Meanwhile, on 1st February I was free to start for the interior on my survey trip. I had arranged to go in by So Midgán and Eil Ánod to the Interior Plains, and thence to strike through the Maritime Range to Bulhár. My caravan consisted of eighteen Aden hill camels[18] with Arab drivers, seventeen sabres of Indian mounted police, and ten Bombay Infantry sepoys. We drove with us a small herd of Aden donkeys, so that the sepoys could either ride or pack their valises on them. We arrived at So Midgán, twenty-three miles from Bulhár, at dusk, and next day we marched to Eil Ánod, ten miles farther. We expected to come upon the Habr Gerhajis tribe, which was supposed to be slightly hostile to the British, and was noted for raiding; and as we passed the spurs of the Sarar-awr (camel-back) plateau, on the way to Eil Ánod, we saw the tops of the hills white with sheep and lined with men, who were in a great state of alarm, shouting down at us. Later we found a karia with only a few women in it, who said all the men had run away, thinking we had come to loot them! Knowing mounted men cannot climb hills, they had taken the precaution to drive the flocks up, taking charge of them for the time being, and leaving the women to mind the rest of their property below.
We reassured these women, who then ran up and brought down the men, and after a short conference the flocks were driven into the plain again. The owners of the karia turned out to be a jilib or family of the Habr Gerhajis, and soon an intelligent-looking young man who had lost one leg came forward mounted on a pony and shook hands. He was Deria Shiré, the son of an important elder of the Habr Gerhajis tribe named Shiré Shirmáki, whom I afterwards met and made great friends with during the elephant-hunting trip described in the last chapter. The latest news I have heard of Deria Shiré, who, although a well-mannered young man, is rather a scoundrel, was to the effect that two or three years ago he speared his old father in the leg, nearly killing him. I found him very polite, and he accompanied us to the wells, at the same time remarking that he had not the slightest knowledge why we had come, and that his tribe were very suspicious. No other white man had ever been to Eil Ánod before, and he did not quite see why we had come now.
We found a few men at the Eil Ánod wells, who received us with black looks, and we took possession of one of the old zeríbas and put a sentry over a well, which was reserved for our own use. Deria Shiré left us, saying that he could not be responsible for what his tribe might do; we had come armed with guns and were strong, and he hoped we would leave him alone. Meanwhile, as we were pitching camp, my interpreter, Samanter, went down to the wells and got into conversation with some of the tribesmen who were lounging there. He came back to me in a great state of excitement, saying he had reliable information that we were to be attacked that night, and that I was to make a strong zeríba, and not leave camp myself nor allow any of the men to do so.
There was plenty of game in the Eil Ánod plain, and as I thought, if I followed Samanter’s advice, the Habr Gerhajis would only be strengthened in their belief that we meant harm to them, I decided to fortify the zeríba, and leaving fifteen men inside, to sally out myself with the ten others, and beat the jungle for game. We made a circuit of the bush within two miles of camp, firing at the tiny Sakáro antelopes and hares, and getting a mixed bag of three hares and six antelopes. At dusk, carrying our game, we returned to the zeríba, on the way passing a large tree where about a hundred and fifty men were collected, all having their spears with them, and a few saddled ponies were grazing round the tree. These people took no further notice than to scowl at us as we passed.
After we had reached the zeríba I came out again with two sepoys and the interpreter, and walking up to the tree where the tribesmen were collected, I called out “Salaam aleikum” (Peace be with you). There was no answer for some time, and then an old man with a white beard and a wicked-looking, clean-shaven skull, treated me to a surly stare and mumbled; “Salaam.” Then he looked down and spat on the ground, and began absent-mindedly scratching the earth with a bit of stick, and then smoothing out the marks with his hands. The rest of the crowd remained silent, all looking sulky and mischievous. Some were gazing at us with a rude stare, others were shading their eyes with their hands, or hiding behind their tobes. My interpreter harangued them, asking why I was received so coldly by the tribe. There was a long pause till two old men cleared their throats and looked at each other, and without rising one of them spoke. “Warya ninki Frinji” (I say, foreigner) was the beginning of his speech, and it was translated into Hindustáni by Samanter as the old man went on.
The gist of his remarks was that the tribesmen wanted to know why I had brought all these soldiers into the Habr Gerhajis country, and whether we had come to steal cattle, for if so, we had better go back again, as they had none. There was plenty of cattle among the other tribes.
We had come, my interpreter said, on a peaceful mission, to report upon the trade routes, and to ascertain whether they were safe for caravans coming to trade in Berbera and Bulhár. There was a good deal of loud discussion among the assembled men, and then the old man who had first spoken, becoming more friendly, said that he and his tribe knew nothing about the looting of caravans. He accused all the sub-tribes around of looting, but said the Abdul Ishák never looted, and I was to tell the Government. At that time the Abdul Ishák, Habr Gerhajis, were well known as the most persistent looters of caravans, but I promised to convey the message to the authorities, and made the old man happy. Peace was now restored, and we spent a quiet night, the Abdul Ishák sending us several vessels of milk; and in the morning we parted amicably, and continued our trip, eventually reaching Berbera.
This incident at Eil Ánod, only thirty miles from the coast, shows how little Europeans were trusted or known in the early days of the British Protectorate. Many shooting parties have been through the Habr Awal and Habr Gerhajis countries of late years, but at that time the country was quite unexplored, even close to the coast.
About a month after the Eil Ánod incident we set out from Berbera on another trip, this time going to Mandeira, and thence up the Jeráto Pass to Syk, in the high Ogo country.