Harvest

For the first time since he took command in East Africa, dapper, precise Marshal Pietro Badoglio received war correspondents in Asmara last week, told them what they might and might not say. Declared Italy's expeditionary Commander-in-chief:

"From now on you may expect to see affairs move swiftly, even though you cannot report all you see. I am certain to see you all again in various localities of the front where I shall often go to see with my own eyes how our soldiers are ready to march, fight, and conquer. . . . Under our rather strict censorship, however, no information of Italian military moves may be given, and no name of commanders may be mentioned."

This was comforting news for squadron commanders and Italian aviators, heartily weary of the overpublicized exploits of Il Duce's son-in-law, Count Ciano, but it was sad news for the World Press. Flung into a feudal land, correspondents in Addis Ababa and behind the Ethiopian troops have been able to send no first-hand news at all in eight weeks of warfare. Marshal Badoglio's order last week meant that all the elaborate mechanism of the international Press will take more time to tell the world less than did Editor Horace Greeley or Artist-Correspondent Winslow Homer, back of Manassas in 1861.

Censorship may kill authentic news, but it is fine fertilizer for rumors. Harvesters of that exciting crop last week garnered the following stories from East Africa. P: Having already visited Harar, Ethiopian headquarters in the South, Emperor Haile Selassie motored last week to Dessye, main Ethiopian headquarters in the North, over a road especially repaired to make the journey possible. Dessye greeted the Emperor with arches of leaves, transparent banners, and a delegation of policemen imported from Addis Ababa to keep order. Red Cross signs, traditional marks of an Ethiopian brothel, were hastily taken from the numerous houses of joy, and all night long minor chieftains chanted the psalms of David while the Emperor conferred with his onetime Minister to Paris, modest General Tecle Hawariate, who, it was announced will be commander of Ethiopian troops in the North. The announcement promptly bred more rumors that Ras Seyoum, northern commander, had been killed in the aerial bombardment of Mai Mescic fortnight ago (TIME, Dec. 2). Italian spies were unable to check it, while in Addis Ababa officials insisted that Ras Seyoum had sent definite word of his movements within the past few days.

P: No matter how few the casualties, one person almost certain not to survive the Ethiopian war has been Lij Yasu, "Child of Jesus," the 38-year-old onetime Emperor of Ethiopia. Deposed by Haile Selassie in 1916, Lij Yasu has since 1926 been a closely guarded prisoner in the fortress of Gara Mulata, well fed, comfortably lodged, but handcuffed night & day to the wrist of a guard. Lest Italy should release him, make him a puppet emperor, it was announced weeks ago by the Emperor that "Child of Jesus" had been moved to the shores of southernmost Lake Rudolf on the British Kenya border. This proved not true. Last week in his original fortress-prison, Gara Mulata, Lij Yasu died, "of paralysis," read the announcement, "brought on by his vices.'' His body was piled on a motor truck, jolted to Dire Dawa, chuffed by train to Addis Ababa. In a graveyard 100 mi. to the north of the city Lij Yasu was buried beside his father. The only mourner was Amba Hanna, the aged priest who had been handcuffed to Lij Yasu for nine years. P: From the southern front came a succession of contradictory stories which slowly boiled down to a composite rumor that the Italian advance had been completely halted, that Gorrahei, largest town captured by the Italians on their recent drive, had been abandoned by Italian colonial troops, but not yet reoccupied by nervous Ethiopians. Italian headquarters still insisted that they were using Gorrahei's airport, a field some distance from the town. P: Mystery man of the week was H. H. Mohammed Yayou, Sultan of Aussa, a plains district between the Danakil Desert and the Djibouti-Addis Ababa railway. Certain it was that he was fighting. There was some confusion about which side he was fighting for. Weeks ago he was supposed to have been bought by Italian gold. Few days later his men gave the first important reverses to the Italian forces in the desert region south of Mussa Ali (TIME, Oct. 28). Last week, seemingly a loyal Italian again, he suddenly appeared at the head of his tribesmen, wrecked and raided the small railway station of Lassarat, seized rifles and munitions, but prudently faded into the mountains without tearing up the tracks. P: Day after day Italian aviators continued to drop bombs on Daggah Bur, a heap of dust that once was a mud village marking the northernmost point of Italy's advance on the South Front. The town was abandoned. Ethiopians insisted that a wounded chicken was the only casualty. P: Most graphic description of the reason for the stalling of Italy's advance came last week from United Pressman Webb Miller after making his third passage over the terrifying road between Asmara and Makale, the road over which all supplies for the northern Italian army must pass. Excerpts: "In my newspaper career I have been in imminent danger of sudden death four times--but those incidents lasted only a few seconds or minutes. This trip over the Journey of Death, the 'Road of 1,500 Turnings,' lasts from 90 minutes to two hours if you get through at all. "0ur native Eritrean driver is driving a popular-priced American car and is not too familiar with its mechanics. . . . We reach a scene that sobers him. A motor truck has just plunged over a 150-foot precipice. Mangled remains of the driver are dragged up to the road. He lies there dying, a tall, fair, handsome young fellow with a horrible gash on his head and broken arms and legs. An officer excitedly commandeers our car to rush him to a hospital although it clearly is useless. While we are unloading beds, tents and food, another larger car draws up and this is seized instead of ours. "The 1,500 twists and bends are jammed with trains of roaring motor trucks. Each truck sends up dense choking dust from the roadway which is ground to the consistency of flour, inches deep. I keep my mouth and nose swathed in eight thicknesses of cheesecloth, but still can taste it. I have heard of some truck drivers who died from exhaustion immediately their trucks stopped."

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