The Eye of Istar: A Romance of the Land of No Return

In the rapidly-falling gloom our eyes were at last gladdened by the sight of the tall minarets of Sokoto, but the tall, bronzed guards at the city gate are ever wary, and a strange scene was enacted. It appeared that with the people of Sokoto the measures formerly taken to guard against surprise are now observed as a matter of form and etiquette. Hence, as we approached the gate the guards crouched, and throwing their litham over the lower part of their faces in Tuareg fashion, grasped the inseparable spear in the right and the shangermangor in their left hand. This action caused us considerable anxiety, but after these preliminaries they began to inquire our names and places of abode, afterwards giving us “peace,” and allowing us to proceed. For a few minutes we halted to gossip, so as not to appear in undue haste, and just as the call for evening prayer was sounding and the guards were beating the great drum to announce the closing of the gate, we passed into the spacious market, wherein a caravan of many camels were taking their ease preparatory to starting for Timbuktu on the morrow.

Riding on through the city – the ancient and now discarded capital of the Sultan ’Othman’s empire – we found it very extensive, and although the character of the houses was much more primitive than those of Moorish type in Kano, yet there was manifested everywhere the comfortable, pleasant life led by the inhabitants. Each courtyard was fenced with a “derne” of tall reeds, excluding, to a certain degree, the eyes of the passer-by without securing to the interior absolute secrecy; and each house had, near its entrance, the cool, shady “runfa” or place for the reception of strangers or the transaction of business, with a “shibki” roof, and the whole dwelling shaded by spreading trees.

The people, although of cheerful temperament, appeared more simple in their dress than in Kano. The men wore a wide shirt and trousers of dark colour, with a light cap of cotton cloth, while the female population affected a large cotton cloth of dark blue fastened under or above the breast, their only ornaments being strings of glass beads worn around the neck. Proud, ignorant, bigoted and insolent, the people of Sokoto are all owners of cattle, camels, horses and slaves. These latter, along with the women, generally cultivate some fields of dhurra, or corn, sufficient for their wants. The Arab, in Sokoto, would consider it a disgrace to practice any manual labour. He is essentially a hunter, a robber and a warrior, and, after caring for his cattle, devotes all his energies to slave-hunting and war. The lower classes are simply a rabble of filth, petty mendicancy, gaol-bird physiognomy and cringing hypocrisy.

Passing through several markets crowded by chattering throngs, and up a number of close streets where idle men and women were lounging, and where the heat from the stones reflected into one’s face, we at last found the marina, or dyeing place, near the city wall. It consisted of a raised platform of clay with a number of holes or pits in which the mixture of indigo was prepared, and the cloths were placed for a certain length of time, according to the colour it was desired they should assume. It was beside one of these holes, working by the light of a rude torch, his arms immersed in the dark blue dye, that we found the Arab we sought.

As we gave him “peace” he rose to his feet with dignity, and dried his stained hands. He was about sixty, tall, with kindly, sharp-cut features, and a long, sweeping beard flecked with grey. Taking Azala’s letter, he opened it, read it carefully twice, caressed his patriarchal beard, and placed the paper in a pocket beneath his burnouse. Then turning, he said, —

“Upon thee be perfect peace, O friends. Welcome to the poor hospitality of the roof of Mohammed el-Arewa. Take thine ease to-night, for ere the sun riseth over the blue hills of Salame, we must set forth if thou wouldst escape those who seek thy destruction.” Then, after blowing out his torch, he addressed me, saying, “Art thou the friend of the Lalla Azala?”

“She is my friend,” I answered, with promptitude.

“Discretion sealeth thy lips,” he observed, laughing. “Well, I, too, loved once at thine age. If thou art, as I suspect, the lover of the beauteous Azala, of a verity thou hast chosen well. Happy the man who basketh in the rose-garden of her smiles. To her I owe the freedom of my only child, my daughter, who, captured by the Tuaregs, was sold to the accursed Grand Vizier Mahaza – may Allah burn his vitals! – and only by the intercession of the Lalla was she released. I am Azala Fathma’s devoted slave, to do as she commandeth,” adding in a lower tone, as if to himself, “Women swallow at one mouthful the lie that flattereth, and drink drop by drop the truth that is bitter. But the Lalla Azala careth not for flattery, and seeketh only to do good. She is a pearl among women.”

Then accompanying him to his house close to the principal gate, we were treated as honoured visitors. A guest-dish, sweet as the dates of Al-jauf, was prepared for us, and we ate fara, or roasted locusts seasoned with cheese, tuwo-n-magaria, or bread made from the fruit of the magaria tree, roasted fowl and dates, washed down with copious draughts of giya made of sorghum. After our meal, eight negro girls came forth and gratified our ears with a performance on various instruments. There was the gauga, very much like our own Arab derbouka, only larger, the long wind instrument, or pampamnie, a shorter one like a flute, called the elgaita, the double tambourine called the kalango, the koso, the jojo, or small derbouka, and the kafo, or small horn, which in unison created an ear-splitting tumult impossible to adequately describe.

The negresses blew, thumped and grinned as if their lives depended upon the amount of sound they obtained from their various instruments, but, worn out by the forced march, I heeded not their well-meant efforts to entertain, and actually fell into a heavy slumber with the mouth-piece of the pipe my host had thoughtfully provided for me still between my lips.

In the night, awakened suddenly by the loud blowing of a horn and frantic shouting, I lay and listened. As it continued I got up and aroused Tiamo, who slept near. For some minutes we strained our ears to ascertain the cause of the hubbub, apparently at the city gate, when suddenly our host burst into the apartment panting.

“Alas!” he cried, in a hoarse whisper. “The soldiers of the Sultan have arrived. Listen!”

The noise continued. Armed men were battering on the great gate that closed at night-fall and never opened till dawn, except to admit an Imperial messenger. We could distinctly hear their voices demanding admittance in the name of the Sultan.

“Already have I bribed the guards of the Kofa with twenty pieces of silver. When questioned, they will deny thine entrance here,” the old dyer exclaimed in reassuring tones, as at the same moment there fell upon our ears the answering voices of the sleepy guards, urging them to be patient while the gate was unbarred.

Tiamo and I exchanged uneasy and significant glances in the dim light shed by a hanging lamp of brass.

“Suppose they determine to search for us,” the dwarf suggested, in alarm.

“The assurance of the guards will throw them off our scent, and at dawn they will rest after their long journey. Then will the gate be opened, and we shall be enabled to escape. Take thine ease in peace, for of a verity, the way will be long ere thou canst again rest.”

And hastily raising the curtain that hung before the arched door, he disappeared.

Feeling myself safe beneath the hospitable roof of one who owed to Azala a deep debt of gratitude, I threw myself again upon my divan, and soon dreamed of the beautiful woman whose countenance fascinated me, and whose glorious hair held me entangled in its silky web. How long I dreamed I cannot tell, for again I was awakened, this time by the ugly dwarf shaking me by the shoulder.

“Rise, O master,” cried El-Sadic, in alarm. “We are discovered! Already the soldiers of the Sultan have entered the house!”

As, half dazed, I stood rubbing my eyes in wonderment, Mohammed el-Arewa burst in upon us, gasping in a low tone, —

“Gather thy belongings quickly, and follow me. It is thine only chance.”

In less time than it occupies to relate, we snatched up our articles of dress, and hurried after him through several doors, until he came to a double one, whereat was seated a black slave. As we passed quickly through this, the odour of fragrant perfumes greeted our nostrils, and, in the semi-darkness, there was the frou-frou of silk, and the sound of hasty, shuffling feet. A second later, we found ourselves in a small apartment, lit more brightly than the others, tastefully decorated in green and gold, and containing many priceless Arab rugs and soft divans.

“Rest here undisturbed,” he said, waving his hands in the direction of the inviting-looking lounges, around which were scattered traces of women’s occupation. “Within the apartments sacred to my women they will not search for thee. Though I commit an offence against our law, thou art safe in this, my harem. I will shield thee, even with mine own life, for the sake of the Lalla Azala, upon whom may Allah ever shower his blessings! Rest, then, while I go and complete the preparations for our flight.”

“We thank thee, O father!” I answered, fervently. “May thy face be ever brightened by the sun of Allah’s favour!”

But he was already out of hearing, so suddenly did he leave us.

Within a quarter of an hour, sounds of a loud and fierce altercation reaching us, caused us to stand rigid and silent. So rapidly were the words spoken in the Hausa tongue, that many of them were to me unintelligible, but, glancing at the dwarf, I noticed that his brow was contracted. His eyes glittered with a keen, murderous expression that I had never seen before, as, with unsheathed knife in hand, he stood near the doorway of the harem on the alert, determined not to be taken without a struggle, and to sell his life dearly.

The curtain on the opposite side of our place of concealment stirred, and a fair face peered forth inquisitively, listening as attentively as ourselves, to the heated argument outside. Her great, fathomless eyes were surmounted by two delicately-pencilled arches, and her black, glossy hair fell down her neck, covering her cheeks with its warm shadows.

With a suddenness that startled us, a deep voice, raised louder than the others, expressed a conviction that we were hidden there, and declared his intention of making a thorough search, whereupon approaching footsteps sounded on the paving; the young woman withdrew her head with a slight scream, realising that her privacy was to be intruded upon, and Tiamo and I stood together, dismayed at our base betrayal by the keepers of the city gate.

It was an exciting moment. In desperation, I drew my two-edged jambiyah– determined to fight desperately, rather than fall alive into the hands of the Sultan’s torturers.

Chapter Twenty

The Father of the Blue Hand

As with bated breath we listened, Mohammed, upon whom Tiamo had bestowed the sobriquet of “The Father of the Blue Hand,” spoke in Arabic, denying in clear, indignant tones that any stranger had found succour beneath his roof, and expressing his readiness to assist his Majesty the Sultan in arresting the rascally Dervish spy.

“Proceed no further,” he cried, evidently barring their way resolutely. “Lend me thine ears. Though a worker at the dye-pots I have, by diligence and integrity, amassed riches, and am honoured among the men of Sokoto. Desecrate not the quarters of my wives by intruding thy presence upon them. If thou thinkest that I lie when I tell thee that no stranger hath eaten salt with me, ask of the Governor, of the Cadi, of the Hadj Al-Wali, chief imam, whether untruths fall from my lips. By my beard! thou art mistaken. Even though thou art fighting-men of the Sultan ’Othman – whom may Allah enrich and guide to just actions! – his Majesty would never suffer thee to penetrate into his servant’s harem.”

“He lieth! He lieth!” they all cried, loudly. “The spy came hither, accompanied by a slave of small stature. Own it, or thy lying tongue shall be cut out.”

And one of the men added, “His Majesty hath given us orders to bring unto him the head of the Dervish from Omdurman – whom may Allah cast into the pit Al-Hawiyat! – but thine own hoary head will do as well,” whereat the others, with one accord, jeered at our protector.

The declaration of my pursuers caused my heart to sink. To be decapitated as a spy was as deplorable an end as to starve to death in the desert. But there was no escape; I resigned myself to the will of Allah.

The altercation increased, Mohammed being assailed with a thousand maledictions, while my ugly companion and myself held our peace in fear and trembling. Although the soldiers alternately threatened and cajoled for a considerable time none entered the apartment wherein we stood, yet our discovery seemed imminent, and looking around for means of escape we could detect none.

Suddenly, however, there was a shuffling of feet upon the flags, and a voice, loud in authority, cried, —

“Back, O men-at-arms! What meanest this? Let not thy feet desecrate the mats of Mohammed el-Arewa’s harem, for of a verity he is honest and loyal, a trusty servant of our Imperial Master. By my beard! thy Korân giveth thee no right to intrude upon woman’s domestic privacy. Back, I command thee. Back!”

“Who art thou, son of sebel, who vouchest for this dyer’s loyalty, and darest to give orders unto the emissaries of his Majesty?” asked one of the armed men, evidently their leader.

“My name,” cried the new-comer, “my name is Shukri Aga. I am Governor of Sokoto.”

Dead silence followed. The men mumbled together in an undertone, while our friend and protector briefly explained the position of affairs, laying stress on the fact that the soldiers had threatened to strike off his head. With one accord the men fell upon their knees before the representative of their Sultan, beseeching forgiveness, declaring that they had been misinformed, and that they had felt assured from the first that a devout man such as our host, would never harbour a dangerous spy.

But the Governor was inexorable. Irritated by the insolent manner in which his right to interfere had been questioned, he turned upon them angrily, saying —

“Get thee gone instantly. To-morrow the cadi shall curb thine excess of zeal, and peradventure a taste of the bastinado will cause thee to remember that a man’s harem is sacred. Begone!”

Receding footsteps sounded as the soldiers of the Sultan, trembling and crestfallen, having evoked the wrath of a Governor whose harshness was notorious, filed out without a murmur. Then I thanked Allah for my deliverance, while my pagan companion grinned with satisfaction from ear to ear. The Governor crossed the patio with our host, and remained with him drinking coffee and smoking for a full half-hour, when he departed, and Mohammed hastened to reassure us, exclaiming piously, “Inshallah bukra” (Please God, to-morrow), afterwards leaving us in order to conclude his arrangements for our journey.

By what means he succeeded in again silencing the tongues of the two watchmen at the city gate, I know not, nevertheless, when the moon was setting, and the dying moonlight and the first pallor of dawn were mingled in a ghastly half-light, the ponderous gate creaked upon its hinges, and I passed out, accompanied by the dwarf and the dyer. We fled straight on, leaving our path to fate.

As I rode my meheri rapidly over the grey, sandy plain, under a sky colourless and cheerless, Mohammed showered upon me a profusion of the finest compliments, pronounced in the most refined and sweet accent of which the Hausa tongue is capable, while I, finding myself again in the desert, after so narrowly escaping my enemies, thanked him sincerely for his strenuous and devoted efforts on our behalf.

“I owe much to the Lalla Azala – whom may Allah refresh with the abundant showers of his blessings – and her friend is likewise mine,” he said.

He was showily and picturesquely dressed in a green and white striped robe, wide trousers of a speckled pattern and colour, like the plumage of a Guinea-fowl, with an embroidery of green silk in the front of the legs. Over this he wore a crimson burnouse, while around his fez a red and white turban was wound crosswise in neat and careful manner. A gun was slung over his shoulder by means of thick hangers of red silk ornamented with enormous tassels, and his hands and arms were still stained a deep blue. His mount was a splendid camel, the head and neck of which was fancifully ornamented with a profusion of tassels, bells, and little leathern pockets containing charms.

“The Lalla Azala desireth me to conduct thee south to the border of the land of Al-Islâm, so that thou canst escape thine enemies,” he said, when we turned our backs upon the great, sun-whitened walls of the ancient capital of Sokoto. “We must therefore cross the desert and gain the forest with all speed, for doubtless the plains are being scoured by hawk-eyed horsemen, who will not spare thee, now that a price hath been set upon thine head.” Then, raising his hand before him, westward, towards the dark, low range of distant hills, he added, “Yonder are the Goulbi-n-Kebbi, while to the left thou seest the caravan route that leadeth to Gando. To venture within towns or villages would be unsafe, therefore we must cross the hills and seek the forest of Tebkis beyond.”

“Knowest thou the routes in the forest?” I asked.

“Yes, I learned them years ago when, in my youth, I accompanied the ivory-traders from Agadez far south, even unto the banks of the mighty Congo.”

“And the route we are following. Whither will it lead us?”

“To the Niger, where dwell the pagans,” he answered. “At the river bank I shall leave thee to return to my home.”

“In thy wanderings in the south thou hast, I suppose, witnessed many strange things,” I said, knowing the long, tedious journeys performed by ivory caravans.

“For ten weary years I travelled through desert and forest,” he answered, “and many strange peoples and strange countries of the pagans have mine eyes beheld.”

“Yet, during thy travels, hast thou never discovered the Rock of the Great Sin of which the wise men tell?” I asked. It was evident Azala had not disclosed to him the object of my quest, therefore I was determined to ascertain what he knew regarding the strange legend.

The old man laughed, shaking his head.

“Mine eyes have never been gladdened by its sight, although many are assured that the rock actually existeth, and hideth some wondrous marvel. In twenty lands the conviction is current that the Rock of the Great Sin is more than imaginary. That it existeth, though none can tell where, I have with mine own ears heard from the negroes on the Dua river, as well as those who live in the forests of far Buraka. In Dahomey, in Yorouba, in Foumbina, in the country of Samory, in the desert of the Daza, and in the great swamps of Zoulou beyond Lake Tsad, the same popular conviction existeth as firmly as among our own people. The pagans, while believing as implicitly as we of Al-Islâm that the rock is unapproachable, are also imbued with an idea that the very air in its vicinity is poisonous, and to this attribute the fact that nobody has been able to approach sufficiently near to take observations. In Gourma the negroes declare that the rock is by night and day enveloped in a dense, black smoke which veileth it from all human eyes, for their fire-god resideth there and hideth himself in its wondrous fastnesses. The Bedouins of the Digguera entertain a firm-rooted conviction that the river Al-Cawthar and the paradise of those who fall valiantly in battle lieth beyond the mystic rock; the Bazou of the Marpa Mountains, on the other hand, maintain that the rock is the centre of the earth, that it is hollow, and that those who betray their friends, or who attack their blood-brothers, go therein to dwell in fearful torment, while the Kanouri and the Tuaregs declare it to be the abode of all the prophets, martyrs and saints of Al-Islâm, who, though believed to be dead have been transported thither unseen. They say the faces of the holy men are blooming, their eyes bright, and blood would issue from their bodies if wounded, and further, that the Angel Israfil watcheth over them, ready to sound the great trumpet on the last day. These, and hundreds of such quaint beliefs have been related to me by negroes, wise men and story-tellers in the course of my wanderings, but the Rock of the Great Sin itself no man hath ever set eyes upon, and I should regard as a maniac any person who went forth expecting to discover it.”

“Why? Are there not many regions still unknown to men?” I asked.

“Truly, but our perspicuous Book telleth us that what Allah hath hidden man should not seek,” he answered, piously. “For centuries many have, out of curiosity, sought the strange rock which pagans believe to the abode of their gods, and some sects of Al-Islâm assert is the dwelling-place of the mighty dead, but none has discovered it. It is Allah’s will that mortal eyes shall never rest upon it, therefore bad fortune and violent death overtake those who defy the divine wrath and attempt to penetrate the mystery.”

“Always?”

“Always,” the old man answered, with solemnity. “Upon the inquisitive, Allah, to whom the knowledge belongeth, setteth the mark of his displeasure with the two-edged sword of Death.”

Chapter Twenty One

In the Wilderness

On over the stony hills called the Goulbi-n-Kebbi, where around us stretched, as far as our wearied eyes could penetrate, a trackless waste of yellow, sunlit sand; on across a desert peopled only with echoes, a wilderness where there was nothing but He, and where the hot, violent wind sent blinding clouds of dust into our faces at every step of our beasts; on over the rough rocks, where a little stunted herbage struggled for an existence, we pressed forward, scarcely halting throughout the blazing, breathless day.

Inured as I was to the baking heat and many hardships of desert life, I nevertheless found this journey terribly fatiguing. But Tiamo and I were flying for our lives. To escape south into the unknown Negro-land of Central Africa, beyond the territory of the Sultan ’Othman, was our object, therefore neither of us complained of the pace at which our solemn-faced guide conducted us.

At a small oasis, where we found an encampment of Salameat Arabs, we exchanged our camels for asses, and when the sun sank before us three days later we entered the forest of Tebkis by a track which led due south in serpentine wanderings, and compelled us to proceed in single file. Several times old Mohammed drew my attention to the traces of elephants. We had now passed beyond the boundary of the Sultan’s Empire, and had at last entered the little-known Land of the Pagans. As we pushed forward the forest became more dense, but the trees with golden shafts of light glinting through the foliage, cast cool shadows, for which we were thankful. Still we travelled on, until, just as it was time for prayers, we reached the site of what had apparently years ago been a large town.

“There are sad recollections connected with this spot,” Mohammed said, in answer to my inquiries. “In my early youth the town of Kousara, which stood here, was an important place, and to it Ibrahim, Sultan of Sokoto, the predecessor of our present ruler, retired after his palace in Sokoto had been sacked by Magajin Haddedu, King of Katsena, which at that time was an independent state. From here he waged unrelenting but unsuccessful war against the bloody-minded enemies of Al-Islâm, and once, indeed, the troops of Haddedu were driven out of the city of Sokoto; but they soon returned with fresh zeal and with a fresh force of fighting-men, and the Sultan Ibrahim was expelled from his ancient capital for ever. Then commenced a campaign against him, in this, his forest retreat, and after several battles this town of Kousara was taken, ransacked and burnt.”

A solitary colossal baobab, raising its huge, leafless, smoke-blackened frame from the prickly underwood which thickly overgrew the locality, pointed out the market-place, once teeming with life, a half-charred monument of a fierce and desperate struggle for religious and political independence. But in order to get away from this neighbourhood, so full of melancholy associations, Mohammed, cursing and execrating the memory of Haddedu, pushed forward until we came to a large granitic mass projecting from the ground, which my Arab companion called Korrematse, and stated was once a place of worship of the pagans. Here we dismounted and spread our mats for the maghrib, afterwards encamping at the wild, deserted spot until dawn, when we moved off still southward, three hours later obtaining our first glimpse of the broad Niger, glittering in the bright morning sunlight.