There had been few murders, and
the sea-board was tolerably clear of our doughty enemies, the Ayyal Ahmed.
We pricked over the undulating growth of parched grass, shaping our
course for Jebel Almis, to sailors the chief landmark of this coast, and
for a certain thin blue stripe on the far horizon, upon which we gazed
with gladdened eyes.
Our road lay between low brown hills of lime and sandstone, the Sub-Ghauts
forming a scattered line between the maritime mountains and the sea.
Presently the path was choked by dense scrub of the Arman Acacia: its
yellow blossoms scented the air, but hardly made amends for the injuries
of a thorn nearly two inches long, and tipped with a wooden point sharp as
a needle. Emerging, towards evening, from this bush, we saw large herds of
camels, and called their guardians to come and meet us. For all reply they
ran like ostriches to the nearest rocks, tittering the cry of alarm, and
when we drew near each man implored us to harry his neighbour's cattle.
Throughout our wanderings in Somaliland this had never occurred: it
impressed me strongly with the disturbed state of the regions inhabited by
the Habr Awal. After some time we persuaded a Bedouin who, with frantic
gestures, was screaming and flogging his camels, to listen: reassured by
our oaths, he declared himself to be a Bahgoba, and promised to show us a
village of the Ayyal Gedid.
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