Keren, or Sanhît, is the capital and only town of Bogos. It is 4,469 feet above the level of the sea, on the edge of the highlands of Abyssinia, and on one side of a table-land, about four miles long by two broad, surrounded by hills. Being situated in such a high position, it is healthy at all times of the year.
This elevated plateau has for its southern boundary the Abyssinian mountains, which come down to within about two miles of the town, which is built just outside the gates of the fort, and consists of two short, broad streets of very poor Greek stores, and some clusters of Abyssinian houses and Arab huts.
About a mile distant across the plateau is the French monastery. With the exception of the Pasha’s residence, the monastery and its adjacent buildings are the only respectable-looking habitations there. They have an Amharic printing press for publishing Bibles in the native tongue, schools for educating Abyssinian boys for the priesthood, also for the education of girls. When I was there, about four priests and a few sisters fed, clothed, lodged, and educated upwards of 80 boys and 50 girls. They had a good schoolroom, chapel, dormitories, pharmacy, and harmonium, which latter one of the sisters play. The children, who looked very clean and orderly, sang very nicely a hymn in French for our especial benefit. These priests print, bind books, have carpenter’s and blacksmith’s shops, a dairy, vegetable garden, and appear to be a very useful community, exercising, I should say, a great deal of self-denial by residing in such a place as they do. They cannot certainly have a very festive time of it, for the Egyptian authorities regard them as spies, while, on the other hand, the Abyssinians, who distrust them, will not allow them into their country. I must speak of these priests as I found them. None of us were Roman Catholics, but they behaved with very great kindness to us; and we must award them a great degree of credit for the civilizing influence they exercised amongst these waifs and strays. The thought that occurred to me was that if Roman Catholic priests could be doing all this good, why not English missionaries also? There is generally a garrison of about 1,000 soldiers at Keren. There is scarcely any trade, as merchants will not risk their lives and goods, knowing the hostility of the Abyssinians, who are anxious for the recovery of Keren and the lost province of Bogos, added to which the Egyptian policy is to isolate Abyssinia, thereby preventing the importation of arms and ammunition for King John’s army. The Beni-Amirs and other neighbouring tribes, who are all owners of large herds, on which they wholly subsist, are the Egyptian subjects. Fuel is scarce, as it has to be brought from the Anseba valley, four miles distant. Water also has to be brought from a distance, but there is a well inside the fort which supplies the garrison. Dhurra is dear, as the continual dread of Abyssinian raids prevents people from cultivating, also from building decent houses. There are no camels, and very few horses and mules.
MOUNTAIN PASS NEAR KEREN OR SANHÊT
I once tasted at Kassala a kind of beer made from dhurra, called merissa, and thought it exceptionally nasty. It is probably the same as that mentioned by Herodotus, and is in common use in the Soudan and Upper Egypt. I was again induced by a native, who thought he would be attentive to me for some little professional attendance I had given to taste this vile liquid. Thinking, perhaps, it might not be so nauseous as my last dose, I drank some, and acted like a stoic and philosopher, for I did not exhibit any outward and visible sign of the rebellious feelings taking place within. But “no matter;” I mentally resolved that in whatever part of the Soudan I might at some future time find myself, I would never again degrade my esophagus by allowing any merissa to glide down it, for I would just as soon have taken one of my own vile black draughts, and infinitely have preferred a bottle of Bass’s pale ale. I have no hesitation in saying that if merissa—a very euphonious name, so much like Nerissa—was the usual beverage in England, the Blue Ribbon Army would find in me a very ardent supporter, as it is more unpalatable, thick stuff than schliva (a Bosnian drink, made from the juice of prunes, possessing a strong asafœtida flavour). Merissa is made from dhurra, which is allowed to germinate in the sun, then reduced to flour by hand-mills. This, again, is converted into dough, boiled, and left to ferment. I hope that if I ever again pollute my lips with merissa—not Nerissa—I may be served in the same way, that is, that I may germinate in the sun, be ground into powder, made into a pulp, boiled, and allowed to ferment.
To-day a circumstance occurred in camp, illustrative of a curious custom existing in the Soudan. Dra, who has been with us as a native servant ever since we left Kassala, is, we find, a slave. Some altercation took place this morning between Dra and another native, when the latter called him a slave. This excited Dra’s anger to such an extent that he talked about knifeing his accuser. However, Messrs. James and Co. enquired into the matter, and found that he was what they call a slave—what we should call a domestic slave or bondsman—and that it came about in this way—Dra’s father had, some time ago, “pinched” a cow, i.e., purloined it. He was ordered to pay back two within a month; failed to do so. The fine was then doubled every month, until he owed about a hundred cows. As there was just about as much probability of his being able to pay his fines as there would be of my paying the National Debt, he and all his children and children’s children became bondsmen and bondswomen of the creditor. Should Dra, who was single, desire to marry, he would find it difficult, under such circumstances, to obtain a wife; but should he succeed in doing so, and children be born to him, all the males would be slaves, and the females compelled to become public women. This little matter was talked over in the evening at the dinner table, when it was ascertained that his freedom could be secured by the payment of 35 dollars, which my colleagues gave to the priests to effect his freedom with. They say that papers will have to be made out and signed by the Pasha at Keren, and that on payment of the 35 dollars he will be free. A man then goes round the town with a trumpet, and proclaims the fact in all directions. This, I am told, is quite typical of the system in vogue here.
On the 11th of April, at 11 a.m., we were once more on the road to Massawa, encamping at 5 p.m. at Gubana. Ere we left Keren a donation in aid of the schools was given by the party, and the priests very kindly sent us a sack of potatoes, carrots, and parsnips. As we had been without fresh vegetables so long, these were really quite a treat. We descended from Sanhît into the Anseba valley. About a mile from the town, in the lowlands, were the gardens of the priests, full of vegetables, growing in the most luxuriant manner. The trees, too, flourished, and were covered with beautiful green foliage. Here, on reaching the river-bed, we found a little water actually on the surface.