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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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