Instructions had been issued that the king’s guests were to be conducted by the royal road over the Gorabéla mountain, a singular mark of condescension, partaken but by few in the realm. This permission enabled us to enjoy a most extensive panorama from the heather-grown heights. Mamrat reared her stupendous head perpendicularly from the dark-wooded bosom of the valley, and seemed half buried in the clouds. The palisaded buildings of the palace covering the slope of its isolated hill frowned in pride over the numberless circular houses of the straggling eastern metropolis. Clumps of the sombre juniper, and spreading cossos hung with red garlands of mast, formed vistas on every side. On the one hand rose the lofty blue range of Bulga, and on the other the eye ranged uncontrolled over the boundless plains of the savage Adaïel, spread out below like a great chart, and embracing a prospect of many hundred square miles. In the centre soared the stern crater of Abida—the beacon which, in days long gone, marked the dominions of the proud emperors of Ethiopia, when, according to the traditionary couplet, “their sceptre swayed from Azulo to the Bashilo, and from Errur to Gondar.”
The porters at the royal lodge were on the alert, and adjurations by the king’s life were not wanting to deter our advance to the Airára. “Bu Negoos,” “Bu Sáhela Selássie amlak,” were talismanic words energetically vociferated, and a heavy staff was thumped across the path in earnest of its being closed to plebeian transit. But where is the Abyssinian who is proof against bribery and corruption? Beads will force a passage when the mandate of the throne is received with incredulity, and the dollars of Maria Theresa, if possessing all the requisite marks, will insure participation even in a crown monopoly.
An exceedingly steep path conducts to the summit of the Chaka; but it is here paved throughout with boulders, so supported at intervals by transverse beams, as to form a succession of clumsy steps, constituting the only made road in the kingdom of Shoa. The heather ceases with the Gorabéla mountain; and from the summit of the now bare range the route we were to follow strikes off near the residence of a petty governor, who bears the singular name of “Mout bai nore legne.”
“Oh, that there were no death for me!” is the interpretation thereof; but judging from the appearance of the lord of the manor, who numbers some threescore years, he is not likely long to find his wish realised. Engaged in earnest conversation with the old man, was Ayto Guebroo, who, in consequence of inability to check the repeated rebellions of the Loomi, by whom he so recently was wounded, had at last been deprived of his government and of his silver sword, and was on his way to the presence of the despot in deep disgrace.
The Abyssinian verdure is singularly evanescent, a month without a shower being sufficient to dry up the rich herbage, and to darken the hue of the foliage; but the “rain of Bounty,” which usually falls in February, giving a fresh impulse to vegetation, the hills and valleys again teem with abundance. November was fast drawing to a close, and the aspect of the country generally was brown and withered. The best pastures were covered with the sleek beeves swept off from Finfinni, and the cornfields were yellow with the royal crops now under the sickle, whilst in the numerous threshing-floors muzzled oxen were already treading out the grain.
Our route led across Motátit and the Toro Mesk, through dales and over hills abutting upon the face of the bluff frontier of Shoa, in which are the sources of many of the more distant tributaries to the blue Nile. Never was there a tract more destitute of birds or wild animals, a few plovers and larks, with some of the more common species of Rodentia, being the only objects of natural history observed during a march of twelve miles, which led to the halting ground in the centre of the little village of Asóphee, opposite to the frowning mountain Koorománia.
Under our flimsy cotton awnings, the night proved intensely cold; and on resuming the journey at an early hour the ensuing morning, over a swelling country thickly dotted with Christian hamlets, we found the more sheltered pools by the road-side covered with a thin coating of ice, the first witnessed since our arrival in Abyssinia. At the village of Amaráguê, hospitable entertainment had been prepared by Ayto Egázoo, whose name signifies, “May they buy.” This notable warrior had, prior to the late foray, introduced himself to me, somewhat k-propos of his title, by an ingenious but abortive attempt to sell an unsound horse. Dismounting on the right side from the identical straw-coloured steed, he now placed himself, with shoulders bared, in the middle of the road, and by the life of the king adjured us to enter his abode, in order to partake of a sheep that had been expressly slaughtered.
Wulleta Selássie, his comely partner, daughter to Shishigo, the governor of Shoa-meda, had kindled in the dark hall the fiercest of fires, and immediately on the termination of complimentary inquiries, an ox-hide being spread, the heavy door was barred to exclude the evil eye. Raw collops having been steadily rejected, bones, singed in a somewhat cannibal-like fashion, were rapidly circulated by the attentive host. “Take the eye,” he repeated, coaxingly, to each in turn, presenting at the same time betwixt his finger and thumb the extracted orb of the deceased mutton—“do, the eye is the daintiest part. No!—well you must eat this marrow,” crushing the uncooked shank with a grinding-stone handed by a slave girl, and extending the splintered fragments to be sucked. Overflowing bumpers of sour beer having been filled in a gloomy corner at a huge earthen jar, each horn was tasted by the cup-bearer from the hollow of his palm, in demonstration of the absence of poison. The surplus repast, fluid as well as solid, quickly disappeared under the united efforts of the retinue; and a bead necklace having been hung about the neck of the lady’s hopeful son and heir, we finally effected our escape from the ovenlike apartment, with the aid of divers promises made to both master and mistress, and sundry pieces of silver disbursed to silence a host of importunate menials.
Ayto Egázoo rode forth, in accordance with etiquette, “to see the party off.” From the courtyard of his snug but dirty domicile, Tegulet, and the blue hills of Argobba and of the Wollo Galla, bounded the extensive prospect. Regaining the road, we crossed in succession the Tekroos-Bádo, Moosh, and Goodawurud rivers, all remote sources of the blue Nile. On the banks of the latter stands the monastery of Saint George, famous as having been left unmolested when the district was in the hands of the Galla, many of whom are even said to have been converted to Christianity. Goodawurud was the title of a potent chieftain, who, with Merkurri, Amadich, and Logo, held the country after Graan’s desolating visit, until expelled by Asfa Woosen; and a considerable portion of the revenues are now applied to the maintenance of the monastery of Medák, whose superior, the Alaka Amda Zion, has charge of the heir presumptive.
Nothing could exceed the beauty of the position selected by the cowled fraternity of Saint George; large bands of whom, lounging away their hours of idleness beneath the funereal junipers in which the retreat is deeply embosomed, were for once aroused from listless apathy by the passing cavalcade of white strangers. The land swarms with friars, monks, and anchorites, who are habited in yellow dresses, as the badge of poverty, or in the prepared skin of the antelope. Usually licentious in their manners, they roam through the country a perfect pest and plague to society. Men become monks at any period of life. Those who are afflicted with grievous sickness, vow that in event of recovery they will abandon the world, and transfer all their moveables to the church. The rich often deliver over their property to their children, who are bound to support them until death. The poor subsist upon the bounty of the king and of the community; and many never enter the cells of the monastery at all, but with their wives reside at ease in their own homes, having assumed the counterfeit piety of the order solely for the sake of defrauding their creditors—since, however deeply involved, all former scores may be cleared off with the ease and rapidity of the most indulgent court of insolvency, by the simple process of “putting on angels’ clothing.”