My project aimed at something higher; and indeed it was this journey which led directly to the discovery of the sources of the Nile, so far as they are yet discovered.
I had read in Ptolemy (I., par. 9) the following words: “Then concerning the navigation between the Aromata Promontory (i.e., Guardafui) and Rhapta (the ‘place of seven ships,’ generally supposed to be north of Kilwa), Marianus of Tyre declares that a certain Diogenes, one of those sailing to India …
when near Aromata and having the Troglodytic region on the right (some of the Somali were still cave-dwellers), reached, after twenty-five days’ march, the lakes (plural and not dual) whence the Nile flows and of which Point Raphta is a little south.”
This remarkable passage was to me a revelation; it was the mot de l’enigme, the way to make the egg stand upright, the rending of the veil of Isis. The feat for which Julius Cæsar would have relinquished a civil war, the secret which kings from Nero to Mahommet Ali vainly attempted to solve, the discovery of which travellers, from Herodotus to Bruce, have risked their lives, was reduced to comparative facility. For the last three thousand years explorers had been working, literally and metaphorically, against the stream, where disease and savagery had exhausted health and strength, pocket and patience, at the very beginning of the end. I therefore resolved to reverse the operation, and thus I hoped to see the young Nile and to stultify a certain old proverb.
The Court of Directors of the Honourable East India Company unwillingly sanctioned my project: I was too clever by half, and they suspected that it concealed projects of annexation or conquest. All that my political views aimed at was to secure the supremacy of my country in the Red Sea. Despite Lord Palmerston and Robert Stephenson, I foresaw that the Suez Canal would be a success, and I proposed to purchase for the sum of £10,000 all the ports on the East African shore as far south as Berbera.
This was refused; I was sternly reprimanded, and the result will presently appear.
In July of the same year we reached Aden from Bombay. Our little party was composed of Lieutenant Herne and Lieutenant Stroyan, with myself in command. Before setting out I permitted Lieutenant J. H. Speke to join us; he was in search of African sport, and, being a stranger, he was glad to find companions. This officer afterwards accompanied me to Central Africa, and died at Bath on Thursday, September 15th, 1864.
Aden—“eye of Yemen,” the “coal-hole of the East” (as we call it), the “dry and squalid city” of Abulfeda—gave me much trouble. It is one of the worst, if not the worst, places of residence to which Anglo-Indians can be condemned. The town occupies the crater floor of an extinct volcano whose northern wall, a grim rock of bare black basalt known as Jebel Shamsham, is said to be the sepulchre of Kabil, or Cain, and certainly the First Murderer lies in an appropriate spot. Between May and October the climate is dreadful. The storms of unclean dust necessitate candles at noon, and not a drop of rain falls, whilst high in the red hot air you see the clouds rolling towards the highlands of the interior, where their blessed loads will make Arabia happy. In Yemen—Arabia Felix—there are bubbling springs and fruits and vineyards, sweet waters, fertilising suns, and cool nights. In Aden and its neighbourhood all is the abomination of desolation.
The miseries of our unfortunate troops might have been lightened had we originally occupied the true key of the Red Sea, the port of Berbera on the Somali coast opposite Aden. But the step had been taken; the authorities would not say “Peccavi” and undo the past. Therefore we died of fever and dysentery; the smallest wound became a fearful ulcer which destroyed limb or life. Even in health, existence without appetite or sleep was a pest. I had the audacity to publish these facts, and had once more to pay the usual penalty for telling the truth.
The English spirit suffers from confinement behind any but wooden walls, and the Aden garrison displayed a timidity which astonished me. The fierce faces, the screaming voices, and the frequent faction fights of the savage Somali had cowed our countrymen, and they were depressed by a “peace at any price” policy. Even the Brigadier commanding, General (afterwards Sir) James Outram, opposed my explorations, and the leader was represented as a madman leading others to a certain and cruel death.