Volume One—Chapter Thirty.

Field of Extinct Volcanoes. Oasis of Yoor Era?n Mároo.

Singular and interesting indeed is the wild scenery in the vicinity of the treacherous oasis of Sultélli. A field of extinct volcanic cones, vomited forth out of the entrails, of the earth, and encircled each by a black belt of vitrified lava, environs it on three sides; and of these, Mount Abida, three thousand feet in height, whose yawning cup, enveloped in clouds, stretches some two and half miles in diameter, would seem to be the parent. Beyond, the still loftier crater of Aiúlloo, the ancient landmark of the now decayed empire of Ethiopia, is visible in dim perspective; and looming hazily in the extreme distance, the great blue Abyssinian range towards which the steps of the toil-worn wayfarers were directed—now for the first time visible—arose in towering grandeur to the skies.

Overwhelmed by violent subterranean convulsion and commotion, which, reversing the order of things, has again and again altered the former appearance, the face of the country for miles around the base of the larger volcanoes, presents one sheet of lava. Activity would not appear to have extended much beyond the immediate neighbourhood of each; but there is a connection between the whole cluster visible in small lava streams and a vast quantity of volcanic débris, converted into humus, in the adjacent valleys. Yet it is by no means apparent that these alone have contributed to form the present surface, the south-eastern side of the field terminating in much older formation of wacke. Neither would any one of the craters appear to have very lately poured out the fiery stream. Ibrahim Shehém Abli indeed deposed with an oath to having seen Father Abida in flames about twelve years previously; but, on further investigation, there seemed reason to believe that the conflagration he witnessed must have been confined to the long grass with which portions of the steep sides are clothed.

The well-timed deluge of rain which fell during the night had been so eagerly drunk by the thirsty desert, that when the morning dawned the only traces of the storm were presented in numberless channels left by the torrent, with here and there a muddy pool, around which the guinea-fowl were still rallying in clamorous troops. Every portion of the road having been saturated, and rendered far too heavy for the jaded camels, advance was of necessity delayed until noon, by which time they had become sufficiently dry to admit of the resumption of the journey. A bare alluvial plain, skirting the base of the Kóomi range, led to a few acacia trees of larger growth than had heretofore been seen. They occupied a hollow styled Ras Mittur, which is the point of union of the two roads from Killulloo, and hence the caravan struck off across a grassy plain, abounding in herds of graceful mhorr. The course followed the eastern border of the field of truncated cones; and in the fresh green hue of the bushes with which the cindery tract is studded, was afforded abundant proof of the fertility of its decomposed lava.

Passing a cluster of Bedouin huts, whose inmates were watching their grazing herds of milch camels, the road next threaded a narrow belt of verdant jungle. This suddenly opened into the wide plain of Moolu, studded in every direction with flocks of sheep and goats, assembled from all parts of the country round; and in a deep hollow in the very centre lay the attraction—the oasis of Yoor Era?n Mároo, a noble sheet of water surrounded by a belt of hillocks, and measuring during even this season of drought, a full mile in diameter. It was indeed a sight most refreshing to the eye. Troops of waterfowl of various plumage sailed over its glassy surface. Birds chattered amongst the autumnal branches of the numerous trees, whose tall stems, half immersed, rose thickly in the centre, and the cool waters of the basin afforded to the weary and travel-stained pilgrims the first unlimited supply of pure liquid that had been revelled in since bidding adieu to the shores of India.

In so sultry a land, where, throughout the desert and forbidding plain. Nature has dispensed the first necessary of life with a most niggard hand, those pools which have not a constant supply of running water soon become adulterated by various decompositions of organic and inorganic matter. Wacke cannot resist any long exposure, and hence fluid in contact with it imbibes oxide of iron and muriate of soda; whilst flocks and herds, corrupting the element in a still more offensive manner, not only impart a fetid taste and smell, but stir up the deposited mud, which emits a volume of sulphuretted hydrogen. Yoor Era?n Mároo was free from all these impurities, and its reservoir affords a never-failing supply; but the surrounding country is said during the wet season to be extremely unhealthy, violent storms and incessant rain compelling the shepherds to abandon the plains and wadies, and retreat with their flocks to the neighbouring mountains.

From Waramilli to Moolu, the country is chiefly occupied by the sub-tribes of Débeni, under the chiefs Beedur and Boo Bekr Sumbhool, the latter of whom usually resides at Hamoosa, and the former at Doomi or Sultélli. Although not always to be trusted, these wanderers appear under a friendly garb; but the lion-hearted guides and escort, with Izhák at their head, had, from the first moment of leaving Killulloo, been doing their utmost to impress upon the minds of their audience the extreme danger to be apprehended on this portion of the road, from the various wild hordes now adjacent, whom they painted as perfect dare-devils.

“The Galla are pagans,” quoth Ibrahim Shehém Abli with a bigoted sneer, “and, uncircumcised knaves that they are, never heard either of Allah or the Holy Prophet; and as for the Muda?to, although nominally Moslems, they have little more religion than their infidel neighbours. But wait until I get an opportunity,” he added, with a caper and a sardonic grin, as he unsheathed his creese for the purpose of going through the figure of disembowelment, “only wait until I find an opportunity, and, Inshállah, we shall square accounts.”

Many were the harrowing tales that had been called to mind by the first loom of the Abyssinian mountains, touching the toil-worn traveller, who, having surmounted all the perils and privations of the road, and arrived within sight of the promised land, had been cut off at the very last step towards the goal. Perpetual strife is waged betwixt the Galla and Muda?to, and the plain of Moolu forming a sort of neutral ground between the countries inhabited by the rival clans, it proves one continual scene of foray and bloodshed. The heathen, watching like hawks from the tops of trees and eminences, pounce, whenever opportunity offers, upon the flocks and herds of the true believers: retaliation is not slow to follow, and thus the feud is well and incessantly sustained.

During the latter part of the march, the Ras el Káfilah was nearly thrown into hysterics by the sudden desertion of one of his charge, who, in defiance of the thraldom, which rendered all more like prisoners than freemen, had made up his mind to dine that night upon venison, and had accordingly taken up arms against the alluring herds of sleek and timid antelope that, with white discs on their cruppers, bounded in all directions before the advancing string of camels. Repeated interrogatories of “Fein tóro?” “whither are you going?” were launched in a commanding tone of voice after the truant, without eliciting the smallest attention or reply. A shot was fired—a fat buck fell—and the successful Nimrod, dismounting, proceeded to secure the spoils; an operation which brought from their occupation in the adjacent pasture, two ancient Bedouin crones in wrinkles and leathern aprons, to be spectators of the dissection.

Izhák was old and captious, and not seeing very clearly, the apparition was too much for his shattered nerves. “Allah, Allah!” he peevishly exclaimed, seizing his broad-headed spear from the hand of his henchman, and violently kicking the flanks of his jaded mule towards the spot; “merciful Providence, what childish folly is this? Is the commander a babe that he thus trifles with the safety of the caravan? I did fancy that he possessed some sense, but this is positively the act of a madman. Look at those Buddoos, they will cut his throat immediately, and then we shall have a pretty blood feud, involving the lives of half a dozen Danákil.”

Despite of all the twaddling old blockhead could do to prevent it, the haunch was nevertheless brought in, and its appearance hailed with considerable delight. But it might almost as well have been abandoned to the vultures of the air, since the Persian cook, who had taken alarm at the menace extended to Quilp in the prosecution of his kennel duties, peremptorily refused to convert the venison into kabábs, upon the grounds that the knife of the true believer had not passed across the throat of the victim.

“Whose dog is Hajji Abdállah Kurmani?” he exclaimed in tones that might have been believed to issue from a dilapidated bagpipe; “whose dog is he, I repeat,” throwing the haunch upon the ground, “that he should be invited to deal with any such abomination? Allah and his Prophet defend us, but the Hajji would as soon think of polluting himself with the touch of the unclean beast.”

This spirited public declaration was by the Moslem audience received with the rapturous applause it claimed; and the worthy pilgrim, fairly carried away by the over-boiling of his virtuous indignation, was actually proceeding to wreak his last vengeance upon the venison, when arbitrary measures were adopted, which resulted in the imposition of twenty-four hours’ fast in excess of the many inflicted by the apostle whose shrine he had visited at the holy city.

Now the Hajji bore a striking personal resemblance to Hudibras, and like that hero, regarded discretion as being the better part of valour. Since the melancholy disaster at Goongoonteh, he had encumbered himself with a musket and a modicum of cartridges; but even by his warmest admirers it must be confessed that there had never in his demeanour been observed the slightest indication of a design to throw himself away by rash exposure. Entertaining the highest respect for himself, the prudent son of Irán was rarely heard to speak of Hajji Abdállah save in the respectful third person singular. The words of Ibrahim Shehém had sunk deep into his soul, and after the affair of the venison, it was not a little diverting to hear him, in his wonted croaking accents, apostrophise the folly and the infatuation which had prompted him to brave the wilds of unexplored Africa.

“Hajji Abdállah was never taxed with lack of common sense,” he exclaimed musingly in self-reproach. “Allah knows there be many greater blockheads in this sublunary world than his servant the Hajji. Is it not wonderful that the chief cook to Khwajah Mohammad Rahim Khan Shirázi, and master, too, of recipes for no fewer than nine-and-thirty piláos, should have proven himself such an ass, such a son of a burnt father, as voluntarily to get in the way of abuse for refusing to kabáb unhallowed meat which died without the knife or the Bismillah; and, worse still, in the way of having his own throat divided every minute of each day and night by these bloodthirsty infidels? ‘La houl willah koowut illah billah ali ul-azeem,’ ‘there is no power nor virtue save in God.’ What true believer in the fair province of Kurmán would ever have suspected Hajji Abdállah of bringing his beard to so vile a market?”