And paint his visage with a glowing red.
With swift expansion swells the bloated skin,
Nought but an undistinguish’d mass is seen:
The puffy poison spreads and heaves around,
Till all the man is in the monster drown’d.”
The next place the expedition reached was Tozar,—a town fairly in the Sahara, and beyond even the farreaching sway of the old Dominos rerum and their redoubtable Legionaries. “Before Tozar,” says our author, “there are a few hillocks, dotted with some majestic palm-trees; affording a delightful shade: and the silvery rivulet, winding its way among these in devious directions, adds to the charm of the scene. As we approached, we found the hillocks and the trees literally covered with men, women, and children,—assembled to witness the entry of Prince Mohammed and the camp, with their shrill notes of lo-lo-lo-lo!” Tozar, like the other cities of the Sahara, is in one important feature different from those on the coast. Generally speaking, the streets of all the towns of Barbary, like those in Egypt and Syria, are exceedingly narrow, so that one camel, laden with wood or merchandise, is sufficient to obstruct the thoroughfare. But in the towns of the Sahara the streets are generally very wide,—the object of which is, to allow the furious winds of the Desert, charged with immense masses of sand, to sweep clean through, instead of being checked in their course, and therefore blocking up the streets with their noxious deposit. From these sand-storms of the desert, the coast-towns have little to fear, on account of the intervening mountain-chains robbing those terrible visitants of their deadly burden; and accordingly the inhabitants of the Barbary towns can afford to build their streets very narrow, so as to exclude the fierce rays of the sun,—a luxury which their southern brethren dare not indulge in.
The population of Tozar amounts to about five thousand,—for the most part of a swarthy complexion, with a cast of features bordering upon that of the Negro. Indeed every fresh stage one makes in the journey into Central Africa, a gradual change is perceptible in the features and complexion of the population,—the white man, by a slow but invariable process, changing into a Negro. “Were it possible,” says Mr Davis, “to introduce into Europe an ethnological collection, classified latitudinally, from the northern coast to Central Africa, the greatest sceptic might be convinced of the fact, that time and place alone made our coloured fellow-creatures what they are. The slave-dealer, and the Negro-dealer, might thus have an ocular demonstration of the great truth, that the black man is our brother, and that circumstances alone, with the nature of which we are not fully acquainted, made him to differ from us.” He mentions, as an additional proof of this, that even among the Jews (who, he says, “have probably lived in this part of Africa from the time the Phœnicians first settled here”) a striking difference is perceptible between those on the coast and those residing in the interior. He adds the curious fact, that in the desert the Jews certainly do not live for many centuries; and thence deduces the conclusion, that if its influence is so clearly shown in them, both as regards colour and features, it is not to be wondered that it should have told to a much greater extent on those to whom the Sahara has been a home for thousands of years. Of all these vari-coloured sections of the North African population, the most merry and gay are unquestionably the Negroes, whether male or female. To ask a Moor or an Arab if he danced, would be to offer him a serious insult—the former especially being too grave to have a regard even for music. But the black people are almost always cheerful, and enjoy life even when in a state of bondage. “Often have I seen them,” says Mr Davis, “congregated by hundreds in some open space, singing and dancing, and playing, for hours consecutively. The ability of the Negro to accommodate himself to circumstances is surprising. What would depress and crush a white man is supported with a marvellous resignation by the black, whose light heart enables him to toil and to sing, to suffer, and yet not despair.”
Within the oasis of Tozar, and its date-forest, are half-a-dozen villages, besides four marabouts with their cupolas, around each of which are a few huts. The houses of the Desert are generally only one storey high, and are built, like those of Cafsa, of bricks, with rafters of palm-wood. The interior of the houses is as humble as their exterior. The rooms are long and narrow, with only a hole here and there to admit the light; and from the rafters of the ceiling of every apartment is suspended the stock of dates which, with milk, forms the principal articles alike of food and of commerce. It is by the sale, or rather barter, of their dates to the wandering tribes that the inhabitants of the oasis of Tozar procure for themselves wheat, barley, cloth, cattle, &c. In former times their commerce was not of so simple or so innocent description—for a flourishing business used to be done here with Tunis in human flesh. A slave was given in exchange for two or three hundredweight of dates, or at the intrinsic value of about £3; and when the rich planter’s shed was filled, he marched the unhappy objects of his purchase northwards to the coast, where they were shipped for their various destinations. “Before the abolition of slavery in the regency of Tunis,” says our author, “I have often seen caravans from this place exposing their merchandise in the slave-market of the capital, and selling them at the rate of £12 or £15 per head. But this lucrative business is now stopped, at least so far as Tunis is concerned, and loud are the complaints of the Tozarians on this subject.”
Besides the stock of dates pendant from the ceiling, the chief ornaments which decorate the rooms of the Sahara towns, are a strange medley of jars, jugs, dishes, plates, bottles, and glasses, suspended on the wall facing the entrance-door. Here they are exhibited promiscuously, totally irrespective of size, shape, colour, or order, and by the quantity of these, an estimate is formed of the wealth of the owner. A low table, a few stools made of the branches of the palm-tree, and, in some instances, a couch or divan, complete the furniture of an apartment,—and an apartment generally forms the residence of a single family. At night, sheepskins, rugs, or mats, are spread on the floor, and supply the place of beds. Every household, we may add, has one or more immense jars, into which any loose or stray dates are thrown. Within an inch or two of the bottom of these jars there is a top, by which they draw off a species of date-honey, which they use in cooking and for other purposes.
Date-honey, however, is not the only species of juice which the Tozarians obtain from the palm-trees of their oasis; for we are informed that though the devout believers in the Koran there scrupulously abstain from wine, they indulge freely in lagmi, or the juice of the palm-tree, which, when fermented, is quite as intoxicating in its effects as the beverage prohibited by the Prophet. This juice is easily obtained, and if possible still more easily prepared. At a certain season of the year, an incision is made in the tree just beneath the branches,—a jar is then so fastened as to receive the liquid as it exudes,—and, in this manner, they usually procure from a tree, during the course of a night, from a quart to a quart and a half of lagmi. When drunk immediately, this liquor tastes like genuine rich milk, and is perfectly free from an intoxicating influence; but when allowed to stand for a night, or at most for twenty-four hours—during which time fermentation takes place—“it partakes (with the exception of the colour, which is whitish) of the quality and flavour of champagne, and that of a much superior sort to what is usually offered in the British markets.” This date-tree wine is to be found in every house, and has its victims reeling through the streets of Tozar just as beer and whisky have in our streets at home. But the curious part of the matter is, that “the faithful” openly justify themselves against the charge of transgressing their Prophet’s precept. “Lagmi is not wine,” they say, “and the Prophet’s prohibition refers to wine.”