I MEET WITH SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES.
We were up betimes on the following morning, and shaking off the
abundant dust of Osumánu’s inhospitable abode, sallied forth with our
companions. It was Ali’s plan to give an entertainment in the market
before leaving Táari, that we might start with replenished purses,
but the people were now busy with the commencement of the day’s work,
and no strangers had yet arrived; whence the performance--in which I
took no part--fell rather flat, and was brought to a premature close;
so, having invested the meagre collection in a small stock of
provisions, we took to the road.
It had been our original intention to pass through Bontúku on our way
south, but the fiddler, Osman, who knew the country well, urged us to
turn south-east by way of Banda, as we should thus considerably
shorten our journey through the forest; and, as my recollections of
the horrors of forest travelling were most vivid, I supported Osman in
his contention that we should keep as long as possible in the orchard
country. We therefore turned off from the Bontúku road and took a
smaller path, which led through Banda to Ashanti.
Along this road we met but few travellers, and, although the villages
were pretty numerous, they were small and poverty-stricken. We gave a
performance in one of them, but the result was not encouraging. It is
true that there was no lack of an audience, for every person in the
village attended; but when Baku, the drummer, went round with his
calabash, the people merely peered into it, and not a single shell was
forthcoming. Baku pointedly suggested that a few plantains or beans
would be acceptable, but the hint was received with surly derision,
and, when at length the minstrels assumed a bullying manner and Osman
attempted to snatch up a stray fowl, the women and children vanished
as if by magic, and the men, marshalled by the chief, assumed such a
threatening attitude that we were glad to take ourselves off.
It being thus pretty evident that we should not make much profit out
of the villages, we pushed on at a rapid pace towards Banda, which
town, I gathered, was about forty miles distant from Táari. As we
went along, my companions enlivened our journey with an unceasing flow
of talk, but, like many public performers, they were a little
disappointing in private life, and their conversation was often of a
kind that would have deeply shocked the pious and patriarchal Isaaku;
indeed, the more I saw of my new associates, the less I liked them;
and I could not but admit the justice of Aminé’s estimate of them.
They had all the faults of the strolling Bohemian, with perhaps some
of his virtues, for they were certainly gay, careless fellows, taking
little thought for the morrow, and making light of present
discomforts; but they were greedy though extravagant, grasping though
improvident, coarse in their manners, lax in morals, and very obscure
in their ideas of honesty.
When we came to prepare our evening meal at the village in which we
intended to sleep, Ali spread out a mat, and the three minstrels, to
Aminé’s astonishment and mine, began to unship from their enormous
pockets various odds and ends of food--one or two plantains, a few
sweet potatoes, a couple of red yams, loose handfuls of beans, millet
and maizemeal; and Osman produced a large lump of fufu wrapped in
leaves.
“Where didst thou get all these things?” Aminé asked the latter as he
laid down the fufu. “I did not see thee buy anything.”
The three men looked at one another and laughed long and loud.
“Didst thou not see Osman go a-marketing at the last village we
passed?” asked Ali with a sly leer.
“I did not see him at all there,” replied Aminé.
“Then thou mightest have known that he was gone a-marketing,” rejoined
the balafu-player, and the minstrels all roared with laughter again.
“I like not these Wongáras,” said Aminé to me when we had retired
that night to the hut that the headman had lent us. “They are but a
party of thieves, and will get us into trouble; and that old ape, Ali,
trieth to make love to me when thou art not looking. As though _I_
would look at a black, monkey-faced Wongára, who have a husband like
thee!”
There was much truth in these observations, and the conduct of our
companions caused me some anxiety. But what troubled me much more was
the attitude of Aminé herself. Her calm adoption of me as her husband
was beginning to be a very serious matter. Of course, her position was
a perfectly reasonable one from an African point of view. A Mahommedan
is not restricted to one wife, and certainly no countryman of Aminé’s
would have hesitated a moment to snap up such a prize as this handsome
Fulah girl. Nevertheless, the position was a very awkward one, for
while, on the one hand, my acceptance even of the outward appearance
of the relationship was an affront to Isabel and a reproach to my love
and fidelity, on the other it was unfair to the poor girl herself, a
fact that was impressed on me anew by every fresh instance of her
simple faith and devotion. Yet I could not bring myself to the point
of dispelling her delusion, and when my conscience rebuked me, as it
often did, I was apt to put myself off with the hope that when we
arrived at the Coast, Aminé’s fancy might be captivated by some gaudy
sergeant-major or native officer of the Hausa force.
As we marched along next day I kept a sharp eye upon our companions,
and soon had an opportunity of observing the manner in which their
“marketing” was conducted; which was characterised by masterly
simplicity. As we neared the first village, Osman began to lag behind,
and I presently noticed the handle of his fiddle sticking out of
Baku’s pocket. On entering the village street Ali and Baku began to
thump their instruments vigorously, and both the rascals burst into
song, shouting at the very tops of their voices. As an inevitable
result, the people came running from every part of the village, and
crowded round us as we sauntered slowly down the street; and when we
halted near the end, we were surrounded by a mob that, no doubt,
included every living soul in the place. Here we stood for some
minutes with drum and balafu in full blast, until Osman strolled up
and began to beg from the bystanders; on which Ali and Baku shouldered
their instruments, and we all moved briskly out of the village.
This performance was repeated at every hamlet through which we passed,
each of the rascals taking his turn at the “marketing,” so that as the
day went on, the pockets of each became more and more portly. For my
part, as I had no intention of sharing the plunder, I gave Aminé my
cowrie-bag, and told her to buy what was necessary for us from the
villagers.
It was already dark when we reached Banda, and as we had covered in
the day considerably over twenty miles, we were all very tired.
Fortunately we had no difficulty in finding lodgings for the night,
and our good-natured landlady even agreed to prepare us a meal, so
that we spent the remainder of the evening pleasantly enough; and as
we learned that the market day was on the morrow, and that many
strangers had already arrived in the town, we turned in betimes with
the intention of making an early start with our business in the
morning.
Nevertheless the sun had been up a long time when we strolled out into
the street and looked round at the scene of bustle that it presented.
The market women were already streaming into the town in long files,
and many had taken their places and were setting out their stalls,
while the strangers roamed about in little groups, chattering,
laughing, eating, and examining the wares of the market people. We had
joined the throng of idlers, and were slowly making our way up the
market place, when our attention was attracted by a person who was
approaching from the opposite direction. This was a tall and powerful
elderly man, who stalked along at the head of a small party of
followers, pausing now and again to bestow on them a few words of
abuse. His aspect was fierce and forbidding, and one blind eye, white
and opaque, did not increase his attractions. Although he wore but a
single cloth or _ntama_ after the fashion of the pagans, he was
evidently a person of consequence, for he was followed by a
stool-bearer, a pipe-bearer, and numerous other dependents, on two of
whom he leaned heavily--for early as it was, he was considerably the
worse for liquor.
As he came up to us he stopped and regarded us with a drunken stare.
“Who are you, my fine fellows?” he asked gruffly in very bad Hausa,
“and what do you do in this town?”
“We are musicians, most mighty chief,” replied Ali in his oiliest
manner, and bowing to the ground before the old reprobate, “and we
have come to sing to the people in the market, if it please the
valiant chief to graciously permit us.”
“We want no wandering vagabonds here,” exclaimed the old man fiercely.
“More likely ye have come to thieve than to sing. Still, I will hear
your singing, and if it please me not I will fling this bottle at your
heads. Now! begin! Do you hear me?” he shouted. “Sing!”
The stool-bearer planted the seat upon the ground, and the old ruffian
dropped upon it heavily, and sat swaying from side to side, scowling
at us, and holding a square gin bottle poised ready to throw.
My companions were in such a hurry to obey that they all commenced
simultaneously with different songs, but perceiving their mistake
before it was noticed by the chief, Osman and Baku stopped, leaving
Ali to sing alone; which he did with surprising spirit, pouring out a
torrent of extemporised ribaldry of a foulness beyond belief. He had,
however, hit off the taste of his audience to a nicety, for, as the
performance proceeded, the old chief lowered the gin bottle and
shouted with laughter and enjoyment.
“Thou art a proper singer,” said he, as Ali struck out a few
concluding flourishes. “Now let us hear that long-nosed Moor who is
with thee. He looketh as sour as a monkey-bread; if his song is not
more pleasant than his face he shall have the bottle at his head.
Come, sing, thou yellow-skinned baboon, before I smash thy ugly face.”
“Sing, in the name of God!” exclaimed Ali, tremblingly slinging the
balafu from my shoulders. “He is the chief of the town, and will
certainly kill us if we cross him.”
I was much disposed to consign the old savage to Hades or its pagan
equivalent, but I smothered my wrath as well as I could, and hammered
out a flourish on the balafu, while I decided on a suitable song.
After a moment’s consideration I hit upon the “Leather Bottél” as
being specially appropriate to the old rascal’s condition, and began
forthwith to bellow it out. The crowd rapidly increased, and gave
manifest signs of approval, for the melody had in it just that
swinging rhythm that is so grateful to the African ear; but the old
chief evidently found it a dull performance, for in the middle of the
second stanza he staggered to his feet, and roaring out, “I understand
not one word of thy gibberish!” lurched off. However, I did not allow
his departure to interrupt my performance, for Baku was already busy
with the calabash, and I could hear the _kurdi_ rattling into it; so I
worked my way through stanza after stanza until I reached the last;
and I was just considering the advisability of beginning over again
when I was startled by the apparition of a man’s head and shoulders
standing up above the heads of the onlookers. For an instant I
supposed that it was some idler who had raised himself upon a stool or
case that he might get a better view, but at a second glance I
recognised with a thrill of astonishment my old friend Abduláhi
Dan-Daúra. The recognition was mutual, and in a moment the genial
“child of the elephant,” with a cry of joy, pushed his way through the
crowd, and folded me in his enormous arms.
“And is it indeed thou, Yúsufu, child of my mother!” he exclaimed,
almost weeping with delight. “Little I thought ever to set eyes upon
thy face again. We had given thee up for dead long since, and now here
thou art, all alive and singing like a cricket in a meal pot! Musa
will rejoice to see thee, and so will the others.”
“Are they in this town then?” I asked, rubbing the hand that he had
pressed in the exuberance of his affection.
“That they are,” he replied, “and here is my friend Mahámadu
Dam-Bornu, who has travelled with us from Kantámpo. Mahámadu, this
is that Yúsufu of whom we have told thee, who has come back to us
from the land of the dead.”
“They do not appear to spend much on clothing in that country,”
remarked Mahámadu with a grin, “nor on food either, for that matter.”
“No, indeed,” agreed Abduláhi; “thou lookest but poorly in body and
in pocket. But that matters little, for Musa hath all the gold that
thou didst leave behind as well as thy good clothes and the money that
we owe thee.”
I was sorry that he had mentioned this matter publicly, for the
musicians, who had pressed forward to listen, pricked up their ears
mightily at his words, and I caught a greedy glitter in the eyes of my
friend Ali.
“Come with me now to our house that our brethren may see thee,” said
Abduláhi, and taking me by the hand, he marched off, leaving
Dam-Bornu and my companions to follow with the gratified Aminé.
He led me to a large, prosperous-looking house in the Mahommedan
quarter, and entering a gateway, we found ourselves in a wide compound
where numerous packages of merchandise were piled under a thatched
shed. Through an open doorway I had a view of Musa, Dambiri, and
several other of my friends, seated upon a handsome rug, holding an
animated discussion. They uttered a shout of surprise when they saw
me, and leaping to their feet ran forward to greet me.
“Now God be praised,” exclaimed Musa, holding both my hands, “that
thou art delivered from the hand of the heathen. We had thought thee
dead long since, and have spoken of thee as one cut off from the land
of the living. But God is merciful and wise, and thou hast come back
to us.”
“I thank God truly that thou hast come back to us,” said Alhassan,
“for it was I that showed thee the accursed pool. Often in my dreams
have I seen the horned devil devouring thee, but now I trust I shall
see him no more.”
“Thou wilt come and stay with us, Yúsufu,” said Musa; “there is room
to spare in this house. But who are these minstrels and the young
woman who have come with thee?”
“We,” said Ali, coming forward with a greasy smile, “are the friends
of Yúsufu, who have stood by him in the hour of adversity, and whom I
know he will not despise in his prosperity.”
“Assuredly,” said I, “my good fortune shall benefit you as well as me,
but go now, for I have to speak to my friends of matters which concern
them alone.”
“Very well,” replied Ali. “We will see thee to-morrow. Come, Aminé.”
“I stay with my husband,” said Aminé haughtily, taking hold of my
hand.
“Yes; she will stay with me,” I said. “_Sei gobé_” (_au revoir_), and
the three minstrels, returning my adieu, swaggered out of the
compound.
“Thou hast better taste in women than in men,” said Musa drily, as he
gazed at Aminé, who wriggled shyly at the implied compliment.
“Yes, truly, those minstrels seem but sorry knaves,” agreed Dan-jiwa.
“Where didst thou pick them up?”
“Thou shalt tell us all thy adventures to-night,” said Musa. “Now we
must go and look at the market, but first let me give thee back thy
goods and pay our debt to thee.”
He fetched from his own chamber a bundle securely sewn up, which he
proceeded to rip open before me.
“Here are thy clothes,” he said, “and thy purse with the gold coins in
it. Here is the strange gold _laiya_” (he meant my watch), “and the
_laiya_ of leather, and the other things that we found when thou left
us. Also I have put in this little bag the gold dust that we owe
thee--for we sold all the _guru_ quickly at Kantámpo, and are even
now going to Bontúku to trade with the profits before we set out for
our country. See that all is right; thy spear standeth there in the
corner.”
I checked the articles and handed the more bulky ones over to Aminé
(who was all agog to see me put on the fine clothes), thanking Musa
most warmly for his scrupulous care and conscientiousness.
“It is nothing,” he replied. “If thou hadst not come back we should
have divided thy goods amongst us when we got back to Kano. But we
like it better to give thee back thine own. Now, come and I will show
thee thy room.”
He led the way across the compound to an unoccupied room or hut, which
he assigned to my use, and here Aminé deposited my property.
“Now go in and put on thy fine clothes,” said Dan-jiwa, who had
followed us, “for thy wife longeth to see thee fitly dressed, as,
indeed, do I also.”
I retired and rapidly made the change, while Aminé remained outside
babbling ingenuously to the amiable giant. When I came out resplendent
in _riga saki_, embroidered _wondo_, in turban and face cloth, and
yellow slippers, the former gave a shriek of delight and clapped her
hands.
“Now thou hast a fine husband, Aminé,” said Dan-jiwa, laughing. “I
see thou hast put on thy _laiya_,” he added, taking in his hand the
leather-cased amulet that Pereira had included in my outfit. “We have
often wondered about the writing on the back of it, which seems not to
be Arabic, for even Musa could not read it. Dost thou know what it
is?”
I turned the _laiya_ over and looked at the back, and there, as
Dan-jiwa had said, was an inscription, done with a lead pencil, and so
inconspicuous on the black leather that it had escaped my notice. It
was a good deal rubbed, but I made out without difficulty the words,
“Open this case when you are alone.”
“It is certainly not Arabic,” said I. “Perhaps some Christian has
written upon it. It was given to me in one of the towns where there
are Christian merchants.”
“No doubt that is so,” rejoined Abduláhi, and the subject dropped.
It will readily be understood that I was now consumed with impatience
to be alone that I might probe the mystery of this leather case, but
Abduláhi stuck to me like a leech, and I had no heart to shake the
affectionate fellow off. Then it was necessary that Aminé, who had
shared so cheerfully my poverty and hardship, should be made to
partake of my good fortune, so I invited the pair to come with me and
look at the market.
There was not so fine a display as at Táari, but I managed to buy
Aminé a fine new _túrkedi_, a silken _zenné_, or veil, a handsome
pair of sandals, and a coral necklace, and with these purchases she
tripped homeward, chattering with joy. Abduláhi I presented with a
pair of finely-worked slippers, and for myself, I bought of the
sandal-maker some of the slender thongs with which leather is sewn,
and at another booth a few large-eyed needles.
Having diplomatically sent Aminé and Abduláhi home with their
presents, I made my escape from the market and hurried out into the
country.
It was near noon, and there were few people stirring on the road,
which was moreover but a bypath leading to a neighbouring village, so
that I was no sooner fairly out of the town than I found myself in
complete solitude. I looked before and behind, and seeing that no
living being was in sight, I drew out my knife with a trembling hand
and slipped the cord of the _laiya_ from around my neck. It was sewn,
as was usual, with fine thongs of skin, but the stitching had
evidently been renewed, and that by a hand less skilful than that of
the Hausa leather-worker. With the point of my knife I cut through one
stitch after, another until three sides were unfastened and I could
lay the case open. As I did so, a mass of wadding fell out, in which
was a small paper packet which I opened with feverish haste. Inside it
was a plain gold locket, and on the paper was written in Isabel’s
handwriting:--“May God bless you and keep you and bring you safely
through all your perils. Think sometimes of us, who have you
constantly in our thoughts.”
The flutter of anticipation with which I unfastened the clasp of the
locket merged into a thrill of intense emotion as my eyes fell upon
its contents. From one side of it looked out the old-world
cavalier-like visage of Pereira; from the other the calm and lovely
face of Isabel.
I cannot describe the feelings which surged through me as I gazed at
those beautiful and beloved features. For months--long months filled
with peril and suffering that made them seem like years--I had not
looked upon the face of a European; I had not even seen my own face
since the day on which I fled from Annan. Gradually my standard of
human beauty had become accommodated to my surroundings, until
Aminé--by far the handsomest African woman I had ever seen--had come
to represent a quite satisfying type of feminine comeliness. And now
this vision of beauty burst upon me, dispelling in a moment the bias
of recent experience, and I stood, in my turban and _riga_, the same
Richard Englefield who had looked upon the setting sun as it sank in a
crimson glow behind the palms of Jella Koffi.
I sat down upon the spreading roots of a baobab that stood by the
wayside with its squat colossal trunk, like some weird Hamadryad,
grown elderly and stout, and with the open locket in my hand, fell
into a brown study. Straightway the present vanished and was
forgotten. The bare and dismal orchard land with its meandering trail;
the vultures wheeling in the blue, the stealthy antelope, the brown
baboons, watchful and inquisitive, and the hollow-voiced secret
cuckoo: all faded out of my consciousness, and I looked upon a flat
sea-shore where the surf fretted upon shining, pearl-tinted sands; I
heard the ripple of girlish laughter mingle with the murmur of the
sea; I felt again that gracious presence that had stolen into my
lonely life and filled it with beauty and romance. Often in the
strenuous, eventful life of the last few months had my thoughts turned
to that quiet house by the lagoon, that held all that I really loved
in the world; but I had rarely been alone, and my harassing
circumstances had left me little opportunity for reflection, so that
this vivid message, coming as it were direct from another world, gave
substance and reality to what had begun to appear but a dream.
“Here he is! I have found him! What? Art thou meditating and seeing
visions again?”
It was the voice of Aminé, and it jarred on me like the jangling of
discordant bells. Back in an instant I was dragged from my reverie of
peace and love into this hurly-burly of savagery, with its sordid
unrestfulness; back from the sweet domestic calm to the clamour of
barbarism. I hastily closed the locket and secreted it, and dropping
the open leather case through the neck hole of my _riga_, stood up.
“We heard thou hadst taken this road,” said Dan-jiwa, who had
accompanied Aminé as bodyguard, “and so came to meet thee. Musa is
roasting a sheep that we may rejoice at thy return.”
I turned and sauntered regretfully towards the town, still thoughtful
and abstracted; but as we entered the street Aminé stole up and shyly
took my hand.
“Thou hast not looked at my new _túrkedi_ or my _zenné_,” she said
plaintively.
I stopped, deeply ashamed of my unsympathetic egotism, and looked at
the girl.
She was indeed transformed. In her dark blue _túrkedi_ with the
darker blue silken _zenné_ dropped hoodwise over her head, the
scarlet beads upon her shapely neck, and the dark line drawn under her
eye-lashes with the stibium-rod, she made a most striking figure, and
might have been some princess of the house of Judah. It was not the
most auspicious moment to have chosen in which to bespeak my
admiration, but I told her that she looked fit to be the wife of the
Sultan of Sokoto, and this seemed to give her pleasure.
“I want no Sultan for my husband, if I have thee,” she said simply, at
which Dan-jiwa patted her on the shoulder approvingly, saying--
“Thou art right, Aminé, and art a wise girl not to leave it to other
women to find out thy husband’s merits.”
The feast given that evening by Musa was a magnificent affair, for the
well-stocked market of Banda had been ransacked for dainties, and the
cooking operations had been on a portentous scale. It was my friends’
last evening at Banda, and they intended that it should be a memorable
one. Accordingly the feasting commenced early and went on until the
town was wrapped in silence, and even then was only brought to a close
by the extermination of everything eatable. Yet it was not a scene of
gluttony, for as soon as the edge was worn off the appetites of the
revellers, conversation and anecdote took the place of steady eating,
and very soon a demand was made for an account of my adventures; to
which I responded with perfect frankness, giving a true and detailed
account of all that had befallen me, excepting the incident of the
treasure. I had for a moment thought of confiding this secret to them
also, and of engaging them to help me to remove the gold, but on
reflection I resolved to speak of the matter to no one until I had
consulted Pereira, with whose aid I had no doubt I could organise an
expedition for lifting the treasure with safety and certainty.
When we were about to separate for the night I took out my purse, and
setting on the mat five sovereigns, pushed them towards Musa.
“At daybreak to-morrow,” I said, “you all depart for Bontúku. Before
we part, I wish to give you a little present that you may buy
something to take back to your country.”
“Nay,” replied Musa, pushing the coins back, “put up thy money. Thou
wilt want all that thou hast on thy journey.”
“Not so,” I rejoined. “I have enough for my needs, and it will be a
pleasure to me, if it please God that we meet no more, to think that
my friends have taken with them to their country some little thing,
which when they look on will bid them think of their old comrade,
Yúsufu Dan-Égadesh.”
“It shall be as thou sayest, and we thank thee, my son,” said Musa,
taking up the coins; “but it needs not thy gifts to make us remember
thee, and we shall at least all meet again where there is no buying
and selling nor long journeys, nor weariness of the feet nor hunger
and thirst.”
At daybreak Musa and his people were up and ready to start. Aminé and
I walked with them for half a mile along the Bontúku road, and we
then took leave of them with many expressions of affection and
goodwill on both sides.
“God be with thee, my son,” said Musa, “and may we meet again soon.
One thing I would counsel thee, and that is that thou walkest no more
with those vagabond minstrels. Either go thy way alone, or wait until
some men of reputation will journey with thee.”
“I will remember thy words, my father,” I replied, and pressing his
hand once more I turned back. I was strongly disposed to abide by the
old man’s advice and cut myself adrift from the good-for-nothing
musicians, and had, indeed, almost made up my mind when, on reaching
our house, I found them waiting at the gate.
“Thou hast not gone with thy friends, then,” said Ali, with evident
relief at seeing me.
“No. I think of remaining at Banda for a while,” I replied.
Ali’s face fell. “That is a pity,” said he, “for we had intended to
start at once for Ogúa. Osman knoweth the way well, and he sayeth he
can take us thither in eighteen or twenty days.”
My heart gave a bound. Eighteen or twenty days! In three weeks I
might, with reasonable good fortune, be on board ship, or even at
Quittah. The thought was intoxicating.
“To speak the truth,” I said, “I like not the way in which thou and
thy brethren pilfer from the country people.”
“We will do so no more,” replied Ali persuasively. “We are not now so
poor, for we have earned a little here, and thou hast enough for
thyself. If we promise to steal from no one wilt thou come with us?”
It was a great temptation.
If I went with them I should be in Cape Coast in three weeks, with all
my troubles and hardships behind me, whereas if I waited at Banda it
might be weeks before I met with any travellers bound thither, for I
had learned that most of the European trade was conducted not with
Cape Coast but with Kinjabo (Grand Bassam).
I pondered for a minute, while Ali softly thrummed upon the balafu,
and at length succumbed to the temptation.
“Very well,” I said. “I have thy promise to pilfer no more. Wait here
while I put my things together, and we will start.”
It was a fateful resolution.