“It was a little before nightfall,” said the turbaned priest, “that the rival armies, countless as blades of grass, came in sight of each other at Ungátta, on the banks of the Suggara. Before the morning dawned, Birroo, who occupied the upper ground, moving down to the attack, secured the fords of the river. The action presently opened with a heavy fire of musketry and matchlocks, which did great execution. Five thousand warriors were slain—two thousand five hundred stand of arms were captured—Libán, who commanded, was, with several of his principal chiefs, taken prisoner—and Góshoo was compelled to seek the inviolable sanctuary afforded by the monastery of Dima Georgis. Five governors were hewn alive down the middle; and the conqueror, after standing up to his neck in water for three days, as an atonement for the slaughter he had committed among a Christian people, sent to Ras Ali a horse with its mane, tail, and ears cut off, and a pair of new trousers greatly soiled, with a haughty message to the effect, that these were but types of the fate that yet awaited his liege lord!”
The month of January had now come round; and the arrival of queen Besábesh, who invariably precedes the movements of the court by one day, proclaimed the advent of the Negoos to celebrate at the capital the festivities of the Abyssinian Christmas. Her Majesty had become extremely indisposed from the long journey, and was desirous of receiving medical aid; but it being contrary to the court etiquette that the royal consort should be seen by any male, an interview could not be accorded. Seated in a small closed tent, the hand of the illustrious patient was passed outside through a tiny aperture; and, although eunuchs further embarrassed conversation, a condescending voice inquired, in reply to some common-place civilities, on the part of Dr Kirk, “If I did not befriend the foreigners, pray who is there else to do so?”
Entertaining such a bigoted aversion to every Mohammadan custom, it cannot fail to appear singular that the licentious court of Shoa should have preserved one of the most objectionable—the seclusion of females. Yet such is the extreme jealousy on this point, that although from our first arrival the queen had expressed herself in the most friendly terms, and almost daily sent me through her maids of honour trifling presents of mead or bread, coupled with complimentary inquiries, an introduction, under any circumstances, was quite impracticable.
From day to day, however, the most curious applications were still preferred for beads, trinkets, cloth, and perfumery, and the utmost disappointment was evinced at my making no demand in return. “I possess honey and I possess butter, and have fowls and eggs in abundance,” was the undeviating message. “Why do not my children ask for what they want? All I have is theirs, for all that they have is mine!”
Even when residing at a distance, I continually received laconic notes on scrolls of parchment varying in breadth from one inch to three, bearing neither signature nor superscription, and tightly rolled up in wax. Their contents revealed some newly conceived fancy, such as might have been expected from a queen that eats raw beef. “The brass in your country is like gold,” formed the sum and substance of one epistle, “and you might therefore order the bracelets to be made of the pattern sent by the hands of Dinkenich;” (i.e. “She is beautiful.”—One of Her Majesty’s Abigails.) and again, “May this letter come to the hands of the English commander. Are you well? are you well? are you quite well? That the soap may not end quick, you will send it in large quantities, saith Besábesh.”
Not long after Her Majesty’s arrival, she sent me an unfortunate child, recently purchased from a Guráguê slave caravan, with a request that Hubsheeri might be exchanged for some clear salad oil which had met with special approval “for medicine for the face;” and great surprise was elicited by my reply, “that such a course of proceeding would involve disgrace and criminality, inasmuch as the unchristian-like traffic in human beings was held in abhorrence beyond the great water.” But in this matter the Emábiet was not singular. Certain of the courtiers, who considered themselves under obligations, had previously tendered us “strong Shankela slaves” as a Christmas gift, and all had been equally at a loss to comprehend our motives in refusing.
Amongst the followers that I had brought from India was a native of Cabool, who acted in capacity of tailor, and his proficiency in the needle involved a most unreasonable tax upon his services. Day after day for weeks and months had he been in attendance at the palace; and when at length, under the royal eye, he had completed a sumptuous burnoos (cloak), on the elaborate embroidery of which half the treasures in the gemdjia house were lavished, the king, in the plenitude of his munificence, sent by the hands of Ayto Melkoo a shabby cotton cloth, value three shillings and sixpence, with a half-starved goat, and a message that “it was Christmas, and the tailor might eat.”
Hajji Mirza was furious. “Take back these gifts to your Shah,” he growled indignantly; “I want none of them. By the beard of the prophet, I’m the son of a Pathan; and praise be to Allah, the meanest overseer of a village in Afghanistán is possessed of greater liberality than Sáhela Selássie.”
This tirade had fortunately been delivered in a tongue not familiar to the ears of the king’s Master of the Horse, who was meanwhile diligently occupied with the Pathan’s needle and scissors. Having taken the bag out of his hands, and extracted a scrap of red cloth, he had carefully fashioned a minute cross, which, with elbows squared, he was now proceeding to stitch over a hole in the lower part of his striped cotton robe.
“Why do you do that?” inquired the tailor, peevishly, in broken Amháric, not relishing the interference in his department, and anxious also to exhibit his own talents. “Let me darn it for you, and then there will be no blemish.”