camels slipping over the rounded pebbles.
"The joy of coming to a kraal was great, where the Chiefs of the village appeared, bringing soft speech, sweet water, new milk, fat sheep and goats, for a tobe of Cutch canvas. We passed a quiet, luxurious day of coffee and pipes, fresh cream and roasted mutton. After the great heats and dangers from horsemen on the plain, we enjoyed the cool breeze of the hills, cloudy skies, and the verdure of the glades which refreshed our beasts. Here I shot a few hawks, and was rewarded with loud exclamations of 'Allah preserve thy hand! may thy skill never fail thee before the foe.' A woman ran away from my steam kettle, thinking it was a weapon. They looked upon my sunburnt skin with a favour they denied to the lime-white face. The Somali Bedawi gradually affiliated me to their tribes.
"At one village the people rushed out, exclaiming, 'Lo! let us look at the Kings;' at others, 'Come and see the white man; he is the Governor of Zayla.' My fairness (for, brown as I am, I am fair to them) and the Arab dress made me sometimes the ruler of Aden, the Chief of Zayla, the Haji's son, a boy, an old woman, a man painted white, a warrior in silver armour, a merchant, a pilgrim, a head priest, Ahmed the Indian, a Turk, an Egyptian, a Frenchman, a Banyan, a Sheríf, and, lastly, a calamity sent down from heaven to weary out the lives of the Somal. Every kraal had its own conjecture.
"On December 9th, I rode a little off my way to visit some ruins, Darbíyah Kola, or Kola's Fort, so called on account of its Galla queen. There were once two cities, Aububah, and they fought like the Kilkenny cats till both were eaten up. This was about three hundred years ago, and the substantial ruins have fought a stern fight with Time.
"Remnants of houses cumber the soil, and the carefully built wells are filled with rubbish. The palace was pointed out to me, with its walls of stone and clay, intersected by layers of woodwork. The Mosque is a large, roofless building, containing twelve square pillars of rude masonry, and the mihrab, or prayer niche, is denoted by a circular arch of tolerable construction. But the voice of the muezzin is hushed for ever, and creepers now twine around the ruined fane. The scene was still and dreary as the grave; for a mile and a half in length all was ruins--ruins--ruins.
"Leaving this Dead City, we rode towards the south-west between two rugged hills. Topping the ridge, we stood for a few minutes to observe the view before us. Beneath our feet lay a long grassy plain--the sight must have gladdened the hearts of our starving mules--and for the first time in Africa horses appeared grazing free amongst the bushes. A little further off lay the Aylonda Valley, studded with graves and dark with verdure. Beyond it stretched the Wady Haráwwah, a long gloomy hollow in the general level. The background was a bold sweep of blue hill, the second gradient of the Harar line, and on its summit, closing the western horizon, lay a golden streak, the Marar Prairie. Already I felt at the end of my journey.
"It was not an unusual thing in the dusk to see a large animal following us with quick stealthy strides, and that I, sending a rifle ball as correctly as I could in the direction, put to flight a large lion.
"The nearer I got to Harar, the more I was stopped by parties of Gallas, and some went on to report evil of me, and many threats were uttered. The 'End of Time' in the last march turned tail. 'Dost thou believe me to be a coward, O Pilgrim?' 'Of a truth I do,' I answered. Nothing abashed, and with joy at his heart, he hammered his mule with his heel, and rode off, saying, 'What hath man but a single life, and he who throweth it away, what is he but a fool?'"
He gives a good account of elephant-hunting, but they did not get near any. The water was in some places so hard it raised lumps like nettle-stings, and they had to butter themselves. At one place the inhabitants flocked out to stare at them. He fired his rifle by way of salute over the head of the prettiest girl. The people, delighted, exclaimed, "Mod! Mod! honour to thee!" and he replied with shouts of "Kulliban! may Heaven aid thee!"
"When there is any danger a Somali watchman sings and addresses himself in dialogue, with different voices, to persuade thieves that several men are watching. Ours was a spectacle of wildness as he sat before the blazing fire. The 'End of Time' conceived the jocose idea of crowning me King of the country, with loud cries of 'Buh! Buh! Buh!' while showering leaves from a gum tree and water from a prayer-bottle over my head, and then with all solemnity bound on my turban. I was hindered and threatened in no end of places, and my companions threatened to desert me, saying, 'They will spoil that white skin of thine at Harar.' Still I pushed on. The Guda Birsi Bedawi number ten thousand spears.
"One night we came upon a sheet of bright blaze, a fire threatening the whole prairie.
"At last came the sign of leaving the Desert. The scene lifted, and we came to the second step of the Ethiopian highlands. In the midst of the valley beneath ran a serpentine of shining waters, the gladdest spectacle we had yet witnessed. Further in front, masses of hill rose abruptly from shady valleys, encircled on the far horizon by a straight blue line of ground resembling a distant sea. Behind us glared the desert. We had now reached the outskirts of civilization, where man, abandoning his flocks and herds, settles, cultivates, and attends to the comforts of life.
"We saw fields, with lanes between, the daisy, the thistle, and the sweet-briar, settled villages, surrounded by strong abatis of thorns, which stud the hills everywhere, clumps of trees, to which the beehives are hung, and yellow crops of holcus, or grain. The Harvest-Home-song sounded pleasant to my ears, and, contrasting with the silent desert, the hum of man's habitation was music. They flocked out to gaze upon us, unarmed, and welcomed us. We bathed in the waters, on whose banks were a multitude of huge Mantidæ, pink and tender green. I now had ample time to see the manners and customs of the settled Somali, as I was conducted to the cottage of the Gerad's pretty wife, and learned the home, and the day, and the food. They spoke Harari, Somali, Galla, Arabic, and dialects. My kettle seems to have created surprise everywhere.
"Here the last preparations were made for entering this dreadful City. All my people, and my camels, and most of my goods, had to be left here for the return journey, and it was the duty of this Chief (Gerad) to accompany me. I happened to hear one of them say, 'Of what use is his gun? Before he could fetch fire I should put this arrow through him.' I wheeled round, and discharged a barrel over their heads, which threw them into convulsions of terror. The man I had now to depend upon was Adan bin Kaushan, a strong wiry Bedawin. He was tricky, ambitious, greedy of gain, fickle, restless, and treacherous, a cunning idiot, always so difficult to deal with. His sister was married to the father of the Amir of Harar, but he said, 'He would as soon walk into a crocodile's mouth as go into the walls of Harar.' He received a sword, a Korán, a turban, an Arab waistcoat of gaudy satin, about seventy tobes, and a similar proportion of indigo-dyed stuff--he privily complained to me that the Hammal had given him but twelve cloths. A list of his wants will best explain the man. He begged me to bring him from Berberah a silver-hilted sword and some soap, one thousand dollars, two sets of silver bracelets, twenty guns with powder and shot, snuff, a scarlet cloth coat embroidered with gold, some poison that would not fail, and any other little article of luxury which might be supposed to suit him. In return he was to present me with horses, mules, slaves, ivory, and other valuables: he forgot, however, to do so before he departed.
"Whilst we were discussing the project, and getting on satisfactorily, five strangers well mounted rode in. Two were citizens, and three were Habr Awal Bedawi, high in the Amir's confidence; they had been sent to settle blood-money with Adan. They then told him that I, the Arab, was not one who bought and sold, but a spy; that I and my party should be sent prisoners to Harar. Adan would not give us up, falsely promising to present our salaams to the Amir. When they were gone he told me how afraid he was, and that it was impossible for him to conduct me to the City. I then relied upon what has made many a small man Great, my good star and audacity.
"Driven to bay, I wrote an English letter from the Political Agent at Aden, to the Amir of Harar, intending to deliver it in person; it was 'neck or nothing.' I only took what was necessary, Sherwa the son of Adan, the Bedawi Actidon and Mad Said, and left everything behind me, excepting some presents for the Amir, a change of clothes, an Arab book or two, a few biscuits, ammunition, and a little tobacco. I passed through a lovely country, was stopped by the Gallas, and by the Habr Awal Bedawi, who offered, if we could wait till sunrise, to take us into the City; so I returned a polite answer, leading them to expect that I should wait till eight a.m. for them. I left my journals, sketches, and books in charge of Adan.
[Sidenote: He enters the City in Triumph.]
"The journey was hard, and I encountered a Harar Grandee, mounted upon a handsomely caparisoned mule, and attended by servants. He was very courteous, and, seeing me thirsty, ordered me a cup of water. Finally arriving, at the crest of a hill, stood the City--the end of my present travel--a long, sombre line, strikingly contrasting with the white-washed towns of the East. The spectacle, materially speaking, was a disappointment; nothing conspicuous appeared but two grey minarets of rude shape; many would have grudged exposing three lives to win so paltry a prize. But of all that have attempted it, none ever succeeded in entering that pile of stones; the thoroughbred traveller will understand my exultation, although my two companions exchanged glances of wonder. Stopping while my companions bathed, I retired to the wayside and sketched the town. We arrived at three p.m., and advancing to the gate, Mad Said accosted a warder whom he knew, sent our salaams to the Amir, saying we came from Aden, and requested the honour of audience. The Habr Awal collected round me inside the town, and scowling, inquired why we had not apprised them of our intention of entering the City; but it was 'war to the knife,' and I did not deign to answer.
TEN DAYS AT HARAR--THE MOST EXCITING TRIAL OF ALL.
"We were kept waiting half an hour, and were told by the warder to pass the threshold. Long Guled gave his animal to the two Bedawi, every one advising my attendants to escape with the beasts, as we were going to be killed, on the road to this African St. James. We were ordered to run, but we leisurely led our mules in spite of the guide's wrath, entered the gate, and strolled down the yard, which was full of Gallas with spears, and the waiting gave me an opportunity to inspect the place. I walked into a vast hall, a hundred feet long, between two long rows of Galla spearmen, between whose lines I had to pass. They were large half-naked savages, standing like statues, with fierce movable eyes, each one holding, with its butt end on the ground, a huge spear, with a head the size of a shovel. I purposely sauntered down them coolly with a swagger, with my eyes fixed upon their dangerous-looking faces. I had a six-shooter concealed in my waist-belt, and determined, at the first show of excitement, to run up to the Amir, and put it to his head, if it were necessary, to save my own life.
[Sidenote: Interview with the Amir.]
"The Amir was like a little Indian Rajah, an etiolated youth about twenty-four or twenty-five years old, plain, thin bearded, with a yellow complexion, wrinkled brows, and protruding eyes. His dress was a flowing robe of crimson cloth, edged with snowy fur, and a narrow white turban tightly twisted round a tall conical cap of red velvet, like the old Turkish headgear of our painters. His throne was a common Indian kursi, or raised cot, about five feet long, with back and sides supported by a dwarf railing; being an invalid, he rested his elbow upon a pillow, under which appeared the hilt of a Cutch sabre. Ranged in double line, perpendicular to the Amir, stood the 'Court,' his cousins and nearest relations, with right arms bared after the fashion of Abyssinia.
"I entered this second avenue of Galla spearsmen with a loud 'Peace be upon ye!' to which H.H. replying graciously, and extending a hand, bony and yellow as a kite's claw, snapped his thumb and middle finger. Two chamberlains stepping forward, held my forearms, and assisted me to bend low over the fingers, which, however, I did not kiss, being naturally averse to performing that operation upon any but a woman's hand. My two servants then took their turn: in this case, after the back was saluted, the palm was presented for a repetition.[1] These preliminaries concluded, we were led to, and seated upon a mat in front of the Amir, who directed towards us a frowning brow and an inquisitive eye.
"I made some inquiries about the Amir's health: he shook his head captiously, and inquired our errand. I drew from my pocket my own letter: it was carried by a chamberlain, with hands veiled in his tobe, to the Amir, who, after a brief glance, laid it upon the couch, and demanded further explanation. I then represented in Arabic that we had come from Aden, bearing the compliments of our Daulah, or Governor, and that we had entered Harar to see the light of H.H.'s countenance: this information concluded with a little speech describing the changes of Political Agents in Arabia, and alluding to the friendship formerly existing between the English and the deceased Chief Abubakr.
"The Amir smiled graciously.
"This smile, I must own, was a relief. We had been prepared for the worst, and the aspect of affairs in the Palace was by no means reassuring.
"Whispering to his Treasurer, a little ugly man with a baldly shaven head, coarse features, pug nose, angry eyes, and stubbly beard, the Amir made a sign for us to retire. The baisé main was repeated, and we backed out of the audience-shed in high favour. According to grandiloquent Bruce, 'the Court of London and that of Abyssinia are, in their principles, one;' the loiterers in the Harar palace-yard, who had before regarded us with cut-throat looks, now smiled as though they loved us. Marshalled by the guard, we issued from the precincts, and, after walking a hundred yards, entered the Amir's second palace, which we were told to consider our home. There we found the Bedawi, who, scarcely believing that we had escaped alive, grinned in the joy of their hearts, and we were at once provided from the Chief's kitchen with a dish of shabta, holcus cakes soaked in sour milk, and thickly powdered with red pepper, the salt of this inland region.
"When we had eaten, the Treasurer reappeared, bearing the Amir's command that we should call upon his Wazir, the Gerad Mohammad. We found a venerable old man, whose benevolent countenance belied the reports current about him in Somali-land. Half rising, although his wrinkled brow showed suffering, he seated me by his side upon the carpeted masonry-bench, where lay the implements of his craft--reeds, inkstands, and whitewashed boards for paper--politely welcomed me, and, gravely stroking his cotton-coloured beard, desired to know my object in good Arabic.
"I replied almost in the words used to the Amir, adding, however, some details, how in the old day one Madar Faríh had been charged by the late Sultan Abubakr with a present to the Governor of Aden, and that it was the wish of our people to re-establish friendly relations and commercial intercourse with Harar.
"'Khayr Inshallah! it is well, if Allah please!' ejaculated the Gerad. I then bent over his hand, and took leave.
"Returning, we inquired anxiously of the Treasurer about my servants' arms, which had not been returned, and were assured that they had been placed in the safest of storehouses, the Palace. I then sent a common six-barrelled revolver as a present to the Amir, explaining its use to the bearer, and we prepared to make ourselves as comfortable as possible. The interior of our new house was a clean room, with plain walls, and a floor of tamped earth; opposite the entrance were two broad steps of masonry, raised about two feet, and a yard above the ground, and covered with hard matting. I contrived to make upon the higher ledge a bed with the cushions which my companions used as shabracques, and after seeing the mules fed and tethered, lay down to rest, worn out by fatigue and profoundly impressed with the poésie of our position. I was under the roof of a bigoted prince whose least word was death; amongst a people who detest foreigners; the only European that had ever passed over their inhospitable threshold; and, more than that, I was the fated instrument of their future downfall."
He gives a very detailed account of the City of Harar, its inhabitants, and all he saw during his ten days there, for which I refer people to "First Footsteps in East Africa," one large volume, 1856. He says--
"The explorer must frequently rest satisfied with descrying from his Pisgah, the knowledge which another more fortunate is destined to acquire. Inside Harar, I was so closely watched, that it was impossible to put pen to paper. It was only when I got back to Wilensi that I hastily collected the grammatical forms, and a vocabulary which proves that the language is not Arabic; that it has an affinity with the Amharic. Harar has its own tongue, unintelligible to any save the citizens. Its little population of eight thousand souls is a distinct race. A common proverb is, 'Hard as the heart of Harar.' They are extremely bigoted, especially against Christians, and are fond of a religious war, or jehád, with the Gallas. They hold foreigners in hate and contempt, and divide them into two classes, Arabs and Somal.
"The Somals say that the State dungeon is beneath the palace, and that he who once enters it lives with unkempt beard and untrimmed nails till the day when death sets him free. There is nothing more terrible; the captive is heavily ironed, lies in a filthy dungeon, and receives no food, except what he can obtain from his own family, or buy or beg from his guards. The Amir has bad health; I considered him consumptive. It is something in my favour that, as soon as I departed, he wrote to the acting Political Resident at Aden, earnestly begging to be supplied with a Frank physician, and offering protection to any European who might be persuaded to visit his dominions. His rule was severe, if not just, and it has all the prestige of secrecy. Even the Gerad Mohammad, even the Queen Dowager, are threatened with fetters if they offer uncalled-for advice. His principal occupation is spying his many stalwart cousins, indulging in vain fears of the English and the Turks, amassing treasure by commerce and cheating.
"The Amir Ahmed is alive to the fact that some State should hedge in a Prince. Neither weapons nor rosaries are allowed in his presence; a chamberlain's robe acts as spittoon; whenever anything is given to or taken from him his hand must be kissed; even on horseback two attendants fan him with the hems of their garments. Except when engaged on the Haronic visits, which he, like his father, pays to the streets and byways at night, he is always surrounded by a strong body-guard. He rides to Mosque escorted by a dozen horsemen, and a score of footmen with guns and whips precede him; by his side walks an officer, shading him with a huge and heavily fringed red-satin umbrella--from India to Abyssinia the sign of princely dignity. Even at his prayers, two or three chosen matchlockmen stand over him with lighted fusees. When he rides forth in public, he is escorted by a party of fifty men; the running footmen crack their whips and shout, 'Let! Let!' (Go! go!), and the citizens avoid stripes by retreating into the nearest house, or running into another street.
[Sidenote: Has Great Success.]
"Immediately on our arrival we were called upon by all sorts of Arabs; they were very civil to me at first, but when the Amir ceased to send for me, just as at civilized Courts, they prudently cut me. The moment the Amir sent for me, my Habr Awal enemies, seeing the tide of fortune setting in my favour, changed their tactics, and proposed themselves as my escort to return to Berberah, which I politely refused. They did me all the harm they could, but my good star triumphed. After one day's rest, I was summoned to wait upon the Gerad Mohammad, who was Prime Minister. Sword in hand, and, followed by my two attendants, I walked to the Palace, and found him surrounded by six counsellors; they were eating jat, which has somewhat the effect of hashish.
"He sat me by his right hand on the dais, where I ate jat, being, fortunately, used to these things, and fingered the rosary. Then followed prayer, and then a theological discussion, in which, fortunately, I was able to distinguish myself. My theology won general approbation and kind glances from the elders. In a very short time I was sent for by the Amir, and this time was allowed to approach the outer door with covered feet. I entered as ceremoniously as before, and the prince motioned me to sit near the Gerad, on a Persian rug to the right of the throne; my attendants on humble mats at a greater distance. After sundry inquiries of what was going on at Aden, the Resident's letter was suddenly produced by the Amir, who bade me explain its contents, and wished to know if it was my intention to buy and sell at Harar. I replied, 'We are neither buyers nor sellers; we have become your guests to pay our respects to the Amir, who may Allah preserve, and that the friendship between the two Powers may endure.' The Amir was pleased, and I therefore ventured to hope that the Prince would soon permit me to return, as the air of Harar was too dry for me, and that we were in danger of small-pox, then raging in the town, and through the Gerad, the Amir said, 'The reply will be vouchsafed,' and the interview was over.
"I sent my salaam to one of the Ulema, Shaykh Jámi; he accepted the excuse of health and came to see me. He was remarkably well read in the religious sciences, and a great man at Mecca, with much influence with the Sultan, and employed on political Missions amongst the Chiefs. He started with the intention of winning the Crown of Glory by murdering the British Resident at Aden, but he was so struck with the order of justice of our rule, he offered El Islam to that officer, who received it so urbanely, that the simple Eastern, instead of cutting the Kaffir's throat, began to pray fervently for his conversion. We were kindly looked upon by a sick and decrepid eunuch, named Sultán. I used to spend my evenings preaching to the Gallas.
[Sidenote: Damaging Reports.]
"The Gerad Mohammad was now worked upon by the Habr Awal, my enemies, to make inquiries about me, and one of the Ayyal Gedíd clan came up and reported that three brothers[2] had landed in the Somal country, that two of them were anxiously waiting at Berberah the return of the fourth from Harar, and that, though dressed like Moslems, they were really English spies in Government employ, and orders were issued for cutting off Caravans. We, however, were summoned to the Gerad's, where, fortunately for me, I found him suffering badly from bronchitis. I saw my chance. I related to him all its symptoms, and told him that if I could only get down to Aden, I could send him all the right remedies, with directions. He clung to the hope of escaping his sufferings, and begged me to lose no time. Presently the Amir sent for him, and in a few minutes I was sent for alone. A long conversation ensued about the state of Aden, of Zayla, of Berberah, and of Stamboul. The Chief put a variety of questions about Arabia, and every object there; the answer was that the necessity of commerce, confined us to the gloomy rock Aden. He used some obliging expressions about desiring our friendship, and having considerable respect for a people who built, he understood, large ships. I took the opportunity of praising Harar in cautious phrase, and especially of regretting that its coffee was not better known amongst the Franks. The small wizen-faced man smiled, as Moslems say, the smile of Umar;[3] seeing his brow relax for the first time, I told him that, being now restored to health, we requested his commands for Aden. He signified consent with a nod, and the Gerad, with many compliments, gave me a letter addressed to the Political Resident, and requested me to take charge of a mule as a present. I then arose, recited a short prayer, the gist of which was that the Amir's days and reign might be long in the land, and that the faces of his foes might be blackened here and hereafter, bent over his hand, and retired. Returning to the Gerad's levée-hut, I saw by the countenances of my two attendants that they were not a little anxious about the interview, and comforted them with the whispered word, 'Achha!' (all right!)
"Presently appeared the Gerad, accompanied by two men, who brought my servants' arms, and the revolver which I had sent to the prince. This was a contretemps. It was clearly impossible to take back the present; besides which, I suspected some finesse to discover my feelings towards him. The other course would ensure delay. I told the Gerad that the weapon was intended especially to preserve the Amir's life, and, for further effect, snapped caps in rapid succession, to the infinite terror of the august company. The Minister returned to his Master, and soon brought back the information that, after a day or two, another mule should be given to me. With suitable acknowledgments we arose, blessed the Gerad, bade adieu to the assembly, and departed joyful; the Hammal, in his glee, speaking broken English, even in the Amir's courtyard.
"Shaykh Jámi was rendered joyful by the news he told me when I arrived; he had been informed that in the Town was a man who had brought down the birds from heaven, and the citizens had been thrown into a great excitement by my probable intentions. One of the principal Ulema, and a distinguished Haji, had been dreaming dreams in my favour, and sent their salaams. My long residence in the East had made me grateful to the learned, whose influence over the people, when unbiased by bigotry, is for the good. On January 11th, I was sent for by the Gerad, and given the second mule; he begged me not to forget his remedies as soon as I reached Aden, and I told him that I would start on the morrow. I scarcely had got in, when there were heavy showers and thunder. When I got up to mount early on Friday morning, of course a mule had strayed; then Shaykh Jámi would not go till Monday. Now, as I had been absent from my goods and chattels a whole fortnight, as the people at Harar are immensely fickle, as you never know the moment that the Amir may change his mind, for all African Cities are prisons on a large scale--you enter by your own will, but you leave by another's--I longed to start; however, the storms warned me to be patient, and I deterred my departure till next morning.
[Sidenote: He leaves Harar safely.]
"Long before dawn on Saturday, January 13th, the mules were saddled, bridled, and charged with our scanty luggage. After a hasty breakfast we shook hands with old Sultán, the eunuch, mounted and pricked through the desert streets. Suddenly my weakness and sickness left me--so potent a drug is joy--and, as we passed the Gates, loudly salaaming to the warders, who were crouching over the fire inside, a weight of care and anxiety fell from me like a cloak of lead.
"Yet I had time, on the top of my mule, for musing upon how melancholy a thing is Success. Whilst failure inspirits a man, attainment reads the sad prosy lesson that all our glories
'Are shadows, not substantial things.'
Truly said the sayer, 'Disappointment is the salt of life'--a salutary bitter which strengthens the mind for fresh exertion, and gives a double value to the prize.
"This shade of melancholy soon passed away. We made in a direct line for Kondura. At one p.m. we safely threaded the Gallas' pass, and about an hour afterwards we exclaimed, 'Alhamdulillah,' at the sight of Sagharrah and the distant Marar Prairie. Entering the village, we discharged our firearms. The men gave cordial poignées de mains--some danced with joy to see us return alive; they had heard of our being imprisoned, bastinadoed, slaughtered; they swore that the Gerad was raising an army to rescue or revenge us--in fact, had we been their kinsmen, more excitement could not have been displayed. Lastly, in true humility, crept forward the "End of Time," who, as he kissed my hand, was upon the point of tears.
"A pleasant evening was spent in recounting our perils, as travellers will do, and complimenting one another upon the power of our star.
"At eight next morning we rode to Wilensi, and as we approached, all the villagers and wayfarers inquired if we were the party that had been put to death by the Amir of Harar.
"Loud congratulations and shouts of joy awaited our arrival. The Kalendar was in a paroxysm of delight; both Shehrazade and Deenarzade were affected with giggling and what might be blushing. We reviewed our property and found that the One-eyed had been a faithful steward, so faithful indeed that he had wellnigh starved the two women. Presently appeared the Gerad and his sons, bringing with them my books; the former was at once invested with a gaudy Abyssinian tobe of many colours, in which he sallied forth from the cottage the admired of all admirers. The pretty wife, Sudíyah, and the good Khayrah were made happy by sundry gifts of huge Birmingham ear-rings, brooches and bracelets, scissors, needles, and thread. The evening as usual ended in a feast.
"We were obliged to halt a week at Wilensi to feed, for both man and beast to lay in a stock of strength for the long desert march before us, to buy onions, tobacco, spices, wooden platters, and a sort of bread called karanji. Here I made my grammar and vocabulary of the Harari tongue, under the supervision of Mad Said and Ali the poet, a Somali educated at Harar, who knew Arabic, Somali, Galla, and Harar languages.
"On January 21st I wanted to start, but Shaykh Jámi appeared with all the incurables of the country. Nobody can form an idea of the difficulties that an Eastern will put in your way when you want to start, and unfortunately in nine cases out of ten the ruses they have resort to, do prevent your starting. Now, in this case, I decided that talismans were the best and safest medicines in these mountains. The Shaykh doubted them, but when I exhibited my diploma as a Master-Sufi, a new light broke in upon him and his attendants. 'Verily he hath declared himself this day!' whispered each to his neighbour, sorely mystified. Shaykh Jámi carefully inspected the document, raised it reverently to his forehead, muttered prayers, and owned himself my pupil.
[Sidenote: A Fearful Desert Journey.]
"Now, however, all my followers had got some reason why they could not go, so I sauntered out alone, attended only by the Hammal, and, in spite of the Chief summoning me to halt, I took an abrupt leave and went off, and entered the Marar Prairie with pleasure. The truants joined us later on, and we met a party whose Chief, a Somali, expressed astonishment at our escaping from Harar, told us that the Berberi were incensed with us for leaving the direct road, advised us to push on that night, to 'ware the bush, whence the Midjans would use their poisoned arrows. The Berberi had offered a hundred cows for our person dead or alive. Then my party sat down to debate; they palavered for three hours. They said that the camels could not walk, that the cold of the prairies was death to man, till darkness came on. Experience had taught me that it was waste of time to debate overnight about dangers to be faced next day, so I ate my dates, drank my milk, and lay down to enjoy sweet sleep in the tranquil silence of the desert. Although I did not know it till after my return from Berberah, Gerad Adan was my greatest danger. If his plotting had succeeded it would have cost him dear, but would also have proved fatal to me. The 23rd of January passed in the same manner, and the explanation I had with my men was, that on the morrow at dawn I would cross the Marar Prairie by myself; and we started at dawn on the 24th, giving a wide berth to the Berberis, whose camp-fires were quite visible at a distance. As we were about to enter the lands of the Habr Awal, our enemies, a week would elapse before we could get protection. We had resolved to reach the coast within the fortnight, instead of which a month's march was in prospect. Suddenly Beuh appeared, and I proposed to him that he should escort the Caravans to Zayla, and that I and the two others who had accompanied me to Harar would mount our mules, only carrying arms and provisions for four days. I pushed through the land of our enemies the Habr Awal. In the land we were to traverse every man's spear would be against us, so I chose the desert roads, and carefully avoided all the kraals. It was with serious apprehension that I pocketed all my remaining provisions--five biscuits, a few limes, a few lumps of sugar. Any accident to our mules, any delay would starve us; we were traversing a desert where no one would sell us meat or milk, and only one water-bottle in the whole party.
[Sidenote: Want of Water.]
"We rode thirty-five miles over awful tracks. Our toil was rendered doubly dreadful by the Eastern traveller's dread--the demon of Thirst rode like Care behind us--for twenty-four hours we did not taste water, the sun parched our brains, the mirage mocked us at every turn, and the effect was a species of monomania. As I jogged along with eyes closed against the fiery air, no image unconnected with the want suggested itself. Water ever lay before me, water lying deep in the shady well, water in streams bubbling icy from the rock, water in pellucid lakes inviting me to plunge and revel in their treasures. Now an Indian cloud was showering upon me fluid more precious than molten pearl, then an invisible hand offered a bowl for which the mortal part would gladly have bartered years of life. Then--drear contrast!--I opened my eyes to a heat-reeking plain, and a sky of that eternal metallic blue so lovely to painter and poet, so blank and death-like to us, whose χαλον [Greek: chalon] was tempest, rain-storm, and the huge purple nimbus. I tried to talk--it was in vain; to sing--in vain; vainly to think; every idea was bound up in one subject--water.[4]
"As a rule, twelve hours without water in the desert during hot weather kill a man. We had another frightful journey to the next water. I never suffered severely from thirst but on this expedition; probably it was in consequence of being at the time but in weak health so soon after Mecca. A few more hours and the little party would have been food for the desert beasts. We were saved by a bird. When we had been thirty-six hours without water we could go no further, and we were prepared to die the worst of all deaths. The short twilight of the tropics was drawing in, I looked up and saw a katta, or sand-grouse, with its pigeon-like flight, making for the nearer hills. These birds must drink at least once a day, and generally towards evening, when they are safe to carry water in their bills to their young. I cried out, 'See, the katta! the katta!' All revived at once, took heart, and followed the bird, which suddenly plunged down about a hundred yards away, showing us a charming spring, a little shaft of water, about two feet in diameter, in a margin of green. We jumped from our saddles, and men and beasts plunged their heads into the water and drank till they could drink no more. I have never since shot a katta.
"With unspeakable delight, after another thirty hours, we saw in the distance a patch of lively green: our animals scented the blessing from afar, they raised their drooping ears, and started with us at a canter, till, turning a corner, we suddenly sighted sundry little wells. To spring from the saddle, to race with our mules, who now feared not the crumbling sides of the pits, to throw ourselves into the muddy pools, to drink a long slow draught, and to dash the water over our burning faces, took less time to do than to recount. A calmer inspection showed a necessity for caution; the surface was alive with tadpoles and insects: prudence, however, had little power at that time--we drank, and drank, and then drank again. As our mules had fallen with avidity upon the grass, I proposed to pass a few hours near the wells. My companions, however, pleading the old fear of lions, led the way before dark to a deserted kraal upon a neighbouring hill. We had marched this time about thirty hours eastward, and had entered a safe country belonging to the Bahgoba, our guide's clan.
"There is nothing so dreadful as crossing a country full of blocks and boulders piled upon one another in rugged steps, and it was such a ravine, the Splügen of Somali-land, that we had to dismount. To a laden camel it is almost impossible; the best-fed horses, mules, or asses, having to perform the work of goats instead of their own, are worn out by it after a few hours; and this was what I and my party had to do, and often the boulders were covered with thorns two inches long, tipped with wooden points as sharp as a needle. After three days of hard travelling in this way we saw the face of man--some shepherds, who fled at our approach. We then followed an undulating growth of parched grass, shaping our course for Jebel Almis, to sailors the chief landmark of this coast, and for a certain thin blue stripe on the far horizon,--the sea,--upon which we gazed with gladdened eyes. That night we arrived at a kraal, unsaddled, and began to make ourselves comfortable, when we found we had fallen upon the Ayyal Shirdon, our bitterest enemies. They asked, 'What tribe be ye?' I boldly answered, 'Of Habr Gerhagis.' Thereupon ensued a war of words; they rudely insisted on knowing what had taken us to Harar, when a warrior armed with two spears came forward, recognized the 'End of Time,' and they retired but spoke of fighting. So we made ready with our weapons and bade them come on; but while they were considering, we saddled our mules and rode off. We stopped at three villages, and the Hammal failed to obtain even a drop of water from his relations. It was most distressful, as men and beasts were faint from thirst, so I determined to push forward for water that night. Many times the animals stopped,--a mute hint that they could go no further;--but I pushed on, and the rest had learned to follow without a word. The moon arose, and still we tottered on. About midnight--delightful sound!--the murmur of the distant sea. Revived by the music, we pushed on more cheerily. At three in the morning we found some holes which supplied us with bitter water, truly delicious after fifteen hours' thirst. Repeated draughts of this element, and coarse stubbly grass, saved us and our mules. Rain came on, but we slept like the dead. At six, we resumed our march, going slowly along the seacoast, and at noon we were able to sit on the sands and bathe in the sea. Our beasts could hardly move, and slippery mud added to their troubles. At three p.m. we again got a patch of grass, and halted the animals to feed; and a mile further some wells, where we again rested them, watered them, finished our last mouthful of food, and prepared for a long night march.
[Sidenote: They reach Berberah--Join Speke, Herne, Stroyan.]
"We managed to pass all our enemies in the dark, and they cursed the star that had enabled us to slip unhurt through their hands. I was obliged to call a halt within four miles of Berberah; the animals could not move, neither could the men, except the Hammal and I, and they all fell fast asleep on the stones. As soon as we could go on, a long dark line appeared upon the sandy horizon, the silhouettes of shipping showing against sea and sky. A cry of joy burst from every mouth. 'Cheer, boys, cheer! our toils here touch their end.' The 'End of Time' still whispered anxiously lest enemies might arise; we wound slowly and cautiously round the southern portion of the sleeping town, through bone-heaps, and jackals tearing their unsavoury prey, straight into the quarter of the Ayyal Gedíd, our protectors. Anxiously I inquired if my comrades had left Berberah, and heard with delight that they were there. It was two o'clock in the morning, and we had marched forty miles.
"I dismounted at the huts where my comrades were living. A glad welcome, a dish of rice, and a glass of strong waters made amends for past privations and fatigue. The servants and the wretched mules were duly provided for, and I fell asleep, conscious of having performed a feat which, like a certain ride to York, will live in local annals for many and many a year.
"Great fatigue is seldom followed by long sleep. Soon after sunrise I woke, hearing loud voices, seeing masses of black faces, and tawny wigs. The Berberah people, who had been informed of our five-day ride, swore that the thing was impossible, that we had never, could never have been near Harar, but were astonished when they found it was true. I then proceeded to inspect my attendants and cattle. The former were delighted, having acquitted themselves of their trust; the poor mules were by no means so easily restored. Their backs were cut to the bone by the saddle, their heads drooped sadly, their hams showed dread marks of the spear-point. I directed them to be washed in the sea, to be dressed with cold-water bandages, and copiously fed. Through a broad gap, called Duss Malablay, appear in fine weather the granite walls of Wagar and Gulays, 5700 feet above the level of the sea. Lieutenant Herne found it would make an admirable sanitarium. The emporium of Eastern Africa has a salubrious climate, abundance of sweet water, a mild monsoon, a fine open country, an excellent harbour, a highly productive soil, is the meeting-place of commerce, has few rivals, and for half the money wasted on Aden, might have been covered with houses, gardens, and trees. My companions and I, after a day's rest, made some excursions. We had a few difficulties about our Abans, or protectors. We did not choose to be dictated to, so there was a general council of the elders. It took place upon the shore, each Chief forming a semicircle with his followers, all squatting on the sand, with shield and spear planted upright in the ground. I entered the circle sword in hand, and sat down in their midst. After much murmuring had gone on the Chief asked, in a loud voice, 'Who is thy protector?' The reply was, 'Burhale Nuh,' followed by an Arabic speech as long as an average sermon, and then, shouldering my blade, I left the circle abruptly. It was a success; they held a peace conference, and the olive waved over the braves of Berberah. On the 5th of February, 1855, I left my comrades pro tem., and went on board El Kásab, or the Reed, the ill-omened name of our cranky craft, and took with me the Hammal, Long Guled, and the 'End of Time,' who were in danger, and rejoiced at leaving Berberah with sound skins. I met with opposition at landing. I could not risk a quarrel so near Berberah, and was returning to moralize on the fate of Burckhardt--after a successful pilgrimage refused admittance to Aaron's tomb at Sinai--when a Bedawin ran to tell us that we might wander where we pleased.
[Sidenote: He sails for Aden.]
"The captain of the Reed drew off a great deal further than I ordered, and when I went down to go on board, the vessel was a mere speck upon the sea horizon. He managed to cast anchor at last, after driving his crazy craft through a bad sea. I stood on the shore making signs for a canoe, but he did not choose to see me till about one p.m. As soon as I found myself on quarter-deck--
"'Dawwír el farmán!' (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 rose, 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 famous 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 of February, 1855, we hove in sight of Jebel Shamsan, the loftiest peak on the Aden crater. And ere evening fell, I had the pleasure of seeing the faces of friends and comrades once more.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Returns with Forty Men.]
"If I had 'let well alone,' I should have done well; but I wanted to make a new expedition Nile-wards, viâ Harar, on a larger and more imposing scale. For that I went back to Aden. On April 7th, 1855, I returned successful. Lieutenant King, Indian Navy, commanded the gunboat Mahi, and entered the harbour of Berberah with us on board. I was in command of a party of forty-two men, armed, and we established an agency, and selected the site of our camp in a place where we could have the protection of the gunboat; but the Commander of the schooner had orders to relieve another ship, and so could not remain and superintend the departure of the Expedition. It was the time after the Fair, and one might say that Berberah was empty, and that there was scarcely any one but ourselves. Our tents were pitched in one line--Stroyan's to the right, Herne and myself in the middle, and Speke on the left. The baggage was placed between our tents, the camels were in front, the horses and mules behind us. Two sentries all night were regularly relieved and visited by ourselves. We were very well received, and they listened with respectful attention to a letter, in which the Political Resident at Aden enjoined them to treat us with consideration and hospitality. We had purchased fifty-six camels; Ogadayn Caravan was anxious for our escort. If we had departed then, perhaps all would have been well; but we expected instruments and other necessaries by the mid-April mail from Europe. Three days afterwards, a craft from Aden came in with a dozen Somals, who wanted to accompany us, and fortunately I feasted the Commander and the crew, which caused them to remain. We little knew that our lives hung upon a thread, and that had the vessel departed, as she would otherwise have done, the night before the attack, nothing could have saved us. Between two and three a.m. of April 19th, there was a cry that the enemy was upon us, three hundred and fifty strong. Hearing a rush of men, like a stormy wind, I sprang up, and called for my sabre, and sent Herne to ascertain the force of the foray. Armed with a 'Colt,' he went to the rear and left of the camp, the direction of danger, collecting some of the guards--others having already disappeared--and fired two shots into the assailants. Then finding himself alone, he turned hastily towards the tent; in so doing, he was tripped up by the ropes, and, as he arose, a Somali appeared in the act of striking at him with a club. Herne fired, floored the man, and, rejoining me, declared that the enemy was in great force and the guard nowhere. Meanwhile, I had aroused Stroyan and Speke, who were sleeping in the extreme right and left tents. The former, it is presumed, arose to defend himself, but, as the sequel shows, we never saw him alive. Speke, awakened by the report of firearms, but supposing it to be the normal false alarm--a warning to plunderers--remained where he was; presently, hearing clubs rattling upon his tent, and feet shuffling around, he ran to my rowtie, which we prepared to defend as long as possible.
[Sidenote: They are attacked--A Desperate Fight.]
"The enemy swarmed like hornets, with shouts and screams, intending to terrify, and proving that overwhelming odds were against us. It was by no means easy to avoid in the shades of night the jobbing of javelins, and the long, heavy daggers thrown at our legs from under and through the opening of the tent. We three remained together; Herne knelt by my right, on my left was Speke guarding the entrance, I stood in the centre, having nothing but a sabre. The revolvers were used by my companions with deadly effect; unfortunately there was but one pair. When the fire was exhausted, Herne went to search for his powder-horn, and, that failing, to find some spears usually tied to the tent-pole. Whilst thus engaged, he saw a man breaking into the rear of our rowtie, and came back to inform me of the circumstance.
"At this time, about five minutes after the beginning of the affray, the tent had been almost beaten down--an Arab custom, with which we were all familiar--and had we been entangled in its folds, like mice in a trap, we should have been speared with unpleasant facility. I gave the word for escape, and sallied out, closely followed by Herne, with Speke in the rear. The prospect was not agreeable. About twenty men were kneeling and crouching at the tent entrance, whilst many dusky figures stood further off, or ran about shouting the war-cry, or with shouts and blows drove away our camels. Among the enemy were many of our friends and attendants; the coast being open to them, they naturally ran away, firing a few useless shots, and receiving a modicum of flesh-wounds.
"After breaking through the mob at the tent entrance, imagining that I saw the form of Stroyan lying upon the sand, I cut my way with my sabre towards it amongst dozens of Somal, whose war-clubs worked without mercy, whilst the Balyuz, who was violently pushing me out of the fray, rendered the strokes of my sabre uncertain. This individual was cool and collected. Though incapacitated by a sore right thumb from using the spear, he did not shun danger, and passed unhurt through the midst of the enemy. His efforts, however, only illustrated the venerable adage, 'Defend me from my friends.' I mistook him in the dark and turned to cut him down; he cried out in alarm. The well-known voice stopped me, and that instant's hesitation allowed a spearman to step forward, and leave his javelin in my mouth, and retire before he could be punished. Escaping as by a miracle, I sought some support. Many of our Somal and servants lurking in the darkness offered to advance, but 'tailed off' to a man as we approached the foe. Presently the Balyuz reappeared, and led me towards the place where he believed my three comrades had taken refuge. I followed him, sending the only man that showed presence of mind, one Golab of the Yusuf tribe, to bring back the Aynterad craft from the Spit into the centre of the harbour. Again losing the Balyuz in the darkness, I spent the interval before dawn wandering in search of my comrades, and lying down when overpowered with faintness and pain. As the day broke, with my remaining strength I reached the head of the creek, was carried into the vessel, and persuaded the crew to arm themselves and visit the scene of our disasters.
"Meanwhile, Herne, who had closely followed me, fell back, using the butt-end of his discharged six-shooter upon the hard heads around him. In so doing he came upon a dozen men, who, though they loudly vociferated, 'Kill the Franks who are killing the Somal!' allowed him to pass uninjured.
"He then sought his comrades in the empty huts of the town, and at early dawn was joined by the Balyuz, who was similarly employed. When day broke, he also sent a negro to stop the native craft, which was apparently sailing out of the harbour, and in due time he came on board. With the exception of sundry stiff blows with the war-club, Herne had the fortune to escape unhurt.
"On the other hand, Speke's escape was in every way wonderful. Sallying from the tent, he levelled his 'Dean and Adams' close to an assailant's breast. The pistol refused to revolve. A sharp blow of a war-club upon the chest felled our comrade, who was in the rear and unseen. When he fell, two or three men sprang upon him, pinioned his hands behind, felt him for concealed weapons--an operation to which he submitted in some alarm--and led him towards the rear, as he supposed, to be slaughtered. There, Speke, who could scarcely breathe from the pain of the blow, asked a captor to tie his hands before instead of behind, and begged a drop of water to relieve his excruciating thirst. The savage defended him against a number of the Somal who came up threatening and brandishing their spears. He brought a cloth for the wounded man to lie upon, and lost no time in procuring a draught of water.
"Speke remained upon the ground till dawn. During the interval he witnessed the war-dance of the savages--a scene striking in the extreme; the tallest and largest warriors marching with the deepest and most solemn tones, the song of thanksgiving. At a little distance the grey uncertain light disclosed four or five men lying desperately hurt, whilst their kinsmen kneaded their limbs, pouring water upon their wounds, and placing lumps of dates in their stiffening hands.[5] As day broke, the division of plunder caused angry passions to rise. The dead and dying were abandoned. One party made a rush upon the cattle, and with shouts and yells drove them off towards the wilds. Some loaded themselves with goods; others fought over pieces of cloth, which they tore with hand and dagger; whilst the disappointed, vociferating with rage, struck at one another and brandished their spears. More than once during these scenes a panic seized them; they moved off in a body to some distance; and there is little doubt that, had our guard struck one blow, we might still have won the day.
[Sidenote: Richard and Speke desperately wounded.]
"Speke's captor went to seek his own portion of the spoil, when a Somal came up and asked in Hindostani what business the Frank had in their country, and added that he would kill him if a Christian, but spare the life of a brother Moslem. The wounded man replied that he was going to Zanzibar, that he was still a Nazarene, and therefore that the work had better be done at once. The savage laughed, and passed on. He was succeeded by a second, who, equally compassionate, whirled a sword round his head, twice pretending to strike, but returning to the plunder without doing damage. Presently came another manner of assailant. Speke, who had extricated his hands, caught the spear levelled at his breast, but received at the same moment a blow which, paralyzing his arm, caused him to lose his hold. In defending his heart from a succession of thrusts, he received severe wounds on the back of his hand, his right shoulder, and his left thigh. Pausing a little, the wretch crossed to the other side, and suddenly passed his spear clean through the right leg of the wounded man. The latter, 'smelling death,' then leapt up, and, taking advantage of his assailant's terror, rushed headlong towards the sea. Looking behind, he avoided the javelin hurled at his back, and had the good fortune to run, without further accident, the gauntlet of a score of missiles. When pursuit was discontinued, he sat down, faint from loss of blood, upon a sandhill. Recovering strength by a few minutes' rest, he staggered on to the town, where some old women directed him to us. Then, pursuing his way, he fell in with the party sent to seek him, and by their aid reached the craft, having walked and run at least three miles, after receiving eleven wounds, two of which had pierced his thighs. A touching lesson how difficult it is to kill a man in sound health![6] My difficulty was, with my comrades' aid, to extract the javelin which transfixed my jaws. It destroyed my palate and four good back teeth, and left wounds on my two cheeks.
"When we three survivors had reached the craft, Yusuf, the Captain, armed his men with muskets and spears, landed them near the camp, and ascertained that the enemy, expecting a fresh attack, had fled, carrying away our cloth, tobacco, swords, and other weapons. The corpse of Stroyan was then brought on board. Our lamented comrade was already stark and cold. A spear had traversed his heart, another had pierced his abdomen, and a frightful gash, apparently of a sword, had opened the upper part of his forehead. The body had been bruised with war-clubs, and the thighs showed marks of violence after death. This was the severest affliction that befell us. We had lived together like brothers. Stroyan was a universal favourite, and his sterling qualities of manly courage, physical endurance, and steady perseverance had augured for him a bright career, thus prematurely cut off. Truly melancholy to us was the contrast between the evening when he sat with us full of life and spirits, and the morning when we saw amongst us a livid corpse.
"We had hoped to preserve the remains of our friend for interment at Aden. But so rapid were the effects of exposure that we were compelled most reluctantly, on the morning of the 20th of April, to commit them to the deep, Herne reading the Funeral Service.
"Then, with heavy hearts, we set sail for the near Arabian shore, and, after a tedious two days, carried our friends the news of the unexpected disaster.
"RICHARD F. BURTON."
When Speke wrote the manuscript of this affair, and in Blackwood, and also in his book on the "Sources of the Nile," he said that he was the Head of the Expedition; he had given the order for the night, it was before him the spies were brought, he was the first to turn out, and no one but he had the courage to defend himself. It is hardly worth while to contradict it. It is obvious that this expedition could only be commanded by a man who knew Arabic and some of the other languages, of which he was perfectly ignorant.
So the results of this Expedition, to sum up in short, were, that they barely escaped being caught like mice in a trap, by having their tents thrown down upon them, the four fought bravely against three hundred and fifty Bedawi, poor Stroyan was killed, Herne was untouched, Richard and Speke were desperately wounded, though they all cut their way gallantly through the enemy. Poor Speke had eleven wounds, and Richard, with a lance transfixing his jaws, which carried away four back teeth and part of his palate, wandered up and down the coast suffering from his wounds, fever, hunger, and thirst consequent on the wounds; but they met, they carried off the dead body of their comrade, and were taken on board the native dhow or boat, which the fortunate accident of Richard's hospitality had retained there just half an hour, long enough to save them, and the natives sacked their property. They were so badly wounded, he had to return to England, and here his wounds soon healed and he picked up health. He rendered an account of his explorations before the Royal Geographical Society.[7] After a month's rest, he obtained leave to volunteer for the Crimea. Here I would rather give his own original manuscript word for word, because it is so fresh, and, in a few pages, gives a better insight into outspoken truth than many other large volumes.
[1] In Abyssinia, according to the Lord of Geesh, this is a mark of royal familiarity and confidence.
[2] "Speke, Herne, and Stroyan."
[3] "Because it was reported that he had never smiled but once."
[4] I often thought Grant Allen, in the third volume of "The Devil's Die," drew his account of the journey of Mohammed Ali and Ivan Royle from Eagle City through the desert to Carthage on the edge of the desert from Richard's journey from Harar; it is so like it--but he told me he did not.--I. B.
[5] "The Somal place dates in the hands of the fallen to ascertain the extent of injury. He that cannot eat that delicacy is justly decided to be in articulo."
[6] "In less than a month after receiving such injuries, Speke was on his way to England. He never felt the least inconvenience from the wounds, which closed up like indiarubber."
[7] He began to prepare his public account of Harar in "First Footsteps in East Africa," one large volume, which, however, did not see the light till 1856. It might have been called "Harar," to distinguish it from the trial trip previous to the Great Lake Expedition.
X. WITH BEATSON'S HORSE
[Sidenote: The Crimea.]
The Crimean War is an affair of the last generation; thirty years' distance has given it a certain perspective, and assigned its proper rank and place in the panorama of the nineteenth century. Estimates of its importance, of course, vary; while one man would vindicate its péripéties on the plea of being the first genuine attempt to develop the European Concert, to create an International tribunal for the discouragement of the modern revival of La Force prime le droit, and for the protection of the weak minority, others, like myself, look upon it as an unmitigated evil to England. It showed up all her characteristic unreadiness, all her defects of organization. It proved that she could not then produce a single great sailor or soldier. It washed her dirty linen in public, to the disgust and contempt of Europe; and, lastly, it taught her the wholly novel and unpleasant lesson of "playing second fiddle" (as the phrase is) to France. Considered with regard to her foreign affairs, this disastrous blunder lost us for ever the affection of Russia, our oldest and often our only friend amongst the continentals of Europe. It barred the inevitable growth of the northern Colossus in a southern direction, and encouraged her mighty spread to the south-east, India-wards, at the same time doubling her extent by the absorption of Turcomania.
The causes which led to the war are manifold enough. Some are trivial enough, like the indiscreet revelation of Czar Nicholas' private talk, talk anent the "Sick Man," by the undiplomatic indiscretion of the diplomatist, Sir Hamilton Seymour. Others are vital, especially the weariness caused by a long sleep of peace which made England, at once the most unmilitary and the most fighting of peoples, "spoil for a row." The belief in the wretched Turk's power of recuperation and even of progress had been diffused by such authorities as Lords Palmerston and Stratford de Redcliffe, and, en route to the war, I often heard, to my disgust, British officers exclaim, "If there ever be a justifiable campaign (in support of the unspeakable Turk!) it is this."
Outside England, the main moving cause was our acute ally Louis Napoleon, whose ambition was to figure arm-in-arm in the field with the nation which annihilated his uncle. But he modestly proposed that France should supply the army, England the navy, an arrangement against which, even now, little can be said. Here, however, our jaunty statesman stepped in; Cupidon (Lord Palmerston), the man with the straw in his mouth, the persistent "Chaffer" of wiser men that appreciated the importance of the Fenian movement, the opposer of the Suez Canal,[1] the Minister who died one day and was forgotten the next, refused to give up the wreath of glory; and, upon the principle that one Englishman can fight three Frenchmen, sent an utterly inadequate force and enabled the French to "revenge Waterloo." French diplomatists were heavily backed against English; a nervous desire to preserve the entente cordiale made English Generals and Admirals (as at Alma and the bombardment of Sebastopol) put up with the jockeying and bullying measures of French officers. And the alliance ended not an hour too soon.
After French successes and our failures the piou-piou would cry aloud, "Malakoff--yes, yes; Redan--no, no;" whereto Tommy Atkins replied with a growl, "Waterloo, ye beggars!" And the English medal distributed to the troupier was pleasantly known as the "Médaille de Sauvetage." At the end of the disastrous year '56 England had come up smiling, after many a knock-down blow, and was ready to go in and win. But Louis Napoleon had obtained all he wanted, the war was becoming irksome to his fickle lieges; so an untimely peace was patched up, and England was left to pay the piper by the ever-increasing danger to India.
After the disastrous skirmish with the Somali at Berberah, it is no wonder that I returned to England on sick certificate, wounded and sorely discomfited. The Crimean War seemed to me some opportunity of recovering my spirits, and, as soon as my health permitted, I applied myself to the ungrateful task of volunteering. London then was in the liveliest state of excitement about the Crimean bungles, and the ladies pitilessly cut every officer who shirked his duty. So I read my paper about Harar before the Royal Geographical Society, and had the pleasure of being assured by an ancient gentleman, who had never smelt Africa, that when approaching the town Harar I had crossed a large and rapid river. It was in vain for me to reject this information. Every one seemed to think he must be right.[2]
Having obtained a few letters of introduction, and remembering that I had served under General James Simpson, at Sakhar, in Sind, I farewelled my friends, and my next step was to hurry through France, and to embark at Marseille on board one of the Messageries Impériales, bound for Constantinople. Very imperial was the demeanour of her officers. They took command of the passengers in most absolute style, and soundly wigged an Englishman, a Colonel, for opening a port, and shipping a sea. I was ashamed of my fellow-countryman's tameness, and yet I knew him to be a brave man. The ship's surgeon was Dr. Nicora, who afterwards became a friend of ours at Damascus, where he died attached to the French sanitary establishment; he talked much, and could not conceal his Anglophobia and hatred of the English. The only pleasant Frenchman on board was General MacMahon, then fresh from his Algerian campaign, and newly transferred to the Crimea, where his fortunes began.
It was a spring voyage on summer seas, and in due time we stared at the Golden Horn, and lodged ourselves at Missiri's Hôtel. The owner, who had been a dragoman to Eöthen, presumed upon his reputation, and made his house unpleasant. His wine, called "Tenedos," was atrocious, his cookery third rate, and his prices first rate. He sternly forbade "gambling," as he called card-playing, in his house, private as well as public; and we had periodically to kick downstairs the impudent dragomans who brought us his insolent messages. However, he had some excuse. Society at Missiri's was decidedly mixed; "bahaduring" was the rule, and the extra military swagger of the juveniles, assistant-surgeons, commissariats, and such genus, booted to the crupper, was a caution to veterans.
At Stamboul, I met Fred Wingfield, who was bound to Balaclava, as assistant under the unfortunate Mr. Commissary-General Filder, and had to congratulate myself upon my good fortune. We steamed together over the inhospitable Euxine, which showed me the reason for its sombre name.
The waters are in parts abnormally sweet, and they appear veiled in a dark vapour. Utterly unknown the blues, amethyst and turquoise, of that sea of beauty, the Mediterranean; the same is the case with the smaller Palus Meotis--Azoff. After the normal three days we sighted the Tauric Chersonese, the land of the Cimmerians and Scythians, the colony of the Greek, the conquest of Janghiz and the Khans of Turkey, and finally annexed by Russia after the wars, in which Charles XII. had taught the Slav to fight. We then made Balaclava (Balik-liwa, "Fish town"), with its dwarf fjord, dug out of dove-coloured limestones, and forming a little port stuffed to repletion with every manner of craft.
But it had greatly improved since October 17, 1854, when we first occupied it and formally opened the absurdly so-called siege, in which we were as often the besieged as the besiegers. Under a prodigiously fierce-looking provost-marshal, whose every look meant "cat," some cleanliness and discipline had been introduced amongst the suttlers and scoundrels who populated the townlet. Store-ships no longer crept in, reported cargoes which were worth their weight of gold to miserables, living
"On coffee raw and potted cat,"
and crept out again without breaking bulk. A decent road had been run through Kadikeui (Kazi's village) to camp and to the front, and men no longer sank ankle-deep in dust, or calf-deep in mud. In tact, England was, in the parlance of the "ring," getting her second wind, and was settling down to her work!
The unfortunate Lord Raglan, with his courage antique, his old-fashioned excess of courtesy, and his nervous dread of prejudicing the entente cordiale (!) between England and France, had lately died. He was in one point exactly the man not wanted. At his age and with one arm and many infirmities, he could not come up to the idea of Sir Charles Napier's model officer under the same circumstances, "eternally on horseback, with a sword in his hand, eating, sleeping, and drinking in the saddle."
But with more energy and fitness for command he might have deputed others to take his place. A good ordinary man, placed by the folly of his aristocratic friends in extraordinary circumstances, he was fated, temporarily, to ruin the prestige of England. He began by allowing himself to be ignobly tricked by that shallow intriguer, Maréchal de Saint Arnaud (alias Leroy). At Alma he was persuaded to take the worst and the most perilous position; his delicacy in not disturbing the last hours of his fellow Commander-in-Chief prevented his capturing the northern forts of Sebastopol, which Todleben openly declared were to be stormed by a coup de main; and allowed Louis Napoleon, in the Moniteur, to blame England only for the lâches of the French, after the "last of European battles fought on the old lines," etc. At Inkermann, where the Guards defended themselves, like prehistoric men, with stones, Lord Raglan allowed his whole army to be surprised by the Russians, and to be saved by General Bosquet, with a host of Zouaves, Chasseurs, and Algerian rifles. No wonder that a Russian general declared, "The French saved the English at Inkermann as the Prussians did at Waterloo, and all Europe believed that France would conquer both Russia and England, the first by arms and the second by contrast." The "thin red line" of Balaclava allowed some national chauvinism, but that was all to be said in its favour, except that the gallantry of the men was to be equalled only by the incompetency of their Chiefs.
I passed a week with Wingfield and other friends, in and about Balaclava, in frequent visits to the front and camp. A favourite excursion from the latter was to the Monastery of St. George, classic ground where Iphigenia was saved from sacrifice. There was a noble view from this place, a foreground of goodly garden, a deep ravine clad with glorious trees, a system of cliffs and needles studding a sandy beach, and a lovely stretch of sparkling sea. No wonder that it had been chosen by a hermit, whose little hut of unhewn blocks lay hard by; he was a man upwards of sixty apparently, unknown to any one, and was fed by the black-robed monks. At Kadikeui also I made the acquaintance of good Mrs. Seacole, Jamaican by origin, who did so much for the comfort of invalids, and whom we afterwards met with lively pleasure at Panámá.
The British cavalry officers in the Crimea were still violently excited by reports that Lord Cardigan was about returning to command; and I heard more than one say, "We will not serve under him." And after a long experience of different opinions on the spot, I came to the following conclusion:--The unhappy charge of the "Six Hundred" was directly caused by my old friend, Captain Nolan of the 15th Hussars. An admirable officer and swordsman, bred in the gallant Austrian Cavalry of that day, he held, and advocated through life, the theory that mounted troops were an overmatch for infantry, and wanted only good leading to break squares and so forth. He was burning also to see the Lights outrival the Heavies, who, under General Scarlett, had charged down upon Russians said to be four times their number. Lord Lucan received an order to take a Russian 12-gun battery on the Causeway Heights, from General Liprandi, and he sent a verbal message by Nolan (General Airey's aide-de-camp) to his brother-in-law, Lord Cardigan, there being bad blood between the two.
Nolan, who was no friend to the hero of the Black Bottle, delivered the order disagreeably, and when Lord Cardigan showed some hesitation, roughly cut short the colloquy with, "You have your commands, my Lord," and prepared, as is the custom, to join in the charge. Hardly did it begin, than he was struck by a shot in the breast, and, as he did not fall at once, some asked Lord Cardigan where he was, and the reply came, "I saw him go off howling to the rear." During the fatal charge Lord Cardigan lost his head, and had that moment de peur to which the best soldiers are at times subject. He had been a fire-eater with the "Saw-handles," and the world expected too much of him; again, a man of ordinary pluck, he was placed in extraordinary circumstances, and how few there are who are born physically fearless. I can count those known to me on the fingers of my right hand. Believing that his force was literally mown down, he forgot his duty as a Commanding Officer, and instead of rallying the fugitives, he thought only of sauve qui peut. Galloping wildly to the rear, he rushed up to many a spectator, amongst others to my old Commander, General Beatson, nervously exclaiming, "You saw me at the guns?" and almost without awaiting a reply, rode on. Presently returning to England, he had not the sound sense and good taste to keep himself in the background; but received a kind of "ovation," as they call it, the ladies trying to secure hairs from his charger's tail by way of keepsake. Of course he never showed his face in the Crimea again. The tale of this ill-fated and unprofessional charge has now changed complexion. It is held up as a beau fait d'armes, despite the best bit of military criticism that ever fell from soldier's lips: "c'est beau, mais ce n'est pas la guerre," the words of General Bosquet, who saved the poor remnants of the Lights.
At head-quarters I called upon the Commander-in-Chief, General Simpson, whom years before I had found in charge of Sakhar, Upper Sind, held by all as wellnigh superannuated. He was supposed to be one of Lever's heroes, the gigantic Englishman who, during the occupation of Paris, broke the jaw of the duelling French officer, and spat down his throat. But age had told upon him, mentally as well as bodily, and he became a mere plaything in the hands of the French, especially of General Pélissier, the typical Algerian officer, who well knew when to browbeat and when to cajole. "Jimmy Simpson," as the poor old incapable was called, could do nothing for me, so I wrote officially at once to General Beatson, whom I had met at Boulogne, volunteering for the Irregular Cavalry then known as "Beatson's Horse," and I was delighted when my name appeared in orders. Returning to Constantinople, I called upon the Embassy, then in summer quarters at Therapia, where they had spent an anxious time. The gallant Vukados, Russianized in Boutákoff, a Greek, who, in the nineteenth century, belonged to the heroic days of Thermopylæ and Marathon, and who was actually cheered by his enemies, with the little merchant-brig the Wladimir, alias Arciduca Giovanni, had shown himself a master-breaker-of-blockades, and might readily have taken into his head to pay the Ambassador a visit.
I looked forward to a welcome and found one; a man who had married my aunt, Robert Bagshaw, of Dovercourt, M.P., and quondam Calcutta merchant, who had saved from impending bankruptcy the house of Alexander and Co., to which Lady Stratford belonged.
Nothing quainter than the contrast between that highly respectable middle-class British peer and the extreme wildness of his surroundings. There were but two exceptions to the general rule of eccentricity--one, Lord Napier and Ettrick with his charming wife, and the other, Odo (popularly called "O don't!") Russell, who died as Lord Ampthill, Ambassador to Berlin. It was, by-the-by, no bad idea to appoint this high-bred and average talented English gentleman to the Court of Prince Bismarck, who disliked and despised nothing more thoroughly than the pert little political, the "Foreign Office pet" of modern days.
Foremost on the roll stood Alison, who died Minister at Teheran. He was in character much more a Greek than an Englishman, with a peculiar finesse, not to put too fine a point upon it, which made him highly qualified to deal with a certain type of Orientals. He knew Romaic perfectly, Turkish well, Persian a little, and a smattering of Arabic; so that, most unlike the average order of ignorant secretaries and attachés, he was able to do good work. He seemed to affect eccentricity, went out walking with a rough coat with a stick torn from a tree, whence his cognomen "The Bear with the Ragged Staff," and at his breakfasts visitors were unpleasantly astonished by a weight suddenly mounting their shoulders in the shape of a bear-cub with cold muzzle and ugly claws. He managed to hold his own with his testy and rageous old Chief, and the following legend was told of him:--"Damn your eyes, Mr. Alison, why was not that despatch sent?" "Damn your Excellency's eyes, it went this morning." Miladi also seemed to regard his comical figure with much favour. At Teheran he did little good, having become unhappily addicted to "tossing the elbow," which in an evil hour was reported home by my late friend Edward Eastwick; and he married a wealthy Levantine widow, who predeceased him. On this occasion he behaved uncommonly well, by returning all her large fortune to her family.
Next to him in office, and far higher in public esteem, ranked Percy Smythe, who succeeded his brother as Lord Strangford. Always of the weakest possible constitution, and so purblind that when reading he drew the paper across his nose, he fulfilled my idea of the typical linguist in the highest sense of the word; in fact, I never saw his equal except, perhaps, Professor Palmer, who was murdered by Arábi's orders almost within sight of Suez. Strangford seemed to take in a language through every pore, and to have time for all its niceties and eccentricities: for instance, he could speak Persian like a Shirázi, and also with the hideous drawl of a Hindostani. Yet his health sent him to bed every night immediately after dinner, for which he was more than once taken severely to task by Lady Stratford. He dressed in the seediest of black frock-coats, and was once mightily offended by a Turkish officer, who, overhearing us talking in Persian about "Tasáwaf" (Sufi-ism), joined in the conversation. He treated me with great regard because I was in the gorgeous Bashi-Bazouk uniform, blazing with gold, but looked upon Lord Strangford with such contempt that the latter exclaimed, "Hang the fellow! Can't he see that I am a gentleman?" I then told him that an Eastern judges entirely by dress, and that, as I was gorgeous, I was supposed to be the swell, and that, as his coat was very shabby, he was taken for a poor interpreter, probably my dragoman, and induced him to change for the future.
Some years afterwards, when he came to the title, he married Emily Beaufort, the result of reviewing her book "Syrian Shrines," etc. The choice was a mistake; she was far too like him in body and mind, with a strong dash of Israelitish blood, to be a success matrimonially speaking. Had he taken to wife a comely "crummy" little girl with blue eyes, barley-sugar hair, and the rest to match, he might have lived much longer. But the lady was an overmatch for him. When she was a little tot of twelve I saw her at the head of her father's, the hydrographer's table, laying down the law of professional matters to grey-headed Admirals. The last of the Staff was General Mansfield, an ill-conditioned and aggressive man, who held General Beatson in especial dislike for "prostitution of military rank." I have the most unpleasant remembrance of him; he afterwards became Commander-in-Chief of the Army in India, and his conduct in the "Affair of the Pickles" ought to have caused the recall of "Lord Sandhurst."
The Ambassador, whose name was at that time in every mouth, was as remarkable in appearance as in character and career. When near sixty years of age he had still the clear-cut features and handsome face of his cousin, whom he loved to call the "Great Canning," and under whom, he, like Lord Palmerston, had began official life as private secretary. One of the cleanest and smoothest shaven of old men, he had a complexion white and red as a Westphalia ham, and his silver locks gave him a venerable and pleasing appearance; whilst his chin, that most characteristic feature, showed, in repose, manliness, and his "Kaiser-blue" eye was that of the traditional Madonna, only at excited moments the former tilted up with an expression of reckless obstinacy, and the latter flashed fire like an enraged feline's. The everyday look of the face was diplomatic, an icy impassibility (evidently put on, and made natural by long habit); but it changed to the scowl of a Medusa in fits of rage, and in joyous hours, such as sitting at dinner near the beautiful Lady George Paget--whose like I never saw--it was harmonious and genial as a day in spring.
Such was the personal appearance of the man who, together with the Emperor Nicholas, one equally, if not more remarkable, both in body and in mind, set the whole Western World in a blaze. I heard the origin of the blood-feud minutely told by the late Lord Clanricarde, one of the most charming raconteurs and original conversationalists ever met at a London dinner-table. Mr. Stratford Canning became, in early manhood, Chargé d'affaires at Constantinople, and took a prominent part in the Treaty of Bucharest, which the Czar found, to speak mildly, unpalatable. However, some years after, when the Embassy at St. Petersburg fell vacant, the Emperor refused to receive this personâ ingrata, and aroused susceptibilities which engendered a life-long hatred and a lust for revenge. Lastly, after the affair of 1848, the "Eltchi" persuaded his unhappy tool, the feeble-minded Sultan, Abd Al-Majid, whom he scolded and abused like a naughty schoolboy, now by threats then by promises, to refuse giving up the far-famed Hungarian refugees. This again became well known to all the world, and thus a private and personal pique between two elderly gentlemen of high degree, involved half Europe in hideous war, and was one of the worst disasters ever known to English history, by showing the world how England could truckle to France, and allow her to play the leading part.
Lord Stratford had, as often happens to shrewder men, completely mistaken his vocation. He told me more than once that his inclination was wholly to the life of a littérateur, and he showed himself unfit for taking any, save the humblest, rôle among the third-rates. He had lived his life in the East without learning a word of Turkish, Persian, or Arabic.
He wrote "poetry," and, amid the jeers of his staff, he affixed to a rustic seat near Therapia, where once Lady Stratford had sat, a copy of verses beginning--
"A wife, a mother to her children dear,"
with rhyme "rested here," and reason to match. After his final return home he printed a little volume of antiquated "verse or worse" with all the mediocrity which the gods and the columns disallow, and which would hardly have found admittance to the poet's corner of a country paper. His last performance in this line was a booklet entitled, "Why I am a Christian" (he of all men!), which provoked a shout of laughter amongst his friends. They owned that, mentally, he was a fair modern Achilles--
"Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis acer;"
but of his "Christianity," the popular saying was, "He is a Christian, and he never forgives." His characteristic was vindictiveness; he could not forget (and here he was right), but also he could not forgive (and here he was wrong). One instance: he tried to hunt out of the service Grenville Murray, whose "Roving Englishman" probably owed much of its charm to Dickens's staff in Household Words. Yet Murray, despite all his faults, was a capable man, and a Government more elastic and far-seeing and less "respectable" than that of England, would have greatly profited by his services. Lord Stratford could not endure badinage, he had no sense for and of humour; witness the scene between him and Louis Napoleon's Ambassador, General Baraguay d'Hilliers, recorded by Mr. Consul Skene in his "Personal Reminiscences." He abhorred difference of opinion, and was furious with me for assuring him that "Habash" and "Abyssinia" are by no means equivalent and synonymous terms; he had been enlightening the "Porte" with information that Turkey had never held a foot of ground in "Habash," when the Turk, as my visit to Harar showed, had been an occupant, well hated, as he was well known. And when in a rage he was not pleasant; his eyes flashed fury, his venerable locks seemed to rise like the quills of a fretful porcupine, he would rush round the room like a lean maniac using frightful language--in fact, "langwidge," as the sailor hath it--with his old dressing-gown working hard to keep pace with him, and when the fit was at its worst, he would shake his fist in the offender's face.
The famous Ambassador struck me as a weak, stiff-necked, and violent old man, whose strength physically was in his obstinate chin, together with a "pursed-up mouth and beak in a pet," and morally in an exaggerated "respectability," iron-bound prejudices, and profound self-esteem. He had also a firm respect for rank and the divine right of Kings; witness his rage, when the young naval lieutenant, Prince of Leiningen, was ordered by a superior officer to "swab decks." He lived long enough to repent the last step of his official life. After peace was concluded, a visit to the Crimea greatly disgusted him. With a kind of bastard repentance, he quoted John Bright and the Peace Party in his sorrow at having brought about a Campaign whose horrors contrasted so miserably with its promised advantages.
In the next Russian-Turkish War he remembered that some ten thousand English lives and £80,000,000 had been sacrificed to humble Russia, whose genius and heroism had raised her so high in the opinion of Europe, only to serve the selfish ends of Louis Napoleon, to set up Turkey and the Sultan ("Humpty-dumpty," who refused to be set up), and to humour the grudges of two rancorous old men. So he carefully preached non-intervention to England. He took his seat in the House of Lords, but spoke little, and when he spoke he mostly broke down. Of his literary failures I have already spoken. Yet this was the "Great Eltchi" of Eöthen, a man who gained a prodigious name in Europe, chiefly by living out of it.
After seeing all that was to be seen at Therapia and Constantinople, I embarked on an Austrian Lloyd steamer, and ran down to the Dardanelles, then the head-quarters of the Bashi-Bazouks. The little town shared in the factitious importance of Gallipoli, and other places more or less useful during the war; it had two Pashas, Civil and Military, with a large body of Nizam or Regulars, whilst the hillsides to the north were dotted with the white tents of the Irregulars. General Beatson had secured fair quarters near the old windmills, and there had established himself with his wife and daughters. I at once recognized my old Boulogne friend, although slightly disguised by uniform. He looked like a man of fifty-five, with bluff face and burly figure, and probably grey hair became him better than black. He always rode English chargers of good blood, and altogether his presence was highly effective.
There had been much silly laughing at Constantinople, especially amongst the grinning idiot tribe, about his gold coat, which was said to stand upright by force of embroidery. But here he was perfectly right, and his critics perfectly wrong. He had learnt by many years' service to recognize the importance of show and splendour when dealing with Easterns. And no one had criticised the splendid Skinner or General Jacob of the Sind Horse, for wearing a silver helmet and a diamond-studded sabretache. General Beatson had served thirty-five years in the Bengal army, and was one of the few amongst his contemporaries who had campaigned in Europe during the long peace which followed the long war. In his subaltern days he had volunteered into the Spanish Legion, under the Commander, General Sir de Lacy Evans. After some hard fighting there, and seeing not a few adventures, he had returned to India. When the Crimean War broke out he went to Head-quarters at once, and, for the mere fun of the thing, joined in the Heavy Cavalry charge.
In October, 1854, the Duke of Newcastle, then Minister of War, addressed him officially, directing him to organize a Corps of Bashi-Bazouks, not exceeding in number four thousand, who were to be independent of the Turkish Contingent, consisting of twenty-five thousand Regulars under General Vivian. So, unfortunately for himself, he had made the Dardanelles his Head-quarters, and there he seemed to be settled with his wife and family. Mrs. Beatson was a quiet-looking little woman, who was reputed to rule her spouse with a rod of iron in a velvet case; and the two daughters were charming girls who seemed to have been born on horseback, and who delighted in setting their terriers at timid aides-de-camp, and teaching their skittish little Turkish nags to lash out at them when within kicking distance. General Beatson at once introduced me to his Staff and officers, amongst whom I found some most companionable comrades. There were two ex-Guardsmen, poor Charles Wemyss, who died years after, chronically impecunious, in London, and Major Lennox-Berkeley, who is still living. Of the Home army were Lieut.-Colonel Morgan, ex-cavalry man, and Major Synge. The Indian army had contributed Brigadier-General De Renzi, Brett, Hayman, Money, Grierson, and others. Sankey, whom I had known in Egypt, and whose family I had met at Malta, had been gazetted as lieutenant-colonel. There was also poor Blakeley of the Gun, who afterwards died so unhappily of yellow fever at Chorillos, in Perú.
But there were unfortunately black sheep among the number. Lieut.-Colonel Fardella had only the disadvantage of being a Sicilian, but Lieut.-Colonel Giraud, the head interpreter, was a Smyrniote and a Levantine of the very worst description, and, worse still, there was a Lieut.-Colonel O'Reilly, whose antecedents and subsequents were equally bad. He had begun as a lance-corporal in one of her Majesty's regiments, which he had left under discreditable circumstances. In the Bashi-Bazouks he joined a faction against General Beatson, and when the war was over he openly became a Mussulman, and entered the Turkish service. He left the worst of reputations between Constantinople and Marocco, and Englishmen had the best reason to be ashamed of him. In subsequent years to the Massacre of Damascus, the English Government had chosen out Fuad Pasha, a witty, unscrupulous, and over-clever Turk, and proposed him as permanent Governor-General of the Holy Land, or to govern in a semi-independent position, like that of the Khedive of Egypt.
No choice could be worse, except that of the French, who favoured with even more inaptitude, by way of a rival candidate, their Algerian captive, the Emir Abd el Kadir, one of the most high-minded, religious, and honourable of men, who was utterly unfit to cope with Turkish roguery and Syrian rascaldom. The project fell through, but till his last day Fuad Pasha never lost sight of it, and kept up putting in an appearance, by causing perpetual troubles amongst the Bedawi and the Druzes.
This man O'Reilly was one of his many tools, and at last, when he had brought about against the Turkish Government an absurd revolt of naked Arabs, upon the borders of the Hamah Desert, he was taken prisoner and carried before Rashíd Pasha, then the Governor-General, and in his supplications for pardon he had the meanness to kneel down and kiss the Turk's foot.
But worse still was the position of the affairs which met my eyes at the Dardanelles. Everything had combined to crush our force of Irregulars. First, there was the Greek faction, who naturally hated the English, and adored the Russians, and directed all the national genius to making the foreigners fail. Their example was followed by the Jews, many of them wealthy merchants at the Dardanelles, who in those days, before the Juden-hetze, loved and believed in Russia and had scanty confidence in England. The two Turkish pashas were exceedingly displeased to see an Imperium in Imperio, and did their best to breed disturbance between their Regulars and the English Irregulars. They were stirred up by the German Engineers, who were employed upon the fortifications of the Dardanelles, and who strongly inoculated them with the idea that France and England aimed at nothing less than annexation.
Hence the Pashas not only fomented every disturbance, but they supplied deserters with passports and safe-conducts. The French played the friendly-foelike party; the envy, jealousy, and malice of the Gr-r-r-ande Nation had been stirred to the very depths by the failure of their Algerine General Yousouf in organizing a corps of Irregulars, and they saw with displeasure and disgust that an Englishman was going to succeed. Accordingly Battus, their wretched little French Consul for the Dardanelles, was directed to pack the local Press at Constantinople (which was almost wholly in the French interests) with the falsest and foulest scandals. He had secured the services of the Journal de Constantinople, which General Beatson had with characteristic carelessness neglected to square, and his cunningly concocted scandals found their way not only into the Parisian, but even into the London Press.
But our deadliest enemies were of course those nearest home. Mr. Calvert was at that time Vice-Consul for the Dardanelles, and he openly boasted of its having been made by himself so good a thing that he would not exchange it for a Consulate General. I need not enter into the subsequent career of this man, who, shortly after the Crimean War, found his way into a felon's jail at Malta, for insuring a non-existing ship. He had proposed to General Beatson a contract in the name of a creature of his own, who was a mere man of straw, and it was at once refused, because, although Mr. Vice-Consul Calvert might have gained largely thereby, Her Majesty's Government would have lost in proportion. This was enough to make a bitter enemy of him, and he was a manner of Levantine, virulent and scrupulous as he was sharp-witted. He also had another grievance. In his Consulate he kept a certain Lieutenant Ogilvie, who years after fought most gallantly in the Franco-German War, and was looked upon, after he was killed, as a sort of small national hero.
He and his agents were buying up cattle for the public use, and it was a facetious saying amongst the "Buzoukers," as the Bashi-Bazouk officers were called, that they had not left a single three-legged animal in the country. It is no wonder that the reports of these men had a considerable effect upon Lord Stratford, who was profoundly impressed with the opinions of unhappy Lord Raglan, the Commander, who by weak truckling to the French, a nettle fit only to be grasped, had more than once placed us in an unworthy position. He was angrily opposed to the whole scheme; it was contrary to precedent: Irregulars were unknown at Waterloo, and the idea was offensive, because unknown to the good old stock and pipe-clay school. Moreover, but for a Campaign these men are invaluable to act as eyes and feelers for a regular force. The English soldier, unless he be a poacher--by-the-by, one of the best of them--cannot see by night; his want of practice gives him a kind of "noctilypia," and he suffers much from want of sleep. His Excellency already had his own grievance against General Beatson, being enormously scandalized by a letter from the Irregular officer casually proposing to hang the Military Pasha of the Dardanelles, if he continued to intrigue and report falsely concerning his force. And I must confess the tone of the General's letter was peculiar, showing that he was better known to "Captain Sword" than to "Captain Pen." When he put me in orders as "Chief of the Staff" I overhauled his books and stood aghast to see the style of his official despatches. He was presently persuaded, with some difficulty, to let me mitigate their candour under the plea of copying, but on one occasion after the copy was ready I happened to look into the envelope, and I found--
"P.S.--This is official, but I would have your Lordship to know that I also wear a black coat."
Fancy the effect of a formal challenge to combat, "pistols for two and coffee for one," upon the rancorous old man of Constantinople, whose anger burnt like a red-hot fire, and whose revenge was always at a white heat! I took it out, but my General did not thank me for it.
The result of these scandalous rumours was, that Lord Stratford deemed fit to send down the Dardanelles (for the purpose of reporting the facts of the case) a certain Mr. Skene. I have no intention of entering into the conduct of this official, who had been an officer in the English army, and who proposed to make himself comfortable in the Consulate of Aleppo! He has paid the debt of Nature, and I will not injure his memory. Suffice it to say, that he was known on the spot to be taking notes, that every malignant won his ear, and that he did not cease to gratify the Ambassador's prejudices by reporting the worst.
General Beatson was peppery, like most old Indians, and instead of keeping diplomatically on terms with Mr. Skene, he chose to have a violent personal quarrel with him. Consequently Mr. Skene returned to Constantinople, and his place was presently taken by Brigadier T. G. Neil, who shortly appeared in the same capacity--note-taker. His offensive presence and bullying manner immediately brought on another quarrel, especially when he loudly declared that "he represented Royalty," and that he was a universal unfavourite with Beatson's Horse. He afterwards served in the Indian Mutiny, and there he ended well. He made an enormous reputation at home by recklessly daring to arrest a railway clerk, and he was shot before his incapacity could be discovered.
I was also struck with consternation at the condition of Beatson's Horse, better known on the spot as the "Bashi-Bazouks." The correct term in Turkish is Bāsh Buzuk, equivalent to Tête-pourrie; it succeeded the ancient Dillis, or madmen, who in the good old times represented the Osmanli Irregular Cavalry. It was the habit of those men in early spring, when the fighting season opened, to engage themselves for a term to plunder and loot all they could (and at this process they were first-rate hands), and to return home when winter set in. General Beatson wisely determined that his four thousand sabres should be wholly unconnected with the twenty-five thousand men of the Turkish Contingent. He wished to raise them in Syria, Asia Minor, Bulgaria, and other places, regiment them according to their nationalities, and to officer them, like Sepoy regiments, with Englishmen and Subalterns of their own races.
The idea was excellent, but it was badly carried out, mainly by default of the War Office, which had overmuch to do and could not be at the trouble of sending out officers. So the men, whose camps looked soldier-like enough, were left lying on the hillsides, and Satan found a very fair amount of work for them. This was, however, chiefly confined to duelling, and other such pastimes. The Arnauts or Albanians, who generally fight when they are drunk, had a peculiar style of monomachy. The principals, attended by their seconds and by all their friends, stood close opposite, each holding a cocked pistol in their right hand and a glass of raki, or spirits of wine, in their left. The first who drained his draught had the right to fire, and generally blazed away with fatal effect. It would have been useless to discourage this practice, but I insisted on fair play. Although endless outrages were reported at Constantinople, very few really took place: only one woman was insulted, and robbery with violence was exceptionally rare. In fact, the Tête-pourries contrasted most favourably with the unruly French detachments at Gallipoli, and with the turbulent infirmiers of the Nagara Hospital. With the English invalids at the Abydos establishment no disputes ever arose.
The exaggerated mutinies were mere sky-larking. After a few days' grumbling, a knot of "Rotten Heads" would mount their nags with immense noise and clatter, and, loudly proclaiming that they could stand the dullness of life no longer, would ride away, hoping only to be soon caught. But the worst was, I could see no business doing; there were no morning roll-calls or evening parades, no drilling or disciplining of men, and the General contented himself with riding twice a day through the camp, and listening to many grievances. However, as soon as I was made "Chief of the Staff," I persuaded him that this was not the thing, and induced him to establish all three, and to add thereto a riding school for sundry officers of infantry who were not very firm in the saddle, and also to open a School of Arms for the benefit of all (the last thing a British officer learns is, to use his "silly sword"); and the consequence was, that we soon had a fine body of well-trained sabres, ready to do anything or to go anywhere.
The Maître d'armes was an Italian from Constantinople, and he began characteristically by proposing to call out the little Consul Battus, while another purposed making love to Madame! Alas! it was too late. On September 12th, a gunboat, dressed in all her colours, steamed at full speed down the Dardanelles, and caused an immense excitement in camp. The news flew like wildfire that Sebastopol had been captured. It proved, to say the least, premature, and the details filled every Englishman with disgust. I need not describe the grand storming of the Malakoff, which gave Pélissier his bâton de Maréchal, or the gallant carrying of the Little Redan by Bourbaki. But our failure at the Great Redan was simply an abomination. Poor old Jemmy Simpson was persuaded by Pélissier to play the second part, and to attack from the very same trench as that which sent forth the unsuccessful assault of June 18th. About half the force required was sent, and these were mostly regiments which had before suffered severely, and the bravest of them could only stand up to be shot down, instead of sneaking, as not a few did, in the trenches. Lastly, instead of leading them himself, the Commander-in-Chief sent General Wyndham, whose gasconade about putting on his gloves under fire seems to be the only item of this disgraceful affair which appears known to and remembered by the British public. The result of our attack was simply a sauve qui peut, and (proh pudor!) the Piedmontese General Cialdini was obliged to order up one of his brigades to save the British.
Continentals attributed this systematic paucity of our troops to the most urgent emergencies, either to inconsiderate national parsimony, or to overweening contempt for the enemy. It was nothing of the kind; it resulted from the normal appointment of thoroughly incapable Commanders. The private soldier was perfectly right, who volunteered before Lord Raglan that he and his comrades were perfectly ready to take Sebastopol by storm, under the Command of their own officers, if not interfered with by the Generals.
I now thought that I saw my way to a grand success, and my failure was proportionally absurd. This was nothing less than the relief of Kars, which was doomed to fall by famine, to the Russians. Pélissier and the Frenchmen were long-sighted enough to know the culminating importance of this stronghold as a pierre d'échappe in the way of Russia, and possibly, or rather probably, they had orders from home. However, they managed to keep Omar Pasha and his Turkish troops in the Crimea, where this large force were compelled to lie idle, instead of being sent to attack the Trans-Caucasian provinces, where they might have done good service. So when Omar Pasha, on the 29th of September, gloriously defeated the Russians before the walls of Kars, his victory was useless, and he was compelled to retire. Had the affair been managed in other ways, England might have struck a vital blow at Russia, by driving her once more behind the Caucasus, and by putting off for many a year the threatened advance upon India, which is now one of our cauchemars.
Meanwhile the reports concerning the siege of Kars, whose gallant garrison was allowed to succumb to famine, cholera, and the Russians, were becoming a scandal. It was reported that General Williams, who, with the Hungarian General Metz, was taking a prominent part in the defence, addressed upwards of eighty officials to Lord Stratford without receiving a single reply; in fact, as Mr. Skene's book shows, the great man only turned them into ridicule. However, the "Eltchi" feared ultimate consequences, and wrote to Lieut.-General (afterwards Sir) Robert J. Hussey-Vivian, to consult him concerning despatching on secret errand the Turkish Contingent, consisting, as it may be remembered, of twenty-five thousand Nizam or Regulars, commanded by a sufficiency of British officers.
The answer was that no carriage could be procured. Vivian, who was a natural son of Lord Vivian's, had seen some active service in his youth, but he was best known as an Adjutant-General of the Madras army, a man redolent of pipe-clay and red tape, and servilely subject to the Ambassador. So I felt that the game was in my hands, and proceeded in glorious elation of spirits to submit my project for the relief of Kars to his Excellency. We had already 2640 sabres in perfect readiness to march, and I could have procured any quantities of carriage. The scene which resulted passes description. He shouted at me in a rage, "You are the most impudent man in the Bombay Army, Sir!" But I knew him, and understood him like Alison, and did not mind. It ended with, "Of course you'll dine with us to-day?"
* * * * *
It was not until some months afterwards that I learnt what my unhappy plan proposed to do. Kars was doomed to fall as a make-weight for the capture of half of Sebastopol, and a Captain of Bashi-Bazouks (myself) had madly attempted to arrest the course of haute politique.
The tale of the fall of Kars is pathetic enough. While the British officers dined with General Mouravieff, the gallant Turkish soldiers were ordered to pile arms and march off under escort, and, dashing their muskets to the ground, they cried, "Perish our Wazirs who have even shamed us with this shame." And the disastrous and dishonourable result brought about by our political inaptitude has never ceased to weaken our prestige in Central Asia. Civilized Turks simply declared that an officer of artillery, sent out as Commissioner by England, had unwarrantably interfered with the legitimate command of Kars, where Turkey had a powerful army and an important position; and that by keeping the soldiers behind walls, when he knew the City could not be saved, he had lost both Army and City. The criticism was fair and sound.
General (afterwards Sir) W. F. Williams of Kars was at first in huge indignation, and declared that he would persuade the Government to impeach Lord Stratford. But on the way he was met by an offer of the Command at Woolwich, which apparently made him hold his peace. He was somewhat an exceptional man. For years an instructor of the Turkish Artillery, then English member of the mixed Commission for the topography of the Turko-Persian frontier, and finally Queen's Commissioner with the Turkish army at Kars, he had never learnt a word of Turkish. Of course he was hustled into the House of Commons. Whenever a man makes himself known in England that is apparently his ultimate fate. But he fell flatly, as even Kars did, before the sharp tongue of Bernal Osborne. During some debate on the Chinese question, he had assured the House that he was an expert, because he had had much experience of Turkish matters. "Oh, the fall of Kars!" cried the wit; and the ex-Commissioner was extinguished for ever.
Lord Stratford, I suppose by way of consoling me, made an indirect offer, through Lord Napier and Ettrick, about commissioning me to pay an official visit to Schamyl, whom some call "The Patriot," and others "The Bandit," of the Caucasus. The idea was excellent, but somewhat surprised me. Schamyl had lately been accused, amongst other atrocious actions, of flogging Russian ladies whom he had taken prisoners, and I could not understand how Lord Stratford, who had an unmitigated horror of all Russian cruelties, and who always expressed it in the rawest terms, could ally himself with such a ruffian. Possibly the political advantages in his opinion counterbalanced his demerits, for, had Schamyl been fairly supported, the Russian conquest of the great mountains might have been retarded for years. I consulted on the subject Alison and Percy Smythe, and both were of the same opinion, namely, that although there were difficulties and dangers, involving a long ride through Russian territory, the task might have been accomplished. They relied greatly upon the ardent patriotism of the Circassian women who then filled the harems of Constantinople. I should not have seen a single face, except perhaps that of a slave-girl, but I should have been warmly assisted with all the interest the fair patriots could make. So I began seriously to think of the matter. But the first visit to Lord Stratford put it entirely out of my head. I asked his Excellency what my reply was to be, should Schamyl ask me upon what mission I came. "Oh, say that you are sent to report to me." "But, my lord, Schamyl will expect money, arms, and possibly troops, and what am I to reply if he asks me about it? Otherwise he will infallibly set me down for a spy, and my chance of returning to Constantinople will be uncommonly small."
However, the "Eltchi" could not see it in that light, and the project fell through.
Here also, although somewhat out of place, I may relate my last chance of carrying out a project upon which I was very warm, namely, to assist Circassia and to attack Georgia.
On returning to London I received a hint that Lord Palmerston had still some project of the kind, and was willing that I should be employed on it. So I wrote a number of letters, which I was allowed to publish in the Times, upon the subject of levying a large force of Kurdish Irregular Cavalry, and these being supported by the excellent work of Sir Henry Rawlinson, found favour with the public. But presently came the Franco-Russian peace of 1856. France, who had won all the credit of the mismanaged Campaign because she washed her dirty linen at home, and who had left all the discredit to England, whose practice was the opposite, lost all interest in the war. Louis Napoleon was thoroughly satisfied with what he had done, and Russia, after a most gallant and heroic defence of her territory, wanted time to heal her wounds. Accordingly the Treaty of Paris was entered into, the result being that, fifteen years afterwards, when France was in her sorest straits, Russia, with the consent of England (!), tore up that treaty and threw it in our face.
After this fruitless visit to Constantinople, I returned post haste to the Dardanelles, where I found the Bashi-Bazouks, like the unfortunate Turks at Kars, in a state of siege. On the morning of the 26th of September we were astounded to see the Turkish Regulars drawn out in array against us, Infantry supported by the guns, which were pointed at our camp, and patrols of Cavalry occupying the rear. Three War-steamers commanded the main entrance of the Town, and the enemy's outposts were established within three hundred yards of the 1st Regiment of Beatson's Horse, evidently for the purpose of ensuring a sanguinary affair. The inhabitants had closed their shops, and the British Consulate was deserted. The steamer Redpole was sent off in hottest haste to Constantinople with a report that a trifling squabble between the French infirmiers and the Bashi-Bazouks had ended in deadly conflict, and that the most terrible consequences were likely to ensue.
General Beatson at once issued an order to his men, who were furious at this fresh insult, and requested permission to punish the aggressors by taking the enemy's guns; and by means of his officers he restrained the natural anger of his much-suffering men.
The result was a triumph of discipline, and not a shot was fired that day. About four p.m. the Military Pasha, ashamed of his attitude, marched the Regulars back to their barracks, but he did not fail to complain to Constantinople of General Beatson's order, keeping his men in camp "till the Turkish authorities should have recovered from their panic and housed their guns." But the Redpole had also carried from the English and French Consuls an exaggerated account of the state of affairs, and earnestly requesting a reinforcement. The reply was an order from Lieut.-General Vivian removing General Beatson from command, and directing him to make it over to Major-General Richard Smith, who appeared at the Dardanelles on September 28th, supported by a fresh body of Nizam; and, lest any insult might be omitted, three hundred French soldiers had been landed at the Nagára Hospital to attack us in the rear.
[Sidenote: End of Crimea.]
General Beatson was at the time suffering from an accident, and was utterly unfitted for business. So Major Berkeley and I collected as many of the officers as we could at head-quarters, and proposed to go in a body to General Smith and lay the case before him. We assured him that all the reports were false, and proposed to show him the condition and the discipline of the Bashi-Bazouks; we also suggested that Brigadier-General Brett might be directed to assume temporary Command of the Force, until fresh orders and instructions should be received from General Vivian. Of course General Smith could not comply with our request, so we both declared that we would send in our resignations. After an insult of the kind, we felt that we could no longer serve with self-respect. It was this proceeding, I suppose, which afterwards gave rise to a report that I had done my best to cause a Mutiny.
On the last day of September General Beatson, with his Chief of Staff and military Secretary, left the Dardanelles for ever. Arrived at Buyukdere, a report was sent to General Vivian, and he presently came on board, where a lengthened communication passed between the Generals. Rumours of a Russian attack had induced a most conciliatory tone. General Vivian appeared satisfied with the explanation, and listened favourably to General Beatson's urgent request for permission to return at once to the Dardanelles. He asked expressly if the "Buzouker" could keep his men in order. The answer was a decided affirmative, which appeared to have considerable weight with him, and he expressed great regret for having, under a false impression, written an unfavourable letter to Lord Panmure, the tone of whose correspondence had been most offensive. He stated, however, that nothing could be done without the order of her Majesty's Ambassador; and, promising to call upon him for instructions, he left the steamer about midday, declaring that he would return in the course of the afternoon. After a few hours appeared, instead of General Vivian, a stiff official letter, directed to General Beatson. The interview with Lord Stratford had completely altered the tone of his official conduct.
On the 12th of October General Beatson reported officially to Lords Panmure and Stratford the efficient state of his force, concerning which General Smith had written most favourably. An equally favourable view was expressed in the public press by that Prince of War Correspondents, William H. Russell, whose name in those days was quoted by every Englishman. General Beatson begged to be sent on service, offering, upon his own responsibility, to take up transports, and to embark his men for Eupatoria, Yinikali, Batum, Balaclava, or--that unhappy Kars. To this no reply was returned.
Nothing now remained to be done, and on the 18th of October we left Therapia en route to England.
[Sidenote: Beatson's Trial.]
The sequel to this affair was sufficiently remarkable. General Beatson came home and attempted to take civil proceedings against his enemies. Chief amongst them was Mr. Skene--one of the Consuls already referred to--who, from the inception of General Beatson's scheme, had shown himself most bitterly opposed to it, and who had used all his influence to make General Beatson's position untenable.
Afterwards he chose to say that, "when General Smith arrived at the Dardanelles, General Beatson assembled the Commanding Officers of the regiments, and actually endeavoured to persuade them to make a mutiny in the regiments against General Smith, and against the authority of Vivian. Two of these Commanding Officers then left the room, saying they were soldiers, and they could not listen to language which they thought most improper and mutinous. These two were Lieut.-Colonels O'Reilly and Shirley. General Beatson subsequently had a sort of round robin prepared by the Chief Interpreter, and sent round to the different officers, in the hope that they would sign it, refusing to serve under any other General than himself. Both of these mutinous attempts are said to have originated from Captain Burton, who it also appears kept the order from Lord Panmure, placing the Irregular Horse under Lieut.-General Vivian, for three whole weeks unknown to any one but General Beatson, and the order was not promulgated until after General Smith had arrived."
General Beatson went into the witness-box and categorically denied the charges made against him.[3] I followed and gave evidence to the same effect, as did also General Watt; but there was a great difficulty in proving the publication of the libel, the War Office, then represented by Mr. Sidney Herbert, refusing to produce certain letters. Mr. Skene was very ably defended by Mr. Bovill (afterwards Lord Chief Justice), Mr. Lush (afterwards a judge), and Mr. Garth, and he brought forward a considerable number of witnesses, including General Vivian himself. Their evidence, however, tended rather to establish the case against him (Skene), so that he was compelled to plead that his libel was a privileged communication. Mr. Baron Bramwell confined himself in his summing-up strictly to the legal aspects of the case, but he allowed his view of Mr. Skene's conduct to be very distinctly understood.
The jury (a special one), after half an hour's deliberation, returned a verdict for the defendant on the technical ground, but added a rider to their verdict, expressive of their disgust at Mr. Skene for having refrained from retracting his charges against General Beatson when he found how utterly without foundation they were. The verdict of the jury was confirmed on appeal, but it was generally felt that General Beatson had fully vindicated his character, and had very successfully exposed the conspiracy against the Irregulars, which had ended so disastrously for him and for his officers. The characters of the plaintiff and the defendant respectively may be estimated from one small circumstance. Beatson began his action just as the Indian Mutiny broke out, and being reasonably refused an extension of leave for the purpose of prosecuting it, went out to India. When the Mutiny was suppressed he obtained six months' leave, without pay, for the purpose of prosecuting his case. Mr. Skene had obtained the appointment of Consul at Aleppo, and could have reached England in a fortnight, but he chose to remain at his Consulate, though there would have been no difficulty in obtaining leave of absence on full pay. Under such circumstances, it was perhaps hardly worth while for his counsel to dwell upon the cruelty of pushing on this case in his absence, a complaint for which the presiding judge somewhat emphatically declared that there was not the smallest foundation.
[1] Here, however, "Pam" was in the right. He foresaw that if the Canal was once made, England would cling to Egypt, and never again have a Crimean War. He also appreciated the vast injury which would accrue to our Eastern monopoly. But he never would or could do anything sérieusement, and he would humbug his countrymen with such phrases as a "ditch in the sand." He knew as well as any man that the project was feasible, and yet he persuaded Admiral Spratt and poor Robert Stephenson to join in his little dodge. I lost his favour for ever by advocating the Canal, and by proposing to assist the emigration of Fenian emigrants, at the expense of that fatal humbug, the "Coffin Squadron" on the West Coast of Africa.
[2] How often one has to witness this in learned societies!--I. B.
[3] Richard was not altogether lucky, as far as promotion went, about his Chiefs. Sir Charles Napier had seen what stuff he was made of, and had utilized and praised him to the utmost, but Napier's patronage was not in those days a recommendation, because he was always fighting some big-wig at home, and high officials who are ruffled up are quite as dangerous as fighting Sikhs or Afghans. He then served under General Beatson, who, like Napier, was always plunging into hot water; but Richard was devoted to his Chiefs, who well deserved his loyalty, and in this instance Richard gave valuable evidence on his old Commander's behalf. He was very amusing in the witness-box; he was so cool and ready, and always worried his cross-examiner into a white heat of rage, playing with him as a cat does a mouse, when the lawyer was doing his best to bewilder him, and make him contradict himself, especially when Richard got him into a network of military terms, the cross-examiner being rather at sea among its technicalities. I can see him now, just as he used to be in the fencing school; he would play with his adversary, just as if he was carving a chicken, and tire him out long before the real play began, so that an ill-tempered man would almost spit himself with rage, if the button had not been on.
It was good to see him under cross-examination. Bovill, subsequently Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, was leading counsel on the other side, and was so ill-advised as to attempt to browbeat Richard. His failure was naturally disastrous. A very simple answer of Richard's quite upset Bovill. "In what regiment did you serve under the plaintiff?" "Eh?" "In what regiment, I say----" "In no regiment." After playing with counsel for a minute or two, Richard let him know that he had served in a "corps." Bovill was still further discomfited in the course of the trial, by a manœuvre of Edwin James, who was managing Beatson's case. James coolly got up while Bovill was speaking for the defence, declared he could not stay and listen to such stuff, and left the court for a while. It is only fair to add that Bovill won the case.--I. B.
XI. BETWEEN THE CRIMEA AND THE LAKE REGIONS OF CENTRAL AFRICA
"Aye free, aff-hand your story tell, When wi' a bosom crony; But still keep something to yoursel' Ye scarcely tell to ony." ----BURNS.
As soon as Richard was well home from the Crimea, and had attended Beatson's trial, he began to turn his attention to the "Unveiling of Isis," in other words, "Discovering the sources of the Nile, the Lake Regions of Central Africa," on which his heart had long been set, and he passed most of his time in London working it up.
One summer day, in August, 1856, thirty-seven years ago, we had not gone out of town, and I was walking in the Botanical Gardens with my sister, Blanche Pigott, and a friend, and Richard was there, walking with the gorgeous creature of Boulogne--then married. We immediately stopped and shook hands, and asked each other a thousand questions of the four intervening years, and all the old Boulogne memories and feelings which had lain dormant, but not extinct, returned to me. He asked me before I left if I came very often to the Botanical Gardens, and I said, "Oh yes, we always come and read and study here from eleven to one, because it is so much nicer than staying in the hot rooms at this season."' "That is quite right," he said. "What are you studying?" I had that day with me an old friend, Disraeli's "Tancred," the book of my heart and tastes, which he explained to me. We were there about an hour, and when I had to leave, as I moved off, I heard him say to his companion, "Do you know that your cousin has grown charming? I would not have believed that the little schoolgirl of Boulogne would have become such a sweet girl;" and I heard her say, "Ugh!" with a tone of disgust.
Next day, when we got there, he was also there--alone--composing poetry to show to Monckton-Milnes on some pet subject, and he came forward, saying laughingly, "You won't chalk up 'Mother will be angry' now, will you, as you did when you were a little girl?" Again we walked and talked. This went on for a fortnight--I trod on air.
[Sidenote: We become engaged.]
At the end of a fortnight he asked me "if I could dream of doing anything so sickly as to give up Civilization, and if he could obtain the Consulate at Damascus, to go and live there." He said, "Don't give me an answer now, because it will mean a very serious step for you--no less than giving up your people, and all that you are used to, and living the sort of life that Lady Hester Stanhope led. I see the capabilities in you, but you must think it over." I was so long silent from emotion--it was just as if the moon had tumbled down and said, "I thought you cried for me, so I came"--that he thought I was thinking worldly thoughts, and said, "Forgive me! I ought not to have asked so much." At last I found my voice, and said, "I don't want to 'think it over'--I have been 'thinking it over' for six years, ever since I first saw you at Boulogne on the Ramparts. I have prayed for you every day, morning and night. I have followed all your career minutely. I have read every word you ever wrote, and I would rather have a crust and a tent with you than be Queen of all the world. And so I say now, Yes! YES! YES!" I will pass over the next few minutes. Then he said, "Your people will not give you to me." I answered, "I know that, but I belong to myself--I give myself away." "That is all right," he answered; "be firm, and so shall I."
After that he came and visited a little at our house as an acquaintance, having been introduced at Boulogne, and he fascinated, amused, and pleasantly shocked my mother, but completely magnetized my father and all my brothers and sisters. My father used to say, "I don't know what it is about that man, but I can't get him out of my head, I dream about him every night."
Cardinal Wiseman and Richard had become friends in early days. Languages had brought them together, and the Cardinal now furnished him with a special passport, recommending him to all the Catholic Missions in wild places all over the World, with special letters describing him as a Catholic Officer.
[Sidenote: The Story of Hagar Burton.]
I now think I must introduce to you two cuttings from the Journal of the Gypsy Lore Society. The first was an obituary after his death, January, 1891; the other was a small contribution from me, throwing a light on his Gypsy interests, and this will explain better than any other way why I was so impressed on hearing his name when we were introduced, and why I was so startled at his pursuit and mingling with the Jats, the aboriginal Gypsies in India, mentioned in my Boulogne recital.
OBITUARY IN THE "GYPSY LORE SOCIETY JOURNAL," JANUARY, 1891.
"Not only this Society, but the whole civilized world, has recently had to mourn the death of our distinguished fellow-member, Sir Richard Francis Burton. Of the many events of his eventful life it is needless to speak here. As soldier, explorer, linguist, and man of letters (the writer of about eighty more or less bulky volumes), he made himself separately famous. 'His most famed achievement--the pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina in the character of an Afghan Muslim--was,' says one writer, 'an achievement of the first order. To consider it without a wondering admiration is impossible: so vast is the amount involved of hardihood and self-confidence, of linguistic skill and histrionic genius, of resourcefulness and vigilance and resolve.'
"But the aspect in which he may most suitably be regarded in these pages, is that of a student of the Gypsies, to whom he was affiliated by nature, if not actually by right of descent.
"Whether there may not be also a tinge of Arab, or, perhaps, of Gypsy blood in Burton's race, is a point which is perhaps open to question. For the latter suspicion an excuse may be found in the incurable restlessness which has beset him since his infancy, a restlessness which has effectually prevented him from ever settling long in any one place, and in the singular idiosyncrasy which his friends have often remarked--the peculiarity of his eyes. 'When it (the eye) looks at you,' said one who knows him well, 'it looks through you, and then, glazing over, seems to see something behind you. Richard Burton is the only man (not a Gypsy) with that peculiarity, and he shares with them the same horror of a corpse, death-bed scenes, and graveyards, though caring little for his own life.' When to this remarkable fact he added the scarcely less interesting detail that 'Burton' is one of the half-dozen distinctively Romany names, it is evident that the suspicion of Sir Richard Burton having a drop of Gypsy blood in his descent--crossed and commingled though it be with an English, Scottish, French, and Irish strain--is not altogether unreasonable.
"Unreasonable or not, it can hardly be said that this constitutes a firm basis on which to rear a theory of Gypsy lineage. Yet Burton himself acknowledged a certain Gypsy connection, though, it will be noticed, he does not say the affinity was that of blood, in the following extract from a letter to Mr. J. Pincherle, accepting that gentleman's dedication of his Romany version of the 'Song of Songs' (I Ghiléngheri Ghilia Salomuneskero). 'Dear Mr. Pincherle,' writes Sir Richard, 'I accept the honour of your dedication with the same frankness with which you accompanied its offer. And indeed, I am not wholly dissociated from this theme; there is an important family of Gypsies in foggy England, who, in very remote times, adopted our family name. I am yet on very friendly terms with several of these strange people; nay, a certain Hagar Burton, an old fortune-teller (divinatrice), took part in a period of my life which in no small degree contributed to determine its course.'
"Whether such slight indications as these really point to a Gypsy line of descent or not, there can be no question as to the interest which Sir Richard Burton took in Gypsy lore. Apart from his various well-known published accounts of the Jats and other tribes of the Indus Valley, he had a work specially entitled 'The Gypsies,' which his biography of 1887 announces as then 'in course of preparation.' The materials of this work are now, we understand, in the possession of Lady Burton, and we trust that they will some day see the light. Sir Richard was himself one of the original members of the Gypsy Lore Society, in which he always took a deep interest; and a letter which he wrote to the secretary, only five days before his death, concludes with the good wish--'All luck to the Society; I will not fail to do what little I can.'
"His death, which was very sudden, took place on October 20th last, while he still held the office of British Consul at Trieste. The high esteem in which he was held by the citizens of Trieste, not only on account of his official position and the great name which he had made for himself in the world of science, but also for those personal qualities which had won their regard, is amply testified by the sincere expressions of regret which accompanied the last honours there paid to his memory. At the time of his death Sir Richard Burton was sixty-nine years of age, having been born at Barham House, Hertfordshire, on March 19th, 1821."
"AN EPISODE FROM THE LIFE OF SIR RICHARD BURTON, BY HIS WIFE.
"In our obituary notice of the late Sir Richard Burton, mention was made of a certain Gypsy named Hagar Burton, who, Sir Richard stated, had been instrumental, to some extent, in shaping his destiny. This reference has been fully explained by Lady Burton, who, in favouring us with some account of her illustrious husband, writes as follows:--
"'In the January number of the Gypsy Lore Journal a passage is quoted from "a short sketch of the career" of my husband (a little black pamphlet) which half suspects a remote drop of Gypsy blood in him. There is no proof that this was ever the case, but there is no question that he showed many of their peculiarities in appearance, disposition, and speech--speaking Romany like themselves. Nor did we ever enter a Gypsy camp without their claiming him: "What are you doing with a black coat on?" they would say, "why don't you join us and be our King?"
"'He had the peculiar eye, which looked you through, glazed over and saw something behind, and is the only man, not a Gypsy, with that peculiarity. He had the restlessness which could stay nowhere long, nor own any spot on earth--the same horror of a corpse, death-bed scenes, and graveyards, or anything which was in the slightest degree ghoulish, though caring but little for his own life--the same aptitude for reading the hand at a glance. With many, he would drop it at once and turn away, nor would anything induce him to speak a word about it.
"'You quote a letter of his to Mr. James Pincherle, a dear old friend of ours, where he relates the influence that a Gypsy, named Hagar Burton, had upon his life. I will now tell you the story, which will reappear in his biography, if I live to finish it.
[Sidenote: Hagar Burton the Gipsy.]
"'When I was a girl in the schoolroom in the country, I was enthusiastic about Gypsies, Bedouin Arabs, everything Eastern and mysterious, and especially wild, lawless life. Disraeli's "Tancred" was my second Bible. I was strictly forbidden to associate with the Gypsies in our lanes, which was my delight. When they were only travelling tinkers or basket-menders I was very obedient, but wild horses would not have kept me out of the camps of the Oriental, yet English-named, tribes of Burton, Cooper, Stanley, Osbaldiston, and one other whose name I forget. My particular friend was Hagar Burton, a tall, slender, handsome, distinguished, refined woman, of much weight in the tribe. Many an hour have I passed with her (she called me Daisy), and many a little service I did them when any of them were sick, or had got into a scrape with the squires, anent poultry or eggs and other things. At last a time came when we were to go to school in France, and my departure was regretted by them. The last day but one I ever saw Hagar, she cast my horoscope, and wrote it in Romany. The rest of the tribe presented me with a straw flycatcher of many colours, which I still have. The horoscope was translated to me by her, and I give you the most important part concerning my husband--
"'"You will cross the sea, and be in the same town with your Destiny, and know it not. Every obstacle will rise up against you, and such a combination of circumstances, that it will require all your courage and energy and intelligence to meet them. Your life will be like one always swimming against big waves, but God will always be with you, so you will always win. You will fix your eye on your polar star, and you will go for that without looking right or left. You will bear the name of our Tribe, and be right proud of it. You will be as we are, but far greater than we. Your life is all wandering, change, and adventure. One soul in two bodies, in life or death; never long apart. Show this to the man you take for your husband.--HAGAR BURTON."
"'In June, 1856, I went to Ascot. I met Hagar and shook hands with her. "Are you Daisy Burton yet?" was her first question. I shook my head--"Would to God I were!" Her face lit up. "Patience, it is just coming." She waved her hand, being rudely thrust from the carriage. I never saw her since, but I was engaged to Richard two months later.
[Sidenote: Our Strange Parting.]
"'After we were engaged, I gave him the horoscope in Romany. It was before he set out in October, 1856, with Speke, for the discovery of Tanganyika. We had been engaged for some weeks. One day in October we had passed several hours together, and he appointed to come next day, at four o'clock in the afternoon. I went to bed quite happy, but I could not sleep at all. At two a.m. the door opened, and he came into my room. A current of warm air came towards my bed. He said, "Good-bye, my poor child. My time is up, and I have gone, but do not grieve. I shall be back in less than three years, and I am your destiny. Good-bye."
"'He held up a letter--looked long at me with those Gypsy eyes, and went slowly out, shutting the door. I sprang out of bed to the door, into the passage--there was nothing--and thence into the room of one of my brothers. I threw myself on the ground, and cried my heart out. He got up, asked me what ailed me, and tried to soothe and comfort me. "Richard is gone to Africa," I said, "and I shall not see him for three years." "Nonsense," he replied; "you have only got a nightmare. You told me he was coming at four in the afternoon." "So I did; but I have seen him, and he told me this; and if you wait till the post comes in, you will see I have told you truly." I sat all the night in my brother's armchair, and at eight o'clock, when the post came in, there was a letter to my sister, Blanche Pigott, enclosing one for me. "He had found it too painful to part, and had thought we should suffer less that way, begged her to break it gently to me, and to give me the letter" (which assured me we should be reunited in 1859--as we were, on the 22nd May of that year). He had left London at six o'clock the previous evening, eight hours before I saw him in the night.
"'This is the story of Hagar Burton. We have mixed a great deal since with Gypsies, in all parts of the world, and have sought her in vain. The other Gypsies have chiefly warned us of having to fight through our lives, and to be perpetually on guard against treacheries and calumnies "chiefly through jealous men and nasty women." Well, we have mostly left them to God, and they nearly always come to grief. I may add that all that Hagar Burton foretold came true, and I pray God it may be so to the end, i.e. "never long apart" in Life or Death.
"'ISABEL BURTON.'"
Richard traced for me a little sketch of what he expected to find in the Lake Regions (see below).
That last afternoon I had placed round his neck a medal of the Blessed Virgin upon a steel chain, which we Catholics commonly call "the miraculous medal." He promised me he would wear it throughout his journey, and show it me on his return. I had offered it to him on a gold chain, but he had said, "Take away the gold chain; they will cut my throat for it out there." He did show it me round his neck when he came back; he wore it all his life, and it is buried with him.
What made my position more painful was, that he knew that I should not be allowed to receive any letters from him, and therefore it was not safe to write often, and then only to say what others might read. He left to me, at my request, the task of breaking the fact of my engagement to my people, when, where, and how I pleased, as it would be impossible to marry me until he came back. I would here insert a little poem he wrote on leaving--
"I wore thine image, Fame, Within a heart well fit to be thy shrine! Others a thousand boons may gain, One wish was mine--
"The hope to gain one smile, To dwell one moment cradled on thy breast, Then close my eyes, bid life farewell, And take my rest!
"And now I see a glorious hand Beckon me out of dark despair! Hear a glorious voice command, 'Up, bravely dare.
"'And if to leave a deeper trace 'On earth, to thee, Time, Fate, deny; 'Drown vain regret, and have the grace 'Silent to die.'
"She pointed to a grisly land, Where all breathes death--earth, sea, and air! Her glorious accents sound once more: 'Go, meet me there!'
"Mine ear will hear no other sound, No other thought my heart will know. Is this a sin? 'Oh, pardon, Lord! 'Thou mad'st me so.'
"R. F. B.
"September, 1856."
Chapter XII
HIS EXPLORATION OF THE LAKE REGIONS, TAKING CAPTAIN SPEKE AS SECOND IN COMMAND.
MY FOREWORD.
It was the Royal Geographical Society which induced Lord Clarendon, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, to supply Richard with funds for an exploration of the then utterly unknown Lake Regions of Central Africa. In October, 1856, he set out for Bombay, applied for Captain Speke, and landed at Zanzibar on December 19th, 1856. Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, her Majesty's Consul at Zanzibar, was very good to them; they made a tentative expedition from January 5th to March 6th, 1857, about the Mombas regions. They got a bad coast fever, and returned to Zanzibar. They then set out again into the far interior, into which only one European, Monsieur Maizan, a French naval officer, had attempted to penetrate; he was cruelly murdered at the outset of his journey.
It was the first successful attempt to penetrate that country, and laid the foundation for others. It was the base on which all subsequent journeys were founded; Livingstone, Cameron, Speke and Grant, Sir S. Baker, and Stanley carried it out. Where Richard found the rudest barbarians, Church missions have been established, and commerce, and now a railway is proposed to connect the coast with the Lake Regions. This expedition brought neither honour nor profit to Richard; but the world is not likely to forget it; the future will be more generous and juster than the past or present. During these African explorations, Richard was attacked by fever twenty-one times, by temporary paralysis and partial blindness. On his return he brought out "The Lake Regions of Equatorial Africa," 2 vols., 1860, and the Royal Geographical Society devoted the whole of their thirty-third volume to its recital (Clowes and Son). Richard's book was translated into French by Madame H. Loreau, and republished in New York by Fakir, 1861. It will shortly be added to the Uniform Library in preparation. In May, 1859, the moment he returned to England, he immediately proposed another Expedition, which, however, the Royal Geographical Society gave to his disloyal companion, who completely and wilfully spoiled the first Expedition as far as lay in his power.
ZANZIBAR; AND TWO MONTHS IN EAST AFRICA.
(From his own notes.)
Preliminary Canter.
"Of the gladdest moments, methinks, in human life, is the departing upon a distant journey into unknown lands. Shaking off with one effort the fetters of habit, the leaden weight of routine, the cloak of carking care, and the slavery of Civilization, Man feels once more happy. The blood flows with the fast circulation of youth, excitement gives a new vigour to the muscles, and a sense of sudden freedom adds an inch to the stature. Afresh dawns the morn of life, again the bright world is beautiful to the eye, and the glorious face of Nature gladdens the soul. A journey, in fact, appeals to Imagination, to Memory, to Hope--the sister Graces of our moral being.
"The shrill screaming of the boatswain's whistle, and sundry shouts of, 'Stand by yer booms!' 'All ready, for'ard?' 'Now make sail!' sounded in mine ears with a sweet significance.
ZANZIBAR.
"Our captain decided, from the absence of Friday flags on the Consular Staffs, that some great man had gone to his long home. The Elphinstone, however, would not have the trouble of casting loose her guns for nothing with H.H. the Sayyid of Zanzibar's ensign--a plain red--at the fore, and the Union at the main, she cast anchor in Front Bay, about half a mile from shore, and fired a salute of twenty-one. A gay bunting thereupon flew up to every truck, and the brass cannon of the Victoria roared a response of twenty-two. We had arrived on the fortieth, or the last day of mourning.
"When 'chivalry' was explained to the late ruler, Said of Zanzibar (1856), as enlightened a prince as Arabia ever produced, and surrounded by intrigue, he was shrewd enough to remark 'that only the siflah (low fellows) interfere between husband and wife.'
"Peace to his soul! he was a model of Arab princes, a firm friend to the English nation, and a great admirer of the 'Malikat el Aazameh,' our most gracious Majesty Queen Victoria.
"The unworthy merchants of Zanzibar, American and European, did their best to secure for us the fate of M. Maizan, both on this and on a subsequent occasion, by spreading all manner of reports amongst the Banyans, Arabs, and Sawahilis.
"Considering the unfitness of the season, we were strongly advised to defer exploration of the interior until we had learned something of the coast, and for that purpose we set out at once, for a two or three months' cruise.
"If we, travellers in transit, had reason to be proud of our countryman's influence at Zanzibar, the European and American merchants should be truly thankful for it. Appointed in 1840 H.B.M.'s Consul and H.E.I. Co.'s agent at the court of H.H. Sayyid Said, and directed to make this island his Head-quarters, Colonel Hamerton found that for nine years not a British cruiser had visited it, and that report declared us to be no longer Masters of the Indian seas. Slavery was rampant. Wretches were thrown overboard, when sick, to prevent paying duty; and the sea-beach before the town, as well as the plantations, presented horrible spectacles of dogs devouring human flesh. The Consul's representations were accepted by Sayyid Said; sundry floggings and confiscation of property instilled into slave-owners the semblance of humanity. The insolence of the negro was as summarily dealt with. The Arabs had persuaded the Sawahilis and blacks that a white man is a being below contempt, and the 'poor African' carries out the theory. Only seventeen years have elapsed since an American Trader-Consul, in consular cocked hat and sword, was horsed upon a slave's back, and solemnly 'bakered' in his own consular house, under his own consular flag. A Sawahili would at any time enter the merchant's bureau, dispose his sandalled feet upon the table, call for a cognac, and if refused, draw his dagger. Negro fishermen would anchor their craft close to a window, and, clinging to the mast, enjoy the novel spectacle of Kafirs feeding.
"Now an Englishman here is even more civilly treated than at one of our Presidencies. This change is the work of Colonel Hamerton, who, in the strenuous and unremitting discharge of his duties, has lost youth, strength, and health. The iron constitution of this valuable public servant--I have quoted merely a specimen of his worth--has been undermined by the terrible fever, and at fifty his head bears the 'blossoms of the grave,' as though it had seen its seventieth summer.
"The reader asks, What induced us to take a guide apparently so little fit for rough-and-ready work? In the first place, the presence of Said bin Salim el Lamki was a pledge of respectability. And lastly, a bright exception to the rule of his unconscientious race, he appears truthful, honest, and honourable. I have never yet had reason to suspect him of a low action. 'Verily,' was the reply, 'whoso benefiteth the beneficent becometh his Lord; but the vile well-treated turneth and rendeth thee.' I almost hope that he may not deceive us in the end.
"The traveller in Eastern Africa must ever be prepared for three distinct departures--the little start, the great start, and the start.
"On the 10th of January we ran through the paradise of verdant banks and plateaus, forming the approach to Pemba,[1] and halted a day to admire the Emerald Isle of these Eastern seas. In A.D. 1698 the bold buccaneer, Captain Kidd, buried there his blood-stained hoards of precious stones and metal, the plunder of India and the further Orient. The people of Pemba have found pots full of gold lumps, probably moulded from buttons that the pirate might wear his wealth.
"On the heights of Chhaga, an image or statue of a long-haired woman, seated in a chair and holding a child, is reported to remain. Iconolatry being here unknown, the savages must have derived them from some more civilized race--Catholic missionaries.
"The Mazrui, a noble Arab tribe, placed themselves under British protection in their rebellion against the late Sayyid. They were permitted to fly our flag--a favour for which, when danger disappeared, they proved themselves ungrateful; and a Mr. Reece was placed at Mombas to watch its interests. The travellers lamented that we abandoned Mombas: had England retained it, the whole interior would now be open to us. But such is the history of Britain the Great: hard won by blood and gold, her conquests are parted with for a song.
"The very Hindús required a lesson in civility. With the Wali, or Governor, Khalfan bin Ali, an Omani Arab of noble family, we were on the best of terms. But the manifest animus of the public made us feel light-hearted, when, our inquiries concluded, we bade adieu to Mombas.
"The people of Eastern Intertropical Africa are divided by their occupations into three orders. First is the fierce pastoral nomad, the Galla and Masai, the Somal and the Kafir, who lives upon the produce of his cattle, the chase, and foray. Secondly rank the semi-pastoral, as the Wakamba, who, though without fixed abodes, make their women cultivate the ground. And the last degree of civilization, agriculture, is peculiar to the Waníka, the Wasumbára, and the various tribes living between the coast and the interior lakes.
"The Waníka, or Desert race, is composed of a Negritic base, now intimately mixed with Semitic blood.
"When that enlightened Arab statesman, H.E. Ali bin Nasir, H.H. the Imaum of Muscat's Envoy Extraordinary to H.B. Majesty, was Governor of Mombas, he took advantage of a scarcity to feed the starving Waníka from the public granaries. He was careful, however, to secure as pledges of repayment, the wives and children of his debtors, and he lost no time in selling off the whole number. Such a feat was probably little suspected by our countrymen, when, to honour enlightened beneficence, they welcomed the Statesman with all the triumphs of Exeter Hall, presented him with costly specimens of Government, and sent him from Aden to Zanzibar in the H.E.I. Co.'s brig of war Tigris. This Oriental votary of free trade came to a merited end. Recognized by the enraged savages, he saw his sons expire in torments; he was terribly mutilated during life, and was put to death with all the refinements of cruelty.
"A report, prevalent in Mombas--even a Sawahili sometimes speaks the truth--and the march of an armed party from the town which denoted belief in their own words, induced my companions and myself to hasten up once more to the Rabai Hills, expecting to find the mission-house invested by savages. The danger had been exaggerated, but the inmates were strongly advised to take temporary shelter in the town. Left Kisulodiny on the 22nd of January, 1857. Some nights afterwards, fires were observed upon the neighbouring hills, and Waníka scouts returned with a report that the Masai were in rapid advance. The wise few fled at once to the kaza, or hidden and barricaded stronghold, which these people prepare for extreme danger. The foolish many said, 'To-morrow morning we will drive our flocks and herds to safety.' But ere that morning dawned upon the world, a dense mass of wild spearmen, sweeping with shout and yell, and clashing arms, by the mission-house, which they either saw not or they feared to enter, dashed upon the scattered villages in the vale below, and left the ground strewed with the corpses of hapless fugitives. When driving off their cattle, the Masai, rallying, fell upon them, drove them away in ignominious flight, and slew twenty-five of their number.
"Jack[2] and I landed at Wasin, and found the shore crowded with a mob of unarmed gazers, who did not even return our salaams: we resolved in future to keep such greetings for those who deserved them. Abd-el-Karím led us to his house, seated us in chairs upon a terrace, and mixed a cooling drink in a vase not usually devoted to such purpose. There is no game on the island, or on the main. In the evening we quitted the squalid settlement without a single regret.
"Our nakhoda again showed symptoms of trickery; he had been allowed to ship cargo from Mombas to Wasin, and, Irish-like, he thereupon founded a right to ship cargo from Wasin to Tanga. Unable to disabuse his mind by mild proceedings, I threatened to cut the cable.
"At last, having threaded the báb, or narrow rock-bound passage which separates the bluff headland of Tanga Island from Ras Rashíd on the main, we glided into the bay, and anchored in three fathoms of water, opposite, and about half a mile from, the town.
"Tanga Bay extends six miles deep by five in breadth. The entrance is partially barred by a coralline bank, the ancient site of the Arab settlement.
"We landed on the morning of the 27th of January, and were met upon the sea-shore, in absence of the Arab Governor, by the Diwans or Sawahili Headmen, the Jemadar and his Belochies, the Collector of customs, Mizan Sahib, a daft old Indian, and other dignitaries. They conducted us to the hut formerly tenanted by M. Erhardt; brought coffee, fruit, and milk; and, in fine, treated us with peculiar civility. Here Sheddad built his City of brass, and encrusted the hill-top with a silver dome that shines with various and surpassing colours.
"The mountain recedes as the traveller advances, and the higher he ascends the higher rises the summit. At last blood bursts from the nostrils, the fingers bend backwards, and the most adventurous is fain to stop. Amongst this Herodotian tissue of fact and fable, ran one fine thread of truth: all testified to the intense cold.
"They promised readily, however, to escort me to one of the ancient Cities of the coast.
"Setting out at eight a.m. with a small party of spearmen, I walked four or five miles south of Tanga, on the Tangata road, over a country strewed with the bodies of huge millepedes, and dry as Arabian sand.
"I assumed an Arab dress--a turban of portentous circumference, and a long henna-dyed shirt--and, accompanied by Said bin Salim, I went to inspect the scene.
"The wild people, Washenzy, Wasembára, Wadígo, and Waségeju, armed as usual, stalking about, whilst their women, each with baby on back, carried heavy loads of saleable stuff, or sat opposite their property, or chaffered and gesticulated upon knotty questions of bargain.
"The heat of the ground made my barefooted companions run forward to the shade, from time to time, like the dogs in Tibet. Sundry excursions delayed us six days at Tanga.
"Five hours of lazy sailing ran us into Tangata, an open road between Tanga and Pangany. Here we delayed a day to inspect some ruins, where we had been promised Persian inscriptions and other wonders.
"We spent the remainder of the day and night at Tangata, fanned by the north-east breeze, and cradled by the rocking send of the Indian Ocean.
"At five a.m. on the 3rd of February we hoisted sail, and slipped down with the tepid morning breeze to Pangany, sighting Maziny Island, its outpost, after three hours' run. Soon after arrival I sent Said bin Salim, in all his bravery, on shore with the Sayyid of Zanzibar's circular letter to the Wali or Governor, to the Jemadar, to the Collector of customs, and the different Diwans. All this preparation for a mere trifle! We were received with high honour. The Diwans danced an ancient military dance before us with the pomp and circumstance of drawn swords, whilst bare-headed slave-girls, with hair à la Brutus, sang and flapped their skirts over the ground, with an affectedly modest and downcast demeanour. After half an hour's endurance, we were led into the upper-storied house of the Wali Meriko, a freedman of the late Sayyid Said, and spent the evening in a committee of ways and means.
"African villages are full of bleared misery by day, and animated filth by night, and of hunting adventures and hair-breadth escapes, lacking the interest of catastrophe.
"We arose early in the morning after arrival at Pangany, and repaired to the terrace for the better enjoyment of the view.
"If it had half-a-dozen white kiosks, minarets, and latticed summer-houses, it would almost rival that gem of creation, the Bosphorus.
"The settlement is surrounded by a thorny jungle, which at times harbours a host of leopards. One of these beasts lately scaled the high terrace of our house, and seized upon a slave-girl. Her master, the burly black Wali, who was sleeping by her side, gallantly caught up his sword, ran into the house, and bolted the door, heedless of the miserable cry, 'B'ana, help me!' The wretch was carried to the jungle and devoured. The river is equally full of alligators, and whilst we were at Pangany a boy disappeared.
"Of course the two tribes, Wasumbara and Wazegura, are deadly foes. Moreover, about a year ago, a violent intestine feud broke out amongst the Wazegura, who, at the time of our visit, were burning and murdering, kidnapping, and slave-selling in all directions.
"The timid townsmen had also circulated a report that we were bound for Chhaga and Kilimanjaro: the Masai were 'out,' the rains were setting in, and they saw with us no armed escort. They resolved therefore not to accompany us.
"With abundance of money--say not less than £5000 per annum--an exploring party can trace its own line, pay the exactions of all Chiefs; it can study whatever is requisite; handle sextants in presence of negroes, who would cut every throat for one inch of brass; and, by travelling in comfort, can secure a very fair chance of return. Even from Mombas or from Pangany, with an escort of one hundred matchlock-men, we might have marched through the Masai plunderers to Chhaga and Kilimanjaro. But pay, porterage, and provisions for such a party would have amounted to at least £100 per week; a month and a half would have absorbed our means. Thus it was, gentle reader, that we were compelled to rest contented with a visit on foot to Fuga, for we had only one thousand pounds.
"Presently the plot thickened. Muigni Khatib, son of Sultan Kimwere, a black of most unprepossessing physiognomy, with a 'villanous trick of the eye, and a foolish hanging of the nether lip,' a prognathous jaw, garnished with cat-like moustaches and cobweb beard, a sour frown, and abundant surliness by way of dignity, dressed like an Arab, and raised by El Islam above his fellows, sent a message directing us to place in his hands what we intended for his father. This Chief was travelling to Zanzibar in fear and trembling. He had tried to establish at his village, Kirore, a Romulian asylum for runaway slaves, and, having partially succeeded, he dreaded the consequences. The Beloch Jemadar strongly urged us privily to cause his detention at the islands, a precaution somewhat too Oriental for our tastes. We refused, however, the muigni's demand in his own tone. Following their Prince, the dancing Diwans claimed a fee for permission to reside; as they worded it, 'el adah'--the habit; based upon an ancient present from Colonel Hamerton; and were in manifest process of establishing a local custom which, in Africa, becomes law to remotest posterity. We flatly objected, showed our letters, and in the angriest of moods threatened reference to Zanzibar. Briefly, all began to beg bakhshish; but I cannot remember any one obtaining it.
"Weary of these importunities, we resolved to visit Chogway, a Beloch outpost, and thence, aided by the Jemadar who had preceded us from Pangany, to push for the capital village of Usumbara. We made preparations secretly, dismissed the 'Riami,' rejected the Diwans who wished to accompany us as spies, left Said bin Salim and one Portuguese to watch our property in the house of Meriko, the Governor, who had accompanied his muigni to Zanzibar, and, under pretext of a short shooting excursion, hired a long canoe with four men, loaded it with the luggage required for a fortnight, and started with the tide at eleven a.m. on the 6th of January, 1857.
"First we grounded; then we were taken aback; then a puff of wind drove us forward with railway speed; then we grounded again.
"And now, while writing amid the soughing blasts, the rain, and the darkened air of a south-western monsoon, I remember with yearning the bright and beautiful spectacle of those African rivers, whose loveliness, like that of the dead, seems enhanced by proximity to decay. We had changed the agreeable and graceful sandstone scenery, on the sea-board, for a view novel and most characteristic. The hippopotamus now raised his head from the waters, snorted, gazed upon us, and sank into his native depths. Alligators, terrified by the splash of oars, waddled down with their horrid claws, dinting the slimy bank, and lay like yellow logs, measuring us with small, malignant, green eyes, deep set under warty brows. Monkeys rustled the tali trees. Below, jungle--men and woman--
'So withered, so wild in their attire, That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth, And yet are on't.'
And all around reigned the eternal African silence, deep and saddening, broken only by the curlew's scream, or by the breeze rustling the tree-tops, whispering among the matted foliage, and swooning upon the tepid bosom of the wave.
"We sat under a tree till midnight, unsatiated with the charm of the hour. The moon rained molten silver over the dark foliage of the wild palms, the stars were as golden lamps suspended in the limpid air, and Venus glittered diamond-like upon the front of the firmament. The fireflies now sparkled simultaneously over the earth; then, as if by concerted impulse, their glow vanished in the glooms of the ground. At our feet lay the black creek; in the jungle beasts roared fitfully; and the night wind mingled melancholy sounds with the swelling murmuring of the stream.
"The tide flowing about midnight, we resumed our way. The river then became a sable streak between lofty rows of trees. The hippopotamus snorted close to our stern, and the crew begged me to fire, for the purpose of frightening 'Sultan Momba'--a pernicious rogue. At times we heard the splashing of the beasts as they scrambled over the shoals; at others, they struggled with loud grunts up the miry banks. Then again all was quiet. After a protracted interval of silence, the near voice of a man startled us in the deep drear stillness of the night, as though it had been some ghostly sound. At two a.m., reaching a clear tract on the river side--the Ghaut or landing-place of Chogway--we made fast the canoe, looked to our weapons, and, covering our faces against the heavy, clammy dew, lay down to snatch an hour's sleep. The total distance rowed was about 13.5 miles.
"Fifty stout fellows, with an ambitious leader and a little money, might soon conquer the whole country, and establish there an absolute monarchy.
"These Beloch mercenaries merit some notice. They were preferred, as being somewhat disciplinable, by the late Sayyid Said, to his futile blacks and his unruly and self-willed Oman Arabs. He entertained from one thousand to fifteen hundred men, and scattered them over the country in charge of the forts. The others hate them--divisions even amongst his own children was the ruler's policy--and nickname them 'Kurara Kurara.' The Jemadar and the Governor are rarely on speaking terms. Calling themselves Belochies, they are mostly from the regions about Kech and Bampur. They are mixed up with a rabble rout of Afghans and Arabs, Indians and Sudies, and they speak half a dozen different languages. Many of these gentry have left their country for their country's good. A body of convicts, however, fights well. The Mekrani are first-rate behind walls; and if paid, drilled, and officered, they would make as 'varmint' light-bobs as Arnauts. They have a knightly fondness for arms. A 'young barrel and an old blade' are their delight. All use the matchlock, and many are skilful with sword and shield.
"Having communicated our project to the Jemadar of Chogway, he promised, for a consideration, all aid; told us that we should start the next day; and, curious to relate, kept his word.
"A start was effected at five p.m., every slave complaining of his load, snatching up the lightest, and hurrying on regardless of what was left behind. This nuisance endured till summarily stopped by an outward application easily divined. The evening belling of deer and the clock-clock of partridge struck our ears. In the open places were the lesses of elephants, and footprints retained by the last year's mud. These animals descend to the plains during the monsoon, and in summer retire to the cool hills. The Belochies shoot, the wild people kill them with poisoned arrows. More than once during our wanderings we found the grave-like trap-pits, called in India, ogi.
"Tusks weighing 100 lbs. each are common, those of 175 lbs. are not rare, and I have heard of a pair whose joint weight was 560 lbs.
"At Makam Sayyid Sulayman--a half-cleared ring in the thorny jungle--we passed the night in a small babel of Belochies. One recited his Korán; another prayed; a third told funny stories; whilst a fourth trolled lays of love and war, long ago made familiar to my ear upon the rugged Asian hills. This was varied by slapping lank mosquitoes that flocked to the camp-fires; by rising to get rid of huge black pismires, whose bite burned like a red-hot needle; and by challenging two parties of savages, who, armed with bows and arrows, passed amongst us.
"Tongway is the first offset of the mountain-terrace composing the land of Usumbara. It rises abruptly from the plain, lies north-west of, and nine miles, as the crow flies, distant from, Chogway. The summit, about two thousand feet above the sea-level, is clothed with jungle, through which, seeking compass-sights, we cut a way with our swords.
"The climate appeared delicious--even in the full blaze of an African and tropical summer; and whilst the hill was green, the land around was baked like bread-crust.
"The escort felt happy at Tongway, twice a day devouring our rice--an unknown luxury; and they were at infinite pains to defer the evil hour.
"Petty pilferers to the backbone, they steal, like magpies, by instinct. On the march they lag behind, and, not being professional porters, they are restive as camels when receiving their load. One of these youths, happening to be brother-in-law--after a fashion--to the Jemadar, requires incessant supervision to prevent him burdening the others with his own share. The guide, Muigni Wazira, is a huge, broad-shouldered Sawahili, with a coal-black skin; his high, massive, and regular features look as if carved in ebony, and he frowns like a demon in the 'Arabian Nights.'
"A prayerless Sheríf, he thoroughly despises the Makapry or Infidels; he has a hot temper, and, when provoked, roars like a wild beast. He began by refusing his load, but yielded, when it was gently placed upon his heavy shoulder, with a significant gesture in case of recusance.
"Rahewat, the Mekrani, calls himself a Beloch, and wears the title of Shah-Sawar, or the Rider-king. He is the chelebi, the dandy and tiger of our party. A 'good-looking brown man,' about twenty-five years old, with a certain girlishness and affectation of tournure and manner, which bode no good, the Rider-king deals in the externals of respectability; he washes and prays with pompous regularity, combs his long hair and beard, trains his bushy moustache to touch his eyes, and binds a huge turban. Having somewhat high ideas of discipline, he began with stabbing a slave-boy by way of a lesson.
"The Rider-king, pleading soldier, positively refuses to carry, anything but his matchlock, and a private stock of dates, which he keeps ungenerously to himself. He boasts of prowess in vert and venison: we never saw him hit the mark, but we missed some powder and ball.
"The gem of the party is Sudy Mubárak, who has taken to himself the cognomen of 'Bombay.' His sooty skin, and teeth pointed like those of the reptilia, denote his Mhiav origin. He is one of those rare 'Sudies' that delight the passengers in an Indian steamer. Bombay, sold in early youth, carried to Cutch by some Banyan, and there emancipated, looks fondly back upon the home of his adoption, and sighs for the day when a few dollars will enable, him to return. He has ineffable contempt for all 'jungly niggers.' His head is a triumph of phrenology. He works on principle, and works like a horse, openly declaring that not love of us, but attachment to his stomach, make him industrious. He had enlisted under the Jemadar of Chogway. We thought, however, so highly of his qualifications, that persuasion and paying his debts induced him, after a little coquetting, to take leave of soldiering and follow our fortunes. Sudy Bombay will be our head gun-carrier, if he survives his present fever, and, I doubt not, will prove himself a rascal in the end.
"During the first night all Bombay's efforts were required to prevent a sauve qui peut.
"On the 10th of February, after a night of desert silence, we arose betimes, and applied ourselves to the work of porterage. Our luggage again suffered reduction. It was, however, past six a.m. when, forming Indian file, we began to descend the thorn-clad goat-track which spans the north-east spur of Mount Tongway. Overhead floated a filmy canopy of sea-green verdure, pierced by myriads of sunbeams, whilst the azure effulgence above, purified as with fire, from mist and vapour set the picture in a frame of gold and ultramarine. Painful splendours! The men began to drop off. None but Hamdan had brought a calabash. Shaaban clamoured for water. Wazira and the four slave-boys retired to some puddle, a discovery which they wisely kept to themselves, leaving the rest of the party to throw themselves under a tree and bush upon the hot ground.
"As the sun sank westward, Wazira joined us with a mouthful of lies, and the straggling line advanced. Our purblind guide once more lagged in the rear, yielding the lead to old Shaaban. This worthy, whose five wits were absorbed in visions of drink, strode blunderingly ahead, over the Wazira Hills and far away. Jack, keeping him in sight, and I in rear of both, missed the road. Shortly after sunset we three reached a narrow fiumara, where stood, delightful sight! some puddles bright with chickweed, and black with the mire below. We quenched our thirst, and bathed our swollen feet, and patted, and felt, and handled the water as though we loved it. But even this charming occupation had an end. Evidently we had lost our way. Our shots and shouts remained unanswered. It would have been folly to thread the thorny jungle by the dubious light of a young moon. We therefore kindled a fire, looked at our arms, lay down upon a soft sandy place, and certain that Shaaban would be watchful as a vestal virgin, were soon lulled to sleep by the music of the night breeze, and by the frogs chanting their ancient querele upon the miry margins of the pools. That day's work had been little more than five leagues. But--
'These high wild hills and rough uneven ways Draw out the miles.'
"Our guide secured, as extra porters, five wild men, habited in primitive attire. Their only garment was a kilt of dried and split rushes or grass. All had bows and poisoned arrows, except one, who boasted a miserable musket and literally a powder-horn, the vast spoils of a cow. The wretches were lean as wintry wolves, and not less ravenous. We fed them with rice and ghee. Of course they asked for more, till their stomachs, before like shrunken bladders, stood out in the shape of little round bumps from the hoop-work of ribs. We had neglected to take their arms. After feeding, they arose, and with small beady eyes, twinkling with glee, bade us farewell. Though starving they would not work. A few hours afterwards, however, they found a hippopotamus in the open, killed it with their arrows, and soon left nothing but a heap of bones and a broad stain of blood upon the ground.
* * * * *
"Arrived at Kohoday, the elders, as we landed, wrung our hands with rollicking greetings, and those immoderate explosive laughings which render the African family to all appearance so 'jolly' a race.
"We were shown, on the mountain-pass of Usumbara, the watch-fire which is never extinguished; and the Mzegura chief, when supplying us with a bullock, poked his thumb back towards the hills and said, with a roar of laughter, that already we had become the King's guests. Our Beloch guard applauded this kindred soul, patted him upon the shoulder, and declared that, with a score of men of war like themselves, he might soon become lord of all the mountains.
"Our parting was pathetic. He swore he loved us, and promised, on our return, the boat to conduct us down the river; but when we appeared with empty hands, he told the truth, namely, that it is a succession of falls and rapids.
"At five p.m., passing two bridges, we entered Msiky Mguru, a Wazegura village distant twelve miles from Kohoday. It is a cluster of hay-cock huts, touching one another, built upon an island formed by divers rapid and roaring branches of the river. The headman was sick, but we found a hospitable reception. We spent our nights with ants and other little murderers of sleep which shall be nameless. Our hosts expressed great alarm about the Masai. It was justified by the sequel. Scarcely had we left the country when a plundering party of wild spearmen attacked two neighbouring villages, slaughtering the hapless cultivators, and, with pillage and pollage, drove off the cows in triumph.
"After an hour's march we skirted a village, where the people peremptorily ordered us to halt. We attributed this annoyance to Wazira, who was forthwith visited with a general wigging. But the impending rain sharpened our tempers; we laughed in the faces of our angry expostulators, and, bidding them stop us if they could, pursued our road.
"Presently ascending a hill, and turning abruptly to the north-east, we found ourselves opposite, and about ten miles distant from, a tall azure curtain, the mountains of Fuga. Water stood in black pools, and around it waved luxuriant sugar-canes. In a few minutes every mouth in the party was tearing and chewing at a long pole. This cane is of the edible kind. The officinal varieties are too luscious, cloying, and bilious to be sucked with impunity by civilized men. After walking that day sixteen miles, at about four p.m. a violent storm of thunder, lightning, and raw south-west wind, which caused the thermometer to fall many degrees, and the slaves to shudder and whimper, drove us back into the bandany, or palaver-house of a large village. The place swarmed with flies and mosquitoes. We lighted fires to keep off fevers.
"Sunday, the 15th of February, dawned with one of those steady little cataclysms, which, to be seen advantageously, must be seen near the Line. At eleven a.m., weary of the steaming bandany, our men loaded, and in a lucid interval set out towards the Fuga Hills,[3] to which we walked for economy sake. As we approached them, the rain shrank to a spitting, gradually ceased, and was replaced by that reeking, fetid, sepulchral heat which travellers in the tropics know and fear. The slippery way had wearied our slaves, though aided by three porters hired that morning; and the sun, struggling through vapour, was still hot enough to overpower the whole party.
"Issuing from the dripping canopy, we followed a steep goat-track, fording a crystal burn, and having reached the midway, sat down to enjoy the rarefied air, and to use the compass and spyglass. The view before us was extensive, if not beautiful. Under our feet the mountains fell in rugged folds, clothed with plantain fields, wild mulberries, custard-apples, and stately trees, whose lustrous green glittered against the ochreous ground. The sarsaparilla vine hung in clusters from the supporting limbs of the tamarind, the toddy palm raised its fantastic arms over the dwarf coco, and bitter oranges mingled pleasant scent with herbs not unlike mint and sage. Below, half veiled by rank streams, lay the yellow Nika or Wazegura wilderness, traversed by a serpentine of trees denoting the course of the Mkomafi affluent. Far beyond we could see the well-wooded line of the Lufu river, and from it to the walls of the southern and western horizon stretched a uniform purple plain.
"The three fresh porters positively refused to rise unless a certain number of cloths were sent forward to propitiate the magnates of Fuga. This was easily traced to Wazira, who received a hint that such trifling might be dangerous. He had been lecturing us all that morning upon the serious nature of our undertaking. Sultan Kimwere was a potent monarch, not a Momba. His Ministers and councillors would, unless well paid, avert from us their countenances. We must enter with a discharge of musketry to awe the people, and by all means do as we are bid. The Belochies smiled contempt, and, pulling up the porters, loaded them, deaf to remonstrance.
"Resuming our march after a short halt, we climbed rather than walked, with hearts beating from such unusual exercise, up the deep zigzag of a torrent. Villages then began to appear perched like eyries upon the hilltops, and the people gathered to watch our approach. At four p.m. we found ourselves upon the summit of a ridge. The Belochies begged us to taste the water of a spring hard by. It was icy cold, with a perceptible chalybeate flavour, sparkled in the cup, and had dyed its head with rust.
"The giant flanks of Mukumbara bound the view. We stood about four thousand feet above the sea-level, distant thirty-seven miles from the coast, and seventy-four or seventy-five along the winding river. There is a short cut from Kohoday across the mountains; but the route was then waterless, and the heat would have disabled our Belochies.
"After another three-mile walk along the hill flanks, we turned a corner and suddenly sighted, upon the opposite summit of a grassy cone, an unfenced heap of hay-cock huts--Fuga. This being one of the Cities where ingress is now forbidden to strangers, we were led by Wazira through timid crowds that shrank back as we approached, round and below the cone, to four tattered huts, which superstition assigns as the 'travellers' bungalow.' Even the son and heir of great Kimwere must abide here till the lucky hour admits him to the presence and the Imperial City. The cold rain and sharp rarefied air rendering any shelter acceptable, we cleared the huts of sheep and goats, housed our valuables, and sent Sudy Bombay to the Sultan, requesting the honour of an interview.
"Before dark appeared three bareheaded mdue, or 'Ministers,' who in long palaver declared that council must squat upon two knotty points--Primo, Why and wherefore we had entered the country viâ the hostile Wazegura? Secundo, What time might be appointed by his Majesty's mganga, or medicine-man, for the ceremony? Sharp-witted Hamdan at once declared us to be European wizards, and waganga of peculiar power over the moon and stars, the wind and rain. Away ran the Ministers to report the wonder.
"The mganga, who is called by the Arabs tabib, or doctor, and by us priest, physician, divine, magician, and medicine-man, combines, as these translations show, priestly with medical functions.
"At six p.m. the Ministers ran back and summoned us to the 'Palace.' They led the way through rain and mist to a clump of the usual huts, half hidden by trees, and overspreading a little eminence opposite to and below Fuga.
"Sultan Kimwere half rose from his cot as we entered, and motioned us to sit upon dwarf stools before him. He was an old, old man, emaciated by sickness. His head was shaved, his face beardless, and wrinkled like a grandam's; his eyes were red, his jaws disfurnished, and his hands and feet were stained with leprous spots. Our errand was inquired and we were welcomed to Fuga. As none could read the Sayyid of Zanzibar's letter, I was obliged to act secretary. The centagenarian had heard of our scrutinizing stars, stones, and trees. He directed us at once to compound a draught which would restore him to health, strength, and youth. I replied that our drugs had been left at Pangany. He signified that we might wander about the hills and seek the plants required. After half an hour's conversation, Hamdan being interpreter, we were dismissed with a renewal of welcome.
"On our return to the hovels, the present was forwarded to the Sultan with the usual ceremony. We found awaiting us a fine bullock, a basketful of sima--young Indian corn pounded and boiled to a thick hard paste--and balls of unripe bananas, peeled and mashed up with sour milk. Our Belochies instantly addressed themselves to the making of beef, which they ate with such a will that unpleasant symptoms presently declared themselves in camp. We had covered that day ten miles--equal, perhaps, to thirty in a temperate climate and a decent road. The angry blast, the groaning trees, and the lashing rain, heard from within a warm hut, affected us pleasurably, and I would not have exchanged it for the music of Verdi. We slept the sweet sleep of travellers.
"The African Traveller, in this section of the nineteenth century, is an animal overworked. Formerly, the reading public was satisfied with dry details of mere discovery; was delighted with a few latitudes and longitudes. Of late, in this, as in other pursuits, the standard has been raised. Whilst marching so many miles per diem, and watching a certain number of hours per noctem, the traveller, who is in fact his own general, adjutant, quarter-master, and executive, is expected to survey and observe--to record meteorology, hygrometry, and hypsometry--to shoot and stuff birds and beasts, to collect geological specimens, to gather political and commercial information, to advance the infant study ethnology, to keep accounts, to sketch, to indite a copious legible journal, to collect grammar and vocabularies, and frequently to forward long reports which shall prevent the Royal Geographical Society napping through evening meetings. It is right, I own, to establish a high standard which insures some work being done; but explorations should be distinguished from railway journeys, and a broad line drawn between the feasible and the impossible. The unconscionable physicist now deems it his right to complain, because the explorer has not used his theodolite in the temple of Mecca, and introduced his sympiesometer within the walls of Harar. An ardent gentlemen once requested me to collect beetles, and another sent me excellent recipes for preserving ticks.
"These African explorations are small campaigns, in which the traveller, unaided by discipline, is beset by all the troubles, hardships, and perils of savage war. He must devote himself to feeding, drilling, and directing his men to the use of arms and the conduct of a Caravan, rather than the study of infusoria and barometers. The sight of an instrument convinces barbarians that the stranger is bringing down the sun, stopping rain, causing death, and bewitching the land for ages. Amidst utter savagery such operations are sometimes possible; amongst the semi-civilized they end badly. The climate also robs man of energy as well as health. He cannot, if he would, collect ticks and beetles. The simplest geodesical labours, as these pages will prove, are unadvisable. Jack has twice suffered from taking an altitude. Why is not a party of physicists sent out to swallow the dose prescribed by them to their army of martyrs?
"The rainy monsoon had set in at Fuga. Heavy clouds rolled up from the south-west, and during our two days and nights upon the hills the weather was a succession of drip, drizzle, and drench. In vain we looked for a star; even the sun could not disperse the thick raw vapours that rose from the steamy earth. We did not dare to linger upon the mountains. Our Belochies were not clad to resist the temperature--here 12° lower than on the coast; the rain would make the lowlands a hotbed of sickness, and we daily expected the inevitable 'seasoning-fever.' In the dry monsoon this route might be made practicable to Chhaga and Kilimanjaro. With an escort of a hundred musketeers, and at an expense of £600, the invalid who desires to avail himself of this 'sanitarium,' as it is now called by the Indian papers, may, if perfectly sound in wind, limb, and digestion, reach the snowy region, if it exist, after ten mountain-marches, which will not occupy more than a month.
"The head-quarter village of Usumbara is Fuga, a heap of some five hundred huts, containing, I was told, three thousand souls. It is defenceless, and composed of the circular abodes common from Harar to Timbuctoo.
"On Monday, the 16th of February, we took leave of, and were duly dismissed by, Sultan Kimwere. The old man, however, was mortified that our rambles had not produced a plant of sovereign virtue against the last evil of life. He had long expected a white mganga, and now two had visited him, to depart without even a trial! I felt sad to see the wistful lingering look with which he accompanied 'Kuahery!' (farewell!) But his case was far beyond my skill.
"None of Sultan Kimwere's men dared to face the terrible Wazegura.
"We descended the hills in a Scotch mist and drizzle, veiling every object from view. It deepened into a large-dropped shower upon the fœtid lowlands. That night we slept at Pasunga; the next at Msiky Mguru; and the third, after marching seventeen miles--our greatest distance--at Kohoday.
"Our Belochies declared the rate of marching excessive; and Hamdan, who personified 'Master Shoetie, the great traveller,' averred that he had twice visited the Lakes, but had never seen such hardships in his dreams.
"With some toil, however, we coaxed him into courage, and joined on the way a small party bound for Pangany. At one p.m. we halted to bathe and drink, as it would be some time before we should again sight the winding stream. During the storm of thunder and lightning which ensued, I observed that our savage companions, like the Thracians of old Herodotus, and the Bheels and coolies of modern India, shot their iron-tipped arrows in the air.
"About four p.m. we found ourselves opposite Kizanga, a large Wazegura village on the right bank of the river. From Kizanga we followed the river by a vile footpath. The air was dank and oppressive; the clouds seemed to settle upon the earth, and the decayed vegetation exhaled a feverish fœtor. As we advanced, the roar of the swollen stream told of rapids, whilst an occasional glimpse through its green veil showed a reefous surface, flecked with white froth. Heavy nimbi purpled the western skies, and we began to inquire of Wazira whether a village was at hand.
"About sunset, after marching fifteen miles, we suddenly saw tall cocos--in these lands the 'traveller's joy'--waving their feathery heads against the blue eastern firmament. Presently, crossing a branch of the river by a long bridge, we entered an island settlement of Wazegura. This village, being upon the confines of civilization, and excited by wars and rumours of wars, suggested treachery to experienced travellers. Jack and I fired our revolvers into trees, and carefully reloaded them for the public benefit. The sensation was such that we seized the opportunity of offering money for rice and ghee. No provision, however, was procurable. Our escort went to bed supperless; Hamdan cursing this Safar kháis--Anglicè, rotten journey. Murad Ali had remained at Msiky Mguru to purchase a slave without our knowledge. A novice in such matters, he neglected to tie the man's thumb, and had the exquisite misery to see, in the evening after the sale, his dollars bolting at a pace that baffled pursuit. We then placed our weapons handy, and were soon lulled to sleep, despite smoke, wet beds, and other plagues, by the blustering wind and the continuous pattering of rain.
"At sunrise on Friday, the 20th of February, we were aroused by the guide; and, after various delays, found ourselves on the road about seven a.m. This day was the reflection of the last march. At nine a.m. we stood upon a distant eminence to admire the falls of the Pangany river. Here the stream, emerging from a dense dark growth of tropical forest, hurls itself in three huge sheets, fringed with flashing foam, down a rugged wall of brown rock. Halfway the fall is broken by a ledge, whence a second leap precipitates the waters into the mist-veiled basin of stone below. These cascades must be grand during the monsoon, when the river, forming a single horseshoe, acquires a volume and a momentum sufficient to clear the step which divides the shrunken stream. Of all natural objects, the cataract most requires that first element of sublimity--size. Yet, as it was, this fall, with the white spray and bright mist, set off by black jungle, and a framework of slaty rain-cloud, formed a picture sufficiently effective to surprise us.
"As we journeyed onwards the heat became intense. The nimbi hugged the mountain tops. There it was winter; but the sun, whose beams shot stingingly through translucent air, parched the summer plains. At ten a.m. our Belochies, clean worn out by famine and fatigue, threw themselves upon the bank of a broad and deep ravine, in whose sedgy bed a little water still lingered. Half an hour's rest, a cocoa-nut each, a pipe, and, above all things, the spes finis, restored their vigour. We resumed our march over a rolling waste of green, enlivened by occasional glimpses of the river, whose very aspect cooled the gazer. Villages became frequent as we advanced, far distancing our Belochies. At three p.m., after marching fourteen miles, we sighted the snake-fence and the pent-houses of friendly Chogway.
"The Jemadar and his garrison received us with all the honours of travel, and admired our speedy return from Fuga. As at Harar, a visitor can never calculate upon a prompt dismissal. We were too strong for force, but Sultan Kimwere has detained Arab and other strangers for a fortnight before his mganga fixed a fit time for audience. Moreover, these walking journeys are dangerous in one point: the least accident disables a party, and accidents will happen to the best-regulated expedition.
"Our feet were cut by boots and shoes, and we had lost 'leather' by chafing and sunburns. A few days' rest removed these inconveniences. Our first visit was paid to Pangany, where Said bin Salim, who had watched his charge with the fidelity of a shepherd's dog, received us with joyous demonstrations. After spending a day upon the coast, we returned, provided with munitions de bouche and other necessaries, to Chogway, and settled old scores with our escort. Then, as the vessel in which we were to cruise southward was not expected from Zanzibar till the 1st of March, and we had a week to spare, it was resolved to try a fall with Behemoth.[4]
[Sidenote: Hippopotamus Shooting.]
"Captain Owen's officers, when ascending streams, saw their boats torn by Behemoth's hard tusks; and in the Pangany, one 'Sultan Momba,' a tyrant thus dubbed by the Belochies in honour of their friend the Kohoday chief, delighted to upset canoes, and was once guilty of breaking a man's leg.
"Behold us now, O brother in St. Hubert, dropping down the stream in a monoxyle, some forty feet long, at early dawn, when wild beasts are tamest.
"As we approach the herds, whose crests, flanked with small pointed ears, dot the mirrory surface, our boatmen indulge in such vituperations as 'Mana marira!' (O big belly!) and 'Hanamkia!' (O tasteless one!) In angry curiosity the brutes raise their heads, and expose their arched necks, shiny with trickling rills. Jack, a man of speculative turn, experiments upon the nearest optics with two barrels of grape and B shot. The eyes, however, are oblique; the charge scatters, and the brute, unhurt, slips down like a seal. This will make the herd wary. Vexed by the poor result of our trial, we pole up the rippling and swirling surface, that proves the enemy to be swimming under water towards the further end of the pool. After a weary time he must rise and breathe. As the smooth water undulates, swells, and breaches a way for the large black head, eight ounces of lead fly in the right direction. There is a splash, a struggle; the surface foams, and Behemoth, with mouth bleeding like a gutter-spout, rears, and plunges above the stream. Wounded near the cerebellum, he cannot swim straight. At last a coup de grâce speeds through the air; the brute sinks, gore dyes the surface purple, and bright bubbles seethe up from the bottom. Hippo is dead. We wait patiently for his reappearance, but he appears not. At length, by peculiar good luck, Bombay's sharp eye detects an object some hundred yards down stream. We make for it, and find our "bag" brought up in a shallow by a spit of sand, and already in process of being ogled by a large fish-hawk. The hawk suffers the penalty of impudence. We tow our defunct to the bank, and deliver it to certain savages, whose mouths water with the prospect of hippopotamus beef. At sundown they will bring to us the tusks and head picked clean, as a whistle is said to be.
"The herd will no longer rise; they fear this hulking craft; we must try some 'artful dodge.' Jack, accompanied by Bombay, who strips to paddle in token of hot work expected, enters into a small canoe, ties fast his shooting-tackle in case of an upset, and, whilst I occupy one end of the house, makes for the other. Whenever a head appears an inch above water, a heavy bullet 'puds' into or near it; crimson patches adorn the stream; some die and disappear, others plunge in crippled state, and others, disabled from diving by holes drilled through their noses, splash and scurry about with curious snorts, caused by breath passing through their wounds. At last Jack ventures upon another experiment. An infant hippo, with an imprudence pardonable at his years, uprears his crest; off flies the crown of the kid's head. The bereaved mother rises for a moment, viciously regards Jack, who is meekly loading, snorts a parent's curse, and dives as the cap is being adjusted. Presently a bump, a shock, and a heave send the little canoe's bows high in the air. Bombay, describing a small parabola in frog-shape, lands beyond the enraged brute's back. Jack steadies himself in the stern, and as the assailant, with broad dorsum hunched up and hogged like an angry cat, advances for another bout, he rises, and sends a bullet through her side. Bombay scrambles in, and, nothing daunted, paddles towards the quarry, of which nothing is visible but a long waving line of gore. With a harpoon we might have secured her; now she will feed the alligators or the savages.
"The Belochies still take great interest in the sport, as Easterns will when they see work being done. They force the boatmen to obey us. Jack lands with the black woodmen, carrying both 'smashers.' He gropes painfully through mangrove thicket, where parasitical oysters wound the legs with their sharp edges, and the shaking bog admits a man to his knees. After a time, reaching a clear spot, he takes up position behind a bush impending the deepest water, and signals me to drive up the herd. In pursuit of them I see a hole bursting in the stream, and a huge black head rises with a snort and a spirt. 'Momba! Momba!' shout the Belochies, yet the old rogue disdains flight. A cone from the Colt strikes him full in front of the ear; his brain is pierced; he rises high, falls with a crash upon the wave, and all that flesh 'cannot keep in a little life.' Momba has for ever disappeared from the home of hippopotamus; never shall he break nigger's leg again. Meanwhile the herd, who, rubbing their backs against the great canoe, had retired to the other end of the pool, hearing an unusual noise, rise, as is their wont, to gratify a silly curiosity. Jack has two splendid standing shots, and the splashing and circling in the stream below tell the accuracy of the aim.
"We soon learned the lesson that these cold-blooded animals may be killed with a pistol-ball if hit in brain or heart; otherwise they carry away as much lead as elephants. At about ten a.m. we had slain six, besides wounding I know not how many of the animals. They might be netted, but the operation would not pay in a pecuniary sense; the ivory of small teeth, under four pounds each, is worth little. Being perpetually pop-gunned by the Belochies, they are exceedingly shy, and after an excess of bullying they shift quarters. We returned but once to this sport, finding the massacre monotonous, and such cynegetics about as exciting as partridge-shooting.
"On Thursday, the 26th of February, we left 'the bazar.' Jack walked to Pangany, making a route survey, whilst I accompanied the Jemadar and his tail in our large canoe.
[Sidenote: Our First Fever.]
"For two days after returning to the coast we abstained from exercise. On the third we walked out several miles, in the hottest of suns, to explore a cavern, of which the natives, who came upon it when clearing out a well, had circulated the most exaggerated accounts. Jack already complained of his last night's labour--an hour with the sextant upon damp sand in the chilly dew. This walk finished the work. On entering the house we found the Portuguese lad, who had accompanied us to Fuga, in a high fever. Jack was prostrated a few hours afterwards, and next day I followed their example.
"As a rule, the traveller in these lands should avoid exposure and fatigue beyond a certain point, to the very best of his ability. You might as well practise sitting upon a coal-fire as inuring yourself (which green men have attempted) to the climate. Dr. B----, a Polish divine, who had taken to travelling at the end of a sedentary life, would learn to walk bareheaded in the Zanzibar sun; the result was a sunstroke. Others have paced barefooted upon an exposed terrace, with little consequence but ulceration and temporary lameness. The most successful in resisting the climate are they who tempt it least, and the best training for a long hungry march is repose, with good living. Man has then stamina to work upon; he may exist, like the camel, upon his own fat. Those who fine themselves down by exercise and abstinence before the march, commit the error of beginning where they ought to end.
"Our attacks commenced with general languor and heaviness, a lassitude in the limbs, a weight in the head, nausea, a frigid sensation creeping up the extremities, and dull pains in the shoulders. Then came a mild, cold fit, succeeded by a splitting headache, flushed face, full veins, vomiting, and an inability to stand upright. Like 'General Tazo' of Madagascar, this fever is a malignant bilious-remittent. The eyes become hot, heavy, and painful when turned upwards; the skin is dry and burning, the pulse full and frequent, and the tongue furred; appetite is wholly wanting (for a whole week I ate nothing), but a perpetual craving thirst afflicts the patient, and nothing that he drinks will remain upon his stomach. During the day extreme weakness causes anxiety and depression; the nights are worse, for by want of sleep the restlessness is aggravated. Delirium is common in the nervous and bilious temperament, and if the lancet be used, certain death ensues; the action of the heart cannot be restored. The exacerbations are slightly but distinctly marked (in my own case they recurred regularly between two and three a.m. and p.m.), and the intervals are closely watched for administering quinine, after due preparation. This drug, however, has killed many, especially Frenchmen, who, by overdosing at a wrong time, died of apoplexy.
"Whilst the Persians were at Zanzibar they besieged Colonel Hamerton's door, begging him to administer Warburg's drops, which are said to have a wonderful effect in malignant chronic cases. When the disease intends to end fatally, the symptoms are aggravated; the mind wanders, the body loses all power, and after perhaps an apparent improvement, stupor, insensibility, and death ensue. On the other hand, if yielding to treatment, the fever, about the seventh day, presents marked signs of abatement; the tongue is clearer, pain leaves the head and eyes, the face is no longer flushed, nausea ceases, and a faint appetite returns. The recovery, however, is always slow and dubious. Relapses are feared, especially at the full and change of the moon; they frequently assume the milder intermittent type, and in some Indians have recurred regularly through the year. In no case, however, does the apparent severity of the fever justify the dejection and debility of the convalescence. For six weeks recovery is imperfect; the liver acts with unusual energy, the stomach is liable to severe indigestion, the body is lean, and the strength wellnigh prostrated. At such times change of air is the best of restoratives; removal, even to a ship in the harbour, or to the neighbouring house, has been found more beneficial than all the tonics and the preventatives in the Pharmacopœia.
"In men of strong nervous diathesis the fever leaves slight consequences, in the shape of white hair, boils, or bad toothaches. Others suffer severely from its secondaries, which are either visceral or cerebral. Some lose memory, others virility, others the use of a limb; many become deaf or dim-sighted; and not a few, tormented by hepatitis, dysentery, constipation, and similar disease, never completely recover health.
"Captain Owen's survey of the Mombas Mission, and of our numerous cruisers, proves that no European can undergo exposure and fatigue, which promote the overflow of bile, without undergoing the 'seasoning.' It has, however, one advantage--those who pass the ordeal are acclimatized; even with a year's absence in Europe, they return to the tropics with little danger. The traveller is always advised to undergo his seasoning upon the coast before marching into the interior; but after recovery he must await a second attack, otherwise he will expend in preparation the strength and bottom required for the execution of his journey. Of our party the Portuguese boy came in for his turn at Zanzibar. The other has ever since had light relapses; and as a proof that the negro enjoys no immunity, Seedy[5] Bombay is at this moment (June 8th) suffering severely.
"The Banyans intended great civility; they would sit with us for hours, asking, like Orientals, the silliest of questions, and thinking withal that they were 'doing the agreeable:' repose was out of the question. During the day, flies and gnats added another sting to the mortifications of fever. At night, rats nibbled at our feet, mosquitoes sang their song of triumph, and a torturing thirst made the terrible sleeplessness yet more terrible. Our minds were morbidly fixed upon one point, the arrival of our vessel; we had no other occupation but to rise and gaze, and exchange regrets as a sail hove in sight, drew near, and passed by. We knew that there would be no failure on the part of our thoughtful friend, who had written to promise us a battela on the 1st of March, which did not make Pangany till the evening of the 5th of March.
"After sundry bitter disappointments, we had actually hired a Banyan's boat that had newly arrived, when the expected craft ran into the river. Not a moment was to be lost. Said bin Salim, who had been a kind nurse, superintended the embarkation of our property. Jack, less severely treated, was able to walk to the shore; but I--alas for manliness!--was obliged to be supported like a bedridden old woman. The worst part of the process was the presence of a crowd. The Arabs were civil, and bade a kindly farewell. The Sawahili, however, audibly contrasted the present with the past, and drew dedecorous conclusions from the change which a few days had worked in the man who bore a twenty-four pound gun, my pet four-ounce.[6]
"All thoughts of cruising along the southern coast were at an end. Colonel Hamerton had warned us not to despise bilious-remittents; and evidently we should not have been justified in neglecting his caution to return, whenever seized by sickness. With the dawn of Friday, the 6th of March, we ordered the men to up sail; we stood over for Zanzibar with a fine fresh breeze, and early in the afternoon we found ourselves once more within the pale of Eastern civilization. Deo gratias! our excellent friend at once sent us to bed, whence, gentle reader, we have the honour to make the reverential salaam."
[1] The distance between Bombay and Zanzibar is two thousand five hundred miles.
[2] Jack was Speke's christian name.
[3] One of the places forbidden to strangers.
[4] Hippopotamus.
[5] He was originally Sudy, but afterwards they dubbed him Seedy.--I. B.
[6] These two guns I still treasure.--I. B.