Sheikh Makouran is occupied in purchasing me an outfit of Moorish costume for the The Desert. He is very slow, but he gets them cheaper than if I bought them myself. He purchases one thing one day, and another thing the next day, and all from different persons. This is the way here. Attempted myself to purchase two turbans, one for myself and one for Said, but I found it no easy matter. The owner asked three dollars each, alleging that the turbans had been "blessed at Mecca[61]." I refused to give this price, and it was agreed to wait till the Sheikh came. This was decided by a council of the people, against the wish of the owner, who objected to waiting. At length the Sheikh made his appearance. Nothing was said about the price, for every one knew they must abide by the Sheikh's decision. The Sheikh after examining the turbans, said to the seller, "Let them be sold for one dollar each." The owner began to exclaim against this decision, but the Sheikh stopped his mouth!—"This is our friend (habeebna). Do you wish to rob him? Is this your kindness to a stranger, who has lived with us so long, and whom we all love?" These words were uttered with the greatest energy, and silenced every objection. I paid the money, and a quarter of a dollar more for mine. Without exception, the Sheikh was the most just and kindest man I met with in Ghadames, and yet he had the reputation of being close-fisted in money matters. He refused to receive any rent for his house in which I lived, and when I left he ordered a quantity of cakes to be made for me, which he brought me himself. They were very nice, made of butter, and honey, and dates, and lasted me all the way to Ghat. Makouran pressed the Rais to write for me to the Touarick authorities of Ghat; but his Excellency could not without an order from Tripoli. I am under very great obligations to the Sheikh, who behaved like a father to me in a land of strangers. His brother was kindness itself, but had not the spirit of the Sheikh. His eldest son, Haj Besheer, was also a very kind and upright young man. Haj Besheer has immense influence with the Touaricks, and if he had gone with me to Ghat, nothing would have happened. His principal connexions are in Touat, and I really think that an European, going with letters from him to one of his Touarghee friends, might make the journey to Timbuctoo in safety. Sheikh Makouran took me to-day before the Rais and Kady, and in their presence a long "Testimonial" of the people of Ghadames was drawn out in Arabic, stating that during the time I had resided in Ghadames I had conducted myself well, and given no offence to any one. This was signed by the Kady, on behalf of all the people, in presence of the Rais and the Nather and several other officers. I was requested to countersign it, which I did with these words: "I have remained three months in Ghadames, and now leave it with great personal satisfaction to myself, and in peace with all the inhabitants." A copy of this I made for the Kady to keep in Ghadames. The "Testimonial" itself was sent to Colonel Warrington, through the Pasha, who either did not forward it to the Colonel, or it has been mislaid or lost, for it cannot now be found in the Consulate Archives. The people of Ghadames were determined to give me this testimonial in order that the Turkish authorities should not hereafter bring any accusation against me. It was dated the 24th, or the day fixed for departure.
The Rais astonished me to-day, by telling me, he had bastinadoed twice my taleb, Ben Mousa, for dishonesty. I absolutely thought the Rais was joking, for the Rais and the taleb seemed always pretty good friends. I knew Ben Mousa was not extremely delicate, and would sometimes sit down with Said and eat his dinner away from him. I inquired of the turjeman about it, who assured me it was no joke, and that Ben Mousa had been twice bastinadoed for borrowing things and not returning them. I was extremely sorry to hear this, for I had been greatly assisted by the taleb in obtaining information, and we had passed many long hours together. The taleb is a man of about fifty, extremely clever, and a pretty good scholar, and had formerly kept a school. Now he did nothing but calculate the water distribution or irrigation of the gardens. He wished to come with me to England, to work at translations and get a little fortune for his family. But whenever I told him that there were very learned Arabic scholars in England and France, he always answered, "They are concealed Moslems;" that is to say, afraid to confess Mahomet before the Christians, or seeking to convert Christians. From time to time I gave the taleb a few presents and a little money, as also the turjeman. This latter was a very different character. He mended skin bags for water, made shoes, white-washed houses, worked in the gardens, and made himself generally useful. He had some property, and his garden, the heritage of his ancestors, was one of the finest in the country. He was honest, but his defect was want of moral courage. The turjeman had lived a good while in Tunis, with some French, where he learned his Italian, and a few French words. He always said, "When I lived with the Christians, I drank wine like them." Some of the people, in a joke, would call him a Christian. He was a bad scholar, and very bitter against the Wahabites, whom he delighted to picture to himself in the pleasing predicament of carrying the Jews to hellfire on their backs. I myself one day had a quarrel with a Wahabite. The Wahabite called me a kafer. I retorted, "Why, what are you? You are nothing but a Wahabite." He was so angry that he was about to draw his knife at me, when the people seized hold of him, and one of my friends knocked him down.
Rais heard of the affair, and said as he was a foreign Arab he should leave the oasis. He came afterwards to me to beg my pardon, and I gave him some coffee to make him merry. He then told me all about the Wahabites, not forgetting to abuse all the other sects. He said the Arabs of his mountain had no objection to the Turks if they would become Wahabites. He was also of the Abadeeah, "white-caps," and declaimed against the "red"-capped Wahabites. The controversy is as nearly as possible the same as that of our white and black-gowned clergy of the Established Church, introduced by the Puseyites.
Begin now to have some trouble with Said. He gets sulky and saucy, and sometimes says he will stop in Ghadames and eat dates. I am obliged to box his ears. Then he gets very frightened at the Touaricks, and begins to blubber, "I shall be made a slave again, and you yourself will be killed." Then he would complain that the Rais's servants and slaves had better clothes than himself. I always found it was the better way to let him have a sfogo, or "vent," for his temper, and afterwards he was himself again. He never could keep a para in his pocket, but would give his money to the first person who would ask him for it. I am obliged to buy him snuff every week, and a stock for the journey. With this he is accustomed to treat everybody, and is therefore very popular. Even the Governor thinks him the best Negro he ever knew. As is natural enough, he is a great favourite amongst the Negresses, and even amongst the Touarick ladies. I found him crying one day, and asked,—
"Said, what's the matter?"
"I now recollect my wife whom I left in Jerba," he sighed out.
Before this, I didn't know he was married; he was about thirty years of age. My turjeman and Said were two great cronies, and they discussed all the town's affairs in general, and everybody's affairs in particular. At first, I had not the remotest idea Said had so much wit, and was pleased to hear his remarks and criticisms. One of these was capital, and had a particular reference to his own case. He stared at me, observing, "We can't put the slave-trade down whilst the Jews in Tripoli lend the merchants here goods to carry it on." He was so fond of the turjeman that, on leaving Ghadames, he gave him all the money he had, and said to me when I scolded him, "We don't want any money in The Desert," adding, "Where are the shops?"
23rd.—Bought a camel this morning, a nagah, ناقه, or "she-camel," for 25 dollars. Rais would have the honour of choosing the camel, but it was scarcely worth the money. I hired another camel to carry a portion of the baggage. Rais told me the Pasha had offered to the Touaricks to equip an expedition, in conjunction with them, against the Shânbah, but the Touaricks would not accept of the aid, being determined to fight their own battles in their own way. They might have thought that after the Pasha had destroyed the Shânbah, he would have turned his arms against them.
24th.—We are all confusion in getting off. It is late in the afternoon. I have loaded the nagah, and disposed of my baggage; I have bid a hundred people farewell, shaking them by the hands. We are surrounded with the whole male population of the city, and half-caste women. Rais is galloping about to see the people off. But a group of people is now seen forming rapidly round a man and a boy, and a camel just come in from The Desert with a load of wood, "What's the matter?" "The Shânbah! the Shânbah!" people shout from detachment to detachment of the ghafalah. The confusion of parting is succeeded by the terror and rushing back of the people. The advanced party abruptly returns upon the party immediately behind it, and all rush back to the gates of the city, one running over the other. Rais appears amongst them to calm the consternation. "What's the matter?" His Excellency is too much agitated to answer the question. I find Sheik Makouran. "What's the matter?" "The man and the boy just come in saw twenty-five Shânbah mounted on camels, and the ghafalah cannot go. Rais is going to send out a scout, a Senawanee, to see if it be the Shânbah, and then all the people are to arm and go out against the robbers." A pretty kettle of fish, thought I. The Governor then sent a man down to me, to come and sleep for the night in his house. All the merchants return, but the camels and a few men remain outside, close by the gate. A number of soldiers are sent round the city, and the Senawanee mounted on a maharee, goes off in the direction where the Shânbah had been seen, the Rais accompanying him a short distance. On his return, the Rais bitterly complained of the merchants not furnishing him immediately with camels. It was some time before he could get the scout off. I went up a mound outside of the city to see the scout "out of sight." As the white form of the maharee was disappearing in the glare of the sand, I admired the bravery of the Senawanee, who thus defied single-handed a troop of robbers, bearding them in their very ambush.
We waited with intense anxiety the return of the scout. Many people got upon the walls to look out. At length, at noon the 25th, a single camel was descried on the dull red glare of the Saharan horizon. This was the Senawanee. A number of people ran to him. "Where are the Shânbah?" "Where?" "Shânbah?" The messenger said nothing—he was dumb. A crowd gets round him—he's still dumb. He enters the Rais's hall of conference, and squats down in the presence of his Excellency. He speaks now, and calls for coffee. The Rais gets furiously agitated at the moment of breaking silence. The scout very calmly sips off his coffee, and strokes down his beard, and then deigned to satisfy Governor, Kady, officers, and the men, women, and children, who were now pressing upon him with dreadful agitation. "Oh, Bey! (raising himself from the floor, fixing his eyes now on the Bey, and now on the people, and putting his fore-finger of the right hand on the thumb of the left)—I went to the sand. I got there when the sun was gone down. The camel lay down, and so did I lay down on the sand. We watched all night. I fear no one but God!—(Here was a general hum of approbation.)—Two hours before the fidger, (break of day) I looked up and saw pass by me, at a distance of from here to The Spring, nine Bughar (wild-bullocks). They came and went, and went and came, snuffing up the sand and bellowing. The man and the boy, who cut the wood yesterday, saw the Bughar. But the wild oxen are not the Shânbah!" As soon as he mentioned the Bughar, the people rushing out of the Bey's apartment, ran away, and before I could get my dinner, a portion of the ghafalah was on the move. The Rais said to me, "Get off, make haste—make haste." I then went down to load the nagah again, but found it very difficult; seeing the other camels passing on, she would not stop to be laden. At length my turjeman came and arranged all. Said observed that the obstinacy of the nagah was a bad omen. His Excellency the Governor came to see me off, and gave me an affectionate shake of the hands. I then met his confidential man Abd-Errahman, who said to me, "Rais has given you in charge of all the people of the ghafalah, (about sixty persons"). This was kind of the Governor, and better, perhaps, than being in the charge of one individual. But still I couldn't help thinking, that what is many persons' business is nobody's business. The turjeman accompanied us some distance, chatting with Said. He carried with him a quantity of date-tree fibrous netting, and was twisting bands as he followed us. We soon parted. I then passed my old friend the good-natured Arab doctor. His parting blessing spoke the native goodness of his heart: "Day cool, route wide, route Fezzan, ghafalah large, Shânbah there are none—God bless you, farewell!"
