The source of the Blue Nile — Edition Insights

ks) had been sent to meet us by the Inspector of Gedaref. Our camel-men with the baggage were some distance behind us, and we lighted a bonfire of mimosa wood to cheer them forward. They overtook us at their leisure, and our dinner of stewed guinea-fowl was not served till a quarter to ten.

We were out of bed by five o’clock next morning, December 19, and hastened the preparations for the start. We had to cover thirty miles in order to reach Gedaref in the evening. All this country—I cannot call it desert, though the conditions are not dissimilar—is comfortless for travellers, but our last day’s journey in it was the worst. The heat was intense; so much so that “resting” at lunch-time seemed less tolerable than movement on camel-back. To quench an incessant thirst we had only the water stored in our tanks, which was warm and far from colourless. Even the hint of shade given by the mimosa scrub had now disappeared, and our eyes were wearied by the monotonous stretches of land, in which nothing was seen but the dried and matted grass. It had been fired in places, accidentally I think; for though it is often kindled to clear the ground for crops, in this region there was no trace of agriculture. The flames had a ghostly, exhausted, unreal look in the burning sunshine. After a march that seemed interminable we beheld, from rising ground, three trees with verdure on them, and then we knew that we were near the boundary of this distressing district. A two miles’ journey brought us to the house of Mr. Flemming at Gedaref[11]—a square building made of sun-dried mud. At our countryman’s dwelling a warm welcome and cool drinks awaited us. Here we found Bimbashis Gwynn and Liddell. That evening Mr. Flemming gave us our Christmas dinner—and we reconciled ourselves to antedating it—with true British plum-pudding in the _menu_.

I had slept in the open by choice and felt it a luxury to awake on the following morning with no prospect of a fatiguing journey. At seven o’clock on December 20 we met again at Mr. Flemming’s house, and busied ourselves with amateur photography.

“You are the last white men I shall see until June next year,” said our host, “so I want to keep your faces.”

After breakfast we proceeded to the selection of seventeen “boys,” who were to go up with our donkeys from Gallabat to Abyssinia. The character of the country beyond the frontier of the Soudan renders transit by camel impossible. It struck me as an interesting fact, not without a bearing upon the doctrine of Evolution, that the change from a flat or undulating to a mountainous region is here accompanied not only by a variation in the means of access, in the climate, in the flora and fauna, but in the race of inhabitants and the creed which they profess. In fact, the highlands of Abyssinia may be said to constitute “an island on the land,” if one may borrow the phrase which Darwin applied to the peaks of the Andes. And a similar peculiarity in the survival of types can be observed here as that to which the great biologist referred in the other connection.

Mansfield Parkyns pointed out that the Abyssinians were, in his time, poor swordsmen, ridiculous in their practice of musketry and frequently wanting in genuine courage.[12] Their country has constantly been the scene of civil war and other dissensions. Indeed the Jews among them, to whom I shall refer in another chapter, at one time established a separate state in the “mountain fastnesses of Semien and Belusa, where, under their own kings and queens called Gideon and Judith, they maintained till the beginning of the seventeenth century a chequered and independent existence.”[13]

In spite of these hindrances and deficiencies the Abyssinian people, government and creed, have survived among heights protected on one side by the sea and on the other by a tract of country which is uninhabitable and impassable from May to September, on account of the incessant torrential rains and the floods which they cause. If these favouring conditions had not existed, the Abyssinian nation would long ago have been “converted” to Islamism or exterminated, and in the former case they would have become assimilated by consanguinity to, if not merged in, the surrounding Arab and negroid tribes. As it is, the Abyssinians form, ethnologically, an entirely distinct race.

This digression has carried me a long way from the “donkey-boys” at Gedaref. They were paraded to the number of a hundred for our inspection—Dongolis, Abyssinians, Tokrooris, Dinkas, Hadendowas, men from every clan in the district. An uglier-looking crowd I never beheld, and, as I gazed at the sinister, villainous faces, I hoped rather than believed that our choice of seventeen would not include robbers or murderers. We adopted the plan of choosing one or two men from each of the different races. Experience showed that the policy was sound, for no tribal quarrel was raised during our journey in Abyssinia. None of the groups was strong enough to commence a feud with confidence.

The business of selection was completed after the haggling and confusion inseparable from a bargain among Orientals, and I spent most of the remainder of this and the following day in acquainting myself with the features of life in Gedaref. As this place is a type of the more important towns in the Soudan, in which Great Britain has a permanent interest, I hope the reader will tolerate the transcription of a few of my notes.

The inhabitants number about eight thousand, and live—to use Mr. Dufton’s description—“in a number of scattered villages, the principal called Hellet-es-Sook, or the market town.”[14] The dwellings in this part of the Soudan and in Abyssinia are of the same construction, and I cannot better convey a conception of their simplicity and their appearance to those of my readers who have not seen them than by quoting the following passage from Mr. Dufton’s work:—“Some of the houses are built of sun-dried bricks and have flat roofs, but most of them” (almost all in Western Abyssinia) “are conical thatched huts. The latter are made in the following manner:—In the first place a circle of about twenty feet diameter is described on the ground and surrounded by strong posts, each a yard apart, which are interlaced with thin pliable branches of trees, the whole being covered outwardly with durrha stalks, tied together with the long grass common on the banks of the river. A roof is formed in skeleton on the ground. A number of beams, corresponding to that of the posts, are made to converge at the top, and are held in this position by concentric circles of plaited twigs; the whole being then raised to its position on the house, where it is fastened and made ready to receive the thatch of straw and grass. Not a nail or rivet of any kind is used in the construction of these buildings, and they are rendered totally impervious to the wet. Of course their disadvantage in comparison with mud houses is their liability to catch fire, one or two cases of which I have witnessed; but they are generally built at sufficient distance not to endanger others, and a house of this description is rebuilt in a day or two.”[15] Hence the scattered appearance of the huts. They cover a distance some five miles in length at Gedaref. These dwellings are called “tokhuls,” and I shall have occasion to allude to them frequently under that name. In the Soudan storks build their nests round the upper part of the roofs, and are not molested.

In Mr. Dufton’s time an open-air market was held twice a week in Gedaref. He thus describes it:—“One part is devoted to the sale of camels, cattle, sheep, and goats; another to that of corn and durrha; another milk and butter; another raw cotton, dates, etc. The butcher slaughters his meat on the spot, whether ox, sheep, or camel. The camel is killed somewhat differently from the rest; for it may well be imagined that a camel with merely its throat cut might be a long while in dying. They therefore adopt the mode of striking it with a long knife at once to the heart, having previously taken care to tie his long legs in a manner that he cannot move.”[16]

The commerce of the place has been resuscitated since the British and Egyptian occupation. The market is now held daily. In addition there are the usual bazaars of an Oriental town. Gedaref has the advantage of possessing wells from which water of good quality is drawn. The place suffered severely in the time of the Dervishes. They raided the district as often as their supplies ran low, ruined the cultivation, and destroyed the greater part of the habitations.

The people seemed to be peaceable and contented under the present administration, and I was struck by their politeness towards Europeans. As we passed, they rose, if they were squatting on the ground; those riding dismounted as a token of respect; those who were at work discontinued it and stood still.

There are a certain number of shops in the town kept by Greeks. The commerce of the Eastern Soudan is almost entirely in the hands of Hellenes, who import goods by way of Suakim. The merchandise is brought up the country by camel-train. The articles most in request among the natives are cheap mirrors, tumblers, coloured silk handkerchiefs and similar goods—in short, cheap finery and cheap small commodities. I am not a commercial man, and do not speak upon the point with certainty, but I think German houses meet this demand. The Greek retailers also carry on a brisk trade in olives, which are imported in barrels. Olives and bread are the staple of the diet of many Soudanese, and they eat this simple food with relish.

We found that we could purchase sugar, taken from the familiar sugar-loaf, soap, similar sundries and tinned provisions at Gedaref. I was pleased to observe—for my own sake and that of British enterprise—that the latter bore the trade-mark of Messrs. Crosse and Blackwell.

My impression with regard to commercial opportunities in these towns is that a northern-bred storekeeper could not compete with the Greek retailer. I do not refer, in making this inference, especially to the singular astuteness of the latter. But it is an important consideration that these men are able to live almost on the same scale as the natives, and their profits are due to the frugality of their life.

We managed to start our baggage-train on the journey from Gedaref to Gallabat by a quarter to eight on the morning of the 22nd December. Then we breakfasted with Mr. Flemming, and mounted our camels to take the road again at 9.15. We moved forward at a trot, and I, now making trial of my fourth “steed,” found I had good luck for the second time. But I do not think that any one could devote to the camel the affection which is so readily given to a horse after a brief acquaintance. The animal with the “sculptured sneer” does not invite friendship. It grunts and grimaces when one mounts, and the rider can be under no illusion as to its sentiment towards him.

We saw some ariel, and my companions gave chase and tried to get within rifle-range. But the animals were shy and wary. The hunters exhausted their supply of ammunition, but brought no game. We lunched as usual in the scrappy shade of a mimosa bush, and reached Shisana well shortly after four o’clock.

We had now left the “cotton soil” region, and entered an undulating country, where our road lay over rocky or stony ground. The character of the vegetation changed, and we began to pass through glades of the great mimosa forest which extends from the neighbourhood of Gedaref almost to Gallabat. Here the mimosas are not bushes but trees, and it is from them that the gum-arabic is collected which gives Gedaref its highly valuable trade and its prosperity. Large quantities of the gum are exported by way of Suakim, and there is a market for it at Cairo and other towns of Lower Egypt. For instance, much crape is manufactured in Damietta, where I have watched the process. Gum from Gedaref is used to stiffen the texture, and serves the same purpose in the preparation of various silken fabrics.

The industry might be largely developed. At present it is in the hands of Greek traders. As the supply of coin in the Soudan is small, the gum is used as a kind of currency by the natives, who barter it for other goods. A small duty is levied by the Government on the quantity exported, and no one seems appreciably the worse. I present this detail of information to fiscal controversialists, and make no demand upon their gratitude in doing so.

The gum-bearing mimosas are, on an average, I should say, about twenty-five feet high. The boles are straight. Thorns grow thickly on the branches. The white bark gives a characteristic and almost haunting feature to the great forest. The gum exudes, chiefly, at the junction of the branches with the trunk. Its appearance has been excellently described by Sir Samuel Baker: “At this season the gum was in perfection, and the finest quality was now before us in beautiful amber-coloured masses upon the stems and branches, varying from the size of a nutmeg to that of an orange. . . . This gum, although as hard as ice on the exterior, was limpid in the centre, resembling melted amber, and as clear as though refined by some artificial process. . . . The beautiful balls of frosted yellow gum recalled the idea of the precious jewels upon the trees in the garden of the wonderful lamp of the ‘Arabian Nights.’ The gum was exceedingly sweet and pleasant to the taste.”[17] The trees were in flower when we saw them, and the blossoms scented the air sweetly.

The present method of collecting gum is primitive and unsystematic. Natives go a two or three days’ journey from Gedaref into the forest, when they are pressed by want of a commodity to sell or exchange, and return with as much as they have gathered at hazard.

Throughout the day’s march we had seen fires raging in the dried grass, and we had frequently passed places where the charred surface showed the effect of the flames. The custom of setting the undergrowth alight would destroy the mimosa forest, but for the fact that the fires burn low and travel quickly. The branches of the trees do not spring from the lower expanse of the boles, and there is consequently no combustion of the timber, except where a quantity of old, sapless wood is ignited.

Trouble threatened us at Shisana well. Grain for the donkeys and boys, that were to accompany us into Abyssinia, had been packed in sacks at Gedaref. The friction caused by the camels’ movement had frayed these open, and the grain was lying on the ground when we arrived. At first we feared that we should be obliged to return to the town and purchase new sacks; but luckily the camel-men were bringing with them a stock of capacious and pliable baskets, made of slit palm-leaves, which they had intended to sell at Gallabat. These we commandeered, and so extricated ourselves from the difficulty.

Our journey next day was through entirely similar scenery, over undulating, rocky ground. We saw some ariel, but again they were too shy for us. Then we “declined upon” guinea-fowl, and bagged two after a brisk, exciting run.

The heat was overpowering, and at lunch-time we had no rest. Bees abound in this region, and get their honey from the flowers of the mimosa trees. As the land is almost waterless in the dry season, these insects suffer much from thirst. Even the moisture of perspiration attracts them in their parched state, and, in addition, there was the smell of water from our drinking-supply. The result was that they swarmed upon us; in fact, they mobbed us. Every drinking vessel was crowded with them. Our boys drank from calabashes; when these were put upon the ground, bees clustered on the edges and crawled towards the liquor. Impatient successors thronged upon the first comers and pushed them into the water, so that in a few minutes the surface was a mass of “struggle-for-lifers.” In spite of the heat we had to keep moving; for when we settled, so did the bees—all over us.

That night we pitched our camp in the mimosa forest, six miles from the village and watering-place called Doka.

Next day—Christmas Eve—we started at seven, carrying our guns, and had not walked a mile when we disturbed a flock of guinea-fowl. Away they sped through the tangle of dry grass, and we after them. We blazed away here and there, but the birds, hit or not, were out of sight in an instant amidst that cover, and we missed in this way many that we had not missed in the other. Our bag consisted of four. When a bird dropped, the Soudanese “gillies,” who were carrying our rifles in case big game should be seen, pounced upon it and decapitated it. Otherwise it would not have been clean meat for a Mohammedan. The land around Doka is hilly, and the ground rises to a height of which Primrose Hill would be a good example. We reached the village about nine o’clock.

Here we found, to our surprise, that the camel-men wanted to water every beast in our convoy. We were but a few miles from another watering-place, where the business could have been done in the evening without wasting the hours of daylight in which we were able to travel. We compromised by hurrying up the animals as soon as we had filled our tanks, and when half a score had drunk, the well ran dry.

We pushed on through the mimosa country. The temperature was about 102°, and I found the heat extraordinarily oppressive. The trees around us and overhead—they grow thickly in parts of the forest—seemed to shut out every movement of air, such as had always relieved us a little in the open tracts. Our extreme thirst constantly tempted us. We had made it a rule not to draw upon our ration of water till eleven in the morning, and abstinence till then was Spartan discipline. If one began to drink, it was a sheer impossibility to leave off, and the supply did not hold out. On calm reflection at a distance, I doubt whether our normal breakfast of tinned sausages and tea was wisely selected under the circumstances. But it could be quickly prepared, and we seldom had time to be leisurely.

While we were traversing the forest, I neither saw nor heard any bird except the guinea-fowl. The dried grass in which they wander was the only undergrowth. Usually the place was as still as a tomb. Of larger animals I saw none but antelopes, and not many of these.

We halted for lunch in a small ravine, and the bees did not find us till we had nearly finished the meal. We “smoked” them with cigarettes, cigars, and a bonfire, to no purpose. Then we shifted our quarters, but they followed. All of us were stung, and we were not quit of them till we mounted our camels and outdistanced the swarms.

We camped for the night among the mimosas about seven miles from the watering-place called Zeraf Zaid. I thought we had been delivered from the plague of insects, but I deceived myself. Our camp was stormed by hosts of small creatures—tiny beetles, flying ants, and the like. They thronged and crawled on one’s candle, one’s book, one’s face, and one’s hands, and I found it difficult to write my diary. Some of them—I do not know whether they were prompted by hunger or malignity—added insult to injury by biting us.

On the morning of Christmas Day we started with our guns in advance of the convoy and bagged two brace of the usual poultry. I had not hitherto found the country unhealthy, though the climate tries one’s condition; but on this occasion I felt “out of sorts,” and was glad—for a wonder—to mount my camel after the tramp in the sunshine.