I doubt not there are many who ignore the fact that in Eastern Africa,
scarcely three hundred miles distant from Aden, there is a counterpart of
ill-famed Timbuctoo in the Far West. The more adventurous Abyssinian
travellers, Salt and Stuart, Krapf and Isenberg, Barker and Rochet,--not
to mention divers Roman Catholic Missioners,--attempted Harar, but
attempted it in vain. The bigoted ruler and barbarous people threatened
death to the Infidel who ventured within their walls; some negro Merlin
having, it is said, read Decline and Fall in the first footsteps of the
Frank. [1] Of all foreigners the English were, of course, the most hated
and dreaded; at Harar slavery still holds its head-quarters, and the old
Dragon well knows what to expect from the hand of St. George. Thus the
various travellers who appeared in beaver and black coats became persuaded
that the city was inaccessible, and Europeans ceased to trouble themselves
about Harar.
It is, therefore, a point of honor with me, dear L., to utilise my title
of Haji by entering the city, visiting the ruler, and returning in safety,
after breaking the guardian spell.
The most auspicious day in the Moslem year for beginning a journey is,
doubtless, the 6th of the month Safar [2], on which, quoth the Prophet, El
Islam emerged from obscurity. Yet even at Aden we could not avail
ourselves of this lucky time: our delays and difficulties were a fit
prelude for a journey amongst those "Blameless Ethiopians," with whom no
less a personage than august Jove can dine and depart.
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