CHAPTER IV.

ACROSS THE TURKISH FRONTIER.

We had left the Amir of Bishi’s village some way behind when the sun rose the following morning. The track continues along the river-bed until the valley terminates in a steep ascent. However, the old-world Arabs have built a paved way up the slope, which renders its surmounting much easier than it otherwise would be,—not that it is by any means a simple process as it is. Scrambling up on foot, we reached the summit some time before the camels, and were able to rest for a time and watch the poor grunting brutes toiling in and out the intricate turns in the path; for it is a mere track winding through great piles of overturned rock, and along the edges of steep inclines. I found the ascent from the valley of Khoreiba to the summit to be over six hundred and fifty feet, giving us an altitude of nearly five thousand feet above the sea-level. The view looking back was a very lovely one. Below us lay the valley of Khoreiba, shut in with its precipitous walls of rock, under which, amongst green fields and shady trees, flowed the river, a streak of silver thread. Away beyond at the farther end of the valley one caught glimpses of the peaks of other mountains, rearing their fantastic heads into the clear morning sky.

When the camels caught us up we filled up our water-bottles at a spring of clear water and set off again. These water-bottles—_zemzemiya_ they call them in the Yemen, and in Morocco _guerba_ (plural _guerab_)—are a regular institution of Arab travel, nor would it be possible to proceed without them. They are made of leather, those in Arabia being cut into shape, while those of Morocco are the whole skins.

Now and then we would catch a glimpse of a herd of apes scampering away up the steep rocks with resounding grunts; but more often we could only hear their cries, for their colour does much to conceal them from view amongst the limestone rocks.

So cool and pleasant was the air at the elevation we had reached, that instead of remounting our camels, who, poor beasts, were tired with the rocky ascent, we strode out on foot. Leaving the village of Dar en-Nekil on our right, we passed through a gorge of low walls of rock, and then descended to the level of the plateau, which here extends for a considerable distance, broken now and again by rocky peaks and hills. This plateau, one with that on which Dhala is situated, may be said to circle round Jibel Jahaf, a limestone mountain situated just above the large village of Jelileh, where, although not within their frontier as delimitated, there is a small Turkish fort. The plain is well cultivated, and ploughing was in active progress at the time of my visit, besides being dotted with trees; but from the fact that the young corn had not yet commenced to push, the country looked somewhat barren and dreary.

Across the plateau all passage seems to be blocked by an immense range of mountains, one continued precipice without any apparent break. The range bears two names,—the eastern part Jibel Mrais, and the western Jibel Haddha. A few miles over the plain brought us to a steep ascent leading to the village of Jelileh. Although the absolute frontier of the Turks is at Kátaba, a town a few hours’ distance to the north-west, they have erected here a fort, and over a round tower perched on a hillock floated the red flag with its star and crescent.

[Illustration: _A Girl of the Yemen._]

One of my camel-men was a native of this village, and it was to please the good fellow that I decided to spend a night there, as otherwise I should have been tempted to push on and try to cross the frontier that day. Wishing to avoid as much attention as possible on the part of the inhabitants, I did not spend any time in the village street, but alighted from my camel at the door of the yard of my man’s house, and at once entered his abode. As a typical Yemen house of the poorer class, some description may not be out of place. Like all the dwellings in the highlands of the Yemen, it was built of solid squared stone, and consisted of two large towers, some thirty feet square at the base and twenty at the summit. The lower floor contained an arched stable, the roofing supported on pillars of stone. To the next storey an outside stairway led one. This floor contained a passage and two decent-sized rooms, the walls plastered on the inside and the ceiling made of wood. The floors, like the walls, were coated in cement. The staircase continuing led one on to the flat terraced roof, round which ran a stone wall some three feet high. The whole showed a great amount of labour and no little skill in its construction. The second tower was larger, but being put aside for the women, I did not of course see the interior of it. It contained, however, four storeys. Into one of these rooms in the men’s tower I was shown by my host, who, no sooner was this accomplished, was flying all over the place stirring up his womenfolk with entreaties and curses to prepare a meal befitting such a guest. Meanwhile from my window I could obtain a very good view of the surrounding country, ay, and more, of my host’s wives and daughters. How ugly they were! What little attraction nature might have given them was completely concealed under their artificial adornments. Their hair, plastered with butter over their foreheads in straight fringes, literally dripped with grease, while their copper skins were thick with paint the colour of red-lead, arranged in a triangle on either cheek, as well defined as is that of the clown in our Christmas pantomimes. Their loose upper garment was more attractive, being of dark-blue linen embroidered round the neck, sleeves, and edge in coloured silks; but to do away with any grace which this simple and classical garment might give them, they encased their legs in ill-fitting indigo trousers, with embroidery round the ankles. However, my host was evidently very proud of his ladies; for no sooner did he catch a glimpse of them peeping over the parapet of their apartments, or straining their heads out of the little windows, than he would shout vociferously to them to retreat, which they would do, again to reappear and continue their criticisms of the newly arrived stranger. Meanwhile the male relations of my camel-man had appeared, to join me in the feast which was being prepared,—men and youths and boys, nearly a score in all, who quite filled up the two rooms and passage of our apartments, while nearly every one brought his long straight pipe or his hubble-bubble, and there was a murmur and gurgling of water as we inhaled the cool smoke. Besides the guests who arrived to call we had other visitors, those tamest of wild beasts—the fleas. It is strange that while many an author has told of the friendly fellowship of the dog and the horse toward mankind, the intense love of companionship of the flea toward the human being has been neglected. There is no need to tame him artificially: the moment he is old enough to swallow food he becomes the friend of man—nay, more, he will never willingly part company with him, especially in Arabia. His only equal is the mosquito, and for affection he almost beats the flea. As I write these lines one has been settling on my hand, and on my refusing to notice him he called attention to his presence by a gentle nip—result, a large white lump; and when I tried playfully to catch him, he flew away: they always do.

On my next day’s march depended the success of my journey. Once across the Turkish frontier, I felt that unless any unforeseen event occurred I should reach my goal. But I knew how strict the orders were to allow no stranger to enter Turkish Yemen, lest news of the rebellion, which had for some months been disturbing the country, should leak out. However, I felt that I was attacking the least probable frontier of the country, and one where they would scarcely be expecting a stranger to attempt to enter.

A ride of only a few hours brought us the following day from Jelileh to the _jimerouk_ or custom-house of Kátaba, situated on the south side of the Wadi Esh-Shari, and about three miles distant from the town, which lies to the north, off the caravan-road. The ride was a short but a hot one, and except that all the plain was under plough, the country seemed dry and desolate. Away to the right could be seen the large village of Thoba, a collection of towers on a rocky hill, from which stand up prominently the white domes of a mosque and tomb, forming quite a landmark on a scene otherwise a monotone in yellow.

The buildings of the frontier custom-house consist of a low block, forming a fort and a large enclosure for the camels and mules of the caravan-owners, the whole covering a large extent of ground. The lower rooms of the main building are used as stores for the goods in transit, while the portion of the upper storey not inhabited by the officials is divided up into small rooms for the use of people passing and repassing, being let out on hire at so much per night. The whole place wore a depressing and a depressed look. For three months no caravans had passed over the roads, and trade was dull. The goods on their way up from Aden to Sanaa lay strewn about the place, as there were no means for their further transit. Three months before, the last caravan to go through had been looted, and a ransom of three hundred and sixty dollars had to be paid before the merchants had been released by the mountaineers.

It seemed strange to think that on that yellow building depended the success of my journey, and it was with anxious thoughts that I passed through its open gateway, by the side of which, in the depth of a cave-like chamber, an old Arab was brewing coffee. Dismounting in the yard, I sought a shady corner to sit down in while my men went and routed out the authorities. A few minutes later they appeared, and such a group they formed! First came an exceedingly dirty Turk in a filthy shirt and a well-worn pair of military trousers; following him appeared a gorgeous creature arrayed in purple and fine raiment, no less a person than the Sheikh Besaisi, well known for his influence amongst the Arab tribes, and by happy fortune a kinsman of the most disreputable and savage of my camel-men. His clothes, too, need description. On his bullet-shaped head he wore an immense yellow-and-crimson turban, wound round with a camel-hair and gold cord; flowing robes of dark-blue silk were fastened at the waist with a yellow sash, in which was stuck one of the most beautiful daggers I have ever seen. This _jambiya_ was of exquisite silver-work inlaid with gold Byzantine coins of the reign of Constantine. A few rough turquoises in the sheath gave a tint of colour to one of the most beautiful weapons I ever saw. I longed to make a bid for it; but I knew that should I ever mention so large a sum as its value, my chance of getting on would be so much the more diminished, for it was certain that I should be gently squeezed before being allowed to proceed, and that did I let out that I had any considerable sum of money with me, it would make the squeezing a more serious process, and perhaps prevent my getting on at all, and certainly announce to the world in general that I was worth robbing. Following the Besaisi crept a wizened man of perhaps some thirty-five years of age, dressed in the costume of the people of Mecca. These three were the officials of the _jimerouk_, though they resembled rather three characters of opera-bouffe.

Salutations over, I was asked to ascend, and a few minutes later found myself seated with my hosts in a small, stuffy, and very dirty room. They were too polite to ask straight out who I was, so I began to open the attack myself. I had been to Turkey; the man who had not seen Stamboul had never lived! Glorious Stamboul! All the world over it was a pleasure to meet the Turk; he was always a gentleman, always kind and polite; and how inexpressibly glad I was to meet the Turk before me he might imagine, after I had been travelling all the way from Aden with only camel-men and a couple of uneducated servants; and would he accept a box of cigarettes and an amber cigarette-holder, which I had brought from my little shop in Port Said with me,—where, by the by, my wife and children were starving—(signs of tears)—owing to this accursed rebellion; three months the coffee I had bought in Sanaa had been lying there, and for the dear wife and little ones’ sakes—(tears)—I was imperilling my life in these strange lands to get my coffee down: meanwhile my brother, a Greek like myself, was looking after the shop; and how delightful the Turks always were, &c., &c. So much for number one, my friend in the dirty shirt; now for number two.

Was this, then, the Sheikh Besaisi? No; it could not be that my infidel eyes were blessed with the sight of his honourable corpulency. His fame was all over the world. Port Said rang with his name. His honour, his boundless wealth—(exorbitant old tax-gatherer!)—his immense charities, were famous throughout all countries: indeed this was a blessed day for me. (Box of cigarettes and amber mouthpiece)—number two dead.

Whence came he, number three? No; it could not be that his family was from Fez. Mulai Idris, their patron saint, might he protect me! Had I known that I was destined to meet a Fez Moor here, I should have hurried up from Aden. Fez, every street of it, I knew, from the tomb of Sidi Ali bou Rhaleb to the Dar al Makhzen: and here was Abdurrahman, a Tangier Moor. How good the Deity had been in joining us together in the bonds of friendship!—cigarettes and amber mouthpiece; general embracings and _tableau_! _Exeunt_ officials. Screams of laughter from Saïd, which I had to choke by sitting on him on the top of my mattress, lest he should be heard—and then coffee.

No Englishman crossed the frontier into Turkish Yemen in January of 1892. No; the only stranger was a penurious Greek shopkeeper of Port Said, who rode his baggage-camel. He was attempting to reach Sanaa to obtain some loads of coffee he had bought; and so great was his love for his wife and children that he was running the risk of being murdered and plundered in order to obtain money to buy them food, and to save them from an untimely death from starvation. I think they believed my story: if they didn’t at first, a few dollars wisely expended proved to them that it was true, and after two days of artificial tears and real dollars permission was given me to proceed. But the squeezing was not quite at an end, and my rifle was taken from me, on account of no arms being allowed to enter the Yemen during the rebellion. For this I demanded and obtained a receipt, and eventually, after eight months’ delay, the rifle.[38] However, I would willingly have sacrificed anything I had at the time, so long as I was allowed to proceed. It was an anxious two days, for until within an hour or two before my leaving the _jimerouk_ I had not received any answer to my petition to be allowed to proceed.

At length they told me I might go on. Meanwhile Saïd had been at work. Our camels were tired, and he had arranged that only one should proceed, a couple of mules being supplied in the place of the other two. This my men agreed to, as they preferred to hire mules on, rather than have their camels attempt the next few days’ journey, one of the greatest difficulty, and which necessitated as silent and as quick marches as possible, as the country was in a most disturbed condition. Happily the contract which I had made at Aden stipulated that in country in which camels travelled with difficulty mules were to be supplied, and I had no trouble in having this carried out, although, unfortunately, only two mules were forthcoming. The simplicity with which my animals were changed for me seemed extraordinary; but the fact is that these caravan-roads are worked by “companies,” relays of animals being kept at various spots along the road for transporting goods from district to district or town to town.

No doubt the manner in which the country is split up into tribal districts makes this necessary, while again the natural features of the Yemen are such as to render it almost impossible to take the same animals for any great distance. For instance, the fleet camels of the Abdali of Foudtheli districts would be useless in the precipices and ascents of the country between Kátaba and Yerim; while the mountain-mules suffer exceedingly in desert-travelling, their feet sinking deep into the soft hot sand.

As soon as permission was granted me to proceed I was off. I did not wish to give the people in charge of the frontier any chance of changing their minds, so at mid-day, when they had all retired for their siesta, we sallied forth from the gate and entered Turkish Yemen.

[Illustration: _Village of Aredoah._]

I had told more untruths in the last forty-eight hours than I liked to think about; but, curious to say, my delight at having crept through was far more keen than any remorse I felt for my wickedness. The road does not enter the town of Kátaba, for which I was by no means sorry; for under the walls of the little place we could see a large Turkish camp pitched, that of the division of the army under Ismail Pasha, which had come on here after the retaking of Dhamar and Yerim, two of the larger cities of the central Yemen. Giving them a wide range, we soon were out of sight of the camp, and after crossing the Wadi Esh-Shari, we entered wild broken country, the foot-hills of the great range of mountains that appeared to block our way ahead. A sad incident happened before leaving the _jimerouk_. A poor Turk, whom I had noticed slouching about the place in rags, came to me just as I was leaving. Kissing my hand, he besought my protection in Turkish, which an Arab in the Osmanli service translated to me. His story was a pitiable one. He had been enrolled in the conscription from some village near Smyrna, and sent with his brother to fight in the Yemen. At length, after much fighting and many privations, he reached Kátaba, where the roll of the surviving troops was called. His name was not on the list, and it was found to have been a mistake that he ever left his native country. Ismail Pasha, then at Kátaba, commanded him to be stripped of his uniform and turned loose, on the ground that he was not a soldier of the Sultan’s at all. This was done, and the poor fellow wandered away, a stranger in a strange land, until the Sheikh Besaisi took pity on him, and fed him and clothed him (!) at the custom-house. He spoke no Arabic, and the Arab interpreting for him was the only one who spoke a word of his native tongue. He prayed me to take him on with me. This unfortunately was impossible. The presence of a Turk with me would render me very liable to danger from the Arabs; but I advised him to try and reach Aden, where, being as strong and good-looking a young fellow as ever lived, I felt sure he would get work, and in time find his way back. Beyond giving him the wherewithal to find his way to Aden, I was unable in any way to assist him.

Rough as the country we were passing through was, it presented here and there little patches and valleys rich in cultivation. In many places the scenery resembled a lovely garden. The lawns were barley, scarcely three inches high, while trees stood here and there about the fields. Little streams and pools of water added an effect of coolness, while the rocky hills were clothed in plants and flowers, noticeable amongst them being a scarlet-flowering aloe and a variety of the euphorbia. Great ant-heaps, some six and eight feet in height, stood like sugar-loaves amongst the rich vegetation. After a glorious sunset, night came quickly upon us, and the scenery was lost in the darkness.

On we plodded in the dark, our little mules carefully picking their way over the rough boulders and stones with which our path, now a river-bed, was strewn. The people of the surrounding tribes had taken advantage of the rebellion to throw off any form of government, and it was therefore necessary to proceed at night. Once or twice we could catch glimpses of their village-fires glowing far up on the steep mountain-sides, and now and again even catch the yelping of their dogs, whose quick ears had heard the footfall of our animals on the hard stones; but the villagers took no notice more than to shout to one another, their voices sounding far away and sepulchral in the thick darkness. The river-bed over which we were travelling commenced shortly to ascend, and the path was by no means an easy one to get along in safety.

“We must wait here for the men,” said an old Arab, an acquisition from the Besaisi. What men he meant I did not know, but as he seemed to be the recognised head of our caravan I refrained from asking. We dismounted and lit a fire in a hole in the rock, round which we clustered to warm ourselves at its welcome heat: not that it was allowed to blaze, for the Arab, fearful lest its glare should attract notice, kept damping the wood sufficiently to keep the blaze low without putting it out altogether.

For a time we waited, but there being no traces of “the men,” we left the burning embers as a sign that we had passed on, and continued our journey.

It was a picturesque scene this little halt of ours, with the dark figures of the half-nude Arabs, each one armed with a spear, bending over the glowing fire, and one that will not easily be forgotten. It was difficult to say which sparkled the most, their polished spear-heads or their glossy locks. Every now and again a bright flame would leap into the air in spite of our precautions, showing us that the cliff above was hung in clusters of feathery creepers, while strange aloes and cacti appeared in the crevices.

Rougher and steeper grew the road as we proceeded. At length in the middle of a rocky ascent a shout from behind, answered by one of the men, announced the arrival of the long-expected party, who had seen our signal and were following us; and a few minutes later, in the starlight, for the moon had not yet risen, we could discern dark shadows hurrying along after us on the track. A wild crew they were too, six or seven of them armed with matchlock-guns and spears. Of all the antiquated weapons I have come across upon my travels, these guns of the Yemen are the most curious. The stocks are straight, and end in a lump like a croquet-ball, which forms the shoulder-piece; the barrels are long, and nearly always rusty. A hole in the barrel communicates with a pan on the outside, into which a little loose powder is dropped. The trigger possesses no spring except a weak rebounding arrangement. The nipple is formed like a fork, into which slides the fuse, made of aloe-fibre and slow burning. When the trigger is pulled the “match” descends into the loose powder, and the gun may go off or no. The chances are about equal, I should think.

For an hour more we crept along the dark road. Thorny mimosas tore our clothes and baggage and the poor mules’ legs, and at places threatened to bar our passage altogether. Then we left the path, and descending by a steep rocky slope, we entered a deep nullah, half a mile or so along which a halt was called, and my guides informed me that this was to be our night’s resting-place. Fastening the strip of canvas sheeting, or rather such as remained of it after the sandstorm, over the boughs of a thorn-tree, as protection from the heavy dew, we lit a fire and set to work to cook our supper of tough old goat and rancid butter.

This bivouac in the ravine below the large village of Azab was the last night spent out in the open; for although we continued for the next few days to take advantage of the darkness to push through the most difficult country, we were able to rest in the _cafés_ of villages, and after Yerim, in the regular caravanserais, some of which had pretensions even to being clean and comfortable.

Next morning I was able to see more of my surroundings. We had spent the night in the rocky course of a stream, in some of the pools of which was water. Opposite us the hills rose almost precipitously, strewn with boulders, and here and there tangled in clumps of mimosa-trees and other thorny brushwood. Away up the nullah stood Azab, a village perched on the very summit of a high hill, a confusion of walls and towers.

We spent the day quietly under the little shade the scanty trees gave. A couple of the men went to the village to buy provisions, and returned with a bowl of rancid butter, bread of a thin consistency that would have served any purpose other than edible, from boot-soles to wrapping up parcels in, and a goat whose age was unfathomable. However, one cannot be too particular when travelling in such countries as the Yemen.

[Illustration: VIEW OF AZAB.]

At sunset our mules were packed, and we set off once more, creeping out of the nullah so as not to be seen from the village above, the inhabitants of which would be only too likely to take advantage of our position to go shares in my belongings—probably forgetting to give me my portion, unless they did so with one of their curved daggers. The last glow of daylight still hovered in the sky; the last rays of the setting sun still tinged with pink and purple and gold the huge jagged peaks of the mountains before us. Very grand it is, this range of limestone, torn into all manner of fantastic shapes, the peaks here resembling some bewitched feudal castle, there the tapering spire of a cathedral.

The track was as rough as usual, and constant short ascents and descents rendered our progress very slow. When darkness was complete, except for the glimmer of the stars, our men called a halt, and ranging themselves in line upon the soft white sand of a stream-bed, cried “Allah Akbar,” and rose and fell with monotonous motion in prayer. Wild shadows they appeared in their nudeness and shaggy locks,—wild shadows that some fevered brain might imagine; but the odour of the rancid butter and oil on their hair proved their reality. No decent ghost would smell as they did.

Enjoining silence on every one, the men lit the fuses of their guns, and a couple going ahead to keep a sharp look-out, we pushed on. Like the glow of cigarette-ends, I could follow the spark of their guns as they crept along.

The valley becomes more distinct as one proceeds, the mountains closing in on either side, leaving but little level ground beyond the absolute course of the stream, and that was uneven enough. Hanging over the river-banks were trees and thick undergrowth, but the darkness prevented one seeing anything but their outline. At length our path seemed abruptly to end. Here a halt was called and we dismounted. From this point commenced an ascent I shall never forget. A winding path, a mere track in the face of the precipices, climbs the mountain-side until an elevation of over eight thousand feet above the sea-level is reached. The night was as yet moonless, and one could scarcely see a step in front of one, and it was bitterly cold. Lightening the animals as much as possible by dividing the baggage amongst the men, every one taking his share, except Abdurrahman, who carried my shot-gun, we commenced the ascent. Any moment man or beast might have made a false step and alighted somewhere in the valley beneath. Not only was the ascent trying, but it must be also remembered that we were now in rebel country, and that our discovery would mean certain death, to myself if not to all of us. The very tribe whose lands we were entering, the Kabyla el-Owd,[39] had only a few months before thrown off the Turkish yoke, and celebrated their day of independence by cutting up their Sheikh into small pieces and distributing him over the country, as a warning to others. Our party, including our new retinue supplied by El-Besaisi, numbered in all some ten persons; but with the exception of my shot-gun and revolver we had no weapons worth considering as such, unless it came to hand-to-hand fighting, when ten-foot-spears may be useful. However, our numbers made any attack from a small party improbable. Up and up we toiled, often on all-fours. We had not ascended many hundreds of feet before we found that our remaining camel was perfectly incapable of surmounting the difficulties of the road, while his constant mumblings and gruntings threatened every moment to bring the natives upon us, and already we could hear their dogs barking in the villages below. Once or twice, too, men called to one another, and lights could be seen moving about. Then we would lie still and hold our animals so as to ensure silence. At length it was decided to send the camel back, and two of the men undertook the job, trusting to be out of danger’s way before daylight. This made extra weights for the men and mules, but they cheerily lifted their burdens and our scramble recommenced.

I began to think the ascent would never end. Steeper and steeper it became, until, two hours after commencing, and having climbed over two thousand feet in that time, we reached the summit, where on a ledge of rock some humane person has built a well to rejoice the heart of man and beast with its cool waters. Here we rested for ten minutes, but more time we could not spare, tired as we were, for a long march had yet to be covered before dawn. Passing through a gorge at the height of eight thousand one hundred feet above the sea-level, we began once more to descend; and scrambling down through thick undergrowth and over loose rolling stones, we reached the level of a valley, along which our road now lay, and through which flows the Wadi el-Banna, a large stream which reaches the sea, when flooded, at Ras Seilan, some thirty miles north-east of Aden. How the apes chattered and roared as we disturbed their night’s rest; and every now and then we could hear the stones rattling under their feet as they scampered away. Collecting our little band together, and examining our weapons, we continued our march in silence through the strongholds of the Kabyla el-Owd.