Here we had reached an elevation of not less than four thousand feet above the sea, the greatest elevation of the desert to be passed, or rather of that part of Africa over which our travels extended. The rugged and bristling nature of this elevated tract prevented our obtaining any extensive views. This region, if it were not the wildest and most rugged of the whole desert, limiting vegetation to only a few narrow crevices and valleys, would be a very healthy and agreeable abode for man; but it can only support a few nomadic stragglers. This, I am convinced, is the famous mountain Tántanah, the abode of the Azkár mentioned by the early Arabic geographers, although, instead of placing it to the south-west of Fezzán, they generally give it a southerly direction. I am not aware that a general name is now given to this region.
But this highest part of the tableland rather forms a narrow “col” or crest, from which, on the following morning, after a winding march of a little more than three miles, we began to descend by a most picturesque passage into a deeper region. At first we saw nothing but high cones towering over a hollow in the ground; but as we advanced along a lateral wady of the valley which we had entered, the scenery assumed a grander aspect, exhibiting features of such variety as we had not expected to find in this desert country. While our camels began slowly to descend, one by one, the difficult passage, I sat down and made the accompanying sketch of it, which will convey a better idea of this abrupt cessation of the high sandstone level, with the sloping strata of marl where it is succeeded by another formation, that of granite, than any verbal description would do.
The descent took us two hours, when we reached the bottom of a narrow ravine about sixty feet broad, which at first was strewn with large blocks carried down by occasional floods, but a little further on had a floor of fine sand and gravel. Here the valley is joined by a branch wady, or another ravine, coming from the north. Near the junction it is tolerably wide; but a few hundred yards further on it narrows between steep precipitous cliffs, looking almost like walls erected by the hand of man, and more than a thousand feet high, and forms there a pond of rain-water. While I was sketching this remarkable place, I lost the opportunity of climbing up the wild ravine. The locality was so interesting that I reluctantly took leave of it, fully intending to return the following day, with the camels, when they were to be watered; but, unfortunately, the alarming news which reached us at our camping-ground prevented my doing so. I will only observe that this valley, which is generally called Égeri, is identical with the celebrated valley Amaïs or Maïs, the name of which became known in Europe many years ago.
A little beyond the junction of the branch ravine the valley widens to about one hundred and fifty feet, and becomes overgrown with herbage, and ornamented with a few talha-trees, and after being joined by another ravine, exhibits also colocynths, and low but widespreading ethel-bushes, and, what was more interesting to us, the áshur (or, as the Háusa people call it, “tunfáfia,” the Kanori “krunka,” the Tuarek “tursha”), the celebrated, widespread, and most important Asclepias gigantea, which had here truly gigantic proportions, reaching to the height of twenty feet; and being just then in flower, with its white and violet colours it contributed much to the interest of the scene. Besides, there was the jadaríyeh, well known to us from the Hammáda, and the shiʿa or Artemisia odoratissima, and a blue crucifera identical, I think, with the damankádda, of which I shall have to speak repeatedly. Having gone on a little more than three miles from the watering-place, we encamped; and the whole expedition found ample room under the widespreading branches of a single ethel-tree, the largest we had yet seen. Here the valley was about half a mile broad, and altogether had a very pleasant character.
I was greatly mortified on reflecting that the uncertainty of our relations in the country, and the precarious protection we enjoyed, would not allow me to visit Jánet, the most favoured spot in this mountainous region; but a great danger was suddenly announced to us, which threatened even to drive us from that attractive spot. An expedition had been prepared against us by the mighty chieftain Sídi Jáfel ínek (son of) Sakertáf, to whom a great number of the Imghád settled thereabouts are subject as bondmen or serfs.
Upon the circumstances of this announcement and its consequences I shall not dwell, but will only observe that this transaction made us better acquainted with the character of each of our new friends. There were three principal men in the Kél-owí caravan with which we had associated our fortunes—Ánnur (or properly Eʾ Núr), Dídi, and Fárreji. Ánnur was a relative of the powerful Kél-owí chief of the same name, and, in order to distinguish him from the latter, was generally called Ánnur karamí, or the little Ánnur. He was of agreeable, prepossessing countenance, and of pleasing manners, but without much energy, and anything but warlike. Dídi and Fárreji were both liberated slaves, but of very different appearance and character. The former was slim, with marked features, indicating a good deal of cunning; the latter was a tolerably large man, with broad, coarse features, which well expressed his character, the distinguishing trait of which was undisguised malice. When a new demand was to be put forth Fárreji took the lead, and, with an impudent air, plainly state the case; Dídi kept back, assisting his companion underhand; and Ánnur was anxious to give to the whole a better appearance and to soothe our indignation.
The whole affair having been arranged, and the stipulation being made that in case the direct road should become impracticable our Kél-owí were to lead us by a more eastern one, where we should not meet with any one, we started in good spirits on the morning of the 1st of August, and soon emerged from the valley by a southern branch, while the surrounding cliffs gradually became much lower and flatter. Here we observed that granite had superseded the sandstone, appearing first in low, bristled ridges, crossing the bottom of the valley in parallel lines running from west-north-west to east-south-east, and gradually accompanying the whole district, while the sand, which before formed the general substance of the lower ground, was succeeded by gravel. Our path now wound through irregular defiles and small plains, enclosed by low ridges of granite blocks, generally bare, but in some places adorned with talha-trees of fine fresh foliage. The whole country assumed quite a different aspect.