TRAVELING WESTWARD.--A NIGHT IN THE FOREST.--PAUL'S SPEECH TO
HIS MEN.--THEIR REPLY.--THE RETREAT RESUMED.--TAKING FOOD AND
REST.--MEETING WITH FRIENDS.
THIS meeting with Mouitchi revived for a while my failing strength. I
saw in his safety the decree of a kind Providence. My warriors were by
me; though wounded, none of us had been killed.
We continued our journey westward. The forest had resumed its
accustomed stillness, undisturbed by the savage war-cries of the
infuriated Ashangos. I felt so weak that it was with great difficulty
I could walk. I had been obliged to get rid of my splendid formidable
double-barreled breach-loading rifle by breaking the butt-end and
throwing the barrel into the woods. I had tried as hard as I could
to carry two guns, but at last I had to give up. Now I had only a
smooth-bore to carry.
A little after we had resumed our march, as we walked silently in the
forest, we met suddenly two Mobana women. Igala at once was going to
shoot them; I forbid him doing it. Poor Igala said he did not like this
way of making war; he said it was not the white man's country, and we
ought not to fight in the white man's fashion. He was for shooting
every Ashango he saw; and, pointing to our wounds, he said, "Don't
you think they would have killed all of us if they had been able?" I
answered, "Never mind, Igala; they will tell their people that, after
all, we did not want to kill every body."
Poor women! they really thought they were going to be murdered, but
they had no idea of what had taken place.
We went on, though I was becoming weaker and weaker. A high fever had
set in, and my thirst continued to be intense; at the sight of a stream
I thought I could drink the whole of the water. My men were pretty
nearly in the same condition as myself.
Thus we traveled on till near sunset, when at last I said, "Boys, I can
not go any farther; I can not walk, I am so weak, so weary, so ill.
There is that big village of Niembouai-Olomba near us; we are all too
tired to go through it and fight our way if the people want to fight
us. It will soon be dark; let us leave the path, and go into the forest
and rest. At midnight, when the people are asleep, we will go through
the village, and continue our way toward the sea."
"You are right," said the men. "You are our chief; we will do as you
say."
We left the path and plunged into the woods, and after a while we
halted in one of the thickest parts of the forest, where no one could
see us but that good and merciful God whose eye was upon us in that day
of our great trials, and who had given us strength to contend with our
enemies. We were hidden from the sight of man, and hundreds of miles
away from the Commi country--I was thousands of miles away from my own.
It was, indeed, a day of tribulation. The men were afraid to light a
fire, for fear that it might betray our hiding-place. We did not even
dare to speak aloud; we were almost startled at the rustling of the
leaves, for we knew not but that it might be the enemy. Our pride had
left us with our strength. We were helpless, wounded, weak, hungry; the
future before us was dark and gloomy. What a picture of despondency we
presented!
After a while we lay on the ground to sleep, muzzling our only dog,
that he should not betray our hiding-place. Darkness came on, and the
silence of the night was only broken by the mournful cry of a solitary
owl that came to perch near us. In a little time my exhausted men
thought not of leopards, or poisonous snakes, or hostile savages, in
the deep slumber that enwrapped them. Igala alone now and then moaned
from pain. The night air was misty and cold. As I lay awake on the damp
ground, an intense feeling of sadness came over me. There was I, far
from home. I thought of our northern climes, of spring, of summer, of
autumn, of winter, of flakes of snow, of a happy home, of girls and
boys, of friends, of schoolmates. I knew that if any of them could
have been made aware of my forlorn condition they would have felt the
tenderest sympathy with me in my misfortunes, and I thought if I could
see them once more before dying I should die happy.
Hours passed by, and at last I thought it must be time to start. I took
a match from my match-box, and lighted a wax candle (I always kept
one in my bag), and looked at my watch. It was just midnight. We lay
in a cluster, and I awoke my men in a moment. "Boys," said I, "it is
time for us to start, for the hours of the night are passing away; the
people of the village must have retired. Two of you must go as scouts,
and see if the people of Niembouai-Olomba are asleep." Mouitchi and
Igala at once started. "Be as cunning," said I, "as leopards, and
noiseless as snakes."
After a while they came back, telling us that every body was asleep
in the village of Niembouai-Olomba, and that we had better start
immediately, "for," said they, "the first sleep is the deepest."
Then, calling my boys around me, I gave them what I thought might be my
last words of admonition. With dead silence they waited for what I was
going to say:
"Little did we know, boys, at sunrise this morning, what would happen
to us to-day. Men can not look into the future. I was leading you
carefully across that big country of the black man toward the land of
the white man. I did not defeat the journey--one of you has done it.
Poor Igalo is sorry for it, but no one is more sorry than I am, for I
had set my heart on taking you by the okili mpolo. I was leading you on
well to the white man's country. Now all hope of this is over. We are
poor; every thing we had has been left behind, and we have nothing else
to do but go back to the sea, following the road by which we came.
"In a little while we shall start. I have called you around me to give
you advice, for I am ill and weary, and if there is much fighting to be
done I am afraid I shall not have the strength to take part in it. If
perchance you see me fall on the ground, do not try to raise me up; let
me alone; don't be frightened. Stand close together; do not run, each
man his own way. You have guns; you can reach the Commi country if you
are wise as serpents, and then you will behold the beautiful blue sea
and your Commi country once more.
"I have kept my word with your people. I have stood by you to the last.
My boys, I have fought for you as resolutely as I could, but the time
may be at hand when I shall be able to fight no more. I may be killed
to-night, as I have said to you, or I may not be strong enough to raise
my gun. Whatever happens, remain together; listen to Igala, your chief.
"We have lost nearly every thing, but these books (my journal), in
which I have written down all we have done, are yet safe. If I fall,
take them with you to the sea, and when a vessel comes, give them to
the captain, and tell him 'Chally, Chally, our friend, the great friend
of the Commi, is dead. He died far away, calmly, without fear, and he
told us to give these to the white man.'[4] Take also the watch I carry
on my person, and that little box, which contains four other watches,
aneroids, and compass, and give them to the captain. All the other
things and the guns I give you to remember me by. You will give a gun
to Quengueza, and a gun to Ranpano."
[4] On the first page of each journal I had written, "Copy of
Du Chaillu's African Journal. Should death overtake me, and
should these my journals find their way to a civilized country,
it is my wish that Messrs. John Murray, of London, and Harper &
Brothers, of New York, shall publish an account of my journey,
if they feel inclined to do so.
"P. B. DU CHAILLU."
My men crept close around me as I spoke. I had hardly spoken the last
words when they stretched their arms toward me, and these lion-hearted
negroes wept aloud, and, with voices full of love and kindness, said,
"Chally, Chally, you are not to die. We will take you alive to our
people. No, no; we will all go back to the sea-shore together. You
shall see the deep blue ocean, and a vessel will come and carry you
back home. Do you think that, even if you were killed, we would leave
your body here? No; we would carry it with us, and tarry somewhere and
bury you where nobody could find you, for we do not want the people to
cut off your head for the alumba. Chally, Chally, you are not to die."
"Boys," I answered, in a laughing tone, in order to cheer them up, "I
did not say I expected to die to-night, only that I might die. You know
that Chally is not afraid of death, and many and many times he has told
you that men could kill the body, but could not kill the spirit. Don't
you know that Chally knows how to fight? We are men. If I have talked
to you as I have, it is because I want to prepare you for the worst. Be
of good cheer, and now let us get ready."
We got up and girded our loins for the fight, and swore, if necessary,
to die like brave men. We examined our guns by the light of the candle,
and refilled our flasks with powder, and replaced our cartridges and
bullets. Ncommi-Nagoumba, our last dog, was looking at us. He seemed to
understand the danger, and to say, "Don't kill me; I will not bark."
I looked at him and said, "Ncommi-Nagoumba, don't bark. You have been
our friend. You discovered many of our enemies behind the trees ready
to spear us, and you have warned us of our danger. Our friends, the
other dogs, have been killed; you alone now stand by us, but we are not
ungrateful, and we shall not kill you, Ncommi-Nagoumba. Don't bark,
don't bark," I said to the dog, looking earnestly at him.
Then, shouldering our bundles and guns, we struggled through the
entangled thicket, tearing ourselves with thorns, into the path, and at
last came to the village street. We here paused, and called to each
other in a low tone of voice, to make sure that no one was left behind,
for it was so intensely dark that we could not see a yard before us.
It was necessary to guard against any possible ambush. We then stepped
forward like desperate men, resolved to fight for our lives to the
last, and, entering the village, took the middle of the street, our
feet hardly touching the ground. Igala carried Ncommi-Nagoumba in his
arms, for we were afraid that, if suffered to run loose, he might
possibly bark. I shall never forget that night. We threaded the long
street cautiously, with our guns cocked, and ready at the slightest
warning to defend ourselves. Onward we went, our hearts beating loudly
in our terrible suspense, for we feared a surprise at any moment. Now
and then we could hear the people talking in their huts, and at such
times we would carefully cross to the other side of the street. At one
house we heard the people playing the wombi (native harp) indoors,
and again we crossed lightly to the other side, and passed on without
having alarmed the inmates. Then we came to an ouandja where three men
were lying by the side of a fire stretched out on their mats, smoking
their pipes, and talking aloud. I was afraid Ncommi-Nagoumba would bark
at them, but we passed without being detected. It was no wonder that we
were afraid of every body, for we were so weak and helpless. Thus we
continued our march through that long street, and it seemed as if we
should never reach the end of it.
At last we came to the farthest confine of the village, rejoicing that
we had so successfully avoided creating an alarm, when all at once a
bonfire blazed up before us! As we stood motionless, waiting for the
next move, a kind voice spoke out from the darkness, "It is the Oguizi
people. Go on; you will find the path smooth. There is no more war for
you." It was the voice of the old king of Niembouai-Olomba. But, being
not sure that some treachery was not intended, we passed on without
saying a word in reply to the kind speech of the chief. As it proved,
however, instead of a death-struggle we had found friends.
On we went in the darkness of the night, losing the path at times, and
finding it again; in swamps and water-courses, over stony hills, and
through thorny brakes. Finally, at three o'clock, we came to a field of
cassava. Here we halted, made a fire, gathered some of the roots, and,
having roasted them, ate of them plentifully. This food renewed our
strength. We had been more than thirty-three hours without a particle
of nourishment.
Then, after I had taken my meal, I thought it would be better to burn
some of my clothes which were saturated with blood, so that the natives
might not suspect that I had been wounded, for they all thought I was
a spirit, and consequently invulnerable to the implements of war. So
we lighted a larger fire, and the blood-stained clothes were burned.
After this I laid down to rest a little, but not before I had offered a
silent thanksgiving to that gracious Providence who had so marvelously
preserved my little band of followers and myself.
We rested for the remainder of the night on the hard ground, and at
daylight continued our march, but mistook the path, and finally came to
a plantation belonging to an old man, the next in authority to the king
of Niembouai-Olomba. By that time it was midday. He had heard of our
fight a short time before. We were received kindly by the old man,
and, after we had partaken of the food his people had cooked for us, my
men gave him an account of our deadly encounter with the Ashangos.
[Illustration: FRIENDS IN THE DARKNESS.]
Then the old man said, "What an Oguizi you have had with you! It is no
wonder that none of you were killed, for I have heard by the messenger
that brought the news that sometimes he would hide and change himself
into an elephant, and charge the Ashangos, and throw fire from his
trunk, and would then become a man again. At other times we hear that
the Oguizi turned himself into a leopard, and as the sharp-shooters
came after you he pounced upon them from the branches of the trees, and
that when tired of being a leopard he would transform himself into a
gorilla, and roar till the trees of the forest shook and toppled down
upon your enemies. The Mouaou-Kombo and Mobana people sent us word
that we must fight you, but their quarrels are not ours. We are your
friends."
But there was no time to be lost on the way, and after a little talk we
bade good-by to our kind host, and once more directed our steps toward
the setting sun.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]