The month of November, 1827, brought the wished-for "dry season;" and
with it came a message from the leader of a caravan, that, at the full
of the moon, he would halt in my village with all the produce he could
impress. The runner represented his master as bearing a missive from
his beloved nephew Ahmah-de-Bellah, and declared that he only lingered
on the path to swell his caravan for the profit of my coffers.
I did not let the day pass before I sent an interpreter to greet my
promised guest with suitable presents; while I took advantage of his
delay to build a neat cottage for his reception, inasmuch as no Fullah
Mahometan will abide beneath the same roof with an infidel. I
furnished the establishment, according to their taste, with green
hides and several fresh mats.
True to his word, Mami-de-Yong made known his arrival in my
neighborhood on the day when the planet attained its full diameter.
The moment the pious Mussulman, from the high hills in the rear of my
settlement, espied the river winding to the sea, he turned to the
east, and raising his arms to heaven, and extending them towards
Mecca, gave thanks for his safe arrival on the beach. After repeated
genuflections, in which the earth was touched by his prostrate
forehead, he arose, and taking the path towards Kambia, struck up a
loud chant in honor of the prophet, in which he was joined by the
interminable procession.
It was quite an imposing sight--this Oriental parade and barbaric
pomp. My native landlord, proud of the occasion, as well as of his
Mahometan progenitors, joined in the display. As the train approached
my establishment, I ordered repeated salutes in honor of the stranger,
and as I had no minstrels or music to welcome the Fullah, I commanded
my master of ceremonies to conceal the deficiency by plenty of smoke
and a dozen more rounds of rattling musketry.
This was the first caravan and the first leader of absolutely royal
pretensions that visited my settlement; so I lined my piazza with
mats, put a body-guard under arms behind me, decorated the front with
fancy flags, and opposite the stool where I took my seat, caused a
pure white sheepskin of finest wool to be spread for the accommodation
of the noble savage. Advancing to the steps of my dwelling, I stood
uncovered as the Fullah approached and tendered me a silver-mounted
gazelle-horn snuff-box--the credential by which Ahmah-de-Bellah had
agreed to certify the mission. Receiving the token with a _salaam_, I
carried it reverently to my forehead, and passed it to Ali-Ninpha,
who, on this occasion, played the part of my scribe. The ceremony
over, we took him by the hands and led him to his allotted sheepskin,
while, with a bow, I returned to my stool.
According to "country custom," Mami-de-Yong then began the _dantica_,
or exposition of purposes, first of all invoking ALLAH to witness his
honor and sincerity. "Not only," said the Mussulman, "am I the bearer
of a greeting from my dear nephew Ahmah-de-Bellah, but I am an envoy
from my royal master the Ali-Mami, of Footha-Yallon, who, at his son's
desire, has sent me with an escort to conduct you on your promised
visit to Timbo. During your absence, my lord has commanded us to dwell
in your stead at Kambia, so that your property may be safe from the
Mulatto Mongo of Bangalang, whose malice towards your person has been
heard of even among our distant hills!"
The latter portion of this message somewhat surprised me, for though
my relations with Mongo John were by no means amicable, I did not
imagine that the story of our rupture had spread so far, or been
received with so much sympathy.
Accordingly, when Mami-de-Yong finished his message, I approached him
with thanks for his master's interest in my welfare; and, placing
Ahmah-de-Bellah's Koran--which I had previously wrapped in a white
napkin--in his hands, as a token of the nephew's friendship, I retired
once more to my seat. As soon as the holy book appeared from the
folds, Mami-de-Yong drew a breath of surprise, and striking his
breast, fell on his knees with his head on the ground, where he
remained for several minutes apparently in rapt devotion. As he
rose--his forehead sprinkled with dust, and his eyes sparkling with
tears--he opened the volume, and pointed out to me and his people his
own handwriting, which he translated to signify that "Mami-de-Yong
gave this word of God to Ahmah-de-Bellah, his kinsman." At the reading
of the sentence, all the Fullahs shouted, "Glory to Allah and Mahomet
his Prophet!" Then, coming forward again to the chief, I laid my hand
on the Koran, and swore by the help of God, to accept the invitation
of the great king of Footha-Yallon.
This terminated the ceremonial reception, after which I hastened to
conduct Mami-de-Yong to his quarters, where I presented him with a
sparkling new kettle and an inkstand, letting him understand,
moreover, I was specially anxious to know that all the wants of his
attendants in the caravan were completely satisfied.
Next morning early, I remembered the joy of his nephew
Ahmah-de-Bellah, when I first treated him to _coffee_; and determined
to welcome the chief, as soon as he came forth from his ablutions to
prayers, with a cup distilled from the fragrant berry. I could not
have hit upon a luxury more gratifying to the old gentleman. Thirty
years before had he drank it in Timbuctoo, where it is used, he said,
by the Moses-people (meaning the Hebrews), with milk and honey; and
its delicious aroma brought the well-remembered taste to his lips ere
they touched the sable fluid.
Long before Mami-de-Yong's arrival, his fame as a learned "book-man"
and extensive traveller preceded him, so that when he mentioned his
travel to Timbuctoo, I begged him to give me some account of that
"capital of capitals," as the Africans call it. The royal messenger
promised to comply as soon as he finished the morning lessons of the
caravan's children. His quarters were filled with a dozen or more of
young Fullahs and Mandingoes squatted around a fire, while the prince
sat apart in a corner with inkstand, writing reeds, and a pile of old
manuscripts. Ali-Ninpha, our backsliding Mahometan, stood by,
pretending devoted attention to Mami's precepts and the Prophet's
versus. The sinner was a scrupulous follower in the presence of the
faithful; but when their backs were turned, I know few who relished a
porker more lusciously, or avoided water with more scrupulous care.
Yet why should I scoff at poor Ali? Joseph and I had done our best to
_civilize_ him!
Mami-de-Yong apologized for the completion of his daily task in my
presence, and went on with his instruction, while the pupils wrote
down notes, on wooden slabs, with reeds and a fluid made of powder
dissolved in water.
I am sorry to say that these Ethiopian Mahometans are but poor
scholars. Their entire instruction amounts to little more than the
Koran, and when they happen to write or receive a letter, its
interpretation is a matter over which many an hour is toilsomely
spent. Mami-de-Yong, however, was superior to most of his countrymen;
and, in fact, I must record him in my narrative as the most erudite
Negro I ever encountered.
HIS TRIP TO TIMBUCTOO.
True to his promise, the envoy came to my piazza, as soon as school
was over, and squatting sociably on our mats and sheepskins, with a
plentiful supply of pipes and tobacco, we formed as pleasant a little
party as was assembled that day on the banks of the Rio Pongo.
Ali-Ninpha acted as interpreter, having prepared himself for the
long-winded task by a preliminary dram from my private locker, out of
sight of the noble Mahometan.
Invoking the Lord's name,--as is usual among Mussulmen,--Mami-de-Yong
took a long whiff at his pipe, and, receiving from his servant a small
bag of fine sand, spread it smoothly on the floor, leaving the mass
about a quarter of an inch in thickness. This was his black-board,
designed to serve for the delineation of his journey. On the
westernmost margin of his sand, he dotted a point with his finger for
the starting at Timbo. As he proceeded with his track over Africa
towards the grand capital, he marked the outlines of the principal
territories, and spotted the remarkable towns through which he passed.
By a thick or thin line, he denoted the large rivers and small streams
that intercepted his path, while he heaved up the sand into heaps to
represent a mountain, or smoothed it into perfect levels to imitate
the broad prairies and savannas of the interior. When he came to a
dense forest, his snuff-box was called in requisition, and a pinch or
two judiciously sprinkled, stood for the monarchs of the wood.
Like all Oriental story-tellers, Mami proved rather prolix. His tale
was nearly as long as his travel. He insisted on describing his
reception at every village. At each river he had his story of
difficulty and danger in constructing rafts or building bridges. He
counted the minutes he lost in awaiting the diminution of floods.
Anon, he would catalogue the various fish with which a famous river
teemed; and, when he got fairly into the woods, there was no end of
adventures and hairbreadth escapes from alligators, elephants,
anacondas, vipers, and the fatal tape snake, whose bite is certain
death. In the mountains he encountered wolves, wild asses, hyaenas,
zebras, and eagles.
In fact, the whole morning glided away with a geographical,
zoological, and statistical overture to his tour; so that, when the
hour of prayer and ablution arrived, Mami-de-Yong had not yet reached
Timbuctoo! The double rite of cleanliness and faith required him to
pause in his narrative; and, apologizing for the interruption, he left
a slave to guard the map while he retired to perform his religious
services.
When the noble Fullah got back, I had a nice lunch prepared on a
napkin in the neighborhood of his diagram, so that he could munch his
biscuits and sugar without halting on his path. Before he began,
however, I took the liberty to offer a hint about the precious value
of time in this brief life of ours, whilst I asked a question or two
about the "capital of capitals," to indicate my eagerness to enter
the walls of Timbuctoo. Mami-de-Yong, who was a man of tact as well as
humor, smiled at my insinuation, and apologizing like a Christian for
the natural tediousness of all old travellers, skipped a degree or two
of the wilderness, and at once stuck his buffalo-horn snuff-box into
the eastern margin of the sand, to indicate that he was at his
journey's end.
Mami had visited many of the European colonies and Moorish kingdoms on
the north coast of Africa, so that he enjoyed the advantage of
comparison, and, of course, was not stupefied by the untravelled
ignorance of Africans who consider Timbuctoo a combination of Paris
and paradise. Indeed, he did not presume, like most of the Mandingo
chiefs, to prefer it to Senegal or Sierra Leone. He confessed that the
royal palace was nothing but a vast inclosure of mud walls, built
without taste or symmetry, within whose labyrinthine mesh there were
numerous buildings for the wives, children, and kindred of the
sovereign. If the royal palace of Timbuctoo was of _such_ a
character,--"What," said he, "were the dwellings of nobles and
townsfolk?" The streets were paths;--the stores were shops;--the
suburb of an European colony was _superior_ to their best display! The
markets of Timbuctoo, alone, secured his admiration. Every week they
were thronged with traders, dealers, peddlers and merchants, who
either dwelt in the neighboring kingdoms, or came from afar with
slaves and produce. Moors and Israelites, from the north-east, were
the most eminent and opulent merchants; and among them he counted a
travelling class, crowned with peculiar turbans, whom he called
"Joseph's-people," or, in all likelihood, Armenians.
The prince had no mercy on the government of this influential realm.
Strangers, he said, were watched and taxed. Indeed, he spoke of it
with the peculiar love that we would suppose a Hungarian might bear
towards Austria, or a Milanese to the inquisitorial powers of
Lombardy. In fact, I found that, despite of its architectural
meanness, Timbuctoo was a great central mart for exchange, and that
commercial men as well as the innumerable petty kings, frequented it
not only for the abundant mineral salt in its vicinity, _but because
they could exchange their slaves for foreign merchandise_. I asked
the Fullah why he preferred the markets of Timbuctoo to the
well-stocked stores of regular European settlements on a coast which
was reached with so much more ease than this core of Africa? "Ah!"
said the astute trafficker, "no market is a good one for the genuine
African, in which he cannot openly exchange his _blacks_ for whatever
the original owner or importer can sell without fear! _Slaves, Don
Teodore, are our money!_"
The answer solved in my mind one of the political problems in the
question of African civilization, which I shall probably develope in
the course of this narrative.