SEVENTEEN TRIPS THROUGH SOMÁLILAND

The Author and his Escort.

From a Photograph taken at the noon bivouac, Ambal River, Habr Toljaala country, March 1891.

The exposure of the plate was carried out by a Somáli.

SEVENTEEN TRIPS
THROUGH
SOMÁLILAND

A RECORD OF EXPLORATION & BIG GAME
SHOOTING, 1885 to 1893

BEING THE NARRATIVE OF SEVERAL JOURNEYS IN THE HINTERLAND OF THE
SOMÁLI COAST PROTECTORATE, DATING FROM THE BEGINNING
OF ITS ADMINISTRATION BY GREAT BRITAIN
UNTIL THE PRESENT TIME
WITH DESCRIPTIVE NOTES ON THE WILD FAUNA OF THE COUNTRY,

BY
CAPTAIN H. G. C. SWAYNE, R.E.
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY
CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS

LONDON
ROWLAND WARD AND CO., LIMITED
‘THE JUNGLE,’ 166 PICCADILLY
1895

All rights reserved

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
TO MY
BRAVE AND INTELLIGENT
SOMÁLI FOLLOWERS

PREFACE

Somáliland, the new British Protectorate, is in some respects one of the most interesting regions of the African Continent. In the present daily life of its natives we have represented to us something of the wandering patriarchal existence of Biblical times. The country contains ruins which probably date back to a period of very ancient civilisation. It is, moreover, the threshold to the mysterious nomad Gálla tribes who inhabit the land between the Gulf of Aden and the Great African Lakes. Somáliland is the home of most varieties of African large game, and affords one of the best and most accessible of hunting-grounds to be found at the present time.

In the intervening years, between 1884 and 1893, professional duties necessitated my undertaking several journeys in Somáliland, with the object of exploration. In the intervals between these journeys I devoted my periods of leave to hunting in that country. During a period of nine years I undertook seventeen separate journeys to the interior, and so became familiar with the chief elements of interest to be found there. At the outset of my travels my age was twenty-five. I enjoyed absolute freedom of movement, and at this period had full control of a small escort of Indian cavalry. The sense of responsibility, and the prospect of exploring new country, filled me with delight and awakened my faculties. When I first entered the interior of Somáliland, in 1885, it was practically an untraversed country; and hitherto, though unjustly so, it had always borne the reputation of being the desert home of bigoted and ferocious savages.

My principal object in writing this book is to present phases of life in nomadic North-East Africa, and to supply detailed information of a nature that might prove useful to travellers and sportsmen who wish to visit that country. As my brother and I have always been pioneering, the men who have followed in our footsteps have naturally had better opportunities for sport than we had, and I only give such of my more successful sporting experiences as will assist me in my main object of giving a general portrait of the country.

With reference to the following pages of my book, I would say that I merely present a collection of facts. To write a continuous narrative of my movements, in a manner to hold the interest of the reader throughout, requires a special literary gift such as I do not possess. The careful notes of all that came within the observation and experience of my brother and myself, during our ten thousand miles of wanderings with camel caravans, are here collected and presented in their most simple form. Most of the illustrations are direct reproductions of my own drawings, representing incidents I have seen, for the artistic merit of which I must beg my readers’ indulgence.

My thanks are due to Brigadier-General J. Jopp, C.B., A.D.C., British Resident at Aden; and to Lieut.-Colonel E. V. Stace, C.B., Political Agent and Consul for the Somáli Coast; and to many officers of the Aden Political Staff under whom I have been employed, or with whom I have been associated, for many kindnesses and hospitalities extended to me in Aden and the Somáli Coast ports; and to my brother, Captain E. J. E. Swayne, 16th Bengal Infantry, for the use of his journals and sketches, for all his valuable and indefatigable assistance, to say nothing of his saving my life in a plucky and skilful manner under circumstances the difficulty of which only sportsmen can fully appreciate. My best thanks are also due to Prince Boris Czetwertynski and Mr. Seton Karr for having given me permission to reproduce some of their beautiful and artistic photographs; to Captain H. M. Abud, Assistant Resident at Aden, for many hospitalities, and for his kindness in having supplied me with the historical notes given in the first chapter.

I am also greatly indebted to Lieut.-General E. F. Chapman, C.B., Director of Military Intelligence, and to Lieut.-Colonel J. K. Trotter, and other officers of the Intelligence Staff, for having permitted me to use and to copy a reduction of my routes, which was made under their direction; and also to Mr. W. Knight for the excellent manner in which he has designed and drawn the maps which accompany this book. My third chapter is rewritten from articles which have already been published in the Field in 1887, and I have to thank the Editor of that paper for his courtesy in having allowed me to make use of them here.

I have to thankfully acknowledge the kindness of Dr. P. L. Sclater, Secretary of the London Zoological Society, for having permitted me to rewrite and amplify, in my supplementary chapter, two papers upon Antelopes which were written by me for that Society and published in its Proceedings.

Finally, I would express my gratitude to Mr. Rowland Ward, who has devoted so much valuable time and experience to the production of my book.

The Author.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Group of Somális (White Esa).

From a Photograph by the Author.

CHAPTER I
ETHNOLOGY

Division of classes in Somáliland—The trading caravans from Ogádén and Harar—Habits of the nomad tribes—The Somáli brokers—The outcaste races and their characteristics—The settlements of the mullahs—The Somáli, his character—Religion—Costume and weapons—Condition of women—Marriage laws—Industries of women—Blood money—Feuds-Native councils—Respect for the English—Somáli vanity—The dibáltig ceremony—Influence of religion—Influence of civilisation—Religious observances—Superstitions—Carelessness—The origin of the Somáli race—Tracing descent for twenty-two generations—Arab descent—Tribal customs—Plurality of wives—Adoption of prefix Ba to names of children—Somáli nomenclature—Nicknames—Tribal divisions—“Brothers of the shield”—Ruins, cairns, and graves—Frontier raids between the Gállas and the Somális—Boldness of southern tribes—The Golbánti Gállas-The Wa-pokómo negroes of the Tana—Origin of the Gállas—The Esa tribe—The Gadabursi tribe—Evidences of former highly-organised races in Somáliland—Interesting remains—Old Gálla ruins—Curious legend to account for cairns—The robbers’ cover—Baneful influence of feuds.

“He who dines alone, dines with the devil.”—Somáli proverb.

The inhabitants of Somáliland may be divided into four separate classes:—The nomad Somális, who keep sheep, goats, cattle, and camels, and who breed ponies; who live almost entirely upon milk and meat, and follow the rains in search of grass for their animals. The settled Somális, who form a comparatively small community, living in or near the coast towns, and who are principally occupied as abbáns or brokers. Certain outcaste races, living in a precarious way, scattered about among the different Somáli tribes, engaged principally gathering gum and hunting. The traders, who bring large caravans from the interior to the coast at certain seasons.

The most important trading caravans are those which come to Berbera from Ogádén and Harar. They bring hides, ivory, ostrich feathers, rhinoceros and antelope horns, prayer-skins, honey, coffee, ghee (clarified butter), and gum; exchanging these products and loading up for the return journey with the beads, dates, rice, cotton goods, and other articles which form the cargoes of dhows visiting the ports. The traders have portable huts (gurgi) which are packed on the camels, and can be pitched or struck in about an hour. These they erect on long halts, and when staying at the coast towns in the trading season. The rer or kraal (karia in Arabic) is formed by unpacking the gurgi and pitching them in a semicircle, surrounding the whole by a thorn fence or zeríba. The huts are carried on camels in sections, and consist of a framework of bent gipsy poles, over which mats and skins are sewn when a halt is made. While on the march the mats do duty as packsaddles for the camels, the skins being tied over the loads to protect them from sun and rain. While the caravans are at the coast, generally during the greater part of the cold weather, the camels are placed under the care of the nomad Somális, to be fed and tended until the return journey to the interior in the spring.

The nomadic tribes also form zeríbas during their constant wanderings, staying in camp for a month or two at a time. Each nomad clan wanders in an orbit of its own, and reoccupies its former zeríbas at the different pastures year after year. Their zeríbas differ from those of trading caravans by being made in a double ring, the outer circle of which is often twelve feet high, to keep out lions. Inside the double brushwood fence the space is divided into pens for cattle, camels, sheep, and goats, the ponies being hobbled and allowed to graze abroad by day, while at night they are tied to the outside of the huts or to thorn trees, and for their further protection fires are lit round the inside of the zeríba and in the huts. At the coast towns the arrangements are not so formidable, a low single fence to keep in the animals being deemed sufficient. The huts are put up by women, while the men form the zeríba and cut logs for the watch-fires, using an axe (fás) consisting of a block of soft iron, worked into a ring with a forked stick inserted—much like the axe of jungle tribes in India. The men are extremely lazy, and consider that their dignity is lowered by tending anything but camels, cattle, and ponies. Thousands of sheep and goats are looked after by a few women and small children; while the donkeys and water-vessels which they carry are the particular care of the oldest and most decrepit women.

The neighbourhood of nomad encampments and watering places is always noisy and dusty, the ground being worked into powder by the feet of thousands of animals. Most of the bushes are denuded of their branches for firewood, and the grass is eaten and worn away. At the important wells watering is done by sub-tribes, to each of which is allotted a certain well at a certain hour. When watering is going on, the groups of naked men singing in chorus as they pass the water up to the troughs, the lowing of the cattle, the countless flocks and herds moving to and fro half veiled by clouds of dust, go to form a very remarkable scene. The nomads who live about the Gólis Range draw near to the coast during the cool trading season, and return to the high Ogo country to remain there during the summer months. They form no large caravans, but are engaged in a good deal of petty barter with the coast and in the export of sheep.

With reference to the class engaged in brokerage, they are people settled permanently at the ports of the North Somáli coast. Until a short time ago the office of abbán or broker was considered to be important. When a trader arrived off the coast in a dhow, or with a caravan from the interior, he was obliged to engage an abbán to transact his business, to protect his interests, to act as general agent, paying in return for such services a small commission on all purchases and sales.

Of the outcaste races the most important are the Tomal, Yebir, and Midgán. They are not organised in tribes, but live in scattered families all over Somáliland. The Tomal are the blacksmiths, who fashion all kinds of arms, axes, and general ironwork. The Yebir are workers in leather, such as saddlery, scabbards, and so forth. The Midgáns are probably the most numerous of the outcaste people. They are armed with the mindi (a small dagger), bow, and poisoned arrows, carrying the latter in a large quiver. They keep wild and savage pariah dogs, which they train to hunting, their chief quarry being the oryx (Oryx beisa), the large bovine antelope with the rapier-like horns.

I have often been out oryx-hunting on foot in the Bulhár Plain with Midgáns and dogs. When a bull oryx is killed a disc from fifteen to eighteen inches in diameter is cut from the thick skin of his withers and sometimes from the rump: these are worth from one to four rupees at the coast, and are used by the Midgáns for making shields. The Midgáns are a hardy race, used to living away from karias, stealthy and perfect trackers, and they are sometimes, in intertribal warfare, engaged to act as messengers, scouts, and light skirmishers. There appears to be no physical difference between them and other Somális, except that the average stature of the Midgáns may be slightly shorter. I have on more than one occasion come upon a party of Midgáns pegging out the fresh skin of a lion which they had just killed; many of these animals are brought to bag every year with no other weapons than their tiny arrows. The lions are found asleep under the khansa bushes at midday, or are shot from an ambush at night over a living bait, or when returning to a “kill.”

In the interior of Northern Somáliland there are no permanent settlements except those founded and occupied by religious Mahomedans, called sheikhs, mullahs, or widads. These settlements occur, on an average, about seventy miles apart. The two largest which I have seen are Seyyid Mahomed’s Town in Ogádén, and Hargeisa in the Habr Awal country. There are about a dozen others of minor importance, all inhabited by mullahs, scattered over several degrees of latitude and longitude, and Hargeisa may be taken as the type of them all.

Somáli Camp Followers and a Horseman from the Bush.

From a Photograph by Prince Boris Czetwertynski.

Mullahs are enabled to settle down and form permanent villages, and cultivate, on account of the respect in which they are held by all tribes. A looting party must be driven to the last extremity of hunger before it will attack them, and generally in such a case only as many animals would be looted as are needed to provide food. The mullahs are drawn from various tribes, and being cosmopolitan, have very extended influence. They are a quiet, respectable class, generally on the side of order, and are civil to travellers.

Hargeisa, a compact village of a few hundred agal or permanent huts, is surrounded by a high mat fence, and a square mile or two of jowári (Holcus sorghum) cultivation belonging to different mullahs. Sheikh Mattar, the chief of Hargeisa, is a pleasant mannered man affecting Arab dress; he reads and writes Arabic, and is a steady supporter of British interests. Like many of the more important mullahs in Somáliland he has a very dark complexion, almost black, in fact, with well-formed, intelligent features. With the exception of these mullah settlements, a few graves dotted about the country, and some cairns and ancient remains of former races, there is nothing permanent to show the presence of human beings. The caravan tracks are mere paths made by the feet of camels and passing flocks, crossed by game tracks in every direction. For countless years long lines of baggage camels have gone aside from the straight course in order to wind round some stone or bush that a child could remove. The work is left to the next caravan, or to Allah, who is made responsible for everything, good or bad, in Somáliland. There is no social system, but patriarchal government by tribes, clans, and families; no cohesion, and no paramount authority; and the whole country has been from time immemorial in a chronic state of petty warfare and blood feuds.

The Somáli has a many-sided character. He is generally a good camelman, a cheerful camp-follower, a trustworthy, loyal, and attentive soldier; proud of the confidence reposed in him, quick to learn new things, and wonderfully bright and intelligent. He is untiring on the march, and he is often a reckless hunter, and will stand by his master splendidly. I know of one Somáli who, to save his English master, hit a lion over the head with the butt of his rifle; and quite lately, under similar circumstances, another Somáli caught hold of a lion by the jaws. Occasionally, however, he relapses into a state of original sin; he becomes criminally careless with the camels, breaking everything in the process of loading, from leather to cast steel; he can be disrespectful, mutinous, and sulky. He is inordinately vain, and will walk off into the jungle and make his way home to the coast, leaving two months’ back pay and rations behind him, if he considers his lordly dignity insulted. If he sees a chance of gain he is a toady and flatterer. His worst fault is avarice.

The Somáli, although by no means a coward, is much more afraid of his fellow-man than of wild animals,—a fact which is possibly due to the general insecurity of life and property. Above all things he dreads crossing the frontiers of his country, holding his hereditary enemies the Gállas in great abhorrence. He has a great deal of romance in his composition, and in his natural nomad state, on the long, lazy days, when there is no looting to be done, while his women and children are away minding his flocks, he takes his praying-mat and water-bottle, and sits a hundred yards from his karia under a flat, shady gudá tree, lazily droning out melancholy-sounding chants on the themes of his dusky loves, looted or otherwise; on the often miserable screw which he calls faras, the horse; and on the supreme pleasure of eating stolen camels.

The summer and winter rains are his great periods of activity. There is then plenty of grass, and pools of water are abundant throughout the country; and he bestrides his “favourite mare,” and in company with many dear brothers of his clan, leaving his flocks and herds in the charge of his women and young children, he rides quietly off a hundred miles into the heart of the jungle to loot the camels of the next Somáli tribe, the owners of which are perhaps away doing exactly the same thing elsewhere. There is tremendous excitement, and the camels are driven across miles of uninhabited wilderness, trailing clouds of dust behind them; and so back to the home karia, where he finds his own herds have perhaps been looted in his absence. He at once goes off on a fresh horse, smarting under his wrongs and intent on vengeance; and if in the spear and shield skirmish that ensues a man has been killed, he and his companions ride back covered with sweat and glory, the tired nags showing gaping spear wounds and mouths dripping with blood from the cruel bit. This is life! In the intervals between expeditions the Somális, when not sleeping, sit in circles on the outskirts of their karias, talking, drinking camel’s milk, and eating mutton, and doing nothing else for days together. Every adult male has his say in the affairs of the tribe, and is to a certain extent a born orator.

Somális are Mussulmans of the Shafai sect, and use the Somáli salutation “Nabad” or the Arab “Salaam aleikum,” which is answered by “Aleikum salaam” and touching of hands. The men are nearly all dressed alike, in long “tobes” of white sheeting of different degrees of dirtiness, from brown to dazzling white; and not a few of the tobes have been dipped in red clay and are of a bright burnt-sienna colour, making the wearers look like Burmese priests. A long dagger (biláwa) is strapped round the waist, while a shield and two spears are carried in the hands. A grass water-bottle and Ogádén prayer-carpet are slung over the shoulders of some, and on the feet are thick sandals, turned up in front, and changed every hour or so to ease the feet. Many of the men wear a leather charm containing a verse of the Koran, a lump of yellow amber, or a long prayer chaplet (tusba) of black sweet-smelling wood around the neck. The camels are often adorned with cowrie necklaces.

The tobe is a simple cotton sheet of two breadths sewn together, about fifteen feet long, and is worn in a variety of ways. Generally it is thrown over one or both shoulders, a turn given round the waist, and allowed to fall to the ankles. In cold weather the head is muffled up in it after the fashion of an Algerian “burnouse.” When sleeping round a camp fire the body is enveloped in it from head to foot, as in a winding-sheet; for a fight the chest and arms are left bare, the part which was thrown over the shoulders being wound many times round the waist to protect the stomach. In the jungle the tobes are worn till they are brown and threadbare; but at the coast towns they are generally of dazzling whiteness. Elders, horsemen, and those who wish to assume a little extra dignity, discard the common tobe and affect the khaili, a gorgeous tartan arrangement in red, white, and blue, each colour being in two shades, with a narrow fringe of light yellow. On horseback it is a very becoming dress, and it is often affected by a favourite wife. All khaili tobes are about the same in appearance, so that practically the white tobe or khaili, shield, and spears, is a uniform that seldom varies much in the whole country. There is very little distinction in the dress of different tribes. The Esa seldom wear the tobe, having only a small cloth hung round the loins. The Dolbahanta, Ogádén, Esa, and the Ishák[1] tribes differ from one another in the shape of their spear-blades; and the Midgáns carry bow and quiver instead of spear and shield. The biláwa or sword is a long two-edged, sharp-pointed knife with soft wrought iron blade, about two feet long and an inch broad at the broadest part; the weight is well forward for hacking. The hilt, too small for an European hand, is made of horn, ornamented with zinc or pewter, and the scabbard is of white leather, sewn crossways to a long white thong which goes round the waist. The gáshán or shield is a round disc of white leather, of rhinoceros, bullock, or preferably oryx hide, from fifteen to eighteen inches in diameter, with a boss in the centre and a handle behind. It is easily pierced by a pistol bullet. Two kinds of spears are used throughout the country, each man among the Ishák tribes, near Berbera, carrying one of each kind. The small spear, plain or barbed like a fish-hook, is for throwing at a distance of from twenty-five to thirty yards, but the aim is not accurate much over thirty yards, though I have seen it thrown as far as seventy-five yards on foot in competitions at Bulhár. The Somáli grasps his spear firmly in the fingers, and gives it one or two quick jerks against the palm of the hand before casting, the vibration being supposed to keep the point straight when in flight. The best spear-shafts come from Eilo, a mountain in the Gadabursi country near Zeila, and round the butt is twisted a bit of soft iron to balance the spear-head. The ponderous laurel-leaf shaped spear, bound with brass wire, is used for close quarters, being especially useful against horses. The men of the Esa tribe generally carry one of these and no throwing spear. They fight on foot and charge home, stabbing at close quarters, while most Somális prefer light skirmishing. Some spears are scraped bright, others are blackened and polished. The Somáli is often a great dandy in these matters, and keeps his shield in a white calico cover.

The water-bottle (karúra) is a wonderfully neat affair, plaited by the women from the fibres of a root, or from grass, and made watertight by applying fat or other substances to the inside, and is corked with a wooden plug. The prayer-carpet generally comes from Ogádén, and is a small piece of very thick tanned leather. On this the Somáli makes his regular prostrations at dawn and sunset, and during the day, as becomes a devout Mussulman, and when not put to this use, it is hung over the shoulder to afford protection from the chafing of the spears. The sandals are very heavy; they are of several thicknesses of white leather, sewn together, rising in a knob in front. They make a great noise, so when stalking game the wearer carries them and goes barefoot. The club or kerrie is a foot and a half long, made of the hard wogga wood, and is thrown with dexterity.

Somális have generally good Arab features, with particularly smooth skins, varying from the colour of an Arab to black. Among certain tribes those who have killed a man wear an ostrich feather in the hair. Originally it was only worn for enemies killed in a fight, but now this is not always necessary. Little boys carry miniature spears and shields as soon as they can learn to use them, and many an Esa youth of sixteen can show an ostrich feather which has been earned in the orthodox manner.

The hair is worn in various ways according to sex and age. Old men shave the head, and sometimes grow a slight beard. Men in the prime of life wear their hair about an inch and a half long, and periodically smear it with a gray mixture, apparently composed of ashes and clay, leaving it for a day or two to dry. It is then dusted out and the hair becomes beautifully clean and highly curled. My followers have always gone through this performance a day or two before reaching Berbera at the conclusion of a trip. Young men and boys grow their hair in a heavy mop, often of a yellow colour, like the mane of a lion. Married women wear it in a chignon, enclosed in a dark blue bag. Young women and girls wear a mop like the young men, but carefully plaited into pigtails. Small children have their heads shaven, three cockscombs of short hair being left, giving the skull the appearance of a crested helmet.

Women are of very little account among the Somális, every small boy appearing to lord it over the female members of his family, of whatever generation. The father of many daughters is rich in that while they are young they herd his sheep and goats, and when they marry he receives from the husband of each her yerad or price, in return for which he has to provide a new hut and furniture for the pair. When a man marries he pays the father of the woman, say, two or three horses and about two hundred sheep. Often this is given back to the woman by her father, and sometimes a dowry is given by him. In the Rer Ali tribe we once passed a drove of about fifty camels being driven by a pretty young woman, who stopped to proudly tell us that they were her dowry, which her father was sending along with her to her husband. One favourite way of obtaining a wife is to loot her in a foray, along with a lot of sheep. Often when I have asked a man where he got his pretty wife, he has answered, “Oh, I looted her from the Samanter Abdallah,” or the Rer Ali, naming a neighbouring tribe. A nod and a laugh from the wife has corroborated the story, and she does not appear to be at all unhappy about it. Marriage with aliens is, I think, looked upon with favour by Somális, because it brings new blood into the tribe; and it has the additional advantage of extending diplomatic relations, a man who has married into a tribe being tolerably safe when in its territory, even in disturbed times.

Some rich women, who have brought a large dowry to their husbands, only perform light work in the huts, and make mats. Others tend sheep and cattle, draw water, hew wood, and work all day long, with no reward but blows. I go by what Somális themselves say, for I have never seen any cruelty to support the statement. Women work very hard. From every watering-place old women are seen struggling to the karias with heavy háns full of water, often containing three or four gallons. They carry the háns and bundles of firewood in exactly the same manner as they do their babies, slung on their backs. The water háns are composed of plaited bark. They are easily broken, and on every march one or two may become useless, owing either to contact with thorn branches or to the tired camels sitting on them. A little water must always be lost by slight leakage. My own experience of háns has been somewhat unfortunate, chiefly because my caravans being composed almost entirely of men, their management has not been properly understood.

Another industry practised by the women is the plaiting of camel-mats; these are made by chewing the stripped bark of the Galol tree, weaving it into a mat, which it takes them a week to make. They also extract the fibres from the Hig or pointed aloe plants, by beating them between stones, the fibre then being twisted into ropes. The Somáli women lead the camels on the longest marches, and exhibit wonderful powers of endurance, marching sometimes the four hundred miles from the Webbe to Berbera in about sixteen days. From constantly loading camels they become nearly as strong in the arms as the men.

A Camp Servant with Lesser Koodoo Skull and Horns.

From a Photograph by Mr. Seton Karr.

The mag, dia,[2] or blood money for a man killed is one hundred milch-camels. Among the Habr Yunis, Habr Gerhajis, if one man of the tribe kills another the blood money is one hundred she-camels and four horses, half this number being considered enough for a woman. For the loss of an eye or permanent disablement of a limb fifty camels have to be paid, and for the loss of both eyes or disablement of both limbs the full blood money, as for murder, is demanded. If blood is drawn from the head about thirty camels are demanded, and even for a bruise the demand is for three or four camels. Such minor cases, however, are, as a rule, specially referred to the mullahs for decision. As a matter of fact, in most cases the blood money actually paid is far below the nominal amount. If a man captures his wife during a raid on another tribe, he generally sends a present afterwards to her parents to secure peace; should, however, a married woman be carried off, or one to whose parents cows have already been paid by another man, the offence is a grave one, and the tribe of the woman must fight. One of the most unpardonable offences is the striking of any one with a shoe or whip, or the open hand, and theoretically this act can only be wiped out by blood.

There are always innumerable blood feuds going on in Somáliland, but as a rule the tribal fights are not very serious, a dozen men killed in every thousand engaged being a fair proportion. The men slain in these combats are buried on the spot, and then begins a long series of negotiations for the settlement of the amount of blood money, which generally lasts months, or even years, before any result is arrived at. Often at a council all the old men on both sides will get up in a fury and leave hurriedly for their kraals with angry shouting, showing that diplomacy has failed.

This sitting in council discussing tribal politics appears to be the principal occupation of Somális, and at Berbera, in the native town, they may generally be seen sitting in circles holding protracted discussions. They appeal to our courts to decide the greatest and most trivial cases, delighting in arbitration; and tribes from very great distances inland, even from Ogádén or the Marehán country, come to the Berbera Court with cases, a great number of which have to do with raids of some sort, which have been committed either upon grazing flocks and herds or upon caravans.

Although a good deal of intermittent fighting is prevalent all over the interior, the Somális have no quarrel whatever with the English. They hold respect for the English as being their natural protectors and arbitrators. The chronic fighting which goes on throughout the country is only looked upon by the elders as healthy blood-letting, giving the young men something to do. It is only considered serious when it occurs on the main caravan routes, thereby damaging trade. In Guban quarrels and raids have practically ceased within the last five years, a fact which is entirely due to British influence.

The Somális love display, and do honour to their own sultans[3] by the performance of a ceremony called the dibáltig. When this function is to be gone through a body of horsemen is collected, and line having been formed, the tribal minstrel or gérára sings, while sitting in the saddle, long extempore songs in praise of the sultan and the tribe, the most atrocious flattery being the leading feature of the song. At every great hit scored by the minstrel the song rises to a shriek, and all the horsemen turn and gallop away, returning and reining up in a dense mass, crying “Mót!” (Hail to thee). The men are generally dressed in the red khaili tobes, and the saddlery is covered with red tassels. Among the Esa tribe the dibáltig is represented by a dance on foot, with shield and spear. In this dance the warriors go through the performance of pretending to kill a man, crowding in a semicircle round him, and stabbing him again and again, all the while yelling “Kek-kek-kek! Kek-kek-kek!” as they gasp for breath. I have the authority of Captain Abud, the assistant Resident at Berbera, for stating that the dibáltig is never performed except on the election of a sultan or in honour of an English traveller, whom the people recognise as a representative of the paramount authority in the country. It may be performed in honour of Europeans other than English who visit the country, but only when they do so under the ægis of the British Government. Among Somális themselves it is the open recognition of the authority of a sultan, and notifies the acceptance of his rule by the sub-tribes or jilibs performing it. It may therefore be looked upon as a species of coronation ceremony. The word mót is the royal salute. The assistant Resident at Berbera had a case brought before him in which a part of the Eidegalla tribe had thrown off allegiance to Sultán Deria, and when Captain Abud’s intervention was successful, one of the terms proposed by the delinquents themselves was that they would dibáltig before him as a recognition of their return to his control.

The influence of the Mussulman teaching is apparent in many of the predominating customs throughout the country. The Somális are as a rule clean and decent in their dress, and of course such a thing as a drunken Somáli in Somáliland is practically unknown. I have seen a man dangerously ill with snake-bite, and believed to be dying, refuse brandy when offered to him as a medicine, saying that he would rather die than take it.

In speaking of Somális I do not, of course, attempt to describe the Aden hack-carriage driver or boatman. These products of civilisation are not found in the interior of Somáliland; they are, to my mind, the only true Somáli savages. The Aden Somáli as a boy diving for silver coins in the harbour is a delightful little fellow, but when he grows up he becomes odious. As a cabman or boatman he sees too much of the weaknesses of Europeans, and as a result of the familiarity he loses his respect for them. To cite an instance of the familiarity which breeds contempt, Aden Somális have been known to call visitors from passing ships “damned fool passengers”! The real jungle Somáli from the African side of the Gulf never quite gets used to Aden life. After having made his money there, he returns to his own country to invest his savings in cows, camels, and sheep, and a wife or two to tend them. He lives the old pastoral life, and soon shakes off every trace of his sojourn among the white men. Give him a fine house in Aden, and he will build a round gurgi of mats and skins inside it.

In the far interior I have more than once met a horseman, looking quite like a jungle Somáli, tricked out in all the finery of a mounted warrior, yet whose salutation has been “Good morning, sir,” in excellent English, and I have found that he has been to Marseilles and London, having done his spell as a fireman on a steamer; and he has come back at last to his country, disgusted with civilisation, and worse in many ways than when he started on his travels. With such a man the jungle Somáli will often refuse to eat, saying he is no longer a clean Mussulman, that he is a Frinji, and must eat alone.

Whatever faults a Somáli may have, lack of intelligence, and what, for want of an English word, may be called savoir faire, are not among them. His bringing up, in a country where every man has his spears ready to hand to answer an insult on the moment, tends to make him keep his temper and maintain a diplomatic calm. Once that calm is broken through, however, he becomes a veritable madman. From laughter to rage is the transition of a second. Luckily he keeps his infrequent tantrums for black men. The rich white man is a privileged person, being allowed the eccentricity which may be excused in the great. If a white man, in pyjamas and slippers, unfortunately loses his temper, and kicks a lazy Somáli all round his zeríba for breach of contract, the latter sulks for a time, but soon gives way before the ridiculous; yet he will permit no Somáli to insult him.

There is no written Somáli language, so only a few mullahs who are learned in Arabic can read the Koran. The bulk of the people who cannot read are more prejudiced than the mullahs, wishing to be on the safe side, and having all sorts of complicated rules which mullahs know to be unnecessary. For a long time we could not get our men to eat game which had had the throat cut low down, although the customary bismillah had been said as the knife was drawn. On going to Hargeisa I appealed to Sheikh Mattar and his mullahs, who explained to them that they might eat the flesh of game bled in this way, and after the sheikh’s decision we never had any trouble on this point. It is an important one, for a gash in the skin from ear to ear is very unsightly in a valuable trophy when set up in England.

The fastidiousness of Somális varies according to circumstances. They say all game is dry, and will not generally eat birds or fish, and they will despise all other food if there is a fat sheep to be procured. Not eating birds, their ignorance about them is extraordinary, and I believe very few varieties have distinctive names.

The life of a Somáli includes many interesting observances, which unfold themselves day by day in the course of a journey. Some are very regular in their prayers and prostrations at the orthodox hours, praying for all they are worth, in season or out of it; others seldom or never pray. When on the Gálla frontier, however, I noticed that every one of my followers, in view of approaching death, became very devout, and mustered in great force in line for the daily church parade at sunset, no one being absent; and all day on the frontier the Somáli looks for a prowling enemy under every bush, fingering his tusba or chaplet to keep away evil.[4]

When the new moon appears he plucks a tussock of grass and holds it in flattering compliment between the slender crescent and his eyes, to keep them from being dazzled by the light. If he sees a tortoise he stands upon it, first casting off his sandals, believing, I think, that the soles of his feet will thereby be hardened; but whatever the motive may be, the act is very commonly practised.

One of the chief faults of the Somáli is carelessness. When a caravan moves off in the early morning there is generally a forgotten camel or straying sheep to be hunted for, which has perhaps wandered miles away into the bush. The men who have not to lead camels linger round the camp-fires warming their spears, thereby storing up heat for ten minutes longer to comfort their hands on their cold morning march. There is a great deal of shouting to the stragglers to bring along things which have been left behind. On our Abyssinian frontier reconnaissance our men temporarily lost, at different times, our goats, three Arab riding camels, the horse, a flock of sheep, and one or two baggage camels, besides two boxes of Martini-Henry ammunition. The man who loses or forgets a thing generally remembers the omission after travelling about fifteen miles, and he then cheerfully trots back to get it, returning perhaps at noon next day. He is philosophical as to results, for if he loses your property, is it not his fate? and no man can fight with fate or with the will of Allah! He has lost your property, and there is an end of it.[5]

Although I have made many jungle trips in India and elsewhere, yet in no country have I had such obedient and cheerful followers and such pleasant native companions, despite their faults, as in Somáliland. In my earlier and later trips I have often been from one to four months in the interior with no other companion than the Somális; and I cannot say there has been a dull moment.

Captain H. M. Abud, who has for some years lived in, and had the immediate administration of Berbera and Bulhár, and the greater part of the Somáli coast protectorate, and who is doubtless the best authority on the intricate intertribal relations of the Somális, has very kindly furnished me with a few notes on what he knows about their early history. He says: “The real origin of the Somális is wrapped in mystery. They themselves say that they are descended from ‘noble Arabs,’ who, having had occasion to fly from their own country, landed on the Somáli coast and intermarried with the aboriginal inhabitants, many of whose descendants still exist, though they now mingle with the Somális.

“The Somális, although none of them, except a few mullahs, can write, know their genealogical descent by heart, and, although the custom is beginning to die out, nearly every youngster is made to learn the names of his forefathers in their order. Out of at least a thousand elders examined by me while working at the genealogy of the tribes, none could trace their descent further than twenty or twenty-two generations; and if this number is correct the dawn of the Somáli nation would be placed about twelve or thirteen hundred years ago, nearly coinciding with the rise of Mahomed, on whose account the Arabs were obliged to fly from Mecca. This coincidence in time is so much in favour of the Somáli claim; but, on the other hand, it is difficult to believe that ‘noble Arabs’ would knowingly give their children the barbarous names some of them have. In any case we must seek away from the true African races for the origin of the Somáli, for he bears no trace of the negroid type. It is supposed by some, from a resemblance, fancied or real, in the languages, that the Somális may be allied to the races of Hindustan. So far, however, the subject has not been thoroughly worked out, and for all practical purposes the descent from ‘noble Arabs’ may be assumed as a convenient starting-point.

“The two great tribal groups of the Somáli nation are named Ishák and Dárud from their supposed progenitors, Sheikh Ishák bin Ahmed and Sheikh Jaberti bin Ismail, whose son Dárud is said to have been. The Habr Awal, Habr Gerhajis, and Habr Toljaala tribes, with whom we have most dealings in Berbera, belong to the Ishák group; and the Ogádén, Bertiri, Abbasgúl, Géri, Dolbahanta, Warsingali, Midjerten, Usbeyan, and Marehán belong to the Dárud group. The descent of the Esa and Gadabursi tribes is unknown, but it is more than probable that they are offshoots of a great tribe called Rer Afi.

“The tribal collective prefixes Rer, Habr, Ba, and Ba Habr are often met with. The Somális are a nomad race, and the tribes wander about, each in an orbit of its own, in search of pasture for its flocks and herds. A wealthy Somáli surrounds his huts, cattle, sheep, and camels by a zeríba of brushwood, and one of these, with the contents, is called a rer, being the kraal or temporary village. It will easily be understood, therefore, that all the descendants of a man called, say, Ibrahim, may be called the ‘Rer’ Ibrahim after him.[6]

“Every Somáli, being a Shafai Mussulman, can have four wives at a time, and it is each man’s object to have as many children as possible, to increase his own power and that of his tribe. Plurality of wives being allowed, the children of one wife must be distinguished from those of another. This is done by the prefix Ba. For an example of this, we have the case of the Rer Dahir Farah sub-tribe of the Habr Toljaala. The children by an Ibran woman were called the Ba Ibran; those by a Habr Awal woman were called the Ba Awal, and those by a woman named Gailoh, the Ba Gailoh.

“There are comparatively few names used among the Somális, the changes being rung on different combinations of Mahomed, Ali, Hassan, Esa, Samanter, Ismail, Gadíd, and others, many of which are names used in every Mussulman country. Owing to this scarcity of names, and to the vast number of people consequently named alike, the use of nicknames is very prevalent. A Somáli will, as often as not, when asked his name, tell you his nickname, and I have known many a man at a loss when asked his real name. For instance, the descendants of Daud Gerhajis are called the Eidegalla, meaning ‘he who rolls in the mud,’ while those of Said Harti are known by his nickname, and are called the Dolbahanta tribe.

“Somáli children are, as often as not, named after the circumstances of their birth, unless they receive ordinary Mussulman names: for instance, Wa-berri means that the man bearing this name was born in the morning, from berri, morning. Similarly, the bearers of the name Gédi, ‘a march,’ were born while the rer or kraal was shifting to another pasture. Gadíd denotes a man born at noon, and Róbleh, from rób, rain, a man born in wet weather. Descriptive nicknames are suggested by some personal peculiarities, as Afhakam, Afweina, ‘big mouth,’ Daga-yéra, ‘small ears.’ Even Europeans do not escape, and such names as Gadweina, ‘big beard,’ Gudani, ‘small stomach,’ Madah weina, ‘big head,’ have been bestowed on English officers without any disrespect being intended; and the bearers of these nicknames are known by them, especially when Somális are speaking among themselves.

“The usual divisions among Somális are the tribe, the sub-tribe, the clan, and the jilib or family. Thus the chief of the Eidegalla, Sultán Deria, would describe himself as Habr Gerhajis (tribe), Eidegalla (sub-tribe), Rer Mattan (clan), Rer Guléd (family). If further asked he would describe himself as one of the Ba Ambaro, or sons of Ambaro. In the event of a man having a large number of sons, he is entitled to call himself a separate family; for instance, Shirmáki Adan, a man still living and still procreating, has already twenty-three sons and twenty-nine daughters, and these are now called the Rer Shirmáki Adan. A weak clan is likely to be looted and absorbed by a stronger, and thus the weaker clans join together for protection. When whole families so unite the members combine under the name ‘Gáshánbúr,’ or ‘brothers of the shield.’ Somális have no surnames in the English sense, and when a distinction is to be made, the name of the man’s father is added to his own. Thus the son of Shiré Shirmáki is Deria Shiré, and he again might have a son called Hussein Deria.”

Without myself having gone so deeply as Captain Abud into evidence on historical questions, I have been led, in a long intercourse with the natives at the camp-fire and on the march, to draw my own conclusions on certain points.[7] From ruins, cairns, and graves which have been pointed out to me to be of Gálla origin, I have been led to believe that before the Arab immigrations what is now called Somáliland, even to the northern coast, was owned by the Gállas. The immigrant Arabs and their followers with “friendlies” on the spot, becoming strong, began to seize the coast, driving the original Gállas inland towards the parts of their country which lie round Harar and beyond the Webbe. On the frontier between the Somális and Gállas there are periodical raids still in active progress from one side or the other. These raids were occurring at Karanleh on the Webbe when I went there in 1893, and put me to much inconvenience; and in 1889, when I visited a mission station called Golbánti on the Tana River, not far from Lamu on the east coast, I found a Somáli encroachment taking place.

The Gállas at this place a few years before my visit numbered between one and two thousand souls, rich in cattle, but latterly they had been annually raided by the Masai from the south and the Somális from the north, till the village of Golbánti had dwindled down to about one hundred and fifty inhabitants, and it had been only kept going by the exertions of, and protection afforded by the representative of the United Methodist Mission who was stationed there. Three years before my visit the former missionary and his wife, an English lady, had been murdered there by the Masai, and less than two years later the German station of Ngai, a few miles up-stream, had been burnt by a party of over a thousand Somális, who came to within a short distance of Golbánti, but were unprepared to attack the fine stockade and house which had been built by the missionaries, the upper verandah having been thoughtfully lined with a few rifles.[8] The German missionaries from Ngai had taken refuge in the Golbánti house, and saw the flare of their own mission burning a few miles away. The Gállas at Golbánti said they feared the Somális even more than the Masai, as the former being good swimmers, the Tana River was no obstacle to them.

The southern Somáli tribes are very bold, and are said to raid cattle from the Gállas and take them to the mixed Gálla and Arab town of Lámu, on the east coast, to sell them again. As they have horsemen, they are said to be able to cope with the Masai, whom they sometimes meet when both are raiding the Gállas near the Tana. I saw a few of the southern Somális walking about Lámu. They appear to be rougher, more savage, and finer men than the northern Somális.

The Gállas of Golbánti were well-featured men, very quiet in manners, brown in colour, with thin lips, and slightly built.[9] The Somális are very like them, but rather bigger and better built, and the only difference that I could observe was that there appeared to be some Arab blood in the Somális. The little I saw of the nomad Gállas at Imé and Karanleh on the Webbe tended to strengthen me in the belief that the Somális are Gállas with a very slight strain of Arab in their blood. The Somális themselves, of course, deny this, and claim their descent to be from the higher race. The Gállas and Somális, though such bitter enemies, are much alike, and both are utterly different from the negritic and mongrel Swahili races to the south.

On the Tana I found a river population called the Wapokómo, negroes of fine physique, lorded over and held in bondage by the warlike Gállas; and on the Webbe Shabéleh a river race called the Adone, who were also negroes, were working in the fields and punting rafts on the river for their masters, the Somális.

My theory is that the Gállas seem to be wedged in between the continually advancing Somális from the north and the Masai from the south, the apex of the wedge being somewhere near the Tana mouth, and the base at the sources of the Juba. The effect of this pressure is perhaps driving the Tana Gállas up the river, to the country where they are more numerous and can hold their own.

Monseigneur Taurin Cahaigne of Harar, who probably knows as much as any man living about the Gállas, hinted, so far as I can remember, that the origin of the Gálla nation was probably near the mouth of the Tana, and that they spread northward and westward from there.

The tribe occupying the coast round Zeila is the Esa, and those about Bulhár and Berbera are the Habr Awal, and farther east Habr Toljaala. The nearest inland tribe to Zeila is the Gadabursi, and those on the Berbera side are the Habr Gerhajis and Dolbahanta. The six above named are the tribes with which the British authorities have most directly to deal. Of these the most capable in war is probably the Esa. The Gadabursi and Habr Awal fear them, and it is only because the former tribes are mounted and the latter have no horses that the balance of power is maintained. The Esa are chaffed by the Ishák tribes for being uncouth and barbarous. The men go about dressed in a simple short cloth round the loins, while eastern Somális generally wrap themselves in a full tobe. The Esa women do not necessarily cover up the breast, while among the Ishák tribes all but the oldest and most destitute are well dressed from head to foot. In no tribe that I have seen do the Somáli women cover the face.

The Gadabursi tribe is rich in ponies of a poor stamp. The Jibril Abokr sub-tribe of the Habr Awal is, I think, the best mounted among the tribes named, and the Dolbahanta also have enormous numbers of good ponies, and are wild and addicted to raiding on a very large scale.

It is certain that Somáliland has at different times been occupied by highly-organised races, whose habits of life have been quite different from those of the present nomadic tribes. Widely distributed over the country are traces of permanent settlements, many of them probably of great antiquity. Some appear so ancient that they might belong to any time, of which all record has been lost. Many of these ruins are traced to Mussulman occupations by the Arabs from Yemen, some hundreds of years back, but other older remains are assigned by tradition to a people who were “before the Gállas.” There are no writings, and many of the remains are scarcely recognisable as being of human origin. Sometimes blocks of dressed stone are found lying in a rectangular pattern on the ground, overgrown and half buried by grass and jungle; a series of parallel revetment walls on a hill overlooking a pass is occasionally to be met with, and frequently one may observe the scanty evidences of an ancient tank to catch rain-water. It is possible to travel for weeks in Somáliland without coming on these remains; they are met with by chance, and it seldom occurs to the natives to think of pointing them out to travellers.

Near the mullah village of Guldu Hamed, at Upper Sheikh, are the remains of a very large ruined town, and close by there is a graveyard containing some five thousand graves. I believe these remains are not very ancient, but are traced to early Mussulman settlements from Yemen. West of Hargeisa is an old fort of considerable size, crowning the detached hill called Yoghol. In the Gadabursi country there is the ancient ruined town of Aubóba, and at the head of the Gáwa Pass, on a hill to the west, and about four hundred feet above it, are some massive ancient ruins, which must have once been a fort, commanding the pass. They are called Samawé, from the name of a sheikh whose tomb crowns the ruins. The hill-top is surrounded by parallel retaining walls built of dressed stone, rising in steps from the bottom. In some places the walls were six or eight feet high, and there were remains of extensive ancient buildings filling the enclosure. Surmounting the whole in the centre was the ruin of a building of cut stone, which appeared to be the sheikh’s tomb.

The position of the Samawé ruins would favour a supposition that some power holding Harar, and having its northern boundary along the hills which wall in the southern side of the Harrawa valley, had built the fort to command the Gáwa Pass, which is one of the great routes from the Gadabursi country up on to the Marar Prairie. On the other hand, the fort may have been built by a power holding the coast, to close the pass on the Harar side.

Within half a mile of the Samawé tomb, on the sloping ground to the south, we found a curious stone enclosure, half buried in jungle. It was in the form of a rectangle measuring fifty-seven yards by fifty-eight yards, marked by long rows of dressed stones, each about nine inches by a foot, lying loosely on the ground. Some of these were blocks of limestone, and some apparently basalt.

Near Hug, in the mountainous Jibril Abokr country, my brother found many signs of old “Gálla” habitations and graves, and some well-made pathways down the hillsides. His followers told him that the hills having in the olden time been used as places of refuge by the Gállas, these roads were made to enable the cattle to be quickly driven up in case of alarm—the custom being for a part of the clan to camp on the top of a hill, in order to hold it, while the rest looked after the flocks and herds grazing below. He was told that the Gállas on the Abyssinian border, and the Abyssinians themselves, still do this.

All over the territory of the Ishák tribes, and in the Dolbahanta country, we found many old Gálla graves and cairns. At Kirrit there is a well in which a very ancient cross has been carved in the face of the rock. Crowning nearly every prominent hill in the countries named is a cairn or pile of stones, each stone being, roughly speaking, about the size of a man’s head. They are made up of many hundreds of such stones, and are generally about twelve or fifteen feet high and eight yards in diameter. Each one is circular, having in the centre a depression, suggesting that there may have been a tomb beneath, which has fallen in. I never cared to dig one up, not wishing to offend the susceptibilities of the natives. Some of them are of immense size, and are called Taalla Gálla or Gálla cairns.

There is a curious legend accounting for the origin of these cairns, which was told me by one of the Esa Musa tribe, while I was camped on the Golis Range, and by others of the Habr Awal at different times.

The drift of his story was that when the Gállas were in the country there once lived a great and powerful queen, called Arroweilo. She was very wicked, and was the origin of all evil in women at the present day. For some reason she conceived a ferocious prejudice against all male children, and a mother, to escape from her tyrannies, fled into a far country with her baby boy. As years went on this son grew, and when he had become a man he returned into Arroweilo’s country armed with a sword. He attacked Arroweilo in a lonely pass, and hacking her to pieces, tied her remains on a camel, and sent it off with a parting cut. The camel trotted in mad career all over the country, and wherever a piece of Arroweilo fell, the pious native, as he passed, said a prayer and threw a stone “to keep her down.” The chief use of these cairns now is to form cover for robbers when watching for caravans; and my brother and I found they made very recognisable points when seen through the telescope of a theodolite.

At Badwein (i.e. “Big Tank”) in the Dolbahanta country, one hundred and fifty miles, as the crow flies, from Berbera, we found a tank forty feet deep and a hundred and twenty yards in diameter, evidently excavated by human labour. Near it was a temple or large house with walls still standing at a height of ten feet, and the space enclosed was so large that a party of horsemen could ride into it.

The Dolbahanta told us that before the Gállas a race of men occupied the country who could read and write. Unfortunately none of their literary work was visible, as we examined many remains for inscriptions, but found none. One man, for a small fee, took us four miles out of our way to read an inscription, but the result was not promising, for we only found on a tombstone some scratches, perhaps twenty years old, evidently made by an idle sheep boy. All these discoveries of ancient remains go to prove that the elevated parts of Somáliland (not semi-desert Guban) have once been capable of permanent settlement under a more secure form of society than at present exists.

The deserted village of Dagahbúr in Ogádén is an example which shows how settlement and cultivation have been successfully begun, and abandoned because of the insecurity resulting from intertribal feuds. At Dagahbúr there were formerly many square miles of jowári cultivation, which have been abandoned within the last few years, and now there is only left an immense area of stubble and the ruins of the village. Dagahbúr used to be a thriving settlement of one thousand five hundred inhabitants, with trade caravans plying regularly across the Haud to Hargeisa and Berbera; and now not a hut is left.

The fact is, that although the natural conditions are suitable to the settlement of large tracts of country, and though many of the people are willing enough to engage in cultivation, yet the tribes and sub-tribes are so incessantly at feud, that the religious mullahs or widads, who enjoy a certain immunity from raids, alone dare settle down and cultivate; and now that many of the old wells and tanks have fallen into disuse and ruin, the water-supply could only be restored by a great expenditure of capital, for which there would perhaps be no adequate return for some generations.

Somáli Scouts halting in a Sandy River-Bed to look for Water.

From a Photograph by Prince Boris Czetwertynski.

CHAPTER II
THE NOMADIC LIFE

Varieties of camels—Somáli camel willing and gentle—Method of loading camels—On the march—Weight of loads—Marching hours—Scourges, gadflies, ticks, and leeches—Firing camels—Sore back—Camel food—Grazing customs—Breeding habits of Somáli camels—The milk-supply of she-camels—Description of Somáli ponies—Fodder—Ticks—Donkeys—Their usefulness in Somáliland—Cattle—Cow’s milk—Ghee—Hides exported to America—Sheep and goats—Powers of subsisting without water—Camel-meat and mutton the favourite meal of Somális—The annual movements of trading caravans governed by seasons—Duration of seasons—Great heat—Movements of the nomad tribes—Caravan marauders—Tribal fights—Gangs of highway robbers—Methods of the raiders—English scheme of protection popular—Trade greatly injured through insecurity of routes—A peculiarity of the Somáli guide—Mysterious strangers—Remarkable faculties of adaptability in the Somáli—Baneful effect of civilisation.

There appear to be two distinct varieties of camel in Somáliland,—the Gel Ad, or white variety, sold mostly on the Berbera side, and the Ayyun or dark Dankali one, which is common on the Zeila side. Both have the single hump. The Esa themselves admit the superiority of the Berbera camel, and offer a higher price for it. There are certain camels fattened for the butcher, which are never used for carrying loads. They can be recognised by their hairiness and the great development of the hump, but they are not, I believe, a distinct variety. Somális know their animals individually by name. A fine large camel may often be christened “Maródi” (the elephant); another, noted for its pace, is sometimes flatteringly called “Faras” (the horse).

The Somáli camels, as contrasted with those of India, are willing and gentle; and although whilst being laden they will generally complain, and make feints at biting, yet I have seldom known them injure any one. In moving about the camp at night one has often to pass among them as they kneel in rows, sometimes stepping over them, or stooping under their outstretched necks, but I have never had experience of a vicious camel in Somáliland. Even when undergoing firing operations they rarely bite, although the head is left free. This accommodating disposition I attribute greatly to the manner in which they are treated by the natives, who, though rather cruel to their ponies, will never ill-use a camel. Many Somális are utterly ignorant of loading, this work being done largely by the women. When a camel is intractable it is generally through ignorant handling. The Somális talk and sing to their animals when loading and unloading, and whistle while they are drinking, some of these songs used upon such occasions being of very ancient origin. During loading the camels are made to kneel, and the head-rope is passed round the knees and made fast there.

When marching with loads they need to be watered every fifth day, though upon emergency we have often worked them for ten days without distress. While on the march they are tied head to tail, as in Northern India. In rocky places, where the caravan animals are liable to stumbles and sudden stops, the tail is sometimes torn off.

The usual load is not less than about two hundred and seventy-five pounds, exclusive of mats, but it varies according to the nature of the load. Dates are bad to carry, being compact and heavy in proportion to their size, and the date load is generally two gosra, or two hundred and fifty pounds. European baggage comes under the same category. The marching hours are from about 4 A.M. to 9 A.M., and from 1 to 5 P.M. The camels are allowed to graze during the midday heat, and for half an hour before sunset. It takes three-quarters of an hour to load up, from the time of rounding in the grazing camels to the start off, and unloading takes about fifteen minutes. In stating these particulars I am giving our own average with complicated boxes, tents, loads of trophies, and so forth, a Somáli caravan taking probably less time. The usual rate of marching is from two and a quarter to two and three-quarter miles an hour, not counting short halts to adjust loads. The fastest rate, for a short distance, which I have tested has been three and a quarter miles an hour. The loaded Somáli camel will not trot as a rule, though sometimes the Midgáns train them to do so, leading them by a string.

Camels are always delicate, and I have considered myself lucky when I have not lost more than five per cent of my camels on a three months’ expedition. In Ogádén the Balaad, or small gadfly, is a terrible scourge to them, and, to a lesser extent, so is the large gadfly, or Dúg; they are also infested with ticks, which swell to the size of a date-stone, and are seen clinging round the eyelids. In drinking the camels often take in small leeches, which fix themselves to the root of the tongue, growing to a great size and filling the mouth with blood.

Should a camel show stiffness, he is at once fired, either by raising small blisters with a red-hot ramrod or spear, or by striping with hoops of red-hot iron. Open sores have glowing stones strapped over them, followed by an application of moist camel-dung; and when off his feed, he is dosed with melted sheep’s tail. Thorns are excised from the foot with the biláwa or dagger, and the spike—often two inches long—having been extracted, camel-dung is applied, and as a general rule the cut soon heals.

A great cause of sickness is a sore back, brought on by the chafing of a load. The worst place is in front of the hump. A camel when let out to browse is likely to bite such a sore until it festers and becomes full of maggots. There is a fly which is on the look-out for these sores, and instead of laying eggs deposits lively maggots, which crawl about briskly directly they leave the body of the fly. A red-beaked bird, very common in Ogádén,[10] then attacks the sore, plunging its sharp beak again and again into the hole, picking out the maggots and decayed mass, and even the good flesh, until there is a cavity into which a man’s clenched fist may be thrust. When in this condition it should always have a strip of calico, steeped in carbolic solution, tied over the wound when sent out to graze, to protect it from the birds, a dozen of which can be often seen clinging flat to its shoulders, giving out at intervals their long-drawn, discordant, shrill note.

The Somáli camel does not require grain, but thrives entirely on whatever it can pick up by the way. Except at certain seasons in Guban, the coast country, there is always an abundance of food for them everywhere, in the unlimited expanse of grass and acacia forest, as they feed and thrive on many grasses that ponies will not touch. When grazing, or browsing on the leaves of the mimosa jungles, they roam about in enormous droves, attended by a few men and women. In Ogádén and the Dolbahanta country I have seen driven past a succession of herds, each containing over a thousand camels, as they were taken to pasture in the mornings or back to the karias at night. They often have to graze at a distance of six miles or so from home, for, as the food near the karias is eaten up, they are driven farther out daily, and after a month or two the mat huts themselves are packed up and the tribe marches on, perhaps ten miles, to a fresh pasturage. Horsemen are constantly scouring the surrounding country to watch the next tribe, or to bring early news of a pasture having received heavy rain.

Camels can be much more quickly rounded up and driven to the home karia than cattle or flocks, so they are trusted much farther afield, and the number of camels sometimes seen is astonishing, the whole horizon being covered with them. When camped at Gagáb by the Milmil river-bed we daily saw between ten thousand and thirty thousand driven to water past our tents, belonging chiefly to the Rer Ali tribe. In Ogádén even an outcaste Midgán will sometimes own three or four hundred, and the only limit to their numbers is the capability of their owners to water and protect them. When a tribe becomes rich every man’s eye is covetously turned to this accumulation of camels, and it is not long before attempts are made to raid them in a mass. We were told of instances in the Dolbahanta country where ten thousand had been looted at one swoop. When unladen they can be driven at great speed, and as the raiders are nearly always on horseback, the attack is very sudden.

When grazing, in dry weather, they are watered every six days or so, but when men are lazy, or animals very numerous, much longer periods are allowed to elapse. When rain has fallen, and the grass is green, camels, sheep, and goats are sometimes not watered for three months. We often found tens of thousands of camels and sheep grazing at least forty miles from water. The men and horses attendant on them live almost entirely on camel’s milk, a little water being carried over these great distances for the women and children.

Mobs of camels are generally led by an old one of immense size, a large wooden bell (kor) being hung round his neck to indicate the position of the mob after dusk. When returning from a good pasture, they show the exuberance of their spirits by cantering and kicking their heels in the air. A man running at best pace can with difficulty overtake one which is bent on avoiding him, and for a greater distance than two hundred yards the man is nowhere. They may often be seen scampering about the sands at Berbera, the men following them for hours trying to catch them.

According to the Somális, camels have a young one every second year, generally in the Gu or monsoon. They begin to foal when three years old; the foal—black, tawny-yellow, or white as a well-washed sheep—soon gets on its legs, and in a few days can scamper about. They are called Gódir, Gel-Ass, or Gel-Ad, according as they are born black, reddish yellow, or white, and they retain these shades through life. Yearlings, older camels, and she-camels with their young are kept in distinct mobs. The Somális object to the firing of a gun near, or otherwise startling the she-camels when about to foal, as they gallop away in panic, injuring stock. A she-camel, besides nourishing her foal, will daily give milk for two men who have no other food, and in the event of more being required, the young one is killed, and the skin removed, and whenever the mother is milked its skin is rubbed against her nostrils. She becomes quite tractable, and will follow the man who carries the skin. If the foal is allowed to live, as soon as it can browse the udders of the mother are tied with bits of string, and the milk reserved for human beings.

Somáli ponies average about thirteen hands and a half, and are bred by every tribe except the Esa and Géri. Of the tribes I have met on different expeditions, those having the most ponies are the Dolbahanta, the Rer Ali, the Rer Amáden, the Habr Gerhajis, and the Jibril Abokr sub-tribe of the Habr Awal. In the Nogal country we saw enormous numbers, one man sometimes owning one hundred and fifty. The Somáli pony carries a light weight splendidly; his feet are harder than even those of an Arab horse, and, indeed, unless well shod the latter would make poor work on the rocky ground over which the Somáli animal, which is never shod, will gallop at full speed. He is handy among bushes, and will go for three days, or even longer, without water, eats nothing but grass, and requires no care. I have never seen a Somáli pony covered up or groomed; it is exposed to all weathers, and is usually infested with ticks. The Kud-kudaha is a tick about half an inch in diameter, with a tortoise-shell back, its bite being venomous and drawing blood. Ponies are bred solely for intertribal fighting, the mares being considered the best.

Sir Richard Burton, in his First Footsteps in East Africa, gives an admirable description of the Somáli pony and his rider, not very flattering to either. But he could not have seen the best stamp of pony among the Gadabursi, and we have noticed that the tribes farther to the east were not so cruel as the Gadabursi, a man often dismounting and walking to save his animal.

The few ponies which are kept in waterless tracts, as a guard for the grazing camels, receive each a daily allowance of the milk of two camels mixed with a quart of water, the latter being brought from great distances. They are never used as pack animals, being too valuable in the eyes of the Somáli to be degraded by doing donkey’s work. Mules are sometimes used on the Zeila-Harar road, but are found nowhere else in Somáliland, to my knowledge.

We tried the best Somáli ponies ridden by their owners against an ordinary 14.1 “Gulf Arab” which I imported from Bombay, and which was ridden by my brother. The Somáli invariably jumped off with a good start, keeping it for about one hundred and fifty yards, and then dropping hopelessly behind when once the advantage of the start was lost.

Donkeys are not much used for transport except on the Zeila-Harar roads, where the nature of the country is stony. They are largely employed in taking salt and rice from Zeila to Harar, a bag of rice weighing one hundred and seventy pounds, or half a camel load, being carried by each. Only women ride donkeys, the Somáli man considering it beneath his dignity to do so.

When surveying in 1886, with a small escort of Bombay Infantry sepoys, I provided each man with a donkey, either to ride or to carry his valise and water-bottle on, according to inclination. There were twelve men so mounted, and the experiment proved a great success. The donkeys were driven herded together by two little boys. The escort was composed partly of these men and partly of Hindustáni policemen mounted on ponies, carrying carbines in saddle-buckets. In my later journeys, however, finding that the natives of Hindustán, being used to plenty of water, were at a great disadvantage when crossing waterless tracts, I formed the escort purely of well-drilled Somális, and this arrangement proved less expensive and better adapted to the requirements of the country.

Cattle are kept chiefly by the tribes inhabiting hilly country where water is plentiful, and by the mullahs in their settlements. Cow’s milk is generally tainted by the smoked vessels in which it is kept, and to obtain good milk it is necessary to see the cow milked. Ghee, or clarified butter (subug), is prepared from the cow’s milk which is left after the people have drunk their fill, and this ghee is sent down for sale to Berbera, where the coast people, who live chiefly on rice, consume a great quantity. Somális need fat or butter, and when not eating mutton or camel’s flesh, or drinking large quantities of milk, they insist upon a plentiful allowance of ghee to mix with their rice. The cattle from the interior are largely exported to Aden for the supply of the garrison, and vast quantities of hides are annually exported to America. It is possible that the Aden supply has been affected of late years by the great drain caused by the Abyssinian foraging expeditions into Ogádén.

Sheep and goats constitute the ordinary Somáli meat food. Camel meat is preferred, but it is considered a luxury, and cattle are seldom killed. The common sheep are of the black-headed variety (dumba), with fat tails, and they are seen whitening the hillsides wherever tribes are encamped. In the rains they get very fat, their tails becoming flabby masses. At this season the Bur Dab raider hurries back to his family, to luxuriate on the delicious meat. Sheep are given as presents to caravans, and, like fruit in India, “they represent in the bountiful East the visiting cards of the meagre West.” In many places a chief is not supposed to be officially aware of a stranger’s presence till he has received his gift of a sheep or two, or a piece of cloth. Sheep and goats can ordinarily go a week without water, but when grass is green they require none. We saw thousands of sheep grazing in the Haud pastures, forty miles away from water, and we were told they would remain there for three months.

Somáli sheep have no wool to speak of, and are never sheared. A few goats are herded with every flock of sheep, and the goats, being by far the more intelligent animals, take the lead when the flock is moving. The shepherd walks in front, calling to the goats, and they are followed by the sheep. Sheep are imported in large numbers to Aden. In 1891 there were sixty-eight thousand exported chiefly to feed the garrison. Amongst the tribes quantities of sheep are killed daily, and devoured at the evening meal in the karias, with singing and dancing. Mutton only ranks second to camel meat as the favourite food of a Somáli.

The annual movements of the trading caravans and the nomad tribes of Somáliland depend, of course, on the seasons. Roughly the duration of the seasons is as follows:—

(1) Jilál—January to April—the driest season; great heat.

(2) Gu—May, June—the heavier rains (little felt on the coast).

(3) Haga—July, August, September—the hot weather. The karíf wind, or south-west monsoon, blows furiously. It is hot in Guban, with sand-storms, but cold on the Haud and other parts of the high interior.

(4) Dair—October, November, December—the lighter rains. Heavy on the coast.

(5) At the end of Jilál is a short season of greatest heat just before Gu, called Kalíl.

Of these seasons the Haga is the most unpleasant on the coast, the karíf, a strong south-west gale, sweeping along with great fury, blowing the dust and stones in the face of any caravan so unfortunate as to have to march against it, and making it impossible to keep a tent up. The wind generally commences at midnight and blows till 2 P.M. on the next day; the remainder of the twenty-four hours, from 2 P.M. till midnight, being a time of great heat, which is even more unpleasant than the wind, unless tempered by a slight north-east breeze, coming as a reaction after the fourteen hours’ gale. My usual plan was to make the longest marches in the mornings, in spite of the wind, and on halting, to camp under the shade of a tree till the wind should have stopped sufficiently for us to pitch tents. Then at night a bivouac was made by piling all the baggage and camel-mats into a steep wall, all of us sleeping under the lee of it in the open, by which means one could get a comfortable sleep till morning; but I never kept up a tent during the wind-storm.

At this season coast communication by dhow is very uncertain; dhows cannot beat against the karíf, but while sailing before it they make about eleven knots an hour. Dhows for Aden cannot leave the Berbera harbour during the Haga season until evening, when the lull occurs, and then they sail out to near the lighthouse, three miles west of the town, waiting till midnight to cross towards Aden; on getting thirty-five miles out to sea they are usually clear of the karíf. This wind seems to cease above the level of Guban, and above Gólis the heat of July is mitigated by cool south-west breezes which are not very violent. As one descends again to the Webbe Shabéleh valley in the far interior, one comes into the karíf again; it is much worse at Bulhár, Berbera, and Karam than it is on the Zeila side.

In the Kalíl season, the intense heat just before the rains, I have registered 118° Fahrenheit under the shade of a double “Cabul” tent at midday, in my camp at Malgui in the maritime mountains. As we marched to the camp where this heat was registered, several of the men were bleeding from the nose, and on my asking them the reason, they said cheerfully, “Oh! Allah makes our noses bleed to cool our heads.” The Somális do not wear anything on their heads, and the close-shaven skulls of the older men are entirely exposed to the hot sun.

Caravans coming down from a distance of ten or twelve days’ march—that is, from Milmil or from this side of Gerlogubi—generally make two trips to the coast each year. For the first trip they come down from the interior late in the Haga, or about September, leaving Berbera again for the interior in the Dair, about December. They then come on a second trip in Jilál, bringing down animals, hides, ivory, feathers, gum, and ghee; and return in Kalíl, taking up chiefly rice and cloth.

From distant parts of Ogádén, or the Webbe, caravans make one trip a year, coming down at the end of Haga and returning in Kalíl or the beginning of Gu. Many smaller caravans, coming from the nearer parts of the Haud and Ogo, and engaged in petty barter, make more than two journeys to and from Berbera. Those coming from Fáf in Ogádén make the journey in, say, fifteen days’ fast marching without halts. The gédi, or march, is usually from four to five hours, ten to twelve miles being covered. The start is made at 4 A.M., marching goes on till 9 A.M., the midday halt giving the camels time to feed till 1 P.M., when another march is made till about 5 P.M.[11]

Eastern tribes make longer marches than the Gadabursi and Esa. The longest are made over waterless or uninhabited country, while in the inhabited tracts the caravan dawdles at every encampment. Our own men used to advise us to make one long march instead of two short ones, but we found it did not benefit the camels, the only saving being in trouble to the men, as the camp had to be formed once instead of twice.

In the hot weather on the Berbera maritime plain, the best time to march is at night, especially if there is a moon; the caravans swing along at a great pace in the cool of the night, especially if the paths are good and there is not too much jungle. Caravans leaving Berbera in the evening march throughout the night, reaching Laferug, thirty miles from Berbera, before halting.

At Berbera the camels are handed over, by arriving caravans, to the Esa Musa sub-tribe of the Habr Awal, or other nomadic people similarly situated, who tend them till such time as they shall be required for the return journey to the interior.

In Haga the Esa Musa and similar tribes are to be found at or near the base of Gólis Range, and in Dair they climb up this step into the Ogo country, which is vacated by the Habr Gerhajis tribe, who in their turn have retired far into the Haud, where the pastures are good at this season. In Jilál, the dry season, the Haud, having neither green grass nor surface pools, is uninhabitable, and the Habr Gerhajis being obliged to come north into their Ogo pastures and about Gólis Range, the Esa Musa are apparently pushed down into Guban and the maritime plain, which is their own country. In the Gu, or heavy rains, the best season for grass, the Esa Musa have only their own sheep and cattle to look after. They are then found in Ogo, the Habr Gerhajis being far out in the Haud, taking advantage of the green pasture.

All the nomads belonging to the coast tribes go into the Haud when there is green pasture and surface water, each tribe moving generally north and south, and keeping to its own strip of the plateau. Their best pastures are in the Haud, but they all have to leave in Jilál, and are then sure to be found north of the Haud edge. Sometimes the Habr Awal cross the Haud nearly to its southern edge, and at others the Ogádén come northwards till about half-way across. In this way what may be called the “orbits” of tribes overlap. In the Gu, or rains, when the Habr Gerhajis are far away in the Haud, and competition at the coast is at its lowest ebb, the Esa Musa export their cattle and sheep to Aden. They have agents at Berbera, and as opportunities offer, batches of, say, ten oxen or two hundred sheep are brought down for export, marching by easy stages. Coming from Bur’o, eighty miles from the coast, cattle or sheep reach Berbera in four to six days, while caravans generally cover the distance in three days.

Overlooking the Berbera-Bulhár coast track, at a spot about twenty-four miles west of Berbera, is a low spur of bare sandstone hills, called Dabada Jiáleh, ending at a single jia thorn-tree, and it is known as a spot which has till a few years ago been used by Esa Musa marauders as a watching-place when on the look-out for Ayyal Ahmed or Ayyal Yunis caravans passing along the track. There are similar spots all over the country, known as watching-places, sometimes a sandy hillock, sometimes a “boss” of rock (dagah, the South African kopje); and many have descriptive names, such as “Dagaha Todoballa” (rock of the seven robbers), showing the use to which they have been put.

Annually when wandering in search of rain, tribes which are at feud are liable to meet where their orbits overlap, and so often is there a fight, and a few graves on the scene of action are left to mark the event. The country is further rendered unsafe by raiding and plundering parties which surprise caravans, and gangs of highway robbers, who do not disdain to attack small parties, or single men and women in charge of a camel or two.

In the Gu, when the coast tribes are in Ogo and Haud, and there are pools of surface water everywhere and green grass for the ponies, and the tribes, moreover, have all their numbers present, a great deal of petty warfare and raiding goes on. Large mounted bands of young men go out from the tribes and travel great distances in search of caravans, or of grazing flocks. When out on raid the cavalier ties a grass water-bottle to his saddle-bow, together with a quantity of sun-dried meat, and thus provided he will often cross seventy miles of thorn forest to surprise his neighbour’s flocks and herds. The attack, made at dawn or in the afternoon, is arranged to take place suddenly, and it is timed when the male owners are scattered far and wide, sleeping in zeríbas or under the shade of trees, wrapped up in their tobes, and the flocks are only attended by boys and girls. The looted animals are hastily driven off, urged by gentle spear pricks, and the raiders return to their tribe to the musical strains of lowing cattle, bleating sheep, and screaming camels. If the enterprising horsemen are pursued in force the captured flocks are relinquished, but the camels, travelling faster, are clung to as long as possible, at the risk of a human life or two. A looted horse is a great prize, and the happy gainer will boast long and loudly of his deed.

In my several expeditions we were constantly crossing the tracks of these looting parties, which muster from thirty to four hundred mounted men. We actually fell in with a Dolbahanta troop, which was returning from an unsuccessful raid on the Habr Toljaala herds, having covered a journey of one hundred and forty miles.

Sometimes when resting at night the men sleep in line on the ground, the bridle of each pony being passed round the man’s wrist and the pony standing over him. In fighting order the troops are in single or double line, extended at an interval equal to the breadth of one pony.

The tribes near the northern coast most addicted to raiding appear to be the Jibril Abokr sub-tribe of the Habr Awal, the Mahamud Gerád Dolbahanta, and the Eidegalla, Habr Gerhajis. Late caravans, going into the interior in the beginning of Gu by the Mandeira route, are liable to be raided by the Jibril Abokr, parties of whom come from Arabsíyo, by Argán, to the low Assa Range, an extensive tract of broken country, and there wait for several days together on the chance of catching caravans on their way through the Murgo and Jeráto Passes. The time is chosen when the Esa Musa and Habr Gerhajis are absent in Ogo and Haud searching for pasture, and have left unoccupied the stretch of country below the passes. The marauders, hiding in broken ground and deep ravines, will subsist for a long time on stolen camels, picked up here and there, until a sufficiently large caravan yields a rich harvest of camels and property, with which the robbers then decamp to their own country.

Caravans going from Berbera to Hargeisa, Milmil, and the south-west, fearful of danger, will go directly south by Sheikh, and thence round by Toyo Plain, to Hargeisa. The Sheikh Pass is also used by caravans fearing to go into the interior by the Gaha and other eastern passes, which are annually threatened by the Mahamud Gerád; but both the Sheikh and Jeráto Passes have been greatly improved, both in point of safety and practicability, by the British authorities within the last three or four years.

When water and grass are to be had for the horses, the Mahamud Gerád, Dolbahanta, and the coast section of the Habr Gerhajis organise strong mounted bands, which sweep through the Duss and Gaha Passes, and raid sometimes as far as Biyogóra and the Berbera maritime plain, carrying off everything they can steal, and retiring at once. They often make raids in the Waredad Plain above the Huguf Pass in the Habr Toljaala country, and few are the caravans which have the hardihood to come through this country by the Haliélo route. In fact, the Mahamud Gerád raids from the east, across the caravan routes to the Ogádén and Marehán countries, do immense harm to the Berbera trade.

In the Dolbahanta country we found many natives with hides piled in their karias ready to be taken to Berbera, but fearing to risk them on the road. One caravan took advantage of the protection afforded by our escort to pass through the disturbed Bur Dab district. That caravans have persisted in crossing the country at all in face of the dangers to which they have always been exposed, speaks well for the value of Berbera as a port, and for the trading enterprise of the Somális. The British system of furnishing armed “biladiers”[12] for the protection and at the expense of caravans has given great encouragement to trade.

Men of caravans on meeting in the jungle will halt to exchange the news, and with one’s own caravan it is difficult to make a guide pass his own karias. I have often been led five or six miles out of my way because the guide’s karia lay in that direction. His ambition is to bring the caravan to his home, to show off his own importance to his relations, and to be able to play the host with a liberal distribution of his master’s presents. On the march our men have constantly shared their allowance of food with strangers who have been going our way, and we have sometimes been astonished, when loading up at dawn, to see half a dozen natives warming their spears over the dying embers of our watch-fires, who have turned up in the night from no one knows where. In many cases these are women, and being industrious, they save the men a good deal of work.

Somehow or other there is nearly always a woman or two in camp, generally young, pretty, and respectable, with the hair enclosed in the regulation dark blue bag, denoting that she is married. When I ask where she has sprung from I always hear, “Oh, one of Mahomed’s cousins,” or “Jáma’s sister.” Generally “Jáma’s sister” was going to a karia on ahead, to see about a stolen sheep. These relatives are always quiet, cheerful, and thrifty, eating little and doing the work of two men, besides inducing half a dozen youngsters to work harder at camel-loading to show off their muscles. They appear whenever we come to a karia, and disappear mysteriously at another farther on, just as passengers get into a train at one station and leave it at another. Often my men have told me that the new-comers were people who had been waiting to make a journey, but, fearing to do so till we came by, they had joined us for the sake of our protection, working for us in return.

Sometimes I have been standing over a fire in the cold wind an hour before dawn, waiting for the cook to bring me my cup of coffee, without which I never march, when a youth, whom I have never seen before, has put down his shield and spears on the grass, and going to my bedding, has brought my ulster, saying, “Oh, Sircal![13] here is your coat,” in the most natural way, as if I had paid him for a month.

It is wonderful how quickly these strangers worm themselves into one’s service. An unlicked cub of a karia dandy comes up with shield and spear and joins your caravan. In a few days he has shown some special qualification, for tracking or camel-loading, for helping the cook, or carrying the theodolite. An accident deprives you of one of your men, and he receives the sick man’s rifle and cartridge belt, and is numbered among your escort. In a fortnight he has come to the front as one of your best men, and on the next expedition he may be head camelman, and perhaps on a third or fourth he may be interpreter and caravan leader. When he first joined you a year before he knew no language but Somáli and a little Arabic, but while in your service he has picked up a fair amount of Hindustáni. A few years later you meet him again as a merchant, who has in the interim accompanied half a dozen European sportsmen on shooting trips, and has now invested his savings in merchandise, trading with tribes which he would never have dared to visit except in the service of his white masters. Many a time have I wished that I could transform the complacent, shaven-headed, sleek-looking scoundrel back into the original unsophisticated cub with the well-oiled mop of hair who came into my camp two or three years before!

A Herd of Plateau Gazelles

CHAPTER III
BIG GAME SHOOTING, 1887

Start from Berbera—The first koodoo—First herd of elephants seen; elephant bagged with a single shot—Fresh start with another caravan—Waller’s gazelle bagged—Mandeira; delightful headquarters—The Issutugan river—Herd of elephants found—Elephant hunt at Jalélo, and death of a large bull—Our night camp—Camp at Sobát—Elephants heard trumpeting at night—Interesting scene; a herd of sixty elephants—Two elephants bagged—Camp at Hembeweina; lions round camp—A herd of elephants in the Jalélo reeds—Long and unsuccessful hunt—Tusks stolen by a caravan—Lions roaring round the Hembeweina camp at night—Visit of Shiré Shirmáki and thirty horsemen—Interesting scene—A row in camp—News of a solitary bull at Eil-Danan—Exciting hunt; horsemen manœuvring a vicious elephant, and death of the bull—Return to Berbera.

In January 1887, after having previously made six exploring expeditions to the interior of Somáliland, I started upon my first sporting trip after big game, my caravan consisting of eight Somális with four camels. Marching thirty-five miles inland from Berbera, we pitched our first shooting camp at Hulkabóba, and the following day we ascended the Golis Range by the Sheikh Pass, halting in Mirso, a ledge two miles wide, situated two thousand feet above our last camp, and about half-way up the mountain, where there is excellent pasturage. We here formed our bivouac beside a spring of clear water, and in the sandy torrent beds which formed its approaches we found many lion and koodoo tracks. Before leaving the coast I had sent two Somális on horseback to the cedar forests which clothe the flat top of Gólis to search for fresh elephant tracks. On this evening they arrived to report having found no recent sign, so I decided to go to Sheikh, twelve miles to the east, and thence to try Wagar Mountain.

At about 3 P.M. we loaded up and started on our march. The path led over rocky country along the side of Gólis, through thick belts of jungle and across sandy torrent beds, which in many places showed the fresh tracks of lion and antelope, but not of elephants. It was very hot and the sharp stones were fearfully trying to the camels, nevertheless we had to push on in order to reach water while daylight lasted; we failed, and night overtaking us, we were compelled to camp on the hillside without it.

Next morning our march took us through a maze of ravines, about the worst ground I have ever traversed with baggage animals; then descending abruptly to Lower Sheikh, we found a plot of green turf bordering a stream and surrounded on all sides by steep mountains. The Sheikh Pass takes its name from the tomb of a sheikh built in the form of a sugar-loaf plastered with a white substance, which forms a very conspicuous landmark at the top of the pass. While forming camp at Lower Sheikh we were passed by a large caravan, which was fording the stream on its way with hides, gum, feathers, and other commodities, from the Ogádén country to Berbera, and soon afterwards my trackers arrived with the welcome news that they had struck the path of a herd of elephants,—a bull and four cows,—two marches to the south of the sheikh’s grave. They had followed and marked down the elephants to a jungle where they were likely to stay, at the back of Wagar, and they further reported the bull to be a fine tusker. I engaged three horsemen from among the Habr Gerhajis, whose pastures were at Lower Sheikh, to take up the tracks, and on sighting the herd to send one of their number back to guide us to the spot; meanwhile I waited at Lower Sheikh, looking about for koodoo. Soon afterwards my people led in a shepherd boy, who had seen a bull and cow koodoo retire up one of the steep gorges of the Sheikh valley to take their noon rest under a large tree. A hot walk along the banks of the Sheikh river, at this time a mere brook, brought us to the karia where the boy had first seen the koodoos. On the left bank of the river a gorge ran up into the mountains, and opposite to its mouth stood the karia, a circle of half a dozen poor-looking huts.

I waited here while my Midgán hunter and the boy went to the foot of the hills; soon they reported that the position of the game was unchanged. The koodoos were still under the large tree at the head of the gorge some four or five hundred feet above us. The only way to get at them was to go up another gorge parallel to the one which contained the tree, and to leeward of it. On nearing the tree, after a tedious climb, I happened to crack a stick, and immediately there followed a crash and stampede below us. All noise soon ceased, but I caught sight of something moving down the gorge in front. Stooping cautiously, I looked through a thorn-bush, placing the muzzle of my express within the network of twigs; after a second or two I could make out one large brown spiral horn and a bit of striped skin lying somewhere over the shoulder, so taking a quick aim a little below this, I touched the trigger and a beautiful bull koodoo rolled twenty feet down into the torrent bed in the centre of the gorge, and was stopped by a large mass of rock. The cow galloped madly away, loosening a shower of stones with her hoofs, and soon there came from below the sound of two shots from a Snider as she raced past my camelman, Núr Osman, who had been posted at the mouth of the gorge; but crossing the Sheikh stream, she took to the hills on the opposite side of the valley and escaped. Leaving orders at the karia for a camel to follow us with the koodoo meat we started home.

The return walk in the evening down the valley was as wild and picturesque as one could wish. Núr Osman and the Midgán led the way, carrying the head and skin of my first koodoo, at which I could not help looking admiringly from time to time, for it was a great prize. Our path led close to the stream, over dark slippery rocks, with here and there a plot of rich turf running down to the water’s edge. At our backs the sun was setting behind the crest of Golis, and in front rose gigantic precipices, the hills having been quarried out by the river into a deep canon. As it grew dusk my reflections were disturbed by a wart-hog boar, which had come down to drink in the cool stream after a hot day, but I had no reason for firing at him, his tusks being poor.

The next day one of the three horsemen came back to tell me that he had marked down the herd of elephants, and that it was being watched by his companions. He carried in his hand pieces of half-chewed aloes with the saliva still damp upon them, which the elephants had torn up a few hours ago. Leaving most of the baggage behind in the camp at Lower Sheikh, and posting Núr Osman and another of the men in charge, I mounted the Sheikh Pass the next morning at sunrise, accompanied by two camels and five men. At the top of the pass I shot a spotted hyæna, to the delight of the mullahs living at the village of Guldu Hamed close by, as it had stolen several of their sheep.

Half an hour before sunset two horsemen came racing over the plain from the Wagar direction, and poising their spears circled round us at full speed. They pulled up shouting “Mót!” (Hail!) and reported the latest tidings about the herd. I learned the melancholy news that it had got away in the night. My men, however, tried to comfort me by saying, “Insh’ Allah Bukera” (Please God, to-morrow). We camped at an empty zeríba in a strip of bush near Soksodi, where there was firewood and water, intending to search for the elephants next day. We lit a roaring fire and threw ourselves down on the sand to sleep. At dawn, while my men were preparing coffee, I took a stroll round camp, and saw by several broad footprints in the sand that a large lion had been prowling round our bivouac all night Later on my men pointed out old tracks of elephants, broken branches, and aloe clumps, indicating the course of a herd which must have passed two or three days before. I sent all the men into the covert to look for fresh tracks, but at noon they returned unsuccessful.

At two in the afternoon some shepherds came to water a flock of sheep on their way to the Berbera market, and they said that they had passed a herd of elephants only an hour ago in a valley to the south. On my asking for a guide they refused, hoping to get me to pay heavily for their information, so I shouldered my double four-bore rifle and started with the two Midgán trackers on the back trail of the sheep, hoping to find the elephants without a guide. The path led past two small sandstone hills, and we then entered a sloping valley, down the centre of which ran a sand-river bordered by dense jungle. Heavy masses of armo creeper draped the branches of the trees, and as we advanced fragments of creeper, which had evidently been torn down by the elephants, lay across our path.

We soon came to the fresh tracks of a herd which must have passed early in the day, and the Midgáns began to follow the footprints with great interest. The signs became every moment more distinct; at one spot the elephants had taken a long halt, rolling in the sand; and after half an hour’s tracking we found evidences that we were quite close to them. Sitting down with one of the Midgáns, I sent the other up a small hill to look around; he soon returned, whispering “Maródi, Maródi!” (elephants). Having joined us, he shaded his eyes to have another look, and then stretching out his hand, he pointed to two reddish brown spots among the lower branches of a clump of high trees on the farther side of a glade. As we looked six large elephants and four calves walked solemnly by twos or in single file out into the open. Even in this moment of excitement, for I had never seen a wild elephant before, I noticed the huge ears of the African species, the high fore-quarters and quick, active pace, and a beautiful sight it was! Swinging their heads from side to side, they crossed the glade and entered a clump of trees. Here they stopped and began feeding about, the swaying and snapping of the branches, and the peculiar low rumbling which they give out when feeding, indicating where they stood, though we could not see them.

The Midgáns, who were new to the work of attacking elephants on foot, did not quite like the prospect of going with me into the middle of the herd, so taking the four-bore, and telling them to watch from a low hill, I began creeping into the jungle alone. In thick forests the chief difficulty of elephant hunting consists in picking out the one with the best tusks, and then getting close up to it without being winded or seen by the others.

I threw up some sand to try the direction of the wind, and then advanced very silently for a hundred yards into the thickest jungle. I heard the rustle of some creepers in front of me, and then peeping through the underwood I saw three elephants fanning themselves with their ears under a very large camel-thorn-tree, whose branches rose to a flat fan shape high above their heads. It was from this thorn-tree that one of them had just been pulling down the creepers. From my left came the rumbling sound made by a fourth elephant, but I could see nothing there. I had on entering the jungle unconsciously walked into the very centre of the herd, and there was now no time to be lost in making my choice, because one of them might at any moment get down wind of me and sound the alarm.

The elephants I had seen were standing about forty yards away, one being a little apart from the other two, close to a tree, and I could see that a pair of tusks protruded from its lips. I advanced to within fifteen yards of the foremost one, which looked quietly at me for some moments, its trunk feeling the wind, as if wondering whether I might or might not be the stump of a tree. Raising my rifle I fired at the centre of the temple, half-way between the eye and the ear. The smoke obscured my view, but I the next instant could hear the jungle stirring all round me as the elephants made off. Then every living thing seemed to have left the place. As the smoke cleared away it disclosed, fifteen yards off, the body of the elephant sitting motionless with its knees tucked under its chest, a single hole in the temple showing where the bullet had entered. This turned out to be the largest cow in the herd, and I afterwards found, by a thorough examination of the tracks in the neighbourhood, that there was not a single bull.

Satisfied with my success so far as it went, I did not follow the herd, and in answer to my whistle the Midgáns came up, astonished to see that a single bullet had done the business. The camels were brought up, and we formed our bivouac by the dead elephant, and at dusk the tusks lay beside the camp-fire. Next day we marched to Sheikh, and found the camp safe, and in the evening began our march back to Berbera.

Two months later I set out again, beginning by a dhow voyage of one hundred and fifty miles across the Gulf of Aden. I hired four camels and two camelmen at five rupees a day, or about £10 for a whole month.[14] I also engaged a caravan leader, three servants, two Somáli trackers, and a Midgán, not a large party to go into an unknown country with. To guard against the possible attack by robbers at a time when the English even at the coast were very little known, I lent my three servants a Snider carbine each. The remainder of the men had their spears and shields, and the Midgán, Adan, carried his bow and arrows. My “butler,” Núr Osman, had been a camelman in the Nile expedition for the relief of Gordon, and had become a very fair shot.

By the light of a full moon we started across the Berbera Maritime Plain, going south-west; and at 1 A.M. we reached a small tree called “Nasíya” (the resting-place), sixteen miles from the coast. Early in the night we passed several karias of trading caravans which were halted round Berbera for the trading season, each circle of mat huts pouring out a crowd of Midgán dogs to give us a surly salute. At the last karia I fired at a spotted hyæna, but missed him. At Nasíya we threw ourselves down on the sand, and unloading the camels took a short sleep to refresh ourselves for the work yet before us, and at 4 A.M. we pushed on again towards the first water, Deregódleh, which is twenty-two miles from Berbera. As we advanced the bare-looking Maritime Plain began to break up into stony watercourses and thorny bush. We passed, to our right, a detached flat-topped hill of trap formation called Sýene, part of the first low Maritime Range.

Near Sýene I saw two buck Sœmmering’s gazelles, looking large and white by the light of the rising sun, which was at my back. The wind was blowing from the front, and I made a careful stalk, but on raising my head from the last watercourse the aoul had removed themselves three hundred yards distant, and were stopping to gaze. They had seen my camels coming along. Then with whisking tails they trotted away, and I never saw them again. Very nearly related to this gazelle is the Cape springbuck. Sœmmering’s gazelle carries a pair of graceful, lyre-shaped black horns, about fourteen inches in length and well ringed. When still scarcely clear of Sýene, catching a glimpse of dark red in a watercourse two hundred yards to my left, I walked towards it, put up a Waller’s gazelle, and bagged him with my Martini-Henry rifle.

At 10 A.M. we reached Deregódleh, a watercourse which has cut its way deep into the limestone rock of the interior plain and hollowed it out into caves, in which sheep, when waiting at the wells, take shelter from the sun. There is some very low cover on each bank, in which hares and the little Sakáro antelopes are to be found.

We left Deregódleh and marched to Mandeira, a delightful headquarters. It is a valley about three miles wide, under Gán Libah mountain, a bluff of the great Gólis Range. The mountains overlooking this valley rise to about six thousand feet above sea-level. The high country beyond them is called Ogo, the interior and Maritime Plains below them are called Guban. The Ogo climate is much cooler than that of Guban, and the grass and jungle more luxuriant. At Mandeira, all along the foot of Gólis, is more or less dense forest of the large gudá thorn-tree, with a thick undergrowth of aloes and thorny bushes. Here are found leopards, lesser koodoo, Walleri, and wart-hog. The pugs of an occasional lion may be seen, and in the gorges of the mountain is to be found the large koodoo, with his splendid spiral horns, and the Alakud or klipspringer. In the stony interior plains between Gólis and the Maritime Range are found oryx, wild ass, the ubiquitous Walleri, the lowland gazelles, and a few shy ostriches. Spotted hyænas are common, striped hyænas rare.

We camped near the water at Mandeira at midday, and found the valley occupied by a section of the Habr Gerhajis tribe, who were friendly. While here I shot a buck lesser koodoo and missed a splendid bull koodoo, which crossed a ledge of rock two hundred feet above us. The buck lesser koodoo is, I think, the most beautiful wild animal in Somáliland; his coat is fairly long, of a French gray colour in old males, and nicely marked with white bands across the body. The horns are spiral, and about twenty-five inches long, and he has a bushy tail tipped with white. When disturbed he goes away in great bounds, flying the bushes and clumps of aloes, and presenting a most difficult shot.

“Flying the Bushes.”

Hearing that there were elephants near Little Harar (Hargeisa), we went on to Gulánleh, about twenty miles short of that place and ninety south-west of Berbera. At Gulánleh the country became open and undulating, the Gólis Range having ceased, and Guban rising gradually to the level of Ogo. Hargeisa is situated in the district between Ogo and Guban, which is called Ogo-Gudan.[15] The country immediately north of Hargeisa is called the Damel Plain, a vast plateau of rolling ground covered with gravel or red earth, and low thorny scrub, and traversed by tributaries of the Issutugan river-bed. The Issutugan is a sand-river at places from one to five hundred yards wide, which, rising near Hargeisa, cuts through the Maritime Range and sends its freshets over the Maritime Plain to reach the sea near Bulhár or Géri. The tributaries are generally dry and sandy, with patches of dense reeds, and are bordered by belts of high tree jungle about a mile wide. These reeds, generally ten feet high, were at that time infested by lions, which did not appear in the daytime, but left plenty of tracks in the sand, showing where they had prowled up and down the river-beds at night. In May, June, and December elephants used to come down these rivers to feed on the creepers and aloes of the forest belts along their banks, often leaving the shelter of the trees to stand in the patches of reeds.

I had determined to make Gulánleh my headquarters for elephant-hunting, and to send my two Somáli trackers, who were mounted, together with a Habr Gerhajis horseman who had joined us at Mandeira, into all the large elephant jungles within twenty miles. Meanwhile I remained at Gulánleh, going out shooting every day. Here I was lucky enough to bag two very fine bull oryx and two cows, all four having long, straight horns. A few buck Walleri and plateau gazelles followed, and on the second day of my stay we put up nine ostriches, there being two cocks and seven hens. I fired at them with the Martini-Henry at three hundred yards as they sailed away, but only knocked up the dust around them. Three times we fell in with ostriches, but always found their vision too good for us. They look like gigantic fowls as they go streaming away over the plains. At Gulánleh we also saw a herd of wild asses, which halted fifty yards away to gaze at us. We, however, held our fire, not considering them fair game. They were splendid animals, very well marked with stripes on the legs.

On 13th May my patience was rewarded by the arrival of the three horsemen, with the news that they had found a large herd of elephants at Jalélo, about twelve miles away to the west; so we packed a few blankets, axes, tinned provisions, and other necessaries on a camel, and filling my pockets with dates, I set out at 8 A.M. for the Jalélo covert, accompanied by two mounted trackers, the Midgán, and two other men, leaving the Gulánleh camp in the charge of Núr Osman. The forest at Jalélo consists chiefly of the heavy gudá timber bordering the Hembeweina river, which lower down is called Issutugan. There are extensive tracts of reeds in the river-bed, and these are so dense it is hard work forcing a path through them, and once inside, it is impossible to see anything except at a distance of a few feet. After a hot march we struck the Hembeweina river at Jalélo, and, sending the mounted trackers and all the other men to hunt up the elephants, I sat under a wild date-palm, and lunched off sardines, dates, and the contents of my water-bottle.

The midday sun had been fearfully hot, and I was just dozing off to sleep under the grateful shade of the date-palm, when my head tracker, Hussein Debeli, came bounding up in a wonderful state of excitement, brandishing his big stabbing spear and dancing round me in circles. I knew at once that his news was good, and, after a pause to take breath, he said he had suddenly seen a very large bull elephant in the bed of the river only half a mile below my palm-tree. Packing everything quickly on the camel, and leaving orders for it to be brought on slowly after us, I took Hussein Debeli as guide, and shouldering my four-bore rifle, which weighed over twenty pounds, I started off to look up the elephant. As we rounded a spur he came into full view, walking quickly down the centre of the river-bed below us, turning his head from side to side as he swung along, his great ears sticking out at right angles like studding-sails. He looked rather disturbed in his mind, and as a breeze was blowing from us down the river towards him, he had no doubt winded us, or one of the men who had been sent to look for him.

Going as fast as we could, we ran along the high bank to intercept him, and if possible to get below and to leeward of him before beginning the attack, but as we got nearly abreast he saw us and broke into a shambling trot. Seeing that he was escaping us I opened fire with the four-bore, though the range was at least seventy yards. At the shots he spun round and turned up stream again at a great rate. Bathed in perspiration from the hot sun, and desperately thirsty, I followed as fast as I could, and at last, in the distance up the river, appeared the two horsemen, with red tassels flying and spears flashing in the sun, galloping down at full speed to head the elephant. This had the effect of forcing him to plunge into the broad bed of reeds, where he pulled up, comparatively secure from attack. It so happened, however, that he had chosen a spot where the steep river bank overlooked the reeds, so that on going to the edge and peeping over, I could see his head and the ridge of his back just rising above them. The range was far, over sixty yards, but firing from where we were was preferable to the impossible task of trying to approach him noiselessly in the reeds, so, aiming for the temple, I opened fire again. A right and left were answered by an unmistakable crack as of a big bullet hitting bone, and by a “swish” as the second shot, going over the mark, went innocently through the tops of the reeds. The first shot, however, had told, boring a clean hole through the flap of the ear and entering the skull rather far back. The elephant gave a shrill trumpet, spread out his ears, and spun round facing us, then he swung back into the original position.

Another shot, fired at the place where I guessed his shoulder to be, made him throw up his trunk and subside into the reeds, but he was up again in an instant, looking very sick. This would never do, so climbing down the steep scarp to the lower level, and edging carefully round the margin of the reeds till nearly opposite him, and then going in a little way so that I could see his temple above the reeds some thirty yards away, I took a very careful aim and fired. The elephant dropped at once, and when my Somális, who were standing on the bank beyond him, raised a hunting-song, I knew that he was dead. We now went in, following the path he had made into the reeds, and found him lying on his side, one tusk being four feet long and fairly thick; the other had lost a foot from the point, possibly broken off while uprooting a tree. He was a fine fellow, and when we brought a tape later on, we found he measured ten feet six inches perpendicular height at the shoulder.

The camel coming up, we got down axes and at once set to work to cut out the ivory. I found the Somális very feeble at this work, as it was sunset by the time they had removed one tusk, and they seemed thoroughly exhausted. Then a heavy rain-storm burst over us, and when it had stopped the setting sun left us wet through, shivering under a thorn bush, the river valley turned temporarily into an immense marsh, and, worst of all, no moon. We had seen many fresh lion tracks in the river-bed during our hunt, which fact did not tend to improve the outlook, and my five men declared themselves too exhausted to collect dry firewood, and lay like logs, looking the picture of misery.

After ten minutes wasted in trying to coax them to help me, during which I was only answered by grunts, I tried the effect of storming at them, and seeing I was annoyed and fearing for their precious salaries, they sulkily began to look about for scraps of bark which might have escaped the general wetting. They considered a fire unnecessary, saying that Allah would keep the lions away, and that they were too wet and miserable to care whether they were eaten up or not. Not being bad fellows, however, they afterwards began to warm to their work, and collected a goodly pile, and digging out a box of matches from my bag, we soon had a cheerful blaze, and made a thorn zeríba round our bivouac. The place now looked fairly comfortable, with our clothes hanging upon the surrounding branches.

The Somális were before long snoring under some of my blankets which I had to lend them, but I had no intention of going supperless to bed, and sat up for two hours longer, cooking a formidable dish of soup and a pot of cocoa, and on the whole thoroughly enjoying myself, with the tusk of my first bull elephant lying on the grass before me. The consequence was that when we were roused up next morning by the sun shining into our eyes, I felt quite fresh, while my companions did nothing but grunt and shiver under the blankets. By noon we had cut out the other tusk, and packing everything on the camel, we set out to march three miles down the river to Hembeweina.

During our short march we saw lesser koodoo, oryx, and Waller’s gazelles, but I was unsuccessful with these, and we formed a second bivouac without having found the main herd of elephants of which we had been in search. Next morning we marched back to Gulánleh, intending to bring away our main camp which had been left there, and to strike the river again at Sobát, twelve miles above Jalélo. This plan we carried out, forming an encampment at Sobát near the great rocks through which the Issutugan trickles at this spot. Below our camp the river-bed opened out into a broad, dry, sandy wádi without reeds, and bordered by dense forest with aloe undergrowth. The banks of this river from Sobát to Hembeweina were carpeted with grass and there was a good supply of water; moreover, the nearest Somáli karias were those of the Abdul Ishák, Habr Gerhajis, at least twenty miles to the south-east. These are the conditions most favourable for the presence of game.

On the morning after our arrival at Sobát I was rudely awakened from my second sleep by Núr Osman poking me up with the butt-end of a Snider, and informing me that elephants had been heard trumpeting in the forest a short distance from the tent, where they had been quartering about, afraid to come to the water. It was still dark, but by the time I had lit a candle and had a wash and breakfast, a long red line in the east showed that the dawn was just beginning to break, and we sallied out. We expected to come on the fresh tracks at once, but we had searched the jungle round camp for at least half a mile in every direction before one of the men, who had gone farther afield, came running back saying he could show me the herd. Pushing forward to the top of the next rise, we looked about us, and in the thickest part of the forest we saw several dark masses, which in the growing light we made out to be the ears of elephants moving backwards and forwards as they stood listening. Walking cautiously round them, we reached a small hillock which overlooked the jungle to leeward of them, and made a careful examination of the herd. While so doing we discovered that it was a very large one, some of the cows which we had at first overlooked being actually down wind of us.

None appeared at first to notice us, but we must have concealed ourselves carelessly whilst moving about looking for a good tusker, and I think one or two of them later on became aware of our presence. We had been watching them for nearly half an hour, and a very pretty sight it was; the herd numbered about sixty, and seemed to be made up entirely of cows and young ones. Hitherto they had been browsing comfortably and had seemed quite at home, as if the forest belonged to them; now, however, they slowly but surely began to prepare to move off the ground. Whether they had discovered us, or were merely contemplating a change of quarters, was not quite clear. In a short time a line began to be formed, and they filed away in full view, travelling down wind, so that we did not quite know, since we could see no bull, what was the next thing to be done. They were moving at a steady walk, and we amused ourselves counting them and examining each individual, as I did not wish to shoot cows. I regretted much not having the means to photograph them as they solemnly went by without fuss or noise, treading carefully, each small calf hurrying along under its great mother’s hind legs. All the cows of above medium size seemed to have tusks.

Elephant and Calf

Whilst I stood admiring the herd disappearing among the trees like a dissolving view, I was reminded by the bloodthirsty Hussein that we had come to destroy elephants, and not to stare at them, so, the temptation being too much for me, we took up their tracks through the heavy timber, with bad aloe undergrowth, the crash, as an elephant now and then playfully broke a tree ahead of us, being carried to our ears. Once we followed too close, for a prolonged crash in our direction told that an old cow was investigating the taint in the air. We, of course, gave her plenty of room, as I wanted to have another look for a bull before advancing to the attack, and when all was quiet we resumed our tracking. The jungle was very fine, so that while we were following the elephants we were generally in the shade. We found the small Sakáro antelopes very numerous, standing behind the aloes to gaze at us and then darting off with their whistling alarm-note. Sometimes we came on several tortoises, some of their shells measuring quite two feet long and a foot wide. They seemed to live in small families of four or five, and are very common in the aloe jungles.

At last, after a walk of little more than a mile, we again sighted the elephants standing at the edge of the forest belt, crowded together in three large groups, looking uncommonly suspicious. Some high ground overlooked the jungle, and circling round as far as possible under cover, we reached a position very open and exposed, but otherwise good, being down wind and sixty yards from the nearest group. We were standing on a spur of the Damel Plain, covered with loose gravel and sprinkled with a few small bushes. After a rapid examination of the ground I opened fire at the biggest elephant, and with indescribable commotion and clouds of dust the three groups dissolved into a long string, rushing past us headlong through the forest, only intent on escape.

The big cow which I had fired at was hidden in dust for a moment, and then spinning round in a semicircle, she made off after the others, her stern quite closing up the path. Following on in her wake we caught up with some of the herd which were lagging, and I fired at one which appeared to be a young bull, bringing it down stone dead on its side, the bullet having caught it behind the shoulders while going by at full speed. Unfortunately, on inspection it proved to be a cow. Then, continuing in the direction taken by the herd, we at length saw the cow which had been first hit standing within forty yards of a large tree, and stalking up to the tree, which was to leeward of her, I fired at her temple. She went down and rolled over on her side, the men, delighted at my success, running up to jump on her back. Suddenly I shouted “Look out, she’s getting up!” and I had scarcely time to cover her temple with the foresight from where I stood, twenty yards away, before she was on her legs again, with ears stuck out at right angles. Another shot from the four-bore, and she fell dead.

The severe kick of the rifle generally sent me back a couple of yards, and I must have been standing wrong, for as I fired something gave way in my right leg, and I came down in a sitting posture on to a clump of aloes, unable to rise at once, and wondering whether the elephant was dead or not. I was laid up in camp for three days, but on the fourth I could limp about very creditably, and killed a fine wart-hog boar near camp, besides firing at five striped hyænas, which were prowling about at dusk among the rocks. When we had cut out the tusks of the two cows we resolved to try fresh ground, and getting astride of my mule I marched with my caravan to Hembeweina, sixteen miles lower down the river. Here we found in the sand the tracks of six lions of different ages, which had been prowling about in the river-bed and in the bordering reeds. Close to camp we found the half-eaten carcase of a spotted hyæna which they had caught. They must have been badly off for food to have eaten a hyæna; indeed, from the absence of fresh tracks, we thought the rest of the game must have been frightened from the vicinity by the lions.

The day after our arrival at Hembeweina I was again disturbed before dawn by Núr Osman, with the report that a lot of elephants had been heard trumpeting near the water during the night, and after a good breakfast we started in search of them. After going up the river bank for about three miles, we came to the large patch of reeds at Jalélo where I had killed the first bull eight days before, and getting on to the identical spot on the high bank from which I had fired at him, we examined the expanse of reeds. The air was much tainted by the dead elephant as we approached the edge of the bank, too much so to make us care to go into the reeds to investigate farther. Looking over the sea of yellow stems we suddenly saw two cow elephants with one large calf in company, standing under a date-palm well out in the reeds some two hundred and fifty yards distant from the spot on which we were standing. Wishing to get a bull, I decided not to attack them.

My Somális were advising me to advance upon these three herd elephants, and we were sitting on the edge of the bank intently gazing at them, when an indescribable feeling that something was behind me made me look round, and there, standing right over us, not twenty yards away, was an enormous tusker quietly blinking his eyes at us and balancing his right leg, undecided whether to go on along the top of the bank behind us or to take a path straight down into the reeds. He must have come up very quietly, for no one had heard a sound, and my looking round seemed to have been accidental. Meanwhile, as we were in the open on the edge of the scarp, in a bad position to withstand a charge, especially as I was still lame, we waited, crouched as we were, keeping as still as mice, and watched the enormous brute making up his mind. We were so much in the open that had I raised my rifle he would have made us out at once. Perhaps I ought to have fired, but when first seen his head was towards us and his trunk down, so that he offered no certain shot. After swinging his foot once or twice he took the path down into the reeds, treading softly, as if afraid of cracking a stick, and looking curiously towards us out of the corner of his eye, evidently unable to make out quite what we were; when he was round the bank I stood up ready to fire at him as he passed below.

On reaching the lower level he seemed to scent the dead elephant, and began walking swiftly out into the reeds. There was no time to be lost if I wanted those big white tusks, so aiming quickly as he moved, I fired the heavy rifle at the root of his ear, hitting him just a little too far back. A fiendish change came over him, until now so calm and solemn. Out went his great ears, and with his trunk curled up tightly in front of his chest, giving a shrill trumpet he raised his head and went crashing through the dry reeds, going up the river-bed and presenting his side to us. Aiming for the shoulder, I again fired, and struck him fairly in the ribs; this turned him across the river straight away from our bank, and he dropped into the wake of the three cows, which on hearing the shots had left the palm-tree in alarm, and were already sailing away through the reeds in fine style.

I was still very lame, and until the mule came up had to content myself with watching the game disappear into the forest on the farther side of the river. While they were crossing the reeds the wounded bull gave an occasional squeal and charged off at a tangent, pounding imaginary foes, and looking the picture of annoyance. As the four elephants disappeared among the trees they were joined by two strings of cows and young ones which we had not seen before, followed by two very large tuskers. I felt that I had made a mess of the business, and regretted then that we had left the horses in camp, as they would have been most useful in turning the elephants. We had to wait some minutes for my mule to be brought up, and it was 9 A.M. before we took up the tracks of the wounded elephant.

The sun was beginning to get very powerful, making doubly hard the work of advancing over the masses of fallen reeds which obstructed the ground even in the path made by the elephants. The tracking, however, was not difficult, as a wide lane had been opened through the reeds everywhere bespattered with blood. When we reached the forest on the farther side of the river the blood had almost ceased, and following became a difficult matter, as the footsteps of the wounded elephant were becoming mingled with those of the other two bulls. It was dreadfully hot, and for more than two hours we toiled along over aloes and thorns and through tree jungles, covering about six miles of ground before we again sighted our game.

The herd was standing taking shelter from the midday sun under three large trees which grew close together, and we advanced to the attack. We could not make out the wounded bull, so I fired at the head of the largest elephant I could see, and the explosion of my rifle was followed by a loud answering crack and a squeal from the herd, which soon became enveloped in a dense cloud of dust. We ran on in pursuit, but they slipped away and crossed half a mile of open stony ground, passed a group of rocks which overhung a sand-river, and stood half a mile off, in moderately high jungle. Climbing the rocks I could see them, but following farther with my lame leg was out of the question, so my two trackers offered to go round and drive them to me if I would lend them my Martini rifle and express and some cartridges.

Meanwhile I seated myself on a rock and watched the herd. There was one very sick elephant in it, which seemed to be continually rolling, surrounded by a group of sympathising friends. I afterwards found this to be the bull first wounded—the one which had surprised us on the river bank—and he appeared to be in a dying state. While I was gazing over the forest at them they suddenly began to move in my direction very fast, and a moment later the breeze carried to my ears the reports of musketry fired at a distance from beyond the elephants. The herd disappeared for a minute and then emerged from the high jungle and came over the open, straight for my position; they then turned into the river-bed and came past me at a great pace, at over eighty yards’ distance. I fired right and left at the shoulder of an old bull, the biggest of the three, carrying fine long tusks. He fell and kicked about for a second or two in a cloud of dust, and then turned up stream with the others, going very fast. They then passed round my rock at about a hundred yards, too far for straight shooting with such a rifle, and got out of range, the badly wounded bull being no doubt among them. There was one bull throwing sand over its back, which I concluded must be the sick one.

My leg was now beginning to feel the strain of the day’s work, and at the second discharge of the heavy rifle I was sent flying, and subsided into a sitting posture among the rocks, the rifle dropping out of my hands. The elephants now sailed gaily away over huge boulders and torrent beds with the activity of monkeys, and soon disappeared over the brow of a low hill, leaving me sitting on the rocks utterly fagged out. When the trackers came up we went to examine the place where the largest bull had fallen. The aloes were crushed to bits and the sand was much scraped about, but we did not notice any blood. The elephants had quite beaten us, and we made the best of our way home, reaching camp at dusk after a very tiring day.

For two days I had horsemen dogging the footsteps of the wounded bulls, but they returned and reported that the herd had gone past Little Harar and might not pull up for days, having been thoroughly disturbed by the hunt. They had followed the tracks of the sick bull for twenty-five miles, and he had separated from the herd, halting to roll many times, and at last his tracks had become mixed with those of a fresh herd of bulls, cows, and young ones, and they had then left them. Rain having recently fallen had made the tracking more difficult.[16]

On the night after this long elephant hunt we were awakened at about twelve by two lions keeping up a deep roaring, repeated at short intervals, which seemed to be uttered only thirty yards from our fence, though in reality the distance was at least a hundred, as was shown next morning by the pugs in the sand. Luckily, neither my mule nor the three Somáli ponies were at all nervous, or we should have had them breaking away. One lion kept up wind, giving at first low grunts, growing louder and ending in a roar, then dwindling down again to nothing. After a bit he would be answered by a rumbling sound on the other side, from a lioness concealed in the reeds down at the river-bed close by. There was absolutely no moon, so we could do nothing but replenish the fires with a stock of grass and sticks which I always keep for this purpose. My men jeered the lions, saying they were not in earnest or they would not make so much noise. We had left some meat out within twenty yards of our fence, but found it untouched in the morning, the lions evidently fearing to come in so close, and only hoping to stampede our animals.

I found Hembeweina very pleasant, and never tired of wandering about near camp examining the fresh elephant tracks in the river-bed. A herd which had lately passed had made several wells or large holes in the sand, into which water had trickled from the stream, and over these holes they had stood to drink and throw water over their bodies.

One day I was out quite alone on one of these rambles, and after crossing the river had ascended to the top of a plateau half a mile from camp. The summit was a level plain covered with black stones and occasional tufts of very green feathery grass. Finding fresh oryx tracks I began to cross the plateau, but the tracking was rendered difficult by the number of stones. All at once I caught sight of a large animal moving slowly among some bushes, evidently grazing and unsuspicious of danger; and thinking that it might be an oryx, I began to stalk up to it. This was not easy because of the transparent nature of the bush; however, I got up to three hundred yards, and imagine my surprise to find that the animal was a Somáli pony alone in this bleak spot. This plateau had a bad reputation—the nearest tribe to the north-west, seventy miles away, being famous for raiding and lifting the cattle of the Abdul Ishák.

By the side of the horse there was something on the ground, which might be a man or a small ant-hill. Having on a former trip had my caravan dogged by scouts from a tribe, I thought I would cautiously investigate. So I crept up and found that there was no man, while the horse, left to run quite wild without bridle or rope on him, gave a whinny and trotted round me in a circle with arching neck, nodding his head up and down. He had evidently been abandoned by his rider, and I determined to catch him, use him for work with elephants, and then take him to the coast to be publicly claimed. Returning to camp I brought up my people, and using the mule as a decoy, we at last got a rope over his head and led him quietly to camp. The day after the capture of the horse two men rode in to give me news that Shiré Shirmáki, one of the Habr Gerhajis wise men, was on his way from his karia, fifteen miles distant, to visit me, bringing thirty horsemen with him, who, my informants said, were his children. Then I witnessed the dibáltig, or equestrian display, given in my honour, as the first English visitor to their country.

In the distance, over the plain, arose a thin wreath of dust, and from beneath it appeared first one or two horsemen, and then about thirty, following each other in single file, and coming on at a trot. Presently, as they approached the camp, they formed line and broke into a canter, the spears flashing vividly in the sun, and the bright red trappings of the horses flaring out against the green thorn jungle. Each horseman wore a khaili, which is a tobe of scarlet dashed with blue in two shades, the colours being arranged tartan-wise. They approached to within a hundred yards of the camp, and then halted. Accompanied by my nine men, I left the zeríba and advanced to meet them. Sitting on his pony in the centre of the group was Shiré Shirmáki, a dignified-looking old man with a white beard, and on either side of him were his sons, two or three fine fellows in the prime of life. There were also one or two boys, armed, like their seniors, with spears and shield, and most of the men had slung round their waists the biláwa, or short, close-quarter stabbing sword. All my visitors looked a sturdy lot, up to lifting cattle or any other kind of devilry.

I exchanged with them the usual Mahomedan greeting, and one of Shiré Shirmáki’s sons urged his pony up in front of the rest and sang a long extempore song. When at last it had come to an end I complimented the old fellow upon his warlike-looking turn-out, and then waited in silence for him to explain his visit. He said that, being encamped with his people and their flocks and herds at a spot some fifteen miles to the eastward, and having heard of my presence on the Issutugan, he had come with some of his young men to visit me, sing songs, and have a good time. “Yes,” I thought, “and to eat our rice!” This was all very well, but our stock of food was scanty, and I resolved to get rid of my friends on the first opportunity.

I now asked the old chief to show me what his children could do in fancy riding; and at once two or three impatient spirits galloped forward and threw their spears, picking them up again by leaning over the saddle-bow while at full speed, and then, pricking towards me over the turf, they pulled their quivering ponies back on to their haunches with a jerk just as they reached me, the mouths bleeding from the heavy bit. Soon the plain around my zeríba was covered with rushing ponies, their excited riders throwing their spears in every direction and dashing forward to pick them up. Every pony raised a cloud of dust to himself, and the confusion had reached its height when the old man raised his hide whip as a signal, and one by one they galloped up to me, till I was the centre of a semicircle of horses’ heads, pressing upon me, their eyes aflame and nostrils distended. Every man as he came up raised his spear and shouted, “Mót! io Mót!” (Hail! and again hail!) and I answered, with my men, “Kul-leban” (Thanks).

Many of these fellows can throw the spear about eighty-five yards from the saddle or seventy-five yards on foot. They guide their animals skilfully, but ride almost entirely by balance, with very little grip on the saddle. After the display on horseback we all went into the zeríba, and I gave orders to have a big meal of rice prepared for our self-constituted guests.

Soon from across the plain came two more horsemen, and a shock-headed boy leading a cow, which was brought in front of my tent as a present, with Shiré Shirmáki’s compliments. We killed it ten minutes later, and my men joined the strangers in a big feed, followed by a firelight dance, the men clapping their hands to the strains of a reed flute, advancing and retiring as in a quadrille, and jumping up and down like men in a sack-race. Then followed a few interesting step-dances and songs in praise of the English or of the Habr Gerhajis. The burden of one song was, “There is nobody like us; our horses are the best and fly like the wind, and none can fight like we; our old men are wise, our young men are brave as lions, and there are no girls so beautiful as ours.” When I retired to my tent at midnight the clamour was still going on, and I was roused at 3 A.M. by the leave-taking. By the genial glare of our camp-fire Shiré Shirmáki made an impressive speech, laying great stress on my having seen his country, and asking me to tell the English that his tribe, being very good people, never molested caravans; to which I replied that, so far as my having seen his country was concerned, he was perfectly free to come and see mine, and I promised him a new khaili from Berbera and some snow-white bafta tobes for his men.

They recognised the horse which I had caught to be one which had been abandoned by one of their fellows three months before while engaged in a raid on the Jibril Abokr tribe, among the mountains to the south-west. I promised, if they would send a man to Berbera, that I would give up the horse to the Resident there, and their tribesman might then claim it. Finally, I apologised for not having shown them any equestrian games on our part, as the mule was sick! After the joke had been handed round and duly appreciated we parted with a great deal of handshaking, and they trotted off into the darkness.

While shifting our camp next day back to Gulánleh, we were constantly in sight of game, either oryx or one of the three sorts of gazelle, and we caught sight of a leopard sneaking across a nala three hundred yards ahead of us, but he disappeared among some rocks, where tracking became impossible. On arriving at Gulánleh I sent horsemen for a grand tour to all the elephant forests around, and remained in camp, ready to march to any point of the compass at a moment’s notice. Besides my own trackers I had two parties of Habr Gerhajis horsemen also searching for elephants, each party consisting of three men.

While in camp at Gulánleh I was suddenly roused at noon by shouts in Hindustáni of “Máro, Sahib! Máro!” (Shoot, shoot). So pulling out my revolver, I looked round the fly of the tent, and found my whole camp in an uproar; men were running for their spears, and backing into one end of the zeríba stood the Midgán, fitting a poisoned arrow to his long bow and glaring viciously at one of my camelmen, who, surrounded by his friends, stood at the other end of the zeríba poising his spear. The situation was decidedly theatrical. First I walked up to the Somáli and made him give me his spears, and then returning to the Midgán I bundled him ignominiously into my tent, poisoned arrows and all, and threw him an oryx skull to clean, telling him not to leave the tent without permission. Having thus satisfactorily disposed of the centres of disturbance I held an inquiry, when it appeared that the quarrel had arisen through my having persuaded my Somális to allow the Midgán, who belonged to the outcaste race, to eat with them out of the same dish. A young camelman had, during a hot argument, told the Midgán that such as he should not be allowed to eat with respectable Somális, whereat sturdy little Adan rejoined, “Who are you to talk? You’re only a baby; you have not learned to eat at all yet; go back to your mother and drink milk.” The youth, having no more arguments left, stooped, and picking up a spear which lay beside him, leant over and prodded Adan gently in the back, causing blood to flow. Rice, dishes, and men scattered in all directions, and I had only come out of my tent just in time to prevent the Midgán sticking an arrow into his assailant. The Midgán was clearly in the right, and calling the camelman to my tent, I ordered a slight compensation to be paid, and then persuaded them to shake hands. These duels arise out of almost nothing, and if a man should be killed, a blood-feud between tribes, perhaps lasting for years, is the result. Luckily the Somális, although quick to resent an insult, as quickly cool down again.

About nine o’clock one morning one of my trackers rode in to say that his party had struck the fresh tracks of a solitary bull elephant in a nala some twelve miles to the westward, and that they had followed him along its banks for eight hours, at last finding him, feeding and standing about, at Eil Danan. My informant went on to say that he had left his two companions to watch the elephant. At Eil Danan a sandy river-bed bordered by high reeds winds through a deep square basin formed by the sides of the Eil Danan plateau, which is two or three hundred feet high, and strewn with black stones like most of the Damel Plain. Between the river-bed and the precipitous edges of the plateau is black stony ground intersected by watercourses, and sparsely dotted over with thorn bushes and a few tufts of thin feathery grass, so that there is no cover for an elephant to stand in except the reeds bordering the river-bed. These are very dense and usually ten feet high, some of the side gullies being choked with them, though in the main channel, through which a small stream runs, they merely form a fringe fifty to one hundred yards wide. Here and there near the edge of the reeds grow a few large trees covered with armo creeper, on which elephants delight to feed; the leaves are very green and juicy, heart-shaped and thick, having a smooth surface like india-rubber.

Taking with me one camel and two or three men, I at once set out for Eil Danan, and after a hot march we struck the wádi at 2 P.M., and followed in the tracks of the two watchmen until we found them. Then, after resting for lunch under a tree, I went forward with my gunbearer, Deria Hassan, to explore the reeds where the elephant had last been seen. After some trouble we at length saw him standing under a tree on the farther side of a belt of reeds forty yards wide. He seemed to be a very large bull, and had a nice pair of tusks. Beyond him the ground was quite bare. I crept up to the edge of the reeds, and getting on the roots of a fallen tree, could see his head above them. He was swinging it slowly from side to side and looking quietly in my direction, though he did not appear to see me. At last he presented his temple, and I fired as well as possible from my insecure perch, hitting him a loud smack, while Deria Hassan fired from the bank behind me. Instantly the beast gave a shrill trumpet and charged, coming straight at me through the reeds. Being in the open I did not wait for his head to appear, but ran down the edge of the reeds to leeward and dropped under a bush, Deria disappearing with equal promptitude in the other direction. Then the three horsemen, according to previous orders which I had given them, rode up, and seeing them the elephant turned again into the reeds and made off, keeping down the centre of the belt, the horsemen riding parallel to him along the outside. I followed on foot at best pace, and came up, a mile farther down, just in time to see him charge viciously out at the horses, scattering them. This manœuvre was repeated twice, and then the elephant went up a side gully three hundred yards wide, choked by an unbroken expanse of very high reeds. We here lost sight of him for a time, and taking up his tracks we found a good deal of blood.

On reaching the main channel I sent the horsemen on after the elephant, and being parched with thirst I lay down flat and drank from the rivulet. Before I had finished drinking Deria said, “Look out!” and I heard galloping and loud shouts, and sprang up just in time to see the elephant break back and cross the stream two hundred yards below me, taking up his former position in the reeds, and followed by my three horsemen, who were working admirably. When I came up the horsemen were collected on some rising ground overlooking the reeds, hooting at the elephant, which stood with the top of his head just visible, listening to them.

Advancing to a small knoll in front of the horses, I fired right and left at his head. He disappeared among the reeds for a moment, and then some one called out that he was coming. Out he came, very silently, and I slipped away to leeward and crouched under a thorn bush to watch him. Off he went after the horsemen, and singling out Hussein Debeli, following every turn of the horse, he kept close behind its tail for two hundred yards, till it seemed the plucky fellow would be caught, and they disappeared among the trees together. I soon noticed, however, that the elephant, having finished his charge, was stealing back again towards the gully which he had first tried. Back came the horsemen, and after a short race headed him, and brought him to a standstill fifty yards from me, giving me a good chance for a shot. I was standing in the open, and knowing that I should have the watchful and angry brute down on me at once if I failed to disable him, I fired at his head. On receiving the shot he dropped his tail and trunk and held for the gully, looking demoralised, but before he could reach the shelter of the reeds I ran in close and gave him another shot in the shoulder at twenty yards, while he was going at a good pace. Swerving at this he plunged into the reeds, and we heard him crashing about in them for some time, then a long-drawn bellow, and everything became still.

Before going in I fired two shots with the express and listened, but hearing nothing, we started to examine the reeds. We were not long in finding the great cutting he had made through them, and with rifle on full cock and every sense on the alert, I entered, followed by my two trackers on foot. On either side rose what looked like an impenetrable yellow wall; wherever we looked we saw nothing but reeds, and as we advanced we had to climb over the mounds of fallen stalks. Yard by yard we pushed on, now and then stopping to listen. Along the floor and sides of the lane of reeds blood was plentifully sprinkled, and at length we began to approach the place where we had last heard him bellow; then I peeped round an angle and saw him lying on his side quite dead, and we walked up to examine our prize. He was an old bull, ten feet six inches at the shoulder; we measured him with bits of reeds which we afterwards laid beside a tape; and he had a beautiful white pair of tusks without a flaw, four feet long, and thick for Somáli ivory. Somáli elephant tusks are, as a rule, nothing like the size of those found in the centre of the continent.

By the time the sun had gone down we had out one tusk, and returned up the river to search the plateau for a camping ground with good grass for the horses. Leaving the main river, we formed our bivouac near a small grassy nala. The arrangements for the night were quickly made, and, spreading our blankets under the lee of a thorn bush, we were soon all fast asleep. We had no fence, and at midnight I was awakened by a lion roaring a short distance up the nala. Rubbing my eyes, I awoke Deria, and told him to watch and keep the fire alight, then I dozed off again, and when we awoke next morning Deria was fast asleep by the fire, which was nearly out. We cut out the other tusk and returned to Gulánleh, when, my leave having expired, after skirting the foot of Gólis for five days, we marched by easy stages to Berbera, then by dhow to Aden, being becalmed for twelve hours in sight of the volcano before getting in.

Lesser Kudu & Aloes

CHAPTER IV
GOVERNMENT EXPLORATIONS

Early trips to the coast—Disturbed state of Bulhár—Stopping a fight—Two skirmishes—First exploring trips—Hostility of the natives—An unlucky trip—Start with my brother to explore the Habr Toljaala and Dolbahanta countries on duty—Camp on Gólis Range—Theodolite station at 6800 feet—Enter the waterless plains—Advance to the Tug Dér—News of raiders ahead, and of Col. A. Paget’s party—Dolbahanta horsemen—Advance to the Nogal Valley—Constantly annoyed by the Dolbahanta—Prehistoric tank and buildings at Badwein—Advance to Gosaweina—More horsemen—Insecure border, and scene of a raid—Explore Bur Dab Range—Robbers’ caves—Exploration of my brother on Wagar Mountain—Lovely scenery—Return to Berbera—Start on a second expedition to the Jibril Abokr country—The top of Gán Libah—A new hartebeest—Death of a leopard—Hargeisa—Natives clamouring for British protection against Abyssinia—Bold behaviour of a leopard—Advance to the Marar Prairie—Camp at Ujawáji—Extraordinary scene on the prairie—Quantities of game—Gadabursi raid—Jibril Abokr welcome of the English—A shooting trip on the plains—News of three lions—Vedettes posted over lions—Advance to the attack—Savage charge; unconscious and in the clutches of a lioness—My brother’s account of the accident—His own narrow escape, and death of a fine lion—Civility of the Jibril Abokr—Abyssinian news—Return to the coast—Recovery from wounds—Third expedition; to the Gadabursi country—Great raid by the Jibril Abokr on the Bahgoba—Curious adventure with robbers—Betrayed by vultures—Raiding tactics—First meeting with the Gadabursi—Meeting with Ugaz Núr—The rival sultans—Construction of an Abyssinian fort at Biyo-Kabóba—Esa in a ferment—Speech of Múdun Golab—My brother bags a large bull elephant—March to Zeila.

In order to show the state of Somáliland when the British Protectorate[17] was first established after the departure of the Egyptians, I propose to give a short account of my trips into the interior prior to 1887.

Soon after I had joined the Aden garrison in 1884, two English officers returned from a shooting trip to the Gólis Range south of Berbera; this was, I believe, the first journey to the Somáli interior undertaken by any Englishman since the attack on Sir Richard Burton’s expedition thirty years before. Accompanied by a friend, I was the next to make a short but unimportant shooting trip to Gólis—in January 1885.

The first exploring party—that of Mr. F. L. James—had preceded us by about a month, and was already at Gerlogubi in distant Ogádén. The Egyptians had a few months before evacuated the coast, the Pasha leaving with about half a battalion of soldiers and a few field-pieces, and Mr. L. P. Walsh, one of the assistant Residents at Aden, had taken over charge of Berbera and Bulhár with a few Aden policemen. At the same time Zeila was, so far as I remember, handed over by the Egyptians to a British Consul, with a French Consul also living in the town. My next visit to Somáliland occurred two months after my return from the shooting trip to Gólis.

The Egyptian military quarters at Bulhár had been reported flooded by a freshet from the Issutugan river, and I was sent over from Aden to meet Mr. Walsh and go with him to Bulhár, in order to choose a site for hut barracks, to be put up by the Indian Sappers who were under my command. I chose the site for the huts and returned to Aden. I arrived again at Bulhár on 27th September 1885, with thirty Sappers and all the material for constructing the huts, and camped near the site which we had chosen. For the first three weeks there was no chance of leaving camp even to go aoul shooting on the plain. Several native reports had reached us that the hill tribes, especially the Habr Gerhajis, were likely to come down and attack us, and not knowing the nature of Somáli information at that time I was inclined to believe these rumours.

♂ WATERBUCK (Cobus ellipsiprymnus).

Average length of horns on curve, 20 inches.

When the work was, however, fairly under way I took a few strolls into the plain. On one occasion, when out, attended only by my hunter, Ali Hirsi, we blundered within half a mile of a large party of raiding Habr Gerhajis horsemen from the hills, whom the police from Berbera were trying to catch. Not knowing anything about the locality of the band I fired at a bustard, with the result that the robbers bolted for the hills, thinking the police had come up with them.

Bulhár was now getting full of people, the clans coming down into the plain. Two of these clans had a feud in active operation, and a large tree near Elmas Mountain was about this time the scene of a ghastly murder. Eight men and as many women and children of one of the clans were attacked when asleep under a tree by their enemies, and all had their throats cut. My hunter, Ali Hirsi, who belonged to the clan which had suffered, promptly asked leave to go to the interior and see his father, who, he said, had been suddenly taken ill. I afterwards found that this was incorrect, and that Ali Hirsi, being the son of an ákil, had found it incumbent on him to answer the family call to arms.

Shortly afterwards my friend the late Mr. D. Morrison, Mr. Walsh’s assistant, arrived from Berbera to take charge of Bulhár, and he at once found his hands full with this feud between the two clans of the Shirdone Yunis, Habr Awal, called respectively the Boho Shirdone and the Ba-Gadabursi Shirdone. British interests suffer sadly by these feuds occurring near our ports, as for the time being all trade is liable to be stopped.

A few days after M⸺’s arrival a messenger came running in at dawn one morning to say that the Boho had taken possession of the Bulhár wells, three miles west of the town, and were that morning going to be attacked by the Ba-Gadabursi from Elmas, each side being about five hundred strong. M⸺ at once decided to ride out with his interpreter and try to dissuade the Ba-Gadabursi from attacking. I accompanied him on one of the Sapper mules, taking with me Khoda Bux, a Panjábi muleteer, also mounted. After going three miles, at the Bulhár wells we came upon the Boho Shirdone halted, awaiting the attack. Here I found my hunter, Ali Hirsi, sporting a khaili tobe, with a good nag grazing close by. He came up cheerily to me, with nothing of the servant about him, and shook hands. I asked him after his sick father, and with a bland smile he said he had got well again, and was going to fight the Ba-Gadabursi.

We rode on, and crossed a bare, undulating plain, which in the evenings is sometimes covered with sand-grouse, and where I had often hunted aoul, and a mile beyond the Boho we came upon the Ba-Gadabursi, not halted, but already advancing in line to the attack!

Somáli Horseman.

It was a stirring scene. About two hundred horsemen and three hundred spearmen on foot were advancing in a long line facing to the east, coming to meet us. The horsemen formed the left wing, marching along the flat sandy plain which stretched down to the raised sea-shore on our right, which, though we could hear their roar, hid from our view the white breakers of the Gulf of Aden. On our left the plain rose to low sand hillocks covered with grass and scrub, and along these came the right wing on foot, the men extended at about a pace apart, keeping a very good line, each man carrying his spears and shield and wearing his white tobe wound round his waist. Most of the horsemen wore the khaili, or red and blue tobe. The plain over which we had ridden stretched between us and Bulhár, which lay four miles behind us.

Our little party of four cantered to meet this array. Now and then a horseman darted out from the line, and galloping round in a circle, threw his spear, and picked it up again while at full speed. As we approached they set up a song, but stopped when M⸺ rode up to one of the aukál, or elders, and demanded a parley. There was a good deal of angry shouting at first, and the horsemen pressed round us in a dense mass, so that we could only extricate ourselves by drawing our revolvers. Seeing we really had some serious business on hand, one or two of the leading Ba-Gadabursi elders, prominent among whom was a well-known firebrand called Warsama Dugál, entreated the horsemen to wait and hear what “the Government” had to say. M⸺, by the aid of his interpreter, quietly explained that if they would only put off the attack for a day he would try and settle the feud satisfactorily to both parties. While the interpreter was explaining this, M⸺ asked me to try and bring out the thirty Sappers, to be ready on hand if required. I told Khoda Bux in Hindustáni, and, like the sporting Panjábi that he was, he was delighted with the errand, and kicking up his mule, he started off at a gallop. A Shirdone galloped in pursuit, shouting and brandishing his spear, but M⸺ quickly headed him, and persuaded him to get back into the line and not make a fool of himself.

The elders, who had seen the force of my friend’s sensible argument from the first, soon quieted down the horsemen; while I rode off with Warsama Dugál and persuaded the infantry to stop, for they were quietly creeping ahead among the sand-dunes. When they saw me riding on a kicking Panjábi mule, with a revolver which I had forgotten to put in its holster, and old Warsama in company excitedly yelling at them, they began to laugh, and good-naturedly squatted down on their heels, with the butts of their spears planted in the ground, glowering over their shields at a line of hillocks in front which hid the Boho from view. At their earnest request I allowed them to advance fifty yards to the top of the hillocks, “so that they might see the Boho.” They said they were thirsty, and the sight of the wells would do them good! The people told us that it was very hard being stopped in this way. They did not want to touch a hair of any white man’s head, they only wanted to wipe out the Boho. However, the elders agreed to send back the clan to Eil Sheikh, and themselves to come into Bulhár with M⸺ and see what they could do to settle the feud. The Sappers at last came into sight, and about a dozen of the elders accepted our escort to get them safely through the Boho lines. I extended my men, a section on either side, marching in single file, while M⸺ and the elders rode bunched together in the space between. We passed the Boho line in this order, having first sent the interpreter on to explain. The Boho looked savagely at our protégés as we passed, but were too sensible to attack us for the sake of slitting the throats of a few elders, so not a horse was mounted and all went off quietly. Arrived in Bulhár, my friend rode out with his interpreter and brought in the Boho elders. After two days’ talking the feud was settled for the time being, though it broke out again a week later, and gave M⸺ an immense amount of anxiety and trouble. Twice my little party was called out in aid of the civil power, but not having to act in self-defence, we were able to keep the peace for a time without firing a shot. M⸺ ordered the tribes to live apart, the Ba-Gadabursi fourteen miles to the west at Eil Sheikh, the Boho fifteen miles to the east at Géri, and every few days or so he would persuade the elders to meet in Bulhár for a conference. It was only a question of blood-money, but what a question! We always knew how things were going, for when the relations were strained the two semicircles of old men who were seated on the ground would shroud their faces in the ends of their tobes, only allowing a slit to look through, and they would add the supreme insult of shading their eyes with their hands; when things were improving they looked their enemies frankly in the face.

Soon after the cessation of hostilities at Bulhár I was sent surveying up the Issutugan river with an escort of fifteen sabres of the Aden troop, a body of Indian cavalry which is permanently stationed at Khor Maksar, the outpost near Aden. This was my first exploring trip.

After this trip I returned to Aden to prepare for further explorations in the Habr Awal country, and at the end of December 1885 I arrived at Bulhár with three sowars of the Aden troop, twelve mounted Panjábis, enlisted in Aden as policemen for this special purpose, and ten sepoys of the Bombay Infantry,—in all an escort of twenty-five men. Although we were ready to start the survey by 1st January, the Bulhár tribes were in such a disturbed state that M⸺, finding it necessary to utilise whatever troops came to his hand, was obliged, in his official capacity in charge of Bulhár, to ask me to remain, and to give him the benefit of the services of my escort till the tribes should become more settled.

The Shirdone feud had broken out again, and some of the Boho having managed to get into Bulhár to buy food, the Ba-Gadabursi were reported to be coming in from Eil Sheikh to attack Bulhár. M⸺ sent out notice that if they did come in they would be fired at. One morning, while at breakfast, we received news that the Ba-Gadabursi were actually in sight, and advancing to the attack. I jumped on my pony and rode out alone into the plain to reconnoitre; and seeing that this was true, cantered into Bulhár again, and on my way to M⸺’s quarters I called to the daffedar to turn out my fifteen mounted men. When M⸺ and I came out again, both mounted, we found my police ready and in the saddle, attired rather curiously, for most of the men had only found time to put on their turbans, and had their cartridge belts strapped over whatever clothes they had worn when lounging about inside their huts.

As soon as we had got beyond Bulhár we saw the Ba-Gadabursi advancing slowly over the plain, about seven hundred yards away, and reining in we fired a couple of rounds from the saddle, and returned the carbines to their buckets, then, drawing swords, we advanced at a gallop. The Ba-Gadabursi, of whom there were over a hundred mounted and about ten on foot, bolted at the first shots, and the horsemen were soon lost to sight in the haze of the Maritime Plain, while the men on foot, seeing themselves abandoned, tried to hide in the grass, but were all caught by my men and brought in as prisoners, only one being slightly wounded by a sword-point through the arm. With the men were brought in seventeen spears and some shields, which M⸺ gave to the prisoners when he released them next day.

The Ba-Gadabursi were quiet for a week after this; and then, on another morning, a runner came to report that they were again coming in, in force, this time on foot. Our ponies had all been knocked up by scouting for hill raiders in the Selei direction on the previous day, so we called our available men out on foot. M⸺ took command of the fifteen dismounted policemen, while I collected my own sepoys and an Infantry guard which was then stationed at Bulhár; they amounted to about thirty rank and file, all belonging to the Bombay Infantry. While the Ba-Gadabursi were still quite a thousand yards away, M⸺, having drawn up the police along the sea-shore, gave the signal which we had agreed upon, firing two volleys at the distant line of a few hundred natives. They bolted at once, and I had a running skirmish with them for half an hour over two or three miles of grassy plain, after which we lost touch of them altogether. We found, however, some fifteen men hiding in the grass or diving about in the surf, and one wounded man, and brought them all in, with a collection of some thirty spears which had been thrown away in the retreat. Most of these were given back next day.

There was a lull after this, but on the following day half a dozen elders of the offending tribe came in and called upon M⸺, and we held a council with them outside his quarters, a large crowd of spectators coming from Bulhár village to look on. The elders, led by Warsama Dugál, explained that they had no quarrel with the Government, but only with the Boho. Their young men had, however, been boasting a good deal, not seeing why they should be kept out of Bulhár, saying that they didn’t care for the Government, and would go in and burn the town. The elders had then given them Punch’s advice, “Don’t,” but they had not listened to it. “Now,” said the elders to M⸺, “you have fired upon our boys; that was bad of you, but next time they will listen to our advice.” After we had shaken hands cordially with them, for they were all personally known to us, they rode away to Eil Sheikh. The wounded man, who had only received a bullet through the foot, was put under medical treatment, and in a few days limped out to his tribe. Soon after the second skirmish M⸺ brought the Boho and Ba-Gadabursi to a settlement, only to break out again some months later.