Travels in southern Abyssinia, Volume 2 (of 2)

In Short

This volume captures the lived experience of a British traveler navigating the Kingdom of Shoa during the mid-19th century. Part travelogue and part observational study, the narrative tracks the author’s interactions with the local populace, his frustration with bureaucratic detention, and his efforts to provide medical and mechanical aid to his hosts. It endures as a vivid, ground-level record of a world defined by the tension between ancient Abyssinian customs and the encroaching influence of European political missions, offering a rare glimpse into the daily life of a region largely obscured from Western view at the time.

The Story

The narrative begins with the author detained in the border town of Farree, a victim of local political maneuvering. Alongside a colleague, Mr. Scott, he remains under a form of house arrest, subject to the whims of the Wallasmah Mahomed, a local official who controls their movements and correspondence. Their days are defined by a mix of stifling confinement and observational curiosity as they adjust to the rudimentary architecture and social structures of the highland towns. The author’s focus remains divided between securing his freedom and documenting the customs of the Amhara and Galla peoples, all while struggling with a recurring, debilitating fever that renders him increasingly dependent on local hospitality.

After finally securing passage to Ankobar, the author navigates the treacherous, steep terrain of the highlands, crossing rivers and mountains that challenge his endurance. Upon arrival at the British Residency, he finds himself caught within the orbit of the Negoos, or King Sahale Selassee. The narrative progresses through a series of visits to the royal seats of Ankobar and Angolahlah, where the author gains access to the inner workings of the court. He describes the rigid social hierarchies, the religious tensions between Christianity and Islam, and the peculiar, entrenched traditions of the kingdom—most notably the state-sanctioned imprisonment of the royal family.

As the rainy season descends, the author’s health reaches a critical point. Confined to his house, he undergoes primitive medical treatments and relies on local assistants to manage his domestic life. Despite his physical decline, he continues his ethnographic inquiries, engaging in deep conversations about the origins of the Galla, the nature of local religious sects, and the geography of the surrounding provinces. He positions himself as a subtle influence on the royal court, actively debating the morality of the King’s prison policies with courtiers and, eventually, with the monarch himself.

The arc concludes with the author reflecting on the broader geopolitical implications of his stay. He criticizes the inaccurate historical records left by earlier Portuguese explorers, arguing that their distortions hindered progress for centuries. He ultimately frames his own presence—and his vocal opposition to the cruel incarceration of the princes—as a catalyst for change. By the end of the narrative, the King begins to shift his policy toward the royal captives, a development the author frames as both a victory for humanitarianism and a testament to his own persuasive influence, leaving behind a portrait of a kingdom standing on the threshold of a new, more interconnected era.

How It Unfolds

The confinement begins The author and his party are detained in Farree, subjected to surveillance by the Wallasmah’s guards while living in primitive stone-and-mud dwellings. They endure these restrictions by focusing on the mundane realities of local life, from the teff-grinding handmills to the persistent threat of Galla raids.

The journey to the capital Escaping the initial tension, the author travels through the stunning, vertical landscapes of the highlands, crossing the Tchakkah and the Dinkee river. These passages highlight the sheer physical difficulty of traversing the region and the author’s growing respect for the resilience of the local muleteers and their herds.

Life at the royal courts The narrative shifts to the political centers of Ankobar and Angolahlah, where the author experiences both the generosity of the King and the bureaucratic resistance of his officials. He details the intricacies of court dress, the importance of salt as currency, and the subtle, everyday friction between the Christian establishment and the neighboring Islam populations.

The descent into illness As the heavy rains transform the landscape, the author is sidelined by severe bouts of fever and is forced into a static existence. This period of recovery reveals his reliance on local caregivers and his obsession with finding a "cure," while his home becomes a space for intellectual exchange with diverse visitors.

A royal resolution In the final stages, the author engages in discussions about the prison of Guancho, where the King’s kin have been held for decades. He documents his direct efforts to persuade the court toward leniency, concluding with the King’s decision to release the captives, a moment the author views as the ultimate justification for his difficult expedition.

The People

The author acts as a detached yet persistent observer, driven by a desire to map the geography and cultural logic of a misunderstood land. He is constrained by his own failing health and the suspicion of local officials, yet his status as a foreigner allows him a degree of access that others lack.

The Wallasmah Mahomed serves as the primary antagonist of the early chapters, representing the bureaucratic gatekeepers who restrict travel and exploit visitors for gifts of gunpowder and calico. He is a figure of petty tyranny whose power defines the author’s initial misery.

Sahale Selassee, the King of Shoa, appears as a complex, distant figure of absolute power. He is both a patron to the mission and a traditionalist who upholds the harsh practice of locking away his royal relatives. Through the author’s persistent, if indirect, moralizing, he eventually relents, showing a capacity for change that validates the author's diplomatic approach.

Walderheros, the author’s loyal servant and cultural guide, is the heartbeat of the daily narrative. He manages the author’s domestic survival, from finding food to maintaining the roof, while simultaneously acting as a tutor in the Amharic language. His devotion is tied to the author’s well-being, grounding the larger political observations in a relatable, human partnership.

In Its Own Voice

"Many of the houses in Farree, instead of being the usual circle of closely placed sticks, some five feet high and surmounted by a high conical straw roof, are partial excavations in the soft trachytic stone, so as to leave a back and sides of natural rock."

The author describes the stark, functional architecture of the border town where he is first detained.

"I always fancied that at one time it must have been the bottom of a deeply rolling sea, and what adds considerably to this impression is, the almost total absence of trees, and the bald, gray, stony, appearance of the stratum of light coloured porphyritic trachyte which overlies the whole country."

While traveling through the highlands, he reflects on the geological history of the landscape.

What It's Really About

The book is fundamentally an argument about the power of perspective. The author consistently challenges the "official" narratives—both the ancient, deceptive accounts provided by Jesuit predecessors and the local myths regarding the origin of the Galla people. Beneath the travel incidents lies a preoccupation with the "truth" of the landscape, whether it concerns the flow of a river or the political morality of a monarchy. The author is deeply invested in the idea that European intervention, when guided by logic and humanitarianism, is a necessary force for correcting historical distortions. Ultimately, the book explores how one man’s presence in a foreign court can, through persistence and dialogue, nudge an ancient system toward a more enlightened standard of justice.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the gritty, unvarnished style of 19th-century exploration will find this a rewarding, if challenging, experience. The author is not interested in creating a romanticized fairy tale; he is obsessed with the minutiae of daily survival—the leaking roofs, the specific composition of a flour mill, and the precise cost of a goat. This precision makes the book feel remarkably tactile.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the author’s period-typical attitudes. His commentary on the "barbarism" of the people he encounters and his paternalistic view of his own influence on the King reflect the biases of a British imperial mindset. The prose can also be dense, interspersed with long, technical digressions on ethnology and linguistics that may feel dry to those seeking a fast-paced narrative.

Despite these hurdles, the book stays with you because of its intimacy. It is a rare, grounded record of a specific moment in Ethiopian history, told by a man who was frequently sick, often annoyed, and deeply curious. The sight of the King of Shoa turning to a British visitor and asking, "Will you write this down?" as he prepares to liberate his own family, captures the strange, accidental nature of historical change in a way that feels surprisingly modern.