This enterprising man, who generally travelled as a dervish, had gone from Sofára on the Máyo balléo or Niger, between Hamdalláhi and Ségo, across a most unsettled country, to Wóghodoghó; but he was unable to give me any precise details with regard to it, and I never met another person who had travelled this dangerous route. He had also travelled all along the pagan states to the south of Bagírmi and Wadáy, and advised me strongly, if it were my plan to penetrate to the Upper Nile (as, indeed, I then intended, notwithstanding my total want of means), to adopt the character of a dervish, which he deemed essential for my success. But while such a character might, indeed, insure general success, it would preclude the possibility of making any accurate observations, and would render necessary the most painful, if not insupportable, privations. And on the whole this poor fellow was less fortunate than I; for in the year 1854 he was slain on that very route from Yóla to Kúkawa which I myself had twice passed successfully. He was a native of Baghdád, and called himself Sheríf Ahmed el Baghdádi.
There was another singular personage, a native of Sennár, who had been a clerk in the Turkish army, but, as malicious tongues gave out, had been too fond of the cash entrusted to his care, and absconded. He afterwards resided some years in Wadáy, where he had drilled a handful of the sultan’s slaves, had come to this kingdom to try his fortune, and was now about to be sent to Wadáy by the sheikh of Bórnu, as a spy, to see if the prince of that country had still any design of recommencing hostilities. From all persons of this description the traveller may learn a great deal; and, intriguing fellows as they generally are, and going from court to court spreading reports everywhere, prudence requires that he should keep on tolerably good terms with them.
Most interesting and instructive was a host of pilgrims from different parts of Másena or Mélle, partly Fúlbe, partly Sónghay, who having heard of the white man, and of his anxiety to collect information respecting all parts of the continent, came repeatedly to me to contribute each his share. I used to regale them with coffee, while they gave me ample opportunities of comparing and testing their statements. The most interesting and best informed amongst them, were Bu-Bakr, a native of Hamdalláhi, the capital of the sheikh (sekho) Ahmedu ben Ahmedu, who, having made a pilgrimage to Mekka, had long resided in Yeman, and was now returning homeward with a good deal of knowledge; and another cheerful and simple-hearted old man from Sá on the Ísa or Niger, between Hamdalláhi and Timbúktu. Indeed, as the report of Ahmed bel Mejúb about Ádamáwa had confirmed me in my determination to sacrifice everything in order to visit that country as soon as possible, so the manifold information of these people with respect to the countries on the middle course of the so-called Niger excited in me a most ardent desire to execute the design, previously but vaguely entertained, of accomplishing also a journey westward to Timbúktu.
Among my Bórnu friends at this time, the most instructive were Shitíma Makarémma and Ámsakay. The former, who had been a courtier under the old dynasty, and who had saved his life by his intrigues, was a very intelligent old man, but an acknowledged rascal to whom unnatural vices, which seem in general entirely unknown in these regions, were imputed. Nevertheless he was the only man who was master of all the history of the old dynasty; and he spoke the Kanúri language with such exquisite beauty as I have never heard from anybody else. He had two very handsome daughters, whom he succeeded in marrying, one to the vizier and one to his adversary, ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán; but in December 1853 he was executed, together with the vizier, but on totally different grounds, as having long forfeited his life. Quite a different sort of man was Ámsakay, a simple Kánemma chief, who has been represented in one of my sketches. He had formerly distinguished himself by his expeditions against the Búdduma, till those enterprising islanders succeeded in conciliating him by the gift of one of their handsome daughters for a wife, when he became half settled amongst them.
I had also some interesting pagan instructors, among whom I will only mention Agíd Búrku, a very handsome youth, but who had undergone the horrible process of castration. The abolition of this practice in the Mohammedan world ought to be the first object of Christian governments and missionaries, not merely on account of the unnatural and desecrated state to which it reduces a human being, but on account of the dreadful character of the operation itself, which, in these countries at least, is the reason why scarcely one in ten survives it: With extreme delight Agíd Búrku dwelt upon the unconstrained nudity in which his countrymen indulged, and with great naïveté described a custom of the Pagans, which is identical with a custom of the civilized Europeans, but is an abomination in the eyes of every Mohammedan. He had wandered about a good deal in the southern provinces of Bagírmi and Wadáy, and gave me the first information about the interesting mountain-group near Kénga Matáya.
But I must principally dwell upon my relations to the vizier el Háj Beshír ben Ahmed Tiráb, upon whose benevolent disposition the whole success of the mission depended, as he ruled entirely the mind of the sheikh, who was more sparing of words, and less intelligent. Mohammed el Beshír, being the son of the most influential man in Bórnu after the sheikh, enjoyed all the advantages which such a position could offer for the cultivation of his mind, which was by nature of a superior cast. He had gone on a pilgrimage to Mekka in the year 1843, by way of Ben-Gházi, when he had an opportunity both of showing the Arabs near the coast that the inhabitants of the interior of the continent are superior to the beasts, and of getting a glimpse of a higher state of civilization than he had been able to observe in his own country.
Having thus learned to survey the world collectively from a new point of view, and with an increased eagerness after everything foreign and marvellous, he returned to his native country, where he soon had an opportunity of proving his talent, his father being slain in the unfortunate battle at Kúsuri, and Sheikh ʿOmár, a fugitive in his native country, having much need of a faithful counsellor in his embarrassed situation. The sheikh was beset by a powerful and victorious host, encamping in the largest of the towns of his kingdom, while the party of the old dynasty was rising again, and not only withdrawing from him the best forces wherewith to face the enemy, but threatening his very existence, at the same time that a brother was standing in fierce rivalry to him at the head of a numerous army. Sheikh ʿOmár was successful, the host of Wadáy was obliged to withdraw, and, abandoning the purpose for which they had come, namely, that of re-establishing the old dynasty, commenced a difficult retreat of many hundred miles at the beginning of the rainy season; the partisans of the old dynasty were entirely crushed, the last prince of that family slain, the residence of the sultans levelled to the ground, and even the remembrance of the old times was almost effaced. There remained to be feared only his brother ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán. ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán was a good soldier, but a man of a very loose and violent character. When a youth he had committed all sorts of violence and injustice, carrying off young brides by force, to indulge his passions: he was besides a man of little intelligence. But being but a few months younger than ʿOmár, he thought himself equally entitled to the succession; and if once admitted into a high position in the empire, he might be expected to abuse his influence on the very first opportunity.
Sheikh ʿOmár, therefore, could not but choose to confide rather in the intelligent son of his old minister, the faithful companion in the field and counsellor of his father, than in his own fierce and jealous brother; and all depended upon the behaviour of Háj Beshír, and upon the discretion with which he should occupy and maintain his place as first, or rather only minister of the kingdom. Assuredly his policy should have been to conciliate, as much as possible, all the greater “kokanáwa” or courtiers, in order to undermine the influence of ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán, whom it might be wise to keep at a respectful distance. But in this respect the vizier seems to have made great mistakes, his covetousness blinding him to his principal advantages; for covetous he certainly was—first, from the love of possessing, and also in order to indulge his luxurious disposition, for he was certainly rather “kamúma,” that is to say, extremely fond of the fair sex, and had a harím of from three to four hundred female slaves.
In assembling this immense number of female companions for the entertainment of his leisure hours, he adopted a scientific principle; in fact, a credulous person might suppose that he regarded his harím only from a scientific point of view;—as a sort of ethnological museum—doubtless of a peculiarly interesting kind—which he had brought together in order to impress upon his memory the distinguishing features of each tribe. I have often observed that, in speaking with him of the different tribes of Negroland, he was at times struck with the novelty of a name, lamenting that he had not yet had a specimen of that tribe in his harím, and giving orders at once to his servants to endeavour to procure a perfect sample of the missing kind. I remember, also, that on showing to him one day an illustrated ethnological work in which he took a lively interest, and coming to a beautiful picture of a Circassian female, he told me, with an expression of undisguised satisfaction, that he had a living specimen of that kind; and when, forgetting the laws of Mohammedan etiquette, I was so indiscreet as to ask him whether she was as handsome as the picture, he answered only with a smile, at once punishing and pardoning my indiscreet question. I must also say that, notwithstanding the great number and variety of the women who shared his attention, he seemed to take a hearty interest in each of them: at least I remember that he grieved most sincerely for the loss of one who died in the winter of 1851. Poor Háj Beshír! He was put to death in the last month of 1853, leaving seventy-three sons alive, not counting the daughters, and the numbers of children which may be supposed to die in such an establishment without reaching maturity.