FRENCH ENTERPRISE IN AFRICA
The Exploration of the Niger
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT HOURST.]
=FRENCH ENTERPRISE
IN AFRICA=
THE PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF LIEUT. HOURST
OF HIS
=Exploration of the Niger=
TRANSLATED BY
MRS. ARTHUR BELL (N. D’ANVERS)
AUTHOR OF ‘THE ELEMENTARY HISTORY OF ART,’ ‘THE SCIENCE LADDERS,’ ETC.
_WITH 190 ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAP_
[Illustration]
LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD.
1898
[_All rights reserved_]
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON & BUNGAY.
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
The appearance of this brightly-written record of an adventurous voyage
down the Niger, from Timbuktu to the sea, such as has never before been
accomplished, is just now peculiarly opportune, when attention is so
much concentrated on the efforts of the French to extend their
influence in Africa, especially in the Western Sudan.
The author of the _Exploration of the Niger_ is, of course, greatly
prejudiced against England, and his jealous hostility to those he
habitually calls “our rivals” peeps out at every turn, but for all that
the work he has done is good and valuable work, adding much to the
knowledge of the Niger itself, its basin, and the various tribes
occupying the riverside districts. It is remarkable, that in spite of
much opposition Lieutenant Hourst managed to keep the peace with the
natives from the first start from Timbuktu to the arrival at Bussa.
Whilst the footprints of too many of his predecessors were marked in
blood, he and his party passed by without the loss of a single life,
and in this most noteworthy peculiarity of his journey, the brave and
patient young leader may claim to rank even with that great pioneer of
African discovery, David Livingstone.
True the Lieutenant owed the good relations he was able to maintain
with the chiefs to a fiction, for acting on the advice of a certain
Béchir Uld Mbirikat, a native of Twat, whom he had met at Timbuktu,
he passed himself off as the nephew of Dr. Barth, the great German
traveller, who had everywhere won the love and respect of the people
with whom he was brought in contact. Assuming the name of Abdul Kerim,
or the Servant of the Most High, the Frenchman solved all the
difficulties which threatened to stop his progress by the simple
assertion that he was the nephew of Abdul Kerim, as Barth was and still
is called in the Sudan. “I was thus able,” says Abdul Kerim, “to emerge
safely from every situation, however embarrassing,” explaining that the
natives do not distinguish between different European nationalities,
but simply class all together as “the whites.”
Apart from this initial falsehood, of which the Lieutenant does not
seem to be in the least ashamed, his dealings with the natives were
marked by perfect straightforwardness; every promise, however trivial,
made to one of them he faithfully performed, whilst from the officers
under him and the coolies in his service he won the utmost devotion and
love. He deserves indeed very great credit for the ever ready tact with
which he turned aside rather than met the difficulties assailing him at
every turn, and Dr. Barth would have had no cause to be ashamed of his
relative if the young gentleman had indeed been his nephew.
Lieutenant Hourst’s chapter on the much misjudged Tuaregs is especially
interesting, and, most noteworthy fact, full of hope for the future. He
attributes their many excellent qualities to their reverence for their
women. The husband of one wife only, the Tuareg warrior looks up to
that wife with something of the chivalrous devotion of the knights of
the Middle Ages, presenting in this respect a very marked contrast to
his Mahommedan neighbours, of whom, by the way, the Frenchman has the
lowest possible opinion; charging them with a total disregard of
morality, beneath the cloak of an assumed religious zeal. On the
so-called marabouts he is especially severe, giving many instances of
the evil influence they exercise over the simple-minded natives.
It would be unfair to the author to spoil the interest of his narrative
by any further revelations of its contents; suffice it to add, that in
spite of his all too-evident bias against the English, he is unable to
deny that he was kindly treated by the individual members of the Royal
Niger Company, with whom he came in contact. His only wish, he naïvely
remarks, is that some of the warm-hearted men who welcomed him back to
civilization had belonged to his own nationality. There is something
truly pathetic in the plea with which the courageous young explorer
winds up his record of his year of arduous work, and yet more arduous
waiting, hoping against hope for the instructions from home which never
came. He knows, he says, that all the countries suitable for
colonization—Australia was the last of them—are already occupied by
“our rivals,” but there is still room, he thinks, for French “colonies
of exploration,” where talented young men, unable to find a career in
their native country, may usefully employ their energies in turning the
natural wealth of French acquisitions to account. That is all he hopes
for; but he cannot help adding a few touching words of appeal to the
French colonial authorities, asking them to cease from sending out
expeditions only to abandon them to their fate, taking no notice of
their requests for instructions or for help.
Reading between the lines of this record of a brave struggle against
terrible odds, it is only too easy to realize that the policy of
prevarication of the French Government in all matters colonial is a
well-considered policy, as astute as it is unfair, alike to the gallant
officers in command of abortive exploring expeditions as to the
“rivals” so cordially disliked.
NANCY BELL.
_Southbourne-on-Sea,
October_ 1898.
[Illustration: WASHERWOMEN OF SAY.]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE. vii
I. AN ABORTIVE START 1
II. FROM KAYES TO TIMBUKTU 41
III. FROM TIMBUKTU TO TOSAYE 93
IV. FROM TOSAYE TO FAFA 151
V. THE TUAREGS 199
VI. FROM FAFA TO SAY 250
VII. STAY AT SAY 295
VIII. MISTAKES AND FALSE NEWS 356
IX. FROM SAY TO BUSSA 403
X. FROM BUSSA TO THE SEA; CONCLUSION OF OUR VOYAGE 446
EPILOGUE 498
INDEX 513
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
LIEUTENANT HOURST _Frontispiece_
WASHERWOMEN OF SAY xi
MARKET PLACE, ST. LOUIS 1
NATIVES OF THE BANKS OF THE SENEGAL 5
NAVAL ENSIGN BAUDRY 15
THE PORT OF DAKAR 21
PART OF THE DAKAR ST. LOUIS LINE 24
RAILWAY BUFFET AT TIVIWANE 25
THE QUAY AT ST. LOUIS 26
A STREET IN ST. LOUIS 27
BUBAKAR-SINGO 27
THE COOLIES ENGAGED AT ST. LOUIS 28
THE ‘BRIÈRE DE L’ISLE’ 30
THE MARKET-PLACE AT ST. LOUIS 31
GOVERNMENT HOUSE, KAYES 32
ON THE SENEGAL 40
EN ROUTE 41
LEFEBVRE CARTS UNHARNESSED 42
LOADING OUR CONVOY 43
LIEUTENANT BLUZET 45
CROSSING A MARIGOT 46
WE ALL HAVE TO RUSH TO THE RESCUE 47
OUR TETHERED MULES 48
DOCTOR TABURET 51
ARRIVAL AT KOLIKORO 53
BANKS OF THE RIVER AT KOLIKORO 55
REPAIRING THE ‘AUBE’ 58
TIGHTENING THE BOLTS OF THE ‘DAVOUST’ 59
PROCESSION OF BOYS AFTER CIRCUMCISION 59
THE SACRED BAOBAB OF KOLIKORO 61
THE FLEET OF MY EXPEDITION 63
DIGUI AND THE COOLIES OF THE ‘JULES DAVOUST’ 65
MADEMBA 67
YAKARÉ 70
LARGE NIGER CANOES 72
THE TOMB OF HAMET BECKAY AT SAREDINA 76
SARAFÉRÉ 77
A MOSQUE AT TIMBUKTU 83
FATHER HACQUART 85
WE LEAVE KABARA 91
AT TIMBUKTU 92
DROVE OF OXEN 93
THE ‘AUBE’ AND HER CREW 95
INTERVIEW WITH ALUATTA 108
A LITTLE SLAVE GIRL OF RHERGO 109
TUAREGS AND SHERIFFS AT RHERGO 110
OUR PALAVER AT RHERGO 111
ARRIVAL AT THE VILLAGE OF RHERGO 113
TRADERS AT RHERGO 115
SO-CALLED SHERIFFS OF RHERGO 116
THE ‘DAVOUST’ AT ANCHOR OFF RHERGO 117
POLITICAL ANXIETIES 119
SAKHAUI’S ENVOYS 124
OUR COOLIES’ CAMP AT ZARHOI 127
OUR BICYCLE SUZANNE AMONGST THE TUAREGS 132
OUR PALAVER AT SAKHIB’S CAMP 133
THE VILLAGE OF GUNGI 135
OUR PEOPLE SHELLING OUR RICE AT GUNGI 137
SHERIFF’S HOUSE AT GUNGI 139
WEAVERS AT GUNGI 141
FATHER HACQUART AND HIS LITTLE FRIEND 143
LITTLE NEGROES AT EGUEDECHE 145
TAKING ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATIONS 150
TOSAYE, WITH THE BAROR AND CHABAR ROCKS 151
THE ROCK BAROR AT TOSAYE 155
THE TADEMEKET ON A DUNE ON THE BANKS OF THE NIGER 159
PANORAMA OF GAO ON THE SITE OF THE ANCIENT GARO 169
PALAVER AT GAO 171
BORNU 180
BABA, WITH THE ROCKS ABOVE ANSONGO 181
THE KEL ES SUK OF ANSONGO REFUSE TO SUPPLY US WITH GUIDES 183
DISTRIBUTION OF PRESENTS TO THE TUAREGS AT BURÉ 187
THE ‘DANTEC’ EXPLORING THE PASS 188
BURÉ 189
CANOES AT BURÉ 190
FLOCKS AND HERDS AT BURÉ 191
GUIDES GIVEN TO US BY IDRIS 192
PALAVER WITH DJAMARATA 195
TUAREGS 198
AN AMRI SHEPHERD 199
TUAREGS 203
A GROUP OF TUAREGS 208
TUAREGS 211
A TUAREG WOMAN 220
A TUAREG IN HIS NATIONAL COSTUME 223
TUAREGS 227
TUAREG HORSEMAN 232
MOORS AND TUAREGS 234
A YOUNG TUAREG 239
TUAREGS 245
AN AFRICAN CAMEL 249
AN ISOLATED TREE AT FAFA 250
FAFA 251
KARU WITH MILLET GRANARIES 252
THE LABEZENGA RAPIDS 253
THE ‘AUBE’ IN THE RAPIDS 258
THE ‘AUBE’ IN THE LAST LABEZENGA RAPID 262
LOOKING UP-STREAM FROM KATUGU 263
THE CHIEF OF AYURU 264
AN ISLAND BETWEEN AYURU AND KENDADJI 266
A ROCKY HILL NEAR KENDADJI 267
FARCA 274
OUR SINDER GUIDES 276
AT SANSAN-HAUSSA 279
THE BOBO RAPIDS 283
VIEW OF SAY 287
CANOES AT SAY 291
OUR GUIDES’ CANOE 294
THE ‘AUBE’ AT FORT ARCHINARD 295
VIEW OF OUR ISLAND AND OF THE SMALL ARM OF THE RIVER 297
FORT ARCHINARD 301
FORT ARCHINARD 303
OSMAN 305
PULLO KHALIFA 308
A TYPICAL KURTEYE 309
THE ARABU 310
A FEMALE TUAREG BLACKSMITH IN THE SERVICE OF
IBRAHIM GALADIO 315
REPAIRING THE ‘AUBE’ 319
OUR MARKET AT FORT ARCHINARD 321
MARKET AT FORT ARCHINARD 322
A YOUNG GIRL OF SAY 324
TYPICAL NATIVES AT THE FORT ARCHINARD MARKET 326
WOMEN OF SAY 330
FORT ARCHINARD 335
OUR COOLIES AT THEIR TOILETTE 338
A WOMAN OF SAY 340
A NATIVE WOMAN WITH GOITRE 342
A TOWER OF FORT ARCHINARD 346
THE MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION AT FORT ARCHINARD 349
OUR QUICK-FIRING GUN 355
NATIVES OF SAY 356
TALIBIA 360
TALIBIA 362
GALADIO’S GRANDSON 365
THE ‘DAVOUST’ IN HER DRY DOCK 370
TYPICAL MARKET WOMEN 375
THE MARKET AT FORT ARCHINARD 376
A WOMAN OF SAY 378
ENVOYS FROM THE CHIEF OF KIBTACHI 380
A COBBLER OF MOSSI 383
FORT ARCHINARD 385
A MARKET WOMAN 387
A FULAH WOMAN 389
LAUNCHING OF THE ‘AUBE’ AT SAY 392
TAYORO AND MODIBO KONNA 394
A YOUNG GIRL AT FORT ARCHINARD 396
THE BURNING OF FORT ARCHINARD 401
A YOUNG KURTEYE 402
NATIVES OF MALALI 403
ROCKY BANKS ABOVE KOMPA 405
A FOREST ON THE BANKS OF THE NIGER 407
THE BANKS OF THE NIGER NEAR KOMPA 409
OUR COOLIES WASHING THEIR CLOTHES 415
THE MARIGOT OR CREEK OF TENDA 418
GIRRIS 426
GIRRIS CANOES 431
OUR GUIDE AMADU 437
DJIDJIMA 441
THE NIGER BELOW RUPIA 443
A PALAVER 445
THE SO-CALLED NIGRITIAN, THE OLD PONTOON OF YOLA 446
VIEW OF BUSSA 447
NATIVES OF BUSSA 448
CANOES AT BUSSA 449
WOMEN OF BUSSA 450
WOMEN OF BUSSA 451
TRUMPETERS OF BUSSA 452
WOMEN OF BUSSA 455
AMONG THE RAPIDS 458
THE RAPIDS BELOW BUSSA 461
AMONG THE RAPIDS 463
GEBA 472
RABBA 477
IGGA 478
MOUNT RENNEL ABOVE LOKODJA 485
NATIVES OF AFRICA 497
MEDAL OF THE FRENCH SOCIETY FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF
SCIENCE 501
MEDAL OF THE ‘SOCIÉTÉ D’ALLIANCE FRANÇAISE’ 503
MEDAL OF THE LYONS GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY 505
MEDAL OF THE MARSEILLES GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY 507
MEDAL OF THE CHER GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY 509
NATIVES OF SANSAN HAUSSA 510
GRAND MEDAL OF THE PARIS SOCIETY OF COMMERCIAL GEOGRAPHY 511
[Illustration: MARKET PLACE, ST. LOUIS.]
THE EXPLORATION OF THE NIGER
CHAPTER I
AN ABORTIVE START
Dr. Henry Barth, the greatest traveller of modern times,
our illustrious predecessor on the Niger, was a prisoner at
Massenya. Loaded with chains, and in hourly expectation of death,
he was still devoted to his work, and had the superb courage to
write—“The best way of winning the blacks from their barbarism
is to create centres on the great rivers. The civilizing influence
will then spread naturally, following the water-highways.”
In his generous dream, which might be his last, he consoled himself in
thinking that soon the ideas of tolerance and progress would advance
by the river-roads, by the “moving paths,” as he called them,
to the very heart of the dark continent. Perhaps the shedding of his
blood might then further the cause of that humanity of which he was
the apostle.
More than any other, perhaps, the Niger district lends itself
to this idea of Dr. Barth’s. There it is, on the banks of the
river, fertilized by timely inundations, that life appears to be
concentrated. It is by following the streams and rivers, and crossing
the lakes, that the forward march must proceed. The Niger, with
its affluents and its lacustrine systems, still partially unknown,
gives, even when only seen on the map, the impression of an organism
complete in itself. As in the human body, the blood-vessels and the
nerves carry the life and transmit the will of their owner, so does a
mighty river with its infinite ramifications, seem to convey to the
remote confines of a continent, commerce, civilization, and those
ideas of tolerance and of progress which are the very life and soul
of a country.
To utilize this gigantic artery—and this is a task which we
Frenchmen have undertaken, for, at the demand of France, these
countries have been characterized _as under French influence_—it
was necessary first of all to know it.
It is to this task we have devoted ourselves, my companions and
I. Providence has aided us, Providence has willed our success,
in spite of difficulties of every kind. We had the great joy of
returning with ranks unbroken, all safe and sound. Yet more rare,
our journey did not cost a single human life, not even amongst those
who were hostile to us and opposed our passage.
This I consider the greatest honour of the expedition of which I
was in command.
Moreover, logic as well as humanity demanded that we should, in every
case, as far as possible pursue a pacific policy. What could men,
whether negroes or others, think of the civilization we endeavour to
introduce amongst them, if its first benefits are volleys of bullets,
blood-shed—in a word, war?
The reader must not, however, misunderstand me. It has often been
necessary, it will still long be necessary, even in conformity with
our most honourable and elevated sentiments, to have recourse in
certain cases to war, to enforce our ideas of justice. In the present
state of barbarism of African races, especially where the false
civilization of Islam has penetrated, the moral elevation of the
lower classes is injurious to the material interests of directors,
chiefs, sorcerers, or marabouts; and against them, of course, force
must be used.
The motto chosen by the Royal Niger Company—was it in irony, or
for the sake of rhythm?—“Pax, Jus, Ars,” is certainly most
beautiful, most complete, most suitable, for a people who dream of
combining venal profits with humanitarian ameliorations in their
colonization of native districts. This motto cannot, however,
be acted upon without some trouble and conflict. Peace? How about
the successful slave raids undertaken under the cloak of religion,
on which the Samorys, the Amadus, the chief of Sokoto and their
bands depend for their livelihood? Justice? Suppose the races
oppressed because of their very gentleness, ground down because of
their productiveness, refuse to obey their conquerors, Toucouleurs,
Fulahs, or whoever they may be; will the captive find himself the
equal of the master? Art? the Knowledge and the Toil which should win
freedom? Grant them, and what will become of the sorcerers, and the
starving marabouts with their impostures and their mummeries? There
have been, there inevitably will be again, prolonged and obstinate
resistance. That resistance must be overcome, and the struggle must
cost bloodshed, but that bloodshed will increase the future harvest.
It is altogether different, however, with an exploring expedition. Its
mission is not to dictate, but to persuade—not to conquer, but
to reconnoitre. This, however, scarcely lessened the difficulty
of our task. In a new country, ignorance alone, rather than actual
ill-will founded on serious reasons, is enough to make the natives
hostile. They look upon the traveller as a malevolent intruder,
a sorcerer, a devil. They want to hinder his progress, to make him
turn back, and when they despair of doing that they try to pillage
and to destroy him.
Weapons of precision, discipline, a single blow may perhaps sometimes
break through the obstacle, and the traveller will pass on. But
afterwards?
Afterwards, the road will be closed before him. One tribe after
another will rise, and if the explorer has any armed followers, it
will be with him as it was with Stanley in his blood-stained course,
the path behind him will be marked by corpses.
Afterwards, moreover, the road behind him will also be barred—closed
for long years to every pacific attempt. This sort of thing means,
in fact, difficulties increased, sometimes indeed rendered positively
insurmountable to those who would resume or complete the task begun.
True, I cannot claim to have left behind me tribes entirely devoted
to us, or districts completely won over to our ideas, to which France
has but to send her traders and her directors; but I think I can
say that where our passage did nothing to ameliorate the situation,
it at least made it no worse; and of this I am proud.
Briefly stated, what we did on our expedition was, to ascend the
Senegal, reach the Niger at its highest navigable point, and go down
it to the sea.
This was not a new idea. My friend Felix Dubois claims, not unjustly,
that the same thing occurred to Colbert. For all that, however,
scarcely a century ago no one knew the exact position either of
the source or the mouth of the Niger; and those who were anxious to
learn something about its geography, had only Herodotus, Ibn Batuta,
and Leo Africanus to guide them.
But we must do justice to our rivals: the English were the first to
attempt to realize the dream of Colbert. In 1797, the Scotchman Mungo
Park reached the Upper Niger by way of Guinea. “Are there then no
streams, no rivers, no anything in your country,” a chief of Kasso
said to him, “that you come at the peril of your life to see the
Joliba?” (the Upper Niger). Park stopped at Silla, near our present
settlement at Sansanding, and renewing his attempt a few years later,
he met his death—how, no one knows exactly, somewhere near Bussa.
[Illustration: NATIVES OF THE BANKS OF THE SENEGAL.]
Although very celebrated in England, Mungo Park was quite unknown to
the French, even in their colonies. I give the following well-known
anecdote from memory. “In 1890 a highly educated person said to
M. X———, a French colonial officer of high rank, ‘There is a
future before the Niger districts. See what Mungo Park says about
them;’ and he followed this up with a lot of quotations from Park’s
book. ‘Oh, that is all very interesting,’ said the other; ‘if Mungo
Park is in Paris, you had better take him to the Minister.’ Then
when the death of Park in 1805 was explained, M. X——— cried,
thinking he had found an unanswerable argument, ‘I bet your Park
died of fever!’”
Perhaps after all he confused him with the _Parc Monceau_, the
healthiness of which had lately been called in question.
Our journey was accomplished just one century after Mungo Park’s
first attempt. We started from about the same point, too, as did the
great Scotch traveller, only from the Senegal instead of the Gambia,
but our attempt was crowned by success.
Of course, it will be said, that we had fewer unknown districts
to go through. Since 1805, Europeans have conquered half the
continent of Africa. We stepped from a French colony into an English
Protectorate. Moreover, earlier travellers than ourselves explored
certain sections of our route, whilst Park had everywhere to work
his way through virgin territory.
Perhaps, however, all these supposed advantages in our favour really
only added to our difficulties.
Happening to find myself in Paris in October 1893, on the eve of my
return to my Staff duties in the French Sudan, I one day met Colonel
Monteil. “Go,” he said to me, “and find Monsieur Delcassé”
(then Under Secretary of State for the Colonies), “he has something
to say to you.” The next day I presented myself at the _Pavillon de
Flore_. “You are leaving for the Sudan,” said Monsieur Delcassé;
“what are you going to do there?” “It is not quite decided
yet,” I replied. “I heard some talk of a hydrographic exploration
of the courses of the Bafing and the Bakhoy” (two streams which
meet at Bafulabé, to form the Senegal). “You no doubt know more
about it than I do.” “Well!” he replied, “I would rather you
went down the Niger, in accordance with the project Monteil spoke
to me about, and which you, it seems, submitted to my predecessor.”
“I should prefer it too,” I said; “it is just what I have been
asking for for the last five years.”
“Well, then, that is settled; send me a report and an estimate
of expenses.”
Thus in two minutes the exploration of the Niger was decided upon.
It is, in fact, true (see Report of December 1888) that I suggested
such an expedition five years ago; but it is really ten years since
a similar plan was proposed by another, and that other my venerated
chief, my friend, and my master in all things connected with the
Sudan, Naval Lieutenant Davoust. He died in harness.
After the occupation of Bamaku, Naval Ensign Froger, a man of immense
energy, endurance, and indomitable perseverance, whose name comes
in whenever there is any talk of French work in the Sudan, took a
French gunboat, piece by piece, to the Niger. God only knows at what
cost. There he put her together, launched her, and since 1884 she
has remained on the river. This gunboat, baptized the _Niger_, was
commanded, on the retirement of Froger, by Davoust, who in accepting
the appointment, hoped to take his vessel up to Timbuktu. As a
logical consequence, of course, he asked permission to go down to the
opening of the navigable portion of the great river, or, if it were
possible, to the sea itself, but the authorization was refused. He
was stopped at Nuhu in Massina. Weakened by dysentery and fever,
he was compelled, greatly against his will, to return to France,
without having even reached Timbuktu.
That honour was reserved for his successor, Caron, who, with
Sub-Lieutenant Lefort and Dr. Jouenne, reached Koriomé, the port
of the mysterious town; but the intrigues of the Toucouleurs and
the merchants of the north made the Tuaregs hostile. He was unable
to enter the ancient capital of the Sahara, but he brought back
with him a magnificent map on the scale of ¹⁄₅₀₀₀₀ of the course
of the river, such as had, perhaps, never before been made of any
river of Africa. It proved beyond a doubt, that from Kulikoro to
Timbuktu, that is to say, for a length of about 500 miles, the
Niger is perfectly navigable, free from obstacles, everywhere
accessible to small craft, and nearly always to steamers and
barges of considerable draught.
Davoust returned to the charge in 1888, when he did me the honour
of taking me as his second in command, and it was decided that we
should go down the river, until the absolutely insuperable obstacles
in our path barred our progress.
Alas! it was decreed that Davoust should never realize success.
What happened? Just as we were going to start came an order that we
were to do nothing. We wintered at Manambugu, a terribly unhealthy
spot, and there, with infinite trouble, we constructed a few wretched
huts of straw and loam, to protect ourselves and our goods. Under
such conditions, death soon wrought havoc in our ranks. We white
men numbered eighteen when we started; less than a year later we
were but five. The rest we had buried along our path as we returned,
or in our little cemetery at Manambugu.
Poor Davoust reached Kita but to die. The order forbidding us to
start had been his death-blow. Until then he had, however, kept up
only by force of his intense determination. It was but his hope of
success which sustained him; he existed only for the sake of his
great scheme. “Merely having _failed_ to descend the Niger,”
he exclaimed to me one day, “made Mungo Park famous, but we,
we _shall succeed_.”
He could not bear to see all his long-cherished plans upset for no
real reason, on the very eve of realization. It was too severe a
blow for the little strength which remained to him. He nevertheless
continued to help me in fitting out the _Mage_, a gunboat like the
_Niger_, which we had brought from France; he even made some trial
trips; but in the month of December he set off for home, to try and
regain his strength in his native land, and buoyed up with the hope
of being able to win over our colonial authorities to his views.
He never reached France; he rests at Kita. When we thought all was
lost, and our mission hopelessly compromised, we gathered round
his tomb. Perhaps it was our doing so which brought us good fortune
at last.
How many, aye, some even greater men than he, have fallen
thus! Alas! it has been with the dead bodies of our countrymen that
the soil of the French Sudan, which we hope will some day yield
so rich a harvest, has been fertilized! Dare we add, that those
who went there in the hope of winning gold braid and crosses, got
“crosses” indeed, but they consisted only of two bits of wood
clumsily nailed together by some comrade, and set up in the corner
of a field of millet, beneath the shade of some baobab tree; poor
ephemeral crosses, soon eaten up by white ants, incapable even of
preserving the memory of the brave fellows buried beneath them.
But we must not bemoan too much the fate of these noble dead. We
must honour them and follow their example.
Well then, Davoust being dead, without having accomplished his task,
I vowed that a boat bearing his name should descend the river. This
promise I made in 1888, but it was not until 1896 that I was able
to redeem it. Now I have fulfilled my vow.
There is no doubt that it would have made all the difference in the
political results of my mission, if it could have been undertaken
eight or ten years earlier. For instance, in the negotiations which
took place in 1890, and were so inauspicious for our influence on the
Lower Niger, our plenipotentiaries would have been able to assert,
that the rapids at Burrum existed only in the imagination of Sir
Edward Malet, a fact not without its importance.
But we will not trouble ourselves with what the expedition ought to
have done—we will merely record what it did do.
My project, adopted by M. Delcassé, was that of Davoust, slightly
modified. Instead of employing gunboats drawing about three feet of
water, I found it best to employ barges of very slight draught worked
with oars. An attentive study of Dr. Barth’s narrative reveals how
very great were the difficulties of navigation, at least on those
parts of the river he himself explored; for it must be remembered
that he never spoke by hearsay. Of course a boat drawing a foot or
so only of water would easily pass over rapids, where such vessels
as the _Mage_ and the _Niger_ must inevitably come to grief.
Moreover, a steam-boat needs fuel, and that fuel would have to
be wood. Then we must go and cut that wood, which would give the
natives opportunities for hostility. Moreover, the machinery might
get out of order. Of course, rowing is slower than steaming, but
it is much safer. Then, too, we had the current in our favour; we
had but to let ourselves go and we should certainly arrive at some
goal, if not at a good port. The stream would carry our barges down,
with us on or under them, as Spartan mothers would have said.
Besides, there was something graceful about this mode of
progression. To row down the Niger at the end of the nineteenth
century, was not only amusing, but there was really something
audacious about it, when it might have been done so differently,
and, after all, I was right; for never could gunboats have passed
where my plucky little boat, the _Davoust_, made her way.
This resolution come to, the next thing was to build the boat which
was to be the inseparable companion of our journey. “As you make
your bed you must lie upon it,” I thought, and I gave my whole
mind to the matter.
She must be strong but light, and easily taken to pieces; she must not
exceed the minimum space needed to hold us all; she must be capable
of carrying eight to ten tons, and she must not be difficult to steer.
During the year 1893, it happened that great progress had been made
in the working of aluminium, and Monteil had actually ventured to
employ that metal in the construction of a little boat intended for
use on the Ubangi. It seemed, however, rather hazardous to follow his
example, for, after all, what could be done with aluminium had not
been actually put to the test, and our very lives depended almost
entirely on the durability of our boat. Still, I had to take into
account the fact that the craft would sometimes have to be carried
overland, and then the lightness of the metal would be immensely in
its favour.
In a word, I decided for aluminium. Truth to tell, however, I confess
I am not very proud of the decision I came to. The material was not
hard enough; it was easily bent; it staved in at the slightest shock,
and I often wished I had decided on a steel boat. At the same time,
it should be admitted that its chief quality—that of lightness—was
never really put to the test; for throughout the journey we never
once had to take our craft to pieces, for the purpose of carrying
it in sections, over otherwise insurmountable obstacles. As she was
launched at Kolikoro, so she arrived at Wari. This was perhaps as
well; for I really do not know whether the bolts once taken out of
their strained sockets would ever have fitted properly again. To sum
up, however, the _Davoust_, an aluminium boat, reached the mouth of
the Niger, which was really all that was expected of her.
Now let me introduce my _Davoust_ properly. She is not exactly a
handsome craft. She looks more like a wooden shoe or a case of soap
than anything; that is to say, the stern is square, whilst the bow
runs up into a point. This pointed bow, I must remark _en passant_,
will be very useful for jumping on shore from without wetting
our feet.
She is about 98 feet long by 7½ feet wide, and only draws about
a foot and a quarter of water, which does not prevent her from
carrying nine tons. Two water-tight partitions divide her into three
compartments, the central one of which forms the hold, where are
stowed all our valuables, food, ammunition, and bales of goods. The
hold is covered in with steel plates, which serve as a deck, and at
the same time greatly add to the general strength of the craft.
The other two compartments, covered in by thin planking, serve as
cabins. The planks, as will be readily understood, are but little
protection against the heat of the sun and in storms; but, of course,
it was impossible for me to add needlessly to the weight of the boat,
merely for the sake of comfort. In the centre is placed a machine
gun. In the fore part of the steel deck will sit the oarsmen, or,
to be strictly nautical, the rowers.
Three sails, two triangular and one square, will help us along when
the wind is favourable. True, this rig-out of sails on a vessel the
size of ours is not exactly what is generally seen in the Navy, but
what does that matter in the wilds of Africa, with no companions and
no engineers to make fun of my innovation? How well it will sound,
too, will it not, when we reach their territories if the English
telegraph to Europe, “A French three-master has descended the
Niger from Timbuktu!”
All this finally settled, the next thing to do was to divide the
boat into sections. The problem was, how to manage to do this so
that these sections could be carried on the heads of our porters,
no one of them weighing more than from about 55 to 66 lbs. This is
really all we can expect of a black porter who was not brought up
in the ship-building trade.
To begin with, I divide my boat longitudinally from bow to stern
into two equal sections, which are afterwards sub-divided. These two
sections are to be bolted on to a sheet of steel which will serve as
a keel. The joints are of leather. The heaviest piece, that is to say,
the stern, weighs some 81 lbs., but two porters can carry it together.
This flat-bottomed craft of ours will be steered by means of a long
rudder, the wheel of which is placed at the threshold of my cabin,
so that I shall have it close at hand. On my cabin roof is the
steering compass, and the tent to protect us in the day, which tent
is made of brown and red striped cloth with a scalloped edge. We
fancy ourselves on the beach of Normandy when we are in it. The
roof of my cabin will serve me as a table on which to work at my
hydrographical observations.
The _Davoust_ was just big enough to hold us all. She could be
handled easily enough; she contained only what was absolutely
indispensable, and all I asked of her was that she should carry us
safely to our goal.
It would not do for me to embark alone to descend the Niger. The
next thing was, therefore, to choose my crew. Of all the lucky
chances which marked the course of our trip, and contributed to its
success, there was one for which I ought to have been more grateful
to Providence than I was, and that was, that He gave me just the
companions who went with me.
All who know from experience what the sun of Africa is, who are aware
of the combined effects of illness and privations, such as the want
of sufficient nourishment, of perpetual danger, of never-ceasing
responsibility, who have themselves suffered from working with
uncongenial companions, whose worst faults come out under the stress
of suffering and fatigue, who know what the unsociability of the
tropics often is, will realize the force of what I have said.
We started five companions, we returned five friends: that is the
most astonishing part of what we did!
First of those who joined me, who shared all my hardships as well
as my success, was Naval Ensign, now Lieutenant Baudry.
One of those who had laboured in the vineyard from the first,
M. Baudry had begged me to take him with me, should the chance
ever occur, long before my expedition was decided on. He happened
to be in Paris at the time, for, like myself, he was about to start
for the Sudan on Staff duty. He too had been bitten by the Colonial
tarantula, causing a serious illness, only to be cured by an actual
journey to the colonies. A few minutes after the decision of the
Under Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs the matter was settled:
he was to go with me.
[Illustration: NAVAL ENSIGN BAUDRY,
Second in command of the Hourst Expedition.]
He has been my comrade in happy and in dreary hours. Together we
suffered from the events which kept us imprisoned, so to speak, in
the French Sudan for nearly two years before we could really make
a start. He adopted my ideas, he made them his own, and set to work
immediately to carry them into action. It is but just that I should
speak of him first of all in these terms of praise, for always and
everywhere I was secure of his help and co-operation.
We made up the rest of our party at St. Louis, for Baudry and I were
at first the only two white men in the expedition. We had to choose
eight Senegal coolies, one of whom was a non-commissioned officer
lent to us by the naval authorities. I knew that I should be able
to engage any number of brave and sturdy fellows, faithful to the
death down there, and so it proved.
The grave question of the choice of a native interpreter still
remained to be solved. I had my man in my mind, but I did not know
whether I could secure him. I lost no time in asking the authorities
at Senegal to place Mandao Osmane at my disposal.
I had known and learnt to value Mandao on the Niger flotilla; he and
his family had already rendered more devoted services to France than
I could count. Well-read, intelligent, very brave, very refined,
and very proud, Mandao was the type of an educated negro. He would
have been a valuable assistant and a trusted friend to us. I knew
that it was his great ambition to be decorated like his father, who
had been one of General Faidherbe’s most valued auxiliaries. He was
to die on the field of honour, killed during the Monteil expedition.
If some inquirer asks you, “What is the first thing to do to
prepare for an exploring expedition to Central Africa?” answer
without hesitation, “Buy some of the things which are being sold
off in Paris.” And this is why. The usual currency on the Niger
is the little cowry found on the coast of Mozambique. Five thousand
represent about the value of a franc. As will at once be realized,
this means a very great weight to lug about, as heavy, in fact, as
the Spartan coinage, and besides, it is not known everywhere even
in Nigritia. In many villages everything is sold by barter. “How
much for that sheep?” you ask, and the answer is “Ten cubits”
(about six yards) “of white stuff, or fifty gilt beads, so many
looking-glasses, so many sheets of paper, or so many bars of salt,”
according to what the seller wants most.
One must provide oneself with the sort of things required.
Besides all this, presents are needed, and all sorts of unexpected
articles come in usefully for them. Black-lead sold in tubes is used
for blackening and increasing the brilliance of the eyes of Fulah
coquettes; curtain-loops are transformed into shoulder ornaments or
belts to hold the weapons of warriors; whilst the various dainty
articles used in cotillons are much appreciated by native belles,
who are also very fond of sticking tortoise-shell combs into their
woolly locks. Take also some pipes, tobacco-pouches, fishing-tackle,
needles, knives and scissors, a few burnouses made of bath-towels,
china and glass buttons, coral, amber, cheap silks, tri-coloured
sunshades, etc.
We had to give powerful chiefs such things as embroidered velvet
saddles, weapons, costly garments, and valuable stuffs. Tastes
change from one generation to another; the fashion is different in
different villages; besides, we were expected, it was specified in
our instructions, to open commercial relations with the natives for
the travellers who should succeed us. So we were bound to have with
us as great a variety of samples of our wares as possible.
Moreover, Tuaregs and negroes alike are only big children. They
fight just to amuse themselves when they happen to have a sword or
a gun. They would play just as happily with a mechanical rabbit, a
peg-top, or a doll which says “Papa.” So we must take some toys
with us, such as crawling lizards, jumping frogs, musical boxes,
even a miniature organ which plays the _quadrille à chahut_,[1]
as it consumes yards of perforated paper. And even now I have not
enumerated all the things we took.
Face to face with this very incoherent programme, suppose for carrying
it out you have two naval officers, one just come back from the
Sudan, the other from China, and you say to them, giving them the
necessary funds, “Now you go and settle things up.” Well, you
will soon see what they can do, but if they are up to their work
they will go straight away and secure the help of Léon Bolard,
a commercial agent who is a specialist in providing for exploring
expeditions. And then these two will amuse themselves like a couple
of fools for a month at least; that is what we did.
Long shall I remember these prowlings in furnishing shops, where the
owners were not always very civil, for we turned their premises upside
down sometimes for mere trifles. Some days we tramped for eighteen
miles along the pavements of Paris, measured by the pedometer.
Our most amusing experiences were when we went in search of bargains
at sales. Slightly soiled stuffs and remnants are first-rate treasure
trove for explorers who are at all careful of the coffers of the
State; but how one has to walk, and how one has to climb to fourth
and fifth storeys to realize these economies! We once got about
1600 yards of velvet for nineteen sous, and we picked up knives with
handles representing the Eiffel Tower, with others bearing political
allusions to Panama, etc.
At the end of a month Baudry and I were quite knocked up. Bolard
alone continued indefatigable. But we had bought twenty-seven
thousand francs’ worth of merchandise, which was all piled up in
the basement of the _Pavillon de Flore_. Such an extraordinary heap
it made; bales of calico on top of cavalry sabres, Pelion on Ossa.
We received several distinguished visitors there, too. M. Grodet,
just appointed Governor of the French Sudan, came to see us, and
was very amiable, seeming to take a great interest in what we were
doing. _Quantum mutata_ . . .
Next came the packing, which was anything but an easy task. An
explorer ought to be also an experienced packer of the very first
rank. No package must exceed 55 lbs. in weight. To begin with,
all the luggage must be absolutely water-tight, easily handled,
and of a regular geometrical shape, so as to be stowed away in our
hold without much difficulty. Then the various articles making up
each package must be so arranged as not to get damaged by rubbing
against each other or shifting about. Lastly, and this was the
greatest difficulty of all, the bales must be made up so that we
could easily get out what we wanted without constantly opening them
all. And what a responsibility the whole thing was!
Then we had certain things with us which were sure to strike
the imagination of the natives, notably Baudry’s bicycle,
some Geissler’s vacuum tubes, and an Edison phonograph—the
cinematograph was not then invented. Our instrument was, in fact,
one of the first which had been seen even in France. It would repeat
the native songs, and I relied on it to interest the chiefs and the
literati, for to amuse them would, I hoped, make them forget their
hostile designs.
For weapons the Minister of War gave us ten Lebel rifles of the
1893 pattern, ten revolvers of the very latest pattern, with ten
thousand cartridges, which represented one thousand per man, more
than enough in my opinion. Lastly, the naval authorities let us have
a quick-firing Hotchkiss gun, with ammunition and all accessories.
On December 25 all was ready, except that the _Davoust_ was not
quite finished. On Christmas Day Baudry started for Bordeaux, with
the larger portion of our stores, and on January 5, I, in my turn,
embarked on the steamship _Brazil_ of the Messageries Maritimes,
taking with me my boat in sections.
[Illustration: THE PORT OF DAKAR.]
Dakar lies low at the extremity of the bay on which it is built,
at the foot of the heights, which together form Cape Verd. It has
inherited the commercial position of Fort Goree, and looks like an
islet of verdure framed amongst sombre rocks and gleaming sands.
Alas! if Dakar were English, what a busy commercial port it would
be! Into what an impregnable citadel, what a well-stocked arsenal,
our rivals would have converted it.
But Dakar is French, and although we cannot deny that it has made
progress, there is no shutting our eyes to the fact that the progress
is slow. Yet it would be simply impossible to find a better site on
the western coast of Africa. It is a Cherbourg of the Atlantic. The
roadstead is very safe, it can be entered at any time, the anchorage
is excellent, the air comparatively healthy, and there is plenty
of water.
And what a splendid position too from a military point of view!
When war is declared, and the Suez Canal is blocked, the old route
to India and the far East will resume its former importance, and
Dakar will become, as Napoleon said of Cherbourg, “a dagger in the
heart of England.” Well stored with coal, and provided with good
docks and workshops, etc., Dakar might in the next great war become
a centre for the re-victualling of a whole fleet of rapid cruisers
and torpedo boats, harassing the commerce of England. It will also
be the entrenched camp or harbour of refuge in which our vessels
will take shelter from superior forces. Let us hope that this vision
will be realized. Meanwhile the rivalry between St. Louis, Dakar,
and Rufisque is not very beneficial to any one of the three towns.
Dakar is of special importance to the Niger districts, and this
is why I have dwelt a little on its present position and probable
future. Some day no doubt it will become the port of export of the
trade of the Sudan, which will, I think, become very considerable
when Kayes is connected with St. Louis and Badombé with Kolikoro
by the great French railway of West Africa.
Dakar interested me for yet another reason. It was there I set foot
once more on African soil after an absence of two long years. I
flattered myself that now I should have to contend face to face with
material difficulties only, before I realized my schemes; so that when
I saw all my bales and packages and the sections of the _Davoust_,
with absolutely nothing missing, lying symmetrically arranged on the
quay of the Dakar St. Louis railway, it was one of the happiest hours
of my life. It has often been said that the most difficult part of an
expedition is the start. Well, I thought I _had_ started, and was now
sure of success. Alas! what a humbling disillusioning was before me!
Thanks to the hearty co-operation of everybody, including the
Governor, M. de Lamothe, and the Naval Commander, M. Du Rocher,
Baudry had got everything ready for me.
There was, however, no time to be lost. An accident to her screw
had delayed the _Brazil_ three days, and we must start immediately
for the Upper Niger, so we were off for St. Louis the very next
morning. The sections of the _Davoust_ were of an awkward shape, and
being only hastily packed and tumbled on board anyhow at Bourdeaux,
danced a regular saraband in the open wagons of the line, and I felt
rather anxious about my poor vessel. But never mind, she would have
plenty of bumping about later, and I wasn’t going to make myself
miserable about her on this auspicious day.
Just a couple of words about the Dakar St. Louis railway. The Cayor,
as the country it traverses is called, is slightly undulating,
badly watered, and dreary looking. The natives living in it were
hard to subdue. In continual revolt, they more than once inflicted
real disasters on the French by taking them by surprise. At Thies
the whole garrison was massacred, at M’ Pal a squadron of Spahis
perished, for the Cayor had chiefs such as the Damels, Samba-Laobe
and Lat-Dior, the last champions of resistance who became illustrious
in the annals of Senegambia—real heroes, who made us regret that
it was impossible to win them over to our side.
The successive governors of Senegambia struggled in vain against
the resistance of Cayor to their authority, and the constant
insubordination of the natives. But what Faidherbe, Vinet-Laprade,
and Brière de l’Isle, to name but the most celebrated, failed
to achieve was accomplished peacefully by the railway in a very
few years. Nor is that all, for many tracts, previously barren
and uncultivated, now yield large crops of the _Arachis hypogea_,
or pea-nut, which are taken away by the trains in the trading season.
[Illustration: PART OF THE DAKAR ST. LOUIS LINE.]
Does not this prove how true it is that peace and commerce advance
side by side; that the best, indeed the only way to pacify a country,
and to conciliate the inhabitants, is to give them prosperity by
opening up outlets for their commerce?
Hurrah, then, for the Dakar St. Louis line! Three cheers for it,
in spite of the delays and mistakes which were perhaps made when it
was begun.
To say that it has every possible and desirable comfort would
of course be false. In the hot season especially it is one long
martyrdom to the traveller, a foretaste of hell, and the advice given
to new-comers at Dakar still holds good—“Take ice, plenty of ice,
with you, you will find it of double use, to freshen up your drinks
by the way and to put in a handkerchief on your head under your
helmet. With plenty of ice you may perhaps escape without getting
fever or being suffocated.”
[Illustration: RAILWAY BUFFET AT TIVIWANE.]
The trip by this line, which no European would care to take for
pleasure, is really to the negroes a treat, who go by the train as
an amusement. The directors did not count upon receipts from the
blacks when they started the line, especially after a train which ran
off the metals smashed up a whole carriage full of natives against
a huge baobab tree. Of course, when that happened no one thought
the negroes would patronize the railway again. But it turned out
quite the contrary. From that day they came in crowds, but they had
provided themselves with talismans!
The marabouts, who do a brisk business in charms, had simply added
a new string to their bow, for they sold _gris-gris_ against the
dangers of the iron road!
[Illustration: THE QUAY AT ST. LOUIS.]
This is the negro all over. If he has but confidence in his
_gris-gris_, he will brave a thousand dangers. If he has but
confidence in his chief, he will follow him without hesitation,
and without faltering to the end of the world. Inspire him then with
that confidence, and you will be able to do anything with him.
Baudry had come to meet me on the line, and with him was a negro
wrapped up in a _tampasendbé_, or native shawl. This man was Mandao,
the interpreter I had asked for. He had decided to go with us without
a moment’s hesitation. This was yet another trump card for us,
and all would now go well.
[Illustration: A STREET IN ST. LOUIS.]
We reached St. Louis at six o’clock in the evening on January
17. An officer on the Staff of the Governor was waiting for me. M. de
Lamothe, who was, by the way, an old friend of mine, received me most
graciously, and was ready to do everything in his power to help me.
The _Brière de l’Isle_ of the Deves and Chaumet company was to
start on the 19th for the upper river. She was, however, already
overloaded. What should we do? Time was pressing!
[Illustration: BOUBAKAR-SINGO.]
On the morning of the 18th I engaged the coolies who were to
follow us. Most of them were Sarracolais, whose tribe lives on the
Senegal between Bakel and Kayes. From amongst a hundred candidates
Baudry had already picked out twelve, and to these had been added a
second master pilot belonging to the local station. All these were
experienced campaigners, who had long been in the French service;
they were sturdy, well-built fellows, eager for adventure. I had but
to eliminate three, and to confirm Baudry’s choice of the others,
for we were limited to eight men, including their leader. After all,
however, the coolies were dismissed by order of Governor Grodet
before we actually started, so there is no need to introduce them
more particularly. Boubakar-Singo, the second leader, who became
pilot of the _Davoust_, alone deserves special mention. He was
a splendid-looking Sarracolais, a first-rate sailor, who, when a
storm came on, would jump into the water stark naked intoning all
the prayers in his repertory.
[Illustration: THE COOLIES ENGAGED AT ST. LOUIS.]
Our coolies engaged, we had not only to equip, but to dress them. We
set them to work at once, for we had already solved the difficulty of
how best to transport our stores. The governor lent us a thirty-five
ton iron lighter, into which we stowed away everything, and the
_Brière de l’Isle_ took her in tow.
It was not, however, without considerable trouble that we managed
the stowing away of all our goods, but we succeeded somehow in being
ready in good time. On the evening of the 19th the _Brière_ weighed
anchor, and we started for the upper river; our friends at St. Louis,
the Government officials, the sailors, the tradespeople waving their
hats and handkerchiefs in farewell, and shouting out “Good luck.”
What a Noah’s ark was this thirty-five ton barge of ours, and
what a mixed cargo she carried, with our bales and her sails,
not to speak of the passengers! coolies, stately Moors, sheep and
women. With the sails of the _Davoust_ we rigged up a kind of shed
in the stern to protect all these people, who, with nothing to do
all day, crept about on the sloping roof sunning themselves like
lizards. We turned the two days during which we were towed along to
account by going over our numerous bales yet once more. Strange to
say, almost incredible indeed, nothing was missing. It was worth
something to see Bilali Cumba, a herculean coolie, pick up the
instruments, weighing in their galvanized case more than 240 lbs.,
as easily as a little milliner would lift a cardboard box.
It was Bilali who made me the following sensible answer the other
day, when we had given out wooden spoons to the men for their own
use. Of course, like all negroes, they ate with their fingers,
making their porridge up into a ball, and rolling it till it was
quite hard before putting it into their mouths. I was laughing at
Bilali about this when he said, “Friend, tell me what is the good
of your spoon?” then spreading out the palms of his toil-worn
hands he added, “What is good to work with is good to eat with.”
As Joan of Arc with her flag, he dedicated his hands to toil and
honour too.
Our trip did not pass off without certain little accidents; the
constant splashing of the water loosened the joints of the barge,
and we had to stick them together as best we could. However, we
arrived on the 23rd at Walaldé, then the highest navigable point
of the river. Probably it would be possible to go much further up,
as far as Kaheide, in fact, at all times of the year, but it would
have to be in boats with a different kind of keel to that now in use,
and we have not got to that yet.
The _Brière de l’Isle_ now left us to descend the river again.
[Illustration: THE ‘BRIÈRE DE L’ISLE.’]
Henceforth we were to fly with our own wings. Painfully and slowly
we made our way in our thirty-five ton barge, towed along by a rope
from the bank, the river gradually widening out as we passed Kaheide,
Matam, Saldé.
Then, alas! we got one piece of bad news after another.
At Saldé we heard of the death of Aube; at Bakel of the massacre
of Colonel Bonnier and his column.
Too much fuss has been made about these glorious deaths, say many
foolish critics. Over the ashes of soldiers killed in battle, there
has been too much heated discussion. Well, at least, hyænas only
do their terrible work at night!
As for me, I lost a chief whom I loved, and many old comrades with
whom I had been under fire or in garrison. Hastily we pushed on
for Bakel and Kayes, eager for further news, not only plunged in
the deepest grief, but somewhat anxious about what was in store
for ourselves.
On February 13 we arrived at Kayes. I went at once with Baudry and
Mandao to the Governor, M. Grodet, who told me that he had received
despatches authorizing him to _suspend_ my expedition, and to employ
us as he liked! Our party was at once broken up. Baudry was sent to
make forced marches to the Niger to escort some convoys of provisions
on their way to re-victual Timbuktu. I should be disposed of later,
and, as a matter of fact, I was eventually sent to take command of
the Niger flotilla.
[Illustration: THE MARKET-PLACE AT ST. LOUIS.]
[Illustration: THE MARKET-PLACE AT ST. LOUIS.]
[Illustration: GOVERNMENT HOUSE, KAYES.]
I must quote the actual words of this despatch, so fatal to us, for
not long since M. Grodet was defending himself from the charge of
having been somehow the cause of the delay to our expedition of two
whole years. The despatch was addressed—“_Colonies à Gouverneur,
Sudan_,” and ran thus—“_Autorise surseoir Mission Hourst,
et disposer de cet officier_.”[2]
As will be observed, the Governor of the Sudan was _authorized_,
that is to say, he could do as suggested or not, to _suspend_, that
is to say, to stop us, for the _limited_ time which seemed desirable
to him. But any further disputing about it would do no good now.
One remark, however, I must make: we were stationary for two years on
the banks of the Niger above Timbuktu, doing no particular service
to our country. Decœur, Baud, and others were marching on Say from
Dahomey. Can one fail to see what immediate political and diplomatic
advantages would have accrued to France from a junction which would
have united the hinterlands of the two colonies?
It is true that Decœur and Baud were not starting from the Sudan,
but from Dahomey, where Governor Ballot was sending out exploring
expeditions, not stopping them.
But I have done. It is worse than useless to dwell on the endless
petty mortifications, annoyances, and disappointments we had to
endure. Useless indeed to recall all our own bitter experiences,
which could but damp the enthusiasm of future explorers as eager to
advance as we were. We succeeded in spite of everything in making
ourselves useful. Even whilst re-victualling Timbuktu, which was
threatened with famine—here again the responsibility rested with
very highly placed officials—I was able to survey the whole of
the system of lakes extending on the west of the town.
The most important of these lakes, Faguibine, is a regular inland
sea, with its islets, its promontories, and its storms. It is a
vast basin nearly 68 miles long by 12 broad, with a depth, which we
sounded, exceeding here and there 160 feet. It is fed by the Niger
when that river is in flood. We made a peaceful raid on this fine
sheet of water in the _Aube_, a boat I shall introduce to you later,
whilst the terrible Ngouna chief of the hostile Kel Antassar tribe
retreated from us along its banks. Here for the first time I came
into actual contact with the Tuaregs.
Baudry meanwhile explored the Issa-Ber (already visited by Caron)
in his barge, and proved the navigability of the river at high tide.
I feel full of respectful gratitude to the military authorities
of Timbuktu, especially Colonels Joffre and Ebener, for the almost
affectionate consideration with which they treated me, and for being
willing to employ us, for giving us something definite to do to
relieve the monotony and _ennui_ of our detention. This was really
an immense consolation to us, the best that any officer can hope for.
In May 1895 I received orders to return to France. Baudry, who, I
am happy to say, was worn out mentally rather than physically, had
preceded me by two months. As already stated, our coolies had been
disbanded—from motives of economy, said the order. Our stores, too,
were dispersed. Our boat was still at Bafulabé, and, _mon Dieu_,
in what a state! One might have sworn that its sections had been
intentionally twisted out of shape with blows from a hammer. Our
chronometers—little torpedo-boat watches, regular masterpieces of
precise time-keeping, made by that true artist M. Thomas—were being
used at Badumbé in the telegraph office. Our bales, of the charge
of which I had never been relieved, had been sent to Mopti for the
Destenave expedition, which had been allowed to start. My friends in
France, to whom I had addressed despairing appeals, remained silent;
even Baudry gave not a sign of life.
Everything seemed finally lost. My expedition had not been superseded,
it had been dissolved, destroyed.
I confess that when I embarked once more in the winter to make my way,
by slow stages, back to France, I did for the first time despair of
my unlucky schemes, and as I dwelt upon them, I believed that they
were at an end for ever.
I had at least the consolation, as Davoust had had before me, of
having struggled to the last.
On July 20, when I was halting at Bafulabé, and gazing with inward
rage though outward calm at the dented sections of my _Davoust_,
a telegram was handed to me. It was from Colonel De Trentinian, who
had—at last!—succeeded M. Grodet as Governor of the French Sudan.
It said, “The Colonial Minister resumes the original project of
your expedition.”
I have had a few minutes of wild joy and happiness in my life. But
not even on the day when, after I had been struggling nearly a
month against fearful odds in the revolted district of Diena, I saw
the column of succour approaching; nor again, last December, when,
as we embarked at Marseilles, I thought all our difficulties were
surmounted and all our dangers were left behind, did I experience
such an immense sense of relief and delight as now. I could keep my
oath after all! and by successful action put to confusion those who,
either because they were badly advised or unscrupulous, had thrown
obstacles in our way.
This is what had happened.
In France they say the absent are always in the wrong, and our story
goes to prove it. Of all those who, when I left, had protested
their devotion, had congratulated me in advance, who had even
warmly embraced me, scarcely any—I had almost said not one—had
taken our part or pleaded for us. In France, scientific societies,
geographical and others, spring up like mushrooms, and form little
cliques, hating each other like poison, and losing no opportunities
of abusing each other in their speeches and declamations at their
various banquets. Without running any risk themselves, or making
any special exertion, their big-wigs—I was nearly saying their
shareholders—get a lot of notoriety and patting on the back,
through the work of a few members who are toiling far away from home.
If you ask their help in your difficulties, or even their moral
support, they take absolutely no notice of you; but later, when you
return, and have extricated yourself from your troubles by your own
unaided efforts, and if you are also very docile, they will make no
end of noisy fuss over you.
I have often thought of these scientific swells when I have watched
negro chiefs marching along followed by their satellites. They
strut about, playing on the flute or the fiddle, beating their
drums and shouting out compliments in a deafening manner. Every
epithet seems suitable to their chief; he is their sun, their moon,
and all the rest of it. “Thou art my father, thou art my mother,
I am thy captive!” they shout.
But when adversity overtakes this flattered chief of theirs, when he
is in trouble of any kind, gets the worst of it in some skirmish,
for instance, what becomes of all the toad-eating satellites? They
melt away, to go and offer their incense of flute and violin playing
and bell-ringing to some more fortunate favourite of the hour.
Oh, these self-interested sycophants, how well I know them!
I have, however, a grateful pleasure in adding that there are
exceptions to the rule. I will mention but one here. My dear and
venerated friend, M. Gauthiot, chief secretary of the _Société
de Géographie Commerciale_, was always ready to cheer us in our
hours of discouragement, to aid us in our hopeful days; putting
at our disposal all his influence, all his persuasive power, and
exercising on our behalf the undoubted authority he possessed in
all things geographical and colonial.
Directly he reached Paris Baudry went to seek him, not of course
without some _arrière pensée_. “Well, how goes the mission?”
he asked at once. “Done for, unless you can save us,” was the
reply. “I’ll see about it,” said M. Gauthiot at once.
Then he went to my old friend Marchand, who was expected to do
such great things on the Congo. “And Hourst and the descent
of the Niger?” “You see what has come of that,” was the answer.
“Well, perhaps something may yet be done.”
Both did their utmost for us, but it was M. Gauthiot who took the last
redoubt. The money question appeared to be the greatest difficulty,
for they were trying to cut down the expenditure budget as much as
possible. “_Monsieur le Ministre_,” said my friend, “I have come
with my hands full!” And five thousand francs were in fact voted for
my exploring expedition by the _Comité de l’Afrique Française_.
In a word, the efforts of our new allies turned the scale in our
favour.
At that time M. Chautemps was, fortunately for us, Colonial Minister,
whilst M. Chaudie was Governor-General of French West Africa, and
Colonel (now General) Archinard Director of Colonial Defence, and
it was on these three that the final order depended. I need only
add, that they, with M. Gauthiot, became the four sponsors of the
re-organized expedition, and we are full of respectful gratitude to
them all.
“All I had to do in the matter,” said Baudry to me, “was simply
to put in an appearance.”
I alluded above to the question of funds. Well, the whole thing was
re-arranged on a fresh footing, otherwise the conditions were less
favourable than they had been two years before. Nothing had changed
with regard to the Tuaregs, but news had come by way of the Sudan that
Amadu Cheiku, the dethroned Sultan of Sego, was trying to re-establish
an empire on the banks of the Niger. Then the Toutée expedition was
already on its way; no news had been received from it, and it is often
more difficult to be second than first in traversing a new district.
Colonel Archinard, therefore, wished to increase the strength of our
expedition considerably. To begin with, we were to have three barges
instead of one, and that meant twenty coolies instead of eight. Then
Lieutenant Bluzet, who, though still of low rank in the service,
was quite an old and experienced officer of the French Sudan, was
to take charge of the military training of our men. “Take a doctor
too,” said the Colonel, “he will make one more gun at least;”
and I choose Dr. Taburet, who had been my medical adviser with the
Niger flotilla, engaging his services by telegram.
All this of course added to the expense, and it was no easy matter
to balance the accounts of so big an expedition with so very small
a budget. However, we managed to do it somehow: Bluzet and Baudry
made advances from their pay, and Bolard went on campaign once more
with all his usual zeal and energy.
“You start four,” said Marchand to Baudry, when he saw him off
at the Orleans station, “only one will return!”
Thank God, however, we all came back!
Directly I received the telegram from Colonel de Trentinian I set
to work without losing a moment. I had to collect all our scattered
stores again at Bafulabé from here, there, and everywhere. The
_Davoust_ had to be got into working order, and the only way to do
that was to put her together and launch her, there would then be no
unnecessary delay when the time for starting came. I was aided in this
by a quarter-master with a turn for mechanics, a man named Sauzereau,
who had already rendered me great service when I had charge of the
Niger flotilla. It was hard work, but we succeeded, and it was a
happy day when we baptized our boat by her already chosen name of
_Davoust_ at the little station of Bafulabé. It was the first time
she had been afloat since we tried her near the Pont Royal in Paris. A
missionary from Dinguira had come over at considerable inconvenience
on purpose to pronounce a benediction over her. Colonel de Trentinian
was good enough to travel from Kayes to be present, and I can tell
you my _Davoust_ presented a very fine appearance on the Bakhoy. I
would rather see her there than on the Seine. Digui, who had been
second master pilot on the Niger flotilla, and whom I had chosen as
Captain in place of Bubakar, dismissed, was delighted with his boat.
When all was counted over, there were many missing loads. Fortunately
Captain Destenaves had only brought a few of the valuable bales to
Mossi, the rest were at Sego, but of the tins of preserves and other
provisions nothing was left but one case of fine Cognac, which, taken
in very small doses, was our greatest luxury. There was still a little
left a year later when we were at Fort Archinard. See how temperate we
were! Baudry’s bicycle, which we had baptized Suzanne, I don’t
know why, was in a pitiable state when we found her again. But
Sauzereau was a specialist in such cases, and she was soon rolling
along the Badumbé road, to the great astonishment of the blacks.
I had now nothing more to do but to wait for Baudry at Kayes. I
went down there, and one fine morning he flung himself into my arms
with Bluzet and twenty coolies behind him. Of course with regard
to the coolies I speak figuratively. With a view to economy these
coolies had not been rigged out, and they really looked like a band
of brigands. Still they impressed me very favourably. I knew several
of them, who had already served under me. They were not, it is true,
quite equal to those I had engaged at first, and been obliged to
disband by order of the Governor, but they were not bad fellows,
and they would get into good working order by the way.
All had gone well with Baudry and Bluzet; they had even found time
on board the boat, which had brought them up from St. Louis, to make
up some rhymes, and in the evening, after copious libations—I mean
copious for Africa—we had the honour of listening to a sonnet of
which they were the joint authors. Here it is:
NIGHT ON THE RIVER.
Slow through the reaches of the oily stream,
Unshapely, huge, and heap’d with cumbrous freight,
The steamer drags along its ponderous weight,
And panting, breathes a cloud of eddying steam;
Upon the deck the wearied negroes dream,
In sleep’s fine thraldom—humble, candid, great,—
While overhead the moon in regal state
Trails robes of gauze enmesh’d with astral gleam.
The misty night exhales a poisonous balm
From vague-spread margins, where the shadows lie,
Of softly-tufted bush and tropic palm;
Then from the silence, echoless, on high
Mounts through the torpor of the deadly calm,
To ethereal plains the siren’s piercing cry.
[Illustration: ON THE SENEGAL.]
[Illustration: EN ROUTE.]