We had just quitted the front of the Al-waj. It was ten o'clock in
the morning, and we had to cross a vast plain in order to reach our
next halting-place. The heat was oppressive in the extreme, as if a
storm were brewing, although the sky was cloudless. The sun, as if
foreseeing that a veil would soon be interposed between him and the
earth, that the rainy season was coming on, and that he would no
longer be sole monarch of these districts, was darting his most
burning rays. We were weary, almost done up, and as we went slowly
forward, we kept close together in the vain hope of affording each
other some sort of shade.
In the midst of this barren, parched, and arid plain we unexpectedly
caught sight of a leafless tree, whose branches had been lopped off
so completely, that nothing but a post was left. Bound closely to
this tree, with his face to the sun, we perceived a human being. De
Morin and Delange galloped off at once, and stopped short at the tree
in astonishment at the sight which met their gaze.
A man, about twenty years of age and completely naked, was bound to
the tree. His features were regular and gave token of great energy of
character, his eyes had a very peculiar expression in them, and his
smile was somewhat sardonic. An artistic statue in bronze, modelled
by a master hand, alone could give any just idea of his splendid
proportions and the lustre of his dark brown, almost metallic skin.
In spite of his bonds, his attitude was noble, he stood firmly and
upright, with expanded chest, and uplifted head.
Followed by our two interpreters and some of the Al-waj, who had been
engaged as guides as far as the next halt, I rejoined de Morin and
Delange, and with one consent we made ready to cut the captive's
bonds. The natives at once came up to us and indulged us with a
vehement harangue, the sense of which we were fain to obtain from our
interpreters.
According to their account, the man whom we wished to rescue was a
poisoner, belonging to the Baggara tribe, whose acquaintance we had
made when coming from Khartoum up the Nile. Taken prisoner by some
dealers on their way to the south, he had in the preceding year been
sold to one of the chiefs of the Al-waj. Soon afterwards the chief,
together with all his family and more than ten members of the tribe,
had died from the effects of poison, and, suspicion having rested on
the slave, he was condemned to death from the sun.
This punishment, of which we now heard for the first time, is of the
most simple description, and it may well be asked how it is that it
is not more widely known in the tropics or at the equator, for, of
course, in Europe, especially in the north, it would not be very
efficacious.
It consists merely of fastening the criminal in the middle of a
plain, and there leaving him without the power of moving, to be burnt
at a slow fire, or, to speak more correctly, by a quick sun, in the
simplest possible manner, without appliances of any kind, and without
any expense in the shape of stake or faggots.
The Al-waj, like true artists, introduce a certain amount of
refinement into the punishment they have thus devised, for lest it
should not last long enough, or lest the prisoner should die too
speedily from sun-stroke, they cover his head with leaves. The skull
and forehead, the most vulnerable parts, are thus protected, but all
the rest of the body burns to a cinder, and gradually dries up. The
skin is not long before it peels off, and the sun darts his pitiless
rays upon the quivering flesh.
It may possibly be said that, notwithstanding these precautions, the
punishment cannot be of very long duration. Abandoned by all, riven
to his post, the slave would certainly die of hunger and thirst
before the sun would kill him. They who would argue thus do not know
the Al-waj. They do not so abandon the criminal, but, on the
contrary, pay him every attention. Each day, when the sun has lost
his power, and they themselves no longer dread his rays, they bring
their prisoner a few grains and a drop or two of water, thus
prolonging his existence, and condemning him to die by the sun alone,
according to their decree.
These explanations, so far from inducing us to give up our ideas of
mercy, made us more persistent. It is, perhaps, both imprudent and
indiscreet to turn a poisoner loose on society, even if that society
be African, and if it were merely a question of hanging or beheading,
we should probably allow justice to take its course. But the
sufferings the poor wretch endures and those which are in store for
him, the very horror of his punishment, all render his crime less
odious. In the victim we forget the criminal.
Armed with our knives we were again preparing to cut the prisoner's
bonds, without condescending to pay any attention to the protests or
remonstrances of the Al-Waj, when our interpreter Ali called our
attention to the sky.
"Well," said Delange, to him. "What part does the sky play in this
matter? Are you afraid that the sun will resent our depriving him of
his victim? He never asked for him—no offer even was made to him."
"That is not what I meant," replied our guide. "I pointed to the sky,
because at this moment it is covered with clouds. A storm will soon
burst over us, the rain will fall in torrents, and as the prisoner
will be saved by natural causes it is of no use our making enemies of
all this tribe."
"Granted," said Delange. "The sun will be interrupted in his work of
destruction. The rain will refresh this poor wretch, and will wash
his wounds. I admit all that, but the luminary will soon reappear
brighter and more burning than ever."
"The punishment will soon be at an end," our guide hastened to
explain, "in accordance with the customs of the tribes of these
regions. They have been suffering for some time past from a terrible
drought, and the rains, which usually commence at the end of
February, are this year a fortnight late. You have already had the
Dinkas, who stand in great need of water for their flocks and herds,
coming to you, and offering you ivory and slaves if you would prevail
upon the rain to fell. The Al-Waj suffer quite as much as their
neighbours. Superstitious, as, indeed, we all are in Africa, instead
of recognizing that the rainy season will eventually commence in due
course of nature, they will think that the sun does not desire the
victim offered up to him, and that in order to protect and save him
that luminary will withdraw his rays. Not only in that case will they
hasten to cut the prisoner's bonds, but they will raise him to the
dignity of a sorcerer, and, attributing to him the power of making
the sun stand still and of causing the rain to fall at his will and
pleasure, they will pay him the greatest respect."
The Arab was right. The rainy season was fairly setting in, and very
soon a tremendous storm burst forth. Then, as he had said, the
natives rushed towards their prisoner, cut his bonds, and prostrated
themselves before him.
Did the slave, thus miraculously saved, really believe that he was
protected by the sun? Did he seriously regard himself as a sorcerer?
We did not seek to enquire, but we saw him, as soon as he was
released, look proudly round him, and, followed by his former
persecutors, now become his admirers, wend his way towards the
village, where he would be looked upon as a demi-god, be worshipped
by all, and be held capable of causing rain or sunshine as he
pleased.
Perhaps, too, he counted upon being able to resume his particular
trade as a poisoner, but there would no longer be any one to say him
nay—in his capacity as sorcerer and demi-god, his poisoning would be
carried out under official sanction.
10th March.—We are progressing very rapidly, for, thanks to extra
rations and a few presents, we are getting double stages out of our
escort. We now rest from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., continuing on the road
from the latter hour until nine or ten o'clock at night in the clear,
bright moonlight. We start, as usual, for our first stage at 5 a.m.,
and have now reached a kind of neutral ground, about three hundred
square miles in extent, in which are situated, some five or six
leagues from each other, the celebrated seribas, or depôts, of the
Khartoum merchants. Owing to the letters of introduction presented to
us at that town, we have been received most hospitably at all these
depôts, thatched and roomy huts being placed at our disposal, as well
as provisions for both ourselves and the caravan generally.
The denizens of these seribas are very far from being morally
irreproachable; in fact, they fully deserve the bad character given
to them by European travellers. But it must, in justice, be confessed
that they perfectly understand the duties of hospitality, and that,
in this regard, they do not in any way fall behind the Creoles of
South America or of our French colonies.