Our day’s journey was pleasantly varied by our meeting with the van of a large caravan belonging to the wealthy Fezzáni merchant Khweldi, which had separated in Aïr on account of the high prices of provisions there. They carried with them from forty to fifty slaves, most of them females, the greater part tolerably well made. Each of our Kél-owí produced from his provision-bags a measure of dates, and threw them into a cloth, which the leader of the caravan, a man of grave and honest countenance, had spread on the ground. A little before noon, we encamped in a sort of wide but shallow valley called Ejénjer, where, owing to the junction of several smaller branch vales collecting the moisture of a large district, a little sprinkling of herbage was produced, and a necessary halting-place formed for the caravans coming from the north, before they enter upon the naked desert, which stretches out towards the south-west for several days’ journey. The camels were left grazing the whole night, in order to pick up as large a provision as possible from the scanty pasture.
August 2.—We entered upon the first regular day’s march since we left Ghát. After a stretch of nine miles, an interesting peak called Mount Tiska, rising to an elevation of about six hundred feet, and surrounded by some smaller cones, formed the conspicuous limit of the rocky ridges. The country became entirely flat and level, but with a gradual ascent, the whole ground being formed of coarse gravel; and there was nothing to interrupt the monotonous plain but a steep ridge, called Mariaw, at the distance of about five miles to the east.
The nature of this desert region is well understood by the nomadic Tuarek or Imóshagh, who regard the Mariaw as the landmark of the open, uninterrupted desert plain, the “ténere;” and a remarkable song of theirs, which often raised the enthusiasm of our companions, begins thus: “Mariaw da ténere nís” (We have reached Mariaw and the desert plain). The aspect of this uninterrupted plain seemed to inspire our companions, and with renewed energy we pursued our dreary path till after sunset, when we encamped upon this bare gravelly plain, entirely destitute of herbage, and without the smallest fragment of wood for fuel; and I was glad to get a cup of tea with my cold supper of zummíta. Even in these hot regions the European requires some warm food or beverage.
The next morning, all the people being eager to get away from this dreary spot, every small party started as it got ready, without waiting for the rest, in order to reach as soon as possible the region of the sand-hills, which we saw before us at the distance of a little more than five miles, and which promised to the famished camels at least a slight repast. Herbage was scattered in bunches all about the sides of the sand-hills, and a number of butter- and dragon-flies greatly relieved the dreary scene. After a while the sand-hills ranged themselves more on both sides, while our road led over harder sandy soil, till the highest range crossed our path, and we began to ascend it, winding along its lower parts. Granite, lying a few feet under the surface, in several spots chequered the sand, tinged with a pretty blue.
A little after mid-day we emerged from the sand-hills, and entered a plain from two to three miles wide, bounded on both sides by sand-hills, and were here gratified with the view of shifting lakes which the mirage set before our eyes. Then followed another narrow range of sand-hills, succeeded by a barren open plain, and then another very considerable bank of sand, leaning on a granite ridge. After a steep ascent of forty-five minutes, we reached the highest crest, and obtained an extensive prospect over the country before us—a desert plain, interspersed by smaller sand-hills and naked ledges of rock, and speckled with ethel-bushes half overwhelmed by sand, at the foot of a higher range of sand-hills. For sand-hills are the landmark of Afalésselez, and the verse of the desert song celebrating Mariaw as the landmark of the open gravelly desert plain is succeeded by another, celebrating the arrival at Afalésselez and its sand-hills: “In-Afalésselez da jéde nís.” Having long looked down from this barbacan of sand, to see whether all was safe near that important place whence we were to take our supply for the next stretch of dry desert land, we descended along the south-western slope, and there encamped.
After a march of little more than four miles the next morning, we reached the well Falésselez, or Afalésselez. This camping-ground had not a bit of shade, for the few ethel-bushes, all of them starting forth from mounds of not less than forty feet elevation, were very low, and almost covered with sand. Besides, the gravelly ground was covered with camels’ dung and impurities of a more disagreeable nature, and there was not a bit of herbage in the neighbourhood, so that the camels, after having been watered, had to be driven to a distance of more than eight miles, where they remained during the night and the following day till noon, and whence they brought back a supply of herbage for the next night.
But, notwithstanding its extraordinary dreariness, this place is of the greatest importance for the caravan trade, on account of the well, which affords a good supply of very tolerable water. At first it was very dirty and discoloured, but it gradually became clearer and had but little after-taste. The well was five fathoms deep, and not more than a foot and a half wide at the top, while lower down it widened considerably. It is formed of the wood of the ethel-tree. The temperature of the water, giving very nearly the mean temperature of the atmosphere in this region, was 77°.
After the camels had gone, our encampment became very lonely and desolate, and nothing was heard but the sound of ghussub-pounding. The Kél-owí had encamped at some distance, on the slope of the sand-hills. It was a very sultry day, the hottest day in this first part of our journey, the thermometer, in the very best shade which we were able to obtain, showing 111·2° heat, which, combined with the dreary monotony of the place, was quite exhausting. There was not a breath of air in the morning; nevertheless it was just here that we remarked the first signs of our approaching the tropical regions, for in the afternoon the sky became so thickly overcast with clouds that we entertained the hope of being refreshed by a few drops of rain. In the night a heavy gale blew from the east.
Next day came Utaeti. On his fine méheri, enveloped as he was in his blue Sudán-cloth, he made a good figure. The reply which he made, when Mr. Richardson asked him how his father had received the present of the sword which H.B.M.’s Government had sent him, was characteristic: the sword, he said, was a small present, and his father had expected to receive a considerable sum of money into the bargain. He informed us also that, by our not coming to Arikím, we had greatly disappointed the Tuarek settled thereabouts.