Chapter IX

“Little Bo Peep _he_ lost _his_ sheep.”

NURSERY RHYMES.

* * * * *

OM-BADR.

Confiding animals. — A threat. — Our reply. — The Hamr Arabs. — The Hakeem. — Hard bargains. — His patients. — His farm. — Serenading. — Travelling merchants. — The Hamr camp. — A prescription. — A long ride.

BY one o’clock or half-past on the morning of our arrival at Om-Badr the ten thousand camels and other animals, having finished their potations, had all cleared away from the wells to the valleys among the rocks to the west, and we saw no more of them until morning, at sunrise, when they again came down to drink.

We had pitched our camp on the plain not very far from the wells, but the camels arriving fast and numerous began to incommode us by too close proximity to the tent-ropes, tumbling over them and endangering the perpendicularity of the tents. The goats and sheep were even more troublesome; many of them walked right into the tent to share with us the shelter from the sun, while others sought the shade outside and lay down close against the canvas. As we required our tents for our own use and not for that of these confiding animals, we decided to move quarters to a more desirable locality, for all our efforts to keep out the goats and sheep, or to drive off the camels, were not of the least avail. As soon as the crowd had moved away we selected a site on the north side of the plain, and shifted camp a short distance up the gentle slope of a hill where we were not likely to be molested.

In the course of the afternoon a large number of Arabs, armed with spears and swords, came down in a body, and sent word by one of our drivers that we must depart that night, and that they would prevent our drinking at their wells. As this was a matter of life or death to us, it can easily be conceived that we did not comply with their demand: it was, however, necessary to come to an immediate understanding on a fixed and satisfactory basis. We sent back word that we did not wish to be interfered with or to interfere with them, but that if they attempted to annoy us we should be compelled to take measures in our own defence, and should prevent _them_ and _their_ animals from using the wells during the time of our stay; nevertheless, if the shiekhs of the tribe would come to the camp we should be glad to talk the matter over. Meantime our sixteen soldiers and the two sergeants were drawn up in martial array, with Mohommed, the commander-in-chief, strutting about in the front. Their appearance was dangerous and produced its effect; the shiekhs came into camp, we invited them into the tents, gave them good coffee and tolerable cigars, and they informed us, with perfect gravity, that they had only sent word that we were not to drink _all_ the water. To this condition, with gravity less perfect than theirs, we unhesitatingly agreed, and a lasting friendship was at once begun and continued as long as we remained in the neighbourhood. I noticed, however, that my old friend, the shiekh of the Beni-Hamran, did not put in an appearance; he was, it afterwards appeared, thoroughly ashamed of himself.

The Hamr are the richest of all the nomads in this part of Africa, far exceeding in numbers the nomad portion of the Kabbabbeesh, and almost equalling the whole of that tribe including the settlers on the banks of the Nile. They also roam over a great extent of territory. The Kabbabbeesh seldom go further south than Bagghareeyeh, although, in peaceful times, they are not considered trespassers at Om-Badr. The Hamr, however, fix their temporary homes sometimes at Om-Badr, sometimes in the west of Darfoor, and sometimes in the extreme south of Khordofan, where much intermarrying and concubinage with the negro tribes still further to the south has markedly impaired their purity as an Arab race.

Om-Badr has always been a favourite resting-place. Until the year before our arrival it was outside Egyptian territory and free from taxation; the altered state of affairs, consequent on the annexation of Darfoor, had only been practically communicated to the Hamr round the wells shortly before our arrival, and the disagreeable frame of mind in which we found them may have been mainly due to this cause. Their ill-feeling towards us did not, however, last long. Through some channel the knowledge reached them that a “Hakeem” was with us in the camp, and this fact at once secured for us the friendship of the whole tribe.

A doctor in the East, especially among Mohommedans, moves about in a surrounding of respect amounting almost to adoration. An ignorant and abject worship equal to that which the illiterate of the dark ages offered to a priesthood almost as illiterate as themselves is, in the East, now lavished ten times over upon any Bob Sawyer who elects to wander away sufficiently far from civilisation. In Lower Egypt which, without doing violence to truth, may be said to be not far removed from a state approaching semi-civilisation, Bob Sawyer is to a very great extent played out. Amongst the Fellaheen, with their thousand different kinds of ills, he is still a great personage, and may, perhaps, reap a tolerable harvest; but in Cairo and Alexandria, and the larger towns, he is estimated at his just value, and only meets with the same courtesy that is vouchsafed to ordinary mortals. It is in the far-off desert among the wondering and superstitious Arabs that the word “Hakeem” exercises its magic power. Often sick, often diseased, or maimed by accident, the only resource the poor Arab has is prayer. Perhaps if the shiekh, or any father of the tribe, is able to read, he may select from the Koran a suitable passage and give it to the patient, copied out on a piece of consecrated paper, to chew and swallow; other treatment there is none.

The advent of a doctor at Om-Badr was therefore a great event, and on the morning following our arrival patients flocked in crowds to his tent. The “Hakeem Ingleesi” ranks amongst the Arabs before all others. Two pairs of Aberdeen tartan trousers, hanging on the tent-ropes to air, suggested to these benighted people no hint that the “Hakeem” was, perhaps, not strictly entitled to be called “Ingleesi,” and the offer of two or three dozen empty bottles marked “Glenlivat whisky,” offered in exchange for as many fowls, or an equivalent in sheep, afforded them no information that he hailed from that part of the British kingdom whose inhabitants are famed alike for driving hard bargains, and for distilling and drinking the mellow fluid which had not long ago formed the contents of the bottles.

Trade commenced at once and very briskly; each bottle was carefully held up to the light to see that it contained no flaw. The corks, which had been religiously preserved, as they materially enhance the value of the bottles, were alternately fitted in and withdrawn; and the beauties of the labels, radiant in silver and gold, were duly pointed out by the doctor, and expatiated upon in eloquent language, which elicited an admiration almost bordering on the unbounded. The scrutiny at length complete, an equal number of fowls was brought, and, after minute examination of them each, the bargain was concluded.

The patients were nearly all women, all of the semi- or full negro type, more or less pronounced. The Hamr keep their thoroughbred Arab wives at home in seclusion; they have not many of them, and they prize them accordingly; they treat them with tenderness and regard, and in every respect like ladies. To be a Hamr wife is a lot envied by many of the women of other tribes.

Most of the patients brought their encumbrances, infants in arms—not in arms—strapped to the back; children, of from one to two years old, held by the hand, walking barefooted over the stones, and grown girls of eleven or twelve who came down with their mothers to see the “Hakeem Ingleesi.”

The story of the pains of all these people was long and varied: many of their ailments were real, some imaginary; some mentionable, others not; some curable, others past hope; some known, others never hitherto heard of.

One of the women at a time was admitted into the tent; the fee per visit was half a sheep, half a goat, or nine fowls; no dead meat to be considered legal tender. Two women, the one ailing, the other not, possessed of a sheep between them, would club their halves together and hand over the united living fee for the pleasure of seeing and of being treated by the “Hakeem.”

The treatment was not much varied; one woman had a wen, another was lame, a third suffered much from toothache; a dose of castor-oil, a little pyretic saline, or a few pills, sent them away relieved, if not in body, at least in mind.

The doctor was rapidly accumulating a large farm.

Later on in the afternoon the patients came down with their musical instruments and serenaded their benefactor; their theme was his praise, the song the usual monotonous drone. Mohommed Effendi made, at my request, some notes of the words, which I give as literally as possible below:

“The Hakeem came among us;

The Hakeem is good and wise;

The Hakeem will do us good;

Allah sent us the Hakeem.

We see the Hakeem’s face;

His face is as the moon;

He will always be remembered;

Our children see his face.

The Hakeem came from far,

From the ‘Bahr’[9] to cure our pain;

We cannot forget his face;

Allah sent us the Hakeem.

The sun shines on his path,

The moon on his tent at night;

He will always be remembered,

He has done our children good.”

The lieutenant read very much more in the same primitive and not unpoetic strain. He devoted all the afternoon to listening to and reporting the song, which was by no means continuous; it was, of course, “impromptu,” and, although the same ideas occurred many times over, no two sets of lines were precisely similar.

The professional visits were repeated next morning, and every following morning; each afternoon was devoted to music and song, while the Hakeem sat smiling in his tent, smoked his long “chibook,” and did his utmost to empty a bottle, which he afterwards exchanged for a fowl. By the time we were ready to proceed on our journey, he had earned by bottles and fees so many sheep, goats, and fowls, that it was quite impossible for us to carry water for them to drink; he was therefore constrained to leave them behind in charge of one of the shiekhs. Neither the doctor, nor any one of us, ever again saw that shiekh, or those sheep, goats, and fowls.

Little Bo Peep had lost his sheep.

The tents, which, as I mentioned in chapter viii., were pitched on the sand-hills at the top of the pass by which our caravan approached from the Wady Milkh, belonged to travelling merchants from Old Dongola, on the way to El Fasher, who had followed the same route as ourselves. The merchants, whose camels had only been hired to carry them as far as Om- Badr, had been here for fifty days haggling with the Hamr about the price of others. The value of time counted with them for nothing, and they told us they intended, if necessary, to remain fifty days longer, on the chance of finding camels going that way. Fourteen dollars was the price they offered per camel to El Fasher; this, however, the Arabs refused to accept, although they were willing to sell camels at ten dollars a piece. What arrangement was ultimately come to I do not know; but, from their not arriving at El Fasher during the time we were there, I have reason to believe that they continued at Om-Badr for three weeks or a month at least.

The camp, or temporary village, where the Hamr had made their home, two or three miles away, consisted of tents, probably a thousand in number, extending for a length of more than a mile on each side of two nearly parallel valleys, both debouching into the plain of Om-Badr. The tents were erected with more view to comfort and seclusion than those of the Kabbabbeesh at Sotaire; three rows of poles, the highest in the centre, formed the supports, and the covering was securely fastened down on three sides to pegs in the ground. The outline of the roof, two hanging curves, gave the tents the form which has influenced the architecture of many eastern nations, seen in the pagodas of the Mongols in China, and in the kiosks of the Turks in Europe, and sometimes imitated in the roofs of the summer-houses in our gardens at home.

For miles round the camp in all directions, the large herds, attended by the children, browsed on the slopes of the hills, and in the hollows and valleys. On the occasion of my visit one afternoon, only three or four camels, and as many cattle, were in the camp, left at home invalided, in charge of a mouldering Arabess learned in pathology. Charms were hung from the necks of the sick animals, and a mess of crushed “duchn” (a grain grown in Darfoor), prepared with milk, was given them for food, in which a verse from the Korân, cut into little bits, was stirred up to ensure the speedy and lasting efficacy of the treatment. The old lady repeated to me the verse used on this occasion, and assured me it had never been known to fail in curing all diseases to which camels and cattle are subject. I give the translation I made at the time: “Thanks to Allah, for He made the whole world, the earth, and the sky, and the light, and the darkness. Those who know not Allah consider other gods the same. He has made you of clay, and has written how long you shall live. Only He knows how long; you know not, and do not believe.” I was afterwards informed that the above lines form the commencement of chapter vi. of the Korân, and that that chapter is specially devoted to the subject of cattle.

In my wanderings through the camp I was well received by all, the general desire evidently being to atone for their previous bad behaviour. In one case I was pressed to share in a repast, the inducement offered being a large piece of roast beef; but knowing that, except on occasions of great festivities—such as a marriage or a funeral—an ox is never killed by these Arabs, unless to save it from a speedily approaching natural end, I declined the proffered kindness, and walked home to the tents to partake of my own humble meal.

On March 6th we finished our sketch-map from Sotaire, the barometrical readings were reduced, and the proposed centre-line was drawn on for the guidance of the Khartoom party, who would be expected to carry their work as far as Om-Badr, where we should join them with our own work on our way back. One of our Arabs, whose “hygeem” we knew to be a good one, was despatched with the map, and with letters for England, back to Sotaire, thence to travel in a straight lines towards Khartoom, to find, if possible, the party which was then working on that branch line. He went away alone with a skin of water on one side of his camel, and a skin of “doura” on the other. He reached Sotaire, a distance of nearly three hundred miles, in five days, and in two days more discovered those of whom he had been sent in quest, about a hundred miles further on, midway between Sotaire and Khartoom. Resting a day for a reply to our message, he rode in two days to Khartoom, a further distance of eighty miles, posted our letters to England, and started off on his return journey. He joined us in El Fasher, twenty-seven days after his departure from Om-Badr, having travelled in that time a distance of over eleven hundred miles on the same animal. He had not once replenished his skin of “doura,” which held about three gallons, and which still contained two or three handfuls on his arrival at El Fasher on the afternoon of 2nd April.

[Decoration]