"0 caravan-men, we deceive ye not, we have laden the camels! Old women on the journey are kenned by their sleeping I (0 camel) can'st sniff the cock-boat and the sea? Allah guard thee from the Mikahil and their Midgans!" [2]
As they arose from squat it was always necessary to adjust their little mountains of small packages by violently "heaving up" one side,—an operation never failing to elicit a vicious grunt, a curve of the neck, and an attempt to bite. One camel was especially savage; it is said that on his return to Zayla, he broke a Bedouin girl's neck. Another, a diminutive but hardy little brute of Dankali breed, conducted himself so uproariously that he at once obtained the name of El Harami, or the Ruffian.
About 3 P.M., accompanied by the Hajj, his amiable son Mohammed, and a party of Arab matchlockmen, who escorted me as a token of especial respect, I issued from the Ashurbara Gate, through the usual staring crowds, and took the way of the wilderness. After half a mile's march, we exchanged affectionate adieus, received much prudent advice about keeping watch and ward at night, recited the Fatihah with upraised palms, and with many promises to write frequently and to meet soon, shook hands and parted. The soldiers gave me a last volley, to which I replied with the "Father of Six."
You see, dear L., how travelling maketh man banal. It is the natural consequence of being forced to find, in every corner where Fate drops you for a month, a "friend of the soul," and a "moon-faced beauty." With Orientals generally, you must be on extreme terms, as in Hibernia, either an angel of light or, that failing, a goblin damned. In East Africa especially, English phlegm, shyness, or pride, will bar every heart and raise every hand against you [3], whereas what M. Rochet calls "a certain rondeur of manner" is a specific for winning affection. You should walk up to your man, clasp his fist, pat his back, speak some unintelligible words to him,—if, as is the plan of prudence, you ignore the language,— laugh a loud guffaw, sit by his side, and begin pipes and coffee. He then proceeds to utilise you, to beg in one country for your interest, and in another for your tobacco. You gently but decidedly thrust that subject out of the way, and choose what is most interesting to yourself. As might be expected, he will at times revert to his own concerns; your superior obstinacy will oppose effectual passive resistance to all such efforts; by degrees the episodes diminish in frequency and duration; at last they cease altogether. The man is now your own.
You will bear in mind, if you please, that I am a Moslem merchant, a character not to be confounded with the notable individuals seen on 'Change. Mercator in the East is a compound of tradesman, divine, and T. G. Usually of gentle birth, he is everywhere welcomed and respected; and he bears in his mind and manner that, if Allah please, he may become prime minister a month after he has sold you a yard of cloth. Commerce appears to be an accident, not an essential, with him; yet he is by no means deficient in acumen. He is a grave and reverend signior, with rosary in hand and Koran on lip, is generally a pilgrim, talks at dreary length about Holy Places, writes a pretty hand, has read and can recite much poetry, is master of his religion, demeans himself with respectability, is perfect in all points of ceremony and politeness, and feels equally at home whether sultan or slave sit upon his counter. He has a wife and children in his own country, where he intends to spend the remnant of his days; but "the world is uncertain"—"Fate descends, and man's eye seeth it not"—"the earth is a charnel house"; briefly, his many wise old saws give him a kind of theoretical consciousness that his bones may moulder in other places but his father-land.
To describe my little caravan. Foremost struts Raghe, our Eesa guide, in all the bravery of Abbanship. He is bareheaded and clothed in Tobe and slippers: a long, heavy, horn-hilted dagger is strapped round his waist, outside his dress; in his right hand he grasps a ponderous wire-bound spear, which he uses as a staff, and the left forearm supports a round targe of battered hide. Being a man of education, he bears on one shoulder a Musalla or prayer carpet of tanned leather, the article used throughout the Somali country; slung over the other is a Wesi or wicker bottle containing water for religious ablution. He is accompanied by some men who carry a little stock of town goods and drive a camel colt, which by the by they manage to lose before midnight.
My other attendants must now be introduced to you, as they are to be for the next two months companions of our journey.
First in the list are the fair Samaweda Yusuf, and Aybla Farih [4], buxom dames about thirty years old, who presently secured the classical nicknames of Shehrazade, and Deenarzade. They look each like three average women rolled into one, and emphatically belong to that race for which the article of feminine attire called, I believe, a "bussle" would be quite superfluous. Wonderful, truly, is their endurance of fatigue! During the march they carry pipe and tobacco, lead and flog the camels, adjust the burdens, and will never be induced to ride, in sickness or in health. At the halt they unload the cattle, dispose the parcels in a semicircle, pitch over them the Gurgi or mat tent, cook our food, boil tea and coffee, and make themselves generally useful. They bivouack outside our abode, modesty not permitting the sexes to mingle, and in the severest cold wear no clothing but a head fillet and an old Tobe. They have curious soft voices, which contrast agreeably with the harsh organs of the males. At first they were ashamed to see me; but that feeling soon wore off, and presently they enlivened the way with pleasantries far more naive than refined. To relieve their greatest fatigue, nothing seems necessary but the "Jogsi:" [5] they lie at full length, prone, stand upon each other's backs trampling and kneading with the toes, and rise like giants much refreshed. Always attendant upon these dames is Yusuf, a Zayla lad who, being one-eyed, was pitilessly named by my companions the "Kalendar;" he prays frequently, is strict in his morals, and has conceived, like Mrs. Brownrigg, so exalted an idea of discipline, that, but for our influence, he certainly would have beaten the two female 'prentices to death. They hate him therefore, and he knows it.
Immediately behind Raghe and his party walk Shehrazade and Deenarzade, the former leading the head camel, the latter using my chibouque stick as a staff. She has been at Aden, and sorely suspects me; her little black eyes never meet mine; and frequently, with affected confusion, she turns her sable cheek the clean contrary way. Strung together by their tails, and soundly beaten when disposed to lag, the five camels pace steadily along under their burdens,—bales of Wilayati or American sheeting, Duwwarah or Cutch canvass, with indigo-dyed stuff slung along the animals' sides, and neatly sewn up in a case of matting to keep off dust and rain,—a cow's hide, which serves as a couch, covering the whole. They carry a load of "Mushakkar" (bad Mocha dates) for the Somal, with a parcel of better quality for ourselves, and a half hundredweight of coarse Surat tobacco [6]; besides which we have a box of beads, and another of trinkets, mosaic-gold earrings, necklaces, watches, and similar nick-nacks. Our private provisions are represented by about 300 lbs. of rice,—here the traveller's staff of life,—a large pot full of "Kawurmeh" [7], dates, salt [8], clarified butter, tea, coffee, sugar, a box of biscuits in case of famine, "Halwa" or Arab sweetmeats to be used when driving hard bargains, and a little turmeric for seasoning. A simple batterie de cuisine, and sundry skins full of potable water [9], dangle from chance rope-ends; and last, but not the least important, is a heavy box [10] of ammunition sufficient for a three months' sporting tour. [11] In the rear of the caravan trudges a Bedouin woman driving a donkey,—the proper "tail" in these regions, where camels start if followed by a horse or mule. An ill-fated sheep, a parting present from the Hajj, races and frisks about the Cafilah. It became so tame that the Somal received an order not to "cut" it; one day, however, I found myself dining, and that pet lamb was the menu.
By the side of the camels ride my three attendants, the pink of Somali fashion. Their frizzled wigs are radiant with grease; their Tobes are splendidly white, with borders dazzlingly red; their new shields are covered with canvass cloth; and their two spears, poised over the right shoulder, are freshly scraped, oiled, blackened, and polished. They have added my spare rifle, and guns to the camel-load; such weapons are well enough at Aden, in Somali-land men would deride the outlandish tool! I told them that in my country women use bows and arrows, moreover that lancers are generally considered a corps of non-combatants; in vain! they adhered as strongly—so mighty a thing is prejudice—to their partiality for bows, arrows, and lances. Their horsemanship is peculiar, they balance themselves upon little Abyssinian saddles, extending the leg and raising the heel in the Louis Quinze style of equitation, and the stirrup is an iron ring admitting only the big toe. I follow them mounting a fine white mule, which, with its gaudily galonne Arab pad and wrapper cloth, has a certain dignity of look; a double-barrelled gun lies across my lap; and a rude pair of holsters, the work of Hasan Turki, contains my Colt's six- shooters.