Unwilling to diminish the scanty store, the Hammal and I but
dipped our hands in the dish: Long Guled and the End of Time, however,
soon cleared the platters, while abusing roundly the unpalatable food.
After supper, a dispute arose between the Hammal and one of the Habr Tul
Jailah, the tribe to whom the land belongs. The Bedouin, not liking my
looks, proposed to put his spear into me. The Hammal objected that if the
measure were carried out, he would return the compliment in kind. Ensued a
long dispute, and the listeners laughed heartily at the utter indifference
with which I gave ear. When it concluded, amicably as may be expected, the
slaves spread a carpet upon a coarse Berberah couch, and having again
vented their hilarity in a roar of laughter, left me to sleep.
We had eaten at least one sheep per diem, and mutton baked in the ship's
oven is delicious to the Somali mouth. Remained on board another dinner, a
circumstance which possibly influenced the weak mind of the Captain of the
"Reed." Awaking at dawn, I went out, expecting to find the vessel within
stone's throw: it was nowhere visible. About 8 A.M., it appeared in sight,
a mere speck upon the sea-horizon, and whilst it approached, I inspected
the settlement.
Aynterad, an inconsiderable place lying east-north-east of, and about
forty miles from, Berberah, is a favourite roadstead principally on
account of its water, which rivals that of Siyaro. The anchorage is bad:
the Shimal or north wind sweeps long lines of heavy wave into the open
bay, and the bottom is a mass of rock and sand-reef. The fifty sunburnt
and windsoiled huts which compose the settlement, are built upon a bank of
sand overlying the normal limestone: at the time when I visited it, the
male population had emigrated _en masse_ to Berberah. It is principally
supported by the slave trade, the Arabs preferring to ship their purchases
at some distance from the chief emporium. [26] Lieut. Herne, when he
visited it, found a considerable amount of "black bullion" in the market.
The fort of Aynterad, erected thirty years ago by Mohammed Diban, is a
stone and mud house square and flat-roofed, with high windows, an attempt
at crenelles, and, for some reason intelligible only to its own Vitruvius,
but a single bastion at the northern angle. There is no well, and the mass
of huts cluster close to the walls. The five guns here deposited by
Sharmarkay when expelled from Berberah, stand on the ground outside the
fort, which is scarcely calculated to bear heavy carronades: they are
unprovided with balls, but that is a trifle where pebbles abound.
Moreover, Abdy's slaves are well armed with matchlock and pistol, and the
Bedouin Tul Jailah [27] find the spear ineffectual against stone walls.
The garrison has frequently been blockaded by its troublesome neighbours,
whose prowess, however, never extended beyond preliminaries.
To allay my impatience, that morning I was invited into several huts for
the purpose of drinking sour milk. A malicious joy filled my soul, as
about noon, the Machiavellian Captain of the "Reed" managed to cast
anchor, after driving his crazy craft through a sea which the violent
Shimal was flinging in hollow curves foam-fringed upon the strand. I stood
on the shore making signs for a canoe. My desires were disregarded, as
long as decency admitted. At last, about 1 P.M., I found myself upon the
quarter-deck.
"Dawwir el farman,"--shift the yard!--I shouted with a voice of thunder.
The answer was a general hubbub. "He surely will not sail in a sea like
this?" asked the trembling Captain of my companions.
"He will!" sententiously quoth the Hammal, with a Burleigh nod.
"It blows wind--" remonstrated the Rais.
"And if it blew fire?" asked the Hammal with the air _goguenard_, meaning
that from the calamity of Frankish obstinacy there was no refuge.
A kind of death-wail arose, during which, to hide untimely laughter, I
retreated to a large drawer, in the stern of the vessel, called a cabin.
There my ears could distinguish the loud entreaties of the crew vainly
urging my attendants to propose a day's delay. Then one of the garrison,
accompanied by the Captain who shook as with fever, resolved to act
forlorn hope, and bring a _feu d'enfer_ of phrases to bear upon the
Frank's hard brain. Scarcely, however, had the head of the sentence been
delivered, before he was playfully upraised by his bushy hair and a handle
somewhat more substantial, carried out of the cabin, and thrown, like a
bag of biscuit, on the deck.
The case was hopeless. All strangers plunged into the sea,--the popular
way of landing in East Africa,--the anchor was weighed, the ton of sail
shaken out, and the "Reed" began to dip and rise in the yeasty sea
laboriously as an alderman dancing a polka.
For the first time in my life I had the satisfaction of seeing the Somal
unable to eat--unable to eat mutton. In sea-sickness and needless terror,
the captain, crew, and passengers abandoned to us all the baked sheep,
which we three, not being believers in the Evil Eye, ate from head to
trotters with especial pleasure. That night the waves broke over us. The
End of Time occupied himself in roaring certain orisons, which are reputed
to calm stormy seas: he desisted only when Long Guled pointed out that a
wilder gust seemed to follow as in derision each more emphatic period. The
Captain, a noted reprobate, renowned on shore for his knowledge of erotic
verse and admiration of the fair sex, prayed with fervour: he was joined
by several of the crew, who apparently found the charm of novelty in the
edifying exercise.
