I embarked in the Express schooner, which the admiral lent me for the purpose, and, on the 18th November, after three days’ sail, arrived at Tripoli, and found my two companions at the house of Mr. Consul Warrington, anxiously expecting my arrival. Of this gentleman it is not too much to say, that by his cheerful and good humoured disposition, his zeal, perseverance, and extraordinary good management, we owe, in a great degree, that influence which England possesses with this government far beyond that of any other of the Barbary powers. The English name, in fact, is of such importance in Tripoli, that there is scarcely a point to carry, or a dispute to settle, in which the bashaw does not request the interference of the British consul: and to him, indeed, is, in a great degree, owing the origin and success of the late mission. He stated broadly to the government at home, that the road from Tripoli to Bornou was as open as that from London to Edinburgh; which, with a small allowance for Oriental hyperbole, was found to be true—witness the journey of my lamented friend Lieutenant Toole, and also of Mr. Tyrwhitt, the latter laden with valuable presents.
But this is not all: the British flag has a peculiar power of protection, and the roof of the English consul always affords a sanctuary to the perpetrator of any crime, not even excepting murder; and scarcely a day passes that some persecuted Jew or unhappy slave, to escape the bastinado, does not rush into the court-yard of the British consulate for protection. A circumstance occurred in returning from one of our excursions, which shows in what high estimation the English character is held in Tripoli. A poor wretch, who, for some trifling offence, was sentenced to five hundred bastinadoes, having, while on his way to receive the sentence of the law, contrived to slip from the custody of his guards, fortunately met with the child and servant of Doctor Dickson, a most respectable and intelligent English physician practising in Tripoli: the condemned wretch, with wonderful presence of mind, snatched up the child in his arms, and halted boldly before his pursuers. The talisman was sufficiently powerful: the emblem of innocence befriended the guilty, and the culprit walked on uninterrupted, triumphantly claiming the protection of the British flag.
But the following proves still more strongly to what extent the influence of the British flag might be carried.—Since the reduction of the refractory Arabs to submission, no chief had received such repeated marks of kindness and attention from the bashaw, as sheikh Belgassam ben Khalifa, head of the powerful tribe of El Gibel. At the particular request of the former, sheikh Khalifa had quitted his tents and flocks, resided in the city, and was high in his prince’s confidence—fatal pre-eminence in Barbary states!—and had been presented, but a few months before, with one of the most beautiful gardens in the Minshea. Returning from the castle after an evening of music and dancing in the bashaw’s private apartments, Belgassam kissed the hand that had signed his death-warrant, and took his leave. At his own door a pistol-shot wounded him in the arm, and on entering the skiffa, or passage, a second entered his body. The old sheikh, after his slave had fastened the door, staggered to his carpet, and then, in the arms of his wife, proclaimed his assassin to be his own nephew, sheikh Mahmoud Belgassam Wildé Sowdoweah. The work being, however, but half done, others rushed in, and seven stabs put an end to his sufferings, notwithstanding the screams of his wife, who received two wounds herself, in endeavouring to save her husband. The poor old man was almost instantly buried, and the three persons who had undertaken the murder fled to the British consulate for protection. Early the next morning, however, the consul despatched his dragoman to give the bashaw notice, “that the murderers of Khalifa would find no protection under the flag of England.” The bashaw said, “he was shocked at the murder, and regretted the assassins having taken refuge in the consulate, as it was a sanctuary he could not violate, particularly as he understood they meant to resist, and were well armed.” Our consul replied, “that the bashaw was at liberty to send any force he pleased, and use any means he thought best, to drag them from beneath a banner that never was disgraced by giving protection to assassins.” The minister also came and expressed the bashaw’s delicacy; and it was evident he did not expect such would be the conduct of the consul: he was, however, peremptory, and the bashaw dared not seem to favour such an act of villany. It was sunset before he decided on taking them away, when about sixteen of the chosen people of the castle entered the consulate, and the wretches, although provided with arms, which they had loaded, tremblingly resigned themselves, and were, in less than an hour, hanging over the walls of the castle.
On a day appointed we waited on the bashaw. After passing the court-yard, crowded with guards, and several groups of Arabs in the passages and ante-rooms playing at cards or dice, we were introduced to the audience chamber, where the bashaw, sitting cross-legged on a carpet, supported by his two sons, and attended by armed negroes, received us kindly, ordered us to be served with sherbet and coffee, and expressed himself in the most favourable manner on the subject of our mission, which he promised to forward in safety into the interior of Africa. He invited us to join him in a hawking party. The cavalcade, consisting of about three hundred, altogether presented so novel an appearance, that I shall endeavour to give some description of our morning’s amusement. The bashaw was mounted on a milk-white Arabian, superbly caparisoned, with saddle of crimson velvet richly studded with gold nails, heavy stirrups of the same, and trappings of embroidered cloth hanging down on each side nearly to the horse’s fetlock joint; he was preceded by six chaoushes, or officers, also mounted and richly caparisoned, armed with long guns, swords, and pistols, and a white silk barracan thrown loosely and gracefully round their bodies. His highness was supported on each side by a favourite black slave, whose glittering vest, light bornouse, and white turban, formed a pleasing contrast to the costume of the Arabs. We proceeded in a westerly direction; and on arriving at the desert, parties of six and eight dashed forward, with the rapidity of lightning, several hundred paces, fired, immediately halted in a most surprising manner, and with loud cries rushed back again to the main body, when instantly the same ceremony was repeated by another party. Their superior skill in the management of their horses is really beautiful; and the way they manœuvre their long musket, by repeatedly spinning it over their heads at full speed, has a most picturesque effect. Near the bashaw’s person rode Sidy Ali, his third son, although second in succession, in consequence of the banishment of the eldest; he also was attended by his particular guard of Arabs, distinguished not only by their superior and determined appearance, but by their figured muslin bornouses. Sidy Ali is the bashaw’s favourite son, and is particularly handsome, although what we should call too fat, and is said to resemble very much what the bashaw was at his age: he is allowed great privilege and liberty, which is indeed proved by his saying, the other day, to his father, “I shall succeed you as bashaw.” “How do you mean?” “How? why, by taking the same steps you did yourself,” said the youth.
I was invited, with my colleagues, to pass a day about five miles from Tripoli, at the garden of Mahomed D’Ghies, to whom I brought letters from his son, who was residing in London, much noticed and respected. This old gentleman had been minister for foreign affairs to the bashaw, but had retired from office some time, on account of a complaint in his eyes. He is a most respectable man, and particularly kind to all European travellers who visit Tripoli; and so well known throughout Northern Africa, that letters of credit from him are sure to be duly honoured. Nothing could exceed the hospitality and attention with which we were received: having regaled ourselves with sherbet, coffee, and tobacco, several times in the course of the day, and partaken of an excellent dinner, à la Turque, in a grove of lemon and orange trees, we returned in the evening to Tripoli, well pleased with our day’s excursion.
Tripoli has been so often described, that I shall pass it over in silence. Its Jews, its Arabs, its Moors, and Maraboots; the slave population, and the bashaw’s family; are all so well painted to the life in “Tully’s Letters,” as to require no further notice from me as a casual visitor. Neither is it my intention to enter into a minute description of the country between Tripoli and Mourzuk; the surface of which is not essentially different from that between Mourzuk and Bornou, and has already been noticed by Captain Lyon, and in the communications to the African Association.
On the 5th March, 1822, I left Tripoli for Benioleed[1], to join my two companions, who had proceeded thither with our servants, horses, camels, and baggage. They had gone on to Memoom, a very pretty valley, which, at this season of the year, was green with herbage, and adorned by flowers of various hues and colours, richly scattered in beautiful disorder;—but it was the last of the kind we were fortunate enough to meet with between this place and Bornou; and here the consul and his son, who had accompanied us from Tripoli, took their leave, with many hearty good wishes for our success and prosperity.
| Drawn by Major Denham. | Engraved by E. Finden. |
PART OF THE STONY DESERT.