Abyssinia and King Theodore, Part I-VI [pp. 265-281]

Abyssinia and King Theodore.
the country which is to be the scene
of conflict, and where I passed more
than ten years of my youth.
The whole extent of territory from
Suez and Aquabah to the Strait of
Mandeb, or affliction, along the shores
of the Red Sea, is barren and desolate. The small, scattered towns in
this region owe their existence to
commercial travelling; and even in
the most favored portions of the land
it takes a two or three days' journey
from the salt water into the interior,
before meeting cultivated fields.
The only deep bay in the south of
the Red Sea is that of Adulis, which
the natives designate by the "Gulf
of Velvet," perhaps on account of the
smoothness of its waters, sheltered
by the palisades which guard it on the
eastern side.'The English, who are
fond of baptizing territories before
conquering them, have called this
part of the sea, "The bay of Annesley." This name is said to be
that of the family of Lord Valentia,
wvho, little versed in geography, imagined that he had discovered in I8og
those celebrated districts anciently
frequenterd by E,)gyptian merchants
in the time of the Ptolemies. The
island of Desa, formed by a row of
schistous hills, shelters the entrance
to the bay of Adulis, which we call
by this name in memory of that
flourishing city of Adulis, which stood
by its waves up to the sixth century
of our era. The natives still show
the site of that Grecian city, and
inform the traveller that it was swallowed up by an earthquake. Of its
past greatness, there remain but a
small number of carved capitals in
the lava of the environs, and some
sculptured marbles which seem to
display the Byzantine style. Near
these ruins is the large village of
Zullah, which contained, in I840, two
hundred and fourteen cabins, and a
population of about one thousand
souls. It is from Zullah that the
shortest route lies to the plains and
highlands of Ethiopia, or, as the Englishl call it, Abyssinia.
Except during January and February, when the weather is still warm,
Zullah suffers from the frightful heat
which pervades the whole of that
stretch of low land called Samihar,
which lies along the sea. Wishing
to take a bath during the summer, I could not, by reason of the
seeming excessive coldness of the
water. But placing a thermometer
in it, I found the temperature 36
degrees, while in the shade the air
was at 48 degrees. I found it at 65
degrees in the between-decks of a
French steamer; and when evening
brings a refreshing breeze to cool
this burning atmosphere, one is
tempted to say with a Frenchman
after having escaped during the
bloody "reign of terror:" "I have
done a great deal, for I have managed
to live."
Travellers at this season start at
midnight, and traverse, on their way
into Ethiopia, a plain as barren as
desolation itself. Sometimes they
encounter the Karif, an atmospheric
column of a red brick color, which
appears on the horizon like a living
phantom. This column seems to increase in volume as it approaches,
the air that drives it along roaring
like a whirlwind. Man and beast
are obliged to turn their backs to it,
and it covers them with a dry, black
cloud, as with a mantle of horror.
In a few minutes the lKaarif passes
away; and men are glad to be out
of its hideous gloom, even though it
be but to wander again through that
intense but quiet heat which broods
over the Samhlar. Sometimes, also,
the Hairur, which the Arabs call the
Simoom or paison, surprises the traveller. This wind comes without any
previous sign of warning, belching
266