As Hadjji Abdullah, after it was dark, had brought me his own mule, it was stabled for the night in my house, and long before cock-crow the next morning we were carefully descending in the dark the step-like road of rough stones which leads from the top of Aliu Amba into the direct road to Ankobar. We were obliged to be very cautious in our progress along the steep slippery bank, and the edges of deep muddy pools produced by the first showers of the rainy season, which had fallen the few days previously, and had not at all improved the condition of the road.
The sun had risen before we reached Ankobar. On this occasion it was unnecessary to go through that town; so having surmounted the long ridge in front, instead of continuing along it, we crossed directly over, leaving the little wooden cross and church of Goodis Gorgis (St. George) in its encircling grove of quolqual and wild fig-trees, on our left hand. The road we followed was exceedingly narrow, and fell very gradually in a prolonged sweep down the steep descent into the valley of the Airahra. Half way down is a broad terrace of considerable extent covered with immense boulders from the destruction of the ridge above, and which appears to be more rapidly denuded upon this face than upon the opposite one looking towards Aliu Amba. On a mound of the detached rocks and soil in this situation is built a church, dedicated to “Abbo,” the father, the only one I have ever seen so situated except the meeting-houses of the Tabibe sect, who do not pay that respect to ancient superstitions that still influences the other Christians of Abyssinia. A sufficient reason, however, accounts for its low elevation.
At the commencement of the reign of the present Negoos, a great portion of the ancient grove of Abbo and its church still occupied the highest point of the ridge over which we had just come. The denuding operations of the conjointed actions of earthquakes and rainy seasons overcame every endeavour that was made to protect the sacred spot from being encroached upon, it having been one of the most ancient and most revered of the sacred edifices in Shoa. Annually large portions were precipitated into the valley of the Airahra; and ultimately the last portion of the walls of the church disappeared, after a violent convulsion of the earth, and a single line of trees, the remains of a once extensive grove, now marks its former site. The spot is still considered sacred, and so attached were the monks upon the establishment, to the ancient edifice, that, observing that the greater portion of the debris had fallen upon the terrace beneath, they determined to erect upon it a representative of the old church, although on so low an elevation compared with the numerous heights around.
This is, however, the only instance I know of a church of the Abyssinian Christians being so situated, for it is a particular feature of the worship in this country that all religious buildings should surmount “some earth o’ertopping mountain;” and to such an extent is this feeling carried, that sacred hills which have become lowered in consequence of the greater denudation of their summits, is a reason sometimes for changing the site of the church to some neighbouring hill that, from more favourable causes, has preserved its height undiminished. A striking instance of this change, and its assigned cause, is found in the circumstances connected with the erection of the new church of St. Michael, which stands upon a hill to the east of the Negoos’s residence, in the valley of the “Michael wans.” Here two groves are observed standing on hills near to each other, the more modern one being of much greater elevation than the other. Both are dedicated to the same saint, and on asking Walderheros why there should be two, he pointed out the difference in the height of the hills upon which they stood as a reason why the lower should be deserted, and preference given to the higher hill for the site of the “bate y Christian,” and the residence of the monks.
Looking upon these groves surrounding temples of religion, and serving as retreats for officiating priests, each of whom has his little cottage among the trees, it is impossible to help reflecting upon the changes in man’s history, recalled by observing such existing monuments of former feelings and religious prejudices. The question naturally suggested itself, what could have been the popular belief when the more ancient of the St. Michael’s groves was first planted; for a long period must have elapsed to have occasioned, by the disintegrating action of its vegetation, so much denudation of the hill it crowns, as to make it more than one hundred feet lower than the present frequented one; and originally it must have been the highest in the neighbourhood. I have observed other customs existing in Abyssinia that strongly reminded me of Druidism and of similar characteristic observances among the ancient Persians; and I certainly looked with some degree of interest upon a grove, that might once have been the scene of the celebration of religious ceremonies, of a very different character to those which distinguish the modern faith.
Although it was so early when we reached the church of Abbo, Walderheros proposed breakfasting. I accordingly dismounted, and after a gaze upwards at the largest tree I had seen since I left England, took my seat beneath its widely-extended branches, upon one of a number of small boulders which had rolled from the rocks above. A quantity of long strips of grilled mutton, was produced, and some teff bread, a large manuscript-like roll of which Walderheros carried tied up in his mekanet or girdle. This useful part of an Abyssinian dress is only worn by the men when engaged out of doors. It is one long piece of cotton cloth, about one cubit, or from the point of the elbow to the ends of the fingers, broad, and fifteen, twenty, or sometimes even thirty cubits long. A girdle similar to this was worn by the Jews. Sometimes in Abyssinia it is taken from the loins of a prisoner to secure his hands, exactly as it is said to have been done in Judea.
After breakfast we proceeded along the base of the large hill upon which Ankobar stands, the road winding around its south and west aspects. We then fell into the usual high road on the west of the town, which proceeds along the steep face of the valley, midway between its crest and the level of the stream below. We crossed, by gentle undulations of the road, several short projecting spurs, all of which seemed to be the productive farms of industrious individuals. Thatched residences of mud and sticks, with yellow stacks of grain, were perched upon their extremities, overlooking the sudden cliff-like termination of these subordinate ridges, cut by the action of the constantly running water of the Airahra.
Fording this river, we commenced the fatiguing ascent of the Tchakkah, and after little less than an hour’s trot were breathing ourselves at the “resting stone,” Koom Dingi. After a short halt, we continued our journey over the moor-like solitary fields that, unbroken by hedge, stone fence, or ditch, appeared in endless succession before us. But the reader must understand that, although the general appearance of the country is so flat, he is only reminded of it by the long level lines that bound the view on each side, for, generally speaking, the road lies in broad shallow water-worn channels, which, like hollow ways with banks ten or twelve feet high, have intersected in all directions this formerly undeviating level country. I always fancied that at one time it must have been the bottom of a deeply rolling sea, and what adds considerably to this impression is, the almost total absence of trees, and the bald, gray, stony, appearance of the stratum of light coloured porphyritic trachyte which overlies the whole country, and which looks as if it had only been raised from the waters a short time before. This super stratum of rock is very easily decomposed, and forms a fertile soil for the cultivation of wheat and barley, but its general appearance, unless covered with the crops, is quite the reverse.
About half way to Angolalah we crossed two or three of the earlier tributaries of the Barissa, which is a small river that collects the waters falling to the west of Tchakkah, and conducts them to the Abi or Nile of Bruce. All streams to the east of Tchakkah descend precipitously to join the Hawash. The Barissa derives its name from having been, previous to the reign of the present Negoos, the “boundary” between the Gallas and the Christian inhabitants of Shoa. It passes to the west of Debra Berhan, flowing towards the north, and joins the Jumma in the district of Marabetee. The Jumma also receives the Tcherkos river, or Lomee wans, which is now the western boundary of the kingdom of Shoa, the district intervening between it and the Barissa, a distance of about sixteen miles, having been annexed to his dominions within the last few years by Sahale Selassee. The Jumma, after receiving the Barissa, and other streams, of the kingdoms of Amhara and of Shoa, joins the Abi near where that river, after flowing to the south from Lake Dembea, turns suddenly to the west, and forms the southern border of the province of Gojam.
We arrived at Angolahlah before noon, and Walderheros took me to the house of a friend of his, named Karissa. The weather, although only the latter end of June, was dreadfully cold, and being very tired and ill, I preferred rolling myself immediately up in my bed-clothes, consisting of two Abyssinian tobes, which my servant had carried with him in a skin-bag, rather than sit up to eat of some hard parched corn which was set before me by one of the women of the house.