FROM SAY TO BUSSA
Below Fort Archinard the river divides into a number of arms;
the islands formed by them as well as the banks of the river were
deserted, but clothed with lofty trees, such as baobabs, palms,
and other tropical growths.
Although the water was now pretty well at its maximum height,
a good many scarcely-covered rocks impeded its bed, and rapids
were numerous. Of little danger to us, for we had seen worse, and
safely passed them, but bad enough to make navigation impossible to
a steamer.
On September 16, at about seven o’clock in the morning, we passed
a little encampment on the left bank, consisting of one hut, and
some millet granaries. I imagine this to have been the landing-place
for Kibtachi, for at half-past five in the afternoon we found we had
made some forty-four miles since we started, so we must have passed
the village without seeing it. I was sorry not to have been able
to visit the mines of bracelets and rings, probably of cornelian,
of which the natives had told me, but at the same time I did not
altogether regret having avoided coming into contact, just before
entering Dendi, with tribes then at war with its people.
The next day, the 17th, the river still wound in much the same way
as on the 16th; in fact, so serpentine was its course, that one of
the coolies cried out he did not believe we were on the Niger still,
but that we had lost our way. Numerous islands and dense vegetation,
with very picturesque views here and there, were the order of the
day. Great blocks of red sandstone rose in some places to a height
of from about thirty to more than three hundred feet, and at every
bend of the stream some new or strange view met our eyes.
We longed to land and seek repose beneath the thick dome of vegetation
forming natural arbours, but there was one great drawback about
them, the immense number of insects eager to suck our blood. At
night the mosquitoes invaded us in vast hordes, and our poor coolies
used to roll themselves up in everything they could lay hands on,
at the risk of suffocation. As for us, we too suffered terribly,
for though when we were asleep our mosquito nets did to some extent
protect us, when we were on watch on deck we were nearly bled to
death. In the day these pests left us pretty well unmolested, but
their place was taken by other persecutors, rather like gadflies,
which were able to pierce through our white clothes with a sting
as sharp and nearly as long as a needle. I had suffered terribly
once before from these horrible diptera when I was on the Tankisso;
in fact they haunt the tropical vegetation of many an African river.
Since we started we had been each day threatened with a tornado,
but the storm had not broken after all. On the 18th, however, we
came in for the tail of one of these meteorological disturbances,
and a pretty strong breeze lasted until eleven o’clock so that we
were not able to start before that time.
The appearance of the country now began to change. Yesterday I had
been reminded by the rocky islets and the wooded banks, of the Niger
near Bamako; to-day the stream flows sluggishly through a low plain
covered with woods such as those of Massina between Mopti and Debo. A
few rocks still occurred to keep up the character of the scenery, so
to speak, and about three o’clock in the afternoon we were opposite
the site of the village of Gumba, destroyed the year before by the
Toucouleurs. We saw a canoe in which were some fishermen, so we hailed
them and they approached us without fear. They were inhabitants of
Kompa, they said, come here to fish, and were the first human beings
we had seen since we left Say. We had passed not only Kibtachi but
Bikini without meeting any one. The result of the constant terrorism
caused by slave raids, is that all the villagers remain quietly at
home cultivating a few acres only, and living in perpetual fear of
being carried away from their huts. They altogether neglect the
natural riches of the soil formed by the frequent inundations,
which leave new layers of vegetable mould. The baobabs and other
wild trees alone profit by it, increasing and multiplying continually.
[Illustration: ROCKY BANKS ABOVE KOMPA.]
We soon became capital friends with the people of Kompa. They
had heard of our stay at Say, and had impatiently awaited our
arrival. Neither were they ignorant of the fact that we had driven the
Foutankés from the western Sudan, and they hoped we meant to do the
same in Dendi. “Look,” one of the fishermen said to me. “A year
ago the whole of this district was dotted with villages, now there is
not one left but Kompa, for the Foutanis have destroyed everything.”
The canoe now went to Kompa to announce our arrival, but one of the
rowers remained with us to act as our guide. He answered to the name,
a tragic one to us, of Labezenga. As we went along he gave me some
interesting details about the brother of Serki Kebbi, who was now
in Dendi, and had been at Kompa itself for the last few days. He had
had a quarrel with his brother, and came to take up his abode on the
banks of the Niger, but in spite of the strained relations between
them, the two were not exactly at war, and in case of an emergency
would act together against the common enemy.
At half-past five we came in sight of a few Fulah huts, which belonged
to the abandoned village of Bubodji. The inhabitants had made common
cause with Amadu and the people of Say, and gone to join them. The
wood of these huts would do nicely to cook our dinner by, so I gave
the order for mooring. We steered for the mouth of a little creek,
where we could easily land. All of a sudden, however, there was
a shout of “Digui! what is that?—we are among the rocks!” In
fact, all around us the water was ruffled with those peculiar ripples
which I used to call moustaches, and which we knew all too well. A
strong current was sweeping along, and we expected every moment that
our boats would strike and be staved in. How was it that it did not
happen? Digui’s features became of the ashy hue peculiar to negroes
when they lose their natural colour; he, too, was evidently alarmed,
but all of a sudden he burst out laughing. “Fish! Commandant,”
he cried, “fish! nothing but fish!” He was right, the ripples
were caused by big fishes, a kind of pike, native to the Niger,
swimming against the current after their prey. There were simply
hundreds of them.
[Illustration: A FOREST ON THE BANKS OF THE NIGER.]
We tried to avenge ourselves for our fright by doing a little fishing
with petards of gun-cotton, but it was no good, the water was too
deep, ninety or a hundred feet at least, and we had our trouble and
wasted our gun-cotton for nothing.
At ten o’clock on the 19th we went up a little arm of the river,
really merely an inundated channel, which brought us near the village
of Kompa, and at one o’clock we received a visit from some envoys of
the chief, who bid us welcome, and sent us three sheep. These men had
not the crafty and false expressions of the people of Say, or of the
Fulahs. They were fine-looking fellows, though rather wild, wearing
turbans adorned with numerous _grisgris_, or a kind of cap, common on
the Niger as far as Bussa, and rather like those worn by the eunuchs
in the _Bourgeois Gentilhomme_. I did not conceal from them that
we had been badly received at Say, and told them that their enemies
the Foutanis were also ours. That broke the ice very satisfactorily,
and I arranged to go and see the chief in the afternoon.
I went with Bluzet about four o’clock. We crossed an inundated
track, where we took a good many foot-baths in the bogs.
We found Kompa surrounded by a wall and a little moat, a kind of
defence we met with in all the villages of these parts, as far as
Burgu. Here, however, wall and moat alike were in a bad state of
preservation. Two trees served as drawbridge. Inside the _enceinte_
were numerous mud-huts with pointed thatched roofs, reminding us of
the homes of the Malinkes at Kita. The chief received us in a big
hut with three entrances forming the vestibule of his house.
He was a little old man, half-blind, but with an expression
alike benevolent and cunning. All the time he was talking to us
he was plaiting straw for mats, and so were the various notables
surrounding him. All the men of the country were constantly employed
making these mats, and even go on working at them as they walk
along, reminding us of the old women at home with their perpetual
stocking-knitting. I reminded the chief of the danger his village
was in from the Foutanis, and told him that Dendi, Kebbi, and Djerma
ought to combine against the invaders; in fact, even pass from the
defensive to the offensive. I also asked for guides to take me to
the chief of Dendi, to whom I wished to say the same things, and
to talk to on other matters, and I begged him to send us as many of
his people as he could to be present at our palaver. I also wanted
to see the brother of Serki Kebbi.
[Illustration: THE BANKS OF THE NIGER NEAR KOMPA.]
Everything I asked was promised at once, and we were just about to
return to the boats when we were overtaken by the rain. I had had
the presents for the chief and his people got ready beforehand, and
they were now brought to us. We were allowed to take refuge from the
storm in the chief’s private apartments, but they were very soon
invaded by a crowd, the people vieing with each other in trying to
find something to give us pleasure; one offering a chicken, another
some eggs, and so on, every one bringing out some little present,
evidently offered with the best intentions.
We, on our part, distributed our merchandise, from which, however,
the old chief deducted a tithe. It was a most amusing scene, for he
could hardly see in the semi-obscurity of the hut, and so every one
tried to slip off with his portion without paying toll, but he took
up his position at the door, and all who went out were searched in
the style of the Belgian custom-house officers. Then the cunning
old fellow, with many a grimace, persuaded the owners to give up
part of their riches with an apparently good grace. Sometimes he
gave back what he had taken, praising up the beauty and the value
of the beads or stuffs he did not fancy, but taking care to hide
behind him all he really wanted, nodding his head all the time to
emphasize his pretended admiration of the things he let those he
had despoiled retain.
We had on board with us a dog and a cat, which, after a long series of
hostilities, had ended by becoming the best friends in the world. But
when the cat had managed to run off with a bit of meat, it was worth
something to see the advances made to him by his friend the dog,
who was bent on taking it away. The cat would begin by putting his
paw on the meat, looking angry and showing his claws. The dog would
then assume a plaintive air, giving vent to low moans of assumed
distress, and advancing gradually upon the cat, who was watching his
every movement, would at last completely hypnotize him. This done,
he would pounce with a yelp upon the coveted morsel and dash off
with it. He was just like the chief of Kompa.
The rain over, we returned on board, followed by an immense number of
our new friends. The nephew of the chief of Tendu—who, I was told,
was really paramount throughout Dendi—accompanied us, as well as the
chief of the captives of the chief of Kompa. The last-named carried
a gun, the only one in the village, of which he was very proud, but
the hammer having long since been destroyed, the charge had to be
set fire to with a wick. The owner of this gun pointed out the spot
from which, aided by Ibrahim Galadio, the Toucouleurs had attacked
Kompa. He also showed me a big shield of ox-hide, behind which the
besieged had tried to take shelter, and which was riddled by the
Toucouleur bullets. In spite, however, of the superiority of their
weapons, the Foutanis had been driven back with great slaughter, a
fact very creditable to the courage of the people of Dendi. It will,
in my opinion, be with the aid of this race, little civilized, it
is true, but not yet infected with the intolerance and fanaticism
of the Mussulmans, that we shall be able to pacify the valley of
the Niger by driving away the Toucouleurs first, as with the help
of the Bambaras we have restored tranquillity in the French Sudan.
On the 20th we went on to Goruberi, where lives the brother of
Serki Kebbi. We cast anchor some little distance from the village,
at the entrance to a creek too narrow for our boats to go up, and
the chief came to visit us.
He was a tall, strong-looking young fellow, and would have been
handsome but for being disfigured, as is the horrible custom amongst
the Haussas of Kebbi, with deep scars from the temples to the chin,
long incisions having been made in his face with a sharp knife when
he was a child.
I at once began to talk about the intentions of his brother, and to
preach the crusade I never cease to urge against the Toucouleurs
and the people of Sokoto. The answer in this case pleased me
particularly. His brother, said the chief, was suspicious of him,
charging him with an ambition that he did not entertain. They
had been obliged to part, and he for his part had come to live at
Gorubi. They were not, however, enemies, and if Serki were to send
for him to-morrow, he should start at once to join him. He could
promise me that he would repeat all I said to his brother.
We then talked about the Monteil expedition, and dwelt on the troubles
its leader encountered at Argungu before he had succeeded in making a
treaty with Kebbi. He was very well remembered, and Serki must have
been the child whose terrible wound he had cured, and whose death
afterwards had been falsely reported to him. Another untrue piece of
news had been given to him at Burnu, for Agungu had not been taken,
but had repulsed his enemies with very great loss to them. Namantugu
Mame, the brother of Ibrahim, alluded to by Monteil in his narrative,
was, however, killed in the fight. My visitor assured me once more
that Kebbi considered himself the ally of the French, and would be
very happy to see the fellow-countrymen of one who had left such
pleasant memories behind him.
I must pause a moment here to dwell on this important fact, which
justifies our resistance of English greed. No one could possibly
deny that the French were guilty of a great piece of stupidity when
they accepted the convention of 1890. Above their last factory on
the Lower Niger the English had no better-founded pretensions than
we to the protectorate of the natives peopling a problematical
Hinterland. But however that may be, the thing is done now. Yet
once again our geographical incapacity, our interference in African
affairs, has permitted our rivals to mock us with assertions which
a little less ignorance on our part would have enabled us to refute.
Sir Edward Malet spoke of the Falls of Burrum; it would have been
quite enough to open Barth’s narrative to answer that these Falls
were non-existent. Reading the narrative of the German traveller might
also have taught us that when he passed through, _a descendant of the
ancient chiefs of the country was maintaining an independent position
in Argungu_, and the account of his perilous journey from Sokoto to
the banks of the Niger would have shown how very precarious was the
influence exercised by the Emir of Sokoto on the countries through
which he passed. Since 1890, when the Anglo-Franco treaty was signed,
that authority has continued to decrease. Kebbi, Mauri, Djerma,
and Dendi would very soon have got the better of their oppressors if
they had always worked together. However that may be, they have at
least now regained independence, and we French are the only European
people who have made any conventions with them. Strickly speaking,
the treaty signed by Monteil with Kebbi would be enough.
It is therefore no longer at Say, as the English pretend, that the
limit of French influence is reached. The line of demarcation,
according to the spirit as well as the letter of the treaty of
1890, ought to leave us the four provinces I have just named. We
are again about to abandon our rights won at the price of so much
trouble and fatigue. Better still, are we going to leave Sokoto
(strong through the weapons supplied by the English), after spreading
fire and destruction everywhere, to reduce to captivity and slavery
the peaceful but courageous swarms of population, capable as those
populations are of achieving prosperity under the paternal authority
of the French, so different from the commercial control aimed at by
our rivals?
Lord Salisbury, in the English Parliament, said scoffingly that
they had left nothing for the Gallic cock to do but to scratch up
the sand. Let us at least reclaim that sand, and if we can find
a little corner of fertile land which the diplomacy of that time
forgot to abandon, shall we let the diplomacy of to-day generously
hand that also over to our neighbours? Or will our diplomatists,
eager to avenge the insult put upon us, reply, “You deceived us by
false affirmations, we were stupid enough to have confidence enough
in your good faith without any preliminaries to assure us of it,
we are willing to bear with the results of our own simplicity, but
it has been a good lesson, and we forbid you to attempt to give us
another like it”?
I remember an Arab saying, which well applies to the circumstances
under discussion: “If my enemy deceives me once, may God curse him;
if he deceives me twice, may God curse us both; but if he deceives
me three times, may God curse me only.”
After having chatted for a few hours with the notables of Goruberi,
distributed some presents, and hoisted a flag, we went to pass the
night opposite Karimama or Karma, a very strong and densely-populated
village which is at war with the rest of Dendi. It was the people
of this place, who, by calling in the Toucouleurs, had caused all
the misery, which had lasted more than a year, to the natives of
the banks of the Niger in Dendi. The brother of the chief of Tenda
advised me to bombard Karma, and but for the pacific character
of my expedition, which I was so extremely anxious to maintain,
I would willingly have adopted his suggestion. I contented myself,
however, with having nothing to do with the renegades, and we passed
the night opposite their village on the left bank.
A tornado delayed our start the next day for the little village
which is the landing-place for Tenda. At ten o’clock, however,
we anchored at the foot of a rock covered with luxuriant vegetation,
which hung over the boats, forming a kind of canopy of verdure. This
is one of the most picturesque parts of the whole course of the Niger,
and the magnificent trees are tenanted by hundreds of birds, whilst on
the ground beneath are great flat spaces, very tempting to those who
want a suitable place to encamp. In a moment the banks were alive with
joyful activity, for our coolies hastened to land, and very soon the
thin columns of smoke from our fires were rising up here and there,
as preparations were made for cooking a meal. The men washed their
clothes here amongst the rocks. A market, too, was soon in full swing,
where onions, potatoes, and _kous_ (large edible roots), chickens
and eggs, were sold to us by native women. Our guide and the nephew
of the chief of Tenda meanwhile went to a big village further inland,
and about two o’clock returned, accompanied by the son of its chief,
who sent us word that he was too old to come and see us by the bad
roads between his home and our camp, but his son would represent him,
unless, indeed, we ourselves would visit him. We did not see why we
should not, so I started with Taburet, Suleyman, Tierno, and Mamé.
[Illustration: OUR COOLIES WASHING THEIR CLOTHES.]
The chief was quite right about the road. It certainly was not
good, for it led us, to begin with, across an inundated plain,
where we were up to our knees in water for about a mile. It was
also oppressively hot, and the upper part of our bodies was as wet
with perspiration as our legs were with the mud of the marsh. It
was with a sigh of relief that we came to the rising ground where
the road was better, except for the steep and rough bit strewn
with sharp flints. We had this kind of thing for some four miles,
and Taburet, who was toiling along beside me, became the colour
of a ripe cherry. Was this colour a favourite one in these parts,
I wondered? Anyhow our doctor made a deep impression on the heart of
one of the beauties of Tenda, who had come to see us in our boats,
and walked with us to the chief’s village. It was a regular case
of love at first sight, for she never took her eyes off Taburet,
offering him flowers and pea-nuts, and moving the flints out of his
way. It was a real idyll. I felt pretty sure of the doctor’s power
of resisting the blandishments of the syren, but still I thought
it was as well to remind him of the negro eunuchs, who, if he did
lapse from virtue, would be pretty sure to sew him up in an ox-hide,
and fling him into what answered here to the Bosphorus. We arrived
at Tenda laughing merrily, in spite of the condition of our socks
and boots, which, soaked through and swollen as they were with the
water we had shipped _en route_, hurt our feet dreadfully.
We had already been told that this village was the capital of Dendi,
but for all that its appearance greatly surprised us, for it is
surrounded with a _tata_ nearly seven feet high, and at its base is
a moat no less than nine feet deep by four, twelve to fifteen feet
wide. Throughout the Sudan I had never seen any fortification to
equal it in the mass of material used. It is in an excellent state of
preservation, and the crest of the wall is covered with sharp thorns,
forming a regular _chevaux de frise_. It would be very difficult
to take the place even with artillery. I was delighted to see so
formidable a stronghold in these parts, and should the Toucouleurs
who took Kompa try their skill on it, they will have their hands
pretty full.
The whole population came out to meet us, and when we entered the
village we found it had quite wide streets, which would have been
clean but for the tornado of the morning, which had filled them with
horrible mud. Splashed with dirt, like water-spaniels on their return
from a shooting expedition in the marshes, we were introduced into an
immense circular room, with a platform of earth at one end, forming
the audience chamber of the chief. On the royal throne, or rather
bench which represented it, was flung one of those horrible carpets
such as are sold in bazaars, representing a fierce-looking tiger
springing forward on a ground of a crude red colour, giving a note
of civilization, if of rather a comic kind, to the whole apartment.
The chief now appeared, and turned out to be a very old but still
vigorous man. Instead of a sceptre, he carried a cane encased in
copper, and on the forefinger of the right hand he wore a ring,
the stone of which consisted of a silver disk nearly six inches
in diameter, quite hiding his hand. He sat solemnly down upon the
carpet with the tiger; and our beauty of the road, who, it turned
out, was his own daughter, took her place beside him, never ceasing
to cast languishing glances at Taburet throughout the interview. I
now spread out the presents I had brought, and set going a little
musical-box. The sound from the latter caused such an excitement that
the crowd outside managed to get into the audience hall, in spite of
all the efforts of the guard, who plied their whips vigorously, even
on the shoulders of the most beautiful of the besiegers. There was
such a noise that I had to shout at the top of my voice in telling
the chief our business; but it was all no use, I might as well have
tried to play the flute beside a sledge-hammer in full swing.
[Illustration: THE MARIGOT OR CREEK OF TENDA.]
The chief, perceiving that conversation was impossible, made me a
sign to follow him, and we withdrew for our palaver to a court-yard
surrounded with walls, a kind of stable where his horse was tied
up. He shut the door behind him, but in an instant the walls were
scaled, and there was as much noise and confusion as there had
been before.
The chief then led me to a kind of store-room with a very narrow door,
through which only one person could pass at a time, and that almost
crawling on hands and knees. We filed in much as Esquimaux do into
their snow-huts, and this time we were really free from intruders.
Yes, from intruders! but we were not safe from suffocation. The moment
we were in our retreat, such a mass of women pressed up to the door,
forming a kind of plug of human flesh, that we found ourselves gasping
for breath and turning purple. We literally had to force our way out
with our fists to get fresh air, and to drag the poor chief, who was
already nearly insensible, out after us. He now declared that it
was quite impossible to have a quiet talk with me in his village,
but that if I would put off my start, he would come and see me on
board the next day.
Meanwhile two horses had been brought out for us; we now mounted
them and started for our camp. Unfortunately Arab saddles are rather
hard. Moreover, mine had stirrups suitable only for the bare feet
of the natives, and much too small for my shoes, so that I had
to ride in a very uncomfortable position. Then once Taburet’s
steed slipped into a hole, and the doctor took an involuntary bath,
a complete one this time.
We still had twenty rifles and six pistols for presents to
chiefs. Acting on my idea of trying to make Dendi rise as one man
against the Toucouleurs, I resolved to give all these weapons to one
person. The question was, who should that person be? I cross-examined
our guide, the chief of the captives of Kompa, and by the exercise
of a really marvellous amount of diplomacy, I managed to get a very
true notion of the exact political condition of Dendi, discovering
that there were two capitals, that is to say, two villages big enough
and densely enough populated to dominate all the others. These two
were Tenda, which I had just seen, and Madecali lower down-stream
on the right bank.
The more powerful and therefore the one to which the term
“capital” could be more justly applied, was perhaps Madecali. For
all that, however, I decided on choosing Tenda, which was more exposed
to the depredations of the Toucouleurs than Madecali, the latter
being in a more sheltered position, and moreover at war already with
Burgu. So Tenda got the weapons, and we passed the evening in getting
out the boxes of grape-shot for the machine-gun, which, when taken
to pieces, provided us both with powder and bullets for our friends.
Faithful to his promise, the chief came to see us the next day. He
came down the rocks overlooking our camp to the sound of his
war-drums, made of calabashes with skin stretched across them. His
suite consisted of some thirty mounted men, and about one hundred
foot-soldiers. There was a certain barbaric splendour about the
equipment of the former which was far from displeasing, and the
saddle of the chief’s son, covered with the skin of a panther,
was really both handsome and curious.
I had had strong ropes fixed round the camp, and posted numerous
sentinels to keep back the crowd. Thanks to these precautions,
we were at last able to have a talk without being suffocated.
My aim here, as it had been at Kompa and Goruberi, was to bring
about a friendly league between all the tribes which had anything to
dread from the Toucouleurs, and to induce those tribes to give up the
defensive to assume the offensive. I concluded my speech by giving the
chief the twenty rifles and the six pistols, with powder, bullets,
and matchlock-flints, but I made one condition before parting with
them, namely, that the weapons should never be separated; they were
to arm the twenty-six bravest warriors of Dendi, who were to go to
defend any village threatened by the common enemy. All I required was
promised, the chief and notables alike declaring that they accepted
my conditions. I don’t know whether they will keep their word,
anyhow I have done my best.
An envoy from Djermakoy now came to visit us. He had come, he told
us, to buy a horse at Tenda to give to Serki Kebbi on behalf of his
master, for in Africa if you want anything you must never go to ask
it empty-handed. He was to try and persuade the chief of Argungu
to help Djerma, especially Dentchendu, against the Toucouleurs. I
gave him a black and white banner for Serki, with instructions to
tell him to accede to the request of Djermakoy for the sake of the
good relations he had formerly been on with Monteil, as well as
in his own interests. He could not fail to understand that if the
Toucouleurs got the better of Djerma, they would attack him at Kebbi
directly afterwards.
Baudry tried to persuade me to leave him at Tenda. He was bent on
preaching a crusade against the Toucouleurs, for we were all very
bitter against that infamous tribe of robbers and traders in human
flesh, who after laying waste the Sudan, had, under pretext of a holy
war, brought desolation, famine, slavery, and death to the peaceful
if somewhat degraded races of the Niger basin.
I myself shared the sentiments which actuated Baudry, and could I have
been sure that when I got to the coast I should be allowed to return
with a sufficient force to back up our friends of Dendi effectually,
I am not at all sure but that I should have granted his request.
Unfortunately, however, I knew only too well that in such cases as
this, it is no good counting on anything, so I very reluctantly said
no to my brave comrade.
If, however, we had not been obliged to stop at Say, because the
authorities pretended they were going to send us instructions from
France; if we had been allowed to winter in Dendi, I can confidently
assert that the state of things there would have been completely
changed. But it is too late now, and regrets are unavailing. All we
can hope is that our example may be a lesson to travellers who come
after us.
At ten o’clock we left our moorings at Tenda, and went to anchor
opposite a little Fulah village, situated on an island a short
distance above Gagno. We hoped to get some milk here, for we had had
none for several days. At first the Fulahs ran away and hid themselves
in the bush, to return timidly later. A few presents reassured them,
and they became too friendly, begging with horrible persistency. Our
hope of getting milk too was doomed to disappointment, for one
small calabash of it, already turned sour, was all the natives would
sell us.
A terrible tornado from the south-east, accompanied by heavy rain,
overtook us that night. The bank scarcely protected us, and the
surging water of the river made our boats roll in a very unpleasant,
even dangerous, manner, for the prows of the barges were banged
against the shore. Since we left Say the weather had been very
unsettled, and the nearer we approached the equator the worse it
got. Until we reached the coast we must expect rain every day now,
and the state of exhaustion, even of sickness, of our men can be
imagined, soaked to the skin every night as they were, in spite of
the tarpaulins we stretched from one deck to the other in the hope
of sheltering them from the wet.
At eleven o’clock the next morning we arrived opposite Madecali,
the second capital of Dendi, to which a little creek gives access, but
some fifty-four yards up it our progress was arrested by shallows. Our
guide went to the village, and soon returned with the news that the
chief, Soulé by name, was coming. First came a canoe containing
our envoy, then Soulé himself. A palaver of the usual kind ensued,
but it did not seem likely to be as successful as usual in Dendi,
for the attitude of the natives towards us was cold. There were some
hundred warriors with Soulé all armed to the teeth, a proof that they
did not feel very sure of our peaceable intentions. Truth to tell,
there was nothing to be surprised at in the want of cordiality of
the welcome we received. To take the bull by the horns, I myself
confessed that I gave all the weapons I had left to the chief of
Tenda, and explained the reasons for what I had done. Soulé replied
that in so doing I had earned the gratitude of all Dendi, but for all
that it was evident and very natural too, that he felt some little
jealousy. Moreover, the people here did not hate the Toucouleurs,
which was so much against us, for it was this hatred which had won
us friendship at Tenda. As I have already said, Madecali had not
suffered either directly or indirectly from their attacks, and it
was with Burgu that its inhabitants were at war. Moreover, there was
the memory of the Tombuttu affair, which took place a year before,
and was thus related to me.
The people of Dendi had been very far from pleased at the Baud-Decœur
expedition going to Say, and when our fellow-countrymen started to
return to the coast, by way of the banks of the river, the general
opinion was that they ought to be attacked. Fortunately the elders
of the various communities were too prudent to sanction this, and
their counsels succeeded in curbing the impatience of the hotheaded,
but at Tombutu the chief had just died, and the young warriors,
deprived of his advice when it was most needed, did fall upon the
French, getting the worst of it.
Though Madecali had really had nothing to do with the skirmish its
people were afraid of our vengeance, or at least of a demand from
us for compensation, and the first question Soulé put to me was,
“Are you the same Frenchmen as came here last year?”
I had been promised a guide, but he did not appear, and our palaver
grew more and more constrained. I had begun by a distribution of
presents, and Soulé had already received a velvet burnous, a red
_bubu_, and two pieces of Guinea cloth, to distribute among the
notables of his village, but I now stopped my largesse, declaring
that the other presents were at the bottom of the hold: we must be
quiet if we were to get them out, and it was impossible to do so
with such a crowd about us. They should be handed over, I added,
to an accredited messenger from the chief, whom he would be good
enough to send with the promised guide.
Tableau! Soulé, who from the specimens he had seen of them, knew
that our goods were just what he wanted, was eager for more of
them. He replied that he had no one he could send for the rest of
the presents, to which I retaliated that I had said my last word.
To change the subject, the chief now asked me if I would not have my
guns fired off in his honour, as I had in that of the chiefs of Kompa,
Goruberi, and Tenda, so that his wives left behind in the village
might hear them. I saw no reason why I should say no, so I had ten
rounds fired from an 86-pounder at once, which the old fellow did not
seem to like much. I followed this up with a round from the machine
gun, and he evidently wished himself anywhere else. I completed the
sensation by showing off what I could do with my revolver, and this
completely finished him off. It was too much for his courage; he named
a man to act as guide at once, and made a rapid exit from the camp.
We also got rid of the crowd, but for five or six men, who, not being
able to get a place in any canoes, waited in the hope that we would
take them on with us.
As I had promised, so would I perform. I had my guide, and Soulé
should have his presents. In his haste to be gone he had forgotten
to allude to them again, for all that I gave the first messenger
who had arrived, the _avant-courier_ of his Majesty, a very fine
present to take to his master, including a little musical-box, the
effect of which was tremendous. I then showed off a larger one,
the little organ, and the phonograph. The last-named produced a
profound sensation, so that we ended by getting on to quite good
terms with the natives of Madecali.
Our guide did not belong to the village. He was a Kurteye who had
settled near Soulé fifteen years before. He told me that when
first his fellow-countrymen came from the West, they had thought
of stopping near Bussa, but that the natives already occupying the
district had prevented them, so then they went up beyond Say, where
at last they found a refuge.
“A year ago,” he added, “Madecali had been at war with Gomba
and also with Ilo, a big village with an important market, which
we should come to lower down. Peace was however now restored,
and at Ilo I should easily find guides to take me down to Bussa,
the chief of which is a friend of Soulé’s. Moreover, he would
himself look out for pilots for me. So many words, so many lies, I
soon discovered, but for the moment we took them all for Gospel truth,
and were delighted at the thought of no longer having the prospect
of perpetual palavers in each village before we could get guides.
Our visitor also bragged a great deal about the people of Madecali,
how they were not afraid of the Foutanis; in fact, they were not
afraid of anybody except perhaps Alim Sar. I made him repeat the
name, and found he meant the former Amenokal of the Awellimiden,
and I noted the fact as confirming my opinion of the importance of
that confederation, that the name of the former chief was synonymous
with power and strength. No one seemed to know that he was dead,
and had been succeeded by Madidu.
[Illustration: GIRRIS.]
All night we heard the tam-tam beating in the village, to celebrate
our generosity, I expect; and early in the morning we started for Ilo,
or rather for Girris, for Ilo is inland and Girris is its port.
We arrived there at ten o’clock. We did not know which of the
numerous channels to take, but a canoe came up in the nick of time
to direct us, and we anchored close to the village.
There were a good many boats near us, larger and better than any we
had hitherto seen. The whole population rushed out to the bank to
receive us, and gave us a hearty welcome. It was here that the agent
who collects custom dues for the chief of Girris came on board and
greeted us on behalf of his master. I asked for a guide to be sent
to us that evening, so that we might go on again early the next
morning. The chief, however, begged us to wait, so that he might
come and see us. We also received the so-called queens, who had
their heads completely shaved, and their faces covered with scars,
such as the women of the country consider ornamental. They were two
wicked-looking little creatures, but they brought us native fruits,
including those called papaws and _kus_.
Two more interesting visitors were Hadji Hamet and his brother;
the former had acted as guide to Baud, who spoke very highly of his
fidelity until the day when, hearing that his French friend was going
to join Commandant Decœur, he disappeared without warning. He was
probably compromised in the Timbuktu affair mentioned above.
Hadji Hamet and Father Hacquart discovered that they were old
acquaintances, having both been at Tunis at the same time.
The life these Hadjis, or pretended Hadjis, lead is really a very
strange one. They are Arabs, often, however, of mixed blood, who
traverse vast distances in Africa, selling amulets and insinuating
themselves into the favour of the chiefs, never leaving a village
till some specially heinous offence has roused the wrath of the
natives against them.
They succeed everywhere in virtue of their own superior intelligence
and the superstitious dread they inspire, in making a position for
themselves, especially in heathen districts. It is necessary for
travellers to be on their guard against them, the more so that as
a rule they are very taking to Europeans, because of the sympathy
they always express with their aims. It is, in fact, a pleasure to
exchange ideas with them, and they converse in an intelligent manner,
such as is quite impossible to negroes. They have also seen and heard
so much in their travels that the information they are able to give
is very valuable, but they are regular rascals for all that, ready
to betray all who confide in them. In spite of all his protestations
of friendship, I am convinced that Hadji Hamet had a good deal to
do with the change of tone towards us which took place at Ilo a few
days later, the results of which I shall relate below.
Here too we made the acquaintance of a certain Issa, who had acted
as guide to Dr. Grunner and a German expedition as far as Gando the
previous year.
Issa was a good, honest fellow, still young, with a frank, intelligent
expression of countenance. At sunset I went with him to the village,
which consisted chiefly of huts with walls of beaten earth and
thatched roofs.
Issa’s own home was almost European in size and style. It had
a regular gabled roof, the first I had seen properly constructed,
and there were four good rooms inside. In that which served as an
entrance-hall, Issa showed me a folding-table and a canteen marked S,
both presents from the German expedition.
The information he gave me without any pressing about that expedition
was of the highest importance, for, according to him, all that
Dr. Grunner went to Gando for was to ask the Emir to direct the
merchants of caravans who left districts under his command to go
to Togoland. It will readily be seen how very different the purely
commercial aim of this expedition was to that attributed to it,
the establishment of a protectorate in Gando.
The people of Girris have polite and gentle manners. Neither the men,
the women, nor the children showed any of the unreasonable terror
of white men usual amongst negroes, and so painful to Europeans,
accustomed to countries where there is nothing of the kind.
At daybreak the next morning the children of the place came with
the little spades used in the district, to clear a great space of
grass near to our anchorage, in preparation for the chief’s visit
to us. On our side we got ready for his reception by pitching the
big tent and hoisting our flag beside it. I also made the coolies
rig themselves out in their best clothes.
At eight o’clock a deafening noise announced the approach of the
chief, and the procession very soon came in sight. It was headed by
a number of children armed with bows and arrows, followed by mounted
men with tambourines, which the riders struck perpetually with little
bent rods.
At last came his Majesty himself, surrounded by a number of his wives,
horrible-looking women, whose style I have already described, whilst
beside him was his prime minister, if I may use such an expression,
or, to give the Haussa term, his _ghaladima_, whose chief occupation
in the palace was to shampoo his master’s feet.
Behind came crowds of men putting out all the strength of their
lungs as they blew large horns, not unlike those used in Europe by
the drivers of stage coaches, making a perfectly deafening din. These
horns or trumpets, which must have been much the same as those that
brought down the walls of Jericho, had caused the awful noise we
had been disturbed by in the early morning.
The orchestra was completed by a number of heterogeneous instruments,
the description of which would require a whole chapter, and the row
they made really included, I do believe, every possible sound which
could be produced by beating, clapping, and squeezing.
The chief wore a _bubu_ with silver stripes, of a pretty good
material, a present, I was told, from the Germans. His breeches were
made of strips of velvet of different colours; he had on the red
boots I had sent to him the evening before, and round a somewhat
greasy fez was twisted a coral-coloured silk turban. Lastly, a
tricolour sash worn across the shoulders over the half-open _bubu_
resembled the grand cordon of some order, or the scarf of a deputy,
showing up well against the black skin of his Majesty’s chest.
What an ugly, stunted, little fellow he was with it all! He reminded
me of a monkey, or of some freak of nature such as is exhibited in
circuses and at fairs. His intelligence too was probably on a par
with theirs.
Fifty mounted men on fine horses with handsome saddles formed the
chief’s escort. When they arrived they all leaped with more or
less agility to the ground. The chief took his place on the throne,
that is to say, on Father Hacquart’s folding-chair; his ghaladima
crouched at his feet on one side, and Hadji Hamet on the other. We
took up our position on benches opposite to our visitor, and the
salutations began. With the combined aid of the Father and Hadji
Hamet we exchanged many flowery compliments. We had not had a regular
interpreter with us since we left Tenda, and now we conversed partly
in Burgu and partly in Haussa, for the Fulah spoken by Suleyman and
the Songhay of Mamé were rarely understood in these parts. I slipped
in a request for a guide, and was told one would be with me that
very evening. Noting the magnificence displayed by the chief of Ilo,
I thought I had better give him and his suite handsomer presents
than those I had originally intended for him. I was extremely
anxious to get a guide to take us to Bussa, for the river was now
at its height, and there was not a moment to lose if we wished to
pass the rapids under the most favourable conditions. Moreover,
I had been told that the chiefs of Ilo and Bussa were relations,
so that I hoped the pilots given to me by the first would aid me in
getting guides more easily from the latter.
[Illustration: GIRRIS CANOES.]
Whilst I was holding forth to this effect a terrible noise began
again, for at a sign from the chief the twelve trumpeters approached
him, and with all their strength blew a tremendous blast almost into
his ears, the instruments all but touching him. This, it appeared,
was done to drive away evil spirits. The very angel of the last
judgment would not be able to make himself heard if he endeavoured
to sound his trump here. Adieu to all discussion now!
The old chimpanzee, for such he really seemed, did however manage,
through the intermediary of Hadji Hamet, to let us know that he
was thirsty. A glass of _eau sucrée_ with an extra supply of sugar
only drew from him a grimace of dissatisfaction. He wanted something
very different, and Hadji Hamet put out all his eloquence to make
Father Hacquart understand what sort of drink it was the chief was
craving for. The Father did not at first understand, but presently
clapping his hand on his forehead, he exclaimed, “He wants some
champagne! Impossible! he cannot know what it is, but he is certainly
asking for a drink that goes pop and fizzes. It is very evident that
he does mean champagne!”
So we actually drank champagne in N. Lat. 11° 39′, with a negro
potentate resembling a monkey. Fortunately for our credit we had
brought with us, not as a beverage, but as a medicine, two cases
of wine manufactured at Rheims. As none of us had had the bilious
attacks which this wine was intended to correct, the cases were
still pretty well intact. We reflected that we were now near our
journey’s end, and therefore decided to spare from our pharmacy
a few bottles of the precious liquid, which we hoped would not be
found inferior to that of our predecessors, whoever they might be,
who had given his Majesty of Ilo a taste for the wine which goes pop!
The arrival of our flasks of champagne was the signal for a regular
carousal. From every side large jars of millet beer were brought
by the assembled crowds, and all present began plunging little
calabashes, which served as drinking cups, into them. In half-an-hour
the chief, his court, and all the men and women who had flocked
together, even the children, were tipsy.
Needless to add that we had to put off all hope of making serious
arrangements until later. When the time came to go, it was all his
people could do to get the chief on to his steed. His suite were
all probably as unsteady as himself. At last by hook or by crook our
visitors decided to take their leave, and reeled away, many of the
women often stumbling or falling, not making quite as much noise as
on their arrival in the morning, for the trumpeters were now unable
to blow a blast on their instruments.
We waited all the afternoon in vain for the arrival of the guide. At
last, about half-past five, an envoy from the chief appeared. He
informed us that it was five years since the latter had sent a present
to his relation at Bussa. It would not therefore be fitting for him
to have us guided into that relative’s district without supporting
the demand for our reception with the customary gift. He could not
send that gift, so his guide was to take us to Gomba only.
Was I going to be cheated by the old rogue after all? Should we have
to go on like this from village to village till we reached Bussa,
to the detriment not only of our merchandise, which would quickly be
exhausted at this rate, but to the great loss of time, which was even
more valuable? If the river fell suddenly—and I know that changes
of level are very sudden in these parts—we might be stopped and
compelled to remain stationary again above Bussa.
I sent the messenger back in double quick time, charging him to
tell his master I would have all or nothing. He must either keep
the promise he had made in the morning, or I should do without him
altogether and start at daybreak alone, trusting to the aid of the
God who had brought us thus far and was not likely to abandon us by
the way now.
Many of those standing by looked approval of the tone I had adopted,
including Issa, the Kurteye guide from Madecali, and the agent
himself.
Then, seeing that half the people were intoxicated, not knowing
what was at the bottom of the delays, with the very evident feeling
against us, and to avoid all risk of a night attack, I had the barges
moved some hundred yards off into the submerged grass, as I used to
do in the old days amongst the Tuaregs. I ordered a strict watch to
be kept, and we settled down to pass the night as best we could.
This simple manœuvre, which was carried out with very little noise,
had the effect of filling the soddened brains of the natives with
terror.
First came a messenger to tell me that the agent himself would
act as guide to Bussa, then about midnight I was awoke by a great
noise. What could it mean? It was the chief himself, who, in a great
state of alarm, had hastened back from Ilo on purpose to see me. No
doubt, when the vapours of the champagne had been dissipated, he
had been told of my vexation, and trembling with fear lest my move
should mean a declaration of war, he had hastened to me, this time
without any attendants, to endeavour to pacify me. I sent Mamé,
and the poor chief asked him to beg, pray, and entreat me on his
behalf to remain until the middle of the next day. He would then be
able to get together a present for his relation at Bussa. If only
I would wait he would be profoundly and eternally grateful.
To add to the confusion and misery of the suppliant, the rain now
began to pour down. I assured my visitor that it was quite usual
for us to move, in case of storms, and that I had had the barges
moved away from the banks lest the wind should drive them against
them. In fact, I said we did this pretty well every night, but it
was just all I could do to reassure the chief and his people. I
could not help thinking that the scene was very like what one sees
in the lunatic asylum at Charenton, and instead of a naval officer,
I ought to have chosen a doctor accustomed to treat the insane, as
ambassador to Ilo. He would certainly have looked upon the chief as
a dipsomaniac whose case was rather an uncommon one. I was the less
interested, however, as it would be my turn to keep watch from two
to five o’clock, and I wanted to go to my cabin and have a sleep,
especially as the rain was heavy and cold, penetrating to the very
bones. In the end it was settled that I was to have the guide the very
first thing the next morning. Would the promise be kept this time?
No! not even now. It was evidently decreed that we were not to have
a guide. In the morning a man appeared in a canoe who pretended
that he was to go with us, and my hopes revived. But he had to wait
for a companion who did not turn up, and presently he disappeared
himself. At five o’clock, for the tenth and last time, I demanded
the fulfilment of the promise made to me, our Kurteye going ashore
with my message. “Listen to me,” he said; “I am sick of talking
to these drunkards, I declare I can do absolutely nothing with them;
and I want you to let me go.” I gave him leave, and we all set
to work to drive the people of Girris off the boats, for they were
doing a brisk trade in provisions, as if nothing unusual was going
on and were in no hurry to go.
“Push off!” I cried at last, this time in earnest, and my only
regret was that I had yielded the evening before. The first thing
in the morning we resumed our voyage without a guide. What could
be the reason for the way we were treated? Did the natives want to
make us remain as long as possible for the sake of our presents, and
of the purchases we made? Or was it the two Mussulmans, especially
Hadji Hamet, who seems to have been guilty of double dealing with
the Decœur expedition, to whom we owed the change which had come
over the sentiments of the natives towards us?
Later, I learnt that one of my predecessors had had a quarrel with
the natives of Ilo, about an ox which had been promised to him,
and which, like my guide, never turned up. Perhaps he had not been
as patient as he might have been under the circumstances, if he had
remembered the interests of those to come after him.
So we started after all without a pilot and passed many villages,
the names of which I do not know. The inundated banks were flat and
grass-grown, with clumps of trees here and there. We cast anchor in
the evening off the left bank, opposite the Fulah village of Raha,
a dependency of Gomba.
As we were at dinner we were hailed from a canoe by an old Fulah,
answering to the name of Amadu, who offered us five chickens as a
present. We circumvented him cleverly. He said he knew the river
well down to Bussa, in fact as far as Iggu, where he had been. I
proposed that he should act as our guide and introduce us to the
chief of Bussa, who he said was a great friend of his. To my delight
he actually agreed!
During the whole of the 28th we went rapidly down the wide river,
here unencumbered with obstacles, as fast as ever we could row.
About nine o’clock we passed Gomba, inhabited by Fulahs, and
the capital of the district. Our guide Amadu evidently thought we
should stop there to see the chief, and showed great surprise at our
pressing on without a halt. To his discreet suggestions I turned a
deaf ear, and our interpreter seemed suddenly to have forgotten all
the Fulah language he knew. In the end our guide resigned himself
to the inevitable.
We had to make haste, for, reflecting on the causes of the check we
had received at Ilo, I was led to think that the English might have
had something to do with it, or, at least, that people who had been
amongst them—for the English themselves have no political influence
in these parts—had had intelligence enough to understand and look
after their interests. In the suite of the chief there was a native
of Bidda, who asked me to let him accompany me back to his native
place, but he too disappeared. In any case, however, as Amadu told
me, the news of our stay at Say had not yet reached Gomba, still
less Bussa, we might still, by pushing on rapidly, circumvent the
plans of those who were anxious to make mischief. Forward then as
rapidly as possible!
[Illustration: OUR GUIDE AMADU.]
We soon passed the mouth of the Ngubi-Sokoto, of anything but imposing
appearance, but, as we were told, navigable at high water for canoes
until nearly up to the village from which it takes its name. In the
evening we had made more than 32 miles, the longest distance achieved
yet by the expedition in one day. We anchored a little beyond Lanfaku.
Here we were visited by two parties of fishermen, who came to us
in canoes from the villages, such as are scattered about near all
important Fulah centres of population. The young men had their heads
shaved, but for a kind of tuft of hair left on the middle of the upper
part of the head, which was really not at all unbecoming. Amadu told
me that the Grunner expedition had been attacked on its return from
Gando at the village of Gesero, which was at war with Gando. The
inhabitants had tried to stop the guides of the Germans by firing
at them. Grunner had therefore burnt their village.
At ten o’clock we were overtaken by a tornado. We were back again
in the winter in fact, and every night there was a storm, or at
least a downpour of rain.
On the 29th we continued our forced march, passing several fine
villages surrounded by _tatas_. Kundji seemed a very big, strong
place.
At about eleven o’clock we passed three rocks which probably form
part of a bar across the river when the water is low, marking the
beginning of the difficult and broken course below. At four o’clock
we anchored opposite Tchakatchi, on an island at the foot of a group
of magnificent baobabs. At the end of this island is a great mass
of flint, and the banks were strewn with the big rocks of polished
granite we knew so well. We were back again amongst the rapids, and
had once more to encounter difficulties such as we had conquered at
Ayoru and Kendadji. The whole village turned out to see us, and the
chief himself offered to act as pilot. I accepted his suggestion, for
our old Amadu had rather exaggerated his hydrographical knowledge. The
only garment of most of the men of the village was a little leather
apron worn behind, but some few wore drawers made of blue Haussa
cotton. The faces of the women were scarred in the same way as those
of their sisters of Kebbi, and they wore as ornaments in the lobes
of the ear, little pieces of white stick about a quarter of an inch
in diameter by seven inches long.
At seven o’clock the next day we started, preceded by the chief of
Tchakatchi, who steered a tiny little canoe with a paddle curiously
shaped and carved. The river was very much what we had expected it
would be the evening before, the rocks forming a regular archipelago
of islets, whilst rapids were also numerous. Fortunately this state
of things did not last long, and presently we came to an almost calm
reach, which brought us to Gilua, the capital of Yauri, where we
noted one very large hut, the residence of the chief of the village.
I was in despair at having to travel like a bale of goods, without
being able to have any intercourse with the people whose country we
were passing through. But what could we do? Since we left Say we
had had no power to treat with the natives, our interpreters were
scarcely any good, whilst before us we had two great obstacles,
Bussa and the English.
According to the most recent information collected, it was at Gilua
and not at Bussa that Mungo Park died. Here then we had reached the
limit of the path he trod one hundred years ago, and I remembered
what Davoust had said to me: “Mungo Park has become immortal
through merely having tried to do what we shall now endeavour to
accomplish.”
I confess in all humility that since my return to France I have had
to change my opinion on that point.
On the left and right of the river there were two mountains remarkable
for their shape and their relative dimensions. I tried to find out
their names, but was told that they had none in particular. To
do honour to our comrades who had died under such melancholy
circumstances, I baptized them Mount Davoust and Mount Delagarde,
the latter having been the name of a naval officer who died without
reaching the Niger.
I trust that these names will be considered of good omen by
geographical critics in France, and that it will be admitted that I
had every right to choose them. Have not the English named all the
peaks of the chain on the banks of the river below Bussa after their
great men? Mount Davoust will look quite as well in our atlases as
Mount Wellington does in theirs.
We pushed on on the right between the villages of Ikum and Rupia,
and after passing a little rapid we anchored opposite a big tree,
beneath which a market was being held—an important one I was told
by the people of Rupia. The chief of Tchakatchi had told us that we
should meet his brother there, who would pilot us further, but he had
left that same morning. As usual the people began to shilly-shally
with us, and some men from Igga, whom we identified by their white
turbans embroidered with green, sold to them by the Royal Niger
Company, interposed in the conversation, but not in our favour.
“Off again!” was the word; we would push on and still push on,
alone and without a pilot or help of any kind, but we would not be
trifled with.
The people of Rupia are many of them Kambaris, a tribe alluded to
by Richard Lander. Their women when young go about quite naked,
and have the head shaved, but for a narrow tuft of hair left on the
top. They have the peculiar custom of dyeing their legs up to above
the knee with _rocou_, or red dye, which gives them the appearance
at a distance of wearing nothing but light red stockings.
This was the first occasion on which I had seen people in a state
of nudity in the Sudan, and this is the more remarkable as there
are plenty of stuffs to be had cheap at Rupia.
[Illustration: DJIDJIMA.]
Noticing my astonishment, one of the beauties of the place made the
following naïve remark to me, which I thought was really rather
sensible: “Why should we wear clothes? Are we so badly made that
we need hide ourselves? All in good time, when we are old like our
mothers, we will make up for the loss of our physical advantages by
well-made clothes, but not till then.”
Many are the women on this earth of ours who could not say as much!
A little mollified by what my young friend said, I still felt
perfectly furious at the sullen hostility and evident prejudice
against us we now constantly met with, which delayed our journey in a
manner so dangerous. Rightly or wrongly, I saw the hand of the English
or of their agents in it all. Fortunately, however, the river is easy
of navigation as far as Djidjima, a village picturesquely situated
on an island, opposite to which we anchored at four o’clock.
In the evening we went to the village, and I asked for a guide for the
next day, without much hope of getting one. I tried to win the people
over to my side by distributing a great many little presents. We
were invited to be present at a tam-tam, at which three dancers
performed, wearing leggings from which were suspended little bits
of iron resembling castanets, that made a deafening noise as they
struck against each other. The dancers, moreover, were very clumsy
in their attitudes.
No guide the next morning, but more men from Igga to stare at us. The
accounts that Amadu gives us of the difficulties of navigation before
us are heartrending, and as a matter of fact a little further down,
the river began to divide again into a great many arms. We therefore
anchored, and Digui went on in a canoe to reconnoitre.
Whilst he was away exploring we saw some eighty or a hundred canoes
going up an arm on our right, the tam-tam beating ceaselessly. On
inquiry we were told that it was only a water convoy on the way to
Rupia, where a very big market was about to be held. All the way along
the canoes stop to take up traders and their goods, very much as the
small steamers do on the Seine, or the omnibuses in the streets of
Paris. A canoe presently separated from the rest and came towards
us, its occupants saying very amiably that seeing we had stopped,
they had come to ascertain whether we were in any difficulty, and
to offer to guide us.
There is no doubt there is a good God for honest folk, I very nearly
added, and against the English. Be it remarked, for the reader to
draw his own moral, that everywhere the inhabitants of the little
villages, in a word the poor, helped us. The perpetual difficulties
we had to contend with in this part of our journey only arose in
the big centres.
[Illustration: THE NIGER BELOW RUPIA.]
Delighted at this chance of going on, we started, our guides being
anything but _de trop_, passing several dangerous rapids and arriving
safely at Fogué, where the river became once more calm.
On October 2 we had a hard day, but it was the best before we got to
Bussa. Near Waro we had twice to go on in single file. The force of
the current was now immense, seven miles an hour at least. Once more
we felt as if we were dashing over cataracts, a painful sensation we
were all too familiar with. Our guide had met a friend, who also to
the best of his lights helped us to steer a right course. At half-past
five we reached Bussa, and anchored opposite the landing-stage of
the village. The river here divides into several arms, the town being
on that farthest to the right, about a mile from the bank. A little
village occupied by fishermen and traders was situated close to our
camp. The water, which is of a black colour, seems very deep here,
and the islands are covered with beautiful vegetation. The natives
approached us without fear, and we at once began to barter with them
in the usual manner, exchanging cloth, bracelets, rings and beads
for provisions.
I sent Amadu to greet the chief of the village, promising him a good
present if he succeeded in making that chief behave well to us.
I waited his return with impatience. There we were face to face
with our last but perhaps the greatest difficulty of our voyage. A
very considerable fuss is made about the cataracts or rather the
rapids of Bussa. Providence had so far befriended us, and enabled
us to reach this point without having lost one of our boats. Not
a single man, white or black, belonging to the expedition had lost
his life through what a year ago had been called our temerity. We
had managed everywhere with greater or less difficulty to pass on
in peace, leaving behind us none who had cause to hate us or to vow
vengeance on us. Yet one last effort, and our aim would be achieved
just as I had hoped to achieve it, exactly in accordance with our
instructions, in spite of all the difficulties thrown in our way,
not only by inanimate nature but by man. Just because this was to be
our last struggle we dreaded it more than we had done any other. I was
therefore immensely relieved when I saw Amadu coming back accompanied
by an emissary from the chief. According to him all would go well,
all was arranged; the chief of Bussa would supply us with all we
needed, and, greatly to the delight of our men, give us all the
help required for passing the rapids safely. A good supply of the
fruit called _kus_ accompanied these cheering words. The chief would
receive us the next day.
Whilst I was chatting with our guide and the natives who
accompanied him, some girls were singing our praises and those
of their master. According to their songs the people of Bussa are
descended from the Persians, and they do in fact claim that they
are the children of Kisira, who fought with Mahomet, and were driven
away by him. Reference to history will show us that Kisira is only
another name for Chosroes the Great, who was, as a matter of fact,
the unfortunate adversary of the founder of Islam.
I state the fact for what it is worth, for the benefit of
ethnologists.
[Illustration: A PALAVER.]
[Illustration: THE SO-CALLED NIGRITIAN, THE OLD PONTOON OF YOLA.]