On a river launch — Salutations — Crocodiles — An evening
halt — Camping on the bank — Tobacco-growing — Cotton-growing
— Garrison mess life — Irksome travelling — An enlightened
ruler — An excellent shooting ground — A holy city — Kadis
— Architecture — Sails of grass — Picturesque pilots — A
strike in the engine-room — Flat country.
AS we glided easily down the river I began to think that life on
the “Réné Caillé” would be rather pleasant.
It was very enjoyable to sit on deck in an easy chair watching the
rapidly changing landscape as we went along merrily at five or six
miles an hour.
The river was not more than 400 yards wide here, and its bed was
frequently split into three or four channels by spits of sandbank.
Many of these channels were certainly not more than forty yards wide,
so the little launch required careful handling to get her round
the numerous turnings of the stream. On the left bank the Koulikoro
Hills were still to be seen gradually extending farther and farther
from the shore until they were lost in a blue haze in the distance.
On the right bank the country was extremely flat, vegetation had
become more and more scarce, until, on this side, the ground was
merely covered with patches of low scrub.
Occasionally we passed a fishing village, a collection of small
mud huts huddled together on the river banks. As we steamed by
a swarm of black urchins would come out to look at the launch,
waving their dusky little arms and shouting greetings.
As evening began to fall a number of tiny islets, fringed with trees,
began to appear on the landscape. In spite of the dry weather the
trees were clothed in mantles of rich green, relieved only by masses
of ruddy, orange-coloured flowers, in places where the beautiful
“Flamboyant” or “Gold mohur” tree prospered. Canoes laden
with grain and paddled by a couple of sturdy natives frequently
passed us, while occasionally a barge under full sail with cargo
from the big markets down-stream passed us, speeding on her way
to Koulikoro.
The next morning we reached the important trading village of
Nyamina. This place was considerably larger than anything we had
yet seen. The houses are built of the reddish-brown Niger mud; they
are solidly constructed dwellings, the colour of which so nearly
approximates to that of the surrounding soil that the inexperienced
eye cannot detect the presence of a village until almost within
hailing distance of it. Nyamina is on an important trade-route
leading from Southern Mauretania to the Niger, and it is at this
point that caravans cross the river on their way to the big markets
of Bobo-Djilassu and Sikasso. Even as we arrived a big convoy of at
least 300 camels, which had just come in, was to be seen watering at
the river brink. The camels would not cross the Niger here, but the
merchandise would be transported to its destination on carriers’
heads. It was the first time on this journey that I had come across
camels, and it was a curious thing that at my first view of them I
should see no less than 300. We halted here for an hour to take in
wood. A certain amount of coal, in the form of briquettes imported
from France, is burnt on the Niger vessels, but the majority of
their fuel consists of wood. Special arrangements are made with the
headmen of certain villages on the banks to stack wood for the use
of steamers. When a boat requires fuel she blows her steam-whistle
to attract the attention of the village, and then gives an order for
the amount taken to the headman. The latter can obtain payment for
his wood on presenting the order to the Commissioner of his district.
On resuming our way we approached a part of the river where sandbanks
appeared to be more numerous than ever. After two or three ominous
bumps we suddenly felt a severe shock and the little vessel came
to a dead stop. We had stuck fast on a sandbank. Our skipper
shouted the order to go full-speed astern, but all his efforts
seemed unavailing. The crew were then made to jump into the water,
and after shoving and straining for about half an hour with the
engines going astern the whole time we at last got clear.
Soon after this misadventure I noticed ahead of us a big lighter,
flying the French flag in the stern. We rapidly overtook her,
and as we came abreast of each other the two crews exchanged
greetings, shouting to one another the usual string of salutations
which are customary in this country. When one begins to understand
the language it is amusing to listen to the varied nature of the
questions the native asks a fellow-traveller when they meet. The
usual type of question and answer is much like this: “Welcome,
my friend, I hope you are well.” “Quite well, praise be to
Allah, and how are you, my friend?” “I am very well, but is
your house in good repair?” “Yes, thank you, but tell me news of
your horse.” These salutations continue for ten minutes or more,
and each traveller wastes a considerable amount of time on every
journey in this fashion. Even when the two men have resumed their
way they can be heard shouting back salutations to each other as
long as their voices are audible. Besides the ordinary greetings,
corresponding to our “Good morning,” “Good night,” etc.,
these simple natives have such greetings as “I salute you in the
rain,” or “Greetings for the sunshine,” and a host of other
expressions according as it is rainy or fine weather, etc.
On the deck of the barge were two Europeans, a man and a woman.
They turned out to be the Resident of Koulikoro and his wife, whom
I had met a few days previously. The former had been appointed a
Commissioner in the district of Bandiagara, whither he now was on
his way. I expected to meet them again later, as I was likely to
be shooting in their district. However, we missed, and I never saw
them again. The “Réné Caillé” soon outdistanced the barge,
but she overtook us again during the course of the day, owing to our
launch sticking, on several occasions of more or less long duration,
on sandbanks.
This portion of the river is inhabited by a number of
crocodiles. These repulsive creatures are hated and feared quite
as much by the black man as by the European. Consequently there
were several members of the crew eagerly on the look-out for the
crouching forms of these animals as they basked in the sun on a
sandbank. Immediately one was seen I used to be informed and would
pick up my rifle for a shot. Sometimes even the keen eyes of the
“boys” would be deceived, and they would mistake a log for a
crocodile; there really is not much difference in the appearance of
the two objects, and often one’s first intimation of the presence
of a crocodile is given by seeing the supposed log suddenly and
swiftly slide off the bank into the water. In the dazzling sun it
was frequently difficult to distinguish these beasts, for their
yellowish-grey bodies would assimilate well with the sand on which
they were lying. Sometimes we would see them swimming in the river,
the only thing discernible being a black speck just raised above
the level of the water, which was probably a bit of the head. The
natives are afraid to bathe in this portion of the river, owing to
the frequent accidents which have occurred.
Many were the gruesome stories we were told. One of the pilots said
he had a brother who was a fisherman in these parts. This man had
a small son, and one day the mother had taken him down to the river
while she was drawing water. The little fellow toddled a few yards
off and began splashing in the shallow water near the edge of the
stream, when by some misfortune he slipped into a deep pool and was
at once carried off by a crocodile. The mother’s first warning
was a cry of terror from the child, as it was drawn struggling
under water by the horrible creature. The unfortunate woman’s
horror and anguish as she stood there powerless must have been
terrible to witness. Crocodiles are objects of superstition among
the natives here. Usually crocodiles in the abstract are regarded
as a “juju,” but in some cases these animals are kept alive in
the village for fetish purposes.
At one place where we halted in the evening there was a big tank
in the centre of the village. In this tank there lived a huge
crocodile, for which the natives had a wholesome respect not
unmingled with fear. Around the tank they had built a strong mud
wall, several feet high. The creature used to be fed daily with
enormous lumps of meat. He was reputed to be fifty years old, and
he probably was a good deal older than that even, for the most
aged inhabitants of the place could remember his existence when
they were children. Undoubtedly crocodiles live to a very great age.
River crocodiles are said to travel long distances at times. I
recollect once in India a river crocodile was found in a small
swamp about twelve miles from the nearest water. It was known that
no crocodile had been in the swamp previously, and it seemed as if
it must have come across dry land for the whole of that distance.
The “Réné Caillé” used to steam about twelve hours a day,
from sunrise to sunset. I suppose we covered an average daily
distance of sixty miles. Travelling, even by the moon, at night was
impossible owing to the narrowness of the navigable channel. When
there is plenty of water in the river boats travel day and night.
About five o’clock, or a little later, we generally halted for
the night near a village. A supply of wood was then taken on board
so as to be ready for an early start next day, and after that duty
had been performed all hands were allowed to fall out to cook their
evening meal. It was a cheery sight to watch the camp fires dotted
about on the river bank, each with a little group of black figures
busily engaged in cooking operations, while the little launch lay
peacefully at anchor with the last rays of the setting sun reflecting
their red light on to her.
I was glad to step ashore and stretch my legs on these occasions. If
it was not too late I used to take my gun and a “boy,” and stroll
off on the chance of getting a shot at a bushfowl or pigeon. On
this part of the river there was a big, mottled pigeon. Its colour
resembled red-roan more nearly than anything else. This pigeon is
about twice as large as a green pigeon, and I always saw it near
water. It feeds chiefly on rice or millet. Waterfowl were still
extremely scarce; since leaving Koulikoro I had only seen one flight
of duck.
The non-commissioned officer, who was going to Bobo Djilassu, was
a keen sportsman and used often to accompany me in the evening
expeditions. His gun was a 16-bore, and he told me he never
bothered to clean it. One day out of curiosity I looked down the
barrels. It certainly was in a very dirty condition, and it passes
my comprehension how he managed to shoot with it at all. He was
not a bad shot at a bird on the wing, but used to say he could
not understand the necessity for shooting at birds flying when you
could so often get an easy shot at a sitting pigeon or bushfowl!
However, we had some pleasant walks together and generally brought
in something for the “pot.”
Sand-flies on the river banks were frequently very bad at night.
I found that my small-meshed mosquito-curtain was invaluable. But
the worst time for these plaguy little creatures was between sundown
and bedtime. They seemed to be aware how helpless we were, and took
the opportunity of making the most of those two or three hours. Big
logs of wood were scarce, and somehow a lot of small fires did
not seem to give the same immunity from their attacks as did one
big log fire. I preferred to sleep on shore, but my companions
usually slept on board. The chief drawback to sleeping on shore
was that one had to rise in the dark in order to get the kit stowed
aboard before we started. The nights were very cool and pleasant,
and being safe under my net from the onslaughts of the insects,
I always managed to sleep very comfortably.
On the 3rd of March we reached Ségou. This town is 112 miles
down the Niger from Koulikoro, on the right bank of the river. As
we approached the hitherto brown, sandy banks became fringed with
fresh green vegetation; this was tobacco, which is grown to a great
extent here. The leaf is small, and therefore, although the tobacco
is of good quality, it is not worth exporting to France. The natives
smoke it and use it as snuff. Tobacco is a greatly appreciated luxury
in this country. It is only grown in strictly limited localities,
and invariably commands a high price in the market. The tobacco
plantations gradually disappeared as we drew nearer to the town,
and wide-spreading trees made their appearance together with the
Europeans’ gardens of vegetables and flowers. Ségou is the
capital of the district of that name; it is an important trading
place with a fairly large population of white men.
We were to stay here three hours, so I went ashore to call on
the Commissioner. He lived in a well-built mud house, a portion
of which was his office. While talking to him a young Frenchman
entered to whom I was introduced. He was the agent of the French
Cotton-Growing Association. This gentleman very kindly offered to
show me his ginning apparatus, a proposal which I eagerly accepted.
M. Level, who spoke English remarkably well, was a most interesting
man to meet. He had had a large experience of cotton-growing in
different parts of the world, and was therefore peculiarly qualified
to speak on this subject. A good deal of cotton is grown in the
basin of the Niger about here, Ségou being the central market to
which the stuff is generally brought.
Native-grown cotton, as was previously explained, is short in the
staple and rather coarse. The French Cotton-Growing Association
has tried to introduce the cultivation of Egyptian and American
cotton. M. Level had distributed large quantities of these seeds
to the natives in the endeavour to induce them to grow a better
class of cotton, but, he informed me, the result so far had not
been very encouraging. The output had been small compared with the
quantity of seed distributed, and this, it appeared, was not so
much due to the soil being unsuitable, as to the natives being too
lazy to plant the cotton. Ginning is carried on upon a big scale;
there is also a hydraulic press for compressing the cotton as it is
packed into bales. The Association has its own barges which transport
the cotton to Koulikoro for shipment to Europe. There are also two
other branches; one in the south of the colony on the Bani River,
and the other at Kayes, on the Senegal River.
M. Level introduced me to the officers of the garrison, who took me
to their quarters and were most eager to be told all about the life
of a British officer in West Africa, and to know whether I thought
it differed much from their mode of living. In many cases the French
do not have regular messes, but each officer lives by himself, and
once or twice in the week each individual takes a turn in inviting
his brother officers to dinner or _déjeuner_. They seem to prefer
this method, saying it obviates the disadvantage of the too-close
companionship of mess life.
On leaving Ségou we had a recurrence of the troubles of the previous
day. In fact, this portion of the Niger is the most difficult to
navigate of any part between Koulikoro and Timbuctu. The channel
is continually blocked by shoals, making progress very slow and
travelling very irksome. There are a lot of fishing villages about
here, and large herds of cattle are seen at times. The fisherfolk
are Bosos, a hardy race, but people of no great intelligence. The
Bosos are pagans; they are looked down on by the superior tribes who
surround them, and appear to have little ambition. These people have
ever been a downtrodden race, so that probably any spirit they once
had was long ago crushed by their numerous conquerors during the
troubled times before the French appeared at the end of last century.
The next day we arrived at Sansanding, where we had to halt a
whole day to effect some repairs to the machinery. This place is a
semi-independent native State, governed by a native ruler, called the
“Fama.” It is interesting as being the only native State with
its own little Government in the colony, or I believe in the whole
of French West Africa. The Fama is a most enlightened man, who was
educated at the Government College at Kayes, and afterwards went to
France. He speaks French well and has very sound ideas for a native
about the administration of his Government. He has built himself a
European house, in which he possesses French furniture, pictures,
china and a host of modern comforts. He was very hospitable,
insisting on our partaking of wine and coffee with him. The town
is neatly built and kept in good order.
Owing to the shallow water we had to anchor two miles down-stream,
and went up the small creek leading to the town in a canoe. Between
the town and the launch there was a stretch of grassy bush,
so, before returning to the boat, I decided to investigate the
shooting possibilities of this bit of country, intending to
walk back by the river bank. I was alone on this occasion, as
the French non-commissioned officer who used to accompany me had
disembarked at Ségou, whence he would march to his destination in
the south of the colony. The Fama’s shooting-ground proved to be
an excellent one. The good people of Sansanding had evidently not
much acquaintance with guns, and were quite scared when they saw me
raise a harmless-looking object to my shoulder and simultaneously
heard a report. When a bird fell the astonishment of the natives
was great. I believe they thought it the work of some wonderful
and mysterious “medicine.” Most of my beaters dispersed with
marvellous rapidity at the noise of the discharge. Weapons of any
description are scarce here, but the chief national arm is the spear,
although even that is but rarely seen.
On returning to the launch I found a small fish market was in
progress on the sandy river bank. The wives of the soldiers, who
were being towed in the steel canoe behind us, were bargaining with
great zest and vehemence. It appeared that the buyers and sellers
had very divergent views on the subject of what was a fair price to
charge. If I had not fortunately arrived on the scene I am afraid
the ladies of the two parties would so far have forgotten their
good manners as to come to blows.
On leaving Sansanding the boat was hailed by a canoe which just came
round a bend in the river as we started. We hove to and awaited the
arrival of the occupant. It was one of the sons of the Fama, who had
come with a present of milk and eggs from his father. This youth,
whom we had not seen on paying our visit to the town that morning,
also spoke French and had been to the High School at Dakar for his
education. I am afraid, however, that he will never be so fine a
specimen of a native as the present Fama, and it seems doubtful if he
will have the chance of succeeding his father. I understand that when
the present ruler dies the French intend to incorporate Sansanding
as a new district in the colony of Upper Senegal and Niger.
[Illustration: THE LAUNCH “RÉNÉ CAILLÉ” AT SANSANDING
This little steamer was my home for some 450 miles of the journey
down the Niger. We had halted here to take in fuel, and my camera
has had the effect of interrupting some heated bargaining between
the fish-sellers on the beach and some native passengers.]
[Illustration: STEEL CANOES ON THE UPPER NIGER
Steel canoes are a convenient and much-used means of conveyance
on the Niger. They are strong, light, of very shallow draught,
and at the same time can carry a big cargo of passengers or
merchandise. Shelter from the sun is improvised by fixing palm-thatch
awnings overhead. These craft can be poled or paddled, according
to the depth of water available.]
The appearance of the river alters considerably from this point.
The banks become more wooded, and backwaters and small tributaries
penetrate far into the country on both sides. Some of these waterways
are navigable for launches, but the channel is narrow and constantly
broken into two or more parts by small islands. At Diafarabé the
right bank is intersected in a hundred places by these creeks, and in
the rainy season the town, which is low-lying, must be almost under
water. From this place the interesting town of Djenné can be reached
by water. Djenné is the “holy city” of the French Soudan.
The biggest mosques are here, and the priests have the reputation
of being the most devout. The standard of learning is also higher
here than elsewhere; so much is this the case that the French
have allowed an Arabic school to be established at Djenné in
preference to any of the commercially more important towns of the
Soudan. Almost every village has a “Kadi,” who practically
corresponds to the “Munshi” of India. He it is who writes all
the letters of the villagers, for most of the latter cannot read
or write, of course. When a reply comes it is his business to read
it to the recipient. These “Kadis” make a profitable income
out of this work, and it is at Djenné that they are taught. The
letters are written in Arabic characters. All letters are written
in Arabic in this country, there being no written native language;
it follows that, even if a letter is read out to the addressee by
the “Kadi,” the former cannot understand the purport until it
has been translated into his own tongue. It will be understood that
under these circumstances letter-writing and reading are slow and
tedious matters.
The majority of the inhabitants of Djenné are Sonrhais, a nation
of whom there will be more to say later. In olden times, probably
up to the fifteenth century, they used to display a certain amount
of originality in their architecture. The houses of the town are
built with minarets and cupolas, while over the doorways and in
the windows there is a fair amount of fresco work. This is the only
race which apparently had some idea of architecture, for this art
is noticeably conspicuous by its absence as a rule among negroid
tribes of Western Africa.
There is no doubt that this interesting place has always been a
town of importance. It is situated in the richest grain-producing
country of the Niger south of Timbuctu, and thus has invariably
attracted a large number of traders.
The Niger now becomes deeper and wider, and soon after Diafarabé
it assumes a more northerly direction. We passed several river
barges about this time; some are owned by the Government and some
are the property of private individuals or French trading firms.
For sails they use big, mat-like contrivances made out of grass.
These primitive sails look very picturesque. They have the advantage
of being cheap and easily repaired, but, of course, they are not
very durable. The grass out of which they are made grows on the
banks, and is a kind of supple reed. They are plaited around sticks,
which are pegged into the ground so as to enclose a hollow square
of the area of the required sail. When the wind is not favourable
these barges are poled.
The pilots now had an easier time, for the water being deeper
navigation was no longer such anxious work. Two of these men used
to be on duty at a time. One managed the wheel, while the other
stood in the bows of our little craft, pole in hand, ready to take
soundings by measuring the depth of water shown by his stick at
any place where it shallowed suddenly. These pilots wore rather a
picturesque garb, blue and white vests, blue serge, baggy trousers,
and a red tam-o’-shanter, the kit somewhat reminding one of
the French sailor, from whom it was probably copied. Those not on
duty used to spend their time fishing. The fishing tackle consisted
merely of a stout line with a hook on the end to which was attached
a piece of fish as bait. This line was dropped over the stern and
towed behind us as we moved. I cannot say they were very successful
with their fishing tackle, for I only saw them make two catches
during the whole voyage. Another amusement was to make fish-nets,
for which purpose their toes came into great request. The native
makes great use of his toes for catching hold of a loose end of rope;
indeed, he is often more nimble with his toes than with his fingers.
I used generally to pass the morning writing up my diary, and
working out the previous day’s observations; after lunch I would
join my fellow-passengers on deck, where it was pleasant to sit
and read or watch the changing scenery, with an occasional shot at
a crocodile by way of variation. About this time we were delayed
by a strike in the engine-room among the stokers. Two of these
men were so insubordinate as to necessitate their being put in
irons; this left us very short-handed. We stopped at the nearest
village to try to get two substitutes, but the new hands were so
stupid as to be almost useless. To make matters worse some of the
machinery got seriously out of order, and we had to slow down in
consequence. The whole of the engine-room seemed to be disaffected,
and I could not help thinking that the breakdown in the machinery
was purposely done by them out of spite. Unfortunately the skipper
was newly arrived from France, and had not much experience of the
wiles of the natives; but we were now near Mopti, where villages
were less scarce, and the river was widening considerably.
On the marshy, low-lying banks grazed big herds of cattle, followed
by an indolent rustic, who turned round to stare in idle curiosity as
we approached. Sometimes the launch would let off her steam-whistle,
and at the sound of this unaccustomed noise the cattle would career
wildly away in terror. Flocks of sheep and goats there were too, but
the river banks were often too swampy to permit of the latter grazing
near the water’s edge. All this country is extraordinarily flat;
for miles in every direction there is an uninterrupted view of a
flat, grassy plain through which the Niger slowly wends its way. The
fall of this river is very gradual, as can be easily appreciated
from the fact that it takes 2440 miles to fall less than 4000 feet
in its course from the Tembikunda Mountains to the sea. Hence the
current is extremely slow as a rule. The river is here still known
by the name of Joliba to the natives, and it is not till it enters
the British territory of Northern Nigeria that the natives call it
Kwarra, or Kworra, a name it preserves until it reaches the sea.
As the river widened we noticed several large creeks on both sides,
until we came to a very large stream flowing into the Niger from
the east. This river, which was even wider here than the Niger,
was the Bani, and as soon as we entered it we saw in the distance
the town of Mopti.