Volume One—Chapter Six.

Cast Anchor at Tajúra on the African Coast.

A scraggy, misshapen lad, claimed by Aboo Bekr as his own most dutiful nephew, now paddled alongside in a frail skiff, the devil dancing in his wicked eye; and having caught the end of a rope thrown by the doting uncle, he was on board in another instant.

During a former cruise of the “Euphrates,” this imp had contrived to pass on the purser a basket of half-hatched eggs, which he warranted “new laid,” but with which he was subsequently pelted over the gangway. On being greeted as “Sahib el bayzah,” “the master of the eggs,” and asked if he had not brought a fresh supply for sale, grinning archly, he dragged forward by the topknot a dull, stupid, little wretch—his messmate—whose heavy features formed the exact reverse of his own impudent animation. “Here,” he exclaimed, “is the identical young rascal of whom I told you I bought them; he actually stole the whole from under his mother’s hen, and then assured me that they were fresh.” “Why don’t you grow taller as well as sharper?” enquired the party upon whom the precocious child of the sea had imposed; “’tis now twelve months since you cheated me, and you are as diminutive a dwarf as ever.”

“How can any one thrive who is starved,” was the prompt reply; “were I to eat as immoderately as you do, I doubt not I should soon grow as corpulent.”

But the arrival of Ali Shermárki shortly changed this desultory conversation to weightier matters. This worthy old man, she?kh of the Somauli tribe Aber Gerhájis, possessing great influence and consideration among the entire Danákil population of the coast, had been invited from Zeyla, his usual place of residence, to assist in the extensive preparations making for the journey of the Embassy; and he now represented the requisite number of camels to be on their way down from the mountains, if the assurances of the owners, upon whose word small reliance could be pieced, were to be implicitly believed.

Long faithfully attached to the British government, the sheikh’s first introduction arose out of a catastrophe which occurred many years ago—the loss of the merchant brig “Mary Anne” at Berbera, a sea-port on the Somauli coast, lying immediately opposite to the peninsula of Aden. Deserted from October till March, it becomes, throughout the residue of the year, one uninterrupted fair, frequented by ships from the Arabian shores, by rapacious Banians from India, and by caravans of wandering savages from all parts of the interior—a vast temporary city or encampment, populated by not fewer than fifty thousand souls, springing into existence as if by the magic aid of Aladdin’s lamp, and disappearing so suddenly, that within a single week, not one inhabitant is to be seen. Yet another six months, and the purse-proud merchant of Hurrur is again there, with his drove of comely slaves newly exported from the highlands of Abyssinia. There, too, is the wild pagan, displaying coffee, peltries, and precious gums from beyond Gurágue; and, punctual as ever, see the káfilah from the distant gurriahs of Amín and Ogáden, a nomade band, laden with ivory and ostrich plumes, and stained from head to foot, both in person and in garment, by the impalpable red dust traversed during the long march from the southward.

Religious prejudices on the part of the wily Hindoo precluding all traffic in live stock, the Somauli shepherd retains in his own hand the sale of his black-headed flocks; embarked with which in his frail bark of fifty tons, he stands boldly across the gulf, at seasons when the Arab fears even to creep along the coast of the Hejáz. All other trade, however, is engrossed by the subtle Banian, who divides the adductor pollicis of the right thumb, in order to increase the span by which his wares are to be measured; and he, during many years, has enjoyed, silently and unobserved, the enormous profits accruing from the riches annually poured out from the hidden regions of Africa. No form of government regulates the commerce; and, in the absence of imposts, barter is conducted solely through the medium of a native broker styled Abán, who, receiving a regulated percentage upon purchases and sales, is bound, at the risk of his own life, to protect his constituent from injury or outrage.

A vessel standing towards the coast proves a signal to all who gain their livelihood by this system, to swim off, and contest first arrival on board; the winner of the aquatic race, in accordance with ancient usage, being invariably received as her Abán. Thus it was that Ali Shermárki became agent to the “Mary Anne,” a small English merchantman from Mauritius, whose captain, imprudently landing with the greater portion of his crew, afforded to a party of knavish Somauli an opportunity to cut the cable, when she drifted on shore and was lost. Hoping by his influence to prevail upon the plunderers to desist, the Abán, then a younger man, exerted himself to gain the wreck, but he was repulsed by a shower of spears, and his boat was swamped. A savage rabble next beleaguered his dwelling, and imperiously demanded the persons of the officers and crew, in order to put them to death; but, true to his charge, Ali Shermárki stoutly resisted, and being severely wounded, succeeded with his blood in securing honourable terms, and preserving the lives for which he had made himself responsible. His zealous integrity was duly rewarded by the British Government, and a sword was presented in token of his gallantry, the display of the brilliant setting of which led to the narration of the foregoing history.

The passage from Aden had been made in forty-two hours. As the cable of the “Euphrates” ran through the hawse-holes, and the rest of the squadron feu into their places betwixt herself and the shore, she fired a salute of five guns; and, after considerable delay, a negro was perceived timidly advancing with a lighted brand from among a knot of grey-bearded elders, seated in deep consultation beneath the scanty foliage of an ancient date tree. A superannuated 4 Pr., honey-combed throughout its calibre, and mounted upon a rickety ship carriage, tottered on the beach—the sole piece of ordnance possessed by Sultán Mohammad ibn Mohammad, reputed ruler of all the Danákil tribes. It was, after much coaxing, persuaded to explode in reply to the compliment paid, and for some minutes afterwards, wreaths of white smoke continued to ascend from the chimney-like vent, as though the venerable engine had taken fire, and was being consumed internally.

The commander of the “Euphrates,” whose naval functions were now temporarily suspended, having long enjoyed the honour of a personal acquaintance with the potentate bearing the above pompous and high-sounding title, repaired forthwith to the palace, which consists of the stern moiety of the ill-starred “Mary Anne,” tastily erected, keel uppermost, in the middle of the town, to serve as an attic story. Letters of introduction from the political authorities at Aden, with many complimentary speeches, duly delivered, permission to land was solicited; and although the formidable array of shipping, whose guns, not two hundred yards distant, sullenly overlooked the royal lodge, had given birth to certain misgivings, the Sultán finally overcame his fears, and acquiesced in the arrangement. A spot of waste land, forming a common near the mosque, was pointed out as the site upon which to encamp, but the favour was granted with this express understanding, that the British Embassy should tarry in so enviable a situation, not one moment longer than the exigencies of the service imperatively demanded; a saving clause in the stipulation to which all parties heartily subscribed.

The bay in which the “Euphrates” now rode, styled, from its wonted smoothness, “Bahr el Bánateen,” “the sea of the two nymphs,” is a deep narrow estuary, bounded by a bold coast, and extending, in a south-westerly direction, about forty-five miles, when the Eesah and Danákil shores suddenly converge so as to form a straitened channel, which imparts the figure of an hour-glass. Barely three quarters of a mile across, this passage is divided by a barren rocky islet styled “Báb,” “the door,” as occupying the gateway to the inner bay of Góobut el Kharáb, “the basin of foulness.” The vortices formed by the strong tide setting through these confined apertures, assume a most dangerous aspect; and although the water in the bowl, whereof the longer axis measures twelve, and the shorter five miles, is so intensely salt as to create a smarting of the skin during immersion, mud adhering to the lead at one hundred fathoms, is perfectly sweet and fresh. Of four islets, two are rocks; Bood Ali, on the contrary, three hundred feet in height, and perfectly inaccessible, being thickly encrusted with earth and vegetable matter, whilst the sides of its nearest neighbour. Hood Ali, are bare, and present unequivocal traces of more recent volcanic action than are to be found in the surrounding débris.

Immediately outside the bay, on the Danákil coast, there issues from the rock below high water line, a spring which, at the flood tide, is completely effaced; but during the ebb is so intensely hot, that a crab is instantly destroyed and turned red by immersion. At the western extremity of Goobut el Kharáb, a cove three hundred yards in diameter, with sixteen fathoms water, is enclosed by precipitous volcanic cliffs, and the entrance barred by a narrow coral reef, which, at low tide, lies high and dry. In the waters of this recess is presented one of those strange phenomena which are not to be satisfactorily explained. Always ebbing, there is an underflow during even the flood tide; and usually glassy smooth, they become occasionally agitated by sudden ebullition, boiling up in whirlpools, which pour impetuously over the bar; whence the natives, persuaded that there exists a subterranean passage connected with the great Salt Lake, of which the sparkling expanse is visible from an intervening high belt of decomposing lava, term the cove “Mirsa good Ali,” “the source of the sea.”