Saturday, Jan. 18.—We made a good start with our camels, which, having been treated to a considerable allowance of salt on the first day of our halt, had made the best possible use of these four days’ rest to recruit their strength. At the considerable village of Kálgo, which we passed at a little less than five miles beyond our encampment, the country became rather hilly, but only for a short distance. Tamarinds constituted the greatest ornament of the landscape. A solitary traveller attracted our notice on account of his odd attire, mounted as he was on a bullock with three large pitchers on each side. Four miles beyond Kálgo the character of the country became suddenly changed, and dense groups of dúm-palms covered the ground. But what pleased me more than the sight of these slender forked trees was when, half an hour after mid-day, I recognized my splendid old friend the bóre-tree, of the valley Bóghel, which had excited my surprise in so high a degree, and the magnificence of which at its first appearance was not at all eclipsed by this second specimen in the fertile regions of Negroland. Soon afterwards we reached the fáddama of Gazáwa; and, leaving the town on our right hidden in the thick forest, we encamped a little further on in an open place, which was soon crowded with hucksters and retailers. I was also pestered with a visit from some half-caste Arabs settled in the town; but fortunately, seeing that they were likely to wait in vain for a present, they went off, and were soon succeeded by a native mʿallem from the town, whose visit was most agreeable to me.
About sunset the “serkí-n-turáwa,” or consul of the Arabs, came to pay his regards to Elaíji, and introduced the subject of a present, which, as he conceived, I ought to make to the governor of the town as a sort of passage-money; my protector, however, would not listen to the proposal, but merely satisfied his visitor’s curiosity by calling me into his presence and introducing him to me. The serkí was very showily and picturesquely dressed—in a green and white striped tobe, wide trousers of a speckled pattern and colour, like the plumage of the Guinea-fowl, with an embroidery of green silk in front of the legs. Over this he wore a gaudy red bernús, while round his red cap a red and white turban was wound crosswise in a very neat and careful manner. His sword was slung over his right shoulder by means of thick hangers of red silk ornamented with enormous tassels. He was mounted on a splendid charger, the head and neck of which was most fancifully ornamented with a profusion of tassels, bells, and little leather pockets containing charms, while from under the saddle a shabrack peeped out, consisting of little triangular patches in all the colours of the rainbow.
This little African dandy received me with a profusion of the finest compliments, pronounced with the most refined and sweet accent of which the Háusa language is capable. When he was gone my old friend Elaíji informed me that he had prevented the “consul of the Arabs” from exacting a present from me, and begged me to acknowledge his service by a cup of coffee, which of course I granted him with all my heart. Poor old Elaíji! He died in the year 1854, in the forest between Gazáwa and Kátsena, where from the weakness of age he lost his way when left alone. He has left on my memory an image which I shall always recall with pleasure. He was certainly the most honourable and religious man among the Kél-owí.
The market in our encampment, which continued till nightfall, reached its highest pitch at sunset, when the people of the town brought ready-made “túwo,” each dish, with rather a small allowance, selling for three kurdí, or not quite the fourth part of a farthing. I, however, was happy in not being thrown upon this three-kurdí supper; and while I indulged in my own home-made dish, Gajére entertained me with the narrative of a nine days’ siege, which the warlike inhabitants of Gazáwa had sustained, ten years previously, against the whole army of the famous Bello.
Sunday, Jan. 19.—We remained encamped, and my day was most agreeably and usefully spent in gathering information with regard to the regions which I had just entered. There was first Maʿadi, the slave of Ánnur, a native of Bórnu, who when young had been made prisoner by the Búdduma of the lake, and had resided three years among these interesting people, till having fallen into the hands of the Welád Slimán, then in Kánem, he at length, on the occasion of the great expedition of the preceding year, had fallen into the power of the Kél-owí. Although he owed the loss of his liberty to the freebooting islanders, he was nevertheless a great admirer of theirs, and a sincere vindicator of their character. He represented them as a brave and high-spirited people, who made glorious and successful inroads upon the inhabitants of the shores of the lake with surprising celerity, while at home they were a pious and God-fearing race, and knew neither theft nor fraud among themselves. He concluded his eloquent eulogy of this valorous nation of pirates by expressing his fervent hope that they might for ever preserve their independence against the ruler of Bórnu.
I then wrote, from the mouth of Gajére and Yáhia (another of my friends), a list of the places lying round about Gazáwa, as follows: On the east side, Mádobí, Maíjirgí, Kógena na kay-debu, Kórmasa, Kórgom, Kánche (a little independent principality); Gumdá, half a day east of Gazáwa, with numbers of Ásbenáwa; Démbeda, or Dúmbida, at less distance; Shabáli, Babíl, Túrmeni, Gínga, Kandémka, Sabó-n-kefí, Zángoni-n-ákwa, Kúrni, Kurnáwa, Dángudaw. On the west side, where the country is more exposed to the inroads of the Fúlbe or Féllani, there is only one place of importance, called Tindúkku, which name seems to imply a close relation to the Tuarek. All these towns and villages are said to be in a certain degree dependent on Raffa, the “babá” (i.e. great man or chief) of Gazáwa, who, however, himself owes allegiance to the supreme ruler of Marádi.
There was an exciting stir in the encampment at about ten o’clock in the morning, illustrative of the restless struggle going on in these regions. A troop of about forty horsemen, mostly well mounted, led on by the serkí-n-Gumdá, and followed by a body of tall, slender archers, quite naked but for their leathern aprons, passed through the different rows of the áïri, on their way to join the expedition which the prince of Marádi was preparing against the Féllani.
About noon the natron caravan of Háj Al Wáli, which I had seen in Tasáwa, came marching up in solemn order, led on by two drums, and affording a pleasant specimen of the character of the Háusa people. Afterwards I went into the town, which was distant from my tent about half a mile. Being much exposed to attacks from the Mohammedans, as the southernmost Pagan place belonging to the Marádi-Góber Union, Gazáwa has no open suburbs outside its strong stockade, which is surrounded by a deep ditch. It forms almost a regular quadrangle, having a gate on each side, built of clay, which gives to the whole fortification a more regular character, besides the greater strength which the place derives from this precaution. Each gateway is twelve feet deep, and furnished on its top with a rampart sufficiently capacious for about a dozen archers. The interior of the town is almost of the same character as Tasáwa; but Gazáwa is rather more closely built, though I doubt whether its circumference exceeds that of the former place. The market is held every day, but, as might be supposed, is far inferior to that of Tasáwa, which is a sort of little entrepôt for the merchants coming from the north, and affords much more security than Gazáwa, which, though an important place with regard to the struggle carried on between Paganism and Islamism in these quarters, is not so with respect to commerce. The principal things offered for sale were cattle, meat, vegetables of different kinds, and earthenware pots. Gazáwa has also a máriná, or dyeing-place, but of less extent than that of Tasáwa, as most of its inhabitants are Pagans, and wear no clothing but the leathern apron. Their character appeared to me to be far more grave than that of the inhabitants of Tasáwa, and this is a natural consequence of the precarious position in which they are placed, as well as of their more warlike disposition. The whole population is certainly not less than ten thousand.
Having visited the market, I went to the house of the mʿallem, where I found several Ásbenáwa belonging to our caravan enjoying themselves in a very simple manner, eating the fruits of the kaña, which are a little larger than cherries, but not so soft and succulent. The mʿallem, as I had an opportunity of learning on this occasion, is a protégé of Elaíji, to whom the house belongs. Returning with my companions to our encampment, I witnessed a very interesting sort of dance, or rather gymnastic play, performed on a large scale by the Kél-owí, who being arranged in long rows, in pairs, and keeping up a regular motion, pushed along several of their number under their arms—not very unlike some of our old dances.
Monday, Jan. 20.—Starting early in the morning, we felt the cold very sensibly, the thermometer standing at 48° Fahr. a little before sunset. Cultivated fields interrupted from time to time the underwood for the first three miles, while the “ngílle,” or “kába,” formed the most characteristic feature of the landscape; but dúm-palms, at first very rarely seen, soon became prevalent, and continued for the next two miles. Then the country became more open, while in the distance to the left extended a low range of hills. New species of trees appeared, which I had not seen before, as the “kókia,” a tree with large leaves of a dark-green colour, with a green fruit of the size of an apple, but not eatable. The first solitary specimens of the gigiña, or deléb-palm, which is one of the most characteristic trees of the more southern regions, were also met with.
Moving silently along, about noon we met a considerable caravan, with a great number of oxen and asses led by two horsemen, and protected in the rear by a strong guard of archers; for this is one of the most dangerous routes in all Central Africa, where every year a great many parties are plundered by marauders, no one being responsible for the security of this disputed territory. We had here a thick forest on our left, enlivened by numbers of birds; then about two o’clock in the afternoon we entered a fine undulating country, covered with a profusion of herbage, while the large gámshi-tree, with its broad fleshy leaves of the finest green, formed the most remarkable object of the vegetable kingdom. All this country was once a bustling scene of life, with numbers of towns and villages, till, at the very commencement of this century, the “Jihádi,” or Reformer, rose among the Fúlbe of Góber, and, inflaming them with fanatic zeal, urged them on to merciless warfare against Pagans as well as Mohammedans.
It was here that my companions drew my attention to the tracks of the elephant, of whose existence in the more northern regions we had not hitherto seen the slightest trace; so that this seems to be the limit of its haunts on this side; and it was shortly afterwards that Gajére descried in the distance a living specimen making slowly off to the east; but my sight was not strong enough to distinguish it. Thus we entered the thicker part of the forest, and about half-past four in the afternoon reached the site of the large town of Dánkama, whither Mágajin Háddedu, the king of Kátsena, had retired after his residence had been taken by the Fúlbe, and from whence he waged unrelenting but unsuccessful war against the bloody-minded enemies of the religious as well as political independence of his country. Once, indeed, the Fúlbe were driven out of Kátsena; but they soon returned with renewed zeal and with a fresh army, and the Háusa prince was expelled from his ancient capital for ever. After several battles, Dánkama, whither all the nobility and wealth of Kátsena had retired, was taken, ransacked, and burnt.
A solitary colossal kúka (baobab), representing in its huge, leafless, and gloomy frame the sad recollections connected with this spot, shoots out from the prickly underwood which thickly overgrows the locality, and points out the market-place, once teeming with life. It was a most affecting moment; for, as if afraid of the evil spirits dwelling in this wild and deserted spot, all the people of the caravan, while we were thronging along the narrow paths opening between the thick prickly underwood, shouted with wild cries, cursing and execrating the Féllani, the authors of so much mischief; all the drums were beating, and every one pushed on in order to get out of this melancholy neighbourhood as soon as possible.
Having passed a little after sunset a large granitic mass projecting from the ground, called Korremátse, and once a place of worship, we saw in the distance, in front, the fires of those parties of the aïri which had preceded us; and greeting them with a wild cry, we encamped on the uneven ground in great disorder, as it had become quite dark. After a long march I felt very glad when the tent was at length pitched. While the fire was lighted, and the supper preparing, Gajére informed me that, besides Dánkama, Bello destroyed also the towns of Jankúki and Madáwa in this district, which now presents such a frightful wilderness.
In the course of the night the roar of a lion was heard close by our encampment.
Tuesday, Jan. 21.—We started, with general enthusiasm, at an early hour; and the people of our troop seeing the fires of the other divisions of the salt caravan in front of us still burning, jeered at their laziness, till at length, on approaching within a short distance of the fires, we found that the other people had set out long before, leaving their fires burning. A poor woman, carrying a load on her head, and leading a pair of goats, had attached herself to our party in Gazáwa; and though she had lost her goats in the bustle of the previous afternoon, she continued her journey cheerfully and with resignation.
After five hours’ march the whole caravan was suddenly brought to a stand for some time, the cause of which was a ditch of considerable magnitude, dug right across the path, and leaving only a narrow passage, the beginning of a small path which wound along through thick, thorny underwood. This, together with the ditch, formed a sort of outer defence for the cultivated fields and the pasture-grounds of Kátsena, against any sudden inroad. Having passed another projecting mass of granite rock, we passed two small villages on our left, called Túlla and Takumáku, from whence the inhabitants came out to salute us. We encamped at length in a large stubble-field, beyond some kitchen-gardens, where pumpkins (dúmma) were planted, two miles north-east from the town of Kátsena. While we were pitching my tent, which was the only one in the whole encampment, the Sultan or Governor of Kátsena came out with a numerous retinue of horsemen, all well dressed and mounted; and having learnt from Elaíji that I was a Christian traveller belonging to a mission (a fact, however, which he knew long before), he sent me soon afterwards a ram and two large calabashes or dúmmos filled with honey—an honour which was rather disagreeable to me than otherwise, as it placed me under the necessity of making the governor a considerable present in return. I had no article of value with me, and I began to feel some unpleasant foreboding of future difficulties.
An approximative estimate of the entire number of the salt caravan, as affording the means of accurately determining the amount of a great national commerce carried on between widely separated countries, had much occupied my attention, and having in vain tried on the road to arrive at such an estimate, I did all I could to-day to obtain a list of the different divisions composing it; but although Yáhia, one of the principal of Ánnur’s people, assured me that there were more than thirty troops, I was not able to obtain particulars of more than the following; viz. encamped on this same ground with us was the salt caravan of Ánnur, of Elaíji, of Hámma with the Kél-táfidet, of Sálah, of Háj Makhmúd with the Kél-tagrímmat, of Ámaki with the Amákita, of the Imasághlar (led by Mohammed dan Ággeg), of the Kél-azanéres, of the Kél-ínger (the people of Zingína), of the Kél-ágwau, and finally that of the Kél-chémia. No doubt none of these divisions had more than two hundred camels laden with salt, exclusive of the young and the spare camels; the whole of the salt, therefore, collected here at the time was at the utmost worth one hundred millions of kurdí, or about eight thousand pounds sterling. Beside the divisions of the aïri which I have just enumerated as encamped on this spot, the Erázar were still behind, while the following divisions had gone on in advance: the Kél-n-Néggaru; the Iseráraran, with the chief Bárka and the támberi (war chieftain) Nasóma; and the Ikázkezan, with the chiefs Mohammed Irólagh and Wuentúsa.
We may therefore not be far from the truth if we estimate the whole number of the salt caravan of the Kél-owí of this year at two thousand five hundred camels. To this must be added the salt which had gone to Zínder, and which I estimate at about a thousand camel-loads, and that which had been left in Tasáwa for the supply of the markets of the country as far as Góber, which I estimate at from two hundred to three hundred camel-loads. But it must be borne in mind that the country of Ásben had been for some time in a more than ordinarily turbulent state, and that consequently the caravan was at this juncture probably less numerous than it would be in quiet times.
Being rather uneasy with regard to the intention of the governor of the province, I went early the next morning to Elaíji, and assured him that besides some small things, such as razors, cloves, and frankincense, I possessed only two red caps to give to the governor, and that I could not afford to contract more debts by buying a bernús. The good old man was himself aware of the governor’s intention, who, he told me, had made up his mind to get a large present from me, otherwise he would not allow me to continue my journey. I wanted to visit the town, but was prevented from doing so under these circumstances, and therefore remained in the encampment.
The governor, who spends a great deal of his time in a country house which he has recently built outside the town, about noon held a sort of review of several hundred horsemen, whose horses, in general, were in excellent condition. They were armed with a straight sword hanging on the left, a long heavy spear for thrusting, and a shield, either of the same description as that of the Tuarek, of oblong shape, made of the hide of the large antelope (Leucoryx), or else of bullock’s or elephant’s hide, and forming an immense circular disc of about five feet in diameter; some of them wore also the dagger at the left arm, while I counted not more than four or five muskets. Their dress was picturesque, and not too flowing for warlike purposes, the large shirt, or shirts (for they generally wear two), being fastened round the breast with an Egyptian shawl with a red border; and even those who were dressed in a bernús had it wound round their breasts. Most of them wore black “ráwani,” or shawls, round their faces, a custom which the Féllani of Háusa have adopted from the Tuarek merely on account of its looking warlike; for they have no superstitious reason for covering the mouth. The harness of the horses was all of Háusa manufacture, the saddles very different from those of the Tuarek (which seem to be identical with the old Arab saddles). The stirrups formed a very peculiar kind of medium between the large, unwieldy stirrups of the modern Arab and the small ones of the Tuarek and Europeans, the sole of the stirrup being long, but turned down at both ends, while it is so narrow that the rider can only thrust the naked foot into it. I could not understand the principle upon which this kind of stirrup is made. It appeared to me a most absurd specimen of workmanship.
The Féllani in Kátsena have good reason to be on their guard against the Kél-owí, who, in an underhand way, are always assisting the independent Háusa states of Góber and Marádi in their struggle, and might some day easily make common cause with them to drive out these arrogant intruders from the conquered provinces. In fact they have done all in their power to attain this object; and Ánnur’s policy is so well known to the Féllani that once when he came to Kátsena he received most shameful treatment at their hands. Afterwards I was visited by el Wákhshi, and paid him in return a visit at that part of the encampment where some of his merchandise was deposited, for he himself was living in the town. Here he introduced to me a person who was very soon to become one of my direst tormentors, the bare remembrance of whom is even now unpleasant; it was the háj Bel-Ghét, a man born in Tawát, but who had long been settled in Kátsena, and though not with the title, yet in reality holding the office of a “serkí-n-turáwa.”
A troop of eight mounted royal musicians (“masukídda-n-serkí”), who had been playing the whole day before the several divisions of the “aïri,” came likewise to my tent in the course of the afternoon, and gratified my ears with a performance on their various instruments. There was the drum, or “ganga,” very much like our own instrument of that kind, and of about the same size as the common regimental drum; the long wind instrument, or “pampámme;” a shorter one, a sort of flute, or “elgaita;”[15] a sort of double tambourine, or “kalángo;” a simple tympanum, or “koso;” a sort of double Egyptian darabúka, called “jójo;” and a small horn, or “kafó.” The most common among them is the “jójo,” which in Háusa is the chief instrument made use of in an expedition, and, if accompanied by the voice, is not disagreeable. With these various instruments the well-mounted horsemen made a pretty good noise; but it was neither harmonious nor characteristic: to all this pompous imitative music I prefer a few strains with natural feeling by a solitary maimólo. I was obliged to reward my entertainers with a large quantity of cloves, as I had scarcely anything else left.
I was rather astonished to hear that the Ásbenáwa do not pay passage-money to the governor according to the number of their camels, but that every freeman among them makes him a present of one kántu of salt. For every beast of burden, be it pack-ox or donkey, five hundred kurdí are generally paid.
Thursday, Jan. 23.—Having assorted such a present as I could afford, I protested once more to Elaíji that, my other luggage having gone on in advance to Kanó, I had but very little to offer the governor.
I went about noon with my protector and a great number of Ásbenáwa to offer the governor my compliments and my present. Sitting down under a tree at a considerable distance from the spot where he himself was seated, we waited a little, till we should be called into his presence, when his brother, who held the office of ghaladíma, came to us—a man of immense corpulency, resembling a eunuch. Indeed, nothing but the cut of his face, his aquiline nose and rather light colour, and the little goatlike beard which ornamented his chin could expose him to the suspicion of being a Púllo or Ba-Féllanchi.[16] He wanted to treat my business apart from that of Elaíji, who, however, declared that he had come only for my sake. While the fat ghaladíma was returning to inform his brother of what he had heard, a troop of well-mounted Kélesárar (who, as I was told, are settled at present in the province of Kátsena) came up at full speed. It was not long before a servant came from the serkí, inviting me alone into his presence.
Mohammed Béllo Yeríma, the eldest son of the former well-known governor, Mʿallem Ghomáro,[17] was seated under a widespreading and luxuriant tamarind-tree, dressed simply in a large white shirt with a black ráwani round his face. The Ásbenáwa, who formed a large semicircle around him, were dressed most gaudily. Stepping into the opening of the semicircle, I saluted the governor, telling him that as I and my companions had lost, on the border of Asben, almost all the valuable property we had brought with us, and as the few things left to me had gone on to Kanó, he ought to excuse me for being unable at the present moment to offer him a present worthy of his high position; that it was my desire to go on without delay to Kanó, in order to settle my affairs, and to proceed to Bórnu, where we expected to receive fresh supplies, after which one of our party certainly would go to Sókoto, in order to pay our respects to the Emír el Múmenín. The governor answered my address with much apparent kindness, telling me that I was now in his “imána,” or under his protection, and that he had no other purpose but to do what would be conducive to my advantage. He then asked the news of my companions, though he knew all about them, and did not appear to take the least offence at Mr. Overweg’s going to Marádi, although the people and the ruler of that place were his most inveterate enemies. But things must not be looked upon here as they would be in Europe; for here people are accustomed to see strangers from the north pay visits to all sorts of princes, whatever may be their policy. However, while he spoke in rather friendly terms to me, and while my presents were received thankfully by the servants, he declared to the people who were sitting near him that as the ruler of Bórnu had laid hold of one of my companions, and that of Marádi of the other, he should be a fool if he were to let me pass out of his hands. I therefore took leave of him with no very light heart.
My present consisted of two fine red caps, a piece of printed calico which I had bought in Múrzuk for four Spanish dollars, but which was of a pattern not much liked in Sudán, an English razor and scissors, one pound of cloves, another of frankincense, a piece of fine soap, and a packet of English needles. Though it certainly was not a very brilliant present, yet, considering that I did not want anything from him, it was quite enough; but the fact was that he wanted something more from me, and therefore it was not sufficient.
Early the following morning, while it was still dark, a servant of the governor came with Elaíji to my tent, requesting me to stay voluntarily behind the caravan. Though this would have been the best plan, had I known that the governor had set his heart upon keeping me back, yet I could not well assent to it, as I had nothing at all with me, not even sufficient to keep me and my people for a short time from starving. I therefore told him that it was impossible for me to stay behind, and prepared to go on with the caravan which was setting out. This, however, Elaíji would not allow me to do, but while all the divisions of the aïri started one after the other, he himself remained behind with several of the principal men of the caravan, till Háj Bel-Ghét came and announced that it was necessary for me to go to the town, there to await the decision of the governor. Seeing that nothing was to be done but to obey, and having in vain shown my letter of recommendation from the Sultan of Ágades, from which, as I had feared from the beginning, nothing was inferred but that I had been directly forwarded by him to the Governor of Kátsena in order to see me safe to Sókoto, I took leave of Elaíji, thanking him and his friends for their trouble, and followed Bel-Ghét and his companion Músa into the town.
The immense mass of the wall, measuring in its lower part not less than thirty feet, and its wide circumference, made a deep impression upon me. The town (if town it may be called) presented a most cheerful rural scene, with its detached light cottages, and its stubble-fields shaded with a variety of fine trees; but I suspect that this ground was not entirely covered with dwellings even during the most glorious period of Kátsena. We travelled a mile and a half before we reached the “zínsere,” a small dwelling used by the governor as a place of audience—on account, as it seems, of a splendid widespreading fig-tree growing close to it, and forming a thick shady canopy sufficient for a large number of people.
I, however, was conducted to the other side of the building, where a quadrangular chamber projects from the half-decayed wall, and had there to wait a long time, till the governor came into town from his new country seat. Having at last arrived, he called me, and, thanking me for remaining with him, he promised that I should be well treated as his guest, and that without delay a house should be placed at my disposal. He was a man of middle age, and had much in his manners and features which made him resemble an actor; and such he really is, and was still more so in his younger days.
Taking leave of him for the present, I followed Bel-Ghét to my quarters; but we had still a good march to make, first through detached dwellings of clay, then leaving the immense palace of the governor on our left, and entering what may be strictly called the town, with connected dwellings. Here I was lodged in a small house opposite the spacious dwelling of Bel-Ghét; and though on first entering I found it almost insupportable, I soon succeeded in making myself tolerably comfortable in a clean room neatly arranged. It seemed to have once formed the snug seat for a well-furnished harím; at least the dark passages leading to the interior could not be penetrated by a stranger’s eye. We had scarcely taken possession of our quarters when the governor sent me a ram and two ox-loads of corn—one of “dáwa,” and the other of “géro.” But instead of feeling satisfied with this abundant provision, we were quite horrified at it, as I with my three people might have subsisted a whole year on the corn sent us; and we began to have uneasy forebodings of a long detention. Indeed, we suspected, and were confirmed in our suspicion by the statements of several people, that it was the governor’s real intention to forward me directly to Sókoto, a circumstance which alienated from me my servants—even the faithful Mohammed el Gatróni, who was much afraid of going there.
However, my new protector, Bel-Ghét, did not leave me much time for reflection, but soon came back to take me again to the governor. Having sat awhile in the cool shade of the tree, we were called into his audience-room, which was nothing more than the round hut or dérne (“zaure” in Kanúri) which generally forms the entrance and passage-room in every Púllo establishment. Besides myself, the háj Bel-Ghét, and his constant companion Músa, there was also the wealthy merchant Háj Wáli, whom I had seen in Tasáwa, when he tried to persuade me to follow the men sent to take me to Zínder, while he now sought to represent the governor of Kátsena as the greatest man in all Negroland, and the best friend I could have. The governor soon began to display his talent as an actor, and had the unfortunate letter from the Sultan of Ágades read, interpreted, and commented upon. According to the sagacious interpretation of these men, the purport of the letter was to recommend me expressly to this governor as a fit person to be detained in his company. All my representations to the effect that my friend ʿAbd el Káder had recommended me in exactly the same terms to the governors of Dáura and Kanó, and that I had forwarded a letter from Ágades to the Emír el Múmenín, in Sókoto, informing him that as soon as we had received new supplies from the coast one of us at least would certainly pay him a visit, which under present circumstances, robbed and destitute as we were, we could not well do, were all in vain; he had an answer for every objection, and was impudent enough to tell me that a message had been received from Marádi, soliciting me to go thither; that as Bórnu had laid hold of one of my companions, and Marádi of the other, so he would lay hold of me, but of course only in order to become my benefactor (“se al khére”). Seeing that reply was useless, and that it was much better to let this lively humourist go through his performance, and to wait patiently for the end of the comedy, I took leave of him, and returned to my quarters.
Late in the evening the governor sent for Mohammed, who could scarcely be expected, with his fiery and inconsiderate behaviour, to improve the state of things; and as the governor’s dwelling was a good way off, I was obliged to allow him to go armed with a pair of pistols, which soon attracted the attention of our host, who complained bitterly that while all the petty chiefs had received from us such splendid presents, he, the greatest man in Negroland, had got nothing. Mohammed having told him that the pistols belonged to me, he wanted me to present them to him; but this I obstinately refused, as I was convinced that the whole success of our further proceedings depended on our firearms.
I was rather glad when el Wákhshi called upon me the following morning, as I trusted he might help me out of the scrape. After conversing with him about my situation, I went out with him to stroll about the town. We had gone, however, but a little way when Bel-Ghét saw us, and reprimanded me severely for going out without asking his permission. Growing rather warm at such humiliating treatment, I told him, in very plain terms, that as long as the governor refrained from posting soldiers before my door I would regard myself as a free man, and at liberty to go where I chose. Seeing that he could not wreak his anger directly upon me, he tried to do it indirectly, by reprimanding my companion for going about with this “káfer,” and confirming the “káfer” in his refractoriness against the will of the Sultan. Not feeling much honoured with the title thus bestowed on me, I told him that as yet nobody in the whole town had insulted me with that epithet, but that he alone had the insolence to apply it. When the miserable fellow saw me irritated he did not hesitate to declare that, though well versed in the Kurán, he had been entirely unaware of the meaning of “káfer,” and begged me to give him full information about the relations of the English to the various Mohammedan states. When I came to speak about Morocco he interrupted me, as, being a native of Gurára, he might be presumed to know the relations of those countries better than I did; and he insisted that the English were not on good terms with the Emperor of Morocco and were not allowed to visit Fás (Fez). I then declared to him that there could scarcely be a more unmistakable proof of the friendly relations existing between the English and Mulʿa ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán than the present of four magnificent horses, which the latter had lately sent to the Queen of England. He then confessed that he was more of an antiquarian, and ignorant of the present state of matters; but he was quite sure that during the time of Mulʿa Ismʿaíl it certainly was as he had stated. To this I replied, that while all the Mohammedan states, including Morocco, had since that time declined in power, the Christians, and the English in particular, had made immense steps in advance. We then shook hands, and I left the poor Moslim to his own reflections.
Proceeding with el Wákhshi on our intended promenade, and laughing at the scrape into which he had almost got by changing (in the dispute with Bel-Ghét) the honorary title of the latter, “Sultàn ben eʾ Sultán” (Sultan, son of Sultan), into that of “Shitán ben eʾ Shitán” (Satan, son of Satan), we went to the house of a ghadámsi, where we found several Arab and native merchants collected together, and among them a ghadámsi who bore the same name as that which, for more friendly intercourse with the natives, I had adopted on these journeys, namely, that of ʿAbd el Kerím. This man had accompanied ʿAbd Allah (Clapperton) on his second journey from Kanó to Sókoto, and was well acquainted with all the circumstances attending his death. He was greatly surprised to hear that “Ríshar” (Richard Lander), whom he had believed to be a younger brother of Clapperton, had not only successfully reached the coast, after his circuitous journey to Danróro, and after having been dragged back by force from his enterprising march upon Fanda, but had twice returned from England to those quarters before he fell a victim to his arduous exertions.
I then returned, with my old Ghadámsi friend, to my lodgings, where Bel-Ghét came soon after us, and once more begged my pardon for having called me “káfer.”
Afterwards el Wákhshi brought me a loaf of sugar, that I might make a present of it to Bel-Ghét. On this occasion he cast his eyes on a small telescope which I had bought in Paris for six francs, and begged me to give it to him for the loaf of sugar which he had just lent me. I complied with his wish. Taking the loaf of sugar with me, and the two other letters of the Sultan of Ágades, as well that addressed to the Governor of Dáura, as that to the Governor of Kanó, I went to Bel-Ghét, and, presenting him with the sugar as a small token of my acknowledgment for the trouble he was taking in my behalf, I showed him the letters as a proof that the Sultan of Ágades never intended to forward me to his friend the Governor of Kátsena as a sort of “abenchí” or a tit-bit for himself, but that he acknowledged entirely my liberty of action, and really wished to obtain protection for me wherever I might choose to go. Bel-Ghét, being touched by the compliments I paid him, affected to understand now for the first time the real circumstances of my case, and promised to lend me his assistance if I would bind myself to return to Kátsena from Bórnu, after having received sufficient supplies from the coast. This I did to a certain degree, under the condition that circumstances should not prove unfavourable to such a proceeding; indeed I doubted at that time very much whether I should be able to return this way again. But when I did re-visit Kátsena in the beginning of 1853, with a considerable supply of presents, and met before the gates of the town this same man, who had been sent to compliment me on the part of the same governor, it was a triumph which I could scarcely have expected. The old man was on the latter occasion almost beside himself with joy, and fell upon my neck exclaiming, over and over again, “ʿAbd el Kerím! ʿAbd el Kerím!” while I told him, “Here I am, although both my companions have died; I am come to fulfil my promise. I am on my way to Sókoto, with valuable presents for the Emír el Múmenín.”
Leaving Bel-Ghét in better humour, I went with el Wákhshi to his house, where he treated me and two Ásbenáwa with a dish of roasted fowl and dates, after which I proceeded with him through the decayed and deserted quarter where the rich Ghadámsíye merchants once lived, and through some other streets in a rather better state, to the market-place, which forms a large regular quadrangle, with several rows of sheds, or runfá, of the same style as those in Tasáwa, but much better and more regularly built. Of course there was here a better supply of native cotton cloth and of small Nuremberg wares, in the market, than in the former place; but otherwise there was nothing particular, and altogether it was dull, showing the state of decay into which this once splendid and busy emporium of Negroland had fallen.
The most interesting thing I observed in the market were limes, of tolerably large size and extremely cheap, and the beautiful large fruit of the gónda (Carica Papaya), which had just begun to ripen; however, the latter was rather dear, considering the low price of provisions in general, a fine papaw being sold for from twenty-five to thirty kurdí, a sum which may keep a poor man from starvation for five days. In Kanó I afterwards saw this fruit cut into thin slices, which were sold for one “urí” (shell) each. Having sat for a long time with el Wákhshi in a runfá, without being exposed to any insult whatever, though I was necessarily an object of some curiosity, I returned home and passed the evening quietly with my people, Gajére giving me reason all the time for the utmost satisfaction with his faithful and steadfast behaviour. Besides being sincerely attached to me, he was persuaded that he possessed influence enough to get me out of my scrape; and thus he informed me, as a great secret, that he had forwarded a message to Ánnur, giving him full information of my case, and that in consequence I might give myself no further trouble, but rely entirely upon that chief’s assistance. While he was thus cheering my spirits in the evening, as we lay round the fire in our courtyard, he frequently repeated the words, “Kasó mutúm dondádi uyátaso, kádda kakíshi da kúmmia,” contrasting his own faithfulness with the faithless, frivolous behaviour of Mohammed el Túnsi, whom he called “mógo mutúm” (a bad sort of fellow). But Gajére also had his own reasons for not being so very angry at our delay, as the lean mare which I had hired of him had a sore back and was in a rather weak state, so that a little rest and a full measure of corn every day was not so much amiss for her.
El Wákhshi returned the same evening, giving me hope that I might get off the next day. However, this proved to be empty talk; for the following day my business with the pompous Béllo made no progress, he demanding nothing less from me than one hundred thousand kurdí or cowries—a sum certainly small according to European modes of thinking, barely exceeding 8l., but which I was quite unable to raise at the time. Béllo was mean enough to found his claims upon his noble but quite uncalled-for hospitality, having given me, as he said, two rams, two vessels of honey, and two loads of corn, altogether worth from eleven to twelve thousand cowries; and I now felt myself fully justified in changing his noble title “Sultán, ben Sultán” into that of “Dellál, ben dellál” (Broker, son of a broker). Even my old friend el Wákhshi took the occasion of this new difficulty of mine to give vent to his feelings as a merchant, saying that this was the “dʿawa” (the curse) attending our (the English) proceedings against the slave-trade. And it must be confessed that the merchants of Ghadámes have suffered a great deal from the abolition of the slave-trade in Tunis, without being compensated for this loss by the extension or increased security of legitimate commerce. Seeing that the slave-trade is still carried on in Núpe or Nýffi, where, they are persuaded, the English could prevent it if they would, and that it is there carried on not by Mohammedans but by Christians, they have plausible grounds for being angry with the English nation.
I had a highly interesting discussion with my old fanatical friend Bel-Ghét. It seems that after I had protested against his calling me “káfer” the other day, he had held a consultation on this subject with some people of his own faith; and his zeal being thus revived, he returned to-day to urge the point. He began with questioning me about the different nations that professed Christianity, and which among them were the “kofár;” for some of them, he was quite sure, were, and deserved to be, so called. I replied that the application of the word depended on the meaning attached to it, and that if he understood by the word káfer anybody who doubted of the mission of Mohammed, of course a great many Christians were kofár; but if, with more reason, he called by this name only those who had no idea of the unity of God, and venerated other objects besides the Almighty God, that it could then be applied only to a few Christians, particularly to those of the Greek, and to the less enlightened of the Catholic Church, though even these venerated the crucifix and the images rather as symbols than as idols. But I confessed to him that, with regard to the unity of the Divine Being, Islám certainly was somewhat purer than the creeds of most of the Christian sects; and I acknowledged that, just at the time when Mohammed appeared, Christianity had sunk considerably below the level of its pristine purity. The old man went away pleased with what I had told him, and swore that he would not again call the English kofár, but that, with my permission, he would still apply that name to the “Mósko” (the Russians).
In the afternoon his son, a man of about five and thirty, came to visit me, accompanied by a sheríf from Yeman, who had been to Bombay, and was well acquainted with the English; he was now on his way to Timbúktu, in order to vindicate his right of inheritance to the property of a wealthy merchant who had died there. In this, however, he was unsuccessful; and when I reached Timbúktu in September, 1853, he had left it some time previously with broken spirits and in great distress. He perished on his way home. He was an amiable and intelligent man, and visited me several times. From him and his companion I received intimation of a large “Christian book,” bound in leather, with edges and lock made of metal, in the possession of a Púllo or Ba-Féllanchi in the town; but no one could tell me whether it was manuscript or print, and although I offered to pay for a sight of it, I never succeeded in my object. It might be one of those heavy books which Clapperton, when dying, told Lander rather to leave behind than take with him to England.
Tuesday, Jan. 28.—I at length succeeded in arranging matters with the governor. Early in the morning I sent Mohammed to el Wákhshi in order to try and settle the business, telling him that I was ready to make any possible sacrifice; and he sent me a bernús for fifty-two thousand kurdí. While I was hesitating about contracting a new debt of such magnitude (in my poor circumstances), Bel-Ghét, who evidently feared that if I gave one large present to the governor, he himself would get nothing, intimated to me that it would be better to choose several small articles. El Wákhshi therefore procured a caftan of very common velvet, a carpet, a sedríye or close waistcoat, and a shawl, which altogether did not exceed the price of thirty-one thousand kurdí; so that I saved more than twenty thousand. In order, however, to give to the whole a more unpremeditated, honorary, and professional appearance, I added to it a pencil, a little frankincense, and two strong doses of Epsom salts.
While Bel-Ghét was engaged in negotiating peace for me with the eccentric governor, I went with el Wákhshi and Gajére to the market, and thence proceeded with the latter, who, stout and portly, strode before me with his heavy spear, like a stately bodyguard or “kavás,” to the house of Mánzo, an agent of Masáwaji, who always lives here, and paid him our compliments. Passing then by the house of the Sultan of Ágades (“gída-n-serkí-n-Agades”), who occasionally resides here, we went to the “kófan Gúga” (the north-western gate of the town), which my companion represented to me as belonging entirely to the Ásbenáwa; for as long as Kátsena formed the great emporium of this part of Africa the aïri used to encamp in the plain outside this gate. The wall is here very strong and high, at least from without, where the height is certainly not less than from five and thirty to forty feet, while in the interior the rubbish and earth has accumulated against it to such a degree that a man may very easily look over it; the consequence is that during the rains a strong torrent, formed here, rushes out of the gate. On the outside there is also a deep, broad ditch. We returned to our lodging by way of the “máriná” and the market, both of which places were already sunk in the repose and silence of night.
I had scarcely re-entered my dark quarters, when Bel-Ghét arrived, telling me that the governor did not want my property at all; however, to do honour to my present, he would condescend to keep the caftan and the carpet, but he sent me back the sedríye and the shawl—of course to be given as a present to his agent and commissioner, my noble friend from Gurára. The governor, however, was anxious to obtain some more medicines from me. He at the same time promised to make me a present of a horse. Although I had but a small store of medicines with me, I chose a few powders of quinine, of tartar-emetic, and of acetate of lead, and gave him a small bottle with a few drops of laudanum, while it was arranged that on the following morning I should explain to the governor himself the proper use of these medicines.
The next morning, therefore, I proceeded with Bel-Ghét, to whose swollen eye I had successfully applied a lotion, and whose greediness I had satisfied with another small present on the way to the “zínsere.” He wished to show me the interior of the immense palace, or the “fáda;” but he could not obtain access to it, and I did not see it till on my second visit to Kátsena.
Béllo received me in his private apartment, and detained me for full two hours while I gave him complete information about the use of the medicines. He wanted, besides, two things from me, which I could not favour him with—things of a very different character, and the most desired by all the princes of Negroland. One of these was a “mágani-n-algúwa” (a medicine to increase his conjugal vigour); the other, some rockets, as a “mágani-n-yáki” (a medicine of war), in order to frighten his enemies.
Not being able to comply with these two modest wishes of his, I had great difficulty in convincing him of my goodwill; and he remained incredulous to my protestations that we had intentionally not taken such things as rockets with us, as we were afraid that if we gave such a thing to one prince, his neighbour might become fiercely hostile to us. But he remarked that he would keep such a gift a secret. I was very glad he did not say a word more about the pistols; but in order to give me a proof that he knew how to value fine things, he showed me the scissors and razor which I had given him the other day, for which he had got a sheath made, and wore them constantly at his left side. He then told me he would make me a present of an “abi-n-háwa” (something to mount upon), intimating already by this expression that it would not be a first-rate horse, as I had not complied with his heart’s desire, but that it would be furnished with saddle and harness, and that besides he would send me a large “hákkori-n-gíwa” (an elephant’s tooth) to Kanó. This latter offer I declined, saying that, though my means were very small at present, I did not like to turn merchant. He reminded me then of my promise to return; and we parted the best of friends. Notwithstanding the injustice of every kind which he daily commits, he has some sentiment of honour; and feeling rather ashamed for having given me so much trouble for nothing, as he was aware that it would become known to all his fellow-governors, and probably even to his liege lord, the Emír el Múmenín, he was anxious to vindicate his reputation. It was from the same motive that he begged me most urgently not to tell anybody that I had made him the presents here, adding, that he would afterwards say that he had received them from me from Kanó.
Having returned home, I thankfully received the compliments which were made me from different quarters on account of the fortunate issue of my affair with this “munáfekí,” or evil-doer; and although the horse, which was not brought till next morning after we had been waiting for it a long while, proved rather ill-looking and poor, being scarcely worth more than ten thousand kurdí, or four dollars, and though the saddle was broken and harness wanting altogether, I was quite content, and exulted in my good fortune. But before leaving this once most important place I shall try to give a short historical sketch of its past, and an outline of its present state.