Part 23

It was about noon, when to my great delight my trooper Gréma ʿAbdú returned from his errand. He was accompanied by two attendants of the Zérma, or rather Kadamánge, the lieutenant-governor whom the sultan had left during his absence in command of the capital. I was disappointed, however, in my expectation that I should now be allowed, without further delay, to reach the capital myself, for the messengers produced a document provided with a large black seal, to the effect that I was to await the answer of the sultan in Búgomán, a place higher up the river, the inhabitants of which, together with those of a neighbouring town, called Mískin, were to provide me with fresh fish and milk during my stay there. Although anxious to join the sultan himself, I had nothing to object to such an arrangement, and was glad to move on, if it were only a little. Our path on leaving the village kept along the steep north-easterly bank of the river, which here separates into two branches, of which the eastern one has more the nature of a creek. The island thus formed was thickly wooded, and with the exception of a small hamlet of fishermen, seemed to be left entirely to the possession of wild animals; for while we clearly distinguished a flock of about a dozen large antelopes of the species called “mohor,” or “hímraye” (_Antilope Soemmeringii_), we were not a little surprised at seeing a string of not less than twenty-two crocodiles all lying quietly on their backs on the sandy beach, and basking in the sun. None of them, however, were remarkable for their size, the largest measuring apparently from twelve to fifteen feet.

Our march was rather short, my companions taking up quarters for us in the small village called Límshi, situated two miles and a half higher up the river, or rather creek.

Here there was a tolerable degree of activity, and several boats were lying near the banks. Having just before observed such numbers of crocodiles, I was not a little astonished at seeing the women, who were fetching water, bathing without apprehension in the river. The island opposite, at this spot also, was densely covered with wood, but a little higher up there is a village of the name of Ódiyó. Our reception in the village was very inhospitable, and gave me a bad idea of the authority of the lieutenant-governor, under whose protection I was travelling.

[Sidenote: Friday, March 26th.]

Our march for the first mile and a half led through stubble fields, after which we entered a dense forest filled with numerous creeping plants, but otherwise of a rather uniform character; awaiting the reviving power of the rainy season. The shallow watercourse Mbusáda, or Msél el Háj ʿAlí, was all the time close on our left, till we crossed it, at a distance of about five miles. We then pursued our march through cultivated grounds, where, besides millet, a little cotton also was raised, at other times proceeding through clearer forest, and soon reached the village Mustafají, which was the native place of the wife of my escort Gréma ʿAbdú.

Here we were quartered without delay; but the huts were not remarkable either for their size or architecture, consisting entirely of thatch and reed, the lower part being only slightly touched with clay, and during the hot hours of the day the heat of them was really suffocating. The inhabitants are all Kanúri, who, having emigrated from Bórnu during the time of the decay of that empire, have settled here as well as in other parts of Bagírmi, where they have introduced the little civilization which at present is seen, especially weaving and dyeing, which is here carried on to a considerable extent. The Shárí or Bá, in a direct line, is only about seven miles distant towards the west, and the inundation even approaches the very village by means of the shallow depressions and watercourses which intersect the country. A great extent of ground was under cultivation.

The inhabitants of the village behaved very hospitably, and my horseman’s father-in-law, a very jovial and decent looking man, made me a present of a fat sheep. The only difficulty was the water, the well, notwithstanding its depth of fifteen fathoms, containing only a very small supply. Scarcity of water seems, indeed, to be one of the great disadvantages of Bagírmi.

We remained here the whole of the forenoon of the following day, and did not start until half-past two in the afternoon. The country which we traversed was well inhabited, and a good deal of cotton was to be seen; and it was here that I first beheld it cultivated in ridges and furrows, a manner of culture which, I think, is constantly adhered to in America as well as in India, but in Negroland very rarely; the cotton plants growing on the ridges, but being at present quite bare of leaves. All the cotton plantations which I had seen previously in Negroland were left to themselves, and were rather in a wild state; but here they seemed to be well kept and taken care of. At a village called Mútkomí my attention was drawn to the great numbers of asses; here the ground was full of the holes of the fének or _Megalotis_, called by the native Shúwa population “bú hassén.”

Further on, a firm and dry clay soil succeeded. Having then passed a large village of the name of Búgarí, we took up our quarters a little before sunset in a village called Matuwárí, which belongs to a wealthy and learned man called Legári Bú-Músa, and were very hospitably received. These people were also Kanúri, and I was delighted to observe some signs of industry in the shape of a small dyeing place, which contained two pits.

[Sidenote: March 28th.]

At an early hour we pursued our march, approaching the town of Búgomán, where I was to await further orders from the sultan. The country exhibited signs of considerable cultivation, and numerous farming hamlets, called “yówëó” by the Bagírmi people, were spread about; at present, however, they were tenantless, being only inhabited during the rainy season by the “field hands,” as an American would say.

After a march of about four miles, and having passed a swampy meadow ground with numerous traces of the rhinoceros, we again stood on the banks of the great river of Bagírmi, the Shárí or Bá, which here, where at present it formed a wide flat sandy beach[39], at first sight seemed very inconsiderable, compared with that noble character which it had exhibited lower down, so that I almost supposed it to be nothing but a branch of the principal river, although my people repeatedly assured me this was not the case; that small branch which higher up, a little above the town of Míltu, separates from it, passing by Busó and Báchikám, a few miles to the south of Máseñá, having just rejoined it near the town of Mískin, of which the taller trees, if not the houses, were visible from hence. The river here forms a long reach from south to north, but higher up, beyond Mískin, comes from S.S.E. The bank on this side was very low, which is the reason that the river during the inundation spreads over a greater extent of country. The ground shelves very gradually, and the river seemed shallow at a considerable distance from the beach, but its depth on the other side may be the more considerable, the opposite bank on which the town of Búgomán stands being rather steep.

The town, seen from this distance, seemed to be rather in a state of decay,—at least as regarded the wall; but it was pleasantly adorned with a variety of trees, among which deléb- and dúm-palms were the most conspicuous. It was market-day, and in the cool of the morning numbers of people were collected on the south-eastern beach, where we had arrived, awaiting the return of the ferry-boats: so that altogether it exhibited quite an interesting scene. But gradually the bustle subsided, and the heat of the sun on the sandy beach became almost insupportable; for, notwithstanding my warning, we had left the green border of trees and herbage far behind us, and had advanced along the broad sandy beach, which at present was dry, to the very edge of the water. My escort, together with the two servants of Zérma, had gone into the town to announce my arrival, and to inform the head man of the order of the lieutenant-governor, that I was to await here the commands of the sultan: but no answer came. In vain did I endeavour to protect myself from the burning rays of the sun by forming a temporary shelter of my carpet; for the sun in these climes is never more severe than just before the setting-in of the rainy season, and we had generally at two o’clock between 106° and 110°. As noon passed by, I grew impatient, especially as I had nothing to eat, there being no firewood, even for cooking a very simple dinner.

At length, a little before three o’clock, my messengers returned, and their countenances indicated that they were not the bearers of satisfactory news. The governor of Búgomán refused obedience to the direct order of his lord the sultan of Bagírmi, and declined receiving me into the town. Nothing was left but to retrace our steps to the village Matuwárí, where we had been so hospitably entertained. Dragging therefore behind us the sheep which we had not yet been able to slaughter, we returned by the same road we had come.

Here we remained the following morning, and I had sufficient time to reflect on my condition in this country. There could not be the least doubt that the greater part of the inhabitants were unfavourably inclined towards the stranger; and I was persuaded that the best course for me to pursue would be to return to Logón, and there quietly await the answer of the sultan; but my companions were not of my opinion, and assured me I was not at liberty to leave the country after I had once entered it. It was therefore decided that we should proceed in the direction of the capital, and make our further proceedings dependent upon circumstances. The reason we did not start at once was because my companions wanted to pass the extensive forest which lay before us in the night-time, as there was no water for a whole day’s march, and our people were unprovided with water-skins.

In order to employ my leisure time, I took a walk to Búgarí, the village above mentioned, it being market-day; and I was glad, considering the little civilization which is to be met with in these regions, to find a good deal of traffic going on in the market. There were about twenty head of cattle, between sixty and eighty sheep, and about a dozen asses to be sold; there were, moreover, a good assortment of black and white tobes, a tolerable supply of butter and honey, besides millet, beans, and ground-nuts; the latter, especially, were very plentiful, and bore ample testimony to the fact, that in these regions, also, this valuable article of commerce grows in great quantities, and forms a considerable portion of the diet of the natives; but as for cotton, the supply was rather limited.

The staple commodity of the market were tobes, half-tobes, and single strips of cotton, or fárda, about three inches wide, and from three to four drʿa in length. Unfortunately, I was destitute of this kind of money, the people rejecting with contempt those miserable little shirts, or dóra, which I had brought with me from Bórnu; so that, notwithstanding the good supply of the market, I might have remained unprovided. I however succeeded in buying a few fárda for some needles, paying four needles for each fárda. I bought also a little butter for some beads.

The whole of this district is very scantily supplied with water; and the well in Matuwárí, which is only two fathoms and a half deep, contained very little. The wells in Búgarí were three fathoms deep, but were no better supplied. Of course, by digging to a greater depth, and constructing the wells in a proper way, the people might secure a sufficient supply; but they prefer walking every day to a far distant village for a little water rather than employ a few weeks industriously in making a durable well.

After a cordial parting from the male and female inhabitants of the village, we started about three o’clock in the afternoon; and with the exception of a short halt, about sunset, in a small hamlet called “Búru- nyígo,” or “hyænas’ den,” we continued our march without interruption till past eleven o’clock at night. The village just mentioned lies at the border of the wilderness; and here we had not only to water our horses and to lay in a supply of water for ourselves, but I had also to give medicine to some people who had followed me all the way from Búgarí.

Having rested for a little more than five hours in the midst of a forest, without being molested by man or beast, we continued our march through the dense jungle full of trees and thick underwood, while larger trees became more and more scanty. Gradually the forest became clearer, and flocks of turtle-doves seemed to indicate that there was water in the neighbourhood, although such a conclusion drawn from the presence of this bird is sometimes liable to error.

After the rainy season the character presented by this forest must be very different, and a little further on, evident signs of former cultivation began to be visible, even of sesamum (“márrashi,” as the Kanúri, “kárru,” as the Bagírmi people call it), as was evident from the deep furrows which intersected the ground. The inhabitants of two or three small hamlets dragged on a miserable existence even during the drought which at present prevailed; and we met a large body of women and children, who preferred fetching every night and morning their supply of this most essential element from a distance of several miles rather than desert their native village.

Having passed another hamlet, likewise destitute of water, and left several villages at a greater distance surrounded by a tract of cultivated ground, we at length reached the longed-for El Dorado where water was to be found; and, as may be presumed, there was a great bustle round the well, which had to supply the whole thirsty neighbourhood. Numbers of people, camels, and asses were thronging around, longing for the moment when they might come in for their share; and as the well was ten fathoms deep, a considerable time would necessarily elapse before they were all supplied. Being saluted in a friendly way by the people, I pitched my tent in the shade of a large chédia or caoutchouc-tree, which, however, was very scanty, as the young leaves had not come out, and afforded very little relief from the heat of the sun.

Here it was for the first time that I tasted a dish of sesamum, which was prepared in the same manner as millet, in the form of a large hasty pudding, but, being insufficiently seasoned by the common African sauce of the leaves of the kúka or monkey-bread tree, did not appear to me to be a very dainty dish. The village, the name of which is Mókorí, had a comfortable appearance; and the pounding of indigo in the dyeing-pits went on without interruption, even during the heat of the day. Some Fúlbe or Felláta shepherds live in the neighbourhood; and I was fortunate enough to barter a little butter for glass beads, as well as a small supply of rice—that is to say, wild rice, for rice is not cultivated here, but only gathered in the jungles from what the elephant and rhinoceros have left. Altogether I might have been very comfortable, if my uncertain situation in the country had not caused me some anxiety.

When we pursued our march in the afternoon, our road lay through a fertile country, where the cultivation was divided between millet and sesamum, till we reached the first group of the village of Bákadá, which consists of four distinct hamlets. Here my companions wanted to procure quarters for me; but fortunately the head man of the village refused them admittance, so that they were obliged to seek for hospitality in another hamlet, and it was my good luck to obtain quarters in the house of a man who forms one of the most pleasing recollections of my journey. This was Háj Bú-Bakr Sadík, a spare old man, of very amiable temperament, to whom I became indebted for a great deal of kindness and valuable information.

While I pitched my tent in his small courtyard, he was sitting close by, and was informing me in very good Arabic, that he had thrice made the pilgrimage to Mekka, and seen the great ships of the Christians on the Sea of Jedda. He remembered minutely all the different localities which he had visited in the course of his long wanderings.

Delighted that by chance I had fallen in with such a man, I sent away the next morning my horseman Gréma ʿAbdú, and the two messengers, to the capital, in order to inform the lieutenant-governor that the chief of Búgomán had refused obedience to his direct order and denied me admittance into the town, and to ask him what was to become of me now. Sending him at the same time a present, I begged him urgently to allow me either to enter the capital or to retrace my steps to Bórnu. Gréma promised me that he would return the next morning with a decisive answer. However, he did not keep his promise, but remained absent full seven days, although the distance from the capital was only about ten miles. It was therefore very fortunate that I had the company of Bú-Bakr Sadík, for no other person would have been able to give me such an insight into the character and the history of these regions as this man.

He drew a spirited picture of the great national struggle which his countrymen had been carrying on against Bórnu, he himself having taken

## part in several battles. He boasted, and with reason, that slaves of his

master had twice beaten the sheikh Mohammed el Kánemí, and that the sheikh had only gained the victory by calling to his assistance Mústapha el Áhmar and Mukní, the two succeeding sultans of Fezzán, when, by destroying the towns of Babáliyá and Gáwi, and by taking possession of the capital, he made himself temporary master of the country. He described to me with delight how his countrymen had driven back the Felláta who were endeavouring to establish the Jemmára in their country, and that they had undertaken afterwards a successful expedition against Bógo, one of the settlements of that nation.

Bú-Bakr indeed might have been called a patriot in every sense of the word. Although a loyal subject, and humbly devoted to his sultan, nevertheless he beheld with the deepest mortification the decline of his native country from the former wealth and importance it had enjoyed previous to the time when ʿAbd el Kerím Sabún, the sultan of Wádáy, conquered it, plundered its treasures, made the king tributary, and led numbers of the inhabitants into slavery. Thus the whole well-being of the country had been annihilated, and not only their wealth in silver and cattle had disappeared, but the ruin and decay extended even, as he considered, in his melancholy frame of mind, to nature,—whole districts which had been formerly under cultivation and covered with villages being now changed to a wilderness, and regions which had formerly been well supplied with water suffering now the extreme of drought. Worms, he told me, were devouring their crops and vegetables, dooming them to starvation.

All this was true as far as regarded the present state of the country; for though I cannot say whether its physical condition was ever much more favourable, still as to its government and political importance there certainly was a time when Bagírmi enjoyed greater prosperity. It might seem indeed as if the country was visited by Divine chastisement, as a punishment for the offences of their ancestors and the ungodly life of their former ruler. In no country in the whole extent of Negroland which I have travelled over have I seen such vast numbers of destructive worms, and such a predominance of ants, as in Bagírmi. There is especially a large black worm called “hallu-wéndi,” as long as the largest grub, but much bigger, which, swarming in millions, consumes an immense proportion of the produce of the natives. Bú-Bakr showed me also another far smaller, but not less voracious insect, which they call “kunjungjúdu,” a beetle about half an inch long, and of a yellow colour; but the poor natives, like the inhabitants of other countries in the case of the locust, do not fail to take their revenge, for when the insect has grown fat and big at their expense, they devour it themselves,—a habit which may be one of the numerous relics of their former pagan existence, it being still a general custom with the Sókoró to eat a large species of beetle called “dernána.”

Of other species of worms I shall have occasion to speak further on; but with the white and black ants I myself waged repeatedly a relentless but unsuccessful war during my residence in the country. Already, the second day of my stay in Bákadá, I observed that the white ant (_termes fatalis_) was threatening my couch, which I had spread upon a very coarse mat, or “síggedí” as the Kanúri, “lába” as the Bagírmi people call it, made of the thickest reed, with total destruction. I therefore, for want of a better protection, contrived an expedient which I thought would guarantee my berth against the further attacks of those cruel intruders, placing my couch upon three very large poles; but I soon had cause to discover that those ferocious insects were not to be deterred by such means, for two days afterwards, I found that they had not only built their entrenchments along the poles, and reached the top, but had eaten through both the coarse mats, finished a large piece of my Stambúli carpet, and destroyed several other articles. And during my further stay here I had the greatest trouble in preventing these insects from destroying all my things; for their voracity and destructive powers seem to increase towards the beginning of the rainy season, which was fast setting in.

The weather was exceedingly sultry, and we had the first thunder-storm on the 3rd of April; and from that time we experienced a tornado almost every day, although in general there was not much rain.

The village itself, of course, afforded very little entertainment. In former times it had been nothing but a slave or farming village, or “yóweó,” while the masters of the field-hands resided at another place called Kústiya; and it was only a few years previously that they had taken up their residence at this place; nevertheless even at present it is nothing better than a farming village, grain being the only produce of the place, while the inhabitants do not possess a single cow, so that milk and butter are great luxuries, and even a fowl quite out of the question. But as for grain, Bákadá is not without importance; on the contrary, it is one of the chief corn-growing places in the country, especially for sorghum (“ngáberí,” or, as they call it, “wá”), while millet (“chéngo”) is not so extensively grown.