XXIX. AUTHENTICITY AND GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE HISTORY OF BÓRNU…

XXIX. AUTHENTICITY AND GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE HISTORY OF BÓRNU

The documents upon which the history of Bórnu is based, besides the scanty information contained in the narratives of recent explorers, are—

1. A chronicle (“diván”), or rather the dry and sterile abridgment of a chronicle, comprising the whole history of Bórnu, from the earliest time down to Ibrahím, the last unfortunate offspring of the royal family, who had just ascended the crumbling throne of the Bórnu empire when the last English expedition arrived in that country. 6 pp. 4to.[41]

2. Two other still shorter lists of the Bórnu kings.

3. A detailed history of the first twelve years of the reign of the king Edrís Alawóma, consisting of two parts, in my copy one of 77 and the other of 145 pages, and written by a contemporary of the above-mentioned king, the Imám Ahmed, son of Sofíya. Of this very interesting and important history a copy was forwarded by the late vizier of Bórnu, Háj Beshír ben Tiráb, at my urgent request,[42] to Her Britannic Majesty’s Government, and is now in the Foreign Office; another copy I myself have brought back.

4. A few facts regarding the history of this country, mentioned by Arabic writers, such as Ebn Sáid (A.D. 1282), Ebn Batúta (A.D. 1353), Ebn Khaldún (A.D. 1381-2), Makrízí (about A.D. 1400), and Leo Africanus (A.D. 1528).

5. A short document containing information about embassies sent to Tripoli by some Bórnu kings, and published in the “Bulletin de la Société Géographique de Paris,” 1849, 252 ff.

I now proceed to inquire into the character of the first of these documents, which is the only one among them comprising the whole history of Bórnu, and which therefore forms the basis of our tables. The most momentous question is,—upon what authority this document rests, and when it was compiled. As for the first point, I have been assured by Shitíma Makarémma (a man intimately connected with the old dynasty, who made the two copies for me, and of whom some notice will be found in my journal) that it is a mere extract from a more voluminous work, which he represented as still existing, but which I was unable to procure, as it is carefully concealed. The whole business of collecting documents and information relative to the history of the old dynasty was most difficult, and demanded much discretion, as the new dynasty of the Kánemíyín endeavours to obliterate as much as possible the memory of the old Kanúri dynasty, and has assiduously destroyed all its records wherever they could be laid hold of.

As regards the time when the chronicle, of which the manuscript in question is a very meagre and incorrect abridgment, was written, it is stated that the various parts of it were composed at different times, at the beginning of every new reign; and the question is, when the Kanúri people, or rather their ʿulama, began to commit to writing the most important facts of their history. This question we are fortunately enabled, from Imám Ahmed’s work, to answer satisfactorily; namely, that there existed no written record whatever of the history of his country previous to the king Edrís Katakarmábi, whose reign falls in the first half of the sixteenth century of our era. For when that writer refers to facts of the older history, he is only able to recite as his authority oral information received from old men versed in historical tradition; and he evidently mentions as the oldest author of a written history, the fákih Masfárma ʿOmár ben ʿOthmán, who wrote the history of the king in question.

The annals, therefore, of the time preceding the period of this king and of his predecessor ʿAli Gajidéni, appear to be based entirely upon oral information, and cannot but be liable to a certain degree of inaccuracy as to the actions attributed to each king, the length of their respective reigns, and even the order of succession where it was not dependent on genealogy or descent. For it would be the extreme of hypercriticism to deny that the royal family of Bórnu, in the middle of the sixteenth century, could not or may not justly be supposed to have preserved with great precision their line of descent for fifteen or twenty generations; and in this respect the chronicle No. 1 is entirely confirmed and borne out by Imám Ahmed, who, in the introduction to his History, gives the pedigree of his master Edrís Alawóma up to his first royal ancestor, while the difference in the form of the names, and one slight variance in the order of succession, as given by these two documents, is a plain proof that they have not been borrowed from each other, but have been based on independent authorities.

The disagreement in question is certainly a remarkable one; but it is easily explained. For Makrízí, in harmony with the extract from the chronicle, names the father of the kings Edrís and Dáúd (whose reign he places about the year 700 of the Hejra), Ibrahím, while Imám Ahmed calls them sons of Nikále son of Ibrahím; and this is the general statement of the natives of the country even at the present time, every educated man knowing “Dáúd tata Nikálebe,” or Dáúd Nikálemi. The fact is, that the name Bíri, which the chronicle attributes to the father of Ibrahím the grandfather of Edrís and Dáúd, being a variation of the form Bíram, is identical with Ibrahím; whence it appears that Nikále was another name of Ibrahím the son of Bíri. The same is the case with regard to the names Ahmed and Dúnama, which are identical, if not with regard to their meanings, at least with regard to their applications, as well as the names Sélma or Sélmama and ʿAbd el Jelíl.

This general harmony between the pedigree of the Bórnu kings as given by the chronicle No. 1 and the Imám Ahmed, a learned and clever man in a high position, and in constant connection with the court, is, I think, very satisfactory, and the more so if we take into consideration that, from a reason which I shall soon mention, and which at the same time is a strong argument in favour of the authenticity of these two documents, the pedigree as given by them is not the only one current in Bórnu, but the line of descent and succession varies greatly in one of the two other short chronicles which are mentioned in No. 2, while the third one, which does not appear to make any pretensions to completeness, cannot be taken into account here. Hence, as far as regards the line of descent or succession, I have not thought these two lists worthy of attention, except only with regard to the reign following that of the fifty-eighth king, if we count the reign of the usurper Sʿaíd ʿAlí, the son of Háj ʿOmár. For here the chronicle No. 1 has omitted, by mistake or negligence, the well-established reign of Edrís ben ʿAli, who succeeding to his father ʿAlí, preceded his younger brother Dúnama ben ʿAlí, and reigned twenty years.[43]

What I have here said with regard to the authenticity of the chronicle refers only to the line of descent and succession of the kings mentioned; but, of course, it is quite another question, if we take into view the length of time attributed to the reign of each succeeding king. But even here the dates of the chronicle are confirmed in a most surprising and satisfactory manner by the history of Imám Ahmed, who, in relating the successful expedition of Edrís Aʿaishámi to Kánem, states that from the time when Dáúd Nikálemi was obliged to leave his capital Njímiye, down to the period when Edrís made his entrance into it, 122 years had elapsed. Now, according to the dates of the chronicle, between the end of the reign of Dáúd and the beginning of the reign of Edrís, who is expressly stated by the historian to have undertaken that expedition in the first year of his reign, there intervened exactly 121 years. And indeed we see from the Imám’s account, that most people thought this was the real length of the period, and not 122 years; so well were the educated inhabitants of Bórnu at that time acquainted with the history of their country. Perhaps also Imám Ahmed wishes here to refute Masfárma, the historian of Edrís Áʿaishámi, who adhered to the general opinion.

Unfortunately, the length of the several reigns is our only guide with regard to the chronology of this history, as neither the chronicle nor even Imám Ahmed specifies particular years with reference to any of the events which they mention. This is indeed a very great defect, not so apparent in the dry chronicle as in the account of the learned priest; and it seems almost inconceivable, as he is very particular, not only with regard to seasons, but even to months and days, mentioning with great exactness on what day of the month his master did so and so, and even disputing, in this respect, slight variations of opinion. If he had only given us the date of a single year, we should be much better off as to the chronology of the history of Bórnu. As it is, if we put out of account other chronological data which we are fortunately in possession of, in order to reduce to chronology the events mentioned by the chronicle, we can only reckon backwards the number of years attributed by it to the reign of each successive king, commencing from the death of Sultan Dúnama, who in the year A.H. 1233 was killed in the battle at Ngála (written “Ghála” in Arabic, but called “Angala” by the members of the former expedition).

If we now count together the years attributed to each reign, proceeding in a backward order, and beginning with the end of the year H. 1233, we obtain, in an inverse order, the following chronological dates for the more important periods of the history of Bórnu.

A.H. A.D.

Beginning of the reign of Ayúma 391 1000-1

Beginning of the reign of Humé, the first Moslim king 479 1086

Reign of Dúnama Díbalámi, the warlike and daring king who spoiled the talisman of Bórnu 618-658 1221-1259-60

Beginning of the reign of Ibrahím Nikálemi 707 1307

Beginning of the reign of Edrís ben Ibrahím 754 1353

End of the reign of Dáúd, who succumbed to the Bulála 789 1387

End of the reign of ʿOthmán ben Edrís 795 1392-3

The reign of ʿOmʿar, who abandoned his residence in Kánem altogether, ceding it to the Bulála 796-799 1393-1396

Beginning of the reign of ʿAlí Dúnamámi 877 1472

Beginning of the reign of Edrís Katarkamábi 911 1505

Beginning of the reign of Edrís Alawóma 980 1572

Beginning of the reign of Háj ʿOmár 1036 1626-7

Beginning of the reign of ʿAli ben Háj ʿOmár 1055 1645

Having obtained these dates, we have first to observe that to fill up the period from Ayúma to Dhu Yazan, the presumed ancestor of the Séfuwa, and even known as such to Abú ’l Fedá as well as to Makrízí, and whose age (as being that of a man who predicted the coming of the prophet) is fixed beyond all doubt, only six generations are left. This is the circumstance which I mentioned above as speaking greatly in favour of the authenticity of this chronicle and its genealogies, even with regard to the more remote times. For if it had not been necessary to preserve scrupulously a well-established line of succession, how easy it would have been to introduce a few more individuals in order to fill up this blank, as has been done in the other list (b), instead of admitting the palpable nonsense of attributing to the two oldest kings a reign of from two hundred and fifty to three hundred years. Even Séf and Ibrahím, the first two princes of the line, are, I think, quite historical persons, whose existence was so well established that a conscientious chronicler could not change anything in the number of years attributed to the length of their reigns.

Following, therefore, the hints given to us by the chronicle itself, we fix the foundation of the dynasty of the Séfuwa in Kánem about the middle of the third century after Mohammed, or a little before the year 900 of our era. We shall afterwards return to this circumstance.

Now we shall first see how triumphantly the authenticity of the chronicle is confirmed in every respect by the occasional remarks made by Makrízí and Ebn Batúta with regard to the history of Bórnu.

Unfortunately, the oldest date which Makrízí (on the authority, as it would seem, of Ebn Sʿaíd) mentioned with regard to Kánem, namely, an expedition made by its king into the fertile districts of Mábiná in the year H. 650, cannot be used as a sufficient test of the authenticity of the chronicle, as the historian does not mention the name of the king; but the deed itself harmonizes exceedingly well with the warlike and enterprising character of Dúnama Díbalámi, whose reign, according to our chronicle, falls between the years 618 and 658. Just the same is to be said of the fact mentioned by Ebn Khaldún, who, in his valuable history of the Berbers, which has been recently made accessible to all, relates the interesting fact that, among other valuable presents, a giraffe was sent by the King of Kánem (to whom even at that early date he gives the title of “master of Bórnu”) to Abú ʿAbdallah el Mostánser the king of Tunis, in the year of the Hejra 655. The same historian, in another passage of his work, referring to the year 656, mentions again the king of Kánem as having caused the death of a son of Kárakosh el Ghozzi el Modáfferi, the well-known adventurous chieftain who had tried to establish himself in Wadán.

But fortunately we have other data which afford us a very fair test. According to Makrízí, not long after the close of the seventh century of the Hejra (fi hedúd sennet sebʿa mayet), the king of Kánem was Háj Ibrahím; after him reigned his son, el Háj Edrís—the historian does not say expressly that he immediately succeeded his father; then Dáúd, the brother of Edrís, and another son of Ibrahím; then ʿOmár, the son of Dáúd’s elder brother Háj Edrís; and then ʿOthmán, the brother of the former, and another son of Edrís. Makrízí adds that this last-named king reigned shortly before A.H. 800; and then he states that the inhabitants of Kánem revolted against the successors of Ibrahím, and made themselves independent, but that Bórnu remained their kingdom.

All these dates given by Makrízí, as may be seen from the few most important events which I have extracted from the chronicle, are in most surprising harmony with the information conveyed in a dry and sterile but uncorrupted way by the latter. Notwithstanding the slight discrepancy in the order of succession of the later kings, whose reign was of very short duration, and whose relationship is rather perplexing, is it possible to find a harmony more complete than this, if we take into consideration the only way in which Makrízí could have obtained his information, that is to say, from merchants or pilgrims visiting Egypt on their way to Mekka?

We now come to Ebn Batúta; and we again find the same surprising harmony between the fact regarding Bórnu, as mentioned by him, and the dates of the chronicle. The famous and enterprising traveller of Tangiers, on his return-journey from his visit to Western Sudán, left the capital of Mélle or Máli (that is, Mungo Park’s Jára) the 22nd of Moharrem, 754, and, proceeding by way of Timbúktu or Túmbutu, and thence down the Ísa or Niger to Gágho or Gógo, and thence to Tekádda,[44] in speaking about the copper found in the mines near this town, relates that the bars made of it were exported to Góber and Rágha (or rather Ragháy), and also to Bórnu, and then adds the interesting fact that the name of the ruling king of the latter country was Edrís.

Now if we follow implicitly the dates of the chronicle, Edrís ben Ibrahím (Nikále) ascended the throne in that very year (753) when, according to this precious and unimpeachable testimony of the illustrious and intelligent traveller, he actually occupied the throne.

The very remarkable and really surprising harmony here shown to exist between the chronicle and the dates which have come to our knowledge from other sources, will, I hope, give to any unprejudiced mind some degree of confidence in the authenticity of that document, and will make him aware of its superiority over the information of a man like Leo Africanus, or rather Hasen Ebn Mohammed el Wasas, who, though he undoubtedly has, and will always have, the merit of having given to Europe a clear general view of the political and linguistic groups of Central Africa, yet, on account of the manner in which his report was drawn up (merely from memory, after the lapse of many years), cannot be a decisive authority on any special circumstance. Hence, when he states that the name of the king of Bórnu, at the time when he visited the country, was Abraham (Ibrahím), we may confidently assume that he is wrong, and that he speaks of the illustrious conqueror ʿAlí ben Dúnama, who restored peace and glory to that distracted country, and, on account of his warlike character and his various expeditions, obtained the surname el Gházi. I shall return to this subject in the chronological table, in speaking of the reign of ʿAlí ben Dúnama.

As for the document mentioned above as No. 5, it contains a few valuable dates with regard to those Bórnu kings who reigned near the time when the author obtained his information in Tripoli, while for the older times, about which the people could only inform him “par tradition des leurs pères,” his information is of little value. The most important dates which it contains are those which have reference to the time of the accession to the throne of the three Bórnu kings, ʿAbdallah ben Dúnama, Háj ʿOmár, and Háj ʿAlí; and these vary but little from the dates computed from the chronicle, and serve therefore to confirm its accuracy.

However, it is not my design to vindicate this chronicle from all possibility of error; but my object is to show that its general character, dry and meagre as it is, has the strongest claim to authenticity. Indeed I am sure that it can be fully relied upon, all uncertainty being reduced to a space of one or two years; I may therefore be allowed to assert that the chronological table, which I shall give in the Appendix, is something more than a mere fairy tale. But in this place, I think it well to offer a few general remarks on the characteristic features of the history of Bórnu.

I have first to speak of the origin of the Séfuwa or Dúguwa. We have already seen that the chronology of the Bórnu people, if palpable absurdities be left out of consideration, does not carry their history further down than the latter half of the ninth century of our era. Accordingly there can be no further question as to whether Séf was really the son of the celebrated Dhu Yazan, and identical with Séf Dhu Yazan, the last native ruler of the Himyaritic kingdom, who celebrated his accession to the throne in the famous castle of Gumdán, and with the assistance of Khosru Parvis liberated Yeman from the dominion of the Abyssinians. I frankly confess that, while Ibrahím the son of Séf, as “father of the king” (as he appears to have been entitled occasionally), seems to me to have a really historical character, I entertain sincere doubts whether Séf be not a mere imaginary personage, introduced into the pedigree expressly in order to connect it with Yeman. Indeed, in one short list of Bórnu kings which I possess, several princes are mentioned before Séf, whose names, such as Futírmi, Hálar Sukayámi, Halármi, Bunúmi, Rizálmi, Mairími, have quite a Kanúri character. As the reader will see, I do not at all doubt of some connection existing between the ruling family of Bórnu and the Himyaritic or Kushitic stock; but I doubt its immediate descent from the royal Himyaritic family.

But be this as it may, I think that Leo Africanus, who is a very good authority for general relations, is right in stating that the kings of Bórnu originated from the Libyan tribe of the Bardoa, a tribe also mentioned by Makrízí as Berdʿoa. That there is an ethnological connection between the names Bérnu or Bórnu, Bórgu, Berdʿoa, Berdáma, Berauni, Berber, can scarcely be doubted; but to many the Berdʿoa might seem to have nearer relation with the Tedá or Tébu than with the real Berber or Mazígh. Sultan Béllo certainly, in the introduction to his history of the conquests of the Fúlbe, expressly says that the Bórnu dynasty was of Berber origin; and it is on this account that the Háusa people call every Bórnu man “ba-Bérberche,” and the Bórnu nation “Bérbere.” This view of the subject is confirmed by the distinct statement of Makrízí, who says that that was the common tradition of the people at his time—“it is said that they are descended from the Berbers,”—and moreover in another passage informs us that the king of Kánem was a nomade, or wanderer; although it seems that this statement refers properly to the Bulála dynasty.

Before the time of Sélma, or Sélmama, the son of Bíkoru, whose reign began about A.H. 581, the kings are stated by the chronicle to have been of a red complexion, like the Arabs; and to such an origin from the red race, the Syrian-Berber stock, is certainly to be referred their custom of covering the face and never showing the mouth, to which custom Ebn Batúta adverts in speaking of King Edrís, who ruled in his time. To this origin is also to be referred the custom, till recently practised, of putting the new king upon a shield, and raising him up over the heads of the people, as well as the polity of the empire, which originally was entirely aristocratical, based upon a council of twelve chiefs, without whose assent nothing of importance could be undertaken by the king.

We have a very curious statement concerning the Bórnu empire, emanating from Lucas, the traveller employed by the African Association, and based on the authority of his Arab informants, principally Ben ʿAlí, who no doubt was a very clever and intelligent man. He describes the Bórnu kingdom as an elective monarchy, the privilege of choosing a successor among the sons of a deceased king, without regard to priority of birth, being conferred by the nation on three of the most distinguished men of the country. He does not say whether these belonged to the courtiers, or whether every private individual might be called upon promiscuously to fulfil this important duty; but the strict etiquette of the court of Bórnu makes it probable that the former was the case. Be this as it may, the choice being made, the three electors proceeded to the apartment of the sovereign elect, and conducted him in silence to the gloomy place in which the unburied corpse of his deceased father was deposited; for till this whole ceremony was gone through the deceased could not be interred. There, over the corpse of his deceased father, the newly elected king seems to have entered into some sort of compromise sanctioned by oath, binding himself that he would respect the ancient institutions, and employ himself for the glory of the country.

I shall have to mention a similar custom still prevailing at the present day in the province of Múniyó, which belonged to that part of the empire called Yerí, while the dynasty of the Múniyóma probably descended from the Berber race. Every newly elected Múniyóma, still at the present day, is in duty bound to remain for seven days in a cave hollowed out by nature, or by the hand of man, in the rock behind the place of sepulchre of the former Múniyóma, in the ancient town of Gámmasak, although it is quite deserted at present, and does not contain a living soul.

But that not only the royal family, but even a great part of the whole nation, or rather one of the nations which were incorporated into the Bórnu empire, was of Berber origin, is still clear so late as the time of Edrís Alawóma, that is to say, only two centuries and a half ago; for in the report of his expeditions, constant mention is made of the Berber tribes (“kabáíl el Beráber”) as a large component part of his army, and constantly two parts of this army are distinguished as the Reds, “el Áhhmar,” and the Blacks, “eʾ Súd.” This part of the population of Bórnu has separated from the rest, I suspect in consequence of the policy of ʿAlí, the son and successor of Háj ʿOmár, a very warlike prince, who, in the second half of the seventeenth century, waged a long war with Ágades.

Viewed in the light thus shed by past history, the continual and uninterrupted warlike expeditions made by the Tuarek at the present time against the northern regions of Bórnu and against Kánem assume quite a new and far more interesting character. Now if it be objected that the Kanúri or Bórnu language does not appear to contain any Berber elements (which indeed it does not), I have only to adduce the exactly parallel example of the Bulála, a brother dynasty of the Bórnu royal family, descended from the same stock, who, having settled and founded a dynasty among the tribe of the Kúka, in the territory of Fíttri, still continue to speak their native language, that is the Kanúri, in the time of Leo,[45] but have now entirely forgotten it, adopting the language of the people over whom they ruled; and similar examples are numerous.

A second point which deserves notice is, that the Kanúri even at the present day call people in general, but principally their kings, always after the name of their mother, and that the name of the mother’s tribe is almost continually added in the chronicle as a circumstance of the greatest importance. Thus the famous king Dúnama ben Selmʿaa is known in Bórnu generally only under the name of Díbalámi, from the name of his mother Díbala; and the full form of his royal title is Díbalámi Dúnama Selmámi, his mother’s name, as the most noble and important, preceding his individual name, which is followed by the name derived from his father. It is also evident, even from the dry and jejune report of the chronicle, what powerful influence the Walíde or “Mágira”—this is her native title—exercised in the affairs of the kingdom; I need only mention the examples of Gúmsu (“gúmsu” means the chief wife) Fasámi, who imprisoned her son Bíri, when already king, for a whole year, and of Áʿaishad or ʿAisa, the mother of Edrís, who for a number of years exercised such paramount authority, that in some lists, and even by many ʿulama at the present time, her name is inserted in the list of the sovereigns of the country.

These circumstances may be best explained by supposing that a kind of compromise took place between the strangers—Berbers, or rather Imóshagh (Mazígh) from the tribe of the Berdʿoa—and the tribe or tribes among whom they settled, just in the same manner as we have seen that a stipulation of the same kind was probably made between the conquering Kél-owí and the ancient inhabitants of Aír of the Góber race; and the same circumstances, with similar results, are observable in ancient times, in the relations subsisting between the Grecian colonists and the original inhabitants of Lycia.

The most important among the indigenous tribes of Kánem are the Kíye or Beni Kíya, also mentioned in the time of Edrís Alawóma, the Meghármah, who may possibly be identical with the Ghemármah, the Temághera (evidently a Berber name), the Débiri, the Kúnkuna, at present established in Kárgá, and finally the Tébu or Tubu, or rather Tedá. Of all these the last-named constituted by far the most important and most numerous tribe. To them belonged the mother of Dúnama ben Humé, the most powerful of the older kings of Bórnu, who appears to have thrice performed the pilgrimage to Mekka. Indeed it would seem that the real talisman which Díbalámi Dúnama Selmámi spoiled consisted in the friendly relation between the Berauni or Kanúri and the Tébu, which was so intimate that the name of Berauni, which originally belonged to the inhabitants of Bórnu, is still at present the common name given by the Tuarek to the Tébu; or rather, the latter are a race intimately related to the original stock of the Kanúri, as must become evident to every unprejudiced mind that investigates their language.

How powerful a tribe the Tedá were, is sufficiently shown by the length of the war which they carried on with that very king Dúnama Selmámi, and which is said to have lasted more than seven years. Indeed, it would seem as if it had been only by the assistance of this powerful tribe that the successors of Jíl Shikomémi were able to found the powerful dynasty of the Bulála, and to lay the foundation of the great empire called by Leo Gaoga, comprehending all the eastern and north-eastern parts of the old empire of Kánem, and extending at times as far as Dóngola, so that in the beginning of the sixteenth century it was larger than Bórnu. Even in the latter half of the sixteenth century, the Tedá appears to have constituted a large proportion of the military force of the Bulála in Kánem; and great numbers of them are said, by the historian of the powerful king Edrís Alawóma, to have emigrated from Kánem into Bórnu, in consequence of the victories obtained by that prince over the Bulála. At that time they seem to have settled principally in the territories of the Koyám, a tribe very often mentioned in the book of Imám Ahmed as forming part of the Bórnu army, and with whom at present they are completely intermixed. It is very remarkable, that neither by the chronicle, nor by the historian of Edrís Alawóma, the large tribe of the Mánga, which evidently formed a very considerable element in the formation of the Bórnu nation, is ever once mentioned.

While the tribes above enumerated were more or less absorbed by the empire of Kánem, and, in the course of time, adopted the Mohammedan religion professed by its rulers, there was on the other hand a very numerous indigenous tribe which did not become amalgamated with the conquering element, but, on the contrary, continued to repel it in a hostile manner, and for a long time threatened its very existence. These were the “Soy” or “Só,” a tribe settled originally in the vast territory enclosed towards the north and north-west by the komádugu Wáube, erroneously called the Yeou, and towards the east by the Shári, and divided, as it would seem, into several small kingdoms.

This powerful tribe was not completely subjugated before the time of Edrís Alawóma, or the latter part of the sixteenth century; and it might be matter of surprise that they are not mentioned at all by the chronicle before the middle of the fourteenth century, if it were not that even circumstances and facts of the very greatest importance are passed over in silence by this arid piece of nomenclature. It would therefore be very inconsistent to conclude from this silence, that before the period mentioned the princes of Kánem had never come into contact with the tribe of the Soy; the reason why the chronicle, sparing as it is of information, could not any longer pass them over in silence, was that in the space of three years they had vanquished and killed four successive kings. The places mentioned in the list, where the first three of these princes were slain, cannot be identified with absolute certainty; but as for Nánighám, where Mohammed ben ʿAbdallah was killed, it certainly lay close to, and probably in, the territory of the Soy. After this period we learn nothing with regard to this tribe until the time of Edrís Alawóma, although it seems probable that Edrís Nikálemi, the successor of Mohammed ben ʿAbdallah, and the contemporary of Ebn Batúta, had first to gain a victory over the Soy, before he was able to sit down quietly upon his throne.

Altogether, in the history of Bórnu we can distinguish the following epochs. First, the rise of power in Kánem, Njímiye being the capital of the empire, silent and imperceptible till we see on a sudden, in the beginning of the twelfth century, the powerful prince Dúnama ben Humé start forth under the impulse of Islám, wielding the strength of a young and vigorous empire, and extending his influence as far as Egypt. The acme, or highest degree of prosperity, of this period coincides with the reign of Díbalámi Dúnama Selmámi, in the middle of the thirteenth century, during the prime of the dynasty of the Beni Háfis in Tunis. But this reign already engendered the germs of decay; for during it the two cognate elements of which the empire consisted, namely the Tedá and the Kanúri, were disunited, and it yielded too much influence to the aristocratical element, which was represented by the twelve great offices, an institution which seems to deserve particular attention.

The consequence was, that a series of civil wars and regicides ensued, interrupted only by the more tranquil reign of Ibrahím Nikálemi in the first half of the fourteenth century, which was followed, however, by the most unfortunate period of the empire, when the great native tribe of the Soy burst forth and killed four kings in succession. Then followed another respite from turmoil, just at the time when Ebn Batúta visited Negroland; but the son of the very king who in the time of that distinguished traveller ruled over Bórnu fell the first victim in the struggle that ensued with a power which had arisen from the same root, had gained strength during the civil wars of Bórnu, and which now threatened to swallow it up altogether. This was the dynasty of the Bulála, which, originating with the fugitive Bórnu prince Jíl Shikomémi, had established itself in the district of Fíttri over the tribe of the Kúka, and from thence spread its dominion in every direction till, after a sanguinary struggle, it conquered Kánem, and forced the Kanúri dynasty to seek refuge in the western provinces of its empire, about the year 1400 of our era.

The Bórnu empire (if we may give the name of empire to the shattered host of a belligerent tribe driven from their home and reduced to a few military encampments) for the next seventy years seemed likely to go to pieces altogether, till the great king ʿAli Dúnamámi opened another glorious period; for having at length mastered the aristocratical element, which had almost overwhelmed the monarchy, he founded as a central point of government a new capital or “bírni,” Ghasréggomo, the empire having been without a fixed centre since the abandonment of Njímiye. It was in his time that Leo Africanus visited Negroland, where he found the Bulála empire (Gaoga) still in the ascendant: but this was changed in the beginning of the sixteenth century, even before the publication of his account; for in the hundred and twenty-second (lunar) year from the time when ʿOmár was compelled to abandon his royal seat in Njímiye, ceding the rich country of Kánem, the very nucleus of the empire, to his rivals, the energetic king Edrís Katakarmábi entered that capital again with his victorious army, and from that time down to the beginning of the present century Kánem has remained a province of Bórnu, although it was not again made the seat of government.

Altogether the sixteenth century is one of the most glorious periods of the Bórnu empire, adorned as it is by such able princes as the two Edrís and Mohammed, while in Western Negroland the great Sónghay empire went to pieces, and was finally subjugated by Mulay Hámed el Mansúr, the Emperor of Morocco. Then followed a quieter period, and old age seemed gradually to gain on the kingdom, while pious and peaceful kings occupied the throne, till in the middle of the last century the energetic and enterprising king ʿAli ʿOmármi began a violent struggle against that very nation from which the Bórnu dynasty had sprung, but which had now become its most fearful enemy—the Imóshagh or Tuarek. He made great exertions in every direction; but his efforts seem to have resembled the convulsions of death, and being succeeded by an indolent king, for such was Ahmed, the fatal hour, which was to accomplish the extinction of the dynasty of the Séfuwa, rapidly approached. At last, when the very centre of the empire had already fallen a prey to a new nation which had started forth on a career of glory, the Fúlbe or Felláta, there arose a stranger, a nationalized Arab, who, in saving the last remains of the kingdom, founded a new dynasty, that of the Kánemíyín, which, after having shone forth very brightly under its founder, was recently reduced by civil discord, and seems now destined to a premature old age.

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XXX. THE CAPITAL OF BÓRNU

I shall now give an account of my stay in Kúkawa before setting out on my journey to Ádamáwa. Regarding Kúkawa only as the basis of my further proceedings, and as a necessary station already sufficiently known to the European public by the long stay of the former expedition, I endeavoured to collect as much information as possible with regard to the surrounding countries. Two of my friends were distinguished by a good deal of Mohammedan learning, by the precision with which they recollected the countries they had wandered through, and by dignified manners; but they differed much in character, and were inclined to quarrel with each other as often as they happened to meet in my house.

These two men, to whom I am indebted for a great deal of interesting and precise information, were the Arab Ahmed bel Mejúb, of that division of the tribe of the Welád bu-Sebʿa who generally live in the Wady Sákiyet el Hamra, to the south of Morocco, and the Púllo Ibrahím son of the Sheikh el Mukhtár, in Kaháide on the Senegal, and cousin of the late Mohammed el Amín, the energetic prince of Fúta-Tóro. Ahmed had travelled over almost the whole of Western Africa, from Arguín on the ocean as far as Bagírmi, and had spent several years in Ádamáwa, of which country he first gave me an exact description, especially with regard to the direction of the rivers. He was a shrewd and very intelligent man; yet he was one of those Arabs who go round all the courts of the princes of Negroland, to whatever creed or tribe they may belong, and endeavour to obtain from them all they can by begging and by the parade of learning. I esteemed him on account of his erudition, but not in other respects.

Quite a different person was the Púllo Ibrahím—a very proud young man, fully aware of the ascendency, and strongly marked with the distinguishing character, of the nation to which he belonged. He had performed the pilgrimage to Mekka, crossing the whole breadth of Africa from west to east, from warm religious feeling mixed up with a little ambition, as he knew that such an exploit would raise him highly in the esteem of his countrymen, and secure to him a high position in life. He had been two years a hostage in Ndér (St. Louis), and knew something about the Europeans. It had struck him that the French were not so eager in distributing bibles as the English, while he had truly remarked that the former were very sensible of the charms of the softer sex, and very frequently married the pretty daughters of the Dembaséga. He obtained from me, first the Zabúr, or the Psalms of David, which even the Arabs esteem very highly, and would esteem much more if they were translated into a better sort of Arabic, and afterwards the whole Bible, which he wished to take with him on his long land journey.

The Arabs and the Fúlbe, as is well known, are in almost continual warfare all along the line from the Senegal as far as Timbúktu; and it was most interesting for me to see him and Ahmed in violent altercation about the advantages of their respective nations, while I was thereby afforded an excellent means of appreciating their reports with regard to the state of the tribes and countries along the Senegal. The way in which they began to communicate to me their information was in itself expressive of their respective characters, Ahmed protesting that, before he dared to communicate with me, he was compelled to ask the permission of the vizier, while Ibrahím laughed at him, declaring that he felt himself fully authorized to give me any information about Negroland. Ibrahím became an intimate friend of mine, and took a lively interest in me, particularly commiserating my lonely situation in a foreign country, far from home, without the consolations of female companionship.

As an example of the risks which European travellers may incur by giving medicines to natives to administer to themselves at home, I will relate the following incident. Ibrahím told me one day that he wanted some cooling medicine; and I gave him two strong doses of Epsom salts, to use occasionally. He then complained the following day that he was suffering from worms; and when I told him that the Epsom salts would not have the effect of curing this complaint, but that worm-powder would, he begged me to give him some of the latter; and I gave him three doses to use on three successive days. However, my poor friend, though an intelligent man, thought that it might not be amiss to take all this medicine at once, viz. four ounces of Epsom salts and six drachms of worm-powder; and the reader may imagine the effect which this dose produced upon a rather slender man. Unfortunately, I had just taken a ride out of the town; and he remained for full two days in a most desperate state, while his friends, who had sent in vain to my house to obtain my assistance, were lamenting to all the people that the Christian had killed their companion, the pious pilgrim.

Besides these two men, there were many interesting strangers at that time in Kúkawa, from whom I learnt more or less. Some of them I shall here mention, as their character and story will afford the reader a glance at one side of life in Negroland. A man who had performed travels of an immense extent, from Khórasán in the east as far as Sansándi in the west, and from Tripoli and Morocco in the north as far as Asiantí and Jenakhéra and Fertít towards the south, would have been of great service, if he had preserved an exact recollection of all the routes which he had followed in his devious wanderings; but as it was, I could only gather from him some general information, the most interesting part of which had reference to Mósi or rather Móre, a large and populous country known by name already, from Sultan Béllo’s curious communications to Captain Clapperton, but always misplaced in the maps, and its capital Wóghodoghó.

This enterprising man, who generally travelled as a dervish, had gone from Sofára on the Máyo balléo or Niger, between Hamdalláhi and Ségo, across a most unsettled country, to Wóghodoghó; but he was unable to give me any precise details with regard to it, and I never met another person who had travelled this dangerous route. He had also travelled all along the pagan states to the south of Bagírmi and Wadáy, and advised me strongly, if it were my plan to penetrate to the Upper Nile (as, indeed, I then intended, notwithstanding my total want of means), to adopt the character of a dervish, which he deemed essential for my success. But while such a character might, indeed, insure general success, it would preclude the possibility of making any accurate observations, and would render necessary the most painful, if not insupportable, privations. And on the whole this poor fellow was less fortunate than I; for in the year 1854 he was slain on that very route from Yóla to Kúkawa which I myself had twice passed successfully. He was a native of Baghdád, and called himself Sheríf Ahmed el Baghdádi.

There was another singular personage, a native of Sennár, who had been a clerk in the Turkish army, but, as malicious tongues gave out, had been too fond of the cash entrusted to his care, and absconded. He afterwards resided some years in Wadáy, where he had drilled a handful of the sultan’s slaves, had come to this kingdom to try his fortune, and was now about to be sent to Wadáy by the sheikh of Bórnu, as a spy, to see if the prince of that country had still any design of recommencing hostilities. From all persons of this description the traveller may learn a great deal; and, intriguing fellows as they generally are, and going from court to court spreading reports everywhere, prudence requires that he should keep on tolerably good terms with them.

Most interesting and instructive was a host of pilgrims from different parts of Másena or Mélle, partly Fúlbe, partly Sónghay, who having heard of the white man, and of his anxiety to collect information respecting all parts of the continent, came repeatedly to me to contribute each his share. I used to regale them with coffee, while they gave me ample opportunities of comparing and testing their statements. The most interesting and best informed amongst them, were Bu-Bakr, a native of Hamdalláhi, the capital of the sheikh (sekho) Ahmedu ben Ahmedu, who, having made a pilgrimage to Mekka, had long resided in Yeman, and was now returning homeward with a good deal of knowledge; and another cheerful and simple-hearted old man from Sá on the Ísa or Niger, between Hamdalláhi and Timbúktu. Indeed, as the report of Ahmed bel Mejúb about Ádamáwa had confirmed me in my determination to sacrifice everything in order to visit that country as soon as possible, so the manifold information of these people with respect to the countries on the middle course of the so-called Niger excited in me a most ardent desire to execute the design, previously but vaguely entertained, of accomplishing also a journey westward to Timbúktu.

Among my Bórnu friends at this time, the most instructive were Shitíma Makarémma and Ámsakay. The former, who had been a courtier under the old dynasty, and who had saved his life by his intrigues, was a very intelligent old man, but an acknowledged rascal to whom unnatural vices, which seem in general entirely unknown in these regions, were imputed. Nevertheless he was the only man who was master of all the history of the old dynasty; and he spoke the Kanúri language with such exquisite beauty as I have never heard from anybody else. He had two very handsome daughters, whom he succeeded in marrying, one to the vizier and one to his adversary, ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán; but in December 1853 he was executed, together with the vizier, but on totally different grounds, as having long forfeited his life. Quite a different sort of man was Ámsakay, a simple Kánemma chief, who has been represented in one of my sketches. He had formerly distinguished himself by his expeditions against the Búdduma, till those enterprising islanders succeeded in conciliating him by the gift of one of their handsome daughters for a wife, when he became half settled amongst them.

I had also some interesting pagan instructors, among whom I will only mention Agíd Búrku, a very handsome youth, but who had undergone the horrible process of castration. The abolition of this practice in the Mohammedan world ought to be the first object of Christian governments and missionaries, not merely on account of the unnatural and desecrated state to which it reduces a human being, but on account of the dreadful character of the operation itself, which, in these countries at least, is the reason why scarcely one in ten survives it. With extreme delight Agíd Búrku dwelt upon the unconstrained nudity in which his countrymen indulged, and with great naïveté described a custom of the Pagans, which is identical with a custom of the civilized Europeans, but is an abomination in the eyes of every Mohammedan. He had wandered about a good deal in the southern provinces of Bagírmi and Wadáy, and gave me the first information about the interesting mountain-group near Kénga Matáya.

But I must principally dwell upon my relations to the vizier el Háj Beshír ben Ahmed Tiráb, upon whose benevolent disposition the whole success of the mission depended, as he ruled entirely the mind of the sheikh, who was more sparing of words, and less intelligent. Mohammed el Beshír, being the son of the most influential man in Bórnu after the sheikh, enjoyed all the advantages which such a position could offer for the cultivation of his mind, which was by nature of a superior cast. He had gone on a pilgrimage to Mekka in the year 1843, by way of Ben-Gházi, when he had an opportunity both of showing the Arabs near the coast that the inhabitants of the interior of the continent are superior to the beasts, and of getting a glimpse of a higher state of civilization than he had been able to observe in his own country.

Having thus learned to survey the world collectively from a new point of view, and with an increased eagerness after everything foreign and marvellous, he returned to his native country, where he soon had an opportunity of proving his talent, his father being slain in the unfortunate battle at Kúsuri, and Sheikh ʿOmár, a fugitive in his native country, having much need of a faithful counsellor in his embarrassed situation. The sheikh was beset by a powerful and victorious host, encamping in the largest of the towns of his kingdom, while the party of the old dynasty was rising again, and not only withdrawing from him the best forces wherewith to face the enemy, but threatening his very existence, at the same time that a brother was standing in fierce rivalry to him at the head of a numerous army. Sheikh ʿOmár was successful, the host of Wadáy was obliged to withdraw, and, abandoning the purpose for which they had come, namely, that of re-establishing the old dynasty, commenced a difficult retreat of many hundred miles at the beginning of the rainy season; the partisans of the old dynasty were entirely crushed, the last prince of that family slain, the residence of the sultans levelled to the ground, and even the remembrance of the old times was almost effaced. There remained to be feared only his brother ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán. ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán was a good soldier, but a man of a very loose and violent character. When a youth he had committed all sorts of violence and injustice, carrying off young brides by force, to indulge his passions: he was besides a man of little intelligence. But being but a few months younger than ʿOmár, he thought himself equally entitled to the succession; and if once admitted into a high position in the empire, he might be expected to abuse his influence on the very first opportunity.

Sheikh ʿOmár, therefore, could not but choose to confide rather in the intelligent son of his old minister, the faithful companion in the field and counsellor of his father, than in his own fierce and jealous brother; and all depended upon the behaviour of Háj Beshír, and upon the discretion with which he should occupy and maintain his place as first, or rather only minister of the kingdom. Assuredly his policy should have been to conciliate, as much as possible, all the greater “kokanáwa” or courtiers, in order to undermine the influence of ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán, whom it might be wise to keep at a respectful distance. But in this respect the vizier seems to have made great mistakes, his covetousness blinding him to his principal advantages; for covetous he certainly was—first, from the love of possessing, and also in order to indulge his luxurious disposition, for he was certainly rather “kamúma,” that is to say, extremely fond of the fair sex, and had a harím of from three to four hundred female slaves.

In assembling this immense number of female companions for the entertainment of his leisure hours, he adopted a scientific principle; in fact, a credulous person might suppose that he regarded his harím only from a scientific point of view;—as a sort of ethnological museum—doubtless of a peculiarly interesting kind—which he had brought together in order to impress upon his memory the distinguishing features of each tribe. I have often observed that, in speaking with him of the different tribes of Negroland, he was at times struck with the novelty of a name, lamenting that he had not yet had a specimen of that tribe in his harím, and giving orders at once to his servants to endeavour to procure a perfect sample of the missing kind. I remember, also, that on showing to him one day an illustrated ethnological work in which he took a lively interest, and coming to a beautiful picture of a Circassian female, he told me, with an expression of undisguised satisfaction, that he had a living specimen of that kind; and when, forgetting the laws of Mohammedan etiquette, I was so indiscreet as to ask him whether she was as handsome as the picture, he answered only with a smile, at once punishing and pardoning my indiscreet question. I must also say that, notwithstanding the great number and variety of the women who shared his attention, he seemed to take a hearty interest in each of them: at least I remember that he grieved most sincerely for the loss of one who died in the winter of 1851. Poor Háj Beshír! He was put to death in the last month of 1853, leaving seventy-three sons alive, not counting the daughters, and the numbers of children which may be supposed to die in such an establishment without reaching maturity.

But to return to his political character. I said that he neglected to attach to himself the more powerful of the courtiers, with whose assistance he might have hoped to keep the rival brother of Sheikh ʿOmár at some distance; indeed, he even alienated them by occasional, and sometimes injudicious use of his almost unlimited power, obliging them, for instance, to resign to him a handsome female slave or a fine horse. If he had possessed great personal courage and active powers, he might have mastered circumstances and kept his post, notwithstanding the ill-will of all around him; but he wanted those qualities, as the result shows: and yet, well aware of the danger which threatened him, he was always on his guard, having sundry loaded pistols and carbines always around him, upon and under his carpet. Shortly before I arrived, an arrow had been shot at him in the evening, while he was sitting in his courtyard.

I have peculiar reason to thank Providence for having averted the storm which was gathering over his head during my stay in Bórnu, for my intimacy with him might very easily have involved me also in the calamities which befell him. However, I repeat that altogether he was a most excellent, kind, liberal, and just man, and might have done much good to the country, if he had been less selfish and more active. He was incapable, indeed, of executing by himself any act of severity, such as in the unsettled state of a semi-barbarous kingdom may at times be necessary; and, being conscious of his own mildness, he left all those matters to a man named Lamíno, to whom I gave the title of “the shameless left hand of the vizier,” and whom I shall have frequent occasion to mention.

I pressed upon the vizier the necessity of defending the northern frontier of Bórnu against the Tuarek by more effectual measures than had been then adopted, and thus retrieving, for cultivation and the peaceable abode of his fellow-subjects, the fine borders of the komádugu, and restoring security to the road to Fezzán. Just about this time the Tuarek had made another expedition into the border-districts on a large scale, so that Kashélla Belál, the first of the war chiefs, was obliged to march against them; and the road to Kanó, which I, with my usual good luck, had passed unmolested, had become so unsafe that a numerous caravan was plundered, and a well-known Arab merchant, the Sheríf el Gháli, killed.

I remonstrated with him on the shamefully neglected state of the shores of the lake, which contained the finest pasture-grounds, and might yield an immense quantity of rice and cotton. He entered with spirit into all my proposals; but in a short time all was forgotten. He listened with delight to what little historical knowledge I had of these countries, and inquired particularly whether Kánem had really been in former times a mighty kingdom, or whether it would be worth retaking. It was in consequence of these conversations that he began to take an interest in the former history of the country, and that the historical records of Edrís Alawóma came to light; but he would not allow me to take them into my hands, and I could only read over his shoulders. He was a very religious man; and though he admired Europeans very much on account of their greater accomplishments, he was shocked to think that they drank intoxicating liquors. However, I tried to console him by telling him that, although the Europeans were also very partial to the fair sex, yet they did not indulge in this luxury on so large a scale as he did, and that therefore he ought to allow them some other little pleasure.

He was very well aware of the misery connected with the slave-trade; for on his pilgrimage to Mekka, in the mountainous region between Fezzán and Ben-Gházi he had lost, in one night, forty of his slaves by the extreme cold, and he swore that he would never take slaves for sale, if he were to travel again. But it was more difficult to make him sensible of the horrors of slave-hunting, although, when accompanying him on the expedition to Músgu, I and Mr. Overweg urged this subject with more success, as the further progress of my narrative will show. He was very desirous to open a commerce with the English, although he looked with extreme suspicion upon the form of articles in which the treaty was proposed to be drawn up; but he wished to forbid to Christians the sale of two things, viz. spirituous liquors and bibles. He did not object to bibles being brought into the country, and even given as presents; but he would not allow of their being sold. But the difficulties which I had to contend with in getting the treaty signed will be made more conspicuous as my narrative proceeds.

The most pressing matter which I had with the vizier in the first instance, after my arrival, was to obtain some money, in order to settle, at least partly, the just claims of the late Mr. Richardson’s servants, and to clear off debts which reflected little credit on the Government which had sent us. I could scarcely expect that he would lend me the money without any profit, and was therefore glad to obtain it at the rate of 1000 cowries, or kúngona as they are called in Bórnu, for a dollar, to be paid in Fezzán; and I lost very little by the bargain, as the creditors, well aware of the great difficulty I was in, and acknowledging my desire to pay them off, agreed to receive for every dollar of the sum which they claimed, only 1,280 cowries, while in the market the dollar fetched a much higher price. Indeed it was most grateful to my feelings to be enabled, on the 13th of April, to distribute among the eight creditors 70,000 shells; and it was the more agreeable, as the more arrogant among them, seeing my extreme poverty, had assumed a tone of great insolence towards me, which I found it difficult to support in silence. Being now relieved a little in circumstances, I immediately rid myself of the carpenter, the grandiloquent Son of Jerusalem, and sent him away. He died on the road before reaching Múrzuk—a fact which the natives attributed to the curse which I had given him for having stolen something from my house.

My household now became more comfortable. Already, on the 10th of April, late in the evening, I had removed my quarters from the large empty courtyard in the eastern town, or bílla gedíbe, to a small clay house in the western, or bílla futébe. This dwelling consisted of several small but neatly made rooms, and a yard. Afterwards we succeeded in obtaining in addition an adjoining yard, which was very spacious, and included several thatched huts; and all this together formed “the English house,” which the sheikh was kind enough to concede to the English mission as long as anybody should be left there to take care of it. Its situation was very favourable, as will be seen from the plan on page 380, being situated almost in the middle of the town, and nevertheless out of the way of the great thoroughfares; the internal arrangement is shown in the woodcut on next page.

I immediately took possession of the room No. 8, which, although very small, was altogether the best, and was very cool during the hot hours of the day. Mr. Vogel too, when he afterwards arrived, immediately fixed upon this room. There was a most splendid kórna-tree in the neighbouring courtyard, which spread its shade over the terrace of this room, and over part of the small courtyard in front of it. In our own yard we had only a very fine specimen of a chédia or caoutchouc-tree (in the first yard, No. 3), which was afterwards a little damaged by Mr. Overweg’s monkeys, besides two very small kórna-trees in the great yard around the huts Nos. 16 and 17. Having thus made myself as comfortable as possible, I began without delay to dig a well in the small court before the house, as we had to fetch the water from another well at some distance, which was much used by the people. My attempt caused some amusement to the vizier, who soon heard of it, and recognized in it a feature of the European character; for digging a well is no small undertaking in Kúkawa, although water is to be found at only nine fathoms depth; for the ground, consisting of loose sand under an upper thin layer of clay, is very apt to fall in, while the slender boughs with which the shaft is upheld, offer but little resistance. We had a great deal of trouble with our well, not only in constantly repairing it, but in the course of our stay we were thrice obliged to change the spot and dig a new well altogether. We should have been glad to set an example to the natives by building up our shaft with bricks; but with our scanty means, or rather our entire want of means, we could scarcely think of undertaking such a costly work. At a later period Mr. Overweg found a layer of shell lime in a spot of our courtyard, and got our house neatly whitewashed. The great point in this place is to protect oneself against the countless swarms of fleas which cover the ground, the best preservative being considered a frequent besmearing of the walls and the floor with cowdung. The large white ant too is most troublesome; and sugar particularly is kept with difficulty from its voracious attacks. Our rooms swarmed also with bugs, “bermáde,” but I am almost afraid that we ourselves imported them with our books. The bug, however, in Bórnu is not regarded as that nasty insect which creates so much loathing in civilized countries; on the contrary, the native thinks its smell aromatic.

My poor Kátsena nag, the present of the extraordinary governor of that place, almost against my expectation, had successfully carried me as far as Kúkawa, but at that point it was quite exhausted, wanting at least some months’ repose. I was, therefore, without a horse, and was obliged at first to walk on foot, which was very trying in the deep sand and hot weather. I had once entreated the vizier to lend me a horse, but Lamíno had in consequence sent me such a miserable animal that I declined mounting it. The sheikh being informed afterwards that I was bargaining for a horse, sent me one as a present; it was tall and well-formed, but of a colour which I did not like, and very lean, having just come from the country where it had got no corn, so that it was unfit for me, as I wanted a strong animal, ready to undergo a great deal of fatigue. I was already preparing for my journey to Ádamáwa, and having made the acquaintance of Mʿallem Katúri, a native of Yákoba, or rather, as the town is generally called, Garún Báuchi, and an excellent man, who had accompanied several great ghazzias in that country, and particularly that most remarkable one of Amba-Sambo, the governor of Chámba, as far as the Igbo country, at the delta of the Niger, I hired him and bought for his use a strong good travelling horse. I bought also a tolerable pony for my servant, Mohammed ben Sʿad, so that, having now three horses at my command, I entered with spirit upon my career as an explorer of Negroland. All this of course was done by contracting a few little debts.

The vizier, who was well aware of the difficulties and dangers attending my proposed excursion to Ádamáwa, was rather inclined to send me to the Músgu country, whither it was intended to dispatch an expedition, under the command of Kashélla Belál; but fortunately for me, and perhaps, also, for our knowledge of this part of the continent, the design was frustrated by an inroad of the Tuarek, which demanded the presence of this officer, the most warlike of the empire. This incursion of the plundering Kindín was made by a considerable body of men; who, having in vain tried to surprise some town on the frontier of Bórnu, turned their march towards Kánem, and went as far as Báteli, where, however, they met with but little success.

Having now a horse whereon to mount, I rode every day, either into the eastern town to pay a visit to the sheikh, or to the vizier, or roving around the whole circuit of the capital, and peeping into the varied scenes which the life of the people exhibited. The precincts of the town with its suburbs are just as interesting as its neighbourhood (especially during the months that precede the rainy season) is monotonous and tiresome in the extreme. Certainly, the arrangement of the capital contributes a great deal to the variety of the picture which it forms, laid out as it is in two distinct towns each surrounded with its wall, the one, occupied chiefly by the rich and wealthy, containing very large establishments, while the other, with the exception of the principal thoroughfare, which traverses the town from west to east, consists of rather crowded dwellings, with narrow winding lanes. These two distinct towns are separated by a space about half a mile broad, itself thickly inhabited on both sides of a wide open road which forms the connection between them, but laid out less regularly, and presenting to the eye a most interesting medley of large clay buildings and small thatched huts, of massive clay walls surrounding immense yards, and light fences of reeds in a more or less advanced state of decay, and with a variety of colour, according to their age, from the brightest yellow down to the deepest black. All around these two towns there are small villages or clusters of huts, and large detached farms surrounded with clay walls, low enough to allow a glimpse from horseback over the thatched huts which they enclose.

In this labyrinth of dwellings a man, interested in the many forms which human life presents, may rove about at any time of the day with the certainty of finding never-failing amusement, although the life of the Kanúri people passes rather monotonously along, with the exception of some occasional feasting. During the hot hours, indeed, the town and its precincts become torpid, except on market-days, when the market-place itself, at least, and the road leading to it from the western gate, are most animated just at that time. For, singular as it is, in Kúkawa, as well as almost all over this part of Negroland, the great markets do not begin to be well attended till the heat of the day grows intense; and it is curious to observe what a difference prevails in this as well as in other respects between these countries and Yóruba, where almost all the markets are held in the cool of the evening.

The daily little markets, or durríya, even in Kúkawa, are held in the afternoon, and are most frequented between the ʿaser (lásari) and the mughreb (almágribu) or sunset. The most important of these durríyas is that held inside the west gate of the bílla futébe; and here even camels, horses, and oxen are sold in considerable numbers; but they are much inferior to the large fair, or great market, which is held every Monday on the open ground beyond the two villages which lie at a short distance from the western gate. Formerly it was held on the road to Ngórnu, before the southern gate; but it has been removed from thence on account of the large pond of water formed during the rainy season in the hollow close to this gate.

I visited the great fair, “kásukú letenínbe,” every Monday immediately after my arrival, and found it very interesting, as it calls together the inhabitants of all the eastern parts of Bórnu, the Shúwa and the Koyám, with their corn and butter; the former, though of Arab origin and still preserving in purity his ancient character, always carrying his merchandise on the back of oxen, the women mounted upon the top of it, while the African Koyám employs the camel, if not exclusively, at least with a decided preference;[46] the Kánembú with their butter and dried fish, the inhabitants of Mákari with their tobes (the kóre berné): even Búdduma, or rather Yédiná are very often seen in the market, selling whips made from the skin of the hippopotamus, or sometimes even hippopotamus meat, or dried fish, and attract the attention of the spectator by their slender figures, their small handsome features unimpaired by any incisions, the men generally wearing a short black shirt and a small straw hat, “súni ngáwa,” their neck adorned with several strings of kúngona, or shells, while the women are profusely ornamented with strings of glass beads, and wear their hair in a very remarkable way, though not in so awkward a fashion as Mr. Overweg afterwards observed in the island Belárigo.

On reaching the market-place from the town, the visitor first comes to that part where the various materials for constructing the light dwellings of the country are sold, such as mats, of three different kinds, the thickest, which I have mentioned above as lágará, then síggedí, or the common coarse mat made of the reed called kalkálti, and the búshi, made of dúm-leaves, or “ngílle,” for lying upon; poles and stakes; the framework, “léggerá,” for the thatched roofs of huts, and the ridge-beam or “késkan súmo”; then oxen for slaughter “fé debáterám,” or for carrying burdens, “knému lápterám”; further on, long rows of leathern bags filled with corn, ranging far along on the south side of the market-place, with either “kéwa,” the large bags for the camel, a pair of which form a regular camel’s load, or the large “jerábu,” which is thrown across the back of the pack-oxen, or the smaller “fállim,” a pair of which constitute an ox-load, “kátkun knémube.” These long rows are animated not only by the groups of the sellers and buyers, with their weatherworn figures and torn dresses, but also by the beasts of burden, mostly oxen, which have brought the loads and which are to carry back their masters to their distant dwelling-places; then follow the camels for sale, often as many as a hundred or more, and numbers of horses, but generally not first-rate ones, which are mostly sold in private. All this sale of horses, camels, etc., with the exception of the oxen, passes through the hands of the dilélma or broker, who, according to the mode of announcement, takes his percentage from the buyer or the seller.

The middle of the market is occupied by the dealers in other merchandise of native and of foreign manufacture, the “amagdí” or tob from Ujé, and the kóre, or rébshi; the farásh, or “fetkéma,” and the “selláma,” the people dealing in cloths, shirts, túrkedí, beads of all sizes and colours, leatherwork, coloured boxes of very different shape and size, very neatly and elegantly made of ox-hide. There are also very neat little boxes made of the kernel, or “náge,” of the fruit of the dúm-tree. Then comes the place where the kómbuli disposes of his slaves.

There are only a few very light sheds or stalls (“kaudi”), erected here and there. In general, besides a few of the retail dealers, only the dilélma, or broker, has a stall, which, on this account, is called diléllam; and, no shady trees being found, both buyers and sellers are exposed to the whole force of the sun during the very hottest hours of the day, between eleven and three o’clock, when the market is most full and busy, and the crowd is often so dense that it is difficult to make one’s way through it: for the place not being regularly laid out, nor the thoroughfares limited by rows of stalls, each dealer squats down with his merchandise where he likes. There are often from twelve to fifteen thousand people crowded together in the market; but the noise is not very great, the Kanúri people being more sedate and less vivacious than the Háusáwa, and not vending their wares with loud cries. However, the wanzám or barber, going about, affords amusement by his constant whistling, “kangádi.” In general, even amusements have rather a sullen character in Bórnu; and of course, in a place of business like the market, very little is done for amusement, although sometimes a serpent-tamer (“kadíma”), or a story-teller (“kosgolíma”), is met with. Also the luxuries offered to the people are very few in comparison with the varieties of cakes and sweetmeats in the market-places of Háusa; and “kólché” (the common sweet ground-nut), “gángala” (the bitter ground-nut), boiled beans or “ngálo,” and a few dry dates from the Tébu country, are almost the only things, besides water and a little nasty sour milk, offered as refreshment to the exhausted customer.

The fatigue which people have to undergo in purchasing their week’s necessaries in the market is all the more harassing, as there is not at present any standard money for buying and selling; for the ancient standard of the country, viz., the pound of copper, has long since fallen into disuse, though the name, “rotl,” still remains. The “gábagá,” or cotton-strips, which then became usual, have lately began to be supplanted by the cowries or “kúngona,” which have been introduced, as it seems, rather by a speculation of the ruling people, than by a natural want of the inhabitants, though nobody can deny that they are very useful for buying small articles, and infinitely more convenient than cotton strips. Eight cowries or kúngona are reckoned equal to one gábagá, and four gábagá, or two-and-thirty kúngona, to one rotl. Then, for buying larger objects, there are shirts of all kinds and sizes, from the “dóra,” the coarsest and smallest one, quite unfit for use, and worth six rotls, up to the larger ones, worth fifty or sixty rotls. But while this is a standard value, the relation of the rotl and the Austrian dollar, which is pretty well current in Bórnu, is subject to extreme fluctuation, due, I must confess, at least partly, to the speculations of the ruling men, and principally to that of my friend the Háj Beshír. Indeed, I cannot defend him against the reproach of having speculated to the great detriment of the public; so that when he had collected a great amount of kúngona, and wished to give it currency, the dollar would suddenly fall as low as to five-and-forty or fifty rotls, while at other times it would fetch as much as one hundred rotls, or three thousand two hundred shells; that is, seven hundred shells more than in Kanó. The great advantage of the market in Kanó is, that there is one standard coin, which, if a too large amount of dollars be not on a sudden set in circulation, will always preserve the same value.

But to return to the market. A small farmer who brings his corn to the Monday market, or the “kásukú létenínbe,” in Kúkawa, will on no account take his payment in shells, and will rarely accept of a dollar: the person, therefore, who wishes to buy corn, if he has only dollars, must first exchange a dollar for shells, or rather buy shells; then with the shells he must buy a “kúlgu,” or shirt; and after a good deal of bartering he may thus succeed in buying the corn, be it some kind of argúm, wheat, or rice. However, these two latter articles are not always to be got, while more frequently they are only in small quantities. The rice sold in Kúkawa is wild rice, the refuse of the elephants, and of a very inferior description.

The fatigue to be undergone in the market is such that I have very often seen my servants return in a state of the utmost exhaustion. Most of the articles which are sold at the great Monday fair may also be found in the small afternoon markets or durríya, but only in small quantity, and at a higher price, and some articles will be sought for there in vain. But while there is certainly a great deal of trouble in the market of Kúkawa, it must be acknowledged that the necessaries of life are cheaper there than in any other place which I have visited in Central Africa, almost half as cheap again as in Kátsena and Sókoto, a third cheaper than in Kanó, and about a fourth cheaper than in Timbúktu. About the cheapness of meat and corn in the latter place, which is indeed a very remarkable fact, and struck me with the utmost surprise when I first reached that celebrated town, I shall speak in the proper place. But I must remark that dukhn, argúm móro, or millet (Pennisetum typhoïdeum), is in greater quantity, and therefore cheaper, in Kúkawa than the durra or sorghum, “ngáberi,” just as it is in Timbúktu and Kanó, while in Bagírmi durra is much cheaper. The ngáberi of Bórnu, however, particularly that kind of it which is called matíya, and which is distinguished by its whiteness, is most excellent; and the “senásin,” a kind of thin pancake prepared from this grain, is the lightest and best food for a European in this country.

Of course the price of corn varies greatly according to the season, the lowest rates ruling about a month or two after the harvest, when all the corn in the country has been thrashed, and the highest rates just about the harvest time. In general, a dollar will purchase in Kúkawa three ox-loads, “kátkun knémube,” of argúm; a dollar and a half will buy a very good ox of about six hundred pounds’ weight; two dollars fetch a pack-ox (“knému”), or a milch cow (“fé mádarabé”); one dollar, two good sheep; from seventeen to twenty rotls, a “téndu” of butter, containing about four pounds’ weight. For wheat and rice the general rule in Negroland is, that they fetch double the price of the native corn. Rice might seem to be indigenous in Central Africa, growing wild everywhere, as well in Bághena, in Western Africa, as in Kótoko or Bagírmi. Wheat, on the contrary, was evidently introduced some hundred years ago, together with onions, the favourite food of the Arab, to the merits of which the native African is insensible, although it is a most wholesome article of diet in this climate, as I shall have repeatedly occasion to state.

Of fruits the most common are—the two sorts of ground-nut, “kólché” and “gángala,” the former of which is a very important article of food, though by no means on so large a scale as in the eastern parts of Ádamáwa; the “bíto,” the fruit of the hajilíj or Balanites Ægyptiaca (which is so much valued by the Kanúri that, according to a common proverb, a bíto-tree and a milch-cow are just the same,—“Késka bítowa féwa mádarabé kal”); a kind of Physalis, the native name of which I have forgotten; the bírgim, or the African plum, of which I shall speak further on; the kórna, or the fruit of the Rhamnus lotus; and the fruit of the dúm-palm, “kírzim” or Cucifera Thebaïca.

Of vegetables, the most common in the market are—beans of various descriptions, which likewise form a very important article of food in many districts, certainly as much as the third of the whole consumption; onions, consumed in great quantity by the Arabs, but not by the natives, who prefer to season their food with the young leaves of the monkey-bread-tree, “kálu kúka,” or the “karás,” or with a sauce made from dried fish. There are no sweet potatoes and no yams in this part of Bórnu, the consequence of which is that the food of the natives is less varied than in Háusa, Kébbi, or Yóruba. Yams are brought to this country as rarities, and are given as presents to influential persons.

Camels sell at from eight to twenty dollars. When there is no caravan in preparation, a very tolerable beast may be about for the former price; but when a caravan is about to start, the best will fetch as much as twenty dollars—very rarely more; and a good camel may always be had for about fifteen dollars. Some camels may be bought for four or five dollars each, but cannot be relied on. Very strong travelling horses for servants were during my first visit purchasable for from six to eight dollars, while an excellent horse would not fetch more than thirty dollars; but in the year 1854 the price had risen considerably, in consequence of the exportation of horses, which had formerly been forbidden, having been permitted, and great numbers having been exported to the west—chiefly to Múniyo, Kátsena, and Márádi. A first-rate horse of foreign race, however, is much dearer, and will sometimes fetch as much as three hundred dollars. I shall have another opportunity of speaking of the horses of Bórnu, which is rather an interesting and important subject, as the breed is excellent, and, besides being very handsome and of good height, they bear fatigue marvellously—a fact of which one of my own horses gave the best proof, having carried me during three years of almost incessant fatigue on my expedition to Kánem, to the Músgu country, to Bagírmi, to Timbúktu, and back to Kanó, where my poor dear companion died in December 1854: and let it be taken into consideration that, though I myself am not very heavy, I constantly carried with me a double-barrelled gun, one or two pairs of pistols, a quantity of powder and shot, several instruments, my journals, and generally even my coffee-pot and some little provision.

But to return to the picture of life which the town of Kúkawa presents. With the exception of Mondays, when just during the hottest hours of the day there is much crowd and bustle in the marketplace, it is very dull from about noon till three o’clock in the afternoon; and even during the rest of the day, those scenes of industry, which in the varied panorama of Kanó meet the eye, are here sought for in vain. Instead of those numerous dyeing-yards or máriná full of life and bustle, though certainly also productive of much filth and foul odours, which spread over the town of Kanó, there is only a single, and a very poor máriná in Kúkawa; no beating of tobes is heard, nor the sound of any other handicraft.

There is a great difference of character between these two towns; and, as I have said above, the Bórnu people are by temperament far more phlegmatic than those of Kanó. The women in general are much more ugly, with square short figures, large heads, and broad noses, with immense nostrils, disfigured still more by the enormity of a red bead or coral worn in the nostril. Nevertheless they are certainly quite as coquettish, and, as far as I had occasion to observe, at least as wanton also, as the more cheerful and sprightly Háusa women. I have never seen a Háusa woman strolling about the streets with her gown trailing after her on the ground, the fashion of the women of Kúkawa, and wearing on her shoulders some Manchester print of a showy pattern, keeping the ends of it in her hands, while she throws her arms about in a coquettish manner. In a word, their dress, as well as their demeanour, is far more decent and agreeable. The best part in the dress or ornaments of the Bórnu women is the silver ornament (the “fállafálle kélabé”) which they wear on the back of the head, and which in taller figures, when the hair is plaited in the form of a helmet, is very becoming; but it is not every woman who can afford such an ornament, and many a one sacrifices her better interests for this decoration.

The most animated quarter of the two towns is the great thoroughfare which, proceeding by the southern side of the palace in the western town, traverses it from west to east, and leads straight to the sheikh’s residence in the eastern town. This is the “déndal” or promenade, a locality which has its imitation, on a less or greater scale, in every town of the country. This road, during the whole day, is crowded by numbers of people on horseback and on foot; free men and slaves, foreigners as well as natives, every one in his best attire, to pay his respects to the sheikh or his vizier, to deliver an errand, or to sue for justice or employment, or a present. I myself very often went along this well-trodden path—this highroad of ambition; but I generally went at an unusual hour, either at sunrise in the morning, or while the heat of the mid-day, not yet abated, detained the people in their cool haunts, or late at night, when the people were already retiring to rest or, sitting before their houses, beguiling their leisure hours with amusing tales or with petty scandal. At such hours I was sure to find the vizier or the sheikh alone; but sometimes they wished me also to visit and sit with them, when they were accessible to all the people; and on these occasions the vizier took pride and delight in conversing with me about matters of science, such as the motion of the earth, or the planetary system, or subjects of that kind.

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XXXI. THE TSÁD

My stay in the town was agreeably interrupted by an excursion to Ngórnu and the shores of the lake.

Thursday, April 24:—Sheikh ʿOmár, with his whole court, left Kúkawa in the night of the 23rd of April, in order to spend a day or two in Ngórnu, where he had a tolerably good house; and, having been invited by the vizier to go there, I also followed on the morning of the next day. This road to Ngórnu, is strongly marked with that sameness and monotony which characterize the neighbourhood of Kúkawa. At first nothing is seen but the melancholy “káwo,” Asclepias procera or gigantea; then “ngílle,” low bushes of Cucifera, appear, and gradually trees begin to enliven the landscape, first scattered here and there, further on forming a sort of underwood. The path is broad and well-trodden, but consists mostly of deep sandy soil. There are no villages on the side of the road, but a good many at a little distance. In the rainy season some very large ponds are formed by its side. Two miles and a half before the traveller reaches Ngórnu—the trees cease again, being only seen in detached clusters at a great distance, marking the sites of villages, while near the road they give way to an immense fertile plain, where beans are cultivated, besides grain. However, this also is covered at this season of the year with the tiresome and endless Asclepias. Among the sites of former towns on the east side of the road is that of New Bírni, which was built by the Sultan Mohammed, when residing in Berberuwá, about the year 1820, and destroyed by Háj Beshír in the year 1847, and does not now contain a living soul. Further on is a group of kitchen-gardens belonging to some grandees, and adorned with two or three most splendid tamarind-trees, which in this monotonous landscape have a peculiar charm.

It was about one o’clock in the afternoon when I entered Ngórnu, the town of “the blessing.” The heat being then very great, scarcely anybody was to be seen in the streets; but the houses, or rather yards, were full of people, tents having been pitched to accommodate so many visitors, while fine horses looked forth everywhere over the low fences, saluting us as we passed by. Scarcely a single clay house was to be seen, with the exception of the house of the sheikh, which lies at the end of the déndal; but nevertheless the town made the impression of comfort and ease, and every yard was neatly-fenced with new “síggedí” mats, and well shaded by kórna-trees, while the huts were large and spacious.

Having in vain presented myself at the house of the vizier, where the people were all asleep, and wandered about the town for a good while, I at length took up my quarters provisionally with some Arabs, till the cool of the afternoon aroused the courtiers from their long midday slumber, which they certainly may have needed, inasmuch as they had been up at two o’clock in the morning. But even after I had the good fortune to see Háj Beshír, I found it difficult to obtain quarters, and I was obliged to pitch my tent in a courtyard.

Being tired of the crowd in the town, I mounted on horseback early next morning in order to refresh myself with a sight of the lake, which I supposed to be at no great distance, and indulged beforehand in anticipations of the delightful view which I fondly imagined was soon to greet my eye. We met a good many people and slaves going out to cut grass for the horses; and leaving them to their work we kept on towards the rising sun. But no lake was to be seen, and an endless grassy plain without a single tree extended to the furthest horizon. At length, after the grass had increased continually in freshness and luxuriance, we reached a shallow swamp, the very indented border of which, sometimes bending in, at others bending out, greatly obstructed our progress. Having struggled for a length of time to get rid of this swamp, and straining my eyes in vain to discover the glimmering of an open water in the distance, I at length retraced my steps, consoling myself with the thought that I had seen at least some slight indication of the presence of the watery element, and which seemed indeed to be the only thing which was at present to be seen here.

How different was this appearance of the country from that which it exhibited in the winter from 1854 to 1855, when more than half of the town of Ngórnu was destroyed by the water, and a deep open sea was formed to the south of this place, in which the fertile plain as far as the village of Kúkiya lay buried. This great change seems to have happened in consequence of the lower strata of the ground, which consisted of limestone, having given way in the preceding year, and the whole shore on this side having sunk several feet; but even without such a remarkable accident, the character of the Tsád is evidently that of an immense lagoon, changing its border every month, and therefore incapable of being mapped with accuracy. Indeed, when I saw to-day the nature of these swampy lowlands surrounding the lake, or rather lagoon, I immediately became aware that it would be quite impossible to survey its shores, even if the state of the countries around should allow us to enter upon such an undertaking. The only thing possible would be on one side to fix the furthest limits reached at times by the inundation of the lagoon, and on the other to determine the extent of the navigable waters.

Having returned to the town, I related to the vizier my unsuccessful excursion in search of the Tsád, and he obligingly promised to send some horsemen to conduct me along the shore as far as Káwa, whence I should return to the capital.

Saturday, April 26.—The sheikh, with his court, having left Ngórnu before the dawn of day, on his return to Kúkawa, I sent back my camel, with my two men also, by the direct road; and then having waited awhile in vain for the promised escort, I went myself with Bu-Sád, to look after it, but succeeded only in obtaining two horsemen, one of whom was the Kashélla Kótoko, an amiable, quiet Kánemma chief, who ever afterwards remained my friend, and the other a horseguard of the sheikh’s, of the name of Sále. With these companions we set out on our excursion, going north-east: for due east from the town, as I now learned, the lagoon was at present at more than ten miles’ distance. The fine grassy plain seemed to extend to a boundless distance, uninterrupted by a single tree, or even a shrub; not a living creature was to be seen, and the sun began already to throw a fiery veil over all around, making the vicinity of the cooling element desirable. After a little more than half an hour’s ride we reached swampy ground, and began to make our way through the water, often up to our knees on horseback. We thus came to the margin of a fine open sheet of water, encompassed with papyrus and tall reed, of from ten to fourteen feet in height, of two different kinds, one called “méle,” and the other “bóre,” or “bóle.” The méle has a white tender core, which is eaten by the natives, but to me seemed insipid; the bóre has a head like the common bulrush, and its stalk is triangular. The thicket was interwoven by a climbing plant with yellow flowers, called “bórbuje” by the natives, while on the surface of the water was a floating plant called, very facetiously, by the natives, “fánna-billa-bágo” (the homeless fánna). This creek was called “Ngíruwá.”

Then turning a little more to the north, and passing still through deep water full of grass, and most fatiguing for the horses, while it seemed most delightful to me, after my dry and dreary journey through this continent, we reached another creek, called “Dímbebér.” Here I was so fortunate as to see two small boats, or “mákara,” of the Búdduma, as they are called by the Kanúri, or Yédiná, as they call themselves, the famous pirates of the Tsád. They were small flat boats, made of the light and narrow wood of the “fógo,” about twelve feet long, and managed by two men each; as soon as the men saw us, they pushed their boats off from the shore. They were evidently in search of human prey; and as we had seen people from the neighbouring villages, who had come here to cut reeds to thatch their huts anew for the rainy season, we went first to inform them of the presence of these constant enemies of the inhabitants of these fertile banks of the lagoon, that they might be on their guard; for they could not see them, owing to the quantity of tall reeds with which the banks and the neighbouring land was overgrown.

We then continued our watery march. The sun was by this time very powerful; but a very gentle cooling breeze came over the lagoon, and made the heat supportable. We had water enough to quench our thirst—indeed more than we really wanted; for we might have often drunk with our mouth, by stooping down a little, on horseback, so deeply were we immersed. But the water was exceeding warm, and full of vegetable matter. It is perfectly fresh, as fresh as water can be. It seems to have been merely from prejudice that people in Europe have come to the conclusion that this Central African basin must either have an outlet, or must be salt. For I can positively assert that it has no outlet, and that its water is perfectly fresh. Indeed I do not see from whence saltness of the water should arise in a district in which there is no salt at all, and in which the herbage is so destitute of this element, that the milk of the cows and sheep fed on it is rather insipid, and somewhat unwholesome. Certainly, in the holes around the lagoon, where the soil is strongly impregnated with natron, and which are only for a short time of the year in connection with the lake, the water, when in small quantity, must savour of the peculiar quality of the soil; but when these holes are full, the water in them likewise is fresh.

While we rode along these marshy, luxuriant plains, large herds of “kelára” started up, bounding over the rushes, and sometimes swimming, at others running, soon disappeared in the distance. This is a peculiar kind of antelope, which I have nowhere seen but in the immediate vicinity of the lake. In colour and size it resembles the roe, and has a white belly. The kelára is by no means slender, but rather bulky, and extremely fat; this, however, may not be a specific character, but merely the consequence of the rich food which it enjoys here. It may be identical with, or be a variety of the Antilope Arabica, and the Arabs, and those of the natives who understand a little Arabic, call both by the same name, “el áriyel.”

Proceeding onwards, we reached about noon another creek, which is used occasionally by the Búdduma as a harbour, and is called “Ngúlbeá.” We, however, found it empty, and only inhabited by ngurútus, or river-horses, which, indeed, live here in great numbers, snorting about in every direction, and by two species of crocodiles. In this quarter there are no elephants, for the very simple reason that they have no place of retreat during the night; for this immense animal (at least in Africa) appears to be very sensible of the convenience of a soft couch in the sand, and of the inconvenience of mosquitoes too; wherefore it prefers to lie down on a spot a little elevated above the swampy ground, whither it resorts for its daily food. On the banks of the northern part of the Tsád, on the contrary, where a range of low sandhills and wood encompasses the lagoon, we shall meet with immense herds of this animal.

Ngúlbeá was the easternmost point of our excursion; and turning here a little west from north, we continued our march over drier pasture-grounds, placed beyond the reach of the inundation, and, after about three miles, reached the deeply indented and well-protected creek called “Ngómarén.” Here I was most agreeably surprised by the sight of eleven boats of the Yédiná. Large, indeed, they were considering the shipbuilding of these islanders; but otherwise they looked very small and awkward, and, resting quite flat on the water, strikingly reminded me of theatrical exhibitions in which boats are introduced on the stage. They were not more than about twenty feet long,[47] but seemed tolerably broad; and one of them contained as many as eleven people, besides a good quantity of natron and other things. They had a very low waist, but rather a high and pointed prow. They are made of the narrow boards of the fógo-tree, which are fastened together with ropes from the dúm-palm, the holes being stopped with bast.

The Kánembú inhabitants of many neighbouring villages carry on trade with the islanders almost uninterruptedly, while elsewhere the latter are treated as most deadly enemies. Two parties of Kánembú happened to be here with argúm or millet, which they exchange for the natron. They were rather frightened when they saw us, the Búdduma being generally regarded as enemies; but the sheikh and his counsellors are well aware of this intercourse, and, wanting either the spirit or the power to reduce those islanders to subjection, they must allow their own subjects, whom they fail to protect against the continual inroads of the Búdduma, to deal with the latter at their own discretion. It was my earnest wish to go on board one of the boats, and to examine their make attentively; and, with the assistance of Kashélla Kótoko, who was well known to the Búdduma, I should perhaps have succeeded, if Bú-Sʿad, my Mohammedan companion, had not behaved like a madman: indeed I could scarcely restrain him from firing at these people, who had done us no harm. This was certainly a mere outbreak of fanaticism. When the people in the boats saw my servant’s excited behaviour, they left the shore, though numerous enough to overpower us; and we then rode on to another creek called Méllelá, whence we turned westwards and in about an hour, partly through water, partly over a grassy plain, reached Maduwári.

Maduwári, at that time, was an empty sound for me—a name without a meaning, just like the names of so many other places at which I had touched on my wanderings; but it was a name about to become important in the history of the expedition, to which many a serious remembrance was to be attached. Maduwári was to contain another white man’s grave, and thus to rank with Ngurútuwa.

When I first entered the place from the side of the lake, it made a very agreeable impression upon me, as it showed evident signs of ease and comfort, and, instead of being closely packed together, as most of the towns and villages of the Kanúri are, it lay dispersed in eleven or twelve separate clusters of huts, shaded by a rich profusion of kórna and bíto-trees. I was conducted by my companion, Kashélla Kótoko, to the house of Fúgo ʿAli. It was the house wherein Mr. Overweg, a year and a half later, was to expire; while Fúgo ʿAli himself, the man who first contracted friendship with me, then conducted my companion on his interesting navigation round the islands of the lake, and who frequented our house, was destined to fall a sacrifice in the revolution of 1854. How different was my reception then, when I first went to his house on this my first excursion to the lake, and when I revisited it with Mr. Vogel in the beginning of 1855, when Fúgo ʿAli’s widow was sobbing at my side, lamenting the ravages of time, the death of my companion, and that of her own husband!

The village pleased me so much that I took a long walk through it before I sat down to rest; and after being treated most sumptuously with fowls and a roasted sheep, I passed the evening very agreeably in conversation with my black friends. The inhabitants of all these villages are Kánembú,[48] belonging to the tribe of the Sugúrti, who in former times were settled in Kánem, till by the wholesale devastation of that country they were compelled to leave their homes and seek a retreat in these regions. Here they have adopted the general dress of the Kanúri; and only very few of them may at present be seen exhibiting their original native costume, the greatest ornament of which is the headdress, while the body itself, with the exception of a tight leathern apron, or “fúno,” is left naked. This is a remarkable peculiarity of costume, which seems to prevail among almost all barbarous tribes. The original headdress of the Sugúrti, that is to say, of the head men of the tribe, consists of four different articles: first, the “jóka,” or cap, rather stiff, and widening at the top, where the second article, the “ariyábu” (aliyáfu), is tied round it; from the midst of the folds of the ariyábu, just over the front of the head, the “múllefu” stands forth, a piece of red cloth, stiffened, as it seems, by a piece of leather from behind; and all round the crown of the head a bristling crown of reeds rises with barbaric majesty to a height of about eight inches. Round his neck he wears a tight string of white beads or “kulúlu,” and hanging down upon the breast, several small leather pockets, containing written charms or láya, while his right arm is ornamented with three rings, one on the upper arm, called “wíwi or bíbi,” one made of ivory, and called “chíla,” above the elbow, and another, called “kúllo,” just above the wrist. The shields of the Sugúrti, at least most of them, are broad at the top as well as at the base, and besides his large spear or kasákka, he is always armed with three or four javelins, “bállem.” But besides the Sugúrti there happened to be just then present in the village some Búdduma, handsome, slender, and intelligent people, their whole attire consisting in a leathern apron and a string of white beads round the neck, which, together with their white teeth, produces a beautiful contrast with the jet-black skin. They gave me the first account of the islands of the lake, stating that the open water, which in their language is called “Kalilémma,” or rather Kálu kemé, begins one day’s voyage from Káya, the small harbour of Maduwári, stretching in the direction of Sháwi, and that the water is thenceforth from one to two fathoms deep. I invariably understood from all the people with whom I spoke about this interesting lake, that the open water, with its islands of elevated sandy downs, stretches from the mouth of the Sháry towards the western shore, and that all the rest of the lake consists of swampy meadow-lands, occasionally inundated. Indeed Tsád, or Tsáde, is nothing else but another form for Sháry, Shárí, or sárí. I shall have occasion to speak again about this point when briefly reporting my unfortunate companion’s voyage on the lake.[49]

Having closed my day’s labour usefully and pleasantly, I lay down under a sort of shed, but had much to suffer from mosquitoes, which, together with fleas, are a great nuisance near the banks of the lagoon.

Sunday, April 27.—Before sunrise we were again in the saddle, accompanied by Fúgo or Púfo ʿAli, who had his double pair of small drums with him, and looked well on his stately horse. It was a beautiful morning, and I was delighted with the scene around. Clear and unbroken were the lines of the horizon, the swampy plain extending on our right towards the lake, and blending with it, so as to allow the mind that delights in wandering over distant regions a boundless expanse to rove in—an enjoyment not to be found in mountainous regions, be the mountains ever so distant. For

“’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view.”

Thus we went on slowly northwards, while the sun rose over the patches of water, which spread over the grassy plain; and on our left the village displayed its snug yards and huts, neatly fenced and shaded by spreading trees. We now left Maduwári, and after a little while passed another village called Dógoji, when we came to a large hamlet or “berí” of Kánembú cattle-breeders, who had the care of almost all the cattle of the villages along the shores of the lake, which is very credibly reported to amount together to eleven thousand head. The herd here collected—numbering at least a thousand head, most of them of that peculiar kind, called kúri, mentioned before—was placed in the midst, while the men were encamped all around, armed with long spears and light shields; at equal distances long poles were fixed in the ground, on which the butter was hung up in skins or in “kórió,” vessels made of grass. Here we had some delay, as Fúgo ʿAli, who was the inspector of all these villages, had to make inquiries respecting three head of cattle belonging to the vizier, which had been stolen during the night. On our left the considerable village of Bínder, which is at least as large as Maduwári, exhibited an interesting picture; and I had leisure to make a sketch.

Having here indulged in a copious draught of fresh milk, we resumed our march, turning to the eastward; and having passed through deep water we reached the creek “Kógorám,” surrounded by a dense belt of tall rushes of various kinds. We were just about to leave this gulf, when we were joined by Zíntelma, another Kánemma chief, who ever afterwards remained attached to me and Mr. Overweg, with five horsemen. Our troop having thus increased, we went on cheerfully to another creek called Tábirám, whence we galloped towards Bolé, trying in vain to overtake a troop of kelára (the antelope before mentioned), which rushed headlong into the water and disappeared in the jungle. Before, however, we could get to this latter place, we had to pass very deep water, which covered my saddle, though I was mounted on a tall horse, and swamped altogether my poor Bú-Sʿad on his pony; nothing but his head and his gun were to be seen for a time. But it was worth while to reach the spot which we thus attained at the widest creek of the lake as yet seen by me,—a fine open sheet of water, the surface of which, agitated by a light east wind, threw its waves upon the shore. All around was one forest of reeds of every description, while the water itself was covered with water-plants, chiefly the water-lily or Nymphæa lotus. Numberless flocks of waterfowl of every description played about. The creek has an angular form; and its recess, which makes a deep indentation from E. 30 N. to W. 30 S., is named Nghélle.

Having made our way through the water and rushes, and at length got again on firm ground, we made a momentary halt to consider what next to do. Háj Beshír had taught me to hope that it would be possible to reach on horseback the island Sóyurum, which extends a long way into the lake, and whence I might have an extensive view over the Kálu kemé and many of the islands; but my companions were unanimously of opinion that the depth of the water to be crossed for many miles exceeded the height of my horse; and although I was quite ready to expose myself to more wetting, in order to see a greater portion of this most interesting feature of Central Africa, I nevertheless did not think it worth while to ride a whole day through deep water, particularly as in so doing I should not be able to keep my chronometer and my compass dry; for these were now the most precious things which I had on earth, and could not be replaced and repaired so easily as gun and pistols. But moreover my horse, which had never been accustomed to fatigue, and had not been well fed, had become quite lame, and seemed scarcely able to carry me back to Kúkawa. I therefore gave up the idea of visiting the island, which in some years, when the lake does not rise to a great height, may be reached with little inconvenience,[50] and followed my companions towards the large village of Káwa.

Passing over fields planted with cotton and beans, but without native corn, which is not raised here at all, we reached Káwa after an hour’s ride, while we passed on our left a small swamp. Káwa is a large straggling village, which seems to enjoy some political pre-eminence above the other places hereabouts, and on this account is placed in a somewhat hostile position to the independent inhabitants of the islands, with which the Kánembú in general keep up a sort of peaceful intercourse. What to me seemed the most interesting objects were the splendid trees adorning the place. The sycamore under which our party was desired to rest in the house of Fúgo ʿAli’s sister was most magnificent, and afforded the most agreeable resting-place possible, the space overshadowed by the crown of the tree being enclosed with a separate fence, as the “fágé,” or place of meeting. Here we were feasted with a kind of “boló-boló,” or water mixed with pounded argúm or dukhn, sour milk, and meat, and then continued our march to Kúkawa, where we arrived just as the vizier was mounting on horseback to go to the sheikh. Galloping up to him, we paid him our respects; and he expressed himself well pleased with me. My companions told him that we had been swimming about in the lake for the last two days, and that I had written down everything. The whole cavalcade, consisting of eight horsemen, then accompanied me to my house, where I gave them a treat.

I returned just in time from my excursion; for the next day the caravan for Fezzán encamped outside the town, and I had to send off two of my men with it. One of them was the carpenter Ibrahím, a handsome young man, but utterly unfit for work, of whom I was extremely glad to get rid; the other was Mohammed el Gatróni, my faithful servant from Múrzuk, whom I dismissed with heartfelt sorrow. He had had a very small salary; and I therefore promised to give him four Spanish dollars a month, and to mount him on horseback; but it was all in vain; he was anxious to see his wife and children again, after which he promised to come back. I, therefore, like the generals of ancient Rome, gave him leave of absence—“pueris procreandis daret operam.”

On the other side, it was well worth a sacrifice to send a trustworthy man to Fezzán. The expedition had lost its director, who alone was authorized to act in the name of the Government which had sent us out; we had no means whatever, but considerable debts, and without immediate aid by fresh supplies, the surviving members could do no better than to return home as soon as possible. Moreover, there were Mr. Richardson’s private things to be forwarded, and particularly his journal, which, from the beginning of the journey down to the very last days of his life, he had kept with great care,—more fortunate he, and more provident in this respect than my other companion, who laughed at me when, during moments of leisure, I finished the notes which I had briefly written down during the march, and who contended that nothing could be done in this respect till after a happy return home. I therefore provided Mohammed, upon whose discretion and fidelity I could entirely rely, with a camel, and entrusted to him all Mr. Richardson’s things and my parcel of letters, which he was to forward by the courier, who is generally sent on by the caravan after its arrival in the Tébu country.

There were two respectable men with the caravan, Háj Hassan, a man belonging to the family of el Kánemi, and in whose company Mr. Vogel afterwards travelled from Fezzán to Bórnu, and Mohammed Titíwi. On the 2nd of May, therefore, I went to pay a visit to these men, but found only Titíwi, to whom I recommended my servant. He promised to render him all needful assistance. I had but little intercourse with this man, yet this little occurred on important occasions, and so his name has become a pleasant remembrance to me. I first met him when sending off the literary remains of my unfortunate companion. I at the same time ventured to introduce myself to Her Majesty’s Government, and to try if it would so far rely upon me, a foreigner, as to entrust me with the further direction of the expedition, and to ask for means; it was then Titíwi again who brought me the most honourable despatches from the British Government, authorizing me to carry out the expedition just as it had been intended, and at the same time means for doing so. It was Titíwi, who on the day when I was leaving Kúkawa on my long adventurous journey to Timbúktu, came to my house to wish me success in my arduous undertaking; and it was Titíwi again, who, on the 2nd of August, 1855, came to the consul’s house, in Tripoli, to congratulate me on my successful return from the interior.

He was an intelligent man, and being informed that I was about to undertake a journey to Ádamáwa, the dangers of which he well knew, he expressed his astonishment that I should make the attempt with a weak horse, such as I was then riding. My horse, though it had recovered a little from its lameness, and was getting strength from a course of dumplings made of the husk of Negro corn mixed with natron, which it had to swallow every morning and evening, was anything but a good charger; and having previously determined to look about for a better horse, I was only confirmed in my intention by the observation of the experienced merchant.

This was one of the largest slave caravans which departed during my stay in Bórnu; for, if I am not mistaken, there were seven hundred and fifty slaves in the possession of the merchants who went with it. Slaves are as yet the principal export from Bórnu, and will be so till the slave-trade on the north coast is abolished.

Overweg had not yet arrived, although we had received information that he was on his way directly from Zínder, having given up his intention of visiting Kanó. Before I set out on my journey to Ádamáwa, it was essential that I should confer with him about many things, and particularly as to what he himself should first undertake, but the rainy season was fast approaching even here, while in Ádamáwa it had set in long ago, and it seemed necessary that I should not delay any longer. In the afternoon of the 5th of May, we had the first unmistakable token of the rainy season—a few heavy claps of thunder followed by rain. But I did not tarry; the very same day I bought in the market all that was necessary for my journey, and the next day succeeded in purchasing a very handsome and strong grey horse, “keri bul,” for twelve hundred and seventy rotls, equal at that moment to two-and-thirty Austrian dollars, while I sold my weak horse which the sheikh had given me for nine hundred rotls, or twenty-two dollars and a half.

Having also bought an Arab saddle, I felt myself quite a match for anybody, and hearing in the afternoon that the sheikh had gone to Gawánge, a place two miles and a half east from the town towards the lake, I mounted my new steed, and setting off at a gallop, posted myself before the palace just when ʿOmár was about to come out with the flourishing of the trumpets, sounding the Háusa word “gashí, gashí,” “Here he is, here he is.” The sheikh was very handsomely dressed in a fine white bernús over another of light blue colour, and very well mounted on a fine black horse “fir kéra.” He was accompanied by several of his and the vizier’s courtiers, and about two hundred horsemen, who were partly riding by his side, partly galloping on in advance and returning again to the rear, while sixty slaves, wearing red jackets over their shirts, and armed with matchlocks, ran in front of and behind his horse. The vizier, who saw me first, saluted me very kindly, and sent Hámza Weled el Góni to take me to the sheikh, who made a halt, and asked me very graciously how I was going on, and how my excursion to the lake had amused me. Having then taken notice of my sprightly horse, the vizier called my servant, and expressed his regret, that the horse which they had presented to me had not proved good, saying that I ought to have informed them, when they would have given me a better one. I promised to do so another time, and did not forget the warning.

Wednesday, May 7.—Mr. Overweg arrived. The way in which he was announced to me was so singular as to merit description. It was about an hour before noon, and I was busy collecting some interesting information from my friend Ibrahím el Futáwi about Tagánet, when suddenly the little Maʿadi arrived. This lad, a liberated slave, had been Mr. Richardson’s servant, and is frequently mentioned in that gentleman’s journal. As he had been among those of my companion’s people who, to my great regret, had left Kúkawa the day before I arrived without having their claims settled, I was very glad when he came back, but could not learn from him how it happened that he returned; when, after some chat, he told me, incidentally, that the tabíb (Mr. Overweg) was also come, and was waiting for me in Kálilwá. Of course it was the latter who, meeting the lad on the road, had brought him back, and had sent him now expressly to inform me of his arrival. This dull but good-natured lad, who was afterwards severely wounded in the service of the mission, is now Mr. Vogel’s chief servant.

As soon as I fully understood the purport of this important message, I ordered my horse to be saddled, and mounted. The sun was extremely powerful, just about noon, shortly before the setting in of the rainy season, and as I had forgotten, in the hurry and excitement, to wind a turban round my cap, I very nearly suffered a sunstroke. A traveller cannot be too careful of his head in these countries.

I found Overweg in the shade of a nebek-tree near Kálilwá. He looked greatly fatigued and much worse than when I left him, four months ago, at Tasáwa: indeed, as he told me, he had been very sickly in Zínder—so sickly, that he had been much afraid lest he should soon follow Mr. Richardson to the grave. Perhaps the news which he just then heard of our companion’s death made him more uneasy about his own illness. However, we were glad to meet again alive, and expressed our hopes to be able to do a good deal for the exploration of these countries. He had had an opportunity of witnessing, during his stay in Góber and Marádi, the interesting struggle going on between this noblest part of the Háusa nation and the Fúlbe, who threaten their political as well as religious independence; and he was deeply impressed with the charming scenes of unrestrained cheerful life which he had witnessed in those pagan communities; while I, for my part, could assure him that my reception in Bórnu seemed to guarantee success, although, under existing circumstances, there seemed to be very little hope that we should ever be able to make a journey all round the Tsád; but I thought that, with the assistance of those people in Bínder and Maduwári whom I had just visited, and who appeared to be on friendly terms with the islanders, it might be possible to explore the navigable part of the lagoon in the boat.

Mr. Overweg was, in some respects, very badly off, having no clothes with him except those which he actually wore, all his luggage being still in Kanó, though he had sent two men to fetch it. I was therefore obliged to lend him my own things, and he took up his quarters in another part of our house, though it was rather small for our joint establishment. The vizier was very glad of his arrival, and, in fulfilment of his engagement to deliver all the things left by Mr. Richardson as soon as Mr. Overweg should arrive, he sent all the half-empty boxes of our late companion in the evening of the next day; even the gun and pistols, and the other things which had been sold, were returned, with the single exception of Mr. Richardson’s watch, which, as the sheikh was very fond of it, and kept it near him night and day, I thought it prudent to spare him the mortification of returning.

Mr. Overweg and I, having then made a selection from the articles that remained to us, presented to the vizier, on the morning of the 9th, those destined for him, and in the afternoon we presented the sheikh with his share. These presents could not now be expected to please by their novelty, or to awaken a feeling of gratitude in the receivers, who had long been in possession of them; but although made to understand by Mr. Richardson’s interpreters that he alone had been authorized by the British Government, Mr. Overweg and I not being empowered to interfere, and that consequently they might regard themselves as legitimate possessors of our deceased companion’s property, they must yet have entertained some doubt about the equity of their claim; and as soon as I arrived, and began to act with firmness, they grew ashamed of having listened to intriguing servants. In short, though we had put them to shame, they esteemed us all the better for our firmness, and received their presents in a very gracious manner.

We now spoke also about the treaty, the negotiation of which, we said, had been specially entrusted to our companion, but now, by his death, had devolved on us. Both of them assured us of their ardent desire to open commercial intercourse with the English, but at the same time they did not conceal that their principal object in so doing was to obtain firearms. They also expressed their desire that two of their people might return with us to England, in order to see the country and its industry, which we told them we were convinced would be most agreeable to the British Government. Our conversation was so unrestrained and friendly, that the sheikh himself took the opportunity of excusing himself for having appropriated Mr. Richardson’s watch. But the following narrative will show how European travellers, endeavouring to open these countries to European intercourse, have to struggle against the intrigues of the Arabs; who are well aware that as soon as the Europeans, or rather the English, get access to Negroland, not only their slave-trade, but even their whole commerce, as they now carry it on, will be annihilated.

We had scarcely re-entered our house when, the rumour spreading through the Arab quarter of the manner in which we had been received, and of the matters talked of, el Khodr, a native of Dar-Fúr, and the foremost of the native traders, went to the sheikh with the news that seven large vessels of the English had suddenly arrived at Nupe, and that the natives were greatly afraid of them. This announcement was soon found to be false, but nevertheless it served its purpose, to cool a little the friendly and benevolent feeling which had been manifested towards us. The following day we went to pitch the large double tent, which we had given to the sheikh, on the open area before his palace in the eastern town; and having fully succeeded in arranging it, although a few pieces were wanting, it was left the whole day in its place, and made a great impression upon the people. At first it seemed rather awkward to the natives, whose tents, even if of large size, are mere bell-tents; but in the course of time it pleased the sheikh so much, that when I finally left the country, he begged me to entreat the British Government to send him another one like it.

We also paid our respects to the principal of the sheikh’s brothers, as well as to his eldest son. Having obtained permission, we visited ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán, the brother and rival of the sheikh, as we could not prudently be wanting in civility to a person who might soon get the upper hand. We presented him with a fine white heláli bernús, and sundry small things; he received us very graciously, and laughed and chatted a good deal with us on the first as well as on a second visit, when I was obliged to show him the pictures in Denham’s and Clapperton’s work, and the drawing I had myself made of his friend, the Kánemma chief, Ámsakay, of which he had heard; but his manners did not please us very much. His countenance had a very wild expression, and he manifested little intelligence or princely demeanour, wrangling and playing the whole day with his slaves. Besides, we were obliged to be cautious in our dealings with him; for we had scarcely made his acquaintance, when he sent us a secret message, begging for poison, with which he most probably wished to rid himself of his deadly enemy the vizier. Quite a different man was Yúsuf, the sheikh’s second brother, with whom, during my last stay in Kúkawa, in the beginning of 1855, I became intimately acquainted. He was a learned and very religious man, always reading, and with a very acute sense of justice; but he was not a man of business. As for Bú-Bakr, the eldest son of ʿOmár, who now unfortunately seems to have the best claim to the succession, he was a child, devoid of intelligence or noble feelings. Twice was I obliged to have recourse to his father to make him pay me for some articles which he had bought of me.

The much-desired moment of my departure for Ádamáwa drew nearer and nearer. The delay of my starting on this undertaking, occasioned by the late arrival of Mr. Overweg, had been attended with the great advantage that, meanwhile, some messengers of the governor of that country had arrived, in whose company, as they were returning immediately, I was able to undertake the journey with a much better prospect of success. The subject of their message was, that Kashélla ʿAlí Ladán, on his late predatory incursion into the Marghí country, had enslaved and carried away inhabitants of several places to which the governor of Ádamáwa laid claim, and it was more in order to establish his right, than from any real concern in the fate of these unfortunate creatures, that he was pleased to lay great stress upon the case. Indeed, as the sequel shows, his letter must have contained some rather harsh or threatening expressions, to which the ruler of Bórnu was not inclined to give way, though he yielded[51] to the justice of the specific claim. At first these messengers from Ádamáwa were to be my only companions besides my own servants, and on the 21st of May I was officially placed under their protection in the house of the sheikh by several of the first courtiers or kokanáwa, among whom were the old Ibrahím Wadáy, the friend and companion of Mohammed el Kánemi in his first heroical proceedings, Shítima Náser, Hámza, and Kashélla ʿAli, and the messengers promised to see me safe to their country, and to provide for my safe return.

Íbrahíma, the head man of these messengers, who were all of rather inferior rank, was not such a man as I wished for; but fortunately there was among them another person named Mohámmedu, who, although himself a Púllo by descent, had more of the social character of the Háusa race, and was ready to gratify my desire for information. He proved most useful in introducing me into the new country which I was to explore, and would have been of immense service to me if I had been allowed to make any stay there.

After much delay, and having twice taken official leave of the sheikh in full state, I had at length the pleasure of seeing our little band ready for starting in the afternoon of Thursday, the 29th May, 1851. Rather more, I think, with a view to his own interest, than from any apprehension on my account, the sheikh informed me, in the last interview which I had with him, that he would send an officer along with me. This move puzzled me from the beginning, and caused me some misgiving; and there is not the least doubt, as the sequel will show, that to the company of this officer it must be attributed that I was sent back by Mohammed Láwl, the governor of Ádamáwa, without being allowed to stay any time in the country; but, for truth’s sake, I must admit that if I had not been accompanied by this man, it is doubtful whether I should have been able to overcome the very great difficulties and dangers which obstruct this road.

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Chapter XXXII

SETTING OUT ON MY JOURNEY TO ÁDAMÁWA.—THE FLAT SWAMPY GROUNDS OF BÓRNU.

Thursday, May 29.—At four o’clock in the afternoon I left the “chínna ánumbe,” the southern gate of Kúkawa, on my adventurous journey to Ádamáwa. My little troop was not yet all collected. For being extremely poor at the time, or rather worse than poor, as I had nothing but considerable debts, I had cherished the hope that I should be able to carry all my luggage on one camel; but when the things were all packed up, provisions, cooking utensils, tent, and a few presents, I saw that the one weak animal which I had was not enough, and bought another of Mr. Overweg, which had first to be fetched from the pasture-ground. I therefore left two servants and my old experienced Háusa warrior, the Mʿallem Katúri, whom, as I have stated above, I had expressly hired for this journey, behind me in the town, in order to follow us in the night with the other camel.

Mr. Overweg, attended by a spirited little fellow, named ʿAli, a native of Ghát, who had brought his luggage from Kanó, accompanied me. But the most conspicuous person in our troop was Bíllama,[52] the officer whom the sheikh had appointed to accompany me, a tall, handsome Bórnu man, mounted on a most splendid grey horse of great size, and of a very quick pace. He had two servants with him, besides a man of Mʿala Ibrám, likewise mounted on horseback, who was to accompany us as far as the Marghí country. The messengers from Ádamáwa, as we proceeded onward, gradually collected together from the hamlets about, where they had been waiting for us, and the spearmen among them saluted me by raising their spears just in my face, and beating their small round hippopotamus shields; Mohámmedu was armed with a sword and bow and arrows. They had not been treated so well as, with reference to my prospects, the sheikh ought to have treated them, and Íbrahíma, instead of a handsome horse which was promised to him, had received a miserable poor mare, quite unfit for himself, and scarcely capable of carrying his little son and his small provision bag.

As soon as I had left the town behind me, and saw that I was fairly embarked in my undertaking, I indulged in the most pleasant feelings. I had been cherishing the plan of penetrating into those unknown countries to the south for so long a time, that I felt the utmost gratification in being at length able to carry out my design. At that time I even cherished the hope that I might succeed in reaching Báya, and thus extend my inquiries even as far as the equator; but my first design was, and had always been, to decide by ocular evidence the question with regard to the direction and the tributaries of the great river which flowed through the country in the south.

Leaving the Ngórnu road to our left, we reached the village Kába at sunset, but were received so inhospitably, that, after much opposition from a quarrelsome old woman, we took up our quarters not inside, but outside, her courtyard, and with difficulty obtained a little fire, with which we boiled some coffee, but had not firewood enough for cooking a supper, so that we satisfied our appetite with cold “díggwa,” a sweetmeat made of meal, honey, and butter. The inhabitants of the villages at no great distance from the capital are generally very inhospitable; but the traveller will find the same in any country.

Friday, May 30.—At an early hour we were ready to resume our march, not having even pitched a tent during the night. The morning was very fine; and, in comparison with the naked and bare environs of the capital, the country seemed quite pleasant to me, although the flora offered scarcely anything but stunted acacias of the gáwo and kindíl kind, while dúm-bush and the Asclepias procera formed the underwood, and coarse dry grass full of “ngíbbu” or Pennisetum distichum covered the ground. Now and then a fine tamarind-tree interrupted this monotony, and formed a landmark; indeed both the well which we passed (Tamsúkú-korí) and the village Tamsúkwá, have received their names from this most beautiful and useful tree, which in Kanúri is called tamsúku or temsúku.

After only four hours’ march we halted near the village Pírtwa, as Mr. Overweg was now to return, and as I wished my other people now to come up. Having long tried in vain to buy some provisions with our “kúngona” or shells, Mr. Overweg at length succeeded in purchasing a goat with his servant’s shirt. This article, even if much worn, is always regarded as ready money in the whole of Negroland; and as long as a man has a shirt he is sure not to starve. Afterwards the inhabitants of the village brought us several bowls of “bírri,” or porridge of Negro corn; and we employed ourselves in drinking coffee and eating, till it was time for Mr. Overweg to depart, when we separated with the most hearty wishes for the success of each other’s enterprise: for we had already fully discussed his undertaking to navigate the lagoon in the English boat.

We then started at a later hour, and, following a more westerly path, took up our night’s quarters at Dýnnamarí, the village of Dynnama or Ámade. Instead of this most westerly road, my people had taken the most easterly; and we at length joined them, a little before noon of the following day, at the village Úlo Kurá, which, with the whole district, belongs to the “Mágirá” (the mother of the sheikh), and so forms a distinct domain called “Mágirári.” But the country for thirty or forty miles round Kúkawa is intersected by so many paths, that it is very difficult for parties to meet, if the place of rendezvous has not been precisely indicated. The country hereabouts at this time of the year presents a most dreary appearance, being full of those shallow hollows of deep-black argillaceous soil called “fírki” by the Kanúri, and “ghadír” by the Arabs, which during the rainy season form large ponds of water, and when the rainy season draws to an end, and the water decreases, afford the most excellent soil for the cultivation of the “másakwá,” a species of holcus (H. cernuus), which constitutes a very important article of cultivation in these alluvial lowlands round the Tsád, or even for wheat. At a later season, after the grain is harvested, these hollows, being sometimes of an immense extent, and quite bare and naked, give the country a most dismal appearance. The water in Úlo Kurá was extremely disagreeable, owing to this nature of the ground.

Continuing our march in the afternoon, after the heat had decreased, we passed, after about four miles, the first encampment of Shúwa, or berí Shúwabe, which I had yet seen in the country. Shúwa is a generic name, denoting all the Arabs (or rather eastern Arabs) settled in Bórnu, and forming a component part of the population of the country; in Bagírmi they are called Shíwa. No Arab from the coast is ever denoted by this name; but his title is Wásirí, or Wásilí. This native Arab population appears to have immigrated from the east at a very early period, although at present we have no direct historical proof of the presence of these Arabs in Bórnu before the time of Edrís Alawóma, about two hundred and fifty years ago.

Of the migration of these Arabs from the east, there cannot be the least doubt. They have advanced gradually through the eastern part of Negroland, till they have overspread this country, but without proceeding further towards the west. Their dialect is quite different from the Mághrebí, while in many respects it still preserves the purity and eloquence of the language of Hijáz, particularly as regards the final vowels in the conjugation. Many of their national customs, also, still point to their ancient settlements, as we shall see further on. I became very intimate with these people at a later period, by taking into my service a young Shúwa lad, who was one of my most useful servants on my journey to Timbúktu. These Shúwa are divided into many distinct families or clans, and altogether may form in Bórnu a population of from 200,000 to 250,000 souls, being able to bring into the field about 20,000 light cavalry. Most of them have fixed villages, where they live during the rainy season, attending the labours of the field, while during the remaining part of the year they wander about with their cattle. I shall say more about them in the course of my proceedings, as opportunity occurs. The clan, whose encampment or berí we passed to-day, are generally called Kárda by the Bórnu people—I cannot say why,[53]—while their indigenous name, “Bajáudi,” seems to indicate an intermixture with the Fúlbe or Felláta, with whom the Shúwa in general are on the most friendly terms, and may often be confounded with them on account of the similarity of their complexion and manners. In fact, there is no doubt that it was the Shúwa who prepared and facilitated the settlement of the Fúlbe or Felláta in Bórnu.

We took up our quarters for the night in one of the four clusters of huts which form the village Múngholo Gezáwa, and which, by the neatness and cleanliness of its yards and cottages, did honour to its lord, the vizier of Bórnu. It was here that I first observed several small pools of rain-water, which bore testimony to the greater intensity and the earlier setting in of the rainy season in these regions. There were also great numbers of waterfowl seen hereabouts.

Sunday, June 1.—When we left our quarters in the morning we hesitated a while as to what road to take, whether that by “Múbiyó,” or that by “Úda” or “Wúda”; but at length we decided for the latter. The country exhibited a peculiar but not very cheerful character, the ground consisting, in the beginning, of white clay, and further on of a soil called “gárga” by the Kanúri people, and now and then quite arid and barren, while at other times it was thickly overgrown with prickly underwood, with a tamarind-tree shooting up here and there. We then came to a locality covered with a dense forest, which at a later period in the rainy season forms one continuous swamp, but at present was dry, with the exception of some deep hollows already filled with water. Here we found some of the inhabitants of the district, all of whom are Shúwa, busy in forming watering-places for their cattle, by enclosing circular hollows with low dykes. One of these people was of a complexion so light as to astonish me; indeed, he was no darker than my hands and face, and perhaps even a shade lighter: his features were those of the Shúwa in general, small and handsome; his figure slender. The general size of these Arabs does not exceed five feet and a half, but they look much taller, on account of the peculiar slenderness of their forms; for although I have seen many specimens of stout Fúlbe, I have scarcely ever seen one robust Shúwa. The forest was enlivened by numberless flocks of wild pigeons.

We then emerged into a more open country, passing several villages of a mixed population, half of them being Shúwa, the other half Kanúri. All their huts have a thatched roof of a perfectly spherical shape, quite distinct from the general form of huts in this country, the top, or “kógi ngímbe,” being entirely wanting. One of these villages, called Dásedísk, is well remembered by the people on account of the sheikh, Mohammed el Kánemi, having been once encamped in its neighbourhood. At a rather early hour we halted for the heat of the day in a village called Ménoway, where an old decrepit Shúwa from Úda, led by his equally aged and faithful better-half, came to me in quest of medicine for his infirmities. To my great vexation, a contribution of several fowls was laid by my companions upon the villagers for my benefit; and I had to console an old blind man, who stumbled about in desperate search after his cherished hen. There was a numerous herd of cattle just being watered at the two wells of the village. Starting again in the afternoon, we reached one of the hamlets forming the district Magá just in time to avoid the drenching of a violent storm which broke forth in the evening. But the lanes formed by the fences of the yards were so narrow that we had the greatest difficulty in making our camels pass through them—an inconvenience which the traveller experiences very often in these countries, where the camel is not the indigenous and ordinary beast of burden. The well here was nine fathoms deep.

Monday, June 2.—Starting tolerably early, we reached, after two miles, an extensive fírki, the black boggy soil of which, now dry, showed a great many footprints of the giraffe. This I thought remarkable at the moment, but still more so when, in the course of my travels, I became aware how very rarely this animal, which roams over the extensive and thinly inhabited plains on the border of Negroland, is found within the populous districts. This “fírki” was the largest I had yet seen, and exceeded three miles in length. Much rain had already fallen hereabouts; and further on, near a full pond, we observed two wild hogs (gadó), male (bí) and female (kúrgurí), running one after the other. This also was a new sight for me, as heretofore I had scarcely seen a single specimen of this animal in this part of the world; but afterwards I found that, in the country between this and Bagírmi, this animal lives in immense numbers. We here overtook a small troop of native traders, or “tugúrchi,” with sumpter-oxen laden with natron, while another with unloaded beasts was just returning from Ujé. A good deal of trade is carried on in this article with the last-named place.

Having gone on in advance of the camels with Bíllama and Mʿallem Katúri, I waited a long time under a splendid “chédia,” or “jéja” (the Háusa name), the caoutchouc-tree, indicating the site of a large town of the Gámerghú, called Muná (which has been destroyed by the Fúlbe or Felláta), expecting our people to come up, as we intended to leave the direct track and go to a neighbouring village, wherein to spend the hot hours of the day; but as they delayed too long, we thought we might give them sufficient indication of our having left the road by laying a fresh branch across it. This is a very common practice in this country; but it requires attention on the part of those who follow, and may sometimes lead to confusion. On one occasion, when I had, in like manner, gone on in advance of my people, a second party of horsemen, who had likewise left their people behind, came between me and my baggage-train, and, as they were pursuing a bye-way, they laid a branch across the chief road; my people, on coming up to the branch, thought that it was laid by me, and, following the bye-way, caused much delay. Other people make a mark with a spear. I and my horsemen went to the village and lay down in the cool shade of a tamarind-tree; but we soon became convinced that our people had not paid attention to the mark. With difficulty we obtained something to eat from the villagers.

The heat had been very oppressive; and we had just mounted our horses when a storm broke out in the south, but fortunately without reaching us. Proceeding at a swift pace, we found our people encamped in a village called Íbramrí, and, having roused them, immediately continued our march. Beyond this village I observed the first cotton-field occurring on this road. The country was thickly inhabited, and gave evidence of a certain degree of industry; in the village Bashírorí I observed a dyeing-place. The country was laid out in cornfields of considerable extent, which had just been sown. All this district then belonged to Mestréma, as an estate in fee; but after the revolution of 1854, this man was disgraced and the estate taken from him.

I had already felt convinced that the kúka, or Adansonia digitata, is one of the commonest trees of Negroland; but all the numerous specimens which I had hitherto seen of this colossal tree were leafless, forming rather gloomy and unpleasant objects: here, however, I saw it for the first time adorned with leaves; and though the foliage seemed to bear no proportion to the colossal size of the boughs, yet the tree had a much more cheerful aspect. We took up our quarters for the night in Ujé Maídugurí, a large and comfortable-looking place, such as I had not yet met with since I left Kúkawa; but the yard, which was assigned to us by the slaves of Mestréma, was in the very worst state, and I was obliged to pitch my tent. However, we were hospitably treated, and fowls and a sheep, as well as bírri, were brought to us.

We had now reached one of the finest districts of Bórnu, which is collectively called Ujé, but which really comprises a great many places of considerable size. This was once the chief province of the Gámerghú, a tribe often mentioned in the history of Edrís Alawóma, and who, as their language shows, are closely related to the Wándalá or, as they are generally called, Mándara.[54] This tribe has at present lost all national independence, while its brethren in Morá and the places around, protected by the mountainous character of the country, still maintain their freedom against the Kanúri and Fúlbe, but, as it seems, will soon be swallowed up by the latter. While the greater part of the Gámerghú have been exterminated, the rest are heavily taxed, although the tribute which they have to deliver to the sheikh himself consists only in butter. Every large place in this district has a market of its own; but a market of very considerable importance is held in Ujé, and is from this circumstance called Ujé Kásukulá—“kásukú” means “the market.” In Ujé Maídugurí a market is held every Wednesday on the west side of the town, where a small quadrangular area is marked out with several rows of stalls or sheds. The place was once surrounded by an earthen wall, the circumference of which seems to show its greater magnitude in former times.

Escorted by a troop of Mestréma’s idle servants, we entered, on the following morning, the fine open country which stretches out on the south side of Maídugurí. The whole plain appeared to be one continuous cornfield, interrupted only by numerous villages, and shaded here and there by single monkey-bread-trees, or Adansonias, and various species of fig-trees, such as the ngábbore, with their succulent dark-green foliage, and báure with large fleshy leaves of a bright-green colour. Since I left Kanó I had not seen so fine a country. The plain is traversed by a large fiumara or komádugu, which comes from the neighbourhood of Aláwó, where there is a great collection of water, and reaches the Tsád by way of Díkowa, Nghála, and Mbulú. At the three latter places I have crossed it myself in the course of my travels; and between Ujé and Díkowa it has been visited by Mr. Vogel, but I do not know whether he is able to lay down its course with accuracy.

We had to cross the watercourse twice before we reached Mábaní, a considerable place situated on a broad sandy hill, at a distance of little more than four miles from Maídugurí. To my great astonishment, at so early an hour in the morning, my party proceeded to take up quarters here; but the reason was, that the messengers from Ádamáwa had to inquire hereabouts for some of the people, who, as I have stated before, had been carried away by Kashélla ʿAli. However, in the absence of the bíllama or head man of the town, a long time elapsed before we could procure quarters; but at length we succeeded in obtaining a sort of open yard, with two huts and two stalls, or “fáto síggidibé,” when I gave up the huts to my companions, and took possession of the best of the stalls, near which I pitched my tent. The town covers not only the whole top of the hill, but, descending its southern slope, extends along its foot and over another hill of less size. It may contain from nine to ten thousand inhabitants, and seems to be prosperous; indeed all the dwellings, despicable as they may appear to the fastidious European, bear testimony to a certain degree of ease and wealth; and few people here seem destitute of the necessaries of life. Besides agriculture, there appears to be a good deal of domestic industry, as the market-place, situated on the eastern slope of the hill, and consisting of from a hundred and fifty to two hundred stalls, and a dyeing-place close by it, amply testify. I have already mentioned in another place the shirts which are dyed in this district, and which are called “ámaghdí.”

When the heat had abated a little I made a pleasant excursion on horseback, accompanied by Bíllama and Bú-Sʿad, first in an easterly direction, through the plain to a neighbouring village, and then turning northward to the komádugu, which forms here a beautiful sweep, being lined on the north side by a steep grassy bank adorned with fine trees. The southern shore was laid out in kitchen-gardens, where, a little further in the season, wheat and onions are grown. In the bottom of the fiumara we found most delicious water only a foot and a half beneath the surface of the sand, while the water which we obtained in the town, and which was taken from the pools at the foot of the hill, was foul and offensive. These pools are enlivened by a great number of waterfowl, chiefly herons and flamingoes.

The forenoon of Wednesday also I gave up to the solicitation of my Ádamáwa companions, and usefully employed my time in writing “bolíde Fulfúlde,” or the language of the Fúlbe, and more particularly the dialect spoken in Ádamáwa, which is indeed very different from the Fulfúlde spoken in Góber and Kébbi. Meanwhile old Mʿallem Katúri was bitten by a scorpion, and I had to dress the wound with a few drops of ammonia, for which he was very grateful.

In the afternoon we pursued our march; and I then became aware that we had made a great détour, Maídugurí, as well as Mábaní, not lying on the direct route. We had been joined in the latter place by a party of “pilgrim traders” from the far-distant Másena, or, as in European maps the name is generally written, Massina, on their home-journey from Mekka, who excited much interest in me. The chief person among them was a native of Hamd-Alláhi, the capital of the new Púllo kingdom of Mélle, or Másena, who carried with him a considerable number of books, which he had bought in the east more for the purposes of trade than for his own use. He was mounted on a camel, but had also a pack-ox laden with salt, which he had been told he might dispose of to great advantage in Ádamáwa. Thus pilgrims are always trading in these countries. But this poor man was not very successful; for his books were partly spoiled in crossing the river Bénuwé, and his camel died during the rainy season in Ádamáwa. However, he thence continued his journey homewards, while his four companions returned eastward and met with me once more in Logón, and the last time on the banks of the Shári. Two of them were mounted on fine asses, which they had brought with them from Dár-Fúr.

Our way led us through a populous and fertile country, first along the meandering course of the komádugu, which was here lined with ngábbore or ficus, and with the birgim or diña (as it is called in Háusa), a tree attaining a height of from thirty to forty feet, but not spreading wide, with leaves of a darkish green, and fruit like a small plum, but less soft, and of a black colour, though it was not yet ripe. Here I was greeted by the cheerful sight of the first corn-crop of the season which I had yet seen—having lately sprung up, and adorning the fields with its lively fresh green. Rain had been very copious hereabouts; and several large pools were formed along the komádugu, in which the boys of the neighbouring villages were catching small fish three or four inches long, while in other places the banks of the river were overgrown with beautifully fresh grass. Having crossed and re-crossed the fiumara, we ascended its steep left bank, which in some places exhibited regular strata of sandstone. Here we passed a little dyeing-yard of two or three pots, while several small patches of indigo were seen at the foot of the bank, and a bustling group of men and cattle gathered round the well. Villages were seen lying about in every direction; and single cottages, scattered about here and there, gave evidence of a sense of security. The cornfields were most agreeably broken by tracts covered with the bushes of the wild gónda, which has a most delicious fruit, of a fine cream-like taste, and of the size of a peach, a great part of which, however, is occupied by the stone. The country through which we passed was so interesting to me, and my conversation with my Háusa mʿallem about the labours of the field so animated, that we made a good stretch without being well aware of it, and took up our quarters in a place called Pálamarí when it was already dark. However, our evening rest passed less agreeably than our afternoon’s ride, owing to a violent conjugal quarrel in an adjoining cottage, the voices of the leading pair in the dispute being supported by the shrill voices of village gossips.

Thursday, June 5.—In riding through the village, as we set out in the morning, I observed that the yards were unusually spacious, and the cottages very large; but it struck me that I did not see a single “bóngo,” or hut of clay walls, and I thought myself justified in drawing the conclusion that the inhabitants must find shelter enough under their light thatched walls, and consequently that the rainy season is moderate here.

We had scarcely emerged from the narrow lanes of the village, when I was gratified with the first sight of the mountainous region; it was Mount Deládebá or Dalántubá, which appeared towards the south, and the sight of which filled my heart with joyous anticipations not unlike those with which, on my first wandering in 1840, I enjoyed the distant view of the Tyrolean Alps from the village Semling, near Munich. But our march was but a pretence; we had not been a full hour on the road, crossing a country adorned chiefly with the bushes of the wild gónda, when Bíllama left the path and entered the village Fúgo Mozári. The reason was, that to-day (Thursday) the market was held in the neighbouring Ujé Kasúkulá, and it was essential that some of our party should visit, or (to use their expression) “eat” this market.

However, I did not stay long in our quarters, which, though comfortable, were rather close, and of an extremely labyrinthine character, being divided into several small yards separated from each other by narrow passages enclosed with high síggedí mats. After a brief delay I mounted again with Bíllama and Bú-Sʿad and after two miles reached the market-town, crossing on our path a shallow branch of the komádugu, overgrown with succulent herbage, and exhibiting a scene of busy life.

The market was already well attended, and answered to its fame. As it is held every Thursday and Sunday, it is visited not only by people from Kúkawa, but also from Kanó, for which reason European as well as Háusa manufactures are often cheaper in Ujé than in Kúkawa. This we found to be the case with common paper, “tre lune.” The articles with which the market is provided from Kúkawa are chiefly natron and salt; and I myself bought here a good supply of this latter article, as it has a great value in Ádamáwa, and may be used as well for buying small objects as for presents. Ujé, however, derives also great importance from the slave-trade, situated as it is on the border of several pagan tribes; and I have often heard it said that in the neighbourhood of Ujé a husband will sell his wife, or a father his child, when in want of money; but this may be an exaggeration. It is true, however, that slaves who have run away from Kúkawa are generally to be found here. There might be from five to six thousand customers; but there would be many more, if any security were guaranteed to the visitors, from the many independent tribes who are living round about, especially the Marghí, Bábir, and Kerékeré. But, as it is, I did not see a single individual in the market who by his dress did not bear testimony to his Mohammedan profession.

Making several times the round of the market, I greatly excited the astonishment of the native traders, who had never seen a European. I then started with Bíllama on an excursion to Aláwó, the burial place of the great Bórnu king Edrís Alawóma, although the weather was extremely sultry, and the sun almost insupportable. The whole country is densely inhabited; and my companion, who had formerly been governor of the district, was everywhere kindly saluted by the inhabitants, particularly the women, who would kneel down by the roadside to pay him their respects. However, I was prevented from seeing the sepulchre itself by an immense morass extending in front of the town of Aláwó, and the turning of which would have demanded a great circuit. Numberless flocks of waterfowl enlivened it, while rank herbage and dense forest bordered it all round.

We therefore thought it better to return, particularly as a storm was evidently gathering; but we first went to an encampment of Shúwa, where we found a numerous family engaged, under the shade of a wide-spreading ngábbore, in all the various occupations of household work; but we were very inhospitably received when we begged for something to drink. I shall often have occasion to mention the inhospitality of these people, whom I was sometimes inclined to take for Jews by descent, rather than real Arabs. Passing then the village Pálamarí, and keeping along the lovely bed of the fiumara, bordered by fine wide-spreading trees, and richly overgrown with succulent grass, upon which numbers of horses were feeding, we reached our quarters just in time; for shortly afterwards the storm, which had been hanging in the air the whole day, and had made the heat about noon more insupportable than I ever felt it in my life, came down with considerable violence. The consequence was that I was driven from the cool shed which I had occupied in the morning, into the interior of a hut, where flies and bugs molested me greatly. The sheds or stalls, which are often made with great care, but never waterproof, have the great inconvenience in the rainy season, that while they do not exclude the rain, they retain the humidity, and at the same time shut out the air from the huts to which they are attached.

In the course of the day we obtained the important news, that Mohammed Láwl, the governor of Ádamáwa, had returned from his expedition against the Bána, or rather Mbána, a tribe settled ten days’ march north-eastward from Yóla, but at less distance from Ujé. Bíllama gave me much interesting information about the country before us, chiefly with reference to Sugúr, a powerful and entirely independent pagan chief in the mountains south from Mándará. With regard to this latter country, I perceived more clearly, as I advanced, what a small province it must be, comprehending little more than the capital and a few hamlets lying close around. There came to me also an intelligent-looking Púllo merchant, who was trading between Kanó and Ujé along the route indicated above; but unluckily he did not call on me until sunset, just as the prayer of the almákárifú was approaching, and he did not return in the evening as I wished him to do.

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XXXIII. THE BORDER-COUNTRY OF THE MARGHI

Friday, June 6.—We now commenced travelling more in earnest. Íbrahíma had been busy looking after his master’s subjects, who had been carried away into slavery, all about the villages in the neighbourhood, but with very little success. Our road passed close by Ujé Kásukulá, which to-day looked quite deserted; and then through a populous country with numerous villages and fine pasture-grounds, where I saw the plant called “wálde” by the Fúlbe.

I had taken great pains in Kúkawa, while gathering information about the country whither I was going, to ascertain from my informants whether snow ever lies there on the tops of the mountains or not; but I could never get at the truth, none of the natives whom I interrogated having ever visited North Africa, so as to be able to identify what he saw on the tops of the mountains in his country with the snow seen in the north. Áhmedu bel Mejúb, indeed, knew the Atlas, and had seen snow on some of the tops of that range; but he had paid little attention to the subject, and did not think himself justified in deciding the question. Now this morning, when we obtained once more a sight of Mount Dalántubá, marking out, as it were, the beginning of a mountainous region, we returned again to the subject; and all that my companions said led me to believe that I might really expect to see snow on the highest mountains of Ádamáwa. But after all I was mistaken; for they were speaking of clouds. Unfortunately Bíllama had taken another path, so that to-day I had no one to tell me the names of the villages which we passed. Some geographers think this a matter of no consequence—for them it is enough if the position of the chief places be laid down by exact astronomical observation; but to me the general character of a country, the way in which the population is settled, and the nature and character of those settlements themselves, seem to form some of the chief and most useful objects of a journey through a new and unknown country.

Having marched for more than two hours through an uninterrupted scene of agriculture and dense population, we entered a wild tract covered principally with the beautiful large bush of the tsáda, the fruit of which, much like a red cherry, has a pleasant acid taste, and was eaten with great avidity, not only by my companions, but even by myself. But the scene of man’s activity soon again succeeded to this narrow border of wilderness; and a little before we came to the village Túrbe, which was surrounded by open cultivated country, we passed a luxuriant tamarind-tree, in the shade of which a blacksmith had established his simple workshop. The group consisted of three persons, the master heating the iron in the fire; a boy blowing it with a small pair of bellows, or “búbutú,” and a lad fixing a handle in a hatchet. On the ground near them lay a finished spear. Riding up to salute the smith, I asked him whence the iron was procured, and learnt that it was brought from Madégelé, in Búbanjídda. This is considered as the best iron hereabouts; but a very good sort of iron is obtained also in Mándará.

We halted for the hot hours of the day near a village belonging to the district Shámo, which originally formed part of the Marghí country, but has been separated from it and annexed to Bórnu, its former inhabitants having either been led into slavery or converted to Islám—that is to say, taught to repeat a few Arabic phrases, without understanding a word of them. The inhabitants of the village brought us paste of Guinea-corn and milk, which, mixed together, make a palatable dish. From this place onward, ngáberi, or holcus, prevails almost exclusively, and argúm móro, or Pennisetum typhoïdeum, becomes rare.

Some native traders, armed with spears and driving before them asses laden with salt, here attached themselves to our troop; for the road further on is so much infested by robbers, that only a large body of men can pass it in safety. The country which we now entered bore but too evident proofs of the unfortunate condition to which it is reduced, forming a thick forest, through which nevertheless, here and there, the traces of former cultivation and the mouldering remains of huts are to be seen. According to Bíllama, as late as a few years ago a large portion of this district was inhabited by Kanúri and Gámerghú, the latter, most probably, having taken possession of the lands abandoned by the Marghí; but ʿAli Déndal, who has ruled it for Abú Bakr, the son of ʿOmár, a youth without intelligence, and only anxious to make the most of his province, has ruined it by his rapacity: he, however, was soon to be ruined himself. There was a small spot where the forest had been cleared away for cultivation,—a proof that the natives, if they were only humanely treated by the government, would not be wanting in exertion.

The forest was partly filled up by a dense jungle of reed-grass, of such a height as to cover horse and rider. The soil is of a black, boggy, argillaceous nature, and full of holes, which make the passage through this tract extremely difficult in the latter part of the rainy season. My companions also drew my attention to the bee-hives underground, from which a peculiar kind of honey is obtained, which I shall repeatedly have occasion to mention in the course of my narrative.

After three hours’ march through this wild and unpleasant country, we reached a small village called Yerímarí, which, according to Bíllama, had formerly been of much greater size; at present it is inhabited by a few Marghí Mohammedan proselytes. There being only one hut in the yard assigned to us, I preferred pitching my tent, thinking that the storm which had threatened us in the afternoon had passed by, as the clouds had gone westwards. However, I soon learned that, in tropical climes, there is no certainty of a storm having passed away, the clouds often returning from the opposite quarter.

We had already retired to rest when the tempest burst upon us with terrible fury, threatening to tear my weak little tent to pieces. Fortunately the top-ropes were well fastened; and, planting myself against the quarter from whence the wind blew, I succeeded in keeping it upright. The rain came down in torrents; and, though the tent excluded it tolerably well from above, the water rushed in from below and wetted my luggage. But as soon as it fairly begins to rain, a traveller in a tolerable tent is safe; for then the heavy gale ceases. Sitting down upon my camp-stool, I quietly awaited the end of the storm, when I betook myself to the hut, where I found Mʿallem Katúri and Bú-Sʿad comfortably stretched.

Saturday, June 7.—We set out at a tolerably early hour, being all very wet. The rain had been so heavy that the labours of the field could be deferred no longer; and close to the village we saw a couple sowing their little field, the man going on in advance, and making holes in the ground at equal distances with a hoe of about five feet long (the “kíski kúllobe”), while his wife, following him, threw a few grains of seed into each hole. These people certainly had nothing to lose; and in order not to risk their little stock of seed, they had waited till the ground was thoroughly drenched, while some people commit their grain to the ground at the very setting in of the rainy season, and risk the loss of it if the rains should delay too long. After we had passed a small village called Keríkasáma, the forest became very thick; and for a whole hour we followed the immense footprints of an elephant, which had found it convenient to keep along the beaten path, to the great annoyance of succeeding travellers, who had, in consequence, to stumble over the deep holes made by the impression of its feet.

About eleven o’clock we reached the outskirts of Molghoy, having passed, half an hour before, a number of round holes, about four feet wide and five feet deep, made intentionally, just at the spot where the path was hemmed in between a deep fiumara to the left and uneven ground to the right, in order to keep off a sudden hostile attack, particularly of cavalry. Molghoy is the name of a district rather than of a village; as the pagan countries, in general, seem to be inhabited, not in distinct villages and towns, where the dwellings stand closely together, but in single farms and hamlets, or clusters of huts, each of which contains an entire family, spreading over a wide expanse of country, each man’s fields lying close around his dwelling. The fields, however, of Molghoy had a very sad and dismal aspect, although they were shaded and beautifully adorned by numerous karáge-trees. Though the rainy season had long set in, none of these fine fields were sown this year, but still presented the old furrows of former years; and all around was silent and inert, bearing evident signs, if not of desolation, at least of oppression.

I had already dismounted, being a little weak and fatigued after my last sleepless night’s uncomfortable drenching, hoping that we should here pass the heat of the day; but there seemed to be nothing left for us to eat, and after some conversation with a solitary inhabitant, Bíllama informed me that we were to proceed to another village, which likewise belongs to Molghoy. We therefore continued our march, and soon after entered a dense forest, where we had more enjoyment of wild fruits, principally of one called “fóti,” of the size of an apricot, and with three large kernels, the pulp of which was very pleasant. Behind the little hamlet Dalá Dísowa I saw the first specimen of the sacred groves of the Marghí—a dense part of the forest surrounded with a ditch, where, in the most luxuriant and widest-spreading tree, their god “Tumbí” is worshipped.

It was one o’clock in the afternoon when we reached the village where we expected to find quarters. It also is called Molghoy, and is divided into two groups by a watercourse or komádugu (as the Kanúri, dílle as the Marghí call it) about twenty-five yards wide, and enclosed by steep banks. My kashélla, deprived of his former irresistible authority, was now reduced to politeness and artifice; and having crossed the channel, which at present retained only a pool of stagnant water, and was richly overgrown with succulent grass, we lay down on its eastern bank in the cool shade of some luxuriant kúrna-trees, the largest trees of this species I have ever seen, where we spread all our luggage, which had been wetted the preceding night, out to dry, while the horses were grazing upon the fresh herbage. In this cool and pleasant spot, which afforded a view over a great part of the village, I breakfasted upon “chébchebé,” a light and palatable Kanúri sweatmeat, and upon “núfu,” or habb’ el azíz, dug up in large quantities almost over the whole of Bórnu.

By-and-by, as another storm seemed impending, we looked about for quarters, and I with my three servants and Mʿallem Katúri took possession of a small courtyard enclosed with a light fence four feet high composed of mats and thorny bushes, which contained four huts, while a fifth, together with the granary, had fallen in. The huts, however, were rather narrow, encumbered as they were with a great deal of earthenware, besides the large “gébam” or urn, containing the necessary quantity of corn for about a week, and the “bázam” or the water-jar; and the doors—if doors they could be called—were so extremely small, while they were raised about a foot from the ground, that a person not accustomed to the task had the greatest difficulty to creep in. These narrow doors were direct proofs of the great power of the rains in these climes, against which the natives have to protect themselves, as well as the raised and well-plastered floors of the huts, while reed is still the prevalent and almost exclusive material for the whole building. As for my own hut, it had the advantage of a contrivance to render the passage of the opening a little more easy, without diminishing the protection against the inclemency of the weather; for that part of the front of the hut which intervened between the doorway and the floor of the hut was movable, and made to fold up. Each family has its own separate courtyard, which forms a little cluster of huts by itself, and is often a considerable distance from the next yard. This kind of dwelling has certainly something very cheerful and pleasant in a simple and peaceable state of society, while it offers also the great advantage of protecting the villages against wholesale conflagrations, but it is liable to a very great disadvantage in a community which is threatened continually by sudden inroads from relentless enemies and slave-hunters.

The storm luckily passing by, I walked through the village, and visited several courtyards. The inhabitants, who, at least outwardly, have become Mohammedans, go entirely naked, with the exception of a narrow strip of leather, which they pass between the legs and fasten round their waist. But even this very simple and scanty covering they seem to think unnecessary at times. I was struck by the beauty and symmetry of their forms, which were thus entirely exposed to view, and by the regularity of their features, which are not disfigured by incisions, and in some had nothing of what is called the Negro type; but I was still more astonished at their complexion, which was very different in different individuals, being in some of a glossy black, and in others of a light copper, or rather rhubarb colour, the intermediate shades being almost entirely wanting. Although the black shade seemed to prevail, I arrived at the conclusion that the copper colour was the original complexion of the tribe, the black shade being due to intermixture with surrounding nations. But the same variety of shades has been observed in many other tribes, as well on this continent as in Asia.

Being allowed to stray about at my leisure, I observed in one house a really beautiful female in the prime of womanhood, who, with her son, a boy of about eight or nine years of age, formed a most charming group, well worthy of the hand of an accomplished artist. The boy’s form did not yield in any respect to the beautiful symmetry of the most celebrated Grecian statues, as that of the praying boy, or that of the diskophóros. His legs and arms were adorned with strings of iron beads, such as I shall have occasion to describe more distinctly further on, made in Wándalá, which are generally worn by young people; his legs were as straight as possible: his hair, indeed, was very short, and curled, but not woolly. He, as well as his mother and the whole family, were of a pale or yellowish-red complexion, like rhubarb. His mother, who was probably twenty-two years of age, was a little disfigured by a thin pointed metal plate about an inch long, of the figure represented here, which was stuck through her under lip. This kind of barbarous ornament is called in the language of these people “seghéum,” and is very differently shaped, and generally much smaller than that worn by this woman; indeed it is often a mere thin tag. It is possible that its size varies according to the character of the females by whom it is worn. However small it may be, it can hardly be fastened in the lip without being very inconvenient, and even painful, at least at first; at any rate it is less monstrous than the large bone which is worn by the Músgu women in the same way. These simple people were greatly amused when they saw me take so much interest in them; but while they were pleased with my approval, and behaved very decently, they grew frightened when I set about sketching them. This is the misfortune of the traveller in these regions, where everything is new, and where certainly one of the most interesting points attaches to the character of the natives,—that he will very rarely succeed in persuading one of them to stand while he makes an accurate drawing of him. The men are generally tall, and, while they are young, rather slender; some of the women also attain a great height, and in that state, with their hanging breasts, form frightful objects in their total nakedness, especially if they be of red colour.

In another courtyard, I saw two unmarried young girls busy at housework: they were about twelve years of age, and were more decently clad, wearing an apron of striped cotton round their loins; but this was evidently a result of Mohammedanism. These also were of copper colour; and their short curled hair was dyed of the same hue by powdered camwood rubbed into it. They wore only thin tags in their under lips, and strings of red glass beads round their neck. Their features were pleasing, though less handsome than those of the woman above described. They were in ecstasies when I made them some little presents, and did not know how to thank me sufficiently.

I had scarcely returned from my most interesting walk when the inhabitants of the neighbouring yards, seeing that I was a good-natured sort of man who took great interest in them, and hearing from my people that in some respects I was like themselves, sent me a large pot of their intoxicating beverage, or “komíl,” made of Guinea-corn, which, however, I could not enjoy, as it was nothing better than bad muddy beer. Instead of confusing my brains with such a beverage, I sat down and wrote about two hundred words in their own language, which seemed to have no relation to any of the languages with which I had as yet become acquainted, but which, as I found afterwards, is nearly related to, or rather only a dialect of the Bátta language, which is spread over a large part of Ádamáwa or Fúmbiná, and has many points of connection with the Músgu language, while in certain general principles it approaches the great South African family. Having received, besides my home-made supper of mohámsa, several bowls of “déffa,” or paste of Guinea-corn, from the natives, I had a long pleasant chat in the evening with the two young girls whom I have mentioned above, and who brought two fowls for sale, but were so particular in their bartering, that the bargain was not concluded for full two hours, when I at length succeeded in buying the precious objects with shells, or kúngona, which have no more currency here than they had since we left Kúkawa, but which these young ladies wanted for adorning their persons. They spoke Kanúri with me, and their own language between themselves and with some other women who joined them after a while. In vain I tried to get a little milk; although the inhabitants in general did not seem to be so badly off, yet they had lost all their horses and cattle by the exactions of Bórnu officers. Indeed it is really lamentable to see the national wellbeing and humble happiness of these pagan communities trodden down so mercilessly by their Mohammedan neighbours. The tempest which had threatened us the whole afternoon discharged itself in the distance.

Sunday, June 8.—We set out at a tolerably early hour, to pass a forest of considerable extent. In the beginning it was rather light, such as the Kanúri called “dírridé,” and at times interrupted by open pasture-ground covered with the freshest herbage, and full of the footprints of elephants of every age and size. Pools of stagnant water were seen in all directions, and flowers filled the air with a delicious fragrance; but the path, being full of holes, and of a miry consistence, became at times extremely difficult, especially for the camels. As for ourselves we were well off, eating now and then some wild fruit, and either sucking out the pulp of the “tóso,” or devouring the succulent root of the “katakírri.”

The tóso is the fruit of the Bassia Parkii, called kadeña by the Háusa people, and consists almost entirely of a large kernel of the colour and size of a chestnut, which is covered with a thin pulp inside the green peel: this pulp has a very agreeable taste, but is so thin that it is scarcely worth sucking out. The tree in question, which I had lost sight of entirely since I left Háusa, is very common hereabouts; and the people prepare a good deal of butter from the kernel, which is not only esteemed for seasoning their food, but also for the medicinal qualities ascribed to it, and which I shall repeatedly have occasion to mention. As for the katakírri, it is a bulbous root, sometimes of the size of a large English potato, the pulp being not unlike that of a large radish, but softer, more succulent, and also very refreshing and nutritious. The juice has a milky colour. A man may easily travel for a whole day with nothing to eat but this root, which seems to be very common during the rainy season in the woody and moist districts of Central Africa—at least as far as I had occasion to observe. It is not less frequent near the Niger and in Kébbi than it is here; but I never observed it in Bórnu, nor in Bagírmi. It requires but little experience to find out where the bulbous root grows, its indication above ground being a single blade about ten inches high; but it sometimes requires a good deal of labour to dig up the roots, as they are often about a foot or a foot and a half under ground.

The soil gradually became worse; the trees were of a most uniform description, being all mimosas, and all alike of indifferent growth, while only here and there a large leafless Adansonia stretched forth its gigantic arms as if bewailing the desolation spread around, where human beings had formerly subsisted: for the kúka or baobab likes the dwelling of the Negro, and he, on the other hand, can scarcely live without it; for how could he season his simple food without the baobab’s young fresh leaves, or sweeten and flavour his drink without the slightly acid pulp wherein the kernels are imbedded? The herbage was reduced to single tufts of coarse grass four or five feet high; and the path became abominable, not allowing a moment’s inattention or thoughtful abstraction, from fear of being thrown off, the next minute, into a swampy hole.

Thus we went on cheerlessly, when about eleven o’clock the growth of the trees began to improve, and I observed a tree, which I did not remember to have seen before, of middle size, the foliage rather thin and of light-green colour; it is called “kamándu” in Kanúri, and “bóshi” in Háusa. The country, however, does not exhibit a single trace of habitation, either of the past or present time; and on our right no village was said to be nearer than Díshik at the distance of half a day’s journey, and even that was reported to be now deserted by its inhabitants. At length the monotonous gloomy forest gave way to scattered clusters of large trees, such as generally indicate the neighbourhood of man’s industry, and we soon after emerged upon beautiful green meadow-lands stretching out to the very foot of the Wándalá mountains, the whole range of which, in its entire length from north to south, lay open to view. It was a charming sight, the beautiful green of the plain against the dark colour of the mountains, and the clear sunny sky; and I afterwards regretted deeply that I had not made a slight sketch of the country from this spot, as near the village the same wide horizon was no longer visible.

It was one o’clock in the afternoon when we reached the first cluster of huts belonging to the village or district of Ísge, or Íssege, which spread to a considerable extent over the plain, while horses and sheep were feeding on the adjacent pastures, and women were cultivating the fields. A first glance at this landscape impressed me with the conviction that I had at length arrived at a seat of the indigenous inhabitants, which, although it had evidently felt the influence of its overbearing and merciless neighbours, had not yet been altogether despoiled by their hands. Vigorous and tall manly figures, girt round the loins with a short leathern apron, and wearing, besides their agricultural tools, the “danísko” (handbill), or a spear, were proudly walking about or comfortably squatting together in the shade of some fine tree, and seemed to intimate that this ground belonged to them, and that the foreigner, whoever he might be, ought to act discreetly. As for their dress, however, I almost suspected that, though very scanty, it was put on only for the occasion; for, on arriving at the first cluster of huts, we came abruptly upon a hollow with a pond of water, from which darted forth a very tall and stout bronze-coloured woman, totally naked, with her pitcher upon her head,—not only to my own amazement, but even to that of my horse, which, coming from the civilized country of Bórnu, which is likewise the seat of one of the blackest races in the interior, seemed to be startled by such a sight. However, I have observed that many of those simple tribes deem some sort of covering, however scanty it might be, more essential for the man than the woman.

We first directed our steps towards the western side of the village, where in a dense cluster of huts was the dwelling of the nominal “bíllama,” that is to say, of a man who, betraying his native country, had placed himself under the authority of the Bórnu people, in the hope that, with their assistance, he might gratify his ambition by becoming the tyrant of his compatriots. Here we met Íbrahíma, who with his countryman had arrived before us. Having obtained from the important bíllama a man who was to assign us quarters, we returned over the wide grassy plain towards the eastern group, while beyond the quarter which we were leaving I observed the sacred grove, of considerable circumference, formed by magnificent trees, mostly of the ficus tribe, and surrounded with an earthen wall.

At length we reached the eastern quarter; but the owners of the courtyards which were selected for our quarters, did not seem at all inclined to receive us. I had cheerfully entered with Bú-Sad the courtyard assigned to me, in order to take possession of it, and my servant had already dismounted, when its proprietor rushed furiously in, and, raising his spear in a most threatening attitude, ordered me to leave his house instantly. Acknowledging the justice of his claims to his own hearth, I did not hesitate a moment to obey his mandate; but I had some difficulty in persuading my servant to go away peaceably, as he was more inclined to shoot the man. This dwelling in particular was very neatly arranged; and I was well able to sympathize with the proprietor, who saw that his clean yard was to be made a stable and littered with dirt. The yards contained from five to seven huts, each of different size and arrangement, besides a shed, and gave plain indications of an easy and comfortable domestic life.

Bíllama, that is to say, my guide, who seemed not to have been more fortunate than myself in his endeavour to find a lodging, being rather crestfallen and dejected, we thought it best to give up all idea of sheltered quarters, and, trusting to our good luck, to encamp outside. We therefore drew back altogether from the inhabited quarter, into the open meadow, and dismounted beneath the wide-spreading shade of an immense kúka, or “bokki,” at least eighty feet high, the foliage of which being interwoven with numbers of climbing plants, such as I very rarely observed on this tree, formed a most magnificent canopy. While my tent was being pitched here, a number of natives collected round us, and squatting down in a semicircle eyed all my things very attentively, drawing each other’s attention to objects which excited their curiosity. They were all armed; and as there were from thirty to forty, and hundreds more might have come to their assistance in a moment, their company was not so agreeable as under other circumstances it might have been. The reason, however, why they behaved so inhospitably towards me evidently was, that they took me for an officer of the king of Bórnu: but this impression gave way the longer they observed my manners and things; indeed, as soon as they saw the tent, they became aware that it was not a tent like those of their enemies, and they came to the same conclusion with regard to the greater part of my luggage. In many places in Negroland I observed that the bipartite tent-pole was a most wonderful object to the natives, and often served to characterize the Christian. This time, however, we did not come to friendly terms; but the reader will be gratified to see how differently these people treated me on my return from Fúmbiná.

While our party was rather quietly and sullenly sitting near the tent, a number of Fúlbe, who had been staying in this district for some time, came to pay their respects to me. They were a very diminutive set of people, and, excepting general traits of resemblance and language, were unlike those proud fellow countrymen of theirs in the west; but I afterwards found that the Fúlbe in the eastern part of Ádamáwa are generally of this description, while those about the capital have a far more noble and dignified appearance. I think this may be not so much a mark of a difference of tribe, as a consequence of the low circumstances of those settled at a great distance from the seat of government, who, being still engaged in struggling for their subsistence, have not raised themselves from their original condition of humble cattle-breeders, or “berroróji,” to the proud rank of conquerors and religious reformers. Their colour certainly was not the characteristic rhubarb-colour of the Fúta Púllo, nor the deep black of the Toróde, but was a greyish sort of black, approaching what the Frenchmen call the chocolat-au-lait colour, while their small features wanted the expressiveness which those of the light Púllo generally have. They all wore shirts, which however were deficient in that cleanliness which in general is characteristic of this race. These simple visitors might perhaps have proved very interesting companions, if we had been able to understand each other; but as they spoke neither Arabic, nor Háusa, nor Kanúri, while I was but a beginner in their language, our conversation flowed but sluggishly.

I had observed in all the dwellings of the natives a very large species of fish laid to dry on the roofs of the huts; and being not a little astonished at the existence of fish of such a size in this district, where I was not aware that there existed any considerable waters, I took the earliest opportunity of inquiring whence they were brought, and, having learnt that a considerable lake was at no great distance, I intimated to Bíllama my wish to visit it. I therefore mounted on horseback with him in the afternoon, and then passing behind the eastern quarter of Íssege, and crossing a tract covered with excellent herbage, but so full of holes and crevices that the horses had great difficulty in getting over it, we reached a fine sheet of water of considerable depth, stretching from west to east, and full of large fish. All along the way we were met by natives returning from fishing, with their nets and their spoil. The fish measure generally about twenty inches in length, and seem to be of the same kind as that caught in the Tsád. The banks of the water, except on the west side, where we stood, were so hemmed in with rushes that I could not form a satisfactory estimate of its magnitude and real character; but it seems to be a hollow which is filled by the rivulet or torrent which I surveyed in its upper course the following day, and which seems to pass at a short distance to the east of this lake. The latter, however, is said always to contain water, which, as far as I know, is not the case with the river; but certainly even the lake must become much shallower in the dry season.

A small torrent joins the lake near its south-western corner; and on the banks of this torrent I observed a rounded mass of granite rising to the height of about fifteen feet, this being the only eminence in the whole plain. Though it was not elevated enough to allow me a fair survey of the plain itself, it afforded a splendid and interesting panorama of the mountains. The whole range of mountains, which forms the western barrier of the little country of Wándalá, lay open before me at the distance of about twenty miles, while behind it, towards the south, mountains of more varied shape, and greater elevation, became more visible. It was here that I obtained the first view of Mount Méndefi, or Míndif, which, since it was seen by Major Denham on his adventurous expedition against some of the Felláta settlements to the south of Morá, has become so celebrated in Europe, giving rise to all sorts of conjectures and theories. It might, indeed, even from this point be supposed to be the centre of a considerable mountain mass, surrounded as it is by several other summits of importance, particularly the Mechíka and Umshi, whilst it is in reality nothing more than a detached cone starting up from a level plain, like the Mount of Mbutúdi on a smaller scale, or that of Tákabéllo, with both of which Íbrahíma used to compare it, or the Alantíka on a larger scale. Its circumference at the base certainly does not exceed probably from ten to twelve miles, as it is partly encompassed by the straggling village of the same name, which seems to stretch out to a considerable length, or rather to be separated into two or three distinct clusters. The place has a market every Friday, which is of some importance.

From my position the top of the mount presented the shape here delineated; and even through the telescope the Míndif, as well as the singular mount of Kamálle, of which I shall soon have to speak, seemed to be of a whitish or greyish colour, which led me to the conclusion that it consisted of a calcareous rock. It was not till a much later period that I learnt, from a native of the village of Míndif, that the stone was originally quite black, not only on the surface, but all through, and extremely hard, and that the white colour is merely due to immense numbers of birds, which habitually frequent it, being nothing else than guano. I think, therefore, that this mount will eventually prove to be a basaltic cone, an ancient volcano—a character which seems to be indicated by the double horn of its summit. Its height scarcely exceeds five thousand feet above the surface of the sea, or less than four thousand feet above the plain from which it rises.

But while my attention was engaged by this mountain, on account of its having been so much talked of in Europe, another height attracted my notice much more, on account of its peculiar shape. This was Mount Kamálle, which just became visible behind the continuous mountain-chain in the foreground, like a columnar pile rising from a steep cone; it likewise seemed of a greyish colour. Between this remarkable peak and Mount Míndif several cones were descried from a greater distance, while west from the latter mountain the elevated region seemed to cease.

The highest elevation of the Wándalá range, which is called Magár, I estimated at about three thousand feet, while the chain in general did not rise more than two thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea, or about one thousand five hundred feet above the plain. This part of the mountain-chain forms the natural stronghold of a pagan king whom my Kanúri companion constantly called “Mai Sugúr,” but whose proper name or title seems to be “Lá.”

Overjoyed at having at length reached the region of the famous Míndif, and full of plans for the future, I remounted my horse. While returning to our encampment, my companion, who was altogether a sociable and agreeable sort of person, gave me some more information with regard to the Marghí, whom he represented as a numerous tribe, stronger even at the present time than the Manga, and capable of sending thirty thousand armed men into the field. He told me that it was their peculiar custom to mourn for the death of a young man, and to make merry at the death of an old one—an account which I found afterwards confirmed, while his statement that they buried the dead in an upright position together with their weapons, furniture, and some paste of Indian corn, did not prove quite correct. In many respects they claim great superiority over their neighbours; and they practise even to a great extent inoculation for small-pox, which in Bórnu is rather the exception than the rule.

Fortunately for us in our out-of-doors encampment, the sky remained serene; and while, after a very frugal supper, we were reclining on our mats in the cool air of the evening, an interesting and animated dispute arose between Bíllama, Mʿallem Katúri, and Mohámmedu—the Ádamáwa messenger whom I have represented above as a very communicative, sociable person—about the water of Íssege, whence it came, and whither it flowed. Mohámmedu, who notwithstanding his intelligence and sprightliness was not free from absurd prejudices, contended, with the utmost pertinacity, that the water in question issued from the river Bénuwé at Kobére and ran into the Sháry, a river with which he was acquainted only by hearsay. But my prudent and experienced old Mʿallem contested this point successfully, demonstrating that the river rose in the mountains far to the north of the Bénuwé. Thus we spent the evening quite cheerfully; and the night passed without any accident, all the people sleeping in a close circle round my tent.

Monday, June 9.—At an early hour we set out on our journey, being joined by several of the Fúlbe, who had come the day before to salute me, while only one of our caravan remained behind, namely the horseman of Malá Ibrám. This whole district had formerly belonged to the last-named person; but he had lately ceded it to Abú-Bakr, the son of Sheikh ʿOmár: but we have seen what a precarious possession it was. The country through which we passed was varied and fertile, although the sky was overcast; and I was struck with the frequency of the poisonous euphorbia, called “karúgu” by the Kanúri. Further on, the crop stood already a foot high, and formed a most pleasant object. We then entered a dense forest, where the danger became considerable, an evident proof of the lawless state of the country being seen in the village Yésa, which was in some degree subject (“imána,” as the people call it, with an Arabic name) to the Sheikh ʿOmár, but had been ransacked and burnt about forty days previously by the tribe of the Gulúk. It was the first village on this road the huts of which were entirely of the construction called by the Kanúri “bóngo.”

Having stopped here a few minutes to allow the people to recruit themselves, we pushed on with speed, and soon passed the site of another village, which had been destroyed at an earlier period, having close on our left a fertile plain in a wild state, over which the mountain chain was still visible, with a glance now and then at the Míndif and Kamálle. Suddenly there was visible on this side a river from thirty to forty yards broad, and enclosed by banks about twelve feet high, with a considerable body of water, flowing through the fine but desolate plain in a northerly direction, but with a very winding course and a moderate current; and it henceforth continued on our side,—sometimes approaching, at others receding, and affording an agreeable cool draught, instead of the unwholesome stagnant water from the pools, impregnated with vegetable matter, and very often full of worms, and forming certainly one of the chief causes of disease to the foreign traveller. In this part of the forest the karáge was the most common tree, while besides it there was a considerable variety,—the tosó or kadeña, the koráwa, the kabúwi, the zíndi, and the acacia-like paipáya; the fruit of the tóso, or rather its thin pulp, and the beautiful cream-fruit of the gónda-bush (Annona palustris?) remaining our favourite dainties.

Suddenly the spirit of our little troop was roused; some naked pagans were discovered in the bushes near the stream, and so long as it was uncertain whether or not they were accompanied by a greater number, my companions were in a state of fright; but as soon as it was ascertained that the black strangers were but few, they wanted to rush upon and capture them as slaves; but Íbrahíma, with a dignified air, cried out, “Imána, imána,” intimating that the tribe was paying tribute to his master the governor of Yóla; and whether it was true or not, certainly he did well to keep these vagabonds from preying upon other people while their own safety was in danger.

At a quarter past eleven o’clock we reached the outskirts of Kófa, a village, which had been ransacked and destroyed entirely by Kashélla ʿAli,—the very act which had given rise to the complaints on the side of the governor of Ádamáwa, who claimed the supremacy over this place. Several huts had been already built up again very neatly of bongo; for this had now become the general mode of architecture, giving proof of our advancing into the heart of the tropical climes. And as the dwellings were again rising, so the inhabitants were likewise returning to their hearths.

A most interesting and cheerful incident in these unfortunate and distracted lands, where the traveller has every day to observe domestic happiness trodden under foot, children torn from the breasts of their mothers, and wives from the embraces of their husbands, was here exhibited before us. Among the people recovered from slavery by Íbrahíma’s exertions was a young girl, a native of this village, who, as soon as she recognized the place from which she had been torn, began to run as if bewildered, making the circuit of all the huts. But the people were not all so fortunate as to see again those whom they had lost; there were many sorrowful countenances among those who inquired in vain for their sons or daughters. However, I was pleased to find that Bíllama was saluted in a friendly way by the few inhabitants of the place, proving, as I thought, that, when governor of this southernmost district of Bórnu, he had not behaved so cruelly.

The country hereabouts showed a far more advanced state of vegetation than that from whence we had come, the young succulent grass reaching to the height of a foot and a half, while the corn (dáwa, or holcus) in one field measured already thirty inches in height. The fresh meadow grounds were interspersed with flowers; and a beautiful specimen of the “kangel,” measuring eight inches in diameter, was brought to me by Bíllama, being the only specimen which I have ever observed of this peculiar flower. Mr. Vogel, however, told me afterwards that he had occasionally observed it in Mándará (Wándalá).

Having dismounted under a tamarind-tree for the hot hours of the day, Bíllama, with the assistance of my old Mʿallem, gave me a list of some of the larger places in the Marghí country. West-south-west from the Marghí live the Bábur or Bábir, scattered in small hamlets over a mountainous basaltic district, with the exception of their principal seat Biyú, which is called after the name, or probably rather the title, of their chief. This place is said to be as far from Kófa as Kúkawa is from the same place, and is reported to be of large size. The Bábur have in certain respects preserved their independence, while in others, like the Marghí, they have begun to yield to the overwhelming influence of their Mohammedan neighbours. But the Marghí claim superiority over their kinsmen in point of personal courage; for of their relationship there can be no doubt.

When the sun began to decline, we pursued our march, in order to reach Laháula, where we were to pass the night. The unsafe state of the country through which we were passing was well indicated by the circumstance that even the circumspect Íbrahíma mounted the poor mare given to him by Sheikh ʿOmár, which he had spared till now. He moreover exchanged his bow for a spear. A thick tempest was gathering on the Wándalá mountains, while our motley troop wound along the narrow path,—at times through forest or underwood, at others through fine cornfields; but the country afforded a wilder and more varied aspect after we had crossed a little watercourse,—rocks projecting on all sides, sandstone and granite being intermixed, while in front of us a little rocky ridge, thickly overgrown with trees and bushes, stretched out, and seemed to hem in our passage. Suddenly, however, a deep recess was seen opening in the ridge, and a village appeared, lying most picturesquely in the natural amphitheatre, thus formed by the rocks and trees protruding everywhere from among the granite blocks, and giving a pleasant variety to the whole picture.

This was Laháula; but we had some difficulty in getting into it, the entrance to the amphitheatre being closed by a strong stockade, which left only a very narrow passage along the cliffs on the eastern side, not nearly large enough for camels; and while our troop, pushing forward in vain, fell into great confusion, the storm came on, and the rain poured down upon us in torrents. Fortunately, the shower, although heavy, did not last long, and we succeeded at length in getting in, and soon reached the first huts of the village; but our reception was not propitious. The first person who came to meet us was a mother, roused by the hope of seeing her son return as a free man from Kúkawa, where he had been carried into slavery, and filling the whole village with her lamentations and curses of the Kanúri, when she heard that her beloved had not come back, and that she should never see him again. This of course made a bad impression upon the inhabitants, and while ʿAshi, their chief, a man who, after an unsuccessful struggle with my companion Bíllama, when governor of these districts, had submitted to the sheikh, received us with kindness and benevolence, his son, in whose recently and neatly built hut the old man wished to lodge me, raised a frightful alarm, and at length, snatching up his weapon, ran off with the wildest threats. I therefore thought it best not to make use of the hut unless forced by another storm, and notwithstanding the humidity, I took up my quarters under a shed before the hut, spreading my carpet and jirbíye—woollen blanket from Jirbi—over a coarse mat of reed, as unfortunately at that time I had no sort of couch with me. There was an object of very great interest in our courtyard. It was a large pole about nine feet high above the ground, with a small cross pole which sustained an earthen pot of middling size. This was a “sáfi,” a sort of fetish, a symbolic representation, as it seems, of their god “féte,” the sun. It was a pity that we were not placed in a more comfortable position, so as to be enabled to make further inquiries with regard to this subject.

ʿAshi was kind enough to send me a large bowl of honey-water, but I was the only one of the caravan who received the least proof of hospitality; and I made myself quite comfortable, though we thought it best to look well after our firearms. During the night we were alarmed by a great noise, proceeding from the frightful shrieks of a man; and, on inquiry, we found that he had been disturbed in his sleep by a hyæna catching hold of one of his legs. Íbrahíma informed us the next morning, that a very large party among the inhabitants had entertained the design of falling during the night upon our troop and plundering us; and that nothing but the earnest representations of ʿAshi had restrained them from carrying out their intention,—the old man showing them how imprudent it would be, by one and the same act to draw upon themselves the vengeance of their two overwhelming neighbours, the sheikh of Bórnu in the north, and the governor of Fúmbiná in the south. Altogether the night was not very tranquil; and a storm breaking out at some distance, I crept into the hut, but there was no rain, only thunder and lightning. All the huts here are provided with a serír, or diggel, made of branches, upon which a coarse mat of reeds is spread.

The village seems not to be very large, containing certainly not more than about five hundred single huts, but the situation is very advantageous, enabling the inhabitants in an instant to retire upon the natural fortress of blocks overhead. They possess scarcely a single cow, but seem to prepare a great deal of vegetable butter. At least large heaps of the chestnut-like kernels of the Bassia Parkii were lying about in the courtyards. They have also a great deal of excellent honey.

Tuesday, June 10.—Leaving our quarters early, and emerging from the rocky recess by the same opening through which we had entered it the preceding evening, we halted a short time in order that the whole caravan might form closely together, for we had now the most dangerous day’s march before us, where stragglers are generally slain or carried into slavery by lurking enemies. Our whole troop was not very numerous, consisting of five horsemen and about twenty-five armed men on foot, with three camels, six sumpter-oxen, and three asses, our strength consisting entirely in my four muskets and four pairs of pistols. It was a very fine morning, and after the last night’s storm the whole country teemed with freshness and life. Moreover, it was of a varied nature, the ground consisting, at times, of bare granite, with large blocks of quartz, at others covered with black vegetable soil, with ironstone here and there, and torn by numerous small periodical watercourses descending from the rocky chain on our right, and carrying the moisture of the whole region towards the river, which still flowed on the left of our track; while granite-blocks and small ridges projected everywhere, the whole clothed with forest more or less dense, and with a great variety of foliage. Having kept on through this kind of country for about two miles and a half, we reached the deserted “ngáufate,” or encampment of Bú-Bakr, a brother of Mohammed Láwl, the governor of Ádamáwa, who had last year made an expedition into these districts, and stationing his army on this spot, had overrun the country in all directions. The encampment consisted of small round huts made of branches and grass, such as the guro-caravan generally erects daily on its “zango” or halting-place. Here we began to quicken our pace, as we were now at the shortest distance from the seats of the Báza, a powerful and independent pagan tribe, with a language, or probably dialect, of their own, and peculiar customs, who live at the foot of the eastern mountain-chain, while we left on our right Kibák and some other Marghí villages. In order to lessen a little the fatigue of the march, my attentive companion Bíllama brought me a handful of “gaude,” a yellow fruit of the size of an apricot, with a very thick peel, and, instead of a rich pulp, five large kernels filling almost the whole interior, but covered with a thin pulp of a very agreeable taste, something like the gónda.

At half-past nine, when the forest was tolerably clear, we obtained a view of a saddle-mount at some distance on our right, on the other side of which, as I was informed, the village Womde is situated: further westward lies Úgu, and, at a still greater distance, Gáya. Meanwhile we pushed on with such haste—the old Mʿallem and Bú-Sʿad, on horseback, driving my two weak camels before them as fast as they could—that the line of our troop became entirely broken; the fatáki, or tugúrchi, with their pack-oxen, and several of the dangarúnfu—namely the little tradesmen who carry their small parcels of merchandise on the head—remaining a great distance behind; but although I wished several times to halt, I could not persuade my companions to do so; and all that I was able to do for the safety of the poor people who had trusted themselves to my protection, was to send Bíllama to the rear with orders to bring up the stragglers. I shall never forget the euphonious words of the old Mʿallem with which he, though usually so humane, parried my entreaties to give the people time to come up; mixing Háusa with Kanúri, he kept exclaiming, “Awennan karága babu dádi” (“This is by no means a pleasant forest”), while he continued beating my poor camels with his large shield of antelope’s hide. At length, having entered a very dense thicket, where there was a pond of water, we halted for a quarter of an hour, when Bíllama came up with the rear, bringing me, at the same time, a splendid little gónda-fruit, which he knew I was particularly fond of.

Continuing then our march with our wonted expedition, we reached a little before one o’clock cultivated fields, where the slaves—“field hands,” as an American would say—of the people of Úba were just resting from their labour in the shade of the trees. As the slaves of Mohammedans, they all wore the leathern apron. Here we began to ascend, having a small rocky eminence on our right, and a more considerable one on our left, while in the distance, to the west, various mountain groups became visible. This line of elevation might seem to form the water partition between the basin of the Tsád and that of the Great River of Western Africa, but I am not sure of it, as I did not become distinctly aware of the relation of the rivulet of Múbi to that of Báza.

Be this as it may, this point of the route probably attains an elevation of about two thousand feet, supposing that we had ascended about eight hundred feet from Ujé, the elevation of which is twelve hundred feet above the level of the sea. Having then crossed, with some difficulty, on the part of the camels, a rugged defile, enclosed by large granite blocks, we began to descend considerably, while Mohámmedu drew my attention to the tree called “bijáge” in Fulfúlde, which grows between the granite blocks, and from which the people of Fúmbiná prepare the poison for their arrows. However I was not near enough to give even the most general account of it; it seemed to be a bush of from ten to twelve feet in height, with tolerably large leaves of an olive colour.

Emerging from this rocky passage, we began gradually to overlook the large valley stretching out to the foot of the opposite mountain chain, which seemed from this place to be uninterrupted. Its general elevation appeared to be about eight hundred feet above the bottom of the valley. We then again entered upon cultivated ground, and turning round the spur of the rocky chain on our right, on the top of which we observed the huts of the pagans, we reached the wall of Úba at two o’clock in the afternoon.

The eastern quarter of this town, the northernmost Púllo settlement in Ádamáwa on this side, consisting of a few huts scattered over a wide space, has quite the character of a new and cheerless colony in Algeria; the earthen wall is low, and strengthened with a light double fence of thorn bushes. The western quarter, however, is more thickly and comfortably inhabited; and each cluster of huts, which all consist of bongo, or rather búkka bongo, “jwarubokáru,” is surrounded with a little corn-field. It was pleasant to observe how the fences of mats, surrounding the yards, had been strengthened and enlivened by young living trees of a graceful slender appearance, instead of dull stalks, giving to the whole a much more cheerful character than is generally the case with the villages in other parts of Negroland, particularly in Bórnu proper, and promising in a short time to afford some cool shade, which is rather wanting in the place.

Passing the mosque, the “judírde,” a spacious quadrangular building, consisting entirely of halls built of mats and stalks, which must be delightfully cool in the dry season, but extremely damp during the rains, and including a large open space, we reached the lamórde (the house of the governor, or lámido); it lies on one side of a small square, or “belbel.” Bíllama and Bú-Sʿad having here fired a couple of rounds, we were soon shown into our quarters. These were of rather an indifferent description, but lying at the northern border of the inhabited quarter, and not far from the foot of the rocky ridge, they had the advantage of allowing us freedom of movement.

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