“Once I crossed this plain alone in face of the sirocco,” observed one of the men guarding me to his companion. “I would not attempt it again for all the Treasure of Askiá.”
The Arab addressed grunted, but made no reply, and there was a long silence.
“What is the treasure of which thou hast spoken?” I asked, interested, after a pause. “I come from the north, and have never heard of it.”
The dark-faced warrior of the Fadê, giving me a quick glance, asked —
“Art thou ignorant of our great forefather Askiá?”
“None knoweth his fame in Morocco,” I replied. “Was he a man of power?”
“While he lived he was the Most Mighty of the Sahara. If thou hast never heard of the Great Sultan who was so wealthy that he preferred to wear a crown of iron to a diadem of gold, I will render thee explanation: — Hadj Mohammed Askiá, the most powerful of the Sónghay conquerors, lived in the year of the Hedjira 311, or a thousand years ago, and was a just but warlike ruler. His wrath was feared from Gógo even unto Mourzouk, and those who disobeyed him were put to the sword relentlessly. Having by constant battle extended his kingdom so as to include the regions now known as Kátsena and Kanó, he two years later led an expedition against the Sultan of Agadez. After a siege lasting nearly six moons, the Sultan of the Ahír was killed, and the City of the Sorcerers fell and was looted, together with the dead Sultan’s palace and the houses of many rich merchants who dwelt near. Soon afterwards, however, the vengeance of Allah, the Omniscient, descended upon the conquerors, for the city was smitten by a terrible plague of bloodsuckers the length of the little finger-joint, and Askiá’s people, panic-stricken, deserted their ruler and fled. Askiá, gathering together the whole of the plunder he had secured, amounting to an enormous quantity, packed it upon a number of camels, and with four faithful followers set out at night secretly for his own stronghold far away at Gógo.”
“A caravan worth plundering,” I observed, smiling.
“Yes,” he replied, with a broad grin. “But, strangely enough, no reliable facts ever came to light regarding the Great Sultan’s subsequent movements. With his camels, his followers, and his gold and gems, he set out into the desert and disappeared. Alas! woe succeedeth woe, as wave a wave. Some declare that he went to Egypt and again became a ruler among men, but we of the Fadê believe that the Great Treasure was buried. The story-tellers relate that Askiá, having travelled for one whole moon from Agadez, found himself still in the desert, with both food and water exhausted. He and his companions were lying on the sand dying, when there appeared in the heavens a mirage of green fields, in which a Christian in a white robe was standing. The visitant addressed the great chieftain, telling him that the only manner in which to save his life and those of his followers, was to abandon his treasure, upon which there lay a curse, and travel straight in the direction of the rising sun. Askiá promised, but instead of abandoning his wealth he buried it, and then started off, as directed, in search of the oasis. Still within sight of the spot where the treasure had been hidden the travellers were so jaded that they were compelled to halt for the night, and during the darkness, it occurred to the Sultan that his four men, knowing the spot, would in all probability return before him, seize the gold, and carry it off. Therefore, in order to preserve the secret, he rose, and with his scimitar slew those who had been true to him. Then a curse again fell swiftly upon the Mighty Potentate, for ere dawn appeared he too had succumbed, and the knowledge of the place where the treasure lieth buried thus became lost for ever.”
“And has no one been able to discover its position?”
“No,” he replied. “The gold and gems of fabulous worth remain still hidden.”
As prisoner in the hands of the Kel-Fadê I was guarded carefully, together with my companions in adversity, during the four weeks we were journeying in the wild sandy regions of the Great Sahara. Our taskmasters took a brutal delight in keeping us without water as long as possible, and the awful agonies of thirst I endured in those blazing days while crossing the Admar will ever be vivid in my memory. Cuffed, beaten, and half-starved, we were dragged onward over the hot dusty plains towards the town of Assiou, situate on the direct caravan route from Mourzouk to Agadez. It was a source of some satisfaction to know that my captors were taking me towards my goal, yet my perilous position seemed utterly hopeless, for I had lost the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, and been robbed of everything I possessed, with the exception of Zoraida’s letter to the imam, which, for safety, I had concealed in the rope of camel’s hair I wore twisted around my head.
Before we had been a week on our journey, two of Mákita’s men, exhausted by the barbarous treatment they had received at the hands of their conquerors, sank, and were left behind upon the sand to die. Treated like cattle, and compelled to bear the blows of our inhuman masters, we received only dates with a little kousskouss, just sufficient to keep us alive, and any who grumbled were secured by a rope to one of the camels and made to trudge over the stony wilderness until he or she sank from sheer exhaustion. On three occasions was this terrible punishment administered, and each time the unfortunate prisoner, when overcome by heat and fatigue, was left a prey to the huge grey vultures who, expecting carrion, followed us with ominous persistency.
A fortnight after our annihilation, we passed through the great valley of the Anahet, a sorry band of smileless captives, each apprehensive of his doom, and after halting for two days under the palms of Azatteli, where there was a rich supply of herbage, principally of the kind called bu rékkebah, and of el hád, the camels’ dainty, we resumed our journey into a waterless region resembling a sea of bare rocks with patches of sand, until we reached the Marárraba, a great heap of stones which marks the boundary line between the countries of Rhât and Aïr, close to which we halted, apparently in order to await another caravan. This spot is held in religious awe by the Kel-Fadê, who each placed a stone upon the gigantic heap of granite blocks.
For several days we remained there. One afternoon the male prisoners were assisting the women, who had been set by their captors to grind the corn. Our taskmasters guarded their tents, keeping them hard at work with lash or bastinado, and while the encampment was hushed in its siesta, I was roughly awakened from a doze by the villainous old Sheikh of the Kel-Fadê, who, finding me stretched upon the sand, in the shadow of one of the tents, after some fatiguing work I had just completed, administered a vigorous kick, the effects of which I felt for some days.
“Rise! son of a dog! Hasten, or thy movements shall be quickened in a manner thou wilt not like.”
As I scrambled to my feet, rubbing my eyes, he commanded me to follow him to his tent, and after he had settled himself upon his divan, together with two of his chief men, he subjected me to a severe cross-examination as to my past, and my capabilities.
When I had related to him a long imaginary account of my career in Morocco, and entertained him with an exciting story, he suddenly asked —
“What trade hast thou followed?”
“I was a hodja (letter-writer) in Mequinez, and afterwards in Algiers,” I replied.
“Then thou shalt write me a letter,” he said, and, ordering an ink-horn and writing materials to be brought, he dictated a message regarding some merchandise. When I had finished, he inspected it, while I stood by in trepidation, fearing lest he should detect the many mistakes I had made in tracing the Arabic characters. Evidently, however, he could not read, though he made a pretence of doing so, for he expressed complete satisfaction by a sharp grunt, and a deep pull at his pipe.
“Art thou a musician?” he inquired presently.
“I can play the kanoon and the guenibri” I answered, and in a few moments one of the strange-looking two-stringed Arab instruments, fashioned