court, and Koti, who had recently arrived, wasoverlooked. Shortly afterwards the learned councillor assembled anumber of people and dispensed fresh dates among them. This miracle--for we have no dates in that region of the far south--having reached theking's ears, he discerned that upon Koti was set the divine seal, andfrom that moment gave him all his confidence. A few years later,according to Tarik e Sudan, Koti edited a history of the Kingdoms ofGanata, Songhoi, and Timbuktu, the only history written of those onceall-powerful centres of civilisation, and in addition he dealt with theconcerns of many peoples and many men. Families, since grown rich andpowerful, and the chiefs of various countries, were shown to be withvery humble origins, sometimes being the offspring of slaves. But whilethe book was being written, news was conveyed to the King of Timbuktuthat the Songhois had revolted, and had combined with the great nationof Mossi to attack and capture his capital; therefore, in order to savehis great store of treasure, he at once had it made up into singlecamel-loads, taken out of the city, and secreted in various distantspots on the confines of his empire. It was necessary, of course, tokeep a strict and minute description of each spot where the wealth ofthe capital was concealed, in order that it might be recovered after thewar; therefore Koti was ordered to inscribe in his book instructions howto unearth the great store of gold and gems, the spoils of war duringfour centuries. This, according to a legend completely borne out by ourTarik, he did, and the precious manuscript was given into the king's ownkeeping. Ere one moon, however, the learned historian died suddenly atTindirma, where a little white mosquelike house marks his grave tillthis day. The war was fought, proving, alas! disastrous to the king,who was compelled to fly, but, strangely enough the Tarik maintainssilence regarding his subsequent adventures, or of what became of theprecious _Fatassi_. Legend has it that the king was treacherouslypoisoned by a slave, as rulers were apt to be in those turbulent days;but by whatever means the once-powerful monarch met with his death, thefact remains that the priceless volume and guide to the enormoustreasure of ancient Timbuktu was lost to all. For more than fourcenturies the recovery of the _Fatassi_ has been the dream of poor andrich alike. The scholar coveted it because it would shed so much lightupon the obscure past of these vast regions; the camel-driver, themerchant, and the prince alike desired to possess it for the informationit was known to contain regarding the long-lost wealth.
It was because of the latter that the government of the Franks desiredto obtain it. But theirs, like my own, was but a vain desire.
A whole moon passed, and still we pressed forward towards Gao, ever inthe crimson track of the setting sun. One night, however, when the campwas asleep, the guards raised the alarm, but so suddenly were weattacked that we scarce had time to defend ourselves from a column ofFrench Spahis who had swept down upon us. It was a mad, terrible rush.Although our tribesmen fought valiantly and well, it was impossible towithstand the frightful hail of bullets poured forth upon us by a gunthey carried which spat forth lead in deadly hail. Our men, seeing thehavoc wrought by this new weapon, turned and fled. Fortunately thepoison-wind had sprung up, and its clouds of sand cannot be faced by themen of the north; therefore we were enabled to escape, althoughunfortunately compelled to leave the greater part of the stolen camelsand merchandise in their possession.
As, in the confusion, I sprang upon a horse and rode through theblinding sandstorm for my life, I heard the thud of the horses' hoofs ofmy pursuers. From the noise there must have been a score of men,anxious, no doubt, to secure the marauding chief feared by all thecaravans. But swift as the wind itself, I rode on alone the greaterpart of that hot, stifling night, until, pulling up, dismounting, andplacing my ear to the ground, I could, detect no sound of pursuit. Inthe glimmering twilight, as night gave place to day, I saw before me ahuge, dark rock, shaped like a camel's hump, rising from the sand, and,riding onward, I there tethered my horse beneath it, and flung myselfdown to snatch an hour's sleep ere the sun rose, intending then to goforth again and rejoin my scattered people.
How long mine eyes were closed Allah alone knoweth; but when I openedthem I found myself lying on a panther's skin in a darkened chamber,filled with the music of running water. The place was cooled by thestream, and in the dim recesses of the room I could distinguish richdivans. Suspended from the roof was a fine Moorish lamp of chased gold,which shed a soft, yellow light, and from a perfuming-pan was diffusedthe sweet odour of attar of rose. The light was soft and restful, andin wonder I rubbed my eyes and gazed about me.
"Allah give thee peace, O stranger!" a thin squeaking voice exclaimed.And glancing quickly behind me, I beheld a wizen-faced man, small ofstature, dressed in a robe of bright blue silk, and so bent by age thathis white beard almost swept the ground. Notwithstanding his venerableappearance, however, his face was dark and forbidding, and his small,black piercing eyes, that time had not dimmed, had a glint of evil inthem. Instinctively, ere we had spoken a dozen words, I mistrusted him.
"To whose hospitality do I owe the rest and repose I have enjoyed?" Iinquired, slowly rising to my feet and stretching my cramped limbs.
"My name," the old man croaked, "is Ibn Batouba. I discovered theesleeping in the sun outside this my dwelling-place, and brought thee in,for the rays had smitten thee with a grievous sickness, and thou wert onthe point of death. Thou hast remained here twelve days."
"Twelve days!" I cried, with incredulity, at the same moment feeling myhead reeling. "Then to thee I owe my life?"
The hideous old man in blue grinned with satisfaction, regarding me witha strange, covert glance.
By this time my eyes had grown accustomed to the semi-darkness, and Isaw that the chamber was a natural one--a kind of arched cavern, thefloor of which had been levelled, and a channel formed for the coolspring that bubbled forth and rippled away into gloomy depths.
"This thy dwelling is beneath the surface of the earth," I observed,glancing around me. "Why dwellest thou here in secret?"
"The true Arab answereth not the question of Ahamadou, Sheikh of theAzjar Touaregs," he replied, with a sneering accentuation on the finalword. "Allah hath sent thee as my guest; partake of all that I have,but seek no explanation of who or of what I am."
He evidently recognised me, and his strange words puzzled me. First, Ihad no idea that such a luxurious abode could exist in the centre ofthat inhospitable region; secondly, the very fact pointed to theconclusion that in my flight I had approached near to a town; butthirdly, I had already proof positive that my strange host, the man whodeclared he had saved my life, lied to me. At the well where we hadhalted on the day before the fight, I had plucked a sprig of jasmine,and placed a tiny piece behind my ear, beneath the black nicab around myhead. This I recollected, and, taking it in my hand, found it stilllimp and undried. By that alone I knew I had not been there many hours,and that his story was untrue.
I suggested that I should be reluctantly compelled to leave; but he atonce became profuse in his hospitality.
"No, not yet," he urged. "I am alone, save for my slaves, and thycompanionship is pleasant. Remain, and I will show thee over this myhidden dwelling-place. It may interest thee." And taking down a torch,he lit it and led the way across a tiny bridge that spanned the runningwater, and opening a door in the rock, conducted me through severalintricate passages, narrow and dark, until we came to a series ofcaverns of various sizes, each hung with rich silken hangings, and thefloors covered by the most beautiful carpets from the East. Over each agreat golden lamp of filigree shed a soft light, showing how rich andcostly were the antique tables of inlaid pearl and silver, and how wideand soft were the divans. In each the thin blue smoke, curling upwardfrom the golden perfuming-pan, gave forth an intoxicating fragrance, andin one I noticed lying discarded a pair of tiny green slippers,embroidered with seed-pearls, and a ginkra, one of those littletwo-stringed guitars fashioned from a tortoise-shell, both betraying thepresence of a woman.
When we had passed through half a dozen similar chambers in the so
lidrock, the old man, croaking as he went, stopped suddenly at the furtherend of the last and most gorgeous of all his subterranean domain, andwith a grim expression on his evil countenance, said--
"And this is the Bab-el-Hawiyat--the dreaded Gate of Evil, whence nonereturn." I started, and drew back. Throughout the Desert there hasbeen for all ages a legend that somewhere there exists the entrance tothe dreaded kingdom of darkness where Eblis reigneth. He opened widethe small door; but there was only darkness impenetrable, and an odourof damp earth. Holding his torch aloft, he crossed the threshold, andbade me peer in. Then I distinguished, a few spans from where he stood,a great yawning chasm opening to the very bowels of the earth.
"Hearken!" he cried in his squeaking, uncanny voice, at the same timereturning into the room and snatching up from one of the coffee-stools alarge
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