Hashish: A Smuggler's Tale (13 page)

I saw a small
boutre
coming from the north running before the wind. She followed the line of foam which marked the edge of the reef so closely as almost to touch it. Then suddenly she tacked, went in among the breakers, made straight for land, and anchored right inshore. She had passed through an opening in the reefs which I should never have seen if
this miraculous chance had not guided me. It seemed the simplest thing in the world to use this
boutre
as pilot and follow her into the anchorage. But when I reached the opening, it looked so narrow and I knew so little about it that I suddenly changed my mind, and with a twist of the helm I stood out to sea again. This decision had been so swift and unhesitating that afterwards I concluded it had been imposed upon me by my subconscious will. I decided to leave my ship lying-to, in charge of Mhamed Moussa, and go ashore in the
pirogue
with Abdi and Kadigeta in case it was necessary to speak Dankali. As soon as we got out of the
pirogue
I made for the bushes, thinking that there I should surely find some firewood.

A native ran up to me and very insolently asked me where I came from, what I wanted, and so on.

‘Who are you yourself, who speak like a sultan?’ I retorted.

‘I am an Italian soldier. Give me your papers and follow me to the post.’

‘How do I know you are an askari? You have no uniform. Go back to your post yourself, and think yourself lucky that I don’t give you a lesson in manners.’

So saying, I made as if to go towards the clump of bushes. At this the native threw himself upon me, and tried to snatch the revolver I had in my belt. Naturally, a struggle ensued. He called to his aid the sailors of the
boutre
which had put in a few minutes before us, and five of them came running up. I had only Abdi to help me, for Kadigeta had run off towards the sea. My attacker held his ground, clinging like grim death to my revolver. He knew that if only he could keep me from using it, the five Dankalis would soon master us. But my crew had been watching from the ship, which was not far from the coast, and as soon as Mhamed Moussa realized that there was a fight, he began to fire off shots to frighten my aggressors. The arms on board were Gras rifles with cartridges filled with black powder, and the detonations made a terrific row. Soon the
boutre
was smoking like a warship in some old print of an engagement at sea. Terrified, the five Dankalis threw themselves flat on the ground, and the self-styled askari let go and nipped off, mother naked, into the bushes, leaving his white
chama
in Abdi’s hands.

We did not wait for a more glorious victory, but ran towards the
pirogue
which Kadigeta held ready to push off, and as fast as we could paddle we rejoined the
boutre
. I was just throwing a leg over the gunwale when a volley of shots was fired from the shore. I saw half a score of red tarbooshes appear from behind the dunes. They were the native soldiers of the Italian post, who had come to their comrade’s rescue, thinking he had been attacked. They treated us to some pretty sniping, and bullets fell thickly round us. It was fortunate that we were already under sail, for it would not have been easy to manoeuvre under the circumstances.

As soon as we began to move, I could not resist replying, for nothing is more irritating than to be used as a target. With the back-sight at eighteen hundred yards, we kept firing off our six rifles. The
boutre
was soon smoking like a crater; the noise of the shots excited us, we had not had such a good time for long. I knew very well that at this distance my shots were harmless, and so were those of the Italians. We rounded off the fête by an imitation of heavy cannon. This was done by throwing a dynamite cartridge, duly attached and with the wick alight, into the water. This apparatus floated, and when it exploded it made as much noise as a forty-pounder. From a distance it must really have been terrifying.

Soon the dialogue was cut short by increasing distance, and we had a hearty laugh over our battle. On counting the empty cartridge-cases, I found we had fired a hundred and twenty-five shots. A genuine battle, and no mistake. What I didn’t know, and what I was to learn only on my return, was that the Italians did not treat it as a laughing matter at all, and that the whole colony of Eritrea was in a ferment over it.

I consulted my chart to see where this henceforth historic battle had taken place, and found that the spot was called Takalaï. Quite near there was an Italian military post, occupied by a detachment of Tigrean guards. Needless to say I hadn’t known this.

Much smoke had resulted from this visit, but no fire, for we had not got a single stick of wood, and I didn’t think it would be prudent to put in again until we had passed the Italian frontier. I stood out to sea at once to make the people on the coast think I was making for Arabia, so that they would not follow me overland, which they would not have failed to do if I had continued on my way directly northwards. I was far from suspecting how this very decision was to render this adventure still more
complicated. While I was struggling with the askari, or perhaps as I fled, I had lost a slipper, like Cinderella, or, strictly speaking, one of my Catalan sandals. This sandal was to appear as evidence against me later on, and it, too, led to complications.

It had been very lucky for me that I had obeyed my impulse and left my ship outside the anchorage, for if I had been inshore I should have been caught like a rat in a trap, and should have fallen into the hands of the Italians. The misunderstanding provoked by my landing might have been cleared up easily enough, but I should have had to explain the nature of my cargo, and there’s no saying how the affair would have ended. Often in my life I have been stopped on the edge of disaster by some such impulse.

For two days and nights after this adventure at Takalaï I was obliged to beat about in bad weather. Our position at midday two days later indicated that we had only got forty miles farther north. There was a strong southerly current against us.

On consulting the book of words I found there was mention of ruins and cisterns on the island of Errich. This island was supposed to be the antique Pharos of the Ptolemies. Perhaps there would be water there, since they spoke of cisterns. We drank terribly in this sultry weather. We had to allow ten litres of water per man per day, for drinking only, for we washed with sea water.

This evening, threatening storm clouds were once more massed on the mountains, but I was not to be caught a second time. It was only three o’clock in the afternoon; I had plenty of time to find an anchorage behind the island of Seïl Bahar before nightfall. There was a vast emeraldgreen bay there, sheltered from every wind that blows, a mute invitation to sailors to spend a peaceful night. The water in it was clear, calm and deep, and the passage leading to it was wide. A
boutre
was moored at the
end, surrounded by
pirogues
like a hen surrounded by chickens. I decided to join her. But no sooner had we entered this pretty lake than on all sides I saw the yellow splotches denoting submerged rock. If the light had been bad and we hadn’t noticed them, we should inevitably have been ripped up. By keeping a look-out from the mast-head, we were able to reach the healthy, clear water where the other
boutre
was anchored, but it was only after much meandering.

They were Sudanese who were fishing for a kind of sea slug in order to secure the horny membrane which the animal uses as a peduncle to help him to move about, and as a lock when he is resting or when danger threatens. This organ looks like a plectrum of a mandolin, so you can understand what enormous quantities of them are needed to make up an appreciable weight. This substance is very expensive, and is used in India as an aphrodisiac. When it is burned over live coals the smoke, which is strongly ammoniacal, is considered a sovereign remedy for colics, fevers, etc.

The two crews were soon bartering fish for tobacco and exchanging news. Suddenly the khamsin began to blow with terrific violence. What a delight it was to listen to it whistling harmlessly through our rigging, while the
boutre
sat comfortably astride on her two anchors, and think what unholy weather it was outside

The
nacouda
of the other
boutre
was a very old Sudanese, who had been sailing these waters for forty years. He said that it was quite true that there was drinkable water in an island to the north. Naturally, he could not indicate it on my chart, which was a complete puzzle to him. He carried his charts in his head, and looked with some contempt on the piece of parchment by which I set such store. The explanations he gave me were perhaps quite clear to him, but I didn’t follow them very well, especially as he answered yes to all the questions he did not understand. However, I concluded that the island he referred to must be the island of Errich, which was marked on my chart as having cisterns.

Next morning, there was a good land breeze blowing, and we soon reached the bay to the north of this island. There was a shallow lagoon which we had to cross in the
pirogue.
I landed at the foot of a hillock on which, sure enough, there were remains of walls. These must be the ruins my chart mentioned. They were on the highest point of this flat and barren island. There must have been a town there in olden days; one
could still see traces of foundations and lines marking out streets and squares. The sun was beating vertically down, and the ground was so hot that we could not put our bare feet on it, but were obliged to wear thick-soled shoes. Mhamed Moussa, who had no shoes, walked cautiously in the shadows of stones or on tufts of grass. Suddenly he vanished from sight as if the earth had swallowed him up. But almost immediately his head reappeared above the ground. He had merely fallen into one of the famous cisterns. I then discovered several of them, all exactly alike. I explored them, not that I hoped to find water – I saw how ridiculous that would be – but out of that curiosity that old things never fail to excite.

These cisterns were in the form of amphorae, ten feet in diameter. The walls were of baked clay, all in one piece. They were in a perfect state of preservation, without a single crack. The clay for these Cyclopean potteries had probably been fired on the spot. They were three-quarters full of sand, and of course there was not the faintest trace of water in them.

It became so unbearably hot that in spite of my desire to potter about among the ruins, I was forced to go back to the ship to quench my thirst. The climate of this island must have changed considerably, for a city could never otherwise have been established in this desolation of burning plains, which stretched as far as the eye could reach, unbroken by a human habitation, a herd of goats, or even a tree. Archaeologically speaking, this excursion had been very interesting, but as far as getting water was concerned, I was no farther on. I-had just time before nightfall to get to the Kohr Nowarat, in the middle of which was the island of Badhour.

The Kohr Nowarat was a sort of large lake, conneded with the sea by a very deep strait which, unfortunately, was barely eighty yards wide and strewn with rocky islets. In the middle of this stretch of water was the island of Badhour, like a fortress surrounded by moats. On the most southerly point of the island, a small village of half a score of huts could be seen. We anchored near it and I went ashore to see if there was any chance of getting water.

We did not meet a single man on the way, only women. They were dressed in ample black robes, of much the same style as those worn by the women of Upper Egypt. They were very Arabic in type, but nearly as brown-skinned as the Dankalis. The children, not at all shy, played round us; the boys were naked, while the little girls wore a loin-doth. All
the men were away fishing for trocas (sea snails) or mother-of-pearl. There were no old men, for the men who follow those occupations die long before they reach old age, generally blind. I saw two or three blind men crouching at the doors of their huts. Their blindness was in the early stages, when the eyes become opaque like those of a boiled fish. This disease of the eyes is due to their work as divers in waters infested by a sort of jelly-fish to which I have already referred when describing the trocas fishers. But hereditary syphilis may also have something to do with it. To even up the balance, the women live to be incredibly old. They looked as if death had forgotten to call for them. The Arab proverb that cadis and old women have to be beaten to death with sticks must have some truth in it.

I learned that there was still water on Badhour from the year before. This year’s water had not yet arrived. They spoke about water exactly as if it were a crop that ripened at a given season, and indeed their water did come rather in that way, as you will see. The inhabitants of this island bore no resemblance to those of the adjacent coast. On the mainland, the natives were Sudanese with an admixture of Egyptian blood. In the old days, in the time of the Khedives, they were slaves; today they are to be found among the lowest classes in the towns. In Cairo and Alexandria they fulfil the functions of porters, night-watchmen, orderlies and so on. They are magnificent specimens of male perfection with their coal-black skins and beautifully muscled bodies, and dressed in Oriental garb they are most decorative as they stand at the doors of the big hotels. Nowadays they are also in great demand in the dancing establishments from Khartoum to Cairo. But the inhabitants of Badhour are very different, and have the most profound contempt for their neighbours on the continent, as Arabs have for everything that is African.

For a long time this island was the port of concentration for the caravans coming from the Sudan, and it was from here that they set sail for Arabia. Badhour was the central market for working slaves as Tajura was for luxury slaves. This traffic was openly carried on until the making of the Suez Canal, and continued for some time after that. Indeed, it is said to flourish to this day, although it is now forbidden.