Our road was sometimes over a black soil of decomposing vegetable matter, beneath high shady trees, among which myriads of a small chattering bird about the size of a sparrow, sent up one continual din, that, in some situations, put talking to each other as we passed, quite out of the question. Many of the trees had been deprived of all their lower branches by the elephant, which, on making a meal, tears down with his trunk one of these large limbs, and eats at his leisure the younger shoots and leaves. Some of those I saw thus pulled down, were from a height of at least twelve or fifteen feet from the ground, and were frequently more than six inches in diameter. A striking contrast between two very different agents in thus bringing large trees to the earth, was afforded by the juxtaposition of the overturned trunks of others, among and underneath whose roots, the many-turretted residence of the white ant had been constructed; the effect of which was, that very soon after these insects had so located themselves, the slightest breeze would occasion the downfall of the tree, and trunks thus fallen, and those dragged down by the elephant, lie side by side. Sometimes in this manner, little savannahs or open spots of green growing grass are formed, where the rays of the sun are thus enabled to penetrate the otherwise dense gloom of the few miles of forest that exists along the western bank of the Hawash.
Our road was one formed entirely by elephants in their wanderings backwards and forwards from the river to the extensive lake of Lee Adu, or Whitewater, situated about eight miles to the west of the Hawash, at the ford of Mulkukuyu. We arrived at Lee Adu in three hours, and halted a short time for the camels and mules to drink; we then proceeded again for two hours more, when we reached the commencement of a large undulating plain, called Azbotee, from where we had the first full and splendid view of the high table-land of Shoa, and the numerous small hills and valleys which occupy the long sloping talus from the edge of the elevated plateau in the distance, to the low level district in the neighbourhood where we were.
At Lee Adu, Ohmed Medina, Adam Burrah, Moosa, and myself, bathed in a retired corner of this broad sheet of water. Large fields of high reeds and rushes bordered it for some distance around us, and the broad-leaved lotus, with its white, cup-like flowers, covered the surface. Many a splashing duck, and diving waterfowl, scared by us now left their previously quiet retreat. The white ibis flew to the opposite side of the lake, whilst screaming jays of many-coloured plumage passed over our heads, seeking some home more retired than the disturbed wood, through which our camels were then passing.
On our road to Azbotee, I observed that the country to the west of Lee Adu, assumes a very different aspect to that in the opposite direction, towards the Hawash. The neighbourhood of the lake marks the commencement of a more open district, very much resembling the plains of Southern Africa, being devoid of trees, and a not very thick jungle of low bushes and shrubs, admitting a clear view over them. Among other plants in this situation, I noticed immense quantities of the Socotrine aloe plant, with its long variegated fleshy leaves, whip-like flower stalk, and bright orange-coloured corollas depending like small bells from its summit.
At Azbotee, the country to the north and east is marked by several volcanic craters, of some elevation; and a ridge occupies the tract we had just passed over, of slight elevation certainly, but sufficient to shut out from sight the opposite slope to the Hawash, except in the immediate neighbourhood of Lee Adu, which extends to the left, or south, where its waters still were seen gleaming through the tall trees, growing upon its banks. Before us were clumps of mimosa-trees, at first “few and far between,” that prepared us gradually for a thickly-wooded belt, that could be perceived at the bottom of the gentle slope from Azbotee to Kokki, and which marked the channel of a stream flowing to the south and east, probably into Lee Adu. Beyond, was the valley of Kokki, so called from the number of guinea-fowl found there. A succession of low hills, gradually increasing in elevation, now leads the eye towards the north-west until it rests upon the town of Farree, which, plainly visible, occupies the summits of some hills, that overtopped the intervening heights, and is distant about fifteen miles from Azbotee, in a straight line.
In the neighbourhood of Farree, coronets of smoke surmounting many a hilltop, told of villages and human life, and dotted with small white clouds the amphitheatre behind.
Ohmed Medina, with an obliging interest in my being amused, pointed out the situation of succeeding towns, to the distant centre of the highest ridge, where he placed Ankobar, the capital of Shoa; whilst Ohmed Mahomed and Ebin Izaak, with the same instinctive participation in the pleasure I felt, as a stranger, upon first witnessing the splendid prospect that lay before me, assisted in explaining the natural panorama; the former sitting upon the half-detached branch of an elephant-torn mimosa, under which we were standing, and Ebin Izaak, with outstretched hand, the other resting on my shoulder, followed the direction of Ohmed Medina’s spear, to aid me in letting fall my observation upon the exact spot, by directing me to look at white patches of smoke, to the dark shadow of a cloud, to red-coloured earth, or to anything of a prominent character, by which I could distinguish each locality as it was named by Ohmed Medina. Thus was my eye conducted, and thus my view travelled, until the diminishing effects of distance gradually confounded particulars, and the strained sight was glad to find a bound to farther vision in the nearly level line, encroaching upon the sky, that characterizes the bluff termination to the east of the table-land of Abyssinia. All the time I was thus occupied, it never occurred to me, that this long slope of about thirty miles, and rising gradually from the elevation of two thousand feet to that of nine thousand feet above the level of the sea, that this gently-inclined plane covered with thousands of little hills, and as many little valleys, was the district of the so-called Abyssinian Alps. Of course, I had quite a different idea of such a character of country, which required, I thought, the high, towering, romantic rocks of mountain limestone, or of granite, that form the chief features of the Alps of Switzerland, or the equally wild scenery of the mountains of Sweden and Norway. I expected that I had yet to travel a long, long distance to obtain a view of those, which I supposed to be stupendous hills, and never dreamt that such a sacrifice of truth for effect could be made, or such an erroneous judgment formed, as to call these little eminences the Abyssinian Alps. It is ridiculous so to name a succession of low, denuded hills; the top of almost every one of them being the perching-place of a little hamlet or town, whilst their sides are most beautifully cultivated to their very summits, and exhibit, on the lower portions of the inclined plane, fields of cotton, of teff, or of maize; whilst the ascent, on the journey to Shoa, admits of wheat, barley, and linseed being produced. Little rivulets, whose constant course have deepened their channels into valleys, and formed these hills out of the once level slope, trickle down until, by combining, they form streams which sometimes do, and sometimes do not, reach the Hawash. This river is, in fact, entirely formed of the waters of this slope, which is the prominent feature of the intermediate country between its stream and the terminating edge of the table-land above. A concluding remark upon this subject is, that it would be difficult to find one of these Abyssinian Alps that, from its own base, independent of its position upon the slope, would measure seven hundred feet high.
I sat with my companions some time, asking and receiving information, now the more interesting, from the vicinity I was in to the first stage, as I considered it, of my contemplated African journey; and where I had purposed to myself a stay of some months, to prepare me for future endeavours to penetrate farther into the continent. The change of feeling too, on again becoming the denizen of a country where at least social order was maintained, was exciting in its way, for I had learnt to value civil rule as it ought to be, and I should have but little hesitation in giving my vote, if the question were the extreme absolutism of Shoa, or the equally extreme of liberty possessed by the Dankalli tribes. For my part, I never thought myself so much of a slave before, for I certainly felt grateful at having come scathless through the country of the freest and most lawless set of men on the face of the earth; and happy in getting to Shoa, where the first thing that happened to me was being confined seven or eight days in a house, with a sentinel over me, upon no other excuse but that my disposition and character should be submitted to such testing ordeal. But I am anticipating. Of this kind is the education a traveller gets, and I fully agree with de Montbron, (the quotation appended to the first canto of Childe Harold,) who, in his “Cosmopolite,” remarks:—
“L’univers est une espèce de livre dont on n’a lu que la première page, quand on n’a vu que son pays. J’en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre que j’ai trouvé également mauvaises cet examen ne m’a point été infructueux. Je haïssais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j’ai vécu m’ont reconcilié avec elle. Quand je n’aurais tiré d’autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là je n’eu regretterais ni les frais ne les fatigues.”
I looked upon the lovely scene so long, and felt so strongly my return to civilized life, that, like a worthy friend of mine relating to me his feelings on reaching the self-same spot, I could have found relief in a good flow of tears, so sincere was my joy. Numerous residences of man were in sight, snug straw-thatched hives they looked, but houses of any sort were as old friends to me, and my heart rejoiced when I beheld them. I always connect happiness with homes; and “smiling villages,” is I am sure, one of those beautiful expressions of instinct we naturally make when the full heart adds by reflection its own gladness to the landscape.