Mami had visited many of the European colonies and Moorish kingdoms on the north coast of Africa, so that he enjoyed the advantage of comparison, and, of course, was not stupefied by the untravelled ignorance of Africans who consider Timbuctoo a combination of Paris and paradise. Indeed, he did not presume, like most of the Mandingo chiefs, to prefer it to Senegal or Sierra Leone. He confessed that the royal palace was nothing but a vast inclosure of mud walls, built without taste or symmetry, within whose labyrinthine mesh there were numerous buildings for the wives, children, and kindred of the sovereign. If the royal palace of Timbuctoo was of such a character,—“What,” said he, “were the dwellings of nobles and townsfolk?” The streets were paths;—the stores were shops;—the suburb of an European colony was superior to their best display! The markets of Timbuctoo, alone, secured his admiration. Every week they were thronged with traders, dealers, peddlers and merchants, who either dwelt in the neighboring kingdoms, or came from afar with slaves and produce. Moors and Israelites, from the north-east, were the most eminent and opulent merchants; and among them he counted a travelling class, crowned with peculiar turbans, whom he called “Joseph’s-people,” or, in all likelihood, Armenians.
The prince had no mercy on the government of this influential realm. Strangers, he said, were watched and taxed. Indeed, he spoke of it with the peculiar love that we would suppose a Hungarian might bear towards Austria, or a Milanese to the inquisitorial powers of Lombardy. In fact, I found that, despite of its architectural meanness, Timbuctoo was a great central mart for exchange, and that commercial men as well as the innumerable petty kings, frequented it not only for the abundant mineral salt in its vicinity, but because they could exchange their slaves for foreign merchandise. I asked the Fullah why he preferred the markets of Timbuctoo to the well-stocked stores of regular European settlements on a coast which was reached with so much more ease than this core of Africa? “Ah!” said the astute trafficker, “no market is a good one for the genuine African, in which he cannot openly exchange his blacks for whatever the original owner or importer can sell without fear! Slaves, Don Téodore, are our money!”
The answer solved in my mind one of the political problems in the question of African civilization, which I shall probably develope in the course of this narrative.
CHAPTER XVII.
Having completed the mercantile negotiations of the caravan, and made my personal arrangements for a protracted absence, I put the noble Fullah in charge of my establishment, with special charges to my retainers, clerks, runners, and villagers, to regard the Mami as my second self. I thought it well, moreover, before I plunged into the wilderness,—leaving my worldly goods and worldly prospects in charge of a Mussulman stranger,—to row down to Bangalang for a parting chat with Mongo John, in which I might sound the veteran as to his feeling and projects. Ormond was in trouble as soon as I appeared. He was willing enough that I might perish by treachery on the roadside, yet he was extremely reluctant that I should penetrate Africa and make alliances which should give me superiority over the monopolists of the beach. I saw these things passing through his jealous heart as we talked together with uncordial civility. At parting I told the Mongo, for the first time, that I was sure my establishment would not go to decay or suffer harm in my absence, inasmuch as that powerful Fullah, the Ali-Mami of Footha-Yallon had deputed a lieutenant to watch Kambia while I travelled, and that he would occupy my village with his chosen warriors. The mulatto started with surprise as I finished, and abruptly left the apartment in silence.
I slept well that night, notwithstanding the Mongo’s displeasure. My confidence in the Fullah was perfect. Stranger as he was, I had an instinctive reliance on his protection of my home, and his guardianship of my person through the wilderness.
At day-dawn I was up. It was a fresh and glorious morning. As nature awoke in the woods of that primitive world, the mists stole off from the surface of the water; and, as the first rays shot through the glistening dew of the prodigious vegetation, a thousand birds sent forth their songs as if to welcome me into their realm of unknown paths.
After a hearty breakfast my Spanish clerk was furnished with minute instructions in writing, and, at the last moment, I presented the Fullah chief to my people as a temporary master to whom they were to pay implicit obedience for his generous protection. By ten o’clock, my caravan was in motion. It consisted of thirty individuals deputed by Ahmah-de-Bellah, headed by one of his relations as captain. Ten of my own servants were assigned to carry baggage, merchandise, and provisions; while Ali-Ninpha, two interpreters, my body-servant, a waiter, and a hunter, composed my immediate guard. In all, there were about forty-five persons.