A deputation of the Kuntas of the village soon joined us, who told us that Sidi Hamet had arrived two days before with my letter for Aluatta; but the latter was from home, and no one knew exactly where to find him, nor if my missive had reached him.
In fact, fifteen days before, a band of Kel Gossi, a Tuareg tribe whose territory is about the centre of the bend of the Niger, had carried off a hundred head of cattle belonging to the chief of the southern Kuntas; Aluatta had set off to overtake the raiders, and induce them in the name of Allah and Mahomet to restore their ill-gotten gains.
However extraordinary the following custom may appear, it is actually prevalent in the Tuareg districts. One tribe steals from a neighbour all or part of his herds; if the latter is not strong enough to recover by force that which he has been deprived of, he tries conciliation, and generally regains, if not all, at least a portion of his chattels. This invariably occurs when the injured party is a marabout, and be it remembered these raids do not involve war: the same Kel Gossi will be quite prepared to come the next day to ask Aluatta to implore for them the protection of Heaven, and to purchase talismans from him.
Whatever the result, this troublesome episode made me fear I should not see Aluatta. Unable to confer with him, I betook myself to his relations and endeavoured to secure their friendship, telling them the story of my connection with Barth, or Abdul Kerim.
This produced a marvellous change in their demeanour; reserved before, they became most cordial. To strengthen the effect still further I brought the phonograph into play. One of the head Kuntas sang an Arab song in his tent. It was really the battle hymn of Hamet Beckay, the friend of my “uncle,” and it was really something to see the amazement of all when the instrument repeated the song. From that time we were the best of friends. All expressed their regret that I could not have a palaver with their chief. “Not wishing to deceive you,” said they, “we will not promise a visit from Aluatta, but, if you like to wait, you shall see his brother, Abiddin, who at this moment is at Arhlal, about twelve miles away. We will send and fetch him at once.”
The proposal pleased me too much to be refused, and the messengers departed.
Along with our friends the Kuntas, there came a little band of Tuareg Kel Temulai, who lived further down stream in the direction of Ganto, who were evidently sent to give information.
They were tall, strong fellows, spare and active. As this tribe has no camp on the banks of the river, I told them I should ascend the creek which leads to Ganto for the purpose of seeing them. In fact, I wished to ascertain their intentions. The Kel Temulai were one of the two tribes which divided the dominion of the region around Timbuktu; Kabara and the southern portion of the plain which surrounds the city belong to them. The French drove them from it, and they fell back towards the east, gathering round their chief Madunia, who lived near Ganto and was more than a hundred years old.
On the next day, the 26th, a despatch actually arrived, which the Commandant of Timbuktu had managed to send on to us by canoe. A fortnight later we were to receive yet another at Rhergo, and our delight may be imagined, for we had had no news from home for ten months.
In the afternoon Abiddin arrived. Tall, strong, and well-made, he looked anything but amiable, and was far from communicative. I confess his first appearance struck me as anything but pleasing. He was by no means anxious to get into our good graces, and replied very dryly to my protestations of friendship. We talked together for about an hour, but I failed altogether to mollify him, and I began to despair of bringing him round.