XIX. DEPARTURE FROM ÁGADES.—STAY IN TIN-TÉGGANA…

XIX. 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.

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.

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XX. FINAL DEPARTURE FOR SUDÁN

Thursday, December 12.—At length the day broke when we were to move on and get nearer the longed-for object of our journey, though we were aware that our first progress would be slow. But before we departed from this region, which had become so familiar to us, I wished to take a last glimpse down the valley towards Tin-téllust, and wandered towards the offshoots of Mount Búnday, which afforded me a fine prospect over the whole valley up to that beautiful mountain mass which forms so characteristic a feature in the configuration of the whole country. The hills which I ascended consisted of basalt, and formed a low ridge, which was separated from the principal mountain mass by a hollow of sandstone formation. Having bade farewell to the blue mountains of Tin-téllust, I took leave of the charming little valley Ofáyet, which, having been a few moments previously a busy scene of life, was now left to silence and solitude.

Late in the morning we began to move, but very slowly, halting every now and then. At length the old chief himself came up, walking like a young man before his méheri, which he led by the nose-cord, and the varied groups composing the caravan began to march more steadily. It was a whole nation in motion, the men on camels or on foot, the women on bullocks or on asses, with all the necessaries of the little household, as well as the houses themselves, a herd of cattle, another of milk-goats, and numbers of young camels running playfully alongside, and sometimes getting between the regular lines of the laden animals. The ground was very rocky and rugged, and looked bare and desolate in the extreme, the plain being strewn for a while with loose basaltic stones, like the Plain of Tághist.

Several high peaks characterize this volcanic region, and after having left to our right the peak called Ebárrasa, we encamped, a little before noon, at the north-eastern foot of a very conspicuous peak called Teléshera, which had long attracted my attention. We had scarcely chosen our ground when I set out on foot in order to ascend this high mountain, from which I expected to obtain a view over the eastern side of the picturesque mass of the Eghellál; but its ascent proved very difficult, chiefly because I had not exerted my strength much during our long stay in this country. The flanks of the peak, after I had ascended the offshoots, which consisted of sandstones, were most precipitous and abrupt, and covered with loose stones, which gave way under my feet, and often carried me a long way down. The summit consisted of perpendicular trachytic pillars, of quadrangular and almost regular form, 2½ ft. in thickness, as if cut by the hand of man, some of them about one hundred feet high, while others had been broken off at greater or less height. It is at least fifteen hundred feet above the bottom of the valley. The view was interesting, although the sky was not clear. I was able to take several angles, but the western flank of the Eghellál, which I was particularly anxious to obtain a sight of, was covered by other heights.

Beyond the branch wady which surrounds this mountain on the south side, there is a ridge ranging to a greater length, and rising from the ground with a very precipitous wall; this was examined by Mr. Overweg, and found to consist likewise of trachyte interspersed with black basaltic stone and crystals of glassy felspar. Having attained my purpose, I began my retreat, but found the descent more troublesome than the ascent, particularly as my boots were torn to pieces by the sharp stones; and the fragments giving way under my feet, I fell repeatedly. I was quite exhausted when I reached the tent, but a cup of strong coffee soon restored me. However, I never afterwards on my whole journey felt strong enough to ascend a mountain of moderate elevation.

Friday, December 13.—Starting rather late, we continued through the mountainous region, generally ascending, while a cold wind made our old friend the chief shiver and regard with feelings of envy my thick black bernús, although he had got bernúses enough from us not only to protect him against cold, but us too against any envious feeling for the little which was left us. Further on, in several places, the granite (which at the bottom of the valley alternates with sandstone) was perfectly disintegrated, and had become like meal. Here the passage narrowed for about an hour, when we obtained a view of a long range stretching out before us, with a considerable cone lying in front of it. Keeping now over rocky ground, then along the bottom of a valley called Tánegat, about half a mile broad, where we passed a well on our right, we at length reached a mountain spur starting off from the ridge on our right, and entered a beautiful broad plain, stretching out to the foot of a considerable mountain group, which was capped by a remarkable picturesquely indented cone called Mári. Here we saw the numerous camels of the salt caravan grazing in the distance to our left; and after having crossed a small rocky flat, we encamped in the very channel of the torrent, being certain that at this season no such danger as overwhelmed us in the valley Éghazar was to be feared. Ámagay, who was still with us, paid me a visit in the afternoon, and had a cup of coffee; he also came the next morning. Near our encampment were some fine acacia-trees of the species called gáwo, which I shall have to mention repeatedly in my travels.

Saturday, December 14.—We started early, but encamped, after a short march of about six miles, on uneven ground intersected by numbers of small ridges. The reason of the halt was that the whole of the caravan was to come up and to join together; and our old chief here put on his official dress (a yellow bernús of good quality), to show his dignity as leader of such a host of people.

Salt forms the only article conveyed by this caravan. The form of the largest cake is very remarkable; but it must be borne in mind that the salt in Bilma is in a fluid state, and is formed into this shape by pouring it into a wooden mould. This pedestal or loaf of salt (kántu) is equal to five of the smaller cakes, which are called áserím; and each áserím equals four of the smallest cakes, which are called fótu. The bags, made of the leaves of the dúm-palm (or the “kábba”), in which these loaves are packed up, are called “tákrufa.” But the finest salt is generally in loose grains, and this is the only palatable salt, while the ordinary salt of Bilma is very bitter to the European palate, and spoils everything; but the former is more than three times the value of the latter. The price paid in Bilma is but two zékkas for three kántus.

In the evening there was “urgí,” or “éddil” (playing), and “ráwa,” or “adéllul” (dancing), all over the large camp of the salt caravan, and the drummers, or “masugánga,” were all vying with each other, when I observed that our drummer, Hassan, who was proud of his talent, and used to call for a little present, was quite outdone by the drummer of that portion of the caravan which was nearest to us, who performed his work with great skill, and caused general enthusiasm among the dancing people. The many lively and merry scenes, ranging over a wide district, itself picturesque, and illuminated by large fires in the dusk of evening, presented a cheerful picture of animated native life, looking at which a traveller might easily forget the weak points discoverable in other phases of life in the desert.

Sunday, December 15.—The general start of the united “aïri,” or caravan, took place with great spirit; and a wild, enthusiastic cry, raised over the whole extent of the encampment, answered to the beating of the drums. For though the Kél-owí are greatly civilized by the influence of the black population, nevertheless they are still “half demons,” while the thoroughbred and freeborn Amóshagh (whatever name he may bear, whether Tárki, ba-Ásbenchi, Kindín, or Chapáto) is regarded by all the neighbouring tribes, Arabs as well as Africans, as a real demon (“jin”). Notwithstanding all this uproar, we were rather astonished at the small number of camels, laden with salt, which formed Ánnur’s caravan; for they did not exceed two hundred, and their loads in the aggregate would realize in Kanó at the very utmost three thousand dollars, which, if taken as the principal revenue of the chief, seems very little. The whole number of the caravan did not exceed two thousand camels.

However enthusiastically the people had answered to the call of the drums, the loading of the camels took a long time, and the old chief himself had remarkably few people to get ready his train; but the reason probably was that he was obliged to leave as many people behind as possible for the security of the country. When at length we set out, the view which presented itself was really highly exciting; for here a whole nation was in motion, going on its great errand of supplying the wants of other tribes, and bartering for what they stood in need of themselves. All the drums were beating, and one string of camels after the other marched up in martial order, led on by the “mádogu,” the most experienced and steadfast among the servants or followers of each chief. It was clear that our last night’s encampment had been chosen only on account of its being well protected all around by ridges of rock; for on setting out to-day we had to follow up, in the beginning, a course due west, in order to return into our main direction along the valley. We then gradually began to turn round the very remarkable Mount Mári, which here assumed the figure shown in the sketch. Further on I saw the people busy in digging up a species of edible bulbous roots called “adíllewan” by the Kél-owí. This, I think, besides the “bába,” or “níle” (the Indigofera endecaphylla) the first specimens of which we had observed two days ago shooting up unostentatiously among the herbage, was the most evident proof that we had left the region of the true desert, though we had still to cross a very sterile tract.

Having changed our direction from south to south-west, about noon we entered the high road coming directly from Ásodi, but which was, in fact, nothing better than a narrow pathway. Here we were winding through a labyrinth of large detached projecting blocks, while Mount Mári presented itself in an entirely different shape. Gradually the bottom of the valley became free from blocks, and we were crossing and recrossing the bed of the watercourse, when we met a small caravan belonging to my friend the Emgédesi Ídder, who had been to Damerghú to buy corn. Shortly afterwards, we encamped at the side of the watercourse, which is called Adóral, and which joins, further downwards, another channel, called Wéllek, which runs close along the western range. Here we saw the first specimens of the pendent nests of the weaver bird (Ploceus Abyssiniacus).

While I was filling up my journal in the afternoon I received a visit from Mohammed Byrji, who had this morning left Tin-téggana; he informed me that the women and the old men whom we had left there had not returned to Tin-téllust, but had gone to Tintághalén. All the population of the other villages in the northern districts of Aír were likewise retreating southwards during the absence of the salt caravan.

Monday, December 16.—On starting this morning we were glad to find some variety in the vegetation; for instead of the monotonous talha-trees, which with some justice have been called “vegetable mummies,” the whole valley-plain was adorned with beautiful spreading addwa- or tabórak-trees (the Balanites Ægyptiaca), the foliage of which often reached down to the very ground, forming a dense canopy of the freshest green. After winding along and crossing and recrossing the small channel, the path ascended the rocky ground, and we soon got sight of the mountains of Bághzen, looking out from behind the first mountain range, from whose southern end a point called Ánfisék rises to a considerable elevation. This higher level, however, was not bare and naked, but overgrown with the “knotted” grass bú rékkebah, and with the addwa- and gawo-tree, while on our left the broad but nevertheless sharply marked peak of Mount Mári towered over the whole, and gave to the landscape a peculiar character. At an early hour we encamped between buttresses of scattered blocks shooting out of the plain, which seems to stretch to the very foot of the Bághzen, and to be noted pre-eminently as the Plain, “erárar.”

In the afternoon I walked to a considerable distance, first to a hill south-west from our camp, from which I was able to take several angles, and then to the well. The latter was at the distance of a mile and a half from our tent in a westerly direction, and was carefully walled up with stones; it measured three fathoms and a half to the surface of the water, while the depth of the water itself was at present little less than three fathoms, so that it is evident that there is water here at all seasons. Its name is Albes. As, on account of our slow travelling, we had been four days without water, the meeting with a well was rather agreeable to us. Between the well and the foot of the mountain there was a temporary encampment of shepherds, who sent a sheep and a good deal of cheese to the old chief.

Here we remained the two following days, in order to repose from the fatigue of our sham travelling! I went once more all over my Emgédesi collection, and made a present to the servants of the mission, of twenty-two zékkas of Bílma dates, which I bought from the people of the caravan; they were all thankful for this little present. I was extremely glad to find that even the Tunisian shushán, when he had to receive orders only from me, behaved much better; and I wrote from his recital a Góber story which, as being characteristic of the imagination of the natives, and illustrating their ancient Pagan worship of the dodó, might perhaps prove of interest even to the general reader. The several divisions of the “aïri” came slowly up; among them we observed the Kél-azanéres, the people of Lúsu, the chief himself having gone on in advance, as I observed above.

Thursday, Dec. 19.—Our heavy caravan at length set out again, the camels having now recovered a little from the trying march over the naked desert which divides the mountainous district of Asben from the “hénderi-Tedá,” the fertile hollow of the Tébu country. It attracted my attention that the shrubby and thick-leaved “allwot” (the blue Cucifera mentioned before) had ceased altogether; even the eternal bú rékkebah began to be scarce, while only a few solitary trees were scattered about. While marching over this dreary plain, we noticed some Tébu merchants, natives of Dírki, with only three camels, who had come with the salt caravan from Bílma, and were going to Kanó; from them we learnt that a Tébu caravan had started from Kawár for Bórnu at the time of the ʿAïd el kebír. The example of these solitary travellers, indeed, might perhaps be followed with advantage by Europeans also, in order to avoid the country of the Azkár and the insecure border districts of the Kél-owí, especially if they chose to stay in the Tébu oasis till they had obtained the protection of one of the great men of this country. For a little while the plain was adorned with talha-trees; but then it became very rugged, like a rough floor of black basalt, through which wound a narrow path, pressing the whole caravan into one long string. At length, at half-past two o’clock in the afternoon, after having traversed extremely rugged ground, we began to descend from this broad basaltic level, and having crossed the dry watercourse of a winter torrent, entered the valley Télliya, which has a good supply of trees, but very little herbage. A cemetery here gave indication of the occasional or temporary residence of nomadic settlers.

On ascending again from the bottom of the valley to a higher level, and looking backwards, we obtained a fine view of Mount Ajúri, at the foot of which lies Chémia, a valley and village celebrated for its date-trees. It was not our fate to see any of those places in Asben which are distinguished by the presence of this tree—neither the valley just mentioned, nor Iferwán, nor Ir-n-Allem; and a visit to them will form one of the interesting objects of some future traveller in this country. Having kept along the plain for an hour, we encamped at a little distance west from the dry bed of a watercourse running from north to south along the eastern foot of a low basaltic ridge, with a fine display of trees, but a scanty one of herbage. I went to ascend the ridge, supposing it to be connected with the Bághzen, but found that it was completely separated from the latter by a depression or hollow quite bare and naked.

This was the best point from whence to obtain a view over the eastern flank of Mount Bághzen, with its deep crevices or ravines, which seemed to separate the mountain mass into several distinct groups; and in the evening I made the sketch of it given here.

However, we had full leisure to contemplate this mountain, which is not distinguished by great elevation, the highest peaks being little more than two thousand feet above the plain; but it is interesting, as consisting probably of basaltic formation. We stayed here longer than we desired, as we did not find an opportunity to penetrate into the glens in its interior, which, from this place seem excessively barren, but are said to contain some favoured and inhabited spots, where even corn is reared. But our companions spoke with timorous exclamations of the numbers of lions which infest these retired mountain passes, and not one of them would offer himself as a companion. The reason of our longer stay in this place was that our camels had strayed to a very great distance southwards, so that they could not be found in the forenoon of the following day. The blame of letting them stray was thrown upon Hassan, whose inferiority as a drummer I had occasion to notice above. How he was punished Mr. Richardson has described; and I will only add that the handkerchief which he paid was to be given to the “serkí-n-kárfi” (“the taskmaster,” properly “the master of the iron” or “of the force”); but the whole affair was rather a piece of pleasantry.

In the morning Mghás, the chief of Téllwa, a fine, sturdy man, mounted upon a strong grey horse, passed by, going southward, followed by a long string of camels; and shortly afterwards a small caravan of people of Selúfiet, who had bought corn in Damerghú, passed in the opposite direction.

Saturday, Dec. 21.—The weather was clear and cheerful, and the sun was warmer than hitherto. We went on, and approached a district more favoured by nature, when, having passed an irregular formation in a state of great decomposition, we reached, about ten o’clock, the valley Unán, or rather a branch wady of the chief valley of that name, where dúm-palms began to appear, at first solitary and scattered about, but gradually forming a handsome grove, particularly after the junction with the chief valley, where a thick cluster of verdure, formed by a variety of trees, greeted the eye. There is also a village of the name of Unán, lying on the border of the principal valley a little higher up, and wells occur in different spots. But the valley was not merely rich in vegetation—it was the richest, indeed, as yet seen on this road—it was also enlivened by man; and after we had met two Íghdalén whom I had known in Ágades, we passed a large troop of Ikádmawen, who were busy watering their camels, cattle, and goats at one of the wells. We also saw here the first specimens of stone houses which characterize the district to which the valley Unán forms the entrance-hall, if I may use the expression. On its western side is an irregular plain, where a division of the salt caravan lay encamped.

Proceeding then, after midday we passed by a low white cone on our left, after which the valley, with its variety of vegetation, and animated as it was by numerous herds of goats, made a cheerful impression. Here the remains of stone dwellings became numerous, and further on we passed an entire village consisting of such houses, which, as I was distinctly informed, constituted in former times one of the principal settlements of the Kél-gerés, who were then masters of all the territory as far as the road to Ágades. The whole valley here formed a thick grove of dúm-palms, and stone houses, entire or in ruins, were scattered all about. About three o’clock in the afternoon we left it for an hour, traversing a rocky flat with a low ridge of basalt ranging on our right, when we descended again into the dúm valley, which had been winding round on the same side, and encamped, at half-past four o’clock in the afternoon, in the midst of very wild and rank vegetation, nourished by an immense torrent, which occasionally rolls its floods along the channel, and which had left, on the stems of the baggarúwa-trees with which it was lined, evident traces of the depth which it may sometimes attain. The bed of the torrent was thickly overgrown with wild melons.

Although there is no well in the neighbourhood, we were to stay here the two following days, in order to give the camels a good feed. A well, called Tánis-n-tánode, lies lower down the valley, but at a considerable distance. The valley itself runs south-westward: by some it is said to join the Erázar-n-Bargót; but this seems scarcely possible. Numerous flocks of wild pigeons passed over our heads the following morning, looking for water. The monotony of the halt was interrupted, in the course of the day, by the arrival of Hámma, who had been to Afasás, and by that of Astáfidet, the young titular Kél-owí chief residing in Ásodi, among whose companions or followers was a very intelligent and communicative man of the name of el Hasár, who gave me a great deal of interesting information. All the eminences in the neighbourhood consist of basaltic formation.

Tuesday, Dec. 24.—We again moved on a little, following the rich valley, which in some places reminded me of the scenery of the Upper Nile, the only difference being that here the broad sandy bottom of the watercourse takes the place of the fine river in the scenery of Nubia. We made a short halt on the road, in order to supply ourselves with water from the well which I mentioned before. About noon the fresh, fleshy allwot, which had not been observed by us for several days, again appeared, to the great delight of the camels, which like it more than anything else, and, having been deprived of it for some time, attacked it with the utmost greediness. Two miles and a half further on, where the valley widened to a sort of irregular plain with several little channels, we encamped; there was a profusion of herbage all around.

It was Christmas Eve, but we had nothing to celebrate it with, and we were cast down by the sad news of the appearance of the cholera in Tripoli. This we had learned during our march, from a small caravan which had left that place three months previously without bringing us a single line, or even as much as a greeting. The eternal bitter “túwo” was to be devoured to-day also, as we had no means of adding a little festivity to our repast. We remained here the two following days, and were entertained on the morning of Christmas Day by a performance of Astáfidet’s musicians. This was a somewhat cheerful holiday entertainment, although our visitors had not that object in view, but merely plied their talents to obtain a present. There were only two of them, a drummer and a flautist; and though they did not much excel the other virtuosi of the country, whose abilities we had already tested, nevertheless, having regard to the occasion, we were greatly pleased with them. Here I took leave of my best Kél-owí friend, Hámma, a trustworthy man in every respect—except, perhaps, as regards the softer sex—and a cheerful companion, to whom the whole mission, and I in particular, were under great obligations. He, as well as Mohammed Byrji, the youthful grandson of Ánnur, who accompanied him on this occasion, were to return hence with Astáfidet, in order to assist this young titular prince in his arduous task of maintaining order in the country during the absence of the old chief and the greater part of the male population of the north-eastern districts. They were both cheerful, though they felt some sorrow at parting; but they consoled themselves with the hope of seeing me again one day. But, poor fellows, they were both doomed to fall in the sanguinary struggle which broke out between the Kél-gerés and the Kél-owí in 1854.

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XXI. THE BORDER REGION OF THE DESERT.—THE TAGÁMA

Friday, Dec. 27.—At length we were to exchange our too easy wandering for the rate of real travelling. Early in the morning a consultation was held with the elder men of the Kél-táfidet, who had come from their villages. We then set out, taking leave of the regions behind us, and looking forward with confidence and hope to the unknown or half-known regions before us. The valley continued to be well clothed with a profusion of herbage, but it was closely hemmed in on both sides; after a march, however, of four miles and a half, it widened again to more than a mile, and began gradually to lose its character of a valley altogether; but even here the allwot was still seen, although of a stunted and dry appearance. We then left the green hollow which is the valley Bargót, and I thought we should now enter upon the Hammáda, or “ténere;” but after a while the valley again approached close on our left. To my disappointment, we encamped even before noon, at the easy northern slope of the rocky ground, where there is a watering-place called Aghálle. The afternoon, however, passed away very pleasantly, as I had a conversation with the old chief, who honoured me with a visit, and touched on many points of the highest interest.

Saturday, Dec. 28.—Starting at a tolerably early hour, we ascended the slope; but no sooner had we reached the level of the plain than we halted, beating the drum until all the different strings of camels had come up; we then proceeded. At first the plain consisted almost exclusively of gravel overgrown with herbage and allwot, with only now and then a rock seen projecting; but gradually it became more pebbly, and was then intersected by a great many low crests of rock, consisting chiefly of gneiss. We gradually ascended towards a low ridge called Abadárjen, remarkable as forming in this district the northern border of the elevated sandy plain which seems to stretch across a great part of the continent, and forms the real transition land between the rocky wilderness of the desert and the fertile arable zone of Central Africa. This sandy ledge is the real home of the giraffe and of the Antilope leucoryx. Just about noon we entered upon this district, leaving the rocky range at less than a mile on our left, and seeing before us a sandy level, broken only now and then by blocks of granite thickly overgrown with the “knotted” grass called bú rékkebah, and dotted with scattered talha-trees. Two miles further on we encamped. A very long ear of géro (Pennisetum typhoïdeum), which was broken from a plant growing wild near the border of the path, was the most interesting object met with to-day, while an ostrich egg, though accidentally the very first which we had yet seen on this journey, afforded us more material interest, as it enabled us to indulge our palates with a little tasteful hors d’œuvre, which caused us more delight, perhaps, than scientific travellers are strictly justified in deriving from such causes. Our caravan to-day had been joined by Gajére, a faithful servant of Ánnur, who was coming from Ágades, and who, though a stranger at the time, very shortly became closely attached to me, and at present figures among the most agreeable reminiscences of my journey.

Sunday, Dec. 29.—When we started we were surprised at the quantity of hád with which the plain began to be covered. This excellent plant is regarded by the Arab as the most nutritious of all the herbs of the desert, for the camel, and in the western part of that arid zone it seems to constitute its chief food. Numerous footprints of giraffes were seen, besides those of gazelles and ostriches, and towards the end of the march those of the Welwaiji, the large and beautiful antelope called leucoryx, from the skin of which the Tuarek make their large bucklers. Further on, the plain presented some ups and downs, being at times naked, at others well wooded and overgrown with grass. At length, after a good day’s march, we encamped. To-day we made the acquaintance of another native of Middle Sudán, the name of which plays a very important part in the nomenclature of articles of the daily market in all the towns and villages. This was the mágaria (called by the Kanúri “kúsulu”), a middle-sized tree, with small leaves of olive-green colour, and producing a fruit nearly equal in size to a small cherry, but in other respects more resembling the fruit of the cornel (Cornus), and of light-brown colour. This fruit, when dried, is pounded and formed into little cakes, which are sold all over Háusa as “túwo-n-magária,” and may be safely eaten in small quantities even by a European, to allay his hunger for a while, till he can obtain something more substantial; for it certainly is not a very solid food, and if eaten in great quantities has a very mawkish taste.

While the cattle and the asses went on already in the dark, the camels were left out during the night to pick up what food they could; but early in the morning, when they were to be brought back, a great many of Ánnur’s camels could not be found. Hereupon the old chief himself set his people an example, and galloping to the spot where their traces had been lost, he recovered the camels, which were brought in at an early hour. Meanwhile, however, being informed how difficult it would be to obtain water at the well before us, in the scramble of people which was sure to take place, I arranged with Overweg that while I remained behind, with Mohammed and the things, he should go on in advance, with the Gatróni and Ibrahim, to fill the water-skins; and we afterwards had reason to congratulate ourselves on this arrangement, for the well, though spacious and built up with wood, contained at the time but a very moderate supply of muddy water for so large a number of men and beasts. Its name is Terguláwen. This locality, desolate and bare in the extreme, is considered most dangerous on account of the continual ghazzias of the Awelímmiden and Kél-gerés, who are sure to surprise and carry off the straggling travellers who, if they would not perish by thirst, must resort to this well. Our whole road from our encampment, for more than seven hours and a half, led over bare, barren sand-hills. The camping-ground was chosen at no great distance beyond the well, in a shallow valley or depression ranging east and west, and bordered by sand-hills on its south side, with a little sprinkling of herbage. The wind, which came down with a cold blast from the north-north-east, was so strong that we had great difficulty in pitching the tent.

Tuesday, Dec. 31.—Last day of 1850. A cold day, and a mountainous country. After we had crossed the sand-hills, there was nothing before us but one flat expanse of sand, mostly bare, and clothed with trees only in favoured spots. The most remarkable phenomenon was the appearance of the feathery bristle, the Pennisetum distichum, which on the road to Ágades begins much further northwards. Indeed, when we encamped we had some difficulty in finding a spot free from this nuisance, though of course the strong wind carried the seeds to a great distance. All our enjoyment of the last evening of the old year centred in an extra dish of two ostrich eggs.

Wednesday, Jan. 1, 1851.—This morning the condition in which the people composing the caravan crawled out of their berths was most miserable and piteous; and moreover, nobody thought of starting early, as several camels had been lost. At length, when the intense cold began to abate, and when the animals had been found, everybody endeavoured to free himself and his clothing from the bristles, which joined each part of his dress to the others like so many needles; but what one succeeded in getting rid of was immediately carried by the strong wind to another, so that all were in every respect peevish when they set out at half-past nine o’clock. Nevertheless the day was to be a very important one to me, and one on which princely favour was to be shown to me in a most marked manner.

I have remarked above that on the day I started for Ágades the old chief made a present of a bullock to the other members of the mission; but in this present I myself did not participate, and I had not yet received anything from him. Perhaps he was sensible of this, and wanted to give me likewise a proof of his royal generosity; but I am afraid he was at the same time actuated by feelings of a very different nature. He had several times praised my Turkish jacket, and I had consoled him with a razor or some other trifle; he had avowedly coveted my warm black bernús, and had effected, by his frank intimations, nothing more than to make me draw my warm clothing closer round my body. In order to bear the fatigue of the journey more easily, he had long ago exchanged the little narrow kígi, or méheri-saddle, for the broad pack-saddle, with a load of salt, as a secure seat.

He was one of the foremost in his string, while I, mounted upon my Bu-Séfi (who, since the loss of my méheri, had once more become my favourite saddle-horse), was riding outside the caravan, separated from him by several strings of camels. He called me by name; and on my answering his call, he invited me to come to him: to do this I had to ride round all the strings. At length I reached him. He began to complain of the intense cold, from which he was suffering so acutely, while I seemed to be so comfortable in my warm clothes; then he asked if the ostrich eggs of yesterday evening had pleased us, whereupon I told him that his people had cheered us greatly by contributing, with their gift, to enable us to celebrate our chief festival. He then put his hand into his knapsack, and drawing forth a little cheese, and lifting it high up, so that all his people might see it, he presented the princely gift to me, with a gracious and condescending air, as a “mágani-n-dári” (a remedy against the cold), words which I, indeed, was not sure whether they were not meant ironically, as an intimation that I had withheld from him the real mágani-n-dári, my black bernús.

We were gladdened when, about noon, the plain became clothed with brushwood, and after a while also with bú rékkebah. Large troops of ostriches were seen—once a whole family, the parents, with several young ones of various ages, all running in single file, one after the other. We encamped at half-past three in the afternoon, on a spot tolerably free from karéngia, where we observed a great many holes of the fox, the fének, or ñauñáwa (Megalotis famelicus), particularly in the neighbourhood of ant-hills. There were also the larger holes of the earth-hog (Orycteropus Æthiopicus), an animal which never leaves its hole in the daytime, and is rarely seen even by the natives. The holes, which are from fourteen to sixteen inches in diameter, and descend gradually, are generally made with great accuracy.

The following day the country during the first part of our march continued rather bare; but after half-past two in the afternoon it became richer in trees and bushes, forming the southern zone of this sandy inland plateau, which admits of pastoral settlements. The elevation of this plain or transition zone seems to be in general about two thousand feet above the level of the sea. We encamped at length in the midst of prickly underwood, and had a good deal of trouble before we could clear a spot for pitching the tent.

Friday, Jan. 3.—Soon after setting out on our march, we met a caravan consisting of twenty oxen laden with corn, and further on passed a herd of cattle belonging to the Tagáma, a most cheerful sight to us. We then encamped, before ten o’clock, a little beyond a village of the same tribe, which, from a neighbouring well, bears the name In-asámet. The village consisted of huts exactly of the kind described by Leo; for they were built of mats (stuore) erected upon stalks (frasche), and covered with hides over a layer of branches, and were very low. Numbers of children and cattle gave to the encampment a lively aspect. The well is rather deep, not less than seventeen fathoms.

We had scarcely encamped, when we were visited by the male inhabitants of the village, mounted upon a small, ill-looking breed of horses. They proved to be somewhat troublesome, instigated as they were by curiosity, as well as by their begging propensities; but in order to learn as much as possible, I thought it better to sacrifice the comfort of my tent, and converse with them. They were generally tall men, and much fairer than the Kél-owí; but in their customs they showed that they had fallen off much from ancient usages, through intercourse with strangers. The women not only made the first advances, but, what is worse, they were offered even by the men—their brethren or husbands. Even those among the men whose behaviour was least vile and revolting did not cease urging us to engage with the women, who failed not to present themselves soon afterwards. It could scarcely be taken as a joke. Some of the women were immensely fat, particularly in the hinder regions, for which the Tuarek have a peculiar and expressive name—tebúllodén. Their features were very regular, and their skin was fair. The two most distinguished amongst them gave me their names as Shabó and Támatu, which latter word, though signifying “woman” in general, may nevertheless be also used as a proper name. The wealthier among them were dressed in black túrkedí and the zénne, the poorer in white cotton. The dress of most of the men was also white, but the chief peculiarity of the latter was, that several of them wore their hair hanging down in long tresses. This is a token of their being Aníslimen, or Merábetín (holy men), which character they assume notwithstanding their dissolute manners. They have no school, but pride themselves on having a mʿallem appointed at their mesállaje, which must be miserable enough. Having once allowed the people to come into my tent, I could not clear it again the whole day. The names of the more respectable among the men were Kílle, el Khassén, Efárret, Cháy, Ríssa, Khándel, and Amaghár (properly “the Elder”). All these people, men and women, brought with them a variety of objects for sale, and I bought from them some dried meat of the welwaiji (Antilope leucoryx), which proved to be very fine, as good as beef; others, however, asserted that it was the flesh of the “rákomi-n-dáwa,” or giraffe.

Hunting, together with cattle-breeding, is the chief occupation of the Tagáma, and they are expert enough with their little swift horses to catch the large antelope as well as the giraffe. Others engage in the salt trade, and accompany the Kél-gerés on their way to Bilma, without, however, following them to Sókoto, where, for the reason which I shall presently explain, they are not now allowed to enter; but they bring their salt to Kanó. In this respect the Tagáma acknowledge also, in a certain degree, the supremacy of the Sultan of Agades. Their slaves were busy in collecting and pounding the seeds of the karéngia, or úzak (Pennisetum distichum), which constitutes a great part of their food. Whatever may be got here is procurable only with money; even the water is sold, the waterskin for a zekka of millet; but of course grain is here very much cheaper than in Aír, and even than in Ágades. Altogether the Tagáma form at present a very small tribe, able to muster, at the utmost, three hundred spears; but most of them are mounted on horseback. Formerly, however, they were far more numerous, till Íbram, the father of the present chief, undertook, with the assistance of the Kél-gerés, the unfortunate expedition against Sókoto (then governed by Bello), of which Clapperton has given a somewhat exaggerated account. The country around is said to be greatly infested by lions, which often carry off camels.

Saturday, Jan. 4.—Our setting out this morning, after the camels were all laden and the men mounted, was retarded by the arrival of a queen of the desert, a beauty of the first rank, at least as regarded her dimensions. The lady, with really handsome features, was mounted upon a white bullock, which snorted violently under his immense burden. Nevertheless this luxurious specimen of womankind was sickly, and required the assistance of the tabíb, or “ne-meglán,” a title which Overweg had earned for himself by his doctoring, though his practice was rather of a remarkable kind; for he used generally to treat his patients, not according to the character of their sickness, but according to the days of the week on which they came. Thus he had one day of calomel, another of Dover’s powder, one of Epsom salts, one of magnesia, one of tartar emetic, the two remaining days being devoted to some other medicines; and it of course sometimes happened that the man who suffered from diarrhœa got Epsom salts, and he who required opening medicine was blessed with a dose of Dover’s powder. Of course my friend made numerous exceptions to this calendary method of treating disease, whenever time and circumstances allowed him to study more fully the state of a patient. However, in the hurry in which we just then were he could scarcely make out what the imaginary or real infirmity of this lady was, and I cannot say what she got. She was certainly a woman of great authority, as the old chief himself was full of kind regard and deference to her. We were rather astonished that he exchanged here his brown mare for a lean white horse, the owners of which seemed, with good reason, excessively delighted with their bargain. At length we got off, proceeding towards the land of promise in an almost direct southerly course. After three miles’ march, the thick bush “dílu” made its appearance in the denser underwood, and the country became more hilly and full of ant-holes, while in the distance ahead of us, a little to our left, a low range became visible, stretching east and west. Suddenly the ground became a rocky flat, and the whole caravan was thrown into disorder. We did not at first perceive its cause, till we saw, to our great astonishment, that a steep descent by a regular terrace was here formed, at least a hundred feet high, which conducted to a lower level—the first distinct proof that we had passed the Hammáda. The vegetation here was different, and a new plant made its appearance, called “ágwau,” a middle-sized bush, consisting of a dense cluster of thick branches of very white wood, at present without leaves, the young shoots just coming out; melons also were plentiful here, but they had no taste. The rocky descent only extended to a short distance towards the west, when it broke off, while on our left it stretched far to the south-east. When we had kept along this plain for a little more than two miles, we passed, a short distance on our right, a large pond, or “tébki,” of water, called “Fárak,” spreading out in a hollow. I had here a long conversation with my frolicsome friend Mohammed Ánnur’s cousin, who was also going to Sudán; I told him that his uncle seemed to know his people well, and showed his wisdom in not leaving such a wanton youngster as himself behind him. He was, as usual, full of good humour, and informed me that Ánnur’s troop was almost the first, being preceded only by the caravan of Sálah, the chief of Égéllat. He prided himself again on his exploits in the late ghazzia, when they had overtaken the Éfadaye marauders in Tálak and Búgarén. Further on we passed the well called Fárak, which was now dry, and encamped two miles beyond it in a district thickly overgrown with karéngias.

Sunday, Jan. 5.—We had scarcely started, when I observed an entirely new species of plant, which is rather rare in Central Negroland, and which I afterwards met in considerable quantities along the north shore of the so-called Niger, between Timbúktu and Tosáye. It is here, in Háusa, called “kumkúmmia,” a euphorbia growing from one and a half to two feet in height, and is very poisonous; indeed, hereabouts, as in other districts of Central Africa, it furnishes the chief material with which arrows are poisoned. The principal vegetation consisted of “árza” (a species of laurel) and dílu; and further on parasitical plants were seen, but not in a very vigorous state. Altogether the country announced its fertility by its appearance, and a little before noon, when low ranges of hills encompassed the view on both sides, and gave it a more pleasant character, we passed, close on our left, another pastoral settlement of half mat and half leather tents, enlivened by numerous cattle and flocks, and leaning against a beautiful cluster of most luxuriant trees. But more cheerful still was the aspect of a little lake or tank of considerable extent, and bordered all around with the thickest grove of luxuriant acacias of the kind called “baggarúwa,” which formed overhead a dense and most beautiful canopy. This little lake is called “Gúmrek,” and was full of cattle, which came hither to cool themselves in the shade during the hot hours of the day. In this pleasant scenery we marched along, while a good number of horsemen collected around us, and gave us a little trouble; but I liked them far better, with their rough and warlike appearance, than their more civilized and degraded brethren of the day before. At about half-past two we encamped on the border of a dry watercourse with a white sandy bed, such as we had not seen for a long time. But here we made the acquaintance of a new plant and a new nuisance; this is the “aidó,” a grass with a prickly involucrum of black colour, and of larger size and stronger prickles than the karéngia (or Pennisetum distichum), and more dangerous for naked feet than for the clothes. A new string of camels joined us here, led on by Mohammed Ánnur.

Monday, Jan. 6.—We were greatly surprised at the appearance of the weather this morning; the sky was covered with thick clouds, and even a light rain fell while the caravan was loading. We felt some fear on account of the salt; but the rain soon ceased. In the course of my travels, principally during my stay in Timbúktu, I had more opportunities of observing these little incidental rainfalls of the cold season, or “the black nights,” during January and February; and further on, as occasion offers, I shall state the result of my observations.

At a little more than a mile from our camping ground, the aspect of the country became greatly changed, and we ascended a hilly country of a very remarkable character, the tops of the hills looking bare, and partly of a deep, partly of a greyish black, like so many mounds of volcanic débris, while the openings or hollows were clothed with underwood. Here our companions began already to collect wood as a provision for the woodless corn-fields of Damerghú; but we were as yet some distance off. Ascending gradually, we reached the highest point at nine o’clock, while close on our right we had a hill rising to greater elevation, and here we obtained an interesting view, just as the sun burst through the clouds, over the hilly country before us, through which a bushy depression ran in a very winding course. Along this tortuous thread of underwood lay our path. As we were proceeding, Ibrahím, our Furáwi freeman, who was a very good marksman for a black, brought down a large lizard (Draconina) “demmó,” or, as the Arabs call it, “wárel,” which was sunning itself on a tree; it is regarded by the people as a great delicacy. A little before noon the country seemed to become more open, but only to be covered with rank reeds ten feet high—quite a new sight for us, and a great inconvenience to the camels, which stumbled along over the little hillocks from which the bunches of reeds shot forth. Further on, the ground (being evidently very marshy during the rainy season) was so greatly torn and rent by deep fissures that the caravan was obliged to separate into two distinct parties. The very pleasant and truly park-like hilly country continued nearly unchanged till one o’clock in the afternoon, when, at a considerable distance on our left, we got sight of the first corn-fields of Damerghú, belonging to the villages of Kulakérki and Banuwélki.

This was certainly an important stage in our journey. For although we had before seen a few small patches of garden-fields, where corn was produced (as in Selúfiet, Áuderas, and other favoured places), yet they were on so small a scale as to be incapable of sustaining even a small fraction of the population; but here we had at length reached those fertile regions of Central Africa which are not only able to sustain their own population, but even to export to foreign countries. My heart gladdened at this sight, and I felt thankful to Providence that our endeavours had been so far crowned with success; for here a more promising field for our labours was opened, which might become of the utmost importance in the future history of mankind.

We soon after saw another village, which several of our companions named Olalówa, and which may indeed be so called, although I thought at the time they applied to it the name of the more famous place further on, with which they were acquainted, and I afterwards convinced myself that such was really the case. The country became open and level, the whole ground being split and rent by fissures. While I was indulging in pleasing reveries of new discoveries and successful return, I was suddenly startled by three horsemen riding up to me and saluting me with a “Lá ílah ilá Allah.” It was Dan Íbra (or Íbram, the “Son of Ibrahím”), the famous and dreaded chief of the Tamizgída, whom the ruler of Tin-téllust himself in former times had not been able to subdue, but had been obliged to pay him a sort of small tribute or transit-money, in order to secure the unmolested passage of his caravans on their way to Sudán. The warlike chief had put on all his finery, wearing a handsome blue bernús, with gold embroidery, over a rich Sudán tobe, and was tolerably well mounted. I answered his salute, swearing by Allah that I knew Allah better than he himself, when he became more friendly, and exchanged with me a few phrases, asking me what we wanted to see in this country. He then went to take his turn with Mr. Richardson. I plainly saw that if we had not been accompanied by Ánnur himself, and almost all our luggage sent on in advance, we should have had here much more serious colloquies.

After having ascended a little from the lower ground, where evidently, during the rains, a large sheet of water collects, and having left on our right a little village surrounded by stubble-fields, we passed along the western foot of the gently sloping ground on whose summit lies the village (“úngwa”) Sámmit. It was past four o’clock in the afternoon when we encamped upon an open stubble-field, and we were greatly cheered at observing here the first specimen of industry in a good sense; for of industry in a bad sense the Tagáma had already given us some proof. As soon as we were dismounted two muscular blacks, girded with leather aprons round their loins, came bounding forward, and in an instant cleared the whole open space around us, while in a few minutes several people, male and female, followed, offering a variety of things for sale, such as millet, beans (of two sorts), and those cakes called dodówa, which were duly appreciated by the late Captain Clapperton for the excellent soup made of them. Of their preparation I shall speak when we meet the first tree of that species, the dorówa, the name of the cake and that of the tree being distinguished by the change of a consonant. The cakes obtained here, however, as I afterwards learned, were of a most inferior and spurious character—of that kind called “dodówa-n-bósso” in Háusa, and in some districts “yákwa.” We felt here the benefit of civilization in a most palpable way, by getting most excellent chicken broth for our supper. Our servants, indeed, were cooking the whole night.

Tuesday, Jan. 7.—There were again a few drops of rain in the morning. Soon after starting, we were greeted by the aspect of a few green kitchen-gardens, while we were still gradually ascending. On reaching the highest level, we obtained a sight of the mountains of Damerghú (“dúwatsu-n-Damerghú,” as they are called), a low range stretching parallel with the road towards the east, while ahead of us, and westward, the country was entirely open, resembling one unbroken stubble-field. Having crossed a hollow with a dry pond and some trees, we had at about eight o’clock a village close on our right, where, for the first time, I saw that peculiar style of architecture which, with some more or less important varieties, extends through the whole of Central Africa.

These huts, in as far as they are generally erected entirely with the stalks of the Indian corn, almost without any other support except that derived from the feeble branches of the Asclepias gigantea, certainly do not possess the solidity of the huts of the villages of Asben, which are supported by a strong framework of branches and young trees; but they greatly surpass them in cleanliness, on account of the large available supply of the light material of which they are built. It is, however, to be remarked that the inhabitants of this district depend in a great measure for their fuel, too, upon the stalks of the Indian corn. The huts in general are lower than those in Asben, and are distinguished from them entirely by the curved top of the thatched roof, which sustains the whole. In examining these structures one cannot but feel surprised at the great similarity which they bear to the huts of the aboriginal inhabitants of Latium, such as they are described by Vitruvius and other authors, and represented occasionally on terra-cotta utensils, while the name in the Bórnu or Kanúri language, “kósi,” bears a remarkable resemblance to the Latin name “casa,” however accidental it may be. It is still more remarkable that a similar name, “kúde,” is given to a cottage in the Tamil and other Asiatic languages.

More remarkable and peculiar than the huts, and equally new and interesting to us, as the most evident symptom of the great productiveness of this country, were the little stacks of corn scattered among the huts, and in reality consisting of nothing but an enormous basket made of reeds, and placed upon a scaffold of thick pieces of wood about two feet high, in order to protect the corn against the “kúsu” and the “gará” (the mouse and the ant), and covered over on the top with a thatched roof, like that of the huts. Of these little corn-stacks we shall find some most interesting architectural varieties in the course of our travels. The “gará,” or white ant (Termes fatalis), is here the greatest nuisance, being most destructive to the corn, as well as to all softer kinds of house-furniture, or rather to the houses themselves. Every possible precaution must be taken against it. The “kúsu,” or mouse, abounds here in great numbers, and of several species: particularly frequent is the jerbóa (dipus) which for the traveller certainly forms a very pleasant object to look at as it jumps about on the fields, but not so to the native, who is anxious about his corn.

While reflecting on the feeble resistance which this kind of architecture must necessarily offer in case of conflagration, particularly as water is at so great a distance, I perceived almost opposite to this little hamlet a larger one, called Mája, on the other side of the road, and shaded by some thorn-trees. From both villages the people came forth to offer cheese and Indian corn for sale. They differed widely from the fanatical people among whom we had been travelling; most of them were Pagans and slaves. Their dress was mean and scanty; this of course is an expensive article in a country where no cotton is produced, and where articles of dress can only be obtained in exchange for the produce of the country. On a field near the path the Guinea-corn was still lying unthreshed, though the harvest had been collected two months before. The threshing is done with long poles. The whole of Damerghú produces no durra or sorghum, but only millet or Pennisetum typhoïdeum, and all, as far as I know, of the white species. Further on, the stubble-fields were pleasantly interrupted by a little pasture-ground, where we saw a tolerably large herd of cattle. Then followed a tract of country entirely covered with the monotonous Asclepias gigantea, which at present is useful only as affording materials for the framework of the thatched roofs, or for fences. It is worthless for fuel, although the pith is employed as tinder. The milky juice (which at present is used by the Pagan natives, as far as I know, only to ferment their gíya, and which greatly annoys the traveller in crossing the fields, as it produces spots on the clothes, and even injures the hair of the horses) might become an important article of trade. The cattle, at least in districts where they have not good pasturage, feed on the leaves of the asclepias.

We were gradually ascending, and reached at about a quarter past ten o’clock the summit of a rising ground the soil of which consisted of red clay. Altogether it was an undulating country, appearing rather monotonous, from its almost total want of trees, but nevertheless of the highest interest to one just arrived from the arid regions of the north.

Having passed several detached farms, which left a very agreeable impression of security and peacefulness, we came upon a group of wells, some dry, but others well filled, where besides cattle, a good many horses were led to water, a cheerful and to us quite a novel sight; many more were seen grazing around on the small patches of pasture-ground which interrupted the stubble-fields, and some of them were in splendid condition—strong and well-fed, and with fine, sleek coats; all of them were of brown colour. But there was another object which attracted our attention; the trough at the well was formed of a tortoise-shell of more than two feet in length, and on inquiry we learnt that this animal, of a large size, is not at all rare in this district. It was already mentioned, as common in these regions, by the famous Andalusian geographer el Bekri.

Villages, stubble-fields, tracts covered with tunfáfia (the Asclepias), detached farms, herds of cattle, and troops of horses tranquilly grazing succeeded each other, while the country continued undulating, and was now and then intersected by the dry bed of a watercourse. Having passed two divisions of the aïr, or aïri, which had preceded us, and had encamped near some villages, we obtained quite a new sight—a large quadrangular place called Dam-mágaji (properly Dan Mágaji, “the Son of the Lieutenant,” after whom it is called), surrounded with a clay wall, spreading out at a short distance on our left, while in the distance before us, in the direction of Zínder, a high cone called Zozáwa became visible. Leaving a village of considerable size on our right, at a quarter to three o’clock we reached a small hamlet, from which numbers of people were hurrying forward, saluting us in a friendly and cheerful manner, and informing us that this was Tágelel, the old chief’s property. We now saw that the village consisted of two distinct groups, separated from each other by a cluster of four or five tsámias, or tamarind-trees, the first poor specimens of this magnificent tree, which is the greatest ornament of Negroland. Our camping-ground was at first somewhat uncomfortable and troublesome, it being absolutely necessary to take all possible precautions against the dreadful little foe that infests the ground wherever there is arable land in Sudán—the white ant; but we gradually succeeded in making ourselves at home and comfortable for the next day’s halt.

The greatest part of the following day was spent in receiving visits. The first of these was interesting, although its interest was diminished by the length to which it was protracted. The visitor was a gallant freeborn Ikázkezan, of a fine, though not tall figure, regular, well-marked features, and fair complexion, which at once bespoke his noble birth; he was clad in a very good red bernús, of the value of seventy thousand kurdí in Kanó, and altogether was extremely neatly and well dressed. He came first on horseback with two companions on camels, but soon sent his horse and companions away, and squatted down in my tent, apparently for a somewhat long talk with me, and he remained with me for full three hours. But he was personally interesting, and a very fine specimen of his tribe, and the interest attaching to his person was greatly enhanced by his having accompanied the expedition against the Welád Slimán, which none of our other friends the Kél-owí had done. On this account I was greatly pleased to find that his statements confirmed and corroborated the general reports which we had heard before. He was all admiration at the large fortification which, as soon as they heard that the Tuarek intended an expedition against them, the Arabs had constructed at Késkáwa, on the shore of Lake Tsád (carrying trees of immense size from a great distance), and where they had remained for two months awaiting the arrival of their enraged foe. He expressed his opinion that nothing but the great God Himself could have induced them to leave at length such a secure retreat and impregnable stronghold, by crazing their wits and confounding their understandings. I also learnt that these daring vagabonds had not contented themselves with taking away all the camels of the Kél-owí that came to Bilma for salt, but, crossing that most desolate tract which separates Kawár or Hénderi Tedá (the Tébu country) from Aír, pursued the former as far as Agwáu.

At the time I conversed with my Ikázkezan friend about this subject I was not yet aware how soon I was to try my fortune with the shattered remains of that Arab horde, although its fate had formed an object of the highest interest to the expedition from the beginning. As for ourselves, my visitor was perfectly well acquainted with the whole history of our proceedings, and he was persuaded that, out of any material, we were able to make what we liked, but especially fine bernúses—an opinion which gave rise to some amusing conversation between us.

This interesting visitor was succeeded by a great many tiresome people, so that I was heartily glad when Overweg, who had made a little excursion to a great pond of stagnant water, at the foot of the hill of Farára, the residence of Mákita, returned, and, lying outside the little shed of tanned skins, which was spread over his luggage, drew the crowd away from my tent. Overweg, as well as Ibrahím, who had accompanied him, had shot several ducks, which afforded us a good supper, and made us support with some degree of patience the trying spectacle of a long procession of men and women laden with eatables, passing by us in the evening towards the camping-ground of the chief, while not a single dish found its way to us; and though we informed them that they were missing their way, they would not understand the hint, and answered us with a smile. Many severe remarks on the niggardliness of the old chief were that evening made round our fire. While music, dancing, and merriment were going on in the village, a solitary “maimólo” found his way to us, to console the three forsaken travellers from a foreign land, by extolling them to the skies, and representing them as special ministers of the Almighty.

Wednesday, Jan. 8.—Aír, or rather Asben, as we have seen above, was originally inhabited by the Góber race—that is to say, the most noble and original stock of what is now, by the natives themselves, called the Háusa nation; but the boundaries of Asben appear not to have originally included the district of Damerghú, as not even those of Aír do at the present day, Damerghú being considered as an outlying province and the granary of Aír. On the contrary, the name of Damerghú (which is formed of the same root as the names Daw-erghú, Gam-erghú, and others, all lying round Bórnu proper) seems to show that the country to which it applied belonged to the Kanúri race, who are in truth its chief occupants even at the present day, the Bórnu population being far more numerous than the Háusa; and though a great many of them are at present reduced to a servile condition, they are not imported slaves, as Mr. Richardson thought, but most of them are serfs or prædial slaves, the original inhabitants of the country. It is true that a great many of the names of the villages in Damerghú belong to the Háusa language, but these I conceive to be of a former date. The district extends for about sixty miles in length, and forty in breadth. It is altogether an undulating country, of very fertile soil, capable of maintaining the densest population, and was in former times certainly far more thickly inhabited than at present. The bloody wars carried on between the Bórnu king ʿAli ʿOmármi on the one side, and the Sultan of Ágades and the Tuarek of Aír on the other, must have greatly depopulated these border districts.

I shall first mention five places which owe their celebrity and importance, not to their size or the number of their inhabitants, but rather to their political rank, being the temporary residences of the chiefs. I name first Kúla-n-kérki—not the village mentioned above as being seen in the distance, but another place, half a day’s journey (“wúëni,” as the Háusa people say) east from Tágelel—of considerable size, and the residence of the chief Músa, who may with some truth be called master of the soil of Damerghú, and is entitled serkí-n-Damerghú in the same sense in which Mazáwaji was formerly called serkí-n-Asben; and to him all the inhabitants of the district, with the sole exception of the people of the three other chiefs, have to do homage and present offerings. Olalówa, about three miles or three miles and a half south-west of Tágelel, is rather smaller than Kúla-n-kérki. It is the residence of Mazáwaji, a man of the same family as Ánnur, who, till a short time before our arrival in Aír, was “amanókal-n-Kél-owí,” residing in Ásodi, in the place of Astáfidet. Though he has left Aír voluntarily, he still retains the title “serkí-n-Kél-owí,” and is a friendly and benevolent old man. Olalówa has a market-place provided with rúnfona, or rúnfas (sheds), where a market is held every Sunday; but it is not well attended by the inhabitants of the other places, owing to the fear entertained of Mazáwaji’s slaves, who seem (mild as their master is) to be disposed to violence. Farára, the residence of Mákita, or Ímkiten, the man who played the chief part during the interregnum, or rather the reign of anarchy in Ásben, before the installation of ʿAbd el Káder, is situated about two miles from Tágelel, on the west side of the road which we were to take, on the top of a hill, at the foot of which is a very extensive lagoon of water, from which the inhabitants of Tágelel also, and of many surrounding villages, draw their supply. Tágelel, the residence of Ánnur, although of small size (the two groups together containing scarcely more than a hundred and twenty cottages), is nevertheless of great political importance in all the relations of this distracted country. Here also I will mention Dankámsa, the residence of an influential man of the name of Úmma, which in a certain respect enjoys the same rank as the four above-named villages.

I will also add in this place the little which I was able to learn about the mixed settlements of Tuarek and black natives between Damerghú and Múniyo. As these places are the chief centres whence proceed the predatory excursions which are carried on continually against the northern districts of Bórnu, information with regard to them is not easily obtained. The chief among them is the principality of Alákkos, or Elákwas, about three (long) days north-east from Zínder, and two from Gúre, the present residence of Muniyóma. The ruling class in this sequestered haunt of robbers and freebooters seems to belong to the tribe of the Tagáma, and the name of the present chief is Abu-Bakr, who can lead into the field perhaps two hundred horsemen. The chief place bears the same name as the whole principality, and besides it there are but a few small places, among which I learnt the name of Dáucha. Alákkos is celebrated among the hungry inhabitants of the desert, on account of its grain, and in the desert-song the verse which celebrates the horse of Tawát is followed by another one celebrating the grain of Alákkos, “tádak Elákwas.”

Quite apart seems to be a place called Gáyim, which is governed by a chief called Kámmedán, and I know not whether another place called Kárbo be comprised in the same principality or not. These are the great haunts of the freebooters, who infest the border districts, from Damerghú to the very heart of Kánem.

Thursday, Jan. 9.—This was the great market-day in Tágelel, on which account our departure was put off till the following day; but the market did not become thronged until a late hour. I went there in the afternoon. The market-place, which was about eight hundred yards distant from our encampment, towards the west, upon a small hilly eminence, was provided with several sheds or rúnfas. The articles laid out for sale consisted of cotton (which was imported), tobacco, ostrich eggs, cheese, mats, ropes, nets, earthenware pots, gúras (or drinking-vessels made of the Cucurbita ovifera and C. lagenaria) and kórios (or vessels made of a fine sort of reed, for containing fluids, especially milk); besides these there were a tolerable supply of vegetables, and two oxen, for sale. The buyers numbered about a hundred.

In the afternoon two magozáwa, or Pagans, in a wild and fanciful attire (the dry leaves of Indian corn or sorghum hanging down from their barbarous headdress and from the leather apron which was girt round their loins and richly ornamented with shells and bits of coloured cloth), danced in front of our tents the “devil’s dance,” a performance of great interest in regard to the ancient Pagan customs of these countries, and to which I may have occasion to revert when I speak about Dodó, or the evil spirit, and the representation of the souls of the dead.

Tágelel was a very important point for the proceedings of the mission, on several accounts; for here we had reached the lands where travellers are able to proceed singly on their way, and here Overweg and I were to part from Mr. Richardson, on account of the low state of our finances, in order to try what each of us might be able to accomplish single-handed and without ostentation, till new supplies should arrive from home.

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Chapter XXII

SEPARATION OF THE TRAVELLERS.—THE BORDER DISTRICTS OF THE INDEPENDENT PAGAN CONFEDERATION.—TASÁWA.

Friday, Jan. 10.—The important day had arrived when we were to separate not only from each other, but also from the old chief Annur, upon whom our fortunes had been dependent for so long a period. Having concealed his real intentions till the very last moment, he at length, with seeming reluctance, pretended that he was going first to Zínder. He confided me, therefore, to the care of his brother Elaiji, a most amiable old man, only a year younger than himself, but of a very different character, who was to take the lead of the salt caravan to Kanó, and he promised me that I should arrive there in safety.

I had been so fortunate as to secure for myself, as far as that place, the services of Gajére, who was settled in Tágelel, where he was regarded as Ánnur’s chief slave, or overseer (“babá-n-báwa”). This man I hired, together with a mare of his, for myself, and a very fine pack-ox for that part of my luggage which my faithful camel, the Bu-Séfi, was unable to carry. Ánnur, I must say, behaved excellently towards me in this matter; for, having called me and Gajére into his presence, he presented his trusty servant, before all the people, with a red bernús on my account, enjoining him in the strictest terms to see me safe to Kanó.

And so I separated from our worthy old friend with deep and sincere regret. He was a most interesting specimen of an able politician and a peaceful ruler, in the midst of wild, lawless hordes; and I must do him the justice of declaring that he behaved, on the whole, exceedingly well towards us. I cannot avoid expressing the sorrow I afterwards felt on account of the step which Mr. Richardson thought himself justified in taking as soon as he had passed from the hands of Ánnur into those of the authorities of Bórnu, viz., to urge the sheikh of that country to claim restitution from the former, not only for the value of the things taken from us by the bordering tribes of the desert, but even of part of the sum which we had paid to Ánnur himself. Such conduct, it appeared to me, was not only impolitic, but unfair. It was impolitic, because the claim could be of no avail, and would only serve to alienate from us a man whom we had succeeded in making our friend; and it was unfair, for, although the sum which we had given to the chief was rather large in proportion to our limited means, we were not compelled to pay it, but were simply given to understand that, if we wanted the chief himself to accompany us, we must contribute so much. I became fully aware of the unfavourable effect which Mr. Richardson’s proceedings in this respect produced, on the occasion of a visit which I paid the old chief in the beginning of the year 1853, when passing through Zínder on my way to Timbúktu. He then mentioned the circumstance with much feeling, and asked me if, judging from his whole behaviour towards us, he had deserved to be treated as a robber.

But to return to Tágelel, when I shook hands with the “sófo” he was sitting, like a patriarch of old, in the midst of his slaves and free men, male and female, and was dividing amongst them presents, such as shawls and turkedies, but principally painted arm-rings of clay, imported from Egypt, and of which the women of these districts are passionately fond. Mr. Richardson being ready to start, I took a hearty farewell of him, fixing our next place of meeting in Kúkawa, about the 1st of April. He was tolerably well at the time, although he had shown evident symptoms of being greatly affected by the change from the fine fresh air of the mountainous district of Aír to the sultry climate of the fertile lands of Negroland; and he was quite incapable of bearing the heat of the sun, for which reason he always carried an umbrella, instead of accustoming himself to it by degrees. There was some sinister foreboding in the circumstance that I did not feel sufficient confidence to intrust to his care a parcel for Europe. I had sealed it expressly that he might take it with him to Kúkawa, and send it off from that place with his own despatches immediately after his arrival; but at the moment of parting I preferred taking it myself to Kanó. All my best friends amongst the Kél-owí were also going to Zínder, in order, as they said, to accompany their master, although only a small part of the salt caravan followed that route. Overweg and I remained together for two or three days longer.

I felt happy in the extreme when I found myself once more on horseback, however deficient in beauty my little mare might be; for few energetic Europeans, I think, will relish travelling for any length of time on camel’s back, as they are far too dependent on the caprice of the animal. We set out at half-past seven o’clock, and soon passed on our right a village, and then a second one, which I think was Dákari, where a noble lady of handsome figure, and well mounted upon a bullock, joined the caravan. She was seated in a most comfortable large chair, which was fastened on the bullock’s back. We afterwards passed on our right the town of Olalówa, situated on a low range of hills. In the lower plain, into which we next descended, I observed the first regular ant-hill. Small groups of corn-stacks, or rumbús, further on, dotted a depression or hollow, which was encompassed on both sides with gently sloping hills. Here I had to leave the path of the caravan with my new companion Gajére, who was riding the bullock, in order to water our two beasts, a duty which now demanded our chief attention every day.

At length we reached the watering-place of Gílmirám, consisting of a group of not less than twenty wells, but all nearly dry. The district of Damerghú must sometimes suffer greatly from drought. The horses and cattle of the village were just coming to be watered; what time and pains it must take to satisfy a whole herd, when we were scarcely able to water our two animals! Passing along through thick underwood, where the “kálgo,” with its large dry leaves of olive hue, and its long red pods similar to those of the kharúb-tree, but much larger, predominated almost exclusively, and leaving the village Maihánkuba on our right, we at last overtook the caravan; for the Ásbenáwa pack-oxen are capable of carrying heavy loads at a very expeditious pace, and in this respect leave far behind them the pack-oxen of the fertile regions of Negroland. We now kept along through the woody region, where the tree “góshi,” with an edible fruit, was most frequent. We encamped in a thickly wooded hollow, when my sociable companion Gajére, as well by the care he took for our evening fire (which he arranged in the most scientific way) as by the information he gave me with regard to the routes leading from Zínder to Kanó, contributed greatly to the comfort and cheerfulness of our bivouac. I first learned from him that there are four different routes from Zínder to Kanó, one route, the westernmost, passing by Dáura; the second, passing by Kazáure; the third, by Garú-n-Gedúnia; the fourth, by Gúmmel (or, as he pronounced it, Gúmiel), gari-n-serki-n-Da-n-Tanóma, this being the easternmost and longest route. Gajére himself was only acquainted with the third route, the stations of which are as follows.

Starting from Zínder, you sleep the first night in Gógo, the second in Mokókia, the third in Zólunzólun, the fourth in Magária, the fifth in Túnfushí, the sixth in Garú-n-Gedúnia, from whence it is three days’ journey to Kanó.

Saturday, Jan. 11.—My people, Gajére, and myself started considerably in advance of the caravan, in order to water the animals at our leisure, and fill the water-skins. It was a beautiful morning, and our march a most pleasant one; a tall sort of grass, called “gámba,” covered the whole ground. Thus we went on cheerfully, passing by a well at present dry, situated in a small hollow, and surrounded with fine trees which were enlivened by numbers of Guinea-fowl and wild pigeons. Beyond this spot the country became more open, and about five miles from the well we reached the pond, or “tébki-n-rúwa Kúdura,” close on the right of our path. It was already partly dried up, and the water had quite a milky colour, from the nature of the ground, which consists of a whitish clay; but during the rainy season, and for some time afterwards, when all the trees which surround it in its dry state stand in the midst of the water, it is of considerable size. There are a great many kálgo-trees here. We also met a small troop of men very characteristic of the country we had entered, being wanton in behaviour and light in dress, having nothing on but short shirts, the colour of which had once been dark blue, and diminutive straw hats, while all their luggage consisted of a small leathern bag with pounded “géro” or millet, some gourd bottles to contain the fura, besides two or three drinking-vessels. One of them, an exceedingly tall fellow, rode a horse scarcely able to carry him, though the cavalier was almost as lean as his Rosinante. Soon afterwards the pond became enlivened by the arrival of a caravan of pack-oxen, everything indicating that we had reached a region where intercourse was easy and continuous.

We remained here nearly two hours, till the “aïri” came up, when we joined it, and soon discovered the reason of their being so long; for in the thick underwood the long strings of camels could not proceed fast, and the stoppages were frequent. We then met another small caravan. At a quarter past four in the afternoon we encamped in a locality called Amsúsu, in the midst of the forest. We were busy pitching the tent, when a body of about sixteen horsemen came up, all dressed in the Tuarek fashion, but plainly indicating their intermixture with the Háusa people by their less muscular frame and by the variety of their dress; and in fact they all belonged to that curious mulatto tribe called Búzu (pl. Búzawe). They were going on a “yáki,” but whether against the Awelímmiden or the Féllani I could not learn at the time; the latter, however, proved to be the case.

The earth hereabouts was filled with a peculiar kind of small worms, which greatly annoyed any person lying on the bare ground, so that I was very fortunate in having my “gadó” with me. A bedstead of some kind is a most necessary piece of furniture for an African traveller, as I have already remarked on a previous occasion; but it should be of a lighter description than my heavy boards, which, notwithstanding their thickness, were soon split, and at length smashed to pieces, in the thick forests through which we often had to pass. Our bivouac in the evening round our fire was exceedingly agreeable, the staid and grave demeanour of my burly and energetic companion imposing even upon the frivolous Mohammed, who at this time behaved much better than usual. Gajére informed me that the direct western road from here to Tasáwa passed by the village Gárari, the pond Úrafa, the well Jíga, and by Birni-n-Tázin, while we were to follow an eastern road. Not far from our encampment, eastward, was a swamp named Tágelel.

Sunday, Jan. 12.—Several camels were missing in the morning, as was indeed very natural in a country like this, thickly covered with trees and underwood. Soon, however, a tremendously shrill cry, passing from troop to troop, and producing altogether a most startling effect, announced that the animals had been found; and a most interesting and lively scene ensued, each party, scattered as the caravan was through the forest, beginning to load their camels on any narrow open space at hand. The sky was thickly overcast, and the sun did not break forth till after we had gone some three or four miles. We passed a beautiful tsámia, or tamarind-tree, which was, I think, the first full-grown tree of this species we had seen, those in Tágelel being mere dwarfs. Having descended a little, we passed at eleven o’clock a small hamlet or farming village called Kauye-n-Sálakh, and I afterwards observed the first tulip-tree, splendidly covered with the beautiful flower, just open in all the natural finery of its colours, while not a single leaf adorned the tree. I think this was the first tree of the kind we had passed on our road, although Overweg (whose attention I drew to it) asserted that he had seen specimens of it the day before; nevertheless I doubt their having escaped my observation, as I took the greatest interest in noting down accurately where every new species of plant first appeared. At four o’clock in the afternoon we saw the first cotton-fields, which alternated with the corn-fields most agreeably. The former are certainly the greatest and most permanent ornament of any landscape in these regions, the plant being in leaf at almost every season of the year, and partly even in a state of fructification; but a field of full-grown cotton-plants, in good order, is very rarely met with in these countries, as they are left generally in a wild state, overgrown with all sorts of rank grass. A little beyond these fields we pitched our tent.

Monday, Jan. 13.—We started at rather a late hour, our road being crossed by a number of small paths which led to watering-places; and we were soon surrounded by a great many women from a neighbouring village called Baíbay, offering for sale, to the people of the caravan, “godjía,” or ground-nuts, and “dákkwa,” a sort of dry paste made of pounded Guinea-corn (Pennisetum), with dates and an enormous quantity of pepper. This is the meaning of dákkwa in these districts; it is however, elsewhere used as a general term signifying only paste, and is often employed to denote a very palatable sort of sweetmeat made of pounded rice, butter, and honey. We then passed on our left the fields of the village, those near the road being well and carefully fenced, and lying around the well, where half the inhabitants of the place were assembled to draw water, which required no small pains, the depth of the well exceeding twenty fathoms. Attempting to water the horse, I found that the water was excessively warm; unfortunately, I had not got my thermometer with me, but resolved to be more careful in future. On passing the village, we were struck by the neatness with which it was fenced on this side; and I afterwards learned by experience what a beautiful and comfortable dwelling may be arranged with no other material than reeds and corn-stalks. The population of these villages consists of a mixture of Mohammedans and Pagans, but I think the majority of the inhabitants are Mohammedans.

After a short interval of woody country, we passed a village of the name of Chirák, with another busy scene round the well. In many districts in Central Africa the labour of drawing water, for a portion of the year, is so heavy that it occupies the greater part of the inhabitants half the day; but fortunately, at this season, with the exception of weaving a little cotton, they have no other employment, while during the season when agricultural labours are going on water is to be found everywhere, and the wells are not used at all. Búzawe are scattered everywhere hereabouts, and infuse into the population a good deal of Berber blood. Very pure Háusa is spoken.

It was near Chirák that Overweg, who had determined to go directly to Tasáwa, in order to commence his intended excursion to Góber and Marádi, separated from me. This was indeed quite a gallant commencement of his undertaking, as he had none of Ánnur’s people with him, and besides Ibrahím and the useful snake-like Amánkay (who had recovered from his guineaworm), his only companion was a Tébu who had long been settled in Asben, and whom he had engaged for the length of his intended trip. At that time he had still the firm intention to go to Kúkawa by way of Kanó, and begged me to leave his things there. He was in excellent health, and full of an enthusiastic desire to devote himself to the study of the new world which opened before us; and we parted with a hearty wish for each other’s success in our different quarters before we were to meet again in the capital of Bórnu; for we did not then know that we should have an interview in Tasáwa.

I now went on alone, but felt not at all depressed by solitude, as I had been accustomed from my youth to wander about by myself among strange people. I felt disposed, indeed, to enter into a closer connection with my black friend Gajére, who was very communicative, but oftentimes rather rude, and unable to refrain from occasionally mocking the stranger who wanted to know everything, and would not acknowledge Mohammed in all his prophetic glory. He called my attention to several new kinds of trees while we were passing the two villages Bagángaré and Tangónda. There was the “baushi,” the “karámmia,” and the “gónda,” the last being identical with the Carica Papaya, and rather rare in the northern parts of Negroland, but very common in the country between Kátsena and Núpe, and scattered in single specimens over all the country from Kanó and Gújeba southwards to the river Bénuwé; but at that time I was ignorant that it bore a splendid fruit, with which I first became acquainted in Kátsena. The whole country, indeed, had a most interesting and cheerful appearance, villages and corn-fields succeeding each other with only short intervals of thick, underwood, which contributed to give richer variety to the whole landscape, while the ground was undulating, and might sometimes even be called hilly. We met a numerous herd of fine cattle belonging to Gozenákko, returning to their pasture-grounds after having been watered, the bulls all with the beautiful hump, and of fine strong limbs, but of moderate size and with small horns. Scarcely had this moving picture passed before our eyes, when another interesting and characteristic procession succeeded—a long troop of men, all carrying on their heads large baskets filled with the fruit of the góreba (Cucifera, or Hyphæne Thebaïca), commonly called the gingerbread-tree, which, in many of the northern districts of Negroland, furnishes a most important article of food, and certainly seasons many dishes very pleasantly, as I shall have occasion to mention in the course of my narrative. Further on, the fields were enlivened with cattle grazing in the stubble, while a new species of tree, the “kírria,” attracted my attention.

Thus we reached Gozenákko; and while my servants Mohammed and the Gatróni went with the camel to the camping ground, I followed my sturdy overseer to the village in order to water the horse; for though I might have sent one of my men afterwards, I preferred taking this opportunity of seeing the interior of the village. It is of considerable size, and consists of a town and its suburbs, the former being surrounded with a “kéffi,” or close stockade of thick stems of trees, while the suburbs are ranged around without any enclosure or defence. All the houses consist of conical huts, made entirely of stalks and reeds, and great numbers of little granaries were scattered among them. As it was about half-past two in the afternoon, the people were sunk in slumber or repose, and the well was left to our disposal; afterwards, however, we were obliged to pay for the water. We then joined the caravan, which had encamped at no great distance eastward of the village, in the stubble-fields. These, enlivened as they were by a number of tall fan-palms, besides a variety of other trees, formed a very cheerful open ground for our little trading-party, which, preparing for a longer stay of two or three days, had chosen its ground in a more systematic way, each person arranging his “tákrufa,” or the straw sacks containing the salt, so as to form a barrier open only on one side, in the shape of an elongated horseshoe, in the recess of which they might stow away their slender stock of less bulky property, and sleep themselves, while, in order to protect the salt from behind, a light stockade of the stalks of Guinea-corn was constructed on that side; for having now exchanged the regions of highway robbers and marauders for those of thieves, we had nothing more to fear from open attacks, but a great deal from furtive attempts by night.

Scarcely had our people made themselves comfortable, when their appetite was excited by a various assortment of the delicacies of the country, clamorously offered for sale by crowds of women from the village. The whole evening a discordant chime was rung upon the words “nóno” (sour milk), “may” (butter), “dodówa” (the vegetable paste above mentioned), “kúka” (the young leaves of the Adansonia, which are used for making an infusion with which meat or the “túwo” is eaten), and “yáru da dária.” The last of these names, indeed, is one which characterizes and illustrates the cheerful disposition of the Háusa people; for the literal meaning of it is “the laughing boy,” or “the boy to laugh,” while it signifies the sweet ground-nut, which if roasted is indeed one of the greatest delicacies of the country. Reasoning from subsequent experience, I thought it remarkable that no “túwo” (the common paste or hasty pudding made of millet, called “fufu” on the western coast), which forms the ordinary food of the natives, was offered for sale; but it must be borne in mind that the people of Asben care very little about a warm supper, and like nothing better than the fura or ghussub-water, and the corn in its crude state, only a little pounded. To this circumstance the Arabs generally attribute the enormous and disgusting quantity of lice with which the Kél-owí, even the very first men of the country, are covered.

I was greatly disappointed in not being able to procure a fowl for my supper. The breeding of fowls seems to be carried on to a very small extent in this village, although they are in such immense numbers in Damerghú that a few years ago travellers could buy “a fowl for a needle.”

Tuesday, Jan. 14.—Seeing that we should make some stay here, I had decided, upon visiting the town of Tasáwa, which was only a few miles distant to the west, but deferred my visit till the morrow, in order to see the town in the more interesting phase of the “káswa-n-Láraba,” or the Wednesday market. However, our encampment, where I quietly spent the day, was itself changed into a lively and bustling market, and even during the heat of the day the discordant cries of the sellers did not cease.

My intelligent and jovial companion meanwhile gave me some valuable information with regard to the revenue of the wealthy governor of Tasáwa, who in certain respects is an independent prince, though he may be called a powerful vassal of the king or chief of Marádi. Every head of a family in his territory pays him three thousand kurdí, as “kurdí-n-kay” (head-money or poll-tax); besides, there is an ample list of penalties (“kurdí-n-laefi”), some of them very heavy: thus, for example, the fine for having flogged another man, or most probably for having given him a sound cudgelling, is as much as ten thousand kurdí; for illicit paternity, one hundred thousand kurdí—an enormous sum considering the economic condition of the population, and which, I think, plainly proves how rarely such a thing happens in this region; but of course where every man may lawfully take as many wives as he is able to feed there is little excuse for illicit intercourse. In case of wilful murder the whole property of the murderer is forfeited, and is of right seized by the governor.

Each village has its own mayor, who decides petty matters, and is responsible for the tax payable within his jurisdiction. The king, or paramount chief, has the power of life and death, and there is no appeal from his sentence to the ruler of Marádi. However, he cannot venture to carry into effect any measure of consequence without asking the opinion of his privy council, or at least that of the ghaladíma or prime minister, some account of whose office I shall have an opportunity of giving in the course of my narrative. The little territory of Tasáwa might constitute a very happy state if the inhabitants were left in quiet; but they are continually harassed by predatory expeditions, and even last evening, while we were encamped here, the Féllani drove away a small herd of ten calves from the neighbouring village of Kálbo.

About noon the “salt” of the serkí-n-Kél-owí arrived with the people of Olalówa, as well as that of Sálah Lúsu’s head man, who before had always been in advance of us. In the evening I might have fancied myself a prince, for I had a splendid supper, consisting of a fowl or two, while a solitary maimólo cheered me with a performance on his simple three-stringed instrument, which, however monotonous, was still expressive of much feeling, and accompanied with a song in my praise.

Wednesday, Jan. 15.—At the very dawn of day, to my great astonishment, I was called out of the tent by Mohammed, who told me that Fárraji, Lúsu’s man, our companion from Ghát, had suddenly arrived from Zínder with three or four Bórnu horsemen, and had express orders with regard to me. However, when I went out to salute him, he said nothing of his errand, but simply told me that he wanted first to speak to Elaíji, the chief of the caravan. I therefore went to the latter myself to know what was the matter, and learnt from the old man that though he was not able to make out all the terms of the letters of which Fárraji was the bearer, one of which was written by the sheríf, and the other by Lúsu, he yet understood that the horsemen had come with no other purpose but to take me and Overweg to Zínder, without consulting our wishes, and that the sheríf as well as Lúsu had instructed him to send us off in company with these fellows, but that they had also a letter for Ánnur, who ought to be consulted. As for himself, the old man (well aware of the real state of affairs, and that the averment of a letter having arrived from the consul at Tripoli, to the effect that till further measures were taken with regard to our recent losses we ought to stay in Bórnu, was a mere sham and fabrication) declared that he would not force us to do anything against our inclination, but that we ought to decide ourselves what was best to be done.

Having, therefore, a double reason for going to Tasáwa, I set out as early as possible, accompanied by my faithless, wanton Tunisian shushán, and by my faithful, sedate Tageláli overseer. The path leading through the suburbs of Gozenákko was well fenced, in order to prevent any violation of property; whereas on the western side of the village there was scarcely any cultivated ground, and we soon entered upon a wilderness where the “dúmmia” and the “karása” were the principal plants, when, after a march of a little more than three miles, the wild thicket again gave way to cultivated fields, and the town of Tasáwa appeared in the distance, or rather (as is generally the case in these countries, where the dwellings are so low, and where almost all the trees round the towns are cut down, for strategical as well as economical reasons) the fine shady trees in the interior of the town were seen, which make it a very cheerful place. After two miles more, we reached the suburbs, and, crossing them, kept along the outer ditch which runs round the stockade of the town, in order to reach Al Wáli’s house, under whose special protection I knew that Mr. Overweg had placed himself.

My friend’s quarters, into which we were shown, were very comfortable, although rather narrow. They consisted of a courtyard, fenced with mats made of reeds, and containing a large shed, or “runfá,” likewise built of mats and stalks, and a tolerably spacious hut, the walls built of clay (“bángo”), but with a thatched roof (“shíbki”). The inner part of it was guarded by a cross wall from the prying of indiscreet eyes.

Overweg was not a little surprised on hearing the recent news, and we sent for el Wákhshi, our Ghadámsi friend from Tin-téggana, in order to consult him, as one who had long resided in these countries, and who, we had reason to hope, would be uninfluenced by personal considerations. He firmly pronounced his opinion that we ought not to go, and afterwards, when Fárráji called Mánzo and Al Wáli to his aid, entered into a violent dispute with these men, who advised us to go; but he went too far in supposing that the letter had been written with a malicious intention. For my part, I could well imagine that the step was authorized by the Sheikh of Bórnu, or at least by his vizier, who might have heard long ago of our intention to go to Kanó, as it had been even Mr. Richardson’s intention to go there, which indeed he ought to have done in conformity with his written obligations to Mohammed eʾ Sfáksi; they might therefore have instructed the sheríf to do what he might think fit to prevent us from carrying out our purpose. However, it seemed not improbable that Lúsu had something to do with the affair. But it was absolutely necessary for Mr. Overweg and myself, or for one of us at least, to go to Kanó, as we had several debts to pay, and were obliged to sell the little merchandise we had with us, in order to settle our affairs.

We were still considering the question, when we were informed that our old protector the chief Ánnur had just arrived from Zínder; and I immediately determined to go to see him in his own domain at Náchira, situated at a little more than a mile north-east from Tasáwa. In passing through the town I crossed the market-place, which at that time, during the hot hours of the day, was very well frequented, and presented a busy scene of the highest interest to a traveller emerging from the desert, and to which the faint sparks of life still to be observed in Ágades cannot be compared. A considerable number of cattle were offered for sale, as well as six camels, and the whole market was surrounded by continuous rows of runfás or sheds; but provisions and ready-dressed food formed the staple commodity, and scarcely anything of value was to be seen. On leaving the town I entered an open country covered with stubble-fields, and soon reached that group of Náchira where the chief had fixed his quarters. In front of the yard was a most splendid tamarind-tree, such as I had not yet seen. Leaving my horse in its shade, I entered the yard, accompanied by Gajére, and looked about for some time for the great man, when at length we discovered him under a small shed, or runfá, of a conical form, so low that we had passed it without noticing the people collected in its shade. There he lay, surrounded by his attendants, as was his custom in general when reposing in the daytime, with no clothing but his trousers, while his shirt, rolled up, formed a pillow to rest his left arm upon. He did not seem to be in the best humour—at least he did not say a single cheerful word to me; and though it was the very hottest time of the day, he did not offer me as much as a draught of water. I had expected to be treated to a bowl of well-soaked “fura” seasoned with cheese. But what astonished me more than his miserly conduct (which was rather familiar to me) was that I learned from his own mouth that he had not been to Zínder at all, whither we had been assured he had accompanied Mr. Richardson, but that he had spent all the time in Tágelel, from which place he had now come direct. I was therefore the more certain that Lúsu had some part in the intrigues. Ánnur, who had not yet received the letter addressed to him from Zínder, knew nothing about it, and merely expressed his surprise that such a letter had been written, without adding another word.

Seeing the old chief in a very cheerless humour, I soon left him, and took a ramble with Gajére over the place. The estate is very extensive, and consists of a great many clusters of huts scattered over the fields, while isolated dúm-palms give to the whole a peculiar feature. The people, all followers and mostly domestic slaves of Ánnur, seemed to live in tolerable ease and comfort, as far as I was able to see, my companion introducing me into several huts. Indeed, every candid person, however opposed to slavery he may be, must acknowledge that the Tuarek in general, and particularly the Kél-owí, treat their slaves not only humanely, but even with the utmost indulgence and affability, and scarcely let them feel their bondage at all. Of course there are exceptions, as the cruelty of yoking slaves to a plough, and driving them on with a whip (which I had witnessed in Aúderas), is scarcely surpassed in any of the Christian slave-states; but these exceptions are extremely rare.

When I returned from my ramble, Mr. Overweg had also arrived, and the old chief had received the letter; and though neither he nor any of his people could read it, he was fully aware of its contents, and disapproved of it entirely, saying that we should act freely, and according to the best of our knowledge. I then returned with my countryman into the town, and remained some time with him. In front of his dwelling was encamped the natron caravan of Al Wáli, which in a few days was to leave for Núpe, or (as the Háusa people say) Nýffi. We shall have to notice very frequently this important commerce, which is carried on between the shores of the Tsád and Nýffi.

I left the town at about five o’clock, and feeling rather hungry on reaching the encampment in Gozenákko, to the great amusement of our neighbours, parodying the usual salute of “Iná labári” (What is the news?) I asked my people immediately the news of our cooking-pot, “Iná labári-n-tokónia” (What news of the pot?) I was greatly pleased with my day’s excursion, for Tasáwa was the first large place of Negroland proper which I had seen, and it made the most cheerful impression upon me, as manifesting everywhere the unmistakable marks of the comfortable, pleasant sort of life led by the natives: the courtyard fenced with a “dérne” of tall reeds, excluding to a certain degree the eyes of the passer-by, without securing to the interior absolute secrecy; then near the entrance the cool shady place of the “runfá,” for ordinary business and for the reception of strangers, and the “gída,” partly consisting entirely of reed (“dáki-n-kára”) of the best wickerwork, partly built of clay in its lower parts (“bóngo”), while the roof consists of reeds only (“shíbki”), but of whatever material it may consist, it is warm and well adapted for domestic privacy, the whole dwelling shaded with spreading trees, and enlivened with groups of children, goats, fowls, pigeons, and, where a little wealth had been accumulated, a horse or a pack-ox.

With this character of the dwellings, that of the inhabitants themselves is in entire harmony, its most constant element being a cheerful temperament, bent upon enjoying life, rather given to women, dance, and song, but without any disgusting excess. Everybody here finds his greatest happiness in a comely lass, and as soon as he makes a little profit he adds a young wife to his elder companion in life, yet a man has rarely more than two wives at a time. Drinking fermented liquor cannot be strictly reckoned a sin in a place where a great many of the inhabitants are Pagans; but a drunken person, nevertheless, is scarcely ever seen; those who are not Mohammedans only indulge in their “gíya,” made of sorghum, just enough to make them merry and enjoy life with more light-heartedness. There was at that time a renegade Jew in the place, called Músa, who made spirits of dates and tamarinds for his own use. Their dress is very simple, consisting, for the man, of a wide shirt and trousers, mostly of a dark colour, while the head is generally covered with a light cap of cotton cloth, which is negligently worn, in all sorts of fashions. Others wear a rather closely fitting cap of green cloth, called báki-n-záki. Only the wealthier amongst them can afford the “zénne,” or shawl, thrown over the shoulder like the plaid of the Highlanders. On their feet the richer class wear very neat sandals, such as we shall describe among the manufactures of Kanó.

As for the women, their dress consists almost entirely of a large cotton cloth, also of dark colour—the “túrkedi,” fastened under or above the breast—the only ornament of the latter in general consisting of some strings of glass beads worn round the neck. The women are tolerably handsome, and have pleasant features; but they are worn out by excessive domestic labour, and their growth never attains full and vigorous proportions. They do not bestow so much care upon their hair as the Féllani or some of the Bagírmi people.

There are in the town a good many “Búzawe,” or Tuarek half-castes, who distinguish themselves in their dress principally by the “ráwani,” or tesílgemíst (the lithám), of white or black colour, which they wind round their head in the same way as the Kél-owí; but their mode of managing the tuft of hair left on the top of the head is not always the same, some wearing their curled hair all over the crown of the head, while others leave only a long tuft, which was the old fashion of the Zenágha. The Pagan inhabitants of this district wear, in general, only a leathern apron (“wuélki”); but, with the exception of young children, none are seen here quite naked. The town was so busy, and seemed so well inhabited, that on the spot I estimated its population at fifteen thousand; but this estimate is probably too high.

Thursday, Jan. 16.—We still remained near Gozenákko, and I was busy studying Temáshight, after which I once more went over the letter of the Sheríf el Fási, Háj Beshír’s agent in Zínder; and having become fully aware of the dictatorial manner in which he had requested Elaíji to forward me and Mr. Overweg to him (just as a piece of merchandise), without asking our consent, I sat down to write him a suitable answer, assuring him that, as I was desirous of paying my respects to the son of Mohammed el Kánemi and his enlightened vizier, I would set out for their residence as soon as I had settled my affairs in Kanó, and that I was sure of attaining my ends without his intervention, as I had not the least desire to visit him.

This letter, as subsequent events proved, grew into importance, for the sheríf, being perplexed by its tone, sent it straight on to Kúkawa, where it served to introduce me at once to the sheikh and his vizier. But the difficulty was to send it off with the warlike messengers who had brought the sheríf’s letters, as they would not go without us, and swore that their orders, from the sheríf as well as from Serk’ Ibrám, were so peremptory that they should be utterly disgraced if they returned empty-handed. At length, after a violent dispute with Fárráji and these warlike-looking horsemen, the old chief, who took my part very fairly, finished the matter by plainly stating that if we ourselves, of our own free will, wanted to go, we might do so, but if we did not wish to go, instead of forcing us, he would defend us against anybody who should dare to offer us violence. Nevertheless the messengers would not depart, and it seemed impossible to get rid of them till I made each of them a present of two mithkáls, when they mounted their horses with a very bad grace, and went off with my letter. The energetic and straightforward but penurious old chief left us in the afternoon, and rode to Kálgo, a village at no great distance.

Friday, Jan. 17.—Still another day of halt, in order, as I was told, to allow Háj ʿAbdúwa’s salt caravan to come up and join us. Being tired of the camp, I once more went into the town to spend my day usefully and pleasantly; leaving all my people behind, I was accompanied by some of my fellow-travellers of the caravan. Arriving at Overweg’s quarters, what was my surprise to find Fárráji not yet gone, but endeavouring to persuade my companion, with all the arts of his barbarous eloquence, that though I should not go, he at least might, in which case he would be amply rewarded with the many fine things which had been prepared in Zínder for our reception. The poor fellow was greatly cast down when he saw me, and soon made off in very bad humour, while I went with Overweg to el Wákhshi, who was just occupied in that most tedious of all commercial transactions in these countries, namely, the counting of shells; for in all these inland countries of Central Africa the cowries, or kurdí (Cypræa moneta), are not, as is customary in some regions near the coast, fastened together in strings of one hundred each, but are separate, and must be counted one by one. Even those “tákrufa” (or sacks made of rushes), containing twenty thousand kurdí each, as the governors of the towns are in the habit of packing them up, no private individual will receive without counting them out. The general custom in so doing is to count them by fives, in which operation some are very expert, and then, according to the amount of the sum, to form heaps of two hundred (or ten háwiyas[13]) or a thousand each. Having at length succeeded, with the help of some five or six other people, in the really heroic work of counting five hundred thousand shells, our friend went with us to the sick Sultan Mazáwaji; I say Sultan, as it is well for a traveller to employ these sounding titles of petty chiefs, which have become naturalized in the country from very ancient times, although it is very likely that foreign governments would be unwilling to acknowledge them. The poor fellow, who was living in a hut built half of mud, half of reeds, was suffering under a dreadful attack of dysentery, and looked like a spectre; fortunately my friend succeeded in bringing on perspiration with some hot tea and a good dose of peppermint, in the absence of stronger medicines. We then went to the house of Amánkay, that useful fellow so often mentioned in the Journal of the late Mr. Richardson, and by myself. He was a “búzu” of this place, and had many relatives here, all living near him. His house was built in the general style, but the interior of the courtyard was screened from profane eyes. Fortunately I had taken with me some small things, such as mirrors, English darning-needles, and some knives, so that I was able to give a small present to each of his kinsmen and relatives, while he treated us with a calabash of fura.

In the afternoon we strolled a long time about the market, which, not being so crowded as the day before yesterday, was on that account far more favourable for observation. Here I first saw and tasted the bread made of the fruit of the magária-tree, and called “túwo-n-magária,” which I have mentioned before, and was not a little astonished to see whole calabashes filled with roasted locusts (“fará”), which occasionally form a considerable part of the food of the natives, particularly if their grain has been destroyed by this plague, as they can then enjoy not only the agreeable flavour of the dish, but also take a pleasant revenge on the ravagers of their fields. Every open space in the midst of the market-place was occupied by a fireplace (“maidéffa”) on a raised platform, on which diminutive morsels of meat, attached to a small stick, were roasting, or rather stewing, in such a way that the fat, trickling down from the richer pieces attached to the top of the stick, basted the lower ones. These dainty bits were sold for a single shell, or “urí,”[14] each. I was much pleased at recognizing the red cloth which had been stolen from my bales in the valley of Afís, and which was exposed here for sale. But the most interesting thing in the town was the “máriná” (the dyeing-place), near the wall, consisting of a raised platform of clay with fourteen holes or pits, in which the mixture of indigo is prepared, and the cloths remain for a certain length of time, from one to seven days, according to the colour which they are to attain. It is principally this dyeing, I think, which gives to many parts of Negroland a certain tincture of civilization, a civilization which it would be highly interesting to trace, if it were possible, through all the stages of its development.

While rambling about, Overweg and I for a while were greatly annoyed by a tall fellow, very respectably and most picturesquely dressed, who professed himself to be a messenger from the governor of Kátsena, sent to offer us his compliments and to invite us to go to him. Though the thing was not altogether impossible, it looked rather improbable; and having thanked him profusely for his civility, we at length succeeded in getting rid of him. In the evening I returned to our camping ground with Ídder, the Emgédesi man mentioned in a preceding part of my narrative, and was very glad to receive reliable information that we were to start the following day.

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XXIII. GAZÁWA.—RESIDENCE IN KÁTSENA

Saturday, Jan. 18.—We made a good start with our camels, which, having been treated to a considerable allowance of salt on the first day of our halt, had made the best possible use of these four days’ rest to recruit their strength. At the considerable village of Kálgo, which we passed at a little less than five miles beyond our encampment, the country became rather hilly, but only for a short distance. Tamarinds constituted the greatest ornament of the landscape. A solitary traveller attracted our notice on account of his odd attire, mounted as he was on a bullock with three large pitchers on each side. Four miles beyond Kálgo the character of the country became suddenly changed, and dense groups of dúm-palms covered the ground. But what pleased me more than the sight of these slender forked trees was when, half an hour after mid-day, I recognized my splendid old friend the bóre-tree, of the valley Bóghel, which had excited my surprise in so high a degree, and the magnificence of which at its first appearance was not at all eclipsed by this second specimen in the fertile regions of Negroland. Soon afterwards we reached the fáddama of Gazáwa; and, leaving the town on our right hidden in the thick forest, we encamped a little further on in an open place, which was soon crowded with hucksters and retailers. I was also pestered with a visit from some half-caste Arabs settled in the town; but fortunately, seeing that they were likely to wait in vain for a present, they went off, and were soon succeeded by a native mʿallem from the town, whose visit was most agreeable to me.

About sunset the “serkí-n-turáwa,” or consul of the Arabs, came to pay his regards to Elaíji, and introduced the subject of a present, which, as he conceived, I ought to make to the governor of the town as a sort of passage-money; my protector, however, would not listen to the proposal, but merely satisfied his visitor’s curiosity by calling me into his presence and introducing him to me. The serkí was very showily and picturesquely dressed—in a green and white striped tobe, wide trousers of a speckled pattern and colour, like the plumage of the Guinea-fowl, with an embroidery of green silk in front of the legs. Over this he wore a gaudy red bernús, while round his red cap a red and white turban was wound crosswise in a very neat and careful manner. His sword was slung over his right shoulder by means of thick hangers of red silk ornamented with enormous tassels. He was mounted on a splendid charger, the head and neck of which was most fancifully ornamented with a profusion of tassels, bells, and little leather pockets containing charms, while from under the saddle a shabrack peeped out, consisting of little triangular patches in all the colours of the rainbow.

This little African dandy received me with a profusion of the finest compliments, pronounced with the most refined and sweet accent of which the Háusa language is capable. When he was gone my old friend Elaíji informed me that he had prevented the “consul of the Arabs” from exacting a present from me, and begged me to acknowledge his service by a cup of coffee, which of course I granted him with all my heart. Poor old Elaíji! He died in the year 1854, in the forest between Gazáwa and Kátsena, where from the weakness of age he lost his way when left alone. He has left on my memory an image which I shall always recall with pleasure. He was certainly the most honourable and religious man among the Kél-owí.

The market in our encampment, which continued till nightfall, reached its highest pitch at sunset, when the people of the town brought ready-made “túwo,” each dish, with rather a small allowance, selling for three kurdí, or not quite the fourth part of a farthing. I, however, was happy in not being thrown upon this three-kurdí supper; and while I indulged in my own home-made dish, Gajére entertained me with the narrative of a nine days’ siege, which the warlike inhabitants of Gazáwa had sustained, ten years previously, against the whole army of the famous Bello.

Sunday, Jan. 19.—We remained encamped, and my day was most agreeably and usefully spent in gathering information with regard to the regions which I had just entered. There was first Maʿadi, the slave of Ánnur, a native of Bórnu, who when young had been made prisoner by the Búdduma of the lake, and had resided three years among these interesting people, till having fallen into the hands of the Welád Slimán, then in Kánem, he at length, on the occasion of the great expedition of the preceding year, had fallen into the power of the Kél-owí. Although he owed the loss of his liberty to the freebooting islanders, he was nevertheless a great admirer of theirs, and a sincere vindicator of their character. He represented them as a brave and high-spirited people, who made glorious and successful inroads upon the inhabitants of the shores of the lake with surprising celerity, while at home they were a pious and God-fearing race, and knew neither theft nor fraud among themselves. He concluded his eloquent eulogy of this valorous nation of pirates by expressing his fervent hope that they might for ever preserve their independence against the ruler of Bórnu.

I then wrote, from the mouth of Gajére and Yáhia (another of my friends), a list of the places lying round about Gazáwa, as follows: On the east side, Mádobí, Maíjirgí, Kógena na kay-debu, Kórmasa, Kórgom, Kánche (a little independent principality); Gumdá, half a day east of Gazáwa, with numbers of Ásbenáwa; Démbeda, or Dúmbida, at less distance; Shabáli, Babíl, Túrmeni, Gínga, Kandémka, Sabó-n-kefí, Zángoni-n-ákwa, Kúrni, Kurnáwa, Dángudaw. On the west side, where the country is more exposed to the inroads of the Fúlbe or Féllani, there is only one place of importance, called Tindúkku, which name seems to imply a close relation to the Tuarek. All these towns and villages are said to be in a certain degree dependent on Raffa, the “babá” (i.e. great man or chief) of Gazáwa, who, however, himself owes allegiance to the supreme ruler of Marádi.

There was an exciting stir in the encampment at about ten o’clock in the morning, illustrative of the restless struggle going on in these regions. A troop of about forty horsemen, mostly well mounted, led on by the serkí-n-Gumdá, and followed by a body of tall, slender archers, quite naked but for their leathern aprons, passed through the different rows of the áïri, on their way to join the expedition which the prince of Marádi was preparing against the Féllani.

About noon the natron caravan of Háj Al Wáli, which I had seen in Tasáwa, came marching up in solemn order, led on by two drums, and affording a pleasant specimen of the character of the Háusa people. Afterwards I went into the town, which was distant from my tent about half a mile. Being much exposed to attacks from the Mohammedans, as the southernmost Pagan place belonging to the Marádi-Góber Union, Gazáwa has no open suburbs outside its strong stockade, which is surrounded by a deep ditch. It forms almost a regular quadrangle, having a gate on each side, built of clay, which gives to the whole fortification a more regular character, besides the greater strength which the place derives from this precaution. Each gateway is twelve feet deep, and furnished on its top with a rampart sufficiently capacious for about a dozen archers. The interior of the town is almost of the same character as Tasáwa; but Gazáwa is rather more closely built, though I doubt whether its circumference exceeds that of the former place. The market is held every day, but, as might be supposed, is far inferior to that of Tasáwa, which is a sort of little entrepôt for the merchants coming from the north, and affords much more security than Gazáwa, which, though an important place with regard to the struggle carried on between Paganism and Islamism in these quarters, is not so with respect to commerce. The principal things offered for sale were cattle, meat, vegetables of different kinds, and earthenware pots. Gazáwa has also a máriná, or dyeing-place, but of less extent than that of Tasáwa, as most of its inhabitants are Pagans, and wear no clothing but the leathern apron. Their character appeared to me to be far more grave than that of the inhabitants of Tasáwa, and this is a natural consequence of the precarious position in which they are placed, as well as of their more warlike disposition. The whole population is certainly not less than ten thousand.

Having visited the market, I went to the house of the mʿallem, where I found several Ásbenáwa belonging to our caravan enjoying themselves in a very simple manner, eating the fruits of the kaña, which are a little larger than cherries, but not so soft and succulent. The mʿallem, as I had an opportunity of learning on this occasion, is a protégé of Elaíji, to whom the house belongs. Returning with my companions to our encampment, I witnessed a very interesting sort of dance, or rather gymnastic play, performed on a large scale by the Kél-owí, who being arranged in long rows, in pairs, and keeping up a regular motion, pushed along several of their number under their arms—not very unlike some of our old dances.

Monday, Jan. 20.—Starting early in the morning, we felt the cold very sensibly, the thermometer standing at 48° Fahr. a little before sunset. Cultivated fields interrupted from time to time the underwood for the first three miles, while the “ngílle,” or “kába,” formed the most characteristic feature of the landscape; but dúm-palms, at first very rarely seen, soon became prevalent, and continued for the next two miles. Then the country became more open, while in the distance to the left extended a low range of hills. New species of trees appeared, which I had not seen before, as the “kókia,” a tree with large leaves of a dark-green colour, with a green fruit of the size of an apple, but not eatable. The first solitary specimens of the gigiña, or deléb-palm, which is one of the most characteristic trees of the more southern regions, were also met with.

Moving silently along, about noon we met a considerable caravan, with a great number of oxen and asses led by two horsemen, and protected in the rear by a strong guard of archers; for this is one of the most dangerous routes in all Central Africa, where every year a great many parties are plundered by marauders, no one being responsible for the security of this disputed territory. We had here a thick forest on our left, enlivened by numbers of birds; then about two o’clock in the afternoon we entered a fine undulating country, covered with a profusion of herbage, while the large gámshi-tree, with its broad fleshy leaves of the finest green, formed the most remarkable object of the vegetable kingdom. All this country was once a bustling scene of life, with numbers of towns and villages, till, at the very commencement of this century, the “Jihádi,” or Reformer, rose among the Fúlbe of Góber, and, inflaming them with fanatic zeal, urged them on to merciless warfare against Pagans as well as Mohammedans.

It was here that my companions drew my attention to the tracks of the elephant, of whose existence in the more northern regions we had not hitherto seen the slightest trace; so that this seems to be the limit of its haunts on this side; and it was shortly afterwards that Gajére descried in the distance a living specimen making slowly off to the east; but my sight was not strong enough to distinguish it. Thus we entered the thicker part of the forest, and about half-past four in the afternoon reached the site of the large town of Dánkama, whither Mágajin Háddedu, the king of Kátsena, had retired after his residence had been taken by the Fúlbe, and from whence he waged unrelenting but unsuccessful war against the bloody-minded enemies of the religious as well as political independence of his country. Once, indeed, the Fúlbe were driven out of Kátsena; but they soon returned with renewed zeal and with a fresh army, and the Háusa prince was expelled from his ancient capital for ever. After several battles, Dánkama, whither all the nobility and wealth of Kátsena had retired, was taken, ransacked, and burnt.

A solitary colossal kúka (baobab), representing in its huge, leafless, and gloomy frame the sad recollections connected with this spot, shoots out from the prickly underwood which thickly overgrows the locality, and points out the market-place, once teeming with life. It was a most affecting moment; for, as if afraid of the evil spirits dwelling in this wild and deserted spot, all the people of the caravan, while we were thronging along the narrow paths opening between the thick prickly underwood, shouted with wild cries, cursing and execrating the Féllani, the authors of so much mischief; all the drums were beating, and every one pushed on in order to get out of this melancholy neighbourhood as soon as possible.

Having passed a little after sunset a large granitic mass projecting from the ground, called Korremátse, and once a place of worship, we saw in the distance, in front, the fires of those parties of the aïri which had preceded us; and greeting them with a wild cry, we encamped on the uneven ground in great disorder, as it had become quite dark. After a long march I felt very glad when the tent was at length pitched. While the fire was lighted, and the supper preparing, Gajére informed me that, besides Dánkama, Bello destroyed also the towns of Jankúki and Madáwa in this district, which now presents such a frightful wilderness.

In the course of the night the roar of a lion was heard close by our encampment.

Tuesday, Jan. 21.—We started, with general enthusiasm, at an early hour; and the people of our troop seeing the fires of the other divisions of the salt caravan in front of us still burning, jeered at their laziness, till at length, on approaching within a short distance of the fires, we found that the other people had set out long before, leaving their fires burning. A poor woman, carrying a load on her head, and leading a pair of goats, had attached herself to our party in Gazáwa; and though she had lost her goats in the bustle of the previous afternoon, she continued her journey cheerfully and with resignation.

After five hours’ march the whole caravan was suddenly brought to a stand for some time, the cause of which was a ditch of considerable magnitude, dug right across the path, and leaving only a narrow passage, the beginning of a small path which wound along through thick, thorny underwood. This, together with the ditch, formed a sort of outer defence for the cultivated fields and the pasture-grounds of Kátsena, against any sudden inroad. Having passed another projecting mass of granite rock, we passed two small villages on our left, called Túlla and Takumáku, from whence the inhabitants came out to salute us. We encamped at length in a large stubble-field, beyond some kitchen-gardens, where pumpkins (dúmma) were planted, two miles north-east from the town of Kátsena. While we were pitching my tent, which was the only one in the whole encampment, the Sultan or Governor of Kátsena came out with a numerous retinue of horsemen, all well dressed and mounted; and having learnt from Elaíji that I was a Christian traveller belonging to a mission (a fact, however, which he knew long before), he sent me soon afterwards a ram and two large calabashes or dúmmos filled with honey—an honour which was rather disagreeable to me than otherwise, as it placed me under the necessity of making the governor a considerable present in return. I had no article of value with me, and I began to feel some unpleasant foreboding of future difficulties.

An approximative estimate of the entire number of the salt caravan, as affording the means of accurately determining the amount of a great national commerce carried on between widely separated countries, had much occupied my attention, and having in vain tried on the road to arrive at such an estimate, I did all I could to-day to obtain a list of the different divisions composing it; but although Yáhia, one of the principal of Ánnur’s people, assured me that there were more than thirty troops, I was not able to obtain particulars of more than the following; viz. encamped on this same ground with us was the salt caravan of Ánnur, of Elaíji, of Hámma with the Kél-táfidet, of Sálah, of Háj Makhmúd with the Kél-tagrímmat, of Ámaki with the Amákita, of the Imasághlar (led by Mohammed dan Ággeg), of the Kél-azanéres, of the Kél-ínger (the people of Zingína), of the Kél-ágwau, and finally that of the Kél-chémia. No doubt none of these divisions had more than two hundred camels laden with salt, exclusive of the young and the spare camels; the whole of the salt, therefore, collected here at the time was at the utmost worth one hundred millions of kurdí, or about eight thousand pounds sterling. Beside the divisions of the aïri which I have just enumerated as encamped on this spot, the Erázar were still behind, while the following divisions had gone on in advance: the Kél-n-Néggaru; the Iseráraran, with the chief Bárka and the támberi (war chieftain) Nasóma; and the Ikázkezan, with the chiefs Mohammed Irólagh and Wuentúsa.

We may therefore not be far from the truth if we estimate the whole number of the salt caravan of the Kél-owí of this year at two thousand five hundred camels. To this must be added the salt which had gone to Zínder, and which I estimate at about a thousand camel-loads, and that which had been left in Tasáwa for the supply of the markets of the country as far as Góber, which I estimate at from two hundred to three hundred camel-loads. But it must be borne in mind that the country of Ásben had been for some time in a more than ordinarily turbulent state, and that consequently the caravan was at this juncture probably less numerous than it would be in quiet times.

Being rather uneasy with regard to the intention of the governor of the province, I went early the next morning to Elaíji, and assured him that besides some small things, such as razors, cloves, and frankincense, I possessed only two red caps to give to the governor, and that I could not afford to contract more debts by buying a bernús. The good old man was himself aware of the governor’s intention, who, he told me, had made up his mind to get a large present from me, otherwise he would not allow me to continue my journey. I wanted to visit the town, but was prevented from doing so under these circumstances, and therefore remained in the encampment.

The governor, who spends a great deal of his time in a country house which he has recently built outside the town, about noon held a sort of review of several hundred horsemen, whose horses, in general, were in excellent condition. They were armed with a straight sword hanging on the left, a long heavy spear for thrusting, and a shield, either of the same description as that of the Tuarek, of oblong shape, made of the hide of the large antelope (Leucoryx), or else of bullock’s or elephant’s hide, and forming an immense circular disc of about five feet in diameter; some of them wore also the dagger at the left arm, while I counted not more than four or five muskets. Their dress was picturesque, and not too flowing for warlike purposes, the large shirt, or shirts (for they generally wear two), being fastened round the breast with an Egyptian shawl with a red border; and even those who were dressed in a bernús had it wound round their breasts. Most of them wore black “ráwani,” or shawls, round their faces, a custom which the Féllani of Háusa have adopted from the Tuarek merely on account of its looking warlike; for they have no superstitious reason for covering the mouth. The harness of the horses was all of Háusa manufacture, the saddles very different from those of the Tuarek (which seem to be identical with the old Arab saddles). The stirrups formed a very peculiar kind of medium between the large, unwieldy stirrups of the modern Arab and the small ones of the Tuarek and Europeans, the sole of the stirrup being long, but turned down at both ends, while it is so narrow that the rider can only thrust the naked foot into it. I could not understand the principle upon which this kind of stirrup is made. It appeared to me a most absurd specimen of workmanship.

The Féllani in Kátsena have good reason to be on their guard against the Kél-owí, who, in an underhand way, are always assisting the independent Háusa states of Góber and Marádi in their struggle, and might some day easily make common cause with them to drive out these arrogant intruders from the conquered provinces. In fact they have done all in their power to attain this object; and Ánnur’s policy is so well known to the Féllani that once when he came to Kátsena he received most shameful treatment at their hands. Afterwards I was visited by el Wákhshi, and paid him in return a visit at that part of the encampment where some of his merchandise was deposited, for he himself was living in the town. Here he introduced to me a person who was very soon to become one of my direst tormentors, the bare remembrance of whom is even now unpleasant; it was the háj Bel-Ghét, a man born in Tawát, but who had long been settled in Kátsena, and though not with the title, yet in reality holding the office of a “serkí-n-turáwa.”

A troop of eight mounted royal musicians (“masukídda-n-serkí”), who had been playing the whole day before the several divisions of the “aïri,” came likewise to my tent in the course of the afternoon, and gratified my ears with a performance on their various instruments. There was the drum, or “ganga,” very much like our own instrument of that kind, and of about the same size as the common regimental drum; the long wind instrument, or “pampámme;” a shorter one, a sort of flute, or “elgaita;”[15] a sort of double tambourine, or “kalángo;” a simple tympanum, or “koso;” a sort of double Egyptian darabúka, called “jójo;” and a small horn, or “kafó.” The most common among them is the “jójo,” which in Háusa is the chief instrument made use of in an expedition, and, if accompanied by the voice, is not disagreeable. With these various instruments the well-mounted horsemen made a pretty good noise; but it was neither harmonious nor characteristic: to all this pompous imitative music I prefer a few strains with natural feeling by a solitary maimólo. I was obliged to reward my entertainers with a large quantity of cloves, as I had scarcely anything else left.

I was rather astonished to hear that the Ásbenáwa do not pay passage-money to the governor according to the number of their camels, but that every freeman among them makes him a present of one kántu of salt. For every beast of burden, be it pack-ox or donkey, five hundred kurdí are generally paid.

Thursday, Jan. 23.—Having assorted such a present as I could afford, I protested once more to Elaíji that, my other luggage having gone on in advance to Kanó, I had but very little to offer the governor.

I went about noon with my protector and a great number of Ásbenáwa to offer the governor my compliments and my present. Sitting down under a tree at a considerable distance from the spot where he himself was seated, we waited a little, till we should be called into his presence, when his brother, who held the office of ghaladíma, came to us—a man of immense corpulency, resembling a eunuch. Indeed, nothing but the cut of his face, his aquiline nose and rather light colour, and the little goatlike beard which ornamented his chin could expose him to the suspicion of being a Púllo or Ba-Féllanchi.[16] He wanted to treat my business apart from that of Elaíji, who, however, declared that he had come only for my sake. While the fat ghaladíma was returning to inform his brother of what he had heard, a troop of well-mounted Kélesárar (who, as I was told, are settled at present in the province of Kátsena) came up at full speed. It was not long before a servant came from the serkí, inviting me alone into his presence.

Mohammed Béllo Yeríma, the eldest son of the former well-known governor, Mʿallem Ghomáro,[17] was seated under a widespreading and luxuriant tamarind-tree, dressed simply in a large white shirt with a black ráwani round his face. The Ásbenáwa, who formed a large semicircle around him, were dressed most gaudily. Stepping into the opening of the semicircle, I saluted the governor, telling him that as I and my companions had lost, on the border of Asben, almost all the valuable property we had brought with us, and as the few things left to me had gone on to Kanó, he ought to excuse me for being unable at the present moment to offer him a present worthy of his high position; that it was my desire to go on without delay to Kanó, in order to settle my affairs, and to proceed to Bórnu, where we expected to receive fresh supplies, after which one of our party certainly would go to Sókoto, in order to pay our respects to the Emír el Múmenín. The governor answered my address with much apparent kindness, telling me that I was now in his “imána,” or under his protection, and that he had no other purpose but to do what would be conducive to my advantage. He then asked the news of my companions, though he knew all about them, and did not appear to take the least offence at Mr. Overweg’s going to Marádi, although the people and the ruler of that place were his most inveterate enemies. But things must not be looked upon here as they would be in Europe; for here people are accustomed to see strangers from the north pay visits to all sorts of princes, whatever may be their policy. However, while he spoke in rather friendly terms to me, and while my presents were received thankfully by the servants, he declared to the people who were sitting near him that as the ruler of Bórnu had laid hold of one of my companions, and that of Marádi of the other, he should be a fool if he were to let me pass out of his hands. I therefore took leave of him with no very light heart.

My present consisted of two fine red caps, a piece of printed calico which I had bought in Múrzuk for four Spanish dollars, but which was of a pattern not much liked in Sudán, an English razor and scissors, one pound of cloves, another of frankincense, a piece of fine soap, and a packet of English needles. Though it certainly was not a very brilliant present, yet, considering that I did not want anything from him, it was quite enough; but the fact was that he wanted something more from me, and therefore it was not sufficient.

Early the following morning, while it was still dark, a servant of the governor came with Elaíji to my tent, requesting me to stay voluntarily behind the caravan. Though this would have been the best plan, had I known that the governor had set his heart upon keeping me back, yet I could not well assent to it, as I had nothing at all with me, not even sufficient to keep me and my people for a short time from starving. I therefore told him that it was impossible for me to stay behind, and prepared to go on with the caravan which was setting out. This, however, Elaíji would not allow me to do, but while all the divisions of the aïri started one after the other, he himself remained behind with several of the principal men of the caravan, till Háj Bel-Ghét came and announced that it was necessary for me to go to the town, there to await the decision of the governor. Seeing that nothing was to be done but to obey, and having in vain shown my letter of recommendation from the Sultan of Ágades, from which, as I had feared from the beginning, nothing was inferred but that I had been directly forwarded by him to the Governor of Kátsena in order to see me safe to Sókoto, I took leave of Elaíji, thanking him and his friends for their trouble, and followed Bel-Ghét and his companion Músa into the town.

The immense mass of the wall, measuring in its lower part not less than thirty feet, and its wide circumference, made a deep impression upon me. The town (if town it may be called) presented a most cheerful rural scene, with its detached light cottages, and its stubble-fields shaded with a variety of fine trees; but I suspect that this ground was not entirely covered with dwellings even during the most glorious period of Kátsena. We travelled a mile and a half before we reached the “zínsere,” a small dwelling used by the governor as a place of audience—on account, as it seems, of a splendid widespreading fig-tree growing close to it, and forming a thick shady canopy sufficient for a large number of people.

I, however, was conducted to the other side of the building, where a quadrangular chamber projects from the half-decayed wall, and had there to wait a long time, till the governor came into town from his new country seat. Having at last arrived, he called me, and, thanking me for remaining with him, he promised that I should be well treated as his guest, and that without delay a house should be placed at my disposal. He was a man of middle age, and had much in his manners and features which made him resemble an actor; and such he really is, and was still more so in his younger days.

Taking leave of him for the present, I followed Bel-Ghét to my quarters; but we had still a good march to make, first through detached dwellings of clay, then leaving the immense palace of the governor on our left, and entering what may be strictly called the town, with connected dwellings. Here I was lodged in a small house opposite the spacious dwelling of Bel-Ghét; and though on first entering I found it almost insupportable, I soon succeeded in making myself tolerably comfortable in a clean room neatly arranged. It seemed to have once formed the snug seat for a well-furnished harím; at least the dark passages leading to the interior could not be penetrated by a stranger’s eye. We had scarcely taken possession of our quarters when the governor sent me a ram and two ox-loads of corn—one of “dáwa,” and the other of “géro.” But instead of feeling satisfied with this abundant provision, we were quite horrified at it, as I with my three people might have subsisted a whole year on the corn sent us; and we began to have uneasy forebodings of a long detention. Indeed, we suspected, and were confirmed in our suspicion by the statements of several people, that it was the governor’s real intention to forward me directly to Sókoto, a circumstance which alienated from me my servants—even the faithful Mohammed el Gatróni, who was much afraid of going there.

However, my new protector, Bel-Ghét, did not leave me much time for reflection, but soon came back to take me again to the governor. Having sat awhile in the cool shade of the tree, we were called into his audience-room, which was nothing more than the round hut or dérne (“zaure” in Kanúri) which generally forms the entrance and passage-room in every Púllo establishment. Besides myself, the háj Bel-Ghét, and his constant companion Músa, there was also the wealthy merchant Háj Wáli, whom I had seen in Tasáwa, when he tried to persuade me to follow the men sent to take me to Zínder, while he now sought to represent the governor of Kátsena as the greatest man in all Negroland, and the best friend I could have. The governor soon began to display his talent as an actor, and had the unfortunate letter from the Sultan of Ágades read, interpreted, and commented upon. According to the sagacious interpretation of these men, the purport of the letter was to recommend me expressly to this governor as a fit person to be detained in his company. All my representations to the effect that my friend ʿAbd el Káder had recommended me in exactly the same terms to the governors of Dáura and Kanó, and that I had forwarded a letter from Ágades to the Emír el Múmenín, in Sókoto, informing him that as soon as we had received new supplies from the coast one of us at least would certainly pay him a visit, which under present circumstances, robbed and destitute as we were, we could not well do, were all in vain; he had an answer for every objection, and was impudent enough to tell me that a message had been received from Marádi, soliciting me to go thither; that as Bórnu had laid hold of one of my companions, and Marádi of the other, so he would lay hold of me, but of course only in order to become my benefactor (“se al khére”). Seeing that reply was useless, and that it was much better to let this lively humourist go through his performance, and to wait patiently for the end of the comedy, I took leave of him, and returned to my quarters.

Late in the evening the governor sent for Mohammed, who could scarcely be expected, with his fiery and inconsiderate behaviour, to improve the state of things; and as the governor’s dwelling was a good way off, I was obliged to allow him to go armed with a pair of pistols, which soon attracted the attention of our host, who complained bitterly that while all the petty chiefs had received from us such splendid presents, he, the greatest man in Negroland, had got nothing. Mohammed having told him that the pistols belonged to me, he wanted me to present them to him; but this I obstinately refused, as I was convinced that the whole success of our further proceedings depended on our firearms.

I was rather glad when el Wákhshi called upon me the following morning, as I trusted he might help me out of the scrape. After conversing with him about my situation, I went out with him to stroll about the town. We had gone, however, but a little way when Bel-Ghét saw us, and reprimanded me severely for going out without asking his permission. Growing rather warm at such humiliating treatment, I told him, in very plain terms, that as long as the governor refrained from posting soldiers before my door I would regard myself as a free man, and at liberty to go where I chose. Seeing that he could not wreak his anger directly upon me, he tried to do it indirectly, by reprimanding my companion for going about with this “káfer,” and confirming the “káfer” in his refractoriness against the will of the Sultan. Not feeling much honoured with the title thus bestowed on me, I told him that as yet nobody in the whole town had insulted me with that epithet, but that he alone had the insolence to apply it. When the miserable fellow saw me irritated he did not hesitate to declare that, though well versed in the Kurán, he had been entirely unaware of the meaning of “káfer,” and begged me to give him full information about the relations of the English to the various Mohammedan states. When I came to speak about Morocco he interrupted me, as, being a native of Gurára, he might be presumed to know the relations of those countries better than I did; and he insisted that the English were not on good terms with the Emperor of Morocco and were not allowed to visit Fás (Fez). I then declared to him that there could scarcely be a more unmistakable proof of the friendly relations existing between the English and Mulʿa ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán than the present of four magnificent horses, which the latter had lately sent to the Queen of England. He then confessed that he was more of an antiquarian, and ignorant of the present state of matters; but he was quite sure that during the time of Mulʿa Ismʿaíl it certainly was as he had stated. To this I replied, that while all the Mohammedan states, including Morocco, had since that time declined in power, the Christians, and the English in particular, had made immense steps in advance. We then shook hands, and I left the poor Moslim to his own reflections.

Proceeding with el Wákhshi on our intended promenade, and laughing at the scrape into which he had almost got by changing (in the dispute with Bel-Ghét) the honorary title of the latter, “Sultàn ben eʾ Sultán” (Sultan, son of Sultan), into that of “Shitán ben eʾ Shitán” (Satan, son of Satan), we went to the house of a ghadámsi, where we found several Arab and native merchants collected together, and among them a ghadámsi who bore the same name as that which, for more friendly intercourse with the natives, I had adopted on these journeys, namely, that of ʿAbd el Kerím. This man had accompanied ʿAbd Allah (Clapperton) on his second journey from Kanó to Sókoto, and was well acquainted with all the circumstances attending his death. He was greatly surprised to hear that “Ríshar” (Richard Lander), whom he had believed to be a younger brother of Clapperton, had not only successfully reached the coast, after his circuitous journey to Danróro, and after having been dragged back by force from his enterprising march upon Fanda, but had twice returned from England to those quarters before he fell a victim to his arduous exertions.

I then returned, with my old Ghadámsi friend, to my lodgings, where Bel-Ghét came soon after us, and once more begged my pardon for having called me “káfer.”

Afterwards el Wákhshi brought me a loaf of sugar, that I might make a present of it to Bel-Ghét. On this occasion he cast his eyes on a small telescope which I had bought in Paris for six francs, and begged me to give it to him for the loaf of sugar which he had just lent me. I complied with his wish. Taking the loaf of sugar with me, and the two other letters of the Sultan of Ágades, as well that addressed to the Governor of Dáura, as that to the Governor of Kanó, I went to Bel-Ghét, and, presenting him with the sugar as a small token of my acknowledgment for the trouble he was taking in my behalf, I showed him the letters as a proof that the Sultan of Ágades never intended to forward me to his friend the Governor of Kátsena as a sort of “abenchí” or a tit-bit for himself, but that he acknowledged entirely my liberty of action, and really wished to obtain protection for me wherever I might choose to go. Bel-Ghét, being touched by the compliments I paid him, affected to understand now for the first time the real circumstances of my case, and promised to lend me his assistance if I would bind myself to return to Kátsena from Bórnu, after having received sufficient supplies from the coast. This I did to a certain degree, under the condition that circumstances should not prove unfavourable to such a proceeding; indeed I doubted at that time very much whether I should be able to return this way again. But when I did re-visit Kátsena in the beginning of 1853, with a considerable supply of presents, and met before the gates of the town this same man, who had been sent to compliment me on the part of the same governor, it was a triumph which I could scarcely have expected. The old man was on the latter occasion almost beside himself with joy, and fell upon my neck exclaiming, over and over again, “ʿAbd el Kerím! ʿAbd el Kerím!” while I told him, “Here I am, although both my companions have died; I am come to fulfil my promise. I am on my way to Sókoto, with valuable presents for the Emír el Múmenín.”

Leaving Bel-Ghét in better humour, I went with el Wákhshi to his house, where he treated me and two Ásbenáwa with a dish of roasted fowl and dates, after which I proceeded with him through the decayed and deserted quarter where the rich Ghadámsíye merchants once lived, and through some other streets in a rather better state, to the market-place, which forms a large regular quadrangle, with several rows of sheds, or runfá, of the same style as those in Tasáwa, but much better and more regularly built. Of course there was here a better supply of native cotton cloth and of small Nuremberg wares, in the market, than in the former place; but otherwise there was nothing particular, and altogether it was dull, showing the state of decay into which this once splendid and busy emporium of Negroland had fallen.

The most interesting thing I observed in the market were limes, of tolerably large size and extremely cheap, and the beautiful large fruit of the gónda (Carica Papaya), which had just begun to ripen; however, the latter was rather dear, considering the low price of provisions in general, a fine papaw being sold for from twenty-five to thirty kurdí, a sum which may keep a poor man from starvation for five days. In Kanó I afterwards saw this fruit cut into thin slices, which were sold for one “urí” (shell) each. Having sat for a long time with el Wákhshi in a runfá, without being exposed to any insult whatever, though I was necessarily an object of some curiosity, I returned home and passed the evening quietly with my people, Gajére giving me reason all the time for the utmost satisfaction with his faithful and steadfast behaviour. Besides being sincerely attached to me, he was persuaded that he possessed influence enough to get me out of my scrape; and thus he informed me, as a great secret, that he had forwarded a message to Ánnur, giving him full information of my case, and that in consequence I might give myself no further trouble, but rely entirely upon that chief’s assistance. While he was thus cheering my spirits in the evening, as we lay round the fire in our courtyard, he frequently repeated the words, “Kasó mutúm dondádi uyátaso, kádda kakíshi da kúmmia,” contrasting his own faithfulness with the faithless, frivolous behaviour of Mohammed el Túnsi, whom he called “mógo mutúm” (a bad sort of fellow). But Gajére also had his own reasons for not being so very angry at our delay, as the lean mare which I had hired of him had a sore back and was in a rather weak state, so that a little rest and a full measure of corn every day was not so much amiss for her.

El Wákhshi returned the same evening, giving me hope that I might get off the next day. However, this proved to be empty talk; for the following day my business with the pompous Béllo made no progress, he demanding nothing less from me than one hundred thousand kurdí or cowries—a sum certainly small according to European modes of thinking, barely exceeding 8_l._, but which I was quite unable to raise at the time. Béllo was mean enough to found his claims upon his noble but quite uncalled-for hospitality, having given me, as he said, two rams, two vessels of honey, and two loads of corn, altogether worth from eleven to twelve thousand cowries; and I now felt myself fully justified in changing his noble title “Sultán, ben Sultán” into that of “Dellál, ben dellál” (Broker, son of a broker). Even my old friend el Wákhshi took the occasion of this new difficulty of mine to give vent to his feelings as a merchant, saying that this was the “dʿawa” (the curse) attending our (the English) proceedings against the slave-trade. And it must be confessed that the merchants of Ghadámes have suffered a great deal from the abolition of the slave-trade in Tunis, without being compensated for this loss by the extension or increased security of legitimate commerce. Seeing that the slave-trade is still carried on in Núpe or Nýffi, where, they are persuaded, the English could prevent it if they would, and that it is there carried on not by Mohammedans but by Christians, they have plausible grounds for being angry with the English nation.

I had a highly interesting discussion with my old fanatical friend Bel-Ghét. It seems that after I had protested against his calling me “káfer” the other day, he had held a consultation on this subject with some people of his own faith; and his zeal being thus revived, he returned to-day to urge the point. He began with questioning me about the different nations that professed Christianity, and which among them were the “kofár;” for some of them, he was quite sure, were, and deserved to be, so called. I replied that the application of the word depended on the meaning attached to it, and that if he understood by the word káfer anybody who doubted of the mission of Mohammed, of course a great many Christians were kofár; but if, with more reason, he called by this name only those who had no idea of the unity of God, and venerated other objects besides the Almighty God, that it could then be applied only to a few Christians, particularly to those of the Greek, and to the less enlightened of the Catholic Church, though even these venerated the crucifix and the images rather as symbols than as idols. But I confessed to him that, with regard to the unity of the Divine Being, Islám certainly was somewhat purer than the creeds of most of the Christian sects; and I acknowledged that, just at the time when Mohammed appeared, Christianity had sunk considerably below the level of its pristine purity. The old man went away pleased with what I had told him, and swore that he would not again call the English kofár, but that, with my permission, he would still apply that name to the “Mósko” (the Russians).

In the afternoon his son, a man of about five and thirty, came to visit me, accompanied by a sheríf from Yeman, who had been to Bombay, and was well acquainted with the English; he was now on his way to Timbúktu, in order to vindicate his right of inheritance to the property of a wealthy merchant who had died there. In this, however, he was unsuccessful; and when I reached Timbúktu in September, 1853, he had left it some time previously with broken spirits and in great distress. He perished on his way home. He was an amiable and intelligent man, and visited me several times. From him and his companion I received intimation of a large “Christian book,” bound in leather, with edges and lock made of metal, in the possession of a Púllo or Ba-Féllanchi in the town; but no one could tell me whether it was manuscript or print, and although I offered to pay for a sight of it, I never succeeded in my object. It might be one of those heavy books which Clapperton, when dying, told Lander rather to leave behind than take with him to England.

Tuesday, Jan. 28.—I at length succeeded in arranging matters with the governor. Early in the morning I sent Mohammed to el Wákhshi in order to try and settle the business, telling him that I was ready to make any possible sacrifice; and he sent me a bernús for fifty-two thousand kurdí. While I was hesitating about contracting a new debt of such magnitude (in my poor circumstances), Bel-Ghét, who evidently feared that if I gave one large present to the governor, he himself would get nothing, intimated to me that it would be better to choose several small articles. El Wákhshi therefore procured a caftan of very common velvet, a carpet, a sedríye or close waistcoat, and a shawl, which altogether did not exceed the price of thirty-one thousand kurdí; so that I saved more than twenty thousand. In order, however, to give to the whole a more unpremeditated, honorary, and professional appearance, I added to it a pencil, a little frankincense, and two strong doses of Epsom salts.

While Bel-Ghét was engaged in negotiating peace for me with the eccentric governor, I went with el Wákhshi and Gajére to the market, and thence proceeded with the latter, who, stout and portly, strode before me with his heavy spear, like a stately bodyguard or “kavás,” to the house of Mánzo, an agent of Masáwaji, who always lives here, and paid him our compliments. Passing then by the house of the Sultan of Ágades (“gída-n-serkí-n-Agades”), who occasionally resides here, we went to the “kófan Gúga” (the north-western gate of the town), which my companion represented to me as belonging entirely to the Ásbenáwa; for as long as Kátsena formed the great emporium of this part of Africa the aïri used to encamp in the plain outside this gate. The wall is here very strong and high, at least from without, where the height is certainly not less than from five and thirty to forty feet, while in the interior the rubbish and earth has accumulated against it to such a degree that a man may very easily look over it; the consequence is that during the rains a strong torrent, formed here, rushes out of the gate. On the outside there is also a deep, broad ditch. We returned to our lodging by way of the “máriná” and the market, both of which places were already sunk in the repose and silence of night.

I had scarcely re-entered my dark quarters, when Bel-Ghét arrived, telling me that the governor did not want my property at all; however, to do honour to my present, he would condescend to keep the caftan and the carpet, but he sent me back the sedríye and the shawl—of course to be given as a present to his agent and commissioner, my noble friend from Gurára. The governor, however, was anxious to obtain some more medicines from me. He at the same time promised to make me a present of a horse. Although I had but a small store of medicines with me, I chose a few powders of quinine, of tartar-emetic, and of acetate of lead, and gave him a small bottle with a few drops of laudanum, while it was arranged that on the following morning I should explain to the governor himself the proper use of these medicines.

The next morning, therefore, I proceeded with Bel-Ghét, to whose swollen eye I had successfully applied a lotion, and whose greediness I had satisfied with another small present on the way to the “zínsere.” He wished to show me the interior of the immense palace, or the “fáda;” but he could not obtain access to it, and I did not see it till on my second visit to Kátsena.

Béllo received me in his private apartment, and detained me for full two hours while I gave him complete information about the use of the medicines. He wanted, besides, two things from me, which I could not favour him with—things of a very different character, and the most desired by all the princes of Negroland. One of these was a “mágani-n-algúwa” (a medicine to increase his conjugal vigour); the other, some rockets, as a “mágani-n-yáki” (a medicine of war), in order to frighten his enemies.

Not being able to comply with these two modest wishes of his, I had great difficulty in convincing him of my goodwill; and he remained incredulous to my protestations that we had intentionally not taken such things as rockets with us, as we were afraid that if we gave such a thing to one prince, his neighbour might become fiercely hostile to us. But he remarked that he would keep such a gift a secret. I was very glad he did not say a word more about the pistols; but in order to give me a proof that he knew how to value fine things, he showed me the scissors and razor which I had given him the other day, for which he had got a sheath made, and wore them constantly at his left side. He then told me he would make me a present of an “abi-n-háwa” (something to mount upon), intimating already by this expression that it would not be a first-rate horse, as I had not complied with his heart’s desire, but that it would be furnished with saddle and harness, and that besides he would send me a large “hákkori-n-gíwa” (an elephant’s tooth) to Kanó. This latter offer I declined, saying that, though my means were very small at present, I did not like to turn merchant. He reminded me then of my promise to return; and we parted the best of friends. Notwithstanding the injustice of every kind which he daily commits, he has some sentiment of honour; and feeling rather ashamed for having given me so much trouble for nothing, as he was aware that it would become known to all his fellow-governors, and probably even to his liege lord, the Emír el Múmenín, he was anxious to vindicate his reputation. It was from the same motive that he begged me most urgently not to tell anybody that I had made him the presents here, adding, that he would afterwards say that he had received them from me from Kanó.

Having returned home, I thankfully received the compliments which were made me from different quarters on account of the fortunate issue of my affair with this “munáfekí,” or evil-doer; and although the horse, which was not brought till next morning after we had been waiting for it a long while, proved rather ill-looking and poor, being scarcely worth more than ten thousand kurdí, or four dollars, and though the saddle was broken and harness wanting altogether, I was quite content, and exulted in my good fortune. But before leaving this once most important place I shall try to give a short historical sketch of its past, and an outline of its present state.

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XXIV. HÁUSA.—HISTORY AND DESCRIPTION OF KÁTSENA.—ENTRY INTO KANÓ

In order to render intelligible the anterior history of Kátsena, it will be necessary to enter into some preliminary explanation respecting the whole country of Háusa. The name Háusa was unknown, as it seems, to Leo Africanus; else instead of saying that the inhabitants of Zária, Kátsena, and Kanó spoke the language of Góber, he would have said that they spoke the Háusa language. But we have no right to conclude from this circumstance that the practice of giving the name Háusa, not only to the widely diffused language, but also to the countries collectively in which it prevails, is later than Leo’s time; on the contrary, I must acknowledge the improbability of such an assumption. It is true that, with the faint light available, we are unable to discern quite distinctly how the Háusa nation originated; but we may positively assert that it was not an indigenous nation, or at least that it did not occupy its present seat from very ancient times, but that it settled in the country at a comparatively recent date. As to one of the associated states, and the most prominent and noble amongst them (I mean Góber), we know positively that in ancient times it occupied tracts situated much further north;[18] and I have been assured that the name Háusa also proceeded from the same quarter—an opinion which seems to be confirmed by the affinity of that language with the Temáshight.[19] Whether the name was originally identical with the word “Áusa,” which, as we shall see, is used by the Western Tuarek and the people of Timbúktu to denote the country on this the northern side of the Great River, in opposition to “Gúrma,” the country on its southern side, I am unable to say.

Sultan Béllo’s statement that the Háusa people originated from a Bórnu slave, deserves very little credit. It is to be considered as merely expressive for his contempt for the effeminate manners of the Háusa people in his time. But their language, though it has a few words in common with the Kanúri, is evidently quite distinct from it, as well in its vocabulary as in its grammar. What Béllo says may be correct in a certain sense with regard to the population of Kanó, which indeed seems to consist, for the greater part, of Bórnu elements, though in course of time the people have adopted the Háusa language; and this may be the case also with other provinces, the original population having been more nearly related to the Manga-Bórnu stock. The name “Báwu,” which occurs in the mythical genealogy of the Háusa people as that of the ancestor of most of the Háusa states, can hardly be supposed to be a mere personification representing the state of slavery in which the nation formerly existed; the name for slave in the Háusa language is báwa, not báwu. It is, however, remarkable that this personage is said to be the son of Karbágarí, whose name evidently implies “the taking of a town,” and might be derived from the capture of the town of Bíram, which is universally represented as the oldest seat of the Háusa people, a tradition which is attested by a peculiar usage even at the present day. This town of Bíram is situated between Kanó and Khadéja, and is often called “Bíram-ta-ghabbes,” in order to distinguish it from a more westerly town of the same name. Bíram, the personification of this town, is said to have been, by his grandson, Báwu (the son of Karbágarí), the progenitor of the six other Háusa states (likewise personified): viz. Kátsena and Zégzeg, who are represented as twins; Kanó and Ranó, another pair of twins; Góber and Dáura. However, it seems almost universally acknowledged that of all these children Dáura was the eldest.[20]

More important in a historical point of view, and confirming what has been said above, appears to be the statement that the mother of these children belonged to the Déggara or Díggera, a Berber tribe at present established to the north of Múniyo, and once very powerful. Bíram, Dáura, Góber, Kanó, Ranó, Kátsena, and Zégzeg, are the well-known original seven Háusa states, the “Háusa bókoy” (the seven Háusa), while seven other provinces or countries, in which the Háusa language has spread to a great extent, although it is not the language of the aboriginal inhabitants, are called jocosely “bánza bókoy” (the upstart, or illegitimate); these are Zánfara, Kébbi, Núpe or Nýffi, Gwári, Yáuri, Yóruba or Yáriba, and Korórofa.

As for the six children of Báwu, they are said to have had each his share assigned to him by his father in the following way: Góber was appointed the “serkí-n-yáki” (the war-chief), in order to defend his brethren, Kanó and Ranó being made “sáraki-n-baba” (the ministers of the “máriná,” that peculiar emblem of the industry of Háusa), and Kátséna and Dáura “sáraki-n-káswa” (the ministers of intercourse and commerce), while Zégzeg is said to have been obliged to provide his brethren with those necessary instruments of social life in these regions, namely, slaves, becoming the “serkí-n-baÿ.” Ranó, which at present has been greatly reduced, though it is still a considerable place, situated south-west from Kanó, was originally, like each of the other towns, the capital of an independent territory, though not mentioned hitherto by any traveller who has spoken of Háusa.

If we credit Leo’s description, we must conclude that when he visited these regions, towards the end of the fifteenth century of our era, there was no capital in the province of Kátsena, the whole country being inhabited in “piccoli casali fatti a guisa di capanne.” For with respect to later events, which happened after he had left the country, and while he was writing his description, very imperfect information appears to have reached him. Now, the list of the kings of Kátsena, from a remote period, is still tolerably well preserved, together with the length of their respective reigns; and there is no reason whatever to doubt their general accuracy, as the history of the state has been in writing at least since the middle of the sixteenth century of our era, and we have something to control this list, and to connect it with facts gleaned from other quarters. This regards the period of the reign of the king Ibrahím Máji, who, as we know, lived in the time of the famous Tawáti Mohammed ben ʿAbd el Kerím ben Maghíli, the friend and contemporary, as I have said above,[21] of the great encyclopædist Abu ’l Fadhl Jelál eʾ dín ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán el Khodairi eʾ Soyúti, commonly known under the name of Eʾ Sheikh eʾ Soyúti; and his connection with the King of Kátsena we are able to fix with tolerable certainty by his relation to the Sónghay king Is-hák, who is said to have excited his severest indignation by refusing to punish the people who had murdered his son in Gógó.[22] And although we can scarcely believe that the ruin of the Sónghay empire, and the rise of that of Kátsena, was the consequence of this holy man’s curse, nevertheless we are justified in presuming that after he had received offence from the king Is-hák, by being refused satisfaction, he began to cultivate friendly relations with the King of Kátsena, a country then rising into importance.

We are therefore justified in placing Ibrahím Máji (the King of Kátsena, whom the fanatic Moslim converted to Islám) about the middle of the tenth century of the Hejra. Now, if we count backwards from this period, adding together the years attributed to each reign, to Komáyo, the man who is universally stated to have founded Kátsena, we obtain at least three hundred and fifty years, which would carry back the political existence of the state of Kátsena to the beginning of the seventh century of the Hejra. In this computation we reduce the reign of the first two kings, or chiefs (of whom Komáyo is said to have reigned a hundred years, and his successor ninety), to about twenty years each. Excepting this little exaggeration, which is such as we find recurring in the early history of almost every nation, I do not see any reason for rejecting the list of the kings of this country, as it is preserved not only in the memory of the people, but even in written documents, though, indeed, it is to be lamented that the books containing a comprehensive history of this nation have been destroyed intentionally by the Fúlbe, or Féllani, since the conquest of the country, in order to annihilate, as far as possible, the national records.

The dynasty founded by Komáyo comprised four kings in succession, besides its founder, namely, Rámba, Téryau, Jerinnáta, and Sanáwu. Sanáwu, after a reign of thirty years, is said to have been killed by Koráwu, who came from a place named Yendútu, and founded a new dynasty (if we count backwards from the time of Ibrahím Máji) about the year 722 of the Hejra; but, of course, I do not pretend to any exactness in these dates. Whether Ibrahím Máji belonged to the same dynasty which Koráwu had founded, I am not able to say. About thirty years before the time of Ibrahím Máji, in the year 919 A.H., or 1513 A.D., occurred that eventful expedition of the great Sónghay king Háj Mohammed Áskiá which threw all these countries into the greatest confusion. According to Leo, at that time Kátsena acknowledged the supremacy of Kanó, having been subjected for only a short time to the sway of the King of Sónghay, and afterwards most probably to that of the energetic and successful King of Kébbi, who repulsed the great Áskiá. Kátsena must have fallen very soon under the supremacy of the empire of Bórnu. About fifty years after the beginning of the reign of the first Moslim king, a new dynasty commenced, that of the Hábe,[23] which, as it is unanimously stated to have ruled for a hundred and sixty-nine years, and as it was driven out by the Fúlbe in the year of the Hejra 1222, must have commenced about the year 1053 (A.D. 1643). In this latter dynasty, however, there seem to have been two factions (or families), which are noticed already in the preceding dynasty, one of which was called Chagarána, and the other Káryaghíwá.[24] But before speaking of the struggle between the Fúlbe and the Hábe, I shall say a few words about the town of Kátsena.

The town, probably, did not receive the name of the province till it had become large and predominant; which event, if Leo be correct, we must conclude did not happen much before the middle of the sixteenth century of our era, while in early times some separate villages probably occupied the site where, at a later period, the immense town spread out. The oldest of these villages is said to have been Ambutéy or Mbutéy, where we must presume Komáyo and his successors to have resided. After Gógó had been conquered by Muláy Hámed, the Emperor of Morocco, and, from a large and industrious capital, had become a provincial town, great part of the commerce which formerly centred there must have been transferred to Kátsena, although this latter place seems never to have had any considerable trade in gold, which formed the staple of the market of Gógó. Thus the town went on increasing to that enormous size, the vestiges of which still exist at the present time, although the quarter actually inhabited, comprises but a small part of its extent.

The town, if only half of its immense area were ever tolerably well inhabited, must certainly have had a population of at least a hundred thousand souls; for its circuit is between thirteen and fourteen English miles. At present, when the inhabited quarter is reduced to the north-western part, and when even this is mostly deserted, there are scarcely seven or eight thousand people living in it. In former times it was the residence of a prince, who, though he seems never to have attained to any remarkable degree of power, and was indeed almost always in some degree dependent on, or a vassal of, the King of Bórnu, nevertheless was one of the most wealthy and conspicuous rulers of Negroland.[25] Every prince at his accession to the throne had to forward a sort of tribute or present to Birni Ghasréggomo, the capital of the Bórnu empire, consisting of one hundred slaves, as a token of his obedience; but this being done, it does not appear that his sovereign rights were in any way interfered with. In fact Kátsena, during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries of our era, seems to have been the chief city of this part of Negroland, as well in commercial and political importance as in other respects; for here that state of civilization which had been called forth by contact with the Arabs seems to have reached its highest degree, and as the Háusa language here attained the greatest richness of form and the most refined pronunciation, so also the manners of Kátsena were distinguished by superior politeness from those of the other towns of Háusa.

But this state of things was wholly changed, when, in the very beginning of the present century, in the year 1222 of the Hejra, or 1807 of our era, the Fúlbe, called Féllani by the Háusa, and Felláta by the Bórnu people, raised to the highest pitch of fanaticism by the preaching of the Reformer or Jihádi ʿOthmán dan Fódiye, and formed into the religious and political association of the Jemmáʿa, or, as they pronounce it, Jemmára, succeeded in possessing themselves of this town. However, while Kanó fell ingloriously, and almost without resistance, into the hands of Slimán (the Háusa king el Wáli having escaped to Zária), the struggle for Kátsena was protracted and sanguinary. Indeed Mʿallem Ghomáro had carried on unrelenting war against the town for seven years, before he at length reduced it by famine; and the distress in the town is said to have been so great that a dead “ángulú” or vulture (impure food which nobody would touch in time of peace) sold for five hundred kurdí, and a kadángeré or lizard for fifty. But the struggle did not cease here; for the “Hábe” succeeded once more in expelling the conquerors from the town, without, however, being able to maintain their position, when Mʿallem Ghomáro returned with a fresh army. Five princes of Kátsena, one after the other, fell in this struggle for religious and national independence; and the Púllo general was not quite secure of his conquest till after the total destruction of the town of Dánkama, when Mágajin Háddedu was slain only four months after his predecessor Mahamúdu had succumbed in Sabóngarí. Even then the new Háusa prince Benóni, who still bore the title of “serkí-n-Kátsena,” did not lay down his arms, but maintained the contest till he likewise was conquered and slain in Túntuma.

From this time the town declined rapidly, and all the principal foreign merchants migrated to Kanó, where they were beyond the reach of this constant struggle; and even the Ásbenáwa transferred their salt-market to the latter place, which now became the emporium of this part of Negroland, while Kátsena retained but secondary importance as the seat of a governor. This is indeed to be lamented, as the situation of the town is excellent, and, both on account of its position to the various routes and of its greater salubrity, is far preferable to Kanó. However, as matters stand, unless either the Fúlbe succeed in crushing entirely the independent provinces to the north and north-west (which, in the present weak state of the empire of Sókoto, is far from probable), or till the Goberáwa and Mariadáwa, whose king still bears the title of serkí-n-Kátsena, reconquer this town, it will continue to decline and become more desolate every year. In fact Mohammed Béllo, the present governor, had conceived the design of giving up this immense town altogether, and of founding a new residence of smaller compass in its neighbourhood; but his liege lord, Alíyu, the Emír el Múmenín, would not allow him to do so.

The only inhabited part of the town at present is the north-west quarter, although any one who should omit to take into account the population scattered over the other parts, principally round about the residence of the governor, and the people settled in the hamlets near the gates, would make a great mistake. Here it may be added, that most of the importance which Kátsena has still preserved, in a commercial aspect, is due to its position with respect to Núpe, with which it keeps up a tolerably lively intercourse, the route from it to that industrious but most unfortunate country being practicable even for camels, while the road from Kanó can only be travelled with horses and asses. Almost all the more considerable native merchants in Kátsena are Wangaráwa (Eastern Mandingoes).

The province of Kátsena was formerly far more extensive than it is at present, but it has been curtailed, in order not to leave its governor too much inducement to make himself independent. Besides, many parts of it, being much exposed to the continual incursions of the independent Háusáwa, have greatly suffered, so that probably the population of the whole province does not now exceed three hundred thousand souls, of whom only about one-half seem to pay tribute. Every head of a family has to pay here two thousand five hundred kurdí-n-kassa, or ground-rent, and the whole of the kurdí-n-kassa of the province is estimated by those best acquainted with the affairs of the country at from twenty to thirty millions; a tax of five hundred kurdí is levied also on every slave. The military force of the province consists of two thousand horsemen, and about eight thousand men on foot, most of them archers. Altogether the province of Kátsena is one of the finest parts of Negroland, and being situated just at the water-parting between the basin of the Tsád and that of the Kwára, at a general elevation of from twelve hundred to fifteen hundred feet, it enjoys the advantage of being at once well watered and well drained, the chains of hills which diversify its surface sending down numerous rapid streams, so that it is less insalubrious than other regions of this continent. Its productions are varied and rich, though its elevated situation seems unfavourable to the growth of cotton. But, on the other side, useful trees seem to be more numerous in this district than in any other under the same latitude; and the áyaba or banana, and the gónda or papaya, are found in many favoured spots, while the dorówa or Parkia, the tsámia or tamarind, and the kadeña, or the Shea butter-tree (Bassia Parkii), are the most common trees everywhere, and very often form thick clusters.

Thursday, Jan. 30.—I was extremely glad when, after a long delay—for we had been obliged to wait more than an hour for the poor nag presented to me by the governor,—we reached the south-eastern gate of the town, the “kófa-n-Káura.” It was as if I had just escaped from a prison, and I drew my breath deeply as I inhaled the fresh air outside the wall. I should have carried with me a very unfavourable impression of Kátsena, if it had not been my destiny to visit this place again under more favourable circumstances; and I should have obtained a very false idea of the character of the Fúlbe, if, from the little experience which I had acquired in this place, I had formed a definitive judgment of them.

On the southern side of the town there is at present no cultivated ground; but the whole country is in a wild state, covered with brushwood. What we saw also of the traffic on the path seemed to be not of a very peaceable kind; for we met nothing but armed foot and horsemen hastening to Kátsena on the news of the expedition in course of preparation by the people of Marádi. But further on, the aspect of the country became a little more peaceful; and after a march of three miles we passed a well, where the women from a neighbouring village were offering for sale the common vegetables of the country, such as gowáza or yams, dánkali or sweet potatoes, kúka, the leaves of the monkey bread-tree, dodówa or the vegetable cakes mentioned above, ground nuts, beans, and sour milk. Nevertheless the whole country, with its few fortified villages, its little cultivation, and the thick forests which separated the villages one from another, left the impression of a very unsettled and precarious existence. I observed that brushwood, where it is not interrupted by larger trees, is always a proof of cultivation having been carried on at no distant period. In the midst of a wild thicket, which deranged all my things, we met a long warlike-train of several hundred horsemen, who perhaps might have incommoded us on the narrow path, if the strange appearance of my luggage had not so frightened the horses, that they rather chose to carry their riders through the very thickest of the covert than to fall in with us. Dúm-palms now began to appear; and beyond the considerable village Bay, cultivation became more extensive. Besides the fan-palm, the dumma and kaña, and the immense monkey bread-tree, with its colossal (now leafless) branches, from which the long heavy “kauchi” were hanging down on slender mouse-tail stalks, were the prevalent trees.

By degrees the country became more beautiful and cheerful, exhibiting a character of repose and ease which is entirely wanting in the northern parts of the province; separate comfortable dwellings of cattle-breeding Féllani were spread about, and the cornfields were carefully fenced and well kept. I was greatly astonished when Gajére with a certain feeling of national pride, pointed out to me here the extensive property of Sídi Ghálli el Háj Ánnur, the man whom I had occasion, in my description of Agades, to mention amongst the most respectable people of that town. It is astonishing how much property is held in these fertile regions by the Tuarek of Asben; and to what consequences this may eventually lead, everybody will easily conjecture.

A little before four o’clock in the afternoon we encamped close to a village called Shibdáwa, the celebrated town of Dáura being distant two days’ march.

Friday, Jan. 31.—It was a most beautiful morning; and I indulged in the feeling of unbounded liberty, and in the tranquil enjoyment of the beautiful aspect of God’s creation. The country through which we passed on leaving Shibdáwa, formed one of the finest landscapes I ever saw in my life. The ground was pleasantly undulating, covered with a profusion of herbage not yet entirely dried up by the sun’s power; the trees, belonging to a great variety of species, were not thrown together into an impenetrable thicket of the forest, but formed into beautiful groups, exhibiting all the advantage of light and shade. There was the kaña, with its rich dark-tinged foliage; the kadeña, or butter-tree, which I here saw for the first time, exhibiting the freshest and most beautiful green; then the marké, more airy, and sending out its branches in more irregular shape, with light groups of foliage; young tamarind-trees rounding off their thick crown of foliage till it resembled an artificial canopy spread out for the traveller to repose in its shade, besides the gámji, the shéria, the sokútso, the turáwa, and many other species of trees unknown to me; while above them all, tall and slender górebas unfolded their fan-crowns, just as if to protect the eye of the delighted wanderer from the rays of the morning sun, and to allow him to gaze undisturbed on the enchanting scenery around. Near the village Káshi even the gónda-tree, or Carica Papaya, which is so rarely seen in these quarters, enlivened the scenery. The densely luxuriant groves seemed to be the abode only of the feathered tribe, birds of numberless variety playing and warbling about in the full enjoyment of their liberty, while the “serdi,” a large bird with beautiful plumage of a light-blue colour, especially attracted my attention. Now and then a herd of cattle was seen dispersed over the rich pasturage grounds, all of white colour, and the bulls provided with a large fat hump or “tózo” hanging down on one side. But in this delightful spectacle objects of destruction also were not wanting, the poisonous plant “túmnia” starting forth everywhere. Cotton and karásia fields interrupted the parklike scenery; and near Kámri, a small place surrounded with a low clay wall, we were delighted with the view of a green patch of low ground laid out into beds, and with the help of a number of drawbeams, “khattatír,” or “lámbuna,” producing wheat and onions. This ground too is only worked with the gélma and the fertáña or small hoe.

Granite rock was protruding in several places; and a little after midday we had a detached range of hills on our right stretching east and west. Soon afterwards, near the village Temma, we passed a small market-place consisting of about eight sheds, and shaded by a number of wide-spreading tamarind-trees, where I was astonished at the number of cattle and horses assembled, but heard on inquiry that they were not intended for sale. Further on, after we had passed the fields of Gógó, plenty of cattle and goats were seen browsing everywhere about. All the cattle were of a white, and all the goats of a coffee-brown colour. Having passed the encampment of the Tin-néggaru or Kél-néggaru, and crossed a dale fringed with small fresh patches of wheat, which were watered by way of the said “lámbuna” from wells in the hollow, we encamped a quarter before four o’clock close to the fence of the village Bógo; for the whole country swarms with thieves, and great caution is necessary at night: the Tin-néggaru last night killed a thief who was attempting to carry off a loaf of salt.

Saturday, Feb. 1.—After a march of about two miles and a half over clayey ground greatly broken up by the rains, we reached the north-west corner of the considerable town Kusáda, and continued along its western wall, where a group of very tall and majestic rimis (Bombax or Eriodendron Guineense), though at present leafless, formed a most conspicuous object. It is very singular and highly characteristic, that this tree (the bentang-tree of Mungo Park) generally grows near the principal gate of the large towns in Háusa, while otherwise it is not frequent, at least not the large full-grown specimens; and it is not improbable that the natives purposely planted them in those places as a kind of waymark—or perhaps it may be a remnant of their pagan customs, this tree being deemed holy by several pagan tribes. It is almost incredible at what an immense distance these stupendous trees, the tallest of the vegetable kingdom, may be seen.

Kusáda is a town of importance, and is very little less than Gazáwa, though not so thickly inhabited; the wall of the town is in tolerably good repair, and the interior is rich in trees, making it look very cheerful and comfortable. Most of the huts consist of clay walls, with a thatched roof, which is certainly the mode of architecture best adapted to the climate and the whole nature of the country.

When leaving the south side of this town we were joined by a troop of women very heavily laden, each carrying upon the head from six to ten enormous calabashes filled with various articles: but they did not prove to be agreeable company; for not being able to walk steadily for any length of time with their loads, they stopped every few minutes, and then went on at a running pace, till they were obliged again to halt, so that they came frequently into collision either with my camel or with the bullock. It is really incredible what loads the native women of Negroland can carry on their heads, but I think no other tribe is equal in this respect to the Tápua or Nyffáwa. The country through which we had to pass along for the first two miles was overgrown with underwood, and much broken up by the rains, till we reached the stubble-fields of Kaférda, where my attention was attracted again by a few scattered specimens of the gigiña, or deléb-palm, which, in these districts, seems to be extremely rare. Descending then a little, the country assumed once more that delightful parklike appearance which had so charmed me the previous day; and the variety of the vegetation was extraordinary,—góreba, jéja, gámji, rími, and dóka being the principal trees.

The industry of the natives was also well represented; for soon after we had met a troop of men carrying home loads of indigo-plants, in order to prepare them in their simple way, we passed over extensive tobacco-fields, which had very nearly reached maturity. Rich aromatic bushes were growing everywhere in the fields, affording most nourishing food for bees, for which purpose hives, formed of thick hollow logs, were fastened to the branches of the colossal kúka-trees. We here passed a most curious specimen of vegetable intercourse in the thorough intermixture of a gigiña with another tree. In the course of my travels my attention was drawn to the interesting attraction which exists between the tamarind-tree and the kúka, both of which trees I very often found linked together in the closest embraces. This district was greatly enlivened also by a rich variety of the feathered tribe, but the beautiful serdi was not seen; the káló and the tsírna now taking its place.

A quarter of an hour after noon we passed the considerable place Dan-Sábua, defended only by a stockade, and, with the exception of a small market-place, giving very little proof of any kind of industry existing among its inhabitants. When I passed the place three years later, it even seemed almost deserted. About two miles further on we passed a small round hill covered with underwood up to its very summit, and remarkable enough for being taken as a boundary mark between the provinces of Kátsena and Kanó; in 1854, however, the frontier was carried further north-west, near Kaférda. We encamped early in the afternoon near the village Gúrzo, separated from it only by a dell laid out in small garden-fields with wheat and onions, and obtained a good supply of the latter, but nothing else. In the night a thief almost succeeded in carrying off some of our luggage, but had to run very hard for his life.

Early the next morning we started with an enthusiastic impulse, in order to reach before night the celebrated emporium of Central Negroland. Kanó, indeed, is a name which excites enthusiasm in every traveller in these regions, from whatever quarter he may come, but principally if he arrives from the north. We thus started in the twilight, passing in the bush some herds of cattle remaining out in the pasture-grounds, and meeting several troops of travellers, which made us fancy the capital to be nearer than it really was. We listened to the tales of our comely and cheerful companion, the “babá-n-báwa” of Tágelel, who detailed to us the wonders of this African London, Birmingham, and Manchester—the vastness of the town, the palace and retinue of the governor, the immense multitudes assembled every day in its marketplace, the splendour and richness of the merchandise exposed there for sale, the various delicacies of the table, the beauty and gracefulness of its ladies. At times my fiery Tunisian mulatto shouted out from mere anticipation of the pleasures which awaited him.

Keeping steadily along, we reached, after about five miles, the very considerable town of Béchi, the well-kept high clay walls of which started forth suddenly from a most luxuriant mass of vegetation, where we saw again the beautifully feathered serdi fluttering about from branch to branch.

The town is very remarkable, as exhibiting the peculiar circumstances of the social state in this country; for it belongs partly to the Tuarek tribe of the Itísan, whose búgaje or serfs—properly half-castes, born of free mothers, but slaves from the father’s side—live here, cultivating for their lords the fields around the town. Thus we see Tuarek everywhere, not only as occasional merchants, but even as settlers and proprietors. The town has but one gate; and a great many of the houses are of the kind described above. Beyond the town the country becomes less cultivated, and is mostly covered with the wild gónda-bush, which bears a most delicious fruit, richly deserving to be called the cream-apple. I suspected it for some time to be identical with the custard-apple; but I afterwards assured myself that it is not. I call the attention of every African traveller to this fruit, which affords the greatest relief after a long day’s journey; but it does not grow on the flat clayey plains of Bórnu proper.

Beyond the little market-place of Budúmme we met the first strings of empty camels belonging to the aïri with which we had been travelling. They were returning from Kanó, where they had carried the salt, in order to retrace their steps to good pasture-grounds, while their masters remained in the capital to sell their merchandise. The drivers confirmed the information we had already received, that our protector Elaíji had not as yet arrived in the town. For he likewise possesses a large property near Kazáure, whither he had gone after parting from me at Kátsena. The country again assumed a more cheerful character; we passed several villages, and even a máriná, or dyeing-place, and the path was well frequented. Almost all the people who met us saluted us most kindly and cheerfully; and I was particularly amused by the following form of salutation: “Bárka, sanú sanú; hm! hm!” “God bless you, gently, gently; how strange!” Only a few proud Féllani, very unlike their brethren in the west, passed us without a salute. The villages are here scattered about in the most agreeable and convenient way, as farming villages ought always to be, but which is practicable only in a country in a state of considerable security and tranquillity. All their names, therefore, are in the plural form, as Tarauráwa, Jimbedáwa, Bagadáwa. The idea of a great degree of industry was inspired by the sight of a máriná near Jimbedáwa, comprising as many as twenty dyeing-pots; and here also a little market was held by the women of the district. About half-past one in the afternoon we entered the rich district of Dáwano, which almost exclusively belongs to the wealthy Dan Mália, and is chiefly inhabited by Féllani. There was here a large market-place, consisting of several rows of well-built sheds, and frequented by numbers of people. A few market-women attached themselves to our little troop, giving us assurance that we should be able to reach the “bírni” to-day, but then added that we ought to arrive at the outer gate before sunset, as it is shut at that time.

We accordingly pressed on with our varied little caravan, consisting of a very lean black horse, covered with coarse wool-like hair, worth four dollars, or perhaps less; a mare, scarcely worth more in its present condition; a camel, my faithful Bú-Séfi, evidently the most respectable four-footed member of the troop, carrying a very awkward load, representing my whole travelling household, with writing-table and bedding-boards; a sumpter-ox, heavily laden; then the four human bipeds to match, viz. one half-barbarized European, one half-civilized Góberáwi Tunisian mulatto, a young lean Tébu lad, and my stout, sturdy, and grave overseer from Tágelel. As we then entered some fields of sesamum, or “nóme” (quite a new sight for me in this country, but which was soon to become of very common occurrence), Gajére descried in the distance between the trees the top of the hill Dála, and we all strained our eyes to get a first glimpse of this hill, which is the real landmark of Kanó.

The country hereabouts exhibited a new feature, some of the fields being enclosed with a bush which I had not seen before, and which was called by my intelligent guide “fidde serewukka.” In Múniyo, where I afterwards saw it used for the same purpose, it is called “mágara.” It is a kind of broom, growing to the height of ten or twelve feet, and has a milky juice, which is slightly poisonous, but by some people is employed as a cure for wounds caused by thorns. A little while afterwards we saw the first single date-palm, a tree also most characteristic of Kanó; and now, the country becoming clear, we obtained a full sight of both the hills, Dalá and Kógo-n-dútsi, which rise from the flat level of the plain; but nothing was as yet visible of the town, and we had but faint hopes of reaching it before sunset. However, we went on, though a little disheartened, as we had some foreboding that we should incur the displeasure of the governor; and passing through the gate, in front of which part of the aïri were encamped, without stopping, as if we were natives of the country, went on across open fields. It took us forty minutes to reach the house of Báwu from the gate, though this lies near the very outskirts of Dalá, the northernmost quarter of the town. It was quite dark, and we had some trouble in taking possession of the quarters assigned to us by our host.

Kanó had been sounding in my ears now for more than a year; it had been one of the great objects of our journey as the central point of commerce, as a great storehouse of information, and as the point whence more distant regions might be most successfully attempted. At length, after nearly a year’s exertions, I had reached it.

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