Mosque.
VIEW OF AGADES.
THRONE-ROOM OF THE SULTAN OF AGADES.
The position of the Sultan of Agades is one of greatness in the land, though of a type of local importance which has decided limitations, and one might be forgiven, if, carried away by the weight of rank and reputation, he should expect to find about the Sultan’s abode something in keeping with the name of a sovereign. But that is not so, for we find the throne-room a small dark space, within earthen walls, no larger than a cottage bedroom, and less ornamented; and his private apartments for his own use, and the use of his retinue, no larger, no more attractively or extravagantly constructed, than tiny cellars or pen-like outhouses.
So that the Sultan’s Palace at Agades, like many others in Africa, is a humble place indeed, its virtue not at all in regal magnificence, but in historic value, and in the novelty and quaintness of primitive native architecture of a character of great simplicity and antiquity as if it has remained unchanged through time by any process of civilisation.
The second dwelling I will describe is not in the old town of Agades, nor is it of native design. I write of the European mess-room within the Fort, part of a dwelling of European conception, built with some knowledge of design, and imposing and spacious in comparison with the diminutive buildings of the native town, but, nevertheless, a dwelling rude enough in construction, since, by nature of its wilderness environment, it is, in essentials, impossible to avoid the limitations imposed by primitive labour and primitive material.
I will give the description, such as it is, informally from my diary, since it embraces a little of the life, as well as the architecture, common to the white man at the Fort of Agades:
“We had forgathered for breakfast, that customary eleven o’clock meal of the French which is both breakfast and lunch in one, at that time of day when it is an ordeal merely to cross the barrack square, so white and glaring the sand, so great the fierceness of the sun. Therefore, one by one, the labours of the morning over, we stepped into the shade and coolness of the thick walled room with a real thankfulness; especially thankful, perhaps, those who bear the mark of chronic fatigue, which an unnatural climate is so apt to impose, and which is apparent upon the features of most of the group. Around small tables that were pushed together to make up one large one we sat down to the meal, the company being composed of five French officers and myself, while our dusky native servants were in attendance, and a small child stood to one side and pulled the cord that swung a punka which was suspended over the table.
“We sat long over the repast, discussing many things African, and it was not until some time after the meal was over that conversation lagged at my end of the table and gave me an opportunity to observe my surroundings. The room is not very large, and there is just space enough to allow the attendants to pass comfortably around the table. Trimless, square-cut liberal openings serve as doors and windows, while over those are dropped blinds of light lattice, which prevent the entrance of sun and sand-dust, yet admit a free current of air. The mud walls are thick and straightly built, smoothed down with a coating of mud plaster, and whitewashed with a preparation of chalk and cement, obtained out of the ground in the neighbourhood. (Dr. Barth in his works makes reference to a house nicely whitewashed in the old town of Agades, but he did not mention the interesting fact that the “whitewash” is native to Agades.) The walls are bare of ornament except for cupboards, set back against them, that are made from an assortment of packing-cases and still retain their true character, even to the glaring names of merchant and merchandise in their rude transformation and paintlessness. But what better can be done where sawn boarding is unknown? The ceiling of the room is lofty, and constructed with closely set undressed fibrous dum palm timbers, the only wood in the country that the terrible white ant will not destroy. Upon the walls, in the darkest places, there are a number of wart-like lumps which are the plaster-built cell-nests of black-and-yellow hornets that pass constantly in and out of the room. Also there are one or two pairs of tiny waxbills at freedom in the room, cheeping and flitting from floor to window-ledge, or vanishing outdoors. They are always in pairs, inseparable as love-birds, the male crimson in colour and his mate mouse-brown. I must call them Estrilda senegala bruuneiceps, so that there may be no error on account of their scientific identity, but to ordinary folk, such as you and me, I would describe them as ‘Crimson Waxbill’ or ‘House Waxbill.’
“I think I have described all, when eyes roam nearer hand and dwell on the few articles on the table, and I see that even there we do not escape the primitive: the pepper is in a cigarette tin which still bears the yellow label of the manufacturer; the salt is in another distinguished by a green label; while all the drinking-glasses are dark-coloured and thick and ragged-rimmed, and are nothing more than old wine bottles cut down about their centre.”
And from all this we may perhaps justly conclude that the Sultan’s Palace is about the best the natives can do in the way of dwelling-building at Agades, and the mess-room at the Fort a fair sample of the humble extent that civilised people can improve upon it when thrown entirely on the scant resources of a wilderness.
On 26th April I left Agades with the intention of travelling north into the Aïr mountains, and to ultimately pitch a base camp on Baguezan.
Besides four transport camels, the little band which set out was made up of two goumiers, by name Saidi and Atagoom, the chief of Baguezan, and two followers and myself; six fully armed camel-mounted men, not including my cook-boy, John, who was also in the company. The Chief of Baguezan had been called into Agades so that, if he was friendly disposed, he could conduct me to his country. He was the new Chief Minerou who had succeeded Yofa, who was foully killed a few months before by the dagger-thrust of a skulking foe when guarding his camels against an attack from prowling robbers.
At Agades, before departure, I had stored every article I could do without, on account of the difficulties of travel ahead, and took with me supplies of food and ammunition barely sufficient to last for a period of two or three months.
Our little band left Agades at various times in the afternoon to camp at the tent-like inhabited Tuareg village of Azzal, which was only about five miles N.E. of our starting-point, and was to be the rendezvous of our organised departure on the morrow.
27th April.—Left Azzal before dawn. Yesterday we had skirted the foothills in travelling up the broad dry river-bed of the shallow Azzal Valley, but to-day we departed from the edge of the level desert, and entered low hill country of strange appearance, composed of rock and boulder and gravel, bare of any vegetation, and therefore dreadfully melancholy and barren. View after view of brown coloured hills unfolded before us as we passed onward over gravel-strewn ground, or picked our way through rocky outcrops, or descended to sandy river-bed; while always one could follow out the thin line of the river banks or hollows which caught moisture in the rains, for they contained a bright green growth of dum palm and “abisgee”[9] bush, which was very striking and conspicuous among the sombre hills.
Without any doubt it is beyond Azzal that the traveller enters the true brown-grey rock country of Aïr: the low country, which contains many isolated cone-shaped hills or kopjes, that leads one, in time, to the great central mountains. Bare the land is of generous elements of beauty, and almost equally bare of living thing. In many places the only vegetation in a large area lies in the thin rift of some infant rivulet—a meandering line of sand which seeks a way among the grey pebbles and rocks, wherein a few dry tufts of grass, and, perhaps, a stunted dwarf acacia, a grasshopper or two, and, if you are in luck, a small mouse-like, sand-coloured lark crouching on the ground may be seen, for scarcely any moving living thing misses the eye in a land that is well-nigh motionless.
We camped at Solom Solom about noon, and obtained some water from a well which is on the banks of a river there, and about which one or two Tuaregs are camped. The Tuaregs with me pronounce this name Selim Selim. It is about 18 miles due north of Azzal, and has altitude of 2,100 ft. (Agades is 1,710 ft.)
28th April.—Left Solom Solom an hour before daybreak; reached Tchefira about noon, after stopping to replenish our water-skins in the river-bed known to the natives as Arrajubjub. Water obtained by digging down in the sand of the river-bed close under some large rocks on the east bank of the stream.
There is a height of land at Arrajubjub where the river falls south to Agades and north toward Baguezan. The river valley, which we chiefly followed to-day, and which turns almost due east not long after leaving Solom Solom, is named in sections, as are most rivers in the country: thus it is the Solom Solom (which becomes the Azzal river further south) at the beginning of to-day’s journey, then Dabaga, then Injerwdan, then Arrajubjub, and, finally, Tchefira. The river banks continue to have the green fringe of vegetation: dum palms, Hausa Kaba; small skunk-smelling tree, Hausa Abisgee; small dwarf acacia, growing 3 ft. to 4 ft. high, Hausa Giga; and a fairly large acacia, say, 20 ft. high, Hausa Zandidi.
MY CARAVAN ON THE ARRAJUBJUB RIVER.
TYPICAL AÏR LANDSCAPE.
Some picturesque hill country was passed through, though the hills remain bare of vegetation. The large mountain range of Aouderas was sighted faintly in the north about 11 a.m., distant a little more than 20 miles.
A number of Dorcas Gazelles were seen at Tchefira and a single Dama Gazelle.
29th April.—To-day our direction of travel changed to about due N.E., while we kept chiefly in touch with the Araouat River, sometimes travelling up its heavy sandy bed, sometimes branching off to make a short cut overland when the river took a large circuitous bend. The hills we passed to-day in the stony uneven plains were mostly conical and of blackish lava rock or reddish dust. About 6 miles from Tchefira there is a prominent hill which the Tuaregs call Nafurifanya, and below this hill, on the west side, we found a single native working on a section of ground that contained a salt deposit, which mineral he collected by digging one foot to three feet below the sand surface. At the end of our journey, after travelling a considerable distance over gravel-covered country, we intersected a narrow river-bed, named Arra (not on map), where we camped for the day, in view of Baguezan, lying north, and Aouderas, north-west: both very large mountains, of which Aouderas appears the lesser in extent but the greater in height. Many of the lower hills between Baguezan and Aouderas are of striking shapes; two noteworthy with tower-like peaks, and the others strangely cone-shaped.
Altitude at camp, 3,000 ft.
30th April.—Travelled onward in the early morning, and camped two to three miles north-west of Teouar (a deserted village of stone-built huts), close in under Baguezan foothills, at a place selected by Minerou as a suitable camping-ground from which to hunt among the hills for mountain sheep. We were still in the district known to the natives as Arra, so named apparently on account of the river course that has its source in the mountain of that name, which is the most northern of a group of three prominent elevations that lie immediately to the west of this camp, named respectively, from south to north, Tchebishrie, Aouderas, and Arra.
When camp was selected, brackish water was obtained from the Arra river by digging in the sandy bottom, but there was no rich vegetation on the banks.
Thus far, north of Agades, good water had been found at Azzal and Solom Solom in wells, and at Arrajubjub by excavation. No water was drawn at Tchefira, except for the camels, as it was brine-tasted and not good, and there was no water at our first camp on the Arra river on 29th April.
Altitude at camp, 3,300 ft.
About 3 p.m. I set out with Minerou to tramp to the mountains to search for sheep, and had my first experience of the nature of the hunting that lay before me in looking for those animals. The ruggedness of the country was astonishing. To begin with, the apparently flat stony land that lay between camp and the hills was, on closer acquaintance, found to be thickly seared with deep ravines, and although Minerou, who knew the country like a book, led me by the easiest route, our path was constantly barred by those strange deep channels, down which we scrambled, over rocks and stones, to afterwards ascend with no little effort to the opposite side. The nearer we drew to the hills, the rougher became the nature of the country, and our outward journey culminated at the base of Arra in one long scramble among huge boulders and loose stones, where foothold had to be picked out at each step as we hurried on, for Minerou, born mountaineer and barefooted (for he had removed his sandals the better to grip foothold as he stepped or jumped from rock to rock), was covering the ground at a great pace. We had planned, in setting out, that we would not have sufficient daylight to climb the mountain, and would skirt a part of the base in the hope that at dusk we might chance upon sheep descending from the mountain tops (where they remain all day) to feed on the sparse vegetation in the ravines. However, our search went unrewarded, although I had the pleasure of actually seeing one animal perched away up on the mountain-side at a great height.
During the outing I saw some birds of great interest, and I particularly made note of three species which I had not observed further south, and which, later, proved to be the Rock Pigeon (Columba livia targia), the beautiful Sandgrouse (Pterocles lichtensteinii targins), and a small sombre wheatear-like bird (Ceromela melanura airensis) of blackish-brown colour of striking similarity to the rocks and stones on which they perch.
1st May.—Away before daylight to hunt in earnest for wild sheep. To-day we did not go to the mountains lying N.W., but made for some lower more isolated hills in the north, the principal one of which the Tuaregs call Tuckazanza. The chief of Baguezan and one of his men accompanied me. Travelling was as hard as that experienced yesterday, over rough mountain sides and valleys of rocks and boulders and stones, while in some cases whole hills were composed of huge boulders, individually many tons in weight, which could only be negotiated by reckless bounding and leaping and scrambling, while deep ugly chasms held open mouth to receive you should you slip. I have hunted in many strange places, but never in such wild mountainous country as this; I feel I cannot compare it with anything at home: the nearest to it in ruggedness that I know is where one may hunt for sea otters along the cliff-shores of the storm-torn coasts of the Orkney Islands.
About 7.30 a.m., having seen no sheep, we held a consultation, when Minerou decided that he would climb right over the summit of Tuckazanza, while his follower and myself were directed to go further round the base and climb over a lower spur, and we were eventually to meet again on the other side. This arranged, we started off on our separate ways. In due time I, along with Minerou’s follower, had climbed to the summit of the ridge, always scanning every fresh hollow or rise as they appeared in view in hope of sighting game; but thus far without any luck.
We had begun the descent down the other side, when the native beside me suddenly gripped my arm and pointed excitedly to the right, where, after a few moments of perplexity in endeavouring to locate that which the Tuareg had seen, my eyes were arrested by the slight movement of a pair of heavy curved horns. Not a hair of the animal was in sight, but the head undoubtedly belonged to a sheep standing not more than five hundred yards away in a slight dip in the mountain side. No time was to be lost: the horns were facing our way, and perhaps, for all we could tell, the wary animal had heard us and was looking upward, listening. I signed to the native to lead on, judging he would choose the easiest way through the huge boulders that we were among (I found in later experience that mountain sheep always frequent the very roughest places, where they the more readily find the coolest and darkest shelter from the heat and sunlight in the caves and chasms which gigantic boulders and rocks so readily form), and, crouching and scrambling and leaping, we set off on the stalk at a perilous speed—perilous at least to me, who could not boast the barefooted nimbleness of my mountaineer companion.
It was surely the “daftest” and the least cunning stalk I have ever made, excepting perhaps the “buck-fever” pranks of my earliest experiences of hunting. The native had simply grasped the idea that the animals looked like shifting when we sighted them, for he had seen two, and his one purpose was to get there before they could possibly be gone—and I had but to follow; for moments were precious, and what use to hesitate and stop to explain that I should advance slowly so that my footwear would make no scraping noise on the rocks, and slowly, also, so that I should have some breath and life in my body when the moment came to shoot. How I managed to cover the distance in our mad haste without mishap I do not to this day know, except that for the moment I had no time to think of fear, which certainly helped me on over ugly chasms that yawned across my path, entailing leaps that seemed beyond my ability, yet, somehow, were miraculously crossed and left behind.
We reached the place where the animal had stood, and, on peering over the slight rise which had screened us, at once saw two sheep clambering away over the rocks. I fired at once at the largest one and brought him down, but twice missed the second one as he headed away upwards, sometimes in view, more often hidden among the rocks.
However, as luck had it, we learned a little later, when Minerou joined us, that this second animal had run into him on the summit, and he had shot it, so that both animals were bagged.
Consultation decided that the follower and I should go back to camp for a camel to fetch in the game, while Minerou would return to his kill on the summit and safeguard it against jackals and crows (the latter were already croaking and cawing on the rocks about us, having detected the kills from afar with their extraordinary eyesight), as we had already secured ours, after disembowelling it, by moving it into a hollow between two rocks, and heaping upon it big stones so that nothing could reach the carcass.
On the way back to camp there occurred a strange incident that proved highly exciting for a moment, until the voices of friends banished the possibility of human bloodshed; an incident which demonstrated to me at an early stage how real is bandit warfare in those hills. This is what happened. We were about to cross a deep ravine, when we suddenly espied two men travelling toward us on foot, not on the open ground of the level land above, but perched up on the cliff face of the sunken ravine and advancing amongst the rocks, as if they had some purpose in remaining concealed. Instantly the native with me crouched behind cover and looked to the full charging of his rifle, quite apparently apprehending danger. In a few moments the men advanced around a spur and disappeared into a recess in the twisting ravine. Whenever they were out of sight my follower bounded forward, agile as a goat, among the huge rocks, to a prominence where he might carefully look over and down upon the approaching men and observe them more closely from a point of advantage, while I lay with my rifle ready and waited. But the native did not beckon me forward, or return himself, and soon I heard voices ring out, and knew we were with friends and not enemies, and a few moments proved them to be one of our own party, who had been sent away the night before by the Chief to scout through the neighbourhood as a precaution against robbers, and with him was a native from Baguezan whom he had chanced to meet.
The alarm had turned out to be false. Nevertheless, I did not readily forget my native’s instant expectation of a fight with enemies, and the familiar manner in which he accepted the situation. His were the actions of one who lived from day to day in the midst of dangers, and had been bred and born to the habit of defence against foes that ever lurked near.
Many incidents of this character I experienced later on, and had soon learned that the alarming rumours relating to robbers which were prevalent farther south were all too true, and that the shadows of lurking foes were foremost in the thoughts of every Tuareg in Aïr, where robbers imposed a terrifying oppression.
On reaching camp, a camel was despatched to find Minerou in the hills and bring in the sheep, which in due course arrived in camp to be skinned and used as food, as neither beast was perfect enough to serve as a museum specimen. The larger of the two had a fine head, but the body hair was thin and patchy, and altogether out of condition.
A peculiar change in the hot cloudless weather had occurred during the past two days. Yesterday, in the afternoon, there was high wind and some rain showers, while to-day, at the same hour, the sky was overclouded, and distant thunder rumbled, and there was again very high wind which wrecked my tarpaulin shade-shelter and rudely interrupted the bird-skinning on which I was employed at the time. Possibly Rains are now falling in Nigeria, where, I am told by the natives, they are about due. But Rains are not due in Aïr until July or August, if local information is to be trusted.
2nd May.—Away again at peep of daylight, but to-day had no luck. The Chief and I followed the trail of a very large animal where it had been this morning feeding along the foot of the mountain named Ebodina, and when we had traced it over rocks and sand-pools in the ravines to where it had taken to the heights, we too started to ascend in hope of finding its resting-place in some cave above. And upward we laboured during the remainder of the morning, the sure-footed Chief sound of lung and never daunted, and I, bound to follow over the wildest mountain face imaginable, composed, like the hills we had hunted yesterday, chiefly of pile upon pile of huge boulders, with deep dark chasms between. Into the deepest of those recesses the Chief would sometimes pause to throw a pebble in the hope that it might send the sheep from its place of hiding in its noisy course as it bounded and trickled down into the gloomy well-like depth. But all to no avail, and we returned to camp empty-handed.
On this day I found the relics of a tragedy among the boulders near the foot of Ebodina. They were the rags of clothing and a few minute pieces of personal belongings, and a riddled goat-skin water-bag belonging to some native who had died there alone, either through falling from the rocks or from want of water or food. No weather-bleached bones lay beside those pitiful remnants, and without doubt jackals had long ago seen to their removal.
3rd May.—Similar to the previous days here, the weather dulled down in the afternoon, and we had high wind and thunder and a little rain, the wind being a great hindrance to skinning in my temporary quarters, for I have not built a grass-hut workshop here, as the ground is bad to excavate for post sockets—rocks and gravel— and wood and grass is very scarce.
No hunting except for small specimens, and none of the men left camp, save to keep watch over the camels, who have constantly a guard in case robbers should discover them.
The Chief of Baguezan is impatient to move on to the security of his mountain home, one long day’s journey distant, but I ask him to have patience for a little, for here we are on low ground, and can hunt for bird and beast and butterfly which I may not find on the mountain-top of Baguezan.
4th May.—Dawn found Minerou and myself again among the deep ravines and rugged mountains in quest of sheep. Four animals were seen late in morning far up the mountain side of Aouderas, but we were unable to get near them. Signs of sheep are plentiful enough, but, so far as I can judge at present, they are very wary and wild and secretive in their movements, resting and hiding in the dark mountain caves by day, and coming out to feed in late evening and through the night.
Yesterday evening and to-day Rains have fallen quite heavily, and the hitherto dry river-bed at camp is to-day a shallow stream of water, which is a sight to gladden men’s hearts in this land of terrible drought. The water in the river is very reddish on account of the soil of that colour which has been washed down from the ravine sides and mountain sides. Streams of water are also apparent to-day in ravines on the slopes of Baguezan Mountains, so that precious rain has fallen there also, and the Chief is now more anxious than ever to get back to his home.
I discussed the boundaries of Aïr with the Chief of Baguezan to-day. He states that Aderbissinat is within the boundary of Aïr, and that east and west their country terminates at the edge of the desert. He declares he knows nothing of the limits of Aïr to the north, and that his people never go there. “It is bad country, they are afraid to go,” he said; while at the same time he informed me that none of his people would accompany me to Assodé or Iferouan when I declared my intention to visit those places. Moreover, he warned me solemnly that I would be very rash if I did not give up my intention of going farther into the country—a view expressed by every Tuareg native of Aïr with whom I discussed the subject previous to setting out north. From which it may be gathered that northern Aïr is indeed a place of evil repute.
To-day I trapped a beautiful silver-grey fox of a kind I had not seen before, which, I fancy, is peculiar to mountain country and not to be found in the desert. (Scientific examination has since proved it to be a new sub-species: Vulpes rüppelli cæesia.)
5th May.—Travelled far this day over most rugged country, but once again did not succeed in bagging sheep.
On returning to camp in the afternoon, blustering wind-squalls again made the skinning of small specimens almost impossible, and I suddenly made up my mind to pack up and go on to Baguezan, prompted partly by the unsatisfactory conditions at camp and partly by the wishes of the Chief and his men, who were impatient to reach their homes.
Thus closed the first few days of hunting in the Aïr mountains without any great measure of success. But I had thoroughly enjoyed the search for sheep amongst the wild grandeur of strange mountains and had found a type of hard hunting which, I fancy, would rejoice the heart of any sportsman. Moreover, in the Chief of Baguezan I had found a splendid hunter, full of shrewd knowledge of the habits of the animals of his country, a born mountaineer, active as a cat among the rocks, familiar with every nook and cranny in the hills, and tireless in his quest for game.
At a later date I was very successful in similar hunting, and secured fine representative specimens of the Barbary sheep of Aïr, which the Hausa natives name Ragondoutchie (or Ragonduchi) and the Tuaregs Afitell, and which has proved to be a new sub-species which Lord Rothschild has named Ammotragus lervia angusi.
The head of the best male specimen had horns measuring 21 ins. in length and of 20½ ins. span, while the animal weighed 152 lbs. The largest sheep I shot was an old one which weighed 164 lbs., with damaged horns that had no larger dimensions than those recorded above.
I had no sooner departed outside the immediate neighbourhood of the Fort of Agades, in commencing the journey to Baguezan, as described in the preceding chapter, than the Chief, Minerou, and his glib-tongued companions, who had all put their heads together-even the two goumiers joining in—endeavoured to dissuade me from my purpose to climb into Baguezan Mountains, and strongly advised my return to Agades. Their chief argument was that the camels carrying my stores could not possibly ascend the mountain pass. From which I judged that they were foolishly suspicious of the stranger, and did not want me to pry into their mountain stronghold. They kept up plying me with similar doubtful stories for the next three days, by which time we had camped at Arra, whereafter they desisted, seeing that I would on no account be shaken in my purpose before I had actually seen the pass in Baguezan. The following days of sheep hunting with the Chief brought us more closely together and enabled me to break down, at least outwardly, the barrier of distrust of me; until, in a moment of confidence, seeing that I would not be hoodwinked, he went so far as to admit that the ascent into Baguezan, for me and my stores, could be accomplished.
So that it transpired that on 6th May we climbed the slopes of Baguezan and entered the strange, awesome mountain stronghold.
There are, the natives declare, but two ways by which camels can enter Baguezan mountains: one in the southern slopes above a camping-place known to the natives as Tokede, which is the principal pass and that which we used, while the other (the only other pass I have seen, which endorses, to some extent, native statements) lies N.W., and is a means of exit to, or entrance from, the north, which is principally used at the present time by natives passing between Baguezan and Timia. Both are rocky, awkward paths, no wider than game-tracks, that wend their way zigzagging upward over steep slopes where foothold for beasts of burden has been searched for and found possible, while in many rough places the path has been hewn and excavated by the hands of men where it has been necessary.
Slowly the surefooted patient mountain-reared camels of Aïr succeed in ascending or descending these paths, sometimes slipping and falling to their knees, so treacherous the foothold, and always some beasts of the caravan make the journey at the expense of torn nails and bleeding feet.
When we had climbed half-way up Baguezan and had paused on a short levelled stretch to rest the distressed camels and their rock-bruised feet, as was necessary from time to time, I turned back and looked below, and out before me to the very horizon, on scenes the like of which in colouring and utter strangeness I had never witnessed before: to the west lay the mountains Tchebishrie, Aouderas, and Arra, and a score of others that are unnamed, all dark and towering and majestic; while in the forefront the rough lowland over which we had travelled now looked, from a height, like level flats, barren and blackish (on account of the porous lava rock and hard round pebbles which cover the land), as if they had been swept by fire and only the ash remained. The scenes are overflowing with a strange drear greyness, that fills the heart of man with sadness, except where deep ravines run out from the mountains and draw therefrom thin lines that have sometimes their beginning in the brightness of dum palms, or “Abisgee” bushes, which grow on dry river-banks of certain fertility, and which trend to lines of sand colour and the dull greyness of leafless acacias as they die away in the far distance of the lowland.
In four hours we had ascended to the summit, and were upon a plateau covered with innumerable rocky hills, through which we wandered in and out where passage for the camels was possible, and two hours later reached the small village of Tasessat, hidden in the hills, where I decided to pitch a permanent collecting-camp.
Baguezan mountains might be said to be two storeys high, the great plateau being the line of the first and principal level, whence arise countless hills with summits of various elevations. The altitude of Tasessat village, which is on the plateau, is 5,200 ft., about 2,000 ft. above the land at the mountain base of Baguezan, while a hill named Tarusszgreet, which is the highest rising from the plateau, has an altitude of 6,050 ft.
The plateau of Baguezan is perplexing to describe adequately. There are countless ranges of hills, sometimes with narrow sand-flats and river-beds between; massive hills formed of giant grey granite boulders, and others not nearly so numerous—with rounded summits and a surface of apparent overlappings and down-pourings of smooth loose reddish and grey fragments, as if the peaks were of volcanic origin, though no craters are there. But it is the formation of the many hills of giant granite boulders that make the scenes so astonishing, so rugged, and so unique—you might be on the roughest sea coast in the world, and not find scenes to surpass those here in desolation and wildness. They are hills that appear to the eye as if a mighty energy underneath had at some time heaved and shouldered boulder upon boulder of colossal proportion into position, until huge, wide-based, solid masses were raised upon the plateau. On the other hand there are instances where hills appear as if the forces underneath had built their edifice badly, and in a manner not fit to withstand the ravages of time, and those are places where part of the pile has apparently collapsed, and there remains a bleak cliff face and the ruins of rocks at the foot. Between the hills the narrow defiles which make up the plateau level are, in general, small places of sand, where scattered acacias grow (some to a fair height), and where, in certain places, dry shallow sandy stream-beds find a course: also there are flats, with ground surface of pebbles, which are bare as the hills that invest them.
From the plateau, or even from the lower hills, it is impossible to obtain a fair conception of the area of Baguezan mountains, since an extensive view is blocked in all directions by the hills which surround one on all sides. But from the top of Tarusszgreet a splendid view may be obtained. The great hill-bearing plateau is about 25 miles in diameter, with an edge that, viewed from the commanding height of Tarusszgreet, appears almost as round as a tea-cup. Looking down on the land on all sides from this pinnacle that permits an unbroken view north, south, east, and west, the scene is a memorable and a striking one: rocks, boulders, and grave greyness predominate all else, for, as far as an eye can see within the limits of Baguezan, nearly the whole land is one of barren hills—barren, that is, of fertility, but not of wild native beauty, even impressiveness. It strikes one most forcibly as a place of fearful poverty, but, even though the blackness of the grey rocks so strongly predominates, there are, as in the country south of Baguezan, brighter scenes on a miniature scale in the pleasant little basins or sandy pockets on the plateau, where, in places, the line of a dry stream-bed may be traced, and where straggling acacias stand darkly dotted against a buffish sandy background. Be the eye attracted to the broad masses of grey hills, or to the little gleams of golden sand, the view from the lofty height of Tarusszgreet, somewhat vaguely sad though it be, captures the appreciation of the mountaineer, who cannot help, unless he be an unresponsive soul indeed, being enraptured with the wonderful space of earth and sky which his position for the moment commands, and with the details of a hundred mysterious scenes contained within the miniature kingdom that lies beneath his feet. Particularly at sunrise or sunset is the view fair, when short-lived lights rest on the broad rugged surface of mountain-side scene, and dip delicately into the valleys to be absorbed by lurking shadows. Those are precious moments in a day, or, might I say, in a lifetime?
TYPICAL BOULDER COMPOSITION OF MANY AÏR MOUNTAINS AND HILLS.
MINEROU, CHIEF OF BAGUEZAN, AND SAIDI, MY GOUMIER.
There is much beauty in Africa, though that is a circumstance which, I believe, we do not often realise or speak about, because, I fear, beauty is often missed, or at least fails to receive full appreciation, since, to view any fair picture with full and generous reflection, the individual or audience should be in the cleanness of health and good spirits that lead to enthusiasm and energy and praise; and, alas, such a state of mind is all too seldom the white man’s lot beneath a sun that is hourly tapping his precious store of vitality.
In ascending to the plateau of Baguezan, one enters a secretive stronghold of a small band of Tuaregs, and I think it is because Baguezan is a natural fortification, for the most part inaccessible to robbers or to any stranger, that we to-day find any natives living in Aïr north of Agades and its immediate neighbourhood. I have said elsewhere that Timia, Aouderas, and Baguezan are the only places now inhabited in Aïr north of Agades, and both Timia and Aouderas are near to the foot of Baguezan, so that, when robbers threaten, the camels of the inhabitants of those two places can, if the danger warrants, be driven on to the plateau for safety, while the natives scatter broadcast among the rocks—a procedure which occurred once while I was there.
There are in Baguezan mountains at the present time six tiny villages. They are: Tasessat, the chief village where I camped, whence radiate the bearings given below; Argargar, about 8 miles distant from Tasessat, on a bearing of 330°; Ouwari, on the same bearing, not far from Tasessat, on the track to Argargar; Egulubilub, 3 to 4 miles from Tasessat, on a bearing of 140°; Emuludi, on the same bearing, about one mile distant from Tasessat; Atkaki, near Tasessat, on a bearing of 220°. Excepting Tasessat, none of these villages are on any map I possess.
The dwellings now in use in the villages are mere tiny, gipsy-like sun-shelters of a type common to the inhabitants of Aïr. They are constructed with lathes of wood bent over to form a dome framework, which is round in plan and a half-round in elevation. Upon the framework hay-grass is laced securely, or skins, to keep out sun and a certain amount of sand-dust. They are no higher than permits an average man to stand upright inside, while the floor space can little more than accommodate two or three outstretched forms. Gipsy-like, they are not in any degree extravagant in labour of construction or in expenditure of material, from which it may be gathered that the natives are lazy and material scarce.
There are a number of stone-built dwellings at Tasessat and elsewhere, but nowhere are they occupied by the natives, who have allowed them to relapse to a state of ruin. Whether those strange old dwellings belonged to a race which at one time the Tuaregs conquered, or to their own ancestors, I do not know, though I am inclined to think that they are of Hausa origin. At all events, they belong solely to the Past, when, at some time or other, there were many people in the Baguezan mountains, for in numerous places are to be found the old sites of villages where huts were built of stone: in some cases the whole village completely overthrown, in others a few skeletons of huts standing. Also there are many strange old graveyards, sometimes near an old village site, sometimes where no sign of dwelling-place remains. They are usually on a level stony piece of ground, chosen, I surmise, because jackals cannot scrape down through such a surface, and the graves, which have lain there through ages, are still marked with mounds of pebbles heaped body-length, or with borders of selected stones laid out in the shape of a coffin; while in some cases the wood poles, which support the stones laid over the grave, have given out, and the grave lies partly open.
The natives of to-day point to ruins of this kind, and tell, with a very real ring of sadness in their voices, that they mark the full and awful extent of decline in population—the ravages of war and the pillage at the hands of raiders who, even to-day, descend upon the hapless decadent people to steal their camels and take their young men and women into slavery.
Minerou and the old headman of Tasessat declare that natives of Baguezan of the present time have not fled or been driven to the low country in the south. Such a thing could not possibly be, they say, “for there are no mountains there, and how could we live without them?”—true mountain people, the land of their birth dear to their hearts as their freedom.
To-day there are altogether only 40 male Tuaregs in Baguezan mountains; that is, adult men at the head of a family.
According to native statement, there has never been, in living memory, an English-speaking white man in Baguezan before; and no one, they say, has camped or roamed about the hills as I have done, in which event I trust this humble description of the place may hold some particular interest. Old natives say that, previous to my visit, there have been, in all, three white men in Baguezan: French officers who have had occasion to enter Baguezan in course of performing duty, and who did not remain there any length of time.
The natives of Baguezan, like all natives of Aïr, get the grain which is their principal food chiefly from Tanout and district, a journey of about 496 miles altogether, outward and homeward. It is transported by caravans of camels. On some occasions the natives carry south with them, to market, dates, which they get chiefly from Fachi, but a few from Aïr, and goat hides. Fachi, and also Bilma, are oases on the desert east of Aïr. Fachi, according to the natives, is fifteen days’ caravan journey from Baguezan, and Bilma 30 days’ journey. Both places are very well known to the natives of the territory, for it is chiefly from those places that they obtain salt for themselves and their camels.
With regard to the climate of Baguezan, the inhabitants say that they have no snow in the mountains at any time, but there is ice in the cold season (about November). Personally I have witnessed a shower of large hailstones in Baguezan, similar to occurrences of the kind witnessed in South Africa and during a Canadian summer, when such hail-showers sometimes fall in the course of a particularly violent thunderstorm. To one who comes from the stifling hot desert, the remarkable clearness of the air of Baguezan gives untold delight, while the coolness of morning and evening in the mountains goes far toward reviving drooping vitality. In my case I often look back and doubt if I could have completed the undertaking without a disastrous breakdown had I not had the good fortune to pick up a new store of vigour during my stay among the mountain-tops of Baguezan.
I noted the following temperatures during the month of May: daybreak, 60°, 62°, 68°, 74° Fahr.; noon, 96° Fahr.; sundown, 80°, 76°, 74° Fahr.
I hope to describe the Tuaregs of Aïr in a later chapter, and for the moment, so far as the natives of Baguezan are concerned, may briefly say that they are true mountain people, not very tall, sturdily built, strong in wind and limb, and extraordinarily active in hill-climbing. But they are cunning, shifty, and suspicious people, and I never felt I was made a friend among them; and Baguezan, up to the present, ranks as the one place where I have felt frustrated in overtures toward friendship with the local inhabitants. I hunted in Baguezan from 6th May to 7th June, but my feeling of insecurity may be judged in that I pitched camp well apart from the village of Tasessat and surrounded it with a strong thorn zereba, through which no one could enter without disturbance, and never lay down at night without my loaded rifle by my side.
I consider I had only one friend in Baguezan: a native who might be called the local smith, for he handled a bellows that nourished a coke fire and welded primitive tools and weapons and trinkets for the people. He often came to my camp uncalled, and gladly did me any service that I wished that was within his power. Next to him I trusted most the chief, Minerou; principally because I knew him well—his good points and his faults. With him I was friends, at least outwardly—as friendly as one can be with a person shrewdly suspected of being an unscrupulous rascal. The commandant at Agades, replying to a letter of mine from Baguezan, wrote with regard to Minerou: “Yes! the Chief of Baguezan is underneath full of slyness: and so they all are. But you know the bush law better than myself, and I rely upon your carefully watching. Don’t trust any of them.”
I find in my diary the following notes of the Chief of Baguezan: “Among his people he is a king, and all appear to obey his command. How he obtains authority over his wild-natured flock is, to me, mysterious, yet the power of king is his. He is wise in a cunning way, and appears to have greater capacity for enterprise and work than any of his people. Like all Tuaregs, he has no subterfuge in his greed for food or clothing or money. He professes to be my friend, yet at heart I know he is full of suspicion of the stranger, and is friends, in reality, only with my purse, and, also, because he fears the military authorities at Agades. In his religion, Mohammedan, or sect of Mohammedan, he is very devout, and at sunrise or sunset, no matter what occupation he may interrupt, he never fails to address his incantations and salaams to the east; and I would not be surprised if the excessive zeal of his devotion induces the belief that his faith is supreme, and shuts out the white man as a fanatic or an enemy to his God.”
In time the period of hunting among the Baguezan mountains came to an end, and I turned my thoughts to travelling northward, an undertaking not altogether looked on with favour by the authorities at Agades, who, though desirous of helping me, declared, like the natives, that the journey entailed, perhaps, foolish risk. My own view of the matter is partly contained in the following letter to the commandant at Agades: “. . . with regard to going further north, I place myself entirely in your hands, knowing you will advise me for the best and assist me where you can. I realise even here that there is risk and that one must ever be careful and on the alert, but nothing worth while was ever accomplished without overcoming difficulties, and I would much like, since I have come so far with that purpose, to complete my journey fully in Aïr. From my map I estimate that Aguellal is 4 to 5 days further north and Iferouan 1 to 2 days more (Iferouan would be the end of my northward journey), while outward or homeward I would like to visit Assodé. I purpose travelling very light, and estimate that 3 or 4 camels would suffice for the journey. Regarding escort, I leave the matter entirely with you, who know conditions much better than I do. For my own part, I am ready to undertake any risk, but any natives who may accompany me might feel reassured with a small show of rifles. This is a type of mountain country where but a few armed men could put up a great fight—if not taken by surprise in the dark. But now there is the chief point: to obtain one native who knows where there is water to be found on the journey. The Chief of Baguezan declares none of his people know the north territory, though I doubt his statement, and strongly suspect it is prompted by the universal fear of entering an ill-reputed neighbourhood. Possibly a guide can be secured in Agades? Where men from the north are to be found, you, of course, know, and in this, as in everything, I will await your consideration of the matter and your advice.”
Which letter brought satisfactory results; so that on the afternoon of 7th June I was able to commence the journey to Iferouan, situated in the extreme north of Aïr.
On 6th June I received a letter from the commandant at Agades suggesting that I proceed at once on my contemplated journey to the northern regions of Aïr, proposing that I push forward under conditions that would restrict the time that I remain beyond communication with Agades to a period of 15 days. This was short time indeed for the journey, and would entail constant travelling, but I had no wish to question the desire of the French authorities, who, with kindness and courtesy, assisted me in every way in their power to make the expedition a success; therefore, to this proposal I at once concurred, and sent back a message to say that if all went well, news of me might be expected at Agades not later than 23rd June.
At the same time I was advised that six goumiers, to join me at Timia, would be despatched from Agades on the following day, which, with Atagoom and Saidi (the goumiers already with me) and myself, would make up a party of nine rifles for the journey. Atagoom and Saidi, who had now been with me for more than a month, had become very friendly, and had grown familiar with the white man’s ways, so that I was particularly glad that they were available for the forthcoming journey. They were, like all Tuaregs, very lazy when about camp, but splendid camel-men and travellers when once out on the trail, Atagoom in particular being an exceptionally active and tireless individual.
At the last moment, when loading up the camels in preparation to depart from Baguezan, the Chief offered me a man to look after my camels on the way to Timia; a powerfully built fellow, bigger than the average native of Aïr, and appropriately named Dogo, which is Hausa for tall, though he was more often addressed as Buzu, the Tamāshack for slave—for such he was, free to all outward appearance, but bound to the service of the Chief in some mysterious way and dependent upon him. This man, like so many others, was not a pure-blooded Tuareg—probably not of Tuareg descent at all, for he was a descendant of slaves—although he spoke their language and dressed as they did. He was a remarkably reticent individual, and never spoke a word to me unless I first addressed him, when he would couch his answer in a few brief syllables, and then shut up like a clam. I give those few particulars of Dogo because, although he set out merely to accompany me to Timia, he came forward a couple of days later and voluntarily offered to go the journey north with me: which he did, and thenceforward this strange fellow, who never gave outward demonstration of human feeling, attached himself devotedly to my caravan (with the consent of the Chief), and looked after the camels during all subsequent travel in Aïr, and, in the end, accompanied me all the way back to Kano. Which was great good fortune for me, for he was a splendid worker, and soon grew familiar with the animals and their burdens, the way in which I liked to load up or off-load, his duties in camp, and in tending the camels when turned out to graze, so that in time I needed to pay little attention to him, feeling secure that no detail would be forgotten.
We left Tasessat about 2 p.m. on 7th June, and travelled over the plateau in a north-westerly direction, heading for the Pass that gave exit to Timia. Our route over the plateau was far from a direct one, since it was necessary to dodge in and out to evade the numerous hills, while it was over cruelly rough country almost altogether of stones and rocks, which punished the camels’ feet severely; so severely that, after an equally hard journey the following day, one of the animals had to be discarded when reaching Timia. We were still on the plateau at sundown, and camped about an hour’s journey from the head of the Pass.
Next day travel was resumed, and we soon came to the top of the pass, where a magnificent view from the mountain edge lay before us of the wide gradient of the rough hill-covered Baguezan mountain sides, and of the very broad valley which lay westwards between us and the Béla mountains, and is drained northward in time of rain by the Assada river and its numerous tributaries.
Throughout the day I was delighted and astonished by the wealth of everchanging scene of mountain and hill and valley, hardly finishing appreciation of one striking picture before it changed, as we moved onward, and another came into view to arrest attention. (To my mind, wild mountain scenery, second only to the magnificent views which surround Timia, is here seen at its best in Aïr—a region rich in mountain landscape.) In the Infinite Detail I found greatest attraction, detail of constant change of form and contour, and perspective of country full of rugged features. It is not scene that is rich in colour, being overclouded with the dominant dull greyness of the bare rock and stone, and therefore, perhaps, contains no great appeal to one who might appraise it with the eye of a painter; rather would I suggest that it holds appeal for the etcher, insomuch that there is such a wealth of detail, detail delicate or superbly masterful, in form and outline, in grotesque shapes, and in strength of shadow.
So far as travel underfoot was concerned, we put in a long arduous day, first descending the pass out of Baguezan, which is a more rugged and difficult one than that in the south, and then continuing among foothills that never offered a level course, so that we were constantly climbing or descending rocky, stony hill-ground or dipping into the numerous ravines that crossed our path; and we were still about a day’s journey from Timia when we camped at night.
Before dawn on the following day—9th June— we had risen from our hard beds on the open ground (I had left all camp equipment in Baguezan, so that this journey should not be unnecessarily hampered with baggage) and pushed on to Timia, which it was necessary we should reach this day, for we had been unable to find water at sundown yesterday, and had almost finished the store in our goat-skin bags.
Daylight found us slowly advancing northward, in towards Agalak mountains, which loomed massively in a long line before us; at first dimly, haze-softened, then growing to a frowning countenance, in which cliffs and clefts and precipitous ravines could be discerned. By which time we began to swing easterly, keeping the slopes of Agalak mountains, which appear to have a plateau summit, not far distant on our left, while Baguezan mountains lay almost out of sight on our right. About 11 o’clock, after toiling up and down dale, over stone-strewn ground and among rocks that presented difficulty to free travel as constantly as yesterday, we emerged on to a wide river-bed of loose sand which bore the name of Abarakan in the locality where we intersected it. Still heading east, we continued up the river course for a long time in the full heat of day and with the sun-glare rebounding off the sand, which was very loose and powdery, as in all river-beds in Aïr, and heavy underfoot for the camels, but vastly better than the terrible mountain trail we had left behind. About 1.30 p.m. we branched off the river, ascending the right bank on to a small level stony plain which lay beneath the western slopes of some low hills near to and S.E. of the Timia range. We crossed this plain in a northerly direction, into which course the river had also turned just about the time we parted from it, and even now the river channel was not far distant on our left, drawing a parallel line also to Timia, but not so directly as the one which Dogo, the local native, was following. However, at the head of the rocky plain, where it terminated at the foot of hills which shut it in completely, we again intercepted the river, about 2 miles from Timia, where precipitous slopes dipped to the very edge of the east bank and completely blocked passage on that side. Hence we entered the river-bed again, and travelled up it a little way, between steep banks, until we came to the mouth of Timia Gorge, and encountered the strange and formidable barrier that there shuts off further progress up the river. This obstacle was the sheer cliff of a dry waterfall of height of some 25 to 30 ft., and, in conjunction with the closely crowding hill-sides on either bank, it appeared to close the narrow neck between the hills altogether. But native wit, or necessity, had found a way to force a door in the barrier, to give passage to caravans into the rich gorge that lay beyond, for close examination of the west bank of the river reveals a winding, precipitous, cave-like staircase hewn out of the solid rock, which ascends to the top of the high bank, where there is space enough, and no more, between mountain base and river-bank, to allow camels to pass above the fall. One by one we led each camel into this stairway, which they had to strain and struggle to ascend, and humoured them slowly upwards, until all were safely at the top, when we proceeded up the broad river-bed into Timia without further hindrance.
Timia Gorge is, in my opinion, the most beautiful spot in Aïr and the most fertile. It has a length of some three or four miles, through which the wide shallow river-bed winds (I judge the river to be 75 to 100 yards wide), while the steep slopes of the majestic heights of Agalak and Timia mountains descend on either side to its very margin, leaving, in places, narrow little stretches of ground upon the banks, no wider than a mansion garden, which are irrigated by means of wells and cultivated by the natives to grow wheat and millet and maize, or bear thick groves of date palms.
We entered Timia village about 4 p.m., and were warmly welcomed by the fine old headman, who acted as deputy in absence of the Chief Fougda. I was amused to find that, as in many other instances, all the natives who gathered around while we off-loaded already knew of me and wanted to look on “the hunting white man,” while many of the women and children of the village, who did not travel to Agades like the men, had never seen a European before, and were vastly interested in a timid, furtive way.
I was greatly pleased with Timia village, which is built chiefly on the west bank of the river in a small open flat stony pocket at the eastern base of Agalak. The small dome dwellings are the same as those on Baguezan, but built with more care, while there is a decided appearance of neatness and tidiness in the whole village which I found lacking elsewhere in inhabited places in Aïr. Moreover, I found the people really industrious in working their riverside gardens, and, in fact, when I came to see more of them a week or two later, I judged them to be the most superior tribe I had encountered in Aïr.
The six goumiers from Agades joined me at Timia, heavily masked, like all Tuaregs, with yashmak, which leaves only the eyes uncovered, and picturesquely dressed in cotton robes of various colours; while the old headman brought forward a young fellow named Homa, who had been born in Iferouan and was to act as guide, and, in particular, point out where water was to be found. He and another man had been part of the way north about a month before trying to trap donkeys, which escaped from the natives at the time of the evacuations, or out of the hands of robbers, and are now running completely wild in Aïr. (Later I saw fresh tracks of one band, and many signs of them where they had been feeding.) Those men succeeded in trapping one donkey, but say the brutes are terribly wild and difficult to catch.
The altitude of the stream-bed at Timia village is 3,800 feet, while some of the splendid tops of Timia mountains, which are higher than Agalak (map alt.: 4,593 ft.), appear to be easily 2,000 to 3,000 ft. more, and it would not surprise me if the highest altitude in Aïr is contained in Timia mountains, and I regret I had not occasion or time to climb to the highest peak.
Next morning, 10th June, we left Timia and started on the long journey north in uninhabited regions. In the early part of the day we travelled over rough, broken, rocky country until Tiggeur was reached, the abandoned site of a village (alt. 3,700 ft.), where there are a few date palms and an old well which contains no water. To the east the country had appeared more open thus far, and contained a number of small hills, while on the west lay the high slopes of Agalak mountains. Thereafter we continued by Tiggeur and Teguednu river-beds, which had bare, almost treeless banks, and camped at the junction where the latter stream and the Asselar meet and become the broad Agoras river-bed, which trends away N.W. to the ancient town of Assodé. Altitude at this camping-place, 3,150 ft.
To-night and henceforth a sentry was posted and the camels made to lie down in a half-circle, while the goumiers slept beside them, so that we were prepared in the event of robbers stealing in upon us.
11th June.—Slight rain in early part of night; otherwise no disturbance. Woke once or twice, hearing the sentry moving about in idle wakefulness, which recalled habits of active service.
Left our night camping-place about an hour before dawn and travelled to Igouloulof. To-day we passed through country more open in expanse, not in general so mountainous as hitherto, which contained in the rough lowlands some level stretches of sand and stone, while Goundaï mountains loomed large and very conspicuous at a distance to the east.
Igouloulof (altitude, 2,950 ft.), on the north bank of a sandy river-bed that trends east, proved to be a small deserted village among rocks composed of remarkably well-built, flat-roofed stone huts, which are whitish-grey in colour owing to the use of a natural cement in their construction, apparently obtained from open pits in the village. The huts bear a strange aspect against the black rocks, showing like little square pill-boxes inset here and there with pleasing irregularity. They are built without system in laying the stone—no rubble, no regular jointing, just a jumble of stones that are not very large, set in a liberal bed of mortar.
Such places, now deserted—and there are many in Aïr—fill me with sadness; they are often in pleasant situations, and picturesque even now, notwithstanding the strange bleakness and stillness of the land, but one cannot refrain from thinking how much more attractive Aïr would be if occupied by happy natives, and a wayfarer could see, instead of this melancholy desolation, smoke of wood-fires rising and hear homely sounds.
It is difficult to ascertain from the natives, with any certainty of accuracy, the period when Aïr first began to decline in population, though, of course, they all know of the final desertion which took place, about three years ago, in the forced evacuations following on the Rebellion of 1916, when the remnants of the Tuareg inhabitants were commanded by the French authorities to settle in the neighbourhood of Agades under direct protection of the Fort and within reach of surveillance. But this last was a comparatively small affair, and does not by any means account for the loss of the large population, which, if one is to judge by the numerous ruins of old villages and graveyards, once occupied the Aïr mountains. Apart from the question of the extent of oppression pursued by stronger tribes from outside territories, I am prone to wonder if Aïr has undergone any great geological change or climatic change which has made it less fertile than hitherto? For it seems to me that want and hunger are the most tangible causes that drive people to forsake dearthful country and seek a better elsewhere capable of supporting livelihood; more especially if the people happen to be, as in Aïr, naturally nomadic. I think it may be accepted that Aïr in the present age is a land of dearth not capable of supporting a great many people. If it was a rich land, and war was the great scourge that destroyed the people, would not the victors seize the country and settle in it? Such thoughts naturally occur to me, because I cannot believe that this dreadfully bare country, as it is to-day, ever offered any inducement to a large population to live in it; while if food for many people was carried from Damergou, Damagarim, and Kano in the south, it must have constituted a colossal and unending task that necessitated the upkeep of great herds of camels and an abundant growth of forage: viz. grass, ground plants, acacias, “Abisgee,” and other bushes.
Therefore the solution may lie in geological change or climatic change, such as may have altered the whole aspect of the land’s fertility. If sands have swept in from the desert seas that bound Aïr, to pile up gradually at the base of the range through centuries of time and smother forests of acacia and other plant life which may have been there, then the land has suffered a great loss (I have crossed the edge of the eastern plain below Baguezan mountains, where there are still considerable numbers of acacias close in to the margin where mountain rock terminates); while also the sand that is blown into the mountains from the desert is, during Rains, washed into the valleys and innumerable river-beds, causing, perhaps, the valleys to grow in depth of sand and the rivers, for lack of sufficient gradient, or by reason of an estuary out on the desert that may be slowly blocking up, to gradually fill up and choke, where once, perhaps, there were deep rocky channels which held pools of water all the year round.
If, on the other hand, or also, climatic conditions have changed, and much less rain falls now than in former years—natives declare some years in the present are practically rainless—the difference in the fertility of the country would be tremendous, for Aïr, with its countless river-courses, under conditions of bountiful lasting rainfall would be rich and beautiful indeed.
12th June.—Bad weather set in last evening, beginning with rapidly rising gale; then developing to thunderstorm and rain. Heavy rain fell through the night, and we slept in water-soaked blankets.
We left Igouloulof at daybreak, and continued northward to Faodet. During the morning we passed through some broad valley country, where evergreen “Abisgee” bushes were fairly numerous, in locality the guide called “Tchyerus”; and the river of that name, draining westwards (which appears to be a local name for a section of the Zilalet river, which is an arm of the great Agoras), was forded, as it was in flood after the rain of last night. Thereafter, before coming to Agarageur, we passed over open country of pale sand, dotted with small cone-shaped hills, which opened up in wide expanse westward. Agarageur mountain was passed close on our right, and the stone-built village of Afis, which is S.W. of the range, the tiny dwellings, strikingly diminutive, tucked in at the great mountain base. Agarageur mountain (named Tamgak on Courtier’s French map, but called by the natives Agarageur) appears high and stately, rising in rugged slopes from massive boulder-strewn base. Altitude at foot of Agarageur, 2,600 ft.
Approaching Faodet, where we camped, we travelled among rough foothills, with the large magnificent range of the same name on the east. The village of Faodet is in a level sand-basin, which contains some “Abisgee” and acacia trees and an old deep well, which is in bad disrepair and long out of use. The deserted stone dwellings lie back among the foothills in a pleasant ravine. The altitude at Faodet is 2,900 ft.
Not long before reaching Faodet, a fierce thunderstorm burst, and we were suddenly caught on a bare hill-crest by onslaught of heavy driving torrential rain, and as camels will not face such weather, they at once turned their backs to the biting gale and slashing rain, and huddled together in little groups to stand motionless with their cowering, unprotected riders on their backs, while the rain beat down on them. It was a strange sight—groups drawn together for protection, patiently waiting, the rain, as if incensed, literally hurling itself angrily down upon us in torrents, while the ground at our feet grew to a flowing stream of water, and camels shifted their feet uneasily as the wet and discomfort and cold increased. But in the end, as always in this country, the brief mad storm ceased, and we shook out our bedraggled feathers, so to speak, and journeyed on our way.
We had barely restarted when a second unexpected incident surprised us this day; and this was when breasting a ridge we came right on top of three men ascending from the other side. Their appearance was extraordinary: they were clothed solely in skins of wild sheep and gazelle, and their whole colour, even to their pale light yellowish faces, was a remarkable blend with the sand. Had we not surprised them, it is certain that we should never have detected them hidden away among rocks and sand. They were absolutely wild men of the mountains, roaming those uninhabited ranges at will, and were amazed and visibly frightened when finding themselves completely at our mercy; which fear was partly dispelled when they were told I had no wish to make captives of them or harm them. They all carried short wooden-shafted spears, and bundles of skin bags containing their scant belongings, slung over their shoulders on a short stick; one also carried a small child perched on the top of his shoulder and clinging to the crown of his head. All were wearing yashmaks, which veiled their faces in the usual Tuareg fashion. When it was found that we were friendly, two women were revealed concealed fearfully among the rocks near by, and with them were four small naked children—two of them infants in arms. Those strange people had no goats and no grain, and were living on wild meat, which they trapped with snares, green barely ripe dates, and edible roots and leaves and berries of worth known to themselves. They had not been out of Tamgak mountains for a year, they declared, and were on their way to Igouloulof to gather “Abisgee” berries, now ripening in that district. I gave them half a gazelle, killed this day, and sent them gratefully on their way, letting them go, knowing they might never be seen again, with the same feelings as I might liberate snared animals, and watch them bound away into the wilderness, their dearly loved freedom regained.