THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.—THE BÉNUWÉ AND FÁRO.
_Wednesday, June 18._—At an early hour we left the inhospitable place of
Sulléri. It was a beautiful fresh morning, all nature being revived and
enlivened by the last night’s storm. My companions, sullen and irritated,
quarrelled among themselves on account of the selfish behaviour of
Íbrahíma. As for me, I was cheerful in the extreme, and borne away by an
enthusiastic and triumphant feeling; for to-day I was to see the river.
The neighbourhood of the water was first indicated by numbers of high
ant-hills, which, as I shall have occasion to observe more fully in the
course of my narrative, abound chiefly in the neighbourhood of rivers:
they were here ranged in almost parallel lines, and afforded a very
curious spectacle. We had just passed a small village or rúmde, where
not a living soul was to be seen, the people having all gone forth to
the labours of the field, when the lively Mohámmedu came running up to
me, and exclaimed, “Gashí! gashí! dútsi-n-Alantíka kè nan” (“Look! look!
that is Mount Alantíka”). I strained my eyes and saw, at a great distance
to the south-west, a large but insulated mountain mass, rising abruptly
on the east side, and forming a more gradual slope towards the west,
while it exhibited a rather smooth and broad top, which certainly must be
spacious, as it contains the estates of seven independent pagan chiefs.
Judging from the distance, which was pretty well known to me, I estimated
the height of the mountain at about eight thousand feet above the plain,
or about nine thousand feet of absolute elevation; but it may be somewhat
less.
Here there was still cultivated ground, exhibiting at present the finest
crop of masr, called “bútalí” by the Fúlbe of Ádamáwa; but a little
further on we entered upon a swampy plain (the savannas of Ádamáwa),
overgrown with tall rank grass, and broken by many large hollows full of
water, so that we were obliged to proceed with great caution. This whole
plain is annually (two months later) entirely under water. However, in
the middle of it, on a little rising ground which looks as if it were an
artificial mound, lies a small village, the abode of the ferrymen of the
Bénuwé, from whence the boys came running after us—slender, well-built
lads, accustomed to fatigue and strengthened by daily bathing; the
younger ones quite naked, the elder having a leathern apron girt round
their loins. A quarter of an hour afterwards we stood on the bank of the
Bénuwé.[60]
It happens but rarely that a traveller does not feel disappointed when
he first actually beholds the principal features of a new country, of
which his imagination has composed a picture from the description of
the natives; but although I must admit that the shape and size of the
Alantíka, as it rose in rounded lines from the flat level, did not
exactly correspond with the idea which I had formed of it, the appearance
of the river far exceeded my most lively expectations. None of my
informants had promised me that I should just come upon it at that most
interesting locality—the Tépe[61]—where the mightier river is joined
by another of very considerable size, and that in this place I was to
cross it. My arrival at this point, as I have stated before, was a most
fortunate circumstance. As I looked from the bank over the scene before
me, I was quite enchanted, although the whole country bore the character
of a desolate wilderness; but there could scarcely be any great traces of
human industry near the river, as, during its floods, it inundates the
whole country on both sides. This is the general character of all the
great rivers in these regions, except where they are encompassed by very
steep banks.
The principal river, the Bénuwé, flowed here from east to west, in a
broad and majestic course, through an entirely open country, from which
only here and there detached mountains started forth. The banks on our
side rose to twenty-five, and in some places to thirty feet, while
just opposite to my station, behind a pointed headland of sand, the
Fáro rushed forth, appearing from this point not much inferior to the
principal river, and coming in a fine sweep from the south-east, where it
disappeared in the plain, but was traced by me, in thought, upwards to
the steep eastern foot of the Alantíka. The river, below the junction,
keeping the direction of the principal branch, but making a slight bend
to the north, ran along the northern foot of Mount Bágelé, and was there
lost to the eye, but was followed in thought through the mountainous
region of the Báchama and Zína to Hamárruwa, and thence along the
industrious country of Korórofa, till it joined the great western river
the Kwára or Niger, and, conjointly with it, ran towards the great ocean.
On the northern side of the river another detached mountain, Mount Taife,
rose, and behind it the Bengo, with which Mount Fúro seemed connected,
stretching out in a long line towards the north-west. The bank upon which
we stood was entirely bare of trees, with the exception of a solitary and
poor acacia, about one hundred paces further up the river, while on the
opposite shore, along the Fáro and below the junction, some fine clusters
of trees were faintly seen.
I looked long and silently upon the stream; it was one of the happiest
moments in my life. Born on the bank of a large navigable river, in a
commercial place of great energy and life, I had from my childhood a
great predilection for river-scenery; and although plunged for many
years in the too exclusive study of antiquity, I never lost this native
instinct. As soon as I left home, and became the independent master of
my actions, I began to combine travel with study, and to study while
travelling, it being my greatest delight to trace running waters from
their sources, and to see them grow into brooks, to follow the brooks,
and see them become rivers, till they at last disappeared in the
all-devouring ocean. I had wandered all around the Mediterranean, with
its many gulfs, its beautiful peninsulas, its fertile islands—not hurried
along by steam, but slowly wandering from place to place, following the
traces of the settlements of the Greeks and Romans around this beautiful
basin, once their _terra incognita_. And thus, when entering upon the
adventurous career in which I subsequently engaged, it had been the
object of my most lively desire to throw light upon the natural arteries
and hydrographical network of the unknown regions of Central Africa.
The great eastern branch of the Niger was the foremost to occupy my
attention; and although for some time uncertain as to the identity of
the river of Ádamáwa with that laid down in its lower course by Messrs.
W. Allen, Laird, and Oldfield, I had long made up my mind on this point,
thanks to the clear information received from my friend Ahmed bel Mejúb.
I had now, with my own eyes, clearly established the direction and nature
of this mighty river; and to an unprejudiced mind there could no longer
be any doubt that this river joins the majestic watercourse explored
by the gentlemen just mentioned.[62] Hence I cherish the well-founded
conviction, that along this natural highroad European influence and
commerce will penetrate into the very heart of the continent and abolish
slavery, or rather those infamous slave-hunts and religious wars,
destroying the natural germs of human happiness, which are spontaneously
developed in the simple life of the pagans, and spreading devastation and
desolation all around.
We descended towards the place of embarkation, which at this season of
the year changes every week, or even more frequently. At present it
was at the mouth of a small, deeply worn channel, or dry watercourse,
descending from the swampy meadow-grounds towards the river, and filled
with tall reed-grass and bushes. Here was the poor little naval arsenal
of the Tépe, consisting of three canoes, two in good repair, and a third
one in a state of decay, and unfit for service.
It was now that for the first time I saw these rude little shells,
hollowed out of a single trunk—for the boats of the Búdduma are more
artificial, being made of a number of boards joined together: and I soon
began to eye these frail canoes with rather an anxious feeling, as I was
about to trust myself and all my property to what seemed to offer very
inadequate means of crossing with safety a large and deep river. They
measured from twenty-five to thirty feet in length, and only from a foot
to a foot and a half in height, and sixteen inches in width; and one of
them was so crooked, that I could scarcely imagine how it could stem the
strong current of the river.
On the river itself two canoes were plying; but, notwithstanding our
repeated hallooing and firing, the canoemen would not come to our side
of the river; perhaps they were afraid. Roving about along the bushy
watercourse, I found an old canoe, which being made of two very large
trunks joined together, had been incomparably more comfortable and
spacious than the canoes now in use; although the joints being made
with cordage just like the stitching of a shirt, and without pitching
the holes, which were only stuffed with grass, necessarily allowed the
water to penetrate continually into the boat; it, however, had the great
advantage of not breaking if it ran upon a rock, being in a certain
degree pliable. It was about thirty-five feet long, and twenty-six inches
wide in the middle; but it was now out of repair, and was lying upside
down. It was from this point, standing upon the bottom of the boat, that
I made the sketch of this most interesting locality.
The canoemen still delaying to come, I could not resist the temptation
of taking a river bath, a luxury which I had not enjoyed since bathing
in the Eurymedon. The river is full of crocodiles; but there could be
little danger from these animals after all our firing and the constant
noise of so many people. I had not yet arrived at the conviction, that
river-bathing is not good for a European in a tropical climate, but this
was the first and last time that I bathed voluntarily, with a single
exception, for when navigating the river of Logón on a fine day in March
1852, I could not help jumping overboard, and on my return from Bagírmi,
in August 1853, I was obliged to do it.
The bed of the river, after the first foot and a half, sloped down very
gradually, so that at the distance of thirty yards from the shore I had
not more than three feet and a half of water, but then it suddenly became
deep. The current was so strong, that I was unable to stem it; but my
original strength, I must allow, was at the time already greatly reduced.
The only advantage which I derived from this feat was that of learning
that the river carries gold with it; for the people, as often as I dipped
under water, cried out that I was searching for this metal, and when I
came out of the water, were persuaded that I had obtained plenty of it.
However, the river was already too full for investigating this matter
further.
At length a canoe arrived, the largest of the two that were actually
employed, and a long bargaining commenced with the eldest of the
canoemen, a rather short and well-set lad. Of course, as the chief of
the caravan, I had to pay for all, and, there being three camels and
five horses to be carried over, it was certainly a difficult business.
It cannot, therefore, be regarded as a proof of exorbitant demands, that
I had to pay five “dóras,” a sum which in Kúkawa would buy two ox-loads
of Indian corn. I allowed all the people to go before me, in order to
prevent the canoemen from exacting something more from them.
There was considerable difficulty with my large camel-bags, which were
far too large for the canoes, and which several times were in danger of
being upset; for they were so unsteady that the people were obliged to
kneel down on the bottom, and keep their equilibrium by holding with both
hands on the sides of the boat. Fortunately I had laid my tent-poles at
the bottom of the canoe, so that the water did not reach the luggage;
but owing to the carelessness of the Hajji’s companions, all his books
were wetted, to his utmost distress, but I saw him afterwards shedding
tears while he was drying his deteriorated treasures on the sandy beach
of the headland. The horses as they crossed, swimming by the sides of
the canoe, had to undergo great fatigue; but desperate was the struggle
of the camels, which were too obstinate to be guided by the frail
vessels, and had to be pushed through alone, and could only be moved by
the most severe beating; the camel of the Hajji was for a while given
up in despair by the whole party. At length they were induced to cross
the channel, the current carrying them down to a great distance, and our
whole party arrived safe on the sandy beach of the headland, where there
was not a bit of shade. This whole headland for two or three months every
year is covered with water, although its chief part, which was overgrown
with tall reed-grass, was at present about fifteen feet above the surface.
The river, where we crossed it, was, at the very least, eight hundred
yards broad, and in its channel generally eleven feet deep, and was
liable to rise, under _ordinary_ circumstances, at least thirty, or even
at times fifty feet higher. Its upper course at that time was known to
me as far as the town of Géwe on the road to Logón; but further on I had
only heard from the natives that it came from the south, or rather from
the south-south-east.
It was a quarter before one o’clock when we left the beach in order to
cross the second river, the Fáro, which is stated to come from Mount
Lábul, about seven days’ march to the south. It was at present about
six hundred yards broad, but generally not exceeding two feet in depth,
although almost all my informants had stated to me that the Fáro was
the principal river. The reason of this mistake was, I think, that they
had never seen the two rivers at this place, but observed the Fáro near
Gúrin, where, a little later in the season, it seems to be of an immense
breadth, particularly if they crossed from Bundang; or they were swayed
by the great length of the latter river, which they were acquainted with
in its whole course, while none of them had followed the upper course of
the Bénuwé.
Be this as it may, the current of the Fáro was extremely violent, far
more so than of the Bénuwé, approaching, in my estimation, a rate of
about five miles, while I would rate the former at about three and a
half miles an hour, the current of the Fáro plainly indicating that the
mountainous region whence it issued was at no great distance. In order to
avoid the strongest part of the current, which swept along the southern
shore, we kept close to a small island, which, however, at present could
still be reached from this side with dry feet. We then entered upon low
meadow-land, overgrown with tall reed-grass, which a month later is
entirely inundated to such a depth that only the crowns of the tallest
trees are seen rising above the water, of which they bore unmistakable
traces, the highest line thus marked being about fifty feet above the
present level of the river; for of course the inundation does not always
reach the same height, but varies according to the greater or less
abundance of the rains. The information of my companions, as well as the
evident marks on the ground, left not the least doubt about the immense
rise of these rivers.[63]
For a mile and a half from the present margin of the river, near a large
and beautiful tamarind-tree, we ascended its outer bank, rising to the
height of about thirty feet, the brink of which is not only generally
reached by the immense inundation, but even sometimes overflowed, so that
the people who cross it during the height of the inundation, leaving the
canoes here, have still to make their way through deep water, covering
this highest level.
My companions from Ádamáwa were almost unanimous in spontaneously
representing the waters as preserving their highest level for forty days,
which, according to their accounts, would extend from about the 20th of
August till the end of September. This statement of mine, made not from
my own experience, but from the information of the natives, has been
slightly, but indeed very slightly, modified by the experience of those
eminent men who, upon the reports which I forwarded of my discovery, were
sent out by Her Majesty’s Government in the _Pleiad_ and who succeeded in
reaching the point down to which I had been able to delineate the course
of the river with some degree of certainty. That the fall of the river at
this point of the junction begins at the very end of September, has been
exactly confirmed by these gentlemen, while with regard to the forty days
they have not made any distinct observation, although there is evidence
enough that they experienced something confirmatory of it.[64]
On leaving the outer bank of the river, our way led through a fine
park-like plain, dotted with a few mimosas of middling size, and clear of
underwood. The sides of the path were strewn with skeletons of horses,
marking the line followed by the late expedition of the governor of Yóla,
on its return from Lére, or the Mbána country. Having then entered upon
cultivated ground, we reached the first cluster of huts of the large
straggling village Chabajáure, or Chabajáule, situated in a most fertile
and slightly undulating tract; and having kept along it for a little
less than a mile and a half, we took up our quarters in a solitary and
secluded cluster of huts, including a very spacious courtyard.
It was a sign of warm hospitality that, although the whole caravan had
fallen to the charge of a single household, sufficient quantities not
only of “nyíro,” the common dish of Indian corn, but even of meat,
were brought to us in the evening. While passing the village, I had
observed that all the corn on the fields was “geróri,” or _Pennisetum_
(millet—dukhn), a kind of grain originally, it would seem, so strange to
the Fúlbe, that they have not even a word of their own for it, having
only modified a little the Háusa word “géro”; not a single blade of
“baíri,” or sorghum, was to be seen. The scarcity was less felt here than
in the northern districts of the country, and we bought some grain for
our horses as a supply for the next day.
_Thursday, June 19._—We started early in the morning, continuing along
the straggling hamlets and rich cornfields of Chabajáule for a mile and
a half; when we passed two slave villages, or “rúmde,” belonging to a
rich Púllo, of the name of Hanúri. All the meadows were beautifully
adorned with white violet-striped lilies. We then entered a wooded tract,
ascending at the same time considerably on the hilly ground which juts
out from the foot of Mount Bágelé, and which allowed us a clearer view
of the geological character of the mountain. Having again emerged from
the forest upon an open, cultivated, and populous district, we passed
the large village of Dulí, and, having descended and reascended again
we obtained a most beautiful view near the village Gúroré, which lies
on rising ground, surrounded by a good many large monkey-bread-trees,
or bodóje (_sing._ bokki). For from this elevated spot we enjoyed a
prospect over the beautiful meadow-lands sloping gently down towards the
river, which from this spot is not much more than five miles distant,
taking its course between Mounts Bengo and Bágelé, and washing the foot
of the latter, but not visible to us. The country continued beautiful
and pleasant, and was here enlivened by numerous herds of cattle, while
in the villages which we had passed I had seen none, as the Fúlbe drive
their cattle frequently to very distant grazing grounds.
While marching along at a good pace, Mohámmedu walked up to me, and
with a certain feeling of pride showed me his fields, “gashí gonakína.”
Though a poor man, he was master of three slaves, a very small fortune
in a conquered and newly colonized country, like Ádamáwa, based entirely
upon slavery, where many individuals have each more than a thousand
slaves. I was greatly surprised to see here a remarkable specimen of a
bokki or monkey-bread-tree, branching off from the ground into three
separate trunks; at least, I never remember to have seen anything like
it, although the tree is the most common representative of the vegetable
kingdom through the whole breadth of Central Africa. All the ground to
the right of the path is inundated during the height of the flood.
We had now closely approached the Bágelé, the summit of which, though
not very high, is generally enveloped in clouds, a fact which, when
conveyed to me in the obscure language of the natives, had led me to
the misconception, while writing in Kúkawa my report of the provisional
information I had obtained of the country whither I was about to proceed,
that this mountain was of volcanic character. It seems to consist
chiefly of granite, and has a very rugged surface, strewn with great
irregular blocks, from between which trees shoot up. Nevertheless,
stretching out to a length of several miles from south-south-east to
north-north-west, it contains a good many spots of arable land, which
support eighteen little hamlets of independent pagans. These, protected
by the inaccessible character of their strongholds, and their formidable
double spears, have not only been able hitherto to repulse all the
attacks which the proud Mohammedans, the centre of whose government is
only a few miles distant, have made against them, but, descending from
their haunts, commit almost daily depredations upon the cattle of their
enemies.[65] One of their little hamlets, perched on the top of steep
cliffs, we could plainly distinguish by the recently thatched roofs
of the huts, the snow-white colour of which very conspicuously shone
forth from the dark masses of the rock. The country was always gaining
in interest as we advanced, the meadow-lands being covered with living
creatures of every description, such as cattle, horses, asses, goats,
and sheep, and we reached the easternmost cluster of huts of the large
straggling village or district of Ribáwo or Ribágo,[66] stretching out
on our left on a little rising ground. The district is not only rich in
corn and pasturage, but also in fish, which are most plentiful in a large
inlet or backwater, “illágul,” as it is called by the Fúlbe, branching
off from the river along the north-east foot of the Bágelé, and closely
approaching the village. In this shallow water the fish are easily caught.
Numbers of inquisitive people of every age and sex gathered round us
from the neighbouring hamlets; but while hovering round me and the
camels with great delight, they behaved very decently and quietly. They
followed us till we took up our quarters a little before ten o’clock,
with a friend of Bíllama’s, in a large group of huts lying close to the
path, and shaded by most luxuriant trees. Although there were several
clean huts, I preferred the cool and ventilated entrance hall of the same
description as I have mentioned above, and remained here even during the
night, although a most terrible storm, which broke out at six o’clock
in the evening, and lasted full four hours, flooded the whole ground,
and rendered my resting-place rather too cool. I would advise other
travellers not to follow my example during the rainy season, but rather
to make themselves comfortable in the warm interior of a well-protected
hut.
In our last march through these rich low grounds, which are every
year flooded by the river, I had not observed the least traces of the
cultivation of rice, for which they seem to be so marvellously adapted,
the cultivation round Ribágo being almost exclusively limited to maiwa
or maiwári, a peculiar species of sorghum called “matëa” in Kanúri.
On inquiring why these people did not grow rice, I learnt that the
Fúlbe hereabouts had all migrated from Bórnu after the downfall of
their jemmára and dominion in that country, when not only were the new
political intruders repulsed, but even the old settlers, who had been
established in that country from very ancient times, were obliged to
emigrate. In Bórnu, however, as I have had occasion to mention before, no
rice is cultivated, so that these people, although at present established
in regions where rice would probably succeed much better than millet
and Indian corn, abstain entirely from its cultivation. On the other
hand, in the western parts of Adamáwa and in Hamárruwa, whither the
Fúlbe had migrated from Háusa, rice is cultivated to a considerable
extent. On a former occasion I have already touched on the question,
whether rice be indigenous in Negroland or not. It has evidently been
cultivated from time immemorial in the countries along the middle course
of the Ísa, or Kwára, from Kébbi up to Gágho, or Gógó; but this might
seem to be in consequence of a very ancient intercourse between those
regions and Egypt, which I hope to be able to establish in the course of
my narrative. It grows, however, wild in many parts, from the southern
provinces of Bórnu, Bagírmi, and Wadáy, as far north as el Haúdh and
Bághena, on the border of the western desert.
Another important point of which I here became aware was, that the Bátta
language, which, among the numerous languages of Ádamáwa, or rather
Fúmbiná, is the most extensively spoken, has two very different dialects;
for, being anxious to finish my small vocabulary of this language, which
I had commenced in Kúkawa with the assistance of Mohámmedu, I soon found
that the dialect spoken here differed considerably from that of which I
had previously written specimens. The Bátta language, as I have stated
above, is intimately related to the Marghí and Záni idiom, and bears
several points of resemblance to the Músgu language, which is itself
related to the various dialects of Kótoko. All these languages have some
general points of affinity to the South African languages.
At present, however, the indigenous population is almost totally extinct
in this district, which is exclusively inhabited by the conquerors, who
have here found an abode remarkably suited to their mode of living. The
whole place has not less than six thousand inhabitants.
_Friday, June 20._—We started early in order to reach the capital, if
possible, before noon, and passed through several hamlets, all belonging
to the extensive village or district of Ribágo, and interrupted here and
there by projecting masses of schistose rock, while the concavity between
this rising ground and Mount Bágelé was fast filling with the flood
from the river, and presented already a considerable sheet of water.
The country, after we had passed this populous district, became thickly
wooded, which I had not expected to find so near the capital; and, on
account of some ravines which intersect it, and of the neighbourhood of
the inlet of the river, it certainly cannot afford a very easy passage
towards the end of the rainy season. Here also the rock projects above
the plain in many places.
About eight o’clock, when we had travelled round the south-western foot
of Mount Bágelé, we passed through a number of small hamlets, which
however did not exhibit any traces of cultivation, and then again entered
upon a wild tract, while we obtained a glance at a picturesquely seated
place before us, which I unhesitatingly took for Yóla, but which proved
to be a small village situated at a considerable distance from the
capital. Before we reached it, we had to cross a sheet of water nearly
five feet deep, and called by my companions “Máyo Bínti,” which caused
us a great deal of trouble and delay, and wetted almost all my luggage.
The water, which at present had no current, skirts the foot of the rocky
slope on which the village is situated, the name of which is Yebbórewó.
Here our camels created an extraordinary interest, and a great many
women, although we did not attend to their wish to stop, managed to pass
under the bellies of these tall creatures, in the hope of obtaining their
blessing, as they thought them sacred animals.
Having kept along the rising ground, and passed several little hamlets
adorned with monkey-bread-trees, we had to cross very difficult swampy
ground, which, a little later in the season, must be avoided by a long
circuit. Two months later Mount Bágelé must look almost like an island,
so surrounded is it on all sides by deep inlets and swamps. The detached
cone of Mount Takabéllo, rising to a height of about a thousand feet
above the plain, for some time formed a conspicuous object in front of
us on our winding path, till at length, a little before noon, we reached
the outskirts of the capital in a state of mind not exempt from anxious
feeling.