I will give the description, such as it is, informally from my diary, since it embraces a little of the life, as well as the architecture, common to the white man at the Fort of Agades:
“We had forgathered for breakfast, that customary eleven o’clock meal of the French which is both breakfast and lunch in one, at that time of day when it is an ordeal merely to cross the barrack square, so white and glaring the sand, so great the fierceness of the sun. Therefore, one by one, the labours of the morning over, we stepped into the shade and coolness of the thick walled room with a real thankfulness; especially thankful, perhaps, those who bear the mark of chronic fatigue, which an unnatural climate is so apt to impose, and which is apparent upon the features of most of the group. Around small tables that were pushed together to make up one large one we sat down to the meal, the company being composed of five French officers and myself, while our dusky native servants were in attendance, and a small child stood to one side and pulled the cord that swung a punka which was suspended over the table.
“We sat long over the repast, discussing many things African, and it was not until some time after the meal was over that conversation lagged at my end of the table and gave me an opportunity to observe my surroundings. The room is not very large, and there is just space enough to allow the attendants to pass comfortably around the table. Trimless, square-cut liberal openings serve as doors and windows, while over those are dropped blinds of light lattice, which prevent the entrance of sun and sand-dust, yet admit a free current of air. The mud walls are thick and straightly built, smoothed down with a coating of mud plaster, and whitewashed with a preparation of chalk and cement, obtained out of the ground in the neighbourhood. (Dr. Barth in his works makes reference to a house nicely whitewashed in the old town of Agades, but he did not mention the interesting fact that the “whitewash” is native to Agades.) The walls are bare of ornament except for cupboards, set back against them, that are made from an assortment of packing-cases and still retain their true character, even to the glaring names of merchant and merchandise in their rude transformation and paintlessness. But what better can be done where sawn boarding is unknown? The ceiling of the room is lofty, and constructed with closely set undressed fibrous dum palm timbers, the only wood in the country that the terrible white ant will not destroy. Upon the walls, in the darkest places, there are a number of wart-like lumps which are the plaster-built cell-nests of black-and-yellow hornets that pass constantly in and out of the room. Also there are one or two pairs of tiny waxbills at freedom in the room, cheeping and flitting from floor to window-ledge, or vanishing outdoors. They are always in pairs, inseparable as love-birds, the male crimson in colour and his mate mouse-brown. I must call them Estrilda senegala bruuneiceps, so that there may be no error on account of their scientific identity, but to ordinary folk, such as you and me, I would describe them as ‘Crimson Waxbill’ or ‘House Waxbill.’
“I think I have described all, when eyes roam nearer hand and dwell on the few articles on the table, and I see that even there we do not escape the primitive: the pepper is in a cigarette tin which still bears the yellow label of the manufacturer; the salt is in another distinguished by a green label; while all the drinking-glasses are dark-coloured and thick and ragged-rimmed, and are nothing more than old wine bottles cut down about their centre.”
And from all this we may perhaps justly conclude that the Sultan’s Palace is about the best the natives can do in the way of dwelling-building at Agades, and the mess-room at the Fort a fair sample of the humble extent that civilised people can improve upon it when thrown entirely on the scant resources of a wilderness.
CHAPTER X
AÏR: NORTH TO BAGUEZAN MOUNTAINS AND HUNTING BARBARY SHEEP
On 26th April I left Agades with the intention of travelling north into the Aïr mountains, and to ultimately pitch a base camp on Baguezan.
Besides four transport camels, the little band which set out was made up of two goumiers, by name Saidi and Atagoom, the chief of Baguezan, and two followers and myself; six fully armed camel-mounted men, not including my cook-boy, John, who was also in the company. The Chief of Baguezan had been called into Agades so that, if he was friendly disposed, he could conduct me to his country. He was the new Chief Minerou who had succeeded Yofa, who was foully killed a few months before by the dagger-thrust of a skulking foe when guarding his camels against an attack from prowling robbers.
At Agades, before departure, I had stored every article I could do without, on account of the difficulties of travel ahead, and took with me supplies of food and ammunition barely sufficient to last for a period of two or three months.
Our little band left Agades at various times in the afternoon to camp at the tent-like inhabited Tuareg village of Azzal, which was only about five miles N.E. of our starting-point, and was to be the rendezvous of our organised departure on the morrow.