13th.—Weather becomes daily cooler. Get tired of writing, and wish to be off in The Desert. A courier from The Mountains has arrived, bringing a note from Ahmed Effendi, who says, "The people of Ghadames have no occasion to send a deputation to Tripoli. They must pay the extraordinary demand of 3,000 mahboubs at once, without farther dispute or delay." People are in consternation; they all say they've no more money. My taleb assures me he was obliged to sell two of his shirts to make up the last amount of the regular tax. What is to be done for extraordinary demands? The fortifications of Emjessem are to be immediately rebuilt. The mud and salt walls are to be destroyed, and new ones of stone and lime are to replace them. Rais showed me the plan of the fonduk, which was nearly executed. This looks like perseverance on the part of the Turks, and shows their determination to keep open the communication between this and Tripoli. The fonduk, or caravanseria, will be eighty feet long and thirty wide. It is to be built by the people of Ghadames, who, whilst working, will be protected by sixty Arab troops. The expense to be also paid by Ghadames. Rais is going to see the works begin. Besides the new fonduk, Rais has taken the precaution of stopping up a well, a day's journey north-east from the city, by rolling into it a huge stone. This is for the same object, to prevent brigands coming near the city and lying in wait for small caravans and isolated travellers. Fifty sheep were brought into Souk to-day; they were immediately sold. People fatten them for the Ayd-Kebir, each family endeavouring to procure one as a religious obligation.
14th.—Went early this morning to Ben Weleed to find my aged friend, Sheikh Ali. He has the largest species of dates, and invited me to go to his garden to see the palms.
Sheikh Ali is a man of ancient days, and ancient honour and resources, and fallen into a very low estate. He has not only outlived his age and reputation, but outlived his wealth and riches and has become "poor indeed." A long flowing white beard now covers his receding breast, and the wrinkles of ninety years furrow his pale brow and sunken cheeks. Nevertheless, dignity, though ruined, is stamped on his countenance, and an almost youthful activity and hale health keep up the great burden of his years. On arriving at the old man's garden, he told me to follow him, and coming to a very fine lofty palm, with over-hanging wide-spreading boughs, he sat down under its ample shade, and bade me sit by his side. "Christian," he said, "I have sat under the shade of this palm all the days of my life, and shall recline here till God summons me hence."
"How old are the longest-lived palms?" I returned.
"More than the ages of three old men's lives," observed the Sheikh.
An old slave, as ancient-looking as his master, now brought a basket of dates, they were every one of them larger than our largest walnuts. I am vexed I have forgotten the name of this splendid variety of the date. "Eat," said Sheikh Ali, and reclined back in silence for at least half an hour. Now and then he opened his eyes to look on the autumnal beams of the rising sun, then breathed a sigh and a prayer, but did not address me a word. His ancient slave sat at a distance with his eyes fixed on his beloved master, watching the movement of his lips, as he breathed his morning prayer. At length, seeing the old man's lips cease to move, I said gently:—
"Sheikh Ali, they say you have broken down very much, but I am glad to see you confide your sorrows in the bosom of God."
Sheikh Ali.—(Awakening up suddenly, and looking at me anxiously) "Ah, Christian, have they told you so? The detractors, the wretches!"
"I trust I have not offended you."
Sheikh Ali.—"No, stranger, no. But I hate them. I hate the world. I curse the world."