These little caravan incidents were often the
only ones that diversified our day.
On the 26th, after a march of ten hours, with cool weather at first, but
suffocating heat afterwards, we reached Edree, a town of El-Shaty, in a
state of great exhaustion. During the latter part of the march, however,
we had been cheered by the sight of the town, which stands on a small
mound of yellow clay and rock. The whitewashed marabout of Bou Darbalah
gleamed a little distance in front of the place, which in itself is now
a heap of ruins, having been destroyed by Abd-el-Galeel, on account of
the resistance of the inhabitants to his usurped authority. He also,
with a cruelty rarely practised in Saharan warfare, cut down above a
thousand palms; thus rendering it impossible for the place to recover
rapidly from its disasters. Previously there had been a hundred and
twenty heads of families; now there are only twenty-five, and these are
still diminishing it is said. However, many little children are now in
the streets, naked, and covered with filth.
These few inhabitants are a mixed race, some being as fair as those on
the coast, whilst others are as black as the darkest negroes of Central
Africa. The Sheikh and two or three patriarchs of the village were
polite and hospitable, and showed every disposition to comply with the
orders sent by the Pasha of Mourzuk to supply us with fresh provisions
without payment.
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