FROM TOSAYE TO FAFA
Tosaye is a village of sheriffs. They are as pacific and timid a set
of people as can possibly be imagined, but for all that, they gathered
on the beach on our arrival in warlike array, trying to make up for
the courage they lacked by being armed to the teeth. Each marabout
was really a walking arsenal. This made us feel inclined to laugh;
but what was a far more serious matter, was the fact that groups of
Tuaregs, who seemed to be waiting for us, had gathered behind the
village. Our guide, who had sprung ashore directly we landed, had
disappeared, and no one seemed anxious to enter into conversation
with us. I told Sidi Hamet to come down and take me to Chief Sala,
or to one of his representatives; but our political agent at first
stoutly refused to do so. We had to drag him from the boat almost
by force, and then he went up to one of the groups which appeared
the least hostile, entered a hut, and kept us waiting outside for
his return for half-an-hour.
He came at last, with a brother of Sala, bearing very bad news. Sala
by an unlucky chance had gone on a journey, and the people of the
village, fearing that we were going to fight with the Tuaregs, would
be very glad if we did not land here at all. This was succeeded by
a whole rigmarole of information—much of it contradictory, but all
alarming. A great gathering of Awellimiden, Tademeket Kuntas, etc.,
was massed at the Tosaye defile to oppose our passage, etc. Sala
himself was amongst the rest of our enemies.
What was to be done? We were in need of provisions, our reserve stores
were beginning to give out, and I wanted to lay in a stock of grain,
for who could tell what we might expect further down the river?
I also wanted guides. Ever since we had left Timbuktu the narrowness
and difficulties of the Tosaye defile had been dinned into our
ears. Even Dr. Barth is not very reassuring in what he says about it,
for he asserts that a stone could be flung by a vigorous hand from
one bank to the other, and speaks of the probable existence of very
strong currents, perhaps even of rapids.
We were told that some twelve years ago an army of Toucouleurs had
tried to descend the Niger in canoes. They were, however, completely
annihilated at Tosaye, crushed beneath masses of rocks which the
natives rolled down on them from the top of the cliffs. Of course I
knew that allowance must be made for exaggeration, but for all that
I feared that we should be at very great disadvantage in the narrow
pass if we did have a conflict with the natives. We must therefore
put out all our diplomacy to avoid a struggle.
Without seeming to give any credence to the alarmist reports of
Sidi Hamet, or to be in the least disconcerted by them, I entered
into conversation with Sala’s brother, and very soon managed to
introduce the subject of Abdul Kerim.
I revealed my relationship to him, and as usual it produced the
anticipated effect. Sala was not aware that I was the nephew of Barth;
he must at once be told. As a mark of gratitude and a token that I
really was speaking the truth, I gave him the name of the cook of
his former leader, El Beckay. Her name was Diko.
No doubt when Barth, with his usual German precision, registered the
name of that humble but useful personage, the information did not seem
likely to be of very great importance to future generations. He little
knew the service he would render nearly half-a-century afterwards
to his pretended nephew.
With such a proof as this who could fail to believe that I really was
the nephew of my “uncle,” especially as Diko was not yet dead,
but was living at a camp in the interior? The result of my news was
that Sala had not, after all, gone on a journey, and would perhaps
visit us. His brother at once hastened to land to take the tidings
to him, his whole manner and expression completely transformed.
He soon came back to report that Sala was not gone, but still in the
village, and when his brother had told him who I was he had wept, for
he saw in my arrival the fulfilment of a prophecy made by his leader.
The fact was, that when Barth, accompanied by El Beckay, arrived at
Tosaye, the German explorer had no doubt been in more danger than
at any other time during his adventurous expedition.
The Tademeket Kel Burrum had resolved on his death, and all the
eloquence, all the religious influence of his protector could not
soften their feelings of animosity towards him.
At this crisis, and seeing that a terrible outbreak of hatred and
fanaticism was imminent, El Beckay, in the interests of his friend,
came to a weighty resolution. He told the Tuaregs that neither they
nor he were powerful enough to decide a matter so important as the
fate of Barth, and that El Khotab, head of the great confederation
of the Awellimiden, alone had the right to final judgment.
Leaving the banks of the river, El Beckay then went alone to El
Khotab, and persuaded him to give a safe-conduct to Barth, whom he
looked upon as his own _protégé_.
Barth never knew the danger he had run. In his book he merely
mentions that El Beckay was away for four days to fetch fresh camels
to take the place of their weary animals, which was of course a mere
pretext on the part of his protector, and is a fresh proof of the
delicate tact and consideration for the doctor shown by the great
Kunta marabout.
Now it so happened, that whilst he was discussing the matter with the
Tademeket, El Beckay was seized with one of his attacks of prophetic
delirium, and prophesied that some day the son of Abdul Kerim would
return with three boats.
We had three boats. I claimed, giving irrefragable proofs, to be
the nephew of Barth; it was impossible to deny that the prophecy
was fulfilled. We must add, to round off the story, that Madidu is
the son of the very El Khotab who saved my “uncle.”
Sala sent me word by his brother that he would not himself come
on board for fear of doing me harm by showing the friendship which
really now united us; but anxious to be useful to us, he would go
to Madidu, or at least write to him, and he hoped to have the same
success as his master, El Beckay, had had before him. Meanwhile he
would supply us with all we needed.
In fact, the next morning we were able to buy as much grain as we
wanted, and Sala gave us his own son Ibrahim as a guide.
[Illustration: THE ROCK BAROR AT TOSAYE.]
We started about one o’clock on Saturday, February 29, and passed
between the Baror rock and the left bank. We very soon saw the
Tuaregs already alluded to gathering on the right bank. They were of
the Tademeket tribe, against whom Sala had warned us. They followed
our boats, but as yet made no hostile demonstrations.
We arrived at the picturesque entrance to the defile without incident.
From the right bank juts out a line of rocks, partly barring the
passage. In the narrow opening, which is all that is left, the
current is probably very strong when the water is low, but just
now, when the river was at its highest, it was perfectly calm, and
only moved very slowly round, its surface flecked with foam in the
restricted space in which it is confined, the width of that space
varying from 390 to 490 feet.
On either side rise red and black cliffs, which look as if they
had been calcined, cut across here and there with veins of white
quartz, giving to the scene a grand though somewhat melancholy
character. Barth relates that according to the natives the skin of
a young bull cut into strips and joined together would not be long
enough to reach the bottom of the river at this spot. Business of
a very different kind prevented us from verifying this belief.
Presently, exactly at the place specified by Barth as the narrowest
part of the gorge, a group of horsemen detached themselves from the
Tademeket, and one of them advanced towards the edge of the cliff
holding up a letter for us to see.
Already the evening before we had talked over what it would be best
to do under certain circumstances should they arise. I now had the
_Davoust_ steered close to the cliff so as to be able to receive the
letter from the Tuareg, but the _Dantec_ and the _Aube_ remained,
one on the right the other on the left, ready to rake the banks with
a crossfire if any hidden ambush should be discovered.
I took the letter, and Father Hacquart read it at once. It was
a regular declaration of war, couched in very suitable language;
diplomatists could have found no fault with it.
Yunes, chief of the Tademeket, saluted me a thousand times and wished
me all prosperity. It would afford him the greatest pleasure to let
us pass down the river and even to help us to do so. Unfortunately,
however, we followed different routes, and I was of a different
religion to his. This being so, all I had to do was to return
to Timbuktu, and if I did not he would be under the necessity of
declaring war against me.
I answered that it took two to go to war, and my tastes, as well
as the instructions I had received from my chief, were to avoid
it at any price. I should therefore go quietly down the Niger as
far as it was navigable. If, however, the river became so bad that
the natives on the bank were able to prevent our further progress,
they could attack us, and they would then see what my reply would be.
Whilst the Father and Tierno were reading the letter I had a good
look at the herald who had brought it. After delivering it he had
prudently taken refuge behind a piece of rock, but seeing that we
took no notice of him he first peeped out with one eye, then with
both eyes, and finally ventured into the open and thus addressed me—
“Is there any hope, after all, of my getting a pair of breeches?”
The question appeared to me infinitely naïve and appropriate, for the
breeches he wore were in such rags that they were scarcely decent,
and the holes, drawn together with coarse thread, were bursting out
afresh. Still it was not exactly the moment for asking for a new pair.
The fellow was a very good example of a begging tramp. This fault
of begging has, however, its advantages, and I felt pretty sure that
if we had acceded to his request in the first instance, and given a
few presents to the other Tademeket, we should easily have converted
their hostility to friendship.
I did not attempt it because I wanted to reserve myself for the real
Awellimiden, and I was, moreover, afraid if I once began giving that
some mistake or petty quarrel might make it more difficult than ever
to establish good relations later.
My reply delivered, we resumed our voyage. Seeing us move off the
Tuaregs uttered savage cries. We had now a perfectly clear course
before us, not so much as a boulder impeding our passage over the
black water, shut in between the lofty cliffs, on which the Tademeket
very soon appeared. There were now at least a hundred horsemen and a
number of runners on foot. They shouted and fumed, working themselves
up into a fury as they struck their spears on their shields covered
with white antelope skin. It was just such a scene as one pays to
see at a circus, and, but for our fears for the future, we should
have been delighted with it. Women and children too now joined the
procession, watching us as we slowly sped on over the quiet waters
of the pass.
Very soon the banks became lower, green meadows contrasted with the
black rocks of Tosaye; and noticing a little islet called Adria,
we anchored off it.
Our coolies now began to show signs of discontent. The shouts,
the cries, and the menacing gestures of the Tuaregs had aroused
their warlike instincts, and they conversed gloomily together. I
put a stop to this at once, and broke up their discussion; but
it wasn’t only the negroes who gave me black looks, Bluzet and
Taburet were also furious and full of bitterness at the way we had
been treated. I confess I too began to feel put out, and I had to
put great stress on myself, and call up all my reasoning powers,
to keep my temper. Should I have been able to succeed if Father
Hacquart had not been there? I would rather not answer that question.
Fortunately for us he kept his composure far better than we did. He
pointed out that it would have shown no particular courage to reply
with our guns to the insults of natives armed only with spears,
and he told me that when he was travelling with Attanoux amongst
the Azgueurs they were received with similar hostility, but that a
calm demeanour and the exercise of tact had made their enemies of
one day the best friends of the next.
[Illustration: THE TADEMEKET ON A DUNE ON THE BANKS OF THE NIGER.]
I harangued my people. Peace was restored, and that so completely that
we were presently amusing ourselves with catching the goats grazing
on the island and decking them out with collars of different-coloured
velvets.
Some negroes, who lived in a village on a little island near ours,
came to see us, bringing us some sheep. They did not seem at all
excited about what was going on, and in truth were accustomed to
the ways of the Tuaregs.
“They are dancers,” one of them said to me, pointing to the
Tademeket, who still continued to gesticulate at us.
The next day, March 1, we continued our journey, accompanied as
before by Tademeket on the right bank. We passed the Burrum islands,
where the river is very wide, and beyond which it flows between two
lines of dunes forming its banks.
The scenery is perhaps finer here than anything else we have seen on
the Niger. The mighty dunes look as if they had never been disturbed
by man, for the wind at once obliterates all trace of the footsteps
of passers by. There is a melancholy poetry about them, and their
outlines are rather marked than disguised by the thin line of green
bush at the edge of and in the water. How well I understand the effect
produced on the traveller by the Sahara in spite of its apparent
monotony. It exercises on those who gaze on it for long at a time
something of the hypnotic attraction of the sea. I am not the only
one who feels in this way about the dune of Africa, for Baudry one
day read us the following sonnet he had composed on the subject:—
THE DUNE.
Vague summits on the dim, far distance rise;
Then wâdys, mirage, and that northern pass
Where flocks in summer seek the mountain grass;
Next, this long sand-hill that outstretchèd lies;
Nought else! Six æons long the solar dyes
Have steep’d the dune with ochreous gold and brass;
Flash’d in the silica like broken glass,
And dried the courses dug by wrathful skies.
Yon camel’s formless bulk against the blue
Seems parcel of the wild chaotic scene;
With grounded lance and figure sharp in view,
His master stands, a statue—well-knit, lean—
Then striding slow athwart the tawny sand,
Sits motionless beside the river strand.
Every now and then our Tuareg companions reappeared from behind
the yellow crest of sand, but their enthusiasm of the morning had
considerably cooled down. Horses and men alike were tired, and the
latter were dragging the former along by their heads, all presenting
a most pitiable appearance. Thus escorted we arrived about five
o’clock in the evening at the village of Bia on the left bank.
Ibrahim, the son of Sala, did not care to go any further. We persuaded
an old Songhay who lived in the village to take his place. Strange
to say, though the Tademeket continued their vociferations on the
right bank, there was no sign of hostility from the left, which made
me hopeful for the future. We saw natives on foot and on horseback
pass, and they stared curiously at the boats, but showed neither
fear nor anger.
Night fell, and we had sat down to supper, when all of a sudden there
was a great noise like that of paddles beating the water, or horses
swimming. To arms! was the cry, and the next moment all were at their
posts. The people of the village of Bia shouted to us that it was
only the cattle of the Tuaregs crossing a little arm of the river;
but unfortunately for their veracity, we saw the next morning that
there was neither arm nor creek anywhere near. Whatever may have been
the cause of the noise I am glad it disturbed us, for it proved to me
that should an emergency arise our men would behave well and quietly.
A minute later a canoe from the right bank appeared, in which
was a man who hailed us and offered us a sheep. He said he was a
_gabibi_, or negro, and lived in a village some little distance in
the interior. His pale complexion, however, led us to suppose that he
really was a Tuareg who had come to spy on us. He had arrived when
our coolies were all at their posts, and we hoped he would report
what he had seen.
On March 2 our enemies the Tademeket had all disappeared, but
their place was taken by another tribe, the Tenger Eguedeche,
with whom were a few Kel es Suk. A religious war had no doubt been
proclaimed in the country, and it was to an accompaniment of shouts
of _La illa il Allah!_ that we pushed on. Every now and then all our
escort performed a solemn _salaam_, prostrating themselves on the
ground. We began to be very wrath, and I should have given the order
to fire on the least provocation. Once more, however, an unforeseen
circumstance calmed down my rising martial ardour. We were no longer
followed by men only, but by numbers of women and children. Amongst
them was a little chap as round as a barrel, who kept picking up
handfuls of dust and flinging them in our direction. He shall be
the first victim I resolved, but let’s have patience. A Kel es
Suk, mounted on a big white camel, who headed the procession now,
had never lost sight of us since we left Tosaye. He little knows to
what a trifle he owes the preservation of his life. Twenty times
the muzzle of my rifle covered him, and twenty times I reflected
that we were not running any immediate danger, and that there would
be nothing particularly brave in drawing the trigger on an unlucky
wretch, who was probably merely ignorant.
Thus attended we arrived in due course at the village of Ha,
on a little tributary of the Niger. We cast anchor, and tried to
open negotiations; but the inhabitants fled from us like a swarm
of grasshoppers. They shouted at us to go away, and when we asked
for the chief of the village, they replied that he was with the
Tuaregs. We waited an hour, in vain. The village was now entirely
deserted, and no chief appeared. To make up for this, we heard the
_tabala_ or war-drum being beaten on every side, and a compact mass,
consisting of from 500 to 600 warriors, took up their position
opposite our anchorage, shouting louder even than the day before.
We thought we really had better try a little intimidation, for since
the morning they had kept telling us that our guns and cannon would
not go off, for Allah had forbidden them to. To show them therefore
what our weapons were really capable of, I decided to send a shell
over their heads at random, and we heard it burst far away in the
distance. The band at once dispersed like a flight of sparrows,
but their first terror over, they formed up again, and advanced
with a courage which I could not but admire. There was nothing
left to do, if we wished to avoid a real conflict, but to set sail,
so we went and cast anchor a couple of miles further on, opposite
Mount Tondibi, or the Black Mountain, as it is called in Songhay,
though why I cannot say, as it really is of a beautiful orange-red.
The next day was a repetition of what this had been. The Tenger
Eguedeche followed us, howling. We anchored for breakfast off the
right bank, and they withdrew to a short distance, but continued to
spy upon us, and yelled at us when we left.
At about two o’clock we suddenly saw coming along the bank from
the opposite direction, a fine-looking, handsome Tuareg, riding a
splendid black horse. His clean clothes and well-kept person showed
that he was a chief. He advanced towards the crowd, who had halted
when they caught sight of him, and said a few words, at which they
all stopped shouting and squatted down. He then came towards us,
made us what seemed a friendly sign with one hand, and leaning on his
iron spear, the copper ornaments on which gleamed in the sunshine,
he watched us pass by.
After this, not a word, not a cry was heard, and the right bank
appeared perfectly deserted; only here and there behind some bush,
the glitter of weapons revealed the presence of a concealed Tuareg
sentinel watching our movements.
I learnt afterwards that the Tuareg on the fine horse was an envoy
from Madidu, sent to the Tenger Eguedeche, to order them to cease
from their hostile demonstrations. The Amenokal sent them word that
he considered he was the only person who had a right to decide how
strangers should be treated; and therefore, until he had made up
his mind, no one was to show us either friendship or hatred.
We had some little difficulty in understanding our guide. The Songhay
he spoke was so unlike that in use in Timbuktu. Towards evening he
wanted us to go up a little creek on the left, at the end of which,
with the aid of our glasses, we saw a number of camels grazing;
but not knowing why so many animals were assembled here, for they
are generally kept some little distance from the river, I thought
it more prudent to anchor opposite the village of Forgo, on an
island. We heard the _tabala_ beating around us again. About eight
o’clock a canoe approached, in which was the brother of the chief
of the village, who hailed us. I did not at all like his reserved
manner. He kept on talking about the _tabala_ of Madidu, which, he
said, could be heard when it was beaten all over the country from
Burrum to Ansongo. He promised us some presents from his brother,
but, needless to say, we never saw them.
We started very early the next morning, winding our way amongst the
numerous islands dotting the river.
Presently on our left we saw some beautiful trees with bushy foliage,
and all of a sudden from their midst arose a greyish mass of the shape
of a truncated pyramid. There was not the slightest doubt that it
was the tomb of the founder of the Songhay dynasty, Mohamed Askia,
and that we were close to Garo or Gao; Garo, the ancient capital
of the Western Sudan; Garo, the most powerful city ever founded by
negro civilization, the metropolis from which radiated the various
routes bringing to the Niger the produce of the Tchad districts and
of Egypt; Garo, which but two Europeans, Mungo Park and Dr. Barth,
had ever seen.
Our emotion at this stage of our journey can be better understood
than described. From what was once the mighty town of Garo the
river mists of the morning rose up; from a dead city now, but one
which it was perchance our mission to restore. A great people,
whose heart this lost city may be said to have been, once lived and
flourished here. The Askias had united under their banner all the
African states from Lake Tchad to the Senegal, and from the desert
to Say. The Songhay empire was then not only the most powerful in
Africa, but of the whole contemporary world.
Felix Dubois, in his book called _Timbuktu the Mysterious_, gave an
account, founded on the _Tarich es Sudan_, of the Songhay, which
supplements well the information given to Barth about the people
who once dwelt in the great empire named after them.
To add to what these great authorities have said would be mere
waste of time. I must remark here, however, that I was struck by
the fact that lower down the Niger the Songhay have taken the name
of Djerma, which is that of the district and its inhabitants where
they now dwell. This name Djerma is also that of the North African
oasis which was known to the ancients as Garama, or the land of the
Garamantes. The resemblance between the two cannot fail to strike
every one.
I wonder whether the two words Djerma and Garama have the same
origin? and if the Garamantic race, or, as it is also sometimes
called, the Sub-Ethiopian, may not have been the primitive source
of all the negro tribes which now people the Western Sudan.
If it be so, the greater number of the ethnic revolutions which have
convulsed the country have really after all been merely a struggle
for ascendency between three races—the Negro, which I have just
been discussing; the Berber, of which the Tuaregs are the purest
representatives; and lastly, the so-called Fulah race, which came from
the east, and may possibly be descended from the ancient Egyptians.
I give my idea for what it is worth, whilst waiting for a more
exhaustive study to be made of local dialects or the discovery of
ancient manuscripts which shall throw a clearer light on the subject.
The Songhay empire of Garo, which was at one time so splendid,
had within itself the germs of its own decay, for its chiefs were
Mussulmans. The polygamy permitted by Islam gives to each one of
them in his numerous descendants a perfect legion of possible rivals
ready to dethrone him and usurp his power. It is to this, and yet
more to the hateful morality of the Mahommedans, always ready to
find an excuse for the most heinous crimes, that the Askias owe
their rapid decline.
Other emotions, however, besides those connected with historical
memories, agitated us when we came in sight of all that was left
of Garo. It was there we were told that we should know what were
to be our relations with the Awellimiden, and my own conviction
still was—the event proved that I was right—that it would be
easy enough for us to pass through their country with the consent
of their chief Madidu, but terribly difficult to do so without it.
We wended our way carefully amongst the submerged islets here
encumbering the course of the Niger, passing many big villages with
thatched huts, and seeing through our binoculars large numbers of
natives assembled here and there. The whole of the district bears the
name of Gao, or Gao-gao, a corruption of the old Garo. We succeeded,
not without difficulty, in approaching the central village, the
mosque of which serves as a kind of landmark. But the bank was
very low and partially inundated. It was really a rice plantation
belonging to the inhabitants, and we soon came to a standstill.
The appearance of the village and its surroundings was far from
reassuring. The negroes quickly vacated their huts, and some wading,
others in canoes, hurried off with all their chief valuables, whilst
beneath the trees and on the higher banks collected groups of Tuaregs,
some on horseback, others on foot, watching our movements in silent
immobility. All were in full martial panoply, with spear, sword,
and huge buckler. I made a white flag with a dinner napkin and
hoisted it on a bamboo stem, which I stuck in the damp ground. We
then waited results.
A long and anxious pause ensued. The blacks continued to fly, the
Tuaregs appeared to be consulting together. At last two negroes
came forward from the bank, and waded through the mud, which was
above their knees, towards us, but they halted at a respectful
distance. They were evidently in a great state of alarm, and would
only converse with us from afar off; if we attempted to approach
them they decamped. It was a good half-hour before we were able to
reassure them sufficiently for them to come close to us, and even
then they still trembled.
The two messengers turned out to be Armas, relations of the chief
of the village. Their first articulate words were a prayer that we
would go to an island they pointed out to us rather more than a mile
away, for they said they were afraid we should come to blows with
the Tuaregs, and that their village would suffer.
We tried to reassure them, telling them we had not come to make war;
quite the reverse, we wanted to make friends with the Tuaregs. To
begin with, would they tell us where Madidu was? Madidu, was the
reply, was not far off, though not actually in the village. And what,
we went on, was the meaning of all this gathering of forces, as if
they were threatened with war? It was to defend themselves, they said,
against a raid of the Kel Air, which they had been told was about
to take place. I avoided replying that the Kel Air were far away on
the east and north, and that it seemed extraordinary that warriors
should have gathered on the banks of the Niger to repulse them.
But to return to the question really at issue. I begged the envoys
to announce to Madidu the arrival of the nephew of Abdul Kerim, whom
his father had received and treated well some fifty years before;
adding that we had not come to do any harm, in proof of which I
urged that when the Tademeket and the Tenger Eguedeche had declared
war against us we had not even answered their challenge.
My uncle, I went on, had given El Khotab a horse, I now brought
the saddle for that horse to El Khotab’s son. I then uncovered a
splendid velvet saddle embroidered with gold, the handsomest present
I had with me, for it seemed to me that if ever the moment arrived
for placing it well, it was at this juncture. The Sultan of France,
I explained, had sent me to the chief of the Awellimiden to discuss
matters concerning them as well as the French, and I wished for an
interview with him, or at least with his accredited representatives.
[Illustration: PANORAMA OF GAO ON THE SITE OF THE ANCIENT GARO.]
Our visitors then withdrew, and we waited four hours longer without
news. At the end of that time the same negroes reappeared, to tell me
that Madidu was then in the village with a large retinue (I greatly
doubted the truth of this), and was at that moment consulting with his
principal advisers. But, they added, to prove your good intentions
towards the natives, go to the island. That will also show that you
mean no harm. Madidu’s envoys will come to you there.
I preferred yielding to this pressing invitation to go than acting
in a high-handed manner. Moreover, I was not sorry to put a little
distance between myself and the Tuaregs, for it was very evident that
in any discussion about us nine out of ten would vote for attacking
us, and in our island we should be perfectly safe from surprise. We
should see what to-morrow brought forth.
We estimated the number of warriors now assembled on the bank at
several thousand; it was a very different matter from the gathering
of the Tademeket and Tenger Eguedeche higher up stream.
We set sail, therefore, and when night fell we were camped in our
new position. In memory of our old and valued friend Gauthiot, who,
as I have related, had defended our expedition from all the detractors
in France who would have jeopardized its success, I named after him
this little corner of earth in the river, our river, where our fate
was really to be decided.
If I said that I slept peacefully and well that night I do not
suppose any one would believe me.
To face tangible dangers in a struggle with nature or with one’s
fellow men, greater or less courage is required, but what we had
to do now was to meet such hidden risks, as the miner who goes to
his work, not knowing at what moment he may be suffocated, blown up,
or crushed to death. Even the miner, however, gets accustomed to the
risk he runs, but what no one ever becomes used to is the long mental
fatigue of the responsibility of knowing that one mischosen word,
perhaps even one wrongly translated word, will be enough to doom to
destruction all those who have joined their fortunes with yours with
full confidence in you, for whom you are all and everything for the
time being.
[Illustration: PALAVER AT GAO.]
Father Hacquart slept no better than I did that anxious night. Would
he have slept if I had let him retire to his couch? Who can tell? I
needed his counsel and his experience, so we neither of us closed
an eye, for we discussed the situation, and what we should say,
the next day, for the whole night.
The result of our conference was, that we resolved to do the best
we could under whatever circumstances might arise, for to foresee
them was impossible; in a word, as sailors say, “Trim our sails
according to the weather.”
The Father, moreover, took an optimist view of our position, partly
because he is naturally of a hopeful disposition, and partly because,
by a really singular chance, our experiences coincided in a remarkable
way with his own two years before, when he was in the Sudan on a
similar journey. To begin with, the time of year was the same, for
it was on March 5 that he and Attanoux had arrived to confer with
the Tuaregs, Azgueurs, etc.
All night the left bank of the river was illuminated with
the watch-fires of the Tuareg camp, which resembled a great
conflagration. We had not been wrong, a large, a very large force
was assembled there.
In the morning my heart beat fast when I saw a canoe approaching,
and I made out in it one of the negro messengers of the chief of
the village, a Tuareg, and another native whose woolly crop of hair
showed him to be a Moor or a Kunta.
The boat touched land, and the third person in it turned out to be
really a Kunta, whilst the Tuareg was Madidu’s blacksmith.
Why had this blacksmith come? Because in the Sudan the blacksmiths
form a regular caste, which has attained very great influence over
the negro chiefs, and the Tuaregs of the river districts followed
the example of the negro potentates in listening to their counsels.
Not all the blacksmiths, it must be explained, follow their nominal
trade. They are many of them the familiar friends and advisers of
the chiefs; in fact, it is they who often wield the real authority,
for, as often happens in Europe, the prime minister is more powerful
than the king.
Ceremonial greetings having been exchanged we all sat down. My fingers
were cold, my throat felt parched, but I managed by a strong effort
at self-control to appear perfectly calm and indifferent.
I began the speech already resolved on. The Kunta knew Arabic, so
that I was fortunate enough to be able to employ Father Hacquart
as interpreter. He repeated in Ta-Masheg every word I addressed to
the blacksmith.
“I greeted Madidu, the Commandant of Timbuktu greeted Madidu, and
the Sultan of the French greeted Madidu. We were the white people who,
two years before, had driven the Tenguereguif and the Kel Temulai from
Timbuktu. We had already come twice in boats to cement our friendship
with the people of the country, and to trade with them, without any
idea of conquest. The Tuaregs had received us badly, insulted and
provoked us; we had attacked, beaten, and punished them. Allah had
given us their city; we were there, and there we meant to stay.
“But the Tuaregs of Timbuktu had nothing in common with the
Awellimiden, they were indeed their enemies. Between Madidu and us
there had never been war.
“Now that we were neighbours, the Sultan of the French thought it
would be wrong for us to remain any longer unknown to each other.
“If we succeeded in making friends, nothing but good would result
to both parties. They would come to Timbuktu to sell their oxen,
their sheep, and their gum, receiving in exchange stuffs, beads,
and all the goods the white men know how to make.
“To remain longer without making friends would be to leave gunpowder
close to a fire. The day would come, through no fault of theirs or
ours, when some misunderstanding would lead to a scuffle first and
then to war.
“Moreover, if we knew their power, they also ought to know
ours. Evil might result to us, but worse would befall them.
“In any case it was more consistent with their dignity and
self-respect, as well as with ours,—for were not we as well as they
of noble race?—to know with whom they had to deal. The Sultan of the
white men had chosen me because of my relationship with Abdul Kerim,
who was the friend of the Kuntas and the Awellimiden. What must I
tell that Sultan on behalf of Madidu? Was it to be peace or war?”
This speech was clear enough, and the reply was no less so.
“Madidu greets you. If you have come with pacific intentions, as
you said yesterday to the men from Gao, he is your friend; he will
give you guides to take you where you will, to Say or to Sokoto. If
evil should overtake you it will be from heaven, Madidu answers for
it none shall come from earth.”
This beginning could not but please us.
We told the young Kunta, who acted as second envoy, that we were on
good terms with his relations at Timbuktu and Kagha; and then we tried
to amuse our visitors, bringing out our bicycle, phonograph, musical
box, etc. All our attractions were paraded, in fact, and then, after
consulting with Father Hacquart, I decided on a grand coup. Without
asking for anything or adding another word, I bade the ambassador
farewell, giving him the beautiful velvet saddle to take to Madidu.
The canoe shot back across the river. We saw a Tuareg advance from
amongst a group of horsemen, mounted on a fine bay horse, and, strange
to say, carrying a musket. He came to meet the envoys as they landed;
they handed the saddle to him, and when they caught sight of it,
the Tuaregs behind him clashed their shields and uttered shrill cries.
The canoe returned immediately. The horseman we had just seen receive
the saddle was Madidu himself; he thanked us a thousand times for our
beautiful present, and even wished to come to us, but his brothers,
fearing treachery or sorcery, had prevented him from doing so. Our
generosity had hit the mark, and judging from the manner of the
blacksmith, we could make a very shrewd guess at what were the
feelings of his master.
It was the messenger’s turn now, and I gave him a beautiful
present of stuffs, beads, knives, and veils, with which he was
delighted. There were, however, still two things that Madidu wanted,
but if it was difficult to meet his wishes, he did not dare to insist
too much, for we had already given him more than either he or his
ancestors had ever received.
The first thing was ten silver pieces, not for himself, but for his
wife. She had heard him speak of that white metal which could be
worked like copper, and of which ornaments were made, but which was
not really copper, and she did so long to see some for herself. This
wish was easy enough to gratify, and to the ten five-franc pieces
I added two gold rings.
As for the second wish of the Amenokal, I would give you a thousand
guesses, and not one would be right. He wanted the portrait of the
President of the Republic.
All German and English travellers make a point of giving a portrait
of their sovereign to native chiefs. Thoughtless people may, perhaps,
laugh at this, but for all that it is true that it always produces
a considerable effect to show a photograph, a drawing, or, better
still, a chromo-lithograph, with the words—“This is our Sultan!”
Knowing this, we had brought with us, two years before, when we
started on our expedition, a hundred coloured portraits of M. Carnot.
He was dead now; and all we had been able to get were a few engravings
of President Felix Faure, such as you see at all the _mairies_,
and in the captain’s cabin in all the ships of the fleet.
Wherever we passed, the portrait of the Sultan of the French was
the object of great curiosity. I had pinned it up in my cabin, and
every one wanted to see it. It was a bust portrait, and the eye-glass
hanging from a ribbon was shown in it. After looking at the likeness
for some time in silence, the Tuaregs would begin asking me questions.
“Is he your father? Why has he three eyes?” This of course was
suggested by the eye-glass.
I had hit upon a very simple way of answering both these questions
at once. “Of course,” I would reply, “he is my father; he is
the father of us all, and he has three eyes; it is just because he
has so many children that two eyes would not be enough to look at
them all.”
No one ever showed the slightest surprise or incredulity at this
double explanation of mine, my reply seemed perfectly natural and
satisfactory.
But to return to Madidu. He had heard his people talk about the
portrait, and anxious to possess it, he sent to ask me for it. His
wish was prompted by too good a feeling towards us for us to have
the slightest reason for saying no, and this is how it comes about
that the portrait of the President of the Republic at this moment
adorns the tent of the Chief of the Awellimiden, and goes with him
from the banks of the Niger to the plateau of Air.
After breakfast our Kunta came back once more. Madidu had sent
to ask when we wished to start, and hinted that the chief might
perhaps visit us himself a little further down the river. In any
case the Amenokal promised to send us a letter by some relation of
his. He would let us have the various promises he had made to us in
writing, and he now renewed them, assuring us of his friendship and
his resolve to protect our fellow-countrymen and fellow-subjects.
Madidu was now anxious to be off, for the raids of the Kelgeres or
Kel Air, of which we had heard so much, were all too real, for they
had actually attacked the camp of the Kuntas, who were on friendly
terms with the Awellimiden, and were under the command of Baye and
Bebe Hamet, sons of El Beckay.
The chief, therefore, wished to settle everything with us in hot
haste, so as to be free to go and meet his own enemies. He would,
however, send messengers and letters all along the river instructing
the chiefs, his vassals, to treat us well and supply us with guides
and provisions; in fact, to help us in every possible way.
I should very much have liked to have a personal interview with the
Amenokal, but I had good reason to know that it was by no means
easy to get access to Tuareg chiefs. It was very evident too, in
this particular case, that although Madidu, whose views were liberal
and tolerant, and who, thanks to the traditions inherited from his
father, had refused to listen to the advice of those hostile to us,
there did exist a very strong party against us, and it was necessary
to avoid putting weapons into the hands of our adversaries by giving
them an excuse for treating us badly. To insist on prolonging our
stay or on seeing the chief might have brought about the very result
we feared. I therefore decided to start the next morning.
We sent our guides back after paying them well, and they put off for
shore in their canoes. During their passage the Tuareg column divided,
one group going down to meet the guides when they landed. The latter
feared that the warriors had come down to see whether we had not been
too generous, and perhaps to make them divide their spoil with them,
so rather than risk this they turned round and came back towards
our camp.
At that moment a great noise arose on the right bank, caused by the
clamour of a number of petty chiefs, who in their turn had ordered
their blacksmiths to cross the arm of the river between us and the
bank, and to come to greet us on their behalf. These visits were
of course prompted by interested motives, in the hope of getting
presents. Now this was just what Madidu had wished to avoid; he did
not feel sure enough of every one to care that crowds should go to
see us, and he ordered all the messengers to be driven away, which
led to a good deal of recrimination, the echo of which had reached us.
Nevertheless, El Yacin, one of the most important of the tributary
Amrars, had sent his adviser to us, who when the canoe which had
brought him went off without him, settled himself down in a corner
on board the _Davoust_ without showing the slightest fear of us. He
evidently meant to see, hear, and touch everything.
I have already said, that amongst the ornaments of my cabin were
some photographs of a celebrated singer. These likenesses excited
no less interest than did that of the President, which was hung
opposite to them, especially as the costumes of Elsa, Brunhilda,
Elizabeth or Salammbo, as the case might be, appeared to the Tuaregs
the very acme of elegance, which shows of course that they were not
wanting in a sense of the æsthetic.
Our blacksmith, after gazing at these likenesses for a long time,
turned to me and said—
“Is she one of the women of your country?”
“Yes.”
“Are they all as pretty as she is?”
“Of course they are.”
“Then you must all be great fools to have left them to come here.”
I tried to make him understand what would be the delights of our
return home, how our chiefs would praise us, and our fellow citizens
admire us, how the whole country would ring with our fame; but it
was no good, he stuck to his original opinion.
To prove that we really meant to start the next day, we now began
to furl our tents, and the bank opposite us gradually became
deserted. When darkness fell we finally dismissed our guides.
Early on the morning of the 6th, guided by a pilot sent to us by the
chief of Gao, we started for Bornu, where Madidu was then encamped,
and arrived there about eleven o’clock.
The river was still easily navigable, although here and there the
presence of eddies proved the existence of rocks, which no doubt
crop up, and are dangerous at low water. To make up for a less
impeded stream, the banks became more and more rugged and wild as
we proceeded. Lofty black and red cliffs covered with gum trees and
sycamores succeeded each other, and we found that Bornu had been
very exactly described and drawn by Barth. We anchored at the base
of a perpendicular rock some three hundred and twenty feet high. Our
guide went to the village, of which we could see the huts about
half-a-mile off, and soon came back bringing a substitute.
As for Madidu, it appeared that he had slept in his camp, but had
left very early in the morning. We should perhaps meet him at Dergona,
where we changed pilots.
After breakfast we started again. The left bank now became extremely
picturesque, cliffs of red rock broken into fantastic forms resembling
the ruins of castles occurring here and there, whilst far away on
the right rose a line of rocky mountains. We had evidently now left
the dunes behind us.
We passed the night near Dergona, of which we could see the fires, and
early the next morning we arrived there. Not a sign of Madidu. He had
gone to the interior, driven there by the raids of the Kel Air. When
night fell we had reached Balia, the Tabaliat of Barth.
[Illustration: BORNU.]
Near the landing-place there was a canoe laden with grain deserted
by the owners, who had run away. Gradually reassured, however,
they presently returned, and from them we obtained much interesting
information about the state of the neighbouring districts of Say.
Near Sinder, they said, lived a number of thieving boatmen belonging
to the Kurteyes tribe, who had lately made a raid on Balia.
We should also meet Amadu Cheiku there, who owns several villages
on the banks of the river, one of which is surrounded by a _tata_,
or earthen wall. This Amadu Cheiku had persuaded a Fulah tribe called
the Gaberos, who had formerly lived near Gao under the rule of the
Awellimiden, to emigrate and join him.
[Illustration: BABA, WITH THE ROCKS ABOVE ANSONGO.]
He had lately tried, but without success, to induce the people of
Dergona to do the same.
The river-bed now became more and more rocky; we felt the eddies
and rapids a good deal, although navigation could not yet be called
difficult; and in due course we arrived opposite the promontory
jutting out from the island of Ansongo.
Here, running from south-east to north-west, are four great blocks
of flint of very picturesque appearance, which look like landmarks
set up to mark a very remarkable point of the river, and as a matter
of fact it is below them that the difficulties begin which render
this part of the Niger practically unnavigable.
On March 8 we anchored for breakfast opposite one of these masses
of rock, off Beba; then following the arm of the river furthest to
the left, we arrived about two o’clock at the village of Ansongo,
inhabited by Kel es Suk. The chief of that tribe himself was there.
Close to our anchorage a line of rocks completely barred the arm of
the river on which we were. Their summits were almost level with each
other, and it would have been quite impossible for us to get over
them. Baudry, however, went off exploring in a canoe, and discovered
a very narrow winding channel on the left at the foot of the bank,
through which it would be just possible for us to get out.
Meanwhile the Kel es Suk, and the negroes in their service, had
assembled on the beach, and after giving them a few presents of little
value, we entered into conversation with them. All seemed likely to
go well. El Mekki, they said, would supply us with provisions and
pilots, and no doubt would himself come and see us.
I was indeed glad to hear that. I had greatly dreaded a conflict with
the Kel es Suk, for we knew their way of going to work. As long as we
had had to do with individuals only, their hostility did not matter
much; but now we had to deal with the chief of the whole tribe,
and it was of the utmost importance to conciliate him.
As we shall see further on, the Kel es Suk are of the same race,
springing from the same source as the Tuaregs.
Separated, however, from the original stock after the taking of
Taddemekka by the Songhay of Gao, they had espoused the tenets of
Islam at a happy moment, and were now the marabouts of the Tuaregs.
As a result they exercise a great moral influence, and I should not
hesitate to assert that El Mekki alone would be able to put a veto
on the favourable or unfavourable resolutions of Madidu with regard
to us. From which it will be seen clearly enough how very valuable
the friendship of this El Mekki would be.
Before the evening mists arose we set sail to go through the pass,
which we managed to do without accident, and anchored opposite the
village to await the morning.
[Illustration: THE KEL ES SUK OF ANSONGO REFUSE TO SUPPLY US WITH
GUIDES.]
On the 9th we crossed over very early, but, alas! the day began
badly. El Mekki did not come, but sent instead two messengers,
who—I really don’t know on what stupid pretext—told us it was
impossible to supply us with guides. I protested in vain, invoking
the name of Madidu.
Political reasons imperatively demanded that we should make a friend
of El Mekki, but there was yet another more immediate motive for
our desire, and that was, we were close to the rapids.
As I have already said, they begin at Ansongo. We did not yet know all
the difficulties they would cause us; all we had to help us was what
Barth had said about them, and we had never known him wrong, which
was quite enough to prove how absolutely indispensable pilots would
be, for at every turn we should have to choose the most practicable
of the many arms of the river.
I called up all my powers of patience, and tried to discuss the
matter quietly, but it was only labour lost. Indeed some negroes
who had come down to the bank to speak to us were ordered back to
the village by the Kel es Suk.
Now came a second deputation, this time an openly hostile one,
of men with determined faces.
“What,” they demanded, “were our intentions?”
“Peaceful and good,” was our reply.
“What is your religion?” they went on.
“That of Issa,” we answered; “whom your own prophet names
as his forerunner. We are Kitabi, or people of the book. Your own
religion enjoins you to treat us as friends, seeing that we entertain
amicable feelings for you.”
Tierno chimed in, arguing with his fellow marabouts to make them
listen to reason, but with very little success.
“Anyhow,” I said at last, “your fathers let a Christian pass
through their country in peace, and indeed they even helped him. That
Christian, my uncle, Abdul Kerim, was the friend and _protégé_ of
Sidi Hamet Beckay; do you think you can do better than your fathers,
and the chief who was venerated throughout the whole of the Sudan?”
Surprise and hurried interrogations now ensued.
“What! are you the nephew of Abdul Kerim?”
I read Barth’s book every day, so that it is rather difficult to
put me out when his adventures are discussed.
Now it so happened that just before he reached Ansongo a little
episode occurred to him which is well worth relating.
Without any disrespect to the memory of my “uncle”—my very
worthy and excellent “uncle”—I suspect him of having been
the hero of at least one idyl on the banks of the Niger, in which
a young beauty of the Kel es Suk tribe also played her part.
Her name was Neschrun, and Barth, who generally dismisses the
charms of the black or brown beauties he came across in his travels
curtly enough, dwells on her graceful figure, her pleasing manners,
her beautiful black eyes, and her hair parted on her brows, _à la
Vierge_. He does not even neglect to tell us that she wore a garment
alternately striped with black and red, which was most becoming.
The attraction was evidently mutual, for he adds that she one day
said to him, half in fun—
“Will you marry me?”
What prevented the course of true love running smoothly was some
question about camels.
“I expressed to her,” says Barth, “all the regret I felt at
being obliged to refuse, and whilst explaining how sensible I was
of the honour she did me I told her my camels were too tired to
carry her.”
I have already referred to the standard of beauty amongst these
people, and how they admire _embonpoint_; and I may here add that,
when a woman has achieved the weight desired, she might very well
claim to be admitted into the so-called “_Société des Cent
Kilos_.” The name given to this special charm by the Tuaregs is
_tebulloden_, and those who know anything of the onomatopœia theory
will see in a minute how appropriate it is to a Tuareg Venus who is
not content with being merely a Venus Callipyge.
Neschrun, no doubt, was rather of the _tebulloden_ style of beauty,
so that it is quite possible that the camels of the German traveller
were really not equal to carrying her weight.
Now was not this a good story to prove my identity in my parley with
the messengers from El Mekki?
It actually turned out that Neschrun was the sister of El Mekki,
and was still alive, so of course I made a great fuss about seeing
her at once. Alas! she was far away in the interior, and it was no
use hoping that she could come to me or that I could go to her, so
I had to be content with sending her a present of a folding mirror
with three glasses, trimmed with plush, which had cost about three
shillings. See how generous I was!
The messengers went back to tell El Mekki all about it, and we at
once became capital friends. Two slaves belonging to the chief of
the Kel es Suk were given to us as guides, and we started again,
but not before I had sent my affectionate greetings to the lady who
might have been my aunt if she had not been so fat, or if Barth’s
camels had been better able to carry heavy loads.
My dear “uncle”! my brave “uncle”! my providential “uncle”! yet
once again had you drawn a sharp thorn from the foot of your
nephew when the happy thought occurred to you of relating your
love affair with a daughter of the Kel es Suk.
The current was now very strong, running at the rate of 4½ miles
an hour. We could not fail to see that we had drunk our best wine
at the beginning of the feast, and that we must now husband our
resources most carefully. In other words, we must steer with the
greatest caution.
The fresh breeze from the south drove the _Aube_ a little out of her
course, and she struck on a bed of coarse gravel. She was, however,
in very little danger, and we soon got her off again. But when out
of the narrow channel she was flung violently on to a sharp rock,
and there remained stationary. The water was so deep just there
that the coolies could not stand in it, and it was only with the
greatest difficulty that we rescued our consort this time. However,
after swimming about her for an hour our efforts were at last rewarded
by seeing her afloat again.
[Illustration: DISTRIBUTION OF PRESENTS TO THE TUAREGS AT BURÉ.]
About 109 yards further down stream we doubled the point of the
island of Ansongo.
The right arm of the river, which we could now see distinctly,
was completely encumbered by rocks and rapids. Our barges could
certainly not have got past them.
In front of us eddies and ripples showed that there were also rocks
ahead of us. Our guides were brave fellows enough, but I did not
believe they were much accustomed to the river, so I decided to
make the two big boats anchor here. Baudry and I having removed the
canvas sail which would have given purchase to the wind, and having
pressed into the service every available oar, started to examine the
channel, which, though very tortuous, turned out to be both wide
and deep. We then returned on board, and without further incident
we went on undaunted amongst the grass close to the left bank.
[Illustration: THE ‘DANTEC’ EXPLORING THE PASS.]
The _Aube_ had leaked dreadfully since she struck, and four men
with buckets could scarcely bale her out. Our carpenter, Abdulaye,
dived beneath her, and discovered that one of the planks of her
bottom had got loose, but we managed to patch it up somehow.
To wind up this day, which had been so full of unpleasant excitement,
a storm presently overtook us, during which we were soaked to the
skin, whilst from the banks rose an odour of musk so strong as to
be positively sickening.
Every now and then there were ripples close to the boat, caused
by an alligator plunging into the water. It would not do to fall
overboard just there.
[Illustration: BURÉ.]
A comparatively quiet reach brought us the next day to the northern
point of the island of Buré, probably the Tiburanen of Barth, on the
rugged rocks of which a village was picturesquely perched. Opposite
to us on the left was a mound with slopes covered with tents, whilst
on the summit was drawn up a squadron of Tuaregs ready to defend
it, with foot soldiers in the front of the square and the cavalry
in the centre. All remained motionless, watching the approach of
our boats. We landed on the island, and the negroes, who at first
seemed timid, came slowly towards us. Then a canoe, in which were
several Tuaregs, crossed the stream, whilst our guides with vehement
gestures explained who we were, and what we wanted.
As soon as this was understood the battalion posted on the mound broke
up in the twinkling of an eye, and canoes began to ply rapidly to
and fro between the left bank of the river and the island, bringing
over the Tuaregs, so that we were soon surrounded by a crowd of
some three or four hundred men, some Ifoghas, others sheriffs. They
had at first been afraid, they said, when they saw our boats, but
now they were our best friends. We brought out our little presents,
such as rings, bracelets, pipes, and knives, which evoked a perfect
delirium of joy. In exchange we received eggs, butter, poultry, and
some pretty little leather bags our visitors called _abelbodh_. We
resumed our voyage by the left arm of the stream, which was narrow,
and much encumbered with rocks. On the banks were numerous flocks
of sheep grazing on the grass and the succulent weeds.
[Illustration: CANOES AT BURÉ.]
The whole population followed us as before at Gao, shouting,
but now the cries were friendly and pacific. Every time we halted
to distribute presents the enthusiasm increased, men, women, and
children—the last-named merry little creatures, with wide-awake
expressions—flung themselves into the water to fight for a ring
or a bit of glass.
[Illustration: FLOCKS AND HERDS AT BURÉ.]
Every now and then an important chief would receive what we called
a _complet_, the object of desire of every Tuareg—that is to say,
a piece of Guinea or blue cotton cloth nine yards long—five to
make the _bubu_ or mantle, and four for the breeches. There is no
doubt that our visit will long be remembered, and I hope that the
first traveller to succeed us may have as much cause to thank Abd El
Kader, as I called myself, as I had to bless the name of Abdul Kerim.
The island of Buré does not belong to the Tuaregs. Strange to
say—for the fact is really unique on the Niger between Timbuktu and
Sansan Hussa—a Songhay chief, Idris by name, is the real owner. He
pays no tribute to Madidu, and though the flocks and herds of the
sheriffs and Ifoghas are now grazing on his land, it is only by
his permission, and because their owners are in dread of a raid of
Kel Avis.
We halted at the village of Idris, and he came to see us. We made
a league of friendship with him, leaving in his hands a document
which was a kind of protectorate treaty, and a flag. He on his
side lent us three of his subjects, one of them his own brother,
to replace our Ansongo guides, who now returned to their village,
having been well paid for their services.
[Illustration: GUIDES GIVEN TO US BY IDRIS.]
These Songhay of Idris were splendid fellows, wearing veils,
and carrying weapons similar to those of the Tuaregs; but their
complexions were perfectly black, so that no one could mistake them
for Arabs. They are, as a rule, very tall and of herculean strength.
It really was a pleasure to have to do once more with men of such
a noble type as this, after being thrown for so long amongst
the degraded negroes of the Niger districts; and it is easy to
understand what this Songhay race must have been in the old days,
when it dominated the Western Sudan under the Askia chiefs, and Gao
was their capital.
In spite of all our efforts and all the skill of our guides we were
not able to avoid running aground several times on the 11th, and our
crafts again sustained a good deal of damage. We had hardly started
before the _Aube_ struck on a large flint shaped like the head of
a man. There she stuck for three hours, with a current rushing by
like that of the river of hell, and a reef on either side, on one of
which it seemed as if she must be wrecked if we succeeded in getting
her off.
Everybody rushed to the rescue. Our own men and our guides alike all
flung themselves into the water, showing equal energy and devotion.
Every moment we expected to see the unlucky vessel part in two,
the bow going one way and the stern another. At last, however, we
did manage to fling a grappling-hook on to the left bank, and after
many fruitless efforts, some of the men tugging at the part of the
boat which had struck, whilst others hauled away from the stern at
the grappling-hook, we succeeded in moving the vessel, which, taken
in the rear by the current, was floated off. She joined the _Davoust_
soon afterwards, but not without touching bottom again by the way.
We started once more about two o’clock, great blocks of flint
everywhere impeding progress. But our guides assured us that this
was nothing. “Wait,” they said, “till you get to Labezenga,
then you will see!” A charming prospect truly!
In the evening we reached Bentia, the Biting of Barth, where we
halted for the night.
We pushed on early the next day to Fafa, arriving there about seven
o’clock in the morning. Here the stream is divided into two arms by
an island on which a village is hidden, with an approach presenting
anything but a reassuring appearance. But we had other things to
see to before exploring it.
Directly we anchored a Tuareg came to accost us. He turned out to
be an envoy from Djamarata, the nephew of Madidu, who he said was
at the village, specially accredited by that chief to complete the
negotiations begun with us at Gao, and to give me the letter I had
asked for.
The village of Fafa is occupied by Peuls or Fulahs, who, like all
the rest of the sedentary races whom we met with who are face to
face with the Tuaregs, were in a state of abject fear, wondering what
would happen between the white visitors and the dreaded Arabs, both of
superior race in the eyes of the negroes. Would they quarrel with each
other? Would they come to blows? Not wishing to play the part of the
iron between hammer and anvil, they were full of anxiety and trouble.
The old fellow who had come out as envoy climbed on to the
_Davoust_. He did not wish me to land, Djamarata must come on
board. As for him, he meant to stop where he was. Fortunately my
Songhay from Idris were not quite such cowards, and they tried
to reassure the poor old man, but when he still seemed terrified
they gave him a good scolding. Djamarata was seated, meanwhile,
some hundred yards from the river bank, surrounded by about a dozen
Tuaregs. The brother of Idris finally took me by the arm, and we
went together towards him. We saluted each other, we shook hands,
neither of us looking in the least inclined to eat the other. But
this peaceable greeting did not reassure the silly old messenger,
who, with a feeling which really did him honour, came and crouched
almost between my legs to protect me.
Djamarata was a young man of about thirty years old, at least that
was what I supposed from all I could see of his face, which was
almost hidden by the _tagelmust_ wrapped about the lower part. He
was tall and of a commanding presence, whilst his great black eyes
were lit up with intelligence. All Madidu’s boys being still under
age, he was his uncle’s right hand, alike the confidant and the
commander-in-chief of the Amenokal’s army.
[Illustration: PALAVER WITH DJAMARATA.]
Our interview was very brief. I simply repeated what I had said at
Gao, and Djamarata informed me that my statement tallied with what
he had heard from the chief of the Awellimiden.
Now about the letter I had asked for. As he had not a marabout in
his suite who knew how to write Arabic, he proved his confidence in
Tierno by letting him indite it without hesitation, and the latter
set about it at once. Here is a literal translation of his production:
_Letter from Madidu and his nephew Djamarata to the Sultan of the
French._
“The object of this letter is to inform you that we have come to
an understanding with Commandant Hourst, known under the name of Abd
el Kader, on the following points:—between us and him there shall
be only good and peace; your traders shall come to us by land and by
water, assured that no one in our country will molest them in any
way. You will bring no trouble into our possessions, nor interfere
with our civil and religious traditions. Be it also known unto you,
that so soon as your envoys are returned, and you will have proved
our truth, you will see us come and go alone and in parties by land
and by water. This is the exact truth without reserve and without
exaggeration. After you have given us the promises mentioned we
shall be brothers; greeting!”
Djamarata asked me in my turn to leave behind me a written statement
of the verbal arrangement we had made. This seemed only fair, and
here is my reply:
_Letter from Commandant Hourst, surnamed Abd el Kader, to Madidu,
Amenokal of the Awellimiden, and to Djamarata his nephew._
“This is to certify, that having been sent by the Sultan of the
French to you to establish eternal peace between us, and to inaugurate
commercial and friendly relations, and having received from him
full powers to speak in his name, I can assure you that our only
desire is to act in the manner explained in your letter. We will not
establish posts in your country, nor touch that which belongs to you,
nor change your civil and religious traditions in any way.
“You can come to us in peace in numbers or alone, to trade or
merely to visit us. Once in our territories, which are on the west
of the dune of Ernessé, you will find nothing but good and peace.
“As for what you say on the subject of our religion, we are governed
by the law of Sidna Issa (Jesus Christ); we know that there is but
one God; we pray, we fast, we give alms. As a result we could not
prevent these things amongst others without becoming unworthy of
the protection of God.
“Know therefore that all this is the absolute and exact truth,
that we are of noble race, that a lie is as much unknown amongst us
as it is with you, who too are of noble race.
“Come to us, then, without fear either at Timbuktu or wherever we
may be. The truth will then be proved.”
We spent the rest of the day chatting with the Tuaregs and
distributing presents. Meanwhile Baudry went with Digui to reconnoitre
the river below Fafa.
For the second time a treaty, or rather a written agreement, had been
made between a Tuareg confederation and the French. The first was
that which followed or resulted from the grand journey of Duveyrier
in Southern Algeria and amongst the Azgueur Tuaregs, after which a
mission, including the Prince de Polignac, made a convention with
them at Rhâdames.
For the second time those who made these arrangements, and who
dealt directly face to face and voice to voice with the Tuareg
chiefs, assert that they found them loyal and to some extent even
conciliatory.
In speaking of the Tuaregs in general, I shall express myself very
plainly on the subject of these treaties. I now beg leave to break off
the narrative of our voyage for a moment to try and make better known
this interesting race, which has perhaps been unjustly calumniated.
[Illustration: TUAREGS.]
[Illustration: AN AMRI SHEPHERD.]