chaptp:r XXXIII 



A local chief — A somewhat cool request — We cross the Takazze — Our 

 guide deserts us — Lose our way — A Tigre chief and his village — The 

 Khalifa's letter-bearer — A buried church and its legend — A fever- 

 haunted, lonely valley — Ruined villages. 



For three hours next day we continued our march down 

 the valley, the vegetation, strange to say, gradually get- 

 ting more and more scanty, and the hill-sides looking bare 

 and parched. We passed many villages, with cultivated 

 terraces rising high above them, but saw even more 

 deserted sites, the result, we were told, of so many of 

 the inhabitants being killed in the war with the Italians. 

 Camp was pitched at Attover, a little plateau by a side- 

 valley, which, I learnt, was the furthest point on this 

 side to which the Italians had penetrated before the 

 war. In the afternoon Dedjatch Zerefer, the local 

 governor, came to visit me, with a following of some 

 thirty men. Just as he arrived, a storm burst, and, 

 while I sheltered the Dedjatch and one or two of his 

 chief men, the others sought cover in the servants' tents. 

 After the usual compliments and drinks, he presented 

 me with a sheep, tej, eggs, and bread, which had been 

 carried down from his village. I then tried to get some 



