FROM TUNIS TO TRIPOLI.

Project of Journey.—Opinions of People upon its practicability.—Moral character of Europeans in Barbary.—Leave the Isle of Jerbah for Tripoli in the coaster Mesâoud.—Return back.—Wind in Jerbah.—Start again for Tripoli.—Sâkeeah.—Zarzees.—Biban.—The Salinæ, or Salt-pits.—Rais-el-Makhbes.—Zouwarah.—Foul Wind, and put into the port of Tripoli Vecchia.—Quarrel of Captain with Passengers.—Description of this Port.—My fellow-travellers, and Said the runaway Slave.—Arrival at Tripoli, and Health-Office.—Colonel Warrington, British Consul-General.—The British Garden.—Interview with Mehemet Pasha.—Barbary Politics.—Aspect of Tripoli.—Old Castle of the Karamanly Bashaws.—Manœuvring of the Pasha's Troops.—The Pasha's opinion of my projected Tour.—Resistance of the Pasha to my Voyage, and overcome by the Consul.—Departure from Tripoli to Ghadames.

ACCIDENT often determines the course of a man's life. The greater part of human actions, however humiliating to our moral and intellectual dignity, is the result of sheer accident. That the accidents of life should harmonize with the immutable decrees of Providence, is the great mystery of an honest and thinking mind. The reading accidentally of a fugitive brochure, thrown upon the table of the public library of Algiers, gave me the germ of the idea, which, fructifying and expanding, ultimately led me to the design of visiting and exploring the celebrated Oasis of Ghadames, planted far-away amidst the most appalling desolations of the Great Saharan Wilderness. This should teach us to lower our pretensions, and take a large discount from our merits in originating our various enterprises; but, alas! our over-weening self-love always manages to get the better of us. The brochure alluded to was a number of the Revue de L'Orient, published at Paris, containing a notice of Ghadames by M. Subtil, the notorious sulphur[6]-explorer and adventurer of Tripoli.

On leaving Algiers, in January, 1845, I carried the idea of Ghadames with me to Tunis; and thence, after agitating an exploration to The Desert amongst my friends, some of whom plainly told me, if I went I should never return, I should be consumed with the sun and fever, or murdered by the natives, and to attempt such a thing was altogether madness, I journeyed on to Tripoli, where I entered with all my soul and might into the undertaking. But as in Tunis so in Tripoli, I heard the birds of evil-omen uttering the same mournful notes of discouragement:—"I should never reach Ghadames, no one else had done so, or no one else had gone and returned. I should perish by the hand of banditti, or sink under the burning heat. I was not the man; it required a frame of iron. Enthusiasm was very well in its way, but it required a man who was expert in arms, and who could fight his way through The Desert." And such is the absurd character of men, and some people pretending to be friends of African discovery, that, on hearing of my safe return after nine months' absence, they felt chagrined their sagacious vaticinations were not verified. Like a man who writes a book, and ever so bad a book, he cannot afterwards adopt a right sentiment, or course of action, because he has written his book. It is true, the fate of Davidson, in Western Barbary, and the late disastrous mishap of the young Tuscan on his return from Mourzuk, favoured the pretensions of these Barbary-coast prophets, who cannot comprehend a deviation from what had happened before, but it is equally true that the violent deaths of these individuals, so far as we can gather from the details, were brought about by the greatest possible imprudence on their part. However, I may say without hesitation, no people dread The Desert so much, and have in them so little of the spirit of enterprise and African discovery, as the naturalized Europeans of Tunis and Tripoli, and other parts of Barbary. To purchase the co-operation of a volunteer in these countries would require more money than defraying the expense of an expedition, and after all, from the love of intrigue and double-dealing which Europeans long resident in Barbary acquire, as well as other drawbacks, you would be very badly served.

I shall begin the narrative of my personal adventures in The Sahara with my departure from the island of Jerbah to Tripoli.

May 7th, 1845.—Left Jerbah in the evening for Tripoli in the coaster Mesâoud ("happy"). The captain and owner was a Maltese, but the colours under which we sailed were Tunisian. Generally, a Moorish captain di bandeira commands these coasters, because it saves them dues at the various ports. Indeed, most of the small coasting craft of Tunis and Tripoli, though the property of Europeans, sail under the Turkish, rather Mahometan (red) flag. Although May, our captain told me, it was the worst month in the year for coasting in Barbary. The wind comes in sudden puffs and gales, blowing with extreme violence everything before it, prostrating and rooting up the stoutest and strongest palm-trees. So, in fact, as soon as we got out, a gregale ("north-easter") came on terrifically, and occasioned us to return early next morning to Jerbah. During the night, we were nearly swamped a few miles from the shore. The gregale continued the next two days, striking down several of the date-trees with great fury. When these trees are so struck down, the people do not make use of the wood for months, nay years, because it is ill-luck. Jerbah is a grand focus of wind, and it sometimes blows from every point of the compass in twelve hours. Æolus seems to patronize this isle; and, as at Mogador on the Atlantic, wind here supplies the place of rain. The inhabitants of Mogador have wind nine months out of twelve; but seasons pass without a shower of rain.

10th.—Evening. Left again for Tripoli. We passed the night about ten miles off the island, amongst the fishing apparatus, which looks at a distance like so many little islets. They consist of mere palm-tree boughs, struck deep into the mud as piles are driven; and large spaces are thus enclosed. When the tide[7] falls, the fish get entangled or enclosed in these enclosures, and are caught. Very fine fish are taken, and a fifth of the ordinary sustenance of the islanders is derived from this fishing. Unhappily the poor fishermen are obliged to pay from twenty-five to fifty per cent. of the fish caught to Government; so the poor in all countries are the worse treated because they are poor.

11th.—The wind becoming again foul, we put into a little place called Sâkeeah, a port of the island in the S.E. Here is nothing in the shape of a port town, only a small square ruinous hovel of mud and plaster, and a rude hut put up temporarily by a Maltese, who is building a boat. I often think the Maltese are the Irish of the South. Maltese enterprise is prevalent in all parts of the Mediterranean but in their own country. The port, such as it is, is defended by a little round battery, four feet high, with three rusty pieces of cannon. If these could be fired off, the masonry would tumble to pieces. This is the present state of all the fortifications of Mahometan Barbary. It frequently happens that when a vessel of war visits the smaller Barbary ports, and wishes to fire a salute in honour of the governors, it is kindly requested this may not be done, because it is necessary etiquette to return the salute, and, if returned, the masonry of the fortifications may tumble down. The scene was wild and bare; the colours of the landscape light and bright. There were some Moors winnowing barley. An ox was treading out the corn, in Scripture fashion. Crops of barley and other grain are grown all over this fertile isle, under the date-palm and olive trees. Small boats were waiting to carry off the grain to Tunis. As in Ireland, little remains to feed the people. They must feed on dates, or fish, or vegetables and roots.

12th.—Left Sâkeeah with a strong breeze. On looking back on the island it had the appearance of thousands of date-palms, boldly standing out of the sea, the land being so low as not to be discernible a few miles' distance. Jerbah, from this appearance, as from reality, deserves the name of the "Isle of Palms." After crossing the channel, which runs between the island and the continent, whose waters were deep and rough, we got aground in the Shallows, off Zarzees. This place is a round tower (burge) on the continent, with a few houses and plantations of olives and dates. Here commences the shoal-water, or bassa-fondo, as our semi-Italian boatmen called it, which continues east along the coast for eighty miles, as far as Rais-el-Makhbes. When we got off again, at the flow of the tide, we passed Biban ("two doors"), the frontier place of the Tunisian dominions. Biban is a castle, with some fifty Arab houses, built of palm-wood and leaves in the shape of hay-stacks, and is situate on an islet, on each side of which the sea passes inland and forms a large lagoon. There is at Biban a single European resident, an Italian, who acts as a French agent and spy on the frontiers of Tunis and Tripoli. He is paid about eighteen-pence a day, cheap enough for his high political mission. The French are mighty fond of planting spies all over Barbary; but espionage is their forte. In the evening we arrived at the Salinæ[8], "salt pits," on the coast, where we found several small coasters loading with salt for Tripoli. Salt is also exported from this place to Europe. Here we brought up for the night, creeping and feeling our way as in the days of ancient navigation. Our bringing up, however, was fortunate, for the wind suddenly blew a gale from the N.W., continuing all night, and until next day, when it fell a dead calm again. Strange weather for the fine month of May. But the Mediterranean, which is called the "home station," is one of the nastiest chafing seas in the world, and in this fair season of the year is exposed to the most tremendous squalls, nay, continuous gales of wind.

13th.—We weighed again our little anchor, and in the afternoon cast it before Rais-el-Makhbes, the last anchoring ground of the bassa-fondo. The shore from Zarzees to Rais-el-Makhbes is extremely low. The bassa-fondo stretches off the coast in some places at least thirty or forty miles, and is so shallow, that boats of the smallest burden often ground. Here our Maltese captain observed to me, with great mystery, "See, Signore, we must now be very cautious how we act, and watch the wind, so as to take it on the very first breath of its being favourable, for from here it is all deep water to Tripoli." In general, however, the Maltese captains display more courage than the Italians in these coasters.

14th.—In the morning we cleared Cape Makhbes. The captain was to have rounded it and entered the little port of Zouwarah, where there is a quarantine agent, and landed me there according to agreement. I had letters for this place, and was to have gone thence to Tripoli by land, two or three days' journey. On remonstrating, he gravely asked, "Whether I wished to do him an injury, compelling him to go to Zouwarah, from which port he couldn't get out for the wind?" Perceiving the captain had fully made up his mind to break a written agreement, signed before the Consul, for the temporary advantage now offering, I left off remonstrating, though extremely dissatisfied. We continued our course. It soon fell calm, and, as usual, the calm was again succeeded with a violent gregale, against which we could not make head. I now told our Palinurus it was necessary to look out for the port of Tripoli Vecchia, otherwise we should be obliged to go back or keep the open sea all night, for we could not reach Tripoli to-day. Half an hour elapsed, and the wind continuing to freshen, the captain took my advice. We turned direct south, and sought the port. After experiencing some difficulty, during which the captain, to my surprise, discovered the most serious alarm, we found and entered the wished-for haven. It was a real miracle of good luck, for the wind came on dreadfully, the angry spray was covering us with water, and our sufferings would have been beyond description if we had been obliged to keep the sea. Our bark was a mere cockle-shell, into which were rammed and jammed and crammed twenty-two mortal and immortal beings: C'est à dire, four sailors, fourteen Moorish passengers, including a woman and a child, two Jews, myself, and a runaway slave. So that our heartfelt thankfulness to a good Providence, pitying our folly and imprudence, may be easily imagined. In the midst of our confusion while searching for the port—having only three or four hours' daylight before us—the most ludicrous scene was enacted, which might have ended in the tragic. Some of the Moors professed to know the port of Tripoli Vecchia. Hereupon each fellow gave a different description, a thing perfectly natural, as each would have seen the port under different circumstances of time and place. "It was surrounded with white cliffs,—it was black,—rocky,—it was a sandy shore." All bawled and clamoured together. The captain put his fingers in his ears with rage. He had never been in before, or his men. At last, losing all patience, the Maltese fire got up, blown to fury, and, seizing a knife, the captain swore he would cut their throats if they didn't hold their tongues, or give a more distinct account of the port. This menace cowed them down like so many bullies, and they fell into a moody but vindictive silence, their looks discovering the internal oaths of revenge. It was really droll, if the words used allow the expression, to hear how the captain blended Italian, Maltese, and Arabic oaths and abuse in his rage. Now "Santo Dio!" now "Scomunicat!" Sacrament! now "Allah!" "Imshe," "Kelb," "Andat," "per Bacco!" &c. At length, when a sailor from the mast-head descried the port, and a tremendous surf was seen or said to be seen rolling near the entrance, the Moors, who although mostly sulky under the influence of their fatalism, and show very little courage in the dangers of the sea, cried out with fear, "Allah, Allah!" "Ya, Mohammed!" (O God! O God! O Mahomet!) The captain even felt disposed to blubber at the sight of the furious surf, so nothing less could be expected from the passengers. A bad example is this to the sailors and people, but one which often occurs aboard Italian and Maltese vessels.

15th.—The wind continued all night and the following day. It dropped down on the afternoon of the 16th; on the 17th a pleasant breeze sprung up, and continued until we got within a couple of miles off Tripoli. We were followed for three hours by a shoal of porpoises, some nearly as big as our bark, which enjoyed highly the run with us, "perceiving," as the captain said, "our motion." The first night of our anchorage in the Tripoli Vecchia, we had several alarms that the tiny bark had dragged its anchor, and was about to take us out into the open sea: no one could sleep. After the wind subsided, our Christian sailors were alarmed that we might have our throats cut by the Ishmaelite Arabs from the shore the next night. When it was quite calm we went on shore to search for water; we found a well of good water on the N.E. landing of the port. A palm beckoned us to the spring, but a single palm is often found where there is no well or water; and it is not true, as vulgarly supposed, that where there are date-palms there must be water. The country in this vicinity is a perfect desert, yet on this arid waste shepherds drive their flocks in the spring, and up to May and June. The captain considered Tripoli Vecchia, which is a very ancient port, and the site of a once famous city, more secure than that of Tripoli itself, though certainly much smaller. Whilst we were here no bark visited it. Good-sized ships occasionally anchor in it. Like Tripoli, it is defended with a sunken reef of rocks, some peaks of which rise several feet out of the water. Along this line is a strong surf always chafing and roaring. There are two mouths of entrance; the deepest water within is about twelve or fourteen feet. There is another but much smaller port, two miles further east; the coast from this to Tripoli offers nothing to the tourist. Twelve miles this way begin those forests of fine broad-waving palms, which form so noble a feature in the suburban landscape of Tripoli. When we got off Tripoli we had a dead calm, and myself looking about for the wind, the Moors got angry, and said, "Be still; if you restlessly stare about, and wish the wind to come, it will never come: you cast the 'eye malign' upon it." These superstitious ideas are not peculiar to the Moors. An English captain once told me, if I continued to stay below, the wind would never be fair. Tripoli looked here very bold, massive, and imposing from the sea; its broad lime-washed towers, and the graceful minarets beyond, all dazzling white in the sun, contrasting with the dark blue waters of the Mediterranean. Such is the delusion of all these sea-coast Barbary towns; at a distance and without, beauty and brilliancy, but near and within, filth and wretchedness.