Aware of what might happen, our small troop had all their arms ready, in order to repulse any attack; but the Kél-owí and the few Azkár who were in our caravan kept us back, and, after a little talk, allowed the visitors to lie down for the night near our encampment, and even solicited our hospitality in their behalf. Nevertheless, all of them well knew that the strangers were freebooters, who could not but have bad designs against us; and the experienced old Awed el Khér, the sheikh of the Káfila, came expressly to us, warning and begging us to be on our guard, while Bóro Serki-n-turáwa began to play a conspicuous part, addressing the Kél-owí and Tinýlkum in a formal speech, and exhorting them to stand by us. Everybody was crying for powder, and nobody could get enough. Our clever but occasionally very troublesome servant Mohammed conceived a strategical plan, placing on the north side of the two tents the four pieces of the boat, behind each of which one of us had to take his station in case of an attack.
Having had some experience of freebooters’ practices in my former wanderings, I knew that all this was mere farce and mockery, and that the only way of ensuring our safety would have been to prevent these scouts from approaching us at all. We kept watch the whole night; and of course the strangers, seeing us well on our guard, and the whole caravan still in high spirits and in unity, ventured upon nothing.
Monday, August 19.—In the morning our three guests (who, as I made out, did not belong to the Azkár, but were Kél-fadé from the northern districts of Aïr) went slowly away, but only to join their companions, who had kept at some distance beyond the rocky ridge which bordered or, rather, interrupted the valley to the westward. There some individuals of the caravan, who went to cut herbage, found the fresh traces of nine camels. In spite of outward tranquillity, there was much matter for anxiety and much restlessness in the caravan, and suddenly an alarm was given that the camels had been stolen, but fortunately it proved to be unfounded. ʿAbd el Káder, the Tawáti of whom I have spoken above, trying to take advantage of this state of things, came to Mr. Overweg, and urgently pressed him to deposit everything of value with Awed el Khér, the Kél-owí, and something, “of course,” with him also. This was truly very disinterested advice; for if anything had happened to us, they would of course have become our heirs. In the evening we had again three guests, not, however, the same as before, but some of their companions, who belonged to the Hadánara, one of the divisions of the Azkár.
Tuesday, August 20.—At an early hour we started, with an uneasy feeling. With the first dawn the true believers had been called together to prayer, and the bond which united the Mohammedan members of the caravan with the Christian travellers had been loosened in a very conspicuous manner. Then the encampment broke up, and we set out—not, however, as we had been accustomed to go latterly, every little party starting off as soon as they were ready, but all waiting till the whole caravan had loaded their camels, when we began our march in close order, first along the valley, then entering upon higher ground, sometimes gravelly, at others rocky. The range to our right, here a little more than a mile distant, bears different names, corresponding to the more prominent parts into which it is separated by hollows or saddles, the last cone towards the south being called Timázkaren, a name most probably connected with that of the Azkár tribe, while another is named Tin-dúrdu-rang. The Tarki or Amóshagh is very expressive in names; and whenever the meaning of all these appellations shall be brought to light, I am sure we shall find many interesting significations. Though I paid a good deal of attention to their language, the Tarkíyeh or Temáshight, I had not leisure enough to become master of the more difficult and obsolete terms; and, of course, very few even among themselves can at present tell the exact meaning of a name derived from ancient times.
At length we had left behind us that remarkable ridge, and entering another shallow valley full of young herbage, followed its windings, the whole presenting a very irregular structure, when suddenly four men were seen ahead of us on an eminence, and instantly a troop of lightly armed people, amongst them three archers, were despatched, as it seemed, in order to reconnoitre, marching in regular order straight for the eminence.
Being in the first line of our caravan, and not feeling so sure on the camel as on foot, I dismounted, and marched forward, leading my méheri by the nose-cord, and with my eyes fixed upon the scene before us. But how much was I surprised when I saw two of the four unknown individuals executing a wild sort of armed dance together with the Kél-owí, while the others were sitting quietly on the ground! Much perplexed, I continued to move slowly on, when two of the men who had danced suddenly rushed upon me, and grasping the rope of my camel, asked for tribute. Quite unprepared for such a scene under such circumstances, I grasped my pistol, when, just at the right time, I learnt the reason and character of this curious proceeding.
The little eminence on the top of which we had observed the people, and at the foot of which the armed dance was performed, is an important locality in the modern history of the country which we had reached. For here it was that when the Kél-owí (at that time an unmixed and pure Berber tribe, as it seems) took possession of the country of Old Góber, with its capital, Tin-shamán, a compromise or covenant was entered into between the red conquerors and the black natives, that the latter should not be destroyed, and that the principal chief of the Kel-owí should only be allowed to marry a black woman. And as a memorial of this transaction, the custom has been preserved that when caravans pass the spot where the covenant was entered into, near the little rock Máket-n-ikelán, “the slaves” shall be merry and be authorized to levy upon their masters a small tribute. The black man who stopped me was the “serki-n-baï” (the principal or chief of the slaves).
These poor, merry creatures, while the caravan was proceeding on its march, executed another dance; and the whole would have been an incident of the utmost interest, if our minds and those of all the well-disposed members of the caravan had not been greatly oppressed and vexed with sad forebodings of mishap. The fear was so great that the amiable and sociable Slimán (one of the Tinýlkum, who at a later period manifested his sympathy with us in our misfortunes) begged me most urgently to keep more in the middle of the caravan, as he was afraid that one of those ruffians might suddenly rush upon me, and pierce me with his spear.
The soil hereabouts consisted entirely of bare gravel; but farther on it became more uneven, and broken by granite rocks, in the cavities among which our people found some rain-water. The tract on our right was called Tisgáwade, while the heights on our left bore the name Tin-ébbeke. I here rode awhile by the side of Émeli, a Tarki of the tribe of the Azkár, a gentleman both in his dress and manners, who never descended from the back of his camel. Although he appeared not to be very hostile to the robbers on our track, and was certainly aware of their intention, I liked him on account of his distinguished manners, and, under more favourable circumstances, should have been able to obtain a great deal of information from him. But there was with him a rather disagreeable and malicious fellow named Mohammed (or, as the Tuarek pronounce it, Mokhammed), from Yánet or Jánet, who, in the course of the difficulties which befell us, did us a great deal of mischief, and was fully disposed to do us much more.
The country, which in the meantime had become more open, after a while became bordered ahead by elevations in the form of a semicircle, while we began to ascend. The weather had been extremely sultry and close the whole day, and at last, about three o’clock in the afternoon, the storm broke out, but with less violence than on the day before our arrival at Asïu. We encamped at length on an open gravelly plain, surrounded by ridges of rocks, without pitching our tents; for our unwished-for guests had in the face of the Tinýlkum openly declared that their design was to kill us, but that they wanted first to get more assistance. Notwithstanding this, Mr. Richardson even to-night was obliged to feed these ruffians; such is the weakness of a caravan—although in our case the difference of religion, and consequent want of unity, could not but greatly contribute to paralyze its strength. I here heard that some of the party were Imghád, from Tádomat. Under such circumstances, and in such a state of feeling, it was impossible to enjoy the sport and frolics of the slaves (that is, of the domestic slaves) of the Kél-owí, who with wild gestures and cries were running about the encampment to exact from all the free individuals of the caravan their little Máket-n-ikelán tribute, receiving from one a small quantity of dates, from another a piece of muslin or a knife, from another a shirt. Everybody was obliged to give something, however small. Notwithstanding our long day’s march, Overweg and I found it necessary to be on the watch the whole night.