Volume Two—Chapter Thirty Two.
The Forest of Mamrat.
Excursions abroad continued as usual to occupy the royal leisure; and even when rats and horned owls formed the ignominious quarry, the king’s Gyptzis were invariably summoned. But the dark forests which clothe the foot of Mamrat proved the favourite scene of these rambles, and thither the steps of the monarch were usually directed. Large colonies of the guréza, which inhabit the noblest trees, offered an irresistible attraction; and although, from their retired habits no less than from their appearance, these inoffensive apes are regarded in the light of monks, their holy character did not exempt them from frequent and severe punishment. A shower of iron and stone balls tumbled one after the other from his perch on the topmost branches of some venerable moss-grown woira, where, notwithstanding many cunning artifices, the white cowl and the long snowy cloak upon the otherwise sable body, betrayed the place of concealment; and numbers being soon prostrate upon the ground, the survivors, amazed at the murderous intrusion, were to be seen swinging from bough to bough like a slack-rope dancer, and leaping from tree to tree as they sought more secure quarters in the, to man, inaccessible sides of the hail-capped mountain.
Occupying manifold caves and subterranean crannies in this the most elevated pinnacle within the range of vision, the idolised riches of Sáhela Selássie are covered with massive iron plates, barred, and secured by large heaps of stone. A strong guard of matchlock-men occupies the only practicable ascent to the treasury; and the keys of its well-crammed coffers, which are never opened unless for the purpose of being still further stuffed, are strictly confided to Ayto Habti, the master Cyclops of the realm. At the extremity of a forest vista, the huge wooded cone presents a grand and imposing object, avenues of tall trees screening its dark defiles, whilst the fleecy vapour that steals across the hoary summit, discloses glimpses of the many smiling hamlets which crest the Abyssinian Alps.
A Mohammadan legend asserts, that in time of yore, “the Mother of Grace” towered even to the skies, and so remained until the first invasion of Graan. Ameer Noor, his brother, the ruler of Hurrur in its golden days, having formed his camp upon a rising ground above Alio Amba, despatched his chieftains in all directions to slay, burn, and plunder. Upon their return, laden with rich booty, obtained without having encountered a single Amhára, the disappointed Ameer exclaimed, in his religious zeal, “’tis the mountain Mamrat that hides the dastardly infidels. May Allah, the only one God, who rules over the universe, grant that it be overthrown, and my foes revealed!” Scarcely had the pious prayer escaped his lips, than the pile reeled to and fro like a drunken man, and sank to its present level.
“The country of the Adaïel,” adds the same veracious authority, “through which the Ameer led the followers of the true Prophet, was in those days a trackless desert, totally destitute of springs; but on his stamping his foot upon the thirsty soil at the termination of each day’s march, there gushed forth a fountain of living water, which has continued to flow until the present time.” During the struggle that followed the arrival of the Moslem invaders, the Christians are said to have been in danger of perishing from lack of provisions, until the inhabitants of Argóbba, who are styled Shooggur, from the name of their ancestor, supplied the army, by rolling over the mountain side skins filled with grain. In a battle fought shortly after the arrival of this seasonable supply, Ali Muggan, the governor of Zeyla, was slain on the terrace betwixt Mamrat and Alio Amba, and his body left to the wild beasts; whereupon Noor, his brother, cursing the race who, professing the faith of Islám, had been the agents of so dire a calamity, doomed their necks to be chafed for ever by the galling yoke of vassalage to unbelievers.
Far hid in the rugged bosom of the “Mother of Grace,” is a spacious cell, often visited by the king. During one half of the fourteenth century, it formed the abode of an anchorite, renowned far and wide for the austerity of his life, who invariably slept upon a bed of sharp thorns, and whose food was restricted to roots and wild honey. Hatzé Amda Zion was then engaged in his disastrous war with Adel; and the ascetic, seizing his white staff, abandoned his rigorous solitude for the first time, and fired by religious zeal, rushed into the presence of the Emperor, who was encamped on the banks of the Háwash. Displaying the holy cross to the dispirited soldiery, he exhorted them to be of good heart, and not to let the standard of Christ droop before the profane ensign of the infidels; for that it was written in the book of the Revelation of Saint John, that Islamism was that year to be crushed and trodden under foot throughout the world. At his bidding, three merchants of Hurrur, who, under the guise of suttlers, performed the office of spies, were hung without trial, and their heads being transmitted to the King of Adel, proved the forerunners of a bloody defeat, which he shortly afterwards sustained.
To the latest occupant of the cave of Mamrat is attached the legend embodied in the two ensuing chapters. It is fully illustrative of the grovelling superstition that enthrals the Amhára, of whom none ever allude to the dread sorcerer Thavánan, without an invocation to the Deity. He was an exiled noble of Northern Abyssinia, high in the favour of Asfa Woosen, fifth monarch of Shoa, who took forcible possession of his sister, and after degrading the courtier for opposing this despotic measure, sentenced him to the loss of an eye, which was put out with a hot iron. Resolved to have his revenge, the outcast became a worshipper of the eighty-eight invisible spirits, termed Sároch, believed to be the emissaries for evil of Wárobal Máma, the King of the Genies, whose court is held at the bottom of Lake Alobár, in Mans, whence his drum is heard pealing over the water whenever war, famine, or pestilence are about to visit the land.
Having purchased supernatural powers at the price of his hope of salvation, Thavánan tormented the king day and night—spirited away his seraglio, and, having thus recovered his sister, deprived her oppressor of sight by means of magic spells. Taking the name of Abba Zowald, he then became a stern ascetic; and his bones now lie interred in the cell beneath a pile of rough stones, which, during a long period of mortification, served him for a couch, whilst roots and wild fruits formed his only fare. Angels are said to have ministered unto him; his voice was the voice of an oracle; and none recognising the sorcerer in a holy Christian anchorite, who had despised the world and its vanities during a period of fifty years, he lived universally regarded in Abyssinia as a second Peter.
Volume Two—Chapter Thirty Three.
The Necromancer, a Legend of Shoa.
In the lone recesses of a rocky cave reclined the youth Thavánan, lost in gloomy meditation. The hues of care and study were indelibly stamped upon his lofty forehead; and although the bent brow and the quivering lip betokened a stern mental conflict, still courage and high daring shone bright through the shroud of revenge which had settled over his dark features. The white robe of Abyssinia lay uneasy on his shoulder; and the blue silk cord which encircled his neck, the badge of Christianity, nearly burst in twain as the swollen sinews started from the throat, in this his hour of agony.
A fearful storm raged without. Thunder rolled in continued peals, crumbling in pieces the sparry roof over-head, and the hot lightning illumined every nook and corner of the retreat, whilst the waters of the broad lake, now raised in wrath, came dashing and foaming to its very mouth with all the violence of a winter sea. But the war of the elements was unheeded by the sufferer, and ever and anon, starting from his recumbent position, he paced in desperation the uneven floor of the slippery cavern.
“Years have rolled away since that withering moment,” he exclaimed; “but the wound is yet green in the mind, and the feeling is still fresh as when writhing under the searing iron of the tyrant. The star Medáboot proclaims the hour of the requisite sacrifice. I acknowledge thy power, great Genius of the Water. Wárobal Mama, I call for thy aid.”
Stripping the robe from his person, and tearing the bandage from his sightless eye, he roused a sleeping goat from the corner of the cave. A garland of yellow flowers was wreathed in fantastic folds among the long sharp horns, and a white collar twined its mystic threads around the throat. The animal had been a favourite of former days whilst browsing on the green meadows of Shoa, and knowing the voice of its master, it quietly followed his footsteps into the centre of the grotto.
The bright eyes were turned upwards in confiding innocence as it licked the hand which had so often fed and caressed it; but all pity and compassion were effaced in one fiery feeling of revenge. The words of the dread spell to the spirit of the deep were poured forth on the midnight blast; and the sharp knife gleaming for a moment in the air, was plunged into the heart of the unresisting victim.
Shrieks filled the cavern, and unearthly echoes were flung back from every side of the broken vault, whilst the life-stream gurgled on to mingle with the waters of the lake; and as the last faint groan was rendered from the expiring animal, the badge and symbol of Christianity was dipped in the crimson tide which had flowed to the honour of the genius and his satellites.
(The cord of blue silk styled “máteb,” which in Abyssinia is worn around the neck of the Christian to denote his faith, has usually a small silver cross appended.)
A sulphur-coloured fowl was next subjected to the necessary preparations for the sacrifice. One eye was deliberately scooped out amidst blasphemy and execration, and the bright blue cord which had hitherto graced the neck of the Christian, now gory with unhallowed blood, was bound in a mysterious knot on this the second victim to the powers of darkness. The holy cross was suspended to the desecrated thread; and having raised the flickering embers with sweet woods and subtle essences, Thavánan crushed the head of the fowl under his heel until the brains flowed, and then dashed the body into the fire.
The flame shot aloft in one fierce spire of light, blazing like the arrow of the infernal host, and, again, satiate with the pungent offering, sank amid a stifling cloud of fetid smoke. Casting himself upon the rocky floor in an attitude of prostration, the youth listened in awe to the moans of the wind which had succeeded to the hurricane. But his courage was firm as the foundations of Mamrat; and it was well for him that his heart quailed not during that hour of perilous endurance.
The effects of his diabolical incantation were soon manifest. Foul spirits mowed and chattered in his ear, and the cold rushing of pinions flapping lazily through the air wetted him with slimy spray. But revenge and desperation had steeled his nerves; and after a period of intense misery, which appeared without limit to the sufferer, the melancholy sound of a drum came faintly booming over the face of the waters—the welcome token that the hour of trial was past, and that the sacrifice had been accepted. Waxing louder and louder, the pealing of the music shook the rocks with its continuous reverberations. Unearthly voices, ceasing to torment, faded altogether away; and the renegade, casting one look on the ashes of things holy and once prized, stepped forth from the mouth of the cavern.
Wild and fearful was the scene which met his gaze. The moon was for the moment unobscured, but huge masses of pale cloud, like armed hosts, sped fiercely across the skies, whilst thunder and lightning seemed to warn the astounded beholder that spirits of another world were engaged in their unholy revels.
Unruffled by the breeze, the great lake spread like a sheet of molten silver at his feet; whilst every cliff and crag, revealed boldly to view, was fearfully lit up by the reflected glare of an unearthly lurid flame, which at short intervals spouted in jets from the centre of the expanse, amid streams of wild melancholy music and the clash of the magic drum.
Roused to daring deeds in this moment of frantic excitement, with one short prayer to the spirit he had invoked, Thavánan plunged headlong into the cold deep waters, which gurgled and bubbled over his descending form; but baffled in his design to reach the glittering white sand—now the only haven of his hope—he rose once more to the surface.
All was dark, dismal, and lonely. A thick fog covered the water, the earth, and the sky, whilst the voice of his better angel alone came moaning through the mist, bewailing the lost soul of a son of Adam. Again and again he struggled to reach the glowing bed of the lake, but mortal strength and energy were unavailing to pierce the fathomless abyss. The clear searching element rushed unresisted into his mouth and ears—the faintness of death spread over his exhausted limbs—and his senseless form, tossed to and fro, became the sport of the heaving billow.
But the sound of the spell had swept along the blast, and the savour of the sacrifice had penetrated into the halls of magic. A long sinewy arm raised the body high over the water. The drum again pealed through the boundless space; the bright fire threw one last triumphant stream above the surface, and a heavy plunge beneath the waves was succeeded by the utter silence of solitude.
The soft tinkling sound of harps first stole upon the slumbers of the neophyte. Bright, happy visions flitted over his awakening senses, and the sweet melody of voices ushered him again into existence. Starting from his trance, the bewildered Thavánan found ample scope for the indulgence of his wonder and astonishment. Far as the eye could scan, innumerable arcades stretched in endless vistas on every side, with alternating domes of the purest pearl. Pillars of variously coloured amber and crystal rose to sustain the glowing fabric, and cloths, such as emperors alone can boast, strewed the floors in unbounded profusion.
In the centre of each gallery stood an altar of virgin silver, from which a never-failing arrow of flame diffused a mellow light over the glittering pillars of the hall. Around their more searching sister, jets of sweet-scented water played high in the air; and dancing on the apex of each fountain, a sparkling emerald, the ransom of a monarch, gently regulated the rush of the stream, in token that the elements were here held under control.
Superb paintings, illuminated in transparency, shed a dreamy languor over the scene, and music lent her exhaustless charms to captivate the sense. Sweet strains of triumph, ringing in full chorus among the lofty domes, died gently away into the softness of repose; and at times the low murmur of the waves fell pleasingly upon the ear, as the lake poured forth her springs in homage to the master spirit, and imprinted the kiss of obedience on the magic abode of Wárobal Mama.
Colossal statues of Famine, War, and Pestilence, frowned from their lofty pedestals in all the sternness of brass above the glories of this rich and varied scene. Each giant arm grasped a knotted mace, whose awful blow on the iron drum of misfortune was well known to the dismayed inhabitants of the upper regions of earth as the sure harbinger of woe.
Arts and sciences had each their separate niche in the spacious apartment; and favoured votaries were deeply engaged in scanning subtle essences, or preparing potent spells. The hum of confused voices was borne on the fragrant atmosphere, whilst at intervals strange emblems and tokens were delivered by the elders to the attending pupils, who each sprang aloft upon gaudy pinions to execute the behest of his superior. But the smiling face of fair woman was wanting to complete the scene; for love was unknown to the dread spirit of the lake.
In the immediate vicinity of the wondering mortal, an elevated throne stood the most conspicuous object. Spiral steps of gold led to the shrine of power. Precious stones sparkling in rich wreaths of enamel, hung a brilliant balustrade in front—and forming the seat of high honour and place, a white ivory shell rested amid the shining leaves of the ever-flowering lotus. The sea-snake rose in glittering green folds to receive in his soft embrace the recumbent occupant; and ministering spirits of strange form, bearing harp and censer, were ranged in silence around.
Thundering peals of music, and a sudden prostration, proclaimed the presence of the genius of the place; and, amid the clash of lute and timbrel, a cloud of incense floating high over head, disclosed a dwarf crouching on the shell. His aspect was mild and beneficent, and a flowing white beard entirely covered his minute person; but the essence of ethereal intelligence shot from his piercing black eye, and a pale fire played among his long yellow locks. Again the harps rung out the silver notes of welcome, and a vocal chorus was wafted to the delighted ear of the intruder:—
“Ask for riches, ask for wealth,
For kingdom, strength, or iron sway,
Paramount in lady’s bower,
Revenge for wrongs, or length of day.”
Borne forward by an irresistible impulse, Thavánan found himself among the kneeling crowd in front of the throne, and a soft still voice proceeded from the high place:—“Mortal, what would’st thou with us? Answer without fear.”
“Revenge,” replied the petitioner, “revenge for injury unprovoked—a house rifled and burnt, a fair sister carried to the lawless harem, and the eyeball blasted for ever, of one who had heretofore looked upon the great monarch of Shoa as a perfect Deity upon earth.”
“Let the child of clay take the oath of allegiance, and be instructed to obtain his wish,” responded the being in whose tiny form was concentrated such power and grandeur; and as the words proceeded from his lips, the floor sank under the foot of the proselyte, and Thavánan stood with an attending spirit in the centre of a gloomy grotto.
A blood-red cross, which flashed amid the darkness, revealed sights horrible to behold, and conjured before the imagination thoughts upon which it was then madness to dwell. But daring to the last, the apostate, in presence of the symbol of Christianity, abjured all the high hopes of Heaven. Revenge upon earth filled his soul for the moment; and although the touch of that blessed sign struck through his young heart like the sharp stab of the searing-iron, the fearful oath was firmly and distinctly repeated.
Volume Two—Chapter Thirty Four.
Thavánan the Tormentor.
Months had passed away since the disappearance of the gay Thavánan, once the favourite of the potent monarch of Shoa. Fallen in a single day from his high estate, and deprived of an eye before the scoffing multitude, the innocent victim to intrigue had departed alone and on foot through the gateway of the palace. A thousand cavaliers had that morning obeyed his least command, but not one attended him in the hour of adversity; and shunned as a thing accursed by the brutal mob, he wended his way in moody silence to his home in the green meadow of the Chaka. But the myrmidons of tyranny had outstripped his heavy footstep. Ashes alone proclaimed the site of his late flourishing abode, and a solitary goat, bleating amid the ruins, was all that remained of his once numerous possessions.
The king’s áferoch had been busy since early morn, and every thing had been swept with the besom of destruction. The flocks and the herds of the disgraced noble were now in the royal pastures, and his family and relatives, his serfs and drudges, in the household of the despotic monarch. Stunned by the fatal intelligence, Thavánan, followed only by the goat, withdrew unnoticed from the scene of desolation, and his very name was for a time forgotten in the land.
Towards the close of the year strange reports were circulated from the palace. Unseen hands abstracted the choicest viands—the clearest hydromel was drained ere it reached the expectant lip—and a thousand vagaries were played in the great hall of entertainment. The replenished horn was dashed untasted to the ground, and the delicate morsel transferred from the gaping mouth to the rushes which strewed the floor. The monarch himself was not exempt from the foul plague. His palate was daily cheated of some accustomed dainty; and once, to the horror of the assembled courtiers, a bloody tail was inserted as the royal jaws opened to essay a dish prepared in the seraglio—a loud laugh ringing meanwhile among the rafters of the banqueting-room, which struck upon the ear of the discomfited despot like the merry tones of his exiled favourite.
Priests were called in to the rescue—holy books were read, and consecrated water profusely sprinkled upon the walls, but all without the slightest effect. Doors were closed and double-locked, and guards were planted over every aperture, yet still the pest continued without any abatement. The palace was in a state of terror and confusion, and the life of the king became weary and burdensome.
Awful voices now sounded at night through the lone apartments, and apparitions haunted the imperial slumbers. The band of nocturnal singers was trebled, but the stout lungs of thirty hale priests, who surrounded the royal bed-chamber, and elevated their voices in psalm to a more frantic key than had ever before been heard in Shoa, failed to intimidate the goblin. Tossing on his couch, the restless monarch sunk weary to sleep, only to be jaded by spectres and evil dreams, in which the wronged Thavánan invariably appeared as the chief tormentor.
The nuisance continued without intermission, until, on the high festival of Easter, harassed and exhausted, the Negoos took his customary seat in the great hall of his ancestors. The groaning table was once again well filled. The holy feast had induced chiefs and nobles in some degree to overcome the fears which had latterly estranged them entirely from the banquet; but there was no joy in the depressed eye, no mirth or hilarity on the tongue of any guest, and a low whisper hardly disturbed the silence which reigned among the dismayed assembly.
The usual infernal sallies were on this day practised exclusively at the royal board, before which the uneasy monarch, occupying a high alcove, and surrounded by pages and men at arms, reclined in his wonted grandeur. Suddenly, another figure appeared at the table, resting one hand in a curiously wrought earthen vase, and extending the other high, in defiance towards the throne.
“The lost Thavánan!” shouted the crowd: “he has pawned his soul to the fiend”—and swords flashed from the scabbard, as men’s hearts were strengthened at the sight of danger in a tangible form. But high over the storm rose the voice of the despot:—“Back, minions, back! we will ourselves deal with the ingrate. Death—but a lingering death—shall be the portion of him who trifles with the pleasure of kings!”
It was indeed Thavánan who confronted the frown of majesty; but how changed from the mild and handsome favourite of former days! White as the feather of the Rása, his dishevelled hair floated over the bent shoulder, and stern revenge was graven in the deep furrows of his pallid cheek. His solitary eye gleamed with infernal expression, and bright with the cabalistic figures of magic lore, a golden fillet screened the mutilated orb. Retaining his disdainful position, he cast first a withering glance over the crowd, and then addressed the prince in words of scorn:—
“False monarch, repent in time, for the serpent will turn upon its destroyer. Proud descendant of the race of Solomon, the wit of thy illustrious ancestor is dull in comparison with the wisdom of the meanest disciple of Wárobal. I defy thy myrmidons and thyself!”
And uttering these words, Thavánan instantaneously disappeared from before the gaze of the astounded and crest-fallen court.
The waters of the mystic vase hissed and bubbled for a moment. A dark cloud of stifling steam shot aloft, and a thick crust of red ashes, which strewed the board, remained the sole memento of the unwelcome intrusion. Again the hearts of the vassals fell within them; and whilst a gloomy silence pervaded the hall, the triumphant song of the tormentor came ringing among the notes of wild music.
“Far down in the depths of the azure blue,
Away from the mists of the cold dull sky,
Concealed from detested mortal view,
Thavánan lives in liberty.”
The courage of the tyrant quailed before the dread powers which were in array against him, and resolved upon an act of tardy justice. Freedom was restored to the degraded and enslaved family, and the confiscated lands were returned threefold to the impoverished race. But the door of the royal harem was closed on the fair daughter of the house of Thavánan, and the wail of the captive maid still cried aloud for redress. Persecution, nevertheless, ceased for a time; and men breathed more freely as their hopes gained ground that the spirit of the avenger was appeased.
On the proclamation of the annual military expedition, the chiefs and nobles of Shoa thronged once more to the capital. Swarming around the black tents of their warrior leaders, multitudes were spread over hill and dale, and the Amhára host, in all its savage magnificence, had mustered on the highest mountains of Anko. But evil omens and portentous signs were witnessed continually. Dogs howled unceasingly during the livelong night. Throughout the hours of day, the shrike croaked from every bush; and the merlin, turning her back on the passing cavalier, arranged her sober plumage on the stone, without bestowing, in earnest of victory and success, one glimpse of her snow-white breast.
No heed was given by the stern monarch to these portents of coming evil; and on the eve of the intended march the halls of the palace were crowded with all the chivalry of Efát. Boisterous mirth presided at the banquet; but as the last horn of old hydromel was drained to the downfall of the Galla, there arose a fearful cry from the interior enclosure, and bands of eunuchs, with horror depicted upon their withered countenances, burst into the chamber from every direction. Falling prostrate at the footstool of the throne, they proclaimed the disaster which had descended like a thunderbolt on the heretofore unsullied honour of the nation. “He has left the old and the ugly,” sobbed the trembling guardians; “but alas for the fair and beautiful ones of the harem, they are all gone on the wings of the evening wind!”
King and nobles rushed into the court-yard, and every hut which crowned the pinnacle of the capital poured forth its inmates to gaze at the wondrous spectacle. High over the up-reared peak of the mountain soared a rich rosy cloud, lit by the last glorious rays of the setting sun, and charged with a freight more prized than the fine gold of Kordofán. Amhára’s fairest daughters were revealed to the unhallowed view of the gaping multitude, and no envious vest shrouded their amazing charms. All had been caught up by the whirlwind in the simple dress of ordinary avocation; and as their light laughing voices came tinkling from above, they carried the bitter truth to the exasperated monarch, that the captives enjoyed their present thraldom as a happy release from the bolt of the harem gate, and the rod of the testy old eunuch.
Dishonoured in the eyes of his subjects, and smarting under the loss of objects which still held a place in his heart, the despot stamped and raged in uncontrollable fury. The beat of the nugáreet and the voice of the herald forthwith proclaimed the abandonment of the projected expedition; and, plunged in the deepest mortification, Asfa Woosen retired to brood in solitude over his unprecedented misfortune.
Morn witnessed the dispersion to their respective quarters of governors and their levies; and before the shades of another evening had closed over the deep valley of the Airára, a breathless courier galloped through the palace-gates with the unlooked-for but welcome tidings, that the ladies of the royal harem had been discovered reposing unattended among the high fern and heather of the adjacent mountain side.
Again were the parchment faces of the wrinkled eunuchs radiant in sallow lustre. Three hundred mules were instantly dispatched for the conveyance of the truant flock to their fold; and at midnight the muffled damsels were consigned, amid the cracked exultations of attendants, to their wonted cages in the palace.
But the fair sister of Thavánan was not of the number, neither could any clue be obtained to her fate or condition. A small scroll had indeed been discovered on the turf, sealed and bearing the address of the ruler of Shoa—a gigantic glow-worm, attached by a single yellow hair to the envelope, having particularly attracted attention to that which it was conjectured might contain the desired information.
The curiosity of the king finally overcame the cautious scruples of the priesthood, who advised the immediate destruction of the missive. As the wax crumbled between his fingers, a roar of thunder shook the palace to its foundations, whilst a stream of black dust, pouring from the parchment to the table, gradually assumed the semblance of a pillar of sand agitated by the fierce whirl of the storm. A pungent odour impregnated the apartment, and the crackling sound of the devouring element was followed by the presence of the dread tormentor.
“I have come once again, monarch of the hard heart, to repay the debt which is still due, and, blasted like the much-injured Thavánan, thy soul may henceforward entertain some feeling of pity for thy fellow-men. Listen to thy doom. No mercy was shown unto me, and none shall be extended to thee. Thy son, after a short reign of terror, shall fall by the hand of a slave, and die cursing the author of his existence; and thy son’s son shall bear upon his disfigured countenance the searing mark of his ancestor’s cruelty. My face thou shalt see no more—Spirit of the flame, perform thy task.” A bright flash shot from the centre of the dark threatening column, and curled towards the king, a sickening sulphuric fume filling the presence chamber, and the necromancer vanished in the thick smoke.
Plunged for hours in a death-like stupor, Asfa Woosen was only aroused from his lethargy to bewail the loss of the left eye, which had been scorched in the socket by the contact of the fierce flame. The calamity greatly softened and influenced the actions of his after-life; and torture and mutilation grew gradually out of custom in the kingdom of Shoa.
During the reign of his grandson, the one-eyed Sáhela Selássie, there dwelt in a mossy cavern, among the recesses of the forest of Manték, a hermit of renowned sanctity. Father Peter was universally feared and beloved, but none knew from whence he derived food or nourishment. The skin of the agazin formed his humble garb, and a rude leathern girdle encircled his loins. His charms and amulets were never known to fail, and his language was not as that of other men. Crowds daily gathered round his cave in the rock to receive on their knees the benediction of the recluse; but no one had ever entered the cell, and few cared to pass it after nightfall. Moans and cries of agony then mingled with the midnight blast; and the sound of the scourge was often heard amid prayers for deliverance from the evil one.
On a fresh morning of May, when the roses and jessamine were scenting the dewy air, the wild flowers springing over the face of the green meadow, and birds warbled pleasantly amid the rich foliage, the peasants came as usual to listen to the words of other days, and to receive the blessing of the austere anchorite. But the accustomed seat was vacant, and no answer being returned to the voice of inquiry, the boldest entered the retreat. Curiously emblazoned scrolls and relics were strewed among the nooks and mouldy recesses of the damp grotto; the body of the venerable hermit was stretched in eternal slumber upon a bed of sharp stones; and the tale soon spread through the land that the holy Father Peter—now no more—was indeed the dread necromancer Thavánan, who had thus, by the continued penance of half a century, expiated his fierce act of apostasy.
Volume Two—Chapter Thirty Five.
The Reign of Superstition.
Not a monk is there in any of the lone monasteries of Shoa, not a hermit of the many in her cold mountains, not a dwarf nor a decrepit priest who has renounced the society of his fellow-men, but enjoys the reputation of being fully competent to blast the harvest at pleasure, to poison the fountain, and to render the able-bodied incapable. The thoughts of all classes move in a dense atmosphere of superstition. Talismans, written in mystic characters, if mixed with the seeds and leaves of potent witch plants, gathered by the hand of the forest recluse, afford a feeling of security which is not to be extracted from the pages of the Gospel; nor does any one ever venture to mount his mule without a preservative against the spear of the bandit, or the sharp knife of the heathen.
Savage man, obtaining only through the medium of his own wishes and imagination a glimmering idea of the invisible and supreme Power, seeks some tangible object of veneration, and some ostensible source of protection. Thus the Abyssinian, whose vague religious ideas afford him but small consolation in the hour of tribulation, and but little reliance of security or deliverance in the day of danger and distress, reposes implicit faith in the doctrine of amulets, which present a substance stamped with a mystic and supernatural character, and one capable of being attached individually to himself. The arms and neck are therefore clothed in a perfect panoply of charms against the influence of every misfortune and disease, whether experienced or anticipated; and the tulsim, which is a worked zone studded with minute leathern pockets, containing sacred spells enveloped in double and treble wrappers, encircles the waist of every man, woman, and child, throughout the Christian dominions of Sáhela Selássie, who himself reposes firm faith in their efficacy.
The influence of the evil eye exercises a strong control over the minds of all. Bad spirits are believed to roam about the earth and the waters, and to occupy houses after dark, whence the Amhára never ventures to throw fluid on the ground, lest the dignity of some unseen elf should be violated. The Beza, or sacrifice for the sick, is considered lawful and efficacious, and is frequently resorted to. The bullock, as the type of the invalid, after being driven round his couch amid singing and clamour, is slaughtered outside the threshold; or an egg is turned thrice towards the head of the patient, and then broken beside him. Saint Michael is, by many of the more ignorant, supposed to be the Almighty. The Virgin Mary is considered the creatress of the world; and Sunday is understood to have been a saint of surpassing sanctity, greatly superior both to Saint George and to Saint Michael, on which account he claims one day out of the seven, whereas other saints enjoy their festival only once during the month.
No Amhára will venture to destroy a serpent save on Saturday or Sunday, when the sight of one of these reptiles is deemed a favourable omen. In common with the heathen Galla, the Christians of Shoa make annual votive sacrifices in June to Sár, the evil spirit—notwithstanding its strict prohibition by royal proclamation. Three men and a woman, who understand how to deal with the Evil One, having assembled at the place appointed, proceed to perform the ceremony in a house newly swept. A ginger-coloured hen, a red she-goat, or a male Adel goat with a white collar, is sacrificed; and the blood of the victim, having been mixed with grease and butter, is secretly placed during the night in a narrow alley, when all who step therein are supposed to receive the malady of the invalid, who is thus restored to perfect health. During a visit some years ago to Motátit, the king perceived evidences of this pagan ceremony in the streets; and tracing the rite to a wealthy individual, who had caused it to be performed in order to free himself of disease, the honour of true religion was speedily vindicated by the transfer to the royal coffers of all the worldly substance of the delinquent.
Under cover of the night, a thread of cotton yarn is often stretched by the hired sorcerer completely round some devoted tenement; and the extremities having been connected by means of an iron link, well imbued in blood, the walls and doorposts are freely sprinkled and bedaubed with gore. Day dawns upon the incantation, which is believed to be the work of the Devil himself; and among all the assembled multitude, who consider that some heavy calamity, if not instant death, would follow the act, there is not to be found one individual sufficiently bold to remove the spell, and thus deliver the inmates from its withering influence. Since the king’s arrival in the capital, the appearance of the bloody finger on the wall had thrown the inhabitants into the deepest consternation; and to the astonishment of every by-stander, a missionary of the Church of England tore away the charm without any evil consequences following his rashness. That very night, however, the defeated necromancer planned an attack to rob the clergyman’s premises, and it was only defeated by the extra vigilance preserved in consequence of the exposure of the impostor.
The drum of the water kelpie is heard by the credulous native in the echo of every roaring cataract, and the wretch drowning in the swollen torrent is believed to be dragged under the overwhelming wave as the favourite food of the malicious spirit of the deep. Divers plants and herbs possess properties and qualities the most baneful; and a bunch of the Fegain grass, if skilfully cast upon the person of an obnoxious enemy, produces dire disease and speedy death. Sorcerers and necromancers attaining the respectable age of four and five hundred years exist in numbers in many parts of the land, flitting through the air, and riding upon the wings of the wind; and unbidden and invisible guests, such as Thavánan the Tormentor, enter the banqueting hall, to rob the festive board of its choicest viands.
Hid from mortal gaze, and realising upon earth all the delights of paradise, the magic village of Dooka Stephános forms the never-failing topic of all wonder-loving souls, and the poetic fancy of Abyssinia has been fairly exhausted in descriptions of this rare scene of blissful enjoyment. “Its sleep-inviting groves and grassy lawns are situated on the overflowing Nile; and there, released from the shackles of wedlock, beautiful females abound. Potent liquors pour on in never-drying streams, and the earth yields her spontaneous fruits without care or labour. But shrouded in magic mist, these Elysian fields open their portals only to those mortals of commanding form and handsome features, on whom the glance of favour has been cast by the bewitching inmates of the enchanted garden. Human endeavour is ineffectual to unriddle the mystery in which it is enveloped; and the dread art of the sorcerer and his most potent talismans, prove alike unavailing to loosen the spell for the advantage of those on whom Dame Nature has bestowed a crooked figure, or even an ill-starred visage.”
As in the dark ages, dwarfs are nevertheless treated with considerable respect, and regarded with the utmost fear. Many of the most learned and praiseworthy in the land are to be found among those who have been created during nature’s freaks. The monarch’s father confessor, a perfect Asmodeus in appearance, is of extremely diminutive stature, but he is possessed of singular good feeling, and forms a gratifying contrast to the majority of his countrymen. The chiefs and nobles often select their secretaries and household priests with reference to their bodily imperfections; and the most erudite sage in the capital, whose charms and talismans are esteemed all-powerful, and who knoweth every plant from the “cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop that springeth out of the wall,” sustains his character for wisdom and for lore, as much by the deformity of his appearance as by the brilliancy of his understanding.
Sickness and misfortune are usually ascribed to the influence of the evil eye of the Booda, or sorcerer. Long consultations are held to discover from whose sinister glace the calamity has emanated; and when suspicion has gradually settled into conviction, the most implacable hatred is conceived towards the delinquent; and although concealed under that garb of indifference which the savage can so successfully assume, yet the opportunity of revenge is never suffered to pass unheeded in after-life. Hailoo, the father of Oubié, the Nero-like Dedjasmach of Tigré, added much to his previous notoriety by the extermination of all the Boodas who fell within his murderous reach. Superstition exulted in reeking hecatombs of human victims; and the love and veneration of his subjects knew no bounds on his last summary act of collecting together and roasting to death thirteen hundred miserable wretches, who were suspected to possess, and to have exerted with success, the influence of “the evil eye.”
By the credulous Abyssinian, every blacksmith and worker in iron is held to be endowed with supernatural powers, and to be able to transform himself at pleasure into the likeness of a wolf or a hyena. It is a common practice amongst this class of handicrafts to fasten a metal collar about the neck of the whelps of those animals, and turn them loose; when the badge being retained through life, and occasionally seen, the fabulous stories in circulation are strengthened in the eyes of the uninitiated.
The presence of any Christian emblem, or portion of Holy Writ, is supposed sufficient to neutralise the labours of the Vulcan. No metal can be welded within sight of the cross; and should any scrap of the Bible be worn on the person of the by-standers, the desired figure can never be imparted. Of this belief an instance was afforded shortly after our return from Angollála, when a bar of iron was to be transformed into a tire for the wheel of a gun-carriage. The small draft of air created by a pair of primitive native bellows proving of none avail, the smiths declared aloud that the phenomenon arose from some holy charm. Badges and emblems, spells and amulets, were cast aside by all; but the labour was renewed without any better effect, and the artisans stood aghast. A pair of British forge bellows were now produced, and the assembly were requested to don their paper armour, and to stand round the anvil. The potent blast poured from the nozzle, and under the brawny arm of one of the European soldiers, the sparks flew far and wide. In five minutes the work was completed, to the dismay of the Abyssinian magicians, who came privately to request of me that no further public exhibition of the sort might thenceforth be made, lest their name and their glory should be extinguished throughout the land.
Volume Two—Chapter Thirty Six.
Excursion along the North-Western Frontier of Efát.
The disparaging reflections cast by the chivalrous people of Shoa, in consequence of our refusal to slaughter defenceless pagans during the murderous expedition to Entótto, rendered it imperative that some decided step should be taken by which to wipe out the stain, and restore the tarnished lustre of the British name. The destruction of an adult elephant, which is reckoned equivalent to that of forty Galla, is an achievement that had not been accomplished within the memory of the present age, although mentioned in traditions connected with the exploits of the most renowned Ethiopic warriors. I accordingly solicited permission to visit the distant wilderness of Giddem, on the northern frontier of Efát, in the dense forests of which the giant of the mammalia was reported to reside—a pretext which further afforded plausible grounds for exploring a portion of the country reputed to be amongst the most fertile and productive in Abyssinia.
The king opened his eyes wider than usual at this unprecedented application. “My children,” he returned deliberately, “how can this be? Elephants are not to be slain with rifle balls. They will demolish you; and what answer am I then to give? The gun is the medicine for the Galla in the tree, but it has no effect upon the zihoon.” (Elephant.)
Finding me resolved, however. His Majesty’s most gracious permission was finally accorded to depart forthwith, and orders were issued to a royal messenger who was appointed to accompany us, commanding the governors of provinces through which the route lay, to afford every assistance in their power to “the strong strangers of the Negoos.” But all assertions relative to the possibility of destroying the monarch of the forest were still received with an incredulous shake of the head; and whilst not the smallest expectations were entertained at court of the success of the Gyptzis, the greatest ridicule attended an undertaking which, by all classes at the capital, was considered certain to prove alike foolhardy, dangerous, and futile.
Instructions had been issued that the king’s guests were to be conducted by the royal road over the Gorabéla mountain, a singular mark of condescension, partaken but by few in the realm. This permission enabled us to enjoy a most extensive panorama from the heather-grown heights. Mamrat reared her stupendous head perpendicularly from the dark-wooded bosom of the valley, and seemed half buried in the clouds. The palisaded buildings of the palace covering the slope of its isolated hill frowned in pride over the numberless circular houses of the straggling eastern metropolis. Clumps of the sombre juniper, and spreading cossos hung with red garlands of mast, formed vistas on every side. On the one hand rose the lofty blue range of Bulga, and on the other the eye ranged uncontrolled over the boundless plains of the savage Adaïel, spread out below like a great chart, and embracing a prospect of many hundred square miles. In the centre soared the stern crater of Abida—the beacon which, in days long gone, marked the dominions of the proud emperors of Ethiopia, when, according to the traditionary couplet, “their sceptre swayed from Azulo to the Bashilo, and from Errur to Gondar.”
The porters at the royal lodge were on the alert, and adjurations by the king’s life were not wanting to deter our advance to the Airára. “Bu Negoos,” “Bu Sáhela Selássie amlak,” were talismanic words energetically vociferated, and a heavy staff was thumped across the path in earnest of its being closed to plebeian transit. But where is the Abyssinian who is proof against bribery and corruption? Beads will force a passage when the mandate of the throne is received with incredulity, and the dollars of Maria Theresa, if possessing all the requisite marks, will insure participation even in a crown monopoly.
An exceedingly steep path conducts to the summit of the Chaka; but it is here paved throughout with boulders, so supported at intervals by transverse beams, as to form a succession of clumsy steps, constituting the only made road in the kingdom of Shoa. The heather ceases with the Gorabéla mountain; and from the summit of the now bare range the route we were to follow strikes off near the residence of a petty governor, who bears the singular name of “Mout bai nore legne.”
“Oh, that there were no death for me!” is the interpretation thereof; but judging from the appearance of the lord of the manor, who numbers some threescore years, he is not likely long to find his wish realised. Engaged in earnest conversation with the old man, was Ayto Guebroo, who, in consequence of inability to check the repeated rebellions of the Loomi, by whom he so recently was wounded, had at last been deprived of his government and of his silver sword, and was on his way to the presence of the despot in deep disgrace.
The Abyssinian verdure is singularly evanescent, a month without a shower being sufficient to dry up the rich herbage, and to darken the hue of the foliage; but the “rain of Bounty,” which usually falls in February, giving a fresh impulse to vegetation, the hills and valleys again teem with abundance. November was fast drawing to a close, and the aspect of the country generally was brown and withered. The best pastures were covered with the sleek beeves swept off from Finfinni, and the cornfields were yellow with the royal crops now under the sickle, whilst in the numerous threshing-floors muzzled oxen were already treading out the grain.
Our route led across Motátit and the Toro Mesk, through dales and over hills abutting upon the face of the bluff frontier of Shoa, in which are the sources of many of the more distant tributaries to the blue Nile. Never was there a tract more destitute of birds or wild animals, a few plovers and larks, with some of the more common species of Rodentia, being the only objects of natural history observed during a march of twelve miles, which led to the halting ground in the centre of the little village of Asóphee, opposite to the frowning mountain Koorománia.
Under our flimsy cotton awnings, the night proved intensely cold; and on resuming the journey at an early hour the ensuing morning, over a swelling country thickly dotted with Christian hamlets, we found the more sheltered pools by the road-side covered with a thin coating of ice, the first witnessed since our arrival in Abyssinia. At the village of Amaráguê, hospitable entertainment had been prepared by Ayto Egázoo, whose name signifies, “May they buy.” This notable warrior had, prior to the late foray, introduced himself to me, somewhat k-propos of his title, by an ingenious but abortive attempt to sell an unsound horse. Dismounting on the right side from the identical straw-coloured steed, he now placed himself, with shoulders bared, in the middle of the road, and by the life of the king adjured us to enter his abode, in order to partake of a sheep that had been expressly slaughtered.
Wulleta Selássie, his comely partner, daughter to Shishigo, the governor of Shoa-meda, had kindled in the dark hall the fiercest of fires, and immediately on the termination of complimentary inquiries, an ox-hide being spread, the heavy door was barred to exclude the evil eye. Raw collops having been steadily rejected, bones, singed in a somewhat cannibal-like fashion, were rapidly circulated by the attentive host. “Take the eye,” he repeated, coaxingly, to each in turn, presenting at the same time betwixt his finger and thumb the extracted orb of the deceased mutton—“do, the eye is the daintiest part. No!—well you must eat this marrow,” crushing the uncooked shank with a grinding-stone handed by a slave girl, and extending the splintered fragments to be sucked. Overflowing bumpers of sour beer having been filled in a gloomy corner at a huge earthen jar, each horn was tasted by the cup-bearer from the hollow of his palm, in demonstration of the absence of poison. The surplus repast, fluid as well as solid, quickly disappeared under the united efforts of the retinue; and a bead necklace having been hung about the neck of the lady’s hopeful son and heir, we finally effected our escape from the ovenlike apartment, with the aid of divers promises made to both master and mistress, and sundry pieces of silver disbursed to silence a host of importunate menials.
Ayto Egázoo rode forth, in accordance with etiquette, “to see the party off.” From the courtyard of his snug but dirty domicile, Tegulet, and the blue hills of Argobba and of the Wollo Galla, bounded the extensive prospect. Regaining the road, we crossed in succession the Tekroos-Bádo, Moosh, and Goodawurud rivers, all remote sources of the blue Nile. On the banks of the latter stands the monastery of Saint George, famous as having been left unmolested when the district was in the hands of the Galla, many of whom are even said to have been converted to Christianity. Goodawurud was the title of a potent chieftain, who, with Merkurri, Amadich, and Logo, held the country after Graan’s desolating visit, until expelled by Asfa Woosen; and a considerable portion of the revenues are now applied to the maintenance of the monastery of Medák, whose superior, the Alaka Amda Zion, has charge of the heir presumptive.
Nothing could exceed the beauty of the position selected by the cowled fraternity of Saint George; large bands of whom, lounging away their hours of idleness beneath the funereal junipers in which the retreat is deeply embosomed, were for once aroused from listless apathy by the passing cavalcade of white strangers. The land swarms with friars, monks, and anchorites, who are habited in yellow dresses, as the badge of poverty, or in the prepared skin of the antelope. Usually licentious in their manners, they roam through the country a perfect pest and plague to society. Men become monks at any period of life. Those who are afflicted with grievous sickness, vow that in event of recovery they will abandon the world, and transfer all their moveables to the church. The rich often deliver over their property to their children, who are bound to support them until death. The poor subsist upon the bounty of the king and of the community; and many never enter the cells of the monastery at all, but with their wives reside at ease in their own homes, having assumed the counterfeit piety of the order solely for the sake of defrauding their creditors—since, however deeply involved, all former scores may be cleared off with the ease and rapidity of the most indulgent court of insolvency, by the simple process of “putting on angels’ clothing.”
The skin of the Agazin is usually adopted as the garb of humiliation; and this emblem, together with the unwashed person, is intended to commemorate the legend of their great founder Eustathius, who boasted of having performed no ablution during a long term of existence, and who miraculously crossed the river Jordan, floating securely upon his greasy cloak. The prophet Samuel is also sometimes referred to as affording another notable example of the advantage extended by the mantle of hide, in the asserted fact of his having sailed seven days across a great sea, borne in safety, with his disciples, upon his leathern robe.
Throughout Shoa, lakes are believed to form the great rendezvous of evil spirits; and in one called Nugáreet-fer, at the foot of the hills, the drum of the water kelpie is frequently heard, to the no small terror of the superstitious auditors. Shortly after crossing the stony bed of the Daimadamash, a road branches off to Angollála and Debra Berhán, past the monastery of Máskalie Ghedam, a title signifying “My cross is a convent.” Beyond the Dewásha, a second strikes northward to Gondar, past the seat of government of Zenama Work, the Queen-dowager, which occupies a beautifully rounded tumulus styled Zalla Dingai, “The rolling stone.”
“Bad people,” saith the tradition attached to this spot, “were one day seated upon a rock that formerly occupied the summit of the hill. They were telling lies, and busied in contriving tricks by which to circumvent their neighbours. Suddenly the mass gave way, and all who sat thereon, being precipitated into the deep torrent that rolls beneath to join the river Mofa, were crushed to atoms for their evil doings.”
After fording the Goor river, and ascending a high ridge, the Queen’s white palace forms a striking object in the landscape; and beyond it is a square eminence, where, under the eye of the erudite Alaka Woldáb, the reigning monarch passed his earlier years, until the assassination of his sire opened to him the accession. From this point we obtained an extensive view over Geshe and Efrata, with the Great Sáka mountains stretching towards the Nile. A little further on the heather-grown range suddenly terminates in an abrupt descent of full three thousand feet, at the foot of which lies the rugged province of Efát, blending into the blue plains of the Adaïel. The great beacon Azulo, with the wide crater of Abida, hazy and hot, were visible in the east. Afrubba, and the high hills of the Ittoo Galla, rose in the distance, and a perfect chaos of rude disjointed mountains lay piled towards Ankóber, seeming as though they had been gathered from many countries, and pitched together by giant handfuls, to fill up the deep intervening chasm.
Hitherto the road had been rough and stony—the eminences steep and bare; and after passing the sombre groves of Saint George, the only redeeming feature was the church dedicated to “Our Lady,” reposing quietly amid the rich foliage of the “cosso,” and other large-leafed forest trees. In many respects the face of the country now resembled the sides of the great Indian Ghauts—masses of light brown, chequered with pale yellow; but stubble or standing corn in every accessible nook and corner usurped the place of the wild grass, with which nature so prodigally clothes the mountain scenery of the East. Numerous parties, consisting of twenty or thirty peasants, carrying on their heads bales of coarse cotton cloth as tribute to the king, passed us at intervals—the sword by their side and the spear in their hand, indicating that the frontier along which they journeyed was in a far from settled state.
This tract of high land, which forms the watershed between the Nile and the Háwash, is richly cultivated and abundantly irrigated—a fresh stream, on its course to the former river, intersecting the western side of the range, and forming a deep valley every second or third mile. After leaving the Goor, however, the face of the country, becoming more sterile, is covered with heather, and for the last few miles to the top of the Turmáber pass, neither village nor cultivation is to be seen.
During the descent, which passes through a gap in the precipitous trap rocks, and is steeper and even worse than that of the Chaka, the bleak and lofty peaks of Arámba, Gaifaiyétto, Wóti, Mamrat, Kondie, and Wofásha, are severally revealed to view; these forming a continuation of the great mountain range which fortifies the whole eastern frontier of Shoa, from Bulga to Worra Káloo, and extends thence through Ambásel, Yedjow, and Lasta, to Simien, the highest point of Abyssinia. From the foot of this pass the road leads across the Telúnko, close to Debra Sena, a small eminence covered as with an inverted bowl, by a dense, cabbage-shaped clump of junipers, concealing Saint George’s church—a celebrated shrine for the performance of vows and orisons, which is visited from great distances. Hence the route winds to the bottom of a deep wooded dell, rich in botanical specimens, where the clear stream of the Telúnko is again crossed, to the face of a steep acclivity leading to Dokáket, the ancient capital of Emmaha Yasoos, third monarch of Shoa.
The sun was dipping below the opposite range as a halt was proclaimed by the King’s guide at the house of Ayto Abaiyo Gurwa, the governor of the district, whose hospitality proved unbounded. For a full hour he continued shouting and scolding, ordering and countermanding; and whilst he expressed the greatest mortification at my declining to appropriate two fat oxen, in addition to liberal supplies of sheep, bread, mead, and beer, he was with difficulty prevailed upon to accept a present that I had prepared in acknowledgment; a piece of self-denial rarely experienced at the hands of a native of Southern Abyssinia.
“But,” he added, “henceforth you may know me as your friend; therefore send to me frequently, and I will tell you when I have any concern. Wolda Mariam, my henchman, who is here, is in my confidence. Furthermore, he will visit you on my part. Appoint now a báldoroba, who may introduce him, that access be not impeded.” The party nominated as the medium of communication stepped to the front, and the two, baring their shoulders, and bowing the one to the other, fell back into their respective places.
Ankóber is the capital of the eastern division of the kingdom of Shoa, in which are comprised the provinces of Basso, Dabdábo, Karába, Kawt, Mans, Giddem, Abómesa, Mahhfood, and Dokáket. The last-named especially forms the scene of constant inroads from the savage Adaïel, whose country lies little more than a cannon shot below; the Amhára, who on the Fárri boundary are severely punished by the politic monarch for taking a life, even in retribution, flocking hither to entitle themselves to wear the decoration of the “akodáma,” the ne plus ultra of their ambition. And such is the bitter hatred subsisting between the two nations so closely bordering upon each other, that but for the lofty hills and cold climate of Ankóber, the Moslems, who are the far braver race, would doubtless have paid its Christian population a hostile visit long ere now. On the adjacent northern frontier, the intricate labyrinth of broken ravines, over which our view had ranged in the morning, forms a strong natural barrier against the Wollo Galla, whose incursions are nevertheless frequent; whilst the Túlema, residing in the Sáka range, entertain as decided a disinclination to descend from their own bleak hills, as do the Amhára to visit the hot valleys and forests of the Adaïel, which stretch beyond the borders of Efát.