The Lost Continent
empire, halting when night found us in proximity to water. Often we
passed small posts similar to that at which the colonel’s regiment had
been quartered, finding in each instance that only a single company or
troop remained for defence, the balance having been withdrawn toward
the northeast, in the same direction in which we were moving.
Naturally, the colonel had not confided to me the nature of his orders.
But the rapidity of our march and the fact that all available troops
were being hastened toward the northeast assured me that a matter of
vital importance to the dominion of Menelek XIV in that part of Europe
was threatening or had already broken.
I could not believe that a simple rising of the savage tribes of whites
would necessitate the mobilizing of such a force as we presently met
with converging from the south into our trail. There were large bodies
of cavalry and infantry, endless streams of artillery wagons and guns,
and countless horse-drawn covered vehicles laden with camp equipage,
munitions, and provisions.
Here, for the first time, I saw camels, great caravans of them, bearing
all sorts of heavy burdens, and miles upon miles of elephants doing
similar service. It was a scene of wondrous and barbaric splendor, for
the men and beasts from the south were gaily caparisoned in rich
colors, in marked contrast to the gray uniformed forces of the
frontier, with which I had been familiar.
The rumor reached us that Menelek himself was coming, and the pitch of
excitement to which this announcement raised the troops was little
short of miraculous—at least, to one of my race and nationality whose
rulers for centuries had been but ordinary men, holding office at the
will of the people for a few brief years.
As I witnessed it, I could not but speculate upon the moral effect upon
his troops of a sovereignl’s presence in the midst of battle. All else
being equal in war between the troops of a republic and an empire,
could not this exhilarated mental state, amounting almost to hysteria
on the part of the imperial troops, weigh heavily against the soldiers
of a president? I wonder.
But if the emperor chanced to be absent? What then? Again I wonder.
On the eleventh day we reached our destination—a walled frontier city
of about twenty thousand. We passed some lakes, and crossed some old
canals before entering the gates. Within, beside the frame buildings,
were many built of ancient brick and well-cut stone. These, I was told,
were of material taken from the ruins of the ancient city which, once,
had stood upon the site of the present town.
The name of the town, translated from the Abyssinian, is New Gondar. It
stands, I am convinced, upon the ruins of ancient Berlin, the one time
capital of the old German empire, but except for the old building
material used in the new town there is no sign of the former city.
The day after we arrived, the town was gaily decorated with flags,
streamers, gorgeous rugs, and banners, for the rumor had proved
true—the emperor was coming.
Colonel Belik had accorded me the greatest liberty, permitting me to go
where I pleased, after my few duties had been performed. As a result of
his kindness, I spent much time wandering about New Gondar, talking
with the inhabitants, and exploring the city of black men.
As I had been given a semi-military uniform which bore insignia
indicating that I was an officerl’s body servant, even the blacks
treated me with a species of respect, though I could see by their
manner that I was really as the dirt beneath their feet. They answered
my questions civilly enough, but they would not enter into conversation
with me. It was from other slaves that I learned the gossip of the
city.
Troops were pouring in from the west and south, and pouring out toward
the east. I asked an old slave who was sweeping the dirt into little
piles in the gutters of the street where the soldiers were going. He
looked at me in surprise.
“Why, to fight the yellow men, of course,” he said. “They have crossed
the border, and are marching toward New Gondar.”
“Who will win?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?” he said. “I hope it will be the
yellow men, but Menelek is powerful—it will take many yellow men to
defeat him.”
Crowds were gathering along the sidewalks to view the emperorl’s entry
into the city. I took my place among them, although I hate crowds, and
I am glad that I did, for I witnessed such a spectacle of barbaric
splendor as no other Pan-American has ever looked upon.
Down the broad main thoroughfare, which may once have been the historic
Unter den Linden, came a brilliant cortege. At the head rode a regiment
of red-coated hussars—enormous men, black as night. There were troops
of riflemen mounted on camels. The emperor rode in a golden howdah upon
the back of a huge elephant so covered with rich hangings and
embellished with scintillating gems that scarce more than the beastl’s
eyes and feet were visible.
Menelek was a rather gross-looking man, well past middle age, but he
carried himself with an air of dignity befitting one descended in
unbroken line from the Prophet—as was his claim.
His eyes were bright but crafty, and his features denoted both
sensuality and cruelness. In his youth he may have been a rather fine
looking black, but when I saw him his appearance was revolting—to me,
at least.
Following the emperor came regiment after regiment from the various
branches of the service, among them batteries of field guns mounted on
elephants.
In the center of the troops following the imperial elephant marched a
great caravan of slaves. The old street sweeper at my elbow told me
that these were the gifts brought in from the far outlying districts by
the commanding officers of the frontier posts. The majority of them
were women, destined, I was told, for the harems of the emperor and his
favorites. It made my old companion clench his fists to see those poor
white women marching past to their horrid fates, and, though I shared
his sentiments, I was as powerless to alter their destinies as he.
For a week the troops kept pouring in and out of New Gondar—in, always,
from the south and west, but always toward the east. Each new
contingent brought its gifts to the emperor. From the south they
brought rugs and ornaments and jewels; from the west, slaves; for the
commanding officers of the western frontier posts had naught else to
bring.
From the number of women they brought, I judged that they knew the
weakness of their imperial master.
And then soldiers commenced coming in from the east, but not with the
gay assurance of those who came from the south and west—no, these
others came in covered wagons, blood-soaked and suffering. They came at
first in little parties of eight or ten, and then they came in fifties,
in hundreds, and one day a thousand maimed and dying men were carted
into New Gondar.
It was then that Menelek XIV became uneasy. For fifty years his armies
had conquered wherever they had marched. At first he had led them in
person, lately his presence within a hundred miles of the battle line
had been sufficient for large engagements—for minor ones only the
knowledge that they were fighting for the glory of their sovereign was
necessary to win victories.
One morning, New Gondar was awakened by the booming of cannon. It was
the first intimation that the townspeople had received that the enemy
was forcing the imperial troops back upon the city. Dust covered
couriers galloped in from the front. Fresh troops hastened from the
city, and about noon Menelek rode out surrounded by his staff.
For three days thereafter we could hear the cannonading and the
spitting of the small arms, for the battle line was scarce two leagues
from New Gondar. The city was filled with wounded. Just outside,
soldiers were engaged in throwing up earthworks. It was evident to the
least enlightened that Menelek expected further reverses.
And then the imperial troops fell back upon these new defenses, or,
rather, they were forced back by the enemy. Shells commenced to fall
within the city. Menelek returned and took up his headquarters in the
stone building that was called the palace. That night came a lull in
the hostilities—a truce had been arranged.
Colonel Belik summoned me about seven o’clock to dress him for a
function at the palace. In the midst of death and defeat the emperor
was about to give a great banquet to his officers. I was to accompany
my master and wait upon him—I, Jefferson Turck, lieutenant in the
Pan-American navy!
In the privacy of the colonel’s quarters I had become accustomed to my
menial duties, lightened as they were by the natural kindliness of my
master, but the thought of appearing in public as a common slave
revolted every fine instinct within me. Yet there was nothing for it
but to obey.
I cannot, even now, bring myself to a narration of the humiliation
which I experienced that night as I stood behind my black master in
silent servility, now pouring his wine, now cutting up his meats for
him, now fanning him with a large, plumed fan of feathers.
As fond as I had grown of him, I could have thrust a knife into him, so
keenly did I feel the affront that had been put upon me. But at last
the long banquet was concluded. The tables were removed. The emperor
ascended a dais at one end of the room and seated himself upon a
throne, and the entertainment commenced. It was only what ancient
history might have led me to expect—musicians, dancing girls, jugglers,
and the like.
Near midnight, the master of ceremonies announced that the slave women
who had been presented to the emperor since his arrival in New Gondar
would be exhibited, that the royal host would select such as he wished,
after which he would present the balance of them to his guests. Ah,
what royal generosity!
A small door at one side of the room opened, and the poor creatures
filed in and were ranged in a long line before the throne. Their backs
were toward me. I saw only an occasional profile as now and then a
bolder spirit among them turned to survey the apartment and the
gorgeous assemblage of officers in their brilliant dress uniforms. They
were profiles of young girls, and pretty, but horror was indelibly
stamped upon them all. I shuddered as I contemplated their sad fate,
and turned my eyes away.
I heard the master of ceremonies command them to prostrate themselves
before the emperor, and the sounds as they went upon their knees before
him, touching their foreheads to the floor. Then came the official’s
voice again, in sharp and peremptory command.
“Down, slave!” he cried. “Make obeisance to your sovereign!”
I looked up, attracted by the tone of the manl’s voice, to see a
single, straight, slim figure standing erect in the center of the line
of prostrate girls, her arms folded across her breast and little chin
in the air. Her back was toward me—I could not see her face, though I
should like to see the countenance of this savage young lioness,
standing there defiant among that herd of terrified sheep.
“Down! Down!” shouted the master of ceremonies, taking a step toward
her and half drawing his sword.
My blood boiled. To stand there, inactive, while a negro struck down
that brave girl of my own race! Instinctively I took a forward step to
place myself in the manl’s path. But at the same instant Menelek raised
his hand in a gesture that halted the officer. The emperor seemed
interested, but in no way angered at the girl’s attitude.
“Let us inquire,” he said in a smooth, pleasant voice, “why this young
woman refuses to do homage to her sovereign,” and he put the question
himself directly to her.
She answered him in Abyssinian, but brokenly and with an accent that