Friday, October 11.—Early in the morning the whole body of people from Tawát who were residing in the place, ʿAbd el Káder at their head, paid me a visit. The Tawátíye are still, at the present time (like their forefathers more than three hundred years ago), the chief merchants in Ágades; and they are well adapted to the nature of this market, for, having but small means, and being more like pedlars or retail dealers, they sit quietly down with their little stock, and try to make the most of it by buying negro millet when it is cheap, and retailing it when it becomes dear. Speculation in grain is now the principal business transacted in Ágades, since the branches of commerce of which I shall speak further on, and which once made the place rich and important, have been diverted into other channels. Here I will only remark that it is rather curious that the inhabitants of Tawát, though enterprising travellers, never become rich. Almost all the money with which they trade belongs to the people of Ghadámes; and their profits only allow them to dress and live well, of which they are very fond. Till recently, the Kél-owí frequented the market of Tawát, while they were excluded from those of Ghát and Múrzuk; but at present the contrary takes place, and, while they are admitted in the two latter places, Tawát has been closed against them.
Several of these Tawátíye were about to return to their native country, and were anxiously seeking information as to the time when the caravan of the Sakomáren, which had come to Tin-téllust, intended to start on their return journey, as they wished to go in their company. Among them was a man of the name of ʿAbdallah, with whom I became afterwards very intimate, and obtained from him a great deal of information. He was well acquainted with that quarter of the African continent which lies between Tawát, Timbúktu, and Ágades, having been six times to Ágades and five times to Timbúktu, and was less exacting than the mass of his countrymen. The most interesting circumstance which I learnt from them to-day was the identity of the Emgédesi language with that of Timbúktu, a fact of which I had no previous idea, thinking that the Háusa language, as it was the vulgar tongue of the whole of Asben, was the indigenous language of the natives of Ágades. But about this most interesting fact I shall say more afterwards.
When the Tawátíye were about to go away, Ámagay, or Mággi, as he is generally called, the chief eunuch of the Sultan, came; and I was ordered by my Kél-owí companions, who had put on all their finery, to make myself ready to pay a visit to the Sultan. Throwing, therefore, my white heláli bernús over my black tobe, and putting on my richly ornamented Ghadámsi shoes, which formed my greatest finery, I took up the letters and the treaty, and solicited the aid of my servant Mohammed to assist me in getting it signed; but he refused to perform any such service, regarding it as a very gracious act on his part that he went with me at all.
The streets and the market-places were still empty when we went through them, which left upon me the impression of a deserted place of bygone times; for even in the most important and central quarters of the town most of the dwelling-houses were in ruins. Some meat was lying ready for sale, and a bullock was tied to a stake, while numbers of large vultures, distinguished by their long naked neck, of reddish colour, and their dirty-greyish plumage, were sitting on the pinnacles of the crumbling walls, ready to pounce upon any kind of offal. These natural scavengers I afterwards found to be the constant inhabitants of all the market-places, not only in this town, but in all places in the interior. Directing our steps by the high watch-tower, which, although built only of clay and wood, yet, on account of its contrast to the low dwelling-houses around, forms a conspicuous object, we reached the gate which leads into the palace or fáda, a small separate quarter, with a large, irregular courtyard, and from twenty to twenty-five larger and smaller dwellings. Even these were partly in ruins; and one or two wretched conical cottages built of reeds and grass, in the midst of them, showed anything but a regard to cleanliness. The house, however, in which the Sultan himself dwelt proved to have been recently repaired, and had a neat and orderly appearance; the wall was nicely polished, and the gate newly covered in with boards made of the stem of the dúm-tree, and furnished with a door of the same material.
We seated ourselves apart, on the right side of a vestibule, which, as is the case of all the houses of this place, is separated from the rest of the room by a low balustrade, about ten inches high, and in this shape:
Meanwhile, Mággi had announced us to his Majesty, and, coming back, conducted us into the adjoining room, where he had taken his seat. It was separated from the vestibule by a very heavy wooden door, and was far more decent than I had expected. It was about forty or fifty feet in every direction, the rather low roof being supported by two short and massive columns of clay, slightly decreasing in thickness towards the top, and furnished with a simple abacus, over which one layer of large boards was placed in the breadth, and two in the depth of the room, sustaining the roof, formed of lighter boards. These are covered in with branches, over which mats are spread, the whole being completed with a layer of clay. At the lower end of the room, between the two columns, was a heavy door giving access into the interior of the house, while a large opening on either side admitted the light.
ʿAbd el Káderi, the son of the Sultan el Bákiri, was seated between the column to the right and the wall, and appeared to be a tolerably stout man, with large, benevolent features, as far as the white shawl wound around his face would allow us to perceive. The white colour of the lithám, and that of his shirt, which was of grey hue, together with his physiognomy, at once announced him as not belonging to the Tuarek race. Having saluted him one after the other, we took our seats at some distance opposite to him, when, after having asked Hámma some complimentary questions with regard to the old chief, he called me to come near to him, and in a very kind manner entered into conversation with me, asking me about the English nation, of which, notwithstanding all their power, he had, in his retired spot, never before heard, not suspecting that “English powder” was derived from them.
After explaining to him how the English, although placed at such an immense distance, wished to enter into friendly relations with all the chiefs and great men on the earth, in order to establish peaceable and legitimate intercourse with them, I delivered to him Ánnur’s and Mr. Richardson’s letters, and begged him to forward another letter to ʿAlíyu, the Sultan of Sókoto, wherein we apologized for our incapability, after the heavy losses and the many extortions we had suffered, of paying him at present a visit in his capital, expressing to ʿAbd el Káder, at the same time, how unjustly we had been treated by tribes subject to his dominion, who had deprived us of nearly all the presents we were bringing with us for himself and the other princes of Sudán. While expressing his indignation on this account, and regretting that I should not be able to go on directly to Sókoto, whither he would have sent me with the greatest safety, in company with the salt-caravan of the Kél-gerés, and at the same time giving vent to his astonishment that, although young, I had already performed journeys so extensive, he dismissed us, after we had placed before him the parcel containing the presents destined for him. The whole conversation, not only with me, but also with my companions, was in the Háusa language. I should have liked to have broached to him the treaty at once, but the moment was not favourable.
On the whole, I look upon ʿAbd el Káder as a man of great worth, though devoid of energy. All the people assured me that he was the best of the family to which the Sultan of Ágades belongs. He had been already Sultan before, but, a few years ago, was deposed, in order to make way for Hámed eʾ Rufäy, whom he again succeeded; but in 1853, while I was in Sókoto, he was once more compelled to resign in favour of the former.
While returning with my companions to our lodging, we met six of Bóro’s sons, among whom our travelling companion Háj ʿAli was distinguished for his elegance. They were going to the palace in order to perform their office as “fadáwa-n-serkí” (royal courtiers), and were very complaisant when they were informed that I had been graciously received by his Majesty. Having heard from them that Bóro, since his return, had been ill with fever, I took the opportunity to induce my followers to accompany me on a visit to him. Mohammed Bóro has a nice little house for a town like Ágades, situated on the small area called Erárar-n-sákan, or “the Place of the Young Camels.” It is shown in the accompanying sketch. The house itself consists of two storeys, and furnishes a good specimen of the better houses of the town; its interior was nicely whitewashed. Bóro, who was greatly pleased with our visit, received us in a very friendly manner, and when we left accompanied us a long way down the street. Though he holds no office at present, he is nevertheless a very important personage, not only in Ágades, but even in Sókoto, where he is regarded as the wealthiest merchant. He has a little republic of his own (like the venerable patriarchs), of not less than about fifty sons, with their families; but he still possesses such energy and enterprise that in 1854 he was about to undertake another pilgrimage to Mekka.
When I had returned to my quarters, Mággi brought me, as an acknowledgment of my presents, a fat, large-sized ram from ʿAbd el Káder, which was an excellent proof that good meat can be got here. There is a place called Aghíllad, three or four days’ journey west from Ágades, which is said to be very rich in cattle. On this occasion I gave to the influential eunuch, for himself, an aliyáfu, or subéta, a white shawl with a red border. In the afternoon I took another walk through the town, first to the Erázar-n-sákan, which, though it had been quiet in the morning, exhibited now a busy scene, about fifty camels being offered for sale, most of them very young, and the older ones rather indifferent. But while the character of the article for sale could not be estimated very high, that of the men employed in the business of the market attracted my full attention.
They were tall men, with broad, coarse features, very different from any I had seen before, and with long hair hanging down upon their shoulders and over their face, in a way which is an abomination to the Tuarek; but upon inquiry I learnt that they belonged to the tribe of the Ighdalén, or Éghedel, a very curious mixed tribe of Berber and Sónghay blood, and speaking the Sónghay language. The mode of buying and selling, also, was very peculiar; for the price was neither fixed in dollars, nor in shells, but either in merchandise of various descriptions, such as calico, shawls, tobes, or in Negro millet, which is the real standard of the market of Ágades at the present time, while, during the period of its prime, it was apparently the gold of Gágho. This way of buying or selling is called “kárba.” There was a very animated scene between two persons, and to settle the dispute it was necessary to apply to the “serki-n-káswa,” who for every camel sold in the market receives three “réjel.”
From this place we went to the vegetable-market, or “káswa-n-delélti,”[12] which was but poorly supplied, only cucumbers and molukhia (or Corchorus olitorius) being procurable in considerable plenty. Passing thence to the butchers’ market, we found it very well supplied, and giving proof that the town was not yet quite deserted, although some strangers were just gathering for the installation of the Sultan, as well as for the celebration of the great holiday, the ʿAid el kebír, or Salla-léja. I will only observe that this market (from its name, “káswa-n-rákoma,” or “yóbu yoëwoëni”) seems evidently to have been formerly the market where full-grown camels were sold. We then went to the third market, called katánga, where, in a sort of hall supported by the stems of the dúm-tree, about six or seven women were exhibiting, on a sort of frame, a variety of small things, such as beads and necklaces, sandals, small oblong tin boxes such as the Kél-owí wear for carrying charms, small leather boxes of the shape here represented, but of all possible sizes, from the diameter of an inch to as much as six inches. They are very neatly made, in different colours, and are used for tobacco, perfumes, and other purposes, and are called “botta.” I saw here also a very nice plate of copper, which I wanted to buy the next day, but found that it was sold. A donkey-saddle, “ákomar,” and a camel-saddle, or “kíri,” were exposed for sale. The name “katánga” serves, I think, to explain the name by which the former (now deserted) capital of Yóruba is generally known; I mean Katúnga, which name is given to it only by the Háusa and other neighbouring tribes.
I then went, with Mohammed “the Foolish” and another Kél-owí, to a shoemaker who lived in the south-western quarter of the town, and I was greatly surprised to find here Berbers as artisans; for even if the shoemaker was an Ámghi, and not a free Amóshagh (though from his frank and noble bearing I had reason to suspect the latter), at least he understood scarcely a word of Háusa, and all the conversation was carried on in Uraghíye. He and his assistants were busy in making neat sandals; and a pair of very handsome ones, which indeed could not be surpassed, either in neatness or in strength, by the best that are made in Kanó, were just ready, and formed the object of a long and unsuccessful bargaining. The following day, however, Mohammed succeeded in obtaining them for a mithkál. My shoes formed a great object of curiosity for these Emgédesi shoemakers, and they confessed their inability to produce anything like them. On returning to our quarters we met several horsemen, with whom I was obliged to enter into a longer conversation than I liked, in the streets. I now observed that several of them were armed with the bow and arrow instead of the spear. Almost all the horses are dressed with the “karaúrawa” (strings of small bells attached to their heads), which make a great noise, and sometimes create a belief that a great host is advancing, when there are only a few of these horsemen. The horses in general were in indifferent condition, though of tolerable size; of course they are ill fed, in a place where grain is comparatively dear. The rider places only his great toe in the stirrup, the rest of the foot remaining outside.
The occurrences of the day were of so varied a nature, opening to me a glance into an entirely new region of life, that I had ample material for my evening’s meditation, when I lay stretched out on my mat before the door of my dark and close room. Nor was my bodily comfort neglected, the Sultan being so kind and attentive as to send me a very palatable dish of “finkáso,” a sort of thick pancake made of wheat, and well buttered, which, after the unpalatable food I had had in Tintéllust, appeared to me the greatest luxury in the world.
Saturday, October 12.—Having thus obtained a glance into the interior of the town, I was anxious to get a view of the whole of it, and ascending, the following morning, the terrace of our house, obtained my object entirely, the whole town being spread out before my eyes, with the exception of the eastern quarter. The town is built on a level, which is only interrupted by small hills formed of rubbish heaped up in the midst of it by the negligence of the people. Excepting these, the line formed by the flat-terraced houses is interrupted only by the mesállaje (which formed my basis for laying down the plan of the town), besides about fifty or fifty-five dwellings raised to two storeys, and by three dúm-trees and five or six talha-trees. Our house also had been originally provided with an upper storey, or rather with a single garret—for generally the upper storey consists of nothing else; but it had yielded to time, and only served to furnish amusement to my foolish friend Mohammed, who never failed, when he found me on the terrace, to endeavour to throw me down the breach. Our old close-handed friend Ánnur did not seem to care much for the appearance of his palace in the town, and kept his wife here on rather short allowance. By-and-by, as I went every day to enjoy this panorama, I was able to make a faithful view of the western quarter of the town as seen from hence, which gives a more exact idea of the place than any verbal description could do.
About noon the amanókal sent his musicians to honour me and my companions with a performance; they were four or five in number, and were provided with the instruments usual in Sudán, in imitation of the Arabs. More interesting was the performance of a single “maimólo,” who visited us after we had honourably rewarded the royal musicians, and accompanied his play, on a three-stringed “mólo,” or guitar, with an extemporaneous song.
My companions then took me to the house of the kádhi, after having paid a short visit to the camel-market. The kádhi, or here rather alkáli, who lives a little south-west from the mosque, in a house entirely detached on all sides, was sitting with the mufti in the vestibule of his dwelling, where sentence is pronounced, and after a few compliments, proceeded to hear the case of my companions, who had a law-suit against a native of the town, named Wá-n-seres, and evidently of Berber origin. Evidence was adduced to the effect that he had sold a she-camel which had been stolen from the Kél-owí, while he (the defendant) on his part proved that he had bought it from a man who swore that it was not a stolen camel. The pleas of both parties having been heard, the judge decided in favour of Wá-n-seres. The whole transaction was carried on in Temáshight, or rather in Uraghíye. Then came another party, and while their case was being heard we went out and sat down in front of the house, under the shade of a sort of verandah consisting of mats supported by long stakes, after which we took leave of the kádhi, who did not seem to relish my presence, and afterwards showed no very friendly feelings towards me.
While my lazy companions wanted to go home, I fortunately persuaded Mohammed, after much reluctance, to accompany me through the southern part of the town, where, lonely and deserted as it seemed to be, it was not prudent for me to go alone, as I might have easily got into some difficulty. My servant Amánkay was still quite lame with the guineaworm; and Mohammed, the Tunisian shushán, had reached such a pitch of insolence when he saw me alone among a fanatical population that I had given him up entirely. First, leaving the fáda to our right, we went out through the “kófa-n-Alkáli;” for here the walls, which have been swept away entirely on the east side of the town, have still preserved some degree of elevation, though in many places one may easily climb over them. On issuing from the gate I was struck with the desolate character of the country on this side of the town, though it was enlivened by women and slaves going to fetch water from the principal well (which is distant about half a mile from the gate), all the water inside the town being of bad quality for drinking. At some distance from the gate were the ruins of an extensive suburb called Ben Gottára, half covered with sand, and presenting a very sorry spectacle. It was my design to go round the southern part of the town; but my companion either was, or pretended to be, too much afraid of the Kél-gerés, whose encampment lay at no great distance from the walls. So we re-entered it, and followed the northern border of its deserted southern quarter, where only a few houses are still inhabited. Here I found three considerable pools of stagnant water, which had collected in deep hollows from whence, probably, the materials for building had been taken, though their form was a tolerably regular oval. They have each a separate name, the westernmost being called from the Masráta, who have given their name to the whole western quarter, as well as to a small gate still in existence; the next, southwards from the kófa-n-Alkáli, is called (in Emgedesíye) “Masráta-hogú-me,” for the three languages—the Temáshight or Tarkíye, the Góber or Háusa language, and the Sónghay- or Sonrhay-kini—are very curiously mixed together in the topography of this town, the natural consequence of the mixture of these three different national elements. This mixture of languages was well calculated to make the office of interpreter in this place very important, and the class of such men a very numerous one.
In the Masráta pool, which is the largest of the three, two horses were swimming, while women were busy washing clothes. The water has a strong taste of salt, which is also the case with two of the three wells still in use within the town. Keeping from the easternmost pool (which is called, like the whole quarter around, Terjemáne, from the interpreters whose dwellings were chiefly hereabout) a little more to the south-east, I was greatly pleased at finding among the ruins in the south-eastern quarter, between the quarters Akáfan árina and Imurdán, some very well-built and neatly polished houses, the walls of which were of so excellent workmanship that even after having been deprived of their roofs, for many years, perhaps, they had sustained scarcely any injury. One of them was furnished with ornamented niches, and by the remains of pipes, and the whole arrangement bore evident traces of warm baths. Music and song diverted us in the evening, while we rested on our mats in the different corners of our courtyard.
Sunday, October 13.—My Kél-owí companions regaled me with a string of dates from Fáshi, the westernmost oasis of the Tébu, or, as the Tuarek call them, Berauni. But instead of indulging myself in this luxury, I laid it carefully aside as a treat for my visitors, to whom I had (so small were my means at present) neither coffee nor sugar to offer. I then accompanied my friends once more to the Alkáli; but the litigation which was going on being tedious, I left them, and returned quite alone through the town, sitting down a moment with the Tawatíye, who generally met at the house of the Emgédesi Ídder, a sort of Tawáti agent and an intelligent man.
When I returned to our house I found there a very interesting young man of the tribe of the Ighdalén, with a round face, very regular and agreeable features, fine lively black eyes, and an olive complexion only a few shades darker than that of an Italian peasant. His hair was black, and about four inches long, standing upright, but cut away all round the ears, which gave it a still more bristling appearance. I hoped to see him again, but lost sight of him entirely. The Arabs call these people Arab-Tuarek, indicating that they are a mixed race between the Arab and Berber nation; and their complexion agrees well with this designation, but it is remarkable that they speak a Sónghay dialect. They possess scarcely anything except camels, and are regarded as a kind of Merábetín. I afterwards went to call upon our old friend Ánnur Karamí, from Aghwau, who had come to Ágades a day or two before us, and had accompanied me also on my visit to the Sultan. He lived, together with my amiable young friend the Tinýlkum Slimán, in the upper storey, or soro, of a house, and when I called was very busy selling fine Egyptian sheep-leather called kurna (which is in great request here, particularly that of a green colour) to a number of lively females, who are the chief artisans in leather-work. Some of them were of tolerably good appearance, with light complexion and regular Arab features. When the women were gone Ánnur treated me with fura or ghussub-water; and young Slimán, who felt some little remorse for not having been able to withstand the charms of the Emgédesíye coquettes, told me that he was about to marry a Ma-Ásbenchi girl, and that the wedding would be celebrated in a few days. As to the fura, people who eat or rather drink it together squat down round the bowl, where a large spoon, the “lúdde,” sometimes very neatly worked, goes round, everybody taking a spoonful and passing the spoon to his neighbour. On the previous page is a drawing of this drinking-spoon, as well as of the common spoon, both of ordinary workmanship.
The houses in Ágades do not possess all the conveniences which one would expect to find in houses in the north of Europe; but here, as in many Italian towns, the principle of the da per tutto, which astonished Göethe so much at Rivoli, on the Lago di Garda, is in full force, being greatly assisted by the many ruined houses which are to be found in every quarter of the town. But the free nomadic inhabitant of the wilderness does not like this custom, and rather chooses to retreat into the open spots outside the town. The insecurity of the country and the feuds generally raging oblige them still to congregate, even on such occasions. When they reach some conspicuous tree the spears are all stuck into the ground, and the party separates behind the bushes; after which they again meet together under the tree, and return in solemn procession into the town.
By making such little excursions I became acquainted with the shallow depressions which surround Ágades, and which are not without importance for the general relations of the town, while they afford fodder for any caravan visiting the market, and also supply the inhabitants with very good water. The name of the depression to the north is Tagúrast, that to the south-west Mérmeru; towards the south-east Amelúli, with a few kitchen-gardens; and another a little further on, south-south-east, Tésak-n-tálle; while at a greater distance, to the west, is Tára-bére (meaning “the wide area,” or plain, “babá-n-sarari”). Unfortunately, the dread my companions had of the Kél-gerés did not allow me to visit the valleys at a greater distance, the principal of which is that called el Hakhsás, inhabited by Imghád, and famous for its vegetable productions, with which the whole town is supplied.
Mohammed the Foolish succeeded in the evening in getting me into some trouble, which gave him great delight; for seeing that I took more than common interest in a national dance, accompanied with a song, which was going on at some distance east-north-east from our house, he assured me that Hámma was there, and had told him that I might go and join in their amusement. Unfortunately, I was too easily induced; and hanging only a cutlass over my shoulder, I went thither unaccompanied, sure of finding my protector in the merry crowd. It was about ten o’clock at night, the moon shining very brightly on the scene. Having first viewed it from some distance, I approached very near, in order to observe the motions of the dancers. Four young men, placed opposite to each other in pairs, were dancing with warlike motions, and, stamping the ground violently with the left foot, turned round in a circle, the motions being accompanied by the energetic clapping of hands of a numerous ring of spectators. It was a very interesting sight, and I should have liked to stay longer; but finding that Hámma was not present, and that all the people were young, and many of them buzawe, I followed the advice of ʿAbdu, one of Ánnur’s slaves, who was among the crowd, to withdraw as soon as possible. I had, however, retraced my steps but a short way when, with the war-cry of Islam, and drawing their swords, all the young men rushed after me. Being, however, a short distance in advance, and fortunately not meeting with any one in the narrow street, I reached our house without being obliged to make use of my weapon; but my friends the Kél-owí seeing me in trouble, had thrown the chain over the door of our house, and, with a malicious laugh, left me outside with my pursuers; so that I was obliged to draw my cutlass in order to keep them at bay, though, if they had made a serious attack, I should have fared ill enough with my short, blunt European weapon, against their long, sharp swords. I was rather angry with my barbarous companions, particularly with Mohammed, and when after a little delay they opened the door, I loaded my pistols and threatened to shoot the first man that troubled me. However, I soon felt convinced that the chief fault was my own; and in order to obliterate the bad impression which this little adventure was likely to make in the town, particularly as the great Mohammedan feast was at hand, which of course could not but strengthen greatly the prejudice against a Christian, I resolved to stay at home the next few days. This I could do the more easily as the terrace of our house allowed me to observe all that was going on in the place.
I therefore applied myself entirely for a few days to the study of the several routes which, with the assistance of ʿAbdallah, I had been able to collect from different people, and which will be given in the Appendix, and to the language of Ágades. For though I had left all my books behind at Tin-téllust, except that volume of “Prichard’s Researches” which treats of Africa, I had convinced myself, from the specimens which he gives of the language of Timbúktu, that the statement of my friends from Tawát with regard to the identity of the languages of the two places was quite correct, only with this qualification, that here this language had been greatly influenced by intercourse with the Berbers, from whom sundry words were borrowed, while the Arabic seemed to have had little influence beyond supplanting the numerals from 4 upwards. I was also most agreeably surprised and gratified to find this identity confirmed by the fact that the people of Ágades give the Tuarek in general the name under which that tribe of them which lives near Timbúktu and along the Niger had become known to Mungo Park in those quarters where the language of Timbúktu is spoken. This was indeed very satisfactory, as the native name of that powerful tribe is entirely different; for the Surka, as they are called by Mungo Park, are the same as the Awelímmiden, of whom I had already heard so much in Asben (the inhabitants of which country seemed to regard them with much dread), and with whom I was afterwards to enter into the most intimate relations.
While residing in Ágades I was not yet aware of all the points of information which I have been able to collect in the course of my travels, and I was at a loss to account for the identity of language in places so widely separated from each other by immense tracts of desert, and by countries which seemed to have been occupied by different races. But while endeavouring, in the further course of my journey, to discover as far as possible the history of the nations with whom I had to deal, I found the clue for explaining this apparently marvellous phenomenon, and shall lay it before my readers in the following chapter. To the Tawáti ʿAbdallah I was indebted for information on a variety of interesting matters, which I found afterwards confirmed in every respect. In a few points his statements were subject to correction, and still more to improvement, but in no single case did I find that he had deviated from the truth. I state this deliberately, in order to show that care must be taken to distinguish between information collected systematically by a native enjoying the entire confidence of his informant, and who, from his knowledge of the language and the subject about which he inquires, is able to control his informant’s statements, and that which is picked up incidentally by one who scarcely knows what he asks.
But to return to my diary, the visits paid me by the other people of Tawát became less frequent, as I had no coffee to treat them with; but I was rather glad of this circumstance, as my time was too short for labouring in that wide field of new information which opened before me, and it was necessary to confine myself at present to narrower limits. In this respect I was extremely fortunate in having obeyed my impulse to visit this place, which, however desolate it may appear to the traveller who first enters it, is still the centre of a large circle of commercial intercourse, while Tin-téllust is nothing but a small village, important merely from the character of the chief who resides in it, and where even those people who know a little about the country are afraid to communicate that very little. I would advise any traveller who should hereafter visit this country to make a long stay in this place, if he can manage to do so in comfort; for I am sure that there still remains to be collected in Ágades a store of the most valuable and interesting information.
In the afternoon of the 15th of October (the eve of the great holiday) ten chiefs of the Kél-gerés, on horseback, entered the town, and towards evening news was brought that Astáfidet, the chief of the Kél-owí residing in Ásodi, was not far off, and would make his solemn entry early in the morning. My companions, therefore, were extremely busy in getting ready and cleaning their holiday dress, or “yadó,” and Hámma could not procure tassels enough to adorn his high red cap, in order to give to his short figure a little more height. Poor fellow! he was really a good man, and one of the best of the Kél-owí; and the news of his being killed, in the sanguinary battle which was fought between his tribe and the Kél-gerés in 1854, grieved me not a little. In the evening there were singing and dancing (“wargi” and “wása”) all over the town, and all the people were merry except the followers of Mákita, or Ímkiten, “the Pretender,” and the Sultan ʿAbd el Káder was obliged to imprison three chiefs of the Itísan, who had come to urge Mákita’s claims.
It was on this occasion that I learnt that the mighty King of Ágades had not only a common prison, “gida-n-damré,” wherein he might confine the most haughty chiefs, but that he even exercised over them the power of life and death, and that he dispensed the favours of a terrible dungeon, bristling with swords and spears standing upright, upon which he was authorized to throw any distinguished malefactor. This latter statement, of the truth of which I had some doubt, was afterwards confirmed to me by the old chief Ánnur. In any case, however, such a cruel punishment cannot but be extremely rare.
Wednesday, October 16.—The 10th of Dhú el kádhi, 1266, was the first day of the great festival ʿAid el kebír, or Salla-léja (the feast of the sacrifice of the sheep), which in these regions is the greatest holiday of the Mohammedans, and was in this instance to have a peculiar importance and solemnity for Agades, as the installation of ʿAbd el Káder, who had not yet publicly assumed the government, was to take place the same day. Early in the morning, before daylight, Hámma and his companions left the house and mounted their camels, in order to pay their compliments to Astáfidet, and join him in his procession; and about sunrise the young chief entered and went directly to the “fáda,” at the head of from two hundred to three hundred Mehára, having left the greater number of his troop, which was said to amount to about two thousand men, outside the town.
Then, without much ceremony or delay, the installation, or “sarauta” of the new Sultan took place. The ceremonial was gone through inside the fáda, but this was the procedure: First of all, ʿAbd el Káder was conducted from his private apartments to the public hall. Then the chiefs of the Itísan and Kél-gerés, who went in front, begged him to sit down upon the “gadó,” a sort of couch or divan made of the leaves of the palm-tree, or of the branches of other trees, similar to the angaríb used in Egypt and the lands of the Upper Nile, and covered with mats and a carpet. Upon this the new Sultan sat down, resting his feet on the ground, not being allowed to put them upon the gadó, and recline in the Oriental style, until the Kél-owí desired him to do so. Such is the ceremony, symbolical of the combined participation of these different tribes in the investiture of their Sultan.
This ceremony being concluded, the whole holiday procession left the palace on its way to a chapel of a merábet called Sídi Hammáda, in Tára-bére, outside the town, where, according to an old custom, the prince was to say his prayers. This is a rule prevailing over the whole of Mohammedan Africa, and one which I myself witnessed in some of the most important of its capitals—in Ágades, in Kúkawa, in Más-eña, in Sókoto, and in Timbúktu; everywhere the principle is the same. Not deeming it prudent on such an occasion to mix with the people, I witnessed the whole procession from the terrace of our house, though I should have liked to have had a nearer view. The procession having taken its course through the most important quarter of the town, and through the market-places, turned round from the “káswa-n-delélti” to the oldest quarter of the town, and then returned westward, till at last it reached the above-mentioned chapel or tomb of Sídi Hammáda, where there is a small cemetery. The prayers being finished, the procession returned by the southern part of the town, and about ten o’clock the different parties which had composed the cortège separated.
In going as well as in returning the order of the procession was as follows: In front of all, accompanied by the musicians, rode the Sultan, on a very handsome horse of Tawáti breed, wearing, over his fine Sudán robe of coloured cotton and silk, the blue bernús I had presented to him, and wearing on his side a handsome scimitar with gold handle. Next to him rode the two sáraki-n-turáwa—Bóro, the ex-serki, on his left, and Ashu, who held the office at the time, on his right—followed by the “fádawa-n-serki,” after whom came the chiefs of the Itísan and Kél-gerés, all on horseback, in full dress and armour, with their swords, daggers, long spears, and immense shields.
Then came the longer train of the Kél-owí, mostly on mehára, or swift camels, with Sultan Astáfidet at their head; and last of all followed the people of the town, a few on horseback, but most of them on foot, and armed with swords and spears, and several with bows and arrows. The people were all dressed in their greatest finery, and it would have formed a good subject for an artist. It recalled the martial processions of the Middle Ages, the more so as the high caps of the Tuarek, surrounded by a profusion of tassels on every side, together with the black “tesílgemist,” or lithám, which covers the whole face, leaving nothing but the eyes visible, and the shawls wound over this and round the cap, combine to imitate the shape of the helmet, while the black and coloured tobes (over which on such occasions the principal people wear a red bernús thrown across their shoulders) represent very well the heavier dress of the knights of yore. I will only add that the fact of the Sultan wearing on so important and solemn an occasion a robe which had been presented to him by a stranger and a Christian had a powerful influence on the tribes collected here, and spread a beneficial report far westward over the desert.
Shortly after the procession was over, the friendly Haj ʿAbdúwa, who, after he had parted from us in Eghellál, had attached himself to the troop of Astáfidet, came to pay me a visit. He was now tolerably free from fever, but begged for some Epsom salts, besides a little gunpowder. He informed me that there was much sickness in the town, that from two to three people died daily, and that even Astáfidet was suffering from the prevalent disease. This was the small-pox, a very fatal disease in Central Africa, against which, however, several of the native Pagan tribes secure themselves by inoculation, a precaution from which Mohammedans are withheld by religious prejudice. I then received a visit from the sons of Bóro, in their official character as “fádawa-n-serki.” They wished to inform themselves, apparently, with reference to my adventure the other night, whether the townspeople behaved well towards me; and I was prudent enough to tell them that I had nothing to complain of, my alarm having been the consequence of my own imprudence. In fact the people behaved remarkably well, considering that I was the first Christian that ever visited the town; and the little explosions of fanaticism into which the women and children sometimes broke out, when they saw me on our terrace, rather amused me. During the first days of my residence in Ágades they most probably took me for a Pagan or a Polytheist, and cried after me the confessional words of Islam, laying all the stress upon the word Allah, “the One God;” but after a few days, when they had learnt that I likewise worshipped the Deity, they began to emphasize the name of their Prophet.
There was held about sunset a grave and well-attended divan of all the chiefs, to consult with respect to a “yáki,” or “égehen,” a ghazzia to be undertaken against the Mehárebín or freebooters of the Awelímmiden. While we were still in Tin-téllust the rumour had spread of an expedition undertaken by the latter tribe against Aïr, and the people were all greatly excited. For the poor Kél-owí, who have degenerated from their original vigour and warlike spirit by their intermixture with the black population and by their peaceable pursuits, are not less afraid of the Awelímmiden than they are of the Kél-gerés; and old Ánnur himself used to give me a dreadful description of that tribe, at which I afterwards often laughed heartily with the very people whom he intended to depict to me as monsters. By way of consoling us for the losses we had sustained, and the ill-treatment we had experienced from the people of Aïr, he told us that among the Awelímmiden we should have been exposed to far greater hardships, as they would not have hesitated to cut the tent over our heads into pieces, in order to make shirts of it. The old chief’s serious speeches had afterwards the more comical effect upon me as the tent alluded to, a common English marquee, mended as it was with cotton strips of all the various fashions of Negroland, constantly formed a subject of the most lively scientific dispute among those barbarians, who, not having seen linen before, were at a loss to make out of what stuff it was originally made. But, unluckily, I had not among the Kél-owí such a steadfast protector and mediator and so sensible a friend as I had when, three years later, I went among the Awelímmiden, who would certainly have treated me in another way if I had fallen into their hands unprotected.
The old and lurking hostility amongst the Kél-owí and Kél-gerés, which was at this very moment threatening an outbreak, had been smoothed down by the influential and intelligent chief Sídi Ghalli el Háj Ánnur (properly Eʾ Núr), one of the first men in Ágades; and those tribes had sworn to forget their private animosities, in order to defend themselves against, and revenge themselves upon, their common enemy the Awelímmiden. Hámma was very anxious to get from me a good supply of powder for Sídi Ghalli, who was to be the leader of the expedition; but I had scarcely any with me. While I was reclining in the evening rather mournfully upon my mat, not having been out of the house these last few days, the old friendly blacksmith came up, and invited me to a promenade, and with the greatest pleasure I acceded to the proposal. We left the town by the eastern side, the moon shining brightly, and throwing her magic light over the ruins of this once wealthy abode of commerce. Turning then a little south, we wandered over the pebbly plain till the voices heard from the encampment of the Kél-gerés frightened my companion, and we turned more northwards to the wells in Amelúli; having rested here awhile, we returned to our quarters.
Thursday, October 17.—Ánnur karamí, our amiable and indolent attendant, left this place for Tin-téllust with a note which I wrote to my colleagues, informing them of my safe arrival, my gracious reception, and the general character of the place. To-day the whole town was in agitation in consequence of one of those characteristic events which, in a place like Ágades, serve to mark the different periods of the year; for here a man can do nothing singly, but all must act together. The salt-caravan of the Itísan and Kél-gerés had collected, mustering, I was told, not less than ten thousand camels, and had encamped in Mérmeru and Tesak-n-tállem, ready to start for the salt-mines of Bilma, along a road which will be indicated further on. However exaggerated the number of the camels might be, it was certainly a very large caravan, and a great many of the inhabitants went out to settle their little business with the men, and take leave of their friends. Ghámbelu, the chief of the Itísan, very often himself accompanies this expedition, in which also many of the Tagáma take a part.
In the course of the day I had a rather curious conversation with a man from Táfidet, the native place of Háj ʿAbdúwa. After exchanging compliments with me, he asked me, abruptly, whether I always knew where water was to be found; and when I told him that though I could not exactly say in every case at what depth water was to be found, yet that, from the configuration of the ground, I should be able to tell the spot where it was most likely to be met with, he asked whether I had seen rock inscriptions on the road from Ghát; and I answered him that I had, and generally near watering-places. He then told me that I was quite right, but that in Táfidet there were many inscriptions upon rocks at a distance from water. I told him that perhaps at an earlier period water might have been found there, or that the inscriptions might have been made by shepherds; but this he thought very improbable, and persisted in his opinion that these inscriptions indicated ancient sepulchres, in which, probably, treasures were concealed. I was rather surprised at the philosophical conclusions at which this barbarian had arrived, and conjectured, as was really the case, that he had accompanied Háj ʿAbdúwa on his pilgrimage and on his passage through Egypt, and had there learned to make some archæological observations. He affected to believe that I was able to read the inscriptions, and tell all about the treasures; but I assured him that while he was partially right with regard to the inscriptions, he was quite wrong so far as regarded the treasures, as these rock inscriptions, so far as I was able to decipher them, indicated only names. But I was rather sorry that I did not myself see the inscriptions of which this man spoke, as I had heard many reports about them which had excited my curiosity, and I had even sent the little Fezzáni Fáki Makhlúk expressly to copy them, who, however, brought me back only an illegible scrawl.
Friday, October 18.—The last day of the Salla-léja was a merry day for the lower class of the inhabitants, but a serious one for the men of influence and authority; and many councils were held, one of them in my room. I then received a visit from a sister’s son of the Sultan, whose name was Alkáli, a tall, gentlemanlike man, who asked me why I did not yet leave Ágades and return to Tin-téllust. It seemed that he suspected me of waiting till the Sultan had made me a present in return for that received by him; but I told him that, though I wished ʿAbd el Káder to write me a letter for my Sultan, which would guarantee the safety of some future traveller belonging to our tribe, I had no further business here, but was only waiting for Hámma, who had not yet finished his bartering for provisions. He had seen me sketching on the terrace, and was somewhat inquisitive about what I had been doing there; but I succeeded in directing his attention to the wonderful powers of the pencil, with which he became so delighted that when I gave him one he begged another from me, in order that they might suffice for his lifetime.
Interesting also was the visit of Háj Beshír, the wealthy man of Iferwán whom I have already mentioned repeatedly, and who is an important personage in the country of Aïr. Unfortunately, instead of using his influence to facilitate our entrance into the country, his son had been among the chief leaders of the expedition against us. Though not young, he was lively and social, and asked me whether I should not like to marry some nice Emgedesíye girl. When he was gone I took a long walk through the town with Hámma, who was somewhat more communicative to-day than usual; but his intelligence was not equal to his energy and personal courage, which had been proved in many a battle. He had been often wounded, and having in the last skirmish received a deep cut on his head, he had made an enormous charm, which was generally believed to guarantee him from any further wound; and in fact, if the charm were to receive the blow, it would not be altogether useless, for it was a thick book. But his destiny was written.
There was a rather amusing episode in the incidents of the day. The ex-Sultan Hámed eʾ Rufäy, who had left many debts behind him, sent ten camel-loads of provisions and merchandise to be divided among his creditors; but a few Tuarek to whom he owed something seized the whole, so that the other poor people never obtained a farthing. To-day the great salt-caravan of the Kél-gerés and Itísan really started.
Saturday, October 19.—Hámma and his companions were summoned to a council which was to decide definitively in what quarter the arm of justice, now raised in wrath, was to strike the first blow; and it was resolved that the expedition should first punish the Imghád, the Ikázkezan, and Fádë-ang. The officer who made the proclamation through the town was provided with a very rude sort of drum, which was, in fact, nothing but an old barrel covered with a skin.
Sunday, October 20.—The most important event in the course of the day was a visit which I received from Mohammed Bóro, our travelling companion from Múrzuk, with his sons. It was the best proof of his noble character, that before we separated perhaps never to meet again, he came to speak with me, and to explain our mutual relations fairly. He certainly could not deny that he had been extremely angry with us; and I could not condemn him on this account, for he had been treated ignominiously. While Mr. Gagliuffi told him that we were persuaded that the whole success of our proceedings lay in his hands, he had been plainly given to understand that we set very little value on his services. Besides, he had sustained some heavy losses on the journey, and by waiting for us had consumed the provisions which he had got ready for the march.
Although an old man, he was first going with the expedition, after which he intended accompanying the caravan of the Kél-gerés to Sókoto with his whole family; for Sókoto is his real home. The salt-caravan and the company of this man offered a splendid opportunity for reaching that place in safety and by the most direct road; but our means did not allow of such a journey, and after all it was better, at least for myself, that it was not undertaken, since, as matters went, it was reserved for me, before I traced my steps towards the western regions, to discover the upper navigable course of the eastern branch of the so-called Niger, and make sundry other important discoveries. Nevertheless, Bóro expressed his hope of seeing me again in Sókoto, and his wish might easily have been accomplished. He certainly must have been, when in the vigour of life, a man, in the full sense of the word, and well deserved the praise of the Emgedesíye, who have a popular song beginning with the words, “Ágades has no men but Bóro and Dahámmi.” I now also became aware why he had many enemies in Múrzuk, who unfortunately succeeded in making Gagliuffi believe that he had no authority whatever in his own country; for as serki-n-turáwa he had to levy the tax of ten mithkáls on every camel-load of merchandise, and this he is said to have done with some degree of severity. After a long conversation on the steps of the terrace, we parted, the best possible friends.
Not so pleasant to me, though not without interest, was the visit of another great man—Belróji, the támberi or war-chieftain of the Ighólar Im-esághlar. He was still in his prime, but my Kél-owí (who were always wrangling like children) got up a desperate fight with him in my very room, which was soon filled with clouds of dust; and the young Slimán entered during the row, and joining in it, it became really frightful. The Kél-owí were just like children; when they went out they never failed to put on all their finery, which they threw off as soon as they came within doors, resuming their old dirty clothes.
It was my custom in the afternoon, when the sun had set behind the opposite buildings, to walk up and down in front of our house; and while so doing to-day I had a long conversation with two chiefs of the Itísan on horseback, who came to see me, and avowed their sincere friendship and regard. They were fine, tall men, but rather slim, with a noble expression of countenance and of light colour. Their dress was simple but handsome, and arranged with great care. All the Tuarek, from Ghát as far as Háusa, and from Alákkos to Timbúktu, are passionately fond of the tobes and trousers called “tailelt” (the Guinea-fowl), or “fílfil” (the pepper), on account of their speckled colour. They are made of silk and cotton interwoven, and look very neat. The lowest part of the trousers, which forms a narrow band about two inches broad, closing rather tightly, is embroidered in different colours. None of the Tuarek of pure blood would, I think, degrade themselves by wearing on their head the red cap.
Monday, October 21.—Early in the morning I went with Hámma to take leave of the Sultan, who had been too busy for some days to favour me with an audience; and I urged my friend to speak of the treaty though I was myself fully aware of the great difficulty which so complicated a paper, written in a form entirely unknown to the natives, and which must naturally be expected to awaken their suspicion, would create, and of the great improbability of its being signed while the Sultan was pressed with a variety of business. On the way to the fáda we met Áshu, the present serki-n-turáwa, a large-sized man, clad in an entirely white dress, which may not improbably be a sign of his authority over the white men (Turáwa). He is said to be a very wealthy man. He replied to my compliments with much kindness, entered into conversation with me about the difference of our country and theirs, and ordered one of his companions to take me to a small garden which he had planted near his house in the midst of the town, in order to see what plants we had in common with them. Of course there was nothing like our plants; and my cicerone conceived rather a poor idea of our country when he heard that all the things which they had we had not—neither senna, nor bamia, nor indigo, nor cotton, nor Guinea-corn, nor, in short, the most beautiful of all trees of the creation, as he thought—the talha, or Mimosa ferruginea; and he seemed rather incredulous when told that we had much finer plants than they.
We then went to the fáda. The Sultan seemed quite ready for starting. He was sitting in the courtyard of his palace, surrounded by a multitude of people and camels, while the loud murmuring noise of a number of schoolboys who were learning the Kurán proceeded from the opposite corner, and prevented my hearing the conversation of the people. The crowd and the open locality were, of course, not very favourable to my last audience, and it was necessarily a cold one. Supported by Hámma, I informed the Sultan that I expected still to receive a letter from him to the Government under whose auspices I was travelling, expressive of the pleasure and satisfaction he had felt in being honoured with a visit from one of the mission, and that he would gladly grant protection to any future traveller who should happen to visit his country. The Sultan promised that such a letter should be written; however, the result proved that either he had not quite understood what I meant, or, what is more probable, that in his precarious situation he felt himself not justified in writing to a Christian government, especially as he had received no letter from it.
When I had returned to my quarters, Hámma brought me three letters, in which ʿAbd el Káder recommended my person and my luggage to the care of the Governors of Kanó, Kátsena, and Dáura, and which were written in rather incorrect Arabic, and in nearly the same terms. They were as follows:—