Part 33

But the commencement of the journey was most abortive, and made me rather regret that I had not spent the day in the town. Hámma was unable to find some of the asses belonging to the caravan, for the simple reason that our friend Zúmmuzuk had sold them; and the whole day was lost, so that we encamped after a march of scarcely two miles and a half. Here we were joined by Ibrahím and by a very amiable, intelligent Kél-owí of the name of Rábbot, who informed me that to the east of the valley Tefárrakad there were several other valleys not at all inferior to it in exuberance and variety of vegetation. As the most important among them, he named to me Ámdegra, Édob, Téwarni, Tíndawén, and Aságatay.

When at length, on Thursday morning, we fairly began our journey, we followed entirely our old road, Hámma being anxious to get home; but nevertheless, as the mountains and ridges which characterize this region now met the eyes from the other side, the scenery was a good deal varied, and I had frequent opportunities of completing my map of this part of the country. Besides, we chose our encampments in new localities; and many little incidents varied our journey, the most interesting of which was the approach of a party of five lions in the valley Búdde, when Hámma called us to arms. He, Rábbot, Mohammed, and I advanced to meet them, but they soon turned their backs, leaping over the rocky ground towards their mountain-retreat. The lion of Aïr does not seem to be a very ferocious animal, and, like those of all this border-region of the desert, has no mane—that is to say, as compared with other lions. The maneless lion of Guzerat is well known, but a similar species seems also to occur in Sind and Persia. The lion of Central Africa, at least of Bórnu and Logón, has a beautiful mane; and the skin of a lion of that region, which I took with me on my journey to western Sudán, excited the admiration of all who saw it.

The valley Tíggeda had now a very different aspect from that which it wore when we were going to Ágades; for while at that time, beautiful as it was, it was not enlivened by a single human being, now at its very head we met a considerable caravan of Kél-owí laden with salt, and accompanied by a herd of young camels to be bartered in the market of Ágades for corn, and further on we found a herd of from sixty to seventy head of cattle, and numerous flocks of goats, indulging in the rich herbage which had previously excited my astonishment. Our minds likewise were here excited by the important news that the old chief of Tintéllust had started for Sudán, not only with my fellow-travellers, but with the whole caravan; but while my fiery and frivolous Mohammed heaped conjecture upon conjecture, meditating how we should be able to reach them, Hámma, who knew his father-in-law better, and who was conscious of his own importance and dignity, remained incredulous. We had some very pretty mountain-views from this side, especially when we approached Mount Eghellál, behind which the Búnday and other mountains rose into view.

On the morning of the 5th of November, which was to be the day of our arrival in Tintéllust, it was so cold that we started rather late, Hámma simply declaring that the cold did not allow him to go on— “Dári yahánna fataúchi.” Having started at length, we made a long day’s march; and after eleven hours and a half travelling reached the well-known sand- hill opposite Tintéllust, where our encampment had stayed so long, not by the great road along the valley, but by “The Thief’s Passage,” in order to observe before we were observed.

But the residence of the great chief Ánnur was buried in the deepest silence; the courtiers, the blacksmiths, all the great men and ladies, had gone away. Hámma went to see if anybody remained behind, while we cooked our rice, and prepared to make ourselves comfortable for the night. That, however, was out of the question, for when he returned, he ordered us to decamp at once; and though nothing is more dreadful than a night’s march, particularly when it succeeds to a long day’s journey, yet in the enthusiasm awakened by the thought of going southwards, I with all my heart joined in the exclamation “sé fataúchi sé Kanó” (“no rest before Kanó”—properly, “nothing but travelling, nothing but Kanó”)!

It was ten o’clock in the evening when we started again along the broad valley, taking leave for ever of “the English Hill;” but I soon began to suffer from the consequences of fatigue. In order to avoid falling from my camel in my drowsy state, I was obliged to drag myself along, great part of the night, on foot, which was not at all agreeable, as the ground was at times very rugged, and covered with long grass. Having crossed a rocky flat, we entered, about four o’clock in the morning, the wide plain of Tin-téggana, stumbling along through the thick cover of bú-rékkeba and other sorts of herbage, till dawn, coming on with rather chilly air, revealed to our benumbed senses the encampment of the caravan. Having therefore made repeated halts, to give the people time to recognize us, in order not to occasion any alarm, as our leader Hámma was not with us, but had lain down at the roadside to get a few hours’ rest, we made straight for the two European tents which showed us precisely the residence of my fellow-travellers. The old chief Ánnur was up, and received me with great kindness—more kindly, I must say, than my colleagues, who apparently felt some jealousy on account of the success which had attended my proceedings.

Having once more taken possession of the well-known home of our little tent, I preferred looking about the encampment to lying down; for sleeping after sunrise is not agreeable to me.

The valley Tin-téggana, wherein Ánnur, with his people, was encamped, is in this place about three miles broad, being bordered towards the east by a low range of hills with the small cone of Ádode rising to a greater elevation; towards the west by the Búnday and some smaller mountains; towards the south, where the ground rises, it is lined by more detached peaks, while on the north side an open view extends down the valley as far as the large mountain-mass which borders the valley of Tintéllust on the north. Altogether it was a fine open landscape, embracing the country which forms the nucleus, if I may say so, of the domain of the old chief, whose camels pasture here the whole year round, while he himself usually takes up his residence in this place about this season, when nature is in its prime, and the weather becomes cool, in order to enjoy the country air.

We ourselves had as yet no idea of making a long stay here, but indulged in the hope of starting the next day, when all of a sudden about noon our old friend declared solemnly that he was unable to go with us at present, that he himself was obliged to wait for the salt-caravan, while his confidential slave Zinghína was now to go southwards. He said that, if we chose, we might go on with the latter. He supposed, perhaps, that none of us would dare to do so; but when I insisted upon it afterwards, he as well as Zinghína declared that the attempt was too dangerous; and it would have been absurd to insist on accompanying the slave. For the moment such a disappointment was very trying. However, I afterwards perceived that, though we had lost more than a month of the finest season for travelling, we had thereby acquired all possible security for safely attaining the object of our journey; for now we were obliged to send off all our luggage with Zinghína in advance, and might fully expect to travel with infinitely more ease and less trouble, when no longer encumbered with things which, though of little value, nevertheless attracted the cupidity of the people. At the time, however, even this was not at all agreeable, as Overweg and I had to part with almost all our things and to send them on to Kanó, to the care of a man of whose character we knew nothing.

[Sidenote: Friday, November 8th.]

Nearly all the Arabs and many of the Kél-owí started; and it awakened some feeling of regret to see them go and to be ourselves obliged to stay behind. Our friend Músa, who had been the most faithful of our Tinýlkum camel-drivers, who had visited us almost daily in our tent, and from whom we had obtained so much valuable information[196], was the last to take leave of us. But as soon as the caravan was out of sight, I determined to make the best possible use of this involuntary leisure, by sifting elaborately the varied information which I had been able to collect in Ágades, and by sending a full report to Europe, in order to engage the interest of the scientific public in our expedition, and to justify Her Majesty’s Government in granting us new supplies, without which, after our heavy losses, we should be obliged to return directly, leaving the chief objects of the expedition unattained. Owing to this resolution, our quiet life in Ásben was not, I hope, without its fruits.

Our encampment, too, became more cheerful and agreeable when, on the following day, we transferred it to the korámma Ofáyet, a beautiful little branch-wadi of the spacious valley Tin-téggana, issuing from a defile (a “kógo-n-dútsi”) formed by the Búnday and a lower mount to the south, along which led the path to Ásodi. It was most densely wooded with talha-trees, and overgrown with tall bu-rékkeba and allwot, and was thinned only very gradually, as immense branches and whole trees were cut down daily to feed the fires during the night; for it was at times extremely cold, and we felt most comfortable when in the evening we stretched ourselves in front of our tents, round an enormous fire. The tall herbage also was by degrees consumed, not only by the camels, but by the construction of small conical huts; so that gradually a varied and pleasant little village sprang up in this wild spot, which is represented in the accompanying wood-cut. The time which we were obliged to stay here would indeed have passed by most pleasantly but for the trouble occasioned to Overweg and myself by our impudent and dissolute Tunisian half-caste servant, who had become quite insupportable. Unfortunately we did not find an opportunity of sending him back; and I thought it best to take him with me to Kanó, where I was sure to get rid of him. Our other servant Ibrahím, also, though much more prudent, was not at all trustworthy, which was the more to be regretted as he had travelled all over Háusa, and even as far as Gónja, and might have proved of immense service. But fortunately I had another servant—a thin youth of most unattractive appearance, but who nevertheless was the most useful attendant I ever had; and though young he had roamed about a great deal over the whole eastern half of the desert, and shared in many adventures of the most serious kind. He possessed, too, a strong sense of honour, and was perfectly to be relied upon. This was Mohammed el Gatróni, a native of Gatrón, in the southern part of Fezzán, who, with a short interruption (when I sent him to Múrzuk with the late Mr. Richardson’s papers and effects), remained in my service till I returned to Fezzán in 1855.

[Illustration]

The zeal with which I had commenced finishing my report was well rewarded; for on the 14th the Ghadámsi merchant Abu Bakr el Wákhshi (an old man whom I shall have occasion to mention repeatedly in the course of my journey) came to Ánnur to complain of a robbery committed upon part of his merchandise at Tasáwa. But for this circumstance he would not have touched at this place, and his people, whom he was sending to Ghadámes, would have travelled along the great road by Ásodi without our knowing anything about them. Being assured by the trustworthy old man that the parcel would reach Ghadámes in two months, I sent off the first part of my report; but unfortunately it arrived at that place when Her Majesty’s Agent, Mr. Charles Dickson, to whom I had addressed it, was absent in Tripoli,—the consequence being that it lay there for several months.

In the course of the 15th, while sitting quietly in my tent, I suddenly heard my name, “ʿAbd el Kerím,” pronounced by a well-known voice, and looking out, to my great astonishment saw the little sturdy figure of my friend Hámma trotting along at a steady pace, his iron spear in his hand. I thought he was gone to Bílma, as we had been told; but it appeared that, having come up with the salt-caravan at the commencement of the Hammáda, he only supplied them with more corn, and having conferred with them, had come back to assist his old father-in-law in the arduous task of keeping the turbulent tribes in some state of quiet. The degree of secrecy with which everything is done in this wild country is indeed remarkable, and no doubt contributes in a great measure to the influence and power of the sagacious chief of Tintéllust.

Four days later came my other friend, the foolish Mohammed, who had accompanied the expedition of the sultan of Ágades, and who was full of interesting details of this little campaign. Neither Astáfidet, the prince of the Kél-owí, nor ʿAbd el Káder, the sultan residing in Ágades, actually took part in the attack or “súkkua,” but kept at a distance. On asking my merry friend what was the result of the whole, and whether the state of the country to the north was now settled, and the road secure, he exclaimed, with a significant grimace, “Bábu dádi” (not very pleasant); and to what extent strength was sacrificed to euphony in this expression we were soon to learn; for the next day the “makéria,” the wife of the “mákeri” Elíyas, came to tell us that a ghazzia of the Éfadaye had suddenly fallen upon Tin-taghóde, and had carried off two large droves (gérki) of camels and all the moveable property. Such is the state of this country, where the chiefs, instead of punishing systematically the rebels and marauders, regard such instances of crime only as opportunities for enriching themselves with plunder. The Éfadaye do not muster more than from two hundred to three hundred spears; but they are generally assisted by the Ígammén and Édelén, two of the tribes of the Imghád whom I mentioned above.

The next day the old chief, accompanied by Hámma and seven other trusty companions, set out for Tintéyyat, in order to consult with the old mʿallem Azóri, “the wise man of Aïr,” about the means of preventing the bad consequences likely to arise from the turbulent state into which the country had fallen just when he was about to set out for Sudán.

The old chief, on his return from his important consultation, gave us some interesting information about “the Lion of Tintéyyat” (Azóri). Azóri, he said, had attained the highest degree of wisdom and learning, comprehending all divine and human things, without ever leaving the country of Aïr. He was now nearly blind, though younger in years than himself. His father had likewise been a very wise man. Formerly, according to our friend, there was another great mʿallem in the country, named Hámi, a native of Tintághódé; and as long as he lived, the Aníslimen, his fellow-citizens, had been good people and followed the way of justice, while at present their name “Aníslim” was become a mere mockery, for they were the worst of the lawless, and had lost all fear of God; indeed almost all the troubles into which the country had been plunged might be ascribed to their agency and intrigues. Here the old chief had touched on his favourite theme; and he gave vent to all his anger and wrath against those holy men, who were evidently opposed to his authority.

The old man was, in fact, on the most friendly terms with us, and instead of being suspicious of our “writing down his country,” was anxious to correct any erroneous idea which we might entertain respecting it. I shall never forget with what pleasure he looked over my sketch of the route from Tintéllust to Ágades, while I explained to him the principal features of it; and he felt a proud satisfaction in seeing a stranger from a far distant country appreciate the peculiar charms of the glens and mountains of his own native land. He was, in short, so pleased with our manners and our whole demeanour, that one day, after he had been reposing in my tent and chatting with me, he sent for Yusuf, and told him plainly that he apprehended that our religion was better than theirs; whereupon the Arab explained to him that our manners indeed were excellent, but that our religious creed had some great defects, in violating the unity of the Almighty God, and elevating one of His prophets from his real rank of servant of God to that of His Son. Ánnur, rising a little from his couch, looked steadily into Yusuf’s face, and said, “hákkanánne” (is it so)? As for me, in order not to provoke a disputation with Yusuf, who united in himself some of the most amiable with some of the most hateful qualities, I kept silence as long as he was present; but when he retired I explained to the chief that, as there was a great variety of sects among the Mohammedans, so there was also among the Christians, many of whom laid greater stress upon the unimpaired unity of the Creator than even the Mohammedans. So much sufficed for the justification of our religion; for the old man did not like to talk much upon the subject, though he was strict in his prayers, as far as we were able to observe. He was a man of business, who desired to maintain some sort of order in a country where everything naturally inclines to turbulence and disorder. In other respects, he allowed every man to do as he liked; and notwithstanding his practical severity, he was rather of a mild disposition, for he thought Europeans dreadful barbarians for slaughtering without pity such numbers of people in their battles, using big guns instead of spears and swords, which were, as he thought, the only manly and becoming weapons.

The 25th of November was a great market-day for our little settlement, for on the preceding day the long-expected caravan with provisions arrived from Damerghú, and all the people were buying their necessary supply; but we had much difficulty in obtaining what we wanted, as all our things—even the few dollars we had still left—were depreciated, and estimated at more than thirty per cent. less than their real value. After having recovered in Ágades a little from the weakness of my stomach, by the aid of the princely dishes sent me by ʿAbd el Káder, I had, notwithstanding the fine cool weather, once more to suffer from the effects of our almost raw and bitter dishes of Guinea corn, and the more so as I had no tea left to wash down this unpalatable and indigestible paste; and I felt more than common delight when we were regaled on the 27th by a fine strong soup made from the meat of the bullock which we had bought from Ánnur for twelve thousand kurdí. It was a day of great rejoicing, and a new epoch in our peaceful and dull existence, in consequence of which I found my health greatly restored.

Our patience, indeed, was tried to the utmost; and I looked for some moments with a sort of despair into Hámma’s face, when, on his return from a mission to the Éfadaye, which seemed not to have been quite successful, he told me on the 28th of November that we should still make a stay here of twenty-five days. Fortunately he always chose to view things on the worst side; and I was happy to be assured by the old chief himself, that our stay here would certainly not exceed fifteen days. Nevertheless, as the first short days of our sham travelling afterwards convinced me, the veracious Hámma, who had never deceived me, was in reality quite right in his statement. My friend came to take leave of me, as he was to absent himself for a few days, in order to visit an elder sister of his, who lived in Telíshiet, further up the valley of Tin-téggana; and of course I had to supply him with some handsome little production of European manufacture.

We had full reason to admire the energy of the old chief, who on the 30th of November went to a “privy council” with Mʿallem Azóri and Sultan Astáfidet, which was appointed to be held in some solitary glen, halfway between Tin-téggana and Ásodi, and, after he had returned late in the evening of the 1st of December, was galloping along our encampment in the morning of the 2nd, in order to visit the new watering-place lower down in the principal valley,—the former well beginning to dry up, or rather requiring to be dug to a greater depth, as the moisture collected during the rainy season was gradually receding. This was the first time we saw our friend on horseback; and though he was seventy-six years of age, he sat very well and upright in his saddle. Overweg went on one of the following days to see the well (which was about four miles distant from our encampment, in a W.N.W. direction, beyond a little village of the name of Óbrasen), but found it rather a basin formed between the rocky cliffs, and fed, according to report, by a spring.

Meanwhile I was surprised to learn from Mohammed Byrji, Ánnur’s grandson, and next claimant to the succession after Háj ʿAbdúwa, that the last-named, together with El Úsu or Lúsu, the influential chief of Azanéres, and El Hossén, had started for the south six days previously, in order to purchase provisions for the salt-caravan. In this little country something is always going on, and the people all appear to lead a very restless life; what wonder, then, if most of them are the progeny of wayfarers, begotten from fortuitous and short-lived matches? Perhaps in no country is domestic life wanting to such a degree as among the Kél-owí properly so called; but it would be wrong to include in this category the tribes of purer blood living at some distance from this centre of the salt-trade.

At length, on the 5th of December, the first body of the salt-caravan arrived from Bílma, opening the prospect of a speedy departure from this our African home; but although we were very eager to obtain a glance at them, they did not become visible, but kept further to the west. The following evening, however, several friends and partisans of the old chief arrived, mounted on mehára, and were received by the women with loud shrill cries of welcome (“tirlelák” in Temáshight) very similar to the “tehlíl” of the Arabs.