He answered, "Shafou wishes a dollar or a holee (barracan)."
Not understanding this, I said, "To-morrow I will see."
The Messenger.—"Should I bring Shafou here to your house?"
"Yes, yes," I answered, very glad to have a visit from the Sultan.
"Now?"
"Yes, bring the Sultan at once," I continued.
In a few minutes, before I could guess or imagine what was this strange business, I heard His Highness knocking at the door, who, with the messenger, immediately ascended the terrace. The old gentleman, on entering my room, refused my most pressing invitation to sit down on the ottoman, preferring from sheer modesty to sit upon a skin stretched on the floor. His Highness sat silent a few minutes, looking very good-natured. As we were quite alone, I embraced the opportunity of speaking very plainly to the Sultan. "You see," I observed, "our people are afraid to come here, not knowing whether the Touaricks will kill them or not. Have you not power to prevent the lesser Sheikhs from stopping Christians in The Desert, and threatening them with bad language." "No," replied the Sultan, "I cannot be everywhere. Some of my children think themselves better than their father. They will talk and have their own way[18]. But now, Yâkob, we have all agreed to protect you, why do you fear?" "I don't fear," I added, "but cannot something be done for the protection of Christians through The Desert." "Here," said His Highness, "is the question. You return home, you go to your Sovereign, for I have a secret to tell you." "What is that?" I demanded anxiously. "Up to now," said Shafou, mildly and deliberately, "all the world has paid us tribute. The merchants who come from the east or west, north or south, all pay us tribute. But the English do not pay us tribute. How's this? You must tell your Sultana to pay us tribute, and speak to her yourself." I promised I would if I had an opportunity, not attempting to dispute a moment such pretensions. I simply recollected the Khan of Tartary, who, after dining himself, went out and ordered his servant to proclaim to all the monarchs of earth his permission for them to dine, now that he had finished his own dinner. I told His Highness, I thought I should return next year; on which he said, "Well do, I'll conduct you myself to Aheer." I then introduced the delicate subject of slavery. I observed, "The Sheikhs of the Touaricks get very little from the merchants who deal in slaves. If Your Highness should put an end to this traffic, you would get more from us English." "Yes, yes, that's what you said before," interposed the Sultan. "Try us, then, bring the money; at present, the English give us nothing." I mentioned to the Sultan that the Bey of Tunis had abolished the traffic in slaves. "Yes," said the messenger to the Sultan, "it's true." The conversation now dropped, and I did not understand what was to be done further. The messenger made a sign about the dollar. I had already folded up mechanically a dollar in a piece of paper before the Sultan came in, so I put this into the messenger's hand. I certainly should have given the Sultan a dozen dollars if he had asked me, but the old gentleman's wishes and wants were few, and his modesty greater than these. His Highness now got up, and shaking hands departed as pleased as Punch with his dollar. I question whether His Highness ever has any money; Khanouhen is treasurer and everything else. So I finished with the good-natured gentle creature Shafou, having humbly presented The Sultan of all the Touaricks of Ghat with one dollar!
Just after Shafou left, the messenger wished to play me a trick. He came running back, and said:—"See this dagger, this belongs to Khanouhen; he says you must give him half a dollar." I simply replied to the fellow, "I know nothing about it." I was convinced Khanouhen would never send such a message. I laughed however at this fashion of sending about daggers. It had something in it of the style of presenting a pistol to a man's breast with the agreeable demand, "Your money or your life."
Passing through the gardens, I fell accidentally into conversation with a gardener. On mentioning, that if God spared my life, I should go to Soudan next year, he exclaimed:—
"What! do you know God?"