Chapter XI

“This is the house that Jack built.”

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KARNAC TO ORGOODT.

The well at Karnac. — Boota. — Friendly ostriches, — Broosh. — The shiekh and the frying-pan. — A visit to a “tuckle.” — A novel banking account. — “Tobes.” — “Merissa.” — An universal genius. — A little letter. — My victory. — Abiad. — Hyenas. — Vultures. — Scorpions. — Spiders.

THE well at Karnac is the widest and deepest in Darfoor. With the exception of twelve feet of superimposed sandy soil, it is sunk through solid sandstone rock; its width is from nine to ten feet, and its depth, to the surface of the water, two hundred and eighty feet. When and by whom made, is a mystery; it is however certain that the present inhabitants of Darfoor have neither the energy nor the skill for such a piece of work, and, moreover, they do not possess the necessary tools. The well itself bears evidence of age; the four timbers, trunks of trees, originally placed flat one on each of the four edges of what was once the top of the well, are still there, and are worn in many parts nearly through by the friction of the ropes used in drawing the water. As each set of timbers in course of time became useless another set was placed above it, to be in turn sawn nearly through in a hundred different places. There are fifteen of these sets, one above the other, each of which has served its time for several years. The wood used is the hardest gum tree (sont), on which a sharp knife will scarcely make a mark. Supposing each set of timbers to last only for twenty years, the minimum age of the well would be three hundred years. I have, however, been told that this wood will easily stand for fifty years.

The soldiers and some of the drivers sat on the ground round the well, mending the water-skins with needles and pack-thread. The remainder of the men, assisted by the villagers, drew water for the camels; there being, however, but one well, the process was slow, and only about half the number of the animals had drunk before night. As food was very scarce in the neighbourhood, owing to so much of the ground having been cleared for cultivation, I decided to go on with our journey next day to Boota, only three hours distant, where the remainder of the camels could drink, and where food for them was plentiful. Our road lay to the west, over a spur of the mountains, up one valley and down another, the Wady es Sayal, at the bottom of which lies Boota, very picturesquely placed, with the rocks, Gebel Bobei, on the north covered to their tops with thorn-bushes, and an extensive hummocky plain to the south. Like Karnac, Boota has but one well, cut through the rock to a depth of one hundred and fifty feet; and, judging from the number of timbers that have been nearly worn through by the friction of the ropes, of even greater antiquity. That part of it between the lowest timbers and the surface of the sandstone, a depth of twenty feet, is built in with stone, not cemented, but extremely well laid and certainly very different from anything the people seem able to do at present, when their architecture reaches the limit of its splendour in the “tuckle” and the mud walls of the Sultan’s palace at El Fasher. The number of inhabitants in Boota is three hundred and fifteen, possessing among them two hundred and forty sheep, one hundred and fifty cows, and one tame ostrich. In addition to “duchn” they grow “doura” and cotton, and have two looms in the village, where a cloth similar to that of Old Dongola is woven.

On the following morning we left Boota early, as the journey before us was a long one. The camels travelled light, as we were not now compelled to carry water for more than a day, the villages on our route being not more than a day’s journey apart. From the rocks on the right, which we often climbed, we saw one or two villages among the scrub hidden from view while we were on the path below. Twice on the path we came upon a featherless ostrich from a neighbouring village, out on a foraging expedition. One of these joined our caravan and marched side by side with the camels; finding it impossible to drive him away, we were obliged to give him in charge of the authorities on our arrival at Broosh the same evening.

Broosh lies a little off the track among the scattered rocks to the right. It has three wells, and is larger than any village we had yet come to. The population is three hundred and eighty-two, with cattle, sheep, donkeys and ostriches amounting to nearly fifteen hundred. A market is held twice a week, and is resorted to by the dwellers in the few villages scattered over the plain. Business was not quite finished on my arrival; nothing, however, remained to be sold but about half an ounce of green tobacco and some six or seven dry bamias (small vegetables), the property of a supremely hideous old woman, whose ghastly and withered face had probably frightened away the customers.

Returning to the tents, I went to hurry up the cook about the dinner, as it was already past our time and no cloth was yet laid. I found him in the midst of his labours entertaining a handsome and stalwart Foorawee. The latter, the shiekh of the village, was examining with intense curiosity every utensil in the kitchen, and at the moment of my arrival his admiring gaze was riveted on a frying-pan which he held in his hand. He first played on it with the fingers of his right hand, and not satisfied with the tone elicited, he next handled it as though it were a club, and finally laid it down evidently divided in his mind as to whether it was a musical instrument or a weapon of war. He rose and bowed, and told me he had brought a present, two kid skins filled with tobacco. These I accepted and offered my hand, which he at first refused to take, saying his own was _black_ from having handled the frying-pan. He washed it very carefully with water that Jacoob gave him, and after drying it on his wearing apparel gave it to me to shake.

I invited him into the tent and begged him to sit down. This he at once did on the carpet, on which I offered him a chair. It was quite a novel pleasure to watch his child-like delight at everything he saw in the tent. His questions were as numerous as bewildering; the folding chairs, and, above all, the folding bedsteads, afforded him matter for great marvel and a hundred questions. He examined everything carefully, and after many inquiries concerning each article, invariably finished up by asking whether I had made it. I could only say “No,” and after each “no” I felt that I sank lower in his estimation until the end of the examination, when it was evident he only looked upon me as a very ordinary kind of individual. Dinner arrived shortly, and he rose to retire, his last question being, did I make the knives and forks? He begged me to come, after dinner, to his “tuckle” to taste his “merissa” and tobacco, which he assured me were very good, and that he should esteem it a great honour if I would accept his invitation.

After dinner I walked over. I had been much amused by his conversation, and it was now my turn to put questions, and to learn what I could of the manners and customs of the people at Darfoor. The entrance to the tuckle was about three feet high, and two feet wide, and getting inside necessitated going down on hands and knees in a very undignified position. The interior was in perfect darkness, and I suggested some candles; these he volunteered to go and tell Jacoob to bring, as well as a table and chairs, cigars, &c. &c. The furniture of the tuckle was not sumptuous; it consisted of an “angereb,” on which was seated his wife, a girl of about sixteen, nursing an infant; a few earthenware pots containing sour milk, water, and “merissa”; a skin or two filled with “duchn,” and two stones for grinding it. Besides these there was piled up on one side a heap of dirty blue rags, which by no means added to the elegance of the appartment, or to the purity of its atmosphere. These were current coin of the realm, they were never made into clothes, or converted to any other use; and, until the Egyptian occupation, the people had known no other kind of money. The rags varied in size from half a yard wide, and two or three yards long, to small pieces about the size of a sheet of foolscap; these last counted in the market for two piastres tariff, or nearly fivepence, and, from the magnitude of the heap, I could readily believe my host’s assertion, that this odoriferous banking account represented two hundred dollars, or £40. The cloth was not of English manufacture, but was such as is woven in Bombay, and had found its way into Darfoor through Massowah and Khartoom. Behind the “angereb,” between it and the wall, was a heap of “tobes,” rolls of Manchester cotton cloth of the poorest possible kind, such as is never seen in Europe, manufactured solely for the “Oriental market”; the trade mark of the firm was stamped outside, and in many cases the gilt-edged paper ticket was still attached. The “tobe” is the money standard, and had always served as a dollar; now, however, it fluctuated materially, and he complained bitterly of his loss. The introduction of real silver dollars, and the rejection of the “tobe” in exchange by the new comers, had caused its value to diminish, and in some parts of Darfoor it had fallen to a sixth part of its former value. In Broosh it had already reached a third, and was falling still lower every day. As he had already lost so much, I advised him to part with his blue rags, and convert them into silver money, which, I told him, always fetched its value in every part of the world. This proposition of mine was, however, by no means warmly received; he firmly believed they must keep up their value, the people would never do without them. He brought an armful from the heap on to the table, and commenced expatiating on the fineness and strength of the texture. Not wishing to get an attack of typhoid fever, I told him to put them away; the lady, moreover, had commenced to put in serious objections to parting with the family property, and was becoming very voluble. She politely suggested that I should mind my own business, which I did, and begged her to try a cigar; after this we were soon very good friends.

The young shiekh now sat down and ordered his wife to serve up some “merissa.” The flavour was as of sour milk mixed with rum, and, although the heat of the spirit was mellowed by the milk, I could easily tell that it must be very intoxicating. This, with the circumstance of its surface being ornamented with several dead flies, and numerous legs and wings of other insects, and covered with dust, prevented my indulging in it copiously, which, however, my host and his lady did, occasionally giving the infant a drop to quiet it. He entered into his affairs voluntarily; he told me he had been shiekh only three months, having on the death of his predecessor, been appointed, owing to his wealth, by Ismail Pasha Ayoob, then Governor of Darfoor. He had just returned from El Obeid, the capital of Khordofan, where he had been offered the contract for the erection of the telegraph posts for the new line of wires to El Fasher. The result of his visit was that he had refused the contract; he could not understand the business of the telegraph. When its use was explained, and the working of the instrument shown him, he had come to the conclusion that some kind of sorcery must be connected with it, and had come home in a state of great consternation, determined never again to go anywhere in sight of a telegraph post. The contract was accepted by the shiekh of the Hamr Arabs at Om-Badr, who emigrated with half his tribe to El Obeid, and successfully put up the posts.

My host now asked me whether it was true, as he had been told, that far away across the great sea to the north—further away than he could say—but, at least, as far as the moon, there was a land whose people were very learned, and knew everything, and could make everything; whether I came from that land, and how it was I could not make the wonderful things like the other people there? I told him there were such lands, and that I came from one of them which was a long way off, but not so far as the moon, and that the inhabitants were skilled workers, and made the wonderful things he had seen in the tent, and many other far greater things besides.

His emulation was excited; he pointed to his “angereb,” and told me he had made that; then to the cloth he wore, he had woven it; the “merissa,” too, he made himself, as well as the earthenware pots in which it was kept; and his delight and pride reached their height when, looking up and pointing to the top of his “tuckle,” he assured me that he, unassisted, had built that also. It was fearfully and wonderfully made; the earth rammed hard, not only inside, but for a yard or more on the outside; the circle struck with geometrical accuracy; the upright sticks, sought with great care and labour, fixed firm at equal distances of three or four inches, and interwoven neatly and exactly, with the longest obtainable stalks of “duchn”; the little interstices, where any appeared, jealously filled with warm cotton, to keep the wind away from his wife and child, and the whole, pulled tightly together at the top, and securely fastened, and resembling in all but size and material, the beautiful dome of St. Paul’s. Even this was not all; he had not forgotten dangers other than the storms. He took me outside to show me an old piece of blue plate he had fastened into the wall, about three feet above the doorway; this was to keep away the evil eye, and the “afreets,” or evil genii, who might otherwise come in the night and swallow his child, drink up all his “merissa,” run away with his wife, or commit other atrocities as appalling or unpleasant.

Here, then, was a man who not only made his own furniture, pots, and clothes, and brewed his own drink, but built his own house, and successfully insured it against all dangers, whether of the natural or of the supernatural kind. I must confess that, compared to him, I felt myself rather a helpless creature in the world. What could I say or do to rival such universal ability? I might certainly tell him of Shakespere, of Milton, of Martin Tupper, of Walter Scott, of the “Pickwick Papers,” of “Robinson Crusoe”; of our great artists, philosophers, and inventors; of our stupendous Lord Mayor; of our boundless empire on which the sun never sets; of London itself, the capital of the world, on which it never shines; of our invincible army; of our matchless iron fleet demonstrating about in every nook and corner of the globe, and of a thousand other wonderful persons and things that form the envy of every foreign nation privileged to behold, or to read about them; but no glory or light from these was reflected from me. I was about to candidly and humiliatingly admit my inferiority, when Jacoob came in with a short note in pencil: “Come and have a game at double-dummy, the water is boiling.”

This little note, simple in its simplicity, was the victory of civilisation over barbarism.

My host asked me whether I could read and write. I answered in the affirmative. My superiority was at once established; his admiration knew no bounds, I had overwhelmed him, he was completely dumbfounded; he had no idea he was entertaining so exalted a personage. My victory was absolute, and the rout of the enemy utter. Not wishing to lose my advantage, I determined to beat a retreat, and left him to finish his “merissa” alone. The lady had already succumbed to its influence, and, after dropping her baby once or twice on the ground, had finally gone to sleep on the “angereb.”

Next morning we passed, on the track, two villages each about the size of Broosh—Om-es-Shay-es-Shat and Om-es-Seraydeh. After reaching the latter the camel track turns northward over the rocks towards Abiad, the only place about here where the wells are sufficiently numerous to afford facilities for watering large caravans. We rested this night at the small village of Welled Ghindi, near the Wady Ghindi. The scenery towards the head of the valley is strikingly grand, the rocks assuming every conceivable form, each of them in my imagination resembled some temple, church, or palace with which my memory was familiar. At about one o’clock next day we descended from the heights into the Wady Abiad, and after four hours travelling due north along its bed, with the nearly perpendicular wall of rocks on our right hand, we came to Abiad at the top of the valley.

Abiad (white) is about half a mile from the wells among the mountains. As villages go in Darfoor it is a very large one, and may be said to rank as a town. The population amounts to thirteen hundred and fifty, with large herds of cattle, sheep, and goats, and many donkeys and ostriches. The architecture of the buildings is, however, in no way varied from that of those I have described at Karnac. We remained here one day to allow the camels to drink, and started next morning towards Ergoodt along the track which, like that approaching Karnac, is bounded on each side by thick bush. After about an hour’s journey I came upon a gorged hyena gracefully reposing under a tree on the path. The camel took no notice of him, but the hyena moved off a few yards into the bush and lay down again to sleep. These animals are nearly as tame as the ostriches. There are generally two or three round a village, into which they are allowed free entry, all live stock being perfectly safe from their depredations. Once or twice a week, during the nights, they pay their visits and surfeit themselves on the offal which has accumulated since they were last there. They are perfect scavengers, and the inhabitants look upon them with favour accordingly. Vultures are more numerous, but less regular in their attendance; they seem able to pick up a good living in the country round, and never come to the villages except on the occasion of an important death, such as that of a horse, camel, or donkey, when they are always prompt to attend the funeral, from whatever distance the duty may call them. It is the vulture that, when in the desert a camel drops down under his load to die, picks its bones clean, and leaves them whitening in the sun miles away from any land in which the hyena can exist.

Insects, such as scorpions and hunting-spiders, are rather plentiful about here; the latter, although their bite is poisonous, we never interfered with. All evening and night, while the flies slept on the inner surface of the tents, the spiders darted among them, destroying hundreds. Of the two evils we preferred the spiders. To the scorpions, however, we showed no mercy; they seem to be perfectly useless insects, and possess no graces, either of appearance or character, to awaken sympathy even in the most tender-hearted person. We sometimes found them under the beds, and always thought it wise to carefully examine our boots and clothes, and especially our hats, before induing them in the morning. Fortunately I was never stung by one of them, and am consequently not in a position to say whether their sting is fatal or only painful, but judging from the unsightly and malicious aspect of the bloated yellow insect, some two and a half inches in length, with the small drop of purple venom visible in its transparent tail, I should say, at least, that it was not pleasant. Of insects other than noxious, with the exception of a few very large and beautifully-marked grasshoppers, near Karnac, we had as yet not seen any. The bushes, however, in this part, and for the preceding week of our travelling, were thickly hung with tough white cocoons, about an inch and a half long and a quarter of an inch in diameter. In some parts the scrub was quite white with them, and from a distance it might easily be imagined that a fall of snow had taken place.

At nine o’clock on the morning of March 19th, after passing Derrit Homar, a considerable mountain with a ruined village at its foot, deserted, owing to the wells having years ago dried up, we reached Ergoodt, the capital of a governorship or small province, containing twelve or fifteen hundred inhabitants.

[Decoration]