FROM FAFA TO SAY
Our dread of the passage of the river at Fafa may have seemed almost
childish, and we have since had experience of many another like it,
but for a first attempt it must be admitted it was rather a teaser.
Narrow and much encumbered, made more difficult by a violent current,
such is the pass of Fafa.
We took as guide the son of the chief of the village, who was later
to pay us a visit at Say. Thanks to him and with the help of his
men we crossed the first rapids without too much difficulty; but,
alas! the rope which was used to transmit to the rudder the movements
of the helm broke just as we emerged from them. Had this happened
thirty seconds sooner the _Davoust_ could not have answered to her
helm, and would have been flung upon the rocks. The damage repaired,
we steered once more into the current, wending our way cautiously
amongst the numerous islands, skirting the course of the reef, our
good star bringing us safely into a quiet reach extending as far as
Wataguna, where we again came to flints lining the bed of the stream.
In the evening we reached Karu, the _Aube_ having struck once by the
way, but without sustaining much damage; still all these shocks did
not add to her waterproof qualities, and as she shipped more and
more water our anxiety and fatigue became greater and greater. We
had constantly to empty the hold, which did not conduce to the repose
of the passengers, who were often woke up by the noise we made with
our buckets.
[Illustration: FAFA.]
Karu is a pretty little village with thatched huts, amongst which
were many of the barns of a bee-hive shape used for storing millet
alluded to by Barth. We had noticed a good number during the last
few days. The inhabitants of this village are Rimaïbes or serfs of
the Fulahs and Bellates or slaves of the Tuaregs.
The chief of the latter told us how glad he was to see some white men
before he died. He added that he would like to give us some sheep,
but he understood that we never ate anything except the flesh of
black animals, and he had none of that colour.
I said that the colour of the wool did not trouble us at all; all we
cared for was the quality of the flesh, and he went and fetched us
a fine ram. It was the marabouts, who, to add to the probability of
their report that we were sorcerers, had made this assertion about
black animals. There is a custom in the Sudan that animals given as
presents should be as white as possible, as a sign of peace between
donor and receiver. We were now told that Bokar Wandieïdu, chief
of the Logomaten, had assembled a column of troops and was about to
attack us.
[Illustration: KARU WITH MILLET GRANARIES.]
At Karu the mountains were pointed out to us which line the famous
rapid of Labezenga, which we expected to reach the next day. A guide
was given to us who was said to be wonderfully clever, but we saw
no particular sign of his intelligence.
It was on March 14 that we first saw the terrible Labezenga rapid,
and I am very sure that we shall none of us ever forget it.
Our guide began the day by performing a number of mummeries, the aim
of which appears to have been to make various evil genii propitious
to us. From a leather bag he took out a lot of flat and shaly flints
which had been picked up in the rapid. He wrapped each one of these
flints in a separate piece of cloth, spat upon them, and arranged
them here and there all over the boat.
The current rapidly swept us into a part of the river pretty free
from obstruction, and every now and then I tried to distract our
guide’s attention from his spells and to get him to give me a little
information, but he merely replied without looking at me that there
was no danger, and that he would stop us at the right time.
[Illustration: THE LABEZENGA RAPIDS.]
Often from behind some little jutting out point which intercepted our
view I heard a peculiar noise, a sort of dull but vague roar. The
rate of the current too increased rapidly, and we rushed along at
a rate of five miles an hour at the least. We listened eagerly, but
all of a sudden we saw that the stream was barred from side to side,
a distance of something like a thousand yards, by a positive wall
of rocks against which the water was dashing up in foam.
Our idiot of a guide looked up at last and saw the danger. He motioned
to us to steer for the bank, but rushing along as we were with the
tremendous current, to attempt to do so would have been merely to
drift helplessly on to the line of rocks, so we continued to dash on
with a speed which almost made me giddy, and presently, to my intense
relief, I saw a place on the right where there was less foam. Yes,
it was the pass, it was the gate of safety, we must make for it,
but was there any hope of our reaching it?
Our coolies bent to their oars and rowed so hard that they were in
danger of breaking them, whilst the sweat poured down their shining
black skins. I had just time to hoist the signal “Do as we do!”
which most fortunately Baudry and the captain of the _Dantec_
understood. They were just behind us. Now up with the oars and
trust to our luck! The speed increases yet more, the stream sweeps
the boat towards the pass, where it flings itself into the lower
reach: we feel ourselves falling, we shudder, we realize the fatal
attraction drawing us in the direction of the whirlpool; then like
an arrow we shoot safely through the opening. All is well with us at
least. Our next anxiety is for our comrades; we look behind, and a
cry of terror bursts from our lips. The _Dantec_, which is the next
to attempt the pass, has stopped suddenly; her mast is swept asunder,
and has been flung across the bow by the violence of the shock. All
the men were thrown at the same moment to the bottom of the boat,
for the unlucky barge, which had tried to pass about three feet on
one side of the place where we had got safely through, had struck
against a rock which was hidden by the whirling foam. She received
a tremendous blow, but fortunately did not sink.
But where was the _Aube_? That was our care now. She was approaching
rapidly, borne on by the current, but the whole pass was blocked
before her. She would crash into the _Dantec_, and both vessels must
inevitably be wrecked.
But no! Clouds of spray dash up over bow and stern alike; Baudry
has flung out the anchor and the grappling-iron: oh that they may
grip properly!
Thank God! They have. The _Aube_ stops short some three hundred
yards at least from the _Dantec_ at the brink of the rapid.
But what in the world is up now? The _Aube_ is tilted at an angle of
some 45 degrees! The force of the current is such that it has taken
her in the rear and forced her into this extraordinary position,
whilst the grappling-chains and those of the anchor are strained to
the uttermost, producing the terrifying result described.
I now moored the _Davoust_ to the bank, for we must try to save our
other boats.
With regard to the _Dantec_ it was a simple affair enough, for she
is a wonderful little craft, answering readily to the helm, and
so buoyant that we got off with no worse damage than the bursting
asunder of a couple of planks of her bottom. I sent Digui to help
the men on board of her, and she got safely through.
The rescue of the _Aube_ was a more difficult matter, especially
as her rudder had got broken in the struggle. The anchor was raised
all right, but when it came to the grappling-iron we could not make
it budge; it had probably got jammed between two rocks, and all our
efforts to move it were in vain, indeed they only seemed to fix it
more firmly.
Driven on by the wind and whirled round by the strong eddies of the
current, the unfortunate barge began to describe semicircles round her
own grappling-iron. Of course when we once cut the chain there would
be no time to steer her, and we must therefore manage to divide it
exactly at the moment when she was opposite to the opening she had to
pass through. One second too soon or too late and she would be lost.
I had climbed to the top of a little ridge, and with fast beating
heart I watched Baudry making his dispositions for the manœuvre he
had to attempt. A Tuareg chose this moment of awful suspense to tap
me on the shoulder and greet me with the formal salutation, _Salam
radicum mahindia_, and you can imagine how much notice I took of him.
Without being at all put out by my silence, however, he went on—
“I see that you are in trouble. I have watched all that has been
going on from my camp behind the hills, and ever since early morning
I have felt sure that you were all lost. But God has saved you
and your people. I have forbidden my tribe to come and bother you,
for you know that we always beg of every one. Well, I am going now,
but if you have need of us, Tuaregs and negroes alike are ready to
help you, you have only to send me a messenger. Our Amenokal has
ordered us to meet your wishes.”
As he finished his speech, I saw Digui deal a great blow to the
chain of the grappling-iron. The _Aube_ fell into the rapid, but
she could not avoid the rock on which the _Dantec_ had struck
already. She strikes, and the whole of her starboard side is
completely immersed. Is she staved in? No, her speed is such that
she rushes on as if nothing had happened. She is saved. A moment
later she is moored beside the _Davoust_.
“Not so much as a hole in her, Baudry!” I cried.
“No, I don’t think there is,” he replied, “but we had a narrow
escape.” We overhauled her, and there was not a leak anywhere. In
fact, Baudry declared that her planks were really more watertight
than ever.
Then my Tuareg, who had not gone away after all, but whom I had
completely forgotten, spoke to me again: “_Enhi!_” he said,
which means simply “look!” but his great wild black eyes shone
with pleasure from out of his veil as if some piece of good luck
had happened to himself.
Now are these Tuaregs brutes? are they men who can only be swayed
by interested motives? What nonsense to say they are!
Where did the interested motives come in here? Would it not have been
better for him if our boats had all been sucked down in the rapids? We
ourselves and all our goods would then have been his lawful prey.
May Providence only grant that I never find any of my
fellow-countrymen worse than the Tuaregs.
You may be sure the brave fellow got his parcel of goods and many
other things as well. With his long swinging step he went off to
his people again, shouting to us by way of adieu, “_Ikfak iallah
el Kheir_” (“may God give thee all good things!”)
This was, however, but the first of the Labezenga rapids, and that the
easiest. We had scarcely gone a hundred yards further when we came
to a regular cataract some two feet high, barring our passage. On
one side rose lofty heights, on the left the stream was broken
into several arms by islands. In fact, there did not seem to be any
opening on either side, and we were all but in despair of getting
through this time.
Baudry spent the whole afternoon with our guide from Karu, seeking
a practicable pass, but everywhere the scene before him was most
forbidding, one cataract succeeding another and alternating with
boiling whirlpools, whilst the current rushed on at a rate of seven
or eight miles at the least. The river simply seems to writhe in its
course, and here and there it dashes backwards and forwards from one
side to the other of its bed as if in a state of frenzy. There must be
a difference of something like seven feet in the height of the water.
The least impracticable place seemed to be on the left of our
anchorage between two islands, but I never should have believed
that any boat could pass through even that. We had, however, to
make the venture, and any delay would only render it more difficult,
for the water was falling rapidly.
[Illustration: THE ‘AUBE’ IN THE RAPIDS.]
On the morning of Sunday the 15th Father Hacquart celebrated mass and
we then prepared for the passage. The crew of our two big barges was
not strong enough to navigate both at once, so we decided to send
each vessel separately past the dangerous spots, supplementing one
crew from the other, and later we always adopted this plan, which
worked well on emergencies.
Digui was the only one of our captains who could manage such _tours
de force_, for really there is no other word for the work he had to
perform. Idris, the quarter-master of the _Aube_, rather loses his
head amongst the rapids, and is absolutely no good as a leader. Of
course all that can be done is to give a general indication of
the course to be pursued, and when the manœuvre has once begun
everything must be left to the intelligence of the pilot, and Digui
alone of all my men was really worthy to be trusted at the helm.
We fortified ourselves with a good cup of coffee, feeling that it
might be our last, and the _Davoust_ started, Baudry following us
in a canoe.
The scene before us was very much what it had been the day before—a
narrow pass, a diabolical current producing an impression of
unfathomable depth, which made our hearts sink and our breath come
in gasps. On either side the water whirled and surged and roared
unceasingly as it dashed over the huge rocks. Suddenly there was a
tremendous shock, and the boat seemed to slide away from under our
feet. It was the _Davoust’s_ turn to-day. A hidden rock had battered
a hole in her bow in my cabin. Through the gap, some 20 inches big,
the water came in in floods, and in less than ten seconds it was a
couple of feet deep.
But it was written in the book of fate that we were to go down to
the sea in the _Davoust_, and in spite of all our misfortunes, in
spite of everything being against us, in spite of reason, in spite
of logic, something always turned up to save us even at what seemed
the very last moment. The expected miracle always happened, and it
is no exaggeration to say that we experienced dozens of such miracles.
We were going at such a rate when we struck the rock that for one
instant the barge remained as it were suspended on it, but the next
it was over it and in deep water again.
It so happened, as good luck would have it, that my servant Mamé
was in my cabin when the boat struck, and the water rushed in at
his very feet.
For the brave fellow to tear off his burnous, roll it into a ball and
shove it into the gap in the planks was the work of a few seconds;
that is to say, of just the time during which the rock held us fixed,
preventing us from settling down. We were saved once more. The miracle
had been performed. Only do not fail to notice what a combination of
circumstances was required to bring about the result: the immense
speed with which we were going making us actually mount the rock,
with the presence of Mamé in my cabin all ready to stop up the hole!
The _Dantec_ passed through with us without difficulty, and it was
now the turn of the _Aube_. Digui attempted a manœuvre with her of
positively extraordinary audacity. Knowing all too well that the rock
which had been nearly fatal to us could not possibly be evaded, he
simply flung the boat upon the grass-covered bank, and she climbed
up, driven on by the great speed of the current. Then he let her
slide down again backwards, or, to use the strictly nautical term,
to fall astern.
For all this, however, we every one of us had to pay toll in one
way or another at this infernal Labezenga. The _Aube_ grated on the
point of a hidden rock just as she was about to join us again in
quiet water.
It was now two o’clock in the afternoon, and we had been eight hours
getting over a little more than half a mile in a straight line. We
were famished with hunger, and our craving for food became almost
unbearable. I constituted myself cook, and drawing upon our reserves
of tinned meats and preserved vegetables, which we all felt we were
justified in doing under the circumstances, I seized what came first,
and tumbled everything helter-skelter into a saucepan. We all devoured
the result, which I called _tripes à la Labezenga_, without in the
least knowing what we were eating. I will give the recipe to all
who wish to emulate Vatel: _tripes à la mode de Caen_, truffles,
esculent boletus, _haricots verts_, with plenty of pepper and spice,
served hot. In N. Lat. 14° 57′ 30″, after just escaping from
drowning or from death in the jaws of a crocodile, nothing could be
more delicious, but somehow I have never ventured to try my _olla
podrida_ again in France.
After a little rest, which was indeed well earned, Baudry went with
Digui to the village of Labezenga to try and get guides. He came
back in a state of terror at what he had seen.
For more than a month we had to lead a life such as I have just
described. What I have said will give an idea of all we went
through. I don’t want to dwell too much on our sufferings now
that they are over. Once embarked on such an enterprise as this
there is nothing for it but to go straight ahead, and by degrees
one gets accustomed to the danger to a certain extent. I swear,
however, that not all the gold in the world would induce me to do
again what we did on this trip under similar conditions. Ten times
a day at least we had to face these awful rapids, to go through all
the agony of suspense, succeeded by the awful sensation of passing
over the obstacles before us, whilst the boat seemed to rush from
beneath us and plunge into the foam, from which it seemed simply
impossible that she should ever again emerge.
Or again some rock barred our passage, and only by force of moving
were we able to make our way inch by inch against the current which
threatened to sweep us away. Then, as we literally scraped the rock,
we knew that two or three inches made all the difference between life
and death! For there would have been no hope of escape if we were
once upset in these awful rapids. Death would have been inevitable,
for the best swimmer could not have made head against such currents as
these, but would have been dashed to pieces by them against the rocks.
Or supposing that by a miracle he should escape death by drowning
or by being flung upon the rocks, a yet more awful danger awaited
him after he had safely passed the rapids, for beneath all of them
many terrible crocodiles lie concealed, on the watch for the luckless
fish, which, rendered giddy by the whirling turmoil of water, simply
swim into their jaws. Crocodiles, you must know, do not kill their
prey as sharks do, and no death could be more terrible than that
inflicted by these awful denizens of the Niger, for they plunge
their victims under water and drown them. Imagine what it must be
to feel oneself gripped by the huge teeth of a merciless brute and
dragged along until death from suffocation ensues.
[Illustration: THE ‘AUBE’ IN THE LAST LABEZENGA RAPID.]
General Skobeleff said one day, “If any one says to you that he
has never been afraid, spit in his face and tell him he is a liar!”
I don’t in the least mind owning that we were afraid, that we knew
what fear was day by day for a whole month; fear in the day at the
passage of every fresh obstacle, and yet greater fear in the night,
for then nightmare exaggerated the horrors of the light, crocodiles
and rapids haunting our sleep in dreams more awful even than the
reality had been.
I challenge in advance the next person who goes down the Niger to
say whether I have exaggerated anything in this account.
[Illustration: LOOKING UP STREAM FROM KATUGU.]
We had to push on, however, and the first thing to be done was to
replace the burnous of Mamé, which still served as a plug in the
hole in the _Davoust_, with something a little more suitable for the
purpose. We had brought with us a piece of aluminium to meet just
such an emergency as this, but we had neither the time nor the means
to rivet it now. So we cut a piece of wood the right size to serve
provisionally, and fitted it into the hole, interposing a kind of
mattress of tarred oakum, and making the whole thing taut with the
aid of two strong bolts. Some putty made it more or less watertight,
and anyhow we could now keep our _Davoust_ afloat.
The next day, the 16th, was as exciting as the 15th had been. Three
very strong rapids succeeded each other, completing the awful pass
of Labezenga. At each one the barges were halted above the fall,
and a reconnaissance was made, then they passed over one by one,
with the crew strengthened by every man who could be pressed into
the service. Digui continued to show wonderful intrepidity, a quiet
audacity and courage, and a readiness to grasp the bearings of every
situation, which were beyond all praise. We can really say without
exaggeration that we owed not only the safety of our boats, but our
very lives to him.
[Illustration: THE CHIEF OF AYURU.]
A little creek of almost calm water brought us to Katungu, where we
were very well received by the inhabitants. Here we procured some
fresh guides who were to take us to Ayuru.
Rapids! rapids! and yet more rapids! As we approached Ayuru the river
became more and more terrible; we struck five or six times a day,
again and again narrowly escaping the staving in of our boats. On
the 18th, however, we safely reached Ayuru, a pretty little village
of thatched huts on a rocky islet. My nerves had been overstrained,
and in the evening when we were at dinner I fainted away. I did not
come to again for two whole hours, and was very much surprised when
I recovered consciousness to find myself lying on a mat wrapped up in
coverlids, and being fanned by a coolie who was keeping watch over me.
From Ayuru I sent twenty rifles to Madidu, in token of my gratitude
for the way in which his people had treated us.
We pushed on on the 19th for Kendadji, but navigation was, if
possible, more difficult than ever. It became almost impossible to
make our way amongst the countless islands impeding the stream and
breaking it up into a confusing number of arms each with rapids of
its own. These islets were all alike clothed with grand vegetation
such as palms, sycamores, and other tropical trees.
The two large boats both struck on the same rock and the _Davoust_
re-opened her old wound. How was it that in spite of this neither of
our vessels sunk and our ranks remained unbroken? Only by a miracle! I
have used that word before, I know, but really it is not too strong
in this case either.
At last, however, after surmounting unheard-of difficulties, getting
through apparently impossible obstacles, and after Digui had executed
many an admirable manœuvre, we arrived opposite Kendadji.
Alas! our troubles were not yet over. The river in front of us was
surging terribly, the bed everywhere encumbered by large flints. Where
could we pass?
Hitherto the natives, whether Tuaregs or negroes, had helped us to the
best of their ability. The orders of Madidu had been strictly obeyed,
and no obstacles whatever had been thrown in our way. But at Kendadji
all was changed. Our guides from Katungu had gone to the village,
having begged us to let them go and palaver before we appeared, and
we were kept waiting all day for the envoy of the chief to listen to
reason, only to be told at last that the people were afraid of us,
for a relation of ours (Captain Toutée) had killed ever so many at
Sinder the year before.
[Illustration: AN ISLAND BETWEEN AYURU AND KENDADJI.]
I did my best to reassure the messenger, and he promised that the
chief himself should come to see us the next day. He did in fact do
so, and at last let us have some guides.
Digui had gone to reconnoitre the rapids further down stream, and
about noon he returned in a great state of agitation. “We must
start at once,” he said, “there was just enough water to float
our boats now, but the river was sinking rapidly, and in an hour it
would perhaps be too late.”
[Illustration: A ROCKY HILL NEAR KENDADJI.]
What a passage it was! We pushed on, actually moored, so to speak,
to an anchor and a grappling-iron, using first one and then the other,
sometimes both according to circumstances. We kept on bumping against
rocks, here, there, and everywhere, but fortunately we were going
too fast to do the boats much harm. Then we had to fling ourselves
into a perfect labyrinth of obstacles, striking against them again
and again, but fortunately without making any fresh holes in our
much-tried barks. Still more rocks ahead! _Quousque tandem!_
At about eleven o’clock on the 22nd we reached Tumaré. The chief at
first refused to give us guides, but a liberal present won him over.
Things seemed likely to be worse rather than better, for we had
not gone more than four and a half miles during the whole of the
23rd. The river was now but a river in name; a mere maze of narrow
channels between innumerable islets covered with fine trees and
millet. The bed of these channels is encumbered with rocks, amongst
which our barges had to follow a serpentine course for which they
were little fitted. At two o’clock we reached the village of Desa,
and the evening was wasted in a palaver without result. A feeling
of sullen hostility against us was everywhere manifested, and the
first question the natives asked was whether we were the same white
men who had come the year before. At last, however, we succeeded in
getting some guides who took us as far as Farca.
Our coolies told us that the crocodiles lay their eggs at this time
of the year, when it always rains and blows hard. On this account
we were obliged to remain anchored opposite Desa all the morning. We
started at two o’clock in the afternoon. What a river we had to pass
down! Before we arrived at the anchorage, where we remained for the
night, we had to go through a pass not much more than five yards wide.
The people of Desa, we were told by the natives above Gao, are
Kurteyes of a very fierce and inhospitable disposition, and, truth to
tell, their first reception of us was anything but cordial. “What
had we come to their village for?” they asked. “Why had we not
stopped at a bigger one?” By dint of the exercise of much patience,
and the use of many soothing arguments, we gradually succeeded in
appeasing them. They gave us an original version of the fight which
had taken place with Captain Toutée the year before. It was not,
according to them, with the Tuaregs that he had fought, but with
the people of Sinder.
All the negroes of the riveraine districts of the Niger wear the
same kind of costume, including the veil, and use the same kind of
weapons as the Tuaregs, which explains the mistake. The Tuaregs had
been awaiting the expedition at Satoni, intending to attack it, but
it had made a _détour_ and avoided them. The Wagobés of Sinder
by order of Bokar Wandieïdu, and also because a sentinel had by
accident killed a nephew of the chief of the village, attacked the
canoes of the Toutée expedition, attributing what they thought was a
retreat to fear. Fifty natives were killed, and the memory of their
fate was still fresh.
About noon the next day we were opposite Satoni, and we anchored the
same evening near the right bank, where we could make out some lofty
dunes on which were perched three villages and a Tuareg encampment.
I had a presentiment that we had now reached a critical and most
perilous moment of our expedition. All the defiance we had recently
met with, and the unwillingness to help us was of bad augury, and
we were, as a matter of fact, _entirely at the mercy of the natives_.
Higher up stream, when the Kel es Suk and the Tademeket wanted
to bar the road against us, the river was free from obstacles,
and they were quite unable to stop us. We could afford to laugh at
their futile efforts. Below Ansongo, too, though the difficulties
of navigation were considerable, we could to some extent count upon
the goodwill of the people, who would, if they were not particularly
ready to serve us, at least remain neutral.
Now, alas! I felt that at any moment the smouldering powder might
explode, for at our approach the women and children hid themselves. To
get guides I had to use every possible means: caresses, presents,
even threats, for without guides we should be utterly lost.
The stream here divides literally into thousands of channels; how
then were we to choose the best one amongst perhaps ten opposite
to us at a time? Then again, in some pass when we are being swept
along in the one finally chosen as the best, the least hesitation,
the smallest slip in steering, and our boat would be lost, staved in,
utterly wrecked. Here and there, too, massive rocks rose on either
side of us, so covered with dense vegetation that twenty men armed
with bows and arrows or spears could easily have made an end of us.
A little after our arrival at Satoni we were hailed from a canoe
containing the son of the chief of Farca, who could not refrain from
showing his satisfaction when he found we were not the same white men
as those who had come the year before. We had scarcely entered into
conversation with him when three Tuaregs also arrived to interview us.
One was a relation of Bokar Wandieïdu, chief of the Logomaten,
another his blacksmith, and the third a young man, the son of El
Mekki, chief of the Kel es Suk of Ansongo.
The situation was becoming interesting. Our throats were parched
with our anxiety. Would peace or war be the issue of the interview?
“Bokar sends you greeting,” began his messenger, “and bids me
inform you that at the news of your approach he collected a troop
of his warriors; the Wagobés of Sinder, the Kourteyes, the Fulahs,
and the Toucouleurs of Amadu Cheiku, have held a palaver with him,
and all of one accord agreed to unite their forces, and bar the road
against you. Some Toucouleurs are now, in fact, with Bokar making
final arrangements.
“Two days ago, however, the young man you see here came to us,
sent by Madidu to order us not merely to do you no harm, but to aid
you if need were. Fear nothing, therefore, no one can speak further
after the Amenokal has spoken. If you flung a dagger up in the air,
saying, ‘That is for Madidu!’ it would not touch the ground
again until it reached his hands.”
I had not then been mistaken; a formidable coalition had been formed
against us, and had it taken action we should, I repeat once more,
have been hopelessly lost. True to his word, worthy son of the
noble race to which he belongs, chief of the most powerful of
the confederations of Nigritia, the Amenokal had interposed his
all-powerful influence on our behalf just at the right moment. I
assert once more, and would have all my fellow-countrymen know it,
that if we ever get home again, if we were the first to go down
the Niger to the sea, and to trace the course of that mighty river,
if we did not leave our skeletons to bleach upon its banks, it was
due to the mighty chief of the Awellimiden, to Madidu Ag el Khotab,
and to him alone.
I do not think I owe such a debt of gratitude as this to any man of
my own race!
His task no sooner accomplished, however, our young friend, the
son of El Mekki, became rather a bore, for he had taken it into his
head to try and convert us to the religion of Islam. Truth to tell,
the reasons he gave for this attempt at proselytism did more honour
to his heart than to his head.
“We know each other now,” he said, “and you are just going
away. We like you, and we think that you like us. We cannot hope
ever to see you again in this life, do not deprive us of the chance
of meeting you once more in another world.
“When we are all dead, we faithful followers of the true faith
will go to enjoy everlasting happiness in Paradise. You, however,
who are good fellows enough, will not be able to cross El Sirat,
the bridge leading to the gardens of Paradise, but will have to go
to Hell, where you will burn eternally, and we shall be able to do
nothing for you but pity you.
“Well then,” he went on, “do not remain in this evil case;
stay amongst us for a time, and you shall be instructed in the
essentials of our faith. We shall thus be enabled to hope to meet
you again in eternity.”
The most amusing part of it all was that Father Hacquart, whose Arab
costume had especially attracted our young visitor, was the chief
victim of the ardent proselytism of the earnest Tuareg believer.
For a missionary to be attacked in this way was really too comic,
and the Father roared with laughter over the incident.
When night fell we had to separate, and our friend left us, quite
melancholy at the failure of all his eloquence.
We arrived at Farca the next morning, the 26th, at about two
o’clock.
The chief of the village, brother of the chief of Sinder, and father
of the young man who had been killed by Captain Toutée’s sentinel,
with a number of other notables, came to see us.
They confirmed all we had already been told; it had really been
with the people of Sinder, not with the Tuaregs, that the preceding
expedition had come to blows.
Bokar had sent instructions to the Wagobés to treat us well, and they
themselves intended to act as our guides. They begged me, however,
not to anchor at the village of Sinder, though I was particularly
anxious to visit that important centre, which is the chief mart for
the vast quantities of cereals cultivated in the neighbourhood.
Farca is an island completely covered with a tropical forest, and
a similar mass of verdure is to be seen on another islet opposite
to it. The village, which had been deserted after the fracas with
Captain Toutée’s people, was just beginning to be rebuilt.
This was the furthest point reached by the expedition which had
preceded ours, and is situated in N. Lat. 14° 29′ and Long. 1°
22′ 55″, thirty kilometres from Sinder, and eight hundred and
sixty from Timbuktu.[9]
The connection between the expeditions which had started from the
coast of Guinea and those which had come from the French Sudan had at
last been achieved, and the Niger had been navigated for its entire
course by Frenchmen.
Below Farca, the stream becomes a little less difficult. We were
followed the day after by a regular fleet of canoes. A nephew of
the chief of Sinder, named Boso, accompanied us. I now felt that,
at least until we came into actual contact with Amadu Cheiku, all
danger from the hostility of the natives was at an end.
The islands dotting the river are inhabited by Kurteyes and
Wagobés, and it is to the latter tribe that the inhabitants of
Sinder belong, not to the Songhay race. Their name clearly indicates
that they are Soninkés, and therefore related to our Saracolais
coolies. Saracolais, Marka, Dafins, etc., are really all mere
local names of the Soninkés. It seems at first surprising that a
race supposed to be native to the districts watered by the Senegal,
should be found so far away from the basin of that river; but later
still, nearer to Say, we came upon another tribe of the same origin,
the Sillabés, on the subject of which there cannot be the slightest
doubt, for they have preserved the language of their ancestors.
[Illustration: FARCA.]
A little above Sinder the bed of the river becomes again encumbered
with rocks, making navigation difficult, at least in the channels
our guides made us choose near the left bank.
My own private opinion is, however, that there was a better channel
nearer the village which these guides managed for us to avoid.
On the evening of the 28th, we came abreast of the huts of Sinder,
and a deputation from the village brought us some provisions. I
expressed my intention of going to see the chief, but I was dissuaded
from doing so on one pretext or another, and when I insisted I was
told—“Well, come if you will, but if you want to please us, you
will not come. We know now that you do not intend to do us any harm,
but the last white man who passed this way killed a lot of people,
and the grief of the mothers and wives of the dead will be renewed
if they see you.”
Whether this excuse was true or not, it seemed to me a very reasonable
one. We had had such an exceedingly narrow escape of a conflict with
the Tuaregs, that I was determined to be extremely prudent. I did
not see Sinder after all, but I console myself with the thought that
at least those who come after us will not suffer from the memory of
anything we did, and will not, through our fault, incur any of the
dangers we escaped.
Below Sinder the river again became such as to make us almost
despair. After having painfully made our way for about a mile, we
found some fresh guides waiting for us. Evidently the natives were
eager to speed the parting guest! “I don’t know however we shall
get through,” said Digui; but we did manage it once more, though
the _Aube_ scraped on a rock without doing herself much harm. In
the course of the whole day we only made about four and a half miles.
Monday the 30th was again a most exciting day. The _Aube_ struck
no less than three times, and the last accident in the Kokoro pass
was a serious one. It really seemed as if our troubles would never
end! The unfortunate barge had three planks of her bottom staved in,
and the water rushed in as if she were made of wicker-work.
[Illustration: OUR SINDER GUIDES.]
The scenery on the banks was grand; big villages alternating with
great plantations of millet. All the islands have a coating of
extremely fertile vegetable mould, unwholesome enough in itself,
but which the natives have known how to turn to account.
At our anchorage we found our old friend the blacksmith of Bokar
Wandieïdu, whose master himself it appears had wished to see us,
and had waited for us until the day before. Amadu had made one last
effort to turn him against us, and had sent couriers to him to urge
him to attack us, but Bokar had replied by quoting the orders of
Madidu, saying that all he had to do was to obey them.
The morning of the 31st began by the _Aube_ striking again, but
after that the river became quite perfect. It had never been so good
anywhere before, and nothing impeded its course but a few low rocks,
which were just enough to relieve the monotony of the voyage.
This was not of course likely to last, and very soon impediments
again became numerous. It was now the turn of the _Davoust_ to fling
herself upon a pointed rock, escaping by a hair’s-breadth from
serious damage. We passed the big villages, or rather the collections
of villages known as Malo, containing perhaps as many as 10,000
inhabitants, and we halted for the night a little above Azemay,
opposite to a difficult pass, which would have to be reconnoitred
before we could attempt it. We had made 15½ miles!—a very good day!
At our anchorage we met a man named Osman, from Say, who had come,
he told us, to see one of his relations, but being uneasy as to our
intentions with regard to Amadu, he begged us to give him passage
on board one of our boats.
The heat was now becoming most oppressive, and to remain stationary
for a whole day looking at the white sheets of our hydrographical
survey, not to speak of all the anxieties of our position, was really
a very hard task. We consoled ourselves, however, by thinking of
the rest we should get at Say. I did not, however, entirely share
the confidence of my companions, especially of Dr. Taburet, who,
always optimistic, indulged in visions of calabashes full of milk,
piles of eggs and other luxuries, building culinary castles in the
air. Hitherto, whenever we had hoped for a friendly reception we
had always been disappointed, and when we feared hostility from the
natives, we had generally been kindly welcomed. The remembrance of
Sinder proves that this was the case with others. Captain Toutée
says that he was hailed as a liberator there, whilst we barely
escaped ending our lives and expedition alike at that fatal spot.
On April 1 we reached Sansan-Haussa about two o’clock. It is a very
large village, but we were disappointed in it, for we had expected
to find it encircled by a _tata_ or earthen wall, its name of Sansan
meaning a fortified enceinte. Now there is an enceinte, it is true,
but it is made of straw! all the houses are also constructed of
straw. To make up for this, the granaries for storing the millet are
really beautiful. We anchored opposite the market-place, where the
market, it appeared, was to be held the very next day. The chief of
the village came to see us. He was a Kurteye, and told us he would
send a guide with us to the chief of his tribe at Sorbo, a little
further down stream.
After a night during which, for a wonder, our rest was not disturbed
by the noise of roaring rapids, we went over and anchored opposite
the left bank near the village itself. We were quickly surrounded by
a crowd of men, women, and children, all alike showing a confidence in
us to which we had long been unaccustomed. Those who were ill flocked
to Taburet, and dealers in iron and ostrich feathers hastened to
offer us their wares. The feathers we found to be relatively dear,
a complete set being worth 250,000 cowries, or nearly three pounds
sterling. A caravan, we were told, had lately arrived from Rhât,
which had greatly raised the value. A little boy from Rhât, of about
twelve years old, came to see us, and had a long chat with Father
Hacquart. He had a _gris-gris_ or charm made for us by a marabout
belonging to his caravan, to protect us from the rapids we still
had to encounter.
For the first time since we left Gao we met with the valuable
kola nuts so much appreciated by the negroes, and I gave my people
the greatest possible pleasure by distributing quantities of this
delicacy amongst them. Each nut is worth some 150 cowries, or about
three-halfpence.
Here, as the reader will have noticed, we begin to talk about cowries
again. I have already said that these little univalve shells of the
African coast are the usual currency from the source of the Niger
to Timbuktu.
[Illustration: AT SANSAN-HAUSSA.]
We went with Father Hacquart to return the visit the chief of the
village had paid us the evening before. He did not seem to wish
us to remain long in his country. He was afraid, he said. Why? we
asked. It was evident that the Toucouleurs, of whom there were a
good many in the village, had prejudiced him against us.
Two people came and asked us to give them a passage, one a Fulah
named Mamadu of Mumi in Massina, who had been here for nine years
unable to get away. We were to have a good deal to do with him during
our stay at Say.
The other was a Toucouleur named Suleyman, who spoke Wolof, and had
followed Amadu Cheiku in his exodus from Nioro to Dunga. He was a poor
deaf old man, but had a very intelligent face. He told us that the
whole recompense Amadu had given him for his long and faithful service
was to take away his gun, his only wealth, to give it to one of his
sofas or captives taken in war. This last misfortune had disgusted
Suleyman with the Holy War, in which he said more blows than pay were
received, and he wanted to go back with us to his own land of Footah
on the Senegal, the reigning chief of which was a relation of his.
He did not know what we had come here for. He did not know what
route we meant to take on our way back, and surely nothing could
have been a greater mark of confidence in us than this readiness of
one of our worst enemies to trust himself to us.
At first I rather distrusted the man, who might be a spy, or worse,
a traitor sent to try and seduce my men from their duty. However,
whilst resolving to watch him closely, I decided to take him with us,
but I gave him a good talking to to begin with, saying—“I don’t
know whether you are a liar or an honest fellow, but most of your
relations are deceivers and humbugs, and it is no recommendation in
my eyes that you belong to the Toucouleur race. However, I will not
be unjust, for I may be mistaken about you. So you can come with us,
and you will be treated as if you were one of my own men. If we have
plenty you shall have your share, and if we run short of food you will
have to tighten your waistband like the rest of us. But deceive us
once, only once, and your head will not remain on your shoulders for
a moment. You are warned, please yourself about going or stopping.”
I must add here that Suleyman, the Toucouleur, or, as he was at once
called amongst us, Suleyman Foutanké, was always true to us. I
took him with me to Saint Louis, and he is now enjoying in his
natal village a repose which must indeed be grateful to him after
his thirty years’ wanderings.
We started again at two o’clock in the afternoon, and in the
evening we halted for the night not far from Sorbo, where we were
to see the chief of the Kurteyes.
We went to see him the next day, and passed the morning at Sorba. We
were very well received by Yusuf Osman. Don’t tell him that I have
revealed his name to the public, for amongst the Kurteyes it is very
bad form to call any one by his name. I have noticed that there is
a similar superstition in the Bambara districts of the Upper Niger.
Yusuf is a big, good-looking fellow of about forty years of age, who
has recently succeeded his father as chief. When we arrived he was
suffering from some affection of the eyes. Taburet prescribed for and
cured him, thus contributing to establishing us in his good graces.
The former chief of Sorba had been a great friend of Amadu, and had
given him canoes for crossing the river. If therefore the Toucouleurs
had succeeded in establishing their authority in the districts torn
from the Djermas of Karma and Dunga, it was in some measure due
to him.
Yusuf, however, did not disguise that he was becoming rather uneasy
about the future, and as far as was possible without compromising
himself he had tried to be useful to us. If ever we succeed, as
I hope we shall, in driving Amadu from the neighbourhood of Say,
we shall certainly find auxiliaries in the Kurteyes.
Yusuf gave us as a guide to take us to Say, a man named Hugo, chief
of his own slaves, a capital fellow, and an excellent pilot. Needless
to add that we all at once dubbed him Victor in honour of the great
French author.
Relieved on the point about which I had been so anxious, the securing
of a guide to take us to Say, we went down to the village of Kutukole,
and anchored near it for the night, the river between it and Sarbo
being quite easy to navigate.
On the 3rd we passed Karma, and were now amongst the Toucouleurs. On
every side our approach was announced by the lighting of fires,
and the beating of the _tabala_ or war-drum. A group of horsemen
followed us along the bank, watching us closely, but now the stream
was quite quiet, only one more rapid, that of Bobo, had to be crossed,
and that we left behind us the same evening. All we had to do was
to steer carefully clear of the few rocks which still impeded the
course of the river.
Bobo, opposite to which we passed the night, is, like Karma, under
the direct authority of Ali Buri, that venerable Wolof chieftain,
who, driven out of Cayor by the French, went to seek an asylum at
Nioro near Amadu, whose fortunes he followed. Captain Toutée was
mistaken in thinking that Ali Buri had been killed in the attack on
his expedition at Kompa. He was still alive, unfortunately for us, and
we were told was now in the Sorgoé district near the country of the
Kel Gheres, where he busied himself in winning partisans for Amadu.
On the right bank opposite our anchorage, Bokar Wandieïdu had
fought the year before with the Futankes, and had inflicted on them
a serious defeat. More than two hundred of Amadu’s warriors are
still prisoners in the hands of the Tuareg chief. Unfortunately,
however, after the Sinder affair, the chief of Say succeeded in
reconciling the enemies, and, as we have seen, the truce between
them was brought about at the expense of the French.
The 5th of April was Easter Sunday, and Father Hacquart celebrated
mass as we slipped easily down stream through charming scenery,
preceded by Hugo in his canoe acting as guide. We passed several
big villages belonging to the chiefs under Amadu, and anchored
opposite Saga.
[Illustration: THE BOBO RAPIDS.]
To-morrow we should pass Dunga where Amadu himself lived, and I
determined that our boats should look their best, so I had everything
put ship-shape on board. Our masts, which had been lowered, as they
gave too much purchase to the wind, were raised again, and from
them floated the tricolour flag of France. We were off again now in
fine style.
Our friend Hugo, however, was no friend to demonstrations of any
kind, and said to us, “What are you going to do on the left
bank? Can’t you follow me on the right where there is nothing
to fear? It won’t help your voyage much to be received with
musket-shots, will it? Besides, if you don’t follow me carefully,
who will guide you amongst the rocks?”
He had told us the evening before that there were no rocks between
Dunga and Say, so we let him go down his right bank all alone,
whilst we filed past Dunga, about a hundred yards from the land.
A group of some twenty horsemen had been following us ever since
the morning, and they halted at the landing-place of the village,
unsaddled their steeds and let them drink. On a height on which the
village is perched a square battalion of something like a thousand
warriors was drawn up.
All remained perfectly still, and not a cry or threat broke the
silence. We passed very slowly, our barges swept on by the current,
whilst we on deck looked about us proudly. Our enemies on their
side acquitted themselves bravely, and with considerable dignity,
though it must be confessed they reminded us rather of china dogs
glaring at each other.
When all is said and done, however, I think I may claim the credit
of having fairly challenged the Toucouleurs, leaving them to take
up my glove or to leave it alone as they chose. This may have seemed
like bravado, and perhaps there was a little of that in my attitude,
but as an old warrior of the Sudan myself, and a fellow-worker though
a humble one of the Gallieni and the Archinards, I would rather have
run any risk than have had our historic enemies the Toucouleurs think
I was afraid of them. The tone I took up too gave us an ascendency
later which we sorely needed.
After going about twenty-two miles further down the river, we
anchored near enough to Say to make out the trees surrounding it,
and the next day we reached the town itself, which had for so long
been the object of our desires.
Say is a comparatively big place, but not nearly as important as it
is often made out to be. It is made up of straw huts with pointed
roofs, and is surrounded by palisades also of straw. Only one house
is built of mud, and that forms the entrance sacred to the chief.
The river flows on the east of the town, and on the west is a
low-lying tract of what are meadows in the dry season, but mere
swamps in the winter.
We anchored at once, but the stench from the rubbish on the banks of
the river was so great that we soon moved to the southern extremity
of the village, where the shore was cleaner.
Our passengers meanwhile had gone to announce our arrival, and old
Abdu, who is in command of the prisoners of the chief of Say, soon
came to see us. Baud and Vermesch had had some dealings with him,
and had spoken well of him to us, while Monteil also alludes to
him. He seemed a very worthy sort of fellow.
After the customary exchange of compliments, I asked to be permitted
to pay a visit to his master, Amadu Saturu, generally known under the
name of Modibo, or the savant, and Abdu went off to make my request
known at once, but we waited and waited a very long time before any
answer was vouchsafed.
We were simply consumed with impatience, and I augured ill from the
delay. I remembered of course that Modibo had signed treaty after
treaty with Baud, Decœur, and Toutée, only I could not help also
remembering how little a diplomatic document such as a so-called
treaty really ever binds a negro, and that made me hesitate to
trust him.
Most Mussulmans, at least most of the Mahommedan chiefs and marabouts,
are liars and deceivers. They have a hundred ways, not to speak
of mental reservation, of swearing by the Koran, without feeling
themselves bound by their oath. If they respected a promise given as
they ought to do, would their prophet have taught that four days’
fasting expiated the violation of an oath?
If they cheat like this when they know what they are about, how are
they likely to behave when everything is strange to them? and they
attach no moral value to the terms of an agreement, especially of
an agreement of many clauses such as is the fashion for the French
to make with native chiefs.
To pass the time whilst waiting for the return of our messenger we
chatted with a Kurteye marabout, who came to give us a greeting. He
read Madidu’s letter with some difficulty, but great interest. I
asked him whether Modibo generally kept his visitors waiting like
this, and he replied, “Yes, it makes him seem more important,
but you will see him when it gets cooler.”
So we waited with what patience we could, and at about five o’clock
Amadu Saturu sent for me. Oh, what a series of preliminaries we
still had to go through!
According to my usual custom I went to see the chief unarmed,
accompanied only by Suleyman and Tierno Abdulaye.
First we had to wait in the ante-chamber—I mean the mud hut
referred to above—the walls of which were pierced with niches
making it look like a pigeon-cote.
At last his majesty condescended to admit us to his presence.
The king of Say could not be called handsome, sympathetic, or
clean. He was a big, blear-eyed man, with a furtive expression, a
regular typical fat negro. He was crouching rather than sitting on
a bed of palm-leaves, wearing a native costume, the original colour
of which it was impossible to tell, so coated was it with filth. He
was surrounded by some thirty armed men. On his left stood the chief
of the captives, Abdu, with an old dried-up looking man, who I was
told was the cadi of the village, and, to my great and disagreeable
surprise, quite a large number of Toucouleurs. Suleyman and Abdulaye,
who recognized what this meant, exchanged anxious glances with me. I
now realized that my apprehensions had been well founded. Still I
took my seat quietly, without betraying any emotion, on a wooden
mortar, and begun my speech.
[Illustration: VIEW OF SAY.]
“The Sultan of the French greets you, the chief of the Sudan
greets you, etc. We come from Timbuktu. We passed peacefully
everywhere. We are now tired, the river is low, and in conformity
with the conventions you have made with the French we have come to
demand your hospitality that we may rest and repair the damage done
to our boats by the rocks. We also want a courier to go and tell our
relations at Bandiagara that we have arrived here safely. All we need
to support us during our stay will be paid for at prices agreed on
beforehand between us. Lastly, I wish to go and see Ibrahim Galadjo,
your friend and ours.”
“Impossible,” replied Modibo. “Galadjo is not now at his
capital, he is collecting a column; besides, you will not have time
for the journey to him.”
“Why not, pray?”
“Because you, like those who have preceded you, must not stop
here more than four or five days longer. That is the custom of
the country.”
If I still cherished any illusions this speech finally dispersed
them. The groups about the chief moreover left me in no doubt
as to his sentiments, or as to whom we had to thank for those
sentiments. The Toucouleurs grinned, and waved their muskets above
their heads in a hostile manner. Abdu alone tried to speak on our
behalf, but Modibo ordered him to be silent, and the cadi joined in
the chorus against us. A griot then began a song, the few words of
which I caught were certainly not in our praise. Everything seemed
to be going wrong.
What was I to do? As I had said, we were all tired out, the river was
half dried up, the boats were terribly knocked about. Still it was
not altogether impossible to go, for after leading the life of the
Wandering Jew for so long, a little more or less travelling could
not matter much. We might perhaps have managed to do another fifty
miles or so, and try to find rest in a more hospitable district,
where we could pass the rainy season not so very far from Bussa,
which was to be our final goal.
One thing decided me to act as I did, and I can at least claim that
I made up my mind quickly. I was determined to fulfil to the letter,
with true military obedience, the last instructions I had received
before starting. These were my instructions—
“Bamako de Saint-Louis, Number 5074. Received on November 23, at
half-past four in the afternoon—_Will arrange for you to receive
supplementary instructions at Say. In case unforeseen circumstances
prevent those instructions being there before your arrival, wait
for them._”
This, as will be observed, is clear and precise enough. Of course
such orders would not have been sent but for the ignorance in France
of the state of things at Say. They would otherwise have been simply
ridiculous. However, an order cannot be considered binding unless he
who gives that order understands exactly what will be the position
when he receives it, of the person to whom it is sent, and who is
expected to execute it.
Still those instructions might arrive; rarely had such a thing
happened in French colonial policy, but it was just possible that
our presence at Say was part of a plan of operations at the mouth of
the Niger or in Dahomey. I need hardly add that it turned out not to
be so, but I was quite justified in my idea that it might have been,
and in any case I had no right to conclude to the contrary.
So I decided in spite of everything and everybody to remain.
Oh, if we had but started a little earlier; if M. Grodet had not
stopped us and kept us in the Sudan as he did! If we could but have
joined the Decœur-Baud, or even the Toutée expedition at Say,
how different everything would have been!
If only the promised instructions had really been sent us, as they
could have been, had any one wanted to send them! If only a small
column either from Dahomey or from Bandiagara had, as it might so
easily have been, commissioned to bring us those instructions, I am
convinced that Amadu Saturu would at this moment be a fugitive like
Amadu Cheiku, and that the Niger districts near Say would be purged
from the presence of slave-dealers. For all these robbers of men,
who are as cowardly as they are cruel and dishonest, would have fled
at the first rumour of an advance of the French upon their haunts.
It ought to have been otherwise, that is all. It is not the time for
recrimination, but I shall count myself fortunate if what happened
to me serves as an example to others, and prevents the sending out of
expeditions only to abandon them to their fate, without instructions,
in the heart of Africa. For, as a rule, these expeditions seem
to be completely forgotten until the news arrives that they have
managed to get back to civilized districts after a struggle more
glorious than fruitful of results, or that, as sometimes happens,
all the white men have perished somewhere amongst the blacks.
To decide to remain at Say was, however, one thing, to be able to
do so was another.
There were just twenty-nine of us, five white men and twenty-four
black, with three children, the servants of Bluzet, Father Hacquart
and Taburet, and the Toucouleur Suleyman, on whom, by the way, we
did not feel we could altogether rely, a small party truly against
the 500 warriors of Amadu and his Toucouleurs or Foutankés, as they
are often called, not to speak of the people of Say and all who were
more or less dependent on Modibo.
I sometimes play, as no doubt my readers do too, at the game called
poker.
We all know that skill consists in making your adversary believe when
you have a bad hand that you have a very good one. This is what is
known as bluff. To make up for my purse having sometimes suffered
in this American game, it put me up to a dodge or two in politics,
notably on the present occasion.
[Illustration: CANOES AT SAY.]
So I played poker as energetically as I could.
If ever a man went to his dinner after listening to a lot of nonsense,
it was Modibo on this 7th of April when I had my interview with him.
I said amongst other things—“I have lived amongst the negroes
now for seven years; I know the river which flows past your village
from the spot where it comes from the ground. I have been in many
countries. I have known Amadu Cheiku, who is a great liar” (here
the Toucouleurs all nodded their heads in acquiescence), “and his
son Madani, who is no better than he is.
“I must, however, confess that never, in the course of my
experience, have I seen anything to equal what I see here to-day.
“Relations of ours have been here, some alone, others with soldiers,
all of whom have loaded you with presents. You promised, nay more,
you made alliance with us French, but now you break your word. Very
well! My Sultan, who is a true Sultan and not a bad chief like you,
who lolls about in a dirty hut on a moth-eaten coverlid, has done
you too much honour. You are viler than the unclean animals whose
flesh your prophet forbids you to eat. Now listen to me. My chief has
ordered me to stop here, and here I shall stop, a day if I choose,
a year if I choose, ten years if I choose. We are only thirty, and
you are as numerous as the grains of sand of the desert; but try and
drive us away if you can. I do not mean to begin making war, because
my chief has forbidden me to do so; you will have to begin, and you
will see what will happen. We have God on our side, who punishes
perjurers. He is enough for me; I am not afraid of you. Adieu! We
are going to seek a place for our camp where there are none but
the beasts of the field, for in this country they are better than
the men. Collect your column and come and drive us away!—that is
to say, if you can!”
Suleyman was a first-rate interpreter when he had this sort of
harangue to translate. The good fellow, who was of anything but a
conciliatory disposition, would drop out all flattering expressions
or cut them very short, but when he had such a task as I had set him
just now, he went at it with hearty goodwill. He was more likely to
add to than to omit anything I had said.
After this vehement address Modibo and his attendants seemed quite
dumfounded. What _grisgris_, what fetiches must these infidels,
these accursed white men have, if they could dare to speak in such a
bold fashion as this when they were alone in a strange country with
not more than thirty muskets at the most.
It was very important not to give our unfriendly host time to recover
from his stupor. We filed out therefore in truly British style,
and I think we did well not to loiter. It was not without a certain
satisfaction that after traversing the two or three hundred yards
between us and the river I saw our flags floating above our boats.
Imagine, however, the feelings of my people when I burst in upon
their preparations for a meal in the tents already pitched, with
the order, “Pick all that up, and be on your guard, ready to be
off at any moment.”
Farewell to our good cheer, farewell to what we thought was to be a
safe and comfortable camp. We had to place sentinels and be constantly
on the alert. Our coolies, too, who had already made advances to
some of the belles of Say, were bitterly disappointed, but we had no
choice, and they had to fall in with our wishes or rather commands,
that all intercourse with the natives should be broken off.
The next night we had to be all eyes and ears, and I at least did not
sleep a wink, so absorbed was I in thinking what had better be done. I
was determined to remain at Say at whatever cost, and it struck me
that the best plan would be to lead a kind of aquatic life, enlarging
the decks of our boats, so to speak, which really were rather too
small for us and our goods. An island would be the thing for us. So
we resolved that we would go and look for a suitable one the next day.
On the morning of the 8th, Abdu tried to bring about a reconciliation,
but the poor devil only wasted his time and his breath. He was the
only man at Say who in his heart of hearts had the least real sympathy
for us, and he gave ample proof of this, for he never took any part
in the intrigues against us, which were the worry of our lives for
five months and a half. We never saw him again; he never came to beg
for a present like the false and covetous marabouts who form the sham
court of his chief. In a word, the slave was superior to his master.
At noon on the 8th, mentally calling down on Say all the maledictions
she deserved for disappointing all our hopes, I gave the word of
command to weigh anchor, and once more we were being carried along
by the waters of the Niger.
[Illustration: OUR GUIDES’ CANOE.]
[Illustration: THE ‘AUBE’ AT FORT ARCHINARD.]