“I made no very elaborate preparations for these expeditions. I hired a donkey to carry me and my little saddlebag with some linen and a few books. My travelling garments consisted only of a turban, an overcape without arms, and an Arab coat, some linen trousers and a pair of slippers. Even though there is no cause to fear being attacked by robbers, one is nevertheless always armed when travelling on such a journey. I had a sabre hanging under one arm and a pair of pistols in my belt. My donkey driver, who was at the same time my guide and servant and who followed me on foot, had a sabre and a shield in addition to his broad knife. An old rug served me during the day as a saddle blanket, in the evening as a chair and table, and at night as a bed. The big shawl which the Arabs wear as a protection against the sun, I placed over me at night. A clay vessel with water was also essential; it hung on a hook under the saddle. An Arab would additionally have taken his khiddre, his tobacco pipe, in a little leather bag, but this I could dispense with as I had accustomed myself to smoke so little that I did not miss it. I had been trying for some time to live in Arab fashion and therefore needed neither knife, fork nor spoon. He who is content to travel in this fashion and who is happy even if in the evening he finds only a little dry durra bread in a coffee hut will get just as much pleasure from a journey in the Yemen as I did. The more important Arabs travel much more comfortably. This, however, not only takes a good deal of money, but one must also put up with the many irritations that come from having a large number of servants. Moreover, a wealthy man is not so safe when travelling as a man who is assumed to possess nothing.”
To have nothing and to be nothing—the desert’s definition of human life was nothing new for Carsten Niebuhr.
5
Whilst Niebuhr was off on his long reconnaissances in Tehama, Forsskål had made his way into the coffee hills that lay one day’s journey east of Beit el-Fakih. For him, too, this month of March, 1763, was the happiest time of the whole expedition. Like Niebuhr, he had an Arab guide with him and he spent his days on long trips among the villages of Hadie, Bulgose, Mokaja and Kusma. The climate there was a good deal more comfortable than in the dry, scorched Tehama; and Forsskål, who for more than a year had had to do his botanical research in almost sterile desert country, found a splendidly luxuriant and variant vegetation. The sides of the hills were covered with great forests, among which he found cool valleys with ferns, orchids and many plants quite unfamiliar to him, and everywhere he went he breathed the strong scent of the coffee plantations, where the trees were now in blossom.
During one of his brief return visits to Beit el-Fakih, he described the district in such attractive terms that Baurenfeind and Kramer decided to go with him. The former made a series of drawings of these mountain villages and coffee plantations; for Baurenfeind was always industrious. The sources suggest, though they do not state specifically, that Kramer accompanied Forsskål on his excursions and helped him eagerly with the collection of these strange plants. It is also evident that these two men worked excellently together, and indeed it shows that Kramer was not a bad assistant at all. Matters had progressed so far that even the main cause of the blazing battle between Kratzenstein and Forsskål in Copenhagen was here reduced to nothing.
Pages 232–233: Carsten Niebuhr’s map of the Yemen
It is therefore not surprising that when Niebuhr returned from Kahme he found the headquarters in Beit el-Fakih empty. Even von Haven had decided that he might as well take a trip into the coffee hills and enjoy himself along with Forsskål, Kramer and Baurenfeind. Niebuhr hastily saddled his donkey again and he too rode up there to spend a few days’ much needed holiday in the company of his colleagues. The Arabs received them in friendly fashion; they merely wondered a little that these Europeans had come so far when they were not even coffee traders. They could not understand how one could spend so much money without making any profit and the rumour arose that these Europeans could make gold. This was why Forsskål was always travelling in the hills; he was seeking a particular herb necessary to its manufacture. This was why Niebuhr studied the stars every night; he understood the arts of magic. But the expedition found no gold in Arabia Felix. It found only peace. The reconciliation, of which there were already signs in Loheia, was now finally accomplished in these fertile valleys, which in this respect do resemble a paradise on earth. For the first time all the members were participating in the same excursion merely for the pleasure of being together.
When after several leisurely days they were once more back in Beit el-Fakih, Niebuhr had to start again on his map. He still needed to cover the district lying to the south-east of the town, and he proposed to Forsskål that they should make a long trip together to the town of Taaes (Taiz), which lay in the hills five days’ journey south-east of Beit el-Fakih and a few days’ journey north-east of Mocha. They would be travelling mainly through the mountainous district, and during his travels among the coffee hills Forsskål had acquired some familiarity with the dialect spoken there, which was altogether different from the language in Tehama. This was why Niebuhr wanted to have him along. Forsskål at once agreed; they hired two donkeys, and on 26th March they left Beit el-Fakih to ride the long trail via Udden and Djobla to Taaes. Forsskål collected plants and Niebuhr added further pieces to his jigsaw puzzle. In addition, they took daily readings of the temperature; Niebuhr had asked Baurenfeind to do the same in Beit el-Fakih, so that in this fashion they could acquire a basis for comparing the desert climate with that of the hills. Everywhere they went they tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. They skirted all towns where there was a market-place, and answered all questions concerning their nationality with the answer that they were from es-Sham, from the north, by which the Arabs generally understood Turkey, or possibly Greece. As they both had plenty of stamina, their day’s journeys were long; they started at sunrise, continuing the whole day in a sun that burnt down upon the twisted mountain paths, and only after darkness had fallen did they seek out some coffee hut which was much less frequented than those down in Tehama. Often they were alone in the hut. While the landlord went to the nearest peasant to get food for their donkeys, they sat and ate their evening meal: “Even if this mostly consisted only of some durra bread which we had kept from the day before, and a tiny drop of water or a cup of kishr, nevertheless, after the long day’s journey it tasted far better to us than the most expensive meal in Europe,” says Niebuhr.
A young Arab woman from the coffee mountains, drawn by Baurenfeind. (After a print by Clemens)
Thus the days passed without any outstanding events distinguishing one from another. But in the afternoon of 4th April, when they had already passed Djobla and Taaes and were on their way back to Beit el-Fakih, something sensational occurred. They were riding along as usual, side by side, silent and a little stupefied by the heat of the day, the only sound that struck by the donkeys as they made their way along the stony path. Suddenly Forsskål glimpsed a strange gleam in the landscape ahead. They rode on for a few more minutes, and he realised what it was. On a hillside not far from the road stood a tree in blossom. Forsskål rode up to it alone, dismounted, and walked towards it. Even before he had reached it he turned and shouted excitedly to Niebuhr, who had remained on the road but now started up the hill. Forsskål was beside himself with delight. There could be no possible doubt. They were looking at the greatest botanical discovery they could hope to make on the whole of the expedition. They had found the genuine Mecca balsam tree.
While Niebuhr was tying up the donkeys, Forsskål cut a branch and sat down in the shade of the tree to describe its blossom. Forsskål as a botanist was not what one might call a great collector; he was often content merely with plucking the blossom of the plants he found, and only seldom did he preserve them complete with leaves, stalk and root. But his descriptions of the specimens were so detailed and careful that experts have easily been able to identify the plants in question by these alone. It is said—no doubt correctly—that the reason for this state of affairs was Fo
rsskål’s fear that in Copenhagen he might be deprived of the honour of his new discoveries. All botanical specimens were of course to be sent home, but his descriptions he could keep to himself until he returned from the expedition.
This time he preserved one of the tree’s blossoming branches along with his description; and when he was back in Beit el-Fakih, his first action was to report the news of his discovery to Linnaeus. When he had left Uppsala, Linnaeus had expressed the hope that Forsskål would succeed in sending him a branch of the blossoming balsam tree so that he could examine it before his death and describe its nature. On 18th April, Forsskål wrote to him from Beit el-Fakih and, disregarding the Danish Government’s prohibition, enclosed a stalk of the tree: “Now I know the genus Opobalsamum; the tree grows in the Yemen, but the population do not know how to collect balsam from it. I cannot report my discoveries in private letters, but this much I can say: it is not Pistaca nor is it Lenticus, but one of Brown’s genera. I have also managed to get an incredible number of American and Indian and other new plants here, but to list them separately is not permitted. These things will emerge, however, if only God will vouchsafe you and me life and health. This is in truth a country that well deserves a botanical expedition, and this project must always stand to the honour of Professor Michaelis in Göttingen. But if it is not granted to me to live until I can discuss my collection with you, then I and science will have lost more than one can possibly say.”
It took over a year for the letter with the flowering stalk from the tree near Oude to reach Uppsala. By then everything had changed. Linnaeus was able for the first time to study the flowers of the genuine balsam tree, but it was almost symbolic that they were withered; for at the same time as this ardently desired specimen came into his hands, he also knew that “science has lost more than one can possibly say.” The very day after receiving this dispatch from Beit el-Fakih, he described its sensational contents in a melancholy letter to the astronomer Wargentin: “Yesterday I received a letter from Forsskål, from the realm of the dead. . . .”
But that is a story in itself. On 4th April, 1763, as Peter Forsskål sat on the hillside near Oude wielding his magnifying glass in the shade of the balsam tree, no flowers had withered yet. On the contrary. Peter Forsskål’s delightful balsam tree was the crown of the Danish expedition’s activity in Arabia Felix. The population was everywhere helpful and courteous, and a friendly spirit had been achieved among the members of the expedition; never had the work produced such good results, and never had the prospects for the future seemed so bright.
Then things went wrong. The day after their discovery near Oude they returned to Tehama, where the heat felt overwhelming after their long stay in the hills. After an inhuman day’s journey, late in the evening in the village of Kurtub, they eventually found a coffee hut where they could spend the night. Niebuhr wrote in his diary: “Even though the air outside was still, there was often in these huts a cool draught which felt very pleasant on warm days. On that evening I should really have taken care and covered myself with the big shawl I was carrying over my shoulders. But I was so incautious as to throw myself down on the bare earthen floor and I fell asleep at once, completely exhausted by the heat and by the long day’s journey. The consequence was that on the very next day I was assailed by a severe cold. Not until two days later, on 6th April, did I feel a little better, so that we were able to continue the journey back to Beit el-Fakih. But after that I suffered regularly every other day from a violent attack of fever, which exhausted me so much that I was hardly able to do anything.”
Forsskål and the ailing Carsten Niebuhr returned to Beit el-Fakih on the evening of 6th April. When they reached the headquarters of the expedition, they found bad news there also. Professor von Haven was sick in bed, and this time it seemed to be serious. In his diary Niebuhr explains the situation in phrases which again betray his antipathy for the Dane:
“On our arrival at Beit el-Fakih we found Herr von Haven sick: it looked as though he was suffering from a severe stomach complaint. He was also more than ever discontented with our way of living on this expedition. We had not been able to find any wine or spirits for a long time, and had had to be content with water, coffee and kishr. In the majority of places in Tehama the water is very bad, and people had also warned us against eating too much meat. The native population, which knows how to make the best of other forms of food and is in general very moderate in its habits, found it easy to do without meat dishes; but our cook did not find much else at the market which he could prepare in European fashion. For this reason we ate meat almost daily in our headquarters and I think this has adversely affected our health. Especially those among us who did not get a great deal of exercise, notably Herr von Haven. He hardly ever left the house, indeed scarcely rose from his sofa, i.e. his bed, except at mealtimes.”
This was the situation in that first week of April, 1763. Spring in Tehama was over. Niebuhr and von Haven were ill; everybody realised that they must leave Beit el-Fakih as rapidly as possible and find better accommodation, yet nobody was able properly to judge their situation. Niebuhr explained his own regularly recurring attacks of fever as a cold, and ascribed von Haven’s illness to wrong diet. In both instances he was wrong and not even Doctor Kramer was in a position to reach a correct diagnosis. This is why their decision to leave Beit el-Fakih was so fateful. Niebuhr did not have a cold. Von Haven was not suffering from a bad stomach. They had malaria.
6. Why “Arabia Felix”?
The town of Beit el-Fakih is called after a holy man who settled many years ago in Tehama. So many people came to listen to him that a town sprang up at that place. Its name means “the wise man’s house.” But in the spring of 1763 there was no wise man living in Beit el-Fakih. If there had been, he would surely have explained to the members of the Danish expedition that to make the journey to Mocha was utter madness.
Beit el-Fakih was more or less equidistant from the other three important towns: Loheia, Mocha and Sana. Loheia had already been thoroughly explored and described by the expedition. When they decided to leave Beit el-Fakih to explore new territories and to acquire better accommodation for their sick members, they therefore had two alternatives. Either they could move to the capital of Sana up in the coffee hills, or they could make for the seaport of Mocha, which lay in the southern part of the Tehama desert. The time was the end of April. They were on the threshold of summer. Within a few weeks the fresh desert of the spring season would be transformed into a baking oven, and the town of Mocha would be a hell of heat and humid air, of infected drinking-water and without a breath of wind. In the high-lying Sana, on the other hand, they would find clear pure mountain air, cool shady gardens with vegetables and fruit, and uncontaminated wells. The expedition’s programme included a call at both towns; after the reception they had so far received in the Yemen, there would be no difficulty about going straight to the capital without collecting further letters of introduction in Mocha; nor had they any urgent use for the chests they had sent on ahead to the customs house there. Everything seemed to point to a journey direct to Sana, and to continue to Mocha only when the autumn had once again brought a coolness to the air. In doing this they would be following the local practice, for even to-day everybody who can afford it moves up into the hills to spend the summer there. Sana was not much farther than Mocha; the journey would not in fact be any more exhausting for the two invalids, and in the healthy upland climate they would both have a reasonably good chance of recovery, while in the intolerable steamy heat of Mocha the problem would be not merely recovery but sheer survival. There was apparently no reason for hesitating; the decision was obvious.
Strangely enough, the problem does not seem to have been discussed among the members. There is no suggestion of disagreement among them, as had so often been the case on earlier occasions. The most fateful decision of the entire expedition was reached unanimously. During those last few days in Beit el-Fakih, the Danish expedition was like a ship whose c
rew had put their heads together and agreed, by way of experiment, to open the sea-cocks. On 20th April, 1763 they left the “wise man’s house,” making south through the desert to spend the summer in Mocha.
Forsskål and Niebuhr travelled during the day on donkeys, the former to collect any plants he came across, the latter to collect data for his map. The rest of the expedition followed by night on camels, bringing their baggage and equipment.
The heat was overwhelming. Forsskål’s Fahrenheit thermometer now regularly registered 100 degrees. Everything was sandy and dry; there were no plants, almost no villages, only now and then did they cross the path of a caravan of camels, bound for the mountains and loaded with salt from the mines down by the sea. As before, they spent the night on the mud floors of coffee huts they found on the way. Niebuhr was still fighting the attacks of fever that regularly assailed him and, when he finally succeeded in falling asleep, he was woken by the arrival of the others. They had an arrangement whereby they carried his astrolabe, which he was unable to load on his donkey, and this he now trained on the stars to calculate their position, to be entered on his map. On the evening of 23rd April, shortly before the gates of the town were shut, Forsskål and Niebuhr arrived in Mocha, exhausted. As they were about to ride into the town they were told by the watch that Jews and Christians were forbidden to move about the streets on donkeys. Niebuhr took this prohibition as a bad omen; this was the first time since leaving Cairo that they had met “this bad practice,” as he calls it. Silent and tired, leading their donkeys by the bridles, they trudged in through the throng of people filling the streets of this strange town—the town where they planned to spend the next few months.
Arabia Felix Page 23
