Still at a loss to know what to do, whether to proceed to Soudan, or return and finish my tour of the Mediterranean. Sometimes I fancy I'll toss up, and then, checking my folly, I'll try the sortes sanctorum; a feather would turn the scale. On such miserable indecision hangs the fate of man!
Bought half a sheep for a Spanish dollar. It's not much of a bargain, for it is one of the Soudan species, and very thin and bony. Touarick flocks are nearly all this kind of sheep. When the Arab, who was "halves with me," divided the carcase, he took two pieces of wood, and then sent Said down stairs. One of the pieces he gave me, and the other he kept. He now, taking back my piece, called Said to return, and told him to put each piece of wood on each half of the sheep. My piece determined my half, and his piece his half. This is the Arab sortes sanctorum. The butcher had sprinkled his hayk with the blood, a drop or two were on it, and he was distressed to wash them out lest they should prevent him saying his prayers. A portion of the entrails, the spleen, he applied to his eyes as a talisman for their preservation.
There is an old woman very fond of annoying me; let us suppose she must be a witch; she always calls out after me when I pass her stall, "There is but one God and Mahomet is the prophet of God." To-day, words would not suffice; the old hag ran after me and thumped me over the back, to show her zeal for Mahomet, who, begging pardon of his Holiness, has not, after all, been so very kind to the ladies in his religion, unless it be the compliment which he has paid them, by placing all the imaginable felicity of Paradise in their embraces. I took no notice of the virago. I find it's no use. I was glad, however, to hear she was not Touarick, and only a Billingsgate Mooress of the place. I am also happy to tell my fair readers, she was not fair but very ugly. A large party of people followed me home, hooting me, to give them something to eat. This rabble fancies they have the right to insult a Christian, unless he gives them something to eat or to wear. To bear all this, and ten thousand little delicate attentions of the rabble of Ghat, requires, as Mr. Fletcher hints, "Conciliation," with an occasional dose, I should think, of that most necessary of all Saharan equipments, in travelling through The Desert. patience.
6th.—Sulky with the insolence of the rabble, and determined not to go out till the evening. A brother or cousin of Hateetah called to beg, and being in a bad humour, I told him I was just going round the town to ask for a few presents myself, in return for those I had given to the people. He was not abashed, but answered, "Good, good." He waited half an hour in silence, for I got to my writing, and went off much pleased, I should imagine, with his visit. One of the slaves of the Governor came in, and said sharply, "What's that fellow douwar (i. e. go about seeking)?" "He wants you to give him some of your gusub (grain.)" "Kelb" (dog), he replied. This slave himself was a brazen-faced beggar, and a bit of a thief, but withal a droll fellow. I asked him how he was captured? He answered, naïvely, "You know Fezzan, you know Ghat;—well, these two countries make the war, and catch me a boy." "How do you like Haj Ahmed, your master?" "He has plenty wives, plenty children: we slaves must plenty work for all these. Now, I like to eat. Haj Ahmed, he Governor, but he gives me nothing to eat. I work for him six hours—I work for others six hours. The people give me to eat, not Haj Ahmed."
This is the character of slave-labour in Ghat. The masters have half of their labour for nothing, or because they are their slaves: with the rest of their labour they support themselves. The meum et tuum is not, and indeed cannot be very strictly observed by the poor people who have to support such a precarious existence; and when Said went down to bring up the meat to cook for supper, he found this young gentleman had carried it nearly all off to cook for his own supper, leaving what remained for us to make the best of.
It is now reported that every stranger will leave Ghat in five or six days, one ghafalah going to the south, another to the north, one to the east, and another to the west. To these five or six days ten or twenty may be added. This is ordinary calculation of Desert time.
Afternoon, Jabour called with a young man, who had a bullet lodged in his arm, which he had received in a skirmish with the Shânbah. I could only recommend a surgical operation, and his going to Tripoli. At this Jabour was alarmed, and asked "What would the Turks do to the young man?" begging of me medicine. I offered to take him under my protection, but it was of no avail. The amiable Sheikh was as friendly as ever. I asked him to write a letter to England. Jabour replied justly, "You are my letter; I have written on you. You can tell your Sultan and people the news of us all." "Don't be afraid to return, there are no banditti in that route. The Shânbah are in the west," he added. I promised, if ever returning to Ghat, I would bring him a sword with his name engraven upon it. He said, "I know you will, Yâkob." I am tempted to think Jabour is the only gentleman amongst the Touaricks. Another of Hateetah's cousins came to beg, but went away empty-handed. This evening visited Bel-Kasem in the expectation of seeing Khanouhen. The prince saluted me very friendly, and asked, in a sarcastic tone, "How is the English Consul (Hateetah)?" My appearance then suggested thoughts about Christians. "What is the name of the terrible warrior who has killed so many Christians in Algeira?" he demanded.
I.—"Abd-el-Kader."
"Yâkob," he continued, "come, let you and me fight, for it seems Mussulmans and Christians must fight. Here, I'll lend you a spear,—take that" (giving me a huge iron lance.) I took it, and turning to Bel-Kasem, said, "What's this cost?" so evading the challenge. "The price of a camel," shouted Bel-Kasem at the top of his voice. "Ah!" cried Khanouhen, "right, now sit down again; men are fools to fight—why cut one another's throats?" "Yâkob," he went on, "your Sultan's a woman, does she fight?" There was now a tremendous knocking at the door. This was two or three cousins of Hateetah. "D——n that Hateetah," cried Khanouhen, "Bel-Kasem, turn them away." Hereupon, Bel-Kasem started up in the most abject style of obedience, and pushed one of his slaves out of the room-door into the open court, crying "Bago, bago" (not at home). There are certain foreign words which get currency, and supplant all native ones. This "bago" is neither Touarghee, nor Ghadamsee, nor Arabic, although used by persons speaking almost exclusively these languages. Bago is Housa, as before mentioned. Then the slave called "Bago, bago, bago;" then half-a-dozen slaves, close to the street-door, called "Bago, bago, bago." The knocking continued; the "bagos" continued, the uproar was hideous. Then Bel-Kasem gave his slave a slap, crying, "Bago, you kelb (dog)." Now the slave was off again to the other slaves, shouting and yelling "Bagos," till the "bagos" drowned the knocking and the clamour without, and the disappointed supper-hunters retired growling like hungry wolves of the evening. Bel-Kasem now gave me a hint to fetch the money for Khanouhen. I was off and back in an instant, very glad to give the Sheikh the money according to our new compact. I put it into the hands of Bel-Kasem. "Go out," said Bel-Kasem, "and see the fine parrots I have bought." I went out, and in the meanwhile the politic merchant slipped the money into the hands of the Prince. When I came back, they both began to ridicule Hateetah. The Prince said, "Yâkob, place yourself under the sword of Hateetah, and go out with him and fight a hundred Shânbah." "Oh, he's an ass," replied Bel-Kasem. Such was their style of ridicule. Bel-Kasem is a well-meaning little fellow, but a sort of fool or jester of the Sheikh's. Khanouhen allows him to say anything and do anything, but laughs at him all the time. Bel-Kasem always brings the Sheikh some pretty present, and Khanouhen throws around him his powerful arm of protection. The slavish merchant and faithful sycophant always calls him Sultan, swears by the Sheikh's beard in his quarrels with the other merchants, and threatens all his rivals in trade with Khanouhen's wrath.
The Sahara has its factions in every group of its society. It would appear that without faction neither Saharan nor any other sort of society could exist. Ghadames gives us its Ben Weleed and Ben Wezeet. Ghat gives us three great factions in its Republic of Sheikhs. We may thus classify their politics:—