CHAPTER VI.
YERIM TO DHAMAR.
The immediate approach to Yerim is over a level plain a mile or two in width, across which, immediately in front of one, lies the town—a poor enough looking place, lying half on the level ground and half on the steep slope of a mountain, Jibel Samára. This flat ground is dotted in places with tanks, and here the townspeople congregate to do their washing, and many a pretty group we passed of men, women, and children engaged in that wholesome pursuit. Eastern washing processes are too well known to need any description here: suffice it to say that it is generally performed by men, whose one desire seems to be, by stamping on the clothes and beating them with large stones, to see how many fragments they can tear them into. They are generally successful in sending the things back in shreds. It must be an invigorating profession; for the fact that one places the clothes upon a rock, and then proceeds to dance first on one leg and then on the other with all the energy and strength one possesses, at the same time issuing a series of low cries, must tend to strengthen not only the limbs but the lungs also!
We did not stay, however, to watch the washers, but hurried on into the town; for although I had some days before successfully crossed the frontier of Turkish Yemen at the _jimerouk_ near Kátaba, this was the first time I was to find myself in a Turkish garrisoned town.
[Illustration: UPPER FLOOR OF A KHAN AT YERIM.]
As soon as we had approached the place Turkish soldiers became apparent, and a miserable crew they were. A few were sauntering about near the gate, laughing and talking to others who leaned over the parapet of the old tower that forms one corner of the fortified entrance to the place. Passing through the gateway without any particular notice being taken of us, we proceeded by narrow streets to an open square, which serves as a market, and entered the huge doorway of a large caravanserai or khan. This place, typical of the country, calls for some description. The building was evidently an old one, the material used being stone on the lower storeys, and above sun-dried bricks. An archway led one into a large covered space, some ten or fifteen yards in width, and perhaps thirty in length. There was no light admitted except from the great doorway and a curious barred window above it. This portion of the khan was of great height, the roof of the building forming the only obstacle between it and the sky. This roof was supported by large arches on buttresses running out from the wall on either side. A series of brick fire-places for charcoal ran along one side of the building, divided from one another by low brick seats, where the Arabs could sit and brew their own _keshour_, or drink of coffee-husks. Farther in the space served as a stable, and there were quite a number of camels, mules, and donkeys within its precincts. The opposite side to that on which the stoves were was taken up by a staircase leading to a long gallery. Here the better class of people, such as merchants and native sheikhs, congregated. The buttresses supporting the roof divided the gallery into compartments, and it seemed to be the custom for a party to engage one for themselves, where they would spread their carpets and smoke their hubble-bubbles, calling to the khan servants below for their coffee and food, and charcoal for their pipes. One end of this gallery, on the left of the staircase, formed a little room, which I was able to procure for my use. The fact that it was built immediately above the kitchen, and that the thickest of wood fumes crept up between the ill-laid boards, did not add to my comfort. The ceiling and walls of the whole building were black with the smoke of ages, but the scene was a most picturesque one, and I sat at the doorway of my little chamber and sketched the place.
However, I was not to be left very long in peace, for an impudent young Turk came and began to search my luggage, and to speak in such an impertinent manner that he had to be ejected. I knew that, whatever orders he might have had, he would have received none that would allow of his conducting himself in this way—for the Turk, be he what he may, seldom if ever fails to be polite. There is an innate manner in him that is always charming, in spite of the many other drawbacks to his character.
I called on the Kaimakam a little later and told him what had happened, saying that I was quite prepared to have my luggage searched, but asking that I might be treated with a certain amount of decent respect. The Turk of whom I complained was sent for, and such wrath did the Kaimakam show with him that the young man, a junior clerk in one of the Government offices, had to ask me to beg the Governor to forgive him, which I readily did. I found my host as pleasant and gentlemanly as any Turk I met in the country, and he insisted on my spending an hour with him and his brother officers. I showed him my passport, for here there was no longer any need to pretend that I was a Greek trader, and he seemed much impressed with the number of seals and stamps with which it was covered. Of what value the wording and decoration of this British passport was at Sanaa will be told anon. But more astonished still was his Excellency at the fact that I had pushed through the Owd tribe and arrived from Kátaba—for, as he said, the road had been impassable for many months, and he laughed heartily at an Englishman having been the first to open it again. Yerim, he said, was the dullest of dull places, and he longed for the society and gaieties of his native town—some out-of-the-way spot in Asia Minor, the name of which I had never even heard.
Returning from his residence to the khan, he followed me half an hour later and returned my call, accompanied by a couple of his officers. However, the fact that one could scarcely see across the room for smoke did not tend to detain him long, and I was soon left to my own devices.
As soon as it was cool enough, under the guidance of Saïd, who knew the place well, I sauntered out and strolled through the bazaars; but although I wore on my head a Turkish fez, all sorts of rumours had been spread about concerning me, and I was the whole time the centre of a large crowd, who, though they pressed me rather hard, were polite but dirty, so that I found it advisable after a short time to beat a retreat.
Yerim apparently has no great pretensions to antiquity, although there formerly stood on the same spot, or somewhere in the immediate neighbourhood, a city of the name of Dhu-Ruayn. The ancient capital of this district is Zafar, the ruins of which, lying some miles to the south-east, are still visible on the summit of a circular hill.
There is but little to see in Yerim. The town is essentially a poor one, and although built partly on the slope of a mountain where stone is procurable, the houses are almost entirely composed of sun-dried bricks. Dirt and squalor abound on every side, and the streets of narrow bazaars show no signs of any great commerce or trade. What little importance the place can lay claim to is owing to the fact that it lies on the main road from Sanaa to Aden, and is a garrisoned city. Like Dhamar, it fell into the hands of the Arabs during the rebellion at the end of 1891, but was retaken by Ismail Pasha, whom we had seen a month or two after its recapture, encamped at Kátaba. The Arabs, however, seem to have gone to no excesses; and beyond taking prisoner the Kaimakam, who was still at this time in the hands of the Imam at Sadah, and his officers, behaved with great leniency toward the Turks, many of whom threw in their lot with the Arab cause.
During the evening I received many callers, who came probably from curiosity rather than from any other reason. Amongst them were several of the “Ashraf,” of the family of Ahmed ed-Din, the leader of the rebellion, who had seen all through that their cousins’ cause was a hopeless one, and had remained neutral during the war. I found them exceedingly pleasant, and they conversed for a long time about their country. One was especially a fine man, young and exceedingly handsome. As is the custom amongst the nobility, these guests all had closely-shaven heads. One or two of them were richly dressed in silk robes, and wore daggers of exquisite silver and gold work. It was late before I got rid of the last of them, and was able to seek a few hours’ rest before starting again.
At dawn we were off, our caravan augmented by a couple of Arab soldiers in the service of the Turks, who, by the by, would have proved of little advantage in an attack, as they were armed solely with spears; but in all probability they were sent to watch my movements. The Turks employ a very considerable number of these soldiers in their service, many being of the class of “Akhdam,” probably descendants of the Abyssinians who invaded the Yemen in A.D. 525; while others come from Yaffa and Hadramaut, and are ready to fight against any one so long as pay and booty are to be obtained.
We left Yerim by a gate to the north of the city, near which is a picturesque stone mosque, with a white dome, which I had failed to notice the previous day.
Emerging through the gateway, the track proceeds for a time along a straight level road, lying below the slopes of Jibel Samára, on which a few Arabs, mounted on ponies, were galloping to and fro, with the evident purpose of thrilling me with their equestrian powers. They were good riders certainly, and very picturesque they looked with their long black hair waving behind them, and the rising sun sparkling on their polished spear-heads.
The level surface of the plateau over which we were passing made one forget the great altitude we had reached; and such is the appearance of the surrounding country, that one could scarcely realise that one was not on some low level plain, but at an elevation of over eight thousand feet above the sea-level.
At one spot, however, this is forcibly brought to one’s mind, for the road passes close to the edge of a deep narrow gorge through which flows the river Kha. This valley presents a most extraordinary appearance as seen from above, for it is nothing more or less than a huge slice cut out of the plateau. We passed it at its apex, and could see down nearly its whole course. The distance from side to side at the upper part is extraordinarily small, the sides of the valley being formed of perpendicular precipices. Far, far down below us, some thousands of feet at the nearest part, were the coffee-groves and villages, dotted here and there along the broken rocks that fringed the edge of the river, which we could follow with our eyes, a thread of silver, till it was lost in the hazy mists that lay across the valley many miles away. Beyond this again rose the torn fantastic peaks to which we were now becoming so accustomed. It was a wonderful sight, and we reined in our mules and stood, Arabs and European alike, gazing at it with wondering eyes. The Wadi Kha, unlike so many of these Yemen rivers, eventually reaches the sea. It flows into the Wadi Zebeed, and continuing its course through the city of that name, and across the Teháma, reaches the Red Sea at Ras Zebeed, opposite the island of Jibel Zukur. Just as suddenly as we had come in sight of this strange gorge, just so suddenly did we lose it again, and only a few minutes after having left its brink the surrounding scenery assumed its former appearance, that of a dusty rocky plain.
Close to this spot is a mark in a rock which is supposed to be the footprint of Ali, the son-in-law and one of the successors in the Caliphate of the Prophet Mahammed, or of his horse, there seems to be no certainty which. The imprint itself is vague enough to be anything, but too large to be either of those mentioned.
Below the village of Digishúb we stopped to refresh ourselves and take breakfast. A few rough stone huts have been erected by the roadside, near which some kind philanthropist has built a series of small tanks, supplied with delicious cold water by a spring. In one of these tanks live an enormous quantity of fish. The water is very shallow, and the pond small, and were it not that the passers-by feed them on crumbs, there would be but little chance of their being able to exist in such a small space. Unlike fish in the springs of Morocco, they are not held in any way sacred, and the Jews often catch and cook them, though the Arabs say that they themselves never touch them.
The funniest old specimen of age, rags, and dirt made our coffee for us—as dishevelled an old witch as ever man set eyes upon. She is reported, in spite of her filthy condition, to be of great wealth—for the country, of course—and is apparently a well-known character upon the road. Quite a number of caravan-men, who happened to be resting there, kept up a continual volley of chaff, which reached its climax when, on hearing of her reported riches, I offered to become a Moslem, and lead her a blushing bride to the altar. She took it all in very good part, and laughed as much as her begrimed parchment-like skin would allow, but I feared now and again it would crack.
On the road between Digishúb and the city of Dhamar are three sets of old Himyaric tanks, cut in the solid rock, as are, with the exception of a few where the nature of the country allows of some small gully being made use of, all the tanks of this period. Although resembling somewhat the tanks of Aden, there are here none of the natural advantages to be found at that place; for there the crater pours its water by aqueducts and natural channels into the tanks, which are built tier above tier in the wall of rock and between precipices. These between Digishúb and Dhamar, however, lie in the level plain, and are excavated. They are dependent entirely upon the rainfall for supply, and, as far as has been found possible, the water has been drained toward them; but this, owing to the dead level of the country, is to a very slight extent practicable. These tanks are circular in form, and of considerable size and depth. At one spot a flight of steps descends to the water’s edge, while a smaller tank above the steps can be filled from buckets, &c., for the animals to drink from. The entire tanks are lined with intensely hard cement, which takes a peculiar polish, and on one were visible rough designs of men on horseback, and gazelle, scratched into the plaster evidently at the time it was originally applied. The extraordinarily perfect condition in which these tanks are to-day, steps and all, speaks to the excellence of the workmanship of those who excavated and built them; and the caravans are still mainly dependent upon these extremely antique reservoirs for water for the men and their beasts of burden.
Again, the plateau is broken by valleys to the west, but in no way to compare with that through which the Wadi Kha flows. There a slight descent takes one from the boulder-strewn undulating hills to the flat ground again, broken here and there by rocky barren crags which stand out against the dull yellow earth. On one of these is situated Dhamar el-Gar, a village of some size; and on approaching this spot we caught sight of, far ahead of us, all shimmering in the fierce sunlight, the city of Dhamar itself. For the last hour and a half of the road we proceeded over perfectly level ground, strewn with sandy dust, and, though showing signs of cultivation, boasting scarcely a blade of anything green. As we neared the city we obtained a better view of the place, so twisted and turned had it at first been by the steaming vapour rising from the heated ground.
Dhamar lies in the flat plain, the nearest hill of any size being Hait Hirran, a mountain rising some hundreds of feet above the surrounding country a couple of miles or so to the north of the city. Many high mountains, however, are visible, especially the range of Jibel Issi to the east, though it is a long way distant. This and its neighbouring mountains must be of great height, for Dhamar itself is situated almost exactly eight thousand feet above the sea-level. It is not a walled city, but is more or less defended by a series of small, and, for the most part, mud-built forts. Three minarets dominate the town, one of them sadly out of the perpendicular, as it was struck by a cannon-shot during one of the many wars it has been its lot to witness.
A narrow street, twisting and turning amongst open drains, ruined tombs, and apparently objectless walls, leads one into the city. Here there are signs of more wealth, many of the houses being well built of stone, while a wide open square gives quite a handsome appearance to the place.
It is on to this square that the Government offices look, and before we had half crossed it our mules were stopped by a number of Turkish soldiers, under whose guidance we proceeded to visit the Kaimakam of the town.
[Illustration: _Mosque and minaret at Dhamar._]
Alighting at a large gate leading into a yard and garden, we entered a house, built in European style and with glass windows, and, ascending a staircase, found ourselves in a large room. Divans surrounded the walls, and a few shabby chairs and a table or two stood about the place. Seated at one end of the room, drinking coffee and smoking, were four or five Turkish officers in clean bright uniforms. As I entered one of these rose, and, walking to meet me, shook hands with me, and led me to the divan, at the same time calling to a servant for cigarettes and coffee. My guard, who had come with me from Yerim, presented a letter that had been intrusted to him by the Kaimakam of that place, which was immediately opened and read. The officer then told me I was welcome, and we conversed for about half an hour on general subjects. He could not understand how I had ever attempted or succeeded in getting through the country between Kátaba and Yerim, and laughed considerably when I told him of my adventures. He was, in fact, as were those with him, most polite and kind, and the one or two calls I paid to him, and he to me, during my stay, will always be remembered by myself as most pleasant.
Before leaving the Kaimakam I obtained his permission to take up my residence in the house of Saïd during my stay in that town; for the latter had insisted on my not going to a khan, but spending the few days we had determined to stay here in his father’s house. This favour was readily granted me, and mounting my mules once more, Saïd, full of impatience, leading the way, we crossed the big square, and winding in and out amongst the narrow streets, finally drew up at a large three-storeyed detached mud-brick house, which Saïd, almost dancing with delight, pointed out to me as “_el-beit betaana_”—“our house.”
[Illustration: MY QUARTERS AT DHAMAR.]
Saïd received quite an ovation on his arrival, being kissed and hugged in turns by all manner of strange people: an old grey-bearded father followed his grey-haired mother; brothers, sisters, cousins, children, aunts, swarmed out of that house like ants, until one believed that every available inch of the place must be taken up by living people, and I began to feel quite nervous as to where room would be found to put myself away. At length the greetings were got through, and the male portion of the relations turned their attention to my mules, which were quickly unpacked and the baggage carried indoors. Then Saïd approached me, and having run his hand through his wavy black curls, as was a habit of his, bade me enter. As I stepped into the doorway with him he greeted me in true Yemen fashion, and with all the demonstration an Arab loves so much—and I believe in his case it was genuine.
Climbing to the top storey of the house, we entered a large airy room, the proportions and decoration of which fairly astonished me, for from the outside, although the house was large, it had a poor enough appearance, being built entirely of sun-dried mud-bricks.
The guest-room, for such the chamber evidently was, measured some thirty-five feet in length by fifteen wide. One end showed a bare floor of cement, but the other was richly carpeted with rugs and striped cloths, while divans, thick woollen mattresses, ran round the walls. The room was evidently not in use, which was reassuring, as I feared vermin. A number of handsome bronze brasiers, and strange bowls and coffee-pots, were piled up in one corner, while another was occupied by a pile of cushions, principally covered in European cottons, and happily tolerably clean. Sunk into the walls were alcoves, in which scent-bottles and sprinklers, cups and saucers, and many other things in which the heart of the Oriental delights, were standing. But of all the pretty things with which the room was filled, the windows were certainly the most lovely. Except for two or three that closed with wooden shutters from the inside, they did not open, the place of glass being taken by alabaster. The effect of the light falling through the semi-opaque stone was soft and luxurious, a rosy yellow in colour. The slabs used for these windows vary in thickness, so that the light is regulated, and though in this particular instance they were of uniform depth, in other places I saw them richly carved in relief, so that the background was a monotone of yellow; but where the carving, principally geometric designs, was, a much deeper tone of colour was reflected, owing to the thickness of the material being greater. Such, then, were the quarters we took up in the house of Saïd el-Dhamari.
[Illustration: KARIAT EN-NEGIL.]