During a few years, such was Theodore's prestige that this terrible

oppression was quietly accepted; at last, however, the peasants, half-starved

and almost naked, finding that with all their sacrifices and privations they

were still far from satisfying the daily increasing demands of their terrible

master, abandoned the fertile plains, and under the guidance of some of the

remaining hereditary chiefs, retired to high plateaus, or concealed

themselves in secluded valleys. In Godjam, Walkait, Shoa, and Tigré, the

rebellion broke out almost simultaneously. Theodore had for a while to

abandon his ideas of foreign conquest, and did his utmost to crush the

mutinous spirit of his people. Whole rebel districts were laid waste; but the

peasants, protected by their strongholds, could not be reached: they quietly

awaited the departure of the invader and then returned to their desolated

homes, cultivating just enough for their maintenance; thus, with only a few

exceptions, the peasants evaded the terrible vengeance of the now infuriate

Emperor. His immense army soon suffered severely from this mode of

warfare. Each year the provinces which the soldiers could plunder became

fewer; severe famines broke out; large districts such as Dembea, the granary

of Gondar and of central Abyssinia, lay waste and uncultivated. The

soldiers, formerly pampered, now in their turn half starved and badly clad,

lost confidence in their leader; desertions were numerous; and many

returned to their native provinces, and joined the ranks of the discontented.

The fall of Theodore was even more rapid than his rise. He was still

unconquered in the battlefield, as, after the example of Negoussi's fate,

none dared to oppose him; but against the passive warfare of the peasantry

and the Fabian-like policy of their chiefs he could do nothing. Never

resting, almost always on the march, his army day by day becoming

reduced in strength, he went from province to province; but in vain: all

disappeared at his approach. There was no enemy; but there was no food!

At last, reduced by necessity, in order to keep around him some remnants of

his former immense army, he had no alternative left but to plunder the few

provinces still faithful to him.

When I first met Theodore, in January, 1866, he must have been about

forty-eight years of age. His complexion was darker than that of the

majority of his countrymen, the nose slightly curved, the mouth large, the

lips so small as hardly to be perceived. Of middle size, well knit, wiry

rather than muscular, he excelled as a horseman, in the use of the spear, and

on foot would tire his hardiest followers. The expression of his dark eyes,

slightly depressed, was strange; if he was in good humour they were soft,

with a kind of gazelle-like timidity about them that made one love him; but

when angry the fierce and bloodshot eye seemed to shed fire. In moments

of violent passion his whole aspect was frightful: his black visage acquired

an ashy hue, his thin compressed lips left but a whitish margin around the

mouth, his very hair stood erect, and his whole deportment was a terrible

illustration of savage and ungovernable fury.

Yet he excelled in the art of duping his fellow-men. Even a few days before

his death he had still, when we met him, all the dignity of a sovereign, the

amiability and good-breeding of the most accomplished "gentleman." His

smile was so attractive, his words were so sweet and gracious, that one

could hardly believe that the affable monarch was but a consummate

dissembler.

He never perpetrated a deed of treachery or cruelty without pleading some

specious excuse, so as to convey the impression that in all his actions he

was guided by a sense of justice. For example, he plundered Dembea

because the inhabitants were too friendly towards Europeans, and Gondar

because one of our messengers had been betrayed by the inhabitants of that

city. He destroyed Zagé, a large and populous city, because he pretended

that a priest had been rude to him. He cast into chains his adopted father,

Cantiba Hailo, because he had taken into his service a female servant he

had dismissed. Tesemma Engeddah, the hereditary chief of Gahinte, fell

under his displeasure because after a battle against the rebels he had shown

himself "too severe," and our first head-jailor was taken to the camp and put

in chains because he had "formerly been a friend" of the King of Shoa. I

could adduce hundreds of instances to illustrate his habitual hypocrisy. In

our case, he arrested us because we had not brought the former captives

with us; Mr. Stern he nearly killed, merely for putting his hand to his face,

and he imprisoned Consul Cameron for going to the Turks instead of

bringing him back an answer to his letter.

Theodore had all the dislike of the roving Bedouin for towns and cities. He

loved camp life, the free breeze of the plains, the sight of his army

gracefully encamped around the hillock he had selected for himself; and he

preferred to the palace the Portuguese had erected at Gondar for a more

sedentary king, the delights of roaming about incognito during the beautiful

cool nights of Abyssinia. His household was well-regulated; the same spirit

of order which had introduced something like discipline into his army,

showed itself also in the arrangements of his domestic affairs. Every

department was under the control of a chief, who was directly responsible

to the Emperor, and answerable for everything connected with the

department entrusted to him. These officers, all men of position, were the

superintendents of the tej makers, of the women who prepared the large flat

Abyssinian bread, of the wood-carriers, of the water girls, &c.; others, like

the "Balderas," had charge of the Royal stud, the "Azage" of the domestic

servants, the "Bedjerand" of the treasury, stores, &c.; there were also the

Agafaris or introducers, the Likamaquas or chamberlain, the Afa Negus or

mouth of the King.

Strange to say, Theodore preferred as his personal attendants those who had

served Europeans. His valet, the only one who stood by him to the last, had

been a servant of Barroni, the vice-consul at Massowah. Another, a young

man named Paul, was a former servant of Mr. Walker; others had at one

time been in the service of Plowden, Bell, and Cameron. Excepting his

valet, who was almost constantly near his person, the others, although they

resided in the same inclosure, had more especially to take care of his guns,

swords, spears, shields, &c. He had also around him a great number of

pages; not that I believe he required their presence, but it was an "honour"

he bestowed on chiefs entrusted with distant commands or with the

government of remote provinces. Almost all the duties of the household

were performed by women; they baked, they carried water and wood, and

swept his tent or hut, as the case might be. The majority of them were

slaves whom he had seized from slave-dealers at the time he made "manly"

efforts to put a stop to the trade. Once a week, or more often as the case

required, a colonel and his regiment had the honour of proceeding to the

nearest stream, to wash the Emperor's linen and that of the Imperial

household. No one, not even the smallest page, could, under the penalty of

death, enter his harem. He had a large number of eunuchs, most of them

Gallas, or soldiers and chiefs who had recovered from the mutilation the

Gallas inflict on their wounded foe. The queen or the favourite of the day

had a tent or house to herself, and several eunuchs to attend upon her; at

night these attendants slept at the door of her tent, and were made

responsible for the virtue of the lady entrusted to their care. As for the

ordinary women, the objects of passing affections or of stronger passions

that time had quenched, a tent or hut in common for ten or twenty, one or

two eunuchs and a few female slaves for the whole, was all the state he

allowed these neglected ladies.

Theodore was more bigoted than religious. Above all things he was

superstitious; and that to a degree incredible in a man in other respects so

superior to his countrymen. He had always with him several astrologers,

whom he consulted on all important occasions —especially before

undertaking any expedition,—and whose influence over him was

unbounded. He hated the priests, despised them for their ignorance, spurned

their doctrines, and laughed at the marvellous stories some of their books

contain; but still he never marched without a tent church, a host of priests,

defteras, and deacons, and never passed near a church without kissing its

threshold.

Though he could read and write, he never condescended to correspond

personally with any one, but was always accompanied by several

secretaries, to whom he would dictate his letters; and so wonderful was his

memory that he could indite an answer to letters received months, nay

years, before, or dilate on subjects and events that had occurred at a far

remote period. Suppose him on the march. On a distant hillock arose a

small red flannel tent—it is there where Theodore fixed his temporary

abode and that of his household. To his right is the church tent; next to his

own the queen's or that of the favourite of the day. Then came the one

allotted to his former lady friends, who travelled with him until a favourable

opportunity presented itself of sending them to Magdala, where several

hundreds were dwelling in seclusion, spinning cotton for their master's

shamas and for their own clothes. Behind were several tents for his

secretaries, his pages, his personal attendants, and one for the few stores he

carried with him. When he made any lengthened stay at a place he had huts

erected by his soldiers for himself and people, and the whole was

surrounded by a double line of fences. Though not wanting in bravery, he

never left anything to chance. At night the hillock on which he dwelt was

completely surrounded by musketeers, and he never slept without having

his pistols under his pillow, and several loaded guns by his side. He had a

great fear of poison, taking no food that had not been prepared by the queen

or her "remplacante;" and even then she and several attendants had to taste

it first. It was the same with his drink: be it water, tej, or arrack, the cupbearer and several of those present at the time had first to drink before

presenting the cup to his Majesty. He made, however, an exception in our

favour one day that he visited Mr. Rassam at Gaffat. To show how much he

respected and trusted the English, he accepted some brandy, and allowing

no one to taste it before him, he unhesitatingly swallowed the whole

draught.

He was a very jealous husband. Not only did he take the precautions I have

already mentioned, but (except in the last months of his life, when it was

beyond possibility for him to do otherwise) he never allowed the queen or

any other lady in his establishment to travel with the camp. They always

marched at night, well concealed, with a strong guard of eunuchs; and woe

to him who met them on the road, and did not turn his back on them until

they had passed! On one occasion a soldier who was on guard crept near the

queen's tent, and, taking advantage of the darkness of the night, whispered

to one of the female attendants to pass him a glass of tej under the tent. She

gave him one. Unfortunately, he was seen by a eunuch, who seized him, and

at once brought him before his Majesty. After hearing the case, Theodore,

who happened to be in good spirits that evening, asked the culprit if he was

very fond of tej; the trembling wretch replied in the affirmative. "Well, give

him two wanchas [Footnote: A wancha is a large horn cup.] full to make

him happy, and afterwards fifty lashes with the girf [Footnote: A long

hippopotamus whip.] to teach him another time not to go near the queen's

tent." Evidently, Theodore, with a large experience of the beau sexe of his

country, was profoundly convinced that his precautions were necessary. On

one of his visits to Magdala, one of the chiefs of that amba made a

complaint to him against one of the officers of the Imperial household,

whom he had caught some time before in his lady's apartment.

Theodore laughed, and said to him, "You are a fool. Do I not look after my

wife? and I am a king."

Theodore was always an early riser; indeed, he indulged in sleep but very

little. Sometimes at two o'clock, at the latest before four, he would issue

from his tent and give judgment on any case brought before him. Of late his

temper was such that litigants kept out of his way; he nevertheless retained

his former habits, and might be seen, long before daybreak, sitting solitary

on a stone, in deep meditation or in silent prayer. He was also very

abstemious in his food, and never indulged in excesses of the table. He

rarely partook of more than one meal a day; which was composed of injera

[Footnote: The pancake loaves made of the small seed of the teff.] and red

pepper, during fast days; of wât, a kind of curry made of fish, fowl, or

mutton, on ordinary occasions. On feast days he generally gave large

dinners to his officers, and sometimes to the whole army. At these festivals

the "brindo" [Footnote: Raw beef] would be equally enjoyed by the

sovereign and by the guests. At these public breakfasts and dinners the King

usually sat on a raised platform at the head of the table. No one has ever

been known, except perhaps Bell, to have dined out of the same basket at

the same time as Theodore; but when he desired specially to honour some

of his guests, he either sent them some food from his basket, or had others

placed on the platform near him, or, what was a still higher honour, sent to

the favoured one his own basket with the remains of his dinner.

Unfortunately Theodore had for several years before his death greatly taken

to drink. Up to three or four o'clock he was generally sober and attended to

the business of the day; but after his siesta he was invariably more or less

intoxicated. In his dress he was generally very simple, wearing only the

ordinary shama, [Footnote: A white cotton cloth, with a red border, woven

in the country.] native-made trousers, and a European white shirt; no shoes,

no covering to the head. His rather long hair—for an Abyssinian—was

divided in three large plaits, and allowed to fall on his neck in three plaited

tails. Of late he had greatly neglected his hair; for months it had not been

plaited; and to show the grief he felt on account of the "badness" of his

people, he would not allow it to be besmeared with the heavy coating of

butter in which Abyssinians delight. On one occasion he apologized to us

for the simplicity of his dress. He told us that, during the few years of peace

that followed the conquest of the country, he used often to appear in public

as a king should do; but since he had been by the bad disposition of his

people obliged to wage constant war against them, he had adopted the

soldier's raiments, as more becoming his altered fortune. However, after his

fall became imminent, he on several occasions clad himself in gorgeous

costumes, in shirts and mantles of rich brocaded silks, or of goldembroidered velvet. He did so, I believe, to influence his people. They

knew that he was poor, and though he hated pomp in his own attire, he

desired to impress on his few remaining followers that though fallen he was

still "the King."

During the lifetime of his first wife and for some years afterwards,

Theodore not only led an exemplary life, but forbade the officers of his

household and the chiefs more immediately around him to live in

concubinage. One day in the beginning of 1860 Theodore perceived in a

church a handsome young girl silently praying to her patron, the Virgin

Mary. Struck with her beauty and modesty, he made inquiries about her, and

was informed that she was the only daughter of Dejatch Oubié, the Prince

of Tigré, his former rival, whom he had dethroned, and who was then his

prisoner. He asked for her hand, and met with a polite refusal. The young

girl desired to retire into a convent, and devote herself to the service of

God. Theodore was not a man to be easily thwarted in his desires. He

proposed to Oubié that he would set him at liberty, only retaining him in his

camp as his "guest," should the Prince prevail on his daughter to accept his

hand. At last Waizero Terunish ("thou art pure") sacrificed herself for her

old father's welfare, and accepted the hand of a man whom she could not

love. This union was unfortunate. Theodore, to his great disappointment,

did not find in his second wife the fervent affection, the almost blind

devotion, of the dead companion of his youth. Waizero Terunish was proud;

she always looked on her husband as a "parvenu," and took no pains to hide

from him her want of respect and affection. In the afternoon, Theodore, as it

had been his former habit, tired and weary, would retire for rest in the

queen's tent; but he found no cordial welcome there. His wife's looks were

cold and full of pride; and she even went so far as to receive him without

the common courtesy due to her king. One day when he came in she

pretended not to perceive him, did not rise, and remained silent when he

inquired as to her health and welfare; she held in her hand a book of psalms,

and when Theodore asked her why she did not answer him, she calmly

replied, without lifting up her eyes from the book, "Because I am

conversing with a greater and better man than you—the pious King David."

Theodore sent her to Magdala, together with her new-born son, Alamayou

("I have seen the world"), and took as his favourite a widowed lady from

Yedjow, named Waizero Tamagno, a rather coarse, lascivious-looking

person, the mother of five children by her former husband; she soon

obtained such an ascendancy over his mind that he publicly proclaimed

"that he had divorced and discarded Terunish, and that Tamagno should in

future be considered by all as the queen." Soon Waizero Tamagno had

numerous rivals; but she was a woman of tact; and far from complaining,

she rather encouraged Theodore in his debauchery, and always received him

with a smile. One day she said to her fickle lord, who felt rather astonished

at her forbearance, "Why should I be jealous? I know you love but me;

what is it if you stoop now and then to pick up some flowers, to beautify

them by your breath?"

Although Theodore had several children, Alamayou is the only legitimate

one. The eldest, a lad of about twenty-two, called Prince Meshisha, is a big,

idle, lazy fellow. Though at Zagé, Theodore introduced him to us, and

desired us to make him a friend with the English, he did not love him: the

young man was, indeed, so unlike the Emperor that I can well understand

Theodore having had serious doubts of his being really his son. The other

children, five or six in number, the illegitimate offspring of some of his

numerous concubines, resided at Magdala, and were brought up in the

harem. He seems to have taken but very little notice of them: but every time

he passed through Magdala he would send for Alamayou, and play with the

boy for hours. A few days before his death he introduced him to Mr.

Rassam, saying, "Alamayou, why do you not bow to your father?" and after

the audience he sent him to accompany us back to our quarters.

Waizero Terunish, Almayou's mother, never made any complaint; though

forsaken by her husband, she remained always faithful to him. She spent

usually the long days of her seclusion reading the books she delighted in—

the psalms, the lives of the saints and of the Virgin Mary—and bringing up

by her side her only son, for whom she had a deep affection. Although she

had never loved her husband, in difficult times she bravely stood by his

side. When Menilek, the King of Shoa, made his demonstration before the

amba, and treachery was feared, she sent out her son and made all the chiefs

and soldiers swear fidelity to the throne. Two days before his death,

Theodore sent for the wife he had not seen for years, and spent part of the

afternoon with her and his son.

After the storming of Magdala, Waizero Terunish and her rival, Waizero

Tamagno, were told to come to our former prison, where they would meet

with protection and sympathy. It fell to my lot to receive them on their

arrival; and I did my utmost to inspire them with confidence, to assuage

their fears, and to assure them that under the British flag they would be

treated with scrupulous honour and respect.

It was on the 13th of April, 1866, that Theodore, still powerful, had

treacherously seized us in his own house; and strange to say, on the 13th of

April, two years afterwards, his dead body lay in one of our huts, while his

wife and favourite had to seek shelter under the roof of those whom he had

so long maltreated.

Both his queens and Alamayou accompanied the English army on its march

back, Waizero Tamagno left, with feelings of gratitude for the kindness and

attention she had received at the hands of the English commander-in-chief,

as soon as she could with safety return to her native land, Yedjow; but poor

Terunish died at Aikullet. Her child, Alamayou, the son of Theodore, and

grandchild of Oubié, has now reached the English shore, an orphan, an

exile, but well cared for.

CHAPTER II.

Europeans in Abyssinia—Bell and Plowden—Their Career and Deaths

—Consul Cameron—M. Lejean—M. Bardel and Napoleon's Answer to

Theodore—The Gaffat People—Mr. Stern and the Djenda Mission—State

of Affairs at the end of 1863.

Abyssinia seems to have had a strange fascination for Europeans. The two

first who were connected with the late Abyssinian affairs are Messrs. Bell

and Plowden, who both entered Abyssinia in 1842. Mr. John Bell, better

known in that country under the name of Johannes, first attached himself to

the fortunes of Ras Ali. He took service with that prince, and was elevated

to the rank of basha (captain); but it seems that Ras Ali never gave him

much confidence, and tolerated him rather on account of his (Ras Ali's)

friendship for Plowden, than for any liking for Bell himself. Bell shortly

afterwards married a young lady belonging to one of the good families of

Begemder. From this union he had three children: two daughters, afterwards

married to two of the King's European workmen, and a son, who left the

country together with the released captives. Bell fought by Ras Ali's side at

the battle of Amba Djisella, which ended so fatally for that prince, and

afterwards retired into a church, awaiting in that asylum the good pleasure

of the victor. Theodore hearing of the presence of a European in the

sanctuary, sent him word to come to him, giving him a most solemn pledge

that he would be treated as a friend. Bell obeyed, and a strong friendship

sprang up between the Emperor and the Englishman.

Bell had for many years quite identified himself with the Abyssinians both

in dress and mode of life. He was a man of sound judgment, brave, wellinformed, appreciated all that was great and good; and seeing in Theodore

an ideal he had often conceived, he attached himself to him with

disinterested affection—almost worshipped him. Theodore gave him the

rank of likamaquas, and always kept him near his person. Bell slept at the

door of his friend's tent, dined off the same dish, joined in every expedition,

and would frequently remain for hours, at the Emperor's request, narrating

to him all the wonders of civilized life, the advantages of military

discipline, and the rules of good government. Theodore gave him on several

occasions a few hundred young men to drill; but European tactics being

distasteful to the unruly Abyssinians, he obtained such indifferent results

that the Emperor soon relieved him from that hopeless task. Theodore

ordered his friend to marry his wife "by the sacrament." Bell at once

consented; but, strange to say, the family of his wife, out of dislike to

Theodore, refused to give their consent. Whereupon the Emperor presented

him with a Galla slave, to whom he was married, the Emperor officiating as

father to the bride.

Bell was much beloved by all who knew him, and all Europeans who came

into the country were sure to find in him a friend. Between him and

Plowden the brotherly friendship that united them only increased with time;

and on hearing of the murder of his friend, Bell took a solemn oath that he

would avenge his death. About seven months afterwards the Emperor

marched against Garad, and suddenly came upon him not far from the spot

where Plowden fell. The Emperor was riding ahead, next to him came his

faithful chamberlain; on their entering a small wood the two brothers Garad

appeared in the middle of the road, only a few yards in front of them.

Seeing the danger that threatened his master, Bell rushed forward, placed

himself before the Emperor, so as to protect him with his body, and, with a

steady aim, fired at his friend Plowden's murderer. Garad fell. Immediately

the brother, who had been watching the Emperor's movements, turned upon

Bell, and shot him through the heart. Theodore promptly avenged his

faithful friend, for hardly had Bell fallen to the ground than his opponent

was mortally wounded by the Emperor himself.

Theodore ordered the place to be at once surrounded, and all Garad's

followers—some 1,600, I believe—were made prisoners and murdered in

cold blood. Theodore mourned for several days the death of his faithful

follower, in whom he lost more than a brave chief and a hardy soldier: I

may almost say he lost his kingdom, for none dared honestly to advise and

fearlessly to counsel him as Bell had done, and none ever enjoyed that

confidence which rendered Bell's advice so acceptable.

Plowden seems to have been of a more ambitious turn of mind than his

friend. Whilst Bell adopted Abyssinia as his home, and contented himself

with service under the native princes, it is evident that Plowden strove to

represent England in that distant land, and to be acknowledged by the rulers

of Abyssinia as consuls are in the East,—a small imperium in imperio . He

went the right way to work: induced Ras Ali to send presents to the Queen,

and carried them himself; impressed upon Lord Palmerston the advantages

of a treaty with Abyssinia; spoke a great deal about Mussulmans, slavetrade, oppressed Christians, &c.; and at length prevailed upon the Foreign

Secretary to assent to his plans, and appoint him consul for Abyssinia. In

justice to him, I must say, that from all accounts no man could have been

better fitted for the post: he was beloved by all classes, and his name is still

mentioned with respect. He did not, so much as Bell, identify himself with

the natives; he always wore a European dress, and kept his house in a semiEnglish style. On the other hand, he was fond of show, and never travelled

without being followed by several hundred servants, all well armed—a

mere parade, as on the day of his death his numerous retinue did not afford

him the slightest assistance.

Plowden returned to Abyssinia as consul in 1846. He was well received by

Ras Ali, with whom he was a favourite, and he soon after concluded a paper

treaty with that prince. Ras Ali was a weak-minded debauchee; all he asked

for was to be left alone, and on the same principle he allowed every one

around him to do pretty well as they liked. One day Plowden asked

permission to erect a flag-staff. Ras Ali gave a willing consent, but added,

"Do not ask me to protect it, I do not care for such things; but I fear the

people will not like it." Plowden hoisted the Union Jack above his

consulate; a few hours afterwards it was torn to pieces by the mob. "Did not

I tell you so?" was all the satisfaction he could obtain from the ruler of the

land. After the fall of Ras Ali, Bell, who had, as I have already mentioned,

followed the fortunes of Theodore, wrote to his friend in enthusiastic terms,

depicted in the eloquent language of admiring friendship all the good

qualities of the rising man, and advised Plowden to present himself before

the powerful chieftain who undoubtedly before long would be the

acknowledged ruler of the whole of Abyssinia.

Plowden's first reception by Theodore was courteous in the extreme; but he

had this time to deal with a very different kind of man to his predecessor.

Theodore was all amiability, even offered money, but declined to recognize

in him "the consul," or to ratify the treaty he (Plowden) had made with Ras

Ali. For several years Plowden seemed to have joined his friend Bell in

singing the praises of Theodore; he was to be the reformer of his country,

had introduced a certain discipline in his army, and, to use Plowden's own

words, "he is an honest man, and strives to be just, and, though firm, far

from cruel."