Chapter 4

THE SACRED BAOBAB OF KOLIKORO.

At Kolikoro, the year after this ceremony, the girls who have been operated on give a fête called theWansofili. In the centre of the village is a huge baobab tree many centuries old, which is held sacred by the natives, and is supposed to have the power of making women prolific. The girls alluded to above gather about this tree in groups and rub their stomachs against the trunk with a hope of thus ensuring offspring. The ceremony winds up with a debauch, during which scenes occur which have perhaps more to do with the perpetuation of the race of the Bambaras than even the venerated baobab. One evening when I had gone to witness aWansofili, I was obliged to imitate the example of Jacob’s son and to flee from the daughters of the village, lest my dignity as Commander of the expedition should be compromised. It was too hot for me to be wearing a mantle, otherwise I should certainly have left it behind me.

On the occasion of the Buluku a certain Kieka-Sanké came to give us atam-tamof his own. Kieka-Sanké, I must explain, is a member of the Koridjuga tribe, a caste with its own special customs and its own dancers and singers, I might almost say composers.

Sanké was an old acquaintance of mine, and his mummeries had often amused me. Moreover, the information he had given me had often been most useful, for the right bank of the river was then still in the power of the Toucouleurs, and I had neighbours at Guni, and in Sanké’s own village, on whom it was necessary to keep a vigilant watch.

Now Sanké’s profession enabled him to go everywhere and to see everything without being suspected, so that he was often able to warn me in good time of what the Toucouleurs were thinking of doing. But those anxious days are over now, and he came to Kolikoro on this occasion merely to exercise his art. His greatest successeshave been achieved when he has been disguised as a woman, for he is wonderfully clever at imitating feminine ways. As he dances he strikes a calabash full of little flints, and composes songs on the spot which are full of caustic humour. One of his privileges, and he values it greatly, is that he can say anything to or of anybody without giving offence.

During my first stay at Kolikoro, Sanké was particularly fond of taking off the Mussulman Toucouleurs, and I remember one day how,à proposof their many prostrations and genuflexions, he said, “What pleasure can these fellows give to Allah by showing Him their backs three times a day!” My lady readers must pardon me; the Bambara language is in certain expressions no more refined than the Latin.

THE FLEET OF MY EXPEDITION.

This time Sanké, after having as usual given us all the news, imitated the taking of a village. Wearing hugeplumes on his head, and riding astride on a stick with a horse’s head, which represented his war steed, and a wooden gun in his hand, he was in his own person the besieger and the besieged. It was really interesting to see him imitate, with a skill many comedians might envy, the fierce gestures of a mounted warrior charging, the crafty bearing of the foot soldier hidden behind some cover waiting to rush out on the unsuspecting enemy, the fall of the wounded, the convulsions of the dying. The performance ended with a song in praise of the French in general and ourselves in particular. In these impromptu verses Sanké advised women to lay aside their spinning-wheels, for the white men would give them money and fine clothes for much less tiring work. I refrain from quoting more.

On December 12 we embarked our last load, and at half-past two we started.

On the 17th we anchored opposite Sego, where we were to receive from the Government stores the greater amount of the reserve provisions for three months which we had to take with us in some hundred and fifty cases. Bluzet raised his arms to Heaven in despair when he saw the huge piles. “We shall never get them into our hold!” he cried, “unless the axiom that the lesser cannot contain the greater is not true after all.” He did not, however, realize what skilful stowage could do. Baudry disappeared at the bottom of the hold, and nothing more was seen of him that day. And what he did then as second in command he had to do again and again for a whole month, unpacking and repacking, hunting about amongst the confusion of packages and cases for the one containing what was wanted. I confess I often pitied him from the bottom of my heart, the more that the temperature beneath the metal roof of our hold was not one easily borne by a European.

At half-past two in the afternoon Captain Destenaves, at one time resident at Bandiagara, arrived from Massina, where he had been in command for more than a year.

Destenaves had led our expedition to Mossi and Dori. From the latter town, which is situated on the borders of the Tuareg districts, he had brought much interesting information, and he was also accompanied by an old man named Abdul Dori, who declared himself ready to join our expedition.

DIGUI AND THE COOLIES OF THE ‘JULES DAVOUST.’

Abdul was what is known in these parts as adiavandu Fulah, that is to say, a Fulah belonging to a family which resembles in certain respects thegriotsof whom I have had more than once occasion to speak. Adiavanduattaches himself to the person of some chief, whom he serves as a confidential agent, courier, etc. He toadies his master to the top of his bent, and so makes a good thing out ofhim, by hook or by crook. Even if he is not exactly a noble character, it is impossible to deny that thediavanduis often very full of intelligence and address. If Abdul had really resolved to join us he might have rendered us very great services, but, as will be seen, the sly fellow had his own particular schemes to further, and was perhaps even a spy in the pay of the Toucouleurs sent to watch and circumvent us.

Destenaves was, moreover, in a great state of indignation, for though his expedition had succeeded at Dori, it had come to grief at Mossi. He had even had to fire a few shots. He laid all the blame, not without reason, on the former Governor of the French Sudan. In fact, M. Grodet, instead of letting Destenaves go first to Bobo Diulasso, where he would have been sure of a good reception, made him adopt an unfortunate course. Unable, in face of his instructions from home, to stop the expedition altogether, as in our case, he ordered its leader to go towards the districts occupied by the Mossi, who were wholly unprepared to receive it.

We left Sego on the morning of the 18th, and arrived the same day at Sansanding, where my good friend Mademba was waiting for us.

Every traveller who has been to Mademba’s, and has since written an account of his journey, has made a point, not without justice, of bearing grateful testimony to the merits of this noble fellow.

Mademba Seye is a native who was at one time in the employ of the French post and telegraph office. He especially distinguished himself during the construction of the line which, keeping alongside of the Senegal, crosses the Toucouleur districts of the Senegalese Foota. Just now the Toucouleurs were very much irritated against us, and full of arrogance because no punishment had been inflicted onthem for their daily misdeeds. They stopped barges coming up from St. Louis, they molested the traders and pillaged their merchandise, and the greatest skill, courage, andsavoir fairewere needed on the part of Mademba to conquer the difficulties besetting his path.

MADEMBA.

Later he did wonders in the Sudan, and his defence of the village of Guinina was a glorious feat of arms. He was victorious over the troops of Fabu, the brother of Samory, though he had no one with him but the few employés helping him to put down the line. Colonel Gallieni sent for him to be a kind of chief interpreter, and he held that position until, the Toucouleurs having been driven fromSego and Nioro, the country just conquered by the French was properly organized.

A small kingdom, with Sansanding as capital, was placed under Mademba; he had in his service a certain number ofsofas, or captive Amadu warriors, who had surrendered to the French and to the natives. Our postmaster-general soon became theFama Mademba, the wordfamasignifying a chief or king among the natives of Bambara.

Mademba gathered a court about him, showing a very clear sense of the right policy to pursue. When with us his manners and tastes were quite civilized, but he knew that to get an influence over his new subjects he must adopt the customs of their chiefs. He began by building himself a palace, which consists of a vast rectangular enceinte, with a door embellished with rough ornaments in clay. In the first vestibule, orbolo, are the guards, ordalasiguis, armed with muskets. This porch gives access to a series of courts and otherbolos, where of an evening bellow the cattle and bleat the sheep belonging to the chief. A last door, guarded or rather watched over by some fifteen children, gives access to the favourite apartment of theFama. Why should children be employed? Because they are the only people who can be depended on to tell the truth, and if they notice anything unusual they are very sure, sooner or later, to tell what they have seen. For the same reason, perhaps, and also on æsthetic grounds, theFamais waited on by women only, most of whom are the daughters of blacksmiths or griots, specially attached to the chief, their name,Korosiguis, meaning, “those who sit beside.” Moreover, Mademba showed great acumen in his choice of servants, and I never saw so many pretty girls anywhere else in the Sudan.

Behind the royal apartments, and completely surrounding the vast enclosure, are the huts of Mademba’s wives; butthere begins the private life of the chief, and I can’t introduce you to that, for the simple reason that I have never seen anything of it myself.

Surrounded by his male and female griots, wearing a grand greenburnous, on which gleamed the Cross of the Legion of Honour, the reward of his courage in the service of France, Mademba came to the banks of the river to welcome us. Shouts and acclamations of delight and sympathy with us greeted us as we landed, and if we had not known what all the fuss meant, we might have mistaken it for a declaration of war.

We went home with theFama, and there, taking off hisburnous, the black chief disappeared, to be replaced by our old friend Mademba, cultivated, refined, a charming talker, quite up-to-date in all that was going on in Europe, the man whom all Frenchmen who have been in the Sudan know and appreciate. He did the honours of an excellent, almost European meal, and we drank a glass of champagne together, in spite of his being a good Mussulman, for he has none of the stupid fanaticism of his fellow believers.

Just before we started I had made the following little speech to my coolies: “My friends, I know I am asking what will cost you a good deal of self-denial, but you must oblige me by not being too attentive to the women you meet until we have reached Timbuktu. You know that that sort of thing leads to disputes, sometimes even to regular quarrels, with the natives, and we shall have quite enough hostility to contend with without creating any ill-feeling ourselves. I warn you, moreover, that I shall give you no more pay after we leave Sansanding till we reach our goal. I will, however, give you two months’ pay in advance at Sansanding, and you will have three days to spend it in. For a year therefore, and perhaps more, after you leave Sansanding, remember, you have done with women.”

Truth to tell, I had learnt from experience that the ardent temperaments of negroes forming the escorts of expeditions really often jeopardized success, if their amours did not actually bring about failure. Of course I can’t be sure that my orders, which I repeated later, were always strictly obeyed, but at all events I did a good deal to lessen the evil.

YAKARÉ.

I gave my jolly fellows three days to enjoy themselves in, and they took me at my word. Until half-past one on the 22nd I saw next to nothing of them on board, and when the time for starting arrived I had to send to hunt up our little Abdulaye Dem, who had quiteforgotten how the time went in the society of a coal black Circe.

Meanwhile, we Europeans amused ourselves far more usefully in arranging for our further journey, and in trying the effect on the natives of our most attractive possessions, viz. the little organ, the bicycle, and the phonograph.

The organ had already done wonders, and as for ourSuzanne, as we called our bicycle, she caused a perfect delirium of joy.

Mademba had an ancient-looking negress of Amadu, named Yakaré, in his suite. She was really only about forty years old, but she was considered one of the cleverest women in all Bambara.

There was a certain ring about her songs of war and love which would be appreciated even in Europe, and the following specimen, in which she glorifies Donga or the vulture, Monson, the greatestfamaof Bambara, will serve to give an idea of the rhythm.

Braves! Heroes, who of you dares rail at Donga?I tell you evil will come upon you if you mock at him.Raillery of him was fatal to Diakuruna Tutun.Samaniana Baci thought to play with Donga,He fancied he could make merry with him;But that did not please the vulture,And he took Bamana DankunAnd cut off his head, yes, took his head from his shoulders.Dankun had only said that the BambarasCould not pause in sacrifices already begun.[4]I sing of Donga Jaribata,[5]The vulture of four wings,A mighty bird, whose talonsCan tear up the soil of the earth;A bird who if he willCan dig a well with his claws.

Braves! Heroes, who of you dares rail at Donga?

I tell you evil will come upon you if you mock at him.

Raillery of him was fatal to Diakuruna Tutun.

Samaniana Baci thought to play with Donga,

He fancied he could make merry with him;

But that did not please the vulture,

And he took Bamana Dankun

And cut off his head, yes, took his head from his shoulders.

Dankun had only said that the Bambaras

Could not pause in sacrifices already begun.[4]

I sing of Donga Jaribata,[5]

The vulture of four wings,

A mighty bird, whose talons

Can tear up the soil of the earth;

A bird who if he will

Can dig a well with his claws.

You can just imagine the sensation when, after the negress had finished her chant, the phonograph repeated it without anybody’s help.

LARGE NIGER CANOES.

But all good things must come to an end, and to the great regret of my coolies, I gave the signal for departure on the 22nd.

Below Sansanding the Niger increases sensibly in depth. This fact explains alike the former and the future importance of the village as a commercial centre. The trade of the country is, in fact, conveyed up and down by water in big canoes some 60 feet long, capable of carrying twenty tons, and made of planks tied together. Holes are piercedin these planks, through which ropes are passed made of the fibres, which are very strong, of the leaves of a kind of hibiscus. When Sansanding, Jenné, and Timbuktu were prosperous places, when the savage hordes of Toucouleurs had not yet spread death and desolation everywhere in the name of Islam, these heavy craft, sometimes drawing more than six feet, used to halt at Sansanding. For the traffic further up stream smaller boats were used, which plied to and fro nearly all the year round. A central mart was absolutely indispensable to the Sudan merchants, and Sansanding was fitted by nature to become that mart. I believe that in its most prosperous times it numbered from thirty to forty thousand inhabitants, though now these are reduced to some three or four thousand, in spite of the fresh impulse given by the more prosperous times of to-day, and the intelligence of the governor Mademba.

When the railway has been pushed from Kayes to Kolikoro, and when steamboats ply on the Niger, similar causes will of course produce similar results. Steamboats will not, however, be able to go beyond Sansanding all the year round, for no amount of improvement in their build can reduce their draught below one and a half or two feet. Above this point, however, the river is navigable for a longer or shorter time every year in such barges as are now in use. At the most, the traffic is only interrupted for about four months in the year. Sansanding will again become a central emporium and transhipping station; all its old importance will be restored to it.

I may add, that it has fortunately many other advantages, including good anchorage and landing places, where boats can be moored in shelter during the violent storms of Central Africa; the soil too is very dry, so that the place is healthier than many others in the Sudan, and the people are gentle, intelligent, and industrious.

Beyond Sansanding the course of the Niger changes considerably. Thus far the river flows between pretty straight uniform banks, but now the hills are lower, and behind them the country is perfectly flat, without so much as an undulation, so that they are completely flooded, often for an immense distance, when the water is high. Here and there villages rise from slight eminences, the clumps of hibiscus surrounding them rendering them visible from afar. Now too appears the sweet grass which the natives callburgu, a special characteristic of the riverside vegetation as far as Say. It is a kind of aquatic couch-grass nearly level with the soil when on the subsiding of the floods the ground becomes dry again. Directly the soil is once more inundated, however, the burgu sends out shoots with extraordinary rapidity, and they grow so fast that they soon reach the top of the water. The natives make a sweet beverage of the leaves of this grass, of too sickly a taste to be fancied by Europeans, but negroes are very fond of it. For our hydrographical surveys the burgu was a most invaluable help, growing as it does, as I have already remarked, wherever the solid ground reappears after the floods. If, therefore, we should be overtaken by a tornado on the open river, we can always take refuge from the waves by anchoring in the middle of the submerged tracts.

On January 1 we reached Gurao on Lake Debo, where I had recently resided for two years in charge of the Niger flotilla, consisting of the two gunboatsNigerandMage, and a few barges made of the wood of the country. Two of these barges, it will be remembered, were now part of our exploring expedition.

We paid a visit between whiles to the tomb of Sidi Hamet Beckay, in the village of Saredina. I shall often have occasion later to refer to this worthy, so I will content myself with adding but a few words about him here. Itwas thanks to him that Barth was able to stop six months at Timbuktu, pursue his voyage in safety, and go down the river by Say to Sokoto, whence he had started eighteen months before. Thanks to him too, Barth was able to send details to Europe of the hitherto mysterious city of Timbuktu, which had previously been visited by no white men except René Caillé.

When El Hadj Omar and his fanatical hordes came to devastate Massina, Hamet Beckay did his utmost to stop the course of the Toucouleur conqueror, by urging on him his own interpretation of the Mussulman religion, which he also professed: an interpretation too noble and elevated to be adopted by any but a few votaries. It was all in vain; his remonstrances were unheeded by El Hadj. Beckay had to be content with organizing a stout resistance; he summoned to arms his faithful friends the Tuaregs and the Fulahs, his former adversaries. But, alas! he died at Saredina before he could accomplish anything. The story goes, that when in perfect health he was seized with a gloomy presentiment of his approaching end. He called his intimate friends together, telling them that he might perhaps soon be summoned to make a distant journey, and giving to them his turban and his sword, the former for his son Abiddin, the latter for his son-in-law, Beckay Uld Ama Lamine, which signified that he bequeathed his spiritual power to Abiddin and his temporal authority to Ama Lamine. Then he begged to be left alone to pray during the hour of the siesta. When his followers returned they found the great marabout, his chaplet, clasped in his hands, and his eyes closed in an attitude of ecstasy. After watching him for a short time they became alarmed at his immobility, they touched him to try and awake him. But his lifeless body fell to the ground, the spirit of Hamet Beckay had left its earthly tabernacle. Beckay Uld AmaLamine continued the struggle begun by his father-in-law, and to him and his faithful adherents is due the honour of having besieged and killed El Hadj Omar at Hamdallahi. The blood-stained course of the Toucouleurs was checked for the moment, and the Western Sudan was saved from falling into the hands of the ferocious warriors of El Hadj.

Saredina is about two and a half miles from the river, and to reach it we had to cross a partially inundated plain over-grown with grass, in which nested quantities of aquatic birds. Arrived at the village we asked to be directed to the tomb, and found it to consist of little more than a small earthen case upheld by wooden poles, for the mass of dried bricks which had originally formed the monument to Hamet Beckay had all but disappeared. The natives of the neighbourhood had shown little respect for the great chief’s resting-place, and had used the materials of his tomb to weight their nets and make their agriculturalimplements. In my report to the governor of the French Sudan I put in a plea for a grave more worthy of Hamet Beckay. I hope my suggestion will be attended to, for it would be not only fitting, but good policy to preserve the memory of a man whose character was the more estimable in that such tolerance as his is rare indeed amongst his fellow believers. Such an act of pious respect for a Mussulman on our part would greatly increase our moral influence amongst the Mahommedans of the neighbourhood, especially amongst those of the interesting Kunta tribe to which Hamet Beckay belonged.

THE TOMB OF HAMET BECKAY AT SAREDINA.

SARAFÉRÉ.

At Gurao we had to collect the ammunition for our guns and cannons, and also to pick up some of our actual weapons, notably a certain machine gun which had belonged to the Niger flotilla. The work involved in all this delayed us till the 3rd, but on the afternoon of that day we resumed our journey.

On the 7th we reached Saraféré, an important market-place near the junction of the Niger and the Kolikolo, which latter is an arm of the river, branching off from it a little above Lake Debo. Here old Abdul Dori, the guide we had engaged at Sego, brought us a young man named Habilulaye, who was a Kunta, and I seize the opportunity of his visit to say something about the tribe to which he belonged, as I shall often have to refer to it.

The Kuntas are of the Arab race, and are descended from the famous conqueror of North Africa, Sidi Okha, who was a native of Yemen. After winning over to the religion of Mahomet a considerable portion of North Africa, his dominion extending nearly to Tangiers, the victor was assassinated near Biskra, where his tomb is still to be seen.

His descendants spread in many directions, and the Kuntas took root at Tuat, where as venerated marabouts they exercised, indeed they still exercise, a very great influence.

During the first half of the present century, Timbuktu occupied a very difficult and most precarious position. About 1800 a Fulah marabout, named Othman dan Fodio, carved out for himself a regular empire between Lake Tchad and the Niger, and his example led to the revolt, and the generally successful revolt, of nearly all the Fulahs distributed throughout the river basin. At Massina, Amadu Lobbo Cissé, a chief—of Soninké birth, it is true, but who had long resided amongst the Fulahs—raised the standard of revolt in the name of Islam, and his attempt, after various vicissitudes, succeeded. He and his son founded later an empire, the influence of which, with Hamda-Allahi as its capital, soon extended on both banks of the Niger as far as Timbuktu. Arrived there, however, the Fulahs found themselves face to face with the Tuaregtribes, who were very jealous of the maintenance of their independence. War of course soon broke out, and it lasted for half-a-century without any subjugation of the Tuaregs. It was not until later that the invasion of the Toucouleurs, led by El Hadj Omar, united the combatants against their common foe.

During this time of struggle and trouble Timbuktu, standing as it did between the two contending parties, passed first to one and then to the other, and pillaged by both sides, she rapidly declined in prosperity, and was in danger of complete ruin.

Under these trying circumstances, the merchants of the city, eager to obtain some sort of security for their lives, their goods, and their trade, sent to Tuat an earnest petition that some venerated Kunta marabout should come and live near Timbuktu, hoping that the respect felt for his piety might put a stop to the depredations of which their town was the victim.

Sidi Moktar responded to this appeal. He came, and took up his abode with his family and a few of his more distant relations near Timbuktu. Of these relations the most celebrated were his brothers Sidi Aluatta and Sidi Hamet Beckay with his nephew Amadi.

Barth has told us much about them all, but we have now specially to deal with Hamet Beckay, the doctor’s chief protector.

Imbued through reading Barth’s travels with a belief that the very fate of my expedition might depend on finding, as he did, some man universally loved and respected to take me and my followers under his protection, I earnestly hoped to find such a man amongst the Tuaregs, with whom I had become well acquainted during my two years’ residence in the Sudan.

As will be borne out by my further narrative, theseTuaregs seemed to me far less black than they were painted in Europe. At the same time, I recognized that certain peculiarities of their character might involve me in great difficulties. If they were not exactly instinctively ferocious, I knew that they were quick to take offence, defiant, full of dread of innovation, and ready to look on every stranger as a spy. To them a traveller is but the harbinger of some warlike expedition, which will wrest from them their greatest treasure, their independence.

But I had to get some one to go bail for me, some one to take me under his patronage and protection, and I had resolved, if it could possibly be done, to find that some one amongst the Kuntas. Surely, I thought, the traditions of tolerance of which Hamet Beckay had given such striking proof, must have been handed down to some of his descendants.

I did not, however, disguise from myself that in the very nature of things, since other marabouts had, since Beckay’s death, come to preach a holy war, and to inculcate hatred of the infidel, that the Kuntas would necessarily be forced—if they did not wish to lose their prestige—to howl with the rest of the wolves. But I reflected there is still time to appeal to the example of their grandfather, and experience proved that I was right.

I put out all my eloquence and powers of persuasion to win over young Habibulaye, and I succeeded. From him I learned that the Kuntas were now divided into several groups. He and his brother Hamadi, the sons of Sidi Aluatti, the brother of Hamet Beckay, had, however, remained at Timbuktu when the French occupied that town, and had all espoused our cause.

Aluatti, the son of Amadi, was in authority on the southern side of the river, and he looked on our expedition with a favourable eye. Further on, Baye and Baba Hamet,the sons of Hamet Beckay, would, I expected, be useful auxiliaries to us if only for the sake of their father’s memory.

Habibulaye did not, it is true, conceal from me the fact that other Kuntas were bitterly hostile to us, notably a certain Abiddin, who generally resided at Tuat, and who meant to rouse the Hoggars against us. He had, in fact, twice gone quite close to Timbuktu to try and make the people rise against the French.

More confirmed than ever by all that I heard in my resolve, and having now got all the information I could out of Habibulaye, who was but a child, I made up my mind, as soon as I got to Timbuktu to take Hamadi into my confidence, and get him to give me recommendations to his relations.

A strong east wind, which lashed the river into waves and was dead against us, delayed us so much that we did not reach Kabara until the evening of January 11.

As is well known, Timbuktu is not actually on the river, but at low water is some eight or nine miles off. Djitafe is then the nearest point of approach for canoes, but when the river rises they go up a lateral arm, and come first to Koriomé and then to Day. At certain times a stream, the bed of which is said to have been hollowed out, or at least deepened by the hand of man, enables very small craft to get up to Kabara, whilst more rarely, that is to say, when the inundations are at their height, the various excavations behind the Kabara dune are successively filled up, and boats can reach the capital itself. As a general rule, however, merchandise is taken into Timbuktu on the backs of camels and asses, the route varying according to the state of the river.

The ancient capital of Nigritia, or the Sudan, as it was still called not long ago in geographical text-books, has lostall its mystery since it passed into the hands of the French, and opinions are divided as to its present and future position. My friend Felix Dubois has described it, and it would be alike a waste of time and presumption on my part to attempt to supplement what he has said so well. I shall content myself with noting the reason of the former great commercial importance of Timbuktu; relatively considered of course. “Timbuktu,” says an Arab author, “is the point of meeting of the camel and the canoe.” That fact alone would not, however, be enough to account for its prosperity; many other places on the river fulfil this condition, as well if not better than Timbuktu, for, as we can ourselves testify, the canoe and the camel only meet there a few days in the year, and not always even as often as that.

In my opinion we have to seek the explanation elsewhere, and I think I have found it. Here it is: camels cannot with impunity approach rivers or other water-courses, for this reason. The banks are subject to constant inundations, and, especially in the Niger basin, quantities of succulent grass, containing a great deal of water, everywhere spring up, which, though the camel eats them gluttonously, are fatal to the “ship of the desert,” used as it is to dry food.

Now by a strange freak of nature, the part of the desert, I will not say exactly the driest part, but certainly the portion containing neither streams nor permanent pools, that vast expanse improperly called the Sahara, stretches up to the very gates of Timbuktu, so that caravans can reach the city without any risk to the animals. In a word, may we not say that Timbuktu is not a port of the Niger in the Sahara, but a port of the Sahara near the Niger?

As long as the trade of Timbuktu is carried on chiefly by caravans coming from the north, it will, in my opinion, retain its importance, but as soon as the Sudan railway is completed, merchandise will come by way of it and theriver, and the commerce of Timbuktu will be reduced to a trifling trade in salt, which is dug out in considerable quantities from the mines of Towdeyni, about twenty days’ march on the north.

When we arrived, we could only bring our boats up to Kabera. The port was blocked with big canoes made of planks tied together in the manner already described, and a brisk trade in salt and grain was going on on the quays.

A MOSQUE AT TIMBUKTU.

The next day I went to Timbuktu, and was received with open arms by the commandant, M. Rejou, who was in charge of the whole district.

I had one thing very much at heart, and I set to work to see about it at once. It was to persuade Father Hacquart, superior ofPères blancsmission at Timbuktu, to accompany us on our expedition.

When I saidpersuade, I did not perhaps use quite theright word, for I did not for one moment doubt the readiness of the good father to go with us. The companion of Attanoux in his journey amongst the Tuaregs of the north, formerlyCommandant des Frères armésof Mgr. Lavigerie, Father Hacquart could not fail to be won over by the idea of accomplishing a similar journey. But I knew him to be too devoted to his duty to hesitate an instant between a project, however attractive to his tastes and desires, and the interests of the mission, which had been under his direction at Timbuktu for more than a year, and to which his rare qualities had already given such life and success.

On the other hand, even from the point of view of the work to which Father Hacquart and his companions had devoted themselves, going down the Niger, opening relations with the natives on its banks, and obtaining all the information necessary for the work of their future evangelization, was really perhaps to bring about the good results hoped for years before they could otherwise have been achieved. The aim of Father Hacquart was really the same as ours, to see, to study on the spot, and to make friends, leaving to his superiors the task of deciding how his future campaign should be carried out.

As for me, nothing could be better for the success of my undertaking than the co-operation of Father Hacquart. Already familiar with the manners and customs of the Tuaregs, he would be a most valuable adviser; a distinguished Arabic scholar, he could in many cases converse without an interpreter with the natives, a matter of the greatest importance. He could, moreover, check the translations and reports of my Arab interpreter, Tierno Abdulaye Dem. Then his intelligence, the loftiness of his aims and views, the uprightness and energy of his character, were a sure guarantee that in him I should find a most valuablecontroller of my own acts and schemes, for of course I should ever be ready to listen to what he might suggest.

FATHER HACQUART.

Father Hacquart turned out indeed to be all that I have just described. I often changed all my plans in accordance with his advice, and I never had cause to regret having done so. He must pardon me for giving expression here to all my gratitude, and for proclaiming it on every occasion as loud as I can, for it was in a very great measure to him I owed the remarkable fact, that my Niger expedition was accomplished in the midst of tribes so diverse and sometimes badly disposed towards the French—without the firing of a single shot.

As I hoped, Father Hacquart yielded to my persuasions, and we now numbered five Europeans.

On the other hand, our native escort was reduced. One of our coolies, Matar Samba, had been out of sorts ever since we left Sansanding. During the last few days he had become worse, and both Dr. Taburet and a medical man at Timbuktu were of opinion that he was suffering from tubercular disease, and would only hamper, not help me, in the further journey. I decided therefore to leave him at Timbuktu, and when I came back from Dakar on our return I had the pleasure of finding him much better, if not completely cured.

Aided by Father Hacquart, I at once opened relations with Hamadi, the Kunta of whom I have already spoken, and he promised to do all he could to persuade his relation Aluatta to go with us. It was significant that when I begged Hamadi to join us himself, he replied, “No; I might merely arouse opposition, and you might suffer through my being with you. I would rather write to Aluatta; he will be more likely to say yes then, for, like a dutiful relation, I shall only urge him to come and share the windfall of all your beautiful presents.”

The next thing I did was to try and meet at Timbuktu with some natives who were on friendly relations with the Awellimiden, the important Tuareg tribe to which I shall so often have to refer later, but whether they spoke the truth or were deceiving me, one and all declared that they knew absolutely nothing about them.

To make up for this, however, a native of Tuat, a certain Bechir Uld Mbirikat, who had long lived at Timbuktu, and whom I had met before, gave me some letters for his cousin Mohammed, who was living amongst the Igwadaren Tuaregs, and for Sheriff Salla Uld Kara, chief of the village of Tosaye, who had once been the pupil of Hamet Beckay, and the friend of Barth.

Moreover, Bechir gave me a valuable bit of advice, which I immediately followed, without, however, fully realizing its importance at the time. This counsel, perhaps, contributed more than anything we did to the success of our expedition. “Tell them,” said Bechir, “that you are the son of Abdul Kerim.” Now Abdul Kerim was the Arab name assumed by Dr. Barth during his journey. This custom of taking an Arab name seemed almost comic, and reminded me of a little play I once saw acted at the Châtelet Theatre in Paris. I forget the name of it, but a traveller figured in it, who took his servant with him to the heart of Africa. The latter, who was passionately fond of travelling, and took an eager interest in all the doings and adventures of explorers, made but one request, and that was to be allowed to change his name of Joseph to that of Mohammed Ben Abdullah. “It was more euphonious,” he said, and the audience roared with laughter.

Well, Joseph was quite right, and if Barth had not done as he did, the negroes and Tuaregs would never have remembered his European name, it would never havebecome engraved on their memories, it would never have been transmitted to their descendants, and I should not have been able to solve all difficulties, however great, and emerge safely from every situation, however embarrassing, by the simple words “I am the son, or rather the nephew of Abdul Kerim.”

It is impossible to admire too much the lofty, upright character of Barth, which so impressed all with whom he came in contact on his journey, that nearly half a century after his death the mere fact of his having traversed a district—poor as he was, and exposed to all manner of dangers, the friendship of Beckay his only safeguard—should be enough to open the way for a pretended relation of his.

How few travellers could boast of having done as much, even in modern times. Too many explorers have indeed, after forcing their way through a country against the will of the natives, left behind them a legacy of increased difficulty and danger to their successors.

I was very anxious to secure the services of a political agent with a thorough knowledge of the country, and the language of the Tuaregs. I wished to send him, if I could find him, in advance of our party to take letters to the chiefs, or to plead our cause with them.

Acting on the advice of Hamadi, I chose a certain Sidi Hamet, distantly connected with the Kuntas, and then employed in the Custom House at Timbuktu, under one Said, the interpreter of the Post-Office.

I must do this justice to Said, he yielded with anything but a good grace to the employment of his subordinate on our service, and did more to dissuade him than to further our wishes. We had to invoke the aid of Commandant Rejou, and later, at Tosaye, Sidi Hamet piteously entreated me to let him go back, and I expect Said’sobjection to his joining us had something to do with his faltering. However, I forgive him with all my heart. Sidi Hamet was the interpreter’s right hand, his chief source of information on every subject, and he found it hard work to fulfil his own duties, even those of an interpreter, without him.

On the 16th I went back to spend a day at Kabara, where I had invited all the notables of Timbuktu to come and listen to the wonders of the phonograph. It was an exhibition which long dwelt in the memory of those present. Amongst the most attentive listeners were the two sons of the chief of the Eastern Kuntas, who lives at Mabrok. I felt sure that the rumour of the extraordinary things I had done would precede me.

Commandant Rejou had already warned Sakhaui, or Sarrawi, chief of the Igwadaren Aussa, the first Tuareg tribe we should meet on our way down the river, of our approach. In the evening two envoys from this chief arrived with a missive, which it was almost impossible to decipher, but from which, in spite of its ludicrous phraseology, we managed to make out two things, one being that Sakhaui had no desire to see us, the other that he was very much afraid of us.

We did our best to reassure and impress the messengers, and finally succeeded in convincing them that we had no evil intentions with regard to the Igwadaren, and armed with a fresh document from us they set off to return to their chief.

Meanwhile Sidi Hamet, who had been well coached in what he was to say and do, had started on his way to Aluatta, to ask him to meet us at Kagha, a little village on the right bank about thirty-one miles from Timbuktu. For the first time I now announced my pretended relationship with Abdul Kerim, taking myself the Arab name of Abd el Kader, or the servant of the Most High.

This mission with the Kuntas accomplished, Sidi Hamet was to go to the Igwadaren of Sakhaui and wait for us.

Having settled everything to the best of our ability, visited the boats, and repaired any little damage which had been done by the way, we had now only to give ourselves up to the current of the river and to the will of God.

It was not without a certain emotion that, on Wednesday, January 22, we started from Kabara, seen off by all our brother officers of the garrison of Timbuktu, and escorted to our boats by a great crowd of natives, who, with more or less enthusiasm, invoked the protection of Allah on our behalf.

WE LEAVE KABARA.

As long as our boats were in sight of the station we could see handkerchiefs and helmets waving to us in token of adieu, and when the flag of the fort disappeared from view our hearts felt somewhat oppressed, for we wereleaving all that in our exile from France represented our native country. Henceforth we five white men, with our twenty-eight black followers, were thrown on our own resources, and had to depend upon ourselves alone. How many of us would return? How many of us were destined to sleep our last sleep beneath the soil of Africa?

AT TIMBUKTU.

Back to Index Next