Volume Two—Chapter Thirteen.
Medóko the Rebel.
“Like whom to Shoan eyes,
None ere has risen and none ere shall rise.”
Renowned for his great strength and dauntless heart, Medóko was of a more robust and brawny form than most of his countrymen. There was a bold bearing in his erect carriage—his gait was proud, and his speech haughty; and not less dexterous in the management of his steed, than powerful in wielding his weapons, he stood proclaimed the most valiant, although the most insolent, of the Amhára. His handsome features and his gallant deeds had gained for him the palm of favour among all the dames of the land. An aquiline nose stood prominent from his manly countenance, and a bright eye sparkled clear and daring under a bushy brow. The fairest daughters of Shoa loved to look upon the warrior, and rejoiced to add their beauty to his harem, or to experience the gifts of his bountiful hand; and the shrill note of female welcome burst from every throat, as he curvetted through the streets upon his gallant charger shining in brass and steel, or careered at speed over the plain, with his white and crimson robe streaming behind his athletic frame.
Riches and honours and preferment had been again liberally showered upon his head by the monarch who had so frequently received the benefit of his assistance, and had been more than once indebted for his life to the strong arm of the chief. The memory of past crime seemed to have been obliterated and forgotten—“Had he not err’d, his glory had been less;” and he was now raised to the high post of governor of all the Galla, and Abogáz of the southern frontier of the kingdom.
But there was no lack of enemies to the imperious favourite; and among the most bitter of his opponents was one who, by the insidious tongue of malice, materially contributed to achieve the downfall and destruction of the bravest son of Shoa.
Well versed in all the petty arts of a mean and sycophantish court, Father Asrát had held during two successive reigns the snug office of confessor to the royal family. Sleek from good living, his hood fell without a wrinkle over his portly person; and bowing in devotion before his superiors, the words of flattery flowed in profusion from his honied tongue. The sins of the rich were easily forgiven; substitute was immediately produced for the slight penance decreed by his lip; and the effects of his indulgence might be clearly observed in the fine muslin which ever encircled his shaven head—in the glossy condition of his pampered mule—and in the gay ivory handle of his polished crutch, which were ostentatiously displayed as he daily brushed through the court-yards of the palace.
On many occasions the audacity of Medóko had broken out into open mockery of the priestly rapacity; but although the dark feelings of revenge rankled in the breast of the monk, yet a scowling look of hatred was alone ventured in return to the jibes of the great governor and first favourite of the despot. On one fatal festival, however, when the fumes of the old hydromel had gained a complete ascendency over the party, a bitter jest was retorted by the exasperated priest, a fierce wrangle ensued, and the holy person of Father Asrát was violently spurned against the wall by the strong arm of the hot-blooded chief.
A reconciliation had been outwardly effected by mutual friends, but from that day the most wily insinuations were used to poison the breast of the king. The actions of the past were vividly brought to his recollection; words that had never been spoken, and expressions craftily distorted to serve a vile purpose, were daily poured into the royal ear; and although the demeanour of the monarch remained unchanged, suspicion was gradually being instilled into his mind, and the cloud required but a slight shock to discharge its contents.
According to the custom of the country, the royal princesses lived in total seclusion until it suited the despot’s caprice or policy to open the door of their cage. “A daughter of the royal house will be led to the nuptial altar on the morrow,” is the sole intimation afforded; and the happy bridegroom is not aware of the honour to be conferred, until the hand of “the introducer” leads him from the group which encircles the throne, to the immediate performance of the rite. But the stout-hearted Medóko had contrived to behold the beauty of the far-famed princess “Golden Fruit,” and intoxicated by a long succession of prosperity, and stirred up by the deceitful priest to believe that the king would refuse no request preferred by a chief whose services were held in such high esteem, he rashly resolved upon demanding the only remaining favour which the monarch had hitherto withheld.
On a bright morning in May before the commencement of the monsoon, a distinguished cavalcade entered the outer gates of the palace fortifications. The stately person of the leader was enveloped in a flowing robe bedizened with many crimson stripes, and a long white feather streamed high over his raven hair. A gauntlet and bracelet of silver decorated his sinewy arm, the token of many a hard conflict; and the massive silver sword was girded to his right side, the emblem of high authority and place. The bearer of his silver shield preserved a respectful space for the chief, and a dark war-steed, glittering in chains and studs of polished metal, followed at his side. A dense mass of wild Galla, armed with the serrated lance and tough black buckler, closed the procession, which, amidst the acclamations of the assembled mob, wound up the rocky path of the palace hill at Ankóber.
On gaining the last flight of steps, the great door was thrown open, and Medóko advanced to the audience of leave previous to his departure to the seat of his government. The small latticed gallery had been decked out in his honour, and the crimson velvet hangings of state depended in front, loaded with massive silver ornaments. Rich carpets were spread below for the convenience of the more favoured nobles. The officers of the household, uncovered to the waist, stood in a double row in front; and the monarch reclined upon his seat of honour at the open window, gaily clad in a green silk vest bordered with gold, over which the folds of the usual white robe of Abyssinia hung gracefully around his recumbent figure.
Advancing to the prescribed limit, Medóko, according to the custom of ages, prostrated himself to the earth before the descendant of Solomon, and then, raising his haughty figure erect before the monarch, he boldly preferred the request of his heart. “Behold, I have brought a present to the king, that he may hear me in love, and dismiss his servant well pleased from his presence.”
Ten war steeds fully equipped, together with five hundred bullocks, twenty slaves, and two large bags of silver coin, were ushered into the court-yard. The eye of the avaricious king brightened with satisfaction at the liberal gift of his vassal, and the words were spoken more kindly than usual—“What is the desire of the Abogáz?” But the answer of daring rashness which followed fell like a thunderbolt upon the court—“The hand of the Princess Worka Ferri.”
The rod of green rushes dropped from the grasp of the astonished “introducer,” and chiefs and nobles half rose from their seats, as the mysteries of royal seclusion were thus boldly infringed before the multitude. But although the monarch was irritated to the last pitch by this unprecedented insolence, he restrained his feelings under the usual cold calm smile. “We will converse regarding this business at a future period,” he said; and the audience was closed with an invitation to the chief to pass his last evening in the private apartments of the palace—an honour conferred only upon a favoured few.
Warnings and advice were not wanting from many quarters; and recollection called to mind many dark scenes which had been transacted at the friendly board of the despot, who was well known to be in a dangerous mood when too many smiles lighted up his countenance, and who preferred the quiet capture of his enemy to forcible seizure in the open day. But the rash Medóko, confident in his own ascendency through service rendered, discarded every thought of evil. With a stout heart he entered the gloomy hall at the appointed hour, and under the guidance of an eunuch proceeded along the rough dark passages of the interior.
On gaining the inner apartment, he found Father Asrát and his assistant kneeling in the corner before their low desks, mumbling the lessons of the evening from the miracles of the Holy Virgin—divers flasks of potent spirits being as usual ranged on the wicker table for the entertainment of the select company. All were in the highest humour. The demeanour of the monarch was kind and conciliating; and amongst the honours and favours which were that night liberally bestowed, the priest received the high office of chief of the church of the Saviour in the romantic village of Chérkos. The customary topics were discussed—the usual quantity of strong liquor was swallowed—and at intervals the choristers chanted the Psalms of David. The evening passed in great hilarity, and the company at length rose to depart.
His heart bounding high with future hope, Medóko stooped low to pay the salutation of the night, and was instantaneously pinioned from behind, whilst a rush from the front prevented every effort to lay hand upon his weapon. By his fierce struggles he once nearly regained an erect position, but numbers crowded through every passage, and he found himself stretched on the floor securely bound and hampered with many coils of rope.
“Fetters and a dungeon for the slave!” exclaimed the monarch as he quitted the scene of betrayed hospitality, and guards entered to obey the royal mandate. But ere the captive could be borne to his doom, a heavy foot pressed upon his prostrate neck. The smile of satisfied revenge played over the bloated features of the malicious monk, and it shot through the heart of the fallen warrior. A deadly vow was muttered betwixt his clenched teeth; and as he lay foaming with rage, the words were half audible through his suppressed breathing, “Let him guard his cowled head if he can: henceforth to the Devil with my allegiance!”
Volume Two—Chapter Fourteen.
Escape from Góncho.
Medóko had been hurried from the presence, and urged along the rough road with as much rapidity as possible; but people are seldom so unfortunate as they suppose themselves to be. His fate was not as yet accomplished, and a slight diversion had been already made in his favour. A faithful follower, alarmed at the protracted stay of his chief, had silently stationed himself at the secret outlet of the palace, whence he witnessed the progress of his beloved master. A devoted band, having hastily collected, followed close on the footsteps of the guard; and as the prisoner passed through the thick forest of Aferbeine, the shrill note of the Galla henchman more than once fell on his attentive ear, to convey the welcome tidings that he was not altogether deserted in this his hour of distress.
As the party climbed the rocky steep, the moon was fast sinking behind the great mountains, and her pale beams fell cold over the isolated rock of Góncho, on the summit of which is perched the state prison of the kingdom. The lower extremity of this hill is rent and furrowed by many tangled ravines, and the bare craggy scarp frowns over the wide-spreading valleys which stretch on either side. Sharp palisades guard the approach, and strong gateways lead through well-defended courtyards to a cluster of edifices which form the residence of the frontier governor, and the entrance to the places of confinement.
Vanquished by fate, yet refusing to yield, a spasm of painful emotion covered with cold dew the brow of the haughty chief, as he passed the rocky threshold of the prison. But the thoughts of a free foot on the mountain-side, and the signal vengeance that would follow, banished from his stout heart the usual feelings of despair, and in ironical words he returned the salutations of his brother Abogáz, into whose keeping he was about to be consigned.
Wulásma Mohammad was a fat imperious personage, of most sinister expression of countenance, and much more feared than either loved or respected. The cool healthy air of his mountain fortress, and a quiet life of inactivity, had filled his veins with a rich flow of blood, and he spent the greater portion of the day over a jar of potent hydromel. His body had become bloated and his mind bewildered by the fumes of the liquor; and dividing his time between dreaming and drinking, he left the charge of his bolts and avocations to his burly brother Jhalia, who, fortunately for the prisoner, was now engaged on the frontier in quelling a disturbance which had been induced by the stupidity of his superior.
The vulture eye of the Abogáz brightened up on the arrival of the illustrious Medóko; and being at the moment unable to comprehend whether he came as a prisoner or as a guest, an order for entertainment and wine rung through the apartment, instead of chains and fetters for the malefactor. Relieved from the ropes which had hitherto confined his movements, the chief was ushered with all ceremony into the great hall of the court; nor was it until after reiterated requests on the part of the guard, and a solemn adjuration by the life of the king, that the blinking gaoler, cheated out of his expected carouse, consented to take some measures of precaution.
Built on the only sloping face of the hill, the governor’s houses stretch entirely across the outlet from scarp to scarp, and from his immediate bedchamber two trap-doors cover the passages to the inner recesses of the prison. A staircase descends from one into the vaults underground, where immured in chains are the state criminals, and the younger branches of the royal family; and a passage leads through the other to a series of small apartments erected upon the upper surface of the hill, but surrounded by strong palisades to the very verge of the precipice. The scarp was of considerable height, and had never yet been attempted by those offenders whose lighter crimes had enforced a residence in these more agreeable locations; and the besotted Wulásma being in no mood to reflect on the strength and daring of his present charge, merely conducted him to one of these places of security, and barring the door on the outside, retired grumbling to the crown officials, after leaving an ample repast for the entertainment of his distinguished prisoner.
The rude wax taper was flaming and sinking at intervals over the untouched food, as one quarter of an hour was passed in attentive musing; but the peculiarities of the prisoner’s situation were too striking not to be immediately taken advantage of, and he accordingly braced up his spirits for the enterprise. Having contrived with his host’s knife to remove the thongs and sticks which composed the walls of his flimsy dungeon, he crept into an outer apartment, where the stars could be perceived twinkling brightly through an aperture. To wrench the iron bars from the window was the work of a moment; and leaping from a considerable height, Medóko stood unshackled in the cool air of heaven. There remained still many hours of the night, and the darkness favoured his undertaking, although otherwise little suited to the task to be performed; but palisade and paling gradually yielded to his strength, and after an anxious hour of exertion, he reached the dark precipice unnoticed and undiscovered.
Nought broke the stillness of the scene save the sound of the wind whistling over the bleak crags; and as the daring fugitive stood for a time in meditation before venturing the awful leap, an owl, brushing his cheek, soared away on noiseless pinion; its hoot which re-echoed from below seeming as the voice of a spirit calling to follow without fear. Quickly recovering his confidence at the omen, and nerving himself for the perilous task, he slid down the face of the precipice, and recommending his soul to the Holy Virgin, quitted hold of the last tuft of grass which sustained him over the yawning gulf. Down, down dropped the chief, until his very senses reeled again; but his flowing cotton robe materially assisted the miraculous descent, by catching the sharp points, and restraining for a moment the rapidity of his flight. The strength of his long brawny arms served him well in this hour of need, as clutching the rocks he retained his hold for a second, in order to gain breath for the next dread plunge into the gloomy abyss. Then bounding again like the falling stone, he pursued his flight, till at length, bruised and bleeding, he reached the bottom of the rocky scarp, hitherto untraversed except by the sticky foot of the lizard.
The shrill note for assistance, well known to every Galla ear, was speedily answered by his watchful followers. Crowding round their beloved chief, they quickly bound up his wounds, and after a short rest the party recovered the beaten track. Placed once again on his own good steed, he raised his form in the stirrups, and shouted his battle-cry of defiance. Each bridle was laid loose upon the mane, and the wild riders plunged at speed down the flinty ravine, now partially illumined by the flash of matchlocks from the alarmed garrison. A brave spirit is not to be subdued by exile, for every soil forms his home and his country; and away to the free plains of the Galla the headlong course was bent, where Medóko was well assured of receiving every sympathy and protection.
Volume Two—Chapter Fifteen.
Insurrection of the Galla.
In the heart of the mountain range of Garra Gorphoo stood a large Galla hamlet—for it has been since visited in wrath by the monarch—situated in one of those sweet locations which the children of nature delight to select. The deep valley is thickly clothed with the most luxuriant cultivation, and its sides rise in a gentle slope, throwing out a succession of verdant terraces, teeming with herbs and wild flowers. On one of these stood the village of Mundeeda, the residence of Goma, the great chief of the Abitchu. A bright green sward extended far in front, and the steep mountain that rises behind afforded shelter from the bleak blast of winter. A sparkling brook, after dashing in tiny cascades down the craggy face, glides away in a quiet course over the enamelled meadow, until lost in the grove of dark junipers which rest on the side of a grassy knoll, where the sacrifice was performed in honour of the deities, and where the listless heathen was wont to dream away the hours of idleness.
The tenements, although low and rudely constructed of stakes and mud, were warm and commodious; and the numerous posts which rose from the clay floor to support the thatch, served as a resting-place for shields, and spears, and crooked swords, which now imparted to the interior the semblance of an extensive armoury. Every thing was in a state of utter confusion and uproar. Large droves of wild shaggy horses, and clusters of fiery savages were grouped on the plain outside. The ringing shout of the warrior mingled with the neigh of his war-steed, and the din and the clatter of household avocations resounded from the interior of every hut. To add to the bustle, the Galla females were running from house to house, with their long raven tresses streaming over their bare shoulders; whilst their short leather petticoats, with embroidered flounces, displayed the well-shaped limbs and the graceful form, for which the tribe are so justly famed.
In every nook large earthen jars, and wicker baskets, filled with grain, were stored in readiness to supply the demands for food, as each tribe poured in to the general gathering of the clans. Black eyes peered wildly over the grinding-mill and the cauldron; and the merry laugh at the novel appearance of the motley throng, with the suppressed scream of delight from the timid maiden, arose frequently from the dark corners of the hovels. Preparations were making for hospitality on the most extensive scale. A successful foray had that very morning returned laden with spoil, and the king of the Amhára had for once amply supplied the table of his revolted lieges.
Crowded around the cheerful blaze of a fierce fire that was crackling in the centre of the largest building, sat a score of persons, who were beguiling the time until the entertainment should be ready, by discussing the daring escape of Medóko, and the success which would assuredly attend the movement of the morrow. The dress of the greater number of these men was the usual cotton cloth, black and soiled with the grease of years; but the accumulated massive ivory rings upon the arm, the ostrich-feather floating over matted locks, and the spoils of the lion and the leopard dangling over the back, proclaimed the presence of the chieftains of the land. Their gaunt frames and supple limbs betokened a life of activity and endurance, and their restless eyes gleamed over the fire with all the quick suspicion of the savage.
The black bull-hide formed the only covering to the host of attendants that thronged behind their respective lords, and a few Amhára robes flaunted in white and crimson, amidst the sombre vestments of the Galla group. But Medóko and his sons, in stature above all their compeers, appeared in the full costume of the Christian warriors of Efát.
Decked in silver gauntlets and armlets, with the graceful akodáma hanging in glittering clusters over their manly brows, the master-spirits of the scene were easily to be distinguished. The usual robe of peace had been well replaced by the skin of the tawny lion, which nearly reached the ground. Fastened on one side around the sinewy throat, it allowed full freedom to the right arm, and only partially concealed the rich silk vest, and loose kilt-like trowsers, which hung barely to the knee.
The kindling fuel of insurrection had indeed been well fanned—ancient wrongs were fully brought to mind, and vengeance was liberally promised. Few were there present who had not suffered either in person or in property, from the midnight appearance of the Christian despot. Hereditary feud and quarrel had therefore been laid aside on the soul-inspiring words of the chief, and the weapons had been eagerly seized in a common cause, at the thoughts of the devastation which ever marked the bloody track of the Amhára host.
These Galla tribes dwell with their horses in boundless prairies, engaged, some in the cultivation of the fruitful soil, and others in the pasturage of their numerous flocks, but all are ever ready on the moment to mount for the battle or the foray. Baggage and hospital are unknown to the wild array, and rations are found when required among the plundered herds of the enemy. A scrip of tobacco forms the only luxury in camp. A greasy cloth enfolds by day and night the body of each brawny savage. Lance, and sword, and shield, complete his equipment; and the hardy host, leader and partisan, sleep without cover on the cold bare ground.
The wild hordes from the boundless plains of the Háwash, under the gigantic Wodage Girmé, first poured in their warriors. The depths of the Moolo Fálada forests next swelled the numbers, and the heights of Entótto and Sequála had completed the rebel force, eager for spoil and for revenge, which was ready to cover the land with desolation on the morrow.
The sacrifice to the Great Spirit had been that afternoon performed by the priest with every favourable result, and the preparations for the feast of departure were now completed. Bullocks and sheep were slaughtered by the score on the green meadow, and beside each carcass an abundance of bread and beer were deposited for the impatient guests, who immediately grouped around the food, and with keen knives commenced the attack. A long wicker table had been placed in the centre of the largest apartment, and deep earthen vessels, filled with thick pepper soup, were ranged in double line down the middle, whilst cakes of every description thickly covered the surface. The chief took his station at the top, and the guests were squatted on their hams on either side. Slave boys, on their knees, supported huge jars of sour beer, and the females, perched upon adjoining bedsteads, were ready to dole out the more potent liquor.
The steam of the bowls, containing a decoction of fowls, red pepper, onions, and grease, together with the more offensive effluvia from fifty rancid heads and as many unwashed persons, were endured with the most stoical indifference; and the feeble light of a few tapers that glimmered faintly through the smoke, was just sufficient to reveal the rows of eager faces in earnest preparation, and the gleam of the sharp teeth whetting for the entertainment.
The hum of voices in low conversation ceased on the moment, when the host, dipping a fragment of bread into one of the large bowls, dropped the savoury morsel into his elevated mouth. Every hand forthwith felt its way to the provender, and the loud smacking of satisfied lips succeeded the suppressed chatter of tongues. Servants, bending over the guests, amply supplied their wants, by tearing the bread with their hands, and after a plunge into the porridge, consigning the dripping morsel to the first empty fingers that were protruded. No fork or spoon graced the festive board. No conversation now enlivened the scene. All sat like silent wolves engaged in a plentiful repast, considering that one thing at a time was sufficient for man.
The delicate raw meat was next introduced, and the dismembered limbs of sheep and oxen were placed as a dessert upon the groaning board. The servants threw themselves upon the flesh, and drawing their long crooked knives from their girdles, cut and hacked the bloody joints into small squares, which were received from their fingers, and bolted with the greatest satisfaction, until nature cried enough. Then commenced the deep carouse. Horn after horn was drained. The presiding deities over the liquor jars were unceasingly employed in serving out their contents, and as the brain reeled under the influence of strong old mead, the words of contempt burst from every lip. “Who is the King of Shoa, that he should trample upon men braver than himself? Here is our protector and avenger. Medóko is our leader, and he alone shall be our king!” But the uproar, which for a time rose wildly from the hut, gradually died away as the horn was carried with a more unsteady hand to the mouth. Warrior after warrior stretched himself to sleep beside the cleanly picked relics of his reeking feast; and chief after chief, staggering a few paces from the table, drew his garment over his head, and resigned himself to a heavy slumber.
Volume Two—Chapter Sixteen.
Massacre of the Christians at Chérkos.
The verdant meadows of the Shoan district of Dággee are strangely crossed and intersected by low chains of barren rock, with here and there an isolated hillock crowned by the abode of the Christian farmer; whilst between each little eminence rolls the lazy brook, winding sluggishly over the flowery plain, as if reserving its energies for the thundering leap into the great chasm of the Chácha.
Broken, craggy, and desolate, this mighty abyss sinks upwards of a thousand feet abruptly from the plain. Its giant sides are in part slightly fringed with moss or sweet-scented thyme; and a few small huts dot the narrow ledges; but the wolf and the hyaena chiefly tenant the dark fissures, whilst the vulture screams her death note over the yawning gulf. Superstition has wrapped the beetling cliff and the gloomy ravine in her dark embrace, for here the captive toils in the bowels of the earth to procure the stubborn iron. The clang of the dreaded smith disturbs the stillness of day; and the chant of the hymn rises solemnly in the morning mist from the adjacent church of the Saviour, which stands embosomed in a dark grove of junipers. Far down in the bottom, the Chácha appears like the small murmuring mill-stream, although the accumulated waters of a broad plateau are there rolling on to swell the mighty Nile; and at frequent intervals the mountain torrents pour their tribute over the frowning scarp, which for miles forms the impregnable fortification of the land.
Near the commencement of this stupendous precipice, and barely a gunshot from its brink, stands Angollála, the Galla capital of the kingdom, commanding the upper pass into the Christian land. Three small hills which rise abruptly from the plain, and enclose a circular area, had been judiciously selected as a site by the wary founder, but the settlement was at this date in all the disorder of infancy. Only a few hundred hovels, composed of most flimsy materials, had been hastily erected on the sloping sides of two of the hillocks; but the smallest was distinguished by the more imposing edifice dedicated as a church to the Ark of the Holy Covenant, and its table summit was crowned with an ample residence for the Negoos.
A few trees raised their stunted heads above the thatch of the various kitchens and storehouses, which were crowded thick over the crest, and the flowering umbár threw a broad zone of fragrant lilac blossoms around the royal buildings. Stones and rocks, strewed plentifully in every direction by the hand of nature, formed a considerable impediment to the rapid advance of horsemen; and stout heavy wooden palings, which descended in a double or treble row far down the slope, completely screened the inmates against any sudden surprise from the border foe.
A wide meadow stretches from the palace tumulus to the very brink of the abyss; and on the opposite height is situated the lovely village of Chérkos, which, from its beauty, had been formerly designated by the Galla “The Queen of the Hill.” Sheltered by a magnificent grove of evergreens, the hamlet overlooked the pleasant slope which extends to the verge of the precipice, gaily diversified with rich fields of cultivation and plots of green pasture land. It had been captured from the heathen by the last king of Shoa; and although colonised by favourite Christians of the court, the revenues were bestowed upon the church of the Saviour, which had been erected immediately below the village, in the dark depths of the Chácha ravine, and which was now under the direction and guidance of Father Asrát.
The hazy sun had sunk beyond the dark waters of the muddy Nile; the rivulets were trickling in discoloured streams from the surrounding hillocks, to form a temporary lake in the enclosed amphitheatre, and each reeking thatch sent up its tribute to the cloud of thick mist, which was fast settling over the low hills of Angollála. The meadow brooks were swollen to the brim, and the long plains, brilliant with verdure, presented a pleasing prospect to the eye, although a most treacherous surface to the incautious foot. The monsoon was indeed raging in violence over the land; and according to custom, the monarch, thinly attended by his household officers and establishment, alone occupied the palace. All the governors and great men had taken leave and departed to their respective provinces, the capital was well nigh deserted, and as night closed in, the few remaining serf inhabitants were seeking a dry corner in their frail huts, to shiver through the weary hours of darkness.
As the moan of the wind is heard preceding the coming storm, so the hum of a confused multitude first struck upon the practised ear of the vigilant. The alarm was quickly spread by the fierce baying of the dogs. The chant of the singer suddenly ceased within the palace, and the king, followed by all his attendants, rushed to the southern palisade. Then was distinctly heard the clattering of hoofs over the opposite heights above the Chácha, as the pagan host surrounded the devoted hamlet of Chérkos. The glare of light and the faint wreath of smoke next succeeded, as the torch spread from hut to hut. The wind blew cold and gusty, and the flames wheeling in fearful eddies through the mist, revealed at intervals the cliff and the crag, and the peaceful church reposing amid the dark grove of junipers, hitherto unpolluted by the foot of the Gentile.
The wild shout of triumph, mingling with the shrill shriek of despair, now rolled in fitful notes across the intervening plain. The whole firmament was illumined by the flames of the burning village, and they were witnessed in terror by the assembled inmates of the palace; for the sacred precincts of the church itself had now been invaded, and a group of priests in their last extremity could be distinctly seen, surrounded by a mass of the savage foe. But the next eddy of mist from the boiling cauldron that was interposed, shrouded the scene.
The priest Asrát shuddered at the thoughts of his narrow escape, for he had only that morning quitted the sacred shelter. But the eyeball was in vain strained to see what was passing. Darkness rendered its efforts abortive. By degrees the flame expired, and one horrid shout of exultation from ten thousand wild throats rose over hill and dale, in earnest that the work of slaughter had been well finished for that night, and that numbers were not wanting for the morrow.
Hurry and confusion reigned throughout the capital. The king was advised to avail himself of the protection of darkness, and retire to Ankóber; but his evening dream had been pleasant, and he was buoyed up by the words of the strong monk. “Shall I leave my children in the day of their distress,” he exclaimed, “and the seat of my fathers to be polluted by the accursed touch of the rebel? No; death is preferable to such disgrace.” The royal gates opened to receive the terrified inhabitants, who came flocking up the hill. Every matchlock was lowered from the walls of the great hall, and distributed amongst the young and able-bodied. Doors were barred and barricaded, and sufficient means of defence for a time seemed to have miraculously sprung from the untenanted location.
The pens of the scribes were now wielded with vigour; and as each tiny letter, or token, or entreaty, was handed for approval, the wild horseman mounted on the moment, and his long hair streamed in the night breeze, as, floundering through the muddy outlet, he dashed at speed over the eastern plain.
The pressing call for aid flew quick through the land. The love and the fear of the king brought governor and vassal to the rescue; and as hatred of the rebel’s insolence stimulated even the dullest to action, long before morning numerous bands from the immediate vicinity had formed, on the meadow, a living barrier between the beleaguered monarch and his stern foe.
Volume Two—Chapter Seventeen.
Battle of Angollála.
The day dawned, and there remained nothing of the late beautiful village of Chérkos. Death and desolation had spread to the very gates of the capital, and the rocky ridge was covered with a dark mass of the Galla host. But the plains were too miry to support the weight of man and horse; and after an ineffectual attempt from one or two small parties, the cloud of war settled again upon the scene of slaughter.
Frightful indeed was the sight which met the gaze of the Amhára, as they took their position in front of the plundered village on the frowning scarp of the ravine. The opposite crags were studded with the mangled bodies of their murdered compatriots. Men, women, and children, had been ruthlessly sacrificed, and the thousand favoured inhabitants of a pleasant abode now lay stark and weltering among the rocks, where the strength of the fierce pagan had hurled them. The heaving of an arm here and there evinced that the spark of life still remained in some; but the chasm was impassable to the foot of man, and the wolf and hyaena lay undisturbed, gorged and glutted after their reeking festival.
The sun shone brightly for the few days following the appearance of the heathen host, and the surface of the muddy meadow had recovered its wonted consistency. Both parties were anxious for the combat which was to decide the question of supremacy, for both were equally hard-pressed for the means of subsistence. With their usual reckless indifference to the future, the Galla had wasted the country, and rioted in its destruction. The supplies brought to the royal camp were nearly exhausted; and the king, galled by the presence of the rebellious array within sight of his capital, having now succeeded in assembling a much superior force, resolved upon giving battle on the morrow.
Prayers and psalms had been recited the livelong night—vows were made at every shrine in the kingdom—and the ark of the cathedral of Saint Michael had been transported from Ankóber under a canopy of red cloth, to shed its holy influence over the Christian army. At an early hour the king, under the shade of the velvet umbrellas, surrounded by his chiefs, nobles, and high-priests, and preceded by kettle-drums and wind instruments, issued from the palace gateway, and with his band of matchlock-men, took up a position about a mile from the town.
During the night, detachments had been steadily moving from every direction to this fixed point. Column after column streamed through the valley, or poured down the sloping hill; and as the day broke, the warriors of Amhára formed a deep line of horse and foot on either side of the monarch, one narrow plain and the river Chácha alone separating them from the enemy. Nor were the Galla in any way slow to take their station, bristling in a dark front along the opposite ridge, where the tall figure of the rebel was distinctly to be observed, marshalling his wild forces for the coming fray.
The battle commenced by repeated discharges from the king’s gunmen; but the distance was too great for execution, and a shout of derision answered each impotent volley. The gigantic Tunkaiye first pressed forward to the close encounter, and the cavaliers of Shoa were not slow in following his example, for many fought under the eyes of their wives and children—all for the honour of the king, and the glory of true religion.
Down came the pagan host like the rushing blast, and the stones flew far under the clatter of their hoofs. But they were fiercely met by the long-bladed spears of the Amhára, and every inch of ground was for once stoutly contested. The roar of the foaming cataract, which thundered within fifty yards of the battle-field, was lost in the hoarse yells which rung through the air. The rocky bed proved for a time the scene of slaughter, and the turbid waters receiving numbers of dying and wounded wretches, hurried them to eternity. At length, each individual singling out his foe, the contest assumed the confused appearance of a chance medley. The sharp lance met with little opposition from the cotton robe; and deprived of other weapons. Christian and Galla, grappling stoutly together, fought with sword and knife, and in the fury of the moment, and in the excitement of the struggle, many rolled over the frowning scarp, clinging tightly together in the last embrace of death.
Medóko and his gallant sons were everywhere in the thickest of the fight. His shout, rising high over the storm, animated the faint-hearted, and his presence roused to new life and exertion the successful partisan. Many of the Amhára bands were already reeling from the repeated shock of the wild riders of the Háwash, when suddenly, in the very heat of the action, a large body of warriors, clothed in black mantles, and armed with long heavy spears, rushed down the hill on foot, and, prostrating themselves as they passed the royal umbrellas, descended fresh into the arena. The fierce inhabitants of Mans had sped to the rescue from their hereditary estates, and their savage ferocity and reckless bravery was well known throughout the land. The relations and the household retainers of the rebel attempted to breast the storm, but they were scattered like autumnal leaves before the angry blast; and the chief arrived to the succour only to behold the spot strewed with the bodies of his stoutest partisans, and to witness his beloved son, the youthful Hailoo, sink before his eyes, transfixed by a dozen spear-blades. A panic seized the pagans; and, dismayed and broken-hearted, they fled tumultuously in every direction.
In vain Medóko performed the most incredible acts of valour—his voice had now lost its charm; and, crippled by a wound in his shoulder—his proud heart swelling with indignation—he at length perceived that the fortune of the day was not to be retrieved. Cutting his way single-handed through the squadrons of the enemy, he also gave the loose rein to his horse, and scoured over the hills.
The sun had reached the meridian when the hot pursuit commenced, and the arm of vengeance was not stayed until long after his sinking below the western horizon. Every Amhára spear was dripping in blood to the haft. The stain of gore was on every cheek, and as the weary warrior returned from the massacre, the chest of his jaded war-steed was ornamented with the cloth of the accursed Gentile, whose body he had left to the fangs of the wild beast.
After galloping for some miles with the few chiefs who had escaped from the fatal field, a short halt was allowed to refresh the horses, and Medóko proclaimed his intention of accompanying the party no further. Asylum and assistance were offered in vain; the stout heart of the rebel had been quelled by the late heavy loss he had sustained, and for a time at least he bowed to the power of the monarch of Shoa. Short was the moment allowed for the explanation, and after a hurried parting and a hope for better days, the band mounted and pressed on.
Medóko and his surviving son Chára, now commenced the more difficult undertaking of threading their path back again among the advancing Amhára; but a perfect knowledge of the localities enabled them to take advantage of every hill and hollow. After many weary hours of anxiety they passed the capital undiscovered, and urging their horses to speed, took the road to Ankóber. The Beréza was swollen and unfordable, but their gallant steeds successfully breasted the rushing waters. The king’s watchmen had left their cold posts, in order to take shelter from the cutting blast, before the riders swept down the rocky defile of the Chaka, towards the wooded sides of Mamrat; and long ere the voice of the brotherhood had risen in the matin chant, the rebels had been formally admitted to sanctuary, and were safely reposing in the sacred monastery of Affaf Woira.
Volume Two—Chapter Eighteen.
Tragic End of Medóko.
In an open glade, at the foot of the great mountain range, stands the church of Affaf Woira, and the tenement of Abba Salama, its superior, enclosed by a rough stone wall. Numerous huts are scattered in clusters over a wooded eminence, which rises on the steep side of the river, and here the indolent brothers,
“Beneath the shade of melancholy boughs.
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time.”
An air of the most perfect repose usually pervades the scene. The inmates are alike indifferent to the blast of winter and to the cares of life. Majestic trees tower high overhead, yielding undisturbed protection to the vulture and the white ibis. The “monk of the wood,” the Guréza ape, there displays his variegated coat floating in peace amongst the mossy branches; and whilst every breath from beneath wafts up the perfumed air, the lazy monk of the monastery, during the entire day, basks in the sun amidst the bright flowers of nature’s growth, gazing in apathy on the sparkling stream which steals through the forest, half hid in a fringe of the willow and the bamboo.
But bustle and confusion for once disturbed this dreamy repose. The priests had been engaged in noisy choir, and the sacred drum had resounded since dawn of day. At length the portals of the hallowed edifice were thrown open, and the holy procession, under the thundering chorus of an Abyssinian psalm, moved over the bright greensward. The gay umbrellas of the church, rich in satin and silver, led the van, and the corpulent Superior, in his white cotton robes, followed the insignia, bestriding a sleek mule decked in metal chains and tinkling bells. At his side marched the bearers of the straight falchions, sheathed in scabbards of polished silver. A band of priests followed, with their heads swathed in folds of white cotton, and their persons wrapped in black woollen cloaks, profusely studded with blood-red crosses and other emblems of Christianity; and closing the procession strode two hundred stout dirty monks, clothed in the skin of the wild antelope, with their shaven heads enveloped in dark greasy cloths, each carrying in his hand a small iron cross, and joining the tribute of his lusty throat to the deafening chant. Dell and dingle rung again as the psalm increased in violence, and the cavalcade, threading the intricacies of the wood, proceeded on its mission of mercy, to implore pardon for the rebel who had thrown himself on the protection of the monastery.
The conference with the monarch was long and stormy. The royal vengeance, though far from being appeased, was curbed by a fear of the Church, and more particularly so at the present juncture, when religious disputes regarding the two natures of Christ were beginning to excite an unusual ferment in many parts of the kingdom. An unwilling pardon was at length extorted, and the triumphant monks returned amidst the joyful acclamations of the female inhabitants of Shoa, whose shrill voices are raised on every possible occasion, and whose feelings were in the present instance enlisted in the behalf of their old favourite. The trip also would appear to have been profitable to the holy fathers, for it was currently reported that one half of the remaining wealth of Medóko was the stipulated price to be paid for this monastic intercession.
The nature of Abyssinian custom impels the humbled grandee to tempt again the slippery ladder of power; and disgraced for a time, the courtier, bending his neck to the misfortune, dances attendance on his capricious master until fickle fortune smiles upon his fallen condition. Unless enjoying the favour of the monarch, and basking in the sunshine of the court, he is held of no account whatever; and the quiet retirement of country life is despised and detested by a race who are ignorant of its pleasures, and possess neither amusements nor intellectual resources.
The property and estates of Medóko had not been confiscated, and months rolled quietly along as day after day he took his station among the courtiers in waiting; but the eye of the monarch was turned in cold indifference upon his former favourite, and there were not wanting counsellors to whisper deeds of blood into his ear. Besides the father confessor, the haughty chief had other enemies who were chafed at the sight of the numerous band of well-equipped followers that Medóko still entertained upon his ample means. Many also had lost relations during the rebellion, and misfortune had not abated one atom of the imperious demeanour which ever characterised the chief.
The feast of Máskal was now approaching, and it being rumoured that honours and government were to be again bestowed upon “the murderer of the Amhára,” as the rebel was denominated among the conspiring band, measures were taken to counteract the royal intention, if such had really been entertained. The most odious calumnies were industriously circulated; fresh accusations of disloyalty were daily carried to the palace; and the monarch, hourly assailed on every side, at length resolved to test the feelings of his vassal, by the offer of an inferior post in the unhealthy country of Giddem.
For the last time the gallant chief at the head of his followers swept up the palace hill of Angollála, and leaving, according to the etiquette, his son Chára, together with his retainers, in the middle court-yard, where shields and spears must be deposited, Medóko crossed the enclosure, and alone and unattended entered the inner wicket.
On the several faces of the inner square are the entrances to the principal buildings of the palace. The great hall of entertainment on one side faces the king’s stables on the other, and the artificers’ workshops stand opposite the balcony of justice; but all are connected by stone walls and stout palisades, through which private wickets lead to the interior apartments. His Majesty had not yet taken his seat in public, but the usual throng of people were lounging about the yard, or seated on the rough bedsteads which line one corner, for the convenience of the great.
Medóko had hardly taken his solitary seat, when wreathed in smiles the father confessor approached his victim. Whispering in his ear the intentions of the king, he strongly advised him to reject the proposal with scorn; and no sooner had he ended than the four conspiring chiefs advanced from the interior, bearing the royal preferment to the country which was so thoroughly detested, and which had been hitherto offered only to men of low degree.
The royal presentation, although received with the impatient curl of the lip, and an indignant breathing from the distended nostril, was declined in courteous terms—“The slave of the king desires only to be near the person of his master.” But far different was the insolent answer carried back to the monarch, whose superstitious feelings were further irritated by the previous discourse and forebodings of the monk; for a black bullock had been discovered lying dead at the threshold of the gateway, portending that on that day an untimely fate awaited some one within the royal precincts.
For a time no word escaped the moody lip of the monarch. His features remained fixed and still; but a withering glance from his solitary eye shot over the band as he dismissed them from his presence with the cutting remark, “That they were all traitors alike, and lazy cravens to boot.”
The hint was sufficient to Guffa Woosen, the Dedj Agafári, a man who stickled at no atrocity to gratify his master and to serve his own ends. After a hurried and mysterious consultation with six others equally unprincipled as himself, they proceeded together into the outer court-yard. Approaching by degrees, the band surrounded the bed of the chief, who was lulled into fatal security by a message that the king was about to appear to receive in person the refusal of office in Giddem, and whilst bandying a joke about the frail tenure of the dungeons of Góncho, five long-bladed knives were suddenly sheathed to the hilt in his brawny back.
Undaunted to the death, Medóko reared himself with difficulty from his couch, and his good sword flashed instantaneously from the scabbard. He had been unwarily caught in the toils; but, like the wounded lion, he stood fiercely at bay, and some of the hunters paid dearly for their treacherous sport. In the hour of battle his sword had seldom required a second blow, and as the trenchant blade now fiercely descended into the neck of the chief conspirator, the head of Guffa Woosen for a moment drooped upon the shoulder, and in the next his lifeless trunk fell heavily to the ground. Again the ruddy steel gleamed overhead, but the energy was fast fleeting from the stout sinew, and Selúnko, although marked for life with a desperate slash over the face, succeeded with the remnant of his cowardly ruffians in basely escaping from the scene. A general rush and scramble now ensued for the tops of walls and houses; and from these elevated places of security, savage yells proclaimed the perpetration of the dastardly deed. The king seized a double-barrelled gun from the wall, lest the mighty warrior should attempt to storm the harem; and a high tribute was paid to the single arm which had thus cleared the court.
Desperately wounded, the chief now staggered across the yard, fainting and falling more than once ere he reached the gateway. No doorkeeper remained to dispute the egress, and as yet none dared to cross the path of the stricken brave. One little enclosure alone separated him from his devoted followers, but his strength was fast sinking with the welling blood, and after swaying for a time from side to side, utterly exhausted, he fell, with a groan, upon his knee in the last pangs of death.
Tunkaiye, the great bulwark of the throne, was the first who recovered from the panic, and cautiously advancing with the chosen of the Amhára chivalry, he beheld through the wicket the situation of the chief. Rushing through the door, he dealt a blow from behind on the neck of the recumbent figure, and the head sunk to rise no more. One faint struggle of the right arm was alone to be distinguished, and one word was indistinctly murmured amidst the gurgling of the flowing blood; for the long knives of the assassins had penetrated into a brave heart, and the victory over the king’s enemy had been already achieved.
Crowds now rushed to the spot, and the limbs were hacked to pieces by the miserable poltroons amidst the coarsest ribaldry and mirth. One wretch, as he thrust his crooked knife into the late brilliant eye, exclaimed, “How is it that my father now bears the bite without power to brush away the gnat?” and another, after succeeding with difficulty in hewing through the iron muscles of the stout arm, declared, with a laugh, that “the skin of an elephant was composed of less tough material.”
Deprived of their weapons, and of the countenance of the mighty fallen, Medóko’s son and followers surrendered on the first summons; and a dog, carrying off his father’s hand, brushed past young Chára as he entered the murderous court-yard. Stones and sticks were still being expended on the remains of mortality which were strewed in every direction. All human resemblance had already been entirely effaced, and a deep pool of blood remained to mark the dire tragedy.
To this hour the stain is settled upon the spot; and it is daily before the eyes of the perpetrators of the outrage. The stern warrior is never mentioned within the precincts of the palace, and rich offerings are continually made to all the churches in the land, to dissipate the unpleasant dreams which too frequently haunt the royal couch. But although the name is now used amongst the Amhára only to still the unruly child, the gallant Medóko is the darling theme of the roving Galla. The heathen female draws the long tress across her flashing eye at the recollection of his fate; and the chief yet thinks with respect of the brave spirit who could quell the feud and the intestine quarrel, and who had led the wild host with success, to spoil the dominions of the Christian despot.