On our right we were hemmed in by a wall of granite, sloped like
a huge whale, about three-quarters of a mile long and 100 feet high. The
southern extremity of this vast block of clean granite was the rocky and
fantastic hill of Fatiko crested with fine timber. To our left, and
straight before us, was a perfectly flat plain like a race-course, the
south end being a curious and beautiful assemblage of immense granite
blocks, and groups of weeping acacia.
A large village occupied the base of Fatiko hill ... The bugles and
drums sounded "the advance." The echoes rang from the hard granite rock
as the unusual sound gave the first warning of our presence.
I had dismounted from my horse, and was watching the slaver's camp with
a powerful telescope, as the bugles sounded and the men fell into order.
A number of people ran out of the camp, and stared at the blaze of
scarlet uniforms, which must have appeared as a larger force than the
reality, owing to the bright contrast of red with the green turf.
In an instant there was confusion in the camp. I soon distinguished
immense numbers of slaves being driven quickly out, and hurried away to
the south. The slaver's drum beat, and a number of crimson flags were
seen advancing, until they halted and formed a line close to the
entrance of the village. I now saw natives rushing wildly to and fro in
all directions armed with spears and shields.
Some time elapsed before the cattle and baggage arrived. In the meantime
I waited, perched on a block of granite, with my telescope, watching
every movement. There was no doubt that our sudden appearance had caused
intense excitement. I saw men running from the trader's station to the
large village opposite, at the foot of the hill.
At length, I observed two men approaching.
We were not yet ready for a general advance, therefore, as the servants
and carriers, cattle, &c., fell into order, the band struck up some
Turkish airs, which sounded extremely wild and appropriate to the
savagely-beautiful scenery around us.
In the meantime the two messengers drew nearer. They were both filthy
dirty, and appeared to be clad in dark-brown leather. One man seemed to
hesitate, and stood about sixty yards distant, and demanded who we were.
Upon hearing from Colonel Abdel-Kader that it was "the Pacha," and that
"he need not be afraid," he told us that Abou Saood was at the station,
and that he would run back with the news.
The other messenger came timidly forward, until he stood close beneath
me. My wife was on horseback by my side.
Can it be possible? MOHAMMED, my old Cairo servant of former years?
