Travels and discoveries in North and Central Africa, Vol. 5 (of 5) — Inside the Classic

to enter into friendly relations with me. My health as yet was very precarious; but I felt so much recovered in mind and body that, preparatory to my longed for departure, I began arranging the remainder of my baggage, which, with the exception of my small library, had been very much reduced. To my great astonishment and delight, while searching through my lumber, I found another thermometer in good repair. From the remainder of my broken instruments I picked up a good deal of quicksilver, which I gave to the Sheikh, who himself, as well as his other unsophisticated friends, derived a great deal of amusement from observing the qualities of this metal. Meanwhile, my protector endeavoured to make me fully acquainted with the political relation in which he stood to his brothers, Sídi Mohammed and Zén el ʿAbidín, whom he expected soon to arrive, and of whose different views in politics he gave me some slight hints; and I lamented greatly that the power of this noble family, instead of being strengthened by the number of its conspicuous scions, was only rent and split by the divergency of their views.

The course of my material existence went on very uniformly, with only slight variations. My daily food, when I was in the town, consisted of some milk and bread in the morning, a little kuskus, which the Sheikh used to send, about two in the afternoon, and a dish of negro millet, containing a little meat, or seasoned with the sauce of the kobéwa, or _Cucurbita Melopepo_, after sunset. The meat of Timbúktu, at least during the cold season, agreed with me infinitely better than that of any other part of Negroland; but this was not the case with the _Melopepo_, although it is an excellent and palatable vegetable. In the beginning of my stay I had consumed a great many young pigeons, which form a favourite dainty in this city. They are sold at the almost incredibly cheap rate of ten shells each, or at the rate of three hundred for a dollar; but the poor little things were used for culinary purposes so soon after breaking the shell as to be almost tasteless. A very rare dainty was formed by an ostrich egg, which was one day brought to me. This article is more easily to be obtained in the desert than in the towns, and such strong food, moreover, is not well adapted to the stomach of a resident. The Sheikh used also to send me a dish late at night, sometimes long after midnight; but, on account of the late hour, I never touched it, and left it to my servants.

It had been arranged that we should make another excursion to Kábara, but our visit was put off from day to day, although I was extremely anxious to witness the features of the country, in the present high level of the river, at the place where I had first landed on my arrival. Thus I was reduced, for entertainment, to my intercourse with the Sheikh, his kinsfolk, and followers; and as religious topics were always brought forward more prominently by my enemies, but especially in the learned letters which the emír of Hamda-Alláhi sent in reply to the Sheikh[1], my conversation with the former now began to turn more and more upon religious subjects, such as the return of the Messiah, and on the meaning of the name “Paraclete” given in the New Testament to the Holy Spirit, who was to descend upon the apostles, but which by the Mohammedans in more recent times is applied to Mohammed, whose coming, they say, is predicted in this instance by the Holy Book of the Christians.

One day when I visited the Sheikh, the two brothers were engaged in an animated discussion respecting the relation of ʿAísa (Jesus Christ) to Mohammed, and a warm dispute arose on the sophistical question, whether it would be allowed, after the return of ʿAísa upon earth, to eat camel’s flesh. The Sheikh himself was anxious to prove how difficult it would be for themselves to change any part of their creed after the return of ʿAísa, owing to the difference which existed between the precepts of the two prophets, and thus intended to excuse the Christians for not embracing the creed of Mohammed, after having once adopted that of ʿAísa. The two learned men, in the heat of their dispute, had overlooked the fact that the camel was a prohibited animal to the Jews, but not to the Christians, and hence that the return of ʿAísa would not interfere with their favourite repast. It was by cheerfully entering into these discussions that I obtained for myself the esteem even of those who were most anxious to extort from me as much as possible of my remaining property.

The arrival of another small caravan of the Tawáti was very near causing me a serious embarrassment. Some of the merchants from Morocco, excited by commercial jealousy, had spread the report that the calico brought by that caravan was Christian property, belonging to the English agent in Ghadámes: and I had some difficulty in making the people understand, that, even if that article had originally belonged to the agent, it was now the property of the Tawáti merchants. The presence of those people, also, caused the road to the north, by way of Tawát, to be again brought under discussion, as the route most suitable for my home-journey. My departure was now discussed almost daily; the arrival of our lively and talkative, but indiscreet messenger, Áhmed el Wádáwi, who had at length returned from his errand to the Awelímmeden, holding out the hope that my departure was in reality not far distant; but the fact that none of the Tawárek had come with him, notwithstanding his assertion that they were soon to follow, convinced me that my prospect of departure was put off for an indefinite period.

Towards the end of January the waters of the river reached their highest level, exhibiting that marvellous anomaly, in comparison with the period of the rising of other African rivers north of the equator, which is calculated to awaken astonishment in any man acquainted with the subject. For when he knows that the rising of these rivers is due to the fall of the tropical rains, he will naturally expect that the Niger, like its eastern branch, the Tsádda or Bénuwé, or the Nile, should reach its highest level in August or September. The fact can only be partly explained with the means at our disposal, and in the present state of our knowledge of this part of Africa, although it is illustrated by similar cases, if we compare it with the anomalous rising of some South- African rivers; especially the grand discovery of Dr. Livingstone, the Liambézi, which, forming in its upper course an immense shallow sheet of water, collects here the greatest amount of water at a time (July and August) when its lower course, the Zambézi, separated from it and withdrawn from the immediate effects of the waters collected above by the marvellous narrowing of the river-bed from the Falls of Victoria[2] downwards, is in its lowest state, and, through the influence of the water by which it is joined in its lower course, reaches here its highest level at quite a different season, February and March. We have before us exactly the same phenomenon in the case of the Niger, the great West-African river, which, according to the most accurate information which I was able to gather on the spot, every year continues to rise till the end of December or the beginning of January, and does not begin to decrease before February; while its eastern branch, the Bénuwé, as well as the lower course of the Niger, where it is called Kwára, exactly as is the case with the Nile, reaches its highest level by the end of August and begins to decrease steadily in the course of October.

To explain the difference and anomaly of these phenomena we must attend to the different character of these rivers. For while the Bénuwé after having once assumed a westerly direction follows it up with but very little deviation, the great western branch describes three quarters of an immense circle, and having but very little fall in the greater part of its extraordinary winding course, the waters which flow towards it from the more distant quarters require a long time to reach its middle course, so that the rain which falls in the course of September and October in the country of the Wangaráwa, or the South-eastern Mandigoes, will certainly continue to swell the river at Timbúktu till the end of November or even December; for that rain falls in those quarters behind the coast of Sierra Leone and Cape Palmas till the end of September, and perhaps even in October, we may conclude with some degree of certainty from the fact that such is the case on the coast[3]; and this is confirmed as regards Kakóndi and Tímbo by Caillié’s observations.[4] In the mountainous southern provinces of Abessinia, too, whose latitude corresponds exactly with that of the regions from whence the feeders of the Niger take their rise, the most constant fall of rain has been observed in September. Now while the whole region between Jenne and Timbúktu is of a very flat and level character, so that the river, running along at a very slow rate and with a very meandering course, not only fills a very broad stream spreading out over the neighbouring low lands, but forms also a great many backwaters and basins or lakes of which the Débo is only one although perhaps the largest in size, the river lower down beyond Bamba, and especially in the district called Tin-sherífen which we shall visit on our return journey, is shut in and reduced to the width of a few hundred yards, so that the water, having expanded over such an immense tract and not exercising therefore the same pressure which such a volume of water would do under other circumstances if it were kept together in a narrower channel, preserves its level or even still increases in extent and depth, while the surplus produced by the fall of rain in the country higher up has already diminished.

This is my mode of accounting for a phenomenon which seems to contradict in so great a measure the whole of the phenomena which have come under our observation with regard to the effects of rain and the rising of the rivers north and south of the equator, and imparts to the upper course of the Niger the same character as the Gabún and other rivers of the equatorial line which reach their highest level in the course of February.

Of course this state of the upper river, although it does not reach always the same level, cannot fail to exercise an influence also upon the lower part, where it is called Kwára, and where it has been visited repeatedly by Englishmen. But although, on account of their being unaware of this character of the river, they have not paid much attention to its features at the beginning of the hot season, and have even rarely visited it at that period, nevertheless Mr. Laird, who spent several months in the Kwára, has not failed to observe a phenomenon which exactly corresponds to the state of the river which I have just described. For he records[5] the surprising fact, which formerly must have been quite unintelligible, but which now receives its full illustration, namely, that the river _at Iddá began to rise on the 22nd of March._ This, in my opinion, he erroneously attributes to the rains up the country, as there are no rains whatever during the whole of March, and only a few drops in April; but it is evidently the effect of the waters in the upper and wide part of the river at length beginning to decrease about the middle of February, if we take the current at from 2½ to 3 miles, as the windings of the river extend to not much less than 2000 miles between Kábara and Iddá. The elevation of Timbúktu above the level of the sea I assume to be about 900 feet.

It was on the 4th of January that the first boat from Kábara approached close to the walls of the town of Timbúktu; and, as the immediate result of such a greater facility of intercourse, the supply of corn became more plentiful, and, in consequence, much cheaper: the sʿaa of millet being sold for 40 shells, and the suníye, that is to say, more than two hundred pounds’ weight, for 3000, or one Spanish dollar, certainly a very low rate; while I myself, as a foreigner and a stranger, had to pay 3750. The high state of the waters was naturally of the greatest interest to me; and, in order to satisfy my curiosity, the Sheikh took me out on the 9th. Emerging from the town at about the middle of the western wall, where formerly the báb el gibleh[6] was situated, we went first to the nearest creek of the river, but found here no boats; and then crossing an extremely barren and stony level reached another branch of the creek, where eight or ten smaller boats, without a covering or cabin, were lying; the innermost corner of this creek not being more than four or five hundred yards distant from the Great Mosque, or Jíngeré-bér. All the people asserted that the river, at Kábara, had now reached its highest level, and even affirmed that it had begun to fall here on the 7th; but, nevertheless, it became evident that the waters were still rising during the whole of the month,—almost endangering the safety of the town. On this occasion I learned that a great inundation in 1640 had flooded a considerable part of the town, and converted into a lake the central and lowest quarter, which is called Bagíndi, a name derived, as is asserted, from the tank thus formed having been enlivened by hippopotami.[7]

Interesting as was that day’s excursion it cost me dear; for being obliged, not only to be armed myself, but also to have an armed servant with me, I greatly excited the hostile feelings of the merchants from Morocco, and especially of that proud nobleman, ʿAbd e’ Salám, who went about among the great men of the town, saying, that in Morocco we, the Europeans, or rather the English, were not allowed to wear arms. But to show the absurdity of this assertion, I stated that while travelling in Morocco we received armed horsemen for an escort, while here, where there was no settled form of government, we had to protect ourselves. He then spread the rumour that an armed English vessel had ascended the river as far as Gógó; and this curious report was backed with such strong assertions that my own servant, ʿAlí el Ágeren, felt convinced of its truth, and thought it strange when I attempted to prove its absurdity.

But notwithstanding this hostile feeling, ʿAbd e’ Salám deemed it prudent to send, next day, his friend, Múláy el Méhedí, in order to excuse himself for the expressions which he had used a few days before with regard to me. It was this man, Múláy el Méhedí, with whom I should have liked to be able to converse on friendly terms, as he was a person of intelligence, and even possessed some little knowledge of astronomy. Indeed, I was not a little astonished when, conversing with him one day about the situation of Timbúktu, he came out with the statement that the town was situated about 18° N. lat., without my having thrown out the slightest hint in this respect.

All this time the whole of the surrounding country was in a most disturbed state, owing to several expeditions, or forays, which were going on, especially by the restless tribe of the Welád ʿAlúsh. They had lately taken 600 camels from the Welád Mebárek, and had now turned their predatory incursions into another direction.

On the 12th of January we again went to the tents, which had now been pitched in another spot, called Ingómaren, at a distance of about six miles a little S. from E.; but this time our stay in the encampment was very unlucky for me in several respects. On the 13th I felt tolerably well, and had a cheerful conversation with my protector about my approaching departure, when he sent me several presents, such as a large cover for the top of the tent[8], called “sarámmu” by the Songhay, “e’ béni erréga” by the Moors hereabout, and several leather pillows; but on the 14th, a little after noon, I was seized with such a sudden and severe attack of fever as I had never experienced before, accompanied by violent shivering fits, which made my kind host fear that I had been poisoned. I had drunk, a short time before, some sour milk brought me by a Berbúshi, that is to say, a man who, although intimately attached to the family of the Sheikh, originally belonged to the tribe of the Berabísh, whose chief murdered Major Laing. Although I myself had no suspicion that the milk which I had drunk had in any way contributed to my sudden attack of illness, yet as that man had some private animosity against me, and did not seem content with a present which I had made him in return for his small gift, I became so irritated, that I ordered him away in a very unceremonious manner, which caused a most unpleasant scene; for, at this conjuncture, all the people, including my own servants and even my very best friends amongst the Sheikh’s people, without paying any regard to my feeble state, gave vent to their feelings against me as a Christian.

But the Sheikh himself did not for a moment change his kind disposition, sending me tea repeatedly, and calling frequently to see how I was getting on. Fortunately, a tranquil night’s repose restored me again to health, and the following morning my friends came to me, one after the other, in order to beg my pardon for their neglect. While we were conversing on the preparations for my journey, a messenger brought the news of the arrival of a very intimate friend of the Sheikh,—Mohammed ben ʿAbd-Alláhi el Fútáwi,—who had come, with a numerous suite, in order to stay some time with the Sheikh, and, if possible, to be cured by me of some serious disease: and the prospect of soon leaving this quarter was greatly darkened by this circumstance.

[Sidenote: January 15th.]

This was one of those rainy days which are said not to be unusual towards the end of January and the beginning of February in this quarter along the river, though, in the other parts of Negroland that I had visited, I had never beheld anything of the kind. But the quantity of rain that fell even here was very little, for the sky, which had been cloudy in the morning, cleared up about noon; and although in the afternoon it became again overcast, with thunder in the distance followed by lightning towards evening, yet there fell only a few drops of rain in the course of the night.

On the 16th, having made a good breakfast on a goat roasted whole before the fire, we returned again into the town, where I was desired to cure a man of a disease over which I had no power. The character and position of the person would have rendered it a circumstance of the highest importance to me if I had been able to do so. The chronic disease under which Mohammed ben ʿAbd-Alláhi, for this is the person of whom I speak, was labouring, cast a melancholy gloom over him. I admired his manners, and the fine expression of his features; but I was disappointed to find that, although well versed in his religious books, he did not possess any historical knowledge as to the former state of these countries, which formed an object of the highest interest to me. The arrival of this person made my protector forget all the thoughts of my immediate departure.