Returning from the merchants, "Whey! whey! whoo! whoo! whoo!" saluted my ears. This noise came from a group of people surrounding En-Nibbee Targhee, "The Prophet of the Touaricks." The salute was followed by a number of persons who rushed upon me, carried me by force into the presence of The Prophet. The Seer, seeing me discomposed, said in a kind tone, "Gheem," (sit down). Now there was profoundest silence, not a murmur was heard amongst a hundred people crowded together. The Seer stood up before me, and, assuming an imposing attitude, spoke in monosyllabic style, the usual address adopted by North African and Saharan prophets,—
"Christian, Ghat, good, you?"
Myself.—"Yes, the people are good to me."
The Prophet.—"Three! one!" (putting out one finger of the right hand, and three of the left hand.)
Myself.—"There is one God!" (knowing the prophet meant this, for it is the usual way of badgering Christians about the Trinity in North Africa.)
The Prophet.—"Good:" (then making the sign of the cross by putting his two forefingers into the shape of a cross.) "But you Christians worship this (the cross) of wood, stone, iron, brass. This is not good, not good."
Myself.—"No, we English do not worship wood, stone, iron, or brass."
The Prophet.—"You lie, you lie." (At this emphatic negative, up stepped one of my Ghadamsee friends to the Prophet, and told him that the English did not worship the cross or images like some other Christians.)
The Prophet.—"Good, right, sublime. What's your name?"
Myself.-"Yâkob."