PREFACE

In Africa the centre of interest shifts quickly, from Khartoum to the Cape, from the Congo to Morocco. Before now it has lain in Abyssinia, for Englishmen especially. It may be found there again. If so, the theatre of action will probably be the little known region of Western Abyssinia, and that district of the Anglo-Egyptian Nile Province which adjoins it.

Geographically, Western Abyssinia dominates the south-east of the Soudan. The Soudan, as every one in England knows now, is not a continuation of the Desert of Sahara, but a land that once flowed with milk and honey, and may again. It contains vast tracts of soil perfectly adapted for the cultivation of cotton. A hostile force descending from Abyssinia has the enormous advantage of moving from difficult into easy country with an open line of retreat into almost inaccessible mountains. An expedition from the Soudan, on the other hand, would be confronted, after traversing miles of uninhabited hilly wastes, by the necessity of forcing its way up mule-paths winding among precipices.

There is no reason why peace should not be permanently established between Egypt and Ethiopia, if the Abyssinian slave-raids are stopped. But the changes and chances of international politics bring about strange consequences. Rumours, not without foundation, have been circulated recently of new engagements entered into by the Negus giving far-reaching concessions to Americans. Other Powers are busy, and a diplomatic—and spectacular—mission started lately from Berlin for Addis Abbiba. There is room in the country for all nations to find commercial opportunities. But if influences hostile to Great Britain became dominant in Western Abyssinia, a danger to the Soudan—and not to the Soudan only—would have arisen, the seriousness of which few people at home, perhaps, rightly realize. I make no further apology for bringing some account of a journey from Khartoum to Lake Tsana before the public.

My heartiest thanks are due to my friend, Mr. Godfrey Burchett, without whose aid in preparing for publication the rough notes of a traveller’s diary, this book would not have come into existence. I cannot too cordially acknowledge my indebtedness to him.

I wish to acknowledge also my great obligation to Sir W. Garstin, who, on behalf of the Egyptian Government, has allowed me to reproduce the map of Lake Tsana, published in his Report on the Basin of the Upper Nile (1904); to Professor Poulton for his kindness in preparing the entomological appendix to this volume; and to Mr. C. E. Dupuis for permission to publish interesting photographs taken by him. And I have the pleasure of cordially thanking Mr. John Murray for leave given me to make extracts from “Life in Abyssinia,” by Mansfield Parkyns, and the “Narrative of the British Mission to Theodore, King of Abyssinia,” by Hormuzd Rassam; Messrs. Macmillan and Co., for similar permission in the case of “The Nile Tributaries of Abyssinia,” by Sir Samuel Baker; Messrs. C. Arthur Pearson, Ltd., in the case of “Abyssinia,” by Herbert Vivian; Messrs. Chapman & Hall in the case of “A Narrative of a Journey through Abyssinia,” by Henry Dufton; and Mr. Augustus Wylde in the case of “Modern Abyssinia.” It would have been impossible to publish the collated information about the Soudan and Abyssinia contained in this volume without the privilege kindly granted me by these gentlemen.

A. J. HAYES.

Suez, 1905.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE
SOURCE OF THE BLUE NILE

CHAPTER I

The first signs of dawn brought us out of bed next morning. We were in good luck; for the servants had kept a fire alight all night, and hot water was ready for us. There was beatitude in a warm bath after the plague of sandflies. We started at daybreak; there was no change in the track or the country. Heat, a high wind and dust spoiled the journey in the morning. We halted to lunch under the largest mimosa bush we could find, which gave as much shade as a telegraph pole.

Crawley opened his big artist’s umbrella, which should have been a successful aid to comfort, but it tried conclusions with the wind and was worsted. We started again at two o’clock, and arrived in the evening at our camping-ground opposite the pleasant village of Sheik-el-Obeid. Our guns played the part of poulterer for us and varied our diet. In the morning Dupuis had shot a brace of sand-grouse, and in the khor[1] below our camp I had the luck to bag a teal. The temperature fell rapidly after sundown, and the night was very cold. The mosquitoes were numbed and did not stir, but the camels did, and I found them as effective in promoting a vigil. All night long they were browsing on the mimosa scrub; they relish the thorns, which are about two inches long. I heard them pull the branches, and then, when one was released, it recoiled into place with a swish. There was a continuous noise of this movement, and it vaguely reminded me of breaking water.

The camels were hobbled, and stumbled from bush to bush. I constantly expected that one would stumble upon my bed. They loomed up, shadowy and grotesque, in the light of the bearers’ fires, and I had a kind of nightmare of them without sleep.

On the 8th we were up before sunrise. Probably the camels, after supping all night, were tired. I say “probably”; for the camel is an aberrant type, and one can only guess its sensations. They were unwilling to barak[2] to receive their loads, and were grunting, snarling, and growling. When one of these beasts seems likely to become unmanageable, the camel-man “bridles” it by passing his index finger through the orifice between its nostrils. In breaking in young ones, a stout thorn, shaped as a peg, is used in the same position.

We started at 7.30, and walked ahead of the baggage train with our guns. At nine o’clock, when the sun had gained power, we took to the saddle. The country through which we passed is cultivated during the rainy season; it is scored with ravines, hollowed out by the rush of water in the wet months, and is uncomfortable ground for travellers.

During the day we shot five pigeons and a sand-grouse. Beside the river we saw and heard great numbers of demoiselle cranes, but found it impossible to get within gun-range of them. They have scouts on the watch both when they are in flight and when they settle, and as soon as the warning cry is given by the outpost the shooter’s chance is gone.

We reached our camping-ground, near Bushagra, before five o’clock, and pitched one tent for our own use in case a dust storm should come upon us. I bathed on the brink of the river, but kept out of the pool for fear of crocodiles. As yet I had seen none, but I made their acquaintance quite closely enough later in the journey. The night was warm, and we slept in the open on the bank of the Nile.

I began the next day (December 9) with a lucky shot. I had put my gun and a No. 3 cartridge—the only one I had—on the table near my bed before turning in, as I hoped that the demoiselles might be less cautious before daybreak. I was up an hour before dawn, and loaded my gun. I could hear the croaking of the birds for a long distance, and knew from the sound that they were moving. Just at the moment when I was ready, three cranes sailed over the camp. They were within range; and when I fired, a fine demoiselle collapsed and came to the ground in a heap. These birds make good eating.

All the country in this district has the same character. The low mimosa scrub is varied by patches of land which are cultivated in the rainy season. The Khalifa had his powder and cartridge factory at Bushagra, and possibly the natives thought that European vengeance might fall on them for this reason. In any case the Soudanese here showed nervousness, and made off when they saw us coming.

We ate another British breakfast—porridge and sausages—and then started on foot with our guns at half-past seven. A tramp of five miles gave us no sport, and we mounted our camels about nine o’clock. Our road lay through the hottest country I have ever known, and the temperature rose hourly as the day advanced. Smoked glasses ease the eyes a little, and there is shade under one’s white umbrella, but nothing seems able to allay the thirst which this land causes. It is a mistake to suppose that one must go east of Suez to gain experience of true human drought. The water in my bottle[3] lasted, and only just lasted, through the journey.

Hot, parched men, in a hot, uninteresting land, are not likely to be in their best temper, and we had to bear with our guide. He had asserted that he knew the whole country, but he barely knew how to follow the track, and seemed to lack ideas of time and distance. We asked him, “When shall we reach the river again?” He pointed to a large section of the heavens and answered, “When the sun reaches there.” He could not tell us the names of villages which lay on our route, and our maps were not trustworthy.

We reached the river bank after our halt at lunch-time, but left it again, and my camel’s action appeared to be more back-breaking and monotonous than ever. Two hours in the saddle seemed like four, and Xenophon’s Greeks were not more delighted to behold the sea than I was by the sight of the blue water as we approached it late in the afternoon. Our camping ground was beside the stream, and I rushed to the brink with my enamelled mug; the water was rather muddy, but the draught seemed like nectar.

I tried for a fish, without success. When I returned to camp I heard a camel grunting loudly and dismally. On going to discover the cause, I found the animal fastened to the ground by cords, while a man was scarifying its back with live cinders. The object is to produce counter-irritation as a remedy for cysts. I arrived too late to deliver the unhappy beast from the horrors of Soudanese veterinary treatment, as the operation had just been completed. However, I gave the Arabs “a piece of my mind.” They may not have understood my Arabic, but they could not mistake the meaning.

We had covered twenty miles during the day and camped beside a khor, opposite to a village called Baranku, which is situated on an island in the river.

On the following morning we started with our guns and walked ahead of the camels. Besides pigeons, we shot plovers of two kinds which I had not seen before. Our route throughout the day was over fertile soil, perfectly adapted for the cultivation of cotton. At present, grain (durrha) is grown here, and apparently only one crop is raised annually, after the summer rains. But Dupuis told me that if a canal were cut and a system of irrigation established the soil would bear “the kindly fruits of the earth” all the year round. Villages are numerous in this district, and we never lost sight of one or other of them during our day’s journey. I noticed a great disproportion between the numbers of male and female inhabitants. In a hamlet in which I made inquiry there were eighteen women to one man. Nearly all the men had perished in the days of the Mahdi and Osman Digna. As a consequence, the women worked in the fields, while their few surviving consorts led lives of idleness. I suppose they were considered, and considered themselves, too valuable to be subjected to fatigue. They were too poor to buy tobacco, or smoking might have kept them silent. As it was, when they were not asleep they were talking, and I wondered how they could possibly find topics for incessant conversation.

We halted for the night on the bank of the river, two miles from Rufa’a, which is the second largest town on the Blue Nile. Miralai[4] Blewitt Bey, the Moudir[5] of Rufa’a, sent a police officer with a courteous message, expressing his desire to do all in his power to assist us. A welcome gift of eggs and fresh milk reached us a few hours later, and at the same time two night-watchmen (Gaffirs) arrived for the protection of the camp. We were heartily grateful for our countryman’s good-will. Dupuis dined with him that evening, while Crawley and I remained in charge of the camp.

In the course of the afternoon I applied iodoform to the back of one of the camels, to keep the flies from a sore. All the drivers came clamouring to me after this, importuning me to treat every scratch on the beasts of burden in the same way. One wishes to conform to the tradition of ready helpfulness which is, happily, associated with the medical profession, but I declined to become physician in ordinary to the forty camels, as far as abrasions were concerned.

Next morning our troublesome guide sought me out to complain of symptoms of dyspepsia. He remarked that he was incessantly spitting—a circumstance which I had already noticed with disgust. I told him that if he swallowed the water which Allah gave him in his mouth, it would make his food move from the place where he had the pain, which was a punishment from Providence for his wastefulness. He asked many questions to make sure that I knew what I was talking about, and then left me, much impressed. My “prescription” had the desired effect, and he gave up his objectionable habit.

The morning of December 11 was very cold for these low latitudes. Just before sunrise the thermometer sank to 43° F. When we were ready to start, we found that the head baggage-man was drunk. He had been tippling “marissa,” which the villagers brew from fermented barley. The man leered vacantly and was incapable of work. Considering the thirst and the opportunities there was little drunkenness among our boys in the Soudan, and we had no further trouble from this source. But the precepts of the Prophet did not keep those who accompanied us into Abyssinia from the vile beer of the country.

Blewitt Bey, on his pony, met us just after we had mounted our camels, and rode five miles with us. He gave us most valuable information about the land in which our road lay, and we were sorry when he said good-bye with best of wishes for our success.

We were in the saddle nearly eight hours and travelled about twenty-three miles. We reached our camping-ground at Abou Harras at five o’clock. The sun set almost immediately, and we, who were in advance, pitched our three tents by moonlight. The last of the baggage train did not arrive till an hour and a half later, and the drunken “Sheik of the Afsh”[6] was not with it.

The country through which we passed was similar to that which we had seen on the previous day. It is perfectly fertile. We had left the sand and mimosa scrub behind us, and were in a well-wooded region, with abundant undergrowth of bushes. The open ground is covered by grass which grows to a height of nine feet in the rainy season, but was now dried and matted under foot. It supplies pasturage for cattle, and I saw a herd of kine grazing on it. They were in fine condition. I handed my mug to the herdsman and asked him for some milk. He gave it to me willingly, and I thought it the best I had tasted since I left England in 1899. It seemed to me that this district offered a valuable field to British capital and enterprise.

I extract from my diary the following unsystematic notes, with an apology to the reader:—The butterflies which I saw most frequently on the journey were the clouded yellow and the red tip. The brimstone and painted yellow are seen occasionally. The familiar cabbage white is found on the banks of the river. I heard no singing bird except the chaffinch, but I saw a pair of blackbirds, tits of many kinds, and fly-catchers. A long-tailed species, which is a little smaller than a ring-dove, is very common. It was called “albicora” by our black boys.

CHAPTER II

We did not expect to receive a public welcome at Abou Harras, and were thoroughly surprised when the entire village, on the morning of the 12th, turned out to give us a reception. Women and men bore down on us, dancing and clapping their hands to a hideous accompaniment of tomtoms and drums. Many of them leaped and capered in the craziest fashion to emphasize the display of pleasure at our arrival. The women and children expressed their delight by a peculiar tremolo cry, which reminded me of that heard in Lower Egypt at marriage festivals.[7] One old man came on at a leisurely pace giving an exhibition of sword-play in our honour. He afterwards delivered a panegyric of the English, declaring that they were the saviours of his country, that the children of the Soudanese were now no longer torn from them, and so forth. I found that the young men were almost all absent from the village, doing military service on the Abyssinian frontier; the women who came out to show their delight officially by their shrilling were “the girls they left behind them.” This singular deputation had not approached very near, and presently retired a little way. Some of the slower movements of those who took part in the ceremony were by no means ungraceful, but the din was indescribably discordant. I went to inspect the procession at close quarters, supposing that it would shortly withdraw and disperse. But the “music” continued for fully an hour and a half, and it was more difficult to endure patiently during the latter part of the time as we were all busily writing letters for the homeward mail. A messenger had to carry them half a dozen miles and return immediately to rejoin, and he was waiting for our correspondence.

The point of junction of the river Rahad with the Blue Nile is half a mile distant from Abou Harras, and my companions walked to the spot later in the day. I attended to some odd jobs of the kind which a traveller always finds he has in arrear, and then I tried for fish, but caught nothing and lost my spinner. Many herons had taken their station on a strip of sand about a hundred yards from the place where I stood, and paid no heed to my presence.

On this day we had the good luck to receive two English visitors. The first was Mr. Wilson, the Moudir of Wad-el-Medani. We could only offer him a cup of rather muddy tea; but the village offered him the public reception, and the music was as loud as ever at the second performance. Our second guest was Bimbashi Gwynn, who landed from the sternwheeler which had left Khartoum on the 10th. He was on the way to Abyssinia to settle the boundary question. He had been in that country before, and as he was able to stay and dine with us, we had the benefit of many useful hints in the course of a pleasant chat in the evening.

At Abou Harras we parted company with our guide, drivers, and forty camels. There was no unhappiness at the leave-taking. We inspected the men and animals that we had hired in their place, and devoutly hoped we had made a better choice.

On the following morning the thermometer again sank to 43 degrees, and the atmosphere and the water seemed bitterly cold to us. We started on the road to Gedaref just before nine o’clock. Our new guide was a Greek, who had made the journey many times, and was said to know everything that need be known. I was sceptical.

Our route followed the course of the telegraph, and lay at first beside the Rahad. This river differs considerably in the dry season from the Blue Nile. In the latter we had found a fairly fast current flowing over a stony or sandy bed between banks composed of mud. The stream passed through a succession of shallows and deep pools. The Rahad, at the point of junction with the Nile, was entirely dry, and we proceeded some distance up the course before we found pools. The banks are high and steep.

I do not think that Sir Samuel Baker at all exaggerated the fertility and value of the land in this region. He wrote: “The entire country would be a mine of wealth were it planted with cotton.”[8] The Rahad, as he said, “flows through rich alluvial soil; the country is a vast level plain, with so trifling a fall that the current of the river is gentle.”[9] This circumstance would facilitate irrigation. Besides mimosa trees and much other timber, we found in this region matted growths of bushes and wide stretches of long grass now tangled on the ground—all bearing testimony to the quality of the soil.

I soon perceived that my hope of a better mount was vain. My new camel was a failure from the start. His paces were indescribable, and when he trotted I felt like a bad sailor in a small boat on a lively sea. In an hour’s time I had lost my temper and got rid of the camel. As the result, I was better served, and a beast was brought for me which shambled evenly, and allowed me to keep up with my companions.

We halted for lunch at a village called Hadeiba, where two sheikhs came out to receive us. They were very polite, but would neither eat nor smoke, as we were in the month of Ramadan. By-and-by they remembered that they ought to give us a present, and left us, saying that they would bring two sheep, according to the custom of the Soudan. Half an hour later we quitted the spot.

That night we camped at a place named Khor Abou Segeira, close to the Rahad. Near at hand was a muddy pool in the course of the river, and we had to draw our supply of liquor from it. As usual, we set our Berkfeld filters to work. A candle is a part of the apparatus through which the water filters, and we found that this incessantly became foul and required to be cleaned every three minutes. However, we replenished our stock of clear water sufficiently, and then went to bed by moonlight in the open.

We started at a quarter-past seven on the morning of the 14th. No tents had been pitched the night before, so none had to be struck, and our departure was earlier on this account. My companions and I took our guns into the bushy ground beside the river while the camels followed the track towards Gedaref. We were in search of guinea-fowl, which are found in great abundance on the banks of the Rahad. These birds run in flocks, and rise at about forty yards’ distance when one tries to approach them.

I lost sight of my companions in the thick, tangled vegetation, and after waiting where I was for a while in case they should chance to rejoin me, roamed on. I found no guinea-fowl, but pigeons and ringdoves were in great abundance, and there were hoopoes, hornbills, kingfishers, and numbers of other birds. A little later I came to the banks of the river. Here I saw a company of grivet monkeys. These, according to Mansfield Parkyns, are called “tota” or “waag” in Abyssinia. He described the species as “a beautiful little greenish-grey monkey, with black face and white whiskers.”[10] The natty little fellows whom I met by the Rahad just answered the description. They were clean and sleek, and looked as “spry” as cleverness could make them.

After following the course of the river for about half a mile I made towards the track and found it without difficulty, but I saw no sign of our baggage-train. However, one of our boys trotted up a few minutes later, and then I learned that the camels were some way behind. In fact, an hour and a half passed before they overtook me. When the others came up, I learned that they had supposed me to be lost and had scoured the country in all directions, and that the whole party had been detained till all the searchers were called in. I was intensely annoyed to find that I had been the cause of the needless delay.

We lunched beside another muddy pool in the course of the Rahad, and then moved forward to our camping-ground for the night, which was called Mesr-el-Ashir.

During the journey we had noticed that our escort were driving two sheep. We made inquiry about them, and were told that they had been purchased by the Greek guide on the previous day. We had a very strong suspicion that they were the animals which the Sheikhs had promised us at Hadeiba, and that the subtle Hellene had benefited by the gift. One of the sheep was killed in the evening, and we received “a present” of a leg, some chops, and a couple of kidneys. The meat was excellent.

Our route now left the course of the Rahad, and we turned eastward towards Gedaref.

Our beds were spread in the open again. Orion was straight above me as I lay, before falling asleep, and Sirius nearer to the southern horizon. I looked for the constellation and the star each night when I turned in, and had a sense of being in the presence of old friends while I gazed at them.

On the following morning, December 15, I again changed my mount for the better, and rode a smoothly trotting camel at last. Our day’s journey was a short one, and brought us to the last watering-place which a traveller on this road reaches before the wells of Fau. On the way my companions shot a couple of guinea-fowl, and we were glad to see them at dinner-time.

We camped at night close to a long range of hills of a granite formation called Gebal Arang. They rise to a height of three hundred or four hundred feet, and make a striking change in the landscape as one approaches them. I knew that our Berbereen boys had never seen such high ground, and watched them to observe what impression it made upon them. It made none. They are an apathetic race, philosophers of the nil admirari school by temperament.