A party of soldiers, varying from fifteen to twenty, came every evening a

little before dusk, and pitched a small black tent almost opposite our door.

As it frequently rained at night, the greater number of the soldiers remained

in the tent; only two or three, supposed to be watching, went to sleep under

the shelter of a projecting part of the roof. They did not disturb us, and, if

we went out after dark, they merely watched where we went, but did not

follow. In the daytime we had four guards, two taking it in turn to watch the

gate of our inclosure. These men were never changed during all the time of

our stay; but we had not much reason to be satisfied with the selection

made, as, with one exception, our day guards were fearful rascals and

dangerous spies.

We had already spent three days at Magdala, and were beginning to hope

that our punishment would be limited to "simple imprisonment," when

about noon on the 16th we perceived the chief, accompanied by a large

escort, coming in the direction of our prison. Samuel was sent for, and a

long consultation took place between him and the chief outside the gate. We

were yet in ignorance of what was going on, and felt rather uncomfortable

when Samuel returned to us with a serious countenance, and told us that we

must all go into the room, as the chief had a "little business" with us. We

obeyed, and shortly afterwards the Ras (Head of the mountain), the five

members of council, and about eight or ten more presented themselves. The

Ras and the principal chiefs, all armed to the teeth, squeezed themselves

into the room, the others remaining outside. The ordinary Abyssinian

conversation—that is to say, a great deal of talking about religion, looking

pious, taking God's and the King's name in vain every minute—opened the

proceedings. I was sitting near the door, and as the conversation did not

interest me much, I was looking at the motley crowd outside, when all at

once I perceived that two or three men were carrying large bundles of

chains. I pointed them out to Mr. Rassam, and asked him if he believed they

intended them for us; he spoke to Samuel in Arabic on the subject, and the

affirmative answer he received revealed to us the subject of the long

consultation that had taken place outside.

The Ras now dropped the desultory conversation he had been holding since

his arrival, and in quiet terms informed us that it was the custom of the

mountain to chain every prisoner sent there; that he had received no

instructions from the Emperor, and would at once despatch a messenger to

inform him that he had put us in irons, and he had no doubt that before long

his master would send orders for our fetters to be removed, but that in the

meanwhile we must submit to the rules of the amba; he added that in our

case it was with regret that he felt himself obliged to enforce them. The

poor fellow really meant well; he was kind-hearted and, for an Abyssinian,

had gentlemanly manners; he had some hope that Theodore might have by

that time regretted the unnecessary and cruel order, and would perhaps seize

the opportunity he thus offered him and cancel it. I may as well add here

that, not many months afterwards, the Ras was accused of being in

correspondence with the king of Shoa; he was taken in irons to the camp,

where he shortly afterwards died from the consequences of the many

tortures inflicted upon him.

The chains were brought, and the real business of the day began; one after

another we had to submit to the operation, the former captives being first

served and favoured with the heaviest chains. At last my turn came. I was

made to sit down on the ground, tuck up my trousers, and place my right leg

on a large stone that had been brought for the purpose. One of the rings was

then placed on my leg a couple of inches above the right ankle, and down

came, upon the thick cold iron, a huge sledge-hammer: every stroke

vibrated through the whole limb, and when the hammer fell not quite

straight it pressed the iron ring against the bone, causing most acute pain. It

took about ten minutes to fix on properly the first ring; it was beaten down

until a finger could just be introduced between the ring and the flesh, and

then the two pieces, where they overlapped one another, were hammered

down until they perfectly joined. The operation was then performed on the

left leg. I was always afraid of the blacksmith missing the iron and

smashing my leg to pieces. All at once I felt as if the limb was being torn

asunder; the ring had broken just when the operation was nearly completed.

For the second time I had to submit to the hammering process, and this time

the fetter was rivetted to the entire satisfaction of the smith and chief.

I was now told that I might rise and go to my seat; but that was no easy

matter, and, having no practice in this, for me, quite new way of

locomotion, I could hardly take the necessary three or four steps. Although

I was in great bodily pain, and felt deeply the degradation we were

subjected to, I would not give the officers of the man who was thus illtreating us cause to believe that I cared in the least about it. On rising to my

legs I lifted up my cap and shouted, to their great astonishment, "God save

the Queen," and went on laughing and chatting as if I felt perfectly happy.

As every detail of our life was reported to Theodore, and my contempt for

his chains was public, he was at once informed of it: but he only mentioned

the fact twenty-one months afterwards, when he alluded to it in

conversation with Mr. Waldmeier, to whom he said that every one allowed

themselves to be chained without saying a word; that even Mr. Rassam had

smiled upon them; but that the doctor and Mr. Prideaux had looked at them

with anger.

After the operation was over, and the witnesses of the scene had each

favoured us with a "May God open thee," the messenger the chiefs were

sending to Theodore (a fellow named Lib, a great spy, and confidant of the

Emperor; the same who had brought our lettres de cachet ,) was introduced

to receive any message Mr. Rassam desired to convey to his Majesty. That

gentleman, in quiet and courteous words, reproached his Majesty for his

treachery, and cast upon him the onus of the consequences such unfair

treatment would most likely bring upon him. Unfortunately Samuel, always

timid, and at this time almost dead with fright, as he did not know whether

chains were not in reserve for him also, declined to interpret, and simply

sent the ordinary compliments instead.

When our gaolers had withdrawn, we looked at one another, and the sight

was so ridiculous, so absurd, that for all our sorrow we could not help

laughing heartily. The chains consisted of two heavy rings connected

together by three small thick links, leaving just a span between one ring and

the other; and these we wore for nearly twenty-one months! At first we

could not walk at all; our legs were bruised and sore from the hammering

on, and the iron pressing on the ankles was so painful that we were obliged

to tie bandages under the chains during the daytime. At night I always took

off the bandages, as the constant impediment to the circulation they

occasioned, caused the feet to swell; yet at night we felt the weight and

pressure even more than during the day: our legs seemed for a long time

never to get rest; we could not move them about, and when in our sleep we

turned from one side to the other, the links, by striking the bone of the leg,

caused such acute pain as to awake us at once. Though after a time we got

more accustomed to them, and could walk about our small inclosure with

more ease, still every now and then we had to remain quiet for some days,

as the legs got sore, and small ulcers appeared on the parts where the

greatest pressure bore. Even since they have been removed, for months my

legs were weaker than before, the ankles smaller, and the feet somewhat

enlarged.

The evening we were put in chains we had to cut open our trousers as the

only way of getting them off. During their former captivity at Magdala,

Messrs. Cameron, Stern and others, either wore petticoats or native

drawers, which they had been taught to pass between the leg and the chain.

But we had no material at hand to make the first, and as for passing even

the thinnest cambric through the rings in the swollen condition of the limb,

that was quite out of the question. Necessity, it is said, is the mother of

invention: at all events I invented the "Magdala trousers." On taking off

mine that evening, I cut them near the outward seam, and collecting all the

buttons I could obtain, had them sewed on, and button-holes made along the

Beam as near to one another as my limited supply allowed. Some weeks

afterwards I was able, with the assistance of a native, to pass through the

rings calico drawers; and as my legs grew thinner, in time, I was able to put

on trousers made of thin Abyssinian cotton cloth; and such is the force of

habit and practice, that at last I could take off or put on my trousers as

quickly almost as if my legs were free.

We had gone to bed early that evening, not knowing what to do, when we

heard a discussion going on outside our hut between Samuel and the chief

of the guard that night, named Mara, a descendant of some Armenian and a

great worshipper of his Imperial master. Samuel at last came in and told us

that he had endeavoured to persuade the officer not to disturb us, but that he

insisted on examining our chains to see if they were all right. We declined

at first to submit to the inspection, and only consented, in order to get rid of

the fellow, to shake our chains under the shama with which we were

covered, as he passed from one to another.

As we expected to be at least six months in Magdala—giving time for the

news to reach England, and the troops to arrive that we felt certain would

immediately be despatched to set us free and punish the despot—Mr.

Rassam endeavoured, through Samuel, to obtain a few more huts for our

accommodation. Samuel spoke to the Ras and to the other chiefs, and they

agreed to give us a small hut and two godjos, (small huts, the roof formed

by the ends of the twigs being tied together at the free extremity, and the

whole covered with straw,) when they would have collected wood enough

to make a new fence. In the meanwhile two of us, Pietro and Mr. Kerans,

were induced to live in the kitchen, where they would have more room and

leave more space for ourselves.

Our first thought on reaching Magdala was to communicate the intelligence

to our friends and to Government; since we had been chained we knew that

every hour lost was a day added to our discomfort and misery, and that we

ought to lose no time in sending a trusty messenger to Massowah. It was

always very difficult for us to write, but more so in the beginning, as we

were afraid even of Samuel, afterwards so useful in all that concerned our

messengers. All the country up to Lasta still recognized Theodore, and we

were obliged to be very guarded in our expressions, in case the letter should

fall into the hands of some of his chiefs and be forwarded to him. On the

18th, our packet was ready; but, strange to say, it was the only time our

letter came to grief. We could only trust servants that had been some time

with us,—at least, so we thought at the time,—and therefore selected an old

servant of Cameron who had been formerly, on several occasions,

employed as messenger. He was a good man, a first-rate walker, but very

quarrelsome; and to spite his adversary was capable of anything. To

accompany him through the rebel country we obtained a servant from a

political prisoner, Dejatch Maret: they were to travel together and return

with an answer from Mr. Munzinger. Soon after, leaving Magdala, the two

began to quarrel, and on reaching the rebels' outposts, a question of

precedence between them led to the discovery of our packet; both

messengers were seized, tied with ropes for a few days, and when released,

our man was told to go back, and the letters were burnt. Afterwards we

made better arrangements: the messengers carried in their belts the letters

which were of a dangerous nature; otherwise we sewed them up in leather,

in the shape of the amulets and charms worn by the natives, or had them

stitched between patches on old trousers, or near the seams. Those writing

from the coast used the same precautions; and though we must have sent

about forty messengers with letters during our captivity, without mentioning

those employed elsewhere, they all, with the one exception I have

mentioned, reached in safety.

Next came the question so vital to us, how to get money. It so happened that

Theodore, about that time, gave a thousand dollars to each of his workmen.

Many of them, judging from the political condition of the country that the

Emperor's power would soon fall entirely, were desirous of sending their

money out of the country, and as we were only too anxious to get some, the

matter was easily arranged to our mutual satisfaction. We sent servants to

Debra Tabor; and as the road was still safe, and we had, by suitable

presents, made friends of the chiefs of the districts that lay in the way, the

servants were not molested or plundered. They carried the dollars either in

bags, on mules, laden at the same time with grain or flour which the Gaffat

people now and then sent us, or tied in the long cotton sash that Abyssinians

wear as a belt. Directions were also given to Mr. Munzinger to forward

money to Metemma, from whence we could draw it by sending servants. It

was only during the second year of our captivity that we experienced any

serious difficulty on that score. The Emperor's power became more and

more limited; rebels and thieves infested the roads; the route between

Metemma and Magdala was closed; the Gaffat people had none to spare;

and at one time it seemed as if it was perfectly impossible for messengers to

reach us. Though for months we were rather hard up, what by employing

servants of political prisoners, friends or relatives of the rebels, by using the

influence of the Bishop, or through the protection of Wagshum Gobazé,

money again found its way to Magdala, and relieved us from our

apprehensions. Theodore knew indirectly that we sent servants to the coast,

but as it is the custom to allow prisoners' servants to go to their masters'

families to beg for them, he could not well forbid us; the more so as he

never gave us anything. If messengers had fallen into his hands he would

probably have plundered the money, but not injured them. As for letters it

was quite a different affair: if those we wrote had by accident come into his

possession, he would have made short work of the messenger, and most

certainly of us also.

It might appear strange that the Abyssinians—a race of thieves—should

have proved themselves so honest on these occasions, and not absconded

with the couple of hundred dollars entrusted to them: a fortune for a poor

servant. Though it would be ungrateful to run down these men, who

exposed themselves to great perils, often travelled the whole distance from

Massowah to Magdala at night, and who, I may say, saved us from

starvation; still I believe that they acted more on the old adage that honesty

is the best policy, than from any innate virtue. First, they were handsomely

rewarded, well treated, and expected a further reward (which they very

properly received) should fortune once more smile upon us; Secondly, all

the great rebel chiefs befriended us, and we should have had but to

communicate with them directly, or, better still, through the Bishop; for

them to have at once seized the delinquent, deprived him of his ill-gotten

wealth, and punished him severely. This they knew perfectly well.

Looking back, I cannot imagine how I got through the long, dreary days of

idleness, always the same, for twenty-one months. Chains were nothing

compared to the fearful want of occupation. Suppose we had kept a daily

diary, the entries would have been generally as follows:—"Took a bath (a

painful operation, as the chains, unsupported by the bandages, hurt

fearfully); small boy helps to pass my trousers between the chains. To-day,

being dry, we crawled up and down our fifteen yards' walk. Breakfast; felt

happier that task over. Sick came for medicine. As I am doctor and

apothecary, prescribed and made the medicine myself. Samuel, or some

trusty native friend who knows that my tej is ripe, came for a glass or two.

Go now and smoke a pipe with Cameron. Lay down and read McCulloch's

Commercial Dictionary ; very interesting book, but sends me to sleep.

Afternoon, lay down and got up again; tried once more the Commercial

Dictionary . Dinner (I wonder what age the cock we ate had reached);

crawled about for, an hour between the huts; lay down, took Gadby's

Appendix ; but as I knew it by heart, even his curious descriptions have no

more attraction. Small boy lighted the fire; the wood was green, the smoke

fearful. Had a game of whist with Rassam and Prideaux. I do not suppose

they would play with our dirty cards in a guard-room. Lost twenty points.

Small boy took off the trousers. The guards were cursing us because they

had to sleep outside in the rain. Bravo, Samuel, you are a friend indeed!"

This imaginary page I might repeat ad infinitum . As a change, sometimes

we wrote to our friends, or received letters and some scraps of newspapers

—delightful days; few and far between. On Sundays we had divine service;

Mr. Stern, though sick and weary, always did his utmost to comfort and

encourage us. Such was, as a rule, our daily life: it is true we had our

exciting times, perhaps too much of it at the end; we had also, now and

then, a few other occupations, such as building a new hut, making a small

garden, settling a quarrel amongst the servants: details that will come in our

narrative as we proceed. I mentioned that the chiefs had promised to enlarge

our fence; they kept to their word. Four or five days after we had undergone

the chaining operation, they made us another visit, consulted, discussed for

a long time, and at last agreed to make a small break in the fence and

inclose the three huts they had promised us. Samuel, who had the

distribution of the new premises, gave the small house to Rassam, took one

of the godjos for himself, and gave the third one to Prideaux and myself.

Kerans and Pietro were still to remain in the kitchen, so that our first house

was left to Messrs. Cameron, Stern, and Rosenthal.

On the 23rd July, 1866, Prideaux and myself entered our new abode: and,

without exaggeration, if a dog were tied up in a similar shed in England I

may say that the owner would be prosecuted by the Society for the

Protection of Animals. As it was, we were only too happy to get it, and at

once went to work—not to make it comfortable, that was quite out of the

question, but—to try to keep out the rain.

CHAPTER XII.

Description of Magdala—Climate and Water Supply—The Emperor's

Houses—His Harem and Magazines—The Church—Prison-house—Guards

and Gaol—Discipline—A previous Visit of Theodore to Magdala—

Slaughter of the Gallas—Character and Antecedents of Samuel—Our

friends Zenab the Astronomer, and Meshisha the Lute—player—Day

Guards—We build new Huts—Abyssinian and Portuguese Servants—Our

Inclosure is enlarged.

Amba Magdala, distant about 320 [Footnote: According to Mr. C.

Markham.] miles from Zulla, and about 180 from Gondar, arises in the

province of Worahaimanoo, on the border of the Wallo Galla country. The

approach is difficult on account of the steep ascent and narrow precipitous

ravines that separate it from the rivers Bechelo and Jiddah and from the

table-land of Wallo. It stands almost isolated—amongst gigantic

surrounding masses, and viewed from the western side possesses the

appearance of a crescent. On the extreme left of this curve appears a small

flat plateau called Fahla, connected by a strip of land with a peak higher

than the amba itself, and called Selassié (trinity), on account of the church

erected upon it, and designated by that name. From Selassié to Amba

Magdala itself there is a large plain called Islamgee, several hundred feet

lower than the two peaks it separates. At Islamgee several small villages

had been erected by the peasants who cultivate the land for the Emperor, the

chiefs, and soldiers of the amba. The servants of the prisoners had also there

a spot given to them where they were allowed to build huts for themselves

and cattle. On Saturday a weekly market, formerly well supplied, was held

at the foot of Selassié. Numerous wells were generally sunk during the dry

season close to the springs of Islamgee, which wells afforded a small but

constant supply of water. From Islamgee the road up to Magdala is very

steep and difficult. To the first gate it follows, at times very abruptly, the

flank of the mountain. To the right, the sides of the amba rise like a huge

wall; below is a giddy abyss. From the first to the second gate the road is

exceedingly narrow and steep, turning to the right at a sharp angle with the

first part of the road. Small earthworks had been erected on the flanks near

the gates, protecting every weak point; The summit of the ridge was

strongly fenced and loopholed. Two other gates led from the amba to the

foot of the mountain; one had some time before been closed, but the other,

called Kafir Ber, opened in the direction of the Galla country. The amba is

well fortified by nature, and Theodore, to increase its strength, added some

rude fortifications.

The Magdala plateau is oblong and somewhat irregular, about a mile and a

half in length, and on the average about a mile broad. It was one of the

strongest fortresses in Abyssinia, and by its position between the rich and

fertile plateau of Dahonte, Dalanta, and Worahaimanoo, easily provisioned.

Magdala is more than 9,000 feet above the level of the sea; and enjoys a

splendid climate. In the evenings, almost all the year round, a fire is

welcome, and, though a month or two before the rains the temperature rises

somewhat, in the huts we never found it too hot to be uncomfortable. The

high land that surrounds the amba in the distance is barren and bleak, due to

the great altitude, and many of the peaks in the Galla country are, for

several months in the year, covered with snow or frozen hail. Water, during

and for some months after the rainy season, is abundant, but from March to

the first week in July it gets scarcer and scarcer, until it is obtained only

with difficulty. In order to remedy this disadvantage, Theodore, with his

usual forethought, had several large tanks constructed on the mountain, and

also sunk wells in promising places. The effort was pretty successful; the

wells gave only a small supply of water, it is true, but it was a constant one

all the year round. The water collected in the tanks was of very little use.

Those reservoirs were not covered after the rains, and the water,

impregnated with all kinds of vegetable and animal matter, soon became

quite unfit to drink. The principal springs are at Islamgee; there are a few on

the amba itself, and numerous less important ones issue from the sides, not

many feet from the summit, at the base of the ridge itself.

Magdala was not only used by Theodore as a fortress, but also as a gaol, a

magazine, a granary, and as a place of protection for his wives and family.

The King's house and the granary stood almost in the centre of the amba; in

front towards the west a large space had been left open and clear; behind

stood the houses of the officers of his household; to the left, huts of chiefs

and soldiers; to the right, on a small eminence, the godowns and magazines,

soldiers' quarters, the church, the prison; and behind again another large

open space looking towards the Galla plateau of Tanta.

Theodore's houses had nothing regal about them. They were built on the

same pattern as the ordinary huts of the country, but only on a larger scale.

He himself, I believe, never, or at least very rarely, lived in them; he

preferred his tent at Islamgee, or on some neighbouring height, to the larger

and more commodious abode on the amba. To his dislike to houses in

general, I believe was added a particular objection to shutting himself up in

the fort. The majority of these houses were occupied by Theodore's wives

and concubines, the eunuchs, and female slaves. The granary and tej houses

were in the same inclosure, but separated from the ladies' department by a

strong fence; the granary consisted of half a dozen huge huts, protected

from the rain by a double roof. They contained barley, tef, beans, peas, and

a little wheat. All the grain was kept in leather bags piled up until they

reached almost to the roof. It is said that, at the time of the capture of

Magdala by our troops, there was grain in sufficient quantity stored in these

granaries to last the garrison and other inhabitants of the amba for at least

six months. The dwellings of the chiefs and soldiers were built on the

model of the Amhara houses—circular, with a pointed thatched roof. The

huts of the common soldiers were built without order, in some places in

such close proximity that if, as it happened on one or two occasions, a fire

broke out, in a few seconds twenty or thirty houses were at once burnt to

the ground: nothing could possibly stop the conflagration but rapidly

pulling down to leeward the huts not as yet on fire. The principal chiefs had

several houses for themselves, all in one inclosure, surrounded and

separated from the soldiers' huts by a high and strong fence. Since about a

year before his death Theodore had been gradually accumulating at

Magdala the few remnants of his former wealth. Some sheds contained

muskets, pistols, &c.; others books and paper; others carpets, shamas, silks,

some powder, lead, shot, caps; and the best the little money he still

possessed, the gold he had seized at Gondar, and the property of his

workmen sent over to Magdala for safe custody. All the store-huts were

during the rainy season covered with black woollen cloth, called màk,

woven in the country. Once or twice a week the chiefs would meet in

consultation in a small house erected for that purpose in the magazine

inclosure to discuss public affairs, but, above all, to assure themselves by

personal inspection that the "treasures" entrusted to their care were in

perfect order and in safe keeping.

The Magdala church, consecrated to the Saviour of the World (Medani

Alum), was not in any respect worthy of such an important place. It was of

recent date, small, unadorned with the customary representations of saints,

of the life of the Apostles, of the Trinity, of God the Father, and the devil.

No St. George was seen on his white charger, piercing the dragon with his

Amhara lance; no martyr smiled benignly at his fiend-like tormentors. The

mud walls had not even been whitewashed; and every pious soul longed for

the accomplishment of Theodore's promise—the building of a church

worthy of his great name. The inclosure was as bare as the holy place itself;

no graceful juniper, tall sycamore, or dark green guicho solemnized its

precincts, or offered cool shade where the hundred priests, defteras, and

deacons who daily performed service, could repose after the fatiguing

ceremony—the howling and the dancing to David's psalms. On the same

line, but below the hillock on which stood the church, the Abouna

possessed a few houses and a garden; but, alas for him, his pied-à-terre had

for several years become his prison.

The prison-house, a common gaol for the political offenders, thieves, and

murderers, consisted of five or six huts inclosed by a strong fence, and

surrounded by the private dwellings of the more wealthy prisoners and

guards, extending from the eastern slope of the hillock to the edge of the

precipice and to the open space towards the south. At the time of our

captivity these houses cannot have contained less than 660 prisoners. Of

these, about 80 died of remittent fever, 175 were released by his Majesty,

307 executed, and 91 owed their liberty to the stormers of Magdala. The

prison rules were in some respects very severe, in others mild and foreign to

our civilized ideas. At sunset every prisoner was ordered into the central

inclosure. As they passed the gate they were counted and their fetters

examined. The women had a hut for themselves; only a late arrangement,

however, as before they had to sleep in the same houses as the men. The

space was very limited and the prisoners were packed in like herrings in a

barrel. Abyssinians themselves, hard-hearted as they are, described the

scene at night as something fearful. The huts, crowded to excess, were

close, the atmosphere fetid, the stench unbearable. There lay, side by side,

the poor, starved vagabond, chained hands and feet, and often with a large

forked piece of wood several yards long fixed round his neck, and the

warrior who had bled in many a hard-won fight, the governor of provinces

—nay, the sons of kings and conquered rulers themselves. In the centre the

guards, keeping candles lighted all night, laughed or played some noisy

game, indifferent to the sufferings of the unfortunates they watched. At daydawn, always about 6 A.M. in that latitude, the prison-door was opened,

and those who were lucky enough to possess any, repaired to the huts they

had erected in the vicinity of the sleeping-houses, while the poorer crawled

about the prison inclosure, awaiting their pancake loaf with all the

impatience of hungry men, just kept from immediate starvation by the

bounty of the Emperor. Others strolled about in couples, begging from their

more favoured companions, or, when leave was granted, went from house

to house imploring alms in the name of the "Saviour of the World."

The prison guards were the greatest ruffians I have ever seen. They had

been for so many years in contact with misery in its worst shape that the last

spark of human feeling had died out in their callous hearts. Instead of

showing compassion or pity for their prisoners, many of them innocent

victims of a low treachery, they added to their misery by the harshness and

cruelty of their conduct. Had a chief received at last a small sum of money

from his distant province, he was soon made aware that he must satisfy the

greed of his rapacious gaolers. But that was nothing compared to the moral

tortures they inflicted on their prisoners. Many of them had been for years

confined on the amba, and had brought their families to reside near them.

Woe to the woman who would not listen to the solicitations of these

infamous wretches; threatened and even beaten, few indeed of the sorrowful

wives and daughters held out; others willingly met advances; and when the

chief, the man of rank, or the wealthy merchant, left his day house, he knew

that his wife would immediately receive her chosen lover, or, what was still

more heartrending, a man she despised but feared.

Such was the daily life of those whose fault was to have given ear to the fair

words of Theodore, an error that weighed heavier upon them than a crime.

But when the Emperor, on his way, stopped a few days at Magdala, what

anxiety, what anguish, reigned in that accursed place! No day house, no

hours spent with the family or the friend, no food hardly; the prisoners must

remain in the night houses, as the Emperor at any moment might send for

some one of them to set him at liberty, or, more likely, to put an end to his

miserable existence. Let us take, for example, his visit to Magdala in the

first days of July, 1865, on his return from his unsuccessful campaign in

Shoa. No doubt long-continued misfortunes crush the better qualities of

men, and induce them to perform acts at the mere thought of which in better

days they would have blushed. Such was the case with Beru Goscho,

formerly the independent ruler of Godjam. Since years he had lingered in

chains. In the hope of improving his position, he had the baseness to report

to his Majesty that when a rumour was started that he had been killed in

Shoa, a great many of the prisoners had rejoiced. Theodore, on receiving

this message, gave orders for all the political prisoners who were only

chained by the leg to have hand chains put on—exempting only from this

order his informer Beru Goscho. However, some days later, this chief

having sent a servant to Theodore to ask as a reward to be allowed to have

his wife near him, the Emperor, who did not approve of treachery in others,

pretended to be annoyed at his request, and gave orders that he should also

be put in hand chains. But this was trifling compared with the massacre of

the Gallas, which happened during that same visit of Theodore. After

subduing the Galla country he required hostages. Accordingly, the Queen

Workite sent him her son, the heir to the throne; and many chiefs, believing

in the high character of Theodore, willingly accompanied him. The Galla

prince had at first been kindly treated; even made governor of the mountain;

but soon, on some pretext or other, he was disgraced: first made a prisoner

at large, and then sent to the common gaol, to endure chains and misery for

years.

Menilek, the grandson of Sehala Selassié, had been since his youth brought

up near the Emperor; he was entrusted with an independent command, and

in order to strengthen his adherence to his cause, Theodore gave him his

daughter in marriage. Under these circumstances, I can easily fancy the rage

and passion of Theodore when, one morning, he was informed that Menilek

had deserted with his followers, and was already on his way to claim the

dominions of his fathers. The Emperor with a telescope saw on the distant

Wallo plain Menilek received, with honour by the Galla Queen Workite.

Blind, with rage, he had no thought but revenge. He dared not venture to

pursue Menilek and encounter the two allies; at hand he had easy victims—

the Galla prince and his chiefs. Theodore mounted his horse, called his

body-guard, and sent for those men, who had already lingered long in

captivity through trusting to his word, and then followed a scene so horrible

that I dare not write the details. All were killed some—thirty-two, I believe

—and their still breathing bodies hurled over the precipice. It is probable

that shortly afterwards Theodore regretted having allowed himself to be

guided by passion. With Menilek he had lost Shoa; by the murder of the

Galla prince he had made those tribes his deadly foes. He sent word to the

Bishop, "Why, if I was acting wrongly, did you not come out with the 'Fitta

Negust' (Abyssinian code of law) in your hands, and tell me I was wrong?"

The Bishop's reply was simple and to the point:—"Because I saw blood

written in your face." However, Theodore soon consoled himself. The rains

were late, and water scarce on the amba: the next day it rained. Theodore,

full of smiles, addressed his soldiers, saying, "See the rain; God is pleased

with me because I have killed the infidels."

Such is Magdala, the sun-burnt barren rock, the arid lonely spot where we

had to undergo nearly two years of captivity in chains.

We furnished our house without much expense; two tanned cows' hides

were all we required. These, together with a few old carpets Theodore had

presented us with at Zagé, was about the extent of our worldly goods. I had

a small folding table and a camp-stool (some of our kit had arrived a few

days before); but our hovel was too small to admit them and us. The rainy

season had fairly set in, and the broken roof of our godjo was rapidly giving

way under the weight of the wet grass; we propped it up as best we could

by means of a long stick, still it looked very shaky, and leaked worse and

worse. The ground, always damp now, had quite the appearance of an Irish

bog; and if the straw that was placed underneath the skins to make our bed a

little softer was not removed every other day, the steam rose even through

the old carpets that adorned our abode. At last I could stand it no longer: I

was afraid of falling ill. It was bad enough to be in chains and in a hovel,

but sickness into the bargain would have driven me to despair. I sent my

Abyssinian servants to cut some wood, and made a small raised platform; it

was rather irregular and hard, but I preferred it to sleeping for so long on

the wet ground.

Well do I still remember that long, dreary, rainy season, and with what

impatience we looked for the Feast of the Cross, about the 25th of

September; as the natives told us that the rains always ceased about that

time! I had brought with me from Gaffat an Amharic grammar. "Faute de

mieux," I struggled hard to study it, but the mind was not fitted for such

work; and, book in hand, I was in spirit, thousands of miles away, thinking

of home, dreaming awake of beloved friends, of freedom and liberty.

Towards the end of August, shortly after the return of our ill-fated

messenger, we wrote again and sent another man: by this time we had

abundant proof that Samuel,—formerly our introducer, now our gaoler,—

was completely in our interests; and by his good arrangements the

messenger started without any one knowing of it, and managed to reach

Massowah with his letter.

I have spoken often of Samuel, and shall again and again have to mention

his name in my narrative. He was, from the beginning, mixed up with the

affairs of the Europeans, and I believe at one time he was rather unfriendly

towards them; but since our arrival and during our captivity, he behaved

exceedingly well. He was a shrewd, cunning man, and one of the first who

perceived that Theodore was losing ground. Outwardly he swore by his

name, and kept his confidence; but all the while he was serving us, and

helping us in our communications with the coast, the rebels, &c. In his

youth his left leg had been broken and badly set; and though Theodore liked

him, he did not give him a military command, but always employed him in

a civil capacity. He did not like to speak of the accident that occasioned his

deformity, and would, if asked, always give an evasive answer. Pietro, the

Italian, was a great gossip, and his stories could not always be relied upon.

His account of the broken leg was that when Samuel went to Shoa, some

Englishman there gave him a kick which sent him rolling down some small

ravine, and in the fall the leg was broken. It was on account of that blow

from an Englishman, Pietro said, that Samuel hated them all so much, and

was so bitter against them at first. It may be so; but I believe that he had not

been understood.

Samuel fancied that he was a very great man in his own country. His father

had been a small sheik; and Theodore, after Samuel's native country had

rebelled, made him governor of it. With all the appearance of great humility,

Samuel was proud; and by treating him as if he was in reality a great man,

he was as easily managed as a child. He had suffered from a severe attack

of dysentery during our stay at Kourata. I attended him carefully, and he

always felt grateful for my attentions towards him. When we separated and

lived in different houses, he did not allow the guards to sleep inside our hut.

It is true it would have been difficult; but Abyssinian soldiers are not

particular: they sleep anywhere,—on their prisoner's bed, if there is no other

place, making use of him as a pillow. Of course Mr. Rassam had none; but

he was the great man, the dispenser of favours. Stern, Cameron, and

Rosenthal, being neither rich nor favourites, had the advantage of the

presence of two or three of those ruffians as their companions every night;

nor were those in the kitchen better off, as some soldiers were always sent

in at night not to watch Kerans and Pietro, but the King's property (our own

kit).

Samuel soon made friends with some of the chiefs. After a while, two of

them were constantly in our inclosure, and, under the pretext of coming to

see Samuel, would spend hours with us. Kerans, a good Amharic scholar,

was the interpreter on those occasions: one of them, Deftera Zenab, the

King's chief scribe, (now tutor to Alamayou,) is an intelligent; honest man;

but he was quite mad on astronomy, and would listen for hours to anything

concerning the solar system. Unfortunately, either the explanations were

faulty or his comprehension dull as each time he came he wanted the whole

dissertation over again until at last our patience was fairly exhausted, and

we gave him up as a bad job. His other intimate was a good-natured young

man called Afa Negus Meshisha, son of a former governor of the Amba;

Theodore, on the death of the father, had given Meshisha the title, but

nothing more. His forte was playing the lute, or a rude instrument

something like it. Samuel could listen to him for hours; but two minutes

was quite enough to make us run off. He was, however, useful in his way, as

he gave us good information about what was going on in Theodore's camp,

—intelligence which his position as an occasional member of the council

enabled him to obtain.

Such, apart from ourselves, was our only society. It is true that the Ras and

the great men would occasionally call on Mr. Rassam, much more

frequently since he give them arrack and toj, instead of the coffee he used to

offer them at first; but, unless one of them wanted some medicine, it was

very rare that they honoured us with a visit; they thought that they had done

quite enough—indeed bestowed a great favour, for which we ought to be

grateful—if, as they passed near our hut, they shouted "May God open

thee!"

But our enemy was one of the day guards, named Abu Falek, an old rascal

who delighted in making mischief; he was hated by every one on the

mountain, and on that account outwardly respected. The day he was on

guard it was very difficult to write, as he was always putting his ugly grey

head in at the door to see what we were doing. He did his best to do us

harm, but could reach no higher than our servants: our dollars were too

much for him.

Everything has an end. With Maskal (the Feast of the Cross) came sunshine

and pleasant cool weather. We had already been two months and a half in

chains, and we expected that soon some comforting news would reach us,

telling us "Be of good cheer; we are coming."

Since our arrival at Magdala we had not received a single letter: and more

than six months had elapsed without news from our friends, or any

intelligence whatsoever from Europe.

Immediately after the rains, Mr. Rassam had his house repaired and

improved, and a new hut built, as Mrs. Rosenthal was expected to join our

party; Samuel obtained a piece of ground adjoining our inclosure, which

was afterwards included in it, and on which he built a hut for himself and

family. Samuel had several times spoken to me about pulling down our

wretched godjo, and building a larger hut instead; but I thought it was

hardly worth the while, as before many months some change or the other

would take place: another reason was, that part of the old fence stood in

front of my godjo, and I should hardly have gained more than a foot of

ground. Samuel promised to do his best to have the fence removed if I

would build; I agreed to do so, and he endeavoured to fulfil his part of the

contract, but failed. However, a few weeks later, one of the chiefs, whom I

had attended almost since our arrival, in his first burst of gratitude at being

cured, took upon himself to break down the fence, and promised to send me

his men to help me.

All the materials—wood, bamboos, cow-hides, straw—could be purchased

below the mountain, and in a few days all was ready. I sent word to my

patient, who came at once, with about fifty soldiers, who, by his orders,

broke down the fence, and pulled down my godjo. The ground was

afterwards levelled, the circumference of the hut traced with a stick, fixed

to the centre by a piece of string, and a trench a foot and a half deep dug.

Two strong sticks were placed at the spot where the door would be, and

each soldier, carrying several of the branches with which the walls are built,

placed them in the ditch, filling up the vacant space with the earth that had

been taken out; they had only to tie, with strips of cow-hide, flexible

branches transversely in order to keep the vertical ones together, and the

first part of the structure was complete. A few days afterwards they

returned, made the framework of the roof, and lifted it up on the walls; it

then only required the thatcher to render our new abode inhabitable. The

servants brought water and made mud, with which the walls were coated

inside, and a week from the day the godjo had been pulled down, Prideaux

and myself were able to give our house-warming. The soldiers were

delighted with their job, and always came in large numbers when we

required their assistance, as we treated them very liberally: for instance, the

materials for our new hut cost eight dollars, but we spent fourteen dollars in

feasting those who had assisted us. We had now seven feet of ground each,

the table could be placed in the centre, and the folding chair offered to a

visitor. Mr. Rassam had tried, with success, to whitewash the interior of his

hut with a kind of soft white yellowish sandstone, that could be obtained in

the vicinity of the Amba; we, therefore, also put our servants to work, but

first had the mud walls several times besmeared with cow-dung, in order to

make the whitewash adhere. We enjoyed very much the neat clean

appearance of our hut. Unfortunately, being situate between two high fences

and surrounded by other huts, it was rather dark. To obviate this defect, we

cut out of the walls some of the framework, and made four windows; this

was certainly a great improvement, but at night we felt the cold bitterly.

Luckily, our friend Zenab gave us some parchment; out of an old box we

made some rude frames, and the parchment, previously well soaked in oil

served instead of glass.

We were obliged to keep a large staff of servants, as we had to prepare

everything for ourselves. Some women were engaged to grind flour for us

and the Abyssinian servants; others to bring water or wood. Men-servants

went to the market or to the neighbouring districts to purchase grain, sheep,

honey, &c.; many were employed as messengers to the coast or to Gaffat. I

had with me two Portuguese, who were the torment of my life, as they were

always quarrelling, often drunk, impertinent, and unwilling to work. The

Portuguese lived in the kitchen, but as they were always fighting with the

other servants, and we were perfectly helpless, and could not possibly

enforce our commands, I had a small hut erected for them. The inclosure

had been enlarged again by the chief, and Cameron had built a log-house

for himself, and Mr. Rosenthal had had one made for his servants; mine for

the Portuguese was built on the same spot, and before the rainy season I had

another one made for the Abyssinians, as they grumbled and threatened to

leave, if they had to spend the rains in a tent.

All these arrangements took us some time; we had been glad to have

something to do, as the days passed much quicker, and time did not weigh

so heavily upon us. Our Christmas was not very merry, nor did we on New

Year's Day wish one another many returns of a similar one; but we were on

the whole more accustomed to our captivity, and certainly in many respects

more comfortable.

CHAPTER XIII.

Theodore writes to Mr. Rassam about Mr. Flad and the Artisans—His two

Letters contrasted—General Merewether arrives at Massowah—Danger of

sending Letters to the Coast—Ras Engeddah brings us a few Stores —Our

Garden—Successful Results of Vaccination at Magdala—Our Day Guard

again—Second Rainy Season—The Chiefs are Jealous—The Ras and his

Council—Damash, Hailo, &c.—Daily Life during Rainy Season—Two

Prisoners attempt to Escape—The Knout in Abyssinia—A Dying Man's

Prophecy.

About this time a servant of Mr. Rassam, whom he had sent to his Majesty

some months previously, returned on the 28th of December with a letter

from Theodore, in which was inclosed one from our Queen. Theodore

informed Mr. Rassam that Mr. Flad had arrived at Massowah, and had sent

him the letter which he had forwarded us for perusal; he told Mr. Rassam to

await his arrival, as he would be coming before long, and they would

consult together about an answer. We were greatly rejoiced at the tenor of

the Queen's letter: it was plain that at last a higher tone had been adopted,

that the character of Theodore was better known, and all his futile plans

would be frustrated by the attitude our Government had taken.

On the 7th of January, 1867, Ras Engeddah arrived on the Amba, having

accompanied thither a batch of prisoners. He sent us his compliments and a

letter from Theodore. Theodore's letter was rather a boastful and imperious

one: he, first gave a summary of Flad's letter to himself, in which he had

been informed by that gentleman that everything he had required had been

consented to, but that in the meanwhile he had changed his behaviour

towards us. Theodore also gave us his intended reply: he said Ethiopia and

England had formerly been on a footing of friendship; and for that reason

he had loved the English exceedingly. But since then (to use his own

words), "having heard that they have calumniated and hated me with the

Turks, I said to myself, Can this be true? and I felt some misgiving in my

heart." He evidently wanted to ignore the ill treatment he had inflicted upon

us, as he said: "Mr. Rassam and his party you sent to me I have placed in

my house in my capital at Magdala, and I will treat them well until I obtain

a token of friendship." He concluded his letter by ordering Mr. Rassam to

write to the proper authorities, so that the things should be sent a to him; he

desired Mr. Rassam's letter to be forwarded to him, and quickly, so that Mr.

Flad might come without delay.

This letter must probably have been a post-prandial one; it was not the line

of conduct he wanted to adopt: he knew too well that his only chance was to

natter, appear humble, meek and ignorant; he might, he knew, enlist

England's sympathy by appearing in that light, and that an overbearing tone

would not suit his purpose, nor secure him the object he longed for. Early

the following day a messenger arrived from the Imperial camp with a letter

from General Merewether, and another from Theodore. How different this

letter from the one brought by Ras Engeddah! It was insinuating, courteous;

he orders no more, he humbly requests; he meekly entreats and begs: he

begins by saying:—"Now in order to prove the good relationship between

me and yourself, let it be shown by your writing, and by getting the skilful

artisans and Mr. Flad to come viâ Metemma; This will be the sign of our

friendship." He quotes the story of Solomon and Hiram on the occasion of

the building of the temple; then adds, "And now when I used to fall girded

at the feet of the great Queen, her nobles, people; hosts, etc., could it be

possible to be more humble?" He then describes his reception of Mr.

Rassam, and the way he treated him; how he released the former captives

the very day of his arrival, in order to comply with the request of the

Queen; he explains the cause of our imprisonment by reproaching Mr.

Rassam with having taken away the prisoners without first bringing them to

him; and concludes by saying, "As Solomon fell at the feet of Hiram, so I,

beneath God, fall at the feet of the Queen, and her Government, and her

friends. I wish you to get them (the artisans) viâ Metemma, in order that

they may teach me wisdom, and show me clever arts. When this is done I

will make you glad and send you away, by the power of God."

Mr. Rassam replied to his Majesty at once, informing him that he had

complied with his request. The messenger, on his arrival at the Emperor's

camp, was well received, presented with a mule, and quickly despatched on

his errand. For several months we heard nothing more upon the subject.

General Merewether, in his letter to Theodore, informed him that he had

arrived at Massowah with the workmen and presents, and that on the

captives being made over to him he would allow the workmen to proceed to

his Majesty's camp. We were quite overjoyed when we heard that General

Merewether was entrusted with the negotiation: we knew his ability, and

had full confidence in his tact and discretion. Indeed, he deserves our

sincere gratitude; for he was the captives' friend: from the moment he

landed at Massowah to the day of our release, he spared himself neither

trouble nor pains to effect our deliverance.

Messengers now were despatched more regularly; by them we wrote long

accounts of Theodore's proceedings, and urged that force should be

employed to obtain our release. We knew the great risk we ran, but we

preferred death to a continuance of such a miserable existence. We

informed our friends that we had quite made up our minds, and that our

safety was not to weigh for one instant in the balance. It was a chance: the

only one left to us, and we implored that we might have the advantage of it.

We gave all the information in our power as to the resources of the country,

the movements of his Majesty, the strength of his army, the course he would

probably follow should troops land, how to deal with him, and the means to

adopt in order to insure success. We knew that should any of such letters

fall into Theodore's hands, we had no mercy, no pity to expect; but we

considered it our duty to submit our opinion, and to the best of our ability

assist those who were labouring for our release.

At this time we frequently received news from our friends, as well as

newspapers, or a few articles cut out of them, and inclosed in an envelope.

War was still but little talked of; the press, with but few exceptions, seemed

to look upon it as a rash undertaking that would only lead to failure.

Correspondents, to our despair and disgust, expatiated on guinea-worms,

poisonous flies, absence of water, and such like rubbish. For another two

months and a half we led the same monotonous life. My medicines were

getting low, and as the number of my patients was great, I was very anxious

to receive some more.

On the 19th of March Ras Engeddah arrived on the Amba with a few

thousand soldiers. He had brought with him some money, powder, and

various stores which Theodore thought would be safer at Magdala. At the

same time he sent us some stores, medicines, &c., which Captain

Goodfellow had forwarded to Metemma soon after Mr. Flad's arrival. I will

give credit to Theodore for having behaved well on that occasion. As soon

as we were informed that the stores had arrived at Metemma, Mr. Rassam

wrote to the Emperor, asking his permission to send servants and mules, in

order to have them conveyed to Magdala. Theodore said that he would have

them carried himself, and moreover kept his word. He sent one of his

officers to Wochnee, with instructions to the various chiefs of districts to

have our things carried to Debra Tabor. I had long ago given everything up,

and was agreeably surprised when those few comforts reached us. For some

days, we treated ourselves to green peas, potted meats, cigars, &c., and felt

in better spirits; not so much on account of the stores themselves, as for the

attention our dangerous host had shown us.

I remember that during the following months we felt more than at any time

the burden of such an existence. We had expected great things, and nothing

was effected: we could not have believed, on our first arrival at Magdala,

that another rainy season was in reserve for us; we never would have

credited the assertion that long before that date all would not have been

over, some way or the other. What we disliked above all things was the

uncertainty in which we were now placed: we trembled at the idea of the

cruelties and tortures Theodore inflicted upon his victims; and each time a

royal messenger arrived, we could be seen going from one hut to the other,

exchanging anxious looks, and repeatedly asking our fellow-sufferers, "In

there any news? Is there anything concerning us?"

General Merewether, with kind forethought, had sent us some seeds, and we

obtained more from Gaffat. Rassam's inclosure had been considerably

enlarged by the chiefs, and he was able to arrange a nice garden. He had

before sown some tomato seeds; these plants sprang up wonderfully well,

and Mr. Rassam, with great taste, made with bamboos a very pretty trelliswork, soon entirely covered by this novel creeper. Between our hut, the

fence, and the hut opposite ours, we had a small piece of ground, about

eight feet broad on the average, and about ten feet long. Prideaux and

myself laboured hard, delighted at the idea of having something to do; with

slit-up bamboos we made a small trellis-work, dividing our garden into

squares, triangles, &c., and on the 24th of May, in honour of our Queen's

birthday, we sowed the seed. Some things came out very quickly; peas, in

six weeks, were seven or eight feet high, mustard, cress, radishes, and

salads prospered. But our central flower-bed remained for a long time

barren; and when at last a few plants came out, they belonged to some

biennial species, as they only flowered in the following spring. A few peas,

just to taste (our garden was too small to enable us to get from it more than

a scanty dish or two), raw lettuces (we had no oil, and only inferior vinegar

made out of tej), with now and then a radish, were luxuries we immensely

enjoyed after our long meat diet. When a second parcel of seeds reached us,

we transformed into "gardens" every available spot, and had the pleasure of

eating a few turnips, more lettuces, and a cabbage or two. Soon after the

rainy season everything withered away; the sun burnt up our treasures, and

left us again to our mutton and fowls.

A month or so before the rainy season of 1867, fever of a malignant type

broke out in the common gaol. The place was dirty enough before, and the

horrors of that abode were indescribable even when sickness did not

prevail; but when about 150 men of all ranks lay prostrate on the ground,

contaminating still more the already impure atmosphere, the scene was

horrible in the extreme, giving a better idea of the place of torments than

even Dante's vivid description. The epidemic lasted until the first rains set

in. About eighty died; and many more would have succumbed, had not,

fortunately, some of the guards contracted the disease. As long as it was

only the prisoners, they turned a deaf ear to all my suggestions; now they

had become willing listeners, and quickly adopted the advice they had

spurned but a short time before. To all who claimed my services I willingly

sent medicine; and, when some of the guards also came to me for treatment,

I gave them some also: but on condition that they would treat with more

kindness the unfortunate men in their charge.

General Merewether, always thoughtful and kind, aware that much of our

comfort depended on our being on friendly terms with the garrison, sent me

some vaccine lymph in small tubes. I explained to some of the more

intelligent natives the wonderful properties of that prophylactic, and

induced them to bring me their children to be inoculated. Amongst semicivilized races it is often difficult to introduce the blessings of vaccination;

but on this occasion they were universally and gratefully accepted. For

about six weeks an immense crowd collected outside the gates on

vaccinating days; so much so that it was with some difficulty that they were

kept back, so anxious were they to avail themselves of the famous medicine

that protected from the dreaded "koufing" (small-pox). It so happened that,

amongst the children I operated upon, was the child of old Abu Falek (or

rather his wife's), the day guard I have already mentioned. He was naturally

ill-natured and disobliging, and to save himself the trouble of bringing his

child to have others inoculated from it, and at the same time so as not to be

accused of selfishness, he spread the rumour that the children from whom

the lymph was taken would shortly afterwards die. This was the death-blow

to my endeavours to introduce vaccine amongst the natives; numbers still

collected to be vaccinated, but none came to give the lymph, and as I had no

more tubes, I was obliged to discontinue an experiment which had so

wonderfully succeeded.

The rainy season of 1867 set in about the end of the first week in July. We

had better shelter, and had time to make arrangements for provision for our

followers and ourselves before the rains fairly commenced, and in that

respect were better off than the year before; but, for other reasons, such as

the political condition of the country, the daily increasing difficulty of

communicating with the coast, it was perhaps, on the whole, more trying

and disagreeable.

The chiefs of the mountain had not been long in finding out that the English

captives had money. They all had frequently been presented with douceurs ,

in the shape of dollars for themselves, shamas or ornaments for their wives;

also tej and arrack, which was brewed by Samuel under Mr. Rassam's

direction, of which they partook frequently and freely. They tried to cut one

another out; each one in his private visits pretending to be "the best friend;"

but they could not openly leave the council-room, and start off for a glass,

without being accompanied by the whole batch, so they forbade every one

but themselves from visiting us. Poor Zenab for months took no more

lessons in astronomy, and Meshisha played the lute to his wives and

followers. They even went so far as to forbid the petty chiefs and soldiers

coming to me for medicine. But this was too much; though a despotism, the

constitution of the country only acknowledged one master. The soldiers

therefore sent their petty chiefs in a body to the Ras and members of the

council; they talked even of representing the matter to Theodore; and, as the

chiefs were far from being immaculate, and dreaded nothing so much as

reports to their master, they were obliged to give in, and cancel the order.

Theodore had, after his capture of Magdala, appointed a chief as governor

of the Amba, giving him a kind of unlimited power over the garrison; but

some years later he adjoined to him a few chiefs as his councillors, still

allowing the Head of the mountain to retain a great deal of his former

power. Always suspicious, but less able to satisfy his soldiers than before,

he took every precaution to avoid treachery, and to make certain that, when

engaged on distant expeditions, he might depend on his fortress of Magdala.

With that object he ordered a council to assemble on all important

occasions, and to consult on all matters concerning the internal economy of

the mountain. Every head of department, and every chief of a corps, had a

voice; the officers in command of the troops were to send separate and

private messengers; the Ras was still considered as the Head of the

mountain, but his authority was limited, and his responsibility great, should

he think proper to overrule his companions. Under these circumstances, it is

not astonishing that, as a rule, he would follow the advice of those chiefs

whom he knew to be the greatest worshippers of his master, his most

faithful spies and beloved tale-bearers.

The Head of the mountain on our arrival, Ras Kidana Mariam, was, on

account of his family connections and his position in the country,

considered "dangerous" by Theodore, and, as I have already mentioned,

was on a false charge taken to the camp. Shortly before depriving Ras

Kidana Mariam of his command he had promoted him from a Dedjazmatch

to the rank of Ras. Every umbel (colonel) was promoted by the same order

to be a Bitwaddad (something like a Brigadier-General), or a Dedjazmatch,

a title only applied in former days to governors of one large or of several

small provinces; bachas (captains) were made colonels, and so on

throughout the whole garrison; which after this consisted only of officers

and non-commissioned officers, the lowest in rank being at least a sergeant.

Theodore wrote to them at the time to inform them that they would draw

the pay and rations according to their rank, and when, as he expected before

long, he should see them, he would treat them so generously that even the

"unborn babe would rejoice in his mother's womb." Theodore, on three or

four occasions, out of his few remaining dollars, gave them a small advance

of pay. About forty dollars was the amount a general touched during the

time we were there; a sergeant, during the same period, about eight, I

believe. With that they were supposed to feed and clothe themselves,

families, and followers; for no rations were distributed at the same time as

the money. At first they were all dazzled by their new ranks—the only thing

Theodore could distribute with a liberal hand; but they soon found out what

these were worth, and, ragged, hungry, and cold, they were the first to joke

about their high-sounding but empty titles.

A distant relation of Theodore by his mother's side, named Ras Bisawar,

was, on the dismissal of Kidana Mariam, selected for the vacant post. He

had in his youth been brought up for the church, had even been made a

deftera, when the brilliant example of his relative took him from the

peaceful and quiet life he had first chosen to cast him amidst the turmoil of

camp life. He was a great big hulking fellow, bald-headed, and rather goodnatured; but for all his sword and pistols could not conceal his first pursuit

in life: he was still the deftera in borrowed plumage. His great fault was to

be too weak; he had no decision of character, no firmness, and was always

guided in his actions by the last talker.

Next in importance came Bitwaddad Damash, the ugliest and most

pompous puppy and the biggest-boasting villain on the whole mountain. He

was very sick when we first arrived, but though he could not come himself

he was far too much interested in our affairs not to be at all hours of the day

informed of our doings; for that purpose he sent his eldest son, a lad of

about twelve, several times in the day with compliments and inquiries after

our welfare. As soon as he could walk about a little he came now and then

himself, to see me for advice, and when restored to health, in the

thankfulness of the first moment, he helped to build our house. But

gratitude is not a lasting quality—in Abyssinia it hardly exists—and not

long afterwards Damash gave strong hints that if we wanted him to be our

friend we must not "forget him." Prideaux and myself had not much money

to spare, but as he was known to be a great scoundrel, we thought it would

not be prudent to make an enemy of him, and therefore sent him, as a token

of friendship, Prideaux's small folding looking-glass, the only presentable

thing we had between us. For some time the looking-glass consolidated our

friendship, but when, on a second application for "tokens," we turned a deaf

ear to his soft words, he would have nothing more to do with as; he called

us bad men, sneered at us, made us take off our caps before him, and even

went so far as to insult Cameron and Stern, shaking his head at them in a

threatening manner as, more or less intoxicated, he left in the afternoon the

room of his beloved and generous friend, Mr. Rassam. Damash had

command of half the gunmen, some 270, the Ras of the rest, about 200.

The third member of council was Bitwaddad Hailo, the best of the lot; he

was in charge of the gaol, but was never known to abuse his position. His

two brothers had commanded our escort from the frontier to the Emperor's

camp in Damot; his mother, a fine old lady, also accompanied us part of the

way: the brothers and the mother had been well treated by us, so that even

before we came to the Amba we were known to him, and he always

conducted himself very civilly, and proved useful on many occasions.

When he heard of Theodore's approach, as he knew that charges were

going, to be brought against him, he ran, away and joined the English camp.

He managed his escape, in a very clever manner indeed. According to the,

rules of the mountain, not even a Bitwaddad could pass the gate without

permission from the Ras, and since desertions had taken place the

permission was no more granted. His wife and child were also on the

Amba, and since he was suspected, if they had left he would have been

strictly watched. His mother had accompanied Theodore's camp, being

desirous of seeing her son. When his Majesty encamped in the valley of the

Bechelo, she asked his permission to be allowed to go to Magdala, and on

her arrival at Islamgee she sent word to her son to give orders at the gate to

let her in; but he declined, stating publicly, as the motive of his refusal, that,

not having received intimation from his Majesty that he had granted her

request, he could not take upon himself to admit her into the fort. The

mother had been made a party to the plot beforehand, and played her part

well; it was market-day, and therefore the place was crowded with soldiers

and petty chiefs. On hearing of her son's refusal to admit her, she pretended

to be driven to despair, tore her hair and cried aloud, quite overcome by the

ingratitude of the son she had made such a long journey to embrace. The

spectators took her part, and, in her name, sent to him again; but he was

firm. "To-morrow," he said, "I will send word to the Emperor; if he allows

you to come I will be only too happy to admit you; to-day, all I can do is to

send you my wife and child to remain with you until the evening." The old

lady, with the wife and child, retired to a quiet corner for a friendly chat,

and when no more noticed, quietly walked away. At about ten at night,

accompanied by one of his men, and assisted by some friends, Hailo made

his escape and rejoined his family.