A journey to Central Africa

I arose at sunrise, and leaving Achmet to have my baggage removed, walked through the town to my head-quarters at the Consular residence. I found Dr. Reitz’s horses saddled in the court, and himself walking in the garden. He was greatly surprised to see me, not having expected me for another week. After the first greetings were over, he informed me that Abd-el Kader Bey, the Governor of Kordofan, was about leaving for Obeid, and his friends intended to accompany him as far as the island of Moussa Bey, in the White Nile. During my absence, Mohammed Kheyr had presented Dr. Reitz with a fine Dongolese horse, which he offered to me, that I might participate in the festivities. While I was at the Catholic Mission, relating my adventures to Dr. Knoblecher, a messenger came to announce that Abd-el Kader’s boat had left, and that he, with the other chiefs of Khartoum, were ready to set out on horseback for the White Nile. We rode at once to the house of Moussa Bey, who had quite recovered from his illness. The company was already mounted in the square before the house, and only awaited our arrival. We dashed through the lanes of the slave quarter, raising such a cloud of dust that little except red caps and horses’ tails was visible, until we came out upon the open plain, where our cavalcade made a showy and picturesque appearance.

The company consisted of Abd-el Kader Bey, Moussa Bey, Musakar Bey, Ali Bey Khasib, Abou-Sin and Owd-el Kerim, the Shukoree chiefs, Ali Effendi, Mohammed Kheyr, Dr. Reitz, Dr. Péney and myself, besides a number of inferior officers and at least fifty attendants: in short, everybody of consequence in Khartoum except the Pasha, who was represented by one of his Secretaries. The Beys were mounted on fine Arabian stallions, Dr. Péney on a tall dromedary, and the Arab chiefs on mules and donkeys, while the grooms and pipe-bearers ran behind on foot. I shall long remember the brilliant picture of that morning. The sky was clear and hot, and the palms rustled their shining leaves in a light wind. The fields of beans lay spread out between us and the river, their purple blossoms rolling in long drifts and flakes of color, and warm, voluptuous perfume. The red caps, the green and scarlet housings of the horses, the rich blue, brown, purple and violet dresses of the Beys, and the snowy robes of the Arabs, with their crimson borders thrown over the shoulder, projected against the tawny hue of the distant plains, and the warm blue of the sky, formed a feast of color which, in its entire richness and harmony, so charmed my eye that the sight of it became a luxury to the sense, as palpable as that of an exquisite flavor to the palate. Away we went at full gallop, the glittering array of colors dancing and interchanging to the rapid music, as our horses’ hoofs tore the bean-vines and flung their trailing blossoms into the air, until we reached the bank of the White Nile, where the Bey’s vessel was just coming to land. Here the Arab shekhs and the greater part of the inferior officers embraced Abd-el Kader and returned to Khartoum.

The rest of us crossed to the island of Moussa Bey and walked over the thick green turf to a large mimosa tree, of the variety called ’araz, where the carpets were spread on the ground for us and the slaves were ready with our pipes. We lay there two or three hours, in the pleasant shade, talking, smoking, and lazily watching the motions of the attendants, who were scattered all over the island. An Albanian in a scarlet dress shot a wild goose, and Dr. Reitz tried to bring down an ibis, but failed. Finally the showrmeh—an entire sheep, stuffed with rice—appeared, garnished with bread, onions, radishes and grapes. We bared our right arms and buried our hands in the smoking flesh with such good will, that in half an hour the dish contained nothing but a beautiful skeleton. Abd-el Kader Bey honored me by tearing off a few choice morsels with his own fingers and presenting them to me. A bowl of rice cooked in milk and sweetened, completed the repast. At noon we went on board the sandal, and after being shipped to the other side, took leave of Abd-el Kader with an embrace and “God grant you a prosperous journey!”—to which he replied: “God grant it!” He sailed off, up the White Nile, for Tura, with a fine breeze, and we turned homewards. The wind which blew across the plain in our faces, was as hot and dry as the blast of a furnace, and my head reeled under the terrible intensity of the sunshine. The Beys took every opportunity of displaying their horsemanship, dashing over the bean-fields in wild zigzags, reining up in mid-career, throwing their crooked canes into the air after the manner of a jereed, and describing circles and ellipses at full gallop. The finest of all was my handsome Albanian friend, Musakar Bey.

I called upon the Pasha the same afternoon, to give him an account of my voyage up the White Nile, and was obliged to remain and dine with him. He was very much interested in my adventures with the Shillooks, but gave me to understand that the negroes had great fear of his power, and that if they had not known I was under his protection they would certainly have killed me. When I spoke of the giant stature of the Shillooks he confirmed what I had already heard, that the Kyks and Baris are full seven feet in height. He also stated that his predecessor, Achmet Pasha Menekleh, had captured in the regions beyond Fazogl thirty blacks, who were nine feet high and terrible to behold. They were brought to Khartoum in chains, he said, but refused to eat, howled like wild beasts, and died in paroxysms of savage fury. When I remembered that the Pasha had already told me that there was a subterraneous passage from Alexandria to the Fyoom (a distance of two hundred miles), made by Alexander the Great, and that the Sultan at Constantinople had an ape which grew to be twenty feet in height, I received this last communication with a grain of allowance. He fully believed in the existence of the N’yàm-N’yàms (a horribly suggestive name), or cannibals, who I have no doubt, are a fabulous race. Dr. Barth heard of them in Adamowa, south of Lake Tsad, and Dr. Knoblecher in the Bari country, but no one has ever yet seen them.

The expedition of Lattif Effendi had met with many delays, but on Monday, the second of February, every thing was ready for its departure. It consisted of two large nekkers or trading-vessels, each armed with a cannon, and carrying six soldiers in addition to the crew. It was also provided with interpreters, who spoke the languages of the different tribes. Fat Abou-Balta, who was the owner of one of the vessels, Dr. Péney, Dr. Reitz and myself, made up a party to accompany Lattif Effendi the first stage of his voyage. We took the same little sandal in which I had sailed, and pushed away from Khartoum at sunset, followed by the nekkers. The relatives of the sailors were crowded on the bank to bid them good-bye, and as the vessels weighed anchor, the women set up the shrill “lu-lu-lu-lu-lu,” which they use to express all emotions, from rapture down to despair. We had a light, but favoring wind, and at nine o’clock reached a long, sandy beach about five miles above the mouth of the White Nile, where we came to a halt. The vessels were moored to the shore, fires kindled, pipes lighted and coffee made, and we gathered into groups on the sand, in the light of the full moon. At midnight the customary sheep made its appearance, accompanied by two bottles of claret, whereat Abou-Balta affected to be scandalized, so long as any Moslem attendants were in the neighborhood. When the coast was clear, he sprawled out like another Falstaff, his jolly face beaming in the moonlight, and took a sly taste of the forbidden beverage, which he liked so well that he no longer resented the wicked nickname of “gamoos el-bahr” (hippopotamus), which we bestowed upon him. We tried to sleep a little, but although the sand was soft, the night air was chilly, and I believe nobody succeeded but Abou-Balta, whose enormous belly shook with the force of his snoring, as he lay stretched out on his back. By three in the morning everybody was tired; the fires had burned out, the meats of the banquet had grown cold, and the wind blew more freshly from the north. Lattif Effendi called his sailors on board and we took leave of him. The two nekkers spread their huge wings and sailed off in the moonlight for the land of the Baris, while we made our slow way back to Khartoum, where we arrived at daybreak.

During my absence there had been three distinguished arrivals—Abou-Sin, the great shekh of the Shukorees (the father of Owd-el Kerim), Melek Dyaab, the king of Dar El-Màhass, and Ali, shekh of the Ababdehs—all of whom had been summoned by the Pasha, for the purpose of consulting with them on the condition of their territories. Abou-Sin was one of the stateliest and most dignified personages I had ever seen. He was about seventy-five years of age, six feet six inches in height, straight as a lance, with a keen, fiery eye, and a gray beard which flowed to his waist. Dr. Péney, who had visited the old shekh in Takka, informed me that he could bring into the field four thousand warriors, each mounted on his own dromedary. The Shukorees wear shirts of chain-mail and helmets with chain-pieces falling on each side of the face, like their Saracen ancestors. Their weapons are still the sabre and lance, with which they have maintained their independence against all enemies, except the cannon of Mohammed Ali. Dr. Reitz took me to visit the Shekh, who was living in an humble mud building, not far from the Pasha’s palace. We found him giving audience to a number of inferior shekhs, who were seated upon the earthen floor, below his divan. His son, Owd-el Kerim, was among them. The Consul took his seat at the shekh’s side, and I did the same, but, although nothing was said, I saw that those present mentally resented our presumption, and felt that I had been guilty of a breach of decorum. The object of our visit was to invite the shekh to dine with us, and he graciously complied. Owd-el Kerim was included in the invitation, but he excused himself on the ground that he did not dare to eat at the same table with his father, I was delighted with this trait, which recalled the patriarchal days of the Old Testament, and justified the claim of the Arabs to the blood of Abraham.

After my return the weather had suddenly changed, and every thing denoted the approach of the hot and sickly season. The thermometer stood at 105° in the shade, at noon, and there was an intensely hot wind from the south. On account of the languor and depression consequent upon such a heat, it required an extraordinary effort to make the necessary entries in my journal. I barely succeeded in moving about sufficiently to shake off the feverish humors which in that climate so rapidly collect in the system. I always placed a cool earthen jug of water at my bedside, and when I awoke in the middle of the night with a heavy head and parched throat, would take a full draught, which immediately threw me into a profuse sweat, after which I slept soundly and healthily until morning. He who lives in Khartoum in the hot season must either sweat or die. M. Drovetti, of Alexandria (son of the French Consul Drovetti, with whom Belzoni had so many quarrels), arrived about this time and was immediately prostrated with fever. Many of the Franks and Egyptians were also affected, and Achmet, who felt plethoric symptoms, must needs go to a barber and be bled in the head. He besought me to return to Egypt, and as I had already accomplished much more than I anticipated, I began at once to prepare for the homeward journey.

The route which I fixed upon was that across the Beyooda Desert to Napata, the ancient capital of Ethiopia, thence to Dongola, and through the Nubian kingdoms to the Second Cataract of the Nile, at Wadi Haifa. The first part of the journey, through the countries of the Kababish and the Howoweet, was considered rather dangerous, and as a precautionary measure I engaged three of the former tribe, as guide and camel-drivers. I purchased two large Shukoree dromedaries for myself and Achmet, at three hundred and two hundred and fifty piastres respectively, and hired three others from the Kababish, at fifty piastres for the journey to Eddabe, on the Dongolese frontier, by way of Napata. The contract was formally made in the presence of the shekh of Khartoum and Dr. Reitz, both of whom threatened the Arabs with destruction in case they should not convey me safely through the Desert. The Consul also did me good service in the negotiation of my draft on Fathalla Musallee, a Coptic merchant, who demanded twenty per cent. for the exchange. This, as my funds were getting low, would have been a serious loss, but by some arithmetical legerdemain, which I could not understand, the Consul so bewildered poor Fathalla’s brain, that he was finally made to believe that a discount of five per cent. would somehow profit him more in the end than one of twenty per cent. Fathalla paid the money with a melancholy confusion of ideas, and I doubt whether he has to this day discovered in what way he increased his profits by the operation.

My provision-chests were replenished with coffee, sugar, rice, dates and mishmish (dried apricots), from the bazaar, and Achmet worked so cheerily with the prospect of leaving Soudân, that every thing was in readiness at a day’s notice. Rather than wait until the following Monday, for luck’s sake, I fixed upon Thursday, the fifth of February, for our departure. Many of the subordinate Egyptian officers prepared letters to their families, which they intrusted to Achmet’s care, and poor old Rufaā Bey, more than ever disgusted with his exile, charged me with a letter to his wife and another to Mr. Murray, through whose aid he hoped to get permission to return to Egypt. I paid a farewell visit to the Pasha, who received me with great courtesy, informing me (what I already knew), that he was about to be superseded by Rustum Pasha, who, he predicted, would not find the government of Soudân an easy one.

I was sorry to part with Vicar Knoblecher and his brethren. Those self-sacrificing men have willingly devoted themselves to a life—if life it can be called, which is little better than death—in the remote heart of Africa, for the sake of introducing a purer religion among its pagan inhabitants, and I trust they will be spared to see their benevolent plans realized. They are men of the purest character and animated by the best desires. Aboona Suleyman, as Dr. Knoblecher is called, is already widely known and esteemed throughout Soudân, and although he can do but little at present in the way of religious teaching, he has instituted a school for the children of the Copts, which may in time reform the (so-called) Christian society of Khartoum. If he should succeed in establishing a mission in the country of the Baris, the result will be not less important to Science than to Christianity, and the experiment is one which should interest the world.

On the evening before my departure the shekhs Abou-Sin, Ali, the Ababdeh, and Melek Dyaab came to dine with Dr. Reitz. Abou-Sin was grave and stately as ever, and I never looked at him without thinking of his four thousand mailed warriors on their dromedaries, sweeping over the plains of Takka. Shekh Ali was of medium size, with a kind, amiable face, and a touch of native refinement in his manner. King Dyaab, however, who wore a capacious white turban and a robe of dark-blue cloth, was the “merry monarch” of Central Africa. His large eyes twinkled with good humor and his round face beamed with the radiance of a satisfied spirit. He brought a black Dongolese horse as a present for Dr. Reitz, and requested me to put him through his paces, on the plain before the house, as it would have been contrary to African etiquette for the Doctor himself to test the character of the gift. I complied, but the saddle was adapted only for the short legs of the fat king, and after running a circular course with my knees drawn up nearly to my chin, the resemblance of the scene to the monkey-riding of the circus struck me so forcibly, that I jumped off and refused to mount again, greatly to the monarch’s disappointment.

Shekhs Abou-Sin and Ali took their departure shortly after the disposal of the roast sheep and salad which constituted the dinner, but King Dyaab and Dr. Péney remained until a late hour, smoking a parting pipe with me, and partaking of a mixture of claret, lemons, pomegranate juice and spices which the Consul compounded into a sherbet of the most delicious flavor. King Dyaab drank my health with a profusion of good wishes, begging me to remain another week and accompany his caravan. His palace in Dar El-Màhass, he said, was entirely at my disposal and I must remain several weeks with him. But there is nothing so unpleasant to me as to postpone a journey after all the preparations are made, and I was reluctantly obliged to decline his invitation. I take pleasure, however, in testifying to the King’s good qualities, which fully entitle him to the throne of Dar El Màhass, and were I installed in his capital of Kuke, as court-poet, I should certainly write a national ballad for the Mahassees, commencing in this wise:

After the Melek had bestowed a parting embrace by throwing his arms around my waist, and dropping his round head on my shoulder like a sixty-eight pound shot, he was sent home in state on the back of Sultan, the Dar-Fūr stallion. The moonlight was so beautiful that the Consul and I accompanied Dr. Péney to his residence. The latter suggested another pipe in the open air of his court-yard, and awoke his Shillook slaves, who were lying asleep near the house, to perform a dance for our amusement. There were three—two males and a female—and their midnight dance was the most uncouth and barbaric thing I saw in Khartoum. They brandished their clubs, leaped into the air, alighting sometimes on one foot and sometimes on both, and accompanied their motions with a series of short, quick howls, not unlike the laughter of a hyena. After the dance, Dr. Reitz effected a reconciliation between one of the men and the woman, who had been married, but were about to separate. They knelt before him, side by side, and recounted their complaints of each other, which were sufficiently ludicrous, but a present of three piastres (fifteen cents!), purchased forgetfulness of the past and renewed vows for the future.

I felt a shadow of regret when I reflected that it was my last night in Khartoum. After we walked home I roused the old lioness in her corner, gave her a farewell hug and sat down on her passive back until she stretched out her paws and went to sleep again. I then visited the leopard in the garden, made him jump upon my shoulders and play his antics over once more. The hyenas danced and laughed fiendishly, as usual when they saw me, but the tall Kordofan antelope came up softly and rubbed his nose against my leg, asking for the dourra which I was accustomed to give him. I gave him, and the gazelles, and the leopard, each an affectionate kiss, but poked the surly hyenas until they howled, on my way to bed.