CHAPTER VIISTAY AT SAY

FARCA.

A little above Sinder the bed of the river becomes again encumbered with rocks, making navigation difficult, at least in the channels our guides made us choose near the left bank.

My own private opinion is, however, that there was a better channel nearer the village which these guides managed for us to avoid.

On the evening of the 28th, we came abreast of the huts of Sinder, and a deputation from the village brought us some provisions. I expressed my intention of going to see the chief, but I was dissuaded from doing so on one pretext or another, and when I insisted I was told—“Well, come if you will, but if you want to please us, you will not come. We know now that you do not intend to do us any harm, but the last white man who passed this way killed a lot of people, and the grief of the mothers and wives of the dead will be renewed if they see you.”

Whether this excuse was true or not, it seemed to me a very reasonable one. We had had such an exceedingly narrow escape of a conflict with the Tuaregs, that I was determined to be extremely prudent. I did not see Sinder after all, but I console myself with the thought that at least those who come after us will not suffer from the memory of anything we did, and will not, through our fault, incur any of the dangers we escaped.

Below Sinder the river again became such as to make us almost despair. After having painfully made our way for about a mile, we found some fresh guides waiting for us. Evidently the natives were eager to speed the parting guest! “I don’t know however we shall get through,” said Digui; but we did manage it once more, though theAubescraped on a rock without doing herself much harm.In the course of the whole day we only made about four and a half miles.

Monday the 30th was again a most exciting day. TheAubestruck no less than three times, and the last accident in the Kokoro pass was a serious one. It really seemed as if our troubles would never end! The unfortunate barge had three planks of her bottom staved in, and the water rushed in as if she were made of wicker-work.

OUR SINDER GUIDES.

The scenery on the banks was grand; big villages alternating with great plantations of millet. All the islands have a coating of extremely fertile vegetable mould, unwholesome enough in itself, but which the natives have known how to turn to account.

At our anchorage we found our old friend the blacksmith of Bokar Wandieïdu, whose master himself it appears had wished to see us, and had waited for us until the day before. Amadu had made one last effort to turnhim against us, and had sent couriers to him to urge him to attack us, but Bokar had replied by quoting the orders of Madidu, saying that all he had to do was to obey them.

The morning of the 31st began by theAubestriking again, but after that the river became quite perfect. It had never been so good anywhere before, and nothing impeded its course but a few low rocks, which were just enough to relieve the monotony of the voyage.

This was not of course likely to last, and very soon impediments again became numerous. It was now the turn of theDavoustto fling herself upon a pointed rock, escaping by a hair’s-breadth from serious damage. We passed the big villages, or rather the collections of villages known as Malo, containing perhaps as many as 10,000 inhabitants, and we halted for the night a little above Azemay, opposite to a difficult pass, which would have to be reconnoitred before we could attempt it. We had made 15½ miles!—a very good day!

At our anchorage we met a man named Osman, from Say, who had come, he told us, to see one of his relations, but being uneasy as to our intentions with regard to Amadu, he begged us to give him passage on board one of our boats.

The heat was now becoming most oppressive, and to remain stationary for a whole day looking at the white sheets of our hydrographical survey, not to speak of all the anxieties of our position, was really a very hard task. We consoled ourselves, however, by thinking of the rest we should get at Say. I did not, however, entirely share the confidence of my companions, especially of Dr. Taburet, who, always optimistic, indulged in visions of calabashes full of milk, piles of eggs and other luxuries, building culinary castles in the air. Hitherto, whenever we had hoped for a friendly reception we had always beendisappointed, and when we feared hostility from the natives, we had generally been kindly welcomed. The remembrance of Sinder proves that this was the case with others. Captain Toutée says that he was hailed as a liberator there, whilst we barely escaped ending our lives and expedition alike at that fatal spot.

On April 1 we reached Sansan-Haussa about two o’clock. It is a very large village, but we were disappointed in it, for we had expected to find it encircled by atataor earthen wall, its name of Sansan meaning a fortified enceinte. Now there is an enceinte, it is true, but it is made of straw! all the houses are also constructed of straw. To make up for this, the granaries for storing the millet are really beautiful. We anchored opposite the market-place, where the market, it appeared, was to be held the very next day. The chief of the village came to see us. He was a Kurteye, and told us he would send a guide with us to the chief of his tribe at Sorbo, a little further down stream.

After a night during which, for a wonder, our rest was not disturbed by the noise of roaring rapids, we went over and anchored opposite the left bank near the village itself. We were quickly surrounded by a crowd of men, women, and children, all alike showing a confidence in us to which we had long been unaccustomed. Those who were ill flocked to Taburet, and dealers in iron and ostrich feathers hastened to offer us their wares. The feathers we found to be relatively dear, a complete set being worth 250,000 cowries, or nearly three pounds sterling. A caravan, we were told, had lately arrived from Rhât, which had greatly raised the value. A little boy from Rhât, of about twelve years old, came to see us, and had a long chat with Father Hacquart. He had agris-grisor charm made for us by a marabout belonging to his caravan, to protect us from the rapids we still had to encounter.

For the first time since we left Gao we met with the valuable kola nuts so much appreciated by the negroes, and I gave my people the greatest possible pleasure by distributing quantities of this delicacy amongst them. Each nut is worth some 150 cowries, or about three-halfpence.

Here, as the reader will have noticed, we begin to talk about cowries again. I have already said that these little univalve shells of the African coast are the usual currency from the source of the Niger to Timbuktu.

AT SANSAN-HAUSSA.

We went with Father Hacquart to return the visit the chief of the village had paid us the evening before. He did not seem to wish us to remain long in his country. He was afraid, he said. Why? we asked. It was evident that the Toucouleurs, of whom there were a good many in the village, had prejudiced him against us.

Two people came and asked us to give them a passage,one a Fulah named Mamadu of Mumi in Massina, who had been here for nine years unable to get away. We were to have a good deal to do with him during our stay at Say.

The other was a Toucouleur named Suleyman, who spoke Wolof, and had followed Amadu Cheiku in his exodus from Nioro to Dunga. He was a poor deaf old man, but had a very intelligent face. He told us that the whole recompense Amadu had given him for his long and faithful service was to take away his gun, his only wealth, to give it to one of his sofas or captives taken in war. This last misfortune had disgusted Suleyman with the Holy War, in which he said more blows than pay were received, and he wanted to go back with us to his own land of Footah on the Senegal, the reigning chief of which was a relation of his.

He did not know what we had come here for. He did not know what route we meant to take on our way back, and surely nothing could have been a greater mark of confidence in us than this readiness of one of our worst enemies to trust himself to us.

At first I rather distrusted the man, who might be a spy, or worse, a traitor sent to try and seduce my men from their duty. However, whilst resolving to watch him closely, I decided to take him with us, but I gave him a good talking to to begin with, saying—“I don’t know whether you are a liar or an honest fellow, but most of your relations are deceivers and humbugs, and it is no recommendation in my eyes that you belong to the Toucouleur race. However, I will not be unjust, for I may be mistaken about you. So you can come with us, and you will be treated as if you were one of my own men. If we have plenty you shall have your share, and if we run short of food you will have to tighten your waistband like the rest of us. But deceive us once, only once,and your head will not remain on your shoulders for a moment. You are warned, please yourself about going or stopping.”

I must add here that Suleyman, the Toucouleur, or, as he was at once called amongst us, Suleyman Foutanké, was always true to us. I took him with me to Saint Louis, and he is now enjoying in his natal village a repose which must indeed be grateful to him after his thirty years’ wanderings.

We started again at two o’clock in the afternoon, and in the evening we halted for the night not far from Sorbo, where we were to see the chief of the Kurteyes.

We went to see him the next day, and passed the morning at Sorba. We were very well received by Yusuf Osman. Don’t tell him that I have revealed his name to the public, for amongst the Kurteyes it is very bad form to call any one by his name. I have noticed that there is a similar superstition in the Bambara districts of the Upper Niger.

Yusuf is a big, good-looking fellow of about forty years of age, who has recently succeeded his father as chief. When we arrived he was suffering from some affection of the eyes. Taburet prescribed for and cured him, thus contributing to establishing us in his good graces.

The former chief of Sorba had been a great friend of Amadu, and had given him canoes for crossing the river. If therefore the Toucouleurs had succeeded in establishing their authority in the districts torn from the Djermas of Karma and Dunga, it was in some measure due to him.

Yusuf, however, did not disguise that he was becoming rather uneasy about the future, and as far as was possible without compromising himself he had tried to be useful to us. If ever we succeed, as I hope we shall, in drivingAmadu from the neighbourhood of Say, we shall certainly find auxiliaries in the Kurteyes.

Yusuf gave us as a guide to take us to Say, a man named Hugo, chief of his own slaves, a capital fellow, and an excellent pilot. Needless to add that we all at once dubbed him Victor in honour of the great French author.

Relieved on the point about which I had been so anxious, the securing of a guide to take us to Say, we went down to the village of Kutukole, and anchored near it for the night, the river between it and Sarbo being quite easy to navigate.

On the 3rd we passed Karma, and were now amongst the Toucouleurs. On every side our approach was announced by the lighting of fires, and the beating of thetabalaor war-drum. A group of horsemen followed us along the bank, watching us closely, but now the stream was quite quiet, only one more rapid, that of Bobo, had to be crossed, and that we left behind us the same evening. All we had to do was to steer carefully clear of the few rocks which still impeded the course of the river.

Bobo, opposite to which we passed the night, is, like Karma, under the direct authority of Ali Buri, that venerable Wolof chieftain, who, driven out of Cayor by the French, went to seek an asylum at Nioro near Amadu, whose fortunes he followed. Captain Toutée was mistaken in thinking that Ali Buri had been killed in the attack on his expedition at Kompa. He was still alive, unfortunately for us, and we were told was now in the Sorgoé district near the country of the Kel Gheres, where he busied himself in winning partisans for Amadu.

On the right bank opposite our anchorage, Bokar Wandieïdu had fought the year before with the Futankes, and had inflicted on them a serious defeat. More thantwo hundred of Amadu’s warriors are still prisoners in the hands of the Tuareg chief. Unfortunately, however, after the Sinder affair, the chief of Say succeeded in reconciling the enemies, and, as we have seen, the truce between them was brought about at the expense of the French.

The 5th of April was Easter Sunday, and Father Hacquart celebrated mass as we slipped easily down stream through charming scenery, preceded by Hugo in his canoe acting as guide. We passed several big villages belonging to the chiefs under Amadu, and anchored opposite Saga.

THE BOBO RAPIDS.

To-morrow we should pass Dunga where Amadu himself lived, and I determined that our boats should look their best, so I had everything put ship-shape on board. Our masts, which had been lowered, as they gave too much purchase to the wind, were raised again, and from themfloated the tricolour flag of France. We were off again now in fine style.

Our friend Hugo, however, was no friend to demonstrations of any kind, and said to us, “What are you going to do on the left bank? Can’t you follow me on the right where there is nothing to fear? It won’t help your voyage much to be received with musket-shots, will it? Besides, if you don’t follow me carefully, who will guide you amongst the rocks?”

He had told us the evening before that there were no rocks between Dunga and Say, so we let him go down his right bank all alone, whilst we filed past Dunga, about a hundred yards from the land.

A group of some twenty horsemen had been following us ever since the morning, and they halted at the landing-place of the village, unsaddled their steeds and let them drink. On a height on which the village is perched a square battalion of something like a thousand warriors was drawn up.

All remained perfectly still, and not a cry or threat broke the silence. We passed very slowly, our barges swept on by the current, whilst we on deck looked about us proudly. Our enemies on their side acquitted themselves bravely, and with considerable dignity, though it must be confessed they reminded us rather of china dogs glaring at each other.

When all is said and done, however, I think I may claim the credit of having fairly challenged the Toucouleurs, leaving them to take up my glove or to leave it alone as they chose. This may have seemed like bravado, and perhaps there was a little of that in my attitude, but as an old warrior of the Sudan myself, and a fellow-worker though a humble one of the Gallieni and the Archinards, I would rather have run any risk thanhave had our historic enemies the Toucouleurs think I was afraid of them. The tone I took up too gave us an ascendency later which we sorely needed.

After going about twenty-two miles further down the river, we anchored near enough to Say to make out the trees surrounding it, and the next day we reached the town itself, which had for so long been the object of our desires.

Say is a comparatively big place, but not nearly as important as it is often made out to be. It is made up of straw huts with pointed roofs, and is surrounded by palisades also of straw. Only one house is built of mud, and that forms the entrance sacred to the chief.

The river flows on the east of the town, and on the west is a low-lying tract of what are meadows in the dry season, but mere swamps in the winter.

We anchored at once, but the stench from the rubbish on the banks of the river was so great that we soon moved to the southern extremity of the village, where the shore was cleaner.

Our passengers meanwhile had gone to announce our arrival, and old Abdu, who is in command of the prisoners of the chief of Say, soon came to see us. Baud and Vermesch had had some dealings with him, and had spoken well of him to us, while Monteil also alludes to him. He seemed a very worthy sort of fellow.

After the customary exchange of compliments, I asked to be permitted to pay a visit to his master, Amadu Saturu, generally known under the name of Modibo, or the savant, and Abdu went off to make my request known at once, but we waited and waited a very long time before any answer was vouchsafed.

We were simply consumed with impatience, and I augured ill from the delay. I remembered of course thatModibo had signed treaty after treaty with Baud, Decœur, and Toutée, only I could not help also remembering how little a diplomatic document such as a so-called treaty really ever binds a negro, and that made me hesitate to trust him.

Most Mussulmans, at least most of the Mahommedan chiefs and marabouts, are liars and deceivers. They have a hundred ways, not to speak of mental reservation, of swearing by the Koran, without feeling themselves bound by their oath. If they respected a promise given as they ought to do, would their prophet have taught that four days’ fasting expiated the violation of an oath?

If they cheat like this when they know what they are about, how are they likely to behave when everything is strange to them? and they attach no moral value to the terms of an agreement, especially of an agreement of many clauses such as is the fashion for the French to make with native chiefs.

To pass the time whilst waiting for the return of our messenger we chatted with a Kurteye marabout, who came to give us a greeting. He read Madidu’s letter with some difficulty, but great interest. I asked him whether Modibo generally kept his visitors waiting like this, and he replied, “Yes, it makes him seem more important, but you will see him when it gets cooler.”

So we waited with what patience we could, and at about five o’clock Amadu Saturu sent for me. Oh, what a series of preliminaries we still had to go through!

According to my usual custom I went to see the chief unarmed, accompanied only by Suleyman and Tierno Abdulaye.

First we had to wait in the ante-chamber—I mean the mud hut referred to above—the walls of which were pierced with niches making it look like a pigeon-cote.

At last his majesty condescended to admit us to his presence.

The king of Say could not be called handsome, sympathetic, or clean. He was a big, blear-eyed man, with a furtive expression, a regular typical fat negro. He was crouching rather than sitting on a bed of palm-leaves, wearing a native costume, the original colour of which it was impossible to tell, so coated was it with filth. He was surrounded by some thirty armed men. On his left stood the chief of the captives, Abdu, with an old dried-up looking man, who I was told was the cadi of the village, and, to my great and disagreeable surprise, quite a large number of Toucouleurs. Suleyman and Abdulaye, who recognized what this meant, exchanged anxious glances with me. I now realized that my apprehensions had been well founded. Still I took my seat quietly, without betraying any emotion, on a wooden mortar, and begun my speech.

VIEW OF SAY.

“The Sultan of the French greets you, the chief of the Sudan greets you, etc. We come from Timbuktu. We passed peacefully everywhere. We are now tired, the river is low, and in conformity with the conventions you have made with the French we have come to demand your hospitality that we may rest and repair the damage done to our boats by the rocks. We also want a courier to go and tell our relations at Bandiagara that we have arrived here safely. All we need to support us during our stay will be paid for at prices agreed on beforehand between us. Lastly, I wish to go and see Ibrahim Galadjo, your friend and ours.”

“Impossible,” replied Modibo. “Galadjo is not now at his capital, he is collecting a column; besides, you will not have time for the journey to him.”

“Why not, pray?”

“Because you, like those who have preceded you, must not stop here more than four or five days longer. That is the custom of the country.”

If I still cherished any illusions this speech finally dispersed them. The groups about the chief moreover left me in no doubt as to his sentiments, or as to whom we had to thank for those sentiments. The Toucouleurs grinned, and waved their muskets above their heads in a hostile manner. Abdu alone tried to speak on our behalf, but Modibo ordered him to be silent, and the cadi joined in the chorus against us. A griot then began a song, the few words of which I caught were certainly not in our praise. Everything seemed to be going wrong.

What was I to do? As I had said, we were all tired out, the river was half dried up, the boats were terribly knocked about. Still it was not altogether impossible to go, for after leading the life of the Wandering Jew for so long, a little more or less travelling could not matter much. Wemight perhaps have managed to do another fifty miles or so, and try to find rest in a more hospitable district, where we could pass the rainy season not so very far from Bussa, which was to be our final goal.

One thing decided me to act as I did, and I can at least claim that I made up my mind quickly. I was determined to fulfil to the letter, with true military obedience, the last instructions I had received before starting. These were my instructions—

“Bamako de Saint-Louis, Number 5074. Received on November 23, at half-past four in the afternoon—Will arrange for you to receive supplementary instructions at Say. In case unforeseen circumstances prevent those instructions being there before your arrival, wait for them.”

This, as will be observed, is clear and precise enough. Of course such orders would not have been sent but for the ignorance in France of the state of things at Say. They would otherwise have been simply ridiculous. However, an order cannot be considered binding unless he who gives that order understands exactly what will be the position when he receives it, of the person to whom it is sent, and who is expected to execute it.

Still those instructions might arrive; rarely had such a thing happened in French colonial policy, but it was just possible that our presence at Say was part of a plan of operations at the mouth of the Niger or in Dahomey. I need hardly add that it turned out not to be so, but I was quite justified in my idea that it might have been, and in any case I had no right to conclude to the contrary.

So I decided in spite of everything and everybody to remain.

Oh, if we had but started a little earlier; if M. Grodet had not stopped us and kept us in the Sudan as he did! If we could but have joined the Decœur-Baud, or even theToutée expedition at Say, how different everything would have been!

If only the promised instructions had really been sent us, as they could have been, had any one wanted to send them! If only a small column either from Dahomey or from Bandiagara had, as it might so easily have been, commissioned to bring us those instructions, I am convinced that Amadu Saturu would at this moment be a fugitive like Amadu Cheiku, and that the Niger districts near Say would be purged from the presence of slave-dealers. For all these robbers of men, who are as cowardly as they are cruel and dishonest, would have fled at the first rumour of an advance of the French upon their haunts.

It ought to have been otherwise, that is all. It is not the time for recrimination, but I shall count myself fortunate if what happened to me serves as an example to others, and prevents the sending out of expeditions only to abandon them to their fate, without instructions, in the heart of Africa. For, as a rule, these expeditions seem to be completely forgotten until the news arrives that they have managed to get back to civilized districts after a struggle more glorious than fruitful of results, or that, as sometimes happens, all the white men have perished somewhere amongst the blacks.

To decide to remain at Say was, however, one thing, to be able to do so was another.

There were just twenty-nine of us, five white men and twenty-four black, with three children, the servants of Bluzet, Father Hacquart and Taburet, and the Toucouleur Suleyman, on whom, by the way, we did not feel we could altogether rely, a small party truly against the 500 warriors of Amadu and his Toucouleurs or Foutankés, as they are often called, not to speak of the people of Say and all who were more or less dependent on Modibo.

I sometimes play, as no doubt my readers do too, at the game called poker.

We all know that skill consists in making your adversary believe when you have a bad hand that you have a very good one. This is what is known as bluff. To make up for my purse having sometimes suffered in this American game, it put me up to a dodge or two in politics, notably on the present occasion.

CANOES AT SAY.

So I played poker as energetically as I could.

If ever a man went to his dinner after listening to a lot of nonsense, it was Modibo on this 7th of April when I had my interview with him.

I said amongst other things—“I have lived amongst the negroes now for seven years; I know the river which flows past your village from the spot where it comes from the ground. I have been in many countries. I have known Amadu Cheiku, who is a great liar” (here the Toucouleursall nodded their heads in acquiescence), “and his son Madani, who is no better than he is.

“I must, however, confess that never, in the course of my experience, have I seen anything to equal what I see here to-day.

“Relations of ours have been here, some alone, others with soldiers, all of whom have loaded you with presents. You promised, nay more, you made alliance with us French, but now you break your word. Very well! My Sultan, who is a true Sultan and not a bad chief like you, who lolls about in a dirty hut on a moth-eaten coverlid, has done you too much honour. You are viler than the unclean animals whose flesh your prophet forbids you to eat. Now listen to me. My chief has ordered me to stop here, and here I shall stop, a day if I choose, a year if I choose, ten years if I choose. We are only thirty, and you are as numerous as the grains of sand of the desert; but try and drive us away if you can. I do not mean to begin making war, because my chief has forbidden me to do so; you will have to begin, and you will see what will happen. We have God on our side, who punishes perjurers. He is enough for me; I am not afraid of you. Adieu! We are going to seek a place for our camp where there are none but the beasts of the field, for in this country they are better than the men. Collect your column and come and drive us away!—that is to say, if you can!”

Suleyman was a first-rate interpreter when he had this sort of harangue to translate. The good fellow, who was of anything but a conciliatory disposition, would drop out all flattering expressions or cut them very short, but when he had such a task as I had set him just now, he went at it with hearty goodwill. He was more likely to add to than to omit anything I had said.

After this vehement address Modibo and his attendantsseemed quite dumfounded. Whatgrisgris, what fetiches must these infidels, these accursed white men have, if they could dare to speak in such a bold fashion as this when they were alone in a strange country with not more than thirty muskets at the most.

It was very important not to give our unfriendly host time to recover from his stupor. We filed out therefore in truly British style, and I think we did well not to loiter. It was not without a certain satisfaction that after traversing the two or three hundred yards between us and the river I saw our flags floating above our boats.

Imagine, however, the feelings of my people when I burst in upon their preparations for a meal in the tents already pitched, with the order, “Pick all that up, and be on your guard, ready to be off at any moment.”

Farewell to our good cheer, farewell to what we thought was to be a safe and comfortable camp. We had to place sentinels and be constantly on the alert. Our coolies, too, who had already made advances to some of the belles of Say, were bitterly disappointed, but we had no choice, and they had to fall in with our wishes or rather commands, that all intercourse with the natives should be broken off.

The next night we had to be all eyes and ears, and I at least did not sleep a wink, so absorbed was I in thinking what had better be done. I was determined to remain at Say at whatever cost, and it struck me that the best plan would be to lead a kind of aquatic life, enlarging the decks of our boats, so to speak, which really were rather too small for us and our goods. An island would be the thing for us. So we resolved that we would go and look for a suitable one the next day.

On the morning of the 8th, Abdu tried to bring about a reconciliation, but the poor devil only wasted his time and his breath. He was the only man at Say who in his heartof hearts had the least real sympathy for us, and he gave ample proof of this, for he never took any part in the intrigues against us, which were the worry of our lives for five months and a half. We never saw him again; he never came to beg for a present like the false and covetous marabouts who form the sham court of his chief. In a word, the slave was superior to his master.

At noon on the 8th, mentally calling down on Say all the maledictions she deserved for disappointing all our hopes, I gave the word of command to weigh anchor, and once more we were being carried along by the waters of the Niger.

OUR GUIDES’ CANOE.

THE ‘AUBE’ AT FORT ARCHINARD.

Wesoon came in sight, as we rounded a bend of the stream, of a thicket of trees on an island which seemed made on purpose for us.

We landed and pitched our tents.

The most important characteristic of an island is that it should be completely surrounded with water. Well, our island fulfilled this condition, for the time being at least. On the left, looking down stream we could see the principal arm of the Niger, the deepest part of the river, in which, however, the rocks of the bed were already beginning to emerge, whilst on the right was a narrower channel barred at the end by a rapid, beyond which the water disappeared entirely underground. Yet further away in the same direction we could see a little branch of the broken-up river with a very strong current hastening on its way to join the main stream, where I could not tell.

Our island was about 218 yards long by 328 broad. At one end, that looking up-stream, was a rocky bank, whilst the other, looking down-stream, consisted of low-lying alluvial soil, often of course submerged, dotted here, there, and everywhere with the mounds of the termites, and at this time of year completely deserted. A few fine and lofty tamarinds and other trees with large trunks but little foliage formed a regular wood, and afforded us a grateful shade; but the island as a whole, with its ant-hills, its twisted, tortuous, and leafless trunks, and its ground strewn with sharp and broken flints, presented a very wild and desolate appearance when we first landed.

Its situation, however, was really far from unpleasing, for on the deserted left bank the inundations are never very deep, and near to it rise wooded hills, with here and there perpendicular cliffs rising straight up from the river. Nearly opposite to us was one of these cliffs, white with guano or with lime, which looked to me very well suited for a permanent post. Being quite bare of vegetation, this cliff stands out against the verdure of the woods, and from the evening to the morning, from twilight to sunrise, great troops of big black monkeys assemble in it, and hold a regular palaver just as the negroes do. Often at night their cries quite alarm us, and keep the sentries constantly on thequi vive.

The whole of the riverside districts on the left bank, from Kibtachi to the Toucouleur villages up-stream, are completely deserted and of bad fame. Now and then we saw men armed with bows and arrows prowling about on a slave hunt, or deer came down to drink. The right bank is far less dreary. Opposite to us is Talibia, a little agricultural village, tributary to Say. We can make out the gables of the pointed huts surrounded by palisades andsaniesor fences made of mats. When the millet is full grown thesepointed huts are quite hidden by it, and the scene is one of great beauty, giving an impression of considerable prosperity. Women come down to the beach to fetch water, and bathe in the arm of the stream. On market day at Say—that is to say, on Friday—there is great excitement at Talibia, men, women, and children trooping to market with their wares as they do in France, carrying their butter, their mats—in a word, all the produce of the week’s work on their heads.

Above Talibia and the confluence of the third arm of the river the wood becomes dense and impenetrable. A little path follows the river-bank through the tall grass, and during our long stay in the island it was the daily morning occupation to watch from the top of the island who should come along this path, for by it alone could king’s ambassadors, marabouts, market-women or any one else approach us.

VIEW OF OUR ISLAND AND OF THE SMALL ARM OF THE RIVER.

Our island was quite deserted by the natives, for though the people of Talibia grew millet on it before our arrival, they would never live on it, or even sleep on it for one night, for it had a very bad reputation, and was supposed to be haunted by devils, horrible devils, who took the form of big fantastic-looking monkeys, and after sunset climbed upon the ant-hills and held a fiendish sabbat.

Without calling in the aid of the supernatural to account for it, there is no doubt that people belated on the left bank were never seen again. Perhaps they are taken captive by the robber Djermankobes, or fall victims to lions or hyænas.

However that may be, the Talibia devils, as were those of Wuro and Geba later, were propitious to us. All these spirits, whether of Kolikoro, of Debo, or of Pontoise, are really cousins-german. Ours were the spirits of the Niger, and the negroes explained our immunity from their attacks by saying, “They can do nothing against an expedition, the leader of which is the friend of Somanguru, the great demon of Kolikoro, and who knows the river at its source, where it comes out of the earth, where no one else has ever seen it.”

I imagine that since our departure the natives of Talibia have still avoided the island. Our residence on it was not enough to rehabilitate it, and probably now many rumours are current about the spirit which haunts the ruins of our camp.

It was really a great thing to be on an island. We were safe there from hyænas at least, and all we had to do was to put our camp in a state of defence against the Toucouleurs and their friends.

The first fortification we put up was a moral one, for we baptized our camp Fort Archinard, in token of our gratitude to the Colonel of that name, and it was worth many anabattis. The name of Archinard was in fact a kind of double fetich, for it gave confidence to our own men, and it inspired the Toucouleurs with superstitious terror. In the French Sudan there is not a marabout, a soldier, or asofaof Samory, not atalibéof Amadu, not a friend nor an enemy of the French who does not retain deeply graven upon his memory the name of Colonel Archinard, for the present General will always be the Colonel in Africa, the great Colonel whom, according to tradition, no village ever resisted for a whole day.

So we managed that the news of the baptism of our Camp should be spread far and near, and passed on from mouth to mouth till it reached the ear of Amadu himself. No doubt he had some bad dreams in consequence.

This moral defence, however, required to be supplemented by a material one. Two hundred and twenty by forty-three yards is not a very wide area for thirty-five people to live in, but it is far too big a space to have to defend efficiently.

We felt it would be prudent to restrict the camp, properly so called, to the northern point of the island, and taking six termitaries as points of support, we placed abattis between them. Everything was ready to our hands, branches, logs, brushwood, thorns, etc. We cut down the trees at the lower end of the island, which cleared our firing range, though it also rather spoiled the look of the landscape. We levelled the site of our camp, razed many of the ant-hills to the ground, and mounted our two guns, one pointing up-stream, on a huge trunk which seemed to have been placed where it was on purpose, which commanded the bank almost as far as Say itself, whilst the other was placed on a big trunk which we drove firmly into the ground, and would keep the people on the banks down-stream in awe. At each gun sentries were always on guard. Then the unfortunateAubewas unloaded, patched upsomehow, provided with sixteen oars, and armed with the machine-gun belonging to theDavoust, all ready to advance to the attack or the defence whether to Say or to Dunga.

In a word, the urgent preliminary work was rapidly accomplished in a very few days, and then in comparative security we began building what the natives call thetata, that is to say, an earthwork such as surrounds sedentary villages, or a fortified redoubt serving as the residence of a chief.

Even if you had not been brought up a mason, you would very soon become one in the Sudan; at least you will learn to build as the negroes do. There are neither stones, lime, nor sand, nothing but water and more or less argillaceous soil. With that you must make bricks, mortar, and the mixture for graining, if graining you mean to have. The clay is kneaded with the feet, and when it is ready, what are calledtufasare made of it, that is to say, flat or cylindrical bricks, which the mason orbaréplaces horizontally between two layers of mortar. Thebarésits astride on the wall he is building and chants the same tune over and over again, whilst his assistants silently pass up thetufasto him. I have noticed that all over the world masons and tile-makers are as light-hearted as birds.

Our best mason in this case was a big Sarracolais named Samba Demba, who generally acted as groom to our bicycle Suzanne. When he was at work on the wall it grew apace, and we too grew gay as we saw it rise, for with it increased our sense of security.

When the building went on well, we felt that everything else would go well too.

Ourtatawas a triangular wall, each of the three sides being from about eleven to sixteen yards long. It was thick enough to protect us from treacherous shots from old-fashioned rifles, and indeed also from the quick-firingweapons which the English had sold some time ago to our enemy Samory. At a height of about six feet and a half some forty loopholes were made, distributed about equally over the three sides of the triangle formed by our wall. Inside, the walls were supported by buttresses about three feet thick, which served alike as seats and places in which to store our ammunition. The building seemed likely to last well unless it should be disintegrated and washed away in a tornado some day; breaches will of course be made in it, parts of it will fall, but I expect, for a long time hence, its ruins will bear witness to the stay here of the French expedition, and to our effective occupation of the site.

FORT ARCHINARD.

I forget what king of Sego it was who rendered histataimpregnable by making human corpses its foundation. In default of such a precaution as this, which we refrained from taking, a few determined men might at any momenthave carried Fort Archinard by assault, but they would have paid dearly for their success.

On the summit of an ant-hill, at the top of the longest bamboo stem we could find, we hoisted the French flag.

And in this remote island of Archinard, more than two hundred leagues from any other European, we with our coolies lived for five months, and made the French name, beneath the protection of the French flag, respected in spite of old Amadu, in spite of the chief of Say, and of all their intrigues against us; yes, in spite of all hostile coalitions, in spite of the dreary rainy season, and of the home sickness which consumed us,—in a word, in spite of everything.

Thetataonce constructed, we were now free to consider our comfort a little, as we had really nothing better to do. Bluzet, who had already acted as architect of the fort, undertook the building of our huts. We each had our own palace, but what a simple palace! A circular hollow rick of straw some 12 feet in diameter, upheld by a central stake, interlaced stalks forming the framework of the roof, whilst ropes were woven in and out of the straw, forming with it a kind of net-work pattern. One little window was contrived in each hut, a mere porthole just big enough to let in air and light but not rain, whilst a low doorway was made on the opposite side to that from which we might expect tornadoes.

Lastly, to protect us from stray bullets, a little earthen wall, some 19 inches high, was erected inside our huts, so that it just covered us when we were lying full length at night. We each did our best to make our own particular niche cosy and ship-shape; but in justice it must be said that Baudry and I were the most successful, for we achieved quite a brilliant result. Baudry’s straw walls were a perfect museum of watches, instruments,medicines, patterns, objects for exchange, and strangest of all—toads!

Father Hacquart’s hut was very soberly decorated. Sacred images were nailed to the central stake, and in the little wall—I very nearly said in a corner—was a cornet-à-piston, which was later the joy of the chief of Bussa, but of which I own with the deepest regret we never heard a single note.

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