pleasant voice. The features were harsh and plain, the skin was a sickly brown, the hair and beard were short and untractable, and the hands and feet were large and coarse. They were celebrated for laxity of morals, fondness for strong waters, much praying, coffee-drinking, and chewing tobacco and kat, a well-known theme plant. They had a considerable commerce with the coast, which was reached by a large caravan once a year.
The women were beautiful by the side of their lords. They had small heads, regular profiles, straight noses, large eyes, mouths almost Caucasian, and light brown skins. The hair, parted in the centre and gathered into two large bunches behind the ears, was covered with dark blue muslin or network, whose ends were tied under the chin. Girls collected their locks, which were long, thick, and wavy—not wiry—into a knot à la Diane; a curtain of short close plaits escaping from the bunch fell upon the shoulders. The dress was a wide frock of chocolate or indigo-dyed cotton, girt round the middle with a sash; before and behind there was a triangle of scarlet with the point downwards. The ornaments were earrings and necklaces of black buffalo horn, the work of Western India. The bosom was tattooed with stars, the eyebrows were lengthened with dyes, the eyes were fringed with antimony, and the palms and soles were stained red. Those pretty faces had harsh voices, their manners were rude, and I regret to say that an indiscreet affection
for tobacco and honey wine sometimes led to a public bastinado.
At Harar was a university which supplied Somaliland with poor scholars and crazy priests. There were no endowments for students—learning was its own reward—and books (manuscripts) were rare and costly. Only theology was studied. Some of the graduates had made a name in the Holy Land of Arabia, where few ranked higher than my friend Shaykh Jami el Berteri. To be on the safer side he would never touch tobacco or coffee. I liked his conversation, but I eschewed his dinners.
Harar—called Gay or Harar Gay by her sons—is the capital of Hadiyah, a province of the ancient Zala empire, and her fierce Moslems nearly extirpated Christianity from Shoa and Amara. The local Attila Mohammed Gragne, or the “Left-Handed,” slew in 1540 David III., the last Ethiopian monarch who styled himself “King of Kings.”
David’s successor, Claudius, sent imploring messages to Europe, and D. Joao III. ordered the chivalrous Stephen and Christopher da Gama, sons of Vasco da Gama, to the rescue. The Portuguese could oppose only three hundred and fifty muskets and a rabble rout of Abyssinians to ten thousand Moslems. D. Christopher was wounded, taken prisoner, and decapitated. Good Father Lobo declares that “where the martyr’s head fell, a fountain sprung up of wonderful virtue, which cured many hopeless diseases.”
Eventually Gragne was shot by one Pedro Leao,
a Portuguese soldier who was bent upon revenging his leader’s fall. The Moslem’s wife, Tamwalbara, prevented the dispersion of the army, making a slave personate her dead husband, and drew off his forces in safety. A strong-minded woman!
My days at Harar were dull enough. At first we were visited by all the few strangers of the city, but they soon thought it prudent to shun us. The report of my “English brethren” being on the coast made them look upon me as a mufsid, or dangerous man. The Somali, on the other hand, in compliment to my attendants, were most attentive. It was harvest home, and we had opportunity of seeing the revels of the threshers and reapers—a jovial race, slightly “dipsomaniac.”
Harar also was the great half-way house and resting place for slaves between Abyssinia and the coast. In making purchases, the adage was, “If you want a brother in battle, buy a Nubian; if you would be rich, an Abyssinian; if you require an ass, a negro.”