Chapter X

“I’ll tell you a story

Of Jack and Manory.”

* * * * *

FROM OM-BADR TO KARNAC.

A rough journey. — A shot at an ostrich. — Mohommed Gadderâb. — Mohommed Rhanem. — A strange story. — A narrow escape. — Karnac. — The school. — The tame ostrich. — Cultivation.

ON the morning of March 7th we continued our journey in two sections, each on its way to meet again at Orgoodt, where the routes join.

The Wady Milkh may correctly be described as beginning in the plain opposite Om-Badr. Three valleys here unite to form it: the “Wady Amees” from the south, the “Wady Zancore” from the south-west, and the “Wady Arredeeb” from the west. Two ranges of rocks, the Zancore on the east, and the Zayenat on the west, divide the central of these valleys from the other two, which are of less importance than the Wady Zancore, and rise only ten or fifteen miles before the junction of them all three takes place.

The route I followed with my companion skirted the northern slope of the Zayenat, and the other section travelled by Fogah, Mushanger, and Massarah.

On our left was the range of rocks, varying from five to ten miles in width and from one hundred to four hundred feet in general height, and broken up into a thousand beautiful and fantastic shapes. Seven lofty summits, Zaint Om-Badr, Zaint Anooba, Zaint er Rhannam, Zaint Atshan, Zaint es Semhah, Zaint Om-Sharb, and Zaint Adderb or Megzaam, each about a thousand feet high, nearly equi-distant, and closely resembling each other in appearance, form a very imposing feature in the landscape, and give the name to the Zayenat range, which terminates in the last-named mountain, and joins the Seroog range, a continuation of the Zancore, at a distance of about forty-five miles from Om-Badr. At the top of Zaint Atshan is a natural reservoir, whence the name of the mountain, “Atshan” or “thirsty.” It fills during the rains, and the water lasts for some time after, and is frequently resorted to by the cattle and camels feeding at that season in the Wady Zancore, whence it is easily approachable.

On my right, after we had crossed the Wady Arredeeb, stretched, as far as we could see, a rough expanse of country, intersected by numerous low ridges of granite and quartz, and broken up by as many “khors,” or dry watercourses, with directions towards every point of the compass, and leading nowhere but into the sand. All this ground was pretty thickly covered with mimosas of various kinds, the “kitter” with its claw-like thorns being the most plentiful. On the sides of some of the larger “khors,” where the brown bushes were thickest, a solitary “ziraffa” tree sometimes reared its pale green head, or a small cluster of leafless “gangalooses,” though of stunted growth, towered higher still, and somewhat broke the monotonous and ugly evenness.

Our journey over this part of the route was slow. To avoid the almost impassable bush below, the caravan travelled, when possible, on the stony slopes of the rocks where, however, the bushes were perhaps only a little less dense. When a descent was unavoidable, which was not seldom the case, many a load was dragged by the interlaced branches from the camels’ backs, causing delay and serious damage; and, what was worse, many a water-skin was torn and the precious contents lost. The camels suffered much, many from sore feet, many from lacerated sides, but all went on unmurmuringly. Not so the drivers, who, though they took care of their own skins, growled at the injury done to their water-skins. The loss of the water itself they did not care for, they helped themselves to that which was in our tins. As they were thirsty, it was under the circumstances, perhaps, pardonable. I was not sorry when on the morning of the fourth day we reached the camel-track from Fogah to Karnac—the first sign of a camel-track we had seen since our departure from Old Dongola.

Late in the afternoon of the second day of this journey, while in the neighbourhood of Zaint Atshan, we saw, about three hundred yards off, two stately full-grown ostriches walking slowly, side by side, in the sandy bed of one of the numerous “khors.”

My companion stalked them to within about a hundred and fifty yards and fired. The shot was a fraction of a second too late; they saw him, and away they went, running, leaping, flapping their wings, stumbling blindly against the trees, falling down, standing for a moment still, then rushing off in another direction, and sometimes making directly for us, when, discovering their mistake, they would turn and go off again faster and more madly than ever, jumping over the bushes and rolling over each other as they fell on the other side. I watched them for a long time, during which they never ceased their wild and headlong flight, and they were only hidden from my view when the horizontal rays fell directly on their path, which was towards the setting sun.

From a professed ostrich-hunter whom I afterwards met at El Fasher, I learned that these birds when first scared shut their eyes and run in any direction, sometimes even towards the object of their dread, stumbling over anything that may be in their way, and that when after a short time they partially recover their scattered senses, and open their eyes, they invariably make for some prominent object, such as a mountain or a tree, or often towards the sun when near the horizon; something seems to be necessary for them on which to fix their eyes to enable them to keep anything like a direct line. This circumstance is taken advantage of by the hunters, who, if in the open country there is nothing likely to afford a guide for the birds on which to direct their flight, will erect some striking-looking object for the purpose, where some of the hunting party, concealed near it, make an easy bag of the valuable prey.

The camel-track was well trodden and, though in parts not quite free from “kitter” bushes and larger trees, had evidently been used from time immemorial. It lay through that part of the country where the vegetation was densest, and on each of its sides the trees and scrub formed an almost impenetrable wall. Only at occasional intervals could anything of the surrounding country be seen, and I was forced, for hours together, to give up all idea of making sketches, and walked my camel slowly behind those of the guide and lunch soldier, who rode side by side and chatted as they went.

Each of these men was, in his way, a character. Mohommed Gadderâb, the guide, was of the Khabbabbeesh tribe, and a settler on the banks of the Nile not far from Old Dongola, where he possessed a little land, a small house, a wife, and two little girls, three cows, a few sheep, and a mother who looked after the wife and children, and was responsible to him for their proper behaviour during his absence. In addition to these evidences of prosperity he owned some ten or twelve camels, which we had hired of him for the journey to El Fasher, and for which he received a little extra pay in consideration of his knowing the road and serving as guide. Unlike the generality of Arabs, who wear their heads bare, he wore a date basket tied by the handles under the chin with a rope not less than half an inch in diameter; the long ends were thrown over his shoulders, and mingled gracefully with the folds of his drapery. The object of this head-dress was not protection from the sun, but to keep his head warm and to prevent him from catching cold. He suffered much from an ominous consumptive cough, and seemed to know that he was not long for this world, for when on our return to Old Dongola after the work was done, I expressed a hope that we should see each other again at some unknown future time, he pointed to the graves on the borders of the desert, and said: “You must go and look for me there.” He was very intelligent, faithful, honest, and regular in his devotions. Each morning, when he came to my tent with the riding-camels ready to start, his forehead was marked with a patch of sand about the size of half-a- crown, showing that he had prayed and had bowed his head down to the very earth in strict obedience to the injunctions of his Prophet. He had only once before made the journey from Old Dongola to El Fasher, and although the route was often very intricate, he was never at fault. He knew the names not only of the districts and principal mountain ranges and valleys, but of nearly every single hill possessed of a designation at all, and when it had none, did not obligingly invent one for it, as guides often do, probably thinking that one name is as good as another.

Mohommed Rhannem, as far as intelligence was concerned, was a complete contrast to the guide, and for dull stolid stupidity, without doing any injustice to my numerous friends and acquaintances, I may indisputably award him the first place. To say he was dishonest would be a wide departure from the truth, but to call him an honest man, in the active sense of the word “honest,” would be almost as absurd as to speak of an honest ostrich, an honest mule, or an honest camel. Similarly he was faithful only in the sense of not being faithless. In addition to these estimable qualities he possessed a remarkable fondness for hearing himself talk, and the channel in which his loquacity usually flowed was the narration of stories, partly imagined, partly remembered, and wholly absurd. In camp or on his journey he would seek out an audience, whether of twenty or thirty or of one only was to him immaterial; he would then commence a narrative as interminable as it was inconsistent, until he got so inextricably mixed up that he was fain to leave off suddenly and commence another, equally confused and ridiculous.

On the present occasion, as I rode behind him and the guide, he was as usual telling a story to which the guide listened and put an occasional question when the subject interested him, and to which I, having nothing better to do, listened too. The story went something like this:—

“A very great number of years ago”—

“How many?”

“A million—there lived a great and glorious Sultan.”

“Where?”

“Perhaps Cairo. He had many wives.”

“How many?”

“Four thousand.” Here he commenced giving their names, and had enumerated about a dozen when the guide told him to go on with the story.

“Many as were his wives he had more children still given to him by Allah, and slaves from all parts of the world to serve him and his wives and his children.”

“Go on.”

“Some of the children were boys and some were girls; the boys were all strong and warlike, and the girls beautiful, and married to kings who were subjects of the great Sultan. Numerous as were his children, they were not to be compared in numbers with his army, which marched conquering over all the earth. It was armed with cannons and rifles, and none of the Christian nations could stand against it.”

Here there was an interruption of the story. Mohammed Rhannem leant over the camel and unstrapped the Remington rifle slung at its side, inserted a cartridge, and proceeded to explain the superiority of the breech- loading system, and finished by handing it over to the guide to examine and approve of. The latter handled the weapon in such an extraordinary manner that I began to be afraid lest some accident should occur, and shouted:

“Take care, O foolish son of a mad buffalo.”

The soldier snatched the rifle from him, and turning sharply round fired it off without looking. The ball passed within six inches, more or less, of my helmet, and indisposed me to listen to any more of the story. After using some language which, until quite recent times, would have been considered unparliamentary, and which moreover the soldier could not understand, I ordered him off his camel and told him to serve up lunch.

During lunch and afterwards the story went on, mixed up with a thousand extraneous and incongruous incidents. It seemed to resolve itself into a history of the Crimean war from a Mohommedan point of view. Three Christian vassal-states helped the Sultan to chastise a fourth, who was rebellious and insolent. The chastisement completed, the tribute reimposed and the rejoicings finished, the faithful vassal states were suitably rewarded, and to each of their loyal rulers presents were sent—twenty of the most beautiful wives of the great, good, wise and powerful Sultan. One of the states being, however, ruled by a queen, the twenty wives were presented to her Grand Vizier. I could scarcely help smiling at this extraordinary termination. As Lord Palmerston was Premier at that time, I suppose the twenty beautiful ladies fell to his envied lot, and, from his well-known generosity, have no doubt that he distributed them fairly amongst his successful commanders in the field and the members of his cabinet who aided him in his war against Holy Russia for the benefit of the “irreclaimable and unspeakable Turk.” I sincerely trust all these recipients of his bounty may live long to enjoy his gift.

After two or three hours’ journey on the morning of the 11th, we reached Karnac, the first village we had yet come to which contained a settled population. We were all, more or less, in a state of dilapidation. I especially had not escaped. My camel, a half-bred “hygeem,” irritated by the constant tearing of the thorns at his sides, had made a sudden turn with me into the thickest part of the bush, whence I was not extricated without great trouble and considerable injury to my face and hands.

The well at Karnac (there is but one) is, like those at Om-Badr, situated in a plain surrounded on all sides by hills of various heights; those on the west, towards which our route now lay, are the highest, and form the commencement of an extensive plateau trending westward and northward. The village is built on the northern slopes of the plain, and consists of “tuckles,” beehive-shaped huts, constructed of the branches of trees deeply set into the ground in a circle of ten or twelve feet in diameter, drawn together, and fastened at the top, and firmly interlaced with “duchn” stalks.[10] The interior affords perfect protection from the sun and rain, and the most violent storm of wind can seldom do more than temporarily bend the structure before its blast. In addition to these “tuckles,” there are a few square structures—upright sticks, interlaced with stalks and loosely covered with mats or skins sewn together.

From personal inquiries, made in the village, I am able to lay before the reader the following valuable statistics relating to this important place:—

Men, 58; women and girls, 177; boys, 43; donkeys, 25; sheep, 433; cows, 134.

The people are of the Sayadeeyeh race of Arabs, and, being settlers, own no camels.

The village possesses a school—one of the square structures—to which I paid a visit. There was no schoolmaster and only one pupil—who, when I saw him, was engaged in copying a verse from the Korân written in large characters on a wooden tablet of the same size and shape as our common school-slates. He was writing in ink with an ordinary stylus on a tablet like that on which the original was traced; his copy was fairly good, but his progress was very slow, each word taking many minutes to form. That he was ignorant of what he was writing, I was convinced from the fact of the original and his own work being both upside down. He seemed melancholy and stupid, and had been sent to school as a punishment, the only reason, I was given to understand, for which pupils ever attend. The inference is obvious, those in Darfoor who can read and write must have misconducted themselves in their childhood, and, from the paucity of those possessed of these accomplishments, the conclusion follows that the youth of this nation are generally well behaved.

In a cage, adjacent to the school, and differing from it only in having no covering, was an ostrich stripped of its plumes. These birds are kept for the profit that the sale of their feathers yields, and are generally quite tame, wandering about as they please. This one, however, was jumping and flapping his featherless wings in his endeavours to get out of the cage, and seemed extremely melancholy and stupid, like the poor pupil in the school next door. From the circumstance of the bird’s having not a vestige of a feather on his body, I concluded, perhaps not without reason, that the time for plucking was shortly before our arrival, namely, about January or February. There are generally two or three of these birds in each village; they are one of the chief sources of wealth to the inhabitants.

The ground round the village, as well as that on the southern side of the plain, is planted with “duchn,” only the stubble of which remained, the grain having been gathered in shortly after the termination of the rainy season. With the exception of one or two small patches grown with cotton, there seemed to be no other crop.

[Decoration]