Wednesday, Dec. 10.—We made a short march in advance, and transferred our encampment to Díggera, through a country where wilderness and cultivated ground alternated. Here we remained the five following days; and I had sufficient leisure to regret that I was not better provided with books. Anxious to employ my time usefully, I began, with the assistance of two Mándará, or rather Wándalá slaves, to write down a vocabulary of the language of that country, which by the natives themselves is called “Ára-Wándalá,” as they call their country “Khakh-Wándalá,” or “Khákh-Úndalá.”
The cold which we experienced during our stay here we considered very severe—at least from an African point of view and feeling; for in Europe it would have been thought very moderate. Fortunately our encampment was more comfortable than it had been at Delhé, and presented features of considerable interest; for here we saw the first complete example of those shallow stagnant watercourses which are so highly characteristic of the equatorial regions of this continent, and explain at the same time the conflicting statements with regard to the direction of so many watercourses in these regions. However, there are two different kinds of these shallow waters: first, such as are in immediate connection with larger rivers, and often run parallel to them, and which most appropriately deserve to be called backwaters; and, secondly, those which are quite independent, and form a small water-system by themselves. To the latter kind seems to belong this swampy sheet of water, or “ngáljam,” of Díggera, although I heard some Shúwa affirm that it extended to the Tsád.
I first turned my steps eastward, where the encampment extended to the very foot of the beautiful trees, which, forming a rich border of the finest embroidery from the hand of nature, girt the water. Most of them were either fig (sycamore) or tamarind-trees. The aspect of the scenery was most interesting, and under almost every tamarind-tree a group of people was encamped. The cavity where this sheet of water had collected formed a very slight depression in the meadow-ground, it being almost flat; the water, to all appearance, had already decreased considerably, and only in a few places presented an open sheet, being in general closely overgrown with rank grass and tall reeds. I followed it to a considerable distance towards the north-north-west, till I was obliged by the thick covert to retrace my steps, and then turned westward. The far larger extension of the water during the rainy season was sufficiently indicated by the luxuriant growth of trees. I crossed it at a spot where it was not so extensive, and found the bottom of it extremely muddy, which made the passage rather difficult, though the water was only two and a half feet deep. The intended outlines of its shores greatly distinguished it from those more complete and regular-shaped ngáljams, which, in the course of time, I had an opportunity of visiting, not only in those extensive plains between the river Bénuwé and Shári, but also in the regions of the middle course of the so-called Niger; for, in the quarters just mentioned, these shallow waters, or meadow-waters, often stretch out, in a straight or regularly sweeping line, like artificial canals, to an immense distance,—especially that most interesting sheet of water three days west of Timbúktu, the “Áraf-n-áman,” or Rás el má.
Of quite a different nature is the character of the famous Bahar el Ghazál, which joins the Tsád on the north-eastern side, being a broad sandy valley girt by a rich border of vegetation. This peculiar valley, which it was not our destiny to become acquainted with by ocular inspection, formed the subject of conversation with the vizier on Sunday evening; and a disputation arose, of so scientific a character that it might have silenced all those who scoff at the uncivilized state of the population of these regions. To be sure, the two principal persons in this conversation were Arabs; but their forefathers had been settled in these regions for at least ten generations.
Here in Díggera, where we were only one good day’s march distant from the capital of Mándará, our friends were obliged to come to a decision upon the future destination of the expedition. After the news which had arrived some days previously, that the petty chief of Mándará, whose ancestor once completely defeated a countless host of the Bórnu people, had decided upon making resistance, they had been very silent and dejected, and were therefore extremely delighted when at length, to-day, a servant of the obstinate vassal made his appearance with a present of ten beautiful female slaves, and the offer of complete submission. So at least we were told; but the affair seemed very doubtful, and a native of Mándará, or, as they say, Ár-Wándalá, afterwards assured me that his master, the powerful “Tuksé” of Khákh-Úndala, had been so far from making his submission to the insolent “Móthaké” (by this name they call the Bórnu people), that, on the contrary, he had treated them with contempt. Which of the two assertions was correct I do not know; but it is probable that the chief of Mándará thought it prudent to consent to some sort of compromise—perhaps through the intermediation of ʿAbd eʾ Rahmán, the sheikh’s brother.
Whatever may have been the case, the vizier informed us in the evening, in a very cheerful manner, that the affair with Mándará had taken the most favourable turn, and that in consequence the sheikh, with a small part of the army, was to retrace his steps, while he himself, with the far larger portion, was to undertake an expedition into the Músgu country, and that we, of course, were to accompany him. Now we were well aware that the object of this expedition was partly to make slaves, and that, in our character as messengers of the British Government, we ought to endeavour to keep aloof from anything connected with the infamous subject of slavery; but as we could not hinder it if we kept back, and as by accompanying the expedition we might prevent a deal of mischief, and might likewise have a fair opportunity of convincing ourselves whether what was related of the cruelty of the Mohammedans in these expeditions was true or exaggerated, we decided upon accompanying the vizier. At the same time it was of the utmost importance to visit that very region which was the object of the expedition, as it was the only way to decide upon the relation between the central basin of the Tsád and the great western river, with its eastern branch, while there was no possibility of visiting it by ourselves. We had already convinced ourselves that the country of the Músgu is not, as Major Denham has represented it, a mountainous, inaccessible tract; but we were puzzled at the number of watercourses of which our informants had spoken, and we could not have the least idea how fertile a country it was, and how far remote its inhabitants were from that state of barbarism which had been imputed to them. We therefore, although reluctantly, and not without scruple, at length determined upon accompanying the expedition; and I hope that every considerate person who takes into account all the circumstances in which we were placed, will approve of our resolution.
Wednesday, Dec. 17.—At length we proceeded onwards, entering new regions never trodden by European foot. Our departure having been delayed in the morning, owing to the separating of the army, we started rather late, leaving the sheikh, with the rest of the “kebú,” behind. The country at once presented a new and interesting feature. Already in Bórnu a considerable proportion of our diet had consisted of native rice, and we had been rather astonished at its black colour and bad quality. We had heard that it grew wild in the southern provinces of the country; but we had never yet seen it, and it was only this morning, after we had left Díggera and had traversed extensive stubble-fields of millet intermixed with beans, that we obtained a first view of a “shinkáfaram,” or wild rice-field, in the midst of the forest. We were then no longer surprised at the quality of the rice brought to the market in Kúkawa being so bad, as we felt justified in presuming that the elephant would have sense enough to take the best for himself, and leave the rest for the people. As we proceeded we found the whole wilderness, although not thickly wooded, full of pools of water and dense rice-fields.
The country to-day presented a truly tropical aspect; and our encampment, lying near an extensive pond, or small lagoon, surrounded with a luxuriant growth of rice and a dense border of spreading trees, was so full of the footprints of the elephant, that scarcely a level spot of two or three feet in diameter could be found. This was by no means pleasant, in our present mode of living, as we were without a camp-stool, or anything to sit or lie upon; for the argillaceous soil is so excessively hard, that the borders of these holes produced by the unwieldy foot of the elephant cause a great deal of pain to a person lying on the ground with nothing but a mat or carpet. The most essential instrument on this whole journey was the “láteram,” the digging-instrument (from “langin,” “I dig”), consisting of a large piece of wood about three feet long, with a heavy iron point; for without the láteram it would have been impossible to fix the dáteram (from “dangin,” “I fasten, stop”), or the pole to which the horses are fastened during the night. In general, every horseman digs the hole in which the pole is fastened with his own spear; but this soil was so hard that it was scarcely possible to make the smallest hole in it. Of course, during the rainy season, it is just as soft and muddy as it is hard in the dry season, and scarcely passable in consequence.
A giraffe was caught to-day. I had been of opinion that this timorous animal was not found in the thickly inhabited regions near the equator; but I soon learned from experience that it is not at all rare in the wildernesses which alternate with the densely populated regions of these districts. The elephant, however, is the predominant animal of these quarters; and the large market-place, Fátawel, which I have mentioned on my journey to Ádamáwa, and the Logón town Jéna, or rather Jínna, seem to be of considerable importance for their ivory-trade.
In the evening I had the misfortune to be stung by a scorpion, which had got into my bernús. As I had not noticed the animal in the dark, and thinking that it was nothing but one of the formidable black ants, the bite of which is very painful, I neglected the wound at first, so that the poison penetrated to the shoulder, and rendered my right arm useless for two days.