DEPARTURE FROM ÁGADES.—STAY IN TIN-TÉGGANA.
_Wednesday, October 30._—We at length left Ágades. I felt as if I had
enjoyed a glimpse of a totally different world, a new region of life,
many relations of which were as yet obscure to me. Timbúktu, which was
in the background of this novel and living picture, seemed an almost
unattainable object. An acquaintance with it would not fail to throw
light upon this advanced post of Sónghay nationality, and its state
of civilization; but at that time I little expected that it would be
my destiny to dwell a year in that mysterious place, and I had even
reason to doubt the possibility of reaching it from this quarter. All my
thoughts were bent on the south; and although at present retracing my
steps towards the north, yet, as it carried me back to our headquarters,
whence I might soon expect to start for the southern regions, I regarded
it as a step in advance.
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, Edob, 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 Aír 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 excited by the important news that the old chief of Tin-téllust
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 Tin-téllust, 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 Tin-téllust, 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 rékkebah 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 road-side 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 Tin-téllust
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.
_Friday, November 8._—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,
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 Asben was not, I hope, without its
fruits.
[Illustration]
Our encampment, too, became more cheerful and agreeable when, on the
following day, we transferred it to the korámma Ofáyet, a beautiful
little branch wady 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 bú rékkebah 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 woodcut. 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.
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.
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 Bilma, 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 Tin-téllust.
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 Tintagh-odé, and had carried off
two large droves (gérki) of camels and all the movable 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 Aír,” 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 Aír. 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 Tintagh-odé, 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 Tin-téllust 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 30 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, half-way
between Tin-téggana and Asodi, 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 west-north-west 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 Usu 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 Bilma, 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.
_Saturday, December 7._—Preparations were now gradually made for our
setting out; but previously it was necessary to provide a supply of
water, not only for the immediate use of the numerous salt caravan, but
for the constant one of those people who were to remain behind during the
absence of their chief and master. Accordingly, on the 7th of December
the old chief left our encampment, with all his people, in solemn
procession, in order to dig a new well; and after having long searched
with a spear for the most favourable spot, they set to work close to
the entrance of a small branch wady, joining the main valley from the
east side, not far from Ádode; and having obtained a sufficient supply
of water, they walled the well in with branches and stones, so that it
was capable of retaining water at least till the beginning of the next
rainy season, when, most probably, the floods would destroy it. There
are, indeed, in these countries very few undertakings of this kind the
existence of which is calculated upon for more than a year.
Meanwhile, during our long, lazy stay in this tranquil alpine retreat
of the wilderness, after I had finished my report on Ágades, I began
to study in a more comprehensive way the interesting language of that
place, and in order to effect that purpose had been obliged to make a
sort of treaty with that shameless profligate Zúmmuzuk, who for his
exploits in Ágades had received severe punishment from his master. The
chief conditions of our covenant were, that he was to receive every day
a certain allowance, but that during his presence in my tent he was
not to move from the place assigned him, the limits of which were very
accurately defined—of course at a respectful distance from my luggage;
and if he touched anything I was officially permitted by Ánnur to shoot
him on the spot. Notwithstanding the coolness and reserve which I was
obliged to adopt in my intercourse with this man, I was fully capable
of estimating his veracity, and in the course of my journey and my
researches I convinced myself that in no one instance did he deviate from
the truth.
Going on in this way, I had completed, by the 8th of the month, an exact
and full vocabulary of the Emgédesi language, and could with more leisure
indulge in a conversation with my friend Ámagay, the chief eunuch and
confidential servant of the Sultan of Ágades, who paid me a visit, and
brought me the most recent news from the capital. Affairs were all in the
best state, his business now being merely to arrange a few matters with
Ánnur before the latter set out for Sudán. He informed me that the salt
caravan of the Kél-gerés and Itísan had long ago returned from Bilma,
taking with them our letter to the Sultan of Sókoto, and accompanied by
Mohammed Bóro, who had taken all his children with him except those who
were still attending school. Ámagay had also brought with him the curious
letter from Mustapha, the Governor of Fezzán, which is spoken of by Mr.
Richardson. I treated him with some coffee (which was now with me a very
precious article, as I had but little left), and made him a small present.