FRENCH ENTERPRISE IN AFRICA
The Exploration of the Niger

LIEUTENANT HOURST.

French Enterprise
in Africa

THE PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF LIEUT. HOURST
OF HIS
Exploration of the Niger

Translated by
Mrs. ARTHUR BELL (N. D’Anvers)
AUTHOR OF ‘THE ELEMENTARY HISTORY OF ART,’ ‘THE SCIENCE LADDERS,’ ETC.

WITH 190 ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAP

LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, Ld.
1898

[All rights reserved]

Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,
London & Bungay.

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

The appearance of this brightly-written record of an adventurous voyage down the Niger, from Timbuktu to the sea, such as has never before been accomplished, is just now peculiarly opportune, when attention is so much concentrated on the efforts of the French to extend their influence in Africa, especially in the Western Sudan.

The author of the Exploration of the Niger is, of course, greatly prejudiced against England, and his jealous hostility to those he habitually calls “our rivals” peeps out at every turn, but for all that the work he has done is good and valuable work, adding much to the knowledge of the Niger itself, its basin, and the various tribes occupying the riverside districts. It is remarkable, that in spite of much opposition Lieutenant Hourst managed to keep the peace with the natives from the first start from Timbuktu to the arrival at Bussa. Whilst the footprints of too many of his predecessors were marked in blood, he and his party passed by without the loss of a single life, and in this most noteworthy peculiarity of his journey, the brave and patient young leader may claim to rank even with that great pioneer of African discovery, David Livingstone.

True the Lieutenant owed the good relations he was able to maintain with the chiefs to a fiction, for acting on the advice of a certain Béchir Uld Mbirikat, a native of Twat, whom he had met at Timbuktu, he passed himself off as the nephew of Dr. Barth, the great German traveller, who had everywhere won the love and respect of the people with whom he was brought in contact. Assuming the name of Abdul Kerim, or the Servant of the Most High, the Frenchman solved all the difficulties which threatened to stop his progress by the simple assertion that he was the nephew of Abdul Kerim, as Barth was and still is called in the Sudan. “I was thus able,” says Abdul Kerim, “to emerge safely from every situation, however embarrassing,” explaining that the natives do not distinguish between different European nationalities, but simply class all together as “the whites.”

Apart from this initial falsehood, of which the Lieutenant does not seem to be in the least ashamed, his dealings with the natives were marked by perfect straightforwardness; every promise, however trivial, made to one of them he faithfully performed, whilst from the officers under him and the coolies in his service he won the utmost devotion and love. He deserves indeed very great credit for the ever ready tact with which he turned aside rather than met the difficulties assailing him at every turn, and Dr. Barth would have had no cause to be ashamed of his relative if the young gentleman had indeed been his nephew.

Lieutenant Hourst’s chapter on the much misjudged Tuaregs is especially interesting, and, most noteworthy fact, full of hope for the future. He attributes their many excellent qualities to their reverence for their women. The husband of one wife only, the Tuareg warrior looks up to that wife with something of the chivalrous devotion of the knights of the Middle Ages, presenting in this respect a very marked contrast to his Mahommedan neighbours, of whom, by the way, the Frenchman has the lowest possible opinion; charging them with a total disregard of morality, beneath the cloak of an assumed religious zeal. On the so-called marabouts he is especially severe, giving many instances of the evil influence they exercise over the simple-minded natives.

It would be unfair to the author to spoil the interest of his narrative by any further revelations of its contents; suffice it to add, that in spite of his all too-evident bias against the English, he is unable to deny that he was kindly treated by the individual members of the Royal Niger Company, with whom he came in contact. His only wish, he naïvely remarks, is that some of the warm-hearted men who welcomed him back to civilization had belonged to his own nationality. There is something truly pathetic in the plea with which the courageous young explorer winds up his record of his year of arduous work, and yet more arduous waiting, hoping against hope for the instructions from home which never came. He knows, he says, that all the countries suitable for colonization—Australia was the last of them—are already occupied by “our rivals,” but there is still room, he thinks, for French “colonies of exploration,” where talented young men, unable to find a career in their native country, may usefully employ their energies in turning the natural wealth of French acquisitions to account. That is all he hopes for; but he cannot help adding a few touching words of appeal to the French colonial authorities, asking them to cease from sending out expeditions only to abandon them to their fate, taking no notice of their requests for instructions or for help.

Reading between the lines of this record of a brave struggle against terrible odds, it is only too easy to realize that the policy of prevarication of the French Government in all matters colonial is a well-considered policy, as astute as it is unfair, alike to the gallant officers in command of abortive exploring expeditions as to the “rivals” so cordially disliked.

Nancy Bell.

Southbourne-on-Sea,
October 1898.

WASHERWOMEN OF SAY.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[Map]

MARKET PLACE, ST. LOUIS.

THE EXPLORATION OF THE NIGER

CHAPTER I
AN ABORTIVE START

Dr. Henry Barth, the greatest traveller of modern times, our illustrious predecessor on the Niger, was a prisoner at Massenya. Loaded with chains, and in hourly expectation of death, he was still devoted to his work, and had the superb courage to write—“The best way of winning the blacks from their barbarism is to create centres on the great rivers. The civilizing influence will then spread naturally, following the water-highways.”

In his generous dream, which might be his last, he consoled himself in thinking that soon the ideas of tolerance and progress would advance by the river-roads, by the “moving paths,” as he called them, to the very heart of the dark continent. Perhaps the shedding of his blood might then further the cause of that humanity of which he was the apostle.

More than any other, perhaps, the Niger district lends itself to this idea of Dr. Barth’s. There it is, on the banks of the river, fertilized by timely inundations, that life appears to be concentrated. It is by following the streams and rivers, and crossing the lakes, that the forward march must proceed. The Niger, with its affluents and its lacustrine systems, still partially unknown, gives, even when only seen on the map, the impression of an organism complete in itself. As in the human body, the blood-vessels and the nerves carry the life and transmit the will of their owner, so does a mighty river with its infinite ramifications, seem to convey to the remote confines of a continent, commerce, civilization, and those ideas of tolerance and of progress which are the very life and soul of a country.

To utilize this gigantic artery—and this is a task which we Frenchmen have undertaken, for, at the demand of France, these countries have been characterized as under French influence—it was necessary first of all to know it.

It is to this task we have devoted ourselves, my companions and I. Providence has aided us, Providence has willed our success, in spite of difficulties of every kind. We had the great joy of returning with ranks unbroken, all safe and sound. Yet more rare, our journey did not cost a single human life, not even amongst those who were hostile to us and opposed our passage.

This I consider the greatest honour of the expedition of which I was in command.

Moreover, logic as well as humanity demanded that we should, in every case, as far as possible pursue a pacific policy. What could men, whether negroes or others, think of the civilization we endeavour to introduce amongst them, if its first benefits are volleys of bullets, blood-shed—in a word, war?

The reader must not, however, misunderstand me. It has often been necessary, it will still long be necessary, even in conformity with our most honourable and elevated sentiments, to have recourse in certain cases to war, to enforce our ideas of justice. In the present state of barbarism of African races, especially where the false civilization of Islam has penetrated, the moral elevation of the lower classes is injurious to the material interests of directors, chiefs, sorcerers, or marabouts; and against them, of course, force must be used.

The motto chosen by the Royal Niger Company—was it in irony, or for the sake of rhythm?—“Pax, Jus, Ars,” is certainly most beautiful, most complete, most suitable, for a people who dream of combining venal profits with humanitarian ameliorations in their colonization of native districts. This motto cannot, however, be acted upon without some trouble and conflict. Peace? How about the successful slave raids undertaken under the cloak of religion, on which the Samorys, the Amadus, the chief of Sokoto and their bands depend for their livelihood? Justice? Suppose the races oppressed because of their very gentleness, ground down because of their productiveness, refuse to obey their conquerors, Toucouleurs, Fulahs, or whoever they may be; will the captive find himself the equal of the master? Art? the Knowledge and the Toil which should win freedom? Grant them, and what will become of the sorcerers, and the starving marabouts with their impostures and their mummeries? There have been, there inevitably will be again, prolonged and obstinate resistance. That resistance must be overcome, and the struggle must cost bloodshed, but that bloodshed will increase the future harvest.

It is altogether different, however, with an exploring expedition. Its mission is not to dictate, but to persuade—not to conquer, but to reconnoitre. This, however, scarcely lessened the difficulty of our task. In a new country, ignorance alone, rather than actual ill-will founded on serious reasons, is enough to make the natives hostile. They look upon the traveller as a malevolent intruder, a sorcerer, a devil. They want to hinder his progress, to make him turn back, and when they despair of doing that they try to pillage and to destroy him.

Weapons of precision, discipline, a single blow may perhaps sometimes break through the obstacle, and the traveller will pass on. But afterwards?

Afterwards, the road will be closed before him. One tribe after another will rise, and if the explorer has any armed followers, it will be with him as it was with Stanley in his blood-stained course, the path behind him will be marked by corpses.

Afterwards, moreover, the road behind him will also be barred—closed for long years to every pacific attempt. This sort of thing means, in fact, difficulties increased, sometimes indeed rendered positively insurmountable to those who would resume or complete the task begun.

True, I cannot claim to have left behind me tribes entirely devoted to us, or districts completely won over to our ideas, to which France has but to send her traders and her directors; but I think I can say that where our passage did nothing to ameliorate the situation, it at least made it no worse; and of this I am proud.

Briefly stated, what we did on our expedition was, to ascend the Senegal, reach the Niger at its highest navigable point, and go down it to the sea.

This was not a new idea. My friend Felix Dubois claims, not unjustly, that the same thing occurred to Colbert. For all that, however, scarcely a century ago no one knew the exact position either of the source or the mouth of the Niger; and those who were anxious to learn something about its geography, had only Herodotus, Ibn Batuta, and Leo Africanus to guide them.

But we must do justice to our rivals: the English were the first to attempt to realize the dream of Colbert. In 1797, the Scotchman Mungo Park reached the Upper Niger by way of Guinea. “Are there then no streams, no rivers, no anything in your country,” a chief of Kasso said to him, “that you come at the peril of your life to see the Joliba?” (the Upper Niger). Park stopped at Silla, near our present settlement at Sansanding, and renewing his attempt a few years later, he met his death—how, no one knows exactly, somewhere near Bussa.

NATIVES OF THE BANKS OF THE SENEGAL.

Although very celebrated in England, Mungo Park was quite unknown to the French, even in their colonies. I give the following well-known anecdote from memory. “In 1890 a highly educated person said to M. X———, a French colonial officer of high rank, ‘There is a future before the Niger districts. See what Mungo Park says about them;’ and he followed this up with a lot of quotations from Park’s book. ‘Oh, that is all very interesting,’ said the other; ‘if Mungo Park is in Paris, you had better take him to the Minister.’ Then when the death of Park in 1805 was explained, M. X——— cried, thinking he had found an unanswerable argument, ‘I bet your Park died of fever!’”

Perhaps after all he confused him with the Parc Monceau, the healthiness of which had lately been called in question.

Our journey was accomplished just one century after Mungo Park’s first attempt. We started from about the same point, too, as did the great Scotch traveller, only from the Senegal instead of the Gambia, but our attempt was crowned by success.

Of course, it will be said, that we had fewer unknown districts to go through. Since 1805, Europeans have conquered half the continent of Africa. We stepped from a French colony into an English Protectorate. Moreover, earlier travellers than ourselves explored certain sections of our route, whilst Park had everywhere to work his way through virgin territory.

Perhaps, however, all these supposed advantages in our favour really only added to our difficulties.

Happening to find myself in Paris in October 1893, on the eve of my return to my Staff duties in the French Sudan, I one day met Colonel Monteil. “Go,” he said to me, “and find Monsieur Delcassé” (then Under Secretary of State for the Colonies), “he has something to say to you.” The next day I presented myself at the Pavillon de Flore. “You are leaving for the Sudan,” said Monsieur Delcassé; “what are you going to do there?” “It is not quite decided yet,” I replied. “I heard some talk of a hydrographic exploration of the courses of the Bafing and the Bakhoy” (two streams which meet at Bafulabé, to form the Senegal). “You no doubt know more about it than I do.” “Well!” he replied, “I would rather you went down the Niger, in accordance with the project Monteil spoke to me about, and which you, it seems, submitted to my predecessor.”

“I should prefer it too,” I said; “it is just what I have been asking for for the last five years.”

“Well, then, that is settled; send me a report and an estimate of expenses.”

Thus in two minutes the exploration of the Niger was decided upon.

It is, in fact, true (see Report of December 1888) that I suggested such an expedition five years ago; but it is really ten years since a similar plan was proposed by another, and that other my venerated chief, my friend, and my master in all things connected with the Sudan, Naval Lieutenant Davoust. He died in harness.

After the occupation of Bamaku, Naval Ensign Froger, a man of immense energy, endurance, and indomitable perseverance, whose name comes in whenever there is any talk of French work in the Sudan, took a French gunboat, piece by piece, to the Niger. God only knows at what cost. There he put her together, launched her, and since 1884 she has remained on the river. This gunboat, baptized the Niger, was commanded, on the retirement of Froger, by Davoust, who in accepting the appointment, hoped to take his vessel up to Timbuktu. As a logical consequence, of course, he asked permission to go down to the opening of the navigable portion of the great river, or, if it were possible, to the sea itself, but the authorization was refused. He was stopped at Nuhu in Massina. Weakened by dysentery and fever, he was compelled, greatly against his will, to return to France, without having even reached Timbuktu.

That honour was reserved for his successor, Caron, who, with Sub-Lieutenant Lefort and Dr. Jouenne, reached Koriomé, the port of the mysterious town; but the intrigues of the Toucouleurs and the merchants of the north made the Tuaregs hostile. He was unable to enter the ancient capital of the Sahara, but he brought back with him a magnificent map on the scale of ¹⁄₅₀₀₀₀ of the course of the river, such as had, perhaps, never before been made of any river of Africa. It proved beyond a doubt, that from Kulikoro to Timbuktu, that is to say, for a length of about 500 miles, the Niger is perfectly navigable, free from obstacles, everywhere accessible to small craft, and nearly always to steamers and barges of considerable draught.

Davoust returned to the charge in 1888, when he did me the honour of taking me as his second in command, and it was decided that we should go down the river, until the absolutely insuperable obstacles in our path barred our progress.

Alas! it was decreed that Davoust should never realize success.

What happened? Just as we were going to start came an order that we were to do nothing. We wintered at Manambugu, a terribly unhealthy spot, and there, with infinite trouble, we constructed a few wretched huts of straw and loam, to protect ourselves and our goods. Under such conditions, death soon wrought havoc in our ranks. We white men numbered eighteen when we started; less than a year later we were but five. The rest we had buried along our path as we returned, or in our little cemetery at Manambugu.

Poor Davoust reached Kita but to die. The order forbidding us to start had been his death-blow. Until then he had, however, kept up only by force of his intense determination. It was but his hope of success which sustained him; he existed only for the sake of his great scheme. “Merely having failed to descend the Niger,” he exclaimed to me one day, “made Mungo Park famous, but we, we shall succeed.”

He could not bear to see all his long-cherished plans upset for no real reason, on the very eve of realization. It was too severe a blow for the little strength which remained to him. He nevertheless continued to help me in fitting out the Mage, a gunboat like the Niger, which we had brought from France; he even made some trial trips; but in the month of December he set off for home, to try and regain his strength in his native land, and buoyed up with the hope of being able to win over our colonial authorities to his views.

He never reached France; he rests at Kita. When we thought all was lost, and our mission hopelessly compromised, we gathered round his tomb. Perhaps it was our doing so which brought us good fortune at last.

How many, aye, some even greater men than he, have fallen thus! Alas! it has been with the dead bodies of our countrymen that the soil of the French Sudan, which we hope will some day yield so rich a harvest, has been fertilized! Dare we add, that those who went there in the hope of winning gold braid and crosses, got “crosses” indeed, but they consisted only of two bits of wood clumsily nailed together by some comrade, and set up in the corner of a field of millet, beneath the shade of some baobab tree; poor ephemeral crosses, soon eaten up by white ants, incapable even of preserving the memory of the brave fellows buried beneath them.

But we must not bemoan too much the fate of these noble dead. We must honour them and follow their example.

Well then, Davoust being dead, without having accomplished his task, I vowed that a boat bearing his name should descend the river. This promise I made in 1888, but it was not until 1896 that I was able to redeem it. Now I have fulfilled my vow.

There is no doubt that it would have made all the difference in the political results of my mission, if it could have been undertaken eight or ten years earlier. For instance, in the negotiations which took place in 1890, and were so inauspicious for our influence on the Lower Niger, our plenipotentiaries would have been able to assert, that the rapids at Burrum existed only in the imagination of Sir Edward Malet, a fact not without its importance.

But we will not trouble ourselves with what the expedition ought to have done—we will merely record what it did do.

My project, adopted by M. Delcassé, was that of Davoust, slightly modified. Instead of employing gunboats drawing about three feet of water, I found it best to employ barges of very slight draught worked with oars. An attentive study of Dr. Barth’s narrative reveals how very great were the difficulties of navigation, at least on those parts of the river he himself explored; for it must be remembered that he never spoke by hearsay. Of course a boat drawing a foot or so only of water would easily pass over rapids, where such vessels as the Mage and the Niger must inevitably come to grief.

Moreover, a steam-boat needs fuel, and that fuel would have to be wood. Then we must go and cut that wood, which would give the natives opportunities for hostility. Moreover, the machinery might get out of order. Of course, rowing is slower than steaming, but it is much safer. Then, too, we had the current in our favour; we had but to let ourselves go and we should certainly arrive at some goal, if not at a good port. The stream would carry our barges down, with us on or under them, as Spartan mothers would have said.

Besides, there was something graceful about this mode of progression. To row down the Niger at the end of the nineteenth century, was not only amusing, but there was really something audacious about it, when it might have been done so differently, and, after all, I was right; for never could gunboats have passed where my plucky little boat, the Davoust, made her way.

This resolution come to, the next thing was to build the boat which was to be the inseparable companion of our journey. “As you make your bed you must lie upon it,” I thought, and I gave my whole mind to the matter.

She must be strong but light, and easily taken to pieces; she must not exceed the minimum space needed to hold us all; she must be capable of carrying eight to ten tons, and she must not be difficult to steer.

During the year 1893, it happened that great progress had been made in the working of aluminium, and Monteil had actually ventured to employ that metal in the construction of a little boat intended for use on the Ubangi. It seemed, however, rather hazardous to follow his example, for, after all, what could be done with aluminium had not been actually put to the test, and our very lives depended almost entirely on the durability of our boat. Still, I had to take into account the fact that the craft would sometimes have to be carried overland, and then the lightness of the metal would be immensely in its favour.

In a word, I decided for aluminium. Truth to tell, however, I confess I am not very proud of the decision I came to. The material was not hard enough; it was easily bent; it staved in at the slightest shock, and I often wished I had decided on a steel boat. At the same time, it should be admitted that its chief quality—that of lightness—was never really put to the test; for throughout the journey we never once had to take our craft to pieces, for the purpose of carrying it in sections, over otherwise insurmountable obstacles. As she was launched at Kolikoro, so she arrived at Wari. This was perhaps as well; for I really do not know whether the bolts once taken out of their strained sockets would ever have fitted properly again. To sum up, however, the Davoust, an aluminium boat, reached the mouth of the Niger, which was really all that was expected of her.

Now let me introduce my Davoust properly. She is not exactly a handsome craft. She looks more like a wooden shoe or a case of soap than anything; that is to say, the stern is square, whilst the bow runs up into a point. This pointed bow, I must remark en passant, will be very useful for jumping on shore from without wetting our feet.

She is about 98 feet long by 7½ feet wide, and only draws about a foot and a quarter of water, which does not prevent her from carrying nine tons. Two water-tight partitions divide her into three compartments, the central one of which forms the hold, where are stowed all our valuables, food, ammunition, and bales of goods. The hold is covered in with steel plates, which serve as a deck, and at the same time greatly add to the general strength of the craft.

The other two compartments, covered in by thin planking, serve as cabins. The planks, as will be readily understood, are but little protection against the heat of the sun and in storms; but, of course, it was impossible for me to add needlessly to the weight of the boat, merely for the sake of comfort. In the centre is placed a machine gun. In the fore part of the steel deck will sit the oarsmen, or, to be strictly nautical, the rowers.

Three sails, two triangular and one square, will help us along when the wind is favourable. True, this rig-out of sails on a vessel the size of ours is not exactly what is generally seen in the Navy, but what does that matter in the wilds of Africa, with no companions and no engineers to make fun of my innovation? How well it will sound, too, will it not, when we reach their territories if the English telegraph to Europe, “A French three-master has descended the Niger from Timbuktu!”

All this finally settled, the next thing to do was to divide the boat into sections. The problem was, how to manage to do this so that these sections could be carried on the heads of our porters, no one of them weighing more than from about 55 to 66 lbs. This is really all we can expect of a black porter who was not brought up in the ship-building trade.

To begin with, I divide my boat longitudinally from bow to stern into two equal sections, which are afterwards sub-divided. These two sections are to be bolted on to a sheet of steel which will serve as a keel. The joints are of leather. The heaviest piece, that is to say, the stern, weighs some 81 lbs., but two porters can carry it together.

This flat-bottomed craft of ours will be steered by means of a long rudder, the wheel of which is placed at the threshold of my cabin, so that I shall have it close at hand. On my cabin roof is the steering compass, and the tent to protect us in the day, which tent is made of brown and red striped cloth with a scalloped edge. We fancy ourselves on the beach of Normandy when we are in it. The roof of my cabin will serve me as a table on which to work at my hydrographical observations.

The Davoust was just big enough to hold us all. She could be handled easily enough; she contained only what was absolutely indispensable, and all I asked of her was that she should carry us safely to our goal.

It would not do for me to embark alone to descend the Niger. The next thing was, therefore, to choose my crew. Of all the lucky chances which marked the course of our trip, and contributed to its success, there was one for which I ought to have been more grateful to Providence than I was, and that was, that He gave me just the companions who went with me.

All who know from experience what the sun of Africa is, who are aware of the combined effects of illness and privations, such as the want of sufficient nourishment, of perpetual danger, of never-ceasing responsibility, who have themselves suffered from working with uncongenial companions, whose worst faults come out under the stress of suffering and fatigue, who know what the unsociability of the tropics often is, will realize the force of what I have said.

We started five companions, we returned five friends: that is the most astonishing part of what we did!

First of those who joined me, who shared all my hardships as well as my success, was Naval Ensign, now Lieutenant Baudry.

One of those who had laboured in the vineyard from the first, M. Baudry had begged me to take him with me, should the chance ever occur, long before my expedition was decided on. He happened to be in Paris at the time, for, like myself, he was about to start for the Sudan on Staff duty. He too had been bitten by the Colonial tarantula, causing a serious illness, only to be cured by an actual journey to the colonies. A few minutes after the decision of the Under Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs the matter was settled: he was to go with me.

NAVAL ENSIGN BAUDRY,

Second in command of the Hourst Expedition.

He has been my comrade in happy and in dreary hours. Together we suffered from the events which kept us imprisoned, so to speak, in the French Sudan for nearly two years before we could really make a start. He adopted my ideas, he made them his own, and set to work immediately to carry them into action. It is but just that I should speak of him first of all in these terms of praise, for always and everywhere I was secure of his help and co-operation.

We made up the rest of our party at St. Louis, for Baudry and I were at first the only two white men in the expedition. We had to choose eight Senegal coolies, one of whom was a non-commissioned officer lent to us by the naval authorities. I knew that I should be able to engage any number of brave and sturdy fellows, faithful to the death down there, and so it proved.

The grave question of the choice of a native interpreter still remained to be solved. I had my man in my mind, but I did not know whether I could secure him. I lost no time in asking the authorities at Senegal to place Mandao Osmane at my disposal.

I had known and learnt to value Mandao on the Niger flotilla; he and his family had already rendered more devoted services to France than I could count. Well-read, intelligent, very brave, very refined, and very proud, Mandao was the type of an educated negro. He would have been a valuable assistant and a trusted friend to us. I knew that it was his great ambition to be decorated like his father, who had been one of General Faidherbe’s most valued auxiliaries. He was to die on the field of honour, killed during the Monteil expedition.

If some inquirer asks you, “What is the first thing to do to prepare for an exploring expedition to Central Africa?” answer without hesitation, “Buy some of the things which are being sold off in Paris.” And this is why. The usual currency on the Niger is the little cowry found on the coast of Mozambique. Five thousand represent about the value of a franc. As will at once be realized, this means a very great weight to lug about, as heavy, in fact, as the Spartan coinage, and besides, it is not known everywhere even in Nigritia. In many villages everything is sold by barter. “How much for that sheep?” you ask, and the answer is “Ten cubits” (about six yards) “of white stuff, or fifty gilt beads, so many looking-glasses, so many sheets of paper, or so many bars of salt,” according to what the seller wants most.

One must provide oneself with the sort of things required.

Besides all this, presents are needed, and all sorts of unexpected articles come in usefully for them. Black-lead sold in tubes is used for blackening and increasing the brilliance of the eyes of Fulah coquettes; curtain-loops are transformed into shoulder ornaments or belts to hold the weapons of warriors; whilst the various dainty articles used in cotillons are much appreciated by native belles, who are also very fond of sticking tortoise-shell combs into their woolly locks. Take also some pipes, tobacco-pouches, fishing-tackle, needles, knives and scissors, a few burnouses made of bath-towels, china and glass buttons, coral, amber, cheap silks, tri-coloured sunshades, etc.

We had to give powerful chiefs such things as embroidered velvet saddles, weapons, costly garments, and valuable stuffs. Tastes change from one generation to another; the fashion is different in different villages; besides, we were expected, it was specified in our instructions, to open commercial relations with the natives for the travellers who should succeed us. So we were bound to have with us as great a variety of samples of our wares as possible.

Moreover, Tuaregs and negroes alike are only big children. They fight just to amuse themselves when they happen to have a sword or a gun. They would play just as happily with a mechanical rabbit, a peg-top, or a doll which says “Papa.” So we must take some toys with us, such as crawling lizards, jumping frogs, musical boxes, even a miniature organ which plays the quadrille à chahut,[1] as it consumes yards of perforated paper. And even now I have not enumerated all the things we took.

Face to face with this very incoherent programme, suppose for carrying it out you have two naval officers, one just come back from the Sudan, the other from China, and you say to them, giving them the necessary funds, “Now you go and settle things up.” Well, you will soon see what they can do, but if they are up to their work they will go straight away and secure the help of Léon Bolard, a commercial agent who is a specialist in providing for exploring expeditions. And then these two will amuse themselves like a couple of fools for a month at least; that is what we did.

Long shall I remember these prowlings in furnishing shops, where the owners were not always very civil, for we turned their premises upside down sometimes for mere trifles. Some days we tramped for eighteen miles along the pavements of Paris, measured by the pedometer.

Our most amusing experiences were when we went in search of bargains at sales. Slightly soiled stuffs and remnants are first-rate treasure trove for explorers who are at all careful of the coffers of the State; but how one has to walk, and how one has to climb to fourth and fifth storeys to realize these economies! We once got about 1600 yards of velvet for nineteen sous, and we picked up knives with handles representing the Eiffel Tower, with others bearing political allusions to Panama, etc.

At the end of a month Baudry and I were quite knocked up. Bolard alone continued indefatigable. But we had bought twenty-seven thousand francs’ worth of merchandise, which was all piled up in the basement of the Pavillon de Flore. Such an extraordinary heap it made; bales of calico on top of cavalry sabres, Pelion on Ossa.

We received several distinguished visitors there, too. M. Grodet, just appointed Governor of the French Sudan, came to see us, and was very amiable, seeming to take a great interest in what we were doing. Quantum mutata . . .

Next came the packing, which was anything but an easy task. An explorer ought to be also an experienced packer of the very first rank. No package must exceed 55 lbs. in weight. To begin with, all the luggage must be absolutely water-tight, easily handled, and of a regular geometrical shape, so as to be stowed away in our hold without much difficulty. Then the various articles making up each package must be so arranged as not to get damaged by rubbing against each other or shifting about. Lastly, and this was the greatest difficulty of all, the bales must be made up so that we could easily get out what we wanted without constantly opening them all. And what a responsibility the whole thing was!

Then we had certain things with us which were sure to strike the imagination of the natives, notably Baudry’s bicycle, some Geissler’s vacuum tubes, and an Edison phonograph—the cinematograph was not then invented. Our instrument was, in fact, one of the first which had been seen even in France. It would repeat the native songs, and I relied on it to interest the chiefs and the literati, for to amuse them would, I hoped, make them forget their hostile designs.

For weapons the Minister of War gave us ten Lebel rifles of the 1893 pattern, ten revolvers of the very latest pattern, with ten thousand cartridges, which represented one thousand per man, more than enough in my opinion. Lastly, the naval authorities let us have a quick-firing Hotchkiss gun, with ammunition and all accessories.

On December 25 all was ready, except that the Davoust was not quite finished. On Christmas Day Baudry started for Bordeaux, with the larger portion of our stores, and on January 5, I, in my turn, embarked on the steamship Brazil of the Messageries Maritimes, taking with me my boat in sections.

THE PORT OF DAKAR.

Dakar lies low at the extremity of the bay on which it is built, at the foot of the heights, which together form Cape Verd. It has inherited the commercial position of Fort Goree, and looks like an islet of verdure framed amongst sombre rocks and gleaming sands.

Alas! if Dakar were English, what a busy commercial port it would be! Into what an impregnable citadel, what a well-stocked arsenal, our rivals would have converted it.

But Dakar is French, and although we cannot deny that it has made progress, there is no shutting our eyes to the fact that the progress is slow. Yet it would be simply impossible to find a better site on the western coast of Africa. It is a Cherbourg of the Atlantic. The roadstead is very safe, it can be entered at any time, the anchorage is excellent, the air comparatively healthy, and there is plenty of water.

And what a splendid position too from a military point of view!

When war is declared, and the Suez Canal is blocked, the old route to India and the far East will resume its former importance, and Dakar will become, as Napoleon said of Cherbourg, “a dagger in the heart of England.” Well stored with coal, and provided with good docks and workshops, etc., Dakar might in the next great war become a centre for the re-victualling of a whole fleet of rapid cruisers and torpedo boats, harassing the commerce of England. It will also be the entrenched camp or harbour of refuge in which our vessels will take shelter from superior forces. Let us hope that this vision will be realized. Meanwhile the rivalry between St. Louis, Dakar, and Rufisque is not very beneficial to any one of the three towns.

Dakar is of special importance to the Niger districts, and this is why I have dwelt a little on its present position and probable future. Some day no doubt it will become the port of export of the trade of the Sudan, which will, I think, become very considerable when Kayes is connected with St. Louis and Badombé with Kolikoro by the great French railway of West Africa.

Dakar interested me for yet another reason. It was there I set foot once more on African soil after an absence of two long years. I flattered myself that now I should have to contend face to face with material difficulties only, before I realized my schemes; so that when I saw all my bales and packages and the sections of the Davoust, with absolutely nothing missing, lying symmetrically arranged on the quay of the Dakar St. Louis railway, it was one of the happiest hours of my life. It has often been said that the most difficult part of an expedition is the start. Well, I thought I had started, and was now sure of success. Alas! what a humbling disillusioning was before me!

Thanks to the hearty co-operation of everybody, including the Governor, M. de Lamothe, and the Naval Commander, M. Du Rocher, Baudry had got everything ready for me.

There was, however, no time to be lost. An accident to her screw had delayed the Brazil three days, and we must start immediately for the Upper Niger, so we were off for St. Louis the very next morning. The sections of the Davoust were of an awkward shape, and being only hastily packed and tumbled on board anyhow at Bourdeaux, danced a regular saraband in the open wagons of the line, and I felt rather anxious about my poor vessel. But never mind, she would have plenty of bumping about later, and I wasn’t going to make myself miserable about her on this auspicious day.

Just a couple of words about the Dakar St. Louis railway. The Cayor, as the country it traverses is called, is slightly undulating, badly watered, and dreary looking. The natives living in it were hard to subdue. In continual revolt, they more than once inflicted real disasters on the French by taking them by surprise. At Thies the whole garrison was massacred, at M’ Pal a squadron of Spahis perished, for the Cayor had chiefs such as the Damels, Samba-Laobe and Lat-Dior, the last champions of resistance who became illustrious in the annals of Senegambia—real heroes, who made us regret that it was impossible to win them over to our side.

The successive governors of Senegambia struggled in vain against the resistance of Cayor to their authority, and the constant insubordination of the natives. But what Faidherbe, Vinet-Laprade, and Brière de l’Isle, to name but the most celebrated, failed to achieve was accomplished peacefully by the railway in a very few years. Nor is that all, for many tracts, previously barren and uncultivated, now yield large crops of the Arachis hypogea, or pea-nut, which are taken away by the trains in the trading season.

PART OF THE DAKAR ST. LOUIS LINE.

Does not this prove how true it is that peace and commerce advance side by side; that the best, indeed the only way to pacify a country, and to conciliate the inhabitants, is to give them prosperity by opening up outlets for their commerce?

Hurrah, then, for the Dakar St. Louis line! Three cheers for it, in spite of the delays and mistakes which were perhaps made when it was begun.

To say that it has every possible and desirable comfort would of course be false. In the hot season especially it is one long martyrdom to the traveller, a foretaste of hell, and the advice given to new-comers at Dakar still holds good—“Take ice, plenty of ice, with you, you will find it of double use, to freshen up your drinks by the way and to put in a handkerchief on your head under your helmet. With plenty of ice you may perhaps escape without getting fever or being suffocated.”

RAILWAY BUFFET AT TIVIWANE.

The trip by this line, which no European would care to take for pleasure, is really to the negroes a treat, who go by the train as an amusement. The directors did not count upon receipts from the blacks when they started the line, especially after a train which ran off the metals smashed up a whole carriage full of natives against a huge baobab tree. Of course, when that happened no one thought the negroes would patronize the railway again. But it turned out quite the contrary. From that day they came in crowds, but they had provided themselves with talismans!

The marabouts, who do a brisk business in charms, had simply added a new string to their bow, for they sold gris-gris against the dangers of the iron road!

THE QUAY AT ST. LOUIS.

This is the negro all over. If he has but confidence in his gris-gris, he will brave a thousand dangers. If he has but confidence in his chief, he will follow him without hesitation, and without faltering to the end of the world. Inspire him then with that confidence, and you will be able to do anything with him.

Baudry had come to meet me on the line, and with him was a negro wrapped up in a tampasendbé, or native shawl. This man was Mandao, the interpreter I had asked for. He had decided to go with us without a moment’s hesitation. This was yet another trump card for us, and all would now go well.

A STREET IN ST. LOUIS.

We reached St. Louis at six o’clock in the evening on January 17. An officer on the Staff of the Governor was waiting for me. M. de Lamothe, who was, by the way, an old friend of mine, received me most graciously, and was ready to do everything in his power to help me.

The Brière de l’Isle of the Deves and Chaumet company was to start on the 19th for the upper river. She was, however, already overloaded. What should we do? Time was pressing!

BOUBAKAR-SINGO.

On the morning of the 18th I engaged the coolies who were to follow us. Most of them were Sarracolais, whose tribe lives on the Senegal between Bakel and Kayes. From amongst a hundred candidates Baudry had already picked out twelve, and to these had been added a second master pilot belonging to the local station. All these were experienced campaigners, who had long been in the French service; they were sturdy, well-built fellows, eager for adventure. I had but to eliminate three, and to confirm Baudry’s choice of the others, for we were limited to eight men, including their leader. After all, however, the coolies were dismissed by order of Governor Grodet before we actually started, so there is no need to introduce them more particularly. Boubakar-Singo, the second leader, who became pilot of the Davoust, alone deserves special mention. He was a splendid-looking Sarracolais, a first-rate sailor, who, when a storm came on, would jump into the water stark naked intoning all the prayers in his repertory.

THE COOLIES ENGAGED AT ST. LOUIS.

Our coolies engaged, we had not only to equip, but to dress them. We set them to work at once, for we had already solved the difficulty of how best to transport our stores. The governor lent us a thirty-five ton iron lighter, into which we stowed away everything, and the Brière de l’Isle took her in tow.

It was not, however, without considerable trouble that we managed the stowing away of all our goods, but we succeeded somehow in being ready in good time. On the evening of the 19th the Brière weighed anchor, and we started for the upper river; our friends at St. Louis, the Government officials, the sailors, the tradespeople waving their hats and handkerchiefs in farewell, and shouting out “Good luck.”

What a Noah’s ark was this thirty-five ton barge of ours, and what a mixed cargo she carried, with our bales and her sails, not to speak of the passengers! coolies, stately Moors, sheep and women. With the sails of the Davoust we rigged up a kind of shed in the stern to protect all these people, who, with nothing to do all day, crept about on the sloping roof sunning themselves like lizards. We turned the two days during which we were towed along to account by going over our numerous bales yet once more. Strange to say, almost incredible indeed, nothing was missing. It was worth something to see Bilali Cumba, a herculean coolie, pick up the instruments, weighing in their galvanized case more than 240 lbs., as easily as a little milliner would lift a cardboard box.

It was Bilali who made me the following sensible answer the other day, when we had given out wooden spoons to the men for their own use. Of course, like all negroes, they ate with their fingers, making their porridge up into a ball, and rolling it till it was quite hard before putting it into their mouths. I was laughing at Bilali about this when he said, “Friend, tell me what is the good of your spoon?” then spreading out the palms of his toil-worn hands he added, “What is good to work with is good to eat with.”

As Joan of Arc with her flag, he dedicated his hands to toil and honour too.

Our trip did not pass off without certain little accidents; the constant splashing of the water loosened the joints of the barge, and we had to stick them together as best we could. However, we arrived on the 23rd at Walaldé, then the highest navigable point of the river. Probably it would be possible to go much further up, as far as Kaheide, in fact, at all times of the year, but it would have to be in boats with a different kind of keel to that now in use, and we have not got to that yet.

The Brière de l’Isle now left us to descend the river again.

THE ‘BRIÈRE DE L’ISLE.’

Henceforth we were to fly with our own wings. Painfully and slowly we made our way in our thirty-five ton barge, towed along by a rope from the bank, the river gradually widening out as we passed Kaheide, Matam, Saldé.

Then, alas! we got one piece of bad news after another.

At Saldé we heard of the death of Aube; at Bakel of the massacre of Colonel Bonnier and his column.

Too much fuss has been made about these glorious deaths, say many foolish critics. Over the ashes of soldiers killed in battle, there has been too much heated discussion. Well, at least, hyænas only do their terrible work at night!

As for me, I lost a chief whom I loved, and many old comrades with whom I had been under fire or in garrison. Hastily we pushed on for Bakel and Kayes, eager for further news, not only plunged in the deepest grief, but somewhat anxious about what was in store for ourselves.

On February 13 we arrived at Kayes. I went at once with Baudry and Mandao to the Governor, M. Grodet, who told me that he had received despatches authorizing him to suspend my expedition, and to employ us as he liked! Our party was at once broken up. Baudry was sent to make forced marches to the Niger to escort some convoys of provisions on their way to re-victual Timbuktu. I should be disposed of later, and, as a matter of fact, I was eventually sent to take command of the Niger flotilla.

THE MARKET-PLACE AT ST. LOUIS.

THE MARKET-PLACE AT ST. LOUIS.

GOVERNMENT HOUSE, KAYES.

I must quote the actual words of this despatch, so fatal to us, for not long since M. Grodet was defending himself from the charge of having been somehow the cause of the delay to our expedition of two whole years. The despatch was addressed—“Colonies à Gouverneur, Sudan,” and ran thus—“Autorise surseoir Mission Hourst, et disposer de cet officier.”[2]

As will be observed, the Governor of the Sudan was authorized, that is to say, he could do as suggested or not, to suspend, that is to say, to stop us, for the limited time which seemed desirable to him. But any further disputing about it would do no good now.

One remark, however, I must make: we were stationary for two years on the banks of the Niger above Timbuktu, doing no particular service to our country. Decœur, Baud, and others were marching on Say from Dahomey. Can one fail to see what immediate political and diplomatic advantages would have accrued to France from a junction which would have united the hinterlands of the two colonies?

It is true that Decœur and Baud were not starting from the Sudan, but from Dahomey, where Governor Ballot was sending out exploring expeditions, not stopping them.

But I have done. It is worse than useless to dwell on the endless petty mortifications, annoyances, and disappointments we had to endure. Useless indeed to recall all our own bitter experiences, which could but damp the enthusiasm of future explorers as eager to advance as we were. We succeeded in spite of everything in making ourselves useful. Even whilst re-victualling Timbuktu, which was threatened with famine—here again the responsibility rested with very highly placed officials—I was able to survey the whole of the system of lakes extending on the west of the town.

The most important of these lakes, Faguibine, is a regular inland sea, with its islets, its promontories, and its storms. It is a vast basin nearly 68 miles long by 12 broad, with a depth, which we sounded, exceeding here and there 160 feet. It is fed by the Niger when that river is in flood. We made a peaceful raid on this fine sheet of water in the Aube, a boat I shall introduce to you later, whilst the terrible Ngouna chief of the hostile Kel Antassar tribe retreated from us along its banks. Here for the first time I came into actual contact with the Tuaregs.

Baudry meanwhile explored the Issa-Ber (already visited by Caron) in his barge, and proved the navigability of the river at high tide.

I feel full of respectful gratitude to the military authorities of Timbuktu, especially Colonels Joffre and Ebener, for the almost affectionate consideration with which they treated me, and for being willing to employ us, for giving us something definite to do to relieve the monotony and ennui of our detention. This was really an immense consolation to us, the best that any officer can hope for.

In May 1895 I received orders to return to France. Baudry, who, I am happy to say, was worn out mentally rather than physically, had preceded me by two months. As already stated, our coolies had been disbanded—from motives of economy, said the order. Our stores, too, were dispersed. Our boat was still at Bafulabé, and, mon Dieu, in what a state! One might have sworn that its sections had been intentionally twisted out of shape with blows from a hammer. Our chronometers—little torpedo-boat watches, regular masterpieces of precise time-keeping, made by that true artist M. Thomas—were being used at Badumbé in the telegraph office. Our bales, of the charge of which I had never been relieved, had been sent to Mopti for the Destenave expedition, which had been allowed to start. My friends in France, to whom I had addressed despairing appeals, remained silent; even Baudry gave not a sign of life.

Everything seemed finally lost. My expedition had not been superseded, it had been dissolved, destroyed.

I confess that when I embarked once more in the winter to make my way, by slow stages, back to France, I did for the first time despair of my unlucky schemes, and as I dwelt upon them, I believed that they were at an end for ever.

I had at least the consolation, as Davoust had had before me, of having struggled to the last.

On July 20, when I was halting at Bafulabé, and gazing with inward rage though outward calm at the dented sections of my Davoust, a telegram was handed to me. It was from Colonel De Trentinian, who had—at last!—succeeded M. Grodet as Governor of the French Sudan.

It said, “The Colonial Minister resumes the original project of your expedition.”

I have had a few minutes of wild joy and happiness in my life. But not even on the day when, after I had been struggling nearly a month against fearful odds in the revolted district of Diena, I saw the column of succour approaching; nor again, last December, when, as we embarked at Marseilles, I thought all our difficulties were surmounted and all our dangers were left behind, did I experience such an immense sense of relief and delight as now. I could keep my oath after all! and by successful action put to confusion those who, either because they were badly advised or unscrupulous, had thrown obstacles in our way.

This is what had happened.

In France they say the absent are always in the wrong, and our story goes to prove it. Of all those who, when I left, had protested their devotion, had congratulated me in advance, who had even warmly embraced me, scarcely any—I had almost said not one—had taken our part or pleaded for us. In France, scientific societies, geographical and others, spring up like mushrooms, and form little cliques, hating each other like poison, and losing no opportunities of abusing each other in their speeches and declamations at their various banquets. Without running any risk themselves, or making any special exertion, their big-wigs—I was nearly saying their shareholders—get a lot of notoriety and patting on the back, through the work of a few members who are toiling far away from home.

If you ask their help in your difficulties, or even their moral support, they take absolutely no notice of you; but later, when you return, and have extricated yourself from your troubles by your own unaided efforts, and if you are also very docile, they will make no end of noisy fuss over you.

I have often thought of these scientific swells when I have watched negro chiefs marching along followed by their satellites. They strut about, playing on the flute or the fiddle, beating their drums and shouting out compliments in a deafening manner. Every epithet seems suitable to their chief; he is their sun, their moon, and all the rest of it. “Thou art my father, thou art my mother, I am thy captive!” they shout.

But when adversity overtakes this flattered chief of theirs, when he is in trouble of any kind, gets the worst of it in some skirmish, for instance, what becomes of all the toad-eating satellites? They melt away, to go and offer their incense of flute and violin playing and bell-ringing to some more fortunate favourite of the hour.

Oh, these self-interested sycophants, how well I know them!

I have, however, a grateful pleasure in adding that there are exceptions to the rule. I will mention but one here. My dear and venerated friend, M. Gauthiot, chief secretary of the Société de Géographie Commerciale, was always ready to cheer us in our hours of discouragement, to aid us in our hopeful days; putting at our disposal all his influence, all his persuasive power, and exercising on our behalf the undoubted authority he possessed in all things geographical and colonial.

Directly he reached Paris Baudry went to seek him, not of course without some arrière pensée. “Well, how goes the mission?” he asked at once. “Done for, unless you can save us,” was the reply. “I’ll see about it,” said M. Gauthiot at once.

Then he went to my old friend Marchand, who was expected to do such great things on the Congo. “And Hourst and the descent of the Niger?” “You see what has come of that,” was the answer. “Well, perhaps something may yet be done.”

Both did their utmost for us, but it was M. Gauthiot who took the last redoubt. The money question appeared to be the greatest difficulty, for they were trying to cut down the expenditure budget as much as possible. “Monsieur le Ministre,” said my friend, “I have come with my hands full!” And five thousand francs were in fact voted for my exploring expedition by the Comité de l’Afrique Française.

In a word, the efforts of our new allies turned the scale in our favour.

At that time M. Chautemps was, fortunately for us, Colonial Minister, whilst M. Chaudie was Governor-General of French West Africa, and Colonel (now General) Archinard Director of Colonial Defence, and it was on these three that the final order depended. I need only add, that they, with M. Gauthiot, became the four sponsors of the re-organized expedition, and we are full of respectful gratitude to them all.

“All I had to do in the matter,” said Baudry to me, “was simply to put in an appearance.”

I alluded above to the question of funds. Well, the whole thing was re-arranged on a fresh footing, otherwise the conditions were less favourable than they had been two years before. Nothing had changed with regard to the Tuaregs, but news had come by way of the Sudan that Amadu Cheiku, the dethroned Sultan of Sego, was trying to re-establish an empire on the banks of the Niger. Then the Toutée expedition was already on its way; no news had been received from it, and it is often more difficult to be second than first in traversing a new district.

Colonel Archinard, therefore, wished to increase the strength of our expedition considerably. To begin with, we were to have three barges instead of one, and that meant twenty coolies instead of eight. Then Lieutenant Bluzet, who, though still of low rank in the service, was quite an old and experienced officer of the French Sudan, was to take charge of the military training of our men. “Take a doctor too,” said the Colonel, “he will make one more gun at least;” and I choose Dr. Taburet, who had been my medical adviser with the Niger flotilla, engaging his services by telegram.

All this of course added to the expense, and it was no easy matter to balance the accounts of so big an expedition with so very small a budget. However, we managed to do it somehow: Bluzet and Baudry made advances from their pay, and Bolard went on campaign once more with all his usual zeal and energy.

“You start four,” said Marchand to Baudry, when he saw him off at the Orleans station, “only one will return!”

Thank God, however, we all came back!

Directly I received the telegram from Colonel de Trentinian I set to work without losing a moment. I had to collect all our scattered stores again at Bafulabé from here, there, and everywhere. The Davoust had to be got into working order, and the only way to do that was to put her together and launch her, there would then be no unnecessary delay when the time for starting came. I was aided in this by a quarter-master with a turn for mechanics, a man named Sauzereau, who had already rendered me great service when I had charge of the Niger flotilla. It was hard work, but we succeeded, and it was a happy day when we baptized our boat by her already chosen name of Davoust at the little station of Bafulabé. It was the first time she had been afloat since we tried her near the Pont Royal in Paris. A missionary from Dinguira had come over at considerable inconvenience on purpose to pronounce a benediction over her. Colonel de Trentinian was good enough to travel from Kayes to be present, and I can tell you my Davoust presented a very fine appearance on the Bakhoy. I would rather see her there than on the Seine. Digui, who had been second master pilot on the Niger flotilla, and whom I had chosen as Captain in place of Bubakar, dismissed, was delighted with his boat.

When all was counted over, there were many missing loads. Fortunately Captain Destenaves had only brought a few of the valuable bales to Mossi, the rest were at Sego, but of the tins of preserves and other provisions nothing was left but one case of fine Cognac, which, taken in very small doses, was our greatest luxury. There was still a little left a year later when we were at Fort Archinard. See how temperate we were! Baudry’s bicycle, which we had baptized Suzanne, I don’t know why, was in a pitiable state when we found her again. But Sauzereau was a specialist in such cases, and she was soon rolling along the Badumbé road, to the great astonishment of the blacks.

I had now nothing more to do but to wait for Baudry at Kayes. I went down there, and one fine morning he flung himself into my arms with Bluzet and twenty coolies behind him. Of course with regard to the coolies I speak figuratively. With a view to economy these coolies had not been rigged out, and they really looked like a band of brigands. Still they impressed me very favourably. I knew several of them, who had already served under me. They were not, it is true, quite equal to those I had engaged at first, and been obliged to disband by order of the Governor, but they were not bad fellows, and they would get into good working order by the way.

All had gone well with Baudry and Bluzet; they had even found time on board the boat, which had brought them up from St. Louis, to make up some rhymes, and in the evening, after copious libations—I mean copious for Africa—we had the honour of listening to a sonnet of which they were the joint authors. Here it is:

NIGHT ON THE RIVER.

Slow through the reaches of the oily stream,

Unshapely, huge, and heap’d with cumbrous freight,

The steamer drags along its ponderous weight,

And panting, breathes a cloud of eddying steam;

Upon the deck the wearied negroes dream,

In sleep’s fine thraldom—humble, candid, great,—

While overhead the moon in regal state

Trails robes of gauze enmesh’d with astral gleam.

The misty night exhales a poisonous balm

From vague-spread margins, where the shadows lie,

Of softly-tufted bush and tropic palm;

Then from the silence, echoless, on high

Mounts through the torpor of the deadly calm,

To ethereal plains the siren’s piercing cry.

ON THE SENEGAL.

EN ROUTE.

CHAPTER II
FROM KAYES TO TIMBUKTU

On October 10, 1895, we finally left Kayes. Our packages had been piled up the evening before in three railway wagons, and our party now took their places in the carriages. Baudry, Bluzet, and Sauzereau our engineer, who were to go up in the Davoust, remained, and the rest of my staff were the following: the second master pilot, Samba Amadi, generally called Digui, a man of colossal height and herculean strength, but more remarkable still for his zeal, his fidelity, and his nautical skill; the native interpreter Suleyman Gundiamu, who had been to Timbuktu with Caron as one of his coolies; the Arabic translator, Abdulaye Dem, a cunning and intelligent little Toucouleur, more cultivated than most of the negro marabouts; and twenty coolies, or native sailors.

We reached Bafolabé in the evening without incident. A ferry-boat took us across the Bafing, one of the two rivers which unite to form the Senegal. A road some two feet wide starts from the right bank of the Bafing, and follows the course of the other affluent, the Bakhoy, to the village of Djubeba, where we camped on the evening of the 13th.

Thus far our journey had been effected by the aid of very civilized means of transport. On leaving Djubeba, however, our difficulties were to begin.

LEFEBVRE CARTS UNHARNESSED.

The carriage, or rather cart, which is used in the French Sudan for taking down provisions and other necessaries to our different stations on the Niger is of the kind known as the Lefebvre, about which there was so much talk during the Madagascar expedition. It consists of a big case of sheet iron mounted on a crank axle, and provided with two wheels. It is drawn by a mule.

Is it an ideal equipage? or is it as bad as it is painted? I do not venture to decide the question. The truth, perhaps, lies between the two extremes. On the one hand, these carts were always able to follow our troops in the Sudan; but on the other, their intrinsic weight might very well be lessened. The chief advantage of metal rather than of wooden carts, is that they are watertight, and that when unloaded they can be floated across streams or rivers, but as I have never seen a Lefebvre cart execute this manœuvre, I feel a little sceptical about it still.

LOADING OUR CONVOY.

When the packages to be carried are small, compact, and about the same size and shape, it is easy enough to stow them away, but this was by no means the case with ours, and our large packages would be fearfully difficult to arrange and balance in the heavy metal carts.

On the 14th the mules arrived, some of which were to be harnessed to the carts, whilst others were to carry pack-saddles. The whole of that day and the next were occupied in the arranging and loading.

The sections of the Davoust could not, of course, have been carried in carts in any case. I had asked for seventy porters to take charge of them, and these porters arrived in the evening. There was nothing now to prevent our starting.

The route from the French Sudan, so often traversed to re-victual our stations, has been too many times described for me to pause to speak of the stages by which the traveller passes from the banks of the Senegal to those of the Niger. For us, the usual difficulties were increased by the variety of our means of transport, including as they did carts, mules with pack-saddles, and porters. Moreover, ours was the first convoy which had passed over the route since the winter, and the road had not yet been mended all the way. The first few days were very tiring, and men and animals were all alike done up when we reached our first halting-place a little after noon. But every one did his best, and became more skilful at managing, so that in three days after the start our black fellows were as well up to their work as we were ourselves.

This was our general mode of dividing the day. At two o’clock in the morning the blowing of a horn roused everybody; the drivers gave the animals their nose-bags containing a few handfuls of millet to keep up their strength on the road; Bluzet, to whose special care I had confided the porters, collected his people, whilst our cook quickly warmed for each of us a cup of coffee which had been prepared overnight. An hour later we were off, the porters leading the way, our path lighted by torches of twisted straw, the fitful gleam of which made our negroes look like a troop of devils come to hold their sabbat in Central Africa.

Bluzet rides at the head of the caravan, looking back every now and then, whilst two or three coolies run in the rear or on the flanks of our little column, like sheep dogs keeping a flock together. About a hundred yards behind the carts come jolting along on their rumbling iron wheels, whilst the pack animals bring up the rear.

LIEUTENANT BLUZET.

For one moment we file silently through the hush and calm of the tropical night, only broken by the cry of some bird, or the tap-tap of the Sudan woodpecker. But presently we come to a big hole in the ground, there is a shout of “Attention—Kini bulo!” (to the right), and from one leader to another the cry Kini bulo! is repeated, and averts a catastrophe by letting every one know how to avoid the obstacle. A great galloping now ensues to catch up the leading cart, and this time the difficult place is passed without accident; but often enough a wheel slips into the bog, and in spite of all the poor mule’s tugging at her collar there it sticks. We all have to rush to the rescue, drivers and coolies literally put their shoulders to the wheel, and with shouts of encouragement and oaths they finally extricate it. It is out again at last, and we resume our march.

CROSSING A MARIGOT.

Then we come perhaps to what is called a marigot in West Africa, that is to say, a little stream which is dried up part of the year, and is a characteristic feature of the country. Before the rainy season it has probably been bridged roughly over, and a few planks have been thrown down at its edge, but in the torrential downpours of rain of the winter the planks have sunk, and the bridge has been partially destroyed. We have to call a halt; to cut wood and grass to mend the bridge, and carry stones and earth to make stepping-stones, etc., so that it is often an hour or two before we can get across.

But now the horizon begins to glow with warm colour. The sun is rising, and as it gradually appears, its rays, which are not yet powerful enough to scorch us, softened as they are by the mists of the early morning, give a fresh impulse to the whole caravan. One of the drivers gives a loud cry, alike shrill and hoarse: it is the beginning of a native chant, in which the names of chiefs and heroes of the past, such as Sundiata, Sumanguru, Monson, and Bina Ali, occur again and again. The singer’s comrades take up the refrain in muffled tones. Then another negro brings out of his goat-skin bag a flute made of a hollow bamboo stem, and for hours at a time keeps on emitting from it six notes, always the same. The porters also have their music, and our griot[3] Wali leads them on a kind of primitive harp with cat-gut strings, made of a calabash and a bit of twisted wood, from which hang little plaques of tin, which tinkle when the instrument is played.

WE ALL HAVE TO RUSH TO THE RESCUE.

And so we leave the long miles behind us. Every other hour we let the men and beasts have ten minutes’ rest, until the moment arrives when we catch sight amongst the trees of the pointed thatched roofs or the flat terraces of mud huts of the village at which we are to camp.

OUR TETHERED MULES.

The mules are unharnessed or unsaddled, as the case may be, and tethered in a row by ropes fastened to one foot, whilst the carts are packed like artillery. Presently we shall take the animals to drink at a neighbouring stream, and then their food will be thrown down before them, and they will fling themselves upon it like gluttons, eating the grain at once, but chewing the straw for the rest of the day.

Just a glance now over the loads to see that all is right. Nothing is missing. That’s a good job! Meanwhile our black cook has set up his saucepan on three stones, and a folding table has been opened beside some rapidly constructed grass huts which smell delicious. Breakfast over, we give ourselves up to the delights of a siesta.

In the afternoon we go and look at the animals, who refreshed by their rest, joyfully prick up their ears at our approach. They are good beasts, these mules, or Fali-Ba (big asses), as the negroes call them. They were torn from their native land, Algeria, huddled together between-decks on some crowded boat, where they suffered much from the motion, and were then taken to Kayes, where fresh martyrdom awaited them. Beneath the broiling sun to which they have never been accustomed, they have to drag their carts, as a convict does his chain. Instead of the barley and oats of their own land, they have to put up with hard and bitter millet, instead of scented hay they get the coarse rough grass of the Sudan. As long as they live—and that won’t be more than five years at the most—they will have to plod along the same road again and again, and cross the same marigots, until the moment of release comes, when they will fall between their shafts, and their emaciated bodies will be thrown aside in the bush, there to feast the hyæna and the jackal, whose jarring laugh and shriek so often disturb the rest of the weary traveller.

Was it the heat of the African sun, I wonder, which converted some of the members of our expedition into poets, and led to such outpourings as I quote below? I cannot say, but these are the words written by one of our party to the manes of the Fali-Ba, who have fallen beneath the burning sky of the Sudan. I pray critics to be merciful to these inter-tropical effusions.

THE TETHERED MULE.

With lean neck stretch’d toward the scatter’d grain,

He scents his provender with dainty air,

Casts one side glance at his companions there,

And beats with twitching ear a glad refrain.

Gone all remembrance of the anguish’d strain

’Neath kicks and blows, and ’neath the scorching glare

Of torrid skies above the hillside bare,

And of the toil that ever comes again.

His banquet ended, calmly he digests,

While o’er him sweeps a most divine repose:

Faintly in dreams his memory suggests

Long lost repasts, whereat his dark eye glows;

Thus, bathed in vague nostalgia, he rests,

While through the bush the sunset tremor flows.

At last the sun sets, the sentinels are chosen and posted for the night, and we gather once more round our little table for supper, chatting now about our plans for the future, now about the past, telling stories which ere long will become so familiar that we could all repeat them by heart and give them each a number of its own. Then one after the other we retire to our camp-beds to enjoy such repose as the horrible mosquitoes, which are so clever in finding the tiniest holes in the nets, will allow, till the morning réveil is sounded on the horn, and we begin another day, exactly like its predecessor.

Such was our life for twenty days, with slight variations, such as the crossing of rivers, the over-turning of carts through the breaking of axles or shafts, etc.

At Kita, however, a very unusual thing occurred: we were able to indulge in a bicycle race. Our own bicycle, which we had called Suzanne, met a rival. After all she was not the first comer to the French Sudan, for a trader at Kita owned another. The match took place near the post-office, on a really excellent course, and Suzanne won, although she was not, like her antagonist, provided with pneumatic tyres. During the race we were entertained by the playing of a band of little negroes under the care of the Pères du Saint Esprit. The boys, who were some of them scarcely as big as their instruments, gave us several charming selections from their repertory. Their conductor was Brother Marie Abel, who with his long beard towered above his troupe, and reminded me of pictures of the Heavenly Father surrounded by cherubs, only these cherubs had passed under the blacking brush. You see we were not without amusements in the Sudan.

DOCTOR TABURET.

On November 8 we reached Bamako, and after a day’s rest started for Kolikoro, which was the last stage of our journey by land, for we were now to become sailors.

On the eve of our arrival, as we were breakfasting at Tolimandio, who should suddenly appear but our good friend Dr. Taburet, hot, perspiring, and out of breath with the haste he had made to join us. I have already said that the two barges, the Enseigne Aube and the Dantec, belonging to the Niger flotilla, had been placed at my service. Taburet, who had received my telegram, had come from Jenné to Sego, and taken the boats to Kolikoro. Then, eager to be en route, he had gone up stream on the Dantec as far as Tolimandio in advance of us.

We plied each other with questions, of course. Taburet knew only one thing, and that was that he meant to accompany me on my expedition. I had to tell him all that had happened since our parting in June, and we made the last stage of our journey to Kolikoro riding side by side, and discussing every detail of our plans.

Kolikoro, or more correctly perhaps, Korokoro, which means the old rock, was well known to me. I had stopped there in 1889 with the Niger flotilla for nearly a year. It occupies an extremely important position, marking as it does the highest navigable point of the central stretch of the Niger. Of course it is possible to go, as Taburet had just done, as far as Tolimandio, or even to Manambugu, at very high tide, but on account of the numerous impediments in the bed of the stream, it is far better to stop at Kolikoro, which has, moreover, other advantages in its favour.

I was indeed glad when we came in sight of the curiously abrupt outlines of the hill overlooking the village. This hill is surmounted by a plateau on which we had camped once before, and there is a legend connected with it and Kolikoro, relating to the exploits of Somangoro, and the long struggle which was at one time maintained between the Soninké of the Niger districts and the Malinké from Kita.

ARRIVAL AT KOLIKORO.

Sundiata was the seventh son of a hunter of Kita and a native woman of Toron. He was stunted and deformed from his birth, and could never go with his brothers to the chase, or bring home game for his mother. She was ashamed of him, and went so far as to curse the boy who did her so little credit. “Better death than dishonour,” said Sundiata. “Moun kafisa malo di toro,” so runs the refrain sung by the negroes. He fled to the woods, and there he met a sorceress, who by means of her charms converted the cripple into the strongest warrior of the district. He went back to his father, and pretending to be still infirm, he asked for a stick to lean upon. The hunter cut him a branch from a tree, but Sundiata broke it as if it were a straw; then his father gave him a small tree stem, next a gigantic trunk, and lastly a huge iron rod, which all the blacksmiths of the country had been at work on for a year, but the young fellow broke them all. In face of this evident miracle his father and brothers admitted his superior strength. His courage, his power, and the knowledge of magic which had been bequeathed to him by the sorceress, drew all the Malinké to Sundiata, and Samory himself, who is a Malinké, claims at this present day to be Sundiata returned to earth.

Somangoro, a mighty warrior, and, moreover, learned in witchcraft, reigned on the banks of the Niger. Certain terrible and mysterious nostrums rendered him invincible, and he could only be beaten by an enemy who should succeed in snatching from him the first mouthful of food he raised to his lips. Now Sundiata, who had made up his mind to possess himself of the lands belonging to Somangoro, and knowing the magic power which protected his enemy, pretended to seek his friendship and alliance by offering to him his own sister Ma in marriage.

Somangoro had fallen in love with Ma, so he married her, and took her to his own land. He soon trusted his wife so entirely that he allowed her alone to prepare and serve his food.

BANKS OF THE RIVER AT KOLIKORO.

Well, one day when the Soninké chief had drunk rather too much dolo or mead, Ma brought him his food, and having placed before him the calabash containing the tau (boiled millet or maize), just as he was raising the first handful to his mouth she sidled up to him as if about to caress him, and, by an apparently accidental movement, made him drop it.

“Leave that bit, dear friend,” she said, “it is dirty!” and she flung it into a corner of the hut. Somangoro, intoxicated with love as well as with liquor, did not take any notice of what the traitress had done. Then the cunning Ma, when her husband had left her, picked up the mouthful of tau, and sent it to her brother. Sundiata could now march against his rival.

This is what happened. The two armies met at Massala; the Soninkés were beaten. Somangoro hung his weapons on a tree, which is still pointed out opposite the entrance to the village, and fled to Mount Kolikoro, where his rival changed him, his horse, and his favourite griot into stone.

But although he is petrified the Soninké chief retains his magic power, and the village is still under his protection. At the foot of the hill two sacred rocks receive the offerings of the negroes, consisting of ears of millet, chickens, and calabashes filled with degue (millet flour boiled and strained).

Somangoro is supposed, or rather was supposed, not to tolerate neighbours, so that when in 1885 a post-office was for the first time set up on the plateau of the hill, the chief of the village thought it his duty to warn the officer in charge that it would certainly fall down. And so it did, for it had been put up too hurriedly, and collapsed in a violent storm. In 1889 I, in my turn, tried to build nine earthen huts on the same spot to accommodate the staff of the Niger flotilla. Pressed for time, I began by putting up a wooden framework, and the roof was being put on simultaneously with the adding of the earthen walls. Of course I had supported the corners of my framework by pieces of wood, but my mason, finding himself in want of them, did not hesitate to remove them, and therefore, just what might have been expected happened—my house went down like a castle of cards, dragging the roof and the men at work on it with it. Fortunately no one was hurt. Naturally the influence of Somangoro was supposed to have been at the bottom of the catastrophe, and I could not get any natives from the village to work for me on that spot again. I was very much vexed, but fortunately I suddenly remembered how a certain General of the first Republic managed to get the blood of Saint Januarius to liquefy when it rebelled against performing the miracle expected of it. I presented Somangoro with a white sheep, and at the same time told the sorcerer who superintends the rites of the hero’s worship that he had a choice of a good present or a flogging, according to the answer his master should make to them through him. Under the circumstances, I added, Somangoro would surely do the best he could for the welfare of his faithful servant. The event was as I foresaw. The oracle, when consulted, declared that full permission was granted me to reside where I liked. Since then I have been supposed throughout Bambara to be on excellent terms with Somangoro.

Mount Kolikoro is a harbour of refuge for escaped slaves who have fled from the injustice and brutality of their masters, and declare themselves to be the captives of Somangoro. No one dares to touch them as long as they keep close to the rock, so they have built huts there and till the ground for food.

Another noteworthy fact with regard to this mountain is, that an oath taken by it whilst eating degué is inviolable. He who should perjure himself by a lie after that would be sure to lose his life. When I was in command there I often turned this belief to account, and got at the truth in matters far too complicated to be solved by the ordinary light of human reason.

I must also add that Somangoro is also the enemy of thieves. When anything has been stolen in the village of Kolikoro, a crier is heard going through the streets at night, calling upon the dead hero to cause the death of the culprit if he does not return the fruit of his larceny. Generally the person robbed recovers his property. I do not know why, but this easy mode of invoking the power attributed amongst Catholics in Europe to Saint Anthony of Padua is called Welle da, which means literally to appeal to the door.

The first days of our stay at Kolikoro were occupied in unpacking and going over our stores. We landed our two wooden barges from the old flotilla, brought down by Taburet, to have the necessary repairs done. Alas! what a disagreeable surprise we had! It was not mere repairs they needed, but a complete overhauling. During the previous winter the wood of the outside had rotted, partly from being badly kept, and more than half the boarding had to be replaced with new. The only thing to do was to set to work vigorously to remedy the evil. Fortunately our friend Osterman, who had already rendered us so many services, was now at Kolikoro superintending the building of canoes for the re-victualling of the river stations, and he was ready to help us again in every way. We succeeded in putting our three little barks in order, but we never made them as watertight as they were originally, and especially with the Aube the leakage was a constant source of anxiety to us all through our trip.

REPAIRING THE ‘AUBE.’

TIGHTENING THE BOLTS OF THE ‘DAVOUST.’

Our engineer, Sauzereau, meanwhile was busy putting the Davoust together, an operation the difficulty of which was greatly increased by the fact that several of the sections had got bent and twisted, either on the road or during the time when she was left at Badumbé. In her case also we had to resort to various ingenious contrivances, supplementing the original metal with pieces of wood or iron rods. On November 19 we launched her, but the water rushed in in floods through the badly fitting joints, and our unfortunate vessel seemed more like a huge strainer than anything else. Well, we must tighten the bolts somehow! So in somewhat primitive costumes we armed ourselves with turn-screws, and with our feet in the water did our best. Taburet especially distinguished himself at this work, and was so full of zeal, that in his too eager efforts he even broke off some of the heads of the bolts. We were obliged to check our good doctor’s ardour a little. At last, what with blows from our turn-screws, and the use of plenty of putty and a little tow, we succeeded in draining the boat.

PROCESSION OF BOYS AFTER CIRCUMCISION.

We made two straw couches on the Aube, and—unheard-of luxury!—we covered over the plank ceilings of the Davoust with pretty yellow mats made in the country, the colours of which harmonized well with the light grey of the wood.

Whilst we were thus at work we were able to make our observations at our leisure on the life of the village. We happened to have arrived just at the time of an annual fête, which is the delight of all the natives of Bambara, except perhaps those on whose account it is held. I allude to the ceremony of Buluku, or circumcision, which is performed on male negroes at the age of twelve, whilst young girls of a similar age are subjected to an operation of a corresponding but more barbarous kind. Male and female blacksmiths, who, amongst all the Sudanese tribes, are a class apart, are the operators. The victims are taken outside the village to a wood considered sacred, and there they are compelled to dance and shout till they are exhausted with fatigue, and reduced with the further aid of copious draughts of libo, or millet beer, to a state of semi-insensibility. The operation of circumcision is then performed with a sharp little knife, on a mortar for grinding millet turned upside down. The poor children must not utter a cry or even moan, although, judging from the expression of their faces, they suffer a good deal. The young girls undergo a similar treatment, but whereas their brothers are all right again two or three days afterwards, they are ill for more than a month. During the period of convalescence the children are not allowed to return to the huts of their parents. Under the care of the blacksmiths they are to be seen going round and round the villages in small parties singing, and during this march they are allowed to take anything they fancy without paying for it. All this time the girls are covered by big white veils, whilst the boys wear a cap of a peculiar shape; both sexes carry a musical instrument made of pieces of calabash, threaded on a thin branch of some tree, the clinking of which is heard a long way off.

THE SACRED BAOBAB OF KOLIKORO.

At Kolikoro, the year after this ceremony, the girls who have been operated on give a fête called the Wansofili. 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 a Wansofili, 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 a tam-tam of 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 successes have 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 propos of 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 huge plumes 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 a diavandu Fulah, that is to say, a Fulah belonging to a family which resembles in certain respects the griots of whom I have had more than once occasion to speak. A diavandu attaches 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 of him, by hook or by crook. Even if he is not exactly a noble character, it is impossible to deny that the diavandu is 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 on them 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, and savoir faire were 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 from Sego 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 of sofas, or captive Amadu warriors, who had surrendered to the French and to the natives. Our postmaster-general soon became the Fama Mademba, the word fama signifying 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, or bolo, are the guards, or dalasiguis, armed with muskets. This porch gives access to a series of courts and other bolos, 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 the Fama. 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, the Fama is 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; but there 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 green burnous, 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 the Fama, and there, taking off his burnous, 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 quite forgotten 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 our Suzanne, 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 greatest fama of 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 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 pierced in 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 call burgu, 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 gunboats Niger and Mage, 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. It was 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 Ama Lamine 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 agricultural implements. 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 Tuareg tribes, 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, these Tuaregs 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 lost all 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 the river, 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 of Pères blancs mission at Timbuktu, to accompany us on our expedition.

When I said persuade, I did not perhaps use quite the right 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, formerly Commandant des Frères armés of 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 valuable controller 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 have become 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’s objection 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 were leaving 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.

DROVE OF OXEN.

CHAPTER III
FROM TIMBUKTU TO TOSAYE

On January 22 we made a very short stage, and moored about mid-day at Geïgelia, a little village picturesquely perched on rising ground of a reddish hue, a little below the mouth of the stream, which, as I have said, gives access to Day and Kabara.

We determined to spend the afternoon in making things snug. Hitherto we had put off from day to day the task of arranging our cabins. Now our three little craft are all the world to us, the floating castles which must drift down with us to the sea, Inch Allah! (God willing), as the Mussulmans say. We must shake down in them as comfortably as possible.

I occupy the fore-cabin of the Davoust. On one side is my plank bed, with, for mattress, the wrappings of the presents which we take out one by one as required, replenishing them from the bales in the hold.

On the other side is a big table, with packing cases serving as legs. Everywhere books and instruments, an iron chest containing the more valuable presents: caftans, velvet burnous, gold-embroidered turbans, etc.

On the mats which cover the partitions, I have fixed the photographs of a famous singer, purchased in the Rue de Rivoli, in a moment of musical enthusiasm. I found them by chance at the bottom of a trunk, into which they must have slipped when I was leaving France. These portraits, as will be seen, played a part in the politics of the Niger. Opposite them, an engraving of the President of the Republic, or rather, Sultan of France, as they call him here. Nor must the phonograph in its ingenious case be forgotten, with the voltaic piles, Geissler’s tubes, little electric lamps, forming a fairy crown, which is lighted on pressing a button. Such articles as have hitherto figured in the baggage of none but the passengers of Jules Verne.

The after-cabin is Père Hacquart’s sanctum, and also the arsenal. The Father rests peacefully on a couch of rice and biscuit tins, with the conventional bedding of package wrappings; on the partitions, the ceiling, everywhere, I have fixed guns for presentation, revolvers, etc., for exchange; a goodly number of cases of cartridges, moreover, give this retreat the appearance of an armoury. On the bridge, all round the machine-gun, are more cases, which serve as benches for the oarsmen.

Our hold is a masterpiece of packing, due to Baudry’s ingenuity. I defy the most skilful to insert as much as a needle more. On board the Aube, the fore-cabin protects Baudry and Bluzet; there is not much elbow-room for two, in such a confined space. The hinder one is reserved for Taburet and his medicine chests.

The little barge Dantec, also provided with a shelter, will carry all surplus articles. At present, until it is used as an infirmary, which I trust may be as seldom as possible, it is the refuge of the destitute, where Suleyman, the interpreter, and the Arab translator, Tierno Abdulaye Dem, are quartered.

I may now describe more minutely our dusky auxiliaries. At first there were twenty coolies, reduced to nineteen by the defection of Matar Samba. Their head-man Digui, of whom I have spoken, will be judged by his deeds; there is no need now to mention all the blessings he deserves.

THE ‘AUBE’ AND HER CREW.

Suleyman Gundiamu and Tierno are the scholars of the party. Suleyman almost speaks French, although he says la noce for un os, cherchicane for certificat, and always translates keffir (Infidel) by Christian. As for Tierno, he is a sly, cunning dog, of whose fidelity I have often had my doubts: evidence is against me, however, and I must do him the justice to say, that on all occasions he has sided with us against his co-religionists, his compatriots, and even his relations. Idle as a dormouse in everything but writing Arabic, but isn’t that just what he is for? Altogether he is not a bad boy, and we should scarcely find a better fellow amongst his people.

Our carpenter, Abdulaye, is a big Wolof, strong as Hercules, intelligent, only idle by fits, and not very serious ones either.

“Abdulaye, something has gone wrong with your working hand!” This is how we call him to order; if the appeal is not attended to, a good blow follows as punishment; Abdulaye is aware of his guilt, sets to work again, and does the tasks of four.

Abdulaye is certainly not a marabout. He is even addicted to spirituous liquors, but he has not had many opportunities on the journey of indulging this taste; he was, however, overcome on our arrival at Dahomey. For six days we never set eyes on him, for he was never sober.

My first acquaintance with Abdulaye arose from his love of the bottle. In May 1894, when I took command of the flotilla, Abdulaye having found the door of the store-room open, gave way to his propensity, and I found him dead drunk beside a very respectable number of empty bottles. The awakening was anything but pleasant, and Abdulaye never forgets the capers he cut on that occasion. Such is our staff, or I should rather say, these are the native officers of our expedition. Besides this, each of us has his own servant. Mine is Mamé, an intelligent Saracolais, who speaks Songhay, the language of the blacks on the banks of the Niger from Jenné to below Say. He is a very faithful and devoted lad; the point about him is the excessive deliberation of every motion, which gives him something of the appearance of a chameleon. Lucky fault, or rather precious gift, which all who have been served by Sudanese will appreciate. Thanks to it, Mamé has never broken anything of mine.

Baudry’s servant’s name is Mussa; his father is head-man of Diamu, a village on the banks of the Senegal. He is the philosopher, the learned man of our military establishment. He reads and writes French pretty correctly, but his studies occupy some of the attention due to his master. If Baudry has employed his talents as a teacher to the full on a most willing pupil, in return his boots have seldom been blacked—or rather greased—in the course of the voyage.

Fate decreed that Bluzet should have as servant a son of the blacksmith of Mussa’s father. Fily is his name, and by reason of his parentage he is the confidant and devoted slave of Mussa.

Provided he is treated firmly, Fily is an excellent servant, and a cook of the first order (for that country, be it understood), and the cakes we used to call his nougats aux arachides, have often been fully appreciated at our table.

Lastly, Father Hacquart and Taburet have two boys at their disposal, both answering to the name of Mamadu; to distinguish them one is called Father Mamadu, the other Doctor Mamadu.

Add to these a yellow dog, Meyer by name, why so called I cannot say, and the menagerie is complete.

We did possess two cats, one an excellent swimmer, in spite of all preconceived notions; but these little animals, who behaved themselves anything but decently on board, disappeared in the course of a very few days.

In spite of his denials, I have always suspected Bluzet, a sworn enemy of the feline race, of aiding and abetting their desertion, for they seemed to have a special grudge against him.

I have forgotten old Abdul Dori, but he did not make a long stay on board. I have already mentioned that I suspected him of evil designs in taking service with us. He got me to advance him a pretty round sum on the voyage to Massina, which he said he owed to one of his countrymen, and desired to repay before he entered upon a venture so full of danger. As soon as the sly rogue had gained his end, he changed his tactics. From Sego, according to him, the voyage would be comparatively easy. His debt paid, he attempted to terrify my coolies, telling them the most ridiculous tales about the ferocity of the Tuaregs, and giving the most discouraging account of the rapids, which in the end we unfortunately found partly true.

He soon discovered he was wasting his time. My men came of their own accord, and reported that Abdul was trying to dishearten them. I soon made him understand I would not stand that kind of thing. Seeing the failure of these manœuvres, and in no way anxious to remain with us, he shammed sickness, pretending to be attacked with dysentery. The doctor soon discovered the trick, and I told him that, ill or well, he would have to follow me.

His plan having miscarried, he set about making himself really ill, and lay down to sleep without any covering on the chilliest nights. At this game, if he did not procure the dysentery of his dreams, he at least contracted inflammation of both lungs, which developed the very day of our departure. He remained two days longer with us; then really seriously ill, he became delirious. Moved with pity, I decided to send him back to Timbuktu in a canoe hired at the village of Burrem. I don’t know what became of him, but I advise those who may come across him hereafter, and are deceived by his honeyed words and ways, to beware of him. As far as we are concerned, I consider it a blessing that his cowardice overcame the desire for doing evil. He might have proved a great source of danger, especially at Say, his native place, where he would have aided and abetted our enemies.

The first and most important object of the expedition was to trace as correctly as possible the course of the river which we had to follow. For this purpose I had observing instruments of very accurate construction made for each barge, which would afford us the means of making a triangulation of the river en route. Two barges were to coast along the banks, while the third kept in the deep channel.

We tried this plan on January 23, the first day on which we navigated an almost unknown region. It was soon found impracticable. By evening we had gone less than four and a half miles. At this rate, counting necessary stoppages, it would take a year to reach the mouth of the river. We therefore adopted the following plan: the Davoust followed the left bank; the Aube the right one while on surveying duty, the two barges frequently taking their places.

At the same time, Baudry on the Dantec tacked about in search of the deep channel, taking frequent soundings. Any inaccuracies were guarded against by taking the mean draught of the two larger vessels, and constantly determining the position by astronomical observations.

This system was invariably followed down to Ansongo, that is, for the whole navigable course of the Niger. Though we did not secure the accuracy of a regular survey, still to me it appeared quite enough; for the first vessels that might come after us, will possess an indication of the position of the deep channel relatively to the banks and their configuration, the distances from one point to another, the position of the villages, and the peculiarities of the soil, etc.

Below Ansongo, in the region of the rapids, Baudry and I had to abandon all survey work, and devote our attention exclusively to the boats. Bluzet completed the map, which is of no practical value, as it is impossible to determine any navigable channel, especially for steamers, in those dangerous rapids. The only object of its existence is to prove that a navigable channel does not exist. So that all that can be done is to choose the least undesirable means of access to the Western Sudan from among the many that have been proposed.

After passing the villages of Koa, Burrem and Bori, where the people came out in canoes with presents of goats, sheep, eggs and poultry, we arrived abreast of Kagha, about one o’clock on the 25th. The moment we reached the mouth of the creek which leads to it—for the village is not on the main stream, but a little inland—we were hailed from a canoe by a great giant with an intelligent face and woolly hair, forming a halo round his head, which was more picturesque than clean. He was a Kunta, knew French, had been in the villages of Mediné and Nioro, in the French Sudan, and even spoke a little Soninké, the maternal language of most of our coolies.

He acted as pilot for us, but, in spite of all his efforts, we could not get up to Kagha, for there was not sufficient depth of water; so we had to pitch our camp at the foot of a little hill covered with dwarf palms rather more than a mile from the nearest huts.

A deputation of the Kuntas of the village soon joined us, who told us that Sidi Hamet had arrived two days before with my letter for Aluatta; but the latter was from home, and no one knew exactly where to find him, nor if my missive had reached him.

In fact, fifteen days before, a band of Kel Gossi, a Tuareg tribe whose territory is about the centre of the bend of the Niger, had carried off a hundred head of cattle belonging to the chief of the southern Kuntas; Aluatta had set off to overtake the raiders, and induce them in the name of Allah and Mahomet to restore their ill-gotten gains.

However extraordinary the following custom may appear, it is actually prevalent in the Tuareg districts. One tribe steals from a neighbour all or part of his herds; if the latter is not strong enough to recover by force that which he has been deprived of, he tries conciliation, and generally regains, if not all, at least a portion of his chattels. This invariably occurs when the injured party is a marabout, and be it remembered these raids do not involve war: the same Kel Gossi will be quite prepared to come the next day to ask Aluatta to implore for them the protection of Heaven, and to purchase talismans from him.

Whatever the result, this troublesome episode made me fear I should not see Aluatta. Unable to confer with him, I betook myself to his relations and endeavoured to secure their friendship, telling them the story of my connection with Barth, or Abdul Kerim.

This produced a marvellous change in their demeanour; reserved before, they became most cordial. To strengthen the effect still further I brought the phonograph into play. One of the head Kuntas sang an Arab song in his tent. It was really the battle hymn of Hamet Beckay, the friend of my “uncle,” and it was really something to see the amazement of all when the instrument repeated the song. From that time we were the best of friends. All expressed their regret that I could not have a palaver with their chief. “Not wishing to deceive you,” said they, “we will not promise a visit from Aluatta, but, if you like to wait, you shall see his brother, Abiddin, who at this moment is at Arhlal, about twelve miles away. We will send and fetch him at once.”

The proposal pleased me too much to be refused, and the messengers departed.

Along with our friends the Kuntas, there came a little band of Tuareg Kel Temulai, who lived further down stream in the direction of Ganto, who were evidently sent to give information.

They were tall, strong fellows, spare and active. As this tribe has no camp on the banks of the river, I told them I should ascend the creek which leads to Ganto for the purpose of seeing them. In fact, I wished to ascertain their intentions. The Kel Temulai were one of the two tribes which divided the dominion of the region around Timbuktu; Kabara and the southern portion of the plain which surrounds the city belong to them. The French drove them from it, and they fell back towards the east, gathering round their chief Madunia, who lived near Ganto and was more than a hundred years old.

On the next day, the 26th, a despatch actually arrived, which the Commandant of Timbuktu had managed to send on to us by canoe. A fortnight later we were to receive yet another at Rhergo, and our delight may be imagined, for we had had no news from home for ten months.

In the afternoon Abiddin arrived. Tall, strong, and well-made, he looked anything but amiable, and was far from communicative. I confess his first appearance struck me as anything but pleasing. He was by no means anxious to get into our good graces, and replied very dryly to my protestations of friendship. We talked together for about an hour, but I failed altogether to mollify him, and I began to despair of bringing him round.

In the evening I found out something more about him, and the position he occupies in the country. He is older than Aluatta, but from his very boyhood he showed such a warlike disposition, and one so very unlike the gentle nature which is naturally expected of a marabout, that his father named Aluatta his successor instead of him, refusing him the baraka or paternal blessing usually bestowed on the first-born. Does not this remind one of the story of Jacob and Esau?

However, Abiddin did not seem to mind the elevation of his brother to what should have been his own position as religious chief of the Kuntas, but devoted himself gladly to the direction of the warlike expeditions of his tribe.

He seems to excel as a leader, and the Kel Antassar, the tribe which longest resisted French influence in the districts round Timbuktu, knew something of his valour. At the head of a little body of men he surprised their camp at least a hundred times, and I now began to understand the real reason why Abiddin had treated me so coldly; he would have liked to have been allowed to take his part in the play now that, after what he thought our culpable inactivity of more than a year, we had again made up our minds to act. This would have given him a fine chance of revenging himself on his old enemy N’Guna, the chief of the Kel Antassar. It really was a pity that the authorities at Timbuktu had ignored the existence and the character of such a man. If only as guides, he and his Kuntas would have been admirable auxiliaries for us.

We concocted a diplomatic plan to win the confidence of Abiddin. When he came to see us the next morning I dwelt much upon my relation to Abdul Kerim, and I roused his curiosity by showing off the phonograph. Then when his manner became a little less churlish, I held my peace and let Father Hacquart have his turn. The father began by taking him roundly to task in Arabic for his want of politeness and amiability. He actually brought Abiddin to acknowledge himself in the wrong, and ended by getting him to promise not only to help us himself, but to give us recommendations to his friends. In the evening he actually returned bringing us three letters, one for Salla Uld Kara, another for a certain sheriff named Hameit, whom we should meet beyond Al Walidj, and the third and most important for Madidu, chief of the Awellimiden Tuaregs.

This letter for Madidu simply delighted me. I was to some extent already acquainted with the various tribes we should have to deal with on our way down the river. The first were the Igwadaren, divided into two sections hostile to each other, under two chiefs, brothers, though enemies, named Sakhaui and Sakhib. Beyond them we should come to the Kel Es Suk, marabouts of the great Tuareg family, a small tribe of the Tademeket Kel Burrum, to whose chief, Yunes by name, Abiddin also gave us a letter; and beyond them, that is to say, after passing Tosaye, we should enter the territory of the great Awellimiden Confederation, but how far it extends I did not as yet know.

Abiddin, who had passed a month with the chief of the Awellimiden a year ago, could not say enough in his praise, whilst, on the other hand, he warned us very earnestly against the small tribes addicted to pilfering through whose districts we should have to pass to begin with. “Madidu,” he said, “is a lion, the other chiefs are mere jackals!”

“Madidu,” he added, “makes war, and of course the plunder he takes in war is a lawful prize, but he would scorn to pillage peaceful folk, such as the negro cultivators of the soil, or inoffensive merchants with no one to fight for them, in the reckless manner of the Kel Temulai or the Igwadaren. There is no one higher than Madidu unless it be God.”

Of course I knew that Abiddin exaggerated, as all Orientals do, and that much of his enthusiasm for Madidu was only cupboard love, the result of the good cheer he had enjoyed in his camp. Still I gathered from what he said that his chief really was somebody worth reckoning with. Writing to the Lieutenant-Governor of the French Sudan by the returning canoe which had brought our despatches I said, “I am now pretty well convinced that if Madidu really wishes it we shall pass without hindrance, but that if he opposes us we shall have the greatest difficulty in going down the river.” This was, however, but a façon de parler, for I was mentally resolved that, with or without Madidu’s help and permission, we would go down the Niger, though if he did try to prevent us, we should most likely leave our bones in the river.

It will readily be understood how much this passage through the Awellimiden district occupied our thoughts. It was the chief subject of all our talks with Abiddin, and we had every reason to congratulate ourselves on having so far won him over. But we meant to do far more than that. He was altogether our friend now, and never left the boat except to eat. I reminded him of the former grandeur of his race, of Sidi Moktar and his brothers, who had acted as mediators between the tribes of the neighbourhood, and pointed out to him that it was the outburst of fanaticism, against which his grand-uncle had struggled so hard, which had led to the decrease of the influence of the Kuntas. We too, I told him, had to contend against those who propagated the doctrines declared by Hamet Beckay to be false and contrary to the true morality of Islam, and we had succeeded in what that great man wished to accomplish, for we had driven back the invading Toucouleurs.

If, I urged, we whites, who had considerable forces at our disposal, made a firm alliance with the Kuntas, who would in their turn place at our service all their religious influence, their ancient power would be restored, they would be our trustworthy agents, working loyally for the pacification of the country, which would owe to them all the benefits of peace, for which they would never cease to be grateful.

On the other hand, I pointed out, that if we made an alliance with the Awellimidens, whose lands we did not in the least covet, all the small pilfering tribes, such as the Igwadaren and the Kel Temulai, would be compelled to cease their depredations, because all the merchants on the river would be under the protection of the French, or of their new friends. Placed as they would necessarily be between us and the Awellimiden, they could not without risk of destruction, or at least of severe reprisals, insult either of the two contracting parties.

Abiddin seemed much taken by my arguments, which appealed forcibly to his sympathies and intelligence. He was a decidedly clever fellow, and I struck whilst the iron was hot, by adding that it seemed to me that this proposal, if made to the Kunta chief, would solve the problem of the pacification, and add immensely to the value of the districts surrounding Timbuktu.

We should very soon relieve those under our protection from all fear of molestation by the Tuaregs, we should promote the creation of centres of commerce and outlets for trade, and moreover, we should greatly reduce our expenses at Timbuktu, for our gains would help us to pay and support the troops quartered in that town.

“It is evident,” answered Abiddin, “that if you could come to terms with Madidu, and be really friends with him, it would be a very good thing for us all. We shall, however, want somebody to act as go-between, but the question is, whom could we choose.”

“Houa!” (thou), said Father Hacquart, suddenly striking into the conversation. Abiddin started; the idea that he might go himself had evidently not occurred to him. The father now put out all his eloquence to persuade him, and finally won his consent.

Abiddin spent the whole of the next day with us, and asked the doctor to give him some medical advice, for he suffered greatly from rheumatism and cystitis. I arranged with him that we should go to Rhergo, and there wait for news from him. If he should send us word to go on we should know that he had already passed us, and was en route for Madidu’s camp.

On the 29th, despairing of seeing Aluatta, who was still negotiating with the Kel Gossi, we decided to leave Kagha, but we had scarcely left our moorings when we were met by such a violent wind that it was absolutely impossible to proceed, and we went to take refuge in an opening on the left bank. It was not until after a delay of two hours that we were at last able to go on and anchor opposite Milali. We were asleep, when our watch aroused us with the news that a canoe was approaching, the man in which was shouting out something at the top of his voice. It turned out to be a courier from Aluatta, who had at last received our despatch, and would come the next day to Kagha, where he begged us if possible to return.

Only too glad to hear from him at last, we went back the next day, and about four o’clock in the afternoon Aluatta came to see us with his retinue of followers. He was a handsome young fellow, with a very dark skin and a most intelligent face, a gentle but rather proud expression. He is supposed to have the gift of prophecy, and to be able to perform miracles. It is said that he predicted the death of Tidiani, a former chief of the Massina, a year before it took place.

Everything having already been settled with Abiddin, Aluatta had only to ratify our agreement with his brother, and this he did readily. Of course we showed off our phonograph and bicycle to our visitor, and a telescope greatly aroused his admiration, because he was able to see and recognize the people of Kagha through it. We spent the whole January 30 with Aluatta, and then, this time in earnest, we resumed our voyage.

INTERVIEW WITH ALUATTA.

We were dreadfully hindered by a strong contrary wind from the east, and it was not until February 3 that we arrived at Kunta, where we were to see the Kel Temulai.

At our approach the negroes of the village (the Tuaregs have their encampment on the opposite side of the river some little distance inland) at once begun carefully to sweep the bank where we should disembark, and very soon our tent was up, our camp-stools were beneath its shelter, and our visitors the Kel Temulai arrived, including R’alif, the brother of R’abbas, chief of the tribe, with the two sons of the latter and a small retinue.

The palaver was carried on under difficulties for want of some one understanding the Ta-Masheg or the Tuareg language, and we had to converse in Songhay, our servant Mamé acting as interpreter. This was the first time we had seen the Tuaregs in their own land, and we were all deeply interested in them. They are many of them very finely built fellows, and their features, all you can see of them, for the lower part of their faces is always obstinately hidden by the tagelmust or veil, are of a purer Kel Temulai type than I have ever seen elsewhere. They all wear breeches coming down to the instep, and mantles, or as they call them bubus, of dark blue material. The more important members of the tribe have a kind of pocket of red flannel on their breasts. In the right hand they hold an iron spear some six feet long, and on the left arm a dagger is kept in place by a bracelet without causing its owner the slightest inconvenience, so that it is always within easy reach of the hand, and can be used at a moment’s notice. Lastly, a few of them also have a straight sword with a cross for a hilt, reminding us of those in use in the Middle Ages, and which is hung on the left side by a rope.

A LITTLE SLAVE GIRL OF RHERGO.

TUAREGS AND SHERIFFS AT RHERGO.

The palaver ended amicably enough, and presently other Tuaregs crossed the creek in canoes to swell the numbers of our visitors. We now made acquaintance with one of their most characteristic and at the same time detestable peculiarities, namely, their incorrigible love of begging. I know well enough that the poor fellows have nothing to depend on but their flocks and the produce of their fields, which are cultivated for them by the negroes, who are paid by a certain royalty on the results. Our arrival, laden with fine stuffs, wonderful glass beads, and all manner of gewgaws, must of course be turned to account as much as possible. Naturally they exaggerated our resources, and the word ikfai (give me) became a refrain dinned into our ears every day for months. I must add, however, that no Tuareg ever in my hearing enforced his begging by a threat. I gave often and I gave much, for my firm belief is, that the one way for a traveller to succeed is to conciliate the natives and win the sympathy of the people through whose country he is passing. It is best for his own interests, and also for those of future explorers, to be generous whenever it is possible, but he should never give against his will, or give anything but just what he himself chooses.

OUR PALAVER AT RHERGO.

I often yielded to respectful and courteous importunity, but would never have done so in compliance with a demand, which would have made a free gift appear like a compulsory tribute.

Amongst our new friends was the son of Madunia, the centenarian chief to whom I have already alluded. He was only about twelve years old, an incidental proof of the vigorous constitution of the Tuaregs, or perhaps rather of the truth of the reply of a celebrated doctor to an inquirer—“Men sometimes have children at fifty, at sixty never, but at eighty always.”

My little friend had a very pretty face but a very bad temper. I made him very angry by putting a five franc piece in a calabash full of water, which I defied him to pick out. He looked at me with a cunning expression and put out his hand, but directly he touched the water he gave a scream and fell backwards, holding his arm as if in pain. The fact was, I had put a bit of Ruhmkorff wire, of which I had a coil hidden in my tent, in the bowl. The poor boy was furious, and when the people standing about laughed at him, he wept with rage. I consoled him with a present, and in the end we parted the best of friends.

The next day before we started some more Tuaregs came to see us, and I must add to beg a little present. Two of them, with a confidence in us which quite touched us, went with us on the Davoust, and remained on board till twelve o’clock, proving how completely reassured they were as to our intentions. One was the son of R’abbas, the other his brother R’alif. The former was only about ten years old, and did not as yet wear the veil. Both were very fine specimens of the physical beauty which, as I have already said, characterizes the Kel Temulai race.

ARRIVAL AT THE VILLAGE OF RHERGO.

On the 6th, still much bothered by the contrary wind, we reached Rhergo, a very large village, more ancient even, it is said, than Timbuktu, which rose in importance at the expense of its older rival. Recently, however, through the culpable policy which left the districts surrounding the French settlement unprotected, Rhergo has regained some of the trade of Timbuktu. A razzi or raid of Hoggars, the Tuaregs from the south who murdered Flatters, cut short the growing prosperity of the capital by almost completely ruining it. I was surprised to hear about the Hoggars so far from their usual haunts, but what I have just said is true enough, as will presently be proved.

We made all our arrangements for spending a few days at Rhergo, so as to give Abiddin time to communicate with us.

The next day the natives decided to open relations with us, and a deputation came to interview us the first thing in the morning. We saw them filing along the path leading from the village, which was almost three quarters of a mile off. Before actually entering our camp they halted, and each one of them made us a solemn salaam. Protestations of friendship, offers of services, expressions of devotion followed. Finally a paper was handed to us with very great ceremony, which turned out to be a protectorate treaty which had been concluded with Timbuktu.

There exists a perfect mania in Africa for so-called treaties, a mania which would be harmless enough if it did not give an altogether false idea of colonial questions to French people, who are ignorant of the true conditions of the countries to which they refer.

These treaties, in fact, very often prove bones of contention and litigation between different European powers, and thus attain an importance which but for this would be altogether wanting. In the partition of Africa European governments began by imagining a kind of rule of the game, which consisted in giving to so-called treaties with native chiefs a certain fictitious value. We fell in with this idea, and it would be difficult now to go back to the old belief, that in a game of chance the ace is more powerful than the king. To follow the fashion therefore when we appear on the boards before international conferences, we have to be provided with plenty of trumps, and to produce treaties with people, shady folk enough sometimes, whom we dub for the nonce kings or princes. Our treaties are as valid as those made by Germans, Spaniards, or Italians, and all of them added together, if truth and good faith were considered, would amount simply to zero, as I shall presently have occasion to prove.

TRADERS AT RHERGO.

But when there is no special reason for pretending to the contrary, what is the good of having such endless diplomatic rigmaroles and such long-winded treaties, of which one of the contracting parties does not understand a single solitary sentence?

Imagine then my astonishment at seeing on the commercial treaty between Rhergo and Timbuktu, that the former place was bound to pay an annual tribute to the French! Now if any one is in authority at Rhergo it is Sakhaui, chief of the Igwadaren, and not the French,—I speak now of course of when we were passing through on our voyage down the Niger,—so that this promised tribute, which was never paid, never even demanded, was certainly not calculated to add to French prestige in these parts.

SO-CALLED SHERIFFS OF RHERGO.

The people of Rhergo, who were worse than cunning, pleased us but little. They called themselves sheriffs, or descendants of Mahomet, but I think they would find it difficult to prove their parentage, for they have neither the beauty of feature nor the paleness of complexion characteristic of true Arabs.

In the evening Sidi Hamet returned to us from his visit to the Igwadaren. He had been pretty well received by them, but when he told them of our imminent approach they took fright, and thinking that our party was a large and formidable one, they wanted to leave the banks of the river and take refuge in the interior.

THE ‘DAVOUST’ AT ANCHOR OFF RHERGO.

Their women, however, cried shame on them, reproaching them for losing such a chance of presents; and to cut short all further discussion, they threatened that any man who was coward enough to flee from an imaginary danger would have to go without his wife.

The prospect of having their wives imitate the strike of the women of Mycenæ, as described by Aristophanes, put a stop to the desire of the husbands to decamp, and Sidi Hamet wound up by telling me that all was now arranged for our friendly reception. Amongst the Igwadaren he had seen Mohamed Uld Mbirikat, the cousin of my friend Bechir, to whom I had a letter, and he brought back with him a rifle which had been taken from Colonel Bonnier, and had remained for some time in the possession of the chief of the Eastern Kel Antassar. On hearing of our arrival the chief, not liking to keep anything so compromising, had hastened to give the rifle to Mohamed.

The fact is, if we could only have gone immediately to Sakhaui we should no doubt have been well received; but unfortunately we had promised Abiddin to wait for him at Rhergo, and during the delay our enemies, especially the marabouts, had plenty of time to poison the minds of the natives against us.

On the 8th Taburet and Father Hacquart went to the village, where they met with a merchant of Timbuktu whose goods had been stolen by an Igwadaren named Ibnu, a relation of Sakhaui, who had probably been sent to Rhergo to spy on us. The merchant wanted to complain to us, but the chief of the village told him that if he did he would cut his throat when we were gone.

This chief being very infirm, I sent for his son and read him a good lecture. I also sent for Ibnu, who came at once, and protested his repentance for what he had done. I pretended to accept his excuses, and presently he reappeared dragging two goats behind him, which he offered to me. I accepted them, earnestly hoping that he had stolen them from the sheriffs of the village, who pleased me less and less. Then I in my turn gave him some presents, notably a garment for his wife.

The next day we had a visit from Alif, the brother of Sakhaui, who offered us a fine bull. We killed it with a shot from a Lebel rifle, which alarmed the Tuaregs not a little. The next day, the 9th, back comes Ibnu with another goat, this time for sale. But the chief object of his visit is to ask for another length of stuff for the dress I had sent to his wife, who he explained was as big round as our tent, and the material I had given him would only dress one-half of her. From the Tuareg point of view she must have been a splendid woman, for amongst this tribe weight counts as beauty. The desired corpulence is obtained by eating quantities of a mixture of which curdled milk is the chief ingredient, in fact, they fatten themselves up much as the French do the geese which are to produce paté de foie gras.

POLITICAL ANXIETIES.

Clouds were now beginning to gather on our political horizon. Our prolonged sojourn at Rhergo, where we waited in vain for letters from Abiddin, must have seemed very strange to the Tuaregs, who can have had no inkling of the reason. Moreover, a courier had come down in a canoe from Timbuktu to see us, and though I sent him away immediately, I felt sure that he had been seen. Putting myself in the place of Sakhaui, and knowing the distrustful nature of the Tuaregs, I was convinced that in his mind we were the advance guard of a more numerous party who were to come from Timbuktu, and of whom he stood in dread. The arrival of the courier would be enough to confirm his suspicions. It was very evident that we ought to start at once, if indeed there was still time for us to open really cordial relations with the Igwadaren. Between two aims of an importance so unequal I thought it would be wise to make a final choice. Now to us French the Igwadaren were really not worth much, and besides, had not they also a protectorate treaty with Timbuktu? whilst, as I have said before, the good-will of the Awellimiden would be of vital value to us, and I would not, if I could possibly avoid it, lose the advantages which Abiddin’s visit to them might win for our expedition.

On the evening of the 10th, however, all my fine plans were completely upset. Sidi Hamet, who had been to the village, came back with a letter for me, which had been brought by a Tuareg and given to a slave belonging to one of the sheriffs. Strange postal arrangements indeed! Taken in connection with the news brought to us by Sidi Hamet, the letter was perfectly incomprehensible. In it Sakhaui begs me to return to Timbuktu, where he says I shall find all that I could hope to meet with further away; indeed, he pledges himself to secure my success. At the same time, if we choose to go on he will watch over us, but towards the end his letter becomes almost threatening, for he says, “Take care, above all things beware of doing any harm to any of my people!”

The next day Sidi Hamet started with a letter, and he returned at midnight not alone, but accompanied by a big Igwadaren of manly bearing and intelligent countenance, who answered to the name of R’alli.

The letter from Sakhaui, he now explained to me, had been written for him, as, like all Tuaregs, he did not know how to write himself, by a marabout named Kel es Suk, and his meaning had been completely distorted. Sakhaui was perfectly well-disposed towards us, he was impatiently awaiting us, etc., etc.

Of course I only half believed what our friend R’alli said. Moreover, he added that the marabouts, especially one who was at Kabara before we arrived, were trying to get up an agitation against us. We had now been waiting in vain for more than a week for news of Abiddin, and I began to think we should never hear from him, so I decided to go to Sakhaui, who, as already stated, was then chief of the Igwadaren.

On the 14th we anchored close to a little tongue of land which separates a lagoon, forming an admirable port, from the river. We were told that the camp of Sakhaui was behind the dunes which we could see from our anchorage.

In the evening we were hailed from a canoe by an Arab of stunted growth, with masses of long matted hair and bright, intelligent eyes. He turned out to be the chief attendant of Mohamed Uld Mbirikat. His name was Tahar, and he had been a follower of the great Beckay, the friend of Barth.

He brought us bad news. Mohamed was ill with fever, but, he added, for all that he would probably join us the next day.

The next morning we went round the peninsula, entered the little lake called Zarhoi, and cast anchor opposite the spot we had just left. Faithful to his promise, Mohamed caught us up on our way there.

About ten o’clock the beach, which had been deserted on our arrival, became full of life and animation, for envoys arrived from Sakhaui, his brother, a dirty fellow, more ragged than any Tuareg I had yet seen, leading the way, with the chief of the Kel Owi, a tribe belonging to the little confederation which has taken the general name of the Igwadaren.

The palaver began at once: Sakhaui is ill, besides, there is no need for him to come himself, as his messengers are authorized to speak for him.

In fact, the reception was not exactly what Sidi Hamet and R’alli had led us to hope. However, Mohamed confirmed what our messenger had said, telling us that Sakhaui had sent for him a few days before to ask his advice, and he having assured the chief that he would run no danger by doing so, the great man had said he would receive us in person.

It was evident that since then the marabouts had accomplished their purpose, describing us as traitors, perhaps even magicians armed with terrible powers. In fact, according to their usual custom, they had done all they could to prevent Europeans from entering into confidential relations with the Tuaregs, for of course such relations would be fatal to their influence.

Sakhaui’s absence put me out dreadfully. Not that I was particularly anxious to see him, for I had no proposals to make to him, he being under the direct control of the authorities at Timbuktu; but I feared, and that with very good reason, that if he, the first chief we passed on our way down the river, would not see us, his example would be followed by all the other Tuareg leaders. It turned out just as I expected.

Mohamed went to Sakhaui’s camp to try and persuade him to come to us, but it was all in vain. To make up for his absence, however, our friends of the morning came with others to beg for presents, and I treated them liberally, for this was my last trump card, and by playing it I hoped to induce their chief to see me.

We had other things to worry us. To begin with, the Aube leaked terribly. We had to take everything out of the hold, and we tried to stop up the fissures in her bottom, through which the water poured, with lumps of putty, but it was not much good, and throughout the whole of the rest of the voyage we were haunted with the fear of losing one of our vessels, or at least of having to leave her behind us.

Then one of my coolies, Semba-Sumaré, was very ill with pneumonia, and Dr. Taburet was afraid he would die. He was delirious, but fortunately quiet enough. Still he required careful watching, lest in an access of fever he should be guilty of some mad freak.

We remained where we were for the whole of the 16th, and our friend R’alli came on board to tell us, in his comically eloquent way, that Sakhaui really would come to see us. He was very uneasy about us, pulled this way and that, many of his advisers urging him not to visit us, but he, R’alli, would make him do so!

There might have been something in what R’alli said, and although I did not much believe in his influence over the chief, I gave him a nice present. It never does to be niggardly with these natives, one must advertise oneself well by generous gifts.

In the evening the number of visitors increased yet more, and we saw a good many people who were interesting to us, because they or their relations had been mentioned by Dr. Barth, including the son of El Waghdu, who had been the German traveller’s faithful friend on his journey, and Kongu, a little Tuareg who had been very fond of him, and who, in spite of certain sad presentiments he had had of a terrible fate, had survived until now, so many years after the death of the Doctor himself. Every one still talked of that doctor under the name of Abdul Kerim, every one still remembered him, and once more I must bear witness, as I shall have to do yet again and again, to the wonderful impression left behind him by the genial German.

SAKHAUI’S ENVOYS.

Whilst we were chatting with our visitors some envoys from Sakhaui arrived, bringing back the presents I had given to R’alli in the morning. “He is a low impostor,” the chief had told his messengers to tell me; “I am ashamed of his behaviour, for he never ceases to talk, without rhyme or reason, and he promised to give us a cow as a present when every one knows he has not got one.”

R’alli sent to ask if I would see him again, and when I replied that I would, he came and held forth for a long time. He began by declaring that he wished he were dead. He wanted to return the presents, extraordinary desire indeed in a Tuareg. As he went on the people standing by began to make hostile demonstrations, daggers were half drawn from their sheaths, and for a moment I feared that the whole thing was a farce got up with a view to pillaging us in the confusion of a pretended tumult. But I was wrong, and the weapons were sheathed again without having drawn any blood. The other Igwadaren were really jealous of R’alli, because they thought he had been better treated than themselves, and they were also perhaps indignant with him for the friendly feeling he had manifested for us. If R’alli really was a humbug, as I always fancied he was, yet he had been the first to approach us without any of that stupid suspicious defiance which so long prevented us from living on really good terms with the Tuaregs. All this I explained to the assembled crowds as best I could, winding up with, “If R’alli really is so little worthy of confidence, wasn’t it too bad of Sakhaui to send him to us at Rhergo as his accredited messenger?”

Moreover, I declared that I meant to do as I choose with my own property, even if I gave it to a slave or a dog, so I ordered R’alli to take back his presents, which he was evidently glad enough to do, and all ended peaceably.

We also had a visit from Achur, the brother of Sakhaui, chief of the so-called imrads or serfs, and the son of the chief of the Eastern Kel Antassar, who, though he had not joined his relation N’Guna in his struggle against the French, had nevertheless withdrawn on our approach.

I had now lost all hope of seeing Sakhaui. Was he afraid of compromising himself with his people? I wondered. Had the marabouts incited him against us by rousing his fears of some hostile intentions on our part? The best plan, I thought, would be to give up urging him to visit us, and to go to his brother and enemy Sakhib, whose camp was opposite to his on the other side of the river.

Our passage through the country, if it did not do much good, could not do much harm either. So near to Timbuktu, with people all virtually under French protection, I should not venture to engage in any diplomatic or military enterprise on my own account, for of course to do so would be to encroach on the province of the supreme authority in the French Sudan. Is it too much to hope that our gentleness and our patience will make it easier later to establish really satisfactory relations with the Tuaregs? We shall have shown by our conduct that we are not the ferocious beasts our enemies chose to represent us to be. Moreover, some of the Tuaregs, no matter how few, will be grateful for the presents we have given them, and as those presents really were very handsome ones, I hope that the fame of our generosity will precede us, and incite the tribes through whose territories we have to pass to make friends with us.

To avoid having to give any more presents we got under sail early on the 17th, but the wind got up and compelled us to anchor amongst the grass at the entrance to the Zarhoi lagoon. We were scarcely gone before, as we had foreseen, the Igwadaren arrived in numbers at the scene of our recent encampment, and were greatly discomfited at finding that the goose which laid the golden eggs had flown away. But they soon spied us in our new anchorage, and hurried to hail us, entreating us again with eager gestures and shouts to land. They wanted to re-open the profitable intercourse with us, but the comedy was played out now. At about eleven o’clock we were able to resume our voyage along the left bank, followed for some little distance by a regular cavalcade, amongst whom Sidi Hamet thought he recognized Sakhaui himself. We now crossed the river, and cast anchor near another tongue of land a little above Sakhib’s camp at Kardieba, where Mohamed Uld Mbirikal was to rejoin us.

OUR COOLIES’ CAMP AT ZARHOI.

It soon became pretty evident that we should see no more of Sakhib than we had of Sakhaui. If he had wished ever so much to pay us a visit, his dignity would have compelled him to act exactly as his brother had done. His envoys, however, duly arrived, charged with friendly messages, and accompanied, or rather preceded, by Mohamed.

By right of birth Sakhib is the true chief of the Igwadaren. His brother turned against him, and seduced a part of the tribe from their allegiance, on account of a love affair which was related to me as follows: a belle of the neighbourhood had been the mistress of Sakhaui when still quite a young girl. Knowing nothing of this, Sakhib, enamoured of her charms, married her with an ingenuous haste by no means peculiar to Africa, and discovering too late that he had been forestalled, he repudiated her. This modern Helen then returned to form a new union with her former lover Sakhaui. Inde iræ.

The story may or may not be true, but my private opinion is that the real reason for the enmity between the brothers is to be sought in the Igwadaren character, which is also the cause of the state of perpetual anarchy in which the natives live, resulting in the absolute ruin of the Niger districts from Rhergo to Tosaye.

I shall have more to say later of the peculiarities of the Tuaregs, but I prefer to relate my experiences amongst them before I presume to pass judgment on them. I think very highly of them in many respects, but for all that I do not shut my eyes to their defects. In the interests of truth, however, I wish to remark here, that from the very first I saw reason to draw a broad line of demarcation between what I may call the large confederations, ruled by laws sanctioned by long tradition, and the small tribes altogether inferior to them in morality, which may be said to form a kind of scum on the borders of the more important societies.

There are, in fact, certain hordes of mere brigands, who obey no chief, and depend entirely for their livelihood on robbery and pillage, and there is also amongst the Tuaregs, with whom we have now especially to deal, one important tribe which has gradually, partly from the ambition to be independent and to obey no laws but its own, and partly from contact with the foreigner, has lost all the virtues of the Tuaregs and retained all their defects.

The tribe to which I allude is that known as the Igwadaren, from which sprang the Ioraghen, who form so large an element in French Algeria, and for a long time they were the allies, or rather were subject to the Awellimiden. Just at the time of Barth’s voyage they had tried to separate from the rest of their tribe, and relying upon the aid of the Fulahs, who had invaded Massina, to get the upper hand. From Barth’s narrative we know that the great desire of his protector El Beckay was to prevent the division, and his greatest grief the fact that he failed to do so.

The Awellimiden repulsed the Fulahs, and since then the Igwadaren, traitors to their fellow-countrymen, have been looked upon by them as enemies whom they were justified in raiding whenever they got the chance, and really I cannot blame them, for it serves the Igwadaren right.

When for the second time El Hadj Omar and his Toucouleurs tried by force of arms to restore the supremacy of an intolerant and barbarous Islamism, El Beckay, as we have already said, rose up against him in the cause of tolerance and a more humane interpretation of the doctrines of Mahomet. The Awellimiden, with the Iregnaten of the right bank of the Niger, were his auxiliaries. The great leader, as we have seen, died before his work was done, but he had broken the shock of the storm. A last wave of the tempest of revolt which had arisen in the west surged up to the walls of Timbuktu, which had been reached by an army of Toucouleurs, but they were surprised and massacred near Gundam. Once more the Tuaregs were saved, and all the prudent measures of Tidiani, the politic successor of El Hadj, could not advance the invasion by so much as a single step. It taxed to the uttermost all the resources of his astute and supple genius to maintain the territory already conquered in a state of servitude. It was reserved to the French to drive from it his cousin and successor Amadu.

In all the struggles which followed, however, and peace was not restored for thirty years, the Igwadaren always, if it were anyhow possible, sided with the foreigner against their fellow-countrymen.

The state of anarchy which began with the chiefs of course spread downwards amongst the mere warriors, and whilst amongst the larger confederations of tribes there are certain traditions checking the unrestrained use of brute force, there is nothing of the kind with the Igwadaren, with whom might is right. Sakhaui and Sakhib, brothers though they were, came to open blows. Each warrior of the tribe joined the leader he preferred, but this very fact reduced the power of both to next to nothing. The negro villages passed into the possession first of one side and then of the other, according to the varying fortunes of war, and the traders had their goods stolen with no hope of redress. The result in the ruin of the country was only too patent to every one’s observation.

The arrival at Timbuktu of the French was a very lucky thing for the Igwadaren. As they could no longer count upon the support of the Toucouleurs, who were at loggerheads with us, they might easily have been reduced to servitude by the Awellimiden, and no doubt but for our presence they would in their turn have become, as had so many others, mere imrads or serfs.

Acting on the wise advice of Mohamed, Sakhaui sent some messengers to Timbuktu. He had signed, or was supposed to have signed—for no Tuareg can read or write Arabic—all the treaties he was asked to, and that all the more readily that he did not understand a single word of their contents. Whilst expressing all the good feeling towards us of which he had just given our party such a striking proof, he sheltered himself under our moral protection against his powerful neighbours on the east. Having thus turned the presence of the French to the best possible advantage, and that really very cleverly, Sakhaui and his people were free to continue their evil doings unchecked, whilst Sakhib, at war with his brother, also knew as well as he did how to play his cards in the diplomatic game.

The one thing then which the Igwadaren dreaded was, that the French should make an alliance with the Awellimiden, for that would upset all their plans. Though they did not dare oppose our passage by force, they painted us in the very blackest colours to their nearest neighbours, and we had to thank them for the bad reception we got from their relations the Tademeket Kel Burrum at Tosaye, and also for the difficulties we had had to contend with at the beginning of our negotiations with the Awellimiden.

I was told that Sakhib was more just in his dealings and less of a robber than his brother, with whom he had hastened to patch up a temporary truce when he heard of our approach. Moreover, just then the Igwadaren Aussa under Sakhaui had no intention of fighting. There was a rumour that the Awellimiden were about to make a raid upon them, and from our boat we could see oxen, sheep, and women hurrying to the banks on the opposite side of the river, in the hope of finding a refuge on the islands dotting its course. I did not put much faith in the rumour myself. If, however, it be well founded, we shall no doubt be able to turn it to account.

The whole of the 19th was occupied in receiving visits from all the brothers, cousins, uncles, and big and little nephews of the petty chief. At one time our camp really presented a most imposing and picturesque appearance. I had had a cord stretched all round it, and this cord formed a kind of moral protection—for of course it could easily have been passed—against the curiosity of our visitors, whilst at the same time it prevented our coolies from mixing too freely and getting involved in quarrels with them.

OUR BICYCLE SUZANNE AMONGST THE TUAREGS.

Baudry mounted our bicycle Suzanne, and to the intense astonishment of the Tuaregs spun round the flat ground separating our camp from a low line of dunes. The iron horse, as she was dubbed, very soon became celebrated far and near, and crowds came daily to stare at her.

Our visitors were really many of them very fine-looking fellows in their long Tuareg bubus or mantles, with the red pocket on the breast. Their naturally picturesque attitudes lent them a really regal appearance, and they might very well have passed for proud, highly-born nobles, when, leaning on their spears, they looked about them, their great black eyes gleaming from the voluminous folds of their veils. But when the distribution of presents began the glamour disappeared, the haughty noble was gone, to be replaced by a greedy, rapacious savage, until, his big pocket as full as it would hold, he resumed his disdainful attitude.

OUR PALAVER AT SAKHIB’S CAMP.

All this is really very excusable. Imagine the effect in any European country place, of the arrival of a wealthy nabob distributing diamonds and other precious stones wherever he goes. I wager that our own fellow-countrymen would not comport themselves in a more worthy way than did these Tuaregs, and it must be borne in mind that though our presents, such as pipes, small knives, bracelets and rings, or white and coloured stuffs were of little intrinsic value, the natives set as much store by them as we should by jewels.

Numerous as was the crowd, however, Sakhib was conspicuous by his absence; neither did the women put in an appearance, a proof that the Tuaregs were not quite sure of our good intentions. Only one of the fair sex did we see, and she was a female blacksmith, who said she was ill, and wanted the doctor to prescribe for her. Taburet tried in vain to find out what was the matter with her, and my private opinion is that her illness was only an excuse, that her motives in visiting our camp were none of the best, and that she would be ready to accept our hospitality for a night in return for a good fee.

We, however, with thoroughly British bashfulness, resisted the blandishments of the siren, and when darkness fell all our visitors, who had been less extortionate in their demands than Sakhaui’s people, decided to withdraw.

Mohamed Uld Mbirikat alone remained on the beach with us, and we talked together till far into the night. He really was a good fellow, and it was no fault of his that we had not succeeded in seeing Sakhib and Sakhaui, for he had put forth all his eloquence on our behalf. His interests, moreover, are closely bound up with those of the Igwadaren, amongst whom he lives without protection, buying grain of them to sell it again in Timbuktu, so that any help he gave us beyond a certain point would seriously compromise him. I gave him a valuable present, and he in his turn presented me with a stock of rice he owned at the village of Gungi on the islet of Autel Makhoren, where we should be the next day.

After a quiet night we resumed our voyage, but the never-ceasing enervating wind forced us to anchor soon, and we were presently joined by a canoe in which was an unfortunate man in chains, a brother of Sakhib, who had been out of his mind for five years. He is quiet enough, they told me, when he is rendered powerless for harm by being bound, but directly he is released he becomes furious, and strikes and abuses every one about him. Taburet prescribed for him as best he could, shower-baths and strait waistcoats being out of the question in these parts. We passed the village of Agata, where lives Hameit, a sheriff to whom we had a letter from Abiddin, and where we saw some fifty canoes drawn up high and dry on the banks. In the evening we halted near a little village on an islet, the chief of which had had his arm broken by a blow from the spear of an Igwadaren, whom he had refused to allow to carry off his store of rice. There is no doubt that the natives on the right bank of the river behave better than those on the left, and—which it is rather difficult to understand—it is the negroes, that is to say the Songhay, who, though more numerous and as well armed as their oppressors, allow themselves to be ill-treated in this way without making any attempt at defence. Their cowardice prevents me from feeling as much sympathy as I otherwise should for their miserable condition.

THE VILLAGE OF GUNGI.

We started very early the next morning, but our guide got confused, and did not know the way to Gungi. Some men in a canoe, however, directed us, and we had to go up-stream again beyond Agata, and get into another arm which we had passed on the left. We then, though not without some difficulty, succeeded in reaching the village, passing several artificial dykes, beyond which stretched rice-fields now inundated. Gunga, a wretched little place, is peopled by slaves taken in war by the sheriffs of Agata. Mohamed’s rice was handed over to us, but it was all still in the husk, and it would take us the whole of the next day to get it shelled.

During the night a Kel es Suk arrived, who, in a very important manner, informed me that he had very serious news to communicate. The whole of the tribes of the Sahara, he said, had combined against the French, and were advancing upon Timbuktu. Awellimiden, Hoggars and all the rest of them were up, and Madidu himself was at Bamba at the head of his column. This was really too big an invention, and the narrator overreached himself by going so far. Without losing my sang-froid for a moment, I thanked my informant, Father Hacquart acting as interpreter, for my visitor spoke Arabic well, and begged him to take my best compliments to Madidu. The old rogue then turned to the subject he really had most at heart, and tried to make me give him a garment of some kind as a present, but I was too deep for that, and sent him off empty-handed.

OUR PEOPLE SHELLING OUR RICE AT GUNGI.

Directly we stopped we were inundated by visitors, all nearly as worrying as the rain, which had been falling without ceasing since the evening before. To begin with, on the morning of the 22nd came messengers from Sakhaui to ask in his name for advice. The Commandant of Timbuktu had sent him a letter announcing the approaching arrival of Colonel de Trentinian, Governor of the French Sudan. The Commandant ordered Sakhaui to go to Timbuktu, and he was very much frightened. I did my best to reassure the messenger, but I am very certain that Sakhaui does not mean to budge. The message would, however, do us no end of harm, and from my journal that day I perceive that I felt very indignant at the policy pursued by our authorities in the Sudan. I find written there—“We really are an extraordinary people, we seem to expect that the Tuaregs will come and throw themselves into our arms of their own accord, without our having employed any conciliatory or coercive means to induce them to do so. But, good Heavens! if they could send us to the Devil, from whom their marabouts tell them we come, they would gladly do it. And really I don’t blame them, for I see well enough what they have to lose by our presence in their land, though I don’t quite see what they are to gain. Taking into account the apathy with which commercial questions are treated, I do not yet foresee the day when amends will be made for the imposts now levied by force, by the granting of new rights of way, and the supplying of new means of transport.”

Nor have I seen reason since to change my opinion, for to talk of colonial questions in France is to preach in the desert. Nevertheless, I am firmly convinced that then as now I wrote only the exact literal truth.

It was now R’alli’s turn again. We had not seen the fellow for some time, but I am willing to swear three times by Allah, that since we treated him as we did at Zarhoi he had been our most faithful and devoted adherent. He would never let us go anywhere without preparing the way before us, so he had gone on in advance of our barges now, and spread our fame amongst the sheriffs and other idiots, who did not know us as he did, and who received his reports by beating the tabala or war-drum; or, to speak with more strict accuracy, he found the drum being beaten, and fearing that the sound of that one instrument would lead to the beating of others, he confiscated it at once. Then he, R’alli, having inquired what all the noise meant, the owner of the drum replied that he was afraid the white men were coming to take away his goods, his oxen, his sheep, and so on. “Then,” added R’alli, with an air of extreme amiability, “to show him he had nothing to fear, I took everything away from him.” I began to shout at him—“And that is the way you make friends for us!” “To give everything back when you have passed,” he went on with a smile. If the story he told me is true, and I shouldn’t like to swear that it was, I wouldn’t mind taking my oath that the poor sheriff will not get all his property back. However, the unabashed R’alli continued, “You ought to dress me now as you do your other soldiers, for am not I now one of your troops?”

SHERIFF’S HOUSE AT GUNGI.

I observed that I had already given him stuff enough to clothe his whole family.

“But my bubu and breeches are dirty now!” he replied. “Well, go and wash them, you wretch!” was the angry rejoinder. “What!” he cried, “would you like a soldier under such a chief as you to demean himself by such work as that?”

Sheriff Hameit, to whom I had sent Abiddin’s letter the evening before, answered us very impolitely, declaring that his religion forbade him to have anything to do with infidels.

I consoled myself for this fresh failure by having a chat with the little Kunta Tahar, Mohamed’s companion, who had come on to Gungi to see that the rice was duly handed over to us.

He told me of the death in 1890 near Saredina of Abiddin, the son of Hamet Beckay, of whom he had been a faithful retainer when at Gardio near Lake Debo.

This Abiddin and his followers had come to make a pilgrimage to the tomb of the great marabout, and also to try to win recruits against the Toucouleurs of Massina, with whom Abiddin carried on the struggle begun by his father. Two columns had marched forth against them, one from Mopti, the other from Jenné, and surrounded them. Abiddin was wounded and taken prisoner, but his faithful Bambaras of Jenné, who had always followed his fortunes, rescued him from the hands of the enemy. But, alas! no less than three bullets hit the doomed man after this first escape, killing him on the spot, and a great storm then arose which put an end to the battle, only a few of those engaged in it escaping to tell the tale.

The wind, which was very violent and dry, whirled up such quantities of sand that the corpse of Abiddin was buried beneath it, and no one was ever able to discover the place where he lay, as if Nature herself wished to protect his body from desecration and insult.

WEAVERS AT GUNGI.

Tornadoes play a great part in the histories of Kunta wars. Hamet Beckay is supposed to have had the power of calling them up when he liked, and to have by their means several times overwhelmed armies sent to attack him, but that of Saredina came too late to save his son.

Can it have been the story told to me by my friend the Kunta which caused a tremendous tornado to sweep down upon us that very evening, with thunder and lightning and torrents of rain all complete, soaking everything and everybody on board?

Our rice shelled, put into bags, and stowed away in the hold, we went on and anchored the next morning opposite Baruba to breakfast there. The ancient town, the Kaaba of the Tuaregs, which was still standing in the time of Barth, has since been destroyed, but its site is marked by piles of rubbish such as are still characteristic of the environs of Timbuktu, and from their vast extent prove that it was a city of considerable importance.

The country round about is extremely picturesque. The descendants of those who dwelt in the old city have moved a little further down stream to a dune which is so completely surrounded with water during inundations as to form an island. They bury their dead beneath the shade of the thorny bush beyond their settlement. At Baruba we saw some date trees which had reverted to the wild state, and were very majestic looking. We visited the site of the old town, and then anchored opposite its successor. Now that the waters of the Niger were beginning to subside, and the island was becoming a peninsula only, the inhabitants were losing their sense of security, and talking of migrating to an islet in the river itself opposite their present home. A few huts had already been put up on it, making white spots amongst the dense green verdure.

There we received envoys from the chief named Abder Rhaman, who brought us a letter in which we were informed that the reason the writer did not come to see us was, that he was afraid we should not understand each other, and bad results might ensue.

Then came a band of Kel-Owi, serfs of the Igwadaren, bringing ten, twenty, or thirty sheep, which they informed us they meant to give us. The number of animals seemed increasing at every moment, and I at once feared there was some sinister intention behind this unusual generosity. But no, I was wrong. They were really good fellows these Kel-Owi, though the merit of their munificence rather melts away when you examine closely into motives. It was present for present, as of course they knew I should not take their beasts without giving them something in exchange. I had the greatest difficulty in making our visitors understand that our boats were not sheep-pens, and that all I could do was to choose out the five finest animals.

FATHER HACQUART AND HIS LITTLE FRIEND.

All the imrads or serfs with whom I came in contact seemed to me quiet, inoffensive folk, when one does not pick a quarrel with them, in which they differ entirely from the Tuaregs of Algeria. They are of much paler complexion than the nobles or Ihaggaren.

In spite of what Abder Rhaman said in his letter, he decided to come and see us. He was an Arma, or descendant of the old conquerors from Morocco, with a proud, dignified bearing, and seemed to be a good and energetic ruler.

We had a very friendly conversation with him, during which the halt and lame, with all the sick people of the village, came to ask for medical advice. The doctor really multiplied himself in an extraordinary way, working miracles of healing.

During the night of the 23rd to the 24th of May we were roused by a great commotion in the village, and prepared for every contingency, but in the morning Abder Rhaman came to explain the mystery, telling us that the Hoggars had made a raid on the Igwadaren settlements. Sakhaui had sent ten men to reconnoitre, one of whom was his brother. They had met the enemy, whose force was superior to theirs, and had had to beat a retreat, with two of their number wounded. Sakhaui’s brother had had his horse killed under him.

On the rumour of the approach of the Hoggars, which had reached Baruba, during the night, the village was deserted, every one carrying off all the property he could, and the noise we had heard was that made by the canoes taking over the wretched goods and chattels of the poor people and the materials of their huts to the point called Ansel Makkoren. They had not dared to warn us for fear of being fired on by our sentry.

I greatly regret that I was not at Zarhoi when the news came of the arrival of the Hoggars. We might have given Sakhaui timely aid in repulsing them, and thus have aided to avenge the murder of Flatters, whilst the danger he was in would very likely have driven the Igwadaren chief into our arms.

Later, however, I had the satisfaction of hearing that the column of Hoggars who had advanced towards Timbuktu had been surprised and partly destroyed by the spahis of Captain Laperrine.

LITTLE NEGROES AT EGUEDECHE.

A short march in the afternoon brought us to Eguedeche, where we cast anchor opposite a little slave village on the very edge of the river. At first the negroes all ran away, and when we landed we found nothing but empty huts. Presently, however, a wail went up from amongst the fugitives, for Father Hacquart made a sudden dash at them, and emerged carrying a little boy of about a year old in his arms, who screamed in terror, but was soon reassured by the caresses of the father, and began playing with his long beard.

The little fellow’s parents were not far off, and they watched what was going on from behind some dwarf palms, where they had taken refuge with the rest of the villagers, and, their fears allayed, they now came out followed by their comrades.

The large village of Eguedeche is some little distance from the river, and is hidden behind a dune. The inhabitants, who are the masters of the slaves in the little village near which we had anchored, are Kuntas. They showed us the ruins of an earthen hut which had belonged to Sidi el Amin, one of Hamet Beckay’s brothers. The chief of Eguedeche came to meet us in person, accompanied by one of his relations, who belonged to that part of the tribe which was under the rule of Baba Hamet, a son of El Beckay. I persuaded him to go back and tell his chief of our approach, that I was the nephew of Abdul Kerim, and anxious to see Baba Hamet and his brother Baye.

The news of the Hoggar raid was confirmed by the people here.

Though we were able to remain on pretty good terms with the inhabitants of the left bank of the Niger, we felt that an obstinate hostility to us was growing on the other side, and during the day of the 25th an adventure occurred which proved that we were right.

We had to halt about 8 o’clock. The Aube was already anchored at the base of a dune, and the Davoust was amongst the grass near a village, the inhabitants of which had come to barter their eggs and poultry for our glass beads. The wind had fallen, and I had already given the signal to start, when from amongst a group of Tuaregs who had been posted on the dune watching our boats without approaching, a negro was sent to say they wished to speak to us.

In his hand the envoy held a red woollen coverlet which I had sent from Rhergo to Mohamed Uld Mbirikat, and which he told me had been taken from him partly by persuasion and partly by force by Abu, a brother of Sakhib.

This coverlet, the messenger explained, was sent to prove that he came from Abu, who exhorted us to keep away from the right bank of the river, to go down stream if we liked, but to refrain from landing.

The Aube had already started, and on account of the tiresome wind, which made us lose the best hours every day, we had very little time to push on, so I resisted my desire to remain where I was and see what Abu would do. I sent him an answer, however, to the effect that I was going on, not because he ordered me to, but because I wished to do so, as I had already made an arrangement with his elder brother. I added, I had nothing at all to do with Abu, and did not recognize him as having any authority whatever in the country.

In the evening we tried in vain to anchor near the village of Moyadikoira, the weeds quite prevented our getting in, and we had to content ourselves by stopping near a little island opposite to it. We tried without success to attract the natives. They came, it is true, in their canoes as far as the boundary of weeds and rushes, but they would not land on our island. I was very anxious, however, to find out what was in the wind among the Tuaregs, and also to buy some wood for burning. In these parts, where weeds and grass often make it impossible to land, the question of how to get fuel for cooking purposes is often a very serious one, and we had to be very economical with what we did succeed in obtaining. It is not that there is not plenty of wood to be had, if there were not steam navigation would be indeed difficult here; but in order to procure it, it is necessary to go to the first line of dunes beyond the highest point of the great inundations. There are plenty of gum trees there, and all we have to do is to get the natives to cut them down, and carry the wood to the boats. It throws out a great heat when burning.

On the 26th a canoe passed us in which were some people from Bamba, who told us that the Tademeket Kel Burrum had met at Dongoe with the intention of attacking us.

On hearing these tidings Sidi Hamet burst into tears, and in the end he entreated me to let him leave us at Tosaye to go back to Timbuktu.

Since we had passed through the Igwadaren districts, the character of our guide had undergone a complete transformation, which was anything but an improvement. I knew he had had a letter from Timbuktu, but I did not know what was in it. I do know, however, that the silly fellow is a great fool, and very jealous about his wife. “She is such a beautiful woman,” he informed us one day, “and so beautifully dressed. She carries the value of at least four bars of salt on her back.” Is he afraid of the fate of the husband described by Molière? Is his fear real or feigned? Anyhow he is, or pretends to be, a constant prey to the greatest terrors. He who, till we reached Kardieba, was always so gay and so bold, ready to carry out every enterprise I entrusted to him, he, who had always expressed such immovable confidence in the success of all our schemes of alliance with the Awellimiden, could now only dwell on the melancholy fate which awaited him and us: we should be murdered, he too of course, and he should never see his dear wife again who has the value of four bars of salt on her back, etc. I had tried by kindness and by scolding to restore his moral tone, but it was no good, and feeling how foolish it would be to place confidence in such a coward, who was quite ready to deceive us if he could thus prevent us from going further, I gave him the permission he asked for, seasoning my compliance, however, with a few pretty severe remarks. This quieted him for a bit, but he very soon recommenced his jeremiads on the dangers he would incur on his way back to Timbuktu. To cut the matter short, however, I at last forbid him ever to mention the matter to me.

There was, however, some truth in all that Sidi Hamet said. The natives we met grew more and more hostile. On the morning of the 27th we crossed the rocky pass known as Tinalschiden, and then Dongoe, where rumour said we were to be attacked. We were, in fact, followed on either bank by troops of mounted Tuaregs, some thirty altogether, I should say, but this was not a very formidable force, and after all they abstained from any hostile manifestation. The wind compelled us to halt for a few minutes opposite Dongoe on the left bank, and a horseman rode forward and hailed the Davoust. I exchanged greetings with him, a necessary prelude to every conversation, even if that conversation is to lead to a quarrel. I asked him to give me the news of the country, and he told me I should get them at Tosaye from Sala Uld Kara.

At about two o’clock we perceived in front of us two great masses of rock. These were the Baror and Chalor mentioned by Barth, which form land, or rather water-marks at the defile of Tosaye. A canoe at once put out from the left bank, in which was a relation of Sala, who came to offer his services as guide. The numbers of the Tuaregs on the right bank now increased, and I wished to parley with them, but our pilot prevented it. A few strokes of the oar soon brought us opposite Sala’s town, known as Sala Koira or Tosaye. We landed.

TAKING ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATIONS.

TOSAYE, WITH THE BAROR AND CHABAR ROCKS.

CHAPTER IV
FROM TOSAYE TO FAFA

Tosaye is a village of sheriffs. They are as pacific and timid a set of people as can possibly be imagined, but for all that, they gathered on the beach on our arrival in warlike array, trying to make up for the courage they lacked by being armed to the teeth. Each marabout was really a walking arsenal. This made us feel inclined to laugh; but what was a far more serious matter, was the fact that groups of Tuaregs, who seemed to be waiting for us, had gathered behind the village. Our guide, who had sprung ashore directly we landed, had disappeared, and no one seemed anxious to enter into conversation with us. I told Sidi Hamet to come down and take me to Chief Sala, or to one of his representatives; but our political agent at first stoutly refused to do so. We had to drag him from the boat almost by force, and then he went up to one of the groups which appeared the least hostile, entered a hut, and kept us waiting outside for his return for half-an-hour.

He came at last, with a brother of Sala, bearing very bad news. Sala by an unlucky chance had gone on a journey, and the people of the village, fearing that we were going to fight with the Tuaregs, would be very glad if we did not land here at all. This was succeeded by a whole rigmarole of information—much of it contradictory, but all alarming. A great gathering of Awellimiden, Tademeket Kuntas, etc., was massed at the Tosaye defile to oppose our passage, etc. Sala himself was amongst the rest of our enemies.

What was to be done? We were in need of provisions, our reserve stores were beginning to give out, and I wanted to lay in a stock of grain, for who could tell what we might expect further down the river?

I also wanted guides. Ever since we had left Timbuktu the narrowness and difficulties of the Tosaye defile had been dinned into our ears. Even Dr. Barth is not very reassuring in what he says about it, for he asserts that a stone could be flung by a vigorous hand from one bank to the other, and speaks of the probable existence of very strong currents, perhaps even of rapids.

We were told that some twelve years ago an army of Toucouleurs had tried to descend the Niger in canoes. They were, however, completely annihilated at Tosaye, crushed beneath masses of rocks which the natives rolled down on them from the top of the cliffs. Of course I knew that allowance must be made for exaggeration, but for all that I feared that we should be at very great disadvantage in the narrow pass if we did have a conflict with the natives. We must therefore put out all our diplomacy to avoid a struggle.

Without seeming to give any credence to the alarmist reports of Sidi Hamet, or to be in the least disconcerted by them, I entered into conversation with Sala’s brother, and very soon managed to introduce the subject of Abdul Kerim.

I revealed my relationship to him, and as usual it produced the anticipated effect. Sala was not aware that I was the nephew of Barth; he must at once be told. As a mark of gratitude and a token that I really was speaking the truth, I gave him the name of the cook of his former leader, El Beckay. Her name was Diko.

No doubt when Barth, with his usual German precision, registered the name of that humble but useful personage, the information did not seem likely to be of very great importance to future generations. He little knew the service he would render nearly half-a-century afterwards to his pretended nephew.

With such a proof as this who could fail to believe that I really was the nephew of my “uncle,” especially as Diko was not yet dead, but was living at a camp in the interior? The result of my news was that Sala had not, after all, gone on a journey, and would perhaps visit us. His brother at once hastened to land to take the tidings to him, his whole manner and expression completely transformed.

He soon came back to report that Sala was not gone, but still in the village, and when his brother had told him who I was he had wept, for he saw in my arrival the fulfilment of a prophecy made by his leader.

The fact was, that when Barth, accompanied by El Beckay, arrived at Tosaye, the German explorer had no doubt been in more danger than at any other time during his adventurous expedition.

The Tademeket Kel Burrum had resolved on his death, and all the eloquence, all the religious influence of his protector could not soften their feelings of animosity towards him.

At this crisis, and seeing that a terrible outbreak of hatred and fanaticism was imminent, El Beckay, in the interests of his friend, came to a weighty resolution. He told the Tuaregs that neither they nor he were powerful enough to decide a matter so important as the fate of Barth, and that El Khotab, head of the great confederation of the Awellimiden, alone had the right to final judgment.

Leaving the banks of the river, El Beckay then went alone to El Khotab, and persuaded him to give a safe-conduct to Barth, whom he looked upon as his own protégé.

Barth never knew the danger he had run. In his book he merely mentions that El Beckay was away for four days to fetch fresh camels to take the place of their weary animals, which was of course a mere pretext on the part of his protector, and is a fresh proof of the delicate tact and consideration for the doctor shown by the great Kunta marabout.

Now it so happened, that whilst he was discussing the matter with the Tademeket, El Beckay was seized with one of his attacks of prophetic delirium, and prophesied that some day the son of Abdul Kerim would return with three boats.

We had three boats. I claimed, giving irrefragable proofs, to be the nephew of Barth; it was impossible to deny that the prophecy was fulfilled. We must add, to round off the story, that Madidu is the son of the very El Khotab who saved my “uncle.”

Sala sent me word by his brother that he would not himself come on board for fear of doing me harm by showing the friendship which really now united us; but anxious to be useful to us, he would go to Madidu, or at least write to him, and he hoped to have the same success as his master, El Beckay, had had before him. Meanwhile he would supply us with all we needed.

In fact, the next morning we were able to buy as much grain as we wanted, and Sala gave us his own son Ibrahim as a guide.

THE ROCK BAROR AT TOSAYE.

We started about one o’clock on Saturday, February 29, and passed between the Baror rock and the left bank. We very soon saw the Tuaregs already alluded to gathering on the right bank. They were of the Tademeket tribe, against whom Sala had warned us. They followed our boats, but as yet made no hostile demonstrations.

We arrived at the picturesque entrance to the defile without incident.

From the right bank juts out a line of rocks, partly barring the passage. In the narrow opening, which is all that is left, the current is probably very strong when the water is low, but just now, when the river was at its highest, it was perfectly calm, and only moved very slowly round, its surface flecked with foam in the restricted space in which it is confined, the width of that space varying from 390 to 490 feet.

On either side rise red and black cliffs, which look as if they had been calcined, cut across here and there with veins of white quartz, giving to the scene a grand though somewhat melancholy character. Barth relates that according to the natives the skin of a young bull cut into strips and joined together would not be long enough to reach the bottom of the river at this spot. Business of a very different kind prevented us from verifying this belief.

Presently, exactly at the place specified by Barth as the narrowest part of the gorge, a group of horsemen detached themselves from the Tademeket, and one of them advanced towards the edge of the cliff holding up a letter for us to see.

Already the evening before we had talked over what it would be best to do under certain circumstances should they arise. I now had the Davoust steered close to the cliff so as to be able to receive the letter from the Tuareg, but the Dantec and the Aube remained, one on the right the other on the left, ready to rake the banks with a crossfire if any hidden ambush should be discovered.

I took the letter, and Father Hacquart read it at once. It was a regular declaration of war, couched in very suitable language; diplomatists could have found no fault with it.

Yunes, chief of the Tademeket, saluted me a thousand times and wished me all prosperity. It would afford him the greatest pleasure to let us pass down the river and even to help us to do so. Unfortunately, however, we followed different routes, and I was of a different religion to his. This being so, all I had to do was to return to Timbuktu, and if I did not he would be under the necessity of declaring war against me.

I answered that it took two to go to war, and my tastes, as well as the instructions I had received from my chief, were to avoid it at any price. I should therefore go quietly down the Niger as far as it was navigable. If, however, the river became so bad that the natives on the bank were able to prevent our further progress, they could attack us, and they would then see what my reply would be.

Whilst the Father and Tierno were reading the letter I had a good look at the herald who had brought it. After delivering it he had prudently taken refuge behind a piece of rock, but seeing that we took no notice of him he first peeped out with one eye, then with both eyes, and finally ventured into the open and thus addressed me—

“Is there any hope, after all, of my getting a pair of breeches?”

The question appeared to me infinitely naïve and appropriate, for the breeches he wore were in such rags that they were scarcely decent, and the holes, drawn together with coarse thread, were bursting out afresh. Still it was not exactly the moment for asking for a new pair.

The fellow was a very good example of a begging tramp. This fault of begging has, however, its advantages, and I felt pretty sure that if we had acceded to his request in the first instance, and given a few presents to the other Tademeket, we should easily have converted their hostility to friendship.

I did not attempt it because I wanted to reserve myself for the real Awellimiden, and I was, moreover, afraid if I once began giving that some mistake or petty quarrel might make it more difficult than ever to establish good relations later.

My reply delivered, we resumed our voyage. Seeing us move off the Tuaregs uttered savage cries. We had now a perfectly clear course before us, not so much as a boulder impeding our passage over the black water, shut in between the lofty cliffs, on which the Tademeket very soon appeared. There were now at least a hundred horsemen and a number of runners on foot. They shouted and fumed, working themselves up into a fury as they struck their spears on their shields covered with white antelope skin. It was just such a scene as one pays to see at a circus, and, but for our fears for the future, we should have been delighted with it. Women and children too now joined the procession, watching us as we slowly sped on over the quiet waters of the pass.

Very soon the banks became lower, green meadows contrasted with the black rocks of Tosaye; and noticing a little islet called Adria, we anchored off it.

Our coolies now began to show signs of discontent. The shouts, the cries, and the menacing gestures of the Tuaregs had aroused their warlike instincts, and they conversed gloomily together. I put a stop to this at once, and broke up their discussion; but it wasn’t only the negroes who gave me black looks, Bluzet and Taburet were also furious and full of bitterness at the way we had been treated. I confess I too began to feel put out, and I had to put great stress on myself, and call up all my reasoning powers, to keep my temper. Should I have been able to succeed if Father Hacquart had not been there? I would rather not answer that question.

Fortunately for us he kept his composure far better than we did. He pointed out that it would have shown no particular courage to reply with our guns to the insults of natives armed only with spears, and he told me that when he was travelling with Attanoux amongst the Azgueurs they were received with similar hostility, but that a calm demeanour and the exercise of tact had made their enemies of one day the best friends of the next.

THE TADEMEKET ON A DUNE ON THE BANKS OF THE NIGER.

I harangued my people. Peace was restored, and that so completely that we were presently amusing ourselves with catching the goats grazing on the island and decking them out with collars of different-coloured velvets.

Some negroes, who lived in a village on a little island near ours, came to see us, bringing us some sheep. They did not seem at all excited about what was going on, and in truth were accustomed to the ways of the Tuaregs.

“They are dancers,” one of them said to me, pointing to the Tademeket, who still continued to gesticulate at us.

The next day, March 1, we continued our journey, accompanied as before by Tademeket on the right bank. We passed the Burrum islands, where the river is very wide, and beyond which it flows between two lines of dunes forming its banks.

The scenery is perhaps finer here than anything else we have seen on the Niger. The mighty dunes look as if they had never been disturbed by man, for the wind at once obliterates all trace of the footsteps of passers by. There is a melancholy poetry about them, and their outlines are rather marked than disguised by the thin line of green bush at the edge of and in the water. How well I understand the effect produced on the traveller by the Sahara in spite of its apparent monotony. It exercises on those who gaze on it for long at a time something of the hypnotic attraction of the sea. I am not the only one who feels in this way about the dune of Africa, for Baudry one day read us the following sonnet he had composed on the subject:—

THE DUNE.

Vague summits on the dim, far distance rise;

Then wâdys, mirage, and that northern pass

Where flocks in summer seek the mountain grass;

Next, this long sand-hill that outstretchèd lies;

Nought else! Six æons long the solar dyes

Have steep’d the dune with ochreous gold and brass;

Flash’d in the silica like broken glass,

And dried the courses dug by wrathful skies.

Yon camel’s formless bulk against the blue

Seems parcel of the wild chaotic scene;

With grounded lance and figure sharp in view,

His master stands, a statue—well-knit, lean—

Then striding slow athwart the tawny sand,

Sits motionless beside the river strand.

Every now and then our Tuareg companions reappeared from behind the yellow crest of sand, but their enthusiasm of the morning had considerably cooled down. Horses and men alike were tired, and the latter were dragging the former along by their heads, all presenting a most pitiable appearance. Thus escorted we arrived about five o’clock in the evening at the village of Bia on the left bank.

Ibrahim, the son of Sala, did not care to go any further. We persuaded an old Songhay who lived in the village to take his place. Strange to say, though the Tademeket continued their vociferations on the right bank, there was no sign of hostility from the left, which made me hopeful for the future. We saw natives on foot and on horseback pass, and they stared curiously at the boats, but showed neither fear nor anger.

Night fell, and we had sat down to supper, when all of a sudden there was a great noise like that of paddles beating the water, or horses swimming. To arms! was the cry, and the next moment all were at their posts. The people of the village of Bia shouted to us that it was only the cattle of the Tuaregs crossing a little arm of the river; but unfortunately for their veracity, we saw the next morning that there was neither arm nor creek anywhere near. Whatever may have been the cause of the noise I am glad it disturbed us, for it proved to me that should an emergency arise our men would behave well and quietly.

A minute later a canoe from the right bank appeared, in which was a man who hailed us and offered us a sheep. He said he was a gabibi, or negro, and lived in a village some little distance in the interior. His pale complexion, however, led us to suppose that he really was a Tuareg who had come to spy on us. He had arrived when our coolies were all at their posts, and we hoped he would report what he had seen.

On March 2 our enemies the Tademeket had all disappeared, but their place was taken by another tribe, the Tenger Eguedeche, with whom were a few Kel es Suk. A religious war had no doubt been proclaimed in the country, and it was to an accompaniment of shouts of La illa il Allah! that we pushed on. Every now and then all our escort performed a solemn salaam, prostrating themselves on the ground. We began to be very wrath, and I should have given the order to fire on the least provocation. Once more, however, an unforeseen circumstance calmed down my rising martial ardour. We were no longer followed by men only, but by numbers of women and children. Amongst them was a little chap as round as a barrel, who kept picking up handfuls of dust and flinging them in our direction. He shall be the first victim I resolved, but let’s have patience. A Kel es Suk, mounted on a big white camel, who headed the procession now, had never lost sight of us since we left Tosaye. He little knows to what a trifle he owes the preservation of his life. Twenty times the muzzle of my rifle covered him, and twenty times I reflected that we were not running any immediate danger, and that there would be nothing particularly brave in drawing the trigger on an unlucky wretch, who was probably merely ignorant.

Thus attended we arrived in due course at the village of Ha, on a little tributary of the Niger. We cast anchor, and tried to open negotiations; but the inhabitants fled from us like a swarm of grasshoppers. They shouted at us to go away, and when we asked for the chief of the village, they replied that he was with the Tuaregs. We waited an hour, in vain. The village was now entirely deserted, and no chief appeared. To make up for this, we heard the tabala or war-drum being beaten on every side, and a compact mass, consisting of from 500 to 600 warriors, took up their position opposite our anchorage, shouting louder even than the day before.

We thought we really had better try a little intimidation, for since the morning they had kept telling us that our guns and cannon would not go off, for Allah had forbidden them to. To show them therefore what our weapons were really capable of, I decided to send a shell over their heads at random, and we heard it burst far away in the distance. The band at once dispersed like a flight of sparrows, but their first terror over, they formed up again, and advanced with a courage which I could not but admire. There was nothing left to do, if we wished to avoid a real conflict, but to set sail, so we went and cast anchor a couple of miles further on, opposite Mount Tondibi, or the Black Mountain, as it is called in Songhay, though why I cannot say, as it really is of a beautiful orange-red.

The next day was a repetition of what this had been. The Tenger Eguedeche followed us, howling. We anchored for breakfast off the right bank, and they withdrew to a short distance, but continued to spy upon us, and yelled at us when we left.

At about two o’clock we suddenly saw coming along the bank from the opposite direction, a fine-looking, handsome Tuareg, riding a splendid black horse. His clean clothes and well-kept person showed that he was a chief. He advanced towards the crowd, who had halted when they caught sight of him, and said a few words, at which they all stopped shouting and squatted down. He then came towards us, made us what seemed a friendly sign with one hand, and leaning on his iron spear, the copper ornaments on which gleamed in the sunshine, he watched us pass by.

After this, not a word, not a cry was heard, and the right bank appeared perfectly deserted; only here and there behind some bush, the glitter of weapons revealed the presence of a concealed Tuareg sentinel watching our movements.

I learnt afterwards that the Tuareg on the fine horse was an envoy from Madidu, sent to the Tenger Eguedeche, to order them to cease from their hostile demonstrations. The Amenokal sent them word that he considered he was the only person who had a right to decide how strangers should be treated; and therefore, until he had made up his mind, no one was to show us either friendship or hatred.

We had some little difficulty in understanding our guide. The Songhay he spoke was so unlike that in use in Timbuktu. Towards evening he wanted us to go up a little creek on the left, at the end of which, with the aid of our glasses, we saw a number of camels grazing; but not knowing why so many animals were assembled here, for they are generally kept some little distance from the river, I thought it more prudent to anchor opposite the village of Forgo, on an island. We heard the tabala beating around us again. About eight o’clock a canoe approached, in which was the brother of the chief of the village, who hailed us. I did not at all like his reserved manner. He kept on talking about the tabala of Madidu, which, he said, could be heard when it was beaten all over the country from Burrum to Ansongo. He promised us some presents from his brother, but, needless to say, we never saw them.

We started very early the next morning, winding our way amongst the numerous islands dotting the river.

Presently on our left we saw some beautiful trees with bushy foliage, and all of a sudden from their midst arose a greyish mass of the shape of a truncated pyramid. There was not the slightest doubt that it was the tomb of the founder of the Songhay dynasty, Mohamed Askia, and that we were close to Garo or Gao; Garo, the ancient capital of the Western Sudan; Garo, the most powerful city ever founded by negro civilization, the metropolis from which radiated the various routes bringing to the Niger the produce of the Tchad districts and of Egypt; Garo, which but two Europeans, Mungo Park and Dr. Barth, had ever seen.

Our emotion at this stage of our journey can be better understood than described. From what was once the mighty town of Garo the river mists of the morning rose up; from a dead city now, but one which it was perchance our mission to restore. A great people, whose heart this lost city may be said to have been, once lived and flourished here. The Askias had united under their banner all the African states from Lake Tchad to the Senegal, and from the desert to Say. The Songhay empire was then not only the most powerful in Africa, but of the whole contemporary world.

Felix Dubois, in his book called Timbuktu the Mysterious, gave an account, founded on the Tarich es Sudan, of the Songhay, which supplements well the information given to Barth about the people who once dwelt in the great empire named after them.

To add to what these great authorities have said would be mere waste of time. I must remark here, however, that I was struck by the fact that lower down the Niger the Songhay have taken the name of Djerma, which is that of the district and its inhabitants where they now dwell. This name Djerma is also that of the North African oasis which was known to the ancients as Garama, or the land of the Garamantes. The resemblance between the two cannot fail to strike every one.

I wonder whether the two words Djerma and Garama have the same origin? and if the Garamantic race, or, as it is also sometimes called, the Sub-Ethiopian, may not have been the primitive source of all the negro tribes which now people the Western Sudan.

If it be so, the greater number of the ethnic revolutions which have convulsed the country have really after all been merely a struggle for ascendency between three races—the Negro, which I have just been discussing; the Berber, of which the Tuaregs are the purest representatives; and lastly, the so-called Fulah race, which came from the east, and may possibly be descended from the ancient Egyptians.

I give my idea for what it is worth, whilst waiting for a more exhaustive study to be made of local dialects or the discovery of ancient manuscripts which shall throw a clearer light on the subject.

The Songhay empire of Garo, which was at one time so splendid, had within itself the germs of its own decay, for its chiefs were Mussulmans. The polygamy permitted by Islam gives to each one of them in his numerous descendants a perfect legion of possible rivals ready to dethrone him and usurp his power. It is to this, and yet more to the hateful morality of the Mahommedans, always ready to find an excuse for the most heinous crimes, that the Askias owe their rapid decline.

Other emotions, however, besides those connected with historical memories, agitated us when we came in sight of all that was left of Garo. It was there we were told that we should know what were to be our relations with the Awellimiden, and my own conviction still was—the event proved that I was right—that it would be easy enough for us to pass through their country with the consent of their chief Madidu, but terribly difficult to do so without it.

We wended our way carefully amongst the submerged islets here encumbering the course of the Niger, passing many big villages with thatched huts, and seeing through our binoculars large numbers of natives assembled here and there. The whole of the district bears the name of Gao, or Gao-gao, a corruption of the old Garo. We succeeded, not without difficulty, in approaching the central village, the mosque of which serves as a kind of landmark. But the bank was very low and partially inundated. It was really a rice plantation belonging to the inhabitants, and we soon came to a standstill.

The appearance of the village and its surroundings was far from reassuring. The negroes quickly vacated their huts, and some wading, others in canoes, hurried off with all their chief valuables, whilst beneath the trees and on the higher banks collected groups of Tuaregs, some on horseback, others on foot, watching our movements in silent immobility. All were in full martial panoply, with spear, sword, and huge buckler. I made a white flag with a dinner napkin and hoisted it on a bamboo stem, which I stuck in the damp ground. We then waited results.

A long and anxious pause ensued. The blacks continued to fly, the Tuaregs appeared to be consulting together. At last two negroes came forward from the bank, and waded through the mud, which was above their knees, towards us, but they halted at a respectful distance. They were evidently in a great state of alarm, and would only converse with us from afar off; if we attempted to approach them they decamped. It was a good half-hour before we were able to reassure them sufficiently for them to come close to us, and even then they still trembled.

The two messengers turned out to be Armas, relations of the chief of the village. Their first articulate words were a prayer that we would go to an island they pointed out to us rather more than a mile away, for they said they were afraid we should come to blows with the Tuaregs, and that their village would suffer.

We tried to reassure them, telling them we had not come to make war; quite the reverse, we wanted to make friends with the Tuaregs. To begin with, would they tell us where Madidu was? Madidu, was the reply, was not far off, though not actually in the village. And what, we went on, was the meaning of all this gathering of forces, as if they were threatened with war? It was to defend themselves, they said, against a raid of the Kel Air, which they had been told was about to take place. I avoided replying that the Kel Air were far away on the east and north, and that it seemed extraordinary that warriors should have gathered on the banks of the Niger to repulse them.

But to return to the question really at issue. I begged the envoys to announce to Madidu the arrival of the nephew of Abdul Kerim, whom his father had received and treated well some fifty years before; adding that we had not come to do any harm, in proof of which I urged that when the Tademeket and the Tenger Eguedeche had declared war against us we had not even answered their challenge.

My uncle, I went on, had given El Khotab a horse, I now brought the saddle for that horse to El Khotab’s son. I then uncovered a splendid velvet saddle embroidered with gold, the handsomest present I had with me, for it seemed to me that if ever the moment arrived for placing it well, it was at this juncture. The Sultan of France, I explained, had sent me to the chief of the Awellimiden to discuss matters concerning them as well as the French, and I wished for an interview with him, or at least with his accredited representatives.

PANORAMA OF GAO ON THE SITE OF THE ANCIENT GARO.

Our visitors then withdrew, and we waited four hours longer without news. At the end of that time the same negroes reappeared, to tell me that Madidu was then in the village with a large retinue (I greatly doubted the truth of this), and was at that moment consulting with his principal advisers. But, they added, to prove your good intentions towards the natives, go to the island. That will also show that you mean no harm. Madidu’s envoys will come to you there.

I preferred yielding to this pressing invitation to go than acting in a high-handed manner. Moreover, I was not sorry to put a little distance between myself and the Tuaregs, for it was very evident that in any discussion about us nine out of ten would vote for attacking us, and in our island we should be perfectly safe from surprise. We should see what to-morrow brought forth.

We estimated the number of warriors now assembled on the bank at several thousand; it was a very different matter from the gathering of the Tademeket and Tenger Eguedeche higher up stream.

We set sail, therefore, and when night fell we were camped in our new position. In memory of our old and valued friend Gauthiot, who, as I have related, had defended our expedition from all the detractors in France who would have jeopardized its success, I named after him this little corner of earth in the river, our river, where our fate was really to be decided.

If I said that I slept peacefully and well that night I do not suppose any one would believe me.

To face tangible dangers in a struggle with nature or with one’s fellow men, greater or less courage is required, but what we had to do now was to meet such hidden risks, as the miner who goes to his work, not knowing at what moment he may be suffocated, blown up, or crushed to death. Even the miner, however, gets accustomed to the risk he runs, but what no one ever becomes used to is the long mental fatigue of the responsibility of knowing that one mischosen word, perhaps even one wrongly translated word, will be enough to doom to destruction all those who have joined their fortunes with yours with full confidence in you, for whom you are all and everything for the time being.

PALAVER AT GAO.

Father Hacquart slept no better than I did that anxious night. Would he have slept if I had let him retire to his couch? Who can tell? I needed his counsel and his experience, so we neither of us closed an eye, for we discussed the situation, and what we should say, the next day, for the whole night.

The result of our conference was, that we resolved to do the best we could under whatever circumstances might arise, for to foresee them was impossible; in a word, as sailors say, “Trim our sails according to the weather.”

The Father, moreover, took an optimist view of our position, partly because he is naturally of a hopeful disposition, and partly because, by a really singular chance, our experiences coincided in a remarkable way with his own two years before, when he was in the Sudan on a similar journey. To begin with, the time of year was the same, for it was on March 5 that he and Attanoux had arrived to confer with the Tuaregs, Azgueurs, etc.

All night the left bank of the river was illuminated with the watch-fires of the Tuareg camp, which resembled a great conflagration. We had not been wrong, a large, a very large force was assembled there.

In the morning my heart beat fast when I saw a canoe approaching, and I made out in it one of the negro messengers of the chief of the village, a Tuareg, and another native whose woolly crop of hair showed him to be a Moor or a Kunta.

The boat touched land, and the third person in it turned out to be really a Kunta, whilst the Tuareg was Madidu’s blacksmith.

Why had this blacksmith come? Because in the Sudan the blacksmiths form a regular caste, which has attained very great influence over the negro chiefs, and the Tuaregs of the river districts followed the example of the negro potentates in listening to their counsels.

Not all the blacksmiths, it must be explained, follow their nominal trade. They are many of them the familiar friends and advisers of the chiefs; in fact, it is they who often wield the real authority, for, as often happens in Europe, the prime minister is more powerful than the king.

Ceremonial greetings having been exchanged we all sat down. My fingers were cold, my throat felt parched, but I managed by a strong effort at self-control to appear perfectly calm and indifferent.

I began the speech already resolved on. The Kunta knew Arabic, so that I was fortunate enough to be able to employ Father Hacquart as interpreter. He repeated in Ta-Masheg every word I addressed to the blacksmith.

“I greeted Madidu, the Commandant of Timbuktu greeted Madidu, and the Sultan of the French greeted Madidu. We were the white people who, two years before, had driven the Tenguereguif and the Kel Temulai from Timbuktu. We had already come twice in boats to cement our friendship with the people of the country, and to trade with them, without any idea of conquest. The Tuaregs had received us badly, insulted and provoked us; we had attacked, beaten, and punished them. Allah had given us their city; we were there, and there we meant to stay.

“But the Tuaregs of Timbuktu had nothing in common with the Awellimiden, they were indeed their enemies. Between Madidu and us there had never been war.

“Now that we were neighbours, the Sultan of the French thought it would be wrong for us to remain any longer unknown to each other.

“If we succeeded in making friends, nothing but good would result to both parties. They would come to Timbuktu to sell their oxen, their sheep, and their gum, receiving in exchange stuffs, beads, and all the goods the white men know how to make.

“To remain longer without making friends would be to leave gunpowder close to a fire. The day would come, through no fault of theirs or ours, when some misunderstanding would lead to a scuffle first and then to war.

“Moreover, if we knew their power, they also ought to know ours. Evil might result to us, but worse would befall them.

“In any case it was more consistent with their dignity and self-respect, as well as with ours,—for were not we as well as they of noble race?—to know with whom they had to deal. The Sultan of the white men had chosen me because of my relationship with Abdul Kerim, who was the friend of the Kuntas and the Awellimiden. What must I tell that Sultan on behalf of Madidu? Was it to be peace or war?”

This speech was clear enough, and the reply was no less so.

“Madidu greets you. If you have come with pacific intentions, as you said yesterday to the men from Gao, he is your friend; he will give you guides to take you where you will, to Say or to Sokoto. If evil should overtake you it will be from heaven, Madidu answers for it none shall come from earth.”

This beginning could not but please us.

We told the young Kunta, who acted as second envoy, that we were on good terms with his relations at Timbuktu and Kagha; and then we tried to amuse our visitors, bringing out our bicycle, phonograph, musical box, etc. All our attractions were paraded, in fact, and then, after consulting with Father Hacquart, I decided on a grand coup. Without asking for anything or adding another word, I bade the ambassador farewell, giving him the beautiful velvet saddle to take to Madidu.

The canoe shot back across the river. We saw a Tuareg advance from amongst a group of horsemen, mounted on a fine bay horse, and, strange to say, carrying a musket. He came to meet the envoys as they landed; they handed the saddle to him, and when they caught sight of it, the Tuaregs behind him clashed their shields and uttered shrill cries.

The canoe returned immediately. The horseman we had just seen receive the saddle was Madidu himself; he thanked us a thousand times for our beautiful present, and even wished to come to us, but his brothers, fearing treachery or sorcery, had prevented him from doing so. Our generosity had hit the mark, and judging from the manner of the blacksmith, we could make a very shrewd guess at what were the feelings of his master.

It was the messenger’s turn now, and I gave him a beautiful present of stuffs, beads, knives, and veils, with which he was delighted. There were, however, still two things that Madidu wanted, but if it was difficult to meet his wishes, he did not dare to insist too much, for we had already given him more than either he or his ancestors had ever received.

The first thing was ten silver pieces, not for himself, but for his wife. She had heard him speak of that white metal which could be worked like copper, and of which ornaments were made, but which was not really copper, and she did so long to see some for herself. This wish was easy enough to gratify, and to the ten five-franc pieces I added two gold rings.

As for the second wish of the Amenokal, I would give you a thousand guesses, and not one would be right. He wanted the portrait of the President of the Republic.

All German and English travellers make a point of giving a portrait of their sovereign to native chiefs. Thoughtless people may, perhaps, laugh at this, but for all that it is true that it always produces a considerable effect to show a photograph, a drawing, or, better still, a chromo-lithograph, with the words—“This is our Sultan!”

Knowing this, we had brought with us, two years before, when we started on our expedition, a hundred coloured portraits of M. Carnot.

He was dead now; and all we had been able to get were a few engravings of President Felix Faure, such as you see at all the mairies, and in the captain’s cabin in all the ships of the fleet.

Wherever we passed, the portrait of the Sultan of the French was the object of great curiosity. I had pinned it up in my cabin, and every one wanted to see it. It was a bust portrait, and the eye-glass hanging from a ribbon was shown in it. After looking at the likeness for some time in silence, the Tuaregs would begin asking me questions.

“Is he your father? Why has he three eyes?” This of course was suggested by the eye-glass.

I had hit upon a very simple way of answering both these questions at once. “Of course,” I would reply, “he is my father; he is the father of us all, and he has three eyes; it is just because he has so many children that two eyes would not be enough to look at them all.”

No one ever showed the slightest surprise or incredulity at this double explanation of mine, my reply seemed perfectly natural and satisfactory.

But to return to Madidu. He had heard his people talk about the portrait, and anxious to possess it, he sent to ask me for it. His wish was prompted by too good a feeling towards us for us to have the slightest reason for saying no, and this is how it comes about that the portrait of the President of the Republic at this moment adorns the tent of the Chief of the Awellimiden, and goes with him from the banks of the Niger to the plateau of Air.

After breakfast our Kunta came back once more. Madidu had sent to ask when we wished to start, and hinted that the chief might perhaps visit us himself a little further down the river. In any case the Amenokal promised to send us a letter by some relation of his. He would let us have the various promises he had made to us in writing, and he now renewed them, assuring us of his friendship and his resolve to protect our fellow-countrymen and fellow-subjects.

Madidu was now anxious to be off, for the raids of the Kelgeres or Kel Air, of which we had heard so much, were all too real, for they had actually attacked the camp of the Kuntas, who were on friendly terms with the Awellimiden, and were under the command of Baye and Bebe Hamet, sons of El Beckay.

The chief, therefore, wished to settle everything with us in hot haste, so as to be free to go and meet his own enemies. He would, however, send messengers and letters all along the river instructing the chiefs, his vassals, to treat us well and supply us with guides and provisions; in fact, to help us in every possible way.

I should very much have liked to have a personal interview with the Amenokal, but I had good reason to know that it was by no means easy to get access to Tuareg chiefs. It was very evident too, in this particular case, that although Madidu, whose views were liberal and tolerant, and who, thanks to the traditions inherited from his father, had refused to listen to the advice of those hostile to us, there did exist a very strong party against us, and it was necessary to avoid putting weapons into the hands of our adversaries by giving them an excuse for treating us badly. To insist on prolonging our stay or on seeing the chief might have brought about the very result we feared. I therefore decided to start the next morning.

We sent our guides back after paying them well, and they put off for shore in their canoes. During their passage the Tuareg column divided, one group going down to meet the guides when they landed. The latter feared that the warriors had come down to see whether we had not been too generous, and perhaps to make them divide their spoil with them, so rather than risk this they turned round and came back towards our camp.

At that moment a great noise arose on the right bank, caused by the clamour of a number of petty chiefs, who in their turn had ordered their blacksmiths to cross the arm of the river between us and the bank, and to come to greet us on their behalf. These visits were of course prompted by interested motives, in the hope of getting presents. Now this was just what Madidu had wished to avoid; he did not feel sure enough of every one to care that crowds should go to see us, and he ordered all the messengers to be driven away, which led to a good deal of recrimination, the echo of which had reached us.

Nevertheless, El Yacin, one of the most important of the tributary Amrars, had sent his adviser to us, who when the canoe which had brought him went off without him, settled himself down in a corner on board the Davoust without showing the slightest fear of us. He evidently meant to see, hear, and touch everything.

I have already said, that amongst the ornaments of my cabin were some photographs of a celebrated singer. These likenesses excited no less interest than did that of the President, which was hung opposite to them, especially as the costumes of Elsa, Brunhilda, Elizabeth or Salammbo, as the case might be, appeared to the Tuaregs the very acme of elegance, which shows of course that they were not wanting in a sense of the æsthetic.

Our blacksmith, after gazing at these likenesses for a long time, turned to me and said—

“Is she one of the women of your country?”

“Yes.”

“Are they all as pretty as she is?”

“Of course they are.”

“Then you must all be great fools to have left them to come here.”

I tried to make him understand what would be the delights of our return home, how our chiefs would praise us, and our fellow citizens admire us, how the whole country would ring with our fame; but it was no good, he stuck to his original opinion.

To prove that we really meant to start the next day, we now began to furl our tents, and the bank opposite us gradually became deserted. When darkness fell we finally dismissed our guides.

Early on the morning of the 6th, guided by a pilot sent to us by the chief of Gao, we started for Bornu, where Madidu was then encamped, and arrived there about eleven o’clock.

The river was still easily navigable, although here and there the presence of eddies proved the existence of rocks, which no doubt crop up, and are dangerous at low water. To make up for a less impeded stream, the banks became more and more rugged and wild as we proceeded. Lofty black and red cliffs covered with gum trees and sycamores succeeded each other, and we found that Bornu had been very exactly described and drawn by Barth. We anchored at the base of a perpendicular rock some three hundred and twenty feet high. Our guide went to the village, of which we could see the huts about half-a-mile off, and soon came back bringing a substitute.

As for Madidu, it appeared that he had slept in his camp, but had left very early in the morning. We should perhaps meet him at Dergona, where we changed pilots.

After breakfast we started again. The left bank now became extremely picturesque, cliffs of red rock broken into fantastic forms resembling the ruins of castles occurring here and there, whilst far away on the right rose a line of rocky mountains. We had evidently now left the dunes behind us.

We passed the night near Dergona, of which we could see the fires, and early the next morning we arrived there. Not a sign of Madidu. He had gone to the interior, driven there by the raids of the Kel Air. When night fell we had reached Balia, the Tabaliat of Barth.

BORNU.

Near the landing-place there was a canoe laden with grain deserted by the owners, who had run away. Gradually reassured, however, they presently returned, and from them we obtained much interesting information about the state of the neighbouring districts of Say.

Near Sinder, they said, lived a number of thieving boatmen belonging to the Kurteyes tribe, who had lately made a raid on Balia.

We should also meet Amadu Cheiku there, who owns several villages on the banks of the river, one of which is surrounded by a tata, or earthen wall. This Amadu Cheiku had persuaded a Fulah tribe called the Gaberos, who had formerly lived near Gao under the rule of the Awellimiden, to emigrate and join him.

BABA, WITH THE ROCKS ABOVE ANSONGO.

He had lately tried, but without success, to induce the people of Dergona to do the same.

The river-bed now became more and more rocky; we felt the eddies and rapids a good deal, although navigation could not yet be called difficult; and in due course we arrived opposite the promontory jutting out from the island of Ansongo.

Here, running from south-east to north-west, are four great blocks of flint of very picturesque appearance, which look like landmarks set up to mark a very remarkable point of the river, and as a matter of fact it is below them that the difficulties begin which render this part of the Niger practically unnavigable.

On March 8 we anchored for breakfast opposite one of these masses of rock, off Beba; then following the arm of the river furthest to the left, we arrived about two o’clock at the village of Ansongo, inhabited by Kel es Suk. The chief of that tribe himself was there.

Close to our anchorage a line of rocks completely barred the arm of the river on which we were. Their summits were almost level with each other, and it would have been quite impossible for us to get over them. Baudry, however, went off exploring in a canoe, and discovered a very narrow winding channel on the left at the foot of the bank, through which it would be just possible for us to get out.

Meanwhile the Kel es Suk, and the negroes in their service, had assembled on the beach, and after giving them a few presents of little value, we entered into conversation with them. All seemed likely to go well. El Mekki, they said, would supply us with provisions and pilots, and no doubt would himself come and see us.

I was indeed glad to hear that. I had greatly dreaded a conflict with the Kel es Suk, for we knew their way of going to work. As long as we had had to do with individuals only, their hostility did not matter much; but now we had to deal with the chief of the whole tribe, and it was of the utmost importance to conciliate him.

As we shall see further on, the Kel es Suk are of the same race, springing from the same source as the Tuaregs.

Separated, however, from the original stock after the taking of Taddemekka by the Songhay of Gao, they had espoused the tenets of Islam at a happy moment, and were now the marabouts of the Tuaregs.

As a result they exercise a great moral influence, and I should not hesitate to assert that El Mekki alone would be able to put a veto on the favourable or unfavourable resolutions of Madidu with regard to us. From which it will be seen clearly enough how very valuable the friendship of this El Mekki would be.

Before the evening mists arose we set sail to go through the pass, which we managed to do without accident, and anchored opposite the village to await the morning.

THE KEL ES SUK OF ANSONGO REFUSE TO SUPPLY US WITH GUIDES.

On the 9th we crossed over very early, but, alas! the day began badly. El Mekki did not come, but sent instead two messengers, who—I really don’t know on what stupid pretext—told us it was impossible to supply us with guides. I protested in vain, invoking the name of Madidu.

Political reasons imperatively demanded that we should make a friend of El Mekki, but there was yet another more immediate motive for our desire, and that was, we were close to the rapids.

As I have already said, they begin at Ansongo. We did not yet know all the difficulties they would cause us; all we had to help us was what Barth had said about them, and we had never known him wrong, which was quite enough to prove how absolutely indispensable pilots would be, for at every turn we should have to choose the most practicable of the many arms of the river.

I called up all my powers of patience, and tried to discuss the matter quietly, but it was only labour lost. Indeed some negroes who had come down to the bank to speak to us were ordered back to the village by the Kel es Suk.

Now came a second deputation, this time an openly hostile one, of men with determined faces.

“What,” they demanded, “were our intentions?”

“Peaceful and good,” was our reply.

“What is your religion?” they went on.

“That of Issa,” we answered; “whom your own prophet names as his forerunner. We are Kitabi, or people of the book. Your own religion enjoins you to treat us as friends, seeing that we entertain amicable feelings for you.”

Tierno chimed in, arguing with his fellow marabouts to make them listen to reason, but with very little success.

“Anyhow,” I said at last, “your fathers let a Christian pass through their country in peace, and indeed they even helped him. That Christian, my uncle, Abdul Kerim, was the friend and protégé of Sidi Hamet Beckay; do you think you can do better than your fathers, and the chief who was venerated throughout the whole of the Sudan?”

Surprise and hurried interrogations now ensued.

“What! are you the nephew of Abdul Kerim?”

I read Barth’s book every day, so that it is rather difficult to put me out when his adventures are discussed.

Now it so happened that just before he reached Ansongo a little episode occurred to him which is well worth relating.

Without any disrespect to the memory of my “uncle”—my very worthy and excellent “uncle”—I suspect him of having been the hero of at least one idyl on the banks of the Niger, in which a young beauty of the Kel es Suk tribe also played her part.

Her name was Neschrun, and Barth, who generally dismisses the charms of the black or brown beauties he came across in his travels curtly enough, dwells on her graceful figure, her pleasing manners, her beautiful black eyes, and her hair parted on her brows, à la Vierge. He does not even neglect to tell us that she wore a garment alternately striped with black and red, which was most becoming.

The attraction was evidently mutual, for he adds that she one day said to him, half in fun—

“Will you marry me?”

What prevented the course of true love running smoothly was some question about camels.

“I expressed to her,” says Barth, “all the regret I felt at being obliged to refuse, and whilst explaining how sensible I was of the honour she did me I told her my camels were too tired to carry her.”

I have already referred to the standard of beauty amongst these people, and how they admire embonpoint; and I may here add that, when a woman has achieved the weight desired, she might very well claim to be admitted into the so-called “Société des Cent Kilos.” The name given to this special charm by the Tuaregs is tebulloden, and those who know anything of the onomatopœia theory will see in a minute how appropriate it is to a Tuareg Venus who is not content with being merely a Venus Callipyge.

Neschrun, no doubt, was rather of the tebulloden style of beauty, so that it is quite possible that the camels of the German traveller were really not equal to carrying her weight.

Now was not this a good story to prove my identity in my parley with the messengers from El Mekki?

It actually turned out that Neschrun was the sister of El Mekki, and was still alive, so of course I made a great fuss about seeing her at once. Alas! she was far away in the interior, and it was no use hoping that she could come to me or that I could go to her, so I had to be content with sending her a present of a folding mirror with three glasses, trimmed with plush, which had cost about three shillings. See how generous I was!

The messengers went back to tell El Mekki all about it, and we at once became capital friends. Two slaves belonging to the chief of the Kel es Suk were given to us as guides, and we started again, but not before I had sent my affectionate greetings to the lady who might have been my aunt if she had not been so fat, or if Barth’s camels had been better able to carry heavy loads.

My dear “uncle”! my brave “uncle”! my providential “uncle”! yet once again had you drawn a sharp thorn from the foot of your nephew when the happy thought occurred to you of relating your love affair with a daughter of the Kel es Suk.

The current was now very strong, running at the rate of 4½ miles an hour. We could not fail to see that we had drunk our best wine at the beginning of the feast, and that we must now husband our resources most carefully. In other words, we must steer with the greatest caution.

The fresh breeze from the south drove the Aube a little out of her course, and she struck on a bed of coarse gravel. She was, however, in very little danger, and we soon got her off again. But when out of the narrow channel she was flung violently on to a sharp rock, and there remained stationary. The water was so deep just there that the coolies could not stand in it, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that we rescued our consort this time. However, after swimming about her for an hour our efforts were at last rewarded by seeing her afloat again.

DISTRIBUTION OF PRESENTS TO THE TUAREGS AT BURÉ.

About 109 yards further down stream we doubled the point of the island of Ansongo.

The right arm of the river, which we could now see distinctly, was completely encumbered by rocks and rapids. Our barges could certainly not have got past them.

In front of us eddies and ripples showed that there were also rocks ahead of us. Our guides were brave fellows enough, but I did not believe they were much accustomed to the river, so I decided to make the two big boats anchor here. Baudry and I having removed the canvas sail which would have given purchase to the wind, and having pressed into the service every available oar, started to examine the channel, which, though very tortuous, turned out to be both wide and deep. We then returned on board, and without further incident we went on undaunted amongst the grass close to the left bank.

THE ‘DANTEC’ EXPLORING THE PASS.

The Aube had leaked dreadfully since she struck, and four men with buckets could scarcely bale her out. Our carpenter, Abdulaye, dived beneath her, and discovered that one of the planks of her bottom had got loose, but we managed to patch it up somehow.

To wind up this day, which had been so full of unpleasant excitement, a storm presently overtook us, during which we were soaked to the skin, whilst from the banks rose an odour of musk so strong as to be positively sickening.

Every now and then there were ripples close to the boat, caused by an alligator plunging into the water. It would not do to fall overboard just there.

BURÉ.

A comparatively quiet reach brought us the next day to the northern point of the island of Buré, probably the Tiburanen of Barth, on the rugged rocks of which a village was picturesquely perched. Opposite to us on the left was a mound with slopes covered with tents, whilst on the summit was drawn up a squadron of Tuaregs ready to defend it, with foot soldiers in the front of the square and the cavalry in the centre. All remained motionless, watching the approach of our boats. We landed on the island, and the negroes, who at first seemed timid, came slowly towards us. Then a canoe, in which were several Tuaregs, crossed the stream, whilst our guides with vehement gestures explained who we were, and what we wanted.

As soon as this was understood the battalion posted on the mound broke up in the twinkling of an eye, and canoes began to ply rapidly to and fro between the left bank of the river and the island, bringing over the Tuaregs, so that we were soon surrounded by a crowd of some three or four hundred men, some Ifoghas, others sheriffs. They had at first been afraid, they said, when they saw our boats, but now they were our best friends. We brought out our little presents, such as rings, bracelets, pipes, and knives, which evoked a perfect delirium of joy. In exchange we received eggs, butter, poultry, and some pretty little leather bags our visitors called abelbodh. We resumed our voyage by the left arm of the stream, which was narrow, and much encumbered with rocks. On the banks were numerous flocks of sheep grazing on the grass and the succulent weeds.

CANOES AT BURÉ.

The whole population followed us as before at Gao, shouting, but now the cries were friendly and pacific. Every time we halted to distribute presents the enthusiasm increased, men, women, and children—the last-named merry little creatures, with wide-awake expressions—flung themselves into the water to fight for a ring or a bit of glass.

FLOCKS AND HERDS AT BURÉ.

Every now and then an important chief would receive what we called a complet, the object of desire of every Tuareg—that is to say, a piece of Guinea or blue cotton cloth nine yards long—five to make the bubu or mantle, and four for the breeches. There is no doubt that our visit will long be remembered, and I hope that the first traveller to succeed us may have as much cause to thank Abd El Kader, as I called myself, as I had to bless the name of Abdul Kerim.

The island of Buré does not belong to the Tuaregs. Strange to say—for the fact is really unique on the Niger between Timbuktu and Sansan Hussa—a Songhay chief, Idris by name, is the real owner. He pays no tribute to Madidu, and though the flocks and herds of the sheriffs and Ifoghas are now grazing on his land, it is only by his permission, and because their owners are in dread of a raid of Kel Avis.

We halted at the village of Idris, and he came to see us. We made a league of friendship with him, leaving in his hands a document which was a kind of protectorate treaty, and a flag. He on his side lent us three of his subjects, one of them his own brother, to replace our Ansongo guides, who now returned to their village, having been well paid for their services.

GUIDES GIVEN TO US BY IDRIS.

These Songhay of Idris were splendid fellows, wearing veils, and carrying weapons similar to those of the Tuaregs; but their complexions were perfectly black, so that no one could mistake them for Arabs. They are, as a rule, very tall and of herculean strength.

It really was a pleasure to have to do once more with men of such a noble type as this, after being thrown for so long amongst the degraded negroes of the Niger districts; and it is easy to understand what this Songhay race must have been in the old days, when it dominated the Western Sudan under the Askia chiefs, and Gao was their capital.

In spite of all our efforts and all the skill of our guides we were not able to avoid running aground several times on the 11th, and our crafts again sustained a good deal of damage. We had hardly started before the Aube struck on a large flint shaped like the head of a man. There she stuck for three hours, with a current rushing by like that of the river of hell, and a reef on either side, on one of which it seemed as if she must be wrecked if we succeeded in getting her off.

Everybody rushed to the rescue. Our own men and our guides alike all flung themselves into the water, showing equal energy and devotion.

Every moment we expected to see the unlucky vessel part in two, the bow going one way and the stern another. At last, however, we did manage to fling a grappling-hook on to the left bank, and after many fruitless efforts, some of the men tugging at the part of the boat which had struck, whilst others hauled away from the stern at the grappling-hook, we succeeded in moving the vessel, which, taken in the rear by the current, was floated off. She joined the Davoust soon afterwards, but not without touching bottom again by the way.

We started once more about two o’clock, great blocks of flint everywhere impeding progress. But our guides assured us that this was nothing. “Wait,” they said, “till you get to Labezenga, then you will see!” A charming prospect truly!

In the evening we reached Bentia, the Biting of Barth, where we halted for the night.

We pushed on early the next day to Fafa, arriving there about seven o’clock in the morning. Here the stream is divided into two arms by an island on which a village is hidden, with an approach presenting anything but a reassuring appearance. But we had other things to see to before exploring it.

Directly we anchored a Tuareg came to accost us. He turned out to be an envoy from Djamarata, the nephew of Madidu, who he said was at the village, specially accredited by that chief to complete the negotiations begun with us at Gao, and to give me the letter I had asked for.

The village of Fafa is occupied by Peuls or Fulahs, who, like all the rest of the sedentary races whom we met with who are face to face with the Tuaregs, were in a state of abject fear, wondering what would happen between the white visitors and the dreaded Arabs, both of superior race in the eyes of the negroes. Would they quarrel with each other? Would they come to blows? Not wishing to play the part of the iron between hammer and anvil, they were full of anxiety and trouble.

The old fellow who had come out as envoy climbed on to the Davoust. He did not wish me to land, Djamarata must come on board. As for him, he meant to stop where he was. Fortunately my Songhay from Idris were not quite such cowards, and they tried to reassure the poor old man, but when he still seemed terrified they gave him a good scolding. Djamarata was seated, meanwhile, some hundred yards from the river bank, surrounded by about a dozen Tuaregs. The brother of Idris finally took me by the arm, and we went together towards him. We saluted each other, we shook hands, neither of us looking in the least inclined to eat the other. But this peaceable greeting did not reassure the silly old messenger, who, with a feeling which really did him honour, came and crouched almost between my legs to protect me.

Djamarata was a young man of about thirty years old, at least that was what I supposed from all I could see of his face, which was almost hidden by the tagelmust wrapped about the lower part. He was tall and of a commanding presence, whilst his great black eyes were lit up with intelligence. All Madidu’s boys being still under age, he was his uncle’s right hand, alike the confidant and the commander-in-chief of the Amenokal’s army.

PALAVER WITH DJAMARATA.

Our interview was very brief. I simply repeated what I had said at Gao, and Djamarata informed me that my statement tallied with what he had heard from the chief of the Awellimiden.

Now about the letter I had asked for. As he had not a marabout in his suite who knew how to write Arabic, he proved his confidence in Tierno by letting him indite it without hesitation, and the latter set about it at once. Here is a literal translation of his production:

Letter from Madidu and his nephew Djamarata to the Sultan of the French.

“The object of this letter is to inform you that we have come to an understanding with Commandant Hourst, known under the name of Abd el Kader, on the following points:—between us and him there shall be only good and peace; your traders shall come to us by land and by water, assured that no one in our country will molest them in any way. You will bring no trouble into our possessions, nor interfere with our civil and religious traditions. Be it also known unto you, that so soon as your envoys are returned, and you will have proved our truth, you will see us come and go alone and in parties by land and by water. This is the exact truth without reserve and without exaggeration. After you have given us the promises mentioned we shall be brothers; greeting!”

Djamarata asked me in my turn to leave behind me a written statement of the verbal arrangement we had made. This seemed only fair, and here is my reply:

Letter from Commandant Hourst, surnamed Abd el Kader, to Madidu, Amenokal of the Awellimiden, and to Djamarata his nephew.

“This is to certify, that having been sent by the Sultan of the French to you to establish eternal peace between us, and to inaugurate commercial and friendly relations, and having received from him full powers to speak in his name, I can assure you that our only desire is to act in the manner explained in your letter. We will not establish posts in your country, nor touch that which belongs to you, nor change your civil and religious traditions in any way.

“You can come to us in peace in numbers or alone, to trade or merely to visit us. Once in our territories, which are on the west of the dune of Ernessé, you will find nothing but good and peace.

“As for what you say on the subject of our religion, we are governed by the law of Sidna Issa (Jesus Christ); we know that there is but one God; we pray, we fast, we give alms. As a result we could not prevent these things amongst others without becoming unworthy of the protection of God.

“Know therefore that all this is the absolute and exact truth, that we are of noble race, that a lie is as much unknown amongst us as it is with you, who too are of noble race.

“Come to us, then, without fear either at Timbuktu or wherever we may be. The truth will then be proved.”

We spent the rest of the day chatting with the Tuaregs and distributing presents. Meanwhile Baudry went with Digui to reconnoitre the river below Fafa.

For the second time a treaty, or rather a written agreement, had been made between a Tuareg confederation and the French. The first was that which followed or resulted from the grand journey of Duveyrier in Southern Algeria and amongst the Azgueur Tuaregs, after which a mission, including the Prince de Polignac, made a convention with them at Rhâdames.

For the second time those who made these arrangements, and who dealt directly face to face and voice to voice with the Tuareg chiefs, assert that they found them loyal and to some extent even conciliatory.

In speaking of the Tuaregs in general, I shall express myself very plainly on the subject of these treaties. I now beg leave to break off the narrative of our voyage for a moment to try and make better known this interesting race, which has perhaps been unjustly calumniated.

TUAREGS.

AN AMRI SHEPHERD.

CHAPTER V
THE TUAREGS

After I got back to France I often came in contact with people who, as the expression goes, were interested in geographical and colonial questions, and sometimes I was subjected to a most extraordinary cross-examination. The following is a true account of a conversation I once had:—

“So you have really been amongst the Tuaregs? They are savages, are they not? Are they cannibals?”

I protested that even during the worst famines they had never tasted a scrap of the flesh of a fellow creature.

“But at least they are cruel? They thieve and plunder, do they not? They have neither religion nor laws?”

I really do not feel sure of having convinced a single person that even if the Tuaregs have their faults, that they are not wanting in good qualities, and that their social condition, different though it may be from ours, is nevertheless an established one, that it would be alike humane and politic to turn to account the undoubtedly good qualities of the race, and to endeavour to develop those qualities. It would surely be better to extenuate their faults, and if possible correct them, than to propose—which, by the way, is of course impossible—the extermination en masse of a great branch of the human race, occupying a district peculiarly suitable to it, and where, as a matter of fact, the Tuaregs alone can live.

So-called truisms and ready-made opinions are of course very convenient. By adopting them one is saved the trouble of thinking about, still more of going to see, a place for oneself. It is far less fatiguing, and within the power of everybody. It would certainly be perfectly safe to wager ten to one that the habit of taking things for granted is not likely to go out in France in a hurry, or indeed for that matter anywhere else.

Maybe I shall only in my turn be lifting up my voice in the desert. But I should like first to try and make those who are willing to eschew foregone conclusions better acquainted with the truth.

I will avoid exaggeration, and also too much generalization from isolated experiences. On the one hand, as I have already said, the Tuaregs have very serious faults—serious for us, because they are such as to make it difficult for them to accommodate themselves to European civilization, and as a result we in our turn find influencing them a very hard task.

Moreover, when I have proved that the Tuaregs have noble qualities, when I have shown them actuated by elevated motives, those who read what I say must beware of thinking that all members of the race are cut on the same pattern.

My idea is, that to begin with we have only to inquire whether in their natural condition the Tuaregs are or are not inferior in morality to the other native races, such as the Ammanites of Cochin-China and the Kabyles of Algeria, with whom by hook or by crook the French have managed to find a modus vivendi?

To a question of that kind I can reply at once, “No, no, the Tuaregs are certainly not more barbarous than other native races!” and as proof I can quote our own journey. My readers will have seen how the Tuaregs behaved to us. I have described how they were won over from hostility to friendship; and the chapter succeeding this I shall tell how they protected—even saved us. And what happened to us might, it seems to me, very well happen to others.

Am I alone in my opinion? Did not Barth owe his very existence to the active protection of the Tademeket at Timbuktu and the Awellimiden at Tosaye?

Then, again, Duveyrier travelled for more than a year in the Tuareg districts, guided and protected by Ikhenuakhen, chief of the Azgueurs. Not only had he nothing to fear from them, but he was actually saved from insult even from the Senussis and the tribes which had risen against the French under the leadership of Mohammed ben Abdallah.

Our case was therefore no isolated one, and our experience would no doubt be repeated if it were decided to enter into more intimate relations with the Tuaregs. We should avoid the unreasonable fear of finding ourselves amongst traitors and assassins, but at the same time take such precautions as are needed in the Sudan, where there is at yet no police force.

There are indeed few if any races who can pride themselves on a more ancient lineage than the Tuaregs.

Speaking in their own dialect they say, “We are Imochar, Imuhar, Imazighen,” all which words come from the same Tamschenk root—ahar meaning free, independent, he who can take, who can pillage. (We shall see later what the Tuaregs mean by pillage.) In the Tamschenk dialect the word ahar also signifies lion.

If we go back to the days of antiquity, and read our Herodotus, we shall find that he speaks of the Mazique tribe as dwelling in Libya. There are Numidians of Jugurtha and of Maussinissa, and the last word is translated almost literally into the dialect now employed, mess n’esen meaning their master, or the master of the people, whilst the word Mazique is evidently the Greek form, from which is derived the present name of Imazighen.

If this etymological proof is not sufficient, there exists another, this one absolutely irrefragable, viz. the Tuareg writing.

Here, there, and everywhere in their country, now cut with a knife on the trunks of trees, now engraved on the rocks, we meet with inscriptions in peculiar characters known as the tifinar; and at this very day every Tuareg who has to wait, or who suffers from ennui for any reason, always wiles away the time, whether on the banks of the Niger, on the tablelands of Air, or on the summits of the volcanic Atakor n’Ahaggar, by writing according to the best of his skill his name and that of his sweetheart on a rock or on the trunk of some tree, now and then adding a sentence or two, or in rarer cases a complete poem.

Now the letters employed in these tifinar, ancient or modern, are the same, or very nearly the same, and are therefore identical with those used in the celebrated Tugga inscription, dating from the time when Carthage was still a thriving city.

Imochar, of which the singular form is Amacher, is the name by which the Tuaregs of the Niger districts generally speak of themselves. They are, say the Arabs, Tuaregs (singular Targui); Surgu, say the Songhay; Burdane, say the Fulahs.

Now not one of these various appellations comes from a root signifying anything evil, and a Tuareg would be sure to use one or the other according to the dialect he speaks in referring to his people. Some have pretended that Tuareg means abandoned by God, for Arabs are very fond of explaining everything by puns and plays upon words. Yet another Arab root from which the word might possibly be derived is one signifying nomads or wanderers.

TUAREGS.

Without attempting to throw fresh light, or perhaps to add further obscurity to the question, I may remark here, that a certain Berber tribe (we shall see that the Tuaregs are Berbers) calls itself Tarka, whilst a small section of the Awellimiden is known as Tarkai-Tamut, whilst the great Berber conqueror of Spain was named Tarik.

It seems most reasonable to suppose that the Arabs gave to the whole race the name of one of its tribes, probably that with which they were brought into close contact. Does not the very name of Berber, characterizing the whole great race, including not only the Tuaregs, but the Kabyles, the Chambas, and others, itself come from that of but one fraction—the Berbers or Barbers of Morocco?

During the Roman decadence the Berbers, including the Tuaregs, joined the flocks of Saint Augustine and his successors as converts, very half-hearted ones probably, and then after a time of considerable obscurity in their history came the Mohammedan conquest. Rebellious at first, the Berbers ended by accepting the religion of Islam, without feeling any more enthusiasm for the new faith than they had done for the old. As for the Tuaregs, it is said it was not necessary to convert them more than fourteen times!

Now it was these tribes who so loathed a foreign yoke, and fled further and further into the desert before the invaders of their country, who were the forefathers of the present Imochars.

With regard to the Awellimiden, their very name indicates their origin; they are the descendants (uld lemta) of the Lemta or Lemtuma, a Sahara tribe which conquered and finally absorbed all its neighbours of the same stock.

All this may perhaps be called actual history. Now for some of the legends of which the Awellimiden Tuaregs are so fond. Great lovers of the marvellous, they account for their origin thus. I will translate as literally as possible what one of them actually told me:

“I say the ancestors of the Imochars were no other than genii.

“The women of a village called Alkori went one night to dance in the bush, and there they fell asleep.

“Presently they were surprised by some genii, who, surrounding them before they were fully awake, embraced them.

“In the morning the women returned to the village.

“When a few moons had risen and died (that is to say, when a few months had passed), the men of the village saw that the women were about to become mothers.

“The chief of the village therefore cried, ‘Seize them and put them to death!’

“But the cadi replied, ‘No, let us wait until the children are born.’

“So they waited until nine moons had risen and died, when each woman gave birth to a boy.

“Some men said, ‘Now let us kill the mothers and the children.’

“The cadi replied, ‘No, let us wait till they are older, none but God can create a soul.’

“So they waited.

“The boys grew, and as time went on fought with the other children of the village; and they made for themselves weapons of iron, swords and daggers, such as had hitherto been unknown in the country.

“The chiefs then said, ‘If we do not put them to death these boys will become our masters. Let us kill them at once, before they come to their full strength.’

“To which every one replied, ‘Yes, yes! you are right!’

“They then sent a messenger to call the uncles of the young fellows, and said to them, ‘What we wish is that you should kill your nephews, and if you do not we will kill you.’

“To this the uncles answered, ‘We have no wish but to comply with your demand, but we do not know how to put to death our nearest relations. You take our weapons and do with them what you will.’

“‘Very well,’ said the chief. ‘You had better leave the village now and return here to-morrow evening.’

“So they left; but one of them managed to warn his sister of what was in the wind, so that the sons of the genii knew what to expect.

“They therefore ran away, walking all night until the dawn, when they climbed a mountain.

“In the morning the chief of the village beat the war-drum, and the horses were saddled.

“The people followed the boys till they came to the mountain they had climbed, when they lost all traces of them.

“Meanwhile one of the children had said, ‘Shall we have to fight here?’

“‘Of course we shall,’ replied another; and they were just about to defy the enemy with shouts, inviting them to the combat, when a second boy said, ‘It would be better to go first to the village and fight those that are left behind there.’

“They therefore descended the mountain by the other slope, and returned to the village. When those who had remained there saw them coming they were afraid, and cried, ‘Alas! here are the boys coming back again. They have evidently defeated the party we sent out against them.’

“One man went out to parley with the children. They took him prisoner, obtained from him all the information they wanted, and then they drew their swords and killed him.

“They next advanced upon the village, entered it, and even went up to the hut of the chief, who was a very old man. He got up and came to meet them. They shouted, ‘Thou didst mean to kill us and our mothers with us, but now it is thou who art to die; thy children and thy children’s children, and all thy nephews are dead. It is all over.’

“They flung their spears at him, and one of them pierced his heart, coming out at the other side. Then the boys shouted, ‘Death to thee, and to thy mother, thou son of a harlot!’ Next they burnt the village, and killed all the women and children. Only one man escaped. He ran out to the army and told the troops all that had happened, asking them, ‘Did you not meet the children?’ ‘No!’ ‘Did you not find any trace of them?’ ‘We did; but we lost their track!’

“‘Well,’ he went on; ‘go to the village, there is not a man left alive, not even a woman, not even a child. All, all are slain!’

“They put spurs to their horses and galloped back; they reached the village. The children of the genii came out and began the battle. They fought from ten o’clock in the morning till sunset. The boys were victorious, slew all their enemies, and took possession of the war-drum.

“Of the sons of the genii sixty were dead, but sixty survived, and became the fathers of the Tuaregs.”

In the fifteenth century they founded a great city, about 281 miles to the north of Gao, which they called Es Suk, or Tadamekka (now Tademeket), where they probably led a half-nomad, half-sedentary life, as do certain tribes or fractions of tribes at the present day at Rhat, Tintellust, and Sinder, or Gober. At the same period the Askia Empire of the Songhay negroes was at the zenith of its prosperity, with Gao, or Garo, as its capital.

An Askia went to attack Es-Suk, and destroyed it. Rather than submit to the yoke of the conqueror, the Tuaregs abandoned their capital, and fled to the Ahaggar heights or the plateaux of Air. According to a legend only one Es Suk escaped, a man named Mohamed ben Eddain, who founded a new tribe, that of the present Kel es Suk, by giving his daughters in marriage to Arabs, sheriffs of the tribe of El Abaker, descendants of the Ansars, or first companions of the Prophet.

This was how it came about that the Kel es Suk supplied the so-called Tuareg marabouts, and explains the fact that these marabouts have abandoned many of the characteristic customs of the true Tuaregs in favour of the strict observance of the Mussulman law.

A GROUP OF TUAREGS.

Then came the invasion from Morocco, when the Armas, or Romas, as the soldiers of the Sultan of Fez were called, thanks to their firearms, destroyed the armies and broke the power of the Songhay; but these Armas were not numerous enough to hold what they had taken, and in the course of a few generations they became merged in the negro race, and completely lost all their warlike qualities.

Protected against invasion by the arid and poverty-stricken nature of the districts they inhabit, the Tuaregs, on the other hand, inured to hardship, gradually became stronger, nobler, and more able to hold their own, developing all the virtues of the true warrior. They now in their turn conquered their old enemies the Songhay, who, though aided by the Armas, descended from the old invaders from Morocco, were powerless to resist them. The negroes were defeated and reduced to slavery. Since then the Tuaregs have been the dominant race on the banks of the Niger, from Timbuktu almost as far south as Say.

The history of the Tuaregs has been that of one long series of struggles between the various tribes, in which the Awellimiden finally gained the ascendency they still maintain. I have already related how they resisted the Fulah invasion, and later that of the Toucouleurs.

The taking of Timbuktu by the French resulted in the crushing of the semi-independent fraction of the Tuareg race known as the Tenguereguif, or the Kel Temulai, and what I have said about the Igwadaren, will be remembered. As for the Awellimiden, their power remained undisturbed, and I do not think I am far wrong in saying, that should they be threatened they could put 20,000 men, one-quarter of them mounted, in the field at once.

When we remember the courage of the Tuaregs, and take into account the immense difficulty French troops would have to contend with in crossing the districts belonging to the enemy, it is impossible to help realizing that these warriors are far from being a negligible quantity, and that the conquest of their land would cost the invader dear.

And would it be to the interest of France to possess the districts now inhabited by the Tuaregs? To this query I reply emphatically and without hesitation, No!

There are in the Sudan two totally different kinds of territory, which I shall characterize as those fitted for the occupation of sedentary settlers, and those suitable only to nomadic tribes.