The capital of Arabia Felix exceeded all their expectations. Sana really was a paradise on earth. Moreover, after their audience, they were received in the most friendly fashion by all the leading personages. None of them sought to extort money; nobody threw stones at their windows; and the Imam himself had made over to them a residence where they lived better than ever before on their journey. And now he invited them to remain a whole year in the town as his guests. Sana was the main objective of their journey; they had already spent a whole year in Cairo, so there seemed nothing to prevent them from gratefully accepting this generous invitation. When the year was over, the English ships would again have returned to Mocha and be ready to take the expedition on to India, whence they could travel home via Trankebar. The advantages were many and obvious. They would avoid the rush of the hazardous return journey and enjoy instead a long and peaceful year in Sana, where they could regain their strength and carry out their researches under the best possible conditions, and without its costing them anything. Nevertheless, Niebuhr did not hesitate for a moment. He declined the Imam’s invitation.
He himself felt that this necessitated some explanation; and in his diary he rattles off no less than five reasons in defence of his decision to return. First, both professors were dead, and nobody was capable of doing research into the language and natural history of the country. Second, Niebuhr himself had done enough work to be able to draw up a very full map of the Yemen. Third, he had heard several examples of people having fallen victim to the Imam’s cruelty. Fourth, they had already had considerable difficulty with the dolas in Mocha and Taaes and did not want to expose themselves to any similar experiences. And fifth, they feared the effect of the bad climate on their health.
In fact, Niebuhr had only one reason for declining the Imam’s gesture and rushing away from Sana, and that was only mentioned indirectly. They were afraid. They had seen von Haven and Peter Forsskål die—both in the same way, suddenly and inexplicably, without Kramer being able to do anything about it. They were fully aware that they had the same disease in their blood, and they were afraid of suffering the same fate. And not only that. If they all died in Sana, the papers and the collected specimens of the expedition would have no chance of reaching Copenhagen. The entire undertaking would have been in vain. The risk was obvious. Niebuhr was still unwell; the industrious Baurenfeind had not put pen to paper for several weeks; Berggren was racked with fever; and after his arrival in Sana, Kramer had also began to complain about this strange “cold.” This was the real reason for Niebuhr’s drastic decision. While an immediate return to Mocha was their one chance of rescuing the achievement of more than two years’ work. Death had called them aside one by one and whispered the same thing in their ear. If they wanted to flee death, they must also flee Arabia Felix.
The English ships were to weigh anchor some time during the first half of August. The audience with the Imam took place on 19th July. There were thus barely fourteen days left. Niebuhr’s original plan to leave Sana on 20th July soon proved optimistic. For now there were fresh delays. First, an elaborate farewell audience had to be arranged with the Imam. There was a repetition of the arrival ceremony, but this time it was not a mere question of gifts in the form of small coin. Niebuhr, as the expedition’s leader, was presented with a garment worn only by the noblest Arabs. The Imam also provided the expedition with such camels and donkeys as were essential to their journey; and finally he presented them with a gift of money to the value of two hundred Speciedaler. Niebuhr was a little doubtful as to how in all decency he could accept so much, but the thought of the fifty Venetian ducats to the dola in Mocha persuaded him. For the rest, however, this final audience was no great success for him. In the middle of the elaborate splendour and the expensive presentations, he was seized by a new attack of fever; and it is indicative of his condition at that time that his diary records how this most polite of men had to ask the Imam’s permission to go outside and sit down a while in the shade to try to pull himself round. Poor Niebuhr suffered miserably.
Niebuhr in the Arab costume given to him by the Imam in Sana
After the audience with the Imam, new obstacles arose. This time it was the camels that had been put at their disposal. A number of middlemen saw their chance of making a little money, and several precious days were lost in clearing up certain misunderstandings and putting the miscreants in their place. It was not until 26th July that the little caravan was ready to depart.
Once again a difficult decision had to be taken. Niebuhr had to choose between returning by the route they had come by, i.e. the main road via Taaes, or following the less frequented route through the dangerous and almost unpopulated mountains via Mofhak and Samfur to Beit el-Fakih. Niebuhr cold-bloodedly decided on the latter. It was considerably longer and not nearly so convenient, but he preferred seeking accommodation in poor coffee huts to facing further difficulties with the dolas in Jerim and Taaes; indeed, he was ready to make a wide detour to avoid seeing those regions again. Moreover, it would be of much value to his map of the Yemen to establish a check line direct from Sana to Beit el-Fakih.
Thus began a race by these four fever-ridden men to reach Mocha in time over roads which soon proved to be the toughest Niebuhr had ever encountered in the Yemen. In forced marches they pushed on past Mofhak. The rain poured down; the camels waded through a sea of mud and fallen rock. By 30th July they had almost reached the village of Halesi. Then the leading camel driver halted. It was impossible to go on. The rain had cut a steep ravine several yards wide in the narrow road that ran along the cliff side. It was impossible to lead the camels across. The remainder of the Arabs arrived and all agreed that there was nothing to be done; no other road led to Beit el-Fakih, and they must turn about and ride back to Sana. For Niebuhr this was synonymous with having to spend another year in the Yemen. He gave orders to the Arabs to collect rocks from the mountainside and fill up the hole so that the camels could cross. But Niebuhr did not have an authoritative manner; the Arabs shrugged their shoulders and refused to obey, saying that it would take at least two days to fill up the ravine. Niebuhr walked across to Kramer, Baurenfeind and Berggren. They must do it themselves. For the remainder of that day the four sick men dragged rocks to the ravine while the Arabs looked on. Not until they realised that the Europeans would succeed in filling the ravine did they begin one by one to lend a hand, and by the evening the camels were able to cross. After sunset they reached Samfur, where the confusion and exhaustion were so great that Niebuhr lost his compass.
Next morning the rain poured down again. They continued their journey at dawn and in the course of the day they had to cross the River Sehan no fewer than twelve times; they themselves were already so drenched that it made no difference, but each time it took longer to get the camels across, and by the evening they were no farther than Hadsjir.
The next morning was 1st August. They had still not covered even one-third of the way to Mocha. Niebuhr came to a rapid decision. They must increase the tempo. Rest pauses were cut out, and the day’s march doubled. That same evening they reached Beit el-Fakih.
This last stage had brought them out of the rainy district, and in its place the desert heat settled upon them like an extra burden for man and camel. In Beit el-Fakih Niebuhr agreed to one day’s rest, but only on condition that they set off again at sunset and used the cool night hours. Now Niebuhr was on familiar ground and he could increase their speed still further. On the morning of 3rd August they reached Zebid, where the dola gave them provisions and fresh camels. The following evening they continued towards Sjerdsje, which they reached about midnight. This was quicker than they had reckoned; but after an hour’s rest in the coffee hut, Niebuhr again gave orders to start, and by sunrise on 4th August they had reached Mausjid. The village lay out on the coast. As the sun sank over the Red Sea, which was now looking redder than ever, they were again astride their donkeys. Twelve hours later Niebuhr was able to enter up this last stage of his diary. He writes: �
�At nine o’clock in the morning, 5th August, completely exhausted after the journey, we again rode into Mocha.”
But Niebuhr, Kramer, Baurenfeind and Berggren had still not reached their goal. They used their last strength to ride down to the harbour. There it took them only a moment to see what had happened. The English ships had sailed.
6
To form an accurate picture of the desperate speed at which the four men rode from Sana to Mocha, we need only compare the number of days’ journey for the outward trip with the number for the return, as given by the various dates in Carsten Niebuhr’s diary. The expedition left Mocha on 9th June and arrived in Sana on 17th July. The journey had thus taken thirty-eight days; of which, excluding the time spent in Taaes and Jerim, sixteen were spent in actual travelling. They left Sana on 26th July and arrived in Mocha on 5th August. But as this last arrival took place in the early morning, the number of days’ march must be calculated to 4th August. In other words, they did the return journey in nine days while the outward had taken sixteen, and this despite a longer route, torrential rain and fever, rivers which had to be crossed and wretched roads that had to be repaired before they could press on. And as a camel moves at the same speed, this meant in practice that they had spent twice as much time on each day’s march.
The strain had been inhumanly hard, and now they had to pay the price. The chief cause of their weariness was the sudden change of climate from the light mountain air of Sana to the heavy tropical heat of Mocha. Only three days after riding into Mocha, insensible with exhaustion, Niebuhr had to take to his bed with a high fever. Two days later it was Baurenfeind’s turn. The day after, Kramer and Berggren succumbed in the same way. Scarcely three months after von Haven’s death, the remainder of the expedition was lying in the same house with the same symptoms.
One comfort in the general misery was that the day after their arrival, Niebuhr called on the English merchants—just to make sure—and discovered that one of them, called Scott, was still living in the town. The diary shows that he now did much to look after the sick men. “He brings us all kinds of European refreshments, which in the present circumstances, where we otherwise have only Arab food at our disposal, are better for us than even the best of medicines,” says Niebuhr. Even more important was the fact that Scott could set their minds at rest about the ships. Only three of them had sailed for India. As there had been some delay in the Arabs’ payment for the goods he had sold them, the fourth ship had not yet been able to leave. It was not in the harbour because, to make the most of the intervening time, he had sent it with a cargo of coffee to Djidda, whence he expected it back in the last week of August.
The Englishman’s calculations proved correct. On 20th August the ship was again lying in the harbour of Mocha. Meanwhile, things had got much worse for the members of the Danish expedition. When on the following day, 21st August, 1763, they left Arabia Felix, Carsten Niebuhr was the only one who could stand up. Kramer, Baurenfeind and Berggren had to be carried on board.
There were still a few payments outstanding from the Arab merchants, and it was not until the afternoon of 23rd August that the skipper, John Martin, could set sail. He was carrying no cargo from Mocha because in India they were not interested in coffee beans. Practically speaking, his cargo consisted only of the payment received for the goods shipped to Mocha—nearly 250,000 Speciedaler in cash. In comparison with this, the remainder of the shin’s cargo was of negligible importance—a dozen chests with molluscs and dried fish, seven packages of various manuscripts, and a portfolio of pressed plants. It was not for trifles of this kind that John Martin sailed his two-masted vessel across the Indian Ocean.
With a light breeze blowing from the north it took them two days to reach the straits between Africa and Arabia. Niebuhr, refreshed by the sea air, was once again taking bearings. He determined the latitude of Cape Saint Anthony, and by means of regular soundings he was able to answer in the negative Professor Michaelis’s query as to how far it was conceivable that a land link had once existed at this point between Africa and Arabia.
On 26th August the wind had risen. Soon both the African and Arabian coasts disappeared behind them. Now Kramer also showed himself on deck, but things did not look too good for Baurenfeind and Berggren. Carsten Niebuhr writes: “Herr Kramer’s condition seemed to improve from the moment he came on board the ship. But Herr Baurenfeind grew daily more and more ill, and already by the evening of 27th August he was so weak that he was no longer able to answer when I put a question to him. At that moment he fell into such a deep sleep that I found it impossible to wake him when I wanted to give him a little nourishment or some medicine; and in that sleep he died on 29th August, at eleven o’clock in the forenoon.
“It would be superfluous for me to say anything in praise of this artist; the many prospects of towns, the drawings of costume, and above all the many drawings of natural history specimens he did for Herr Forsskål are eloquent enough of his ability and industry. I am only greatly saddened by the fact that he was not fortunate enough to return to Denmark and to engrave his own drawings in copper, for he was above all else an engraver. Our servant Berggren was also carried aboard very ill. He had previously been in the service of a Swedish Colonel of the Hussars in Pomerania in the war against Prussia. He had been with us ever since Copenhagen. He was very robust in health, and to begin with did not regard the hardships connected with an expedition to Arabia as anything very special. Yet he was not strong enough to withstand them. He died the day after Herr Baurenfeind, on 30th August, and both bodies were cast into the sea.”
Barely one week after their departure from Arabia Felix the expedition was reduced to two men.
Back in Copenhagen they naturally had no inkling of the events which led to these two burials in the sunny, sparkling Indian Ocean. Month after month Bernstorff continued to dictate letters and instructions to men who were long since dead, and practically a whole year passed before the sad news reached him. On Wednesday, 1st August, 1764, three notices appeared under the rubric of “Miscellaneous News” in Det Kongelige allene priviligerede Adresse-Contoir. The first and last were quite short. In the first it was reported that His Majesty had “once again left town to travel to Bregentved.” The last also consisted of a single sentence: “A man has run away from town because of debt.” Between these two domestic events was the following rather fuller item of information:
“It is unfortunately only too clear that lovers of science and of useful research must be informed that the Arabian Expedition, dispatched by His Majesty with great care and at great expense, and so splendidly prepared and equipped by the famous Counsellor Michaelis, has, after traversing Arabia Felix for a period of eight months and exploring everywhere with all possible industry and collecting all manner of remarkable things, by the will of the Almighty suffered the regrettable fate of having all its members one after the other struck down by diseases, some of them dangerous, and eventually having three of its members, namely Professors von Haven and Forsskål on 25th May and 11th July last year, as well as the artist Herr Baurenfeind, carried away by death, and finally also a Swedish servant accompanying them. Whereupon the two survivors, Engineer-Lieutenant Niebuhr and Dr. Kramer, in order to save their lives, had no other recourse but on 23rd August last year to leave without delay from Mocha for Bombay in East India.”
When this notice was printed the account was not complete. In the meantime another death had occurred. Otherwise, the paragraph is accurate enough. The expedition had been carried out according to plan, and its sacrifices had perhaps not been wholly in vain.
But one question remained unanswered. It had been formulated on the very first day of the expedition by Peter Forsskål, when he asked himself, in his diary, why Arabia Felix was to be called “felicitous.” There was no reason for wondering at this strange name. The land was called thus because it was fortune’s own land on earth. All their letters and diaries agreed. Von Haven declared that he would stay here two years. Three mon
ths later he was dead. Peter Forsskål said it had promised him the most impressive scientific discoveries. Three months later he was dragged down to his death in Jerim. Only six months after their arrival in Loheia, Niebuhr realised in Sana that if the survivors insisted on remaining in Arabia Felix, it would mean death.
And yet the answer to the problem lay close at hand. Von Haven could have found it if he had gone to the trouble —not because he was interested in poetry, but because he was a philologist.
The mystery was based on a misunderstanding; the name Arabia Felix is an error of translation. It is the little word “yemen,” the country’s other name in our own day, that is the real culprit. In Arabic, “yemen” signified originally “the right hand” or “the right side.” But when Arabs want to “place” the four corners of the earth, they have always faced east, just as we in Europe find it natural to face north. Consequently the word “yemen,” which originally meant “right,” also came to mean “south.” The Yemen is thus simply the land lying to the right, the land towards the south. It is well known that the Arabs regard the right side as being superior to the left. The latter is even to-day called “dirty” and regarded as inferior, while the word “right” or “yemen” has come to mean “fortunate” or “beneficent.” Arabia Yemen thus by a distorted translation becomes Eudaimon Arabia, Arabia Felix, L’Arabie heureuse, Das glückliche Arabien. In reality the words mean South Arabia.
Arabia Felix Page 29
