The valley Tin-téggana, wherein Ánnur, with his people, was encamped, is in this place about three miles broad, being bordered towards the east by a low range of hills with the small cone of Ádode rising to a greater elevation, towards the west by the Búnday and some smaller mountains; towards the south, where the ground rises, it is lined by more detached peaks; while on the north side an open view extends down the valley as far as the large mountain mass which borders the valley of Tin-téllust on the north. Altogether it was a fine, open landscape, embracing the country which forms the nucleus, if I may say so, of the domain of the old chief, whose camels pasture here the whole year round, while he himself usually takes up his residence in this place about this season, when nature is in its prime, and the weather becomes cool, in order to enjoy the country air.
We ourselves had as yet no idea of making a long stay here, but indulged in the hope of starting the next day, when all of a sudden about noon our old friend declared solemnly that he was unable to go with us at present, that he himself was obliged to wait for the salt caravan, while his confidential slave Zinghína was now to go southwards. He said that, if we chose, we might go on with the latter. He supposed, perhaps, that none of us would dare to do so; but when I insisted upon it afterwards he as well as Zinghína declared that the attempt was too dangerous, and it would have been absurd to insist on accompanying the slave. For the moment such a disappointment was very trying. However, I afterwards perceived that, though we had lost more than a month of the finest season for travelling, we had thereby acquired all possible security for safely attaining the object of our journey; for now we were obliged to send off all our luggage with Zinghína in advance, and might fully expect to travel with infinitely more ease and less trouble, when no longer encumbered with things which, though of little value, nevertheless attracted the cupidity of the people. At the time, however, even this was not at all agreeable, as Overweg and I had to part with almost all our things, and to send them on to Kanó, to the care of a man of whose character we knew nothing.
Friday, November 8.—Nearly all the Arabs and many of the Kél-owí started, and it awakened some feeling of regret to see them go and to be ourselves obliged to stay behind. Our friend Músa, who had been the most faithful of our Tinýlkum camel-drivers, who had visited us almost daily in our tent, and from whom we had obtained so much valuable information, was the last to take leave of us. But as soon as the caravan was out of sight I determined to make the best possible use of this involuntary leisure, by sifting elaborately the varied information which I had been able to collect in Ágades, and by sending a full report to Europe, in order to engage the interest of the scientific public in our expedition, and to justify Her Majesty’s Government in granting us new supplies, without which, after our heavy losses, we should be obliged to return directly, leaving the chief objects of the expedition unattained. Owing to this resolution, our quiet life in Asben was not, I hope, without its fruits.
Our encampment, too, became more cheerful and agreeable when, on the following day, we transferred it to the korámma Ofáyet, a beautiful little branch wady of the spacious valley Tin-téggana, issuing from a defile (a “kógo-n-dútsi”) formed by the Búnday and a lower mount to the south, along which led the path to Ásodi. It was most densely wooded with talha-trees, and overgrown with tall bú rékkebah and allwot, and was thinned only very gradually, as immense branches and whole trees were cut down daily to feed the fires during the night; for it was at times extremely cold, and we felt most comfortable when in the evening we stretched ourselves in front of our tents, round an enormous fire. The tall herbage also was by degrees consumed, not only by the camels, but by the construction of small conical huts; so that gradually a varied and pleasant little village sprang up in this wild spot, which is represented in the accompanying woodcut. The time which we were obliged to stay here would indeed have passed by most pleasantly but for the trouble occasioned to Overweg and myself by our impudent and dissolute Tunisian half-caste servant, who had become quite insupportable. Unfortunately we did not find an opportunity of sending him back; and I thought it best to take him with me to Kanó, where I was sure to get rid of him. Our other servant, Ibrahím, also, though much more prudent, was not at all trustworthy, which was the more to be regretted as he had travelled all over Háusa, and even as far as Gónja, and might have proved of immense service. But fortunately I had another servant, a thin youth, of most unattractive appearance, but who nevertheless was the most useful attendant I ever had; and though young, he had roamed about a great deal over the whole eastern half of the desert, and shared in many adventures of the most serious kind. He possessed, too, a strong sense of honour, and was perfectly to be relied upon. This was Mohammed el Gatróni, a native of Gatrón, in the southern part of Fezzán, who, with a short interruption (when I sent him to Múrzuk with the late Mr. Richardson’s papers and effects), remained in my service till I returned to Fezzán in 1855.
The zeal with which I had commenced finishing my report was well rewarded, for on the 14th the Ghadámsi merchant Abu Bakr el Wákhshi (an old man whom I shall have occasion to mention repeatedly in the course of my journey) came to Ánnur to complain of a robbery committed upon part of his merchandise at Tasáwa. But for this circumstance he would not have touched at this place, and his people, whom he was sending to Ghadámes, would have travelled along the great road by Ásodi without our knowing anything about them. Being assured by the trustworthy old man that the parcel would reach Ghadámes in two months, I sent off the first part of my report.
In the course of the 15th, while sitting quietly in my tent, I suddenly heard my name, “ʿAbd el Kerím,” pronounced by a well-known voice, and looking out, to my great astonishment saw the little sturdy figure of my friend Hámma trotting along at a steady pace, his iron spear in his hand. I thought he was gone to Bilma, as we had been told; but it appeared that, having come up with the salt caravan at the commencement of the Hammáda, he only supplied them with more corn, and having conferred with them, had come back to assist his old father-in-law in the arduous task of keeping the turbulent tribes in some state of quiet. The degree of secrecy with which everything is done in this wild country is indeed remarkable, and no doubt contributes in a great measure to the influence and power of the sagacious chief of Tin-téllust.
Four days later came my other friend, the foolish Mohammed, who had accompanied the expedition of the Sultan of Ágades, and who was full of interesting details of this little campaign. Neither Astáedfit, the Prince of the Kél-owí, nor ʿAbd el Káder, the Sultan residing in Ágades, actually took part in the attack, or “súkkua,” but kept at a distance. On asking my merry friend what was the result of the whole, and whether the state of the country to the north was now settled, and the road secure, he exclaimed, with a significant grimace, “Bábu dádi” (Not very pleasant); and to what extent strength was sacrificed to euphony in this expression we were soon to learn, for the next day the “makéria,” the wife of the “mákeri” Elíyas, came to tell us that a ghazzia of the Éfadaye had suddenly fallen upon Tintagh-odé, and had carried off two large droves (gérki) of camels and all the movable property. Such is the state of this country, where the chiefs, instead of punishing systematically the rebels and marauders, regard such instances of crime only as opportunities for enriching themselves with plunder. The Éfadaye do not muster more than from two hundred to three hundred spears, but they are generally assisted by the Ígammén and Édelén, two of the tribes of the Imghád whom I mentioned above.
The next day the old chief, accompanied by Hámma and seven other trusty companions, set out for Tintéyyat, in order to consult with the old mʿallem Azóri, “the wise man of Aír,” about the means of preventing the bad consequences likely to arise from the turbulent state into which the country had fallen just when he was about to set out for Sudán.
The old chief, on his return from his important consultation, gave us some interesting information about “the Lion of Tintéyyat” (Azóri). Azóri, he said, had attained the highest degree of wisdom and learning, comprehending all Divine and human things, without ever leaving the country of Aír. He was now nearly blind, though younger in years than himself. His father had likewise been a very wise man. Formerly, according to our friend, there was another great mʿallem in the country, named Hámi, a native of Tintagh-odé, and as long as he lived the Aníslimen, his fellow-citizens, had been good people and followed the way of justice, while at present their name, “Aníslim,” was become a mere mockery, for they were the worst of the lawless, and had lost all fear of God; indeed almost all the troubles into which the country had been plunged might be ascribed to their agency and intrigues. Here the old chief had touched on his favourite theme, and he gave vent to all his anger and wrath against those holy men, who were evidently opposed to his authority.