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.