Eagerly I broke the seals and tremblingly opened the lid of the tiny
casket, taking out a folded piece of paper covered with lines of Arabic
hastily scrawled in yellow ink. These, in the dim twilight, I
deciphered only with difficulty, and found they read as follows:--
"_Know, O Stranger, now thou hast escaped from the wrath of our lord the
Sultan, that thy presence within the walls of the Fada hath placed
Azala, Princess of Sokoto, in deadly Peril. If thou wilt lend her thine
aid, return, for thou alone canst solve the mysterious symbol of the
asps, rescue her from death, and bring her unto the garden of happiness.
Know, O Stranger, that even though she cannot communicate or have
speech with thee, that she loveth thee; that each hour of thine enforced
absence is as a year, and that the gilded pavilion wherein she dwelleth
is but a house of sorrow because of thy departure. Keep the seal of
silence ever upon thy lips and obey the command of Azala Fathma quickly,
that thine endeavours may be approved. Return unto her speedily in such
disguise that thou canst not be recognised; then will she tear aside the
veil of secrecy and reveal unto thee strange marvels. Pause not in
thine efforts to return, for each day bringeth her nearer unto cruel and
ignominious Certainty. May the rose-grove of thy prosperity and good
fortune be increased daily in freshness and magnificence, and the
foundation of thy belief in the purity of thy One of Beauteous
Countenance be more firmly established from hour to hour.--Thy Friend_."
After the heat and burden of the long African day the respite at
twilight always gives one a sensation of physical solace, yet
nevertheless it brings with it a feeling of intense sadness and
melancholy.
Again and again I read the curious missive. Evidently at Azala's
instigation it had been penned in order to reassure me, and to induce me
to return so that I could assist her in solving the mysterious problem
to which she had hinted so pointedly when we had been alone. But
foreseeing plainly the serious risk I should run if I attempted to
re-enter Kano, and the absolute impossibility of obtaining access to the
innermost courts of the Fada, I regarded the suggestion as utterly
hopeless. Had not the Sultan warned me that if I again set foot within
his empire my life would pay the penalty? Might not his dread of the
mysterious evil that I might bring upon him cause him to take my life,
notwithstanding his daughter's fervent supplications?
Yet Azala was in sore need of help, and sought my aid. Her promise to
"tear aside the veil of secrecy" I felt inclined to construe into a
pledge to render me explanation of the curious marks that both of us
bore. Was it not more than an extraordinary coincidence that with a
thousand miles of arid, stony desert, and a similar distance of fertile
land separating us at our birth, we should each bear the Brand of the
Asps--the mystic symbol the sight of which terrified even the powerful
Ruler of Sokoto.
From the demeanour of both the Sultan and his daughter I felt that the
strange device was the key of some greater secret underlying it, and the
thought of Azala in peril, and trusting in me alone for assistance,
urged me to a resolution to obey the injunctions of my anonymous
correspondent. I had both a stout heart and a strong arm. My true
Bedouin parentage had imparted to me the reckless _nonchalance_ of the
vagabond adventurer, and my life during the past ten years had been a
strange series of nomadic ups and downs, desert wandering, fighting,
slave-raiding, trading; in fact, I had picked up a precarious livelihood
in the same manner as the majority of Sons of the Desert whose camels
are their only wealth, and whose ragged tents their only dwelling-place.
The Mystery of the Asps seemed inexplicable, but in that cool night
beneath the stars in the little open court I made solemn determination
to return to Kano and seek its solution, even though compelled to risk
my life in the attempt.
Until the going down of the sun on the Nahr-el-arba following my arrival
at Kukawa was I the guest of Lamino; then, refreshed by rest, I prayed
my _Fatiha_ in the Great Mosque, and assuming the loose robe of dark
blue cotton, wrapping a white litham around my face and twisting some
yards of camel's hair around my head, set out upon my _meheri_ to
accompany a caravan of Buzawe conveying merchandise to El Fasher, whence
I intended to travel alone back to Omdurman, there to report the
annihilation of my comrades.
In the whole of that vast region from Lake Tsad to El Fasher, comprising
thousands of square miles, there is not a single carriage road, not a
mile of navigable waters, not a wheeled vehicle, canoe or boat of any
kind. There are scarcely any beaten tracks, for most of the routes,
though followed for ages without divergence to right or left, are
temporarily effaced with every sandstorm, and recovered only by means of
the permanent landmarks--wells, prominent dunes, a solitary knoll
crowned with a solitary bush, or perchance a ghastly line of bleached
bones of men and animals, the remains of slaves, camels, or travellers
that may have perished of thirst or exhaustion between the oases. Few
venture to travel alone, or even in small parties, which could offer but
little resistance to the bands of marauders hovering about all the main
lines of traffic. Hence the caravans usually comprise hundreds and even
thousands of men and pack animals, all under a _kebir_, or guide, whose
word is law. Under him are assistants, armed escorts and scouts to
reconnoitre the land in dangerous neighbourhoods, besides notaries to
record contracts and agreements, sometimes even public criers, and an
_imam_ to recite the prescribed prayers.
The caravan, belonging to Abu Talib, a wealthy merchant of Yo, was a
small one, consisting of about one hundred camels heavily laden with
ivory, kola nuts, spices, and other goods from the far south, destined
for the great market at El Fasher, and was guarded by twenty
fierce-looking Arabs and a number of negro and Arab drivers, all well
armed, for the country through which we were to pass was infested by the
marauding Tuaregs, those black-veiled terrors of the plains, who know
nothing of anything but the desert and the implacable sun.
Abu Talib, who accompanied us in person, was an aged, good-hearted man
of the tribe of Aulad Hamed, who had spent the greater part of his life
trading between In Salah and Timbuktu, or between Yo and Mourkouk, over
the boundless Sahara, and in the darkness, as we rode together and our
camels with silent tread loomed like phantoms in the midnight air, we
told each other of our journeys and adventures. His companions were
true sons of the sands, active, vigorous and enterprising, inured to
hardships, and with the mental faculties sharpened almost to a
preternatural degree by the hard struggle for existence in their arid,
rocky homes. In making their way across those trackless solitudes they
seemed endowed with that "sense of direction," the existence of which
has recently been discussed by students of psychology. In the whole of
the Great Sahara no race is more shrewd or cunning than the Buzawe, and
their tact and skill enable them to get the better both of Arabs and
negroes in the markets of the oases. Greed and harshness were stamped
upon their hard features, but nevertheless they treated me, a lonely
wanderer, with considerable kindness.
On leaving Kukawa we passed across a great plain, then through a dense
forest, afterwards entering a fine, undulating country, covered with a
profusion of herbage, with here and there large gamshi-trees with broad,
fleshy leaves of brightest green. The moon shone bright as day, and as
our file of camels strode on with slow, rhythmic movement under their
burdens, the drivers would now and then sing snatches of wild songs of
daring in the Hausa tongue.
Thus, resting by day and journeying by night, we moved forward around
the marshy shore of Lake Tsad to Missene, thence through the cool, shady
forest of Dekena Kreda, enlivened by many birds, along the
densely-populated valleys of Boulala to the strange little town of Amm
Chererib situate in the hollow formed between four great mountains, at
length, when the moon was again at the full, reaching Abecher, at the
foot of the hills of Outoulo, without much exciting incident. Halting
for one day under the fortified walls to fill our camels' _kewas_ with
provisions, we again pushed forward unceasingly in order to accomplish
the two hundred and fifty miles of barren, waterless land unmercifully
scorched and burnt by a devouring sun, that stretches between the
capital of Darmaba and El Fasher. This portion of the journey was the
most difficult we had encountered, for the rough stones played terrible
havoc with the spongy feet of our camels, and the heat was insufferable,
even at night, on account of the poison-wind sweeping across us
continuously. For five days we pushed forward by short stages only,
until at sunrise one day we espied an oasis, and, encamping in the small
shade it afforded, Abu Talib decided to give the animals rest. The
packs were therefore removed, our tents erected, and having eaten our
_dakkwa_, a dry paste made of pounded Guinea-corn with dates and pepper,
washed it down with some _giya_ made of sorghum, we reclined and slept
during the warm, drowsy hours of the siesta.
Some noise had awakened me, and lighting my keef-pipe I was squatting in
the shadow cast by one of the camel's packs, deep in my own sad
thoughts, when the crack of a rifle startled me. Next second, even
before my companions could seize their arms, the whole neighbourhood was
alive with yelling Tuaregs on horseback, armed to the teeth, with their
draperies floating in the wind. I saw they all wore the black litham
about their faces. One, as he advanced on foot, levelled his gun at me
and fired, but missed. In a moment I threw myself full length upon the
sand behind a camel's pack, and opened fire upon our enemies. With
deliberate aim I had picked off three with as many shots, when suddenly
I heard old Abu Talib cry,--
"Lost are we! Our enemies are the Aoulemidens!"
Almost before the words died upon his lips a bullet struck the old man
full in the breast; he staggered back and fell, within a few yards of
me, a corpse. To resist these fierce outlaws, the most relentless tribe
of Tuaregs who lived in the depths of that arid, desolate country, with
no knowledge of the outside world, was, we knew, hopeless, for there
were fully three hundred of them, and as they found our little band
disinclined to surrender, they began shooting us down ruthlessly.
Already four of our party had been captured and bound, while three were
lying dead, nevertheless our rapid fusillade kept at bay those preparing
to dash in and seize our camels' packs.
Fiercely we fought for life. We knew that if we fell into the hands of
this brigandish tribe who called themselves "The Breath of the Wind," by
which their victims were to understand that they might as well seek the
wind as hope to recover their stolen property, we should either be sold
at the nearest market, or placed under some horrible and fiendish
torture to die a slow, agonising death. Suddenly a wild yell rent the
air, and before we were aware of it a troop of some fifty horsemen
dashed in among us, so quickly that resistance was impossible.
Hand-to-hand we struggled, straining every muscle to evade our enemies,
but ere long the obstinate, heroic courage of my companions could no
longer blind them to the approach of the inevitable, and we were each
secured and bound, captives in the hands of the merciless veiled men of
the desert, whose fierce brutality was feared alike by slaves and
Sultans throughout the sun-parched land.
Our arms were twisted from our grasp, our camels' packs seized, and,
linked together ignominiously by chains around our necks, we were
secured to three palm trunks, under a strong guard with loaded rifles,
to wait while our captors investigated their booty and reloaded our
camels. Nearly two hours this occupied, when at length the
grey-bearded, sinister-faced leader of the band of free-booters gave the
order to mount, and before long the party, numbering nearly three
hundred horsemen armed to the teeth, moved away into the sandy
wilderness, compelling us to trudge over the hot, stony ground on foot
under the fiery rays of the blazing sun. It was evident that we were to
be sold as slaves. One unfortunate camel-driver, who had been wounded,
fell from sheer exhaustion within the first hour, and was left to die,
for slave-raiders like "The Breath of the Wind" regard the wounded only
as an encumbrance, and as they will not sell they are either put out of
their misery by a shot, or left to die of thirst and become food for the
vultures. Fortunately, with the exception of a slight cut on the left
hand received from a _jambiyah_ with which one of my captors had slashed
at me, I sustained no injury, and with my companions, a little band of
silent, despairing men, I plodded wearily onward--onward to be sold into
slavery.
Upon all the perpendicular rays of the sun beat down with a heat as
burning and intense as that of a fiery furnace, and always--always for a
horizon--the desert, the infinite breadth of glaring sands.