the East was the visit of two young native noblemen, sons of the Ardo
Jídda, to whom belongs the country between Sugúr and Wándalá or Mándará,
and the younger of whom was a remarkably handsome man, of slender form,
light complexion, and a most agreeable expression of countenance. This,
however, is a remark which I have often made on my travels, that the
males among the Fúlbe are very handsome till they reach the age of about
twenty years, when they gradually assume an apish expression of
countenance, which entirely spoils the really Circassian features which
they have in early life. As for the females, they preserve their beauty
much longer. While these young men were giving unrestrained vent to
their admiration of my things, the old mʿallem came with a numerous
suite of attendants; whereupon they drew shyly back, and sat silently at
a distance. In this part of the world there is a great respect for age.
The mʿallem and his companions were not only astonished at my
instruments, but manifested much curiosity about the map of Africa,
which I unfolded before their eyes, being greatly struck by the extent
of the continent towards the south, of which they had previously no
idea. I shall show in another part of this work how far the Fúlbe have
become acquainted with the regions about the equator, and how a faint
rumour of the strong pagan kingdom of Muropúwe has spread over the
kingdoms of North Central Africa. Their esteem for me increased when I
showed them my little prayer-book, which I wore in a red case slung
round my shoulders, just as they wear their Kurán; indeed a Christian
can never be more sure of acquiring the esteem of a Moslim—at least of a
learned one—than when he shows himself impressed with the sentiments of
his religion; but he must not be a zealous Roman Catholic, nor broach
doctrines which seem to deny the Unity of God. He took great delight in
hearing a psalm of the well-known “nebí Dáúd” (David) read in English.
He, as well as almost all his companions, spoke Arabic; for, as Saráwu
Beréberé is a colony of Bórnu people, Bélem is a pure Arabic colony,
that is to say, a colony of the Sálamát, a tribe widely-scattered over
Bórnu and Wadáy. Mʿallem Óro, or, as he is popularly called, on account
of his humility and devoutness, Mʿallem Dalíli, was born in Wadáy, but
settled in Bórnu, from whence at the time of the conquest of the country
by the Fúlbe or Felláta (in the year 1808) he fled to avoid famine and
oppression, like so many other unfortunate inhabitants of that kingdom,
and founded a village in this promising region. This is the country for
colonies, and I do not see why a colony of the liberated slaves of
Sierra Leone might not be advantageously established here. All these
people wear indigo-coloured shirts, and in this manner, even by their
dress, are distinguished from the Fúlbe. They are tolerated and
protected, although a Púllo head man has his residence here, besides the
mʿallem.
We were to start in the afternoon; but my stupid Fezzáni servant,
Mohammed ben Habíb, had almost killed himself with eating immoderately
of ground-nuts, and was so seriously ill that I was reduced to the
alternative either of leaving him behind or waiting for him. Choosing
the latter, I made a day of feasting for the whole of my little company,
the mʿallem sending me a goat for my people, a couple of fowls for
myself, and corn for my horses; besides which, I was so fortunate as to
buy a supply of rice. In consideration of his hospitable treatment, I
sent the old mʿallem a bit of camphor and a parcel of cloves. Camphor is
a most precious thing in these regions, and highly esteemed by the
nobler classes, and I cannot too strongly recommend a traveller to
provide himself with a supply of it. It is obvious that a small
quantity, if well kept, will last him a long time. He may find an
opportunity of laying a man of first-rate importance under lasting
obligations by a present of a small piece of camphor.
[Sidenote: Tuesday, June 17th.]
We at length set out to continue our journey. The morning was
beautifully fresh and cool after the last night’s storm, the sky was
clear, and the country open and pleasant. A fine grassy plain, with many
patches of cultivated ground, extended on our right to the very foot of
Mount Kónkel, which as I now saw is connected by a lower ridge with
Mount Holma. We passed the ruins of the village Bíngel, the inhabitants
of which had transferred their settlement nearer to the foot of the
mountains. Then followed forest, interrupted now and then by corn-
fields. My friends, the young sons of Ardo Jídda, accompanied me for
full two hours on horseback, when they bade me a friendly farewell,
receiving each of them, to his great delight, a stone-set ring, which I
begged them to present to their ladies as a memorial of the Christian
traveller. I now learnt that the young men were already mixing a good
deal in politics; the younger brother, who was much the handsomer, and
seemed to be also the more intelligent of the two, had till recently
administered the government of his blind father’s province, but had been
deposed on account of his friendly disposition towards Wándalá, having
married a princess of that country, and the management of affairs had
been transferred to his elder brother.
Forest and cultivated ground alternately succeeded each other; a little
after nine o’clock we passed on our left a small “rúmde,” or slave-
village, with ground-nuts and holcus in the fields, and most luxuriant
pasture all around. The country evidently sloped southwards, and at a
little distance beyond the village I observed the first watercourse,
running decidedly in that direction; on its banks the corn stood already
four feet high. The country now became quite open to the east and south,
and everything indicated that we were approaching the great artery of
the country which I was so anxious to behold. In the distance to the
west, a range of low hills was still observable, but was gradually
receding. About ten o’clock we passed the site of a straggling but
deserted village, called Melágo, the inhabitants of which had likewise
exchanged their dwelling-place in this low level country, for a more
healthy one at the foot of the mountains where there is another village
called Kófa, homonymous with that in the Marghí country; for this
district belongs to the country of the Bátta, a numerous tribe nearly
related, as I have stated above, to the Marghí. All the ruins of the
dwellings in Melágo were of clay, and the rumbú or rumbúje—the stacks of
corn—were of a peculiar description; fine corn-fields spread around and
between the huts.
Having rested about noon for a little more than two hours on a rather
damp and gloomy spot near a dirty pond, we continued our march, the
country now assuming a very pleasant park-like appearance, clothed in
the most beautiful green, at times broken by corn-fields, where the
corn—_Pennisetum_ or géro—stood already five feet high. We soon had to
deliberate on the very important question which way to take, as the road
divided into two branches, the northern or western one leading by way of
Búmánda, while the southern or eastern one went by way of Sulléri. Most
of my companions were for the former road, which they represented as
much nearer, and as I afterwards saw, with the very best reason; but
fortunately the more gastronomic part of the caravan, headed by Bíllama,
who was rather fond of good living, rejected Búmánda, as being inhabited
by poor inhospitable pagans, and decided for the promising large dishes
of Mohammedan Sulléri. This turned out to be a most fortunate
circumstance for me, although the expectations of my friends were most
sadly disappointed. For if we had followed the route by Búmánda, we
should have crossed the Bénuwé lower down, and I should not have seen
the “Tépe,” that most interesting and important locality, where the
Bénuwé is joined by the Fáro, and swelled to that majestic river which
is at least equal in magnitude to the Kwára. Of this circumstance I was
then not aware, else I should have decided from the beginning for the
route by Sulléri. Unfortunately, owing to my very short stay in the
country, I cannot say exactly where Búmánda lies; but I should suppose
that it is situated about ten miles lower down, at a short distance from
the river, like the place of the same name near Hamárruwa[113], and I
think it must lie opposite to Yóla, so that a person who crosses the
river at that place, goes over directly to the capital, without touching
either at Ribáwo, or at any of the neighbouring places.
Having, therefore, chosen the eastern road, we soon reached the broad,
but at present dry sandy channel of the máyo Tíyel, which runs in a
south-westerly direction to join the Bénuwé; water was to be found close
underneath the surface of the sand, and several women heavily laden with
sets of calabashes, and belonging to a troop of travellers encamped on
the eastern border of the watercourse, were busy in scooping a supply of
most excellent water from a shallow hollow or “kénkenu.” The banks of
the river, or rather torrent, were lined with luxuriant trees, amongst
which I observed the dorówa or meráya (_Parkia_), in considerable
numbers.
Forest and cultivated ground now succeeded alternately, till we reached
a beautiful little lake called “gére[114] Páriyá” by the Bátta, and
“barre-n-dáke” by the Fúlbe, at present about fourteen hundred yards
long, and surrounded by tall grass, everywhere impressed with tracks of
the hippopotami or “ngábba,” which emerge during the night from their
watery abode to indulge here quietly in a rich pasturage. This is the
usual camping-ground of expeditions which come this way. A little beyond
this lake a path branched off from our road to the right, leading to
Ródi, a place of the Bátta, whose villages, according to Mohámmedu’s
statement, are all fortified with stockades, and situated in strong
positions naturally protected by rocky mounts and ridges.
There had been a storm in the afternoon at some distance; but when the
sun was setting, and just as we began to wind along a narrow path
through a thick forest, a black tempest gathered over our heads. At
length we reached the fields of Sulléri, and, having stumbled along them
in the deepest darkness, illumined only at intervals by flashes of
lightning, we entered the place and pushed our way through the narrow
streets, looking round in vain for Ibrahíma, who had gone on to procure
quarters.
To our great disappointment we found the house of the governor shut up;
and, notwithstanding our constant firing and knocking at the door,
nobody came to open it, while the heavy clouds began to discharge their
watery load over our heads. At length, driven to despair, we turned
round, and by force entered his son’s house, which was situated opposite
to his own. Here I took possession of one side of the spacious, clean,
and cool entrance-hall, which was separated from the thoroughfare by a
little balustrade raised above the floor. Spreading my mat and carpet
upon the pebbles with which, as is the general custom here, it was
strewn, I indulged in comfort and repose after the fatiguing day’s
march, while outside the tempest, and inside the landlord, were raging;
the latter being extremely angry with Bíllama on account of our forced
entry. Not the slightest sign of hospitality was shown to us; and
instead of regaling themselves with the expected luxurious dishes of
Sulléri, my companions had to go supperless to bed, while the poor
horses remained without any thing to eat, and were drenched with the
rain.
[Footnote 105: I think it probable that this stream joins the Góngola,
or rather, as it seems, “the river of the Góngola,” Góngola being most
probably the name of a tribe, that small northern branch of the Bénuwé
which has quite recently been discovered by Mr. Vogel, and has been
crossed by him at four different points; but I am not certain whether he
has also ascertained the point of junction by actual observation.]
[Footnote 106: The Fúlbe of Adamáwa are especially rich in compliments,
which, however, have not yet lost their real and true meaning. Thus the
general questions, “num báldum” (are you well?), “jám wáli” (have you
slept?), are followed by the special questions, “no yímbe úro” (how is
the family?), “no inna úro” (how is the landlady?), “to púchu máda,” or
“kórri púchu májám,” (how is your horse?), “to erájo máda” (how is your
grandfather?), “to máchudo máda” (how is your slave?), “to bíbe máda”
(and your children?), “to sukábe máda” (how are your lads?) “bíbe hábe
májám” (how are the children of your subjects?) “korri nay májám” (how
are your cattle?); all of which in general are answered with “se jám.”
Between this strain occasionally a question about the news of the
world—“tó hábbarú dúnia;” and with travellers at least a question as to
the fatigue—“tó chómmeri”—is inserted. There is still a greater variety
of compliments, the form of many, as used in Ádamáwa, varying greatly
from that usual in other countries occupied by the Fúlbe, and of course
all depends on the time of the day when friends meet.]
[Footnote 107: Unfortunately, I had not energy enough to finish it in
detail; so that many little interesting features have not been
expressed.]
[Footnote 108: See a paper read by Dr. Berthold Seeman in the Linnæan
Society, November 18th, 1856.]
[Footnote 109: I made some observations with the boiling-water
instrument on this road, but unfortunately my thermometers for this
purpose were entirely out of order.]
[Footnote 110: The only thing which I learned from him was, that there
is a village called Zum, inhabited by Fúlbe, near Holma, and about half
a day’s journey from Saráwu, situated in a level tract of country; and a
little to the west from it another place, called Debá, also inhabited by
Fúlbe.]
[Footnote 111: This is the origin of the word nánandé, which is a
corruption from “nai nándudí”—four fathoms.]
[Footnote 112: “Gaffaléul” is a provincialism only used by the Fúlbe of
Fúmbiná, and not understood either in Kébbi or in Másena, where
“toggóre” is the common expression.]
[Footnote 113: Búmánda probably means a ford, or rather place of
embarkation. It can scarcely have any connection with the Kanúri word
“mánda,” meaning salt, although salt is obtained in the western place of
this name.]
[Footnote 114: This word “gére” is identical with “éré,” or “arre,” the
name the Músgu give to the river of Logón.]
CHAP. XXXV.
THE MEETING OF THE WATERS. — THE BÉNUWÉ AND FÁRO.
[Sidenote: Wednesday, June 18th.]
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 Ibrahíma. 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 ké nan” (“Look! look!
that is Mount Alantíka”). I strained my eyes and saw, at a great
distance to the S.W., 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.[115]
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[116]—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.[117] 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.