Volume Two—Chapter Eight.
New Year’s Day.
New Year’s Day, which fell on the 10th of September, was, according to the Abyssinian calendar, the eighteen hundred and thirty-fourth since the nativity of Christ, and it was celebrated with much rejoicing and festivity. Betimes in the morning came a summons to the presence of the Negoos, who, seated in the portico of the audience chamber, was enjoying the genial warmth of the rising sun. The interior of the hall was strewed throughout with newly-plucked rushes, and under a large iron chafing-dish, with a cheerful wood-fire, basked a whole host of sleek cats in couples—a portion of the dower received with the fair daughter of the Galla Queen of Moolo Fálada.
The king was particularly affable, and in the highest spirits. His hand having been extended to each of us in turn, with the usual inquiries relative to our “safe entrance,” the congratulations of the season were offered to His Majesty, according to the customary form: “As the departed year of Saint Matthew has closed happily upon your auspicious reign, so also may the coming year of Saint Mark! May God prolong your days, and continue the throne in the line of your ancestors unto your children’s children, to the end of time! May He extend the boundaries of your dominions, and cause your spear to prevail over the lance of the enemy! May He endow you with wisdom to judge your subjects aright, and move your heart unto clemency; and may He cause high and low alike to understand and to appreciate the equitable sway of the Father, whom Heaven has appointed to rule over them!”
Elaborate models of a domed palace, completely furnished, and an English saddle and bridle, were next presented, and received with every manifestation of delight, coupled with a prayer from the royal lips that “God might glorify the donor.” A long and minute scrutiny led to an infinity of questions, not easily answered, as to how the shield was to be slung to the pommel, and why the entire foot, instead of the great toe only, should be inserted in the stirrup? “The sun in different countries shines with more or less brilliancy,” exclaimed His Majesty, with truly royal eloquence, as he concluded the examination—“the birds and the beasts are different, and so are the plants. I am fond of new inventions, if it be only to look at them, and although they should prove on trial to be inferior to old ones.”
Abd el Yonag, the chief of the Hurrur slave-merchants, was seated, rosary in hand, during this conversation, and in his weather-beaten countenance were displayed all the cunning lineaments of the petty retailer in small wares, curiously contrasted with the sagacity of the extensive dealer in politics, who had succeeded in obtaining an accurate measure of the monarch’s foot. The knave too protested to have seen the world, and gave out that with his own grey eyes he had beheld the glories of Britain’s eastern possessions.
To support his widely circulated character for universal knowledge, the Moslem miscreant now seized between his bony fingers two handsome pieces of sprigged muslin, fresh from the looms of Manchester, which I had presented for Queen Besábesh, and throwing them contemptuously towards the corner of the throne, muttered betwixt his lips the word “Bombay.”
“What’s that, what do you say?” cried the king, in his usual abrupt manner.
“May it please your Majesty,” returned the turbaned traveller, to our great diversion, “’tis the name of this cloth—it is called Bombay.”
But an opportunity presently occurred of laughing at the beard of the irreverent pedlar, nor was it suffered to pass unheeded. The despot exhibited a silver sword scabbard, which had been curiously enamelled to represent one of the scaly inhabitants of the deep, and it was acknowledged nemine contradicente that the artist had succeeded in producing a highly creditable resemblance to a fish. “A fish,” quoth the man of Hurrur, “what is that?” Even the monarch smiled when the explanation was rendered. “Fishes live in the great sea between Abyssinia and Bombay, and he whose eyes have not suffered under Oubié’s searing irons, might behold numbers every day of the voyage.” “Istigh-far-allah,” “Heaven defend me,” growled the discomfited Wurj, as he slunk into a corner—“’tis passing strange that Abd el Yonag should have never seen the wild beast of the water.”
Attended by the dwarf father confessor, and holding deep consultation with several of the household priests, the king presently led the way through the secret door on the north-eastern side of the palace enclosure. Two umbrellas of crimson velvet, surmounted by silver globes and crosses—his never-failing attendants on all occasions of state—were supported by sturdy slaves, and twelve richly caparisoned steeds, representing the months of the year, were led by the royal grooms. A numerous and motley retinue of dismounted cavaliers followed, and on reaching the meadow, the brows both of monarch and subject were bound by the monks with green fillets of a wiry grass, styled “enkotátach” whence the festival takes its appellation.
Unlike the rugged mountains of Ankóber, which can alone be traversed by the sure-footed mule, the country around Debra Berhán is well adapted for the equestrian, and the bright azure of the sky, mottled by fleecy clouds, the fresh verdure of the turf, and the elasticity of the air, all lent their aid to the coming tournament. Armed with a slender staff, the king mounted his charger, and bounding over the green-sward, opened the sports of the day. Groups of wild savages were instantly to be seen scouring in every direction, engaged in the gombéza, or joust, but His Majesty in flaunting striped robes shone conspicuous. Well mounted, a fearless horseman, and admirably skilled in the use of the spear, he had on no previous occasion been seen to so great advantage as during his participation in the warlike exercises of the new year—now pursuing, and now in turn pursued by the warrior whom he had honoured by selection as his antagonist in the tilt.
“Guebroo is sick,” quoth the monarch, the moment this display was over; “he has received a severe wound in the head during a skirmish with the rebel Galla, and I am desirous that you should now visit him, taking with you the medicine for putrid sores!”
Ayto Berkie, the governor of Bulga, volunteered his escort to Dalúti, the abode of his invalid brother. Crossing the serpentine Beréza, the road led through swampy meadows, and over little cultivated knolls destitute of either tree or shrub, towards Angollála, which, after a gallop of seven miles, opened in the distance. On the summit of a tabular eminence rose the king’s two-storied palace, above churches and conical houses; and five distinct knolls, forming an arc in the intermediate and otherwise level landscape, were severally crowned by the abodes of favourite courtiers—that on the extreme right, embowered in luxuriant trees, pertaining to Ayto Guebroo, governor of Mentshar.
Ascending the tumulus by a steep and stony path, and passing through a muddy court-yard, we reached to the abode of the great man. Surrounded by mournful attendants, he reclined on an alga before a fierce fire, his right eye screened by a shade of blue calico, and his comely partner sobbing violently at his feet. The Gillé and Loomi Galla, bordering on the ancient province of “Fátigar,” having revolted, the warrior had taken the field with his contingent, and becoming opposed to a rebel in hand to hand combat, had received the first spear on his buckler, which was now ostentatiously displayed. The horse of his adversary fell under a well-directed lance, and the dismounted pagan sued for quarter; obtaining which, he treacherously launched his remaining shaft, which had cleft the forehead, and passed through the corner of the eye, although without destroying the vision.
The patient having pledged himself to submit to the prescribed treatment, which few in Abyssinia will do, an operation was successfully performed by Dr Kirk. Drying her tears, the hostess had meanwhile slaughtered a ram, and made extensive preparations for a repast. Piles of thin teff cakes, which loaded the low wicker table, were flanked by decanters of mawkish old honey wine; bowls of pepper porridge smoked at the place appointed for each guest, and lumps of raw meat were in profusion; nor was it without infinite surprise that the hospitable entertainers and their domestics beheld the chops submitted in the first instance to the influence of the hot embers. “Do all of your nation thus burn their meat?” inquired the lady, after long and attentive observation: “I was told that such was the case, and that you burnt the king’s bread too, but could never have believed it.”
No small difficulty was experienced by the despot in comprehending how an eye could be restored by the use of the knife; but His Majesty was at a still greater loss to understand by what means a subject had been cured, whilst himself remained in partial blindness. Ayto Kátama was present at this observation, and turning to one of the party, he whispered, “You must not suppose that the Negoos is blind of that eye: may Sáhela Selássie die, he sees better with it than with the other!” Like -sop of old, who was once a bondsman, the general of the body-guard still retained the grovelling spirit of slavery, varnished with the address of the artful courtier; and he thus invariably followed the advice given to Solon by the hunchback author of the Fables, “that we should either not come near crowned heads at all, or speak those things only that will prove agreeable to them.”
Volume Two—Chapter Nine.
The Falls of the Beréza.
Hunting expeditions filled up the leisure hours of the busy monarch. Standing on the verge of the deep ravine by which the now deserted fastness of Tegulet is insulated from the plain of Debra Berhán, it was His Majesty’s diversion to project stone balls from his rifle at the hyenas basking upon huge fragments of fallen rock, which form caverns one thousand feet below, and choke the bed of the pathless chasm. Then the steps of the royal cavalcade would be directed to the valley of the Beréza, where “Satan’s horses,” in the shape of gigantic adjutants, were striding over the plain on their long stilt-like legs, with well-filled pouches dangling beneath their bills. Here, seated upon the green turf, the Negoos awaited the report of his scouts. Whilst turning the corner of the numerous abrupt eminences, his ears were ever saluted by loud cries of “Abiet! Abiet!” from the mouth of many a petitioner, and a very respectable body of plaintiffs and defendants were continually in attendance.
Judgment was calmly delivered until the arrival of some breathless horseman with intelligence of the discovery of a colony of baboons, would arrest the proceedings of the sylvan court. “Sáhela Selássie ye moot?” inquired the sporting monarch on one of these occasions, adjuring the informant by his own illustrious life; “are they well surrounded?” “May Sáhela Selássie die if they be not,” responded the slave, as he bowed his head to the dust; “hundreds graze in yonder corn-field.” “Then by the death of Woosen Suggud they shall be slain,” was the rejoinder, as His Majesty galloped towards the spot, followed by a train of attendants carrying every rifle and fowling-piece of which the imperial armoury could boast.
On the verge of the deep valley we presently descried a countless pig-faced army, laying waste the rising crops. Lusty veterans, muffled in long flowing manes, strutted consequentially among the ladies; and others, squatted upon their hunkers, with many a ghastly grin displayed their white teeth whilst hunting down the vermin that infested their rough shaggy coats. Casting aside his chequered robe, the king, with all the ardour of a schoolboy, dashed into the middle of the amazed group, and under a running fire from himself and courtiers, the field was presently strewed with slain and wounded. Mangled wretches were now to be seen endeavouring to reach the precipitous chasm of the Beréza, whose white foaming waters were thundering below, whilst the grimacing survivors, far out of danger, whooped in echoes amid the bush-grown clefts, to reassemble the discomfited forces.
Return from this brilliant victory was celebrated by the war-chorus, until the appearance of an erkoom waddling over the ploughed land, again proved the signal for general pursuit. This gigantic and deformed bird is of the genus Hornbill, and an abrupt unmeaning excrescence above his huge jagged forceps, imparts a fancied resemblance to the slaves of the king, who carry water-jars upon their heads, which has dignified him with the title of “Abba Gumbo,” “the Father of the Pitcher.” It has blue wattles, which, when the bird is worried, become inflamed like those of the turkey-cock; and from the fact of its always constructing the door of its nest to the eastward, the Abyssinians assert that it will never build out of sight of a church.
The plumage throughout is to appearance of a sooty black; but the expansion of the wings displays an assemblage of snowy quills which form the pride of the warrior who has slain his enemy in battle. Mules were abandoned with one accord; and under the encouraging gaze of the despot, the courtiers, springing into their high-peaked saddles, scoured after the devoted quarry. Weary with its long flight, the heavy bird alighted a dozen times, but no rest was ever allowed. Again he was turned, and again he distanced his pursuers, until beleaguered on all sides, he was finally speared by the chief smith and body physician, who, as an equestrian, shone facile princeps. His skill rewarded the head of each hero engaged with the coveted white plume, which is the Amháric emblem of death.
“My children have never seen the ‘Devil’s sheep,’” gravely observed His Majesty, as he ascended towards the palace preceded by strains of martial music. “They live in holes in the rocks under the great waterfall, and have long snouts. My people are afraid. Take guns in the morning, and the pages shall show you the road. Now you may eat.”
Heavy dew covered the waving grass, as, accompanied by the promised escort, we proceeded at an early hour to gratify the royal curiosity by the destruction of the dreaded monster. It proved on realisation to be an inoffensive badger; and although the sport did not afford very much diversion, the cataract amply repaid the ride across the meadow. Leaving the terrace of table-land, the serpentine river, far hid from sight, winds through a succession of rounded hills towards a precipitous valley, down which the foaming torrent rushes over a descent of eight rocky basins. Hemmed in by fantastic pillars of basalt, composed of irregular disjointed polygons, the dark craggy surface, laid bare by the violence of ages, is at strange variance with the bright emerald turf which creeps luxuriantly to the very verge of the frowning abyss; whilst twelve hundred feet below, the sparry walls suddenly contract to the breadth of fifteen yards, and the accumulated waters of the cascades, discharging through this natural flood-gate, boil onwards in their wild career.
At some distance from this point are the royal iron mines, and near them a perpendicular crag, which rears its crumbling form from the very bottom of the vale to the level of the upper stream, marks the suddenness of the descent. The entire lace of the verdant hills that repose above the roaring cataract, were covered with thyme and other aromatic herbs, yielding up their fragrance at every step; and new and lovely flowers, sparkling under the morning dew, carpeted the slope. From the very brink of the dizzy torrent, lofty junipers raised their tall stems, and flung their mossy arms to a vast height, though still appearing but as small twigs; and the white cloud of foam and spray which arose from the gloomy chasm, reflecting the prismatic colours of the rainbow, completed a picture of singular wildness and magnificence.
How different, indeed, is the fate awaiting the waters of one and the same shower discharged over the high ridge of the Abyssinian Alps! A drop, falling on the eastern slope of the shed, wends its short course by the nearest streamlet towards the muddy Háwash; and, if not absorbed by the thirsty plains of the Adaïel, adds its mite to the lagoon of Aussa—to filter, perhaps, through some subterranean channel into the Indian Ocean. But far distant is the pilgrimage that awaits the more ambitious cloud that sinks on the western side. Joining the Beréza, and taking the sudden leap over the dazzling cataract of Debra Berhán, it hurries down the Jumma on its impetuous course to the Bahr el Azreek—rolls through the golden sands of Damot—and, after visiting Meroë and Thebes, and all the stately pyramids, either adds its humble tribute to the blue waves of the Mediterranean, or is sacrificed to the fertility of the land of Egypt:
“Where with annual pomp,
Rich king of floods! o’erflows the swelling Nile.”
Volume Two—Chapter Ten.
The Annual Review.
As the month rolled on, under a cold and pleasant sky, the governors of the adjacent districts flocked with their quotas to Debra Berhán, to be in readiness against the approaching anniversary of “Máskal.” On this festival, which is held in commemoration of the discovery of the Holy Cross by Saint Helena, the rabble militia composing the Amhára forces is marshalled in order of review, and the grassy slope in front of the palace became daily more and more thickly dotted with black booths and mules and neighing steeds. Honours, appointments, and rewards, are now conferred upon the brave and the deserving; and this being also the season of retribution, the forfeited property and the household chattels of delinquent officers add to the fair-like confusion. Herds of cattle, and long files of confiscated slaves, wooden tables, rickety bedsteads, and other paltry prizes of royal seizure, crowded the bustling parade; whilst groups of shivering camels, transferred by writ of execution to an uncongenial clime, took up their cold station on the bare ground, which was in a few days to receive their long scraggy bones.
On the eve of the anxiously expected day of jubilee, the din of the nugáreet, followed by the repeated discharge of heavily-loaded matchlocks, proclaimed the movement of the household troops towards the palace portals, in order to guard the imperial person from any sudden outbreak of the wild host encamped in the environs. Halting in front of the tents of the Embassy, they performed the war-dance in our honour by the light of numerous torches. Whilst the leaders solaced themselves with a cup of our curaçoa, their curvetting chargers, ridden by confidential henchmen, bore gallantly among the dense mass; and the bright metal stars and studs of their appointments gleamed amid the dark ranks of the warriors, as they howled the Amhára death chorus. Bidding us good night, the Master of the Horse declared, amongst the affirmative whoops of his followers, that next to the royal safety, the lives of his much-esteemed foreign friends should be uppermost in his thoughts during the coming vigil.
Most unkingly was the appearance presented by the palace at break of day, for all was disorder and confusion among the court. Dirt and filth reigned paramount in every purlieu—mire to the ankle obstructed every gateway—and the rods of the wearied door-keepers were broken to splinters in their laudable endeavours to check the rush of the eager and greasy mob. The very houses themselves seemed more gloomy, and the time-worn mud plaster of the ancient walls more sombre and dilapidated than usual.
The despot was for some hours to be seen squatted in the porch of the banqueting hall, surrounded by all the concomitant litter of a forge, which, puffing away at the foot of his alga, under the personal supervision of the chief smith, blew a cloud of dust and ashes into the royal nostrils. Decorum seemed to be laid aside for the day. Chattering and noise resounded in every quarter. Restraint was removed from the tongues of all, and the uplifted voice of the monarch was at times scarcely audible, amid the clatter of surrounding courtiers, and the ringing of the crow upon the anvil.
Twenty sallow eunuchs, acting each at one and the same time as master of the ceremonies, introduced to the royal notice the crowds of lieges, who, arrayed in most filthy garbs, came crushing together to the front. Priests, and monks, and petty governors, women, slaves, and cultivators, bore each some present to swell the imperial stores. Honey, butter, and beads, sticks, crutches, and censers, were alike received with complimentary speeches, saving in the instance of one burly knave, who had presumed to come before the king with a poor bundle of grass. Of him no notice whatever was taken. The very crowd seemed ashamed of so scurvy an offering, and an opening being spontaneously made, a few kicks and shoves sent the ill-provided vassal speedily out of sight, unrewarded by the customary “God give thee more!” from the lips of his puissant sovereign.
But a very different scene presented itself when, at a later hour, we were ushered through the grassy lawn to make our bows to His Majesty. Surrounded by the grandees of the court, in their holiday attire, the generals of the cavalry and body-guard, the household officers, and the alakas and high-priests of all the principal churches, he reclined on a moveable throne, tricked out for the occasion in velvet and satin. Rich kimkhabs, gay silken vests, and a profusion of silver swords and decorations for gallant conduct, sparkled on the persons of the courtiers; and the turmoil attending the early hours of business had given place to the unbending gravity of Abyssinian etiquette.
The artillery escort having, greatly to the admiration of the bystanders, gone through the manual and platoon exercises with blank cartridge, three hundred Aferoch, under the command of the purveyor-general, entered the arena, elevating high above their heads bundles of peeled wands, bound together with wisps of rushes, and decked with garlands of the yellow “cross-flower.” The wild song of rejoicing at the return of spring, and of the season of blossoms, “when the fleas retire and the flies appear,” had been heard a considerable time, waxing louder and louder, as these lictors, with their fasces, approached the scene of exhibition. Shouting the war-chorus, they now moved forward with a mincing gait, and after the most abject prostration to the earth, with a yell, hurling their rods in a heap before the palace steps, the whole crouched in a semicircle. Their leader and his stewards, some on horseback, others on foot, clothed in the spoils of wild beasts, then displayed themselves individually in the dance, galloping or vaulting between the open ranks, encouraging the men to fight, and demean themselves as warriors in the day of battle—each ending his recitative by a terrific howl, in which he was joined by the whole band.
This exhibition terminated, we were marshalled to a gay Turkish pavilion, which had been purposely erected, below the royal inspection tower. A small, roofed building, resembling the judge’s stand on a country race-course, occupies a raised platform immediately within the palace enclosure. Gaudy cloth hangings enveloped this cage, and carpets and rugs of all colours covered the top of the rude wall for some distance on either side. The Negoos was already seated when we cantered past, and taking off our hats, received his condescending salutation. The usual paraphernalia of silver-embossed velvet floated at his feet. The chiefs of the churches, and the civil officers of state—a gorgeous band—were arranged along the platform, whilst a motley crowd of many thousand spectators stood closely packed over the plain below.
Dense masses of cavalry were in readiness at the further extremity of the parade, to perform the pageant of the day. At the distance of one hundred yards from the imperial stand, a stack of tall leafless willow staves had been erected on the bright green turf which extended far and wide in front. Around it were squatted files of warriors, ensconced under their round shields like the tortoise beneath his shell—the management of sundry huge culverins, of inordinate dimensions, being divided betwixt every three. The muzzle rested over the shoulder of one, a second worked the butt, and a third was prepared, with blazing brand, to fire on the signal given.
The review commenced by the advance of Ayto Kátama’s body-guard, consisting entirely of fusiliers, three-fourths of whom were on this occasion equipped with the muskets that I had recently presented. Divided into four bodies, consisting each of about one hundred men, they moved slowly forward, shouting the usual war-chorus, in imitation of the voice of the lion, and were kept in line by the vigorous application of the rattan. Numerous bracelets, the reward of distinguished gallantry, glittered throughout the band, and the fixed bayonets, heretofore unknown in Southern Abyssinia, gleamed brightly in the sunshine. Gaining the prescribed distance, the warriors crouched on the ground as if to receive cavalry. A grey-headed but energetic veteran sprang to the front—danced during some time in a variety of uncouth capers—and uttering a howl such as might be conjectured to issue from the demon in the wolfs glen, discharged his piece. The signal was followed by a running fire along the entire line, when the remaining companies, advancing in succession in the same order, went through similar evolutions, and all marched off dancing and singing to the outer ring.
The commander-in-chief of this doughty band had meanwhile formed a conspicuous, although rather a ludicrous figure in the performance. Adorned with a flowing garment of his favourite chintz, the flaring pattern of which the kaleidoscope itself must have found difficulty in devising, Ayto Kátama, a bondsman from his youth, exhibited himself in front of the phalanx of slaves, his head enveloped in a crimson harlequin cap. Tripping and mincing with the most unseemly capers and gestures, he brandished his crooked blade in a fashion which could alone have proved dangerous to himself. An inveterate chronic sore throat had rendered his voice husky; and his vapouring unmilitary motions, which reminded us of the strut of a crippled peacock, shed a broad light of caricature over this opening scene of the pantomime.
But the king’s Master of the Horse next advanced with his glittering squadron of picked household cavalry—the flower of the Christian lances. Ayto Melkoo was arrayed in a parti-coloured vest, surmounted by a crimson Arab fleece, handsomely studded with silver jets. A gilt embossed gauntlet encircled his right arm from the wrist to the elbow. His targe and horse-trapping displayed a profusion of silver crosses and devices, and he looked a stately and martial warrior, curvetting at the head of his troop of well-appointed lancers.
Forming line at the distance of half a mile, and approaching the willow pile with a musical accompaniment from a mounted band of kettle-drums, the squadron halted, and the leader, couching his lance, advanced in front. Whilst putting his charger through all the evolutions of Abyssinian manège, he vaunted his prowess in arms, recited the prodigies of valour performed in the service of his royal master, and proclaimed his continued good faith, and future bold intentions—his followers, at intervals, like the Romans of old, responding their assent by the loud clatter of lance against shield. The harangue concluded, his spears were dashed upon the ground, and the chieftain, drawing his broad two-edged falchion, brandished it in the air: “Tockatoo, Loolá, Loolá, Gummoo, Sik, Oooooh,” he vociferated, as he dashed his heels into the flanks of his prancing steed. An instantaneous howl, and independent discharge of culverins, answered the signal, and the wild troop swept past at a gallop to the further extremity of the parade.
At the royal request, I caused a salute of twenty-one guns to be fired by the artillery escort, from the brass three-pounder, which had been dragged by oxen below the willow-stack. Great was the admiration of the wild Galla multitude as they gazed on the appointments and embroidered housings of the British officers now assembled on horseback in front of the watch-tower; and sufficiently diverting were the remarks they passed on our fluttering plumes of white and red feathers—their own emblems of bloody though not chivalrous deeds. When the cannonade opened upon ears that had never before listened to the thunder of ordnance, and a cloud of white smoke curled high above the heads of those who had hitherto beheld such volumes arise only from their own burning hamlets, a buzz of applause pealed from end to end of the extended fine. Each echoing report carried to the hearts of the disaffected a powerful argument for future loyalty, and it needed little discrimination to unravel the royal policy which had dictated the display.
Thirteen governors, clothed in spoils stripped from the lion and the leopard, with other conspicuous trophies of the chase, next passed successively in order of review. Decked in emblems of blood—rings, feathers, bracelets, and gauntlets—tokens all of individual prowess in hand to hand combat with the king’s foes—the leader of each glittering cohort indulged in a long rambling harangue, ere shouting the signal for the charge. Many there were who wore the akodáma—a massive transverse beam of silver projecting across the brows, and hung with a profusion of chains and pendants, the reward for the slaughter of an Adel, several of which respectable body, including the Ras el Káfilah and his fiery coadjutor, Ibrahim Shehém, were spectators of the martial manoeuvres of the Amhára troops.
An interesting, though perhaps not a very military sight, was witnessed as the hours drew on. The famished governors, judges, chiefs, nobles, courtiers, and dignitaries of the church, who occupied the elevated platform on either side of the royal box, unable longer to resist the calls of hunger, were suddenly to be perceived in the act of employing their crooked swords in reducing the dimensions of several sides and flaps of raw beef, which had been furnished by the king’s munificence, and were ostentatiously displayed by as many menials—nor, under the well-directed and vigorous attacks of the assembly, were the reeking collops long in disappearing.
A few only of the detachments, whose leaders were not gifted with eloquence, charged past without a halt from the ground on which they had formed; and it is not improbable that these, having made the circuit of the palace enclosure, had swelled the pageant by appearing a second time on the stage. Others, dismounting, performed various evolutions on foot—ancient heroes, with falchions of truly portentous dimensions, capering and striding before the line, until on a signal made by the culverins, they vaulted again into the saddles, and dashed onward over the green-sward, now fast fading under the tramp of hoofs.
Last of all came the tall martial figure of Abogáz Maretch, chief of all the tributary Galla in the south, at the head of his Abitchu legion, who closed the display of barbarian tactics. Three thousand in number, the sea of wild horsemen moved in advance to the music of the kettledrums, their arms and decorations flashing in the sun-beam, and their ample white robes and long braided hair streaming to the breeze. At the shrill whoop of their leader, with the rushing sound of a hurricane, the cohort clattered past the royal stand, and the moving forest of lances disappeared under a cloud of dust.
From eight to ten thousand cavalry were present in the field, and the spectacle, which lasted from nine in the morning until five in the afternoon, was exceedingly wild and impressive. Did the warriors who this day recounted their valorous achievements before the monarch only possess hearts of a measure with their good weapons and strong seats, they could not fail to prove the means of extensive power and conquest under the control of an aspiring chief; but such unfortunately is not the case, and the speed of their stout hardy steeds is too frequently exerted in the wrong direction.
As soon as it became dark, several rockets which we had brought with us were discharged from our tents by the king’s express desire. With fire-arms the Abyssinians were previously acquainted, and the brass galloper which had echoed so recently, although viewed with wonderful respect, was still only the engine on a colossal scale, to which they were familiarised. But these were the first rockets of which His Majesty had viewed the flight, and the impression they produced upon his mind, as he gazed from his watch-tower, was scarcely less than that worked upon his assembled subjects. Night had thrown her mantle around, and the novel principle of ascent, with the grandeur of the brilliant rush into the skies, afforded matter of amazement to all spectators. When the projectile started with a loud roar from its bed, men, women, and children, fell flat upon their faces. Horses and mules broke loose from their tethers, and the warrior who had any heart remaining shouted aloud. The Galla tribes who witnessed the meteor-like explosion from the vicinity, ascribed the phenomenon to the use of potent medicines, and declared that since the Gyptzis could at pleasure produce comets in the sky, and rain fire from heaven, there was nought for them left, save abject submission to the king’s commands.
The ceremony of burning the stack of willow staves on the parade commenced shortly after this exhibition, and, superintended by His Majesty in person, terminated the proceedings of the busy day. Shrouded from the gaze of the populace, the ladies of the royal harem danced and clapped their hands together, as their white ghostlike figures moved in circling procession around the pile so shortly to be committed to the flames. Then followed a rush of torch-bearers from various quarters, mingled with the corps of Aferoch, and all reeling under the effects of strong old hydromel. Three hundred flower-decked fasces, displayed bright and fresh in the morning, but now withered and faded, were with savage shouts and yells cast simultaneously on the pyre, and a burst of lurid glare, which revealed all that was passing, at once proclaimed their ignition. Thousands crowding to the spot added their tribute, and joined in the din of voices. Black crosses to repel the devil were by many described on their foreheads with the charred wood, in the struggle to obtain which hard blows were dealt lustily about, and some of the competitors were even forced into the pile. The legend asserts, that on the discovery of the Holy Cross by the mother of Constantine the Great, she caused beacon fires to be lighted on all the high hills of Palestine, upon beholding which a general shout of joy was raised by the people of Constantinople. In imitation hereof, wild songs and yells of triumph from the inebriated Christians of Shoa, now completed the turmoil and confusion, and with the crackling red flames that curled up the tall dry staves, ascended high towards the starry vault of heaven in honour of Saint Helena.
Volume Two—Chapter Eleven.
The Galla Capital.
Angollála, on the Galla frontier, founded ten years since by the reigning monarch, is now the capital of the western portion of Shoa, and during the greater part of the year it forms His Majesty’s favourite place of residence. Thither he proceeded on the morning following the festivities of Máskal. Upwards of three thousand horsemen composed the cortège, which was swelled every quarter of a mile by large detachments of cavalry. Led by their respective chiefs, each band dismounted at a considerable distance on the flank, and advancing on foot with shoulders bared, fell prostrate with one accord before the state umbrellas. The Negoos bestrode a richly caparisoned mule, with swallow-tailed housings of crimson and green, and massive silver collars; and he was closely followed by the corps of shield-bearers under the direction of the Master of the Horse, who, by vigorous sallies, and the judicious exercise of a long stick, kept the crowd from encroaching upon the royal person, during our eight-mile ride over the level plain.
From four to five hundred circular huts, consisting of loose stone walls very rudely thatched, cover the slopes of a group of tabular hills that enclose an extensive quadrangle. On the summit of the largest eminence, near the church of Kidána Meherát, stands the palace, defended by six rows of stout high palisades. A clumsy stone edifice of two stories, rising in the form of a dove-cot, occupies the centre. It was erected by Demetrius, an Albanian visitor, and is considerably superior in point of architecture to all other domiciles in the realm, although somewhat tottering in appearance, and deserted from an apprehension of earthquake, which holds strong possession of the royal mind. “Earthquakes are bad things,” was His Majesty’s remark, “for they overthrow houses, and demolish my people.”
The rugged ascent up the steep hill-side was thronged with spectators, male and female, assembled to greet the arrival of their sovereign, and to stare at the foreigners. Paupers and mendicants crowded the first enclosure; and the approach from the second gate through four court-yards, to the King’s quarters, was lined with matchlock-men and fusiliers, who, as the Embassy passed between the ranks, made a laughable attempt to present arms in imitation of the artillery escort at the review. Kitchens, magazines, and breweries were scattered in all directions; and, with the long banqueting-hall, the chamber of audience, the apartments of the women, and the solitary cells, formed a curious, but far from imposing group of buildings.
The despot, in high good-humour, conducted us over the unswept premises, and up a rude ladder to the attic story, which commands a pleasant prospect over wide grassy meadows, intersected by serpentine streamlets, and covered with the royal herds. Upon a floor strewed with newly-cut grass, blazed a wood fire in an iron stove, with the never-failing cats luxuriating under its influence. A dirty couch graced the alcove, and a few guns and fowling-pieces the rudely white-washed walls, but otherwise the dreary chamber was unfurnished. “I have brought you here,” quoth His Majesty, “that you may understand what I want. These rooms require to be ornamented; and I wish your artist to cover them with elephants and soldiers, and with representations of all the buildings and strange things in your country, which my eyes have not yet seen. At present my children may go.”
Awnings had been pitched on the summit of Debra Máskal, (The Hill of the Cross) the southern eminence. The weather was now intensely cold, and a fire during the evening hours could not be dispensed with. As the embers died away, and the smoke cleared from the interior of the flimsy pall, our teeth chattered under the pinching exhalation from the ground. Rifles became rusty in a single night from the heavy white dew that saturated the cloth—watches stopped beneath the pillow—and heaps of blankets proved of small avail to warm our cramped and shivering limbs, which told full well of the hoar frost that was encrusting the verdure of the adjacent meadow.
In the filthy purlieus of the palace, and close to the outer gate, stands a mound of ashes and rubbish, mingled with the noisome lees that stream over the road from the adjacent royal breweries. Packs of half-wild dogs, the pest of Angollála, luxuriate hereon during the day, and at night set forth on their reckless foray, dispelling sleep, and destroying tents in their pilfering invasions. Long before the dawn, the shrill crowing of a thousand cocks first startles the slumberer from his uneasy repose. The wild whoop of the oppressed Galla, who demands redress, then mingles with the “Abiet! Abiet!” reiterated by the more civilised Amhára from every hill-top; and the memory of those who have ever witnessed the breaking of the glorious day amid nature’s luxuriant forests of the East, is forcibly carried back to the tangled thicket, where the campanero tolls her bell-like note from the branches of the spreading tamarind, and the wild ape fills up the interval with his deep voice of exultation, as he pounces upon the bitter apple of the wood.
Bands of mendicant monks next silently take post on the crest of a crumbling wall, within spear’s length of the slumberer’s pillow, and by a shrill recitative, followed by a chorus of independent voices, dispel the morning dream, whilst they scream with a pertinacity that bribery can alone quell. Psalms and hymns never fail to usher in the morn; and when the asperity of cracked and aged throats is somewhat mellowed by distance, the chant of Christian praise—now rambling wildly through all the varied shakes and intonations of a single voice—now swelling with the choral unison of many—is not altogether unpleasant. But greatly more melodious would it fall upon the mortal ear, if a lesson in music were taken from the larks, which rise in hundreds from the steaming meadows, to lift their matin song—at intervals warbling far and faint in the cool dewy air, and again approaching with one rich quaver of delicious harmony, as they fearlessly alight upon the awning.
To the cry of “Abiet!” which now resounded so unceasingly, the Abyssinians attach the opinion that, on the last day, Satan, taking up his post before the gates of heaven, will continue thus to vociferate until he gains admittance. On presenting himself before the judgment-seat, it will be asked “what he would have?” “The souls which have been wrested from me by the angels,” is to be the reply; but on his acknowledging inability to specify the names of those who have robbed him, the Father of Evil will receive a command to be gone, and never to shew his face again.
Importunity is an attribute which stands prominently forth in the character of a native of Southern Abyssinia. For hours together the numerous applicants for redress continue thus to call upon the “master” from every eminence around the palace, until at length the door-keepers appearing, beckon the petitioners to draw nigh. Well aware, however, of the existing understanding between these servitors and the very judges against whose decision they would appeal, they give no heed to the summons, but thrusting their fingers into their ears, do but lift up their voices the louder, until the king commands one of his pages to cause the whole to assemble in the court-yard, where, with shoulders bared to the waist, the parties fearlessly bring their complaint before the throne.
Opportunities were therefore daily afforded of witnessing the dispensation of justice in this singular and anomalous land, where an Ethiopic translation of the code of Justinian, adapted to the customs of the country, forms the basis of legal decisions. The Fétha Negést, or “Judgment of the Kings,” as this volume is entitled, is said to have fallen from heaven during the reign of Constantine the Great; but its statutes, although liberally quoted on all convenient occasions, are not considered binding upon the monarch, unless found in perfect unison with his own despotic pleasure. Disputes are first adjusted by the governors of provinces, who, in the powers with which they are invested, resemble the feudal barons of the middle ages, and often perpetrate the grossest injustice. But the injured party can always seek redress in the court of the Four Wamberoch, or “the chairs,” who are the judges civil and criminal. These dignitaries daily take their seat in the verandah of a building allotted in one of the palace courts, where accuser and accused delivered their conflicting statements in an equally elevated tone of oratory, accompanied by much theatrical gesture. The decision lies again under appeal to the throne; and whensoever the king sees fit to reverse it, the severest censure is invariably passed upon the delinquent “chairs.” The lives and the lands of every subject of Shoa belong de jure to Sáhela Selássie, and of their persons and worldly substance he is absolute master. Whether at the demise of the king or of the subject, the estates of the latter are again at the disposal of the crown, and without the occurrence of either contingency, the mere will and pleasure of the despot is alone requisite to their resumption. Violent use, however, is not often made of this arbitrary power, and it is rarely resorted to except in cases of high treason or of offences against the state, which, in place of capital punishment, are visited by confiscation of property, with imprisonment for life. But if the criminal shall have taken timely sanctuary in the monastery of Affaf Woira, his person is held inviolate, even by the king, and the monks can generally mediate with success. Slavery, either limited to the offender, or extended to his whole family, and continued to his descendants, during one, two, or even seven generations, is a punishment from which no class is held exempt, but exile is usually substituted for offences committed by the clergy, the banished ecclesiastic being then commanded to “stay not by day, neither to tarry by night,” if he would avoid the penalty that awaits delay.
In accordance with the Mosaic dispensation, a life for a life is the sentence passed upon the murderer; but, obtaining the consent of the relatives of the deceased, he is authorised by law to purchase his pardon, and to beg through the land until he shall have accumulated the stipulated ransom. His escape under any circumstances involves forfeiture of property by all his relatives who may be residing north of the river Airára, and unless he be produced, the attachment continues in full force during three generations. Robbery is usually investigated through the Lebáshi, or “thief-taker,” who is indispensable to Abyssinian jurisprudence, and the unhappy wretch whom his imp selects, if unable to pay the fine adjudged, is visited by castigation either with a whip or cudgel. If a Christian, he is then confided to the care of a follower of the Prophet in some of the hot unwholesome Mohammadan districts—if an Islám, to that of a Christian—the party on whom the culprit is thus quartered, being in either case held responsible to the crown for his safe custody during his term of hard labour.
In all the courts of judicature, interest for money lent is recognised at the rate of one ámole per mensem upon each dollar. No note of hand is ever exchanged, but the security of a substantial house-keeper is taken, who is termed “wás.” Debtors are generally manacled, and suffered to roam about, in order to beg the amount due among the charitably disposed; and it is a fact, that in the absence of a “wás” either the creditor or one of his retainers is chained to the defaulter, and the happy couple thus linked, wander through the country together, crying “By Mary! By Mary!” until the requisite sum shall have been contributed for the sake of the Holy Virgin.
At home and abroad, on excursions and on military expeditions, the loud cry of “Abiet!” salutes the royal ear from situations the most strange and unexpected, and although the sceptre is despotic, appeals are almost always promptly attended to. The more boisterous petitioner, who will not remain content with the promise of a future consideration of his claim, is sometimes visited with the stick, but no available opportunity is neglected of listening to those who present themselves. The halting-stone and the green turf are frequently transferred into seats of justice; judgment is given whilst ambling over the fields and meadows; and during five days of every week, many hours are patiently devoted by the monarch to the unravelment of knotty points in litigation.
Volume Two—Chapter Twelve.
Chasm of the Chácha.
The King had oftentimes vaunted the extraordinary natural fortification of Angollála by the river Chácha, which for two days’ journey to the north-westward rolls through a deep precipitous valley, opposing an impassable barrier; and being then joined by the Beréza and by numerous other streams, skirts the celebrated sanctuary of Sena Márkos, whence the combined waters, taking the title of Jumma, roll on into the Nile. Setting out one morning at sunrise through the “sirkosh ber,” (i.e. The secret gate or wicket) he sent a page to conduct us to the junction of the tributary Fácha, which tumbles its torrent over a perpendicular wall seven hundred feet in height; and here His Majesty, surrounded by a crowd of noisy applicants for justice, already occupied his favourite seat on the brink of the giddy chasm.
A cloud had overcast the despot’s brow, for “Boro Winkee,” his favourite war-steed, had that morning fallen down dead whilst exercising in the meadow. Taken in battle from a potent Galla chieftain, whose name it inherited, the steed had long enjoyed a stall within the royal bedchamber, and strong fears indeed were entertained for the effeminate little page Kátama, who had been the luckless jockey. But no punishment followed the catastrophe. The boy was a court favourite, and Antonistye, his father, by far the most renowned warrior in Shoa, was mayor of the corporation of king’s herdsmen, who take the field in independent bodies, and under the title of Abelám (derived from the Amháric word “abélla,” “he may eat up”) form a distinct class, mingling with no other portion of the population.
“What think you of my Galla ditch?” inquired the monarch. “Have you any such in your country?”
There could be but one opinion regarding the yawning gulf, which extends a full mile in breadth, and has been rent by some violent convulsion in the bowels of the earth. Fifteen hundred feet below the otherwise uninterrupted plain, the mingled waters flow on like a silver cord, fed at intervals by foaming cascades, which raise a shower of white spray in their headlong descent: whilst frowning basaltic cliffs cast a deep gloom over wild steppes and terraces, whose lone hamlets and cottages are scarcely to be distinguished from the fallen masses of rock. Vast colonies of pig-faced baboons, the principal inhabitants, sally forth morning and evening from their strong city, to devastate the surrounding crops, in defiance of incessant war waged against them by the peasantry, armed with sticks and stones; but outcasts, and criminals too, find a safe asylum among the almost inaccessible crannies of the perpendicular scarps, where they hide amidst masses of foliage, unthought of, and unmolested.
Deep buried in the bosom of this stupendous chasm, and immediately below the roaring cataract, stands the little hamlet of Guréyo, the seat of the royal iron-works, and thither, after the sylvan court had closed, the king descended, leaning on the arm of the chief smith, great master of the Tabiban, or mechanics, and royal physician in ordinary. The process of smelting and refining pursued in Abyssinia has been common to almost every age and country from the earliest antiquity. Broken into small fragments and coarsely pulverised, the ore is mixed with a large proportion of charcoal, and placed in a clay furnace resembling the smith’s hearth, but furnished with a sloping cavity considerably depressed below the level of the blast pipes. The non-metallic particles being brought to a state of fusion by the constant action of four pair of hand-worked bellows, the iron with the scoria sinks to the bottom. This is again broken, and re-fused, when the dross flowing off, the pure metal is discharged in pigs, which, by a repetition of heating and welding, are wrought into bars; but owing to the very rude and primitive apparatus employed, the unceasing toil of ten hours is indispensable to the realisation of two pounds’ weight of very inferior iron, which after all, in private works, is liable to a heavy tax to the crown.
Embowered in a dark grove of junipers on the opposite brink of the Chácha rises the silent village of Chérkos, rendered famous a few years since through the massacre of one thousand of its Christian inhabitants by Medóko (his gazelle), a celebrated rebel. His proceedings occupy one of the most conspicuous pages in the chronicles of Shoa. Exalted by rare military talents and undaunted intrepidity to the highest pinnacle of royal favour, he became elated by the distinctions conferred, and being suspected of aiming at even greater dominion, was suddenly hurled into the deepest disgrace, and bereft in the same moment of property and power. Burning with revenge, the warrior crossed the border to the subjugated, though disaffected Galla, whom he had so lately held in check, and who now with open arms received him as their leader in revolt.
At the head of a vast horde of wild cavalry, reinforced by a number of matchlock-men, who had deserted their allegiance, the rebel marched upon Angollála. But he was frustrated in his designs by finding the only assailable point fortified by staked pits and ditches—the deep rugged channel of the Chácha opposing, as he well knew, an insurmountable barrier in every other direction. Desertion soon spread among the undisciplined rabble, and after several skirmishes with the royal troops, the offender sought an asylum at Zalla Dingai. Through the powerful mediation of Zenama Work, the Queen-dowager, he was suffered to throw himself at the feet of his despotic master, and not only obtained pardon, but from motives of policy was eventually restored to all his former dignities.
Medóko’s second rebellion and tragic death, embodied from the authentic details of eye-witnesses, will form the subject of the six succeeding chapters. They are designed to throw upon the character of the monarch, and upon the customs of his court, a light which could scarcely have been admitted through any other lattice. The standard of revolt long waved over the heathen frontier, and when the storm which for months threatened the subversion of the empire had at length been quelled by the extinction of the fiery and turbulent spirit that had raised it, large offerings were made by His Majesty to all the churches and monasteries throughout the realm, in return for their prayers; and solemn processions and thanksgivings were attended by the exercise of every sort of work of charity and devotion.
Among the royal retinue this day seated before the village of Chérkos, was a young man of haughty and daring exterior, whose flowing black mantle covered a breast that must have been often agitated by strange emotions. It was Chára, the son of the rebel, one of the only two members of the disgraced family to whom Sáhela Selássie has become reconciled, and a youth who is said to resemble his sire, not less in appearance than in gallant bearing. Prior to the breaking out of the insurrection, he had urged the arrest of his father; but no attention being paid in the proper quarter, he subsequently enlisted under his banner, and carried arms against the crown until the fall of the traitor, when, from his previous well-timed, though disregarded disclosure, he received full pardon for the past.
Ayto Tunkaiye, a gigantic warrior, greatly distinguished for his valour, who enacted a prominent part in Medóko’s execution, was also of the cortège; and beside him stood Hailoo, younger brother of the rebel noble, who purchased restoration to royal favour at the expense of a deed of the blackest treachery. This he recounted not only without a blush, but with extraordinary satisfaction at his fancied heroism. Apprehending a similar fate with him whose cause he had espoused, he fled across the border, and found a safe asylum with Wodáge Girmee, a powerful Galla chieftain, long in open revolt, and one of the bitterest enemies of the monarch. Basely assassinating his benefactor, whilst seated unsuspectingly in the open field, he sprang upon his horse, and casting the head of his victim at the royal footstool in token of his villainy, was rewarded by advancement to the government of Mésar Médur, a post of high honour, which he enjoys to the present day, and which occupies the frontier of the Galla dependencies.