Volume Two—Chapter Six.

Debra Berhán, the Hill of Glory.

In Shoa the preliminaries of a journey are replete with noise, inconvenience, and confusion. Friends come to “see you off,” as an indispensable piece of etiquette, and the lounging townspeople, who have at no time much business of their own, flock to assist the traveller by filling the court-yard, choking the door-way, and amusing themselves by canvassing the property packed. Should rain be falling, which is too frequently the case, the rabble take shelter inside the house, subject every article within their reach to the pollution of greasy paws, leave the carpet an inch thick in mire, and, unless by dint of shoving and elbowing, debar all egress to the lawful proprietor.

It was in the midst of attentions such as these on the part of the idlers of Ankóber, on a raw, cold, foggy morning in September—the last of the Ethiopic year—that we took the road to Debra Berhán. The sun was already high when the sure-footed mules were mounted, and as the retiring mist scudded over the face of the mountains, many were the bold beauties revealed. Cascades tumbled down the stupendous range on the one hand, amid snug houses and tufted knolls, and on the other, at the foot of perpendicular crags thundered the river Airára. On its bank stands the only piece of machinery in the kingdom—a rude watermill constructed by an Albanian visitor; but the intolerant and ignorant priesthood pronouncing the revolution of the wheel to be the work of devils and genii, its use was interdicted after three days, and it has since remained silent.

Beyond the ford of the foaming torrent the road becomes extremely rough, steep, and difficult. The first traveller had been unable to breast the mountain side outright; and his zigzag route remains untouched by the hand of the pioneer. The craggy rock must be surmounted, and the narrow and slippery channel be still threaded with the same risk as when the first bold foot was planted on the serrated ridge; and the torrent of centuries, whilst indenting the furrow yet deeper, has added the impediment of slimy residuum.

The range whereof the Chaka forms a part divides the streams that flow into the Nile, from those which are tributary to the Háwash; and the ascent above Ankóber being not less than two thousand feet, the difference in temperature on the summit was fully perceptible. Half an hour was occupied in the scramble to a crumbling basaltic pillar styled “Room dingai,” “the standing stone,” which very aptly transfers its name to this most indifferent pass to the new capital of Shoa. Mamrat still towered overhead full three or four thousand feet, making its total height above the level of the sea at least thirteen thousand; yet is snow a stranger to its cloud-capped summit, and indeed to the language of all Amhára, south of the cold mountains of Simien.

It is from June to September that old Father Nilus carries plenty into “the land of marvels”—and rolling on to its mouths in solitary grandeur, without receiving a single tributary in its long course of thirteen hundred and fifty nautical miles below the junction of the Tacazzé, it may fairly be stated that Abyssinia holds in her Christian hands the inexhaustible riches of Egypt. Hatzé Tekla Ha?manót the Great, had therefore reason on his side when, in the beginning of the twelfth century, he wrote under the style of “Son of the King of the Church of Ethiop to the Pacha and the Lords Commanders of the Militia at Grand Cairo, desiring attention to the fact that in himself for the time being was vested power to render the Nile an instrument of vengeance for overt acts of hostility—the Almighty having given into his hands its fountains, its passage, and its increase, and thus entrusted him with power to make the river work good or evil.”

Among the numberless fictions recorded of this emperor, it is said that when he was about to relinquish the cares of government in order to retire to a cloister, he divided his countless wealth with his feet into two parts, the one designed as an offering to the Church, the other to be distributed in alms among the poor: and both heaps, although mountain high, were, on being weighed, found exactly equal. Lalíbela, one of his successors, is believed to have attempted the diversion to the Indian Ocean and to the Lake Zooai, of all those principal tributaries to the Nile which take their source in the highest table land. The measure was in resentment for the persecutions exercised towards the Christians in Egypt after the Saracen conquest, and the monarch was only induced to relinquish his gigantic project by the earnest remonstrance of the monks, who strongly urged the impolicy of fertilising the arid Moslem countries that intervene betwixt the mountains and the sea.

On the summit of the Chaka commences an uninterrupted terrace, stretching hundreds of miles to the southward, through the fair territories of the Galla. Glimpses of blue sky, of a brightness unseen for months, now gave happy presage of coming fine weather, and a cold bracing breeze from the eastward announced the termination of the protracted season of rain. The country had assumed the uninteresting character inseparable from elevated downs—rich swampy meadows, clothed with camomile, clover, and trefoil, and covered with oxen, horses, and sheep, being intersected by gentle undulations of moor-land, with occasional oviform hills. Bare-banked rills, streaming through the lower tracts, succeed each other in quick succession, and drain the table-land to the sources of the Beréza; whilst the great extent of ground under cultivation, waving crops of wheat, beans, and barley, with independent farm-houses scattered over the face of the landscape, proclaim a government which cannot be of a very bad description, and regions long exempt from the presence of an inimical power.

Across the Toro Mesk, the principal streamlet that intersects the road, and the sources of which are visible at a great distance to the north-east, is a rude pile of stones bearing the dignified appellation of “the King’s Bridge.” Johannes, the Armenian architect, received the hand of a high-born dame in reward of his skill, and by no foot save that of the despot, is the barred entrance ever passed. Two other bridges, upon the same primitive principle, have since been constructed over nameless but rapid rivulets, and if not very durable, they serve greatly to facilitate the royal progress at periods when the country is inundated.

During the reign of the sire and grandsire of the present monarch, the entire tract between Ankóber and Debra Berhán was in the hands of the heathen Galla; and Tenna Káloo, the last daring chieftain who disputed its possession, has left in the minds of the present generation the recollection of the prowess in arms that he evinced to their fathers, numbers of whom fell in the strife. Not a tree, nor even a shrub higher than the Abyssinian thistle, is to be seen, save here and there a solitary “cosso,” whose venerable boughs, the witnesses of idolatrous rites, mark the ancient site of villages now gone to decay. Flourishing Christian hamlets have risen in their stead; yet the visible population is small, and the long naked sweeping plains, silent and lonesome, present a stern and melancholy appearance, which the absence of groves and hedges and singing birds tends materially to heighten. The vulture and the eagle are alone seen wheeling above the green cliffs, or a solitary buzzard soaring in quest of his prey over the great sheets of cultivation. Shepherds, wearing high conical hempen caps, lay ensconced, with their large shaggy dogs, under the shelter of knolls and caves; and in some few of the fields, where last year’s crops were yet unhoused, or the land remained untilled, the peasantry pursued their industrious occupation.

At length the monotonous view opened over a wide plateau sloping gently to the west. The blue peaks of Sallála Moogher, beyond which flows the infant Nile, rose faintly in the distance, and the intervening country, still destitute of wood, was traversed by broad, broken, precipitous ravines. On a hill to the northward is visible the extensive market-place of Bool Worki, “the cave of gold,” a great mart for horses, mules, and woollen cloths, which, with grain, asses, and horned cattle, are brought every Saturday by the adjacent Galla tribes. and, when sold, pay a heavy duty to the crown. To account for the name of the place, there is a tradition extant, that in days of yore, many holy arks with vast quantities of the purest gold were deposited by the emperors of Ethiopia in a certain deep cave having a bottomless lake interposed to save them from the grasp of the avaricious. Its waters form the abode of a legion of evil spirits, whose Alaka gratuitously exhibited himself one market-day, mounted upon an ambling mule loaded with massive golden trappings, and attended by a black cat wearing about its neck a bell of the same costly metal—a sight quite sufficient to deter intrusion on the part of the curious.

A cluster of white-roofed houses, straggling beyond the walled palace and the church of the Holy Trinity—long indistinctly visible—now rose rapidly to view; and a small eminence having been ascended, the goal was presently attained. As we passed the royal lodge, a page mounted on one of the king’s horses rode forth to reconnoitre, and, taking a hasty glance, galloped off to make his report. The customary announcement through an Afero, who has always access to the palace, elicited a pair of monstrous Galla rams, which were thrust into observation while the message which follows—one strictly in accordance with Abyssinian etiquette—was delivered with shoulders bare by him to whom it had been confided:—“Are you well? Are you well? Are you well? Have you been quite well since our last interview? Are you all well? Have my children had a good journey? Have they entered in safety? My love amounts to heaven and earth; therefore the king said, they might eat these sheep.”

Awnings, wrought of goats’ hair, and resembling the black tents of Kedar, had meanwhile been erected for us on the green-sward, and we had no sooner taken up our quarters than there came, by a succession of maids of honour, bread in wicker baskets, old hydromel in coloured decanters, pots of honey, and compliments in profusion from the queen. Many of the courtiers visited us in the evening, too evidently fresh from the royal banquet, which is daily spread in the great hall, and from which few ever rise in a state of sobriety—their amount of friendship professed, and the modicum of flattery that they bestowed, being in the exact ratio of the potations swallowed during their revel. Glimmering lights soon illumined the straggling hamlet—dancing and singing occupied both sexes of the inhabitants—and with almost as much pomp and ceremony as in more civilised lands, the departed year was consigned to its last long resting-place in the relentless tomb of Time.