Through Timbuctu and across the great Sahara : $b an account of an adventurous journey of exploration from Sierra Leone to the source of the Niger, following its course to the bend at Gao and thence across the great Sahara to Algiers

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Title: Through Timbuctu and across the great Sahara : an account of an adventurous journey of exploration from Sierra Leone to the source of the Niger, following its course to the bend at Gao and thence across the great Sahara to Algiers
Author: Haywood, Austin Hubert Wightwick
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Through Timbuctu and across the great Sahara : an account of an adventurous journey of exploration from Sierra Leone to the source of the Niger, following its course to the bend at Gao and thence across the great Sahara to Algiers" ***
THE GREAT SAHARA ***

[Illustration: HOGGAR TUAREGS NEAR AHNET WELLS

These curious veiled people of the Sahara are said to have been
driven out of North Africa many centuries ago. They were forced south
into the desert, where they have ever since remained, seemingly
preferring this lonely existence to contact with a more civilized
world. The “litham,” or veil, covering the face is primarily
designed to keep out the choking desert sand.]

THROUGH TIMBUCTU
AND
ACROSS THE GREAT SAHARA

AN ACCOUNT OF AN ADVENTUROUS JOURNEY OF
EXPLORATION FROM SIERRA LEONE TO THE
SOURCE OF THE NIGER, FOLLOWING ITS
COURSE TO THE BEND AT GAO AND
THENCE ACROSS THE GREAT SAHARA
TO ALGIERS

BY
CAPTAIN A. H. W. HAYWOOD, F.R.G.S.
Royal Artillery

WITH 45 ILLUSTRATIONS & A MAP

LONDON
SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LIMITED
38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET
1912

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I PAGE

Reasons for the journey — Selecting a servant — Preparations
— The Sierra Leone Railway 17

CHAPTER II

Bush scenery — A night at Bo — The Frontier Force at Daru —
Mendi and Kissy carriers — Cotton-growing — Secret societies
— Poro and Bundu societies — Marriage customs — The Liberian
frontier 23

CHAPTER III

Shooting in the grass-country — An unfortunate mishap —
Doubtful pleasures of a journey — Sources of the Niger — A
curious frontier rock — Bush fires — Bird life 34

CHAPTER IV

The Harmatan — Native burial rites — Koranko superstitions
— The Anglo-French frontier — Solitude of a Customs post —
A change of scenery — Smuggling — A change of carriers —
Intoxicating liquor — The Upper Niger — A splendid spectacle
— A good highway — Native music 42

CHAPTER V

Faranah — The Malinkés — Castes — Big game on the Mafou
River — Native methods of hunting — Trapping — Ground nuts
— The native trader — Kouroussa — Native types — French
gardens — Native dances — Beehives — Fruit 55

CHAPTER VI

Samory and the Sofas — The Sofa wars — Desertion of my “boy”
— Kouroussa and Kankan — Native horses — An inhospitable
reception — Kankan — Trade at Kankan — The rubber vine —
Native telegraphy — Personal adornment 67

CHAPTER VII

Hippopotami — Game in the Wasulu country — Lazy carriers — In
pursuit of elephants — Fetish haartebeest — “Red” elephants
— A fetish altar — Braimah’s juju — Charms and tests 78

CHAPTER VIII

Mamadu’s new hat — Tribal marks — Unreliable guides — A
lonely prospector — Bolting carriers — A local chief — More
trouble with carriers — Hunting eland — Sand-flies and mosquitoes
— The headman’s duty — Undesirable presents — Jomongonas
— A magnificent view — Jilingé — Gold — Superstition of
the River Fie — A Niger ferry — An unappreciated delicacy —
Fishing on the Niger 89

CHAPTER IX

Kob — A West African road — Characteristics of the Moors — The
influence of Islam — The French Soudan — Kangaba — Hospitality
— A picturesque market — Vexatious delays — African punctuality
— A new acquaintance — Uncomfortable marching — Shea-butter
— Its uses — A native toothbrush — Arrival at Bamako 106

CHAPTER X

Bamako — The Bambaras — An animated scene — The Kati Plateau
— Dinner with the Governor — Government House — Game in the
“Bend” of the Niger — The Senegal-Niger Railway — Bamako
market — The hotel 120

CHAPTER XI

Koulikoro — Niger Navigation Service — Rapids on the Niger —
The Hourst Expedition — An explorer’s death — Horse-breeding
133

CHAPTER XII

On a river launch — Salutations — Crocodiles — An evening
halt — Camping on the bank — Tobacco-growing — Cotton-growing
— Garrison mess life — Irksome travelling — An enlightened
ruler — An excellent shooting-ground — A holy city — Kadis
— Architecture — Sails of grass — Picturesque pilots — A
strike in the engine-room — Flat country 143

CHAPTER XIII

A land of inundations — River transport in the Macina Province
— The “King of Mopti” — Mopti — Prospects of the rice
trade — Shooting wart-hog — Native huts — The protection of
egrets — A lion as a pet — A dangerous joke — Scarcity of
wood — The white ant — The driver ant 157

CHAPTER XIV

Fulani cattle — Lake Dhebo — Duck shooting — Teal — A tough
bird — The Niger River winds — Towing a barge — Niafounké
— The edge of the Sahara — Stalking birds — Sheep-farming —
Developing the wool trade — Raided by a leopard — Ostrich-farming
171

CHAPTER XV

Game on the Issa-Ber — Hiring a canoe — A leaky craft — Borgou
grass — Fish tanks — Sebi — Tracks of lions — Good wildfowl
shooting — Tortures of a native saddle — Mamadu’s horsemanship
— A flat country — Fulani villages — Saraféré — Desert
winds — Niger canoes — Hardy hunters — Ancient fire-arms —
Lion shooting — The Fulanis 184

CHAPTER XVI

Land near the Bara-Issa — Tuaregs — A salt caravan — Stalking
hartebeest — Lake Niangaye — The village of Kanioumé — My
runaway horse — Tracking elephants — Elephants bathing — A
stampede of elephants — A wounded elephant — Cave dwellers —
Sandstorms and rifles 201

CHAPTER XVII

Bullocks — Pelicans on Lake Niangaye — Stalking ostriches —
Friendly Tuaregs — Lakes and swamps — By canoe to Timbuctu — An
intricate route — Horses of the Sonrhais — Kabara — Timbuctu
— A quaint desert city — A change of route — A steel canoe
— Yakubu — Explorers — Réné Caillé — Barth — Scenes
in Timbuctu — The Sonrhay empire — Mosques — Salt trade —
Saharan sirocco — Desert caravans 217

CHAPTER XVIII

Preparing to cross the desert — Articles for barter - My barge -
My new “boy” — My crew — Stranded — A miserable people —
“Cram-cram” — Borgou — Bamba — Under sail — A variety
of game — The defile of Tosaye — The “Oued Telemsi” — A
curious coloured clay — Gao — A lazy class — Mosques at Gao
— A perilous journey — Giraffe 233

CHAPTER XIX

Loading a camel — Water vessels — My camels — My caravan —
Nomads of the Sahara — Vegetation of the desert — Country of
the Kountahs — Line of wells — Rainfall — My tent — Gazelle
— Fowls of the desert — A trying march — Ill-used animals
— How to mount a camel — Moroseness of the camel — Vagaries
of the camel — An unpleasant feature — Uncomfortable riding
248

CHAPTER XX

An unreliable guide — Relief — Typical scenery — Game in
the “oueds” — A dreary scene — The effect of the sun — A
breakdown — Kidal — Reorganization — A veiled people — The
Iforas — Tuaregs and Iforas — Iforas as camel-masters — Adrar
— I abandon my bath — The value of dates — French couriers
— A solitary post — Relics of the Stone Age — Relics of
former nations 263

CHAPTER XXI

The camel’s reserve store — Variations of temperature — The
Sahara by moonlight — Halley’s Comet — Wells of Abeibera —
Tea in the desert — Difficult bargaining — Enduring donkeys —
Saharan game — A dry well — Missing camels — In Ouzel — An
indifferent boundary — Unpleasant recollections — A change in
the desert — Saharan shrubs — Welfare of the camel 279

CHAPTER XXII

The dreaded Tanezrouft — Camel saddles — The wells of Timissao
— A valuable plant — A night march — An improvised shelter
— Sandstorms — Enemies to sleep — Gloomy scenery — The
water supply — An exhausting struggle — The wells of Ahnet —
Instinct of the guides — Protecting the water-skins 294

CHAPTER XXIII

The Ahnet or Western Hoggar — A bad reputation — Tuareg
highwaymen — A salt well — A barren region — We reach Insalah
— A dramatic entrance — Colonel Laperine — Insalah — Its
importance — Resources — Artesian wells — Varieties of dates
— Pasturage — The streets 310

CHAPTER XXIV

Disturbing news — _En route_ for Algiers — A remarkable man —
Horses at Insalah — Hospitality of French officers — Slavery
amongst the Arabs — An unusual sight — A pathetic story — My
own valet and cook — A precipitous track — The “Great Erg”
— Hassy Inifel — An incompetent guide — Lost — A useful
camel-driver — A hospitable Arab chief — An unappetizing menu —
The dates of Ouargla — Touggourt — A ramshackle coach — Biskra
322

CHAPTER XXV

By rail to Algiers — A difficult project — The resources of
the Sahara 338

APPENDIX 341

INDEX 343

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Hoggar Tuaregs _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
Barracks of the W.A.F.F. at Daru 24
River Moa, Sierra Leone 24
Baro Village 60
Native types at Kankan 74
M. Louis Novella at Sarafinian 100
A Senafou Native 100
Natives pounding rice at Tombola 108
The spread of Islam in the Western Soudan 112
The Railway Station and Hotel at Bamako 122
The Niger at Bamako 122
The Niger at Koulikoro 134
The Niger at Ségou 134
The Launch “Réné Caillé” 152
Steel Canoes on the Upper Niger 152
Mopti 160
A Captive Lioness at Mopti 166
Bambara Hunters 194
Canoes on the Bara-Issa 196
Women pounding rice 202
Fulanis at Bambara-Maaundé 206
Timbuctu 220
A scene outside the walls of Timbuctu 224
The departure from Gao 250
A Tuareg Herd, In Ouzel 254
The Wells of Tabankhor 258
A snapshot of the “King of Beasts” 258
My Kitchen in the Desert 264
The Sergeant of Tirailleurs 268
Méhariste Camels out at pasture 272
The Wells of Kidal 276
Sheep at the Wells of Bourassa 286
Tuareg hovels at In Ouzel 286
My Riding-Camel in the Sahara 290
My servant Musa in the Sahara 302
My Arab Guide Mahomed 306
Arab and Tuareg 312
Insalah Oasis 316
The Artesian Well of El Barka 318
The Market-place, Touggourt 318
The Spring of El Guettera 324
The Oasis of Ouargla 328
The Residency at Touggourt 332
Chamba Arabs at Touggourt 332
The Mosques at Ouargla 334
[Map]

THROUGH TIMBUCTU
AND
ACROSS THE GREAT SAHARA

CHAPTER I

Reasons for the journey — Selecting a servant — Preparations
— The Sierra Leone Railway.

AFRICA, like India, seems often to cast a spell over those who
visit it, and certainly at the end of 1909 I found myself under
this curious fascination. I had spent some years soldiering in West
Africa, and had often wished to explore the ramifications of the
Upper and Middle Niger, but the difficulty of obtaining sufficient
leave had been an insurmountable obstacle. My chance came at last,
however, when I found myself quartered at Freetown, the capital of
our British colony of Sierra Leone, and due for six months’ leave.

I determined to spend my furlough in a journey down the river from
its source, making shooting excursions at suitable points in its
basin, and directing my steps towards Timbuctu. From Timbuctu I
proposed to cross the Sahara Desert, striking almost due north for
Algiers. The strange tales I had often heard of this desert and the
curious wandering tribes who inhabit it, interested me and made me
wish to ascertain for myself the truth of them.

The first thing to be done was to get leave. In due course this
was obtained, and at the same time I was informed that the French
officials along my route had been told to offer me every facility
for my journey.

In the meantime I had not been idle, as I was well aware of the
time required before official sanction would be received. I had
calculated the kind and amount of stores necessary, and these with
my ammunition were on their way out from England.

In the Niger valley almost every kind of West African game is
to be found, including elephant, lion and giraffe. My armament
consisted of a ·303 magazine sporting Lee-Speed rifle, a ·450
Cordite Express and a 12-bore shot-gun. I took good care to be amply
provided with ammunition, not only for sporting purposes, but also
for self-defence, as my journey was not wholly without danger.
I calculated on getting a good supply of fresh meat by my gun,
and so my stores consisted chiefly of such articles as flour, tea,
jam and some soups. I reckoned that the journey would take about
five months, and had sufficient supplies to last me that time.

One of the chief difficulties was to find a servant who could
speak the requisite languages and who was willing to accompany
me to Algiers. In West Africa the language problem is always a
difficult one. Tribes are so numerous, and all speak different
languages. In many cases these languages bear not the slightest
resemblance to one another, and are exceedingly hard to acquire. By
a stroke of good fortune I succeeded in procuring a Susu native,
who had a fair idea of cooking for white men, and according to
himself, “saveed plenty all the talk master want.” This,
being interpreted into plain English, meant that he could speak
fluently the languages I required. Having had some experience of
the West African negro and his capacity for lying without turning
a hair, I took the precaution to put him to the test. He was made
to discourse at some length with a Malinké and a Bambara, these
being the two languages most necessary, and as he acquitted himself
fairly satisfactorily, I engaged him forthwith. After crossing the
French frontier these two languages were those most widely spoken
until I should enter the Sahara. Here only Tuaregs and Arabs would
be met with. I had a sufficient colloquial knowledge of Arabic for
practical purposes. Further, I knew that at the big French centres
I could always procure an interpreter if necessary; at the same time
I wished if possible to avoid having any dealings with these gentry,
as they have gained a not undeserved reputation for being first-class
rogues, who, in the name of their masters, extort presents from
the ignorant natives of the villages through which one passes.

In West Africa baggage is made up in loads not exceeding
sixty pounds, and is carried by native porters on their heads.
Consequently all my possessions had to be arranged in a manner
suitable for this kind of transport. Most West African “bush
paths” are not more than three or four feet wide at most, hence
carriers have to walk in Indian file; indeed, so accustomed are they
to this mode of progression that even where Government has built
wider roads, they can never be induced to walk otherwise than one
behind the other. As paths are usually so narrow, being enclosed on
each side by dense bush, loads, besides not being too heavy, must not
be too bulky. I had altogether fourteen carrier’s loads. My plan
was to follow the Sierra Leone Railway to its terminus at Pendembu,
where I arranged to pick up my carriers.

One of my chief difficulties was to arrange for money on the
journey. To carry a large sum, such as would be required for the
whole expedition, on my person or in my baggage, would be highly
imprudent, and only act as a tempting bait to the numerous thieves
and highwaymen who are always met with in these countries. There
was the further complication of requiring English and French money.
After some trouble I settled with a French firm at Freetown for
drafts payable at two different places on my route, and a further
draft to be paid at Marseilles. I was the more easily able to arrange
this as, after leaving Sierra Leone, the whole of my journey would
be through French possessions.

As it would be impossible for mails to reach me, I resigned myself,
not altogether regretfully, to being without letters for the next
five or six months. At last my preparations were complete, and on
the 6th of January I left Tower Hill Barracks to catch the seven
o’clock morning train from Freetown for Bo, where a halt is made
the first night. It was with feelings of joy at getting away from
civilization, and the delightful pleasure of knowing I should spend
the next few months in close contact with all the beauties of nature,
that I set forth that glorious tropical morning. It is somehow easier
to cast aside the gnawing cares of the world when one is alone with
nature. In tropical Africa nature is so beautiful that the most
unimaginative being can hardly fail to be stirred by her fascinating
charms and forget for the time the existence of sordid civilization.

The scene that met my eye at the station was a busy and amusing
one. Most of the people present were the so-called Creoles. These
people are the inhabitants of Freetown who have become civilized
more or less, and are fond of aping the European dress and customs.
The young men wear stiff collars and starched shirts with the
gaudiest ties and handkerchiefs imaginable, while the ladies vie
with one another in the brightness of the hues of their frocks. On
their heads they wear the most brilliant coloured handkerchiefs,
and this is the prettiest part of their dress. The crowd around the
little train is so great that it is only with considerable difficulty
that one is able to approach one’s carriage. Everyone is talking
at the same time, so the noise is deafening. It must be understood
that not one-tenth part of this crowd is going in the train, most
of them are only idle spectators. The departure of the train is
always a great excitement for the Sierra Leone native and invariably
attracts a large and fashionable mob. At last all preparations are
complete, the guard blows his whistle, those who are passengers are
unceremoniously bundled into the train, whilst the spectators are as
unceremoniously bundled out of the way, and amidst final good-byes
from the assembly on the platform we steam out of the station.

The babel of voices having ceased, comparative quiet now reigns, and
at last I have a chance of collecting my thoughts and observing my
fellow-travellers. We are three in my compartment, all going together
as far as Bo. Each of us is provided with an ample “chop-box,”
or luncheon-basket. In West Africa it is a well-established
maxim never to get separated from two articles: namely, one’s
bedding with mosquito curtain, and one’s “chop-box.” These
two things are most necessary to one’s comfort, if not to one’s
existence. Without the bed and mosquito curtain you will be devoured
by mosquitoes, with the almost certain result of a bad dose of
fever. Without the box of provisions one runs the risk of starvation.

One of my companions is a trader, who is going up-country to
investigate the advisability of starting a new store in a district
recently opened up by the railway. The Sierra Leone line has done
much to increase the trade of the colony and hinterland during the
past few years. Trade in palm kernels and ground nuts is brisk,
and the railway has quite as much as it can do to cope with the
goods traffic.

The other is a bank official going to Bo on some duty connected
with his bank, which has large interests in the protectorate.

The Sierra Leone Government Railway is a line of narrow gauge
running almost due east from Freetown for 220 miles. Its terminus
is at Pendembu, close to the Liberian frontier. Officially the
railway ends at Baiima, 212 miles from the capital of the colony,
the last eight miles being called a tramway, but practically
there is no difference between the railway and the tramway, and
both are of identical gauge. There is also a tramway running from
Boia into the Yonni country. Trains run three times a week in both
directions. Travelling is not comfortable judged by the standard
of English railways, the compartments are small, the seats of the
carriages are uncommonly hard, and the line is roughly laid. But
greater comfort will no doubt come in time, and it is an undoubted
boon for the traveller to have a railway of any description; in
the olden days these 200 odd miles used to take him fourteen or
fifteen days with carriers instead of only two.

CHAPTER II

THE country of Sierra Leone consists of two parts: the colony and
the protectorate. The colony is mountainous, and runs out in a
peninsula from the protectorate or hinterland. Roughly speaking,
the colony is the civilized part, and the protectorate is in West
African parlance the “Bush.” In the peninsula a quantity of
ginger is grown, and through these plantations the train wends its
way for some twenty miles. On the left is the Sierra Leone or Bunce
River, and on the east is a rocky range of hills. After leaving the
colony the line runs for about 120 miles through typical West African
“bush” scenery to Bo. For those who have never seen it it may be
of interest to say a few words about the West African “bush.” It
generally consists of a tangled mass of small trees and undergrowth,
never more than some thirty feet high, so thick that it is impossible
to see more than two or three yards inside it, and so dense that
without cutting a path it is not possible to force one’s way
through it. This bush is often the haunt of the smaller species of
wild game, such as cerval cats, bush pigs and small antelope; but
these are difficult to see, and still more difficult to shoot on
account of the thickness of the foliage. Every three to five years
the bush is cut by its owner, for all bush-land has a proprietor,
who will make himself known soon enough if anyone else attempts to
appropriate his particular piece of land. The landlord then clears
the ground and makes a farm, planting rice, ground nuts, or whatever
is suited best to that locality. This clearing process is often
considerably helped by first burning the undergrowth. Bush fires for
this purpose are started in January or February, when the vegetation
has been dried by the hot tropical sun and by the dry winds called
“Harmatan,” which blow about this time of year. After getting
his crops from the land the native allows the bush to grow up once
more, and so rapid is this growth in the luxuriant damp atmosphere,
that in a few months after the rains have commenced the untutored
eye can discern no trace of the previous existence of a farm.

In West Africa the area of land under cultivation is relatively
small. For miles upon miles there is this dense bush, with here and
there a clearing for a farm or a small village. Although vegetation
is so luxuriant flowers are not often seen.

We steamed into Bo about eight o’clock that night, very much shaken
and extremely glad to get out of the train. We arrived in pitch
darkness, the train was late, and no such luxuries as lamps exist
at this station. After much altercation between my “boy” and
the native guard my baggage was produced from the van, and I made
my way towards the rest-house, where travellers are accommodated.
My recollections of that night are not altogether pleasant ones.
After dinner I sat down in one of the madeira chairs belonging to
the rest-house, thinking I would enjoy a quiet pipe before turning
in. I had no sooner sat down, however, than a curious scrunching
noise in my chair made me start and jump up pretty quickly. I had
disturbed a scorpion, and only just discovered the fact in time
to prevent the horrible brute from biting me. The rest-house had
evidently not been inhabited for some time, and the scorpion had no
doubt made himself a comfortable home in that particular chair, so
nearly to my discomfiture. An amusing scene ensued while my servant
and two other natives pursued the luckless scorpion with sticks,
boots, and anything that came handy, shouting and hurling anathemas
at him all the while. After a considerable number of lucky escapes,
owing chiefly to want of skill on the part of his pursuers, he was
finally laid low by a blow from one of my heavy marching boots,
and after this he was soon despatched, allowing me to pass the
remainder of the night undisturbed.

[Illustration: BARRACKS OF THE W.A.F.F. AT DARU

The Sierra Leone Battalion of the West African Frontier Force have
comfortable quarters near the rail-head of the Government Railway in
the Protectorate. In the foreground can be seen an officer feeding
some English fowls.]

[Illustration: RIVER MOA AT A SPOT NEAR THE EASTERN FRONTIER OF
SIERRA LEONE

This picturesque river has a portion of its course in Sierra Leone
and a portion in Liberia. Like most of the Sierra Leone rivers,
it is too rapid to be navigable except by canoes, although there
is a direct waterway connecting it with the sea.]

The train left at eight o’clock the following morning, so I was
up betimes to secure a seat in the very small compartment which was
all that was now allotted to travellers. Our train was to take us
to Daru, a distance of eighty miles.

I was met at Daru by two officers of the West African Frontier Force,
who have their head-quarters here. I was kindly invited to stay at
the barracks during my sojourn at Daru, an invitation of which I
gladly availed myself.

The barracks are picturesquely situated on the banks of the Moa
River. The officers have a very nice mess and comfortable quarters.
They have an English-built four-oared boat on the river, where
fishing and bathing are also to be had; in addition there is a
tennis-court in the mess-grounds, so that for West Africa they are
extremely well provided for.

The Frontier Force Battalion in Sierra Leone is recruited from West
African natives, and is a colonial corps, the officers being seconded
from their regiments for short periods of duty under the colonial
office. The officers are keen soldiers, and the men, under their able
instruction, form excellent fighting material. They have done a lot
of good service for the Empire in West Africa ever since they were
first raised, a good many years ago. I spent that night at Daru,
and next morning despatched my servant and baggage to Pendembu by
road. In the afternoon, by the courtesy of the railway officials,
I was provided with a trolly, on which I had a ride to the end
of the railway, where I found my baggage already installed in the
rest-house by the faithful Suri, my servant.

That night was passed in parading my carriers and allotting to each
man his particular load. These men were to accompany me as far as the
French frontier, where I had arranged to be met by a fresh gang. The
next morning, the 9th of January, at daybreak, all was ready for
a start. My escort, consisting of a non-commissioned officer and
three men, kindly supplied by the officer commanding the Frontier
Force, were well accustomed to their work, and had all the loads
with their respective carriers ready. It was a curious sight to see
these strange figures, each man squatting behind his load waiting
for the order to raise it upon his woolly head. Their attire was of
the scantiest and raggedest description. One man proudly displayed a
threadbare frock-coat, so tattered as scarcely to hang together on
him, while another had a red and yellow tam-o’-shanter jauntily
placed on the side of his head. These carriers are a very merry,
cheerful lot; however long the day’s march, however hot the sun
may be as they trudge along with a heavy load on their heads,
they seldom grumble, but chatter away to each other and crack
jokes with their neighbours. Of course, carriers vary a great deal,
both in their value as porters and in their disposition. The best
carriers in Sierra Leone are the Mendi tribe; these people have
been accustomed for centuries to carry heavy loads from the interior
down to the big native markets near the coast, and are hard to beat
as porters. Our road now lay nearly due north, keeping just on the
British side of the Anglo-Liberian frontier.

Very soon after leaving Pendembu we came into the mountainous region
which extends almost uninterruptedly along the border. The bush
path here was very rough, and led us for the most part up and down
steep hill-sides. This country did not appear to be much populated;
occasionally a small village was seen half hidden in the bush. At
rare intervals we passed a man carrying a load of palm kernels
on his back, probably on his way to the nearest station of the
railway, where he would dispose of his burden at a good price to
the local trader. These people were Kissis. They have a peculiar way
of carrying their loads. A kind of basket is first made of twisted
palm leaves, in shape rather semi-cylindrical; this basket is packed
with the kernels, and is then slung in the following manner over the
back. Two braces are made, one to pass under each armpit and over the
corresponding shoulder, while a third brace leads from the top of the
basket and passes around the forehead. It is very noticeable that
men who carry loads in this fashion are not half so well set-up as
the Mendis, who always carry their loads on the top of their heads.

We reached the small village of Mafindo about three o’clock
that afternoon, and here I decided to halt for the night. The
chief was summoned and told to provide myself and my party with
accommodation for that evening. I did not much relish the idea of
sleeping here, as it was a very dirty cattle town; the houses looked
like pigsties, and were evidently the habitation of cows as well as
human beings. However, it was not feasible to push on any further
that night as the next village was a long way off, so I had to make
the best of Mafindo. The village itself is half in British and half
in Liberian territory. The centre street, or alley-way, divides one
country from the other. Each portion has its own chief with its
own set of laws. A little cotton is grown in this part of Sierra
Leone, each village producing sufficient for its own needs. Cotton
is grown in small clearings close to the villages. It is picked by
the women, who also clean it and spin it. The process is as follows.
The cotton pod is rolled between two smooth stones in order to crush
out the cotton seeds; it is then spun on to wooden spindles, and at
the same time rubbed with bone dust to harden it. Cloth is usually
woven by the men. West African cotton is very short in the staple,
so that cloth is made in narrow strips about nine inches wide. To
make a garment it is necessary to sew a dozen or more of these strips
together. The cloth is coarse but of good quality. In some parts
of the country exceedingly pretty-coloured cloths are made; some
of these are quite handsome as tablecloths and similar ornaments.

The people themselves have few wants in the way of clothing. The men
wear a scanty loin-cloth, and the women have a somewhat larger one,
which is thrown round the body, enveloping it from the breasts to
the feet. The children of both sexes run about naked until they
are thirteen or fourteen years of age. Most of the wealth of the
peasants of this region is in their cattle. The animals are small
and the cows give little milk; but the cattle are sturdy, hardy
little beasts, and seem seldom to suffer from sickness.

At last the chief came to tell me that all was ready for my
inspection, with many humble wishes that I should find my abode
comfortable. My friend was not a very imposing-looking individual.
Although a chief, he was no better clothed than his dirty, scantily
dressed fellow-citizens. He appeared to be very old as he hobbled
up, leaning heavily on a stick. His chief pleasure in life was
to take snuff, and his delight when I gave him a small present of
tobacco is not easily described. Tobacco is a most useful article
of commerce in these countries. Travellers should be careful to be
amply supplied with the fragrant leaf. It will buy most things in the
bush, as natives are fond of it, both for smoking and snuff-taking.

The country here is the northern limit of Mendiland. The Mendis are
pagans, and are to a great extent governed by the secret society
called “Poro.” The chiefs frame the laws of the country with the
help of this society, and all land under cultivation is subject to
the Poro laws with regard to the gathering of crops. When Poro is
put on a crop the owner is not allowed to gather it until the Poro
is taken off. For a civilized person it is hard to understand the
signification of Poro, or to realize the tremendous influence it
has on the Mendi people.

“Medicine” is often placed near the entrance to a farm to scare
away evil spirits; this is usually a little rice, or a few bananas,
or it may be some egg-shells, which are either laid on the path
or placed in an old calabash hung over the entrance supported on
two sticks. Forms of “Juju,” or “Medicine,” are varied
and peculiar.

Charms are also common among these people. The Mendis hold two
particular charms in great respect. One is called “Suk,” and
is warranted to bring the lucky possessor good fortune. The other
is called “Hoare,” and is used to protect the owner from evil
influences. It is made of a plant which is fairly common in the
hinterland, and which is boiled into a thick greenish substance.
This is then eaten, and has the property of increasing the drinking
powers of the consumer. This property enhances the prestige of the
individual, as the Poro society is much given to drinking.

The usual form of charm in West Africa consists of a few verses
of the Koran written on paper and enclosed in a leathern amulet.
These amulets are worn round the neck, on the arms, or hung up in
the house. They are also frequently found tied to horses’ tails
and manes. The Mendis, however, not being Mohammedans, do not
often indulge in this special kind of charm. The Poro society is
not entirely a good one; for instance, the Human Leopard Society,
of which the object is the murder of persons who are undesirable
to the society, is an offshoot of Poro. Boys of twelve to fourteen
are circumcised by Poro, and these are the youngest members of
the organization. Every village has a portion of bush in the
vicinity allotted as the Poro Bush, and kept sacred for the rites
of the society. Anyone who penetrates it is killed without mercy. A
candidate for initiation must obtain the consent of his relatives,
who are required to stand surety that he will not flinch or attempt
to withdraw while undergoing the ordeal. He is then confined in
the Poro Bush and not allowed to leave it or to speak until the
conclusion of his initiation. He is unexpectedly subjected to trials
of fire and attacks from wild animals. After this period of probation
he is washed, a white cap is placed on his head, and he is given a
staff decorated with beads. He is then made to swear a solemn oath
never to reveal the secrets of the society; this oath is usually
administered on a tortoiseshell, which is regarded with special
veneration by West African natives, for the tortoise is supposed
to be a beast of exceptional wisdom. After this he is taken to the
lodge of the society, which is ornamented for the occasion with
palm leaves and other foliage. He then has marks cut on his back
in the shape of triangles, with the apex on the spine and the base
on the ribs. Circles are also cut on his breast.

The members of Poro are summoned by a messenger bearing a branch of
a tree, on which are tied a number of pieces of stick. The number of
these sticks denotes the number of days to elapse before the meeting
will be held. Kola nuts are used as symbols of peace and war. Two red
kolas signify war, whereas a white nut broken in two indicates peace.

Another curious custom which exists among the Mendis is that many
families claim to belong to different species of animals. Many say
they are of the bird family; these will not eat eggs. Again, others
claiming to be descended from crocodiles will not kill these animals.

Another secret society is the Bundu. This has for its object the
education of young girls. The teachers are mature women who instruct
the students in the duties they will have to perform as wives and
mothers. This society is a very old one. Every village has a Bundu
Bush in the same way as it has a Poro Bush. Men are not allowed to
enter under pain of death. There are many other societies of a more
or less religious nature, but these are the most important. Women
are regarded as of small consequence by these people. They are made
to work in the farm and cook food for the husband while he remains
idle. When a man wants a wife he goes to the parents and haggles
over the price to be paid. In Sierra Leone a wife costs £3 to £4,
but the price varies a good deal. The sum is paid in the presence
of witnesses and the woman becomes his wife. Polygamy is the rule
among pagans as well as among Mohammedans. The wife has no rights;
the husband can flog her or maltreat her without the woman having
any chance of redress. Girls are married at twelve, and in many
cases even at nine and ten.

On the 10th of January I left Mafindo, crossing the picturesque
Moa River. The inhabitants were now Kissis. The river is crossed in
dug-out canoes; these canoes are simply made from the trunk of a tree
which is roughly hewn out in the hollow form of a boat. In the hands
of a native these cumbersome and untrustworthy-looking craft are
most handy in the West African rivers. The boatman manipulates his
canoe with a single paddle, which serves not only to urge it forward,
but also to steer it. I must own that I never feel very safe in a
dug-out. One has to sit uncommonly still for fear of capsizing,
and an immersion in the swift current of the crocodile-infested
streams of this region would be a far from agreeable experience.

The Kissis have three different masters, as a portion of their
country lies in Liberia, and yet another portion is under French
jurisdiction in Guinea. The Kissis are a war-like tribe, who have
given a good deal of trouble to the British Government. They were
constantly at war with their neighbours in Sierra Leone, the Mendis
and the Konnohs. They also joined King Samory’s Sofas in 1891, and
raided the protectorate. Their power was finally crushed in 1905 by
an expedition carried out by the Sierra Leone Battalion of the West
African Frontier Force. A great deal of the Kissy country is under
cultivation, for they are good and economical farmers. In their farms
are to be seen flourishing crops of rice, maize, and beniseed. Their
villages are badly kept, and the houses are very small and dirty.

The following day we crossed the Meli River, which separates Kissy
country from the Konnoh tribe. Transport across this river is
done by a still more hazardous method than on the Moa River—on
rafts. These rafts are made of roughly-hewn logs, lashed together
with “Tie-tie.” “Tie-tie” consists of supple creepers,
growing in profusion in the bush, which are most useful in a country
where no rope is available. One’s baggage is first deposited on
the raft, forming a dry and fairly steady platform. After this the
passenger climbs warily on to the top of his worldly possessions,
seating himself cautiously so as not to upset the somewhat delicate
equilibrium of the craft. The raft is worked by a native with a long
pole, who directs its unsteady course from the stern end. If you
have any holes or weak spots in your boxes this method of transport
will unfailingly find them out. Water rushes through the wide gaps
between the logs of the raft, and miniature waves frequently wash
over the platform.

Konnoh country is decidedly mountainous. It is intersected by broken
ranges of hills, rising to a height of nearly 3000 feet above the
sea. The valleys between these ranges are covered with grass-land,
the haunts of “bushcow,” as the small West African buffalo is
termed. The Konnohs are an offshoot of the great tribe of Mandingoes,
which inhabits a vast stretch of land from the Middle Niger to
the Gambia. Their country was devastated by the Sofas about 1890,
consequently a large number of the people were exterminated or taken
into slavery. Peace now reigns, however, and the people are regaining
confidence and the population is increasing. Mohammedanism is
making rapid progress among them, although a large number are still
pagans. Missionaries are scarce in these parts; during my travels
I do not recollect seeing a single Christian among these people.

In the village where I stayed that night I saw what is an unusual
sight in Sierra Leone, a horse, or, to be strictly accurate, a
small and weedy-looking pony. The proud owner was the chief, whose
dignity and authority were considerably augmented by the possession
of this quadruped. The disease called “Trypnasomiasis,” conveyed
by the tsetse fly, is very prevalent in the protectorate, and is
fatal to horses and cattle. It is, however, extremely local, certain
districts being quite free from its ravages. This probably accounts
for the fact that cattle can often live where horses cannot, for
cattle never wander very far, thus possibly not getting into the
infected area, whereas horses naturally cover greater distances
and would be more likely to pass through a tsetse fly zone.

CHAPTER III

Shooting in the grass-country — An unfortunate mishap —
Doubtful pleasures of a journey — Sources of the Niger — A
curious frontier rock — Bush fires — Bird-life.

IN the northern Konnoh country some good bushcow shooting is
obtainable. In the grass-lands before mentioned these animals are
wont to feed at night and during the early hours of the morning,
and this is the best time to come up with them. When the sun
gets hot they retire into the bush, where they remain till late
in the afternoon. They are generally to be found near water,
and appear to drink in the evening and early morning. I spent a
couple of days after these fine beasts, but did not have as good
sport as I should have had a month or two later, when the grass is
burnt. Bushcow shooting is certainly one of the most exciting forms
of sport with big game. This animal is probably one of the most
dangerous to tackle. A wounded bushcow almost invariably charges,
and is extremely vicious. In cover, such as long grass or bush,
he is exceedingly dangerous. Indeed, it is very foolish to follow
a wounded animal into such places. He will lurk under cover, with
his head turned in the direction from which he expects his enemy,
and charge when within ten yards or so. Many serious accidents
have occurred to sportsmen of late years in this manner. Finding
the grass still so high I did not linger long in this district,
but pushed on for the Tembikunda Range and the sources of the Niger.

The following day I had an unfortunate mishap. It was early in the
morning and I had stopped to have a little sport with some pigeon
in a farm. My small caravan, with the exception of one carrier, had
gone on. I was turning sharply to shoot a bird flying off to my right
when I struck my leg against a stump of a tree. A sharp piece of wood
about three inches long penetrated just under the knee-cap, causing
me to fall down in agony. The stick was firmly wedged in the flesh so
that the united efforts of my carrier and myself were unavailing to
extract it. I accordingly despatched him at once to stop my caravan
and summon my servant with my small medicine-case. After cutting
the flesh I was able to withdraw the piece of wood, but my leg was
now so swollen and painful that I found it impossible to walk. The
sergeant of my escort and my “boy” managed to rig up a hammock
by utilizing one of my blankets and a bamboo, and in this I was
slung, feeling more like a sack of goods than a human being, and
thus transported for the remainder of that day’s march. The next
few days were anything but a pleasant experience. I developed bad
blood-poisoning in the knee and was confined to my hammock. The road
was extremely rough, sometimes leading up the side of a mountain,
which was so steep as to appear like a veritable precipice. When
going up these inclines, in my uncomfortable conveyance, my leg
got jolted unmercifully and I suffered excruciating pain. I think
the worst day was on the 15th of January.

Between the villages of Kondundu and Kundema there is a stretch of
bush for about eight miles, which contains some of the thickest,
most impenetrable cane-brake it has ever been my lot to encounter.
The path I was following was evidently little frequented, and was
some miles east of the usual trade route from the north to the
south of the protectorate. Our road lay along a swampy valley, much
overgrown with this stiff, unyielding reed. The native matchet, which
is universally used for cutting bush, was quite useless against this
stubborn fibrous stuff, and the only alternative was to force our way
through it. Progress was very slow. The carriers in front of me with
loads on their heads had the greatest difficulty in making a path for
themselves, whereas my hammock-men had a far harder task in getting
the unwieldy hammock through without upsetting me in the bush. I
had to be carried by two men whilst the other two bearers hurled
their weight against the reeds and made a path for us to follow.

On the 16th I arrived at a small village in the Tembikunda Range,
about three miles from the spot where the Niger rises. Here I had a
great disappointment; I was informed there was no path leading to
the river source, and that the track lay over exceedingly rough,
precipitous mountains. This information proved to be only too
correct. I was quite unable to walk; and to carry a hammock up those
rugged precipices was quite impossible. I therefore had reluctantly
to give up any idea of seeing the actual source of the great Niger
River. The river is said to rise in a big rock, which is also the
source of four other rivers. These are the Feliko, which flows into
the Niger in French Guinea, the Bagwe, and two smaller rivers. The
Bagwe is one of the biggest rivers in Sierra Leone. The Niger here
is known by the name of Tembiko, or Joliba. In the Susu language,
much spoken on the upper reaches of the stream, the word Joliba
means “He who can run faster than any other man.” There is a
curious legend attached to the source of the Niger. The natives
have a superstition that a devil lurks inside the rock where it
rises. It is said that any man who is intrepid enough to approach
the rock and gaze on it will be killed by this demon. In consequence
of this sinister reputation it is the habit of the local savage
to shun the neighbourhood of the source. By judicious bribery he
can be induced to show a stranger the spot, but his manner of so
doing is peculiar. He will, on nearing the rock, turn round and
walk backwards towards it, at the same time covering his eyes with
one hand, so as not to see the haunted place, while with the other
hand he indicates the point where the river rises.

This rock forms one of the boundary marks on the Anglo-French
frontier, separating Sierra Leone from French Guinea. The stone has
inscribed on it, upon the western side, the fact that that portion
is inside the British border, and the names of the members of the
Boundary Delimitation Commission are here written. On the eastern
side it is stated that that portion is in French territory, and the
names of the Boundary Commission are also here similarly inscribed.

The Niger rises at a height of under 4000 feet, in a very wild,
uninhabited country. The Tembikunda Range is exceedingly rocky
and precipitous. It consists of a rugged, broken mass of peaks;
in many cases hills are separated from each other by steep, narrow
valleys or gullies.

The sides of these mountains are covered with thick, grassy
bush. This grass grows to a height of twelve feet and more in the
rainy season. When ascending a peak it is impossible to see the
summit, not because it is so high, but merely because the vision is
obstructed by this tall grass. Bush fires were just commencing when
I passed through the country. It was a beautiful sight at night to
see the huge flames working their way up the steep mountain-sides,
just like fiery serpents as they coiled and twisted themselves
around some piece of bush a little greener than the rest and able
to resist them for a short moment. These fires are started by
natives in order to clear the ground, by burning down the bush,
so that they can plant their crops. When the Harmatan wind and
the sun have dried the vegetation it burns with ease. A fire thus
started rapidly spreads over many miles of country. It certainly
does a considerable amount of harm by killing a number of beautiful
trees every year; where trees are numerous and many are thus burnt
to the ground, the tendency is naturally to decrease the rainfall
of that district. On the other hand, it is argued that burning the
bush fertilizes the soil through the medium of the ashes of the
leaves and burnt vegetation. In any case it is a very old custom
among West African natives and one which would be extremely hard to
repress. The negro is naturally a lazy man, consequently this mode
of clearing the bush peculiarly appeals to him since it demands so
little effort on his part.

Bird-life is not so abundant as might be expected in Sierra
Leone. The large expanses of almost virgin bush one would almost
imagine to teem with wild birds, but this is far from being the
case. In the forest-country the hornbill is very common. These
birds are generally seen in large flocks, and assimilate well
with the solitude of their surroundings as they hover from one
tree to another with their peculiar flight, uttering their weird,
mournful cry. Their flight reminds one forcibly of a switchback
working very slowly, as they flutter first up and then downwards,
in the motion towards their goal. Hornbills often build their nests
in the trunks or branches of trees. When searching for their nests
it is a common sight to see the young birds peeping out of a snug
nest almost hidden inside the hollow of an old branch.

The violet plantain-eater is a beautiful bird, which is also common
in forest-land. It has a gorgeous colouring. The body is violet and
green, while the wings are a brilliant crimson. This handsome bird
has a peculiar raucous note. It is a curious fact that singing-birds
are exceedingly uncommon in West Africa. I never recollect hearing
any bird with a voice to be compared to our nightingale or black-cap.

In the region of the palm tree the golden oriole is frequently met
with. This little bird builds its nest suspended from the branches
and leaves of the tree; on a single tree as many as twenty or thirty
may be counted. They strip the tree of all its foliage and in time
kill it.

Among game birds the most widely distributed is one of the francolin
partridges, commonly known on the coast as the “bushfowl.”
It is found anywhere in the vicinity of a farm, and particularly
delights to feed on cassada. This bird feeds in the early morning
and again late in the afternoon, but during the heat of the day
it takes refuge from the sun in the thick bush. It has a curious,
hoarse note, by which the cock is often heard calling to his mate
in the early morning. The best time for shooting these birds is
after the grass is burnt, from March to June. Besides, the young
are full-grown by then. They appear to breed in the late autumn,
and birds hatch out in November and December. Guinea-fowl are
found in many parts of the protectorate. Coveys of twenty and
thirty are by no means unusual. Their favourite haunts are the
rice-fields, in which they feed in the morning and evening. They
prefer a feeding-ground which has thick cover on at least one side;
in this they rest during the heat of the day and at night.

Guinea-fowl, like bush fowl, are often seen roosting in trees.
Indeed, with the former, it is more usual to find them sitting
in trees than on the ground. A guinea-fowl is perhaps the most
wary of West African game birds. He has very keen eyesight and
hearing. He will generally have discovered your presence long before
you are aware of his, and in that case he takes alarm and is off
immediately. Guinea-fowl run far more frequently than they fly.
Once they have taken to their heels they are extremely difficult
to overtake; the only plan is to cast dignity to the winds and
run at your best pace after them. Even then your chance of getting
a shot is very remote, and perhaps the wisest course is to leave
them alone. Guinea-fowl in the bush-country are excellent eating,
but I have noticed that these birds when shot in a sandy region
are generally very tough. This is probably due to the different
nature of food they live on. In open country, unless the sportsman
is very keen, it is usually a safer plan to take a long shot with
a rifle, rather than attempt to stalk these very cunning birds
with a shot-gun. In the grass-country on the eastern frontier of
Sierra Leone I came across one or two button-quail. But I think
these birds are uncommon, and I never saw more than one at a time.

A bird locally called the grey pigeon, but in reality a large
ringdove, is very common. It feeds on maize, millet and rice,
and is seen in large numbers when the crops are ripe. In some
parts of the country a native is on duty all day in a farm when
the crops are getting ripe, his business being to scare away the
birds. This individual takes up his position on a raised platform,
built of rough bush-sticks, and placed at a suitable spot in the
farm. He is provided with a whip of some supple bush-creeper, which
he cracks with considerable noise and effect, thereby driving away
any bird which contemplates an attack on the crops.

The green pigeon, or at any rate one variety of it, is found
in certain localities. It is partial to water and high trees.
Frequently seen on the creeks near the sea-coast, it is also
found up-country in the forest belt. This bird is very swift of
flight, generally flying at a considerable height; it affords some
sporting shots. The colouring is a beautiful combination of green,
canary-yellow and French grey. The beak is crimson, while the legs
are yellow. It always appears to be in excellent condition, and is
a dainty morsel for the sportsman’s table.

In the grass-country the lesser bustard is occasionally found.
The bird is sometimes seen in pairs, but more frequently single.
Its flight is slow, making it easy to shoot. The wings of the male
are a rich black and white, and the breast is mottled grey and tan.
A strange bird which frequents the open, rocky bush-country, is the
standard-winged night-jar. It has a peculiar habit of crouching
flat on the ground, with which its nondescript khaki colour well
assimilates. I have often been startled of an evening by the sudden,
silent way in which this creature has risen up from my feet. During
the mating season the male bird has two curious black appendages
to its tail, which add considerably to its strange appearance,
and are evidently meant to attract the female bird he is courting.

The cow-bird is found in all localities where there is much cattle or
game; it serves the useful purpose of consuming the ticks and lice
on the bodies of these animals. It is black, and much resembles a
starling in size and colouring. Its beak is sharp, enabling it to
pick out these insects from their hiding-places. The sight of one
of these little birds, perched on the back of a cow or climbing up
its flanks, is distinctly comical.

The widow-weaver is so common that I had nearly omitted to mention
it. This is a very small black and white bird, with a tail consisting
of two streamers, about twice as long as itself, whose habit is
to flutter about from one wisp of grass to another, in a curious,
laboured fashion, just as if its unwieldy-looking tail were too
heavy for its small body, and threatened every minute to weigh
it down to the ground. These tails, like that of the night-jar,
previously described, grow to their full length in the mating season.

CHAPTER IV

IN the Tembikunda Mountains I found the variations of temperature
between night and day extremely trying. The maximum by day never
exceeded ninety degrees, but at night the temperature used sometimes
to fall to under fifty degrees. The greatest height I reached was
2480 feet. The fall of temperature was evidently caused by the dry
Harmatan wind which always blows at this time of year. This wind
is said to come from the Sahara; it blows from the north-east for
more or less long periods during the months of December, January,
February, and March, all over the West Coast of Africa. The theory
that it comes from the Sahara appears to be supported by the fact
that it contains a quantity of fine particles of sand. Its extreme
dryness is particularly noticeable in the otherwise damp coast
atmosphere. Books and papers curl up, and the skin gets uncomfortably
parched at this season. Natives are especially susceptible to chills
and pneumonia while the Harmatan is blowing.

In spite of sleeping in a native hut, a place not usually remarkable
for its coolness, I used to shiver under my three blankets. Finally,
the only way I could keep sufficiently warm to get to sleep was
by lighting a huge log fire close to my bedside before retiring
to rest. Of course, the cold was not really so intense, as the
thermometer was several degrees above freezing; but the sudden fall
in temperature between night and day had the unpleasant effect of
making it appear like midwinter in England.

A curious fact about the Harmatan is that, owing to the sand carried
by it in suspension in the air, a kind of haze is produced which
considerably restricts one’s range of vision. The effect is very
similar to that caused by a London fog. Indeed, when watching the
sunset while a strong Harmatan was blowing, I could easily imagine
myself gazing at that peculiar appearance seen in the sky on a foggy
winter’s afternoon in Town. At times this curious wind blows with
great violence. This is particularly the case in the early morning,
when even on the march a thick overcoat can be worn without feeling
in the least degree too hot.

The country in which I now was is inhabited by the Korankos.
Their territory is a large one, extending for a considerable distance
north and west of the Niger watershed, while a small portion of the
tribe overflows eastward into French Guinea. The whole country is
very mountainous, and the people are extremely poor. Most of them
are pagans. These Korankos suffered considerably during the wars
of Samory, when many of them were exterminated by his Sofas. The
principal town is Kruto, lying about forty miles due west of the
Niger source, and a trading centre of some importance. At the small
village of Manson I arrived on the day of the burial of a chief’s
son. The ceremony which takes place on such an occasion is somewhat
remarkable, and it was my good fortune to witness it here.

The whole burial rites take three or four days, the body not being
taken to the grave till the last day, by which time, as can be
imagined, it is in an unsavoury state of decomposition, and not
fit to be approached by a white man.

Immediately a death occurs the womenfolk start lamenting; in the
meantime messengers are despatched to all the slaves and relatives
in the other villages. As this takes some days, the body is kept
in the house till they have all arrived. In the case of a Poro
man, his body is deposited in the “Poro” Bush. No woman is
permitted to look on the corpse. Dancing, singing, and tomtoming
are vigorously kept up the whole time. The women take a leading
part in this portion of the ceremony. A woman’s body is taken to
the “Bundu” Bush until the day of burial.

On the burial day all the mourners plaster themselves with white
clay and follow the corpse to the burial-ground. Country cloths
are buried with the deceased, the number varying directly with his
personal wealth. The favourite hour for the interment is sunset.
After the burial guns are fired by anyone possessing a fire-arm,
with the intention of frightening away all evil spirits; at the
same time a sacrifice is made on the grave of a fowl, a sheep, or
a cow, according to the wealth of the dead man. These sacrifices
are also offered for the purpose of propitiating the dead man’s
ancestors, who, tradition says, are otherwise in the habit of
torturing his soul.

Directly after the burial the deceased’s property is taken
possession of by the heir, who then invites his friends to a feast,
on the principle, I suppose, of “Le roi est mort, vive le roi.”
At a burial or a marriage the one aim of the native seems to be to
spend as much money as possible.

Some Korankos are members of the mystical Kofung society. The
Kofung society has a large organization among the Limba people,
who inhabit the north centre of the protectorate; but it has
also some influence over the western tribes. Its rites are of a
mournful, morbid character. A candidate has to simulate death, and
is supposed to be made to return to life by the officiating members
at the initiation ceremony. As he lies on a litter, apparently dead,
the members dance round him, raise him up, and wash his eyes with
a lotion prepared from the bark of a cork tree. When the dance is
ended the candidate stands over a fire, the chief of the sect then
holding a burnt stick before his eyes, and making him swear the
sacred oath of the society. There are several masonic signs by
which a Kofung man may be recognized. He frequently has a brass
ring on his toe, thumb, or wrist. One man may be recognized by a
brother in the order if he crosses his arms, or crosses two twigs.
Every member is supposed to have an attendant spirit who can
be summoned, if required, by uttering certain magical words and
calling the spirit by name seven times. Kofung men believe they can
transform themselves into animals. If, however, they are tied up to
a piece of corkwood, they believe they no longer possess this power.

As far as can be ascertained, the Kofung society is not dangerous to
the community. Murder does not appear to come within its scope. It
seems merely to teach a highly superstitious doctrine, such as
the mystery-loving pagan’s soul delights in. Even when these
people adopt Islam, they never seem wholly to give up the mystic
rites of their former pagan teachings. They certainly never lose
the superstitions of their particular tribe. In cases where pagans
have been converted to Christianity exactly the same failings are
almost invariably to be noticed.

Amongst many of these pagan tribes a curious superstition exists
with regard to the birth of twins in a family. The twins are killed
and the mother driven out into the bush, for twins are said to be
a curse from the god the people worship; it being supposed that if
the foregoing brutal procedure be not carried out the whole family
will become mad.

On the 17th of January I set out to cross the border into French
Guinea. Our road lay along small mountain-paths, more like goat
tracks than roads, which wound laboriously up the precipitous, rocky
slopes. The scenery here is very wild and beautiful. As far as the
eye can reach there rise up a series of rugged peaks, clothed in
light bush and tall elephant-grass. Numerous mountain torrents rush
down in their headlong course to the plains of Sankaran, which can
but faintly be discerned many miles below in French Guinea.

Some of these tiny streams are destined to grow into important if not
mighty rivers; such a one is the Niger. To see this insignificant
rivulet, here only a few feet wide, as it dashes down the eastern
slopes of the Tembikunda Range, who would dream that it is to develop
into a wide, splendid waterway, destined to fertilize large tracts
of country in Western Soudan, and to carry innumerable craft on
its broad bosom before it finally throws its waters into the sea
2400 miles away?

My hammock “boys” had a rough time carrying me over these
mountains. We climbed up to a height of 3000 feet, according to
my aneroid barometer, before commencing the descent to the plains
below. Once or twice, I must own, I felt as if my last hour had
come, when, having arrived at an unusually difficult place, my
satellites had to raise the hammock to the full extent of their
long black arms in order to clear some huge boulder blocking the
path. At these moments I used to gaze down at the yawning precipice
at my side, knowing that if one of those arms should waver, be it
ever so slightly, I should in all probability be hurled down some
2000 feet into the chasm below. Fortunately for me my bearers were
brawny fellows, and we arrived at the frontier village of Farakoro
without any mishap.

The good people of this little place were evidently not used
to visits from white men, and were much astonished at my sudden
appearance. The trade road between French Guinea and the east of
Sierra Leone is a considerable distance north of this place, and
goes to the important station of Kaballa, which is the head-quarters
of one of the Sierra Leone District Commissioners. On my arrival at
Farakoro the inhabitants fled precipitately, and I found myself left
in undisputed possession of the village. I at once sent my servant
with reassuring messages to the chief, who had taken refuge in the
neighbouring bush with his followers. My escort was no longer with
me, for I had sent the soldiers back to Daru that morning. After
some palaver the old chief was induced to show himself, and finally
led his people back to the market-place, although it was palpable
that his suspicions of us were not quite set at rest.

I halted an hour here to give the carriers a little well-earned
repose, and, while they were resting, I thought I would try the
effect of a present of tobacco on my old friend the chief. It was
magical. No sooner had he got possession of this highly prized
article than his face became wreathed in smiles, all suspicions
either vanished or were forgotten, and we were on the best of
terms. The old man produced some bananas for myself and some rice
for my carriers, so that everyone was in the highest of spirits.
Food has a most remarkable effect on the negro. If his stomach is
well cared for he is a cheerful rascal, and will follow you almost
anywhere. Whether he wants it or not he is always ready to eat;
indeed, the amount consumed by a black man at one meal is something
prodigious. I recollect seeing one of these men devour his ration,
one and a half pounds of rice, which, when boiled, swells to a
considerable volume, and is itself more than a meal for two very
hungry Europeans. After this he bolted two large yams, which are
also a very satisfying form of diet, and finally he ended the meal
with a leg of goat! Strange to relate, after a few hours’ peaceful
slumber he appeared to be none the worse for his huge repast.

The road now improved considerably, and two miles farther we finally
left the mountains, emerging into the broad Sankaran plains. The
change in scenery was really remarkable. Broad rice- and maize-fields
stretched on every side; in place of the wild, rugged hills we were
in a smiling land of peace and plenty. Habitations were numerous,
peasants were everywhere at work in the well-cared-for farms,
and one was at once struck by the general air of prosperity. We
soon came to a comparatively wide road, which we followed to
Sarafinian. The country was now decidedly open. Bush there was,
as there always is in West Africa, but it was all of the nature of
very low scrub and grass-land.

On my arrival at Sarafinian I was greeted by a French official,
who proved to be the Customs officer. At certain places along the
frontier of French Guinea there are Customs Stations established in
order to prevent smuggling of dutiable articles across the border.
In charge of these posts there are one or more Europeans. They are
provided with a small staff of native policemen who assist them
to carry out their duties. My friend had to supervise a section of
over sixty miles of frontier. The work is arduous and not unattended
by danger. Would-be smugglers naturally choose the night for their
dashes across the border, so a considerable portion of the work has
to be done after sunset. Even the best-behaved smugglers are not men
to hold human life of much account, so that the task of capturing
them is attended with a good deal of risk. The existence must be a
very lonely one. Situated as he was in a desolate spot, thirty or
forty miles from the nearest white man for twelve months or more,
and leading a life of some danger, it requires a man endowed with
particularly high spirits not to get depressed at times. This French
official was blessed with a large share of his country’s native
vivacity. He had been fourteen months by himself at this little
station, and during this long period had only seen one white man; yet
his good spirits never seemed to have failed him. He welcomed me most
warmly, and was kindness itself during my short stay at Sarafinian.

I was glad of an opportunity of resting my leg here. The knee was
much swollen, being so painful I could not bear to put my foot to the
ground. For the first time I had a chance to get it well dressed,
and by the 19th it was so much better that I decided to push on
upon my journey northwards.

Here I paid off my Sierra Leone carriers, whose shining black
faces beamed with delight at receiving so much wealth all at once.
I think, too, that they were rather pleased to get back to their
native land. These people are generally eager for a job in their own
country, or even, perhaps, anywhere in the protectorate; but as soon
as they get into a foreign region, where food is different, and the
laws and customs are not the same, they begin to “fear,” which,
being translated into plain English, means that they are nervous
of what may happen to them.

My new gang of carriers were local natives. They were not in the
least anxious to be engaged, but the promise of high pay and the
glowing pictures painted by the Customs interpreter of the way they
could enjoy life on the proceeds thereof when they returned, were
effective in producing a sufficient number of stalwart porters for
my needs. The carrier in Sierra Leone is paid ninepence, but the
French Guinea carrier seldom gets more than sixpence per diem. My
offer of ninepence, therefore, was to these men a munificent one,
and the tempting bait of so much wealth was more than they could
resist. The chief of the town was present while the bargain was being
made, as it is the custom for all such dealings to be done through
the medium of the chief concerned. He was highly interested in the
question of the amount to be paid each man. In fact, so eager was he
that I am afraid he had in his mind some material gain for himself
rather than the welfare of his people. This chief was a strange,
uncouth individual.

His hair was very long and matted; he also wore his beard long,
but this was twisted in a miserable thin plait, hanging down below
his chest. He looked so dirty that it would have been necessary
to scrape him with a spade for some time before he could possibly
be washed; finally, he had an inordinate craving for absinthe,
or any kind of alcohol, and, according to my French acquaintance,
he was usually the worse for liquor. How he managed, in this remote
little place, to get so much European liquor was an amazing problem
to everyone. Few traders came that way; besides, absinthe and
such-like dainties are expensive luxuries in French Guinea, where
import duty is exceedingly high, and our worthy friend was a poor
man. This was apparently a secret known only to himself, and one
he would never disclose even when he was in his most confidential
moods. So the problem is, and appears likely to remain, unsolved.
Of course, there is also a great deal of native alcohol drunk by the
negro in West Africa. In all the districts within some 200 miles of
the coast there is a broad belt of palm trees. These trees produce
a wine which, if allowed to ferment, is highly intoxicating. The
wine is obtained in the following manner. An incision is made near
the top of the tree, close to where the leaves sprout; a calabash
is then hung in such a position as to catch the liquid as it flows
out. At convenient times the owner comes to remove the contents,
which are a very cool and refreshing beverage when not fermented.

The mode of climbing a palm tree is peculiar; it reminds one of
the proverbial monkey on a stick to see the native as he ascends a
tree. Ladders are not used for this purpose, but a loop is made with
a supple creeper and placed round the trunk of the tree. The climber
then seats himself in the free end of the loop, placing his toes
against the bark of the palm. By digging his toes firmly into the
tree-trunk he is able to relieve the loop of his weight sufficiently
to permit of the loop being pushed further up the tree. In this
manner the top is gradually reached. Natives generally climb their
trees to fetch the wine in the early morning; the liquor is then
left to ferment in the sun till the evening. About sundown the men
assemble in a hut and drink the intoxicating stuff while squatting
by the fireside. Women as a rule do not drink; at any rate, I never
remember seeing a woman under the influence of palm-wine in the bush.

Soon after leaving Sarafinian I crossed the Niger. It was here about
ten yards wide, and not more than three feet deep. The stream at this
stage is, of course, of no importance, but is of interest purely on
account of the greatness which is to be its portion later. Between
this spot and Faranah the stream is crossed three times, gradually
widening out as it has room to expand in the comparatively flat
Sankaran plains, till at Faranah it is about seventy yards broad. It
is fordable all the way, and until this town is reached no canoes
are seen on its waters. The banks are lightly wooded, sloping easily
down to the water’s edge. As the little river meanders peacefully
through the bush-country, it might well be a trout stream in some
quiet spot in England.

That day’s march was a long one, for I only reached camp at six
o’clock. The carriers were all behind my hammock, and some did
not get in till long after dark. About eight o’clock the headman
arrived with the pleasant news that two of the porters had thrown
the loads on the ground and bolted several miles back. As might have
been expected, these two loads were just the most important ones of
my caravan, one of which was my camp bed. I immediately ordered two
men to be despatched to retrieve them, inwardly praying that they had
not already been stolen by some rapacious negro on the road. This
habit of throwing down one’s belongings and running away when
they feel so disposed is a common one among West African carriers,
and is particularly annoying to their unlucky employer. However,
in that land one soon gets philosophical about such trifles, and
comes to the conclusion that life is too short to permit of them
being taken too much to heart. So, making the best of affairs,
I lay down on a blanket and soon was fast asleep.

The next morning, having enrolled two fresh men from the village
where I had slept, we were once more up to marching strength. The
sun was now getting decidedly hot; the country was undulating bush,
but fairly open. We had not gone many miles when dense clouds of
smoke and huge flames became visible on the horizon. It was evident
we were marching towards a bush fire. The heat grew more and more
intolerable as the wind drove the flames in our direction, and the
porters instinctively began to run forward in order to dash through
the burning zone as quickly as possible. It was the first time I
had actually marched through a large bush fire, although I had,
of course, often been close to a patch of burning bush-country.

In spite of the terrific heat, the spectacle was so splendid as to
make one oblivious of the discomfort. For miles in front of us was
a huge wall of leaping, hissing flames. Through the centre there
ran a narrow path from which the blazing fire seemed to have been
hurled back to the right and left, thus giving us a free passage
through the scorching bank of flames. The fire was approaching
with amazing rapidity. In front of it darted out many terrified
inhabitants of the bush, such as hares, field-mice, and partridges,
all wondering, no doubt, what was this infernal, blazing demon
which thus relentlessly drove them from their homes. While the
ground was covered with these poor frightened creatures, the air was
full of equally terrified insects, attempting to get out of danger
before their wings should be singed by those cruel flames. In many
cases their attempted flight only drove them into the clutches of
their arch-enemies the hawks, who, seemingly oblivious of the heat,
circled in the air above their luckless victims, every now and then
pouncing down on a tempting morsel.

Once we started running it did not take long to get to the other
side of the fire, for it sweeps forward with extraordinary speed,
burning up the grass and small bushes in a few seconds, leaving in
its wake only charred remains and here and there a tree or bush, more
tenacious of life than the others, still wrapped in a sheet of flame
while the fire is disappearing in the distance. Big trees are often
to be seen still blazing some days after the bush fire has passed
that way. After emerging from the flames we were all begrimed with
the soot and ashes; even the natives’ dusky faces showed signs of
having been through something blacker than the colour of their skins.

The change which had now come over the surface of the landscape was
remarkable. In place of the waving bush, which had existed but a
few minutes before, there was now an open plain, almost devoid of
vegetation, carpeted with smouldering ashes. Under the heat of that
tropical sun one missed the grateful shade afforded by the bush,
and the perspiration rolled in big drops from the faces of the
carriers as they trudged stolidly on under the weight of their loads.

On the 21st of January our bush path merged into the main road which
runs from Faranah to Kissidougou. This is a highway, fifteen feet
wide, and kept in good repair by the French. It was far superior to
any road I had yet come across, and made a very decided difference
to our rate of marching. There is one great drawback to these
wide roads in West Africa, viz. they are much hotter to march on,
as there is no shade available. But that is, after all, a minor
disadvantage, as the communications of a country are obviously
greatly facilitated. Here I saw the telegraph line for the first time
since leaving the Sierra Leone Railway. To a visitor in French West
Africa it soon becomes apparent that our continental neighbours
excel in the matter of public works in their colonies. Roads,
railways, bridges and telegraphs have the most careful attention,
and a vast amount of money is spent on their construction.

That night I camped at the village of Kamaraia. The inhabitants
are an offshoot of the Korankos of Sierra Leone, and are similar to
them in their habits; but as the country is more fertile they are
more prosperous. The evening was beguiled by some native music. The
musician played an instrument called “Ballaini.” It produces a
melodious and rather liquid sound, and was one of the most musical
native instruments I heard. It is made of a gourd, partially covered
over with goatskin, and has narrow cross-pieces of bamboo nailed
over it. The musician produces the different notes by hitting these
cross-pieces with a small stick. Most natives have a good ear for
music, but their repertoire of melodies is extremely small. A man
will be quite happy, however, in sitting the whole evening repeating
the same bars over and over again to an admiring audience. I regret
to say that I was not so easily amused, and after half an hour had
to tell our friend to finish his performance elsewhere.

CHAPTER V

BY the 22nd of January, the date of our arrival at Faranah, I had so
far recovered as to be able to walk a few miles each day. My usual
plan was to walk in the early morning until the sun got oppressive,
when I retired to the hammock until about eleven. About this hour I
used to halt in a shady spot, by a stream, and have my breakfast
while the carriers cooked their food and rested. A halt till
two or three o’clock gave my “boy” time to prepare my meal
and to have his own food and a rest before we again set out. On
one of these occasions, just after I had halted, I noticed the
unusual spectacle of two Europeans in hammocks with a number of
carriers coming towards me. One of the two proved to be a lady,
while the other was her husband. They stopped, and we had a few
minutes’ conversation. They were on their way to Kissidougou,
a large French post in the south of Guinea. He was the director of
the telegraphs, and they had but lately arrived from France. The
lady had the characteristic vivacity and charm of her countrywomen;
she was nursing a young bushfowl which they had picked up on the
road, and which had hurt its leg. The poor little bird’s bright
eyes wore a terrified look, but this soon began to disappear under
the gentle treatment of its kind mistress. The lady had never been
out of her native land previously, and was much interested in the
strange sights of West African bush life.

Faranah is the first place of any size and importance on the
Niger. It consists of a native population of about 2000, and a
dozen Frenchmen. The native town lies in a hollow, close to the
banks of the river, while the Residency and European quarter are
on a hill above. Faranah does a small trade in rubber and cattle,
most of which are sent down to the coast port of Konakry. There is a
caravanserai, or rest-house, in the town. This useful construction
is found in nearly every village of any size in French Guinea,
and is a great boon to the traveller. The headman of the place is
charged with the duty of keeping it clean, and as it is constantly
inspected by a French official, the house is usually in the best
of order. The houses at Faranah are built of mud, with walls about
two feet thick, and thatched roofs. They are very cool in the hot
weather, but are rather cold and draughty in the rainy season,
when it is a good plan to light a fire in the middle of your room.

At Faranah I stayed with the French District Commissioner, who was
a most hospitable and courteous host. Here I was delighted to be
able to discard my hammock, as my knee was nearly healed. A two
days’ halt was necessary to collect fresh carriers, and to get
information of the shooting prospects in front of me.

My intention had been to march as rapidly as possible to Kouroussa,
and strike eastward from that place into the Wasulu country, which
lies between the Niger and the Ivory Coast. At Faranah, however,
I was informed that there was some excellent shooting to be had on
the Mafou River, a tributary of the Niger, which is crossed on the
road to Kouroussa. I therefore determined to halt at this stream
on my way, and sample the big-game shooting in the vicinity.

On the 24th, bidding good-bye to my kind hosts, I set out. The
road follows within a few miles of the Niger, which here takes
a north-easterly course. The country is rather thick bush, but is
well populated. Villages occur every three or four miles most of the
way. The people who inhabit this part of French Guinea are Malinkés,
and they are dark of complexion and stoutly built. They are a higher
type than the coast negro, having probably intermarried with the
Fulanis, to whom they no doubt owe their more regular features and
thinner lips. They are chiefly an agricultural people, but are not
fond of work in any form. The majority of them are Mussulmans.

The king of the tribe is called the “Alimamy.” He has a large
court, chiefly composed of his relations, who all expect to profit,
either directly or indirectly, by their position. They are the
channel of communication between him and his people. His council is
composed of the headmen of the villages, and rich native traders.
The council decides all matters of dispute with other tribes. The
decision for making peace or war rests with them, and, in the event
of the king’s death it is this body who elects the new Alimamy.

Villages are organized on the same lines, each village having a
chief, assisted by his council of influential villagers. The tribe
is divided into two portions, those who are free, and those who
are captives.

The free portion of each tribe is again divided into five castes:

(1) The Horos, who are citizens.

(2) The Sohrés, weavers.

(3) The Garangis, or shoemakers.

(4) The Hrabis, or blacksmiths.

(5) The Yellimanis, or jesters.

The Horos are the only class from which chiefs and headmen can be
selected. They are the predominant caste, and all the others are
their menials.

Horos can only marry in their own class. The other people can marry
amongst themselves as they please.

The Hrabis are looked on with great contempt, corresponding in
caste to the sweeper class of India. It is uncertain what was the
origin of this, but there is a story connected with Mohammed and
a blacksmith which probably accounts for it. It is said that the
Prophet was once pursued by some infidels, and concealed himself in
the trunk of a tree near the spot where a blacksmith was at work.
The latter was on the point of betraying Mohammed’s hiding-place
when he was struck blind by God. Mohammed, when he issued from the
tree, is supposed to have cursed the blacksmith and all his kind.

The Yellimanis are a very obnoxious class. They spend their time
in abusing those who do not give them any money, while they sing
the praises of their patrons. Every chief has an entourage of
these jesters. They are often equipped with musical instruments,
and form a sort of band which precedes him wherever he goes.

Families have always some animal which is their particular aversion,
or evil spirit. It may be a lion, or leopard, or crocodile, or some
such beast. For example, it is supposed that if a man’s evil genius
was a crocodile, and he should eat some of this animal’s flesh,
it would give him some terrible skin disease, such as leprosy.

The captives, or slaves, are of course not now officially recognized
by the French. Any man who is a slave can at once obtain his freedom
by applying to the nearest Commissioner. It shows how contented
these captives usually are with their lot, when it is noticed
that they very rarely ask to be made free. They are well treated,
are not hard worked, and get free board and lodging. These slaves
were taken from various tribes during the intertribal warfare which
raged in this part of West Africa for many years. In most cases
these people have quite forgotten the country of their origin,
and are perfectly content to remain with their masters. A slave,
when he has gained his freedom, can be permitted to join any of the
above-mentioned castes, or may marry into any of them. His position
is therefore superior to that of a Hrabi. The captive lives with the
members of the family, and is in every way treated as one of them.

On the 26th of January I arrived at the Mafou River, where I had
great hopes of getting some elephant. These animals were reported by
the natives to come down here at this time of year. On the river
there was a certain palm of which they were very fond. Native
information is, of course, frequently the only kind available,
but it is also far from reliable. The negro, when interrogated,
will give the answer that comes easiest to him, and will usually say
what he thinks will most please you. So I was far from placing too
much faith in their reports. Having procured two native hunters,
I sent them out to get news of the whereabouts of the elephant,
and in the meantime decided to try my luck with a third hunter after
waterbuck and kob, of which I had seen traces in the neighbourhood.
The banks of the Mafou River are swampy and the ideal home of kob.

Here I managed to secure a fine beast, with the best head I had
yet shot in West Africa. Pleased with my day’s sport I returned
to my camp at the village that afternoon, hoping to get some good
news from my hunters. I was therefore much disappointed to be told
that the elephant had not been seen in that district for some weeks,
and the tracks seen by the hunters were at least a month old. I had
myself that morning seen elephant tracks, close to a place where
they had evidently been in the habit of bathing in the Mafou River.
These tracks were likewise some weeks old. As there seemed no
prospect of elephant in the neighbourhood, I decided to follow my
original plan of pushing on with as little delay as possible to
the Wasulu country.

The next day I continued my journey to Kouroussa. It was always my
custom to set out in the morning, just before daylight, and to have
a start of about half an hour on my carriers. In this way one often
got a chance of a shot at game while it was feeding within range
of the bush path, and had not been disturbed by passers-by. I used
to wear boots with noiseless soles, finding this a good plan for
enabling me to approach without being heard. A bush path is a very
sinuous affair as a rule, and it frequently happens that one suddenly
turns a corner and comes in sight of game, quite as unaware of the
proximity of man as you are of its presence. One morning, while
walking thus ahead of my carriers, I suddenly espied a small duiker
dart across the road, and was fortunate enough to get a snapshot at
it before it disappeared into the bush. It proved to be a “crowned
duiker,” a beautiful little animal, only fifteen inches high. This
small antelope is of a bright yellowish fawn colour, with remarkably
long and pointed ears. The tail was short and blackish, more like
the tail of most oribis. The horns were very small and delicate,
but this little beast is uncommon, so my delight at securing it
was great; moreover, I had never before seen it wild. The habit of
all duikers is to conceal themselves in the bush, consequently one
does not often see them unless a drive is organized, and this to
me always appears rather an unsportsmanlike procedure.

This little antelope derives its name “crowned” from the dainty
crownlike tuft on the top of its head. The duiker probably falls a
victim, more than any other kind of antelope, to the native hunter.
His method of killing game is distinctly brutal. When the bush is
ready to be burnt, a number of hunters collect together and proceed
with the boys of the village to the scene selected for the sport.
The hunters line up at a suitable place, on a path, down-wind. The
boys are sent to drive the game in the direction of this path
out of the bush. Their procedure is as follows: each person being
equipped with a tomtom, an old tin, or some similar article capable
of producing a noise, sets to work to make a tremendous din. At the
same time the grass is set on fire. The unfortunate animals in the
bush, scared out of their senses, dash the only way open to them,
viz. towards the path on which are the hunters. As they appear, at
a range of a dozen yards or less, they are received with a volley
of scraps of old metal, iron nails and sharp stones, fired from the
flint-lock guns of the sportsmen. The din is deafening, missiles
are flying in all directions, and the carnage amongst the luckless
little beasts is great. At the same time the shooting is decidedly
wild, and it is a matter of congratulation that this is the case,
for the slaughter is not so terrible as it would otherwise be. It is
a marvel that these people do not often kill one another by their
wild shooting. It is true occasionally a maimed native is seen who
admits that he has been crippled in this manner, but on the whole
the casualties are not so large as might be expected.

[Illustration: BARO VILLAGE IN THE KOUROUSSA DISTRICT OF FRENCH
GUINEA

The people of this district suffered very severely in the Sofa
wars. King Samory spread fire and sword throughout the land, and
carried off many of the people into slavery. The inhabitants of
Baro have only returned and rebuilt their houses in recent years.
They have the downtrodden, low-spirited nature of men who have
lived many years in captivity.]

Another favourite method of killing game is by trapping it. The
ordinary form of trap is a long barricade of sticks and palm leaves,
built up to a height of several feet. At intervals in this hedge
there are narrow openings, with a running noose cunningly concealed
on the far side. A drive is organized and the animals are frightened
through the bush in the direction of this barricade. On finding
the openings they naturally endeavour to escape by them, but are
caught by the noose as they struggle through. Traps of this nature
are set for birds, as well as other small game. These barricades
are frequently built as much as a mile long. Yet another form of
trap I have often met with is simply a pit, dug to a depth of six
or seven feet, at the bottom of which is planted a stake, having
the sharpened end sticking vertically upwards, ready to impale the
unfortunate animal which falls upon it.

The pits are usually covered over with leaves, and are thus invisible
to the unsuspecting victim. These snares are often as dangerous to
strangers as to game, on account of this invisibility, and it is
dangerous to wander in the bush of a hunting country without a local
guide. On one occasion one of my porters strayed away from camp after
dark. In the morning he was not forthcoming to carry his load when
all was ready for the start. A comrade suddenly recollected that he
had gone towards the bush the previous night, and it transpired that
he had not since been seen. Search parties were at once organized
and despatched in search of him. After some time they returned with
a very pitiable-looking object, whose clothes were torn, and whose
nether garments were smeared in blood. This proved to be the lost
carrier. He had fallen into a hunter’s pit some distance from camp,
and all his cries for help had not been heard. Fortunately he was
more frightened than hurt, and certainly profited by his experience,
for he never wandered into strange bush again!

We had now left the belt of oil-palm country behind. The chief
product of this district was rubber. The rubber is here the product
of the rubber vine, and is seen in some quantities growing in the
bush. But the majority of the rubber of French Guinea is grown in
the east of the colony.

In the farms one notices particularly rice, maize and ground
nuts. The latter is a pretty little plant with a small yellow
flower. The nuts themselves grow on the roots in the ground,
something after the fashion of a potato. The fruit is ripe after
the plant has flowered. On one plant will be found as many as fifty
nuts. They are much relished as a form of diet by the native, while
the oil of the nut is a valuable thin oil, much used in Europe for
making fine soaps, scents, and as a dressing similar to salad oil.

In the bush it is of the greatest use as a lamp oil, but must
first be purified by straining through a thin cloth. For about
three months I used nothing else, and found the light as good as
that of a kerosene lamp.

The trader one encounters in the bush is the native trader, called
the “Dioula.” The European trader is only met with on the coast,
or in the biggest markets of the interior. The term Dioula merits a
word of explanation. These people are supposed to have originally
been wandering Mohammedan merchants, but now the term applies to
any travelling trader. The Dioula is a very thrifty individual,
usually commencing life in a most humble way. He probably leaves his
village with only a few francs in his pocket, which he exchanges
at a suitable opportunity for some article of commerce, such as
salt. He then travels a bit nearer to the coast, exchanging his
salt for rubber or perhaps ground nuts. This process he continues,
constantly bartering one article for another, until he finally
reaches the coast. Here he purchases cloth, or some such European
goods, and works his way back to the interior, bartering as he
goes. These traders often accumulate quite big fortunes by their
keen business instincts.

Kouroussa lies on a bare open plateau, overlooking the Niger. It
is the centre of the district of the same name, and is increasing
in size and importance daily. The cause of its growth is the Guinea
Railway, emanating from the coast port of Konakry, and destined to
reach Kouroussa in a very short time. The total length of this line
will be about 400 miles. The object of the railway is to tap the
trade of the Futa Jallon region, and the fertile country on the
banks of the Niger. As the Niger is more or less navigable from
Kouroussa for canoes and quite small lighters, this will also open
out a line of communication from the interior of the Soudan and
French Guinea to the coast.

When I arrived at Kouroussa I went to pay my respects to the
Commissioner. I found him contemplating a ruined building with
a rueful eye. It was all that remained of his house. When I had
introduced myself to him he proceeded to explain that the previous
night his house had been burnt to the ground. The act was attributed
to the spite of a native, who had been punished by him for some
misdemeanour. Unfortunately it was difficult to collect proof
against the man, and it appeared as if he would escape from the
hands of justice. The people of this town are a strange mixture of
several tribes. At or near this point three great races meet—the
Susus, from South-Western Guinea, the Malinkés, from the south of
the colony, and the Fulanis, from Futa Jallon, in the west. The
consequence is that a hybrid race formed by the intermarriage of
these different clans has sprung up. The natives are perhaps a
higher class than the ordinary negro of Guinea. They inherit from
the Fulanis a finer type of features, thinner lips and more aquiline
noses. Their hair, however, remains woolly, and stamps them as
undoubtedly negroid. They are chiefly agriculturists. Some, however,
are cattle-men, owning considerable herds. They are distinctly lazy;
this, perhaps, is hardly to be wondered at, as their country is
fruitful and it needs but little work to get a living out of the
soil. Besides, a man need only gather a small quantity of rubber
in the bush to gain a livelihood.

At Kouroussa the French officials have a fine garden. Almost every
kind of European vegetable is grown by them. The garden is personally
supervised by one of the officers, who has a large number of native
gardeners under his orders. From one year’s end to another they
are never without some sort of vegetables. The garden is planted
on the banks of the Niger, so that a constant supply of water is
available. There is also a well-stocked fruit plantation, where one
can enjoy a variety of tropical fruits such as oranges, pomegranates,
bananas, etc. The French show a particular aptitude for gardening,
and it was a point which struck me very forcibly that in almost every
station where there was a European, a good garden would be found. On
one evening of my stay at Kouroussa I witnessed the interesting and
rather weird spectacle of a native dance. This particular dance was
performed by some young girls, to the accompaniment of much tomtoming
and cheering from the assembled throng of admiring onlookers.

These girls were dressed in short skirts, much resembling a
ballet-dancer’s skirt, but made out of a sort of bulrush very
common in these parts. The bodice was a brightly coloured native
cloth, twisted gracefully round the breast and waist. On the head
was worn a bonnet of plumes of various hues. We were escorted to
the place of honour by the side of the chief, who then clapped his
hands as a sign for the performance to commence. The spectators were
thronged in a circle round him, many being provided with tomtoms
and musical instruments of all descriptions.

At the given signal the dancers dashed into the ring, joining hands
and advancing with a graceful swinging step towards the chief, the
tomtoms all this time playing a slow measure. The music gradually
became faster and faster, while the dancers increased their pace
in unison with it. Turning and twisting their lithe bodies, they
now retired, at every step the music waxing faster and their pace
becoming more frenzied. This performance was repeated many times,
until the pace was so rapid and the dancers had got so exhausted as
to no longer be able to keep time with the music. At this moment
they flung themselves on the ground before the chief and the
tomtoms simultaneously ceased beating. It appeared evident that it
was now we were expected to show our appreciation of the skill of
the dancing-girls, so we rewarded each one with a small coin, after
which they retired. Similar dances were executed by individual girls;
in several cases they displayed remarkable agility and grace in
their movements. The spectators were untiring in their tomtoming and
applause, and it was evident that this dance was a most popular one.

Dancing is a very favourite amusement among West African
natives. Every tribe has its special dances, some of which are
far from graceful according to our ideas. There is, however, an
undeniable fascination in seeing these weird black figures leaping
and pirouetting in their picturesque costumes, with the strange
glow of the firelight casting mysterious shadows on them as they
move backwards and forwards.

In the vicinity of Kouroussa the natives keep a number of
beehives. These hives are frequently seen stuck up in high trees.
They are made out of reeds bound in the form of a hollow cylinder,
having the ends closed with plastered mud. One of these mud doors
has a hole in the centre, providing an entrance and exit for the
bees. The negro has a great liking for sweet things, so a quantity
of this honey is consumed. Before it can be eaten by the European
it must be strained through a piece of muslin, as it is exceedingly
dirty. When properly cleaned, however, it is excellent.

Wild fruit is scarce, and in any case should be partaken of with
great caution, as there are several poisonous varieties. There is
a kind of wild plum which is fairly common in this part of French
Guinea and has a pleasant flavour. Occasionally wild bananas and
pawpaws are met with; they almost invariably indicate the site of
an old, abandoned village.

CHAPTER VI

MENTION has several times been made of King Samory and his
Sofas. Kouroussa was for some time the centre of his plundering
operations; it will therefore be advisable to give some account of
this enlightened chief’s history before describing his doings in
that country.

Samory came from the neighbourhood of Bobodjilassu, an important
town between the north of the “Gold Coast Northern Territories”
and the Niger. He was a Mohammedan, and became a very influential
chief on account of his strong personality.

He collected an army of between 30,000 and 40,000 men, and ravaged
practically the whole of what is the colony of French Guinea, as well
as a portion of the French Soudan and Sierra Leone Protectorate. His
troops were first composed of Mandingoes from the Middle Niger,
but gradually as he advanced he absorbed large numbers of other
tribes whom he had subjugated, and the whole army was designated by
the name of Sofas. For fifteen years he spread terror throughout
the land, on several occasions even inflicting severe reverses on
the French troops he encountered. He was finally captured by the
French in 1897, and died in captivity three years later. His army
was too large to be concentrated for any time, so had to disperse
to obtain supplies. This resulted in wholesale plunder and wanton
devastation of the land. The natives hated the Sofas, who pillaged
their homes and carried off their wives without any mercy.

Large districts were depopulated by their ravages; indeed, to this
day the ruins of villages, which were abandoned during the Sofa
wars, are frequently seen in the bush. It is only during the last
few years that this part of West Africa has begun to settle down
peacefully after the long period of plunder and wholesale murder
which existed during the reign of King Samory.

A further cause of this prolonged warfare at this time was that when
the Sofa lieutenants were not employing their soldiers on behalf
of Samory, they were in the habit of letting their services out to
anybody who was willing to pay for them. This system naturally led
to a number of local small wars, thus further aggravating the harm
done by Samory and his followers.

This chief was certainly the biggest native general ever encountered
by European troops in West Africa. Many of his soldiers afterwards
enlisted in British and French colonial corps, and proved themselves
excellent fighting material.

In Kouroussa market-place there is a large baobab tree, under
which Samory used to hold court. Here he used to try his prisoners,
and here they used to be executed. That tree must have seen some
horrible sights in its day. What tales it could tell of murder and
injustice committed under its shady boughs! Baobab trees are common
in these parts; nearly every village possesses one, and it is under
these spreading branches that the chief and his followers are wont
to sit and gossip during the heat of the day.

One of my carriers about this time was an oldish man, who had
been a young warrior in Samory’s army. He used to relate some
blood-curdling stories over the camp fire at night of the atrocities
committed by that chief. The carrier had himself, it appeared,
been a participator in some cruel acts. On one occasion he was
sent with a party to exact tribute from a refractory town, with
orders to inform the people they would be plundered and their town
burnt unless they complied. He described with a great show of pride
how he first extorted twice the required sum, and then proceeded
to massacre the unfortunate, helpless inhabitants. Little wonder
that Samory’s soldiery was feared and mistrusted in those days
of plunder and bloodshed.

On the morning of the 31st I had given my “boy” particular
orders to call me early, in order to start on my way to Kankan.
About five o’clock I woke, and could see no signs of my servant.
This surprised me, as he was usually very punctual. I called,
but receiving no reply, went out to investigate the cause of his
non-appearance. On entering the kitchen it became evident that he had
run away, for all his personal property had been removed. I never
saw him again, and can only conclude that he had found the journey
rather harder work than he had bargained for, and had decided to
return to his native land before it was too late.

This incident was extremely annoying just as I was about to start for
my shooting-ground, and I was much afraid it would be impossible to
get a “boy” suited to my requirements in the place. Fortune,
however, favoured me, and the District Commissioner assured me he
would be able to procure a cook who could speak French and Bambara
in a few hours. I decided to march off, on the understanding that
the “boy” would follow and meet me that evening in camp. True
to his promises, the Commissioner sent me the servant, who remained
with me until I reached Timbuctu. His name was Mamadu; he had many
faults and was hardly the sort of “boy” I should have chosen,
but I was lucky to get one at all, and after all he possessed one
or two good qualities, and could bake bread better than any native
servant I had yet had.

Mamadu’s chief fault was his irrepressible tongue. I made many
efforts, both by gentle and strong means, to curb this bad habit
while he was with me, but have to acknowledge complete failure.
Incessant chatter is a failing of most negro tribes, but I never
met such an inveterate talker as Mamadu before, nor am I likely
to do so again. At night he would be talking when one wanted to go
to sleep, and in the early morning I was generally wakened by his
unceasing chatter. When he slept and what he had to talk about were
two problems I never succeeded in solving.

At Kouroussa the Niger is about 250 yards wide, and here there is a
canoe ferry to the point on the opposite shore where the Kankan road
commences. As I mentioned before, the Niger is partially navigable
from here to Bamako, a distance of about 200 miles. Navigation is
frequently interrupted by sandbanks, which are fairly common in
this part of the stream. At such places canoes have to be unloaded,
and the contents carried to the other side of the obstruction, where
fresh canoes are in waiting— a somewhat tedious and slow process.

There is a remarkable scarcity of waterfowl on the Niger above
Bamako. I do not recollect seeing a single duck or goose on this
section of the river, although occasionally I saw a few teal. It is
true that the river was rather dry at this time, but I was informed
by French officials that it was very unusual to find duck at any
time of year in the upper reaches of the Niger.

The country between Kouroussa and Kankan consists of rather thick
bush, except for a stretch of more open grass-land between the
Niger and its tributary the Niandan. Rice is rather scarce in
this region. The native lives principally on sweet potatoes and
cassada. The Niandan is a stream of no great size, but with a very
rapid current. It is not too deep to be fordable, but the swiftness
of the current makes it dangerous to try the experiment. It was
here that I first saw horses in any numbers during my journey, so
we were evidently out of the tsetse fly belt, which is so fatal to
these animals. An old chief rode up to the stream as we arrived,
mounted on a horse with gay trappings, and his toes thrust into
the curious, heavy iron stirrups always used in West Africa. The
saddles are made of wood, with a high back, and are extremely
hard, although not otherwise uncomfortable. The wickedest part
of the saddlery is the bit. This is made of rough iron, having a
ring through which the animal’s tongue is thrust, and a cruel
spike so fashioned as to stab the roof of the horse’s mouth
each time the reins are pulled; the inevitable consequence being
that a horse’s mouth is almost always spoilt when he is young,
and is usually in a lacerated condition. Malinkés are good riders,
but atrocious horsemasters. Horses are generally ridden too young,
frequently getting their backs strained from this cause. Animals
here average about thirteen hands or less, and it is seldom that a
good beast is seen, owing to the system of inbreeding which prevails.

The horses in this part of the country are not bred locally, but
are imported from the south of French Soudan. Indeed, I much doubt
if horses are ever bred in French Guinea, or anyhow in the eastern
half of the colony.

The native’s chief delight is to gallop. He will often be seen
careering along at racing speed, for no reason whatever except that
he appears to think that the horse is only born to carry him at the
top of its pace. These people are very fond of horse-races. Here,
too, their one idea is to gallop hard the whole distance. Their
knowledge of the staying powers of their animals seems to be
strangely lacking. The result is that their horses finish at
a snail’s pace and are quite exhausted. Besides, horses are
generally grass-fed, and consequently very soft. In spite of all
the bad treatment he suffers from, the native pony is frequently a
hardy little animal, capable of doing a long day’s work, making
one wonder what he might not be able to do if breeding were carefully
attended to and the animals were well looked after.

I had no difficulty all this time in keeping the larder well
supplied with birds, while an occasional buck brought joy to the
carriers’ hearts. Bush-fowl and guinea fowl were sufficiently
numerous in the farms on the roadside to provide for my wants. The
day of my arrival at Kankan I had started in the morning, as was
my custom, before the carriers, with my shot-gun on my shoulder,
intending to do a little shooting on the way. Having secured all
I wanted, I pressed on to the town, accompanied by one man to
carry the birds. I have no doubt I looked an extremely uncouth
and grimy figure, for I had been walking for some hours, and the
road was hot and dusty. My costume, too, no doubt looked strange,
consisting as it did of khaki shooting-breeches cut short at the
knee and a rough khaki flannel shirt, open at the collar, with the
sleeves rolled up to the elbow. In spite of my curious appearance,
however, I was much amazed to be mistaken for a villain intent on
taking the life of the French Commissioner! Yet such was the case.

On approaching the European quarter I observed a native policeman,
whom I asked to direct me to the Commissioner’s house. This
individual, to my surprise, immediately seized me and attempted
to wrench the gun out of my hand. It was with difficulty that
I restrained my anger in time to prevent myself striking him,
so sudden and unexpected was the onslaught. Fortunately at this
moment the Commissioner, hearing the commotion, came out of his
office, and matters were satisfactorily explained. It appeared
that some time previously a native who bore a grudge against the
Commissioner had attempted to shoot him, hence the policeman had
been on the alert in case of another attempt. My black friend,
in the zeal of performing his duty, had jumped to the conclusion
that I was a would-be assassin, and had lost no time in trying to
deprive me of my gun in consequence. I was much sunburnt at that
time, and it is possible that I looked to his excited imagination
almost as dark as his coloured brethren! That evening I dined with
the official and his wife, and we laughed heartily over the dramatic
nature of my arrival into Kankan.

I was rather surprised to find a French lady so far from the haunts
of civilization, but was informed that there were two more ladies,
the wives of French traders, in the town. The traveller in the bush
cannot but be struck with the refinement brought by a woman’s
presence to a lonely West African station. Colonials necessarily
grow rough in their habits when removed from the gentle influence
of woman’s society. In her presence the roughest of mankind feels
softened, and his better nature seems brought to the front.

Kankan is a large town of 12,000 inhabitants. It owes its importance
to its position in the centre of the rubber-growing district of
Guinea. Moreover, before the appearance of the white man and the
consequent development of the rubber trade, Kankan had for many
years been a large native market. Probably the reason of this is
that it lies on the Milo River, one of the few tributaries on this
bank of the Niger which are navigable to any extent. From Kankan
the French traders are enabled, by using this stream, to send boats
with produce direct either to Bamako or Kouroussa.

There are no less than fourteen French trading firms established
at this place. Their chief business is, of course, done in rubber.
In addition to rubber, a large quantity of ground nuts, rice, millet
and gum copal pass through this large market, while Moors from
the north of the Senegal River, and Fulanis from the Middle Niger,
bring herds of cattle for sale to the town. It is indeed an amusing
sight to wander through the market-place in the morning, when it
is crowded with a cosmopolitan collection of coloured races. People
of every shade of colour will be seen. There is the negro from the
coast, with a face almost as black as coal, jostling against the
reddish-complexioned Fulanis and the pale-coloured Moors, while
men and women of every intermediate hue are also to be seen. The
babel of voices in many different tongues is most remarkable, and
the French traders used to tell me that they require interpreters
in about half a dozen different languages in their stores, for so
varied is the speech of their customers.

At Kankan I saw for the first time those curious bars of salt
transported from the desert salt-mines of the Sahara. They are
brought many hundreds of miles for sale in the interior of Guinea,
where salt is an article of considerable value. These bars weigh
fifty to sixty pounds, and are here sold for as much as thirty
francs. In the district of Kankan nearly every native is employed
collecting rubber in the bush, which he brings to the French
merchants for sale. The rubber vine grows in extraordinary profusion
to the north and east of the district. On the latter side its range
extends into the north of the Ivory Coast Colony. The vine should not
be tapped before it is four years old, when the plant is about as
thick as a man’s wrist. Unless it is cut in a spiral fashion the
plant will be killed. Much harm was done to the rubber trade by the
natives a few years ago by the wasteful manner in which they tapped
the vines. They used to make deep, circular gashes completely round
them, as by this means they were able to get the sap out more easily,
quite heedless of the fact that by so doing they were killing the
plants. Strict legislation has now been introduced to prevent this
wasteful and wanton destruction. When I first saw men tapping rubber
vines I was surprised to notice they invariably rubbed the place
where the incision was made with some dirty-looking liquid. I was
informed that this liquid was lime juice and water, the object being
to cause the rubber to agglomerate as it exuded from the incision.

[Illustration: NATIVE TYPES AT KANKAN

This place is a big rubber market of French Guinea. Rubber commands
a good price, so most of the natives are well-to-do, as may be
judged by their prosperous appearance. The country east of Kankan
is prolific in rubber vines, and the labour entailed in tapping
the vine is very small.]

Rubber is collected in balls, which have a dirty greyish appearance,
and it is in this form that it is sold to the merchants. To
increase the weight of these balls it is a common practice for the
wily natives to mix water with the rubber, or to place mud or some
heavy substance in the interior. These tricks are now becoming well
known to the European trader, who is not often deceived by them,
although, when the ruse was first started, I understand it met with
considerable success. It is probable that a large portion of French
Guinea will be entirely devoted to the rubber trade in the future,
for it is mostly a rather scrubby bush-country eminently suited to
this particular commerce. Owing to the large and increasing demand
for rubber at the present time, Guinea rubber, which is of good
quality, commands a high price in France.

At Kankan I had to change my carriers, and here I arranged to send
all the kit which I did not require on to Bamako, while only taking
a month’s stores, my rifles and camp equipment, on my shooting
trip into Wasulu country. After an interview with one of the French
trading firms, it was settled that my surplus baggage should be
forwarded in their lighters by river to Bamako, where I would find
it on my arrival at that place.

My carriers were now reduced to eight, and with this small party
I set out on the 3rd of February. For the first few miles the
road was the main route to the gold-mining district of Siguiri,
a fine, broad highway which joins Kankan to the town of that name,
a distance of sixty miles. After leaving this road we turned into
a small bush path, striking nearly due east into the heart of
the Wasulu country. At Niansumana the Milo River is crossed. It
is a stream about 100 yards wide, which we found fordable at this
season. That evening I observed a big drum in the chief’s compound,
and thinking it might be of some service to me, I inquired whether
the village would send word of my approach to the town of Falama,
and ask if the hunters I required were ready. The chief readily
acquiesced, stating that within an hour the people of Falama would
have knowledge of the message. Falama was nearly fifty miles from
Niansumana, so that I was anxious to see if the experiment would
really be successful. In less than three hours a reply had come
from the hunters to say they were ready awaiting me.

These drums are much used for signalling in this part of the
country, and without doubt account for the rapidity with which
news becomes known at a considerable distance from the spot where
it originates. The drums are made of a rough piece of log hollowed
out, often as much as four feet long, with the ends covered with
goat’s skin stretched taut. The drummer beats on the end with a
couple of sticks, or with his hands. It is wonderful how skilled
they are about sending quite long messages in this way. Of course,
every native does not understand the drum language. An expert ear
is necessary to send as well as to read a message. When war is
declared the inhabitants of the surrounding villages are all made
aware of the news by a drum message. In fact, when rapidity is an
object, the natives prefer to send their messages this way rather
than by messenger. The drum is in common use in many West African
countries. It is frequently used to call the people together for
a palaver, and can be heard by men working in the most distant
farms, who at once obey the signal, leaving their crops to return
to the town.

We were now getting into a more open country watered by numerous
streams, most of which flowed north-west into the Niger. Villages
were becoming scarcer, and it was evident that the country was more
thinly populated. I was careful at each village I passed to make
inquiries for game, but it appeared that the game country hardly
started before the Sankarani River, which I should cross before
arriving at Falama. Cattle were far more numerous here than I had
yet seen them. The milk was exceedingly rich, and I was always
supplied with a large bowl of it on camping near a village. The
people were mostly cattle-men, and were a fine stalwart race. The
men must average five feet ten inches. The women are considerably
smaller. The latter go in for a great deal of personal adornment.
Their hair is dressed in small ringlets, screwed up tightly to
the side of the head, giving them a decidedly comical appearance,
and hardly enhancing their rather doubtful claims to good looks. The
wealthier women wear a large amount of cheap jewellery. Their fingers
and toes are decorated with silver rings, generally about as thick
as a lady’s bracelet in England. Their necks are freely adorned
with necklaces of large yellow or blue beads. Like most native women,
they are extremely fond of bright-coloured dresses.

CHAPTER VII

Hippopotami — Game in the Wasulu country — Lazy carriers — In
pursuit of elephants — Fetish haartebeest — “Red” elephants
— A fetish altar — Braimah’s juju — Charms and tests.

AT Falama I found the two hunters I had engaged for my shooting
expedition. They were the head hunters of the district, one of
them being a man from the big hunting village of Dialakoro, who was
reputed to know every yard of the game haunts in the Wasulu country,
so it was with high hopes of good sport that I began to talk over
plans with these two local celebrities. The Sankarani River runs in
a semicircle round the village of Falama, at a distance varying from
one to three miles from the place. I was informed that there was a
hippopotamus pool in the river, so I decided to bend my steps thither
that afternoon, on the chance of getting a hippo and also with a
view to seeing the nature of the country from a shooting standpoint.

Taking Braimah, the expert from Dialakoro, with me I set out about
3 p.m. We traversed a patch of grass-country, in which I saw traces
of kob and waterbuck, for about a couple of miles before reaching
the river. Braimah led me to a well-worn hippo path in some rather
thick undergrowth near the river-bank, on the off-chance of finding
a hippo on land. After twisting and winding for some time in this
thicket, I heard the movements of a ponderous body in front of
us. This was without doubt the beast we were hunting, and sure
enough in a few minutes, after some careful stalking through the
bush, I caught sight of him. He was within fifty yards, and had just
turned broadside on to listen, with his piglike eyes looking in our
direction. His massive form was plainly outlined at that distance,
as fortunately the bush was a little thinner here. A shot from my
·450 rifle rolled him over, hitting him in the heart. After this we
made our way to the pool, taking up a concealed position on the river
bank. Three or four hippos shortly appeared, frolicking in the clear,
cool water of the pool. For some time I lay in the shady refuge of
the bushes, watching their playful antics. It was an amusing sight
to see these huge monsters gradually and lazily raising their big
heads out of the water, until finally with a snort the whole head
was thrust out to full view, when, after drawing a deep breath, they
would suddenly disappear beneath the calm waters of the stream. After
for some time watching this pretty scene and regretting I had not
brought my camera, I decided to have a shot at a big bull who was
in the party. The best shot at a hippo in the water is one directed
at his nostrils, which can be seen when he thus raises his head.
Consequently the next time my friend appeared I fired at this spot.
It took three shots before I was satisfied I had killed him, and
then I turned away rather disgusted with the sport, for hippos are
harmless creatures and the amusement derived from shooting them
does not give one much satisfaction.

I have heard some men give the hippo credit for being vicious,
but personally I am of opinion that he will never wilfully harm
anyone. It is true they have been known frequently to overturn canoes
on a river, but I cannot help thinking that, when this does occur,
it is purely an accident, for the hippo is very blind and it is quite
conceivable that he may often raise his big head just underneath
a canoe without being aware of the latter’s presence. On leaving
the pool we soon picked up the tracks of a herd of kob, which had
recently passed that way. There was still an hour and a half before
dark, so I decided to follow them. We were now once more in the open
grass-land where the grass had been burnt in patches. Proceeding
cautiously up-wind, for these antelopes have a very keen sense of
hearing and smell, we espied the herd peacefully grazing in the
distance. After a careful stalk of 400 or 500 yards I managed to
secure a fair-sized male. It was now nearly dark, so we proceeded
towards camp. Parties were sent out to bring in the meat of the
first hippo and of the kob, and all the village was full of joy at
the prospect of plenty of “beef.”

The second hippo would have to be left till the following day,
for they sink when shot and the bodies do not float for about
twenty-four hours. A message was sent to the fishermen down-stream
to look out for the animal, and to bring it in as soon as it was
found. They were to have the meat on condition they brought me the
tusks, an arrangement which pleased everybody!

I had arranged with my hunters to proceed the next day to a place
called Doulajan, sixteen miles east, where they reported that
I would be in the centre of the elephant country. As my chief
object in visiting the Wasulu country was to hunt elephant, and
my time was limited, I was anxious to reach this locality as soon
as practicable. That day, after making my plans, I had already
despatched the second hunter to Doulajan to get all news of the
elephants’ whereabouts at that time and to meet me on my arrival
at camp, or as soon after as possible.

The next morning, as we set out, my heart was light at the prospects
of some really good sport, for I had every reason to believe I was
within easy reach of the elephant, and from all accounts there were
some fine tuskers among them.

That day, however, was doomed to be a day of annoyance and
disappointment. Leaving my carriers to follow by the ordinary road,
I and Braimah were to leave before dawn by a small hunters’ track,
known only to himself, which would lead us through a favourite
haunt of waterbuck. I ordered my “boy” to meet me at a place
where the two paths crossed, at eleven for breakfast.

After a very hot and disappointing walk, during which I saw not a
single trace of waterbuck, we arrived at the place where I proposed
to breakfast. My carriers and servant had not arrived, so I got a
hut swept out by the chief and composed myself for a little sleep. I
was feeling fatigued, after the early start and the heat of the day,
so I slept for some hours and woke to find it was three o’clock
and still no sign of my carriers. I began to be uneasy that some
might have run away and could not be replaced. I was also by this
time uncommonly hungry, and decided to get some food from the chief
and then set out with Braimah to look for my “boy” Mamadu.
After a refreshing meal of fresh milk and pawpaw, I felt fortified
once more and departed with my hunter in quest of the missing
carriers and “boy.” We had gone three or four miles, I suppose,
when I heard a chattering proceeding from a tree close to the path
just in front of us. On turning a corner we came into full view
of Mamadu, the carriers and the loads all under a shady tree. The
men seemed to be enjoying themselves vastly and not to be in the
least concerned about me! My wrath can be more easily imagined than
described at the spectacle thus disclosed. Here had I been waiting
several hours for these lazy scoundrels and imagining all sorts of
disasters that might have befallen them, when all the time they were
simply loafing and enjoying a rest on the roadside. They jumped up
pretty sharply on my appearance, and proceeded to place their loads
on their heads. Mamadu was of course full of excuses to account for
the delay, but I fear he so perjured himself as to lose any chance
of a seat in heaven. The most annoying feature of the business was
that I should not now be able to reach my shooting-camp at Doulajan
that night. And it appeared that the only reason for all this delay
was that my servant might enjoy his silly habit of chattering!

It was quite dark when we reached the village where I should have
breakfasted, and here another disappointment awaited me. The hunter
I had sent to Doulajan had arrived with news, as I hoped, of the
elephant. His information was distinctly disheartening. He stated
that some hunters from the south of Wasulu had been among the herd a
few days previously and had driven them some distance east of their
previous feeding-ground. In fact, he stated that it was rumoured
the animals had gone almost to Odienné, which I knew to be five
or six days’ march from Doulajan. The only thing to be done was
to go on to Doulajan next day and follow up the elephants if there
seemed any chance of overtaking them within a reasonable time.

The place I selected for my camp was on the banks of a small stream,
about five miles from the village of Doulajan. Here I pitched my
tent, which had hardly as yet come into requisition. The spot was
a delightful shady place, which seemed a veritable haunt of wild
game, judging by the numerous tracks of animals coming down to
drink at the stream hard by. I had procured a third local hunter,
and now sent two men off to get more definite news of the elephant,
while I kept one with me for shooting purposes near my camp.

These hunters are strongly imbued with ideas of fetish. Braimah
had a long flint-lock gun of which he was inordinately proud. To a
native his gun is an object more to be cherished than his child. He
carries it with him everywhere, even when going to his peaceful
farm where there is no danger from man nor the likelihood of his
seeing any wild beast. This particular gun was decorated with every
imaginable sort of “juju,” or fetish charms. Panthers’ claws,
lions’ teeth, antelope horns and pieces of waterbuck’s hide
adorned the stock. The butt had a piece of elephant tail freely
smeared in the blood of the wild boar tied upon it. The latter
animal is particularly venerated for the good luck it is supposed
to bring to the sportsman.

Our camp was on more than one occasion visited by the wild beasts
of the neighbourhood. Leopards and hyenas were fairly numerous
here, while the deep musical roar of the lion was frequently heard
resounding through the bush at night.

One morning as I was making my toilet preparatory to an early
start on a hunting trip, I saw the beautiful sight of a herd of
about fifteen West African haartebeest coming down to drink at
the stream. My attention was at first attracted by hearing the
thundering of many hoofs on the stony ground outside the camp.
Rifle in hand I cautiously crept out of my tent, and soon they came
into full view, never suspecting the near presence of man, for our
camp was well concealed in the trees and they did not get our wind.
There is something awe-inspiring to my mind at the spectacle of wild
animals when they are unaware of the proximity of man and are seen
thus in their native haunts. Game is always most beautiful when it
is most natural and unalarmed. It makes one feel a brute to shoot
it, thereby destroying the life of a fine creature.

The West African haartebeest here were the best I saw during my
travels, and I secured two very good heads. These animals were
numerous in the Wasulu country, herds of twelve or fifteen being
frequently seen, although I never saw them in larger numbers than
this. This animal is, I suppose, quite the most clumsy-looking of all
West African antelopes, its curious, ill-shaped head and lumbering
gait reminding one more of a donkey than any other animal. I spent
three days thus and enjoyed some good sport with antelope. During
my expeditions I used to come across tracks of elephant fairly
often. These appeared to be at least a month old, and I began to
doubt the veracity of the statement that these animals had been seen
here more recently than that. It seemed to me evident that they had
retired towards the better watered country in the direction of the
Ivory Coast forest some considerable time previously.

The dry season was now in full swing and streams in the Wasulu
district were drying up rapidly. I observed two distinctly different
kinds of tracks. One lot appeared to be those of the ordinary
elephant, while the other lot seemed to belong to a smaller species
of that beast. On discussing the matter with my hunter he confirmed
my theory by stating that the smaller tracks were those of a herd of
the “red” elephant. This animal I had never yet seen, but had
heard it mentioned for the first time by some French friends. At
Faranah they had again told me of its existence. So I was very
eager to get a specimen. The elephant appears to be of a reddish
grey hue, probably terra-cotta would be a better description, and
to the best of my belief is peculiar to this region, although as I
never saw one, nor could I even see the skin of one in the district,
I am not in a position to give any more authentic information on the
point. It has the reputation of being very fierce, and is said to
charge without provocation, but I am inclined to believe this is an
exaggeration. It is certainly a good deal smaller than the ordinary
African elephant, and carries quite small tusks by all accounts.

That day my two hunters returned, and much to my disappointment
their reports of the elephant were most discouraging, and made
me only more certain that the animals had left our vicinity some
time back, which would make my chance of ever coming up with them
exceedingly remote. The same evening I got news, however, from the
chief of Doulajan that he had heard on the most reliable authority
that the herd had been seen at a place three days’ march from our
camp, close to Odienné. I at once determined to proceed there on
the chance of there being some truth in the yarn, although I must
confess that I was not very sanguine as to the success of my quest.

Striking camp at an early hour in the morning, we marched for
three days through a more wooded country, gradually verging into
forest-land. Tracks of elephant were numerous, but these were by
no means fresh. Finally, I was forced to abandon the enterprise,
for I was daily getting farther and farther from my northerly route,
and could afford no more time to spend in hunting in this country.

The dense forest we were now in reminded me how extremely
difficult it is to see these huge beasts in country of this nature.
I recollect once when tracking a large herd from an early hour
until late in the afternoon, through a swampy country, I had quite
lost all traces of them and began to despair of finding them again.
I was on the point of turning homewards, but thought I would first
cross a neighbouring swamp to have some lunch on the opposite bank,
which appeared dry. Being on the point of sitting down I suddenly
observed what appeared to be a moving leaf. On closer inspection
it proved to be the ear of an elephant not more than twenty yards
away and concealed in the foliage. A little manœuvring resulted
in a successful stalk, and the animal, which was a fine tusker,
was bagged. These beasts, although not actually deaf, get so
accustomed to forest sounds that they had never heard our somewhat
noisy approach across the swamp.

My plan was to return to Falama on the Sankarani River, where I had
arranged for fresh carriers to meet me, and from thence to proceed
to Bamako by the shortest route. The hunting villages which are
passed in this district gave a very fair indication of the game to
be found in the neighbourhood. It is the custom to erect outside the
village a high altar, built up with the horns of antelope and the
skulls of almost every conceivable beast shot by the local hunting
people. This altar is erected for fetish purposes, the heads being
allowed to remain there till they rot. The native hunter has no
sense of sport as we look upon it. He kills wild animals primarily
for the meat he will get, and, as trophies of the chase, horns and
skins have no value in his eyes. Some of the more dangerous animals
may sometimes be hunted for the danger involved in attacking them,
but even then it is done more out of bravado than from the love
and excitement of the sport.

One of my hunters had a native flute which he would play at night in
camp to amuse himself and his companions. The instrument is a very
simple one, made out of a reed-cane, having a few holes punched in
it to form the notes, and a roughly shaped mouthpiece. The music is
melancholy, and by no means disagreeable. He was a lithely built,
active fellow, making a picturesque figure as he sat in the glow
of the firelight playing strange native melodies on his instrument.

Braimah had a greater weakness for “Juju” than the others. His
chief care, after seeing to his gun before our start every morning,
was to find out if Diana intended to favour our sport that day. The
method adopted to carry out this test was a curious one. The only
things necessary to work the charm were two kola nuts. His procedure
was as follows:

A kola was taken in each hand and some mystic words were then
muttered over them, the gist of which was, as far as I could
understand, something like this: “May the God of the Chase grant
me good fortune, and may he cause these two kolas to point towards
me.”

The kolas were then thrown in the air, and the way in which they
landed on the ground decided the luck that was going to be his that
day. If the two kolas fell with their ends both pointing towards
the thrower all would be well. On the other hand, if the kolas,
when they reached the earth, had the pointed ends turned away from
Braimah, then the God of Hunting was full of wrath and would not be
appeased that day. If one nut was pointing towards him and the other
in the inverse direction, the operation had to be repeated three
times before a definite decision could be arrived at. It must be
explained for the benefit of those who have never seen a kola nut
that one end is more pointed than the other. The shape of the nut
resembles that of a Brazil nut, a sort of pyramid on a triangular
base, and the colour is either white or pink.

Braimah’s trick, I noticed, often did not give a correct forecast
of the day’s performances. When I tackled him on this point he
always had some ready excuse on his tongue, and I never succeeded
in shaking his conviction of the infallibility of the charm. As a
matter of fact, a native has such a strongly rooted belief in his
various fetishes and superstitions that it seems quite impossible
ever to shake it. Of course, in many cases, when fetishes are in
the hands of “medicine-men,” these people are so crafty that
the particular charm they are working appears never to fail. I
have in mind the charm used for the purpose of testing adultery
among certain tribes. In this case the accused is told to drink
a mixture made of the infusion of leaves of the cotton tree and
some other ingredients, the reasoning being that if he drinks
it and vomits he is innocent, but if he is guilty he will die in
agonies. As a matter of fact, the result is a foregone conclusion,
for if the “medicine-man” wishes the death of his victim he
merely puts a little deadly poison into the concoction, thereby
producing the desired result, while the natural property of the
mixture is to make the imbiber vomit. This performance is carried
out in the midst of the congregated villagers, so that the effect
produced on their ignorant and superstitious minds is tremendous.

If the accused man is rich, he can generally buy his innocence by
a judicious bribe paid to the “medicine-man.” Fetish priests
wield great power over the people in West Africa. Their influence
is in a way similar to that of the “Mullahs” in the East among
Mohammedans. The latter stir up the people to mad religious fervour
by their frenzied preachings in much the same manner that the fetish
priest excites the minds of his hearers.

CHAPTER VIII

AT Falama I procured the requisite carriers from the chief. It was
arranged that they should accompany me all the way to the Niger,
should I find any difficulty in replacing them before that river
was reached. I was particularly careful to have this explained to
each individual carrier in the presence of his chief, for I had
had some experience of the difficulty of keeping these men to their
promises already. A favourite trick of this class of gentleman is,
after being most fervent in his protests of wishing for no happier
lot than to accompany you as far as you want to go, suddenly,
and generally at a most awkward moment, to casually cast your
belongings into the bush and run away. One has in such cases nothing
but the grim consolation that he has deprived himself of his pay,
which is but poor satisfaction for the annoyance and inconvenience
he causes you. The chief of Falama was a man of some influence,
being also one of the leading magnates of the Wasulu country. I
therefore hoped that his authority would be sufficient to ensure
their remaining faithful to me.

At Falama Mamadu invested in a new hat. This was a wonderful bit
of head-gear. The hat was made of plaited straw of several bright
colours, among which green and red were most prominent. It was made
with a very wide brim, and the top worked up to a point, in conical
fashion. It certainly had the advantage of protecting him from the
glare of the sun, for it was at least two sizes too big for him,
so that it descended right over his eyes and almost rested on the
bridge of his nose. He was greatly pleased with his new purchase,
bringing it to me to show off with much pride.

Among my new carriers I noticed one with different tribal marks
from the rest. On inquiry I was told he came from the Sanafou
country near the Ivory Coast Colony. His face was beautifully
decorated with four semicircular gashes, each about a quarter of
an inch wide, down both sides. These cuts started on the temple
about on the level of the eyes, and went right down the cheeks
to the mouth, at which point they converged. They certainly gave
him a very remarkable appearance, rather suggestive at a distance
of the black marks put on the face of a clown in a circus. A good
knowledge of tribal marks will often enable one to tell the tribe
of a man at sight. They are not, however, an infallible proof of
the tribe of an individual, for sometimes a boy, when taken into
slavery, will have the marks of his master’s tribe cut upon his
face. Some races do not practise the custom of tribal marks. But it
is generally done in all pagan nations. The Wasulu marks consisted
of two or three very thin cuts made vertically down each cheek,
usually not more than three inches long. The marks were often so
slight as not to be noticeable except at close quarters.

My shortest road was across the Sankarani River, then up the valley
of the Fie, finally crossing the Niger a little south of Kangaba, and
following its left bank to Bamako. A reliable guide was an unknown
article in these parts. The natives of this region are not traders,
consequently they travel little. I had to depend on getting a guide
day by day to lead me through the bush-country which intervened
between me and the Niger; but once on the other side of that stream,
there was said to be an excellent road leading to Bamako.

The first part of the journey lay across hills of laterite rock.
Our track could only by courtesy be dignified by the name of a
path. The country was practically uninhabited, although, as usual
in this district, there were numerous traces of ruined villages,
all testifying to the devastations of Samory.

At one place I saw the remains of a hut, rapidly falling into
decay. I was rather surprised to observe a weather-beaten old board
nailed on a tree opposite the door. This board had some writing
on it, which was with difficulty decipherable. It stated that a
man called Paul Rieu had for two years made his home in that hut,
where he had stayed while seeking gold in the vicinity. As a proof
of his words I could see pits dug at the small river near by, and
evidently made by him during his search for the precious metal. He
must have been all alone; and what a dreary life to lead in this
desolate spot, with nothing but the wild African bush for miles
on all sides! I conclude his search was not successful. The poor
fellow must have gone away disappointed after two years of lonely
toiling under the hot tropical sun.

After this the country began to get more open, and it was evident
that we were rapidly descending towards the Sankarani River. We
passed through a wide grassy plain on to the right bank of the
river. It looked a likely place for kob, which are fond of the
marshy swamps bordering on streams; but though I saw some fairly
fresh tracks we did not come across any of these antelope.
The river is about 100 yards wide here, and has a very swift
current. I looked in vain for a canoe, as it was impossible to
ford it. In the distance we could see a village on the far bank,
but the people could not, or would not, hear our repeated shouts. A
few shots from my rifle eventually brought out some men who half
hid in the bush, thinking we were come to “make war.” Probably
the last time they had heard rifles fired was during the Sofa war,
and the unaccustomed sound called up unwelcome memories of rapine
and slaughter. With some difficulty I managed to reassure them,
and proceeded to explain we merely wanted a canoe to convey us and
our belongings to the other shore.

We halted at the village, which was called Balandougou, and it was
here that my troubles with the porters commenced.

In the afternoon I had been out to see if I could pick up a few
bushfowl on some likely-looking farms close by, and on my return was
met by Mamadu, who told me that he had heard the carriers talking
about deserting me. Although I only wanted eight men, I was aware
that it would be extremely hard to get any to replace them at this
village, which had only a score of inhabitants, mostly decrepit men
and women or quite young children. I was therefore determined not to
give them the opportunity of bolting. Further, I was much annoyed
at their faithless behaviour, after their promises to accompany me
until I reached the Niger, if necessary. I summoned them at once,
telling them I had knowledge of their intention to desert, and that
any man attempting to do so would be flogged. They all denied they
had ever been guilty of such a base thought! But, needless to say,
I did not believe them. That night I made them all sleep in the
same hut, pitching my camp bed outside one exit, while Mamadu was
made to sleep outside the other.

This little arrangement successfully stopped them from carrying
out any projects they might have formed. Next day I had to take
precautions on the march to prevent their defection. I constituted
myself rearguard, making my servant walk beside the leading carrier,
and in this order we proceeded until we arrived at a large village
about eleven o’clock. Here I decided to halt for breakfast and
interview the headman with a view to getting fresh porters. As
a matter of fact, the headman of the place was a local chief of
some importance, as I soon perceived, when he arrived dressed in
a finely embroidered gown and wearing a sword. Certain chiefs in
Guinea are allowed by the French to wear swords as a mark of rank.
He came with a picturesque following of courtiers, such as these
men love to surround themselves with.

They have usually several advisers among them, and it is
quite amusing to notice how the advisers often rule their king.
Frequently, when asking a chief a question, one will notice that he
is not even given the chance of answering for himself; his so-called
adviser chips in with his answer before the chief has time to open
his mouth! They came to the hut which had been prepared for my
breakfast, sitting down at my invitation. After a lengthy palaver
it was settled that eight carriers were to be sent to the spot
where I should camp that night to replace my present gang. This
seemed preferable to the alternative of waiting here till evening
for the young men to come in from their farms, where they were now
at work. I despatched Mamadu to inform my porters that they would
be released that same night as soon as their reliefs arrived,
and then settled myself down to breakfast. It never occurred to
me that it would be necessary to any longer keep guard over them,
as they now knew they would so soon be released.

After my meal I went outside the hut for a stroll, when to my
disgust I saw only three carriers remaining, while a couple of
them were just to be seen running as fast as their legs would
carry them towards the bush in the distance. Having threatened the
remaining three with dire vengeance should they try to follow their
comrades, I despatched Mamadu to the chief to order him to have the
defaulters caught without delay. At the end of a couple of hours
the fugitives were brought back, and I was able to proceed on my
journey. We resumed the march in the same order as that morning,
for it was obviously not safe to let them go unguarded.

All the time I was rather anxious as to the chances of the chief
fulfilling his promises about sending me the fresh carriers that
night. However, there was nothing to be done but to hope for
the best, and in the meantime to keep a sharp eye on my present
porters. That night I halted at a small stream, which was the only
water within some miles, and was the place where I had directed
the new carriers to meet me. I did not much relish the prospects
of the evening before me; keeping a watch on the would-be truants
and slumber were two things that would hardly reconcile themselves
without the assistance of the friendly hut of yesterday. About 9
p.m., however, to my joy, I heard a commotion outside the small camp,
and on going out of my tent found it indicated the arrival of the
carriers from the previous halting-place. The chief had after all
been honest to his promises, and I had been unjust to his majesty.

The following morning I made a very early start, about four
o’clock, with the intention of trying for a West African eland. My
“boy” and carriers were to go on to a small village only some
ten miles away, where I would join them that night. I had been told
that eland were to be found in this neighbourhood, and had myself
seen tracks of one the previous day. Not having time to wait more
than a day in that part of the country, I did not feel inclined to
go away without trying my luck after one of these fine animals. The
eland is one of the very largest of West African antelopes, and
is decidedly rare. The horns make a splendid trophy, which I was
most anxious to add, if possible, to my collection. One of my new
carriers professed to be a hunting-man out of work and to know the
country well, so I had arranged to take him with me. We were now on
the watershed between the Rivers Fie and Sankarani, a rather sparsely
wooded country, intersected by several small streams which flowed
down on either side to join the two big rivers in due course. The
haunts of the eland were said to be on the eastern side towards
the Sankarani River, whither we directed our steps.

The ground slopes gradually here down to the river, and was some
of the prettiest scenery I had seen since my entry into French
Guinea. Large stretches of open grass-land alternated with park-like
country, and occasionally one came on a more thickly wooded part,
through which ran sylvan glades, carpeted with emerald-green grass,
by the side of which flowed a tiny stream of crystal water. The spot
seemed a paradise for game of all sorts, judging by the numerous
tracks. My time was too limited, unfortunately, to allow of other
game than eland to be pursued. I must own I felt sorry now that I
had not come straight to this place instead of spending those last
few days in Wasulu on a fruitless expedition after the elephant. I
simply could not afford to spend more than the single day in this
pleasant game-haunted locality. My plan was to devote all my time
till four o’clock to the joys of the chase, by which hour, if
luck favoured me, I hoped to have bagged an eland; in any case,
I would have to wend my steps campward by that time, as I should
probably have three or four hours of walking in front of me.

My cherished hopes were, however, doomed to disappointment, for
although we searched all the most likely places, not a sign of the
beasts could we discover. There were, it was true, a good many
old tracks, but that was poor consolation. It seemed that I was
out of luck just now; first there was my disappointment about the
elephant in Wasulu, and now the evasive eland was having a laugh
at my expense. Cheering myself up with the thought that there
must be a good time in store for me in the near future, at four
o’clock I directed my shikari to show me the homeward path. It
was dark by the time we got out of the bush on to the track, and
I was not sorry at last to see the cheerful glow of a fire in the
distance which indicated the position of my hut. I had been on my
legs for a good many hours that day, and that, with the natural
feeling of disappointment, made me feel really tired. A hot bath,
dinner and a pipe by the fireside made me feel a new man again. It
was my invariable custom to have a fire of logs at night. This was
useful more especially to keep off the mosquitoes, which are always
most assiduous in their onslaughts after sunset.

Sand-flies, too, were bad in many places, and the ordinary
mosquito-net was of no use against these tiny, venomous creatures.
The meshes, close enough to protect you from the attacks of
the “anopheles,” were by no means impermeable to the minute
sand-fly. Fortunately for me, I had previous experience of these
wicked insects, and had prepared myself with a net of close meshes
to guard me against their unwelcome attentions. To travellers
in the bush I would always recommend a net with fine meshes, for
sand-flies are not uncommon in any part of West Africa. The chief
drawback is that one naturally feels hotter in this pattern of net,
but to my mind this is infinitely preferable to being tortured by
sand-flies all night, thereby making sleep a physical impossibility.

On my arrival I was told by Mamadu that the chief had refused to
provide “chop” for the carriers, saying he had none in the
place. I at once sent for the old man to ask for some explanation,
as I was well aware that rice or millet was fairly abundant at this
time of year, and my party was a small one to cater for.

After a good deal of palaver and threats on my part of reporting
him to the Commissioner at Siguiri, in which district I was now
travelling, he was reduced to a more sensible frame of mind, and
hurried off to carry out my orders with considerable alacrity. This
was the first occasion on which I had had any trouble about rationing
my followers.

The French have an excellent custom in Guinea, and one which I had
previously never found to fail me. When a white man arrives in a
village it is the duty of the chief or headman, without any order
from the traveller, to at once provide and cook sufficient food for
the whole party of carriers and “boys.” The ration is about one
and a half pounds of rice or millet per head. The meal is brought
to the European for inspection about sundown, and payment is then
made at the tariff rates. In some places the headman or chief will
bring presents of fowls, or perhaps some eggs. When the native is a
rich man he will often even produce a sheep or cow. These presents,
of course, cannot be accepted without payment, or a return present
in kind of about equal value. Some people give a return present of
much greater value in money or kind, but this system seems to me
to be a bad one, as it encourages these natives to make a sort of
trade, most profitable to themselves, in so-called “presents.”

The French deprecate the habit of paying more than the actual value
to the individual concerned. I have frequently found this custom
of “presents” such a nuisance that I now inform the chief on my
arrival in a town of exactly what I require in the way of food, at
the same time telling him that “presents” are not wanted. There
is no doubt that this saves a good deal of annoyance and unnecessary
expense. It would, for instance, be most inconvenient and rather
expensive to be “dashed” a bullock, when one’s following
only consisted of eight persons, and to have to expend four or five
pounds in payment therefor. To encumber oneself with a live bullock
until one had a chance to dispose of it would be an impossibility,
and the only alternative is to slaughter it at once. It will be
realized that this sort of entertainment, if repeated three or four
times, would soon lead to bankruptcy! I recollect seeing a curious
and amusing kind of “dash” made on one occasion.

A friend of mine, who was a distinguished official, had been to a
country which had only lately come under control of the Government,
and in which the natives were unaccustomed to the usual method of
showing their appreciation of a white man’s visit. They evidently
thought that this was a moment when a great effort must be made to
display their generosity. A solemn cortège arrived, headed by the
chief, with the “dash.” I shall never forget the horror-stricken
look on my friend’s face when, with due ceremony, a young girl was
produced and handed over to him. As the official in question was a
particularly shy and modest man, the full humour of the situation
will be thoroughly appreciated.

The following day the country began to take on a more populated
appearance. Large expanses of land planted with crops of millet
and cassada were to be seen, while villages became more frequent
and natives passed us from time to time on the road. About eight
o’clock in the morning we arrived at the top of a big hill, upon
the summit of which there was perched a small hamlet. The headman
brought out a calabash of delicious fresh milk, rich and frothy,
just drawn from the cow. I gladly took a cup of the refreshing
beverage while we were waiting for the last carriers to come in.
These people were Jomongonas, a section of the widely distributed
Malinké tribe. They are purely agriculturists, as was indeed
evidenced by the wide farms of waving crops through which we
had passed.

The view from the top of this hill was magnificent. We were now
well down the western slope of the Sankarani-Fie watershed, and from
here I got my first glimpse of the latter river. To the north there
ran a mass of isolated peaks, like a series of broken links in the
chain of hills along which we had been marching for the last two
days. The reddish-brown hue of the laterite rocks of which they were
formed made a pleasing contrast to the golden fields of ripe millet
scattered chequerwise over their steep sides. Far away in the south
could be seen the River Fie, a tiny shimmering streak of water,
gradually widening, as it flowed westward to join the Niger, into
an imposing expanse. The valley through which it flowed was a wide,
fruitful plain, where cassada and millet crops jostled against each
other, and in the centre of which could be discerned a thin line of
rich, dark green foliage, marking the course of the winding stream.

Overhead was a bright, azure sky with the golden rays of the
morning sun shining upon the smiling landscape. We rested that
night at the town of Jilingé, the biggest place I had yet seen in
the bush-country of Guinea, and the centre of the millet-growing
district. Jilingé consists of three large villages, each of which on
a rough estimate must contain 2000 inhabitants. The central village
is the principal one, and it is here the chief of the Jomongonas
resides. I was lodged in a palatial hut, with two imposing, carved
wooden doors, and what was more to the purpose, they were doors
through which one could enter without fear of knocking one’s
head. Most West African huts have one point in common, that the doors
are built so low that it is necessary for the shortest person who
wishes to enter to double him or herself up in a most undignified
fashion if a severe blow on the head is to be avoided.

My house was also roomy and airy in comparison to the average
edifice it had been my fate to live in, so I began to feel myself
in luxury. My feelings of comfort and rest were, however, soon to
be crushed. Mamadu arrived at the door with a long face, which I
felt sure meant some catastrophe of a serious nature. His news was
that the carriers had all bolted. This was really too annoying just
when I thought I had got matters satisfactorily arranged till we
should reach the Niger. I suppose the sight of such a metropolis,
as Jilingé must appear to them, had produced this demoralizing
effect. I summoned the chief for a palaver on the carrier question,
with imprecations on my lips against the faithless fugitives. The
chief was amiability itself, and promised me as many men as I
should want for the following day; but there was one small matter
on which we could not agree. He said the carriers should take my
loads as far as the next village, where I could procure fresh men,
who would carry for me to the succeeding village, and so on.

As the country was now getting thickly populated, it appeared that
I would have to change my porters every two miles or so, in other
words, ten times before reaching the Niger! It is hardly to be
wondered at that I vowed I would never do this, even if I had to
take the chief with me to ensure my carriers remaining faithful. He
intimated that this was the custom of the country, and had so been
from time immemorial. I politely replied that I was the last person
in the world to wish to break old customs (this custom did seem
such a probable one!), but that it was also a custom for chiefs to
supply white men with carriers when necessary, and for as long as
they might be required in a particular “cercle,” as the French
call their districts. It was not till I had tried every conceivable
argument, and had at last to resort to the old threat of reporting
him to the Commissioner, that he finally promised his men should go
as far as I desired. True it is that by this time I was aware the
chiefs had not much influence over their people, and the promise he
had given might be broken through no fault of his; still, it would
have been impossible to get the fellows even to start without him,
so I had to hope for the best while fearing the worst.

[Illustration: A SENAFOU NATIVE FROM THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF WAGADUGU

Two deep gashes from the eye to the mouth are the tribal marks of
these people. The particular tribe of a native in West Africa can
in many cases be determined by the size and position of the cuts,
or tribal marks, on his face.]

[Illustration: M. LOUIS NOVELLA AT SARAFINIAN

M. Novella was in charge of the customs post at Sarafinian, situated
in the plain below the eastern slopes of the Tembikunda Range,
which separates our British protectorate of Sierra Leone from
French Guinea. I have to thank him for his hospitality during my
short stay at his post.]

On leaving Jilingé we passed several small streams, flowing
towards the Fie, in which natives were to be seen washing
gold. The metal is found in small quantities about the Fie River,
and this is noticeable, as many women wear gold ornaments in this
region. Every village has a native goldsmith, who fashions rough
trinkets, such as ear-rings, bracelets, etc., for the adornment of
the local beauties. The gold in this part is entirely alluvial,
according to native information. I should imagine even this is
only found in very small quantities. The gold mines are on the
other side of the Niger in the direction of Buré, some fifty miles
north-west of the town of Siguiri. I did not visit Siguiri myself,
but I understand that there are several European companies there who
are interested in gold. British and German are said to predominate,
but at present business is not very bright in the mines.

We marched for some miles up the Fie valley before striking the
right bank of the stream.

This was the last river of any size to be crossed before meeting
the Niger. Here I noticed a peculiar thing connected with native
superstition, and one I had likewise remarked at the crossing of
the Sankarani. The Fie was the natural geographical boundary of
the Jomongona tribe. A belief existed among the people that any
man who should cross this “Rubicon” would bring misfortune to
his family. It seems curious that a tribe should be afraid of
passing the boundary into the next country, when the two tribes
were at peace, but so it was. On account of this superstition
the Jomongonas have not spread westward, nor have they had any
intercourse with the people over their border. Intermarriage between
the two races seemed to be unknown. I was unaware that this strange
belief existed until I reached the river and noticed the hesitation
of my carriers to cross it.

My difficulties now appeared to be on the verge of recommencing.
What was the use of chiefs who promised by all they held sacred
to ensure the loyalty of the porters, when there remained strong
superstitions of this kind to be overcome? Having placed their
loads on the ground they stoutly refused to move a yard farther. My
situation was comical if it had not been so tragic. Here was I,
with my worldly possessions, stuck on the bank of this river in
the middle of the bush, while my carriers refused to advance a step
and might at any moment run away, leaving us in the lurch without
any prospect of replacing them. I tried in turn gentle persuasion
and threats of chastisement. The former had the effect such methods
generally produce on natives of making them think I was “soft,”
while the latter had the equally disastrous effect of making them
so frightened that, if I had not stopped the ringleaders myself,
they would have all run away. There seemed to be only one way out
of the predicament. I called Mamadu, telling him to make all haste
and return to the chief of Jilingé with a message from me that
he must come to the Fie at once and palaver. The carriers were
informed of my intentions, and told to remain till his arrival.
Mamadu went off, and I took up a position on the bank above the
men, where I could watch any attempt at desertion, at the same
time taking the precaution to place my rifle by my side—an act
of which they realized the significance.

I had now to possess my soul in patience, for Mamadu and the chief
could not possibly arrive for a couple of hours, it being quite
three miles to the town. The porters did not give any trouble, but
sat silently and sullenly below me. Never had two hours seemed so
long! Eventually, to my joy, I espied my servant, heading a small
procession, moving across the plain towards me. The chief and his
followers seated themselves around me, and, to cut a long story
short, after a long discussion, in which he was made to understand
that if he did not compel his men to cross with my loads, he would
be made to come with me to the nearest Commissioner, he did what
I required.

When the last load had been despatched to the other bank I let
him depart, made happy with a present of a small packet of tea
and sugar, and vowing that the carriers would give me no further
cause for annoyance. On this point I had my doubts, but told him
I sincerely hoped for his sake that they would not, as I should
certainly report the whole occurrence to the Commissioner.

These vexatious delays had caused me to lose many precious hours, and
I now pushed on as rapidly as possible to the Niger, which we reached
on the 17th of February, at a place called Balandougou-Somno-Bara,
not far from the large village of Nafadié. For the time being,
at any rate, I had no more carrier troubles, and was quite as glad
as they were to see the big river once more.

At this village with the very long name there is a canoe ferry.
The river was about 300 yards wide at this point, but divided
into two streams of equal width by a long, narrow sandbank. While
watching my loads being transported I noticed a river barge, under
full sail, going up-stream towards Bamako. It was the property of
a French trading firm, the name of which was inscribed in large
letters on the sails. These barges are made of wood, and will carry
two or three tons of merchandise. The usual period of transit from
Kouroussa or Kankan to Bamako occupies seven days. During the rainy
season, when there is plenty of water, barges of twenty-five tons
burden can navigate this portion of the stream.

I calculated I must be about 100 miles south of Bamako, and
determined to push on that night to Tombola, on the other bank,
which was on the main Siguiri-Bamako road.

While the transport operations were going on Mamadu, whose duty it
was to see the loads safely shipped, disappeared. On looking up
the river I observed him in the distance, stealthily approaching
a group of waterfowl of all sizes and descriptions, which were
sunning themselves on the sandy bank of the stream. The ground was as
flat as at pancake, without any sort of cover, and it was obvious
that his painful endeavours to advance unperceived were doomed
to failure. Sure enough, the birds soon rose in a cloud, flying
off out of sight round a bend of the river. Mamadu went forward,
however, to the spot where they had been, where he stooped to pick up
something. I took no further notice of his movements, until I heard
his familiar voice close by. He then appeared, staggering under the
weight of a big fish, which must have weighed at least twenty pounds,
and had the look of an Indian mahseer. The fish was beginning to
rot, and had such an unpleasant smell that I bade him remove it at
once. This he did with a look of reproach, as much as to say that
this was an ungrateful way of showing my appreciation of his labours.

For the benefit of the uninitiated I may state that the native
prefers rotten fish to the fresh article, probably and justly
thinking there is more flavour about it. Mamadu’s version of his
adventure was highly amusing. He said that seeing a bird near the
water, which was “très bon manger,” he had intended to try to
catch it with a small fishing-net which he had found close by. His
idea was to approach within a few yards and then lasso it! Several
of the birds were pelicans, and had evidently been discussing their
morning meal when he frightened them and they flew off, dropping
the dainty morsel.

The people here are mostly fishermen. They catch many kinds of fish
in the Niger, some of which have an excellent flavour. The best
fish I ever tasted was the “capitaine”; it runs up to ten or
twelve pounds weight frequently, and is beautifully firm. Many of
the Niger fish are difficult to eat on account of the numerous bones
they contain, but this variety has few bones. Electric mud fish are
fairly common when the river is low. They are flat, reminding one
of dabs, and if you touch them you experience a decided electric
shock. These fish make a peculiar “clucking” sort of noise, by
which they can often be easily located. The native fisherman catches
his fish with nets, or more frequently in traps. In some parts
they even spear fish, but it is unusual on this portion of the Niger.

It is a usual sight in the early morning to see the father of the
family, accompanied by his son, often quite a small urchin, setting
out from his village in a dug-out canoe for the fishing-ground. He
then casts his net into the water, dragging it while the little
chap sits in the stern and cleverly manipulates the paddle. These
fisherfolk are brought up, almost from the cradle, to paddle a
canoe; it is wonderful with what energy and endurance the youngsters
will propel the craft. On the Niger it is unusual to see the women
paddling, but in other West African rivers this is a common sight.

The fish-traps are generally made of reed-canes, in the shape of
a cone, with the base open and the apex tightly closed. A series
of these are placed in some suitable spot, such as a backwater,
the bases being turned up-stream. There are several devices for
keeping the fish in once they have entered the base of the cone,
but the principle is that of a trap door which closes on the victim
as soon as it has entered.

CHAPTER IX

OUR route to Tombola lay across a marshy, open stretch of land
for some miles. The marsh was dried up in many places, and a rank,
coarse grass grew over it to a height of seven or eight feet. This
place was the haunt of herds of kob. The natives evidently were not
hunters, for these animals could be seen within half a mile of a
village; in fact, one I shot was close to a village. The kob is a
beautiful creature, and the herds we saw made a pretty picture as
they streamed away in the distance with their easy, graceful strides
which cover the ground so rapidly. Once or twice we disturbed a
whole family party, who, unaware of our approach as we came up
against the wind, suddenly emerged from amidst the waving grass,
not more than a hundred yards away, throwing up their beautiful
heads to stare at us for an instant and then scampering off in alarm
to a safer distance. With that curiosity so fatal to the antelope,
they would halt after galloping a short way and turn broadside on
to have another stare at the intruders of their domains. This was
the moment for the sportsman to take his shot, and it was at such
an occasion that I bagged my beast.

The country now assumed a more wooded aspect. Trees of the nature of
an African oak were dotted here and there over the grassy surface of
the ground, while small rivulets, with steep banks and deep pools
in their rocky beds, were the happy playgrounds of merry parties
of hippopotami, who disported themselves in full enjoyment of the
bright scorching rays of the sun. These rivulets were tributaries
or backwaters of the Niger, breaking up the otherwise even surface
of the land. After halting at one of these streams for the thirsty
carriers to drink, we espied close by the big road which we must
follow to Bamako. The road is a mere sandy track, thirty or forty
feet wide, worn, by the feet of hundreds of passers-by and herds of
cattle, into a passably level route. Level, that is to say, for a
West African road, but not at all suitable for a two-wheeled cart,
as its evenness is broken by frequent ruts, probably made by the
rains. But this road is a trade route of some importance, leading
as it does from the metropolis of the French Soudan to the heart of
French Guinea, and passing through the large markets dotted about
the left bank of the Upper Niger.

We constantly met large herds of cattle, usually owned by Moors,
as the French indiscriminately call the inhabitants of the vast
territory north of the Senegal River, which reaches up to the
confines of Morocco, in Northern Africa. These people are great
traders, but dishonest, often lazy, and the most unblushing liars
in the world, I should imagine. They are also very dirty in their
person and their habits. The Moors, however, possess some excellent
qualities, for they are extremely intelligent and most enduring
on the march. Their knowledge of cattle-tending must be great,
as these beasts are brought hundreds of miles from the interior of
Mauretania to the markets of Guinea without any appreciable loss
of animals. The Moor is a cunning trader, who makes large profits
out of his transactions with the more simple-minded Malinké. Their
faces are pale, dirty whitish yellow, their features are aquiline,
while their noses have a distinctly Jewish, hooky appearance.

The Moor has bright, piercing black eyes, which are a sufficient
testimony of his shrewd nature. On the march the cowherd travels on
foot with his beasts, driving the huge droves in front of him with
many weird cries and much thwacking with a stout stick, stopping
every now and then to chase a truant out of the bush whither he has
wandered to enjoy a succulent mouthful of grass, at the same time
heaping imprecations on the luckless animal’s head. They travel
slowly, and will probably cover only ten miles in one day. It is by
no means unusual for a caravan of cattle to take three months over
its journey. The master does not accompany his animals. He is far
too superior a person. He is the proud possessor of a horse, and
follows his cowherds at leisure. On arriving at my halting-place
in the evening, about five o’clock, I have frequently seen this
individual just mounting his steed in order to follow the herds we
had passed that day. Riding his mount he will cover the distance
to their halting-place in a couple of hours, and sleep there
that night. The cattle are fine, big animals, and are the humped
variety. They have huge, branching horns, stout bodies and short,
strong legs. The cows have small udders, and give but little milk
in comparison to an English milch cow of their size.

Besides cattle the Moors bring large quantities of rancid butter
and curdled milk to the French Soudan, where these find a ready
market. The butter, which is carried in leather bags called
“guerba,” is specially appreciated by the natives, who do not
appear in the very least to be disconcerted by the unpleasant smell
thereof. The Moors speak a harsh, guttural language containing a
good many Arabic words. Their knowledge of the native languages
is small, hardly extending beyond an acquaintance with sufficient
market expressions to enable them to drive a good bargain. When
they arrive at a village they herd together in their own quarter
of the place, mingling little with the West African natives, whom
they despise with a contempt they take no pains to conceal.

[Illustration: NATIVES POUNDING RICE AT TOMBOLA

This village, which is in the south of the Upper Senegal and Niger
Colony, is in the rice-growing country of that region. Rice is
the staple native food, and it is a familiar scene to watch it
being pounded in a large wooden mortar by means of a heavy wooden
pestle. This work is usually performed by the women or small boys.]

It is a sound principle to avoid camping in the neighbourhood of
Moors, on account of their thieving propensities; indeed, with
their long, unkempt hair and wild, fierce faces they have such an
unprepossessing appearance that one naturally shuns coming into
close contact with such rascally-looking people.

It was noticeable as we advanced that we were getting into a
land more under the influence of Islam than heretofore. In every
village was a place set aside for the mosque. This consisted
simply of a few rough logs, laid on the ground in the form of a
hollow square, with a break at one side for the doorway. At sunset
the “muezzin” could be heard calling the faithful to prayer,
and a large proportion of the villagers would obey the summons.
Mohammedanism is undoubtedly making great strides in this part of
Africa, but as yet the Mussulmans are far from being devout followers
of the teachings of the Prophet. Drinking, for instance, is far from
unusual, but the religion has certainly had a beneficial influence
on these people in more ways than one, and they are decidedly all
morally better for their conversion from paganism.

After leaving Tombola we marched for two days through a sandy
country, where the vegetation was more stunted and water more
scarce. Although within three or four miles of the left bank of the
Niger, running water is scarce near the villages on the roadside.
Most of them dig wells, for water is found close to the surface of
the ground, and this is preferable to sending daily to the river for
their supply. In the rainy season there is not this difficulty about
water, as the whole country is low-lying and would be inundated by
the river. The lesser bustard I saw and shot frequently in this
region, where the flat, grassy plains are a favourable haunt of
this bird.

All this bank of the Niger is much inhabited by the cobus kob; every
morning early I used to see large herds grazing in the distance near
the river. Stalking here was a difficult matter as the country was
so open. Except for an occasional oribi there seemed to be no other
variety of antelope in our vicinity. Bushfowl and guinea-fowl were
very plentiful, and it was never necessary to resort to the tough,
skinny fowl which so often forms the staple article of diet for
the white traveller in West Africa. My luxuries, such as whisky
and sugar, had by this time run out, but thanks to a good supply
of flour, the faithful Mamadu was always able to bake me plenty of
bread. With that and an abundant supply of fresh meat and milk I
fared none too badly for the bush.

On the 19th of February we reached the large, important village of
Kangaba, called sometimes Kaba. This was the first place of any size
in the French Soudan, although the actual boundary between it and
French Guinea was close to the spot where I had crossed the Niger.

I have several times used the expression “French Soudan,”
and feel it perhaps requires some explanation. It is a name the
French have given, in a very broad sense, to the whole of that vast
territory which comes into their sphere of influence from Lake
Chad to the Senegal River, and bounded on the south by the coast
colonies of Guinea, Ivory Coast and Dahomey, while the northern
limit is the Sahara Desert. The western portion of this country is
officially known as the “Upper Senegal and Niger Colony,” and
this extends from Niafounké on the Niger, south-west of Timbuctu,
to the Senegal River on the west.

The colony is divided up into a number of administrative districts,
and, of course, covering as it does such a large area, the races
who inhabit it are of many different types and shades. Kangaba is
a walled town with a population of 2000 inhabitants. The walls,
which were built in the time of the Sofa wars, are now crumbling to
pieces as they are not kept in repair. They are built of red clay,
which is found in quantities in these parts. The walls are still
in some places twenty feet high and five to six feet thick. There
are four gateways, one at each main point of the compass. The
wall has been constructed out of the clay excavated from a big
ditch running round the town. The ditch is now filled in in many
places. Kaba stands on the southern slope of a hill, commanding a
fine view of the Niger valley towards Bamako. The other sides of
this hill and the plain leading down to the river on the east are
covered with farms of Guinea corn, rice and millet. Kangaba is
divided into three villages. The main one is the market for all
the trade following the Bamako-Siguiri road. Between it and the
Niger there are two other smaller villages. The nearest of these
is the farming village, in which live many of the cultivators of
the local crops. The third village is almost on the Niger banks,
at least three miles from the market, and here the fisherfolk live.

I had great hope of being able to pick up a passing trading barge
here which would give me a lift to Bamako. But at the time there
was unfortunately none on the river.

My “boy” was very sore-footed and doleful when we reached Kaba,
informing me that he could not walk any farther without a rest. He
really was going rather lame, but was suffering more from want of
pluck than fatigue, I fancy. It had certainly been very hot on the
march, particularly during the past few days; also we had marched
continually since leaving Falama, and some of the days had been long
ones. However, I decided to make one day’s halt to let him rest,
and at the same time to arrange for fresh carriers. Mamadu came to
ask me for an advance of pay, going off in great jubilation to the
market to spend on fineries the ten francs I gave him. He was no
exception to the ordinary West African native, who is inordinately
vain and lavishes all his money on dress.

The chief of the town was full of protestations of hospitality,
and nothing would satisfy him but that I should live in his house.
He and his family turned out, going to a hut near by. The old man
was evidently of a kindly disposition, for I soon discovered to
my cost that his hut was a right-of-way for all kinds of domestic
animals. In the early morning I would be awaked by the lowing of
a cow as she casually sauntered through my bedroom on her way to
the pastures outside the village. The same animal paid me a visit
one night while I was having a bath after my evening’s shoot. On
that occasion she seemed in no hurry to go away, appearing fully
to realize the advantage of her position while I was bathing! My
cries, intended to frighten her, were treated with silent contempt.
When I flicked handfuls of water at her she merely started to lick
that portion of her anatomy which had suffered a wetting. Finally,
I had to call my “boy” to drive out the offending beast. When
the chief was given orders to prevent a recurrence of the annoyance,
he gently replied that he was sure the “missi” (Malinké word
for “cow”) meant no harm. Besides the cow, numerous pigs, goats
and fowls used to make my room a daily promenade. The only way
out of the trouble was to blockade the doors. I finally chartered
two small boys whose duty it was to sit, one at either doorway,
and drive away any offender which attempted to force an entrance.

At night the market was a picturesque scene. Innumerable tiny stalls,
each lit up by a small native lamp or flare burning ground-nut oil,
were dotted about. At each sat a woman, disposing of her wares. The
articles for sale included fish, different kinds of native diet and
fruit. But more interesting to the European were the vendors of
such articles as grass mats, country cloths, gold ornaments made
by the local smith out of Siguiri gold, also balls of rubber and
bars of native salt. While the women mostly sat quietly selling,
the men wandered about in groups of two and three, chattering and
smiling as they strolled along, giving to the whole scene more
the aspect of a promenade taken for amusement than for the sake of
buying anything. Occasionally, however, one of these tall figures,
clothed in a white Mohammedan gown, would stop in front of a stall
and ask the price of some object he fancied. This usually was the
preliminary to a great deal of haggling, and in the end the article
was probably sold for about half the price originally asked.

[Illustration: THE SPREAD OF ISLAM IN THE WESTERN SOUDAN

A Malinké chief and his followers in their Mohammedan robes
illustrate the influence the religion of “the Prophet” has
gained of recent years in these regions; for this dress is the
hall-mark of the Mussulman in West Africa. A wave of Mohammedanism
has swept rapidly and steadily westward from Egypt across some
three thousand miles of the African continent during the last
century. Apart from the consternation this causes in the hearts of
those who are endeavouring to establish Christianity in the Dark
Continent, serious thinkers are not lacking who view with alarm
the possibilities of an African “holy war” in the future.]

Bargaining is a feature of all transactions among natives, and
necessarily so, for the seller goes on the principle of asking about
double the value of his wares in the hopes that he will get it,
and secure in the knowledge that he can, if required, reduce the
amount by one half and yet not lose.

On the 21st I started off once more, hoping that this time, as we
were out of the wildest bush, I should have no further trouble with
carriers. Things in this particular respect were, to my disgust,
worse than before. Along the high road to Bamako villages were now
strewed at close intervals. Having gaily started off with eight
picked porters of sturdy build, I was congratulating myself that
they would take my loads along at a fine pace to Bamako, and I
need no further worry myself about them. Misfortune visited me at
the first village, however, where my servant came to report that
the carriers wanted to be paid and changed! We had not walked more
than four miles, so it was rather trying to my temper to hear this
piece of news.

Haranguing was of not the slightest use, and one and all proceeded
to slope away into some friendly hut or other convenient place of
refuge. I summoned the chief and made him send for a fresh gang
at once. After infinite delay I got started on the road once more,
but did not reach my halting-place till late that night, after many
similar vexatious delays _en route_. The numerous villages on the
way made the task of keeping the carriers faithful doubly hard,
they appearing to think that their duty was only to carry from
their township to the next one. After this experience I decided
to abandon the attempt of keeping my porters even for one day,
since no promises of high pay nor any amount of argument seemed
to produce an effect. I now arranged with the chief, or headman,
of the village where I spent the night to supply carriers to the
next village only; at the same time he was told to warn the headman
of that village that I would require fresh men ready at the hour of
my arrival the following day. The latter in his turn was ordered
to inform the succeeding village of my requirements, and thus I
laid a “dak” of porters for the whole of the morrow’s march.
This plan, although not an ideal one, I found worked better than
the previous arrangement, and I adhered to it for the rest of the
journey. The chief drawback to it was the loss of time involved.

If I ordered my new carriers to be ready at a certain village
at a certain hour, the chief of the place, with the native’s
delightful disregard of punctuality, would frequently not think
of sending for his gang until I hove in sight. Time is no object
to the negro, and he can never understand why it is a matter of
any importance to the white man. Of course, these people have no
watches, and their only way of illustrating time is to point to the
position the sun will approximately occupy in the sky at that hour.
Even that is not generally reliable within less than three hours.
Often when marching to an unknown spot have I asked my guide where
the sun will be in the heavens when we arrive, and he has buoyed
up my hopes of an early arrival by indicating three o’clock,
whereas we have not arrived till about six in the evening.

That night, on entering the halting-place, I noticed a white man
standing in the market. He was a French trader who had just arrived,
like myself, but from the opposite side of the Niger, where he had
been to buy rubber for his firm. I asked him to give me the pleasure
of his company at dinner, when we would celebrate the meeting of two
white men in the bush. The last European I had seen was at Kankan,
a comparatively short time ago, but this trader had been in the wilds
for six months without a sight of a white face, he informed me. We
had a very pleasant evening together, and I produced the only kind
of alcohol that remained for the festivity. It was a small bottle
of rum, a part of my medicine stores, and we drank to the _entente
cordiale_ in a glass of that!

My new acquaintance gave me some interesting information about the
trade of the country. He said the rubber trade did not now pay as
well as it used to do, for the natives were no longer content with
a few beads or looking-glasses in exchange for their produce as
had been the case a few years, or even months, ago. They now would
only take cash, and demanded a far higher value for the rubber. We
conversed on many topics of mutual interest and it was with regret
that I bade him good-bye when he got up to leave.

Owing to the open nature of the country the marches were hotter
even than before. In the middle of the day, when halting for a
meal and a rest, one was plagued by myriads of small midges. These
little insects are not to be seen when you are on the march, but as
soon as you make a halt in the shade they spring up, from goodness
knows where, in an incredibly short time, buzzing round your face
in a most distracting fashion. They do not bite, but have a nasty
habit of getting into your eyes, down your ears, and in your mouth
and nose if you give them half a chance. I don’t think I have ever
been so worried by flies as I was here. Flicking with a handkerchief
only seems to increase the fury of their onslaughts without visibly
diminishing the number of your tormentors. The only remedy is to
abandon the shade you had been so thankful to seek, and, if rest
you must, sit in the sun as far from shady trees as possible. After
about 4 p.m. these miniature demons seem to disappear, no doubt
exhausted with their ceaseless activity of the daytime, and seeking
a much-needed rest.

Two trees must be mentioned which grow in profusion here; one is the
“shea-butter,” and the other the “African oak” (mentioned
above). The former, called in Mandingo or Malinké “shi,” and
known to the French as the “carité,” grows about the size of
an ordinary apple tree. The leaves are a refreshing emerald-green,
and its graceful spreading branches and silver-grey trunk make
it one of the most picturesque flora of the landscape. The fruit
ripens about September or October. It is then picked and buried in
the earth, where it is allowed to remain till it rots. It is then
crushed with stones, and the oil which is expressed by this process
is boiled. The resulting substance is what is commercially called
“shea-butter.” It has in this form a greyish-white colour, and
is made up into balls or small blocks for convenience of transport.

Shea-butter has several uses. It is first and foremost used by the
natives as a cooking ingredient. The native is extremely found of
oily dishes, consequently shea-butter takes a prominent part in
all his culinary recipes. The odour of the butter, when cooking, is
quite one of the most unpleasant it has been my misfortune to meet
with in Africa. To my mind it is so disgusting that I can think of
nothing in England with which to compare it, and I feel convinced
that any comparison would be inadequate, only being an insult to
the English article! But in spite of its unpleasant smell it is
only fair to say that it is invaluable to the native in a country
where oil of any description is scarce. The oil is also used for
lighting purposes, in the same way as ground-nut oil. Small flares
of shea-butter are used for the house or market at night. The method
is simple in the extreme. A piece of wood, or a bit of the bark of
a tree, is scooped out so as to form a tiny hollow vessel, and the
butter is poured into this. Wick is manufactured out of the fibres
of a palm, and is steeped in the butter and lighted. This primitive
little night-light is very serviceable and does not blow out easily
in a wind. Shea-butter is now exported to Europe, where the oil is
in some demand for making cart-grease and coarse lubricants. The
export trade of the French Soudan in this article is increasing. The
trees require practically no attention, growing wild in the bush
in certain localities where the soil and climate are favourable.

The other tree mentioned above is called in Mandingo
“Mannagézé.” It also is very abundant in this part of the
Soudan. It has a pretty white flower, with a delicious smell like a
magnolia. The tree flowers through a great part of the dry weather.
The small twigs of this tree, which grows to a height of thirty or
forty feet, are used by the natives for cleaning their teeth. The
bark or skin is first peeled off and the teeth are then rubbed
with the exposed portion of the wood. It has a bitter taste, not
unpleasant, which remains in the mouth for some time after the teeth
have been cleaned. In the early morning it is a very ordinary sight
to see every carrier chewing one of these sticks as he walks, and
when his load is laid on the ground he will start to use it much
in the same way as one uses a toothbrush.

Walking along thus, and covering twenty to twenty-five miles a
day, we reached Bamako on the 23rd of February. We were now about
400 miles from the source of the river, and since leaving the
railway at Pendembu I had walked over 600 miles, almost without
a whole day’s repose, for when I had halted I had usually been
out shooting from early morning till evening, so I was glad of the
thoughts of a rest. During the last thirty miles of the march a low
range of hills appeared on the west; this was the edge of the Kati
Plateau. This plateau stretches for some miles towards the Bafing
River, and is a striking feature of the scenery near Bamako, for
it dominates the town on this side, while the surrounding country
is by contrast very flat and low-lying.

The road gradually approaches the Niger on the east, being
intersected by numerous small rivulets flowing in sparkling crystal
streams from the Kati Plateau to the big river.

The last ten miles or more are a vast expanse of cultivated
land. Rich rice and millet fields stretch as far as the eye can
reach in either direction, towards the Niger on one side and
to the foot of the plateau on the other. This is the heart of a
rice-growing district for the big markets which depend on Bamako
for their annual supplies of food. The busy farmers of this region
are prosperous and appear happy and contented, as they well may.

We arrived at Bamako a strange-looking party. I was tanned a deep
brown colour from long exposure to the fierce sun of the Soudan. My
clothes were luckily khaki, or the state of my garments would have
been even more noticeable than it actually was. I was much in need
of a thorough overhaul and repair! Mamadu was in a far worse plight
than his master; his long, white robe and white, baggy trousers
were in rags, and certainly looked as if they had been any colour
but white even in their palmiest days. Small wonder that the good
people of Bamako were astonished at the strange figures they saw
entering the town that afternoon. Crowds of small boys and idlers
turned out to watch and follow our small caravan as it wended its
way slowly into the big market-place. I am sure we must have looked
like some wild men from the woods!

With some difficulty I got someone to show me the road to the
Commissioner’s bungalow, where I was anxious to report myself
before finding a lodging-place.

CHAPTER X

THE first sight of Bamako to the traveller is, indeed, a strange
one. After walking through miles upon miles of bush and seeing
nothing more imposing than a native village, one suddenly is amazed
to behold a fine large town, with wide boulevards and solidly built
stone houses, nestling close to the foot of the Kati Escarpment,
with the placid waters of the Niger flowing past the east end of
the cantonment. Bamako is planned on the lines of a town in France,
and when walking down one of the shady avenues I could have imagined
myself in a provincial French town on a hot summer’s day. Bamako
is the capital of the “Upper Senegal and Niger Colony,” and the
head-quarters of the Lieutenant-Governor and Administration. The
European population is a large one. It includes no less than fifteen
trading firms, each of which has several French employés. There
are a very large number of officials, and several of the staff of
the Senegal-Niger Railway. A number of these gentlemen bring their
wives to the country.

When I was at Bamako there were about a dozen ladies, who were very
excited at the prospect of a fancy-dress ball which was to take
place shortly. It was very surprising to find such civilization in
the middle of the Western Soudan, and the town is a testimony to
the energy of the French administration in West Africa. The houses
now being built have two storeys and fine wide verandahs; water
will be laid on to each one and the streets will soon be lighted
by electricity. I was directed to the Commissioner’s bungalow,
a well-built house in the centre of the town. He received me with
all the courteous solicitude which the French nation so peculiarly
knows how to show to the foreigner. After he had given me all
possible assistance and information, I was invited to _déjeuner_
the following Saturday and shown the way to the hotel where I was
to stay.

Having sent on my kit, I proceeded to the offices of the French
Company, the trading firm which had arranged my money affairs for
me at Sierra Leone. Here I was introduced to the agent, a most
agreeable Frenchman, with whom I had a conversation about the funds
which had been deposited with him in my favour. I had calculated
the money I required for my journey from Freetown to Bamako to a
nicety, and was very glad to be now able to draw a further supply.
Here, also, it was necessary to arrange for further drafts to
be made payable to me at Timbuctu or some place down the Niger,
close to my intended starting-point for the desert. Unfortunately
the French Company had no branches open in the Soudan on the route
I proposed to follow, and I foresaw difficulties looming ahead if I
should be obliged to carry large sums on my person or in my loads.
My chief fear was on the score of robbers. Having no escort, and not
having too much faith in my servant’s honesty, it seemed highly
imprudent to carry with me more cash than was absolutely necessary.

However, my friend the agent was most obliging and promised to
try to arrange matters for me with another firm which had a house
at Timbuctu. It may come as a surprise to some people to hear that
French trading firms do actually exist at this point, which, I must
acknowledge, to me had always seemed like a mythical place rather
than a reality. But so it was. Two or three enterprising firms had
pushed hundreds of miles down the Niger, anxious to be the first
to tap the trade of this little-known region.

I had decided after my talk with the Commissioner to take the
train from Bamako to Koulikoro, and at that point to embark on the
Niger. There were two alternatives open to me, either to charter my
own barge, or to take a passage on a Government launch. If there
was sufficient water in the river the latter would be the quicker
way, and therefore the most advantageous for me. On the other hand,
should the river be very low I should do better to sail and pole
down-stream in the barge, which draws considerably less water than
the launch. I therefore wired to the offices of the Niger Navigation
at Koulikoro asking which would be the surest and quickest kind of
transport to take. The following day the reply came advising me to
take passage on a launch which would leave about the 1st of March.

At Bamako the roads are excellent and horses numerous, so that
many people possess a vehicle and drive a good deal. Of course,
most of the traps come out from France, but I saw one or two which
had been locally made and were first-rate copies of the French
model. So far motor-cars have not been introduced, but I have not
the least doubt that they will shortly make their appearance in
this go-ahead African town. The roads are quite good enough, and
I was informed that most of the bridges would require but little
strengthening for this purpose. One afternoon I went for a stroll
towards the river. On the way I passed through the native town,
which is kept in spick-and-span order like the rest of Bamako.

The people are mostly Bambaras, another large offshoot of the
Mandingo tribe. Bambaras are an intelligent race, and possibly
the most industrious of all the races of the French Soudan. Large
numbers are recruited for the French West African troops, as they
have a great reputation for pluck and endurance. The same tribe
furnishes the best river boatmen, and Bambaras are found plying such
varied trades as the shoemaker’s and the blacksmith’s. They
are scattered in more or less big groups all along the Niger
from Bamako to Mopti, and large numbers inhabit the countries
about Nioro and Sokolo on the left bank of the river, stretching
towards the desert. The men and women have fine physique, they are
usually tall and thick-set, but rather clumsy in build. The women
are very vain about their appearance generally, and their hair in
particular. The _coiffure_ is decidedly elaborate. There are two
fashions in vogue. The hair is drawn up tight from the forehead
and built upon the top of the head in a sort of ridge shape; this
curious form is obtained by placing a framework underneath. The
second method is to twist the hair into numerous plaits, which are
arranged fantastically around the ears and allowed to hang down
over the face. Gold ear-rings and silver rings are much worn by the
well-to-do classes, while sham pearl necklaces are in great demand
as ornaments for these dusky beauties.

[Illustration: THE RAILWAY STATION AND HOTEL AT BAMAKO

Bamako is certainly the most important place in the French
Soudan. Being connected with the Niger and Senegal rivers by rail, it
has direct communication with the Atlantic Ocean on the one side, and
with the fertile rice-growing areas of the Middle Niger on the other,
thus making it a great _entrepôt_ of the trade in these regions.]

[Illustration: THE NIGER AT BAMAKO

A special interest attaches to the Niger here as far as the traveller
from the south is concerned. At Bamako for the first time he can
discard that clumsy, however useful, form of transport—the native
porter. Thirty-five short miles of railway join Bamako to Koulikoro,
and then the Niger is uninterruptedly navigable by stern-wheeler,
launch, or canoe for about 900 miles to Ansongo.]

The men and women are of a cheerful, light-hearted disposition,
and it is seldom that these charming people have not a ready joke
and smile on their lips by way of welcome to the stranger. Having
passed through the native quarter, I saw in front of me several
acres of banana groves, the long graceful leaves blending in the
distance with the darker green foliage of orange and lime trees.
Besides many kinds of fruit the Government grow quantities of
vegetables with which the whole station is supplied; I was told that
there is a never-failing supply from one year’s end to the other.

The scene on the banks of the Niger was an interesting one. A ferry
was plying from the opposite bank towards me, in which were a number
of passengers hurrying across before nightfall. Here and there,
on the broad bosom of the river, were scattered native canoes with
their quaint awnings of palm and banana leaves, looking like some
big, brown bird floating on the water. The banks of the Niger are
low and sandy here, and on the shore were gathered a little knot
of spectators from the town, talking and watching the arrival of
the ferry, while, as the sun was sinking in a flood of red and
gold behind the Kati Hills, those who were devout worshippers of
the Prophet sank to their knees and could be heard muttering in
low, musical tones the cry “Allahu Akbar.” To my mind it is an
impressive sight to watch the pious Mohammedan at this hour forsake
the occupation upon which he is engaged, prostrating himself with
his face turned eastward towards the holy city of Mecca, forgetful
for the time of worldly matters, but devoting his thoughts and
prayers to his God.

I stood a silent spectator of the peaceful scene until the fiery
sun had disappeared behind the distant hills and darkness began
to descend with its customary swiftness on the face of the land,
blotting out the water and craft from my vision. I must be hurrying
back, as I had promised to dine with one of my new friends that
night, so I regretfully turned away from the Niger and set my face
homewards. That night I had a bad attack of fever, being obliged
to leave my host early and retire to a bed, piled with blankets,
for the next twenty-four hours. The reaction after my hard marching
was probably now telling on me, and I had also a touch of the sun,
I fancy. Hot lime drinks and some judicious doses of quinine and
phenacetin soon did their work, and, although feeling rather limp,
I was myself once more.

In the meantime I had heard from the agent of the French Company
that he had been able to arrange for a draft on Timbuctu for me,
so, my business being settled, I was at liberty to pass the rest
of my time at Bamako as I pleased.

I had two duties to perform, one was to pay an official call on the
Governor, the other being to visit the Colonel and officers of the
garrison at Kati.

Having been lent a horse by the Commissioner I decided to ride
to Kati, which was on the Kati Plateau, about eight miles off.
Before starting, however, I received a wire from the Colonel, asking
me to have _déjeuner_ with them, so I postponed my departure till
a later hour that morning, intending to visit the Governor on my
way back to the town in the afternoon. My steed was a flea-bitten
grey pony about 14.2 h.h., which had not been out of the stables for
some days, so I had an interested audience to watch my departure,
as they informed me he was _très méchant!_ As we started down
the road my mount showed a decided desire to return to stables,
commencing operations by shying and then standing up on his hind
legs while he executed a kind of war dance. I think the spectators
had their money’s worth of fun before we finally got under way
and set out at a gentle trot for Kati.

The road was a capital one, skirting for a couple of miles along
the foot of the hills and then across the railway, gradually
climbing the slope by gentle gradients. As we climbed we left the
burnt-up, khaki-coloured plain behind and rose into a landscape
of green verdure and sparkling streams. Many small torrents came
headlong down the hill-side, their rocky beds giving birth to
iridescent cascades, around which hovered beautiful, many-coloured
butterflies. Up and up we climbed until the summit was reached,
and I drew rein to admire the view spread out before my eyes. The
well-watered green slopes of the hills stretched away to the north
and west as far as one could see; below me I could just catch a
glimpse of the railway—the metal rails looking like a gleaming
snake as they twisted about following the contours of the hill. To
my right I beheld some whitewashed buildings glistening in the sun,
evidently the cantonments of the Kati garrison.

The horse-boy now arrived, panting and breathless from the climb,
so after waiting a moment to give him time to recover, I made my
way slowly towards the houses. On my arrival I had to apologize
for the shortcomings of my wardrobe, for, of course, I had not been
able to bring any uniform on my expedition, and my hosts were all
attired in smart, white tunics in honour of the advent of a British
officer. The Colonel was a fine-looking, stalwart soldier, who had
a splendid record of service in West Africa, and was wearing the
cross of the Legion of Honour. That luncheon-party was the merriest
one I had attended for a long time, and, after many weeks of my own
society since leaving Freetown, it was very enjoyable to be among
such cheery companions. The officers at Kati can get by train to
Bamako nearly every day if they wish, but their duties keep them
fairly busy in garrison, they informed me. They have a pleasant
little colony at their station and the joys of social life at Bamako
did not apparently appeal to them greatly. As a matter of fact, the
Europeans at the capital of the Soudan are divided rather strangely
into three groups. The traders and the administrative officials
of the district of Bamako are all quartered in the town, and, as
has been explained, the troops and military officers are at Kati,
while the administrative officials of the colony are at a place
called Koulouba, which is on a hill three miles from the town. The
officers were most anxious for me to spend the afternoon with them,
but it was half-past three before we finished the sumptuous repast
which had been prepared for us, and I had an eight-mile ride to
Government House at Koulouba in front of me.

The Lieutenant-Governor of the colony had been away touring and
only returned the previous day, so I was fortunate in being able
to make his acquaintance before leaving Bamako. Government House
is a splendid stone mansion, situated on the edge of the plateau,
overlooking the town of Bamako and commanding a fine view over
the Niger, which can be seen like a silver thread winding its way
north-east towards KouliKoro.

The Lieutenant-Governor’s residence is truly a palace. It is
three storeys high, and has large rooms and cool, wide verandahs
and corridors. The house is furnished in the most comfortable,
if not luxurious, style, and I had no difficulty in believing the
statement that it was the finest house in French West Africa. I have
seen no building in British West Africa which could in any way be
compared to it. It is said to have cost a million francs to build,
as all the material had to be brought from Europe. Electric light
and hot water are laid on everywhere, and no effort seems to have
been spared to make the place a model of comfort and elegance.

The houses of the officials who are on the Lieutenant-Governor’s
staff are also admirably fitted up. Water is a great difficulty on
the top of the hill, but this has been overcome by installing an
apparatus for pumping it up from the Niger below.

A capital carriage-road leads down the hill to Bamako, and there
is also an excellent bridle-path. The Lieutenant-Governor had his
wife and family at Koulouba. I was told that they proposed to spend
a whole year in the country, as they found life so agreeable and
comfortable at Government House.

The Lieutenant-Governor received me very graciously, supplying me
with all the maps and information I required. He also promised to
telegraph down the Niger, sending instructions for every facility to
be given me where I wanted to shoot. In the course of conversation
I was rather astonished when he inquired after my two companions. I
informed him that I was travelling alone and had no companions,
whereupon he showed me a letter referring to the projected visit
of three Englishmen to Bamako, who were engaged on a scientific and
hunting expedition in the Western Soudan. He naturally thought that
I was one of this party. I had, however, never heard of them. It was
certainly a strange coincidence that another party of Englishmen
should be contemplating a trip in this region about the same time
as myself, more especially as Englishmen very rarely visit the
country. I never met this party, and am not aware if they ever
started on their proposed tour.

At Government House I was introduced to one of the secretaries,
who, I was told, had served in the “Bend” of the Niger, where
I wished to shoot, and would be able to give me information on
the subject of the game in that locality. I was delighted at the
opportunity of getting some reliable, first-hand news. The gentleman
I was introduced to had been in the heart of the country I intended
to visit for five years, he informed me, and was a keen sportsman,
so I was in great luck to meet him here. He advised me to disembark
at a place called Niafounké, nearly 500 miles down-river, and from
there to strike into the district of Bandiagara, where big game of
many varieties was plentiful. He also gave me letters of introduction
to the French officials of the districts through which I should pass,
and informed me of the best hunters to be obtained at the villages
in the region to which I was proceeding. His information was most
valuable, and I was overjoyed to hear his glowing accounts of the
shooting available in the “Boucle,” as the French call the Big
“Bend” of the Niger. He, like most Frenchmen who shoot in West
Africa, had used nothing but the Lebel rifle, which has a calibre
but little bigger than the ·303. I cannot help thinking that a
great deal of game must be wounded when such a small-bore rifle
is relied upon for the bigger animals, and, quite apart from the
danger to the individual who is shooting, to my mind it is cruel
to wound a beast which you are unable to overtake and kill owing
to the rifle being a less powerful weapon than should be used.

My new friend invited me to his quarters, where we had a long and
interesting conversation about shooting in West Africa. Later in
the evening we descended the hill together to Bamako, whither he
was riding. We made an appointment for the following day in order
to continue our conversation, but unfortunately it fell through.

The Senegal-Niger Railway forms one of the links forged by the
French for penetrating into the Western Soudan from the coast. The
River Senegal is the first link in the chain. From the port of St.
Louis, on the Atlantic coast and at the mouth of the Senegal River,
this waterway is navigable at certain times of the year for big
steamers as far as the town of Kayes. This town is situated about 400
miles up the stream. Above Kayes the Senegal River is not navigable,
and until Koulikoro is reached the Niger is not navigable, although
from that point downwards the river is navigable for many hundred
miles. Now to connect these two waterways, the Senegal and the Niger,
it became necessary to join the towns of Kayes and Koulikoro by
a railway. The French thus completed a line of communication from
St. Louis on the sea-coast to the heart of the Western Soudan.

Although the Senegal River is navigable as far as Kayes, this is
only the case during certain months of the year. For instance,
during the rainy season, from about July to November, ships of
2000 tons can ascend to this point. Small steamers, launches and
stern-wheelers can proceed to Kayes until the month of February,
but from February till June the river is only navigable by canoes
with difficulty. In consequence of this the Senegal River is rather
a weak point in the chain of communication with the interior. To
remedy this the French are now building a fresh line from Dakar,
the new capital of the Senegal Colony and head-quarters of the
Governor-General of French West Africa, to Kayes. About half of
this railway is completed. The line is well-laid and the work of
construction is in very capable hands, so there is no doubt it
will be finished as quickly as possible. The saving of time will
be enormous; for, in the dry season, when it takes about a month to
reach the coast by the present route from Kayes, it will in future
only take two days by rail. The train, which runs three or four
times a week in each direction, takes two days to go from Bamako to
Kayes. The carriages are fairly comfortable, and the railway is much
used by natives, who take a childish delight in travelling by train.

The trade of the colony has benefited greatly by the Senegal-Niger
line, the output of ground nuts for export to France having
particularly shown a large increase. Trains run nearly every day
from Bamako to Koulikoro, a distance of only thirty-five miles.
The third-class carriages are not uncomfortable. I travelled a short
distance in one myself. Some of the compartments extend along the
whole length of the carriage, having the two ends open, which makes
travelling in the hot weather much cooler than it would otherwise
be. Railways in French West Africa are being rapidly constructed,
and it is probable that in the next decade the Senegal-Niger, or the
Guinea line, will be continued across the French Soudan to the east
of the “Bend” of the Niger, and that the existing branches in
the colonies of Ivory Coast and Dahomey will be extended northwards
to meet it.

The last morning of my stay at Bamako I paid a visit to the market
with my “boy.” I suppose it is the largest and most thriving
market of the Western Soudan. The produce of the large rice and
millet farms of the Niger is brought here for sale, and this comes
not only from the district around Bamako, but also from the big
grain areas in the Macina province, some 350 miles farther down the
river. Ground nuts, which are so extensively grown in the colony,
form a large proportion of the produce of the market. But in
addition to grains almost every article of trade in the Soudan is
brought here. The same heterogeneous collection of different races
which I had noticed at Kankan was to be seen, but the proportion
of pale-faced, Jewish-looking Moors was larger, while occasionally
a stalwart Arab in flowing white robes would show conspicuously
amongst the swarthy negroid tribesmen.

A great feature of the Bamako market is the part devoted to dairy
produce. There are two distinct portions in this section. One has
preserved milk, butter, etc., or in other words, stuff which has been
brought from the north of the Niger in goatskins and is invariably
rancid. The other portion contains fresh milk and butter. The
butter is made up in tiny round pats, which are allowed to float in
the calabashes of milk displayed for sale. Most natives prefer the
“preserved” dairy produce, for sour butter and curdled milk are
things which the soul of the Bambara loveth, probably finding their
flavour more piquant, and condemning the fresh articles as insipid.

In another corner was the live stock. Fine humped cattle from the
Niger valley, Soudan sheep from the lake-country in the “Bend,”
many of which had thick coats of fleecy white wool, and goats from
anywhere and everywhere were huddled up indiscriminately together.
The horses were all of the same type. The 14 or 14.2 pony of the
Soudan rather resembles the Barb pony, but is weedier in appearance;
although, from my own observation, I should back the Soudan animal
to beat his Barb confrère in a trial of endurance. I was told that
camels occasionally came down to Bamako, but personally I never
saw one there. The camel caravan routes nearly all stop on the
north of the Niger and Senegal rivers. I fancy these animals are
rarely brought across, partly on account of the danger attending
the transportation of such unwieldy brutes, and partly because the
river-water is said to produce some kind of sickness from which a
camel seldom recovers. In any case, there does not appear to be any
advantage in introducing camel transport into a well-watered country.

The hotel at Bamako is close to the railway station; it also
possesses a buffet for the use of passengers. This was one of the
several surprises which I had on my arrival at the town, for it
had never entered my calculations to find an hotel in this remote
region. There are two storeys, with four bedrooms on each floor.
The dining-room is spacious, and can easily accommodate twenty
people. In the afternoon, when the sun is getting low, small tables
are placed in the compound in front of the building, and here people
congregate to talk over the events of the day while drinking their
cognac or cup of coffee, for all the world like restaurant-life in
the boulevards of a town in France.

At this hour the tables were generally full, the Frenchman being
a sociable person and dearly loving this daily meeting with his
friends at the restaurant. In the evening, when the lamps are
lighted, two or three card-tables are made up. I noticed that even
there bridge seemed to be as popular a game as it is with us. There
is a small menagerie in the hotel garden, containing two ostriches
and a few other wild animals. It was a strange sight to see the
former animals strutting about in their lordly fashion, and, with
their extraordinary powers of digestion, occasionally picking up
and swallowing a stone in the calmest way imaginable.

CHAPTER XI

Koulikoro — Niger Navigation Service — Rapids on the Niger —
The Hourst Expedition — An explorer’s death — Horse-breeding.

ON the 27th of February I left by the morning train for
Koulikoro. The director of the eastern section of the Senegal-Niger
Railway, to whom I was introduced, travelled down in the same
carriage. Commandant Digue is a most interesting man, with a vast
experience of railways in West Africa, and possessing a reputation
for great energy and ability. He was formerly an officer of
Engineers, but has now retired from the French Army. In the early
days of the railway construction many brave men laid down their
lives while overcoming the engineering difficulties which had to
be faced, and he is one of the few survivors of those hard times.

The line runs through a grassy bush-country a few miles from the
left bank of the Niger, and occasionally the passenger catches a
glimpse of that river as it twists and turns on its north-easterly
course. The train was a slow one, taking three hours to cover the
thirty-five miles and stopping at every station. On approaching
Koulikoro the country becomes more hilly on the north and west,
while the river is gradually seen more distinctly on the east. For
West Africa the station is a large and busy one. In the railway
yard there are repairing shops with skilled workmen capable of
carrying out almost any work that is necessary. There are a large
amount of rolling stock and a big engine-shed. The day was Sunday,
so our train contained several Europeans who had come over from
Bamako to spend the day with friends here. Several people were on
the platform awaiting our arrival; amongst them the local railway
officials in white uniform were conspicuous, having come to meet
the director of the line.

We went up to the hotel, where I took a room and installed myself for
the next two days. This hotel is similar to the one at Bamako, but
is more comfortable and a good deal cleaner. The hotels were built
by Government and are the property of the railway, but are let to
private individuals, who are responsible for the entire management,
and charge their own prices. One of my fellow-passengers that
morning was a French officer coming down on duty to Koulikoro. We
made friends in the train and he had promised to call for me in the
afternoon to take me to visit the Director of the Niger Navigation
Service. About four o’clock we set out on our visit. The official
in question was at home with his wife and two daughters. Madame
was a charming lady from Algeria, and she and her daughters had
but lately returned from an adventurous trip down the Niger to its
farthest navigable point, a place called Ansongo, a distance of
about 900 miles. They told me they were the first white women ever
to visit Ansongo, and I can well believe that few ladies would care
to risk the dangers and hardships of such a voyage.

My new friend, Lieutenant Langel, sang us some most amusing songs to
the accompaniment of one of the young ladies, and finally had only
just time to catch the evening train back to Bamako. M. Langel,
although only a lieutenant, had seen a considerable amount of
service in West Africa, having commenced life there in the ranks. He
had a large fund of funny anecdotes about the country and was as
pleasant a companion as can be imagined. I was indebted to him for
introductions to several influential officials it was my pleasure
to meet later during my travels.

[Illustration: THE NIGER AT KOULIKORO

Here are collected a number of craft of all kinds, e.g.
stern-wheelers, launches, barges, and steel canoes, for it is here
that the navigation of the Niger really begins. Koulikoro workshops
are very self-contained, all repairs being effected on the spot.]

[Illustration: THE NIGER AT SÉGOU

This is a prosperous town, where a good deal of tobacco and cotton
are grown. Near Ségou we encountered the worst sandbanks of the
voyage. In places the channel was not eighteen inches deep, and we
had considerable difficulty in passing.]

After the departure of the train an adjournment was made to the
hotel, where I met the Resident of Koulikoro and his wife. A
tennis-court had been made in the gardens, and it was decided to
play. I don’t think I have ever played the game under such strange
conditions as I have here. The net was locally made out of native
fishing-nets, the ground was the flattest piece of rock we could
find, with the court-lines marked out in white chalk, while the balls
were of ordinary india-rubber, and no one possessed tennis-shoes. The
racquets were, or rather had once been, tennis-bats, and were the
only part of our equipment resembling the real article. However,
it was an amusing game, causing almost as much merriment to the
players as it did to the spectators. After tennis we all assembled
at little tables in front of the hotel, as the custom is, to take
an _apéritif_. Besides myself there were only three men staying
at the hotel; these were permanent residents, who were employed in
the Government Offices and found it more convenient to live at the
hotel than to have a separate establishment in the town.

As I previously mentioned, the terminus of the railway and
the head-quarters of the Niger Navigation Service are here,
consequently there is a large number of European officials employed
at Koulikoro. The navigation service is entirely controlled by the
Government. There are several stern-wheelers, small steam-launches,
steel canoes and barges in the fleet. These vary considerably in
size and comfort. The depth of the Niger alters greatly according
to the season of the year. At certain times during the dry season
there is so little water in parts of the Upper Niger that navigation
even by shallow-draught barges is exceedingly difficult.

In the old days, when there was no craft on the river bigger than
the native canoe, journeys were long and tedious. From Koulikoro
to Timbuctu, even with relays of canoemen at frequent intervals,
it was impossible to cover the distance in less than three weeks,
but now a very different state of affairs exists, and the journey
can be done on the average in twelve days. Since the railway has
reached Koulikoro repairing-shops and a dock have been made, and
the fleet of steaming-vessels has been greatly augmented at this
port of the Niger.

One of my companions at dinner was a platelayer in charge of a
section of the line between Koulikoro and Bamako. As I happened to
mention to him that I should much like to see the rapids on the Niger
below Bamako, of which I had often heard, he very kindly offered to
take me next morning by trolly to a station within easy walk of some
of the rapids. I was delighted at the offer, which I gladly accepted.

Next morning, as the sun was rising, I met my friend at the station,
where he had his trolly ready. Our destination was a little place
called Kiénéfala, about twenty miles down the line. It was very
pleasant in the early morning air as we glided swiftly along,
running by our own momentum easily down the declines, while our
trolly boys, four stalwart Bambaras, pushed us up the inclines.
There is something very exhilarating in the motion of a trolly. The
sensation is that of being in a train, but with this advantage,
that you have the benefit of being in the open air instead of being
shut into a hot compartment. As we rattled merrily along we caught
glimpses of bushfowl and guinea-fowl, who, scared by our approach,
scuttled into the bush as we bore down upon them. Occasionally a
duiker, or bushbuck, would be seen in the distance, terrified at
the appearance of this strange, swift-moving object which invaded
the privacy of their sylvan haunts. Whole families of monkeys
were frequently to be seen gambolling on the track, along which
they hurried as we made our appearance, only finally to dive into
the bush as they realized the pursuing demon was overtaking them.
Unfortunately I was never able to get close enough to these animals
for a successful photograph.

In a little over two hours we arrived at the station, where
we dismounted from the trolly. Half an hour’s walk brought
us to the Niger and we were close to the rapids. There are two
sets of rapids which interrupt the navigation between Bamako and
Koulikoro. About eight miles below the former town are the rapids
of Sotuba, and, below them again, the rapids of Kiénéfala, which
we were now visiting. For many miles this section of the river is
very rocky and, even for canoes, navigation is difficult. The water
was low here and we were able to clamber over rocky boulders into
the middle of the stream, from whence we got a capital view of the
rapids. As we gazed up-stream we could see that the river was split
into three channels, separated from each other by huge fragments of
rock. Immediately in front of us was the centre channel. On each
side of this channel was a rocky wall towering up to a height of
thirty feet above our heads. Some two hundred yards away the water
came swirling along in a seething torrent, until it suddenly reached
the rugged precipice down which it fell in headlong impetuosity. It
looked as if no craft could live in that pitiless, rushing stream,
yet one or two Frenchmen have successfully descended those rapids.

At the bottom the water flows swiftly through a channel, said to be
very deep, and then on for a couple of miles till the rocks begin to
disappear and the three separated portions of the river reunite. The
water below the rapids is of the most beautiful deep blue colour—a
blue I have never seen in any other river, but strongly resembling
the blue one sees in the Mediterranean. I could have stayed for
hours watching this splendid sight; the grandeur of the rapids,
the roar of the waters and the beauty of the blue stream at our
feet carried me away from the commonplace doings of the world. It
was one of those moments, which come to us all at times, when one
feels mentally and physically in touch with nature.

My companion suddenly awoke me from my reverie, pointing to the
sun, which was now high up in the sky. We had to get back quickly
as the down train was due in less than two hours. After a little
refreshment at the platelayer’s house near the station we mounted
our trolly once more and proceeded on the homeward trip. At a little
village called Madambougou, we halted to examine the graves of some
Frenchmen who had been buried there. These men were members of the
expedition which descended the Niger in 1884 under Lieutenant Hourst,
the well-known explorer. Hourst was a naval officer who organized a
small fleet of canoes for this expedition, and starting from Bamako
with a few European companions and a following of native canoemen
successfully descended the Rapids of Sotuba and Kiénéfala. After
descending the Kiénéfala Rapids he made a camp near Madambougou,
and, while there repairing damages to his canoes, he lost two or
three white men from sickness, while others were unfortunately killed
in a canoe accident. For many years the whereabouts of these graves
could not be discovered, until at last, when the bush was being cut
down in connection with some work on the railway line, the tombstones
of the victims of the Hourst Expedition were disclosed. The little
graveyard has now been cleared and is kept in good order.

A few weeks later I met a French naval officer, the Superintendent of
the Niger Surveys, who had just arrived from France, and had come by
river all the way from Bamako, descending the rapids _en route_. He,
like Hourst, came down in an ordinary “dug-out” canoe, and,
although successful, he informed me it was a thrilling experience
and one he would not lightly undertake again. The smallest mistake
or hesitation on the part of the steersman must result in the frail
craft being inevitably dashed against the rocks, and there would
be no hope for the occupants.

In the early days of French exploration an explorer called Maje
had penetrated into the Soudan as far as Koulikoro. Just outside
that village he was attacked by the inhabitants and killed on the
hill which is to be seen at the south end of the place. Maje’s
death was not avenged for some time, but his name has since been
perpetuated in one of the stern-wheeler boats in use on the Niger;
she was lying in the river when I was at Koulikoro, but useless till
the next rainy season owing to the scarcity of water at that time.

That afternoon I walked out to Koulikoro Bara, two miles off, to
call on the officers of the local garrison. A broad road leads to
the village, and the officers’ quarters are perched on the top of
a hill above it. The road had a soft, sandy surface and seemed to
be a favourite resort for riders in the evening. When I passed some
half-dozen natives were racing on their gaily ornamented steeds.
Excitement among the spectators was running at a high pitch as the
cavaliers came tearing furiously down the road, urging their mounts
forward with wild cries and much spurring. The winner at the end
of the course, shouting triumphantly at his victory, drew rein so
suddenly as to throw his horse on to its haunches, to the imminent
danger of those following, who narrowly escaped a collision.

I was shown round the barracks by a young artillery officer, who was
temporarily in charge of the station, and he very kindly offered
to lend me a horse for the remainder of my stay at Koulikoro. But
I was unable to make much use of his offer, for when I returned
to the hotel I found a message to say that the steam-launch would
leave the following day.

The next morning I rose early as I had arranged to pay a visit to
the horse-breeding establishment which was about three miles away. I
was met by Captain de Franco, who took great pains to show me the
well-managed stables under his care. Very few mares are kept, but
the stallions of the establishment are sent out to districts where
a good class of mare is known to exist, and the owners of the mares
are bound to sell the progeny to Government should they be required
so to do. The reason for this is that it was found many of the
Government mares were infected with the trypnazome produced by the
tsetse-fly-bite. Some of them died, while others dropped dead foals,
and so it was considered to be a wiser plan to let the risk of these
accidents be borne by the native rather than by Government. Captain
de Franco informed me that they had treated several cases of this
disease successfully with arsenic, but although the victim’s life
was saved the horse was never as strong as he had originally been.

The animals were certainly some of the finest I had seen in the
Western Soudan. Most of them came from the districts of Nioro and
Sokolo, on the left bank of the Niger. They averaged a little over
15 hands, some showing distinct signs of Arab blood. We walked over
to the riding-school, where the young horses were being exercised.
The riders were native lads, most of whom were expert horsemen before
they came to the establishment, I was told. The difficulty is not to
teach them to ride, but to teach them to be good horsemasters. They
have been used to the brutal native methods, using the cruel native
bit, and regarding the horse as a machine incapable of feeling pain
or fatigue. Once these ideas have been driven out of their heads
they become very useful members of the stables.

The captain was very proud of his house, which he had built himself
with materials specially ordered from France. It was certainly very
comfortable and furnished with great taste.

I hurried back to the hotel to find my servant sending the loads
down to the wharf. In the last two days I had rearranged my kit,
and repacked the “chop-boxes,” and had reduced my possessions
to twelve carriers’ loads. I now went to the Navigation Offices,
where I purchased my ticket for Niafounké. I was introduced
to the _brigadier de vaisseaux_, the European skipper of the
little launch, with whom I had to share a cabin. Accommodation
on the boat was limited. There was a tiny cabin with two berths
“forard,” while other passengers had to pitch their camp beds,
if they could find room, in the stern of the vessel. Some of the
baggage was stowed in the hold, but the heavier articles were in
the lighter which we were to tow. My fellow-passengers were two
European non-commissioned officers. One of them was proceeding to
the garrison town of Bobo-Djilassu, while the other was bound for
Timbuctu. I must say I pitied these two men; they were so cramped
in the narrow space allowed them that the discomfort of a journey
down-river lasting several days must have been great. To add to
the general unpleasantness there was only a thin awning to protect
their heads from the fierce sun, so that they could never discard
their sun-helmets during the day.

In the bows of the steam-launch there was a small space available,
with just room for a couple of chairs, and in the centre of this
space was the wheel, where the steersman took up his position. Our
crew were mostly Bambaras, three of whom were river pilots. A
special knowledge of the river is necessary for the man at the
wheel, as the Niger is full of sandbanks, rocks and other dangers
to navigators. Our vessel was the “Réné Caillé,” called
after the famous French explorer of that name, who in the years
1827 and 1828 came across the Sahara from Morocco to Timbuctu,
eventually returning to Europe by the same route. These boats are
known to the French as _vedettes_, while the stern-wheelers are
called _monoroues_; the latter appears to be a misnomer, for these
boats have two wheels, and not a single one.

In the lighter towed behind us, besides the baggage, there was a
collection of natives. Some of these were soldiers with their wives
and families, and a very happy party they seemed to be as they sat
on packing-cases at the bottom of the boat, chattering and laughing
while we waited for the _brigadier_ to come aboard. All formalities
were at length completed, and the Director of Navigation came out
of his office with our skipper to bid me good-bye.

As we steamed away from the shores of Koulikoro I felt my spirits
rise at the prospect of seeing “fresh woods and pastures new,”
and this bade fair to be one of the most interesting portions of my
journey, for at last I was on the navigable Niger, after following
it from its source for so many hundred miles and seeing it gradually
grow from a tiny, insignificant stream into a fine, big waterway.

CHAPTER XII

On a river launch — Salutations — Crocodiles — An evening
halt — Camping on the bank — Tobacco-growing — Cotton-growing
— Garrison mess life — Irksome travelling — An enlightened
ruler — An excellent shooting ground — A holy city — Kadis
— Architecture — Sails of grass — Picturesque pilots — A
strike in the engine-room — Flat country.

AS we glided easily down the river I began to think that life on
the “Réné Caillé” would be rather pleasant.

It was very enjoyable to sit on deck in an easy chair watching the
rapidly changing landscape as we went along merrily at five or six
miles an hour.

The river was not more than 400 yards wide here, and its bed was
frequently split into three or four channels by spits of sandbank.
Many of these channels were certainly not more than forty yards wide,
so the little launch required careful handling to get her round
the numerous turnings of the stream. On the left bank the Koulikoro
Hills were still to be seen gradually extending farther and farther
from the shore until they were lost in a blue haze in the distance.

On the right bank the country was extremely flat, vegetation had
become more and more scarce, until, on this side, the ground was
merely covered with patches of low scrub.

Occasionally we passed a fishing village, a collection of small
mud huts huddled together on the river banks. As we steamed by
a swarm of black urchins would come out to look at the launch,
waving their dusky little arms and shouting greetings.

As evening began to fall a number of tiny islets, fringed with trees,
began to appear on the landscape. In spite of the dry weather the
trees were clothed in mantles of rich green, relieved only by masses
of ruddy, orange-coloured flowers, in places where the beautiful
“Flamboyant” or “Gold mohur” tree prospered. Canoes laden
with grain and paddled by a couple of sturdy natives frequently
passed us, while occasionally a barge under full sail with cargo
from the big markets down-stream passed us, speeding on her way
to Koulikoro.

The next morning we reached the important trading village of
Nyamina. This place was considerably larger than anything we had
yet seen. The houses are built of the reddish-brown Niger mud; they
are solidly constructed dwellings, the colour of which so nearly
approximates to that of the surrounding soil that the inexperienced
eye cannot detect the presence of a village until almost within
hailing distance of it. Nyamina is on an important trade-route
leading from Southern Mauretania to the Niger, and it is at this
point that caravans cross the river on their way to the big markets
of Bobo-Djilassu and Sikasso. Even as we arrived a big convoy of at
least 300 camels, which had just come in, was to be seen watering at
the river brink. The camels would not cross the Niger here, but the
merchandise would be transported to its destination on carriers’
heads. It was the first time on this journey that I had come across
camels, and it was a curious thing that at my first view of them I
should see no less than 300. We halted here for an hour to take in
wood. A certain amount of coal, in the form of briquettes imported
from France, is burnt on the Niger vessels, but the majority of
their fuel consists of wood. Special arrangements are made with the
headmen of certain villages on the banks to stack wood for the use
of steamers. When a boat requires fuel she blows her steam-whistle
to attract the attention of the village, and then gives an order for
the amount taken to the headman. The latter can obtain payment for
his wood on presenting the order to the Commissioner of his district.

On resuming our way we approached a part of the river where sandbanks
appeared to be more numerous than ever. After two or three ominous
bumps we suddenly felt a severe shock and the little vessel came
to a dead stop. We had stuck fast on a sandbank. Our skipper
shouted the order to go full-speed astern, but all his efforts
seemed unavailing. The crew were then made to jump into the water,
and after shoving and straining for about half an hour with the
engines going astern the whole time we at last got clear.

Soon after this misadventure I noticed ahead of us a big lighter,
flying the French flag in the stern. We rapidly overtook her,
and as we came abreast of each other the two crews exchanged
greetings, shouting to one another the usual string of salutations
which are customary in this country. When one begins to understand
the language it is amusing to listen to the varied nature of the
questions the native asks a fellow-traveller when they meet. The
usual type of question and answer is much like this: “Welcome,
my friend, I hope you are well.” “Quite well, praise be to
Allah, and how are you, my friend?” “I am very well, but is
your house in good repair?” “Yes, thank you, but tell me news of
your horse.” These salutations continue for ten minutes or more,
and each traveller wastes a considerable amount of time on every
journey in this fashion. Even when the two men have resumed their
way they can be heard shouting back salutations to each other as
long as their voices are audible. Besides the ordinary greetings,
corresponding to our “Good morning,” “Good night,” etc.,
these simple natives have such greetings as “I salute you in the
rain,” or “Greetings for the sunshine,” and a host of other
expressions according as it is rainy or fine weather, etc.

On the deck of the barge were two Europeans, a man and a woman.
They turned out to be the Resident of Koulikoro and his wife, whom
I had met a few days previously. The former had been appointed a
Commissioner in the district of Bandiagara, whither he now was on
his way. I expected to meet them again later, as I was likely to
be shooting in their district. However, we missed, and I never saw
them again. The “Réné Caillé” soon outdistanced the barge,
but she overtook us again during the course of the day, owing to our
launch sticking, on several occasions of more or less long duration,
on sandbanks.

This portion of the river is inhabited by a number of
crocodiles. These repulsive creatures are hated and feared quite
as much by the black man as by the European. Consequently there
were several members of the crew eagerly on the look-out for the
crouching forms of these animals as they basked in the sun on a
sandbank. Immediately one was seen I used to be informed and would
pick up my rifle for a shot. Sometimes even the keen eyes of the
“boys” would be deceived, and they would mistake a log for a
crocodile; there really is not much difference in the appearance of
the two objects, and often one’s first intimation of the presence
of a crocodile is given by seeing the supposed log suddenly and
swiftly slide off the bank into the water. In the dazzling sun it
was frequently difficult to distinguish these beasts, for their
yellowish-grey bodies would assimilate well with the sand on which
they were lying. Sometimes we would see them swimming in the river,
the only thing discernible being a black speck just raised above
the level of the water, which was probably a bit of the head. The
natives are afraid to bathe in this portion of the river, owing to
the frequent accidents which have occurred.

Many were the gruesome stories we were told. One of the pilots said
he had a brother who was a fisherman in these parts. This man had
a small son, and one day the mother had taken him down to the river
while she was drawing water. The little fellow toddled a few yards
off and began splashing in the shallow water near the edge of the
stream, when by some misfortune he slipped into a deep pool and was
at once carried off by a crocodile. The mother’s first warning
was a cry of terror from the child, as it was drawn struggling
under water by the horrible creature. The unfortunate woman’s
horror and anguish as she stood there powerless must have been
terrible to witness. Crocodiles are objects of superstition among
the natives here. Usually crocodiles in the abstract are regarded
as a “juju,” but in some cases these animals are kept alive in
the village for fetish purposes.

At one place where we halted in the evening there was a big tank
in the centre of the village. In this tank there lived a huge
crocodile, for which the natives had a wholesome respect not
unmingled with fear. Around the tank they had built a strong mud
wall, several feet high. The creature used to be fed daily with
enormous lumps of meat. He was reputed to be fifty years old, and
he probably was a good deal older than that even, for the most
aged inhabitants of the place could remember his existence when
they were children. Undoubtedly crocodiles live to a very great age.

River crocodiles are said to travel long distances at times. I
recollect once in India a river crocodile was found in a small
swamp about twelve miles from the nearest water. It was known that
no crocodile had been in the swamp previously, and it seemed as if
it must have come across dry land for the whole of that distance.

The “Réné Caillé” used to steam about twelve hours a day,
from sunrise to sunset. I suppose we covered an average daily
distance of sixty miles. Travelling, even by the moon, at night was
impossible owing to the narrowness of the navigable channel. When
there is plenty of water in the river boats travel day and night.
About five o’clock, or a little later, we generally halted for
the night near a village. A supply of wood was then taken on board
so as to be ready for an early start next day, and after that duty
had been performed all hands were allowed to fall out to cook their
evening meal. It was a cheery sight to watch the camp fires dotted
about on the river bank, each with a little group of black figures
busily engaged in cooking operations, while the little launch lay
peacefully at anchor with the last rays of the setting sun reflecting
their red light on to her.

I was glad to step ashore and stretch my legs on these occasions. If
it was not too late I used to take my gun and a “boy,” and stroll
off on the chance of getting a shot at a bushfowl or pigeon. On
this part of the river there was a big, mottled pigeon. Its colour
resembled red-roan more nearly than anything else. This pigeon is
about twice as large as a green pigeon, and I always saw it near
water. It feeds chiefly on rice or millet. Waterfowl were still
extremely scarce; since leaving Koulikoro I had only seen one flight
of duck.

The non-commissioned officer, who was going to Bobo Djilassu, was
a keen sportsman and used often to accompany me in the evening
expeditions. His gun was a 16-bore, and he told me he never
bothered to clean it. One day out of curiosity I looked down the
barrels. It certainly was in a very dirty condition, and it passes
my comprehension how he managed to shoot with it at all. He was
not a bad shot at a bird on the wing, but used to say he could
not understand the necessity for shooting at birds flying when you
could so often get an easy shot at a sitting pigeon or bushfowl!
However, we had some pleasant walks together and generally brought
in something for the “pot.”

Sand-flies on the river banks were frequently very bad at night.
I found that my small-meshed mosquito-curtain was invaluable. But
the worst time for these plaguy little creatures was between sundown
and bedtime. They seemed to be aware how helpless we were, and took
the opportunity of making the most of those two or three hours. Big
logs of wood were scarce, and somehow a lot of small fires did
not seem to give the same immunity from their attacks as did one
big log fire. I preferred to sleep on shore, but my companions
usually slept on board. The chief drawback to sleeping on shore
was that one had to rise in the dark in order to get the kit stowed
aboard before we started. The nights were very cool and pleasant,
and being safe under my net from the onslaughts of the insects,
I always managed to sleep very comfortably.

On the 3rd of March we reached Ségou. This town is 112 miles
down the Niger from Koulikoro, on the right bank of the river. As
we approached the hitherto brown, sandy banks became fringed with
fresh green vegetation; this was tobacco, which is grown to a great
extent here. The leaf is small, and therefore, although the tobacco
is of good quality, it is not worth exporting to France. The natives
smoke it and use it as snuff. Tobacco is a greatly appreciated luxury
in this country. It is only grown in strictly limited localities,
and invariably commands a high price in the market. The tobacco
plantations gradually disappeared as we drew nearer to the town,
and wide-spreading trees made their appearance together with the
Europeans’ gardens of vegetables and flowers. Ségou is the
capital of the district of that name; it is an important trading
place with a fairly large population of white men.

We were to stay here three hours, so I went ashore to call on
the Commissioner. He lived in a well-built mud house, a portion
of which was his office. While talking to him a young Frenchman
entered to whom I was introduced. He was the agent of the French
Cotton-Growing Association. This gentleman very kindly offered to
show me his ginning apparatus, a proposal which I eagerly accepted.
M. Level, who spoke English remarkably well, was a most interesting
man to meet. He had had a large experience of cotton-growing in
different parts of the world, and was therefore peculiarly qualified
to speak on this subject. A good deal of cotton is grown in the
basin of the Niger about here, Ségou being the central market to
which the stuff is generally brought.

Native-grown cotton, as was previously explained, is short in the
staple and rather coarse. The French Cotton-Growing Association
has tried to introduce the cultivation of Egyptian and American
cotton. M. Level had distributed large quantities of these seeds
to the natives in the endeavour to induce them to grow a better
class of cotton, but, he informed me, the result so far had not
been very encouraging. The output had been small compared with the
quantity of seed distributed, and this, it appeared, was not so
much due to the soil being unsuitable, as to the natives being too
lazy to plant the cotton. Ginning is carried on upon a big scale;
there is also a hydraulic press for compressing the cotton as it is
packed into bales. The Association has its own barges which transport
the cotton to Koulikoro for shipment to Europe. There are also two
other branches; one in the south of the colony on the Bani River,
and the other at Kayes, on the Senegal River.

M. Level introduced me to the officers of the garrison, who took me
to their quarters and were most eager to be told all about the life
of a British officer in West Africa, and to know whether I thought
it differed much from their mode of living. In many cases the French
do not have regular messes, but each officer lives by himself, and
once or twice in the week each individual takes a turn in inviting
his brother officers to dinner or _déjeuner_. They seem to prefer
this method, saying it obviates the disadvantage of the too-close
companionship of mess life.

On leaving Ségou we had a recurrence of the troubles of the previous
day. In fact, this portion of the Niger is the most difficult to
navigate of any part between Koulikoro and Timbuctu. The channel
is continually blocked by shoals, making progress very slow and
travelling very irksome. There are a lot of fishing villages about
here, and large herds of cattle are seen at times. The fisherfolk
are Bosos, a hardy race, but people of no great intelligence. The
Bosos are pagans; they are looked down on by the superior tribes who
surround them, and appear to have little ambition. These people have
ever been a downtrodden race, so that probably any spirit they once
had was long ago crushed by their numerous conquerors during the
troubled times before the French appeared at the end of last century.

The next day we arrived at Sansanding, where we had to halt a
whole day to effect some repairs to the machinery. This place is a
semi-independent native State, governed by a native ruler, called the
“Fama.” It is interesting as being the only native State with
its own little Government in the colony, or I believe in the whole
of French West Africa. The Fama is a most enlightened man, who was
educated at the Government College at Kayes, and afterwards went to
France. He speaks French well and has very sound ideas for a native
about the administration of his Government. He has built himself a
European house, in which he possesses French furniture, pictures,
china and a host of modern comforts. He was very hospitable,
insisting on our partaking of wine and coffee with him. The town
is neatly built and kept in good order.

Owing to the shallow water we had to anchor two miles down-stream,
and went up the small creek leading to the town in a canoe. Between
the town and the launch there was a stretch of grassy bush,
so, before returning to the boat, I decided to investigate the
shooting possibilities of this bit of country, intending to
walk back by the river bank. I was alone on this occasion, as
the French non-commissioned officer who used to accompany me had
disembarked at Ségou, whence he would march to his destination in
the south of the colony. The Fama’s shooting-ground proved to be
an excellent one. The good people of Sansanding had evidently not
much acquaintance with guns, and were quite scared when they saw me
raise a harmless-looking object to my shoulder and simultaneously
heard a report. When a bird fell the astonishment of the natives
was great. I believe they thought it the work of some wonderful
and mysterious “medicine.” Most of my beaters dispersed with
marvellous rapidity at the noise of the discharge. Weapons of any
description are scarce here, but the chief national arm is the spear,
although even that is but rarely seen.

On returning to the launch I found a small fish market was in
progress on the sandy river bank. The wives of the soldiers, who
were being towed in the steel canoe behind us, were bargaining with
great zest and vehemence. It appeared that the buyers and sellers
had very divergent views on the subject of what was a fair price to
charge. If I had not fortunately arrived on the scene I am afraid
the ladies of the two parties would so far have forgotten their
good manners as to come to blows.

On leaving Sansanding the boat was hailed by a canoe which just came
round a bend in the river as we started. We hove to and awaited the
arrival of the occupant. It was one of the sons of the Fama, who had
come with a present of milk and eggs from his father. This youth,
whom we had not seen on paying our visit to the town that morning,
also spoke French and had been to the High School at Dakar for his
education. I am afraid, however, that he will never be so fine a
specimen of a native as the present Fama, and it seems doubtful if he
will have the chance of succeeding his father. I understand that when
the present ruler dies the French intend to incorporate Sansanding
as a new district in the colony of Upper Senegal and Niger.

[Illustration: THE LAUNCH “RÉNÉ CAILLÉ” AT SANSANDING

This little steamer was my home for some 450 miles of the journey
down the Niger. We had halted here to take in fuel, and my camera
has had the effect of interrupting some heated bargaining between
the fish-sellers on the beach and some native passengers.]

[Illustration: STEEL CANOES ON THE UPPER NIGER

Steel canoes are a convenient and much-used means of conveyance
on the Niger. They are strong, light, of very shallow draught,
and at the same time can carry a big cargo of passengers or
merchandise. Shelter from the sun is improvised by fixing palm-thatch
awnings overhead. These craft can be poled or paddled, according
to the depth of water available.]

The appearance of the river alters considerably from this point.
The banks become more wooded, and backwaters and small tributaries
penetrate far into the country on both sides. Some of these waterways
are navigable for launches, but the channel is narrow and constantly
broken into two or more parts by small islands. At Diafarabé the
right bank is intersected in a hundred places by these creeks, and in
the rainy season the town, which is low-lying, must be almost under
water. From this place the interesting town of Djenné can be reached
by water. Djenné is the “holy city” of the French Soudan.

The biggest mosques are here, and the priests have the reputation
of being the most devout. The standard of learning is also higher
here than elsewhere; so much is this the case that the French
have allowed an Arabic school to be established at Djenné in
preference to any of the commercially more important towns of the
Soudan. Almost every village has a “Kadi,” who practically
corresponds to the “Munshi” of India. He it is who writes all
the letters of the villagers, for most of the latter cannot read
or write, of course. When a reply comes it is his business to read
it to the recipient. These “Kadis” make a profitable income
out of this work, and it is at Djenné that they are taught. The
letters are written in Arabic characters. All letters are written
in Arabic in this country, there being no written native language;
it follows that, even if a letter is read out to the addressee by
the “Kadi,” the former cannot understand the purport until it
has been translated into his own tongue. It will be understood that
under these circumstances letter-writing and reading are slow and
tedious matters.

The majority of the inhabitants of Djenné are Sonrhais, a nation
of whom there will be more to say later. In olden times, probably
up to the fifteenth century, they used to display a certain amount
of originality in their architecture. The houses of the town are
built with minarets and cupolas, while over the doorways and in
the windows there is a fair amount of fresco work. This is the only
race which apparently had some idea of architecture, for this art
is noticeably conspicuous by its absence as a rule among negroid
tribes of Western Africa.

There is no doubt that this interesting place has always been a
town of importance. It is situated in the richest grain-producing
country of the Niger south of Timbuctu, and thus has invariably
attracted a large number of traders.

The Niger now becomes deeper and wider, and soon after Diafarabé
it assumes a more northerly direction. We passed several river
barges about this time; some are owned by the Government and some
are the property of private individuals or French trading firms.
For sails they use big, mat-like contrivances made out of grass.
These primitive sails look very picturesque. They have the advantage
of being cheap and easily repaired, but, of course, they are not
very durable. The grass out of which they are made grows on the
banks, and is a kind of supple reed. They are plaited around sticks,
which are pegged into the ground so as to enclose a hollow square
of the area of the required sail. When the wind is not favourable
these barges are poled.

The pilots now had an easier time, for the water being deeper
navigation was no longer such anxious work. Two of these men used
to be on duty at a time. One managed the wheel, while the other
stood in the bows of our little craft, pole in hand, ready to take
soundings by measuring the depth of water shown by his stick at
any place where it shallowed suddenly. These pilots wore rather a
picturesque garb, blue and white vests, blue serge, baggy trousers,
and a red tam-o’-shanter, the kit somewhat reminding one of
the French sailor, from whom it was probably copied. Those not on
duty used to spend their time fishing. The fishing tackle consisted
merely of a stout line with a hook on the end to which was attached
a piece of fish as bait. This line was dropped over the stern and
towed behind us as we moved. I cannot say they were very successful
with their fishing tackle, for I only saw them make two catches
during the whole voyage. Another amusement was to make fish-nets,
for which purpose their toes came into great request. The native
makes great use of his toes for catching hold of a loose end of rope;
indeed, he is often more nimble with his toes than with his fingers.

I used generally to pass the morning writing up my diary, and
working out the previous day’s observations; after lunch I would
join my fellow-passengers on deck, where it was pleasant to sit
and read or watch the changing scenery, with an occasional shot at
a crocodile by way of variation. About this time we were delayed
by a strike in the engine-room among the stokers. Two of these
men were so insubordinate as to necessitate their being put in
irons; this left us very short-handed. We stopped at the nearest
village to try to get two substitutes, but the new hands were so
stupid as to be almost useless. To make matters worse some of the
machinery got seriously out of order, and we had to slow down in
consequence. The whole of the engine-room seemed to be disaffected,
and I could not help thinking that the breakdown in the machinery
was purposely done by them out of spite. Unfortunately the skipper
was newly arrived from France, and had not much experience of the
wiles of the natives; but we were now near Mopti, where villages
were less scarce, and the river was widening considerably.

On the marshy, low-lying banks grazed big herds of cattle, followed
by an indolent rustic, who turned round to stare in idle curiosity as
we approached. Sometimes the launch would let off her steam-whistle,
and at the sound of this unaccustomed noise the cattle would career
wildly away in terror. Flocks of sheep and goats there were too, but
the river banks were often too swampy to permit of the latter grazing
near the water’s edge. All this country is extraordinarily flat;
for miles in every direction there is an uninterrupted view of a
flat, grassy plain through which the Niger slowly wends its way. The
fall of this river is very gradual, as can be easily appreciated
from the fact that it takes 2440 miles to fall less than 4000 feet
in its course from the Tembikunda Mountains to the sea. Hence the
current is extremely slow as a rule. The river is here still known
by the name of Joliba to the natives, and it is not till it enters
the British territory of Northern Nigeria that the natives call it
Kwarra, or Kworra, a name it preserves until it reaches the sea.

As the river widened we noticed several large creeks on both sides,
until we came to a very large stream flowing into the Niger from
the east. This river, which was even wider here than the Niger,
was the Bani, and as soon as we entered it we saw in the distance
the town of Mopti.

CHAPTER XIII

MOPTI is the chief town in the rich province of Macina. The province
lies entirely on the right bank of the Niger. It extends on the
north to Lake Dhebo, on the east almost to Bandiagara, and on the
south to the town of Djenné. The whole country is flat, except for
a low range of hills to the northward. The towns are all built on
slightly rising ground, in order to avoid the floods which cover the
country-side at certain times of the year. Indeed, were it not for
this slight elevation upon which they stand, they would inevitably
be submerged; as it is, they stand out like islands from the midst of
the surrounding plains. Practically the whole province is inundated
during the season of floods by reason of its low-lying situation.

Two big rivers are the main factors in producing this state of
affairs; one is the Niger, while the other is its affluent the
Bani. Besides these two big streams there are numerous tributaries
of both which play their part in the inundations. Macina is the
richest grain-producing country of the French Soudan. Huge areas
of land are under cultivation for rice and millet, large quantities
being exported annually to feed the people of the Senegal Colony.

The soil is peculiarly adapted to these two cereals. Rice is grown on
the clayey ground found close to the river banks, while the drier,
sandier soil found farther away from the rivers is admirably suited
to the production of millet.

The country may be, and frequently is, compared with Egypt.
There is a striking similarity between the physical geography of
the two lands. In each case a mighty river flowing through a flat,
sandy country, fertilizes huge tracts of land on its banks by its
annual inundations. But here the resemblance ends.

In Egypt nature’s handiwork is aided and improved by artificial
irrigation—digging canals, making dams, etc.

In the Western Soudan nature does everything and man does
nothing. The native is too lazy to dig irrigation canals, for he
makes large profits out of his grain crops as they are, and has not
the necessary ambition to wish to increase them. “I have enough
to eat and clothe myself,” says he, “and there is sufficient to
satisfy the needs of my wife and children; therefore, why should I
toil further?” His mode of argument is a natural one and is very
common in the fertile countries of West Africa. It is an acknowledged
fact that not a quarter of the fertile land is under cultivation,
and by judicious irrigation the fertile area could be more than
doubled. The population is undoubtedly small compared with the area
of the country, but the existing numbers could certainly grow far
larger crops than they do at present, without greatly increasing
their working days.

The population is augmenting rapidly, as a natural result of the
existing prosperity and peace under the French rule; for this land
suffered like so many others from the constant petty wars which
were waged up to the end of last century.

In the season of the floods it must be a wonderful sight to gaze
from Mopti over the huge lake which spreads its waters over the
face of the land for 100 miles in one direction and sixty miles
without interruption in another direction. I regretted that I was
travelling in the middle of the dry season, and when I was at Mopti
the rivers were confined within their natural limits. I was told
that when the country was inundated the game all herded together in
the few dry spots available, so that shooting them was positively
slaughter. The unfortunate animals are frequently surprised by the
sudden and rapid rise of the water, being either drowned or cut
off without chance of retreat until the water subsides.

Owing to the existence of these waterways transport by river in
the Macina Province is obviously greatly facilitated. The Bani
River is navigable to Djenné, 100 kilometres distant, and even at
times to the town of Sikasso. Djenné is not actually on the Bani,
but a navigable creek connects the town with the stream. Lighters
and launches can use that river as long as they can navigate the
Niger; canoes can use it during all the months of the year without
difficulty. The future of this province seems to be assured, for
the increasing population will give a great impetus to rice and
millet growing; in the course of time irrigation is certain to be
introduced, and the revenue will go up by leaps and bounds.

Almost immediately opposite the junction of the rivers Niger and
Bani there is a small town, with an imposing-looking building of wood
and galvanized iron. The place is Charlotte Ville, while the house,
I was informed by a pilot, belonged to the “King of Mopti.”
Charlotte Ville is really a part of Mopti, and as one proceeds up
the Bani the two other portions of which the place is composed come
into view. These two latter, being quite two miles from the former,
are close together, standing on the top of miniature elevations
rising out of the surrounding plain.

The centre portion is the abode of the Resident and traders; all
the natives are being gradually relegated to the southern part;
while Charlotte Ville is noteworthy for being the residence of a
French colonist. It was this colonist who was mentioned to me as
being the “King of Mopti,” and I was much surprised to hear that
his majesty was a white man. I believe his title originated from
a large fortune which he had made, and lost, in the place. In any
case he had lived many years at Mopti, had had large dealings with
the natives, and was well known to them for many miles around. This
gentleman supplied the Europeans with vegetables and fruit from a
fine large farm which he had made on the place.

At Mopti proper, where the Resident resides, the place has quite a
civilized appearance. On approaching it we could see several European
buildings with tin roofs, conspicuous amongst the brown, mud-built
native houses. The town is built well up on a slight eminence for
the reasons previously stated, a wide stretch of sandy foreshore
extending down to the water edge. A few leafy trees throw a grateful
shade on the front of the town, otherwise trees are singularly
deficient around Mopti. The surrounding plain, when I passed through,
was covered with scrubby grass, very much burnt up at this time of
the year. The market-place has a distinctly Moorish appearance. This
portion of the town is behind the European quarters, and consists of
small, narrow streets in which are long rows of mud-built booths,
open at the back and front, where are to be seen the vendors of
local produce, squatted native-fashion behind their wares.

The Resident was away when I arrived, but I was shown the places of
interest by the Assistant Resident, who, by his wide knowledge of
the natives and the country, had evidently an extended experience
of them.

A road is being built from the main town to a low range of hills
in the north, in order to connect the place with dry land during
the floods. The road is an embankment some thirty feet above the
plain and its length is to be about eight miles, so the task is
not an easy one. Another road is to be constructed to unite Mopti
proper with the native town. A fair road exists between Charlotte
Ville and the Residency, so that very shortly the three portions
of Mopti will be permanently connected.

[Illustration: MOPTI. STREET SCENE

The appearance is decidedly Eastern. Natives squat in their mud-built
stalls haggling, as is the manner of their kind, over some trifling
bargain. Trade routes from the Ivory Coast, Gold Coast, Dahomey,
and the distant eastern “Bend” of the Niger all send their
quota of produce to this market.]

A big school is also being built, to which the surplus pupils of
the Djenné Arabic College will be sent. Altogether Mopti is a very
go-ahead little town, and certainly one of the most prosperous on
this section of the Niger.

At Mopti I was introduced to an interesting French merchant, M.
Simon. This gentleman has done much to try to improve the quality
of rice put on the market by the Macina Province. I mentioned that
a quantity of this rice was exported to Senegal, but it did not
find great favour there, because it was dirtier in appearance than
the Indo-China rice, also the latter could be bought almost as
cheaply at St. Louis as Macina rice. The high rate of transport
on the Senegal-Niger Railway was largely responsible for this
big price. M. Simon was of opinion that if the rice were cleaned
locally it would be more appreciated at St. Louis, and, further,
that by setting up a mill at Mopti, the cost of unhusking it could
be materially reduced, permitting it to be sold at a lower price and
thereby successfully competing with the Indo-China article. The rice
is not really dirty, but grain grown in this country has a small
reddish streak in it which gives it an unappetizing appearance in
comparison to the milky white rice from Indo-China.

M. Simon has imported a mill which can perform three distinct
operations:

(1) Clean the rice.

(2) Unhusk it.

(3) Scrape off the red skin.

This mill can treat 2000 tons per annum. M. Simon proposes to
import a 100-h.p. engine which will be able to deal with 2000 tons
yearly. By this means he will be able to so lower the cost of his
rice as to sell it at St. Louis for 180 francs per ton, instead
of 210 francs, the present price. When the Thies-Kayes Railway,
connecting Kayes with the coast, is finished it is thought that
it will be possible for Government to reduce the freights by rail
considerably, and a further fall in the price of Soudan-grown rice
may be confidently looked for.

Owing to the trouble in the engine-room it was found necessary
to wait at Mopti for two days. Here also there was a suitable
opportunity of punishing the malefactors who were responsible
for the breakdown. We were all very pleased to hear that they had
been heavily fined and had had their licences taken away by the
Commissioner.

The night of my arrival I dined with the French officials, and one of
the dishes consisted of some excellent venison, which I was told was
a haunch of wart-hog. It appeared that these beasts were plentiful
in the vicinity of Mopti, so it was arranged the next day to have
a shooting expedition in the wart-hog country. The animals were on
the other bank of the Niger, a very early start being necessary
in order to reach their haunts by daybreak. My French friends
were unable to accompany me at the last moment owing to pressure
of work. At 4 a.m. I started off in pitch darkness, being paddled
down the river in the Government canoe by a couple of sturdy Bosos.

The air was chilly at that hour as we moved swiftly through the
water. Stillness reigned around us for the first half-hour, until,
about dawn, the phantom shapes of flighting duck and geese began to
show themselves. At the risk of being a bit late for the wart-hog I
could not resist the chance of some sport with the duck on the river,
so I ordered my canoemen to paddle the craft into a sheltered nook
under the reeds, where I was concealed and in a good position for
the birds as they flew overhead. We were evidently at last getting
into the waterfowl region, for hitherto I had seen but few on the
Niger. After some pleasant sport in which I managed to collect three
or four varieties of duck, besides a goose and some teal, I urged the
canoe boys to hurry on to the spot where I was to land. The sun was
just rising as we stepped ashore at a small village. The country was
a swampy tract along the river bank, such as the wart-hog delights
to roam in. On the west, as the ground became firmer, it was covered
with patches of mimosa bush and low scrub, where the pig would come
and feed in the early morning and evening, while during the day
they made their lair in the low ground. We had not gone far when a
grey object loomed up in the still, uncertain light, looking so much
like the trunk of a mimosa tree that I hesitated whether or not to
fire. The object was not more than seventy yards away, affording
an easy shot. During that interval of uncertainty I saw the thing
suddenly turn and gallop away at a good pace, settling the question
of its identity once and for all! It certainly was a wart-hog, so I
took a flying shot at its retreating form. It careered on however,
untouched, with its tail contemptuously curled up behind it, in
the ludicrous fashion adopted by these animals when frightened. I
had started the morning badly, and could not help thinking I was
unlikely to get another such easy chance.

Tracks there were in plenty, but it was not till I was well on
my way back that I managed to shoot one. My first indication of
his presence was given by hearing the peculiar grunt to which they
give vent when disturbed. He only trotted a few yards off, however,
before halting to stare at me, thus giving an easy chance. These
animals are very stupid and curious; indeed, I think they show
more inquisitiveness than antelopes. I have frequently watched
a wart-hog turn round to stare at his pursuer four or five times
before he gets out of range; the result is, of course, often fatal
to him. The curious excrescences on the beast’s face undoubtedly
make him one of the ugliest of living creatures, and the white,
curling tusks projecting from his jaws tend to enhance his uncouth
appearance. Wart-hog are very plentiful all along the Niger,
from Mopti to Timbuctu. The “Bend” of the river is one of
their favourite habitats, particularly that portion where water is
plentiful, and which is generally called the lake district. I have
often seen them in droves of eight or ten, and have generally found
them far from being wary, so that they are easily approached. Their
sight is bad, but they appear to have a fairly keen sense of smell.
I do not think they have very sharp hearing.

On the way back to the canoe we made a detour through some grassy
country, where I picked up a couple of lesser bustard. I also saw
some greater bustard, but my efforts to approach within rifle-shot
of these very cunning-birds were unavailing. Both kinds of bustard
seemed to be common about here, but the greater was less common
than the lesser species.

At the village on the river bank I had to wait a short while for the
meat of the wart-hog to be brought in. The headman of the place asked
me, with well-meant hospitality, to rest from the heat of the sun in
his house, but after a glimpse inside I decided it was far cooler and
pleasanter under a tree in the open air. The houses in this part of
the country are made of mud, circular in shape, with roofs of grass
thatch. Verandahs are unknown, and as there is but one small door,
ventilation is very indifferent. The houses in the hot weather are
like ovens, for I suppose the temperature in the day is well over
100 degrees inside them. At night the numerous members of a large
family are all crowded together in this small space, so that I should
imagine the atmosphere must be even more intolerable than by day.

On our way up the river to Mopti I saw several white egrets.
These beautiful birds, which used to abound on the Upper and Middle
Niger, have greatly decreased in numbers during the last few years.
The reason for this is that a great trade in egret feathers used to
be done by French merchants, and thousands of the creatures used
to be slaughtered to supply the market. I was told of several men
who had made considerable fortunes in this way. The practice was
particularly cruel, as the most valuable feathers only grow during
the mating season, the massacre of the birds thus tending rapidly
to wipe out the whole species. The matter was, however, strongly
represented to the French authorities, who took strict measures to
suppress the wanton destruction of egrets on the Niger. A fine of
1000 francs is now imposed on any offender, and the result of this
law has had a most salutary effect in preventing these birds from
being shot, so that it is much to be hoped that in a few years they
may have regained their former numbers. The best feathers are found
on the back, and comparatively few can be obtained from one bird,
consequently a large number of egrets must be killed to produce a
fair “bag” of feathers. Besides the white egret there is also
a grey egret. The latter variety is not so valuable as its white
relation, but the colour is a very beautiful French grey.

At Mopti one of the merchants had a tame lioness. This beast was
quite a cub when it was captured, and the story of its capture is
rather an interesting one. One day when shooting near the river
banks he had killed the mother of a big family of lion cubs, and
was leaving the scene of the exploit when he heard a whining noise
in the bush hard by. On searching in the foliage he discovered this
young lioness, which refused to follow the example of its brothers
and sisters who had all bolted at the report of the rifle. This
little beggar appeared to be heart-broken at its mother’s death,
refusing to leave the spot. She was easily captured, and has been
a pet ever since. She was about twelve months old when I made her
acquaintance, being kept chained up in the courtyard at the back
of the trader’s house. Her owner says she is perfectly harmless,
but I would not feel inclined to trust her very much—her manners
were decidedly rough! She used to play with the dog when younger,
and I was told they were fast companions. A beast of this description
is certainly difficult and expensive to feed when it arrives at
maturity. Our friend in this case used to make a meal off a big
sheep or else two goats daily. She was not given a full ration,
for, as the Frenchman her master explained, if she were too well
fed she would grow so strong as possibly to be unmanageable. I am
afraid that even now she is getting out of hand, and any day may
have to be destroyed to prevent a disaster.

While at Mopti I met a young Frenchman who had been wounded in rather
a strange way when on a hunting expedition. As may be gathered from
the following story he was not very experienced, or such an accident
could never have occurred. He and a friend had made up a shooting
expedition in the same locality where I had been for wart-hog. They
separated at one patch of bush, with the intention of meeting on the
other side. The young fellow, thinking he would have a lark at his
friend’s expense, and apparently never dreaming of the danger he
might incur, made his way through the bush in the direction of his
friend, halting every now and then to emit a grunt in imitation of a
pig. The other sportsman, seeing a dark object half-concealed in the
foliage, and thinking by the noise it made that it was a wart-hog,
fired his rifle. To his horror as the object dropped it uttered
an unmistakably human cry of pain. He then discovered that he had
fired at his friend, wounding him severely in the leg. Under the
circumstances the latter was distinctly fortunate not to suffer
worse injuries. He might very easily have been killed, and, of
course, no blame could have attached to his companion. The young
man had been on crutches for some months at the time I saw him,
but luckily the injury would not permanently affect him. Another
fortunate point in the business was that the bullet was not a
sporting one, but solid-nosed, and simply went straight through
the leg, emerging on the other side without shattering the bone,
as it unquestionably would have done had it been of a different make.

[Illustration: A CAPTIVE LIONESS AT MOPTI

This animal was about a year old and had been brought up from days
of cubhood by its owner. The beast had an uncertain temper, so could
scarcely be called an affectionate pet. She had quite recently sprung
on a sheep which had unwarily wandered within range of her chain,
and made a substantial meal off the carcass!]

Before I left Mopti the Commissioner returned. He had been to
Djenné to buy wood for building the school. It is a strange fact
that at Mopti there is practically no wood. Almost the only wood
suitable for building purposes in this part of the French Soudan,
and indeed for many hundred miles down-stream below Timbuctu,
is the wood of the dum palm. At Djenné this tree grows profusely.

The great enemy of the carpenter in West Africa is the white
ant. This tiny creature has a most voracious appetite for wood, but
certain kinds, amongst others the dum palm and the cocoanut palm,
are impervious to his attacks. White ants always work in large
numbers. They can be seen travelling along in armies of several
thousand, marching in single file or two deep, and following a
little groove or channel which they have excavated for themselves.
Their presence in wood is first detected—if you are lucky—by
observing a narrow streak of earth running along the object they
are attacking. This is in reality a tunnel, which covers them and
affords them shelter while they work at the wood underneath. They
are most persistent little creatures, seldom abandoning the object
they are devouring until they have eaten right through it.

If you are not fortunate enough to discover their presence by the
appearance of the earthen tunnel, your first intimation will probably
be given by the sudden collapse of the particular article upon which
they have concentrated their efforts. If this happens to be one of
the uprights which support the roof of your house, even if you have
the good luck to escape without personal injury, it is trying to
suddenly find the building in ruins. Hence the necessity of using
a wood which can resist their onslaughts. Tarring wood will to a
certain extent keep them off, but it is by no mean reliable. The only
way to preserve wooden boxes and similar articles, which generally
rest on the ground, is to put saucers of water underneath, for the
ants will not then be able to climb on to the wooden surface.

Ants of several species are common in West Africa. Another kind,
which is in many ways more irritating even than the white ant,
is the driver ant. This animal also travels in big armies like
the one already referred to. The “driver” is only found in
bush-country. I never came across it in the drier, sandy soil of
the Western Soudan, where vegetation is not so luxurious as in the
countries nearer the sea-coast. He is brown, and larger than the
white ant. His particular hobby is to bite. He is certainly an
adept in the art of biting, as his unlucky victim soon discovers
to his cost. The “driver” is often seen on a bush path in the
daytime, when the best way of avoiding a close acquaintanceship is to
leap over the track he is following, and then vigorously shake your
feet as soon as you have got well out of his range, for despite all
precautions some of the followers in the army will be fairly certain
to have succeeded in attaching themselves to your legs as you passed.

But when the “driver” elects to come at night, as he frequently
does, you probably have no warning of his approach until you feel his
bite. Once they have settled on a victim they swarm mercilessly over
him in thousands, and, if left to work their evil will unmolested,
they will not leave the object of their attacks until they have
devoured it. I recollect on one occasion having a very miserable
night owing to “drivers.” I had gone to bed rather tired after
a long day’s march, when I suddenly woke up with unpleasant
stinging pains in my legs. I quickly realized that I had been
attacked by “drivers.” Leaping out of bed and striking a light
I discovered my blankets were covered with a black swarm of these
horrible creatures, several of which had settled themselves on my
limbs with some tenacity. On summoning my servant we tracked the
long line for about a hundred yards down the clearing in which I
was camped to some dank vegetation out of which they were emerging.
The only chance of turning them aside and getting a little sleep
that night was to light a fire across their tracks.

To add to the general discomfort it was pouring with rain, and a
fire was not an easy thing to kindle; however, at the cost of most
of the kerosene of which I was possessed, we managed to light a fire
and head them off. In such cases it is usually the best policy to
shift your camp and leave the ants the masters of the field, for
they are extremely hard to turn aside, and I have seen them put out
a fire by sheer force of numbers. In some parts of the country,
where the natives are pagans and indulge in human sacrifice, a
common method of killing their victim is to tie the individual up,
stripped of clothing, in such a position that movement is impossible,
leaving the “driver” ants to consume the body. The tortures of
such a slow, agonizing death must be terrible. A friend of mine once
had two puppies devoured in this way. His fox-terrier bitch had a
litter of three puppies one evening, and the following morning only
one remained. The ants had invaded the dog’s basket during the
night, and the mother had only been able to save a single member
of her family from her pertinacious enemies.

CHAPTER XIV

Fulani cattle — Lake Dhebo — Duck shooting — Teal —
A tough bird — The Niger River winds — Towing a barge —
Niafounké — The edge of the Sahara — Stalking birds —
Sheep-farming — Developing the wool trade — Raided by a leopard
— Ostrich-farming.

ON the 9th of March we left Mopti, finding considerably more water
in this section of the Niger, chiefly due to the increase in its
volume caused by the influx of the Bani. On both banks there were
now wide stretches of rich green grass springing luxuriantly out of
the spongy soil, which even at this season was covered with several
inches of water. Big herds of Fulani cattle, often immersed to the
withers in water, could be seen grazing as we steamed easily past
the banks. The cattle had a strange appearance, as not much more
than their heads were visible, but stranger still was the cowherd,
who, mounted on one of his beasts, also in the water, the better
to supervise their feeding, urged them on from time to time with
weird cries and thwacks from his staff.

The grass which grows on the banks of the river from Mopti and away
down the Middle Niger is called “borgou.” It is very fattening,
as it contains a large percentage of sugar, hence probably the fine
condition of the herds in this region.

The river was more than ever broken up into creeks and channels;
to me it seemed a hopeless task to know which was the correct one
to follow, so similar and so numerous were they. Often the wider
branches were merely backwaters, running a few miles inland; but
the pilots were never puzzled and evidently knew their work well.
Sometimes on one of the swampy banks there would be a large open
piece of water, upon which could be seen myriads of duck and geese
revelling in their feeding-grounds undisturbed by the sportsman.

As we progressed a thick mist began to enshroud the landscape.
We were approaching the great lake, Dhebo, around which this curious
mist generally hangs. About 5.30, just as the sun was setting,
we reached the lake. The entrance is marked by two curious bare
sandstone hills, standing out like sentries above the surrounding
flat country. As the “Réné Caillé” suddenly emerged from
the river as far as the eye could see there was a wide expanse
of water covered with miniature, frothy waves, which, except for
the occasional patches of reeds peering here and there above the
surface, might easily have been mistaken for the sea. The lake,
however, is very shallow. In many places a man could wade across
without much difficulty. Dhebo forms a natural reservoir for the
waters of the Niger in a singular manner. When the rains fall in the
mountains of Tembikunda and Futajallon, in French Guinea, the Upper
Niger naturally rises and the lake fills up. This continues from
about June to October. All this time the Middle Niger, which has
no tributaries, owing to the dearth of mountains and the proximity
of the desert, is getting dry, more especially as rain on that
portion of the river is so infinitesimal in quantity as to be of
no consequence. Towards the end of the rains the lake fills up and
overflows, replenishing the Middle Niger. The overflow from Dhebo
continues to fill up the Middle Niger, but all this time the upper
river is decreasing in volume owing to the cessation of the rains
in the Guinea Mountains. Hence the curious phenomenon is observed
of the Upper Niger subsiding as the Middle Niger increases, and vice
versa. It is for this reason that when the Upper Niger is unnavigable
for steam-launches these boats can work on the Middle Niger.

The “Réné Caillé” had orders to ply only between Mopti and
Kabara (the port of Timbuctu) after this journey, as the water in
the Upper Niger would now be insufficient for her. The bed of the
lake is covered with a kind of river oyster, which is said to be
excellent eating, but I never tried it myself, although we dug up
a number of them as we crossed the place. The skipper was anxious
to make a port on the other shore of Dhebo that night if possible,
but we had entered the lake so late that it was dark very quickly.
Owing to the width of the lake it was hard by day, but impossible
by night, to pick up landmarks by which to steer. The lake being
shallow and sandbanks numerous, steering by the compass was not of
much use, so after many bumps it was decided to anchor for the night
and continue the journey at daybreak. A cold wind blows nearly all
the year round on Dhebo, so that night I was glad of my blankets
for the first time since quitting the Tembikunda Mountains.

In the morning I was up betimes to have a good view of the lake.
The mist was rising and I could plainly discern a small village
towards which we were steering, and farther ahead still was a wide
silver streak flowing northwards out of the lake. The village was the
fishing-place called Akka, where we were to take in some more wood,
while the river was the Issa-Ber. At this exit of Lake Dhebo the
Niger splits into two large streams, the Issa-Ber and the Bara-Issa,
both of which are navigable, and which reunite at a town named El
Wal-Oueji, about 120 miles further down-stream. The main branch,
and the one we were to follow, was the Issa-Ber. This flows past
the town of Niafounké, whilst the Bara-Issa flows past the town of
Saraféré, where I was to make its acquaintance later, to the east
of the former river. The journey to Timbuctu by either stream is
of about equal length, but the route by the Issa-Ber is preferable
as the channel is wider.

At Akka I hoped for some duck shooting while the launch was getting
fuel. It was quite early when we anchored off the village, and I went
ashore, gun in hand, accompanied by a couple of the crew. Behind
the place were some likely-looking swamps and small lakes, whither
we bent our steps. Having secured the services of a local rustic to
show us the best spot, I hurried off in order to make the most of
the short time at my disposal. The first place we approached was
surrounded by a fringe of tall reeds, affording excellent cover
for a gun. Near the opposite shore there were a number of various
kinds of duck and teal enjoying the morning air and unaware of
our presence. I instructed my followers to manœuvre round to the
other side, while I cautiously crept into my position in the reeds
on the near bank. The beaters soon began to approach the birds,
amongst whom there were evident signs of unrest, as they started to
chatter and flutter their wings in the water. Presently up rose a
cloud of what looked like white-plumaged birds, which came flying
rapidly towards me; as they circled over my head I had a right and
left at them, bringing down one bird with the first barrel. They
now whirled swiftly away towards the opposite shore, but before I
had reloaded I saw some grey teal rapidly approaching. I had time
for a barrel at them before they were out of range, when some more
duck and then some geese hove in sight.

As soon as the birds returned towards the beaters they were driven
away with loud cries and volleys of stones hurled in the air in
their direction, whereupon they usually circled back towards me,
evidently much disconcerted and unable to understand the unwonted
report of my gun, with the occasional fall of one of their number.
Altogether I had some capital sport, and was loath to hear the
warning whistle of the launch, indicating that we must gather up
the spoil and retrace our steps. Most of the birds were picked up,
and I had collected a nice little bag. The white-plumaged duck
which I had first shot proved to be a fine big bird, spur-winged,
weighing eight or nine pounds, and although it looked quite white in
flight the back was covered with rich black and dark green feathers.

The grey teal is a beautiful little bird, very swift of flight,
and quite the most delicately flavoured of any waterfowl I shot
on the Niger. This teal has a brown beak and light mottled grey
breast darkening to partridge colour towards the tail. The wings
are a beautiful pearl-grey, while the back is a darker shade of the
same colour. The feet are dark grey. It is common on the swamps and
lakes north of Dhebo. There was another grey teal of about the same
size as the one described, but of a uniform mottled grey partridge
hue. At first I thought it might be the female of the other grey
teal, but I am inclined to think it was quite another species and
was certainly much less common.

The goose I shot was a bird weighing about ten pounds, the wings
and back were copper-coloured, the breast and under surface greyish
white, while the legs were yellow and the beak red. The Bambaras
called it “bio-lou.” This goose was very common north of Mopti;
it is frequently seen feeding in the fields during the daytime. I
cannot recommend it as a dish. The flesh is extremely tough. Even
when well stewed it was almost too hard to be eatable; finally, I
used to use it only for making soup. The largest game bird I saw on
the Niger was a duck which must weigh at least fifteen pounds. It
has a black beak, with a very distinctive red knob on its nose,
just like a Barbary duck. The body and breast are black and white,
while the wings are black, with a dark greenish tinge. This bird
is also spur-winged. It was so large that I used to have a joint
off it, treating a leg as one would a leg of mutton.

After leaving Mopti we encountered the Niger River winds. These
winds blow almost permanently from the north-east, that is to say the
general direction is up-stream. The result is that progress up-stream
is frequently more rapid than when one travels with the current,
for in the latter case the wind on this section is adverse. The
wind accounted also for the waves on Lake Dhebo, making the motion
so unpleasant that I could easily believe the skipper when he said
people were often sea-sick here. One or two barges we passed under
sail were spanking along at a great pace up-stream.

The day before our departure from Mopti a French gentleman had
arrived from Djenné in a lighter. Owing to the strong head winds
he could not make any progress in his craft, so arranged to be towed
by us. He was a newspaper reporter, who had come out from Europe to
study and write a report on certain native tribes of the Western
Soudan. M. Malbranque had made some interesting investigations at
Djenné, and was now _en route_ to Timbuctu for a similar purpose.
His barge was lashed alongside us, so that one could easily step
from one boat to the other. The roof of his lighter made a pleasant
spot upon which to rest and watch the passing scenery. We used to
sit together and have many interesting discussions about travel. He
was a man with a wide experience of French colonies, who had been
in most parts of the world in connection with his literary labours.
His river barge had done a long journey already. He had started from
Koulikoro, some three weeks before me, but passing to Djenné from
the town of Diafarabe, and then following the Bani River to Mopti.

The Issa-Ber is here nearly half a mile wide, and with such a fine
depth of water that we steamed along merrily, having no longer any
fear of sticking on a shoal. After leaving Lake Dhebo the aspect of
the banks changed considerably. The vast pasturages of “borgou”
on the banks gradually disappeared, giving way to a sandier soil,
well wooded near the water’s edge. As we approached Niafounké
the western shore grew more sandy, while the trees and scrub became
more scattered. Our first view of the station was a glimpse of
three rectangular mud-built houses, standing on rising ground not
far from the river bank, with the Tricolour waving proudly in front
of the centre one. The native town was tucked away in a dip of the
ground behind the Residency, so was not visible from the river.

As we came alongside the little jetty two or three French officials
advanced to meet us. I was introduced to the Commissioner, his
assistant, and the doctor, and invited up to the Residency, where
I was to put up. I had arranged with the skipper of the “Réné
Caillé” to take my surplus baggage on to Timbuctu, as I intended
to travel light, only taking a month’s supplies on my hunting
expedition into the “Bend” of the Niger. I had spent a pleasant
ten days on the little launch, and now said good-bye, for she
was to start off that evening and would travel day and night till
she reached Kabara. The river being now so much wider and deeper,
navigation by night was easy. So the “Réné Caillé” steamed
off, and we went up the hill to the station. My host gave me a most
palatial room in his house, in which I felt lost after living in
half a tiny cabin on the launch for the past few days.

That evening we were a pleasant party of seven. Besides the
officials, two men from a sheep farm had come to dine, and I had to
promise to pay their farm a visit before leaving the neighbourhood.
The doctor and I made great friends. We had much in common, as he
was almost as keen on sport as myself. He had a good deal of leisure
time at Niafounké and had spent a considerable portion of it in
shooting. We arranged for an expedition the following morning,
as I had decided to pass two days here, giving me time to settle
my best plan of campaign for the future.

The next day we were out before daylight, equipped only with light
rifles, as we did not expect to see anything bigger than haartebeest,
while we would probably only see gazelle.

We were evidently on the edge of the Sahara, for the soil was very
sandy and vegetation of the stunted, desert variety. The trees were
mostly mimosas, and as the sun rose the delicate fragrance of their
golden blossoms was wafted towards us on the morning air. That
morning we did not see much big game, in fact it was not till we were
on the way home that we saw a small herd of red-fronted gazelle. We
each had a rather long shot, and each of us missed. Small game,
however, was abundant. Amongst the mimosa scrub we frequently saw
hares darting about, while sand-grouse were very numerous. The
latter were strangely difficult to see, as they crouched close to
the ground, their speckled yellow colour harmonizing exactly with
the sand in which they lay. They would sometimes get up almost at
one’s feet, unperceived, until one heard their peculiar cry and
the whir of their wings as they swiftly darted away.

Here I saw the doctor successfully practise the trick of approaching
a greater bustard by stalking it in an ever-narrowing circle. The
plan is an extremely simple and apparently effective one. The
stalker, perceiving the bird at a distance of about 200 yards,
proceeds to walk round it slowly in a circle of this radius.
After completing a circle he gradually decreases the diameter,
moving slowly the whole time, until he is within about fifty yards.
At this point he cautiously goes into position with his rifle and
has a shot. The bird does not seem to notice the gradual diminution
of distance, and in this way seems to be fairly easy to approach.
It is certain that to attempt to get within shot in open country
is difficult in any other way.

On the homeward road we passed a small stream where guinea-fowl and
bushfowl were plentiful; indeed, it seemed strange that in this
narrow fringe of country almost bordering on the desert, there
should be such a quantity of small game. We came across several
thorn zaribas, used as sheep-pens by the natives in order to protect
their animals from the lions which prowl around this region. The
doctor informed me that no lions had been seen for some months past
near Niafounké. However, these animals travel great distances in a
short time and they might turn up again unexpectedly at any minute,
so the native is wise to take precautions.

Niafounké is the last district under civil administration on the
Middle Niger. The remainder of the country is administered by the
military authorities. The Resident very kindly gave me one of his
policemen to accompany me till I arrived at Timbuctu. The uniform
of the policeman has a great moral effect on natives, so I was
pleased at having this man to assist me in the villages through
which I would pass. The last afternoon of my stay the doctor and I
went on another shooting excursion. Our plan was to ride out to a
place where we would probably get some wart-hog and gazelle, then
in the evening we were to go on to Gauba, where the sheep farm was,
and where we intended to spend the night with the two men I had
met at dinner the previous day.

We had a pleasant ride, but fortune seemed to have deserted us much
as she had done the day before. My friend had two difficult shots
at a gazelle, but was unsuccessful; while I only saw one wart-hog
when it was too dark to shoot.

The sheep farm is almost on the Niger banks. It is purely
experimental, being started by Government to try to improve the
breed of the local sheep. The native sheep of the Western Soudan is
not a bad little animal, and gives a fair crop of wool. The wool is,
however, rather coarse, and it was thought that the quality could be
considerably improved by obtaining a better standard of sheep in the
country. Experiments were first tried by breeding from specially
selected animals belonging to the country, but results were not
very encouraging. It was then decided to import from Algeria a
certain number of rams for breeding with the native sheep.

Before dinner we paid a visit to the sheep-pen. One of our party
was a veterinary officer, who had just arrived to investigate some
sickness which had recently broken out among the animals. There
were forty of these Algerian rams, but unfortunately the sickness
referred to had spread to an alarming extent amongst them, and when I
saw them they were in poor condition. Shearing had been taking place
that day, some very fair samples of wool being shown me. In spite of
their haggard appearance the Algerian rams were decidedly superior
to the West African sheep, the latter looking surprisingly small and
puny in comparison. The enclosure in which the sheep were penned was
a mud wall six feet high, while the only entrance was closed by a
stout wooden door heavily barred. I was struck by the thickness of
the door and asked the reason for such precautions. I was told that
leopards were common in that district, so it was advisable to secure
the sheep against a possible raid. Strange to relate, that very
night we were to have an illustration of the presence of a leopard!

The natives of this part of the Niger keep big flocks of sheep,
the price of one of these animals being ridiculously small. A big
sheep can be bought for 1 franc 50 cts., and the mutton is of quite
good quality. Any science in breeding is, however, totally unknown
to these people, hence the breed is tending to deteriorate. During
the cool season the sheep have plenty of pasturage, but towards
the end of the hot season food is scarce and poor. The French are
anxious to develop their wool trade, hence their efforts to improve
the quality of the wool which is produced in the Western Soudan.
For such articles as rough carpets, blankets, etc., the existing
wool is much used in Europe, but a finer quality is required if
the trade is to be really remunerative.

A white blanket is made from the wool of the Soudan sheep, and is
embroidered with red or green threads. This blanket, although rough,
is a most serviceable article on the cold nights so frequently
experienced in this part of the country. The natives use them as a
covering for themselves by day, and as a bed-wrap at night. This was
the only article manufactured by these people with their own wool.

Some time after we had retired to bed I was suddenly aroused
by hearing loud exclamations of alarm proceeding from the native
quarter close by. I rushed out with my rifle in hand and was met by
my hosts, also in night attire, the veterinary officer being armed
like myself. A scared negro appeared at this juncture with the news
that a leopard had come into the sheep-pen, having jumped over
the wall, and had carried off a sheep. The alarm had been raised
by hearing a commotion in the pen, and the leopard was actually
seen by one man bounding over the wall with his prey. The vet and
I immediately started off on the frail hope of coming up with the
animal, but as there was no moon the tracks had to be followed
by a lamp. This tedious process led us eventually to some bush,
in which the tracks were completely lost. The following morning
the animal’s pug marks were distinctly visible near the house in
which we had slept. It appeared to have circled round the place
several times before it had made its raid on the sheep. After
this accident the wall of the sheep-pen was raised considerably,
the top being covered with a few strands of barbed wire.

A mile from Gauba is the Government ostrich farm. The farm is managed
by a European—who was unfortunately absent when I was there—and
contains about forty birds. These have been caught young by natives
and are kept with a view to breeding. The ostriches give two crops
of feathers annually, in January and June. At present the farm is
only in an experimental state, but it is hoped in time to produce a
large quantity of feathers from the place. The manager was then on a
tour down the Niger in order to try to find a more suitable site for
the farm. It must be near the desert, for ostriches are more easily
obtained from natives there; also, it is found that the desert air is
better suited to the birds, which produce finer feathers if kept in
their natural atmosphere. From Niafounké down-stream, and upon both
banks of the river, ostriches are found. Sandy country is essential
to them, hence in the parts where there are widely irrigated areas
between the rivers Issa-Ber and Bara-Issa, the birds are not met
with. Although ostriches are fairly numerous in certain parts of the
country, it cannot be said that they are at all common. They are
extremely shy birds, thus being most difficult to approach. Their
eyesight is wonderfully keen. They will perceive you when you are
still 600 yards off, and it requires great patience and energy
to successfully stalk them within practicable rifle range. Their
commanding height gives them a great advantage when pursued by man,
and the speed with which their long legs can cover the ground is
astonishing. Ostriches will easily outstrip a galloping horse,
consequently the only way to approach them is by wile, although I
have been told that sometimes they can be worn down by persistent
pursuit on horseback.

Of desert vegetation they seem to prefer a plant somewhat resembling
a pumpkin, which creeps on the ground. On this they are fed chiefly
at the ostrich farm, but, of course, an ostrich will eat almost
anything, and I fancy their diet is not a matter needing much care
and forethought. It is a curious fact that ostrich feathers are
nearly as expensive in the French Soudan as they are in England. On
several occasions I bought some, but they were so high in price as
really hardly to be worth buying. The truth is that ostrich hunting
in the Western Soudan is in such an undeveloped state that the
natives who have feathers for sale ask fancy prices, and usually
get them.

The ostrich farm near Niafounké is not well placed and the situation
is certain soon to be changed.

My plans were now to try for lion along the banks of the Niger,
near a place called Sébi, and afterwards to make for Saraere,
where there was also the possibility of lion, and finally to march
to Lake Bambara Maaundé, a fine hunting locality for elephant and
several varieties of big game. Most of the inhabitants here are
Fulanis, and their occupation is tending big herds of cattle. The
country is thinly populated, and thus is well suited for game. A
horse was essential for shooting, but I was unable to buy one, so
had to be content for the present with hiring daily from village
to village—a troublesome and unsatisfactory proceeding.

CHAPTER XV

ON the 13th of March I left Gauba. For the first few miles our way
lay through a swampy country, consisting of creeks and backwaters
of the Niger, or to be more accurate, of the Issa-Ber. Hundreds of
waterfowl of all descriptions were preening their feathers in the
morning sun, sitting in groups on the little islands in the middle
of the streams or floating lazily near the banks, watching us with
suspicious looks as we approached. Numerous game tracks led down
to the water’s edge, the footprints showing clearly in the soft
soil. Waterbuck and kob appeared to frequent these haunts in the
early morning, while wart-hog were very common. Allowing my carriers
to go on, I was able to secure some good specimens without proceeding
far into the bush on the higher ground to the west of our road.

On arriving at the village of Sibo I was told that further progress
by road was impossible, as the floods had been high that year and
the track was still under water. The only course to adopt was to
go by canoe. Hiring a canoe or any business transaction is always a
lengthy proceeding where the West African native is concerned. The
chief of the place had first to be summoned, and, of course, was
not to be found for some time. The virtue of patience is, indeed,
a golden one to possess in this land. The native’s methods are
invariably dilatory since time has no value for him. But it is easy
to preach patience and a great deal harder to practise it when one
is in a hurry to get things done. In this case I was kept waiting
a couple of hours before the chief arrived. The policeman provided
by the Commissioner at Niafounké had unfortunately not yet reached
me, but was to do so during the course of that morning. When the
chief had arrived a considerable discussion took place between his
insubordinate followers as to which one should supply the craft,
until I cut matters short by securing the best canoe I could find
and telling the chief I would send him back to Niafounké with a
message to the Commissioner unless the paddlers were forthcoming
within half an hour. Matters were at length settled, and my few
belongings quickly stowed on board.

Mamadu had secured a large earthenware pot, a very necessary article
for culinary purposes in a wooden canoe, as the fire had to be
lighted in this receptacle, and we were just shoving-off when the
policeman cantered up on his steed. As it was not possible to take
this beast on the canoe it had to be left at the village.

The canoe was about twenty feet long, leaked considerably and
had no awning, so I looked forward to a hot and uncomfortable
journey. My expectations were fully realized. In spite of two men
being constantly on duty to bale out, we made so much water that
at one time I feared we would have to run ashore and patch her up
before the voyage could be continued. The sun, too, was very trying
that day. It poured its rays mercilessly upon our heads until at
last I was driven to take refuge, in a rather ignominious fashion,
by lying at full length on my back, and placing my camp-table across
two seats I was able to get a little welcome shade underneath it. The
chief discomfort of my position was due to the water at the bottom
of the boat, so that I was immersed in a perpetual bath.

We were now in the Issa-Ber. The banks were sandy, and scrub was
scanty and stunted. The river is nearly a mile wide in many places,
and frequently too deep for poling to be effective. These canoes are
manipulated in two ways, either by paddles or poles. The canoemen
are expert at both these methods, but, owing to the strong wind
which is so prevalent, it is often hard work to make much progress
with paddles. The poles are merely long bamboos or palm stalks,
and with these the craft can be propelled in the shallower water
near the banks. When poling, we constantly found further progress
barred by thick masses of “borgou” grass. This grass has its
roots often twelve or fifteen feet deep in the water; it grows so
densely that it makes a thick matting from the surface of the water
downwards, through which it is extremely difficult to penetrate. The
appearance is somewhat similar to “sudd,” found on other rivers
in the tropics; and in many of the streams where navigation is not
frequent the whole channel is blocked, so that the only successful
means of dealing with it would appear to be to have a small steamer
fitted with a cutting apparatus to hew a channel for itself as it
moves through the water.

My servant could not speak Fulani or Sonrhai, the two languages
now required, so I found the policeman doubly useful; indeed,
without him it would have been hard to get anything done.

In several places we saw fish tanks, made on the edge of the
river banks, where the “borgou” was clearer or had been cut
away by the natives. Fish were first caught in traps or nets and
then stored in the tank alive. The riverside people are great
consumers of dried fish, live ones being taken out of the tanks
as requirements dictated, to be dried for local consumption or for
trade at neighbouring inland markets. At the time these fish were
being dried on the river banks the stench proceeding from them was
most unpleasant, making it necessary to give the shore a wide berth.

My recollections of Sébi are that it was one of the hottest and
dirtiest villages of the Western Soudan. I camped on the eastern
side of the town, but had occasion to enter it several times during
my stay in the place. The chief provided me with two hunters, who
could give me no immediate information of lion. There was no doubt,
however, that I was as likely to see them here as anywhere, for
the record of cows and sheep killed in this locality by “the king
of beasts” was far higher than anywhere else in the “Bend.”
A week before my arrival there had been a kill, and it was quite
likely that lion would soon revisit this happy hunting-ground. The
local herdsmen were told to send me immediate news of any signs
of the presence of lion which might be observed near their flocks;
one hunter was sent to seek for fresh tracks near the river, south
of the town, while I and the other hunter went off next morning to
a likely haunt to the north.

Three days brought no information of lion in the vicinity, but that
they had recently been there was certain, for I came across tracks,
varying from a week to a fortnight in age, of three different animals
within ten miles of the town. I have not the slightest doubt that
had I not been so pressed for time, and been able to prolong my
stay for a week or two, I would have been certain to get at least
one. Knowing, however, that I should probably get a chance soon,
for all the country in the “Bend” is fairly plentiful in lion,
I made preparations for my departure to Saraféré. My stay at
Sébi had not been unproductive, as I had shot a nice kob and a
red-fronted gazelle, which in size was within an eighth of an inch
of the record, besides several smaller heads of different varieties.

At Sébi there was quite the best duck, geese and teal shooting
I found anywhere on the Niger. At the back of the town there were
several large ponds and marshy rivulets in which swarms of birds
were always to be seen, while at night, about sunset, the waterfowl
could be shot flighting between the Niger and these places. Each
evening I went out with my shot-gun, and had some capital sport on
every occasion. Just when the light was getting dim the noise of the
whir of many wings would be heard in the air, when, on looking up,
a cloud of dusky objects might be seen approaching phantom-like
in the sky. The first shot would cause them to swerve, passing
away out of shot, but behind were line upon line of serried ranks,
all directing their flight towards the same objective, unaware of
the danger below them, until they heard the report of a gun and,
perhaps, saw one of their number fall to the ground. Quite apart
from lion or other big game, Sébi was decidedly worth a visit for
the sport of its wildfowl shooting.

From Sébi I was told that my shortest way was by canoe, but I
did not place much confidence in my information, for the water in
the small creeks, by which I must travel, was subsiding so rapidly
that it seemed highly probable I should find myself stranded before
I had gone very far on my journey. Besides, I was anxious to see
more of the country, and this could best be done on horseback. I
had brought no such luxury as an English saddle and bridle on
my expedition, so I had to get accustomed to the native horse
equipment. To anyone who wishes to try it I say most advisedly,
“Don’t.” Of course, one can get used to anything, but the
tortures suffered in accustoming oneself to a native saddle in the
Western Soudan are such that the game is decidedly not worth the
candle. By perseverance, and with the loss of a good deal of temper,
I did get used to the thing eventually, only, many was the time
I groaned at the thought of another day in that saddle and prayed
even for the roughest of English-made saddles.

The native saddle is made entirely of wood; even if the wood were
well-planed and with a level surface it would be endurable, but the
wood is roughly hewn and appears to be fashioned in a series of
little hills and dales, which are most fiendish contrivances for
a person only possessed of normal skin. To add to the discomfort
the saddle is seldom made out of one piece of wood, but the seat
consists of two or three planks which frequently do not fit over-well
against each other. A blanket thrown across it can do something to
alleviate one’s miseries, but at the best it is a poor remedy,
and a very hot one.

Mamadu was very anxious to ride, so I let him hire a horse too.
His horsemanship was very inferior, however, and after several
differences of opinion between himself and his mount, ending
invariably in his discomfiture, he came to the conclusion that he
preferred walking. Mamadu certainly did cut a strange figure on a
horse, his appearance causing much merriment to the whole party. At
this time he had, from somewhere or other, unearthed a long, black
coat, which had seen better days and was now very threadbare. This
garment covered his white coat, coming half-way down his white
baggy trousers as well. His head was adorned by a native sun-hat,
a conical affair, gaily decorated with coloured leather ribbons. On
horseback his appearance was even more ludicrous than it was on foot,
and when he used to prepare to mount he was greeted with loud yells
of derision from the carriers, who considered him fair game for a
jest. Poor Mamadu, his troubles were great in those days, and I am
afraid I did not feel as much sympathy for him as I perhaps should
have done.

I used to ride on with the policeman in the morning, ahead of
the carriers, the policeman carrying my shot-gun, while I had my
rifle slung over my shoulder. In this way one could get a good
deal of sport on the road. On observing any game I would dismount,
leaving my horse with the policeman, and was then free to stalk
at my leisure. The country was very open, with no other trees than
stunted dum palms, and sandy soil. For miles upon miles it was a flat
plain, watered with numerous shallow, slowly flowing streams, which
fertilized the country between the rivers Issa-ber and Bara-Issa,
and connected those two main waterways.

The track was ill-defined, so that I found it necessary to take a
guide from village to village. Cattle-tracks crossed and recrossed
our path in every direction, in many cases completely obliterating
all signs of the way we were endeavouring to follow. Moreover,
wide detours had constantly to be made to avoid inundations, of
which only the nearest villages were aware. These inundations were
very deceptive. Some were fordable, but others had a treacherous
quagmire under the surface of the water, from which it would be no
easy matter to extricate oneself. On approaching these inundated
areas we would disturb big flocks of teal, which had been hidden
in the rushes, and now circled high over our heads waiting for our
departure to settle down once more in their accustomed haunts.

The villages were all Fulani. These people, although in many ways
superior to the other inhabitants of the Western Soudan, live in
far inferior houses. When approaching a place a glance will be
sufficient to tell if it is inhabited by Fulanis. Their huts are
most primitive and flimsy affairs. They are built of plaited straw,
which is the stalk of the rice or millet plant. There is only one
layer of this straw, so that sun or rain can penetrate with ease.

These huts are very low, there being only just room for a man to
stand upright in the centre. At one end is a couch, made of a few
layers of sticks and raised two feet off the ground. The couch
is generally covered with grass mats and tanned sheepskins. The
entrance is by an opening barely three feet high, while, if the
ground is rough, it is usually covered with more grass mats. Fulani
villages are very dirty. The people live with their cattle around
them. In the daytime the young calves are to be seen tied up to a
stake at the front door, to prevent their following their mothers,
which are sent out to graze with the rest of the herd. At sunset
the whole troop return, when the village resounds with their lowing
and bellowing. When green fodder is dried up the cattle are fed on
the same straw of which the huts are made.

In all this country supplies are wonderfully plentiful and
cheap. Fowls can be bought for 15 cts.; eggs cost 10 cts. for four;
milk is about a halfpenny a quart; and a bullock can be bought for
20 francs. For this reason living is as inexpensive as anywhere
in the world, I should think, so long as the traveller lives on
local produce. Freight from the coast is so high, however, that
European stores are most expensive. Between Niafounké and Timbuctu
the French reckon that a loaf of bread, baked with French flour,
costs them 1 franc 50 cts. The French being great eaters of bread
grumble greatly at the cost of flour in those parts.

Five miles from Saraféré we had to cross a wide swamp by canoe.
On the other side of this water was a fair road, coming from the
west; this was the road from Niafounké to Saraféré, and this we
now followed till the town was reached.

Saraféré lies on the opposite shore of the River Bara-Issa, which
here is a couple of hundred yards wide. The river twists and winds
around the town in a curious manner, describing a curve resembling
the letter “W.” As the crow flies the distance between the outer
bends of the “W” cannot be more than a couple of hundred yards,
but by the river it must be fully five miles. The town itself
consists of a strange collection of mud-built houses, of rather
Moorish appearance. The streets are quaint, narrow alleys, winding
in an aimless fashion through the place. All the houses have flat
roofs, upon which the better-class citizens take the evening air.

Saraféré is called the Sister of Timbuctu, owing to the
similarity existing between the two towns. The inhabitants are
mostly Sonrhais, but the place is divided into quarters for Arabs,
Fulanis, Bambaras, Bosos and Tuaregs, all of which races are fairly
well represented. Besides all these permanent residents there is a
floating population of traders from all parts of Western Soudan.
Mossis from the south bring native cloths and kola nuts, chiefly
the product of the big market of Wagadugu. Moors and Tuaregs bring
salt and gum from the desert regions in the north. Sonrhais from
Djenné take spice and native peppers to Saraféré market, while
Hausas from Kano, to the east, bring beads, sham pearls and Kano
leather wares. This mixture of different races, talking different
languages, makes Saraféré market-place an interesting scene to
the European visitor.

The Resident’s house and those of the two French merchants face
the river, occupying a large space in front of the town. Here one
gets a foretaste of the desert winds. Clouds of sand envelop the
town during the months of March, April and May, making existence
anything but pleasant while the wind is blowing. The sand permeates
every nook and cranny of a house. The only thing to do is to shut all
doors and windows, enduring the heat in preference to being buried
in sand. The soil on the immediate banks of the river is capable
of producing good rice and millet, but away from the water it is
poor and desert-like. Long stretches of sand, with only here and
there a few dried-up shrubs or tufts of coarse grass, characterize
this rather forbidding-looking land.

The Sahara has, indeed, invaded the right bank of the Niger, not
content with the havoc it has wrought along the left bank of the
river. Much of the country in the “Bend” bids fair to develop
into desert in the course of time unless these terrible winds can
be checked. Nature opposes no obstacle to them, as the land is so
flat, almost uninterruptedly from the southern slopes of the Atlas
Mountains across the whole of this portion of Northern Africa. But
I am rather digressing, for that part of my story belongs really
to the description of the country near Timbuctu and the other side
of the Niger.

There are two kinds of canoes on the Niger, the “Djenné”
and the “Niger” canoe. While I was at Saraféré I had ample
opportunity for watching the building of the latter kind of
craft. The whole material for the canoe is produced from the dum
palm. It is interesting to observe the uses the different portions
of that tree can be put to in the manufacture of a canoe. As the
dum palm is practically the only tree found in the country it is
fortunate for the natives that it has so many varied uses.

A canoe made of this palm cannot be constructed out of one piece,
as a dug-out is hewn from a single tree trunk. This is not possible,
because the trunk of the dum palm is of small diameter, and several
trees must be utilized to make a single canoe. Most canoes are made
of six separate portions of the wood, sewn together, but of course,
the number of pieces required varies with the size of the craft to be
built. The first operation is roughly to hew the different parts of
the frame into the required shape. The tools used are an instrument
resembling a chisel and an iron-headed hammer. These tools are of
native make, forged roughly by a native blacksmith, so hardly the
most suitable for the work they are required to perform. However,
ever, the result is not by any means bad, doing great credit to the
skill of the workmen. When the portions of the body have been shaped,
they are placed together, being kept in position by logs of wood
propped against them. The next operation is to sew these portions
together. Holes are punched with a sharp-pointed instrument through
the pieces near their edges, the local rope being used to bind the
parts together by threading it through these holes.

The local rope is made out of strips of the stalk of the palm
leaf. These strips are plaited together until they form a kind of
withy, which is exceedingly strong and durable. The holes in the
frame are stopped up by taking as many turns of rope as possible
through them, but of necessity there is plenty of space left between
the stitches for water to leak through.

The next item is to stop these holes more effectively, for it would
be impossible to remain long in the water in a canoe which leaked so
badly as the unfinished article now would do. For this purpose the
leaves themselves of the palm trees are utilized. These leaves are
very fibrous in texture. This fibre is pounded up until it becomes
a stringy, yellowish mass, quite soft and easily manipulated. Small
bits of this stuff are poked into all existing crevices until no gaps
are discernible. It only now remains to smooth off the rough surfaces
of the canoe, and to put in seats, etc. Even the best canoes leak a
great deal, but a constant supply of the fibre referred to is kept
on board for the purpose of stopping the more serious leaks, and a
man is frequently engaged in baling out. These canoes rarely last
more than one year, but building is so simple and all materials so
near to hand that there is no great difficulty in building new ones.

The “Djenné” canoe is more elegantly shaped and much better
finished. There is no mistaking a “Djenné” canoe when seen on
the river. In actual construction the only difference is that the
Djenné people use wooden pegs to connect the separate parts of
the body together instead of sewing them. Canoes sixty feet long
are frequently seen on the Niger. They usually belong to a native
trader, or to a rich chief. They invariably are covered over with
native mats, forming an awning as a shelter from the weather. The
native canoe is of very shallow draught. I doubt if it draws more
than three inches. All the river people are expert paddlers and
polers. They will, if necessary, travel day and night without more
than three hours’ halt in the twenty-four, and will keep this up
for five or six days continuously. Canoes trade for long distances
on the Niger. They frequently ply between Timbuctu and Koulikoro,
a distance of nearly 600 miles. The Saraféré canoes usually trade
only with Timbuctu to the north, or Djenné to the south. While I
was at Saraféré several canoes came from Djenné bringing traders
with the produce of their country. The water in the river towards
Timbuctu happened to be rather low at the time I was at Saraféré,
so only small canoes were trading between the two towns.

[Illustration: BAMBARRA HUNTERS IN THE “BEND” OF THE NIGER

These men were my native trackers when I was hunting big game in
the Middle Niger Basin. The picturesque figure in the centre is
a splendid specimen of the Bambarra race. The horns strung round
his middle are not powder-flasks, but charms, to each of which
some particular virtue is supposed to attach, for these people are
steeped in superstition.]

The women of the place fashion clay pots out of the mud found on
the banks of the Bara-Issa. These pots are very simple in design,
but are useful as water coolers.

The finest men found in this country are certainly the hunters.
They are brawny fellows, of fine stature and hard muscles. Their eyes
are keen through long practice in following game, while their powers
of tracking are undeniable. In the course of my hunting expeditions
I came in contact with a good many of them, and one could not but
admire their strength and endurance. The hunters are nearly all
Bambaras, living in small groups in the different villages. They
exist entirely by what they can shoot; although I must own that
I was hardly impressed with their prowess with the gun. On one
occasion I recollect seeing my head hunter stalk a gazelle. I and
the other hunters were spectators from the fringe of some bushes
about two hundred yards away. The gazelle was quietly browsing in an
open piece of ground with little available cover between it and its
stalker. Nothing could exceed the skill with which he crossed the
intervening ground unperceived, until he had taken up a position not
ten yards from the animal, concealed by a friendly small shrub. It
was really a fine piece of stalking; it seemed almost incredible that
he could have approached so close unknown to his intended victim.

Breathlessly I watched the scene through my glasses, fully expecting
that the unfortunate little animal would be blown to smithereens
at such short range.

There was a deafening report, but when the smoke cleared I was
astonished to see the gazelle bounding away at the top of its speed
quite scathless!

The hunter did not appear to be much mortified by his failure,
so I could only suppose it was not an unusual occurrence for game
to be missed at such close range.

These hunters are all armed with old flint-lock guns, rather
formidable-looking weapons, but often more dangerous to the owner
than to the object fired at. They are five feet in length, with
barrels made out of old gas-pipes or anything that comes handy.
Missfires are frequent owing to indifferent powder, and the weapon
has to be fired from the hip as the recoil is so violent. The guns
are first loaded with a big charge of black powder, extending some
inches up the barrel. A piece of old cloth is then rammed down
to keep the powder in position. The shot comes next, consisting
of a varied assortment of stones, bits of lead, scraps of iron,
etc., the whole charge being rammed home with a piece of rag, and
extending three-quarters of the way up the barrel. The tendency
is for the missiles to fly high and scatter; but, if fairly aimed,
the damage done is considerable, as instead of inflicting a single
wound, possibly some dozen pellets strike the victim.

[Illustration: CANOES ON THE RIVER BARA-ISSA

Most of the inhabitants of the river-banks are occupied in trade with
Timbuctu, Mopti, and Djenné, or else are fisherfolk; consequently
they spend a great portion of their lives in canoes. These canoes
are roomy and provided with overhead shelters as a protection from
the sun.]

It was while I was near Saraféré that I got my lion. One afternoon
I heard news of a lion having been seen that morning, about fifteen
miles from my camp. He had attacked a herd of Fulani cattle, making
off with one of the cows.

I lost no time in setting out for the village nearest to the scene
of the “kill.” I rode off with a guide to show the way, leaving
my kit to follow me the same evening. That night I camped at the
village to which the cow belonged.

There seemed every prospect of my finding the lion the following
morning, for he would probably despatch his meal in his lair hard
by, and rest there to sleep off the effects for some hours.

Accompanied by my two hunters and a native who knew the spot, I set
out before daylight. We had to cross a stream which lay between the
village and the place where the cow had been killed. On the other
side was a sandy scrub country, dotted about with the ever-present
dum palms. These palms here grew in clumps, some of which were a
hundred yards in diameter, but the palms themselves were more in
the nature of bushes, and not more than twelve feet high. It was
beginning to get light, but the undergrowth in these clumps was so
thick that one could seldom see more than a few yards inside. These
clumps were the lair of the lion, although it was not certain in
which one he would then be found.

After tracking him from his “kill” for some distance, we
discovered the place where he had dragged the remains of his
victim. However, it was soon evident that he had since emerged from
there, and we now followed his pug marks of that morning, clearly
defined in the sandy soil. At last he was traced to a certain clump,
thicker than the rest, in which he certainly was lying. It being
impossible to see inside, the only plan was to try to frighten the
brute out. Accordingly I sent the beater and hunters to different
points, where, at a given signal, they were to commence to shout
and beat the bush with the object of driving him towards me. The
ruse succeeded in causing him to bound out of his hiding-place,
but unfortunately on the opposite side to me, so that I never saw
him. I dashed round to the far side and just caught a glimpse of
him disappearing towards another clump of palms.

Now ensued a curious race between us and the lion. I knew that,
should I lose sight of him for long, he would probably give me the
slip, for these beasts travel great distances when alarmed.

We accordingly pursued him at our best speed, until he was viewed
disappearing into another clump. Again he got away before I had
a chance of a shot. This race continued for another mile or so,
when I was decidedly winded and the perspiration streaming off me.
At last I came up with the beast, in a palm grove, and, cautiously
following his tracks into the bush for a few paces, I suddenly saw
him, in a more open spot than usual, about forty yards away.

He stood facing me, his splendid eyes glaring wickedly, while he
lashed his tail and uttered some low roars.

Here was a fine opportunity; so, raising my ·450 rifle, I fired,
and he dropped with a bullet through his head.

Keen as I was, I do not think I could have maintained the race
much longer, for I was quite winded and had some difficulty in
keeping my rifle steady as I fired; but the range was so close,
and I could see him so distinctly, that the shot was an easy one.

The lion of this country is not a handsome creature. The colour is
a pale tawny, and the animal is maneless. Moreover, it is my firm
conviction that he is an arrant coward. My own experience, and what
the Fulani herdsmen have told me, both tend to support this idea. I
have been told more than once of cases in which a lion had jumped
on one of the herd with the intention of killing and carrying off
its prey, but had been driven off by a single-handed Fulah armed
merely with a stick. It seems rather ridiculous that a lion can
be frightened off his victim, by thwacking him with a stick, but
there is no doubt that it has been often done by these people.

The Fulanis hold the lion in contempt rather than in awe, and,
I fancy, he only succeeds as a rule in securing his prey because
the herds are too large for one man to supervise.

These Fulanis, whom one meets so often in the Western Soudan,
are an interesting race of people.

They are certainly not of negro origin, for they have straight hair,
aquiline features, thin lips, and pale reddish brown skins. There is
a mystery about the land of their forefathers, but it cannot have
been in Western Africa. Some people say they came originally from
Egypt. To support this theory it is stated that the word “Fulah”
is a corruption of the word “Felah” of Egypt. Their appearance
is somewhat Egyptian also. On the other hand, it is not easy to
trace a close connection between their language and customs and
those of Egypt.

Many maintain that they came from the other side of the Red Sea.
Their own version of their history is exceedingly vague. Anyhow, it
seems clear that they came from the East, as they have left traces
of their progress from the East to the West of Africa. They are far
superior in intellect to the negro, having shown their superiority
by conquering all with whom they have come in contact. They are
essentially a pastoral people, whose chief object in life appears to
be to excel in the size of their herds. Their dwelling-places are
generally temporary ones, where they stay as long as the pasturage
is sufficient for their cattle. As soon as the grass gets poor
they shift their dwellings to more favourable spots. The Fulah
counts his wealth by his bulls and cows. All the money he makes is
laid out in increasing his stock. He has a wonderful knowledge of
cattle, and a marvellous power of calling to strayed animals. By
uttering some weird low cry they can recall their beasts even from
considerable distances.

Fulanis have made their way almost to the coast. They are found in
many places in small colonies, generally forming the cattle-owning
population of a place. The province of Futa-Jallon in French Guinea
is inhabited by them, otherwise they have no big strongholds until
the Middle Niger is reached. But from there to Northern Nigeria
they are found in certain places in considerable numbers. Except
for tending cattle they do no work themselves, being decidedly
indolent. The housework and any farm work are entirely done by
slaves, or servants. Slaves are well treated by them, and many
slaves stay with their masters in serfdom in preference to taking
their liberty, which they can do at any time they wish, by making
a statement to this effect before a French Commissioner.

The Fulanis are all fervent Mohammedans. Wherever there are Fulanis
there will be found a mosque. These people have shown themselves
able administrators in the places which they governed before the
advent of the white man. Their laws were just, while their method
of appointing civil administrators to the various districts into
which a country was subdivided was sound. It would be interesting
to know more about the past of these people, and it is much to be
hoped that further light may one day be thrown on their origin.

CHAPTER XVI

ON the 21st of March I left Saraféré. I had managed to buy a horse
here, being glad to have my own mount at last. He was a little
animal, a dark bay, about fourteen hands; not exactly the most
suitable beast for the work for which I required him, but horses
were not easy to buy. In any case, the price could not be called
exorbitant. I paid the sum of seventy-five francs, or three pounds,
for him, the saddle and bridle included!

I still had to be content with a native saddle and bridle, for
European horse-gear was not to be had in the Western Soudan. His
previous owner was a native clerk in the Resident’s office, who
informed me that he was selling as he proposed closing his stables!
Fortunately I was a light weight, and as he appeared to be a wiry
little beggar in spite of his somewhat weedy looks, I came to
the conclusion he would be good enough for what was expected of
him. He was, of course, innocent of any knowledge of trotting. His
only two paces were an amble and a walk. He could amble fast or he
could amble slow, but had not much idea of galloping.

The country was very similar to that between Sébi and Saraféré.
In the season of inundations it would not have been practicable
to travel by road, as the existing track would have been several
feet deep in water. The only mode of transport then possible is by
canoe. Rice and millet are the products of this country, the land
near the streams and backwaters of the Bara-Issa being eminently
suited to the cultivation of these cereals. On the banks of these
streams are the villages, but as soon as one strikes into the
interior, away from the water, the country becomes more than ever
desert-like in character, and human habitations are confined to a few
isolated Tuareg encampments. The people in the villages are Fulanis,
as usual possessed of big herds of cattle. The Tuaregs, on the other
hand, owned sheep and goats, which seemed to thrive in a marvellous
manner on the poor provender found in the sandy waste surrounding
them. A coarse-looking grass, or mimosa scrub, formed their fare.

These Tuaregs are hardly the same class of that tribe as are found in
the desert proper on the other side of the Niger. They are nomads,
preferring the isolated life away from villages, it is true,
but at the same time they do not so utterly shun all contact with
mankind as do their brethren of the Sahara. I suppose being nearer
to civilization and luxuries, they have begun to feel the want of
these things, and have to a certain extent degenerated. Anyway, they
would appear to be now less hardy than before. Their dwelling-places
consist either of small tents made of sheepskins, or else of little
huts made of branches of mimosa scrub and palm leaves. Hut is
rather a dignified name to apply to these habitations. They are,
perhaps, a dozen feet square, and so low that a man must always
remain in a crouched position if he tries to stand up inside. It
is strange how they succeed in getting their wives and families
into this tiny space. Certainly their personal belongings are few,
for they are very poor, and their wealth, such as it is, is all in
their flocks of goats or sheep.

One day we met a large salt caravan coming down from Timbuctu, and
_en route_ to a place called Douentza, some days’ march south of
Saraféré. The salt is carried in big rectangular bars, and, in
this case, was laden on donkeys and bullocks. The loads are usually
fastened into a kind of stout rope netting, like a bag. These nets
are then fastened one on each side of the beast of burden, over a
roughly shaped pack-saddle.

[Illustration: WOMEN POUNDING RICE AT TOMBOLA, FRENCH GUINEA

Rice is pounded in a wooden bowl with a heavy wooden club. The women
spend hours daily in preparing the rice thus, chanting the while.]

These traders were all Hausas, travelling with their wives and
children. They cover about fifteen miles a day in this manner,
and are so abstemious in their habits that they generally make a
large profit on their transactions. They drink only water as a rule,
while their diet is of the most frugal kind, helped out with a few
kola nuts, of which they are exceedingly fond. The nut has rather
a bitter taste, but one soon gets accustomed to it. The Hausas can
exist without food for a considerable time, provided they have some
kola nut to chew. There is no doubt that its sustaining properties
are great, while, when water has been scarce, I have found it a
first-rate plan to keep a piece of the fruit in one’s mouth and
close the teeth on it.

The head of this caravan was a native merchant of some
importance. Early next morning we saw him on the road preparing
to start. He wore flowing white robes, and made a picturesque
figure mounted on his gaily caparisoned steed. I was informed he
was a regular trader by that route, and that he always personally
superintended the assembly of his caravan before the morning
departure. He certainly seemed to have a rather motley collection
of both sexes who were under him in perfect control. At his orders
they sought out, without much delay, their respective beasts from
the grass where they were browsing, and loaded their charges in a
most business-like manner.

This place, called Bouramaka-Yororo, was one of the few spots where
I saw any full snipe. About two miles’ walk from the village there
were some shallow ponds, with marshy banks, which were the homes of
these snipe, besides quantities of the grey teal, which I previously
described. Most of the different kinds of duck, which I had come
across before, were also well represented, but in comparison to the
grey teal their numbers were insignificant. The water was covered
with a grey sheet of these little birds, but they were very wild,
and rose in the air in dense clouds on observing our approach.

The next day we had a long march, through a very sandy region,
to the western extremity of Lake Niangaye. We had now left the
water system of the River Bara-Issa behind us, and the country was
destitute of water until the lake was reached.

I was riding ahead of the carriers with the policeman, as my custom
was, when, as we came round a bend in the track, we espied a big
herd of Senegal haartebeest. The animals had evidently been down
towards the lake, and on perceiving us, galloped off through the
scrub to our right front. There were at least forty in the herd,
and, in the hopes that they had not gone too far for pursuit, I
started off on their tracks. The trail was easy enough to follow,
so, leaving the police orderly with our horses, I went off alone.
The ground sloped gently in front of me, so I cautiously approached
the top, expecting to see the antelope grazing on the far side.
Working with the wind in my face, I wended my way gradually to the
ridge, and, taking cover behind a mimosa tree, I peered warily over
the edge. Sure enough, about eight hundred yards away were the herd,
some grazing, while others had their heads turned in the direction
from which they had come, evidently not forgetful of the alarm our
appearance had caused among them.

I now tried to stalk them by a flank movement, making for a hillock
within two hundred yards of the game. Here I hoped to be able to
select the best head, and should be within fairly good range. My
manœuvring was completely successful until I neared the top of the
hillock, and then, by an incautious movement, I foolishly exposed
myself to view for a fraction of a second. To my disgust I had
been observed, and away scampered the whole herd at a pace which I
knew meant that pursuit was out of the question. I took a couple of
flying shots at the one I had marked down as being the biggest bull,
but they were both clean misses, and I was unable to retrieve the
blunder I had made by exposing myself to view. I only saw one herd
of these haartebeest as big as this one again. I fancy forty animals
in a herd is nothing out of the ordinary, but in the Western Soudan,
from my experience, they are generally in much smaller herds.

After the incident of the haartebeest we continued our march
towards the lake. The carriers had by this time come up with me,
and were eager to get to the water, as the day was hot and they
had nothing to drink by the way. Accordingly we pushed on at a good
pace, until suddenly a silvery gleam came into view on the horizon,
being evidently the first glimpse of Niangaye. As we approached the
water became more visible. Here we were near the western extremity
of the lake, which extended eastward as far as the eye could reach,
while the breadth must have been about three miles. The shores were
sandy, and the banks covered with dried-up grass and small bushes.
Occasionally a canoe could be seen speeding along under sail,
propelled by a stiff breeze from the north-east. The water was a
fine open expanse; there were a few clumps of reeds at times near the
shores, but these were not dense enough to interfere with navigation.

The wind referred to blows almost constantly from the same
quarter. It is strongest from about sunrise till 11 a.m., while
in the evening it dies down altogether as a rule. It thus causes a
regular tide, with a difference between high and low water of about
two feet. As the lake is shallow, the bed shelving very gently,
there is a considerable difference between the width of the sandy
beach available as a road in the morning and afternoon. The quantity
of water in the lake varies greatly with the season of the year;
indeed, at the end of the dry weather, about May, it is possible to
walk across the lake in several places without so much as wetting
the feet.

Lake Niangaye is one of the largest, if not quite the largest, of
a system of lakes and backwaters of the Niger and its affluents
in the south-west corner of the “Bend” of that river. Lake
Niangaye is the most easterly of this system. The whole of this
large area is known as the “Lake District,” and all round
these waters game of all descriptions abounds. During the season
when water is abundant everywhere the game has no difficulty about
drinking; it is therefore scattered all over this area, and not so
easy to locate. In the dry months, from January to May, however,
the case is very different. Water gets scarcer every month, and the
drinking-places become more and more restricted, so that the game has
to concentrate around the immediate shores of the lakes to get water.
Consequently this is the best time of the year for shooting, although
one disadvantage is that the heat gets very intense, and, under these
conditions, tracking game becomes a very exhausting pastime. The
sandy soil surrounding the lakes for many miles scorches the feet,
while the sun beats mercilessly down upon the sportsman’s head. Of
course, many kinds of animals retire when the sun gets up in the
heavens, about nine o’clock; but this is often the best time to
find such game as Senegal haartebeest and gazelle, which can be
discovered resting from the heat of the day in the shade of a mimosa
tree. These animals are sometimes very shy and unapproachable in
the early morning or evening, and frequently one’s only chance
of a shot at a beast you have been tracking for some time is during
the middle of the day, when he is not so much on the alert.

[Illustration: FULANIS AT BAMBARA-MAAUNDÉE

These people, living, as they do, in the northern portion of the
higher “Bend,” where the Sahara sand has crossed the river
and made a determined invasion on the right bank, have adopted
the Tuareg “litham.” They are skilled horsemen and experienced
cattle-breeders. The national arm is the spear, such as is held by
one of the squatting figures.]

The village we entered near the western end of the lake was called
Kanioumé. I was particularly anxious to stop a few hours here,
in order to interview the chief. He was the most influential man
in this region, all the villages on the southern shore of Niangaye
being subservient to him. This man was a Fulah, and as he had had
constant dealings with the Commissioner of the district, on account
of his influential position in the country, I had been recommended to
make arrangements for local hunters, supplies, and so forth through
him. I had been given the names of the best hunters in the district,
and was told that this chief would be able to furnish me with them.

The chief was most obliging, providing me with everything I required
without delay; but the hunters were not forthcoming. They were, he
said, at Douentza, several days’ march away, and the head-quarters
of the French Resident. Fortunately, I had taken the precaution,
before leaving Saraféré, to write to the Resident of Douentza,
informing him of my intended hunting trip in his country, and at
the same time mentioning that I wished for the services of these
particular hunters. I therefore hoped that they would soon reach
me. This chief informed me, and I subsequently discovered that
his statement was perfectly correct, that there were practically
no native hunters in the region. It appeared that the Fulanis,
who formed almost the entire population of this part of the Lake
District, never themselves hunted, hence the difficulty of securing
a man who knew the haunts of the game in the neighbourhood was
great. It seems strange that these people, living in the midst of
a country inhabited by wild animals, should not care to hunt them,
but so it is. The chief, however, relieved my worst apprehensions
to a certain extent by assuring me that at Bambara-Maaundé there
was one hunter; I therefore bade him send at once to the man to
tell him to be ready to meet me there the next day. At the end of
the palaver I rejoiced the chief’s heart with a present of a head
of tobacco from my now dwindling store of the leaf.

The chief and a cavalcade of his retinue accompanied me as far as
the next village, some six miles further along the lake, where I
was going to spend the night. Having made all arrangements for our
comfort there, he took his departure.

After leaving Kanioumé the lake widens considerably. The opposite
shore cannot be seen until within about three miles of the eastern
extremity. The total length of Niangaye is about thirty-five
miles. Near Bambara-Maaundé the eastern end is divided into
two forks by a high ridge of hills, the width of the neck of
land at the foot of these hills and separating the two forks of
water being about five miles. The southern shore is much more
wooded than the northern shore, but even on the south there are
frequently stretches of sandy country without any vegetation other
than a coarse grass. The northern shore is also covered in many
places with dense reeds, making navigation more difficult. On both
sides of the lake the ground rises rather rapidly, until a plateau,
two to three hundred feet above the level of the water, is reached.
Most of the game is on this plateau on the southern side of Niangaye,
merely coming down daily to drink.

For a few days I made Bambara-Maaundé my head-quarters, leaving
camp early every morning and returning at midday, then going out
again in the afternoon. I found the hunter, who had been ordered
to be ready at the village, awaiting my arrival. So far there was
no news from Douentza of the two hunters I had sent for, so I sent
another urgent runner to the Resident for them. The day after my
arrival I shot a fine Senegal haartebeest, within two hours of camp,
and this was the occasion when I lost my horse temporarily.

I had ridden out with the hunter, as was my custom, when we got on
to the tracks of a fine solitary bull haartebeest. I dismounted to
follow it on foot, leaving the horse with the hunter and my second
rifle-bearer. I soon perceived him about six hundred yards away,
browsing at the top of a little rise. The ground was very open and
sloped up gradually towards him, so I had to be very cautious in
stalking. Fortune favoured me this time, and I was able to get within
comfortable shot, unperceived. The first bullet dropped him, mortally
wounded through the lungs. My hunter came up with the horses. These
he tied up while we were skinning the animal, having secured the
end of my horse’s bridle to the branch of a mimosa tree.

We were busily engaged with our hunting knives when I suddenly
looked up and saw my steed, having slipped his head-collar,
trotting quietly down the hill. He gradually increased his pace to
a gallop before we had time to stop him, until he was lost to view.
I sent the rifle-bearer after in pursuit, thinking he would catch
him grazing quietly at the nearest spot, where he could find
some good grass. To cut a long story short, the native lost the
horse’s tracks on some hard, rocky ground, returning about two
hours later with the news. There was nothing for it but to walk
back to camp and send out parties to search for my mount, if he had
not returned, as I hoped, to the village. He was not at the camp,
whither I returned ignominiously on foot, so I told the chief to
send out search parties.

All available horses were collected to mount the tracking party, and
when the men were assembled they were really rather a picturesque
group. The Fulah on horseback looks quite his best, for these men
have a good seat and are good horsemen, but, like most natives,
they are bad horsemasters. There was a collection of some twenty
men, armed with the national weapon, a spear, looking more as if
they were going out to fight than to look for a lost horse.

It was not till long after nightfall that I heard a great stir
outside, and, by the light of a bright moon, I could perceive mounted
figures rapidly approaching across the plain. On they came at full
gallop, brandishing their spears and uttering wild cries, until they
arrived opposite my camp, when they drew rein so suddenly as to throw
their steeds on to their haunches. By the triumphant cries I guessed
the horse had been found, as, indeed, he had. I think he must have
lost himself, as, when they discovered him, he was lying down, tired
out, and apparently only too glad to be caught and led back to camp.

After a few days’ good sport, but still without news of the
Douentza hunters, I determined to wait no longer, but to start for
the elephant country with my local hunter at once. My so-called
hunter was really not of much use, except as a guide to show me
the road home at the end of the day, for his knowledge of the
whereabouts of game was decidedly limited. He was also hardly an
experienced tracker, but still, in this respect he might have been
worse. In these circumstances I had to go and ascertain the place
where the elephant were now to be found for myself, before I could
decide where to pitch my camp. On one of my shooting trips I had
come across some old spoor, leading down to the lake. I now went
to this place with a view to making it the base of my tracking
operations, intending to work backwards from there, in order to
try to find the feeding-grounds of this herd. All this country
is so thinly populated that for miles there are no habitations,
and therefore I could not expect to get any information from natives.

That day I camped temporarily close to the place where these old
tracks existed, near the brink of Niangaye. It was here that fortune
smiled upon me for a change. That evening, just I was retiring for
the night, I heard a low thundering noise, and noticed the peculiar
strong odour which is found with elephants. I at once came to the
conclusion that they must be coming down to bathe at the lake,
and, moreover, could not be far off. Hastily seizing my rifle and
throwing on some khaki clothes over my light-coloured pyjamas,
I went out of my tent at the same instant that the local hunter
came to tell me the elephant were indeed approaching the lake. It
was a beautiful moonlight night, and the animals sounded so near
that I was afraid they would see the camp and take alarm, so I gave
instructions for everyone to keep perfectly quiet and for the fires
to be put out. It did, indeed, seem a strange thing that they should
almost run into my camp the night I arrived there!

As I cautiously crept through the light bush, making a wide circuit
to avoid giving them my wind, I shall never forget the splendid
sight that broke on my view. In front of me was a herd of some
forty elephants, drinking and bathing in the water of the lake. A
bright moon shed her rays on the scene, making the water sparkle in
a silvery sheen, while thousands of stars twinkled in the deep blue
sky overhead. These splendid creatures appeared to be thoroughly
enjoying themselves, and I waited under cover to feast my eyes
on the sight for a few seconds. I could see them revelling in the
luxury of their bath, douching themselves with water taken up in
their trunks, splashing and disporting themselves in high frolic.

At this moment how I longed to be able to take a photograph of this
remarkable scene, of which, though it is so vividly pictured on my
memory, I have no other record!

I carefully singled out the best tuskers and waited my opportunity
for a shot. To advance any further would have been fatal, for I
was now on the edge of the scrub, and between me and the elephant
was a narrow strip of open sandy beach, while they were some thirty
yards further in the water, possibly altogether eighty yards from me.

Having drunk their fill, the great beasts proceeded to retreat
leisurely homewards. Now would be my opportunity for a shot.
Manœuvring to keep the best tuskers in view, I had no difficulty in
shooting down one as he stopped, within twenty yards of me, while
he reached at a branch with his great trunk. I hit him through the
ear in the brain, and he fell on the spot. At the same instant
I saw the other tusker close at hand, and gave him two bullets
in rapid succession. He was hard hit, but did not fall. The whole
occurrence had not taken more than a few seconds, but before I had
time to reload the noise was deafening.

The huge herd, evidently more frightened than enraged, except perhaps
for the wounded elephant, by the report of my rifle and the fall
of their comrade, stampeded. They charged violently forward in
all directions, trampling under foot all that came in their way,
screaming and trumpeting as they went.

Some half-dozen came careering towards me; there was neither time
nor space to evade them, and I must own my life seemed not worth
a minute’s purchase just then. I thought I must inevitably be
crushed to atoms under their massive feet; there seemed no chance of
escape. In the hope of making myself as inconspicuous as possible,
I flung myself flat on the ground, knowing all the time that though
they might not notice me in their impetuous flight, those gigantic
forms could hardly avoid running over my prostrate body.

By great good fortune something, I cannot for the life of me think
what it was, made them swerve aside, passing within a few inches of
me where I lay. I can hardly describe what a tiny, impotent creature
one feels at such a moment. How powerless was I against one of these
animals, should he by chance brush against me! I suppose that is
about the narrowest escape I ever had, and an experience I am not
anxious to repeat.

In an incredibly short space of time the whole herd had disappeared,
the only sign of their recent visit being the clouds of dust,
the trampled soil, and the dead elephant.

While this scene had been going on the hunter, my servant, and my
following had bolted in all directions, alarmed, I suppose, lest the
elephants should rush through the camp. When quiet had been restored
the natives began to return. The excitement had been rather trying,
and there was nothing further to be done that night. I gave orders
for an early start in the morning in pursuit of the wounded elephant,
while the men left in camp were to cut up the dead animal.

Accompanied by the hunter I started before daylight, following
the tracks which were fairly visible. The wounded animal had kept
company with the rest of the herd, for, within a mile or two of
camp, all the separated tracks of the scattered elephants reunited.
As the day dawned it became clear from the blood that he had been
severely wounded. I thought that the first shot had hit him in
the head, and the second a little below the heart as he turned
broadside to me, but of this I could not be sure. We were able to
follow the tracks at a gentle amble, so distinct were they. After
proceeding thus for about seven miles, we arrived at the top of
the rising ground and on to the plateau, which I have previously
mentioned. The scrub now got thicker, but there was no difficulty in
riding anywhere. Proceeding another five miles or so, we suddenly
came across the wounded elephant standing under a small tree,
sheltering from the sun, for it was getting hot and was now nine
o’clock. There had been nothing to indicate that his footsteps
were lagging. However, he must have got tired and been unable to
keep up with the rest of the herd any longer.

The hunter was carrying my big rifle at this time, while I had
the ·303 slung at my saddle. Seizing the ·450 from him I rapidly
dismounted, while all this time the elephant appeared not to have
noticed us, having its back turned in our direction. I skirted
through the bush in order to get a shot at its brain, the animal
being, I suppose, not more than thirty yards away. As I faced it
it suddenly perceived me and lifted up its trunk as if to charge;
I was then not twenty yards off. I fired under its uplifted trunk,
when it swerved aside, the blood streaming from its mouth. A second
shot penetrated its brain, and it fell to the ground quite dead.

The tusks of this elephant weighed fifty-two pounds each, while
the other had ivory weighing just over forty-five pounds on either
side. The ivory was not big, but I was given to understand that,
for that country, the tusks were very fair, and that it was rare
to get tusks weighing even sixty pounds; so under the circumstances
I was fortunate.

It is a curious fact that the elephant of this region do not carry
big ivory, although possibly the explanation is a simple one.
There are no big trees in the country, which is an extraordinarily
open one for elephant, consisting of sandy soil, light scrub and, in
places, mimosa or other trees never more than thirty or forty feet
high. Such is the district in which these animals are here found;
besides, water is scarce. Away from the lake there is no water of
any description for nearly forty miles.

Having found the line of retreat of the elephant, and knowing
that it lay through a waterless tract of country, I decided to
provision myself with water next day and attempt to come up with
the herd again. Accordingly, the following morning very early,
equipped with three days’ water supply, I set out in pursuit
of the herd. It seemed evident that they must have a permanent
feeding-ground, which could supply them with better provender than
was obtainable in the country I had seen, and the chances were
that if I could discover this feeding-ground I should also find the
elephant. The tracks were plainly discernible nearly the whole way;
only once did we lose them for a short time on some stony ground.
Proceeding for about six miles beyond the place where I had found
the wounded elephant, I noticed the country becoming much more
wooded. We were now about eighteen miles from Lake Niangaye. Here
the tracks of the elephant branched off in various directions,
and it was without doubt their feeding-ground.

Picking up the biggest tracks we could see, we followed these for
some distance through this wooded region. The ground here was quite
rocky in many places, the sandy soil having disappeared. I had
noticed that the ivory of my tusks was chipped, and it seemed that
this must be the solution. Probably these elephant broke their
tusks on the hard, rocky surface of their feeding-place. This
wooded country appeared to extend for a considerable distance in
a southerly direction.

Still following the tracks of this animal, which led to a place
where he had evidently slept the previous night, we suddenly crossed
some perfectly fresh tracks of another elephant. It was some hours
later, when following this elephant, which I had wounded, that
I came across a strange tribe of people who dwell in caves. The
elephant’s tracks had led me to the foot of the Hombori Mountains,
and it is here that these people live. They wear practically no
clothing, and are very timid. Probably they had hardly seen a white
man in those parts before. They are called the Habbés. They live
chiefly by hunting round the shores of a lake called Kurorua, lying
at the foot of the hills. I could not understand their language,
and being short of provisions I had to curtail my stay in their
country. This place is about forty miles from Lake Niangaye, and
it seemed that the elephant used to drink at one or other of these
lakes, according to circumstances, their feeding-ground being nearly
half-way between the two.

The Habbés use bows and arrows, but also have old-fashioned guns,
for which they manufacture their own powder out of saltpetre,
found locally. Their bullets are more often made of small, sharp
stones than of lead, but any rough missile will serve them.

Between the feeding-ground, which I discovered was called Tinsida,
and Lake Kurorua, the country again becomes sandy and sparsely
covered with vegetation. In all this sandy country the violent
wind from the north-east, which I had experienced at Niangaye,
blows. This wind raises sandstorms, which are not only most
disagreeable, but are also very bad for the mechanism of a rifle
should it be at all complicated. However careful one may be it
is exceedingly difficult to avoid getting sand into the breech,
with the result that a jam may occur. This actually happened to me
at a very awkward moment, when hunting elephant. I had to abandon
my ·450 and fire with my ·303. Fortunately for me the animal did
not charge home, or I should probably have had some difficulty in
stopping him with the light bullet of the small rifle. This was not
the only occasion when I had a bad jam on account of the sand, and,
later on, when crossing the Sahara, I found matters still worse,
as the sandstorms were more frequent and more violent.

CHAPTER XVII

ON the 3rd of April I returned to Bambara-Maaundé on my way north to
Timbuctu. My first plan had been to march due north, but I could get
no guide to show me the way. The Fulanis declared that the route was
impracticable at this time of year, owing to the scarcity of water,
and in any case they had no man to serve as guide who knew the route.

I had grave suspicions of the truth of their statements, but
unfortunately was not in a position to prove they were lying. In
the end I had to go the way they recommended as being the only one
possible at the time of the year. This route entailed a two days’
march, followed by three days by canoe.

Carriers were not to be had as the Fulani is much too proud,
or too lazy, to carry a load. So I had to hire bullocks for my
baggage. Bullocks and camels, when obtainable, do all the transport
in these regions. Bullocks can, at a pinch, march two days without
water, carrying a load of about 150 lbs. They are humped oxen, very
slow and sure in their movements. The driver—there is one to each
animal—sits on the front of the hump, with the loads behind him,
guiding his beast with a kind of rein passing through its nostrils.

At first we passed along the shores of Lake Niangaye, meeting on
the way some camel and bullock caravans coming into the village.
For the place is on the route from the north to Douentza market,
and a fair amount of trade travels this way. A curious feature of
this end of the lake is the number of pelicans seen on the water.
They all congregate on the opposite side to Bambara-Maaundé,
appearing to breed there in some quantities. In the evening the
birds collect together, uttering strange cries, reminding one
rather of the wildfowl on the seashores in the wilder parts of
the British coast. They are uncouth-looking creatures with their
enormous beaks, but seem to thrive wonderfully well on the fish of
the lake. I suppose when the water here dries up they migrate to the
Niger and its tributaries. I shot a few geese at Niangaye, but duck
and teal were very scarce. The surrounding country is well stocked
with sand-grouse and lesser bustard, but other varieties of game
birds are not plentiful. I think I saw only one bushfowl, and the
few guinea-fowl I shot appeared to be very tough. Indeed, I always
noticed that the guinea-fowl shot in sandy districts was tough,
irrespective of the age of the bird. I often wondered if possibly
this was due to the semi-desert diet which they have to live on here.

We had to cross the high ridge of ground which separated the two
easterly forks of the lake previously mentioned, and, when finally
quitting the farthest fork of water, our journey took us through a
patch of desert land. It was in this desert patch that I saw several
ostriches. The huge birds were on the sky-line about half a mile away
when I first noticed them, and, strangely enough, did not appear to
have perceived me; for they moved in quite a leisurely manner out
of sight, instead of striding off as they usually do when alarmed.

I decided to try to stalk them. Provided they did not move too
rapidly the chances seemed to be in my favour, for the slope of
the ground was such that I should be able to advance almost to the
top of the ridge in front of me, unperceived. The wind helped me,
as it was blowing directly in my face, so I was able successfully
to carry out my plan, and, on arriving at the summit of the ridge,
I got a fairly easy shot, lying behind a small hillock, at one of
the birds. The feathers were not in bad condition, and later I found
some of them invaluable for bartering with Arabs. Judging by the
tracks, there appeared to be a number of these birds between the
Niger and Lake Niangaye, although most of the ostrich hunting is
done on the other side of the Niger and some hundred miles lower
down. By questioning my native followers, indeed, I found that
these ostriches do not seem to be hunted at all.

That day we did a long march, as I was anxious to get across the
desert and camp by the water on the far side that night. The water
was a swampy stream, called Tango-Maré, which was one of the
tributaries of the River Bara-Issa. I camped by its shores, where
the sand-flies and mosquitoes were worse than I had experienced
for a very long time. My servant and the police orderly both
got a severe attack of fever in consequence, and I passed a most
uncomfortable night.

There was an encampment of wandering Tuaregs close by who made
things look brighter by a very acceptable present of camel’s
milk, accompanied by protestations of friendship. This gift and the
message accompanying it seemed so unlike the usual custom of the
Tuaregs, where Europeans were concerned, that I made inquiries on
the subject. It transpired that the last visit they had had from
white men was when the French troops had visited this particular
tribe and punished them severely for some misdeed. They evidently
had a wholesome respect for the European now, or they would hardly
have taken the trouble to offer presents to a single individual!
After leaving the stream where I had spent the night, we emerged on
a country intersected by small lakes, swamps and marshy streams. I
had sent on my baggage and servant early, staying myself behind to
enjoy some duck shooting close to my camp of the previous night.
The guide who was with me professed to know the route our loads had
followed, but I hardly wonder he was at fault on several occasions.

Sometimes this network of waterways became practically one wide sheet
of water, so intimately connected were the swamps and streams. On
arriving at a place of this description, it became a matter of great
difficulty to know where the water was fordable. The only plan was
to try at a likely-looking spot, and go on until the water became
too deep, when a new direction must be struck. It would have been
dangerous to attempt to swim, owing to the thickly packed reeds which
grew in profusion everywhere. Many times, after proceeding about
half-way, and congratulating myself that we had found a passage,
a hole or dense reeds prevented further progress, and we had to beat
a retreat, endeavouring to find another ford. By the time we finally
got to the other side of these huge morasses it was getting late,
but fortunately the track was now dry and fairly well defined, so
we were able to move at a good pace. I fully expected to hear, when
joining the baggage, that half of it had been lost in the water,
so it was cheering to be told that, beyond a little wetting, not
much harm had been done. The guide with the baggage party appeared
to have found a better crossing than we had done.

I had now reached a place from which I could get a navigable way
to Kabara, as the port of Timbuctu is called. The name of this
village was Sariamou, and it was on one of the main tributaries of
the Bara-Issa.

After negotiating with the chief native trader of the place, I
arranged for a canoe, with an awning of palm-thatch, to be ready for
me the following day. I had a crew of five men, so that I should be
able to travel fast. I estimated my distance from Kabara at seventy
miles as the crow flies, so it was probably quite eighty by water, a
distance I could not hope to cover in less than three days. Moreover,
I could not arrange for the canoemen to accompany me more than one
day, so that there were certain to be further vexatious delays in
getting relief crews. In one respect I was lucky, however, that
I should be able to keep the same canoe the whole way; besides,
this canoe was a fairly comfortable one as they went, and should
I have been obliged to change daily, I should have had to put up
with very inferior craft.

[Illustration: TIMBUCTU

The trees are in the cemetery. A monument is put up here to
Lieut. Aube and his party who were killed in a battle with the Tuareg
at this spot in 1894 when trying to penetrate the mysterious city
of Timbuctu.]

I occupied the centre of the canoe, while my servant and baggage
were at one end and the crew at the other. There was just room to
put up a camp table under my awning, where I could read or write,
and at sunset we used to halt at the nearest village, so as to get
a night’s rest ashore.

The route was rather intricate, as the main stream was frequently
blocked by impenetrable “borgou,” necessitating a diversion
through some side creek, and thereby lengthening our journey
considerably. I found out also that very often the natives only knew
the way from one village to the next, so that a guide had to be taken
at almost each village we passed. These villages were inhabited by
the Sonrhais, who were possessors of big herds of cattle similar
to those owned by the Fulanis on the Niger. There was also in each
village a certain proportion of Bosos, who were the fisherfolk of
this country. The swampy banks were the haunts of numerous wart-hog,
and one could often get a shot at these animals from the canoe as
they stopped to watch it in their stupid fashion before scuttling off
into the bush. Kob were also plentiful about these marshy streams,
as were their near relatives, the Bohor reed-buck. For almost every
kind of West African game which frequents marshy tracts this was
a splendid shooting country. The natives themselves hunt little,
so that the game is not so shy and scared as it often is in places
thickly populated with these hunters. The Sonrhais are too much
given up to cattle and horse raising, while the Bosos are quite as
devoted to their fishing, for either tribe to care for hunting game.

The horses in this locality were some of the finest I had
seen. These people make rather a speciality, for natives, of
horse-breeding. When the land is inundated and pasturage is rich,
the horses are left for several months at a time in the fallow
ground at the water-side. I noticed large droves of horses as we
passed the banks. There were a large number of mares with foals on
the higher ground, while the stallions were usually nearer the water.

I had despatched my horse by a more circuitous land route, so he
would be several days later than I in arriving at Timbuctu, if,
indeed, he ever arrived. He had been consigned to the care of the
headman of the village, and was to be passed on from one to the
other _en route_. In any case, the little beast had done me good
service, and I had certainly had a good three pounds’ worth of
value from him!

On the 7th of April we entered the Niger, at a point some miles
below the junction of its two branches, Issa-Ber and Bara-Issa. A
short while after stopping for breakfast that morning we passed a
barge, flying the French colours. The occupants were the officer
in charge of the ostrich farm at Niafounké and his wife. They had
been down the river for nearly three hundred miles to decide on a
more suitable site for the farm, and were now on their way back to
Niafounké. The lady was certainly the only European representative
of her sex on that side of Koulikoro, and was regarded with great
astonishment by many of the natives, who naturally had never seen
a white woman before.

Soon after midday we sighted a small building on the river banks,
built at the point where a big backwater of the Niger quits
the main stream. This was Korioumé, and is used as the port of
Timbuctu instead of Kabara during the driest months of the year,
as vessels are then unable to get nearer to Timbuctu, owing to the
lack of water. Kabara lies about five and a half miles further on,
being approached by a canal. This canal is being enlarged to allow
the passage of larger craft than can use it at present.

Kabara consists of a collection of mud huts, forming the dwellings
of the transport officials and the native population. Alongside the
quay lie a variety of river craft, barges, and steel as well as
wooden canoes. It is not an imposing-looking spot, but is important
as the head-quarters of the Navigation Service for the section
Kabara to Ansongo, a distance of nearly four hundred miles.

I landed and presented myself at the Transport Office, where I
was provided with donkeys to carry my kit to Timbuctu, and was
informed that the Commandant had very thoughtfully sent a horse
for me to ride up to the town. All baggage is conveyed by donkeys
to Timbuctu, and there are a number of men in the town who make
their living by letting out donkeys for this purpose. The country
immediately assumes the appearance of a desert on leaving Kabara.
There is a wide track, worn by thousands of animals’ feet,
leading through the soft sand across the five miles which separate
Timbuctu from her port. Beyond a few scattered gum trees, mimosa,
and a little coarse grass, there is nothing but sand on all sides.

A short distance to the right of the road in the desert, and about
half-way to Timbuctu, is a monument erected to Commandant Obb,
the first Frenchman to try to enter Timbuctu. He had only a small
following of twenty, and perished with all his gallant men in the
attempt. The monument is placed at the spot where he fell. The
town was at that time in the hands of the Tuaregs, who swarmed
in hundreds round his small band until they had annihilated it.
Several subsequent attempts were made to capture the town before
they finally succeeded. Curiously enough, the capture of Timbuctu
was eventually made by a mere handful of men under a French naval
lieutenant, and was effected by surprise. Since then, although
it has several times been threatened by raiding bands of Tuaregs,
it has never been out of the possession of the French.

On ascending a slight rise in the road, Timbuctu, the Mysterious
City, suddenly comes into view.

As I saw it the scene spread out before me was a strange one. In a
slight depression was the town itself, a conglomeration of sandy,
brown buildings, with flat roofs, while here and there a minaret
obtruded its pointed head. Most prominent of all were three mosques,
one at the east, another at the centre, and the third at the west
of the town. At the extreme western corner were three solitary palm
trees, behind which the sun was dying, and as its last rays caught
the sombre-hued houses they were lit up and stood out more clearly
from the surrounding desert which they so closely resembled.

There was something rather fascinating about this quaint desert
city, so solemn and subdued did it appear to be. But on the whole
my feelings were those of disappointment, for I had expected a far
more imposing-looking place. I had pictured to myself a town of fine
Moorish buildings, minaretted palaces, and the bright appearance
of an Oriental city. It had seemed to me that the influence of
the Moorish occupation must be strongly impressed on Timbuctu,
but this is not so to any marked extent. In point of fact, except
for the three mosques, the general appearance of the town was very
much like many others I had seen on my journey through Western
Soudan—anyhow, in the distance. Timbuctu’s chief difference lies
rather in her surroundings than in her individuality. She is alone
in the desert. The desert surrounds her on all sides. The Niger is
no longer a feature of the scenery; all her water is obtained from
wells. As a matter of fact, sometimes, when the floods have been
heavier than usual, a small backwater occasionally runs up from
Kabara to Timbuctu, but this soon disappears as the floods subside,
and to see water above ground is a rare sight.

[Illustration: A SCENE JUST OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF TIMBUCTU

These natives are Sonrhais who have brought milk for sale. Herds
of cows, also sheep and goats, are kept on the banks of the Niger,
five miles from Timbuctu, and it is the custom when they are giving
plenty of milk to bring it daily to Timbuctu for sale.]

Some of the wells are very deep, going down as much as seventy
metres. The water is very good, however, and is seldom filtered.
After presenting myself to the Commandant I was shown to the house
of the military officer administering the district where I was to
stay. My host, Captain Ferrière, was most thoughtful and obliging
during my sojourn at Timbuctu, and I look back with pleasure to
the pleasant days I spent with him.

I was much disappointed to hear that there was no possibility
of being able to cross the Sahara from Timbuctu direct, as I had
arranged. It appeared that, owing to some raiding bands of Southern
Morocco having descended recently through the very country by which
I wanted to pass, the guides were afraid to go that way. In addition
the heat had this year been more severe than usual, and many wells
were dry. At one stage it was necessary to march ten days without
water. This being the case, I had to abandon all idea of starting
the desert journey from Timbuctu, as I had intended, for to cross
the Sahara without a guide is an absolute impossibility.

There was an alternative route open to me, however; this debouched
from Gao, a place 270 miles further down the Niger, and was
considerably to the east of the route I had proposed to take from
Timbuctu. In addition to the annoyance of having to alter my plans,
I was now somewhat what anxious whether I should be able to arrive
in England by the date my leave expired, for my journey would now
be lengthened by some 700 miles altogether. I was further delayed
a few days at Timbuctu before transport could be arranged for me
to go down the river to Gao. I was told that I could have a steel
canoe or a barge, but the former was much faster although not so
comfortable. Before deciding it was suggested that I should take an
experimental trip in the steel canoe, as the motion in these craft is
rather pronounced and has the effect of making some people sea-sick!

On Sunday morning two French officers and I, having arranged a
shooting picnic on the river, embarked on the steel canoe. This
particular canoe was built expressly light to carry mails rapidly
between Kabara and the down-river ports. She was rather narrow in
the beam, and travelled at a great pace when propelled by her six
paddlers. For the first half-hour I did not feel much inconvenience,
but after this the violent rocking motion made me feel very
uncomfortable; besides, owing to the constant shaking, reading or
writing was out of the question. Finally, I must acknowledge that,
on the return journey, I succumbed, and, indeed, so bad was I that
I had a violent attack of fever before I got ashore. On landing, the
transport officer at Kabara very kindly gave me a bed in his house,
with plenty of blankets and quinine, so that by the next day I was
much better. But this experience with the steel canoe decided me
against that particular form of conveyance, and, at the risk of
taking a few days longer on the journey, I gave an unhesitating
vote for the barge!

During my enforced stay at Timbuctu I had ample leisure to explore
the sights of the place. I was introduced to an interesting
Frenchman, who is popularly known to his friends and the natives
as Yakubu. Yakubu had the reputation, which he thoroughly deserved,
of knowing more about Timbuctu than any man. He had previously been
a Roman Catholic Father in the town, but some years ago had given
up mission work for private life. He now taught native children
purely from a love of teaching. Besides his knowledge of Timbuctu,
he had an intimate acquaintance with Bambaras and Sonrhais and their
languages, which he spoke fluently. It was with “Père” Yakubu
that I made my tour of exploration in the city.

Timbuctu and the exploration of Africa during last century are very
intimately connected. Most of the principal explorers of that time
paid a visit to this historic city. This was perhaps all the more
natural as, at that period, the course of the Niger was a problem
which puzzled everyone, and many of these travellers had in view the
exploration of that river. At Timbuctu are to be seen the houses of
most of these explorers, which have been identified by the French
since their occupation and kept by them in a good state of repair.

Starting with the earliest date comes the house of a
fellow-countryman, Major Laing. This British officer made an
adventurous journey in 1826 from Morocco to Timbuctu, through the
Sahara Desert, and through a land peopled with lawless fanatical
Mohammedans. He accomplished the journey there without mishap, but on
his return by the same route he was waylaid and killed in the desert,
north of Timbuctu. He is said to have been killed by the Kountah
Arabs, who inhabit a portion of the Sahara north of the town; but
it is a point difficult to prove. Some people say that the present
chief of the Kountahs has actually in his possession Laing’s diary
and papers, which were never recovered,[1] but that he is now afraid
of restoring them to the French for fear of punishment. If this is
the case it must have been the present chief’s grandfather who
was responsible for the deed. The next traveller to pass that way
was Réné Caillé, a Frenchman, and, I suppose, the most renowned
French explorer of Africa. He did a wonderful journey in 1828 from
Konakry, in French Guinea, to Morocco. He travelled down the Niger
for many hundred miles on his way to Timbuctu.

After him came the very great African traveller, Barth, whose
house is in better preservation than any other. He was the man
who travelled from Tripoli, through our British protectorate of
Northern Nigeria, to Timbuctu and back, in 1853. Barth spent a
considerable time at Timbuctu, disguised as an Arab trader and
known by the name of Abdul Karim. He had several narrow escapes,
but came successfully out of all his adventures.

The next house to be seen is that of Lenz, an Austrian, who journeyed
from Morocco to Dakar in 1880.

The interior of these houses, as of nearly all the houses in the
town, is of Moorish design. There are generally an inner and an
outer courtyard, on a very small scale. Most of the houses have two
storeys, and all are built of sun-dried bricks, made of the clay
which is found under the sand in the desert. The streets are narrow
and tortuous. They twist and wind in such a curious manner that
a guide is necessary for some time before it is possible to find
one’s own way in the place. At one or two points great clay ovens
are to be seen in the street; these are public property, and here
the local bread is baked. It is a curious sight to watch a crowd of
people round an oven in the daytime, each one putting in his or her
loaf to be baked. This bread is made of a wheat grown at Gundam,
near Timbuctu, and is black. The wheat is, I believe, the same as
is grown in many parts of North Africa, making a very wholesome
and nourishing food, which is the staple diet of the inhabitants.

The history of the mosques brings me to discuss the origin of the
greatness of Timbuctu.

Timbuctu was originally the capital of a great black empire. The
inhabitants were Sonrhais, whose territory extended practically all
over the Middle Niger. The Sonrhay kings were men of great influence,
and the town was the centre of a large trade. For many years Moors
from the north and the black races from the south, east, and west
used to bring their wares to its markets. The Sonrhay Empire was
far the most powerful in Western Africa, continuing to be so till
the Moorish invasion in 1482. The Moors defeated the Sonrhais,
driving them to take refuge on the other bank of the Niger, in
the “Bend.” They were in turn driven out of the town by the
Tuaregs about the seventeenth century, and the Tuaregs remained in
possession until the French finally captured the town at the end
of last century.

Timbuctu was the centre of the traffic in slaves in this part
of Africa, and there is no doubt that at that time it was a
far larger place than it now is. The remains of old houses are
frequently discovered under the sand at some distance from the
existing boundaries of the city, while it seems very probable that
the Niger once flowed past its walls.

The Sonrhais certainly extended in olden times from Djenné, in the
south, to Es-Souk, in the north. The latter place is now right in
the Sahara, about the 21st parallel north latitude. But now this
once powerful race has greatly degenerated. Since their conquest
by the Moors, and then by the Tuaregs, they have been in perpetual
slavery; thus their spirit appears to have become quite crushed,
and the race has been split up into little groups. We have met them
in fractions all over the “Bend” of the Niger, and they are
again to be found in small parties lower down that river. They have
intermarried a good deal with their last conquerors, the Tuaregs,
whom they frequently resemble in features. The negroid type of the
pure Sonrhay has in many cases almost disappeared, while they have
become paler in complexion, although they are still much blacker
than the Tuaregs.

The mosques date from the eleventh century, and have curious
pyramidical minarets. During the sixteenth century they had arches
of Moorish design added to them by the Moorish chief Mali, who
then occupied the town. Here the remarkable influence of the desert
sand is noticeable, for, to get to the arches which are inside the
mosques, a descent of three or four feet from the level of the street
outside has to be made. This shows that sand to the thickness of
several feet has gradually become heaped on to the ground outside,
thereby heightening the level of the surface.

The chief trade of the city is salt. This is brought by large
caravans periodically from the desert mines of Taudény, 300
miles north of the place. The salt is cut in rectangular bars, or
flat slabs, weighing each about sixty pounds. When the caravans
arrive, from November till March, the price of salt is down to
five francs a bar, but it rises rapidly as the hot weather goes
on, so that by the month of August a bar of salt will often cost
twenty-five francs. These salt caravans are frequently attacked by
desert highwaymen. Desert bands have been known to travel immense
distances in order to attack one of them. Frequently they make
a descent from South-west Morocco, over 800 miles of the Sahara,
with the object of looting the camels of the “Azalai,” as the
big caravan of November is called.

At Timbuctu one experiences the true Saharan sirocco, a violent wind
blowing from the north-east. This wind is said to originate in the
sand-hills, called the “Great Erg,” south-west of Tunisia. It
blows straight across the desert for over 1800 miles, driving clouds
of sand in front of it. There is nothing to obstruct its progress,
for no mountains of any consequence lie across its path. Hence this
wind appears to be gradually pushing the Sahara further south in the
vicinity of Timbuctu. It has probably been the means of isolating
the town from the Niger, for it has caused the desert to encroach
on the left bank of the river converting the land here into a sandy
waste. The sand I had experienced hitherto was nothing compared to
the sand at Timbuctu. The streets are several inches deep in soft
sand, it is nearly always blowing gales of sand; and as a result
of all this every corner of a house and all one’s possessions
are invaded by sand. But on account of this dry atmosphere Timbuctu
is a very healthy place; sickness of any sort is uncommon, and the
natives are said to be remarkable for their longevity.

The only domestic animals seen in the town are camels, horses,
and donkeys. There are no cows, sheep, or even goats, for the
simple reason that there is nothing for these animals to eat.
Camels never stay long at Timbuctu, but are sent out to pasturage
some distance away, where there is more desert vegetation. Donkeys
seem to live on what they can pick up at Kabara, where they go most
days to carry loads. Horses are fed on imported forage.

Camels, of course, come in hundreds to Timbuctu, as they form the
bulk of the animal transport for desert caravans. It is a strange
sight to watch these hardy desert people, trudging in with their
camels from the vast unknown waste, their faces half hidden in cloths
to keep out the ever-blowing sand, looking weary and worn after
the hardships they have had to endure on the way. Lack of water and
want of food, besides the anxieties of keeping the right direction,
tell on these men, imprinting on their faces a stern, careworn
look. The camels are generally the property of Arabs, either the
Kountah tribe, who are the nearest to Timbuctu, or the Berabeesh, who
wander farther to the north in the desert. The best animals belong to
the latter tribe, possibly because they are farther from the river,
and the Niger water does not agree with these animals. Moreover,
camels which live near the river naturally get into the habit of
drinking more frequently than otherwise, thus losing to a large
extent their powers of existing many days without water.

CHAPTER XVIII

Preparing to cross the desert — Articles for barter — My barge
— My new “boy” — My crew — Stranded — A miserable people
— “Cram-cram” — Borgou — Bamba — Under sail — A variety
of game — The defile of Tosaye — The “Oued Telemsi” — A
curious coloured clay — Gao — A lazy class — Mosques at Gao
— A perilous journey — Giraffe.

ON the 12th of April my barge was to be ready for me at Kabara. I had
asked the Commandant to send a telegram to the authorities at Gao,
advising them of the probable date of my arrival there, and asking
that the necessary camels and guide should be ready for me. I thus
hoped to avoid further delay, as time was of such importance to me.

While at Timbuctu I had gleaned some information about the probable
line of wells I should follow from Gao, for I had not previously
studied this part of the Sahara, but only that portion I had intended
to cross from Timbuctu in accordance with my original plans. The
information at Timbuctu even was very scanty, and I was told that
before arriving at Gao it would not be possible to find out any more.

Before leaving Timbuctu I arranged for the despatch of the heads
and skins I had collected since leaving Bamako. They were consigned
to a French firm, who agreed to have them sent through their head
establishment in France to my home address. They would, of course,
go up the Niger and down the Senegal River to the coast. On arriving
at Bamako I had similarly arranged for the despatch of the trophies
I had collected on my way from Sierra Leone. As the Senegal River
would be at its driest during the next three or four months,
it was probable that my things would not arrive in England for
several months.

Another important matter was to cash my drafts at Timbuctu before
leaving, and to lay in a supply of the most useful articles for
barter _en route_. Below Timbuctu very little money is used on the
Niger. Salt and a blue cotton stuff are in great requisition for the
purchase of anything. The cotton stuff is called “guinée” by
the French. If it is required to buy a fowl or sheep the procedure
is to break off a piece of salt from one of the big bars or to tear
off a small portion of the “guinée” and give that in exchange
for the article to be purchased. The “guinée” is measured in
“coudées,” or forearm lengths. Between Gao and Timbuctu a
sheep can be bought for two or three “coudées,” but as one
gets farther from the river, on entering the desert, the price
of everything naturally rises rapidly, while in many places even
untold “guinée coudées” will not tempt the native to part
with his produce.

I therefore converted a portion of my cash into salt and
“guinée.” I was also advised to get in a stock of a certain
kind of food which is very useful in the desert and not obtainable
at Gao. This is called “couscous.” It consists merely of the
wheat used for Timbuctu bread, prepared in a particular way. The
wheat is unhusked and then steamed for some hours. It is dry and
very portable, at the same time it softens quickly in a little water,
and is easily digested. “Couscous” can be carried in a bag slung
across a camel, and will keep for months in this manner. Frequently
there is not time to stop for a meal in the desert, when a handful of
“couscous” can be conveniently moistened in a tumbler of water
without dismounting from the camel. I took a large quantity with me
and found it invaluable. It lasted me all the way across the Sahara.

My barge was about sixty feet long, with a well-covered portion,
about thirty feet long, in the centre, in which I lived. The rest of
the space was for the crew and my servant. I had my bed pitched in
one end of my room, my baggage being arranged all around it, while
the table was in the centre. There was plenty of room, and it was
not uncomfortable. The covering was made of strong palm-thatch,
and was high enough to give plenty of space for a man to stand
upright in the room underneath.

The barge was worked by a crew of eight and a boatswain. They
generally used poles, but sometimes paddled the craft.

In the early morning, until the sun got too hot, I used to sit on
the top of my awning with my shot-gun and rifle beside me, often
getting a shot at a bird or crocodile. It was very pleasant in
the fresh morning air, watching the changing scenery as we glided
steadily past the banks. In the middle of the day I used to halt,
near a village if possible, for lunch. This plan gave the crew a
rest, and was welcomed by everyone as a chance of getting ashore.
In the evening I also used to halt for dinner, but it was then
often dark before we got ashore.

Sometimes, when the banks were favourable, we would tie a rope
on to the mast and tow the barge, while the boatswain sat at the
rudder, shouting out directions to the men on the tow-line. During
the heat of the day, when sitting in my room, I found ample time
for, and occupation in writing up my notes, which had not had as
careful attention as I could have wished while I was hunting in
the “Bend” of the Niger. I cannot say that I ever found the
time hanging heavily on my hands, although, of course, there were
moments when I should have been very glad of a companion.

At Timbuctu I had not been sorry to part with my servant Mamadu,
and had got a far better “boy” in his place. My new factotum was
called Musa. He was a Hausa from the Zaberma country, north-west
of Northern Nigeria, who had for a time been employed by a French
officer at Timbuctu, but was now out of work. Besides being a
better and more trustworthy servant, he had some experience of the
desert. He had been for two years the “boy” of Commandant Gadel,
a distinguished French officer, who had travelled considerably in
the Eastern Sahara. Musa was a hard-working and devoted “boy.”
He had some fairly rough times while in the desert with me, and bore
all the hardships and discomforts uncomplainingly. He was a fine
type of native, standing a little over six feet, with a broad chest
and sturdy arms, and, like most Hausas, was an excellent marcher,
a most indispensable asset for my servant.

My crew were Bambaras, who are preferred by the French as boatmen on
their Niger craft. They are very strong, and wonderfully enduring. My
crew worked day and night for seven days continuously. By day the
whole crew were on duty, while at night they worked in two reliefs,
one half resting and the other half working. We seldom halted for
more than three hours per diem—an hour at midday and two hours
in the evening—so that they really had very little rest.

The Bambaras hold the Sonrhais in great contempt, forgetful of
the day when the Sonrhay was a far more powerful individual than
was the Bambara, and, indeed, held many of that race in slavery.
But times had changed, and it was amusing to hear the scathing
remarks of my boatswain as we passed a Sonrhay canoe or habitation.
He used to say they were a miserable people, more like sheep than
men, because they ate grass growing on the Niger banks! The Bambaras
are rather proud and great spendthrifts. They like to live on the
fat of the land, considering a man who is content with humbler diet
as a miserable creature, not even worthy of pity.

The first few miles of the journey after leaving Kabara lay through
a shallow stream, which was the waterway connecting Kabara with
the Niger on the east. This stream was so shallow that we had
considerable difficulty in moving at all. The barge only drew about
nine inches of water, but in spite of this she kept on sticking on
the mud. When this happened the crew had to get out and push until
we got clear. Progress was very slow. Finally, about half a mile
before reaching the Niger, there was practically no water at all.
Our efforts to move the barge were fruitless, and unless we got
help we seemed likely to stick for months, until the water rose.
Accordingly, I sent some of the crew to seek out the nearest village
and bring assistance. It took some fifty men to get us out of our
difficulties, and then it was only effected by digging a trench
under the barge, through which she was hauled by the triumphant,
yelling mob of natives.

Owing to the delay caused by the shallow water our progress that
day was not great. In twelve hours we had only covered eight miles.
But during the remainder of the voyage we averaged thirty-five miles
in the twenty-four hours. As this included a halt of about three
hours daily, and only half the crew were at work during the night,
the result was not bad.

The whole way down the river from Kabara to Gao the banks are
populated by Sonrhais. I must own to rather agreeing with my friend
the Bambara boatswain. These people are certainly very wretched
specimens of humanity. The Sonrhais on this portion of the Niger
seem to have degenerated more than those whom I had hitherto met.
They are absolutely poverty-stricken, and apparently make no effort
to ameliorate their position. They possess practically no cattle
or sheep, but live on rotting fish and grass. The former is in
great evidence all down the Niger. There are tanks where the fish
are caught, and drying-places close by. In the latter the fish are
left to rot, when they are taken away and eaten. The stench from
these places is truly disgusting. Even the Bambaras used to turn
up their noses at it.

The grass they eat is of two kinds—the “borgou,” with which
I was now so familiar, and which is eaten raw or in a kind of
soup, and “cram-cram.” “Cram-cram” is a grass peculiar
to desert vegetation; it is intensely prickly, and it is the seed
of this that is boiled and eaten by the Sonrhais of this locality.
“Cram-cram” is a very nourishing seed, I was given to understand.
The flocks of the desert are very partial to this grass, as are also
camels. It has the annoying habit of sticking to one’s legs as
one walks through it, just as burrs do in England. “Cram-cram”
is worse, however, than a burr, because it breaks up into countless
little prickles, each one so fine that it can hardly be seen. These
prickles have points as sharp as a needle, which stick into the
fingers of the hapless victim, and are hard to extract because
they are so hard to locate. I once saw a French officer who had a
little dog which was suffering from “cram-cram.” The poor little
creature was in tortures, and unable to withdraw these miniature
daggers from his toes. It took some time and patience on our part
before we could relieve him of all of them.

In some places we would pass a temporary village of Fulanis, who
had come down to the water-side to allow their cattle to graze on
the luxuriant “borgou.” Occasionally, also, we would see an
encampment of Tuaregs, who had selected this spot as favourable
for their flocks of sheep and goats. These people generally stay on
the higher ground to the north of the river, but, at this season,
when the grass is scorched by the hot sun and grazing is poor for
their animals, they approach the Niger in order to find pasturage
for their flocks.

The river here is more than half a mile wide in its navigable
channel, but there are besides several hundred yards of “borgou”
swamps on either side. Near the villages a channel is cut through
this stuff, by which canoes can approach. Otherwise it forms an
impenetrable mass on the edges of the water. In the hot season
the “borgou” is left isolated, as the river falls, until it
dies away for want of moisture; for water is a necessity to the
existence of this grass.

On the left bank the desert seems to commence almost as soon as the
water is left. Stretches of sand, with a little stunted vegetation,
characterize the country on this side of the Niger. The ground rises
in a series of parallel sand-dunes towards the interior. On the
right bank there is more vegetation, and apparently more human life.

On the 15th we arrived at the post of Bamba. This little place
is practically the most northern point of the “Bend” of
the Niger. For this reason it has been a favourite objective
for the marauding bands of the desert in the past, and, even now,
is sometimes descended on by a party of these intrepid highwaymen
should they find a good opportunity. It is naturally easier for
them to raid the place geographically nearest their desert wilds,
and then to escape before retribution is visited upon them. At
Bamba there are a French Commissioner and a European in charge
of the Post and Telegraph Office. One curious feature of Bamba
is the existence of a few date palms. These were planted by the
Moors during their occupation of the country about A.D. 1500, and
are practically the only ones in the Western Soudan. Dates seen in
the country are generally imported from the oases of the Sahara,
many hundred miles to the northward. Here, much to the delight of
my crew, I gave them a present of a sheep, and made a longer halt
than usual that evening to give them time to cook it.

The Commissioner, with whom I had dined, came down to the river to
see me off, as I started about 9 p.m.

The effects of a heavy meal of sheep had evidently been too much
for my Bambaras, for I found them one and all sleeping soundly and
snoring lustily. We had great difficulty in arousing them from their
torpor, so that it was considerably after the appointed hour when
we got under way. There was a fair breeze blowing, of which we took
advantage to hoist our sail. The river in this section runs almost
due east, and as the wind is usually from the east or north-east, we
had not previously had an opportunity of trying to sail. Under the
starry sky we sped rapidly along, and I sat outside for some time,
enjoying the cool air and the beautiful tropical night. In the early
morning the wind shifted to its accustomed quarter, and we found
ourselves opposed by a strong easterly gale. Generally speaking,
this wind lasted from 5 a.m. till 11 a.m., and we made but little
progress during these hours. Small wavelets would play over the
face of the Niger, and a heavy spray would be blown on board.

The river was now at its widest, and from shore to shore must
have been well over three miles. How strange it seemed to look
at this vast, broad stream and to think of its appearance when I
first saw it at its birth, near the Tembikunda Mountains. It had
travelled far since those days, having covered about 1200 miles.
This portion of the river contains many islands, which are covered
by water when the Niger rises, but are the habitation of Fulani
and Tuareg with their herds and flocks at this time of the year.
Landing on these islands for the evening halt, one was always sure
of finding some duck and teal in the ponds and swamps upon them.

The red-fronted gazelle and kob are plentiful. The former is found
chiefly on the left bank, as being more sandy and desert-like,
while the latter has its favourite haunts on the right bank, where
the marshy ground is suited to its habits. On the left bank I was
informed there were giraffe, but I never saw their tracks. I think,
however, that it is very probable giraffe are found between Bamba
and Bourem, where the country seems well suited to them. Senegal
haartebeest are on both banks. In the river there are a few hippo
pools, but hippopotami did not seem as plentiful here as they had
been higher up the Niger. The stately marabout and the picturesque
crown-bird were both familiar objects on the Niger landscape. The
latter bird was particularly common about here, and was easy to
approach. The crown-bird, or crested crane, is certainly one of
the handsomest birds found on this part of the Niger, for its fine
plumage and quaint straw-coloured crest at once distinguish it from
the ordinary waterfowl here seen.

On the 16th of April, about 7 a.m., we approached the Defile of
Tosaye. This was rather an interesting point in the Niger scenery,
for here, for the first time since the Rapids of Kienefala, near
Bamako, the river gathers a more rapid current. On the whole
the Niger current is sluggish, as the fall of the land from the
Tembikunda Mountains to the sea is so gradual. But at Tosaye the
stream is forced through a narrow defile, and the water, which
just before was spread over a breadth of at least two miles, is
compressed into a width of 500 to 600 yards. The rush of water is
remarkable in comparison to the slow, steady flow to which we had
so long been accustomed.

The entrance to the defile is a pretty sight. On either side
there begins to appear a low ridge of laterite rocks, which
gradually rises to a height of forty feet above the level of the
stream, in a precipitous mass. The whole length of the defile is
three miles, while three distinct rocky barriers cross the river
transversely. These transverse barriers render navigation dangerous
and arduous. A fourth barrier, passing longitudinally up and down
stream, divides the waterway into two nearly equal passages. The
current flows at a rate of six to eight knots an hour at this time
of year, but when the river is in full flood the rush of water must
be tremendous. In the channels themselves there are numerous jagged
rocks projecting, or half-hidden under water. Navigation, therefore,
is a risky business, and the frail native canoes often get dashed
to pieces against one of them. There is an old French fort, at a
bend in the defile, perched on the top of the rocks on the right
bank. The place is now disused, but was built originally to command
the Tosaye defile when the French first occupied this portion of
the country. Except for this narrow fringe of rocks on each side,
the country is of a sandy nature, covered with the usual sparse,
desert-like vegetation.

On emerging from the defile the transition is almost as rapid as it
was on entering Tosaye, for the rocks rapidly disappear, the river
quickly resumes its former width, and the current reverts to its
normal pace.

About twenty miles below Tosaye is the post of Bourem. The chief
interest of Bourem lies in the fact that it is at the mouth of
the “Wad Telemsi,” or “Oued Telemsi.” This is a dried-up
watercourse, descending from the heart of the Sahara to the River
Niger. In olden times it must have been an important tributary of the
river, but now water does not flow in it above the surface; below
the surface, however, there is water, and for this reason there is
a well-defined line of wells along the watercourse, and it forms a
trade route for caravans travelling from the Sahara to the Niger.
It follows that Bourem is a place frequented by caravans, although
it is not of much importance in itself, and these caravans merely
use it as a halting-place _en route_ to the bigger markets of Gao
or Timbuctu.

At Bourem there is found a curious coloured clay, which is used
for houses. There are three colours of this clay, pink, violet, and
white. The town itself lies up a small branch of the Niger, about
five miles from the main stream. When the river is at its fullest
the main stream covers all the intervening land, making one wide
expanse of water with its small branch, and, at this period, Bourem
has the Niger flowing at its very walls. The town is built on a high
rise of ground, so is at all times clearly visible from the Niger.

Soon after leaving Tosaye and before arriving at Bourem, the river
takes a decided turn south-east, as it enters on its course down the
big “Bend.” Between this point and a prominent spur on the left
bank, called Mount Tondibi, the width again increases to over four
miles. As Gao is approached the width decreases to about two miles,
and the channel is interrupted by several islands and large masses
of “borgou.” On the right bank a ridge of sand-hills makes
its appearance, running close to the water’s edge. This part
of the country is the centre of a large rice-growing population,
the quality of whose rice, if not the quantity, compares favourably
with that grown in Macina.

At the landing-stage at Gao I was met by a French officer, who
conducted me to the Commandant. As it was late that evening the
Commandant would not hear of business being discussed till the
following day. I was given a comfortable dwelling in the officers’
mess quarters, who, with their usual hospitality, insisted on my
remaining their guest during my stay at Gao. On landing at Gao the
first sight which strikes the visitor is a number of huge skulls of
elephant, set up on high pedestals, adorning the front of the fort.
These animals have been shot at various times by the officers
stationed at Gao, and their skulls have been put to this rather
singular use. Gao is quite the best planned station on the Upper
and Middle Niger. A fine avenue of trees has been planted along the
river bank; behind this lie the Commandant’s house, the fort, and
the native quarter respectively. The native quarter has been built
some distance away from the Europeans’ houses, so that there is
a fine open space between them. The houses are substantially built,
with big rooms and lofty flat roofs. The desert is behind the town,
so that its well-to-do appearance is all the more striking.

I came across a class of people here whom I had not previously
met. These were the Armas. They are a fusion of the Moorish and
Sonrhay races, and are found in small groups between Bamba and Gao.
Apparently they are a lazy, good-for-nothing people, who consider
themselves superior to the Sonrhais and refuse to work. Now that
slavery and serfdom are rapidly dying out, this tribe will find
existence somewhat difficult unless they change their habits. The
officer administering Gao told me he had given them notice that if
they did not shortly show some intention of working he would turn
them out of the town. In appearance they are more like the Moors
than the Sonrhais, but are darker than the former. They have their
own quarter in the place, and also have a mosque to themselves.

There are two fine mosques at Gao, one of which is three centuries
old.

At Gao I used to stroll in the evening on the flat roof of my abode
and gaze over the vast desert stretched out in front of me, wondering
what adventures that solemn, forbidding expanse held in store for me.

The Commandant had arranged for camels for me and a guide, but
they would not be ready for a few days, so I had a little time to
complete my preparations. In the meantime the Commandant did his
best to dissuade me from attempting to cross the desert, wishing
me to return to Europe through Dahomey, which was the quickest
way from Gao. His reasons were that my journey would be difficult
and dangerous, and my chances of arriving at the other end of the
Sahara in safety were remote. He said that quite recently they had
had reports of the movement of a marauding party of Arabs who were
within easy reach of the line of wells I should probably follow.
Further, there was a bad stretch of desert to be crossed, called the
Tanezrouft, in which there were no wells for seven days, and, at this
hot season of the year, the passage of this waterless tract would
be particularly arduous. I dare say he felt that it was his duty to
try to dissuade me from my enterprise, and probably thought besides
that he might be held responsible should any mishap befall me.

With some difficulty I explained that before leaving Sierra Leone
I was aware of the hardships and dangers likely to be encountered,
and that I should be extremely foolish to turn back at this point of
my travels. Moreover, having obtained permission for the journey,
I had no intention of abandoning it now. I think he was finally
convinced that I was firm in my resolves, and he then gave up
further attempts to shake them. To avoid any possibility of blame
being attached to him in the event of any accident to me, I signed a
paper stating that he had tried to make me abandon my desert journey,
but in spite of his warnings I had decided to carry it out. He was
particularly distressed because he could not send an escort with me,
for in the hot season most of the camels of his troops were out at
pasturage, and many had not recovered from their hard work of the
previous cold season. However, I told him I had never expected to
have an escort, and he must not be anxious on that account. As it
happened, he was sending some stores and ammunition to a French
detachment at a place called Kidal, about 170 miles north in the
Sahara, and so it was arranged that this escort should accompany me,
as Kidal lay on my route.

In the meantime we arranged a small hunting expedition to occupy
the time till my camels should be ready. One of the French officers
and I planned to go out to a place about one day’s march distant
to hunt giraffe.

We pitched our camp a few miles from the Niger on its right bank;
it was a place with a reputation for being frequented by giraffe,
and I had great hopes of getting a shot at one. The country was of
the usual sandy nature, with a certain amount of mimosa and scrubby
vegetation. The giraffe is extremely fond of the mimosa tree,
so it seemed likely I might find them at their feeding-time about
here. This interesting animal is very hard to see, as its curious
speckled colour assimilates well with the sandy surroundings, while
its long neck peeps through the leafy top of a mimosa and is hardly
discernible. Giraffes come down to the Niger to drink at night,
returning before dawn to their feeding-grounds in the interior,
and for this reason they are difficult to come across. Besides,
they are very shy. A giraffe will usually perceive you long before
you have perceived him, and he can travel both fast and far in a
day. A curious fact about the giraffe near Gao is that they are said
often to break the telegraph wire with their long necks as they go
down to the Niger to drink, for they do not notice the thin wire
as they pass it.

It seems a pity that large numbers of these giraffe are slaughtered
annually by the natives for their skins, which are used to make
shoe-soles, purses, etc. The giraffe is only found in comparatively
few places now, and it is to be feared that it will soon be
exterminated in this part of Africa, should stringent measures
not be adopted to prevent its wholesale massacre. The giraffe here
seemed generally to be in small numbers. I never noticed the tracks
of more than three together. In those cases there seemed to be one
a great deal smaller than the other two, which makes one imagine
that they do not breed much, there being only one baby in most of
these families. The natives hunt giraffe on horseback, pursuing
them many miles inland until they get weary, when they are easier
to approach. A horse will generally wear down a giraffe, although
the latter has a greater turn of speed.

Our camp at Gangaber was suddenly broken up by the news that the
camels and guide would be ready two days sooner than I had expected,
so we returned to Gao at once without getting a shot at giraffe.

CHAPTER XIX

THE preparations to be made for a journey across the Sahara are
many, as I soon found out at Gao. It was not merely a question
of arranging for the hire of camels and the services of a guide,
but various other points wanted careful attention.

To start with, the baggage had to be made up in loads suitable
for camel transport, and, naturally, on a pack animal a far more
accurate adjustment of weights is necessary than is the case
with carriers. Besides, I found that cases of provisions, my tin
travelling bath, and even my camp table (Uganda pattern), were the
reverse of being comfortable loads on the desert camel, although
they had been very compact for transport on porters’ heads. All
these things had to be either left behind or put into leathern bags,
called “mesoued.” A bag is quite the easiest form of baggage for
a camel to carry. Two of these can be slung over the pack-saddle,
and the weights easily adjusted by taking something out of the
heavier and adding it to the lighter one. No ropes are necessary
to tie a “mesoued” on to the saddle, while boxes and such-like
loads have to be strapped round with cords, and tied on to hooks
on the pack-saddle. These ropes, however strong, break sooner or
later, with the result that your cases fall with a crash to the
ground and the contents are probably scattered in all directions.

As this was my first experience of the desert I had to learn all
these little points, but, fortunately for me, my French friends
helped me with much practical advice, making my task much easier. I
had to retain some of my cases, however, as sufficient bags were
not forthcoming, and I rather unwisely decided to retain my bath.
Although water would be scarce on the way, I could not help thinking
that the luxury of a bath when I did arrive at a well would be too
great to forego!

I replenished my stock of rice so as to have sufficient to ration
my servant and guide, and at the same time I carefully overhauled
my tinned provisions. My supply of the latter was decidedly low,
but there were no means of increasing it now; besides, I had made
up my mind to live on the simplest fare, such as farinaceous food,
in order not to augment unduly the number of camels in my caravan
by having too many loads. I had, however, to arrange for sufficient
rations to last till my arrival at Insalah, in about seven weeks’
time. I was informed that at the oasis of Insalah I should be able
to reprovision myself for the remainder of the desert journey.

Another most important item for consideration was the means
for carrying water. Big glass demijohns are impracticable in the
desert. They make the water hot, and are extremely likely to break,
should a camel drop its load, or even if the beast should knock up
against one of his fellows, in his usual clumsy manner. The French
use two kinds of water-carriers. The one mostly used, and invariably
used by the nomads of the desert, is a leather water-skin, called
“guerba,” which is generally porous, and therefore leaks to a
certain extent, but keeps the water cool, and is easily slung on
a camel’s back.

The other kind is an iron or aluminium cylindrical vessel, which
can be locked if necessary, and cannot break. The water therein
contained gets very hot, but is never wasted as in a “guerba.”
I was obliged to take “guerbas,” as no metal carriers were
available. And I provided myself with eight of these.

In connection with the subject of water, which is, indeed, the
vital item in desert marches, I had to arrange to have some means
of drawing water from a well. This is a more serious problem than
may be thought, for wells in the Sahara are often seventy yards
or more deep. In one case I recollect there was a well over 330
feet deep! To draw water from such a depth a long rope of hide
is required, at the end of which is attached a leather bucket,
called “délou.” Spare material of all kinds must be carried,
as a caravan must be absolutely self-contained from start to finish,
and any omissions in calculating requisite stores are likely to be
heavily paid for in the desert.

All gear has to be thoroughly tested as to its strength and
durability before embarking on a journey, and this is a matter to
be attended to personally, for a native cannot be trusted.

Of course, two most important items are the camels and the guide. My
animals belonged to the Kountah Arabs, who wander in that part of
the Sahara north of Gao, while the guide was also a Kountah Arab,
named Sidi Mahomed. I had a second guide for the journey as far as
Kidal, a Tuareg, from the Ifora country, through which I should pass.

The camels were rather a sorry-looking lot of animals, whose
aspect was not reassuring to a person about to start on a long
desert march, but the Kountah chief, from whom I hired them,
vouched for their ability to take me and my belongings safely to
Kidal. I had no intention of keeping these camels or the guides
beyond Kidal, but would hire a fresh caravan there. The Commandant
kindly helped in this matter by sending a camel-runner in advance
to the officer commanding the post at Kidal, to prepare camels
and a guide for me. These camel-couriers travel much faster than
a caravan. We calculated to take twelve days over the journey,
whereas he would accomplish it in five or six. The courier’s
mount is a fast-trotting camel, which at a pinch can cover about
fifty miles a day.

[Illustration: THE DEPARTURE FROM GAO

The loads are being adjusted before my caravan starts on its long
trek across the Sahara. All baggage has to be securely bound with
rope to the pack-saddle, as the camel has a playful way of ridding
himself of a load by shaking his unwieldy frame, by kicking violently
with his grotesque hind-legs, or by rubbing the offending package
vigorously against a neighbour’s flanks until he succeeds in
dislodging it.]

On the 23rd of April all was ready, and I decided to start that
afternoon, so as to avoid marching in the day when it was hot. As
I gazed for the last time at the broad, calm bosom of the Niger,
flowing gently by the walls of Gao on its way to the sea, I could not
help feeling rather serious, and wondering when I should again see
running water, if, indeed, ever. Before me was the unknown mystery
of the great Sahara Desert, and in it I was to pass many long and
weary days before I should arrive in a country watered by running
streams. How often should I not long for a glimpse of the cool,
rippling river I was now looking on for the last time! For days I
must be content with the sight of a well, if I was to see any water
at all; and, at the time, I hardly realized how welcome the sight of
that well would be. About 4 p.m., as the sun was losing its power,
having bidden adieu to my good hosts at Gao, I prepared to start.

All the Europeans at the station were assembled to see me
off. I fully believe most of them thought I should never reach my
destination. I promised the Commandant to write to him as soon as I
reached Insalah to announce my safe arrival so far. There were many
cameras raised to get a snapshot of my party before their departure,
and then we were off.

My escort consisted of one non-commissioned officer and six
soldiers, all natives, belonging to the Senegalese Tirailleurs. I
had one riding-camel for myself and four baggage camels, one of the
latter being lightly laden, and carrying my servant for a portion
of the day’s march. The remaining camels, numbering eighteen,
were carrying Government stores for Kidal. I waited behind to allow
the string of camels to file off in front of me before mounting my
own animal, and following in their wake.

I intended to march till sunset that evening, and then halt for a
few hours’ rest until the moon got up. As soon as the moon rose
I would start again, and march till eight or nine the following
morning. I was anxious to march as little as possible during the
day because of the intense heat. Besides, most of the tirailleurs
were on foot, and night marching would be less fatiguing for them.
The predominant question of water also had to be thought of, as a
man wants to drink less if halted in the heat than if he is marching
at that time.

The southern portion of the Sahara about Gao is desert in the
sense of being a deserted land, that is to say a land without any
fixed inhabitants. There are comparatively few parts of the Sahara
which are absolutely deserted by mankind, for almost the whole
of this lonely region has a population of nomads. These nomads,
it is true, are very few in numbers, and rarely stay in one spot
for any length of time. Their movements are dictated by two things.
Firstly, the state of the pasturage in the locality where they are
is an all-important factor. Nomads of the desert must of necessity
be mounted on camels, chiefly, if not entirely, for they are the
only animals adapted to an existence which entails long periods
without water. But camels, like other animals, must feed fairly
regularly, although they can live some time without drinking, hence
the necessity for these nomads to have pasturage for their beasts.
The nomad then remains in a certain locality in the desert for as
long as there is food for his camels; he then moves on to a fresh
spot with suitable feeding for his camels. To a large extent the
proximity and quality of the water in the nearest wells are of
minor importance to the question of a good pasturage. The desert
nomad has perforce to be a hardy creature or he would very soon die
of starvation or thirst. His wants in the way of food are small and
easily satisfied, while he trains himself to exist, like his camel,
on little water. To a large extent he suits his life and movements
to the welfare of his beast.

Now, although the southern portion of the Central Sahara is a
deserted country, the greater part of the section inhabited by the
Kountah Arabs and the Ouilli-miden Tuaregs, viz. from the latitude
of Bourem to the latitude of Zinder, is comparatively fertile in a
certain kind of vegetation. This vegetation is of a peculiar kind,
but includes the mimosa shrub and cram-cram grass, besides other
things the camel likes to feed on. There is comparatively little
space with no vegetation of some kind growing upon it. Water is
scarce everywhere, and is only found in wells, but it is rare that
one has to march more than sixty miles without passing a well.

For the first nine days my route lay through the country of the
Kountahs. We seldom met any people, however. Occasionally, at a
well, one would come across a few men drawing water, which they
would load up on camels, or sometimes on donkeys, and thus transport
it to their encampment, which was probably some miles distant, and
generally far away from the possible tracks of a passing caravan. I
suppose the mere fact of a man electing to pass his life in the
Sahara is a sufficient indication that, for some reason or other,
he wishes to shun other mortals as much as possible. His motive may
be a criminal one, or merely the desire for a hermit existence;
whichever it is, in the case of these people, there is no doubt
that they have a decided reluctance to coming into contact with
strangers, unless for purposes of loot!

The route I had taken was not the shortest one to Kidal. My quickest
way would have been through Kerchouel, a well almost due north
of Gao, and to the east of my direction, but the guide said that
this line of wells via Kerchouel was in a bad state. According to
him several of the wells were dry, or had so little water as to be
insufficient for even our small caravan. I afterwards discovered
that the man was lying, and, for private reasons, did not wish to
go by Kerchouel, for the wells there were no drier than were those
on our route. It so happened that this particular year had been a
drier one than usual, and all the wells were in a lower condition
than usual for the time of year.

In this portion of the Sahara there is a periodical rainfall,
which, of course, accounts for the vegetation being less poor than
elsewhere. The rainfall consists of some three or four tornadoes,
averaging possibly one or two inches in the year. These tornadoes
come between the months of July and September, and it is due to
them that the wells fill up. Sometimes a well, or line of wells in
an “oued,” fill up when there is apparently no rain that year,
but this is to be attributed to the fact that rain has fallen in some
far-off locality—possibly at a distance of a hundred miles—and,
by some curious subterranean system, there is a connection between
the spot where the rain has fallen and the particular “oued”
in which the wells are situated. The whole question of where the
water originates which fills up certain wells in the Sahara is
a complicated and interesting one. Until all the desert has been
thoroughly surveyed it will be difficult to do more than guess at
the solution of some of these problems.

One article of baggage which I had brought, and which I thought
would be of the greatest value in the Sahara, was my tent. When
halting during the middle of the day the heat was intense. Shade
was scarce, for the mimosas, the nearest approach to trees, were at
the best stunted shrubs, affording little shade. My tent, however,
consisting as it did of a single fly, seemed to retain the heat to a
great extent, although, of course, it afforded some welcome shade. I
found the hours from 11 a.m. till 3 p.m. most trying. It was so hot
that it was difficult to work, yet it was much too hot to sleep. I
always welcomed the hour for the evening departure. Marching was
certainly cooler than halting, and often it was less tiring.

[Illustration: A TUAREG HERD, IN OUZEL

The last signs of life before entering the waterless desert of
Tanezrouft.]

I usually rode for the first two hours, and about sunset dismounted
to rest my camel and to stretch my legs. If it was a moonlight night
I used to walk for several hours, but on a dark night walking was
not so pleasant. The country about here was usually open, and it
was possible to march, even on a moonless night, without fear of
the camels coming to grief.

It was a strange place this desert, and gave me a queer, eerie
feeling. On all sides a death-like stillness prevailed; for hours,
and sometimes for days, we would walk without seeing a single soul.
For miles there would be no signs of animal life, then suddenly
a herd of gazelle would come into view, feeding on the desert,
scrubby grass, and at the sight of the caravan away they would
scamper, frightened at the unwonted sight of man.

In this part of the Sahara there were a fair number of Loder’s
gazelle. This creature can live without water, and its habitat is
always a desert country. It obtains a certain amount of moisture
from the sap in certain plants and grasses, which appears to amply
suffice for the little animal. The gazelle is a very pale, creamy
buff colour, almost white under the belly, and stands twenty-eight
inches high. It is extremely graceful, like most gazelle, and
almost invariably starts its flight, when disturbed, by a series
of big bounds, wherewith to gain impetus. I generally saw about
six in a herd, but sometimes I have known them to include as many
as twenty. The venison formed an excellent change from ordinary
diet, and was, of course, the only chance of getting fresh meat
in the desert. The nomads, whom we occasionally met near a well,
had flocks of goats and sheep, but would not sell their animals
for untold quantities of “guinée.”

Quite in the southernmost parts of the Sahara, within thirty or
forty miles of the Niger, I saw a few greater bustard, and at times,
when near a well, I have even seen guinea-fowl several days’
march from the river. As there was no running water for them to
drink at, I can only conclude that these birds used to go down the
wells to drink. In the same way I saw ringdoves near wells once or
twice, far in the interior of the Sahara, and have often watched
them emerging from the well after having drunk. These doves, too,
appear to be of a far lighter colour than the ordinary grey dove
of West Africa and the Niger. The hue is a very pale slaty grey,
so pale as to be almost white. In this connection it is strange to
note how pale is the colour of every Saharan animal, for it seems to
conform to the usual law of nature in assimilating its colouring to
its surroundings, so that it is frequently very difficult to detect
an animal against the white Saharan sand. The soil is, however,
by no means altogether sandy. In parts of the desert here the
landscape varied a good deal. After marching through many miles of
sandy soil with the typical desert scrub, the scene would gradually
change. Isolated hills, standing 200 feet above the plain, would
appear. These hills were formations of ferruginous rock, covered
with boulders, but devoid of vegetation. The ground here used to
be strewn with a layer of shale, presumably broken off in a kind
of flakes from the hills by the heat of the sun, and scattered over
the surface by the desert winds.

I recollect one of the most trying marches on the way to Kidal was
the day we arrived at the Well of Agamhor. We had been two days on
the march since the last well, and, by the guide’s information and
by my rough calculations, we should arrive at the well by 10 or 11
a.m. As there was no suitable place to camp for the day and get a
little shade, at 9 a.m., contrary to my usual practice, I decided to
push on to the well and march, if necessary, till eleven. It was one
of the hottest days we had experienced, and we were marching over
a rocky ridge, which radiated the heat with intense fierceness. I
was rather exhausted, too, as I had had a long stalk that morning
after some white oryx, before I had managed to shoot one. We trudged
steadily on till long after eleven, and still there was no sign
of the well. The guide then began to urge that we should halt,
saying the well was still far away and we could not reach it till
3 p.m. The men and camels were fatigued and hot, so I decided to
halt. Until 4 p.m. we lay gasping on the rocky, burning ground,
vainly trying to get some shade. It was not possible to pitch my
tent, as the soil was too hard, so I followed the men’s example
by lying on the shady side of two or three articles of baggage. The
sun was pitiless, there was no pasturage for the camels in that
barren spot, and we were all thankful to start once more late in
the afternoon. We did not arrive at the well till nearly eleven
o’clock that night, when both men and beasts threw themselves
down exhausted, glad to stop where they lay till morning-time.

The camels after this march began to show signs of fatigue; several,
too, had got terribly sore backs. These sore backs had not altogether
developed on the march, for I had noticed them suffering from barely
healed wounds before we left Gao. I had been assured, however,
that it was very rare to get a hired camel without a tender place
on his back, so there seemed to be nothing to do but accept the
situation. I used to dress their wounds daily with iodoform and
cotton-wool, but it was almost as painful to me to see them loaded
as it must have been to themselves. I lightened the loads as much
as possible, but most of my kit had to be carried if I hoped ever
to reach the other side of the Sahara, so I had to harden my heart
and ignore the pain they must have sometimes endured. The Bambara
soldiers, when charging a camel, are quite callous. But they do not,
and I suppose never will, understand the beast. Being negroes, they
are totally unconscious of the pain animals can suffer. Of course,
it must be said that they are not natives of a camel country, and so
are handicapped by a lack of knowledge of the beast, when they are
enlisted in camel corps. I think they never quite appreciate the
necessity for giving the camel a regular number of hours daily in
a pasturage whenever it is possible, and they certainly are not
as careful about watering him as are the nomads of the desert,
who are brought up from their childhood to look after camels.

The camel is a curious-tempered animal. He seems to have the same
characteristic as most desert nomads. He dislikes mankind cordially,
and takes no pains to disguise the fact.

To mount a camel he must be made first to squat on the ground.
This is accomplished at the expense of some time and temper, by
pulling his head towards the ground by means of the string in his
nostril and ejaculating frequently a soothing noise similar to what
is used by a nurse when she tries to induce a baby to go to sleep.
The camel at last obeys, with many grunts and “protests.” The
next operation is to mount. The first point is to seize the rein in
your right hand and place this hand on the front of the saddle. At
the same time you must seize the camel’s nostril in your left hand,
turning his head inwards until the nose nearly reaches the front of
the saddle. Every movement on your part will call forth numerous deep
growls of protest, but one soon gets accustomed to this, and takes
no notice of it. When, however, you seize the nostril and pull his
head round he will roar as if he were being tortured to death. It
is advisable to place the left foot on the slack part of the rein
on the ground, or he may take you by surprise and suddenly jump up.

[Illustration: THE WELLS OF TABANKHOR

The difficulty of discerning a well in the Sahara, until one is
actually within a few paces of it, is here clearly indicated. The
well is rarely marked by any distinctive features, such as trees,
vegetation, or any particular accident in the ground. It is merely
a hole excavated in the sand, which can only too easily be missed
by the traveller, possibly with serious consequences should he be
short of water. The donkeys and bullock in the illustration belonged
to Kountah Arabs in the Southern Sahara, and on the right are seen
water-skins just filled from the well ready to be laden on the
beasts for transport to the Arab encampment in the desert hard by.]

[Illustration: A SNAPSHOT OF THE “KING OF BEASTS” AMID HIS
NATURAL SURROUNDINGS

This was a lucky snapshot of a lion going to drink, on a branch of
the Middle Niger. Having news of a “kill,” I managed during
the day to get into a concealed position near his lair. Fortune
favoured me when the lion emerged from his resting-place, passing
within a few paces of me on his way to the water.]

Having successfully accomplished all these manœuvres, you should
rapidly throw the right leg over the saddle, lifting the left foot
from the rein and placing it on] his neck. The camel will then
generally—but not always— rise with a most disconcerting jerk,
growling loudly all the while. This is perhaps the most awkward,
and even dangerous, moment for the unwary novice. On rising the
camel first throws his head and body forward and then backward with
lightning-like rapidity, when the rider must conform by equally
rapidly jerking his own body in the inverse directions, otherwise
he will inevitably lose his balance and be hurled on the ground.
The Saharan camel is not a well-trained animal, so it behoves one
to be careful when first attempting to mount an unknown beast.

After having mounted the rider will not persuade him to cease his
angry grumbles for some little time. If he refuses to rise, as
he sometimes does, the only plan is to tap more or less violently
with the feet on his neck; but in every case the golden rule is to
have patience, for of all the brutes in creation which have been
tamed to do man’s will, the camel is surely the most trying. I
have sometimes spent ten minutes in endeavouring to make a camel
rise, when I was in a particular hurry to be off. Beating is quite
ineffectual, and only serves to humble one’s pride. A camel’s
hide is pretty tough, and he cares little for the blow from a thick
stick or whip.

The camel never seems really happy unless he is absolutely left to
himself. Far away from mankind, and unobserved, he eats and eats
till he is gorged, and then lies down to sleep. If man is at hand he
will never eat as well as when by himself; the presence of a human
being seems to have a strange effect on him. This has been often
proved by noticing the difference between camels left at their
pasturage in perfect liberty and those which are guarded by men
while feeding. The former regain condition comparatively quickly,
while the latter, besides taking longer, will probably never return
to such good form as their more fortunately placed brothers who
are grazing quite at liberty. When near a man he constantly seems
to sulk and not to make the best of himself. I have known camels
in the Sahara, who had not had anything to eat for several days,
refuse their food after being ill-treated, seemingly preferring to
die than to accept any favour from the person who has beaten them.

Although camels can go several days without water, yet, when they
do drink, they are gluttons for it. They drink an abnormally large
quantity at a time, and will return to drink two or three times in
the day until satisfied. Camels suffer a good deal from indigestion,
and this is probably due to the huge quantities of food and water
they consume.

It was the custom to hobble our animals at night, and I recollect
how on one occasion on this march to Kidal, my plans for the next
day’s journey were upset by a freak on their part. We halted one
night, rather tired after a long march, about eleven o’clock. The
road was rough, as we had entered into a mountainous, rocky country,
and it was impossible to move any further until the sun rose, the
moon having just set. It so happened that there was an excellent
pasturage in an “oued” close by, and into this the camels were
turned after being hobbled for the night.

I awoke next morning at daybreak to find all except four of the
brutes had disappeared. They had wandered off, moving, as they
do when hobbled, by a series of little jumps, in the direction
from which we had come the previous evening. I sent a party to
track them. They had gone back a distance of fifteen miles to our
last halting-place, and were found quietly grazing there, quite
unconcerned at the trouble they had given us! The incident made
me lose a valuable day. It was not the slightest use to get angry,
so I resigned myself to such incidents quite meekly at last. Camels
will wander extraordinary distances in search of water when very
thirsty. I heard of a case where two camels had gone back a six
days’ march to the previous well, when, had they only known it,
the next well was only one day’s march ahead! Usually they have
a keen instinct for the presence of water, and when they have been
to a well, along a certain route, they will recollect the road in
a wonderful manner.

Cases of guides having lost their way, and having then trusted
themselves to the memory of the camel, by allowing him to go in the
direction he selects, are frequently repeated. The camel in such
cases generally, although, of course, not invariably, brings the
caravan safely to the well. It must be understood that this will
not occur unless the animal has followed that route on previous
occasions, and further, that he must in such cases usually be within
a few miles, at most, of the well.

One rather unpleasant feature about these Sahara camels is the number
of ticks they collect. These loathsome insects find a habitation
on all camels, and are difficult to destroy.

I was advised to ride barefoot in the desert, but never could
persuade myself to try on account of the fear of ticks. As I
previously mentioned, the camel is here ridden with the rider’s
feet on the animal’s neck, and I used always to wear long
riding-boots made of soft leather with soft soles. If heavy-soled
boots are worn the camel’s neck will get chafed from the constant
friction of the leather against his skin. The hair of the mane of a
riding-camel is invariably worn away on account of the pressure of
the rider’s feet, and a riding-camel can generally be distinguished
by this mark.

Stirrups are never used with the camels of the Central and Western
Sahara. All camels are trained by Tuaregs or Arabs, from whom they
are bought, and these two races never ride with stirrups, but with
their feet on the animal’s neck. The camel is guided by the feet,
and he is urged forward by repeated taps of the feet on his neck. The
rein can hardly be said to guide him, and is certainly never put to
this use by the desert nomads. The rein generally is attached to a
ring in his right nostril, being then brought under his neck to the
near side. Its chief use is to haul up the animal’s head when he,
in his pig-headed way, will lower it to graze against your wishes.

A camel’s walk is a most tiring motion. He sways you from side
to side as well as from front to rear. It is something like being
in a ship when she is both pitching and tossing. I never got used
to the movement, and for the first few weeks used to get painfully
stiff and sore.

CHAPTER XX

OWING to the heat and the fine particles of sand constantly flying
in the air, Sidi Mahomed, the Arab guide, became much troubled with
his eyes, developing a kind of ophthalmia. I had then to depend
entirely on the Tuareg guide, and it was soon evident that he was
not very reliable. We were marching towards the wells of Tinderan,
and on the afternoon of the 30th of April we should have arrived
there. Time went on, and it began to get dark, while there were
still no signs of the wells. On being interrogated, the guide,
with customary vagueness, said it was only a short way off, and we
should soon be at Tinderan. There was no moon that night, and I soon
perceived the ground was becoming very rough; the camels began to
stumble into holes and over boulders, until it seemed hazardous to
proceed for fear that one would break his leg. It seemed to me that
the guide had lost his way. I decided, however, not to interfere
with him, as it is a principle in the desert not to harry the
guide with questions, since it only flurries him. One is perforce
dependent absolutely on one’s guide, so it is the best policy to
rely thoroughly on him and leave him alone if he seems puzzled.

As the stars became brighter in the heavens I noticed that we had
altered our course from east-north-east to south-east, and gradually
we began to turn still further south. There was then no doubt that
the Tuareg had lost himself. I halted the caravan, proceeding to
question him. He denied that he had lost the way, protesting that
we were quite close to Tinderan. However, it was palpable that he
must have missed his direction, so without further listening to
his protests I camped where we were for the night, sending him off
to find the right way, and telling him not to return till he had
so done. Anyhow, it was fairly evident that he did not understand
how to march by the stars, for we had turned nearly through an
angle of 180 degrees, and were now with our backs to the direction
in which I knew Tinderan must lie. Should he not succeed in soon
finding the wells the position threatened to become serious, for
we had nearly exhausted the supply of water on the camels. It was
two days’ march back to the last well, whither we must return
should the worst come to the worst, and the strictest economy with
our water would not make it suffice for that time. I resolved to
keep the water intact till to-morrow anyhow, and see what news the
dawn would bring. So that night we went to bed thirsty. Eventually
it was not till late the following afternoon that we arrived at
Tinderan, weary and parched. We had been nearly eight miles out of
the true direction, it appeared, the previous night. The general
sense of relief, and the men’s joy at the sight of the wells,
are not easily described. We had practically no water remaining
in the water-skins, and what there was had a disgusting stagnant
taste. The sun had been overpoweringly hot, for we had been forced
to march through the heat of the day, and the sense of mistrust
in our guide was universal. What feelings of relief and comfort
did not these wells conjure up! Tinderan meant water to drink,
a good rest for weary limbs, food and sleep, and for myself, also
the delights of a wash once more!

[Illustration: MY KITCHEN IN THE DESERT

In the foreground is my servant, Musa, cooking my breakfast. At this
spot we were so fortunate as to find some stunted mimosas, so that,
with the aid of a rug thrown over some branches, I was able to rig
up a little shelter against the blazing rays of the Saharan sun.]

To the ordinary observer, it is true, Tinderan was hardly an
attractive-looking place. It lay in the midst of typical Saharan
scenery. Wastes of yellowish white sand surrounded it on all sides.
Besides the wells there was, of course, nothing else at Tinderan,
for that was simply the name of the wells. There were some half-dozen
of them, consisting merely of holes excavated in the sand, and not
discernible until one actually walked up to them. But to the desert
traveller, tired and thirsty, the surroundings mattered little;
the chief point, and the only point, was that here was water and
plenty of it. For the time being all hardships are forgotten and
joy reigns supreme.

On our march to Tinderan we had finally left the “Oued Telemsi,”
the dried-up watercourse along which we had been travelling since
leaving the Niger, and were now on the northern confines of the
Kountah Arabs’ country. Just before quitting the Telemsi we
had crossed two other “oueds,” called Northern and Southern
Eguerrer respectively. These are big shallow valleys, and must at
one time have been two large streams which united south of Tinderan
to form the River Telemsi. I saw several herds of Loder’s gazelle
in these “oueds,” and shot three of them just before dusk. We
had not had any meat for some days, so they were a welcome addition
to our larder. It was not till the following day that I again saw
some White Oryx (_Oryx leucoryx_). These fine antelope are extremely
local in this part of the Sahara. I generally saw them in a locality
where there was rocky ground as well as sand. A favourite spot for
these animals would be a sandy “oued” with “cram-cram”
grass growing in its bed, and on each side barren, rocky hills.
They appear to care little for shade, feeding in the early morning
in the “oued” and retiring to the rocky, shadeless hills during
the heat of the day. They invariably seemed to be well-fed and in
good condition, and one cannot help marvelling at the sustenance
they seem to get out of such a poor-looking diet. The white oryx
is a dangerous animal to approach if wounded, for he can inflict
terrible wounds with his sharp, spear-like horns on anyone who is
so unwary as to come within reach of them.

On the 1st of May we passed a piece of desert rather different
from anything I had yet seen. For several miles there were clumps
of dead mimosa shrubs, the soil was sand, and the terrain here was
very flat. The appearance of the scene was most dreary; it seemed as
if this had once been a comparatively fertile spot for the Sahara,
when all of a sudden the blight of the desert must have descended
upon it, mercilessly killing every bit of living vegetation. The
guides informed me that there had been no rain there for five years,
hence the destruction of the mimosas. Although rain in the Sahara
is rare, still there are not many places which are not favoured
with a shower, or perhaps two, every year or every other year, and
it is marvellous how this infinitesimal quantity of moisture will
put new life into Saharan vegetation, making new plants spring up
in a very short time. It is fortunate that this is so, for otherwise
even the camel could not exist in the desert.

On the 3rd of May we saw in front of us a rocky barrier of
mountains, which seemed to block the horizon to the north. These
were the Mountains of Adrar, and we were approaching the Adrar
Plateau, upon which was situated the post of Kidal. All the way
from the Niger we had been gradually rising towards this plateau,
which forms a tableland at an elevation of about 2500 feet in the
south of the Central Sahara. The next two days were the hottest we
experienced. The way lay over burning granite rocks, rough boulders
obstructed our route at every step, while the sun beat down with
pitiless vigour on our heads. Path, of course, there was none. In
the desert such a thing as a path is unknown; each caravan seeks
its own road. Every guide has his own landmarks to help him, but
two caravans, both destined for the same well and starting from
the same place, might easily pass each other _en route_ without
being in view. The average temperature during those two days was
116 degrees in the shade; our throats were parched, our feet were
burnt, and the glare from the blazing sun was intolerable. Up to
this point I had not adopted sun-spectacles, but now I was forced
to do so. I had taken the precaution to bring three pairs with me,
and the relief to the straining eyes was inexpressible. The chief
objection to them is that they make one’s face perspire to an
uncomfortable degree, and when they are removed it is difficult to
see in the strong sunlight for some minutes.

Until now I had flattered myself that I was fairly well hardened to
the African sun, for I had travelled through the tropical heat, in
the hottest season, during the past three months, with my sleeves
rolled up to the elbow and knickers cut short at the knee. Now,
however, I found that my skin was as tender as a child’s against
the fierce rays of the Sahara sun. My face, arms, and knees got
terribly burnt and swollen. I suffered tortures every time I
touched them or bathed them. The skin came off, and I must have
looked a very peculiar object. Even the natives’ hard feet became
fearfully blistered and swollen by the burning heat of the rocks.
Raids on the water-skins during the march were frequently attempted,
and I had to give the N.C.O. of my escort the strictest orders
to keep the men from the water. If they had been allowed to drink
all they wished the water supply would soon have been exhausted,
and it is always a sound principle to arrive at a well with some
water in your water-skins, for it is never certain in the desert
that the wells will not be found dry.

Halting in the middle of the day was the time everyone disliked most,
for the heat of those rocks and the lack of any shade were truly
appalling. However, a halt was absolutely necessary for several hours
during the day in order to give the camels a rest, so I used to stop
at some “oued” where there was some parched-up “cram-cram”
for them to feed on. As it was, two of the camels fell down during
the march on the 4th, refusing to get up. They were exhausted
by the heat. I relieved them of their loads, leaving the guide,
Sidi Mahomed, to look after them, and bidding him follow as soon
as they had rested. Those two camels died before reaching Kidal,
and the only wonder was that we did not lose more.

A sandstorm was blowing when we arrived at Kidal on the 5th of May,
about 10 p.m. I shall not easily forget my sensation of joy at again
beholding a European’s face after the past twelve days in the
desert. What a pleasant spot Kidal seemed! Here there were actually
two houses, or huts to be more accurate, built of mud. Further,
there were about a dozen date palms surrounding the little post.
The spectacle of real trees and real green leaves once more was
most refreshing. Then, one need no longer stint oneself for water.
How I revelled in a bath that evening! The water at Kidal was
beautifully pure, not like some of the disgusting liquid we had
been obliged to drink on the way. Almost the strangest thing was
that I had been only twelve days on my journey. It seemed as if I
had spent a lifetime already in the Sahara, so new and varied were
many of the experiences I had undergone. The little hut allotted to
me was very hot, but the relief at being in the shade, and being
able to discard my helmet during the day, was great. Besides, it
was cooler at Kidal. The soil was sandy and those burning granite
rocks were farther away.

[Illustration: THE SERGEANT OF TIRAILLEURS IN CHARGE OF MY ESCORT,
AND MY TWO GUIDES TO KIDAL

Three distinct types are here depicted. On the left a white-bearded
Arab of the Kountah tribe, whose handsome face and picturesque garb
make him a fascinating figure. In the centre is the sergeant of
my escort, a stalwart Bambarra with the distinctive thick lips and
snub features of the negroid races. The third man is a Tuareg, one
of that curious tribe which wanders in the Central Sahara, shunning
contact with the rest of mankind to an extraordinary degree.]

I did not leave Kidal till the 8th of May. I had to reorganize my
caravan here. The officer in charge of the post had fortunately
been able to retain the services of a guide for me, and the same
man was willing to let me his camels if we could agree as to terms.

The day after my arrival I had an interview with Mohamed Ben Kaid
Kaddour, as the guide was called. He was an Arab trader who did
business between Insalah and the Adrar country. He had not intended
to return to Insalah till the cool season commenced, about September,
but owing to some urgent private affairs he had just been recalled
to the northern part of the desert. The man was a shrewd Arab,
about thirty years old, a keen trader, and with the reputation of
being a sure guide in the desert. The opportunity was a good one,
so I decided to take it at any cost, for, owing to the time of
year—it being the hottest part of the hot season—no caravans
were travelling, and I should be extremely unlikely to get another
guide to take me.

After a good deal of bargaining matters were settled. I hired four
baggage camels and one “mehari,” or riding-camel, from Mohamed,
who agreed to furnish one camel driver for the party and guide me
safely across the desert to Insalah for a sum amounting to about
twenty-three pounds. I naturally stipulated that he should not be
paid until the end of the journey. It seemed to me a good plan to
hire the camels from the man who would act as guide, for in this
way he had more interest in keeping them in good condition. It
was to his advantage to get them fit to Insalah, but certainly I
was rather in the hands of my guide should he prove unscrupulous.
If he wished to make away with me _en route_, and abscond with my
despatch box and baggage, it might be hard for me to prevent it,
and it would be difficult for the authorities to catch him and
punish him for his crime. However, I was determined to be very wary,
always sleeping with one eye open and my firearms close beside me.

The other member of the caravan was my servant Musa, while the
guide asked permission to bring four camel loads of merchandise
and a young camel he wished to sell at Insalah.

At Kidal I saw some of the finest camels I had yet seen; these
belonged to the detachment stationed at the post, and had been
bought from the Ifora Tuaregs. These people breed a very fine class
of “mehari,” their riding-camels being renowned for their power
and endurance throughout the Central and Western Sahara. The Iforas
are the Tuaregs who wander in the Adrar country, and it was at Kidal
that I first came into contact with this interesting race of nomads.

The chief peculiarity of these people is that they always wear
a veil over the lower portion of their faces, which conceals all
the features except the eyes, and sometimes the ears. This veil is
made of blue stuff, generally of the well-known “guinée.” It
is called a “litham.” The use of a “litham” is obvious to
anyone who has travelled in the desert, for it serves to prevent
the wearer from being choked by the clouds of sand which are ever
blowing about in the Sahara. Moreover, it prevents thirst to a
remarkable extent. It is a most essential article of kit for the
desert traveller, and I soon found myself obliged to adopt it. I
often used to think that my appearance in a civilized country
would have caused some astonishment and, probably, not a little
merriment. My face was so swathed in strange objects that very
little of it was visible. I think I might fairly have beaten a
motorist in the strange disguises on my features. My eyes were
hidden beneath huge blue sun-glasses, while the remainder of my
face was entirely obscured by the “litham,” which, in my case,
generally consisted of a handkerchief. I found the same objection
existed to the “litham” as to the glasses, but that was quite
a minor discomfort, and one very soon forgotten.

The Iforas share the usual dislike of the Tuareg to contact with
mankind, and with Europeans in particular. They possess an unenviable
reputation as first-class looters and highwaymen. A weakly guarded
caravan passing through certain parts of Adrar runs a very good
chance of being attacked and looted. But in this respect the Iforas
are by no means the worst offenders amongst desert tribes. They
are said to be plucky in war, but will avoid fighting when possible.

They are intensely jealous for their womenfolk, and are stated to
be ready to die to a man rather than allow their wives and female
relatives to be harmed. The Iforas have two distinct classes—the
Ihaggareen, who are the nobles and govern the various clans into
which the tribe is split, and the Imrads, or middle class. All
menial work is done by slaves, called “beylas.” These slaves
have been captured at various times from various negro tribes during
Tuareg incursions into the Niger country, or else when a caravan
has been plundered.

Iforas are armed with spears, swords, and shields. They dislike
a rifle, and seem to regard it with a strange mixture of contempt
and fear. The swords are of two kinds: one is a cutting sword worn
at the side, and the other, called a “tellak,” is about twelve
inches long, resembling a dagger, and is worn on a leather band on
the left forearm, just below the elbow.

The shields are about six feet high, made of bullock or sheep hide,
and are sometimes rather picturesquely painted with strange devices
on the middle of the front face.

Tuaregs live in encampments, their tents being made of a number of
goatskins sewn together. Or they may erect temporary shelters made
with bits of mimosa branches, over which is stretched a cloth.
It is extraordinary the number of people that one of the tiny
shelters will accommodate. A family of father, mother, and four
children will in some marvellous fashion find space in one about
fifteen feet long by ten feet wide, while the height of the structure
is not more than four feet.

Tuaregs are rather a handsome race, and the Iforas are not behind
their fellow-tribesmen in this respect. They are usually tall
and slimly built, but very wiry. They have well-cut features,
blue eyes, and a pale complexion. The language is guttural, not
bearing any resemblance to Arabic, which is spoken on the north,
or the Niger languages on the south. The origin of these people is
shrouded in mystery. Tradition says that one of the Tuareg tribes,
probably the Ouilliminden, who are nomads in the Sahara on the east
of the Ifora, came about the seventeenth century from the Erg-Iguidi,
a tract of desert in the north of the Sahara, under the leadership
of their chief, Kari Dena, in search of adventures. The date appears
to correspond with the time they conquered the Sonrhais and invaded
the Niger provinces near Timbuctu, but it is difficult to establish
the authenticity of this legend, for the people are extremely
reticent about themselves, and it is doubtful if they know much of
their past history. In any case, it seems probable that before they
became desert wanderers, they lived in the northern part of Africa,
and were probably conquered and expelled from their country by the
Arabs, being thus induced to seek a fresh home in the south. After
their stronghold, Timbuctu, was finally wrested from them, they
migrated more than ever to the desert, hence their poverty and
dislike for close acquaintanceship with mankind.

Iforas are wonderful camel-masters. They understand more about
these animals than anyone in the Southern Sahara. Besides, they
can identify a camel in a most accurate manner by observing his
tracks in the sand. I have known cases of a Tuareg, on observing
the tracks of several camels at a well, stating that such a one was
the track of such and such a man of his tribe, and that he had been
there three days before our arrival. On verification, all these
details proved to be exact. Iforas are not often at fault in the
matter of tracking by the marks of camels’ feet in the sand. They
will tell you, correct almost to a man, how many a certain caravan
numbered; and when it is recollected that camels usually follow
each other in single file, it will be understood that this is no
easy matter. Besides, the terrain is often hard, so that to the
casual observer there are no tracks whatever discernible.

[Illustration: MÉHARISTE CAMELS OUT AT THEIR PASTURAGE NEAR KIDAL

The vegetation in the illustration is typical of that found in the
Oueds of Eastern Adrar. It is strange how even these arid-looking
grasses can exist in the Sahara, but Adrar is fortunate in getting
several tornadoes annually and is consequently richer in vegetation
than other parts of this desert. In this pasturage there were some
seventy or eighty camels wandering in complete liberty, scattered
over some ten square miles resting and putting on flesh after some
arduous months’ marching this troop had recently performed in
the desert.]

The Iforas own large flocks of sheep and goats. Some of the former
are fine animals when the difficulties of grazing are taken into
consideration. These Tuaregs take great pride in their flocks,
and the principal trade between them and other tribes of the
Sahara consists in sheep. Their movements are entirely dictated
by the state of the grazing in the “oueds” for their camels
and sheep. Sometimes I have noticed a Tuareg encampment as much as
seven miles from the nearest well. The encampment is made here on
account of good grazing being available. The fact of having to go
seven miles to the well and seven miles back for his water has no
importance for the Ifora. He drinks little himself, while his sheep
are driven to the well every third day to water, and at the same
time water-skins are filled and brought into camp on camels. The
state of most wells in the Ifora country is for this reason often
disgusting. The flocks, when being watered, are allowed to foul
the wells, so that, for a couple of days after their visit, the
contents are almost undrinkable.

This country, which is really the Eastern Adrar, is generally
known as the Adrar of the Iforas, to differentiate between it and
Western Adrar, a country in south-west Mauretania, and Adrar Oasis
in the Northern Sahara. The word Adrar merely means mountain in
the language of the Tuareg.

The plateau of Adrar is about 200 miles long and seventy wide.
It consists generally of rocky hills running in parallel ranges from
north to south. In certain parts the granite rock has been split
up by the action of the heat, leaving isolated jagged crags which
stick up in fantastic shapes. The valleys between these hills usually
possess pasturage for camels and sheep, for Adrar of the Iforas is
on the whole a well-watered country; that is to say, it boasts of
periodical rains, which consist of some six or seven tornadoes in
the year. The Iforas for this reason are more fortunate than many
nomad tribes of the desert, who have to seek much farther afield
for a change in their grazing-lands. The valleys in which are found
the “oueds” are generally sandy bottomed, in sharp contrast to
the rest of the country, which is rocky. Roughly speaking, such
was the nature of the country through which I was going to march
for the first portion of the way to Insalah.

At Kidal I at last resigned myself to parting with my travelling
bath. It was a great wrench to have to discard this luxury, but I
had, by bitter experience, found out that it was not a practical
article in the Sahara. On the way from Gao I had only on two
occasions been able to indulge in the joys of a tub, owing to the
scarcity of water in most of the wells. Moreover, the bath was a
most cumbersome load on a camel, and more than once had it suffered
a severe fall, when some infuriated beast had managed to rid himself
of this troublesome piece of baggage by dint of repeatedly rubbing
against his companions, while kicking and wriggling at the same
time. The net result of all this was not only damage to the bath,
but probably a sore back for the animal. So I presented the bath
to my host as a slight return for his hospitality to me.

At Kidal I managed to buy a sackful of dates from an Arab
trader who was doing a little business with the soldiers of the
detachment. These dates were invaluable on the march. They are very
portable and nourishing, although hardly appetizing. Indeed, I ate
so many dates in the Sahara, and generally dates of the coarsest
quality, that I hate the sight of a date to this day. My dates were
packed together in a bag, crushed in a solid, consistent mass. They
were so hard that many required a hammer to break them. I found the
best plan, when there was not time to cook them, or no water, was to
simply suck one at a time. If I tried to bite one it might easily
break my teeth, so I gave up trying. In any case I was very glad
to be able to buy dates here, for my stock of provisions, except
the “couscous” and rice, was growing beautifully but rapidly
less. Of “couscous” and rice I had plenty, but I had not yet got
to the stage of being content with only these simple forms of food.

Before starting on the second stage of my desert journey I had
thoroughly to overhaul my pack-saddles and the gear appertaining
thereto. I had now gained some experience of the Sahara, and
knew better the parts of equipment that were most likely to get
strained. I also took the precaution to have a large reserve of
ropes, girths, and such-like articles. My water-carriers were nearly
all in bad need of repair, and this was a point requiring careful
attention. A good reserve of these water-skins was essential.

The French have now a courier who goes at stated times from Kidal to
Insalah and back. The next courier was to take word of my approach to
the Commandant at Insalah, so that he might expect my arrival about
the beginning or middle of June. This courier is a Tuareg, who has
been procured with some difficulty to carry out this service. He
travels alone, for it has been found that he is less likely to be
interfered with if he does so. His mount is a swift-trotting camel,
and in the dry season he has a spare mount as well. I was informed
that the mails were rarely looted, as, of course, there is nothing
of any value to a desert highwayman in a mail bag. His efforts would
be more likely to be directed to stealing the camel than the mails,
but one individual well mounted has a good chance of escaping in
such a case.

The mail man followed a different line of wells from my proposed
route, so I was unlikely to see him on the way.

On leaving Kidal I dare say my host pitied me at having such a long,
lonely journey in front of me. For my part I could not help pitying
him far more, for I was embarking on new and possibly stirring
experiences, while he, poor fellow, was all alone as far as Europeans
were concerned, tied down for two years of duty in one of the most
dreary of French military posts. He had his work to occupy him,
it is true, but how monotonous must continual service in a Saharan
post be, more especially when a man is the only representative of his
race within nearly 200 miles. Far away from kith and kin, living in
a region almost apart from what is known as “the world,” where
life is hard, food scarce and bad, and surrounded on all sides by
the barren wastes of the desert. His life was not without a large
element of danger, moreover; for a well-organized marauding band
might easily wipe out his small detachment, and the news would not
reach the Niger until the raiders had made good their escape. But
perhaps it was this element of danger which lent some excitement
to his life and made it more tolerable. I must freely confess that
he was a young man who enjoyed capital spirits, and was as cheerful
and versatile as is usual with his countrymen.

After leaving Kidal on the 8th of May, my route lay almost due north
for a considerable way. Wells were on the average fifty miles apart
on this stage, that is to say, through the Adrar of the Iforas;
but some of the wells had so much potash in them that the water
was quite undrinkable.

[Illustration: THE WELLS OF KIDAL

About every third day camels are brought to the wells to drink.
In the hottest season these animals can, if well trained, exist
eight to ten days without water, but they rapidly lose their powers
of endurance after the third or fourth day. The camel standing up,
on the left, has just arrived from a long desert trek; it will
be noticed how his ribs stand out. The camel squatting in the
foreground, on the other hand, has drunk his fill, as is, indeed,
indicated by his big barrel and general air of contentment.]

The southern portion of Adrar affords some interesting relics
of the Stone Age. The wells have probably been in existence for
many centuries, and at one or two places we found some curious
little stone implements, such as arrowheads, miniature axes,
etc. There seems to be no doubt that all this country must have
been inhabited at one period by a sedentary population, thus further
strengthening the theory that the Sahara was not always the barren
waste it now is. In the neighbourhood of Es-Souk, some eighty miles
north-west of Kidal, there are unmistakable evidences of much later
civilization. Ruins of buildings are there found in the sand. This
place is supposed to have been one of the northernmost parts of
the Sonrhay Empire, as late as the twelfth century. Mahomed told me
that he had on a previous occasion found stone implements near one
of the wells in Southern Adrar, but he had, of course, not taken
much interest in the discovery or pursued it any further.

In the country between the Niger and Southern Adrar one occasionally
observed tumuli, with remains of pottery, and I had been told,
although I had myself never seen any, that granite and porphyry
pestles and grindstones had been found, with similar evidences of
vanished villages.

It is easy to conjure up pictures of former nations inhabiting
prosperous townships in this portion of the Sahara in olden times,
when the conditions were probably so different from what obtain at
the present day. How strange it is to think that this vast stretch
of country should now be turned into an arid desert. Instead of a
nation dying out as it became effete, in this case it was the land
which, for some unknown causes, became so unproductive as to be a
country in which man could not settle for any length of time, and
he was therefore forced to withdraw to more promising lands. When
all the “oueds” flowed, as presumably they must at one time
have done, the Adrar must have been a well-watered land, as must
also the whole region between the Niger and the Ifora country. To
all intents and purposes the Sahara is now a dead world, and
although many theories have been started, and experiments tried,
for reclaiming small portions of it, it can hardly be said that,
so far, they have met with much success even in the circumscribed
limits in which they have been given the most exhaustive trials.
However, something new in science is always being done, and is it
not possible that one day this dead world may be made to live again;
that by some ingenious process water may be made to flow once more
in dried-up “oueds,” and that the country may be refertilized
and repopulated?

CHAPTER XXI

THE camels I had now were far superior animals to those I had
previously hired at Gao. I had particularly stipulated for animals
in the best of condition. Our lives might depend on the state of the
camels on this long trek across the Sahara to Insalah, a distance
of about 950 miles. Besides, this portion of the desert was a much
more serious affair than the part traversed between Gao and Kidal;
it entailed crossing a very large tract with exceptionally limited
resources, even for the camels, and a region, called the Tanezrouft,
in which there was no water for a distance of 200 miles. Should our
camels fail us in the middle of this great waterless tract we should
indeed be in a sorry plight. I therefore was most careful to see
that on starting our camels were as fit as could be expected for
the time of year. They were fat and had big humps, both of which
are unmistakable signs of good condition in a beast. The hump is
the reserve of fat in a camel. When he is in his pasturage he first
of all begins to put on flesh, and after this he puts on fat in his
hump, which until now has been small and flabby. The hump gradually
increases in size until it has swollen to the normal dimensions for
an animal in the pink of condition. When a camel is on the march,
even when he is getting plenty of good grazing daily, he draws to a
certain extent on his hump, which diminishes slowly in size as he
uses up this reserve. When a camel is without food on the march,
as sometimes happens for short periods at a time, the reserve
contained in his hump is drawn upon entirely to keep him going,
and this gets expended very rapidly. As his hump gets smaller the
camel loses condition rapidly, every day his powers of endurance are
diminished, until eventually he can no longer march at all and dies.

The first part of our march, lying as it did through the
comparatively productive regions of the Adrar, entailed no great
hardships on the camels of the caravan. There was good pasturage
available every day, and every third day we could be sure of coming
to a well, where the camels could drink; but in spite of all this,
in a few days it was noticeable that one or two were deteriorating in
condition. This was probably due to the heat. The time of year was
now at its very hottest. In the vicinity of the tropic of Cancer
from the middle of May to the middle of June the temperature is
at its highest, and the sun’s rays are more powerful than at any
other time of the year.

In consequence of the heat I did a good deal of marching at
night. The hours of march were usually from about 3 p.m. to 10
or 11 p.m., and then a halt and sleep till 4 a.m.; after this we
used to march till about 10 a.m. Marching hours, however, perforce
varied with the state of the country, and the necessity for having
the light of a moon or not.

During the midday halts I had given up pitching my tent, for it
usually took too long as so few men were available to do it; also
it was decidedly hot in a tent, and I found it often cooler under
a ledge of rock or mimosa bush when these were at hand. The nights
were always pleasant, and sleeping in the open was very agreeable;
indeed, it used to get quite cold at 2 or 3 a.m., and I found that
my two thick blankets were quite insufficient to keep me warm. The
variation in temperature was very great. Between midday and midnight
there was frequently a drop of 60 degrees.

When marching by moonlight the scene was indescribably beautiful. The
white sand of the “oueds” in which we were walking was lit up to
look like a white sheet by the brilliant moonbeams; on all sides of
us was this dazzling sheen spread over the surface of the ground,
while in the distance one might have fancied there were the waters
of a lake, so silvery crystal did the sand appear. The rocky hills
on the east and west caught the glint of the moon’s rays, standing
out sharply defined against the deep blue of the starlit sky. The
jagged peaks, which were perhaps succeeded by a rugged ridge,
running thus for miles into the far-off horizon, looked for all the
world like the towers and crenellated battlements of some ancient
fortress. The grandeur of the sight filled me with a sense of awe,
and how many times did I not deplore my inability to sketch. I used
to enjoy walking on these moonlight nights, gazing at this beautiful
scene as we wended our way in silence through the desert—the
stillness being unbroken even by the noise of a camel’s footfall
on that sandy surface. On such a night the Sahara loses half its
terrors. The arid nature of the landscape is concealed under the
cloak of night, and softened by the gentle rays of the moon.

Even when I was walking it used to get quite chilly towards midnight,
and I longed for the comforting warmth of my coat, which had been
stolen some time previously.

It was about 10 p.m. on the 8th of May, the day that I left Kidal,
that I first saw Halley’s Comet. For many nights subsequently
it was visible in the eastern sky, a beautiful, bright, luminous
body with a long tail, like a streak of fire, stretching for some
distance behind it. What millions of people in the world must have
been watching it about this time, although I doubt if many had the
opportunity of seeing it from the Sahara.

On the 12th of May we were at the wells of Abeibera, when two men,
with faces concealed in “lithams,” rode up on camels. They had
the appearance of having journeyed far, and it is an unusual thing
to encounter strangers at a desert well, so that I sent Mahomed to
inquire their business and whence they came. The guide came back in
a great state of excitement to say these people were traders from the
Oasis of Touat in the north, and were now on their way to Kidal. His
excitement was chiefly caused by the fact that he knew the leader
of the caravan. The latter, who was an Arab, came up to salute me
presently. He had lost several camels on the way on account of the
excessive heat, but his route had lain considerably to the west of
the direction we should take, so he could not give any information
on the state of the wells we should pass. He had halted his caravan
some distance from Abeibera, and was sending in his camels to
water the following day. He was a very weather-beaten desert man,
was this trader. I suppose he must have been about forty years of
age, although he looked more like fifty, so tanned by exposure and
lined was his face. His caravan was laden with dates, and he was
going to exchange these for sheep and ostrich feathers. They would
probably stay at Kidal till September before returning to the Touat.

The arrival of the Touat party was the signal for much
tea-drinking. The Arab in the desert is extremely fond of tea,
which he drinks with a great deal of sugar and, of course, without
milk. Mahomed generally made his tea in the English fashion, but
the usual manner amongst Arabs is to put the tea, which is very
strong and green, into a saucepan and stew it. The tea is thus
allowed to stew and simmer for about twenty minutes. The result
is a very bitter, and to my mind unpleasant, tasting concoction,
which has a very upsetting effect on the nerves.

One virtue possessed by these desert people is that they do not
drink alcohol, nor do they, as a rule, smoke. They have wonderful
powers of endurance, existing on a mere handful of dates as their
daily ration, and drinking nothing but water or tea. Moreover, they
drink very little water. Frequently an Arab will be quite satisfied
after a long hot march to wash his mouth out with a small quantity
and drink nothing at all.

While tea-drinking and merriment was going on by my little camp,
a party of Ifora Tuaregs arrived with their flocks of sheep to
water at the well. Accompanying these men there were also a number
of camels, so that the scene at the well was an unusually animated
one for the Sahara. I tried in vain to purchase a sheep, or even a
little milk, from the Tuaregs, but nothing would induce them to part
with either. I showed them one by one my articles of merchandise, but
they would not be tempted. First the salt was exposed to view, and
they were told they could have a large lump, which was really worth
three times the sheep, but they refused to look at it, with a fine
display of scorn. I next produced a tempting bait of “guinée,”
but this likewise was ineffective, although they did show a mild
interest in the stuff. When, however, my last remaining head of
tobacco was laid out to view, I thought that at last I had caught
my fish, and it only required a little careful playing before it
could be landed. Their eyes glistened at the sight of the tobacco,
and I heard many whispered exclamations of excitement. In the end
I am sorry to say it resulted in disappointment. They went away
muttering something to the effect that they would rather keep the
sheep than take what was offered in exchange.

Money has no value with the Tuaregs. Any trade is always done by
barter, and the chief articles of barter are salt and “guinée,”
but, in any case, they are difficult people with whom to drive a
bargain, and it is rarely that a European can induce them to part
with anything.

In this part of Adrar, where wells are not more than two days’
march apart, the Iforas possess donkeys. These donkeys are most
wonderfully enduring little beasts. They are trained to go two or
even three days without drinking, and exist on what herbs or grass
they find by the way as they march.

My caravan from Gao had a donkey attached to it, which never ceased
to fill me with admiration. Its Tuareg master had laden it with a
water-skin, which must have weighed about 60 lbs., and in addition
to this it used to carry him for the greater part of the march. It
only got a drink when we arrived at a well, while it used to snatch
at mouthfuls of food if anything came in its way on the march. This
little creature was not more than three feet high, so it was an
amusing sight to watch the long-legged Tuareg seated on its back,
with his legs nearly touching the ground as it walked. It used
to take tiny, quick steps, always keeping pace with the big, slow
strides of the camels.

Having found a fellow-countryman, Mahomed was most anxious to stop
the night at Abeibera, but I was firm, and insisted on continuing our
journey at the usual hour that afternoon. It was the following day
that I saw the last herd of oryx. Between the wells of Abeibera and
Bourassa there was a fair amount of Saharan game. Loder’s gazelle
was the most plentiful, but here, also, I got two addax besides an
oryx. The country was now getting much wilder in aspect. The rocky
ridges on our flanks were higher, “oueds” were less sandy and
more strewn with boulders, while, at Bourassa itself, the hills
on the east must have been at least 500 feet above the plain. My
calculations made the height of Bourassa 2330 feet, so that the
hills here were about 2800 feet high.

At Bourassa we took two days’ water in the water-skins, as the next
well, called Taoundert, was only some forty miles away. The country
was growing wilder every day, and pasturage for the camels was
less and less plentiful. On the 16th, having arrived at Taoundert,
we found the well quite dry. There was not even a cupful of water
to be got out of it, and we had another two days’ march to the
succeeding well, In Ouzel. There was very little water now left in
the water-skins, so I determined to push on as rapidly as possible
and reach In Ouzel with the greatest despatch the camels were capable
of. But disasters seldom come singly, and the lack of water was not
going to be the only trial the next two days. Halting only an hour
for rest at Taoundert, I pushed on that night. It was imperative
to reach In Ouzel as soon as possible, there was very little water
left in one of the water-skins and nothing at all in the others;
besides, this water-skin was losing the precious liquid drop by
drop as we marched, owing to the usual leakage from these articles.

The camels, on the march, were always tied in single file, one
animal’s tail being attached by a string to the next one’s
lower jaw. The order of route was, in front the guide and myself,
in the centre my servant Musa, and in rear the camel-driver. It
was necessary to have someone in rear, for sometimes a camel would
break his string and wander away from the rest of the caravan. We
had been marching about six hours when I happened to drop back
for a short time. I noticed, to my dismay, that two camels, those
carrying my food supplies and luncheon-basket, were missing. The
camel-driver, a very sleepy Arab boy of the name of El Bashir,
had mounted one of the animals in the middle of the caravan and
was calmly sleeping on his beast. There was no sign of the camels,
and it was impossible to say when they had strayed.

I could not afford to lose those camels, for they carried all my
provisions; at the same time it would have been madness to delay
the whole caravan when water was so scarce and time so precious.
The remaining water was divided into two portions, and half was given
to El Bashir. I threatened him with all sorts of penalties should
he dare to return without the lost camels, and sent him off to look
for them, while we proceeded on our way to In Ouzel. Next day our
water was finished, and at midday I made a frugal repast off the
reserve ration I kept always in my haversack. The meal consisted
of a handful of dates and a little “couscous.” I shall not
easily forget the experiences of the next twenty-four hours. We
were all without water, and my “boy” and I were without food.
Mahomed offered me some of his dates, but I was prouder than my
servant Musa, and declared I was not hungry. The heat seemed more
overpowering, and the desert seemed more deathly still than ever,
during that time.

Our throats got parched and our tongues began to swell from the heat
and thirst. How we longed for the sun to set, and the cool of the
evening to relieve us a little from some of our torture! But that
night there was no time to rest, we must march on in spite of our
fatigue. This was a time when rest for ourselves or camels was not
to be thought of, so we trudged wearily on. When the following day
we arrived at In Ouzel we were all thoroughly exhausted, and the
craving for water was something pitiable. Even that hardy desert
wanderer, Mahomed, rushed to the well as soon as it came in sight,
hastily lowering a small leather vessel at the end of a rope and
drawing it up full of water. I must own that I was relieved beyond
expression to see the water, for I had had a horrible fear that,
perhaps, this well too would be dry. I had not let my thoughts
dwell too much on this possible eventuality, for the consequences
would have been too serious to contemplate. Another fear that had
crossed my mind was that Mahomed might lose the way. Fortunately,
all came right in the end, and even the lost camels turned up that
evening. Somehow I did not seem to feel my hunger so much after we
got to the well of In Ouzel and I had satisfied my thirst, but when
the camels did arrive I soon realized how hungry I really was. After
this experience I determined not to trust El Bashir to do rearguard
on the march, and in future I always put Musa there when I was not
in rear myself.

[Illustration: SHEEP AT THE WELLS OF BOURASSA

When we halted at these wells the Tuaregs were bringing their
flocks down to water. It was pitiful to see the unfortunate animals
endeavouring to get shade behind the trunks of some leafless trees
in the vicinity. The weaker beasts fared even worse, having to
be content with such shade as they could find under the shadow of
their stronger brethren who had usurped the best places.]

[Illustration: TUAREG HOVELS AT IN OUZEL

These miserable shelters consist of a few sticks supporting
some goatskins and ragged cloths. The inhabitants have to crawl
in on hands and knees; nor is there standing-room inside. They
are frequently blown down by the terrible sandstorms which rage
constantly here, but possibly their very lowness safeguards them
to some extent from destruction by these hurricanes of sand.]

After the trying times of the last two days both the camels and we
were greatly in need of a rest, and so it was decided to halt for
three or four days at In Ouzel. This was all the more necessary as
the next stage of our journey would take us through the Tanezrouft,
and to attempt to cross this inhospitable region with inferior
camels would be madness.

We had now passed the rather indefinite boundary between the portion
of Sahara under the jurisdiction of French West Africa and that part
of the great desert which came under the sphere of the Governor
of Algeria. The boundary lay between Bourassa and Taoundert,
running approximately along the 21st parallel. The country in
which we now were was no longer the land of the Ifora Tuaregs. It
was uninhabited except for short periods in the year, when suitable
grazing might be found for a small number of camels. At such periods
a heterogeneous collection of desert nomads used to make it their
temporary head-quarters. These might consist of a small caravan of
Arabs and a few Tuaregs of the Hoggar tribe. The latter belong to
a mountainous desert country lying to the north-east of In Ouzel.

When I arrived at In Ouzel there were some half-dozen of these
people still there, although the time of year was not any longer
favourable, and they were already preparing to leave. As nearly
all the pasturage had been eaten up, there was not much left for
our sorely tried camels, and in any case a couple of them appeared
too exhausted for further marching until they had had a long rest.
Mahomed said he thought the short halt we proposed to make would be
sufficient to get the remainder of the caravan in marching trim,
and we arranged with the nomads just departing for the hire of
two suitable baggage camels to replace our jaded beasts. The new
camels were indeed a great acquisition, for they had been in their
pasturage for the past three months, were now in good condition,
and boasting of fine big humps.

My recollections of In Ouzel are the reverse of pleasant. I pitched
my tent on an open space not far from the well, and close to a dead
mimosa, from which I vainly hoped to get a little shade during the
day. Musa rigged himself up a kitchen with the help of some articles
of baggage with one of my tarpaulins thrown over them, while all
the remainder of my kit was stacked in view of the tent, as robbers
have always to be feared in the desert. Things appeared fairly
ship-shape, and I was looking forward to the rest at In Ouzel, but
the day after my arrival I had an attack of fever which laid me on a
bed of sickness. It was at this moment that my troubles began. From
that day until our departure we had a series of terrible sandstorms.

My tent was blown down right at the commencement, and the force
of the wind was so terrific that attempts to pitch it again were
hopelessly futile. Clouds of sand enveloped my bedclothes and
myself. The suffocating heat of the desert air was intense, while
the sand choked anyone who dared to open his mouth for an instant.
My temperature went up rapidly and refused to come down. When Musa
tried to give me a glass of cold tea or water it immediately became
filled with sand. I used to hide my head under the bedclothes in
desperate efforts to keep the sand-laden air from buffeting my
face. In all my existence I do not think I have ever experienced
such a miserable time as I did at In Ouzel. Eating, drinking,
and sleeping were impossible, and all the time the fever racked my
limbs and made my head throb till I thought I should go mad. I had
long since discarded my mosquito curtain, so I had not even that to
ward off some of the penetrating clouds of sand, although in the
gales that were blowing I hardly suppose it would have been much
use, even supposing it had not been torn to pieces immediately.
Mahomed was most solicitous, but there was nothing he could do for
me. It was not till the evening before our departure that the fever
left me, and I was glad to get out of my bed of sand, feeling very
weak and shaky.

The nomads encamped here seemed to me to lead a remarkably wretched
existence. Both Arabs and Tuaregs lived in tiny hovels made of mimosa
branches with grass roofs. The doorway was so low that the occupant
had positively to crawl in on hands and knees. The structures were
so frailly put together that they were continually being blown down
by the sandstorms, but possibly the low height of the hut made it
a little less susceptible to the wind than it would otherwise have
been. Some of them boasted of an additional covering of a few ragged
goatskins. Inside, the state of dirt and squalor was repulsive. I
suppose that these desert people naturally wash little on account
of the scarcity of water in the Sahara; certainly cleanliness is
not one of their chief attributes.

At In Ouzel they owned a few wretched-looking sheep and goats,
but the marvel was that even these could eke out an existence on
the poor nourishment available. For them there was nothing but an
occasional small tuft of coarse, dried-up grass. It was rather a
pathetic sight to watch them grazing on it.

In the early morning they were led out by the shepherd across the
undulating sandy surface of the desert, in search of food, and when
one animal, more fortunate than the rest, espied one of these tufts
he would start gobbling it up as quickly as he could. It was seldom,
though, that he was allowed to have his meal to himself, for a number
of his fellows would scamper off to dispute possession with him.

Another sight, which would be humorous if it were not so pathetic,
is to see these animals in the middle of the day trying to get a
little shade from the blazing heat of the sun. The strongest of the
flock will take up a position behind the trunk of a mimosa shrub,
whereupon the remainder of the party attempt to benefit by crowding
close up to him, one behind the other, until there is a long tail
of these animals, huddled close behind each other, trying to get
some satisfaction out of the shelter obtainable from the shadow of
the sheep in front.

At In Ouzel the character of the desert had changed
considerably. Here was more the popular conception of the Sahara,
and rather what I had myself imagined it always to be.

A soft white sand covered the landscape on every side. At each
step one sank into it for a depth of about a foot. The ground was
undulating, and occasionally sand-dunes, rising to a height of as
much as a hundred feet, were to be seen. Beyond the sparse grass
no vegetation of any sort existed within sight of In Ouzel, but,
in some of the more sheltered “oueds,” lying to the east of
the well, was a tall shrub, with leaves somewhat resembling the
Scotch fir. This was the plant on which the camels fed. It is
called “ethel” in Arabic, and is fairly common in the Northern
Sahara. I had not previously seen this desert shrub, but this,
I fancy, was due to the desert soil I had hitherto encountered
not being suited to its growth. The “ethel” appears to require
a soft, sandy soil; at any rate, I never found it growing except
in this particular kind of ground. “Ethel” shares with other
Saharan flora the peculiarity of possessing thorns, or rather,
in this case, spikes. It is a curious fact that every herb, plant,
or tree in the desert seems to have some kind of a thorn growing
upon it. The spikes on the “ethel” are perhaps less strong and
hard than in the case of most other Saharan vegetation. It is rather
strange how the camel eats these thorny morsels without apparently
suffering any inconvenience therefrom. By a peculiar motion he
seems to compress the thorns between the roof of his mouth and his
tongue and tear them off. The “cram-cram” grass, of which the
camel is excessively fond, and which is far more nourishing than
the “Ethel,” was no longer to be seen. On quitting the Adrar
we had left it behind. It does not appear to exist north of that
country at all.

[Illustration: MY RIDING-CAMEL IN THE SAHARA

This picture shows my camel ready to be mounted after a midday halt,
during which I had endeavoured to get some shade from a leafless
stunted tree. My saddle was a Tuareg “rahla”; these are made
with a curious cross in front. All the paraphernalia of the march
is hung ready on the saddle, e.g. rifle, water-bottle, haversack,
and camera. My ammunition I used to carry in a bandolier slung
round the shoulder.]

In the Sahara there are two kinds of plants, generally
speaking—plants which do not die if they get no rain during the
year, and plants which only spring up annually if there has been
rain. The former species is rather interesting on account of the
following peculiarities. After rain it sprouts forth new branches
or sprigs, and usually remains fairly green for three years,
after which it will dry up, but not die, and will still afford
nourishment for camels for several years, gradually fading away,
and finally dying if it does not get any rain for a period of seven
years. These periods—three and seven years—are necessarily not
exact in every case, but this is said to be the average. This fact,
of course, accounts for pasturage being found in parts of the Sahara
where it has been known not to rain for a considerable time.

The latter species, viz. the plants which only spring up annually if
it rains, are known to the Arabs by the general name of “acheb.”
It is said that to give life to one of these plants a heavy shower
of rain at least is necessary, and that the soil must have been
saturated for a depth of about four inches. The characteristic of the
“acheb” is that the seed never seems to die. It merely rests
in the ground, waiting for the requisite fall of rain to spring
up. The locality may not have any rain for ten years, yet the seed
will germinate when the rain does eventually come. “Acheb” of
all kinds is eagerly devoured by camels, and most kinds of it are
very nourishing.

There is a totally different sort of flora in the Sahara above
and below the 20th or 21st parallel, and the difference is rather
striking to the traveller, for the change of landscape and climate
to which this must be due is so gradual and so slight as to be
hardly noticeable.

Much of the Saharan vegetation, although so dry and unrefreshing in
appearance, contains a certain amount of liquid. It is this which
enables the fauna of the desert to exist without drinking.

The question of the different herbs of the desert leads one to
consider the subject of how and when camels should be allowed to
graze. I found I had a lot to learn about this, and it is a most
important item in the education of the desert traveller. Since
one’s mobility, and frequently one’s life, must depend on the
state of the camels in the caravan, the subject is obviously worth
studying. Of course, in some cases forced marches are absolutely
necessary, as when crossing a waterless tract of desert with little
water on the camels. But in most cases the welfare of the camel
must be studied as carefully as possible. Now, it has been noticed
that the camel will eat better at certain times of the day than he
will at others. Between the hours of 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. camels do
not graze. They generally lie down and rest at this time. Further,
they do not graze between about 2 a.m. and sunrise. They will,
practically, graze all the rest of the twenty-four hours. Experience
has also shown that they graze better on moonlight nights than when
it is dark. With these data as a guide, one can regulate the time of
marching so as to allow the camels to graze at suitable hours. The
authorities say that the animals should be allowed four hours’
pasturage at the very least during the twenty-four.

Another point to be remembered is that camels ruminate, or chew
their food, for some time after grazing. Time should be allowed for
this. When not grazing, and particularly at night, camels can often
be observed chewing. They will go on scrunching their massive jaws
for hours together, while squatting on their hunkers round the camp
after dark.

Camels are strange beasts, passing the comprehension of man in
many ways. I often used to watch them in their pasturage, and
think what antediluvian creatures they appeared to be. The camel
seems to belong to a prehistoric age, and should be classed with
the giraffe, elephant, and hippopotamus, to my mind. He is a sad
sort of animal, seeming never to take any enjoyment in life. Even
when in perfect liberty, grazing, he does not look happy. He only
then seems to be a little less discontented than usual. But with
all his peculiarities and vices a camel is a necessity in desert
travel, and I suppose we should be grateful to him for enabling us
to cross these inhospitable tracts. Without the camel the Sahara
would be even less known than at present.

CHAPTER XXII

WHILE at In Ouzel I had to make a careful overhaul of my
equipment. The portion of desert now close in front of me was the
much-dreaded Tanezrouft, and a journey across it at any time of the
year was not a thing to be lightly undertaken, but more especially
was this the case during the hottest season.

The Tanezrouft extends between the 23rd and 26th parallels in the
Central Sahara, forming a tract of desert in which there is no water,
to all intents and purposes no grazing and, what is still more
inconvenient in many ways, not even any firewood. The consequence
is that all these necessaries must be carried for a distance of
about 200 miles. The width of this waterless region varies in
different parts, but at the point where I was going to cross it I
must expect to take about seven days to accomplish the journey. This
is a tract which must be crossed as rapidly as possible in order
to reach the wells on the north side, for a camel in hot weather
cannot exist more than about eight days without water; moreover,
the water-skins are calculated to leak to the extent of one-tenth
per diem, from which it is evident that a full water-skin would
have lost the whole of its contents by the tenth day, even if none
of the water in it had been drunk. It follows that any delay over
and above seven days, in the passage of this dreary bit of desert,
would be extremely perilous for the safety of the caravan.

From the above considerations it is obvious that it was imperative
to be most careful that all details connected with the equipment
and organization of the little caravan should be put into first-rate
working order. It was unfortunate that I had been ill at this rather
critical time, but I had in person seen to as much as possible,
and had left everything else in the competent hands of Mahomed.

Broken saddles required to be repaired and thoroughly overhauled,
girths had to be mended and renewed, water-skins must be carefully
tested to see they did not leak more than the normal amount, while
camels’ wounds had to be dressed. Besides, the whole of my kit
really needed overhauling, but owing to the sandstorms constantly
blowing, it was impossible to do this. Our greatest difficulty
was with the saddles, for many of these had the wooden framework
broken, and this required to be firmly lashed in order to make the
saddle serviceable.

There are two or three different patterns of pack-saddle used in
this part of the Sahara. The French-made one is much solider than
the native article, but in some respects is less adapted for use with
camels, and likely to give them a sore back if not carefully attended
to. The French saddle, called the Gao pattern, consists of a wooden
triangular frame, made of two horizontal bars on each side, which
are connected by two transverse pieces at the sides, the apex of the
triangle being formed by a further horizontal bar. This saddle
fits on to the camel’s back on the top of two well-stuffed
panels which are filled with cotton-wool. On the framework are
fixed two iron hooks on each side, so that baggage can be slung
on each side of the frame. In most cases the two panels are sewn
together, a hole being cut in the middle to allow of the camel’s
hump protruding. I found that the chief drawback to these saddles
was that the panels were often not long enough; consequently, if a
load was used which projected lower than the panel on the animal’s
side, he was certain to get chafed by the constant friction of the
article against his skin. I saw some nasty wounds which had been
thus inflicted, and these were always difficult to heal.

The native type of saddle, called the “arrej” in Arabic, is a
far simpler affair, made on the same principle but with two light
pieces of bamboo fitting over each side of the camel, and connected
by two diagonal bamboos. This saddle also is kept from pressing
on the animal’s back by means of a cushion of date-palm fibre,
while no girth whatever is used.

Owing to there being no girth, a very nice adjustment of loads is
required to preserve the balance. I have seen some curious sights
with this saddle, too, when a camel has been coming down hill. If
he trots disaster is almost inevitable, for he jogs his saddle out
of place, and equilibrium between the loads is lost, so that they
fall to the ground, saddle and all.

Riding-saddles, called “rahla” in Arabic, are of two kinds—the
Arabic and the Tuareg saddle. These simply consist of a round
piece of wood for the seat, covered with leather, and a peak in
front as well as one behind. In the case of the Tuareg “rahla,”
which is by far the most comfortable, the peaks are higher and the
seat wider in circumference. The shape of the peak in the Tuareg
saddle is rather strange; it is in the form of a cross. The best
of riding-saddles are hard and uncomfortable if the length of march
is above the average. I used to fold a blanket over mine to soften
somewhat the discomfort caused by the hard wood. I never saw a
saddle of European manufacture, but have no doubt that something
far more comfortable could easily be made.

At In Ouzel Mahomed got rid of the useless El Bashir, and in his
place an Arab friend of his, called Othman, was engaged. The change
was vastly for the better, and I now found things worked much more
smoothly. It appeared that Othman and Mahomed had been partners in
business some time previously, so it was a great stroke of luck to
find him there. It was really essential to have at least two men
with the camels, for if one animal strays while grazing there is
someone left to look after the remainder. As it was, my servant
Musa assisted a great deal in collecting the camels from their
pasturage when we were about to start on a march.

I was more than thankful to leave In Ouzel. My experiences of the
place had been so disagreeable that I hated the sight of it. As
soon as we once more got on the march my spirits rose again and
things assumed a brighter hue.

It was the 22nd of May when we left In Ouzel. Game now was very
scarce, and for about the next ten days I saw nothing more than
two or three Loder’s gazelle in the distance.

We had a march of about ninety miles to the wells of Timissao, which
were on the southern limits of the Tanezrouft; but as we approached
this dreaded region the desert became more and more forbidding in its
aspect. We were now descending rapidly from the elevated plateau of
Adrar to the plain of the Tanezrouft. On the east was a rocky mass
of hills called the Jibal el Tirik, and at the foot of these there
was a small well, but it was nearly dry when we reached it. There
is hardly any grazing-land in this part, so that it never boasts of
even a nomad population. It is absolutely deserted. From the Tirik
hills we passed along a sandy valley between two parallel ranges of
rocky hills for a distance of about forty miles. The sand here was
not like that at In Ouzel, but resembled the sand in the south of
Adrar. It was as hard and as level as a running-track. Walking on
it was very easy, and I used to march six or seven hours without
feeling the slightest fatigue. In this valley the colouring at
sunset was beautiful. As the sun went down and its crimson rays
faded into a more subdued colour, the rocky hills were bathed in a
lovely deep purple light, creating an effect many an artist would
give a great deal to have an opportunity of depicting on canvas.

The last eight miles of the march to Timissao lay across the range
of hills which had formed our right flank coming up the valley. This
again was a new kind of desert scenery. Here there was not a vestige
of sand to be seen. Nothing but bare rocks and huge boulders strewed
the way. Marching was difficult for men and beasts, and at times
there seemed every prospect of losing some of the animals down the
precipitous sides of a rocky gully. Camels, unless specially trained
to it, are by no means surefooted on rough ground; frequently one
would clumsily place his foot on a loose boulder and only recover
himself with difficulty. After a long and excessively hot march
we eventually arrived at the well of Timissao. The well lay in a
sandy “oued,” which suddenly emerged to view as we clambered
to the top of the rocky ridge above it.

A few shrubs of “ethel” were scattered along the sides of the
“oued,” and as we arrived a young Loder’s gazelle peered at
us with inquisitive eyes, astonished at this unwonted intrusion of
his desert haunts.

The well of Timissao, the last we were to see for a week, had the
best water I had tasted since leaving Kidal. It was beautifully
clear and fresh, so unlike the wells of Adrar in this respect. A
big ledge of rock projected from the cliff hard by, under which I
ensconced myself for the day. But after breakfast there was plenty
to be done. We had to water all the camels, and must ensure their
drinking their fill before commencing the fatiguing march across
the Tanezrouft.

In the sand was made a long, narrow drinking-trough, lined with
stones, so as to facilitate the drinking operations. By this means
we could water some half-dozen camels at a time.

Mahomed and Othman were stripped to the waist, busily engaged
in filling up the trough, as the thirsty beasts emptied it, with
buckets full of water, drawn up in the “delou” from the well. It
was a curious sight to watch the animals’ sides swelling to huge
dimensions as they drank. I would notice a camel, apparently thin
and wasting away, with his ribs all showing, come up to the trough,
and after his drink he would look positively sleek and fat. When
camels do drink they are greedy drinkers.

An animal consumes from eight to ten gallons at a time. But to
allow him to drink all he is capable of, it is necessary to let
him return two, if not three times to the trough. After drinking
three or four gallons he will withdraw, and should be allowed to
return in a couple of hours or so for a further ration of water,
and so on till he is satisfied. For this reason it is advisable to
commence the watering in the morning, in order to finish in one day.
Further, camels are naturally thirstier, and drink better, when the
sun is hot, than they will do at night. Watering was not thoroughly
finished till 3 p.m., and Mahomed was anxious to get the caravan
under way that same afternoon, so as to delay the passage of the
Tanezrouft as little as possible. Accordingly the camels were loaded
up with the baggage as soon as they left the water-side. A very
different appearance did they present now they had satisfied their
thirst to the utmost. I have no doubt they realized they were now
going to be called on to undertake a tougher job than usual, and so
must be well provided with their reserve of water for the occasion.

On quitting the well of Timissao we at once entered on the
Tanezrouft. Quickly leaving the rocky hills behind us, we emerged
on to a bleak, arid waste, consisting apparently of a vast plain
of hard sand, with, on the east, a faint line of hills in the
far distance. These hills marked the southern part of the Hoggar
country, a land in which the nomads are Tuaregs, of whom I heard
and saw more later on. Our way lay almost due north, across this
seemingly endless, inhospitable plain of sand. We were now carrying
water, food, and wood for the needs of the whole caravan, both for
men and beasts. The wood we had collected with some difficulty on
the march that morning early, and it chiefly consisted of dried-up
mimosa twigs, but this was supplemented by a dried-up plant which is
found in the Sahara, called “harta” in Arabic, or “aresou”
in Tuareg. The latter fuel is a most useful article, being quite
invaluable in many parts of the Sahara, where trees and shrubs are
not found. It is a plant to which the camels are very partial when
in flower, but when dried up it resembles a bunch of withered twigs.

About 7 p.m. we halted for the evening meal. There was to be little
sleep for anyone the next seven days. The halt to-night only lasted
till the moon rose, and then we were off once more. That night we
marched from about 9 p.m. till dawn, without a halt. For the first
time for months I saw a cloudy sky. The night was very dark, as
the moon became obscured behind the clouds soon after she rose. It
was a marvel to me how Mahomed found the way. Even had the route
been a clearly defined track it would have been none too easy on
such a night. But these desert guides seem to be gifted with almost
supernatural powers of vision, and I never saw him hesitate once. I
walked, as I found it was the only way to keep awake. When I felt a
little tired I mounted my camel, but soon became drowsy and began
to nod; then I felt myself falling off the animal’s back, and
just woke in time to avoid a disaster. It was a long way from the
camel’s back to the ground. A fall would have possibly involved
a broken leg, so I decided to choose the lesser of the two evils
and dismount again.

I was not sorry when the day began to dawn. At any rate, it was now
light and possible to see one’s surroundings. We now halted for
ten minutes, while the devout Mohammedans said their prayers. It
was a picturesque sight to watch these men turn their faces to the
pink flush in the eastern sky and kneel piously on the desert sand
while they uttered the morning prayer, bowing themselves every now
and again to the ground in obeisance to their God. After this short
halt we marched on till the sun grew too hot, about 11 a.m. From 11
till 2 p.m. we again halted, although it can hardly be said that we
rested. The heat was suffocating. There was no shade anywhere. The
only possible hope of getting a little shelter from the direct rays
of the sun was to rig up a _tente d’abri_ of some description. I
had long ago given up using my own tent for this purpose; and in
the Tanezrouft, where one was fatigued after a long march under
trying conditions, it was still less practicable to pitch it.

I improvised a tiny shelter with a waterproof sheet, to the ends of
which were attached four strings. Making use of a couple of short
bamboos, or sometimes of my rifles in the daytime, when there seemed
no chance of danger, to support this sheet, I succeeded in contriving
a small place in which I could sit down. The height was sufficient
to permit of my keeping my sun-helmet on my head while in the sitting
position, and the length was enough to allow me to stretch my legs to
their full extent and yet be thoroughly protected from the sun. The
four ends were tied by their strings to articles of baggage.

My “house” was certainly better than nothing, but it can
hardly be said that it was comfortable. My position was cramped
and tiring, while the heat inside was very oppressive. A further
inconvenience, and the worst of all, was that, when a sandstorm
arose, I was exposed to it from two sides. It was impossible to
make the covering air-tight enough to keep out the clouds of sand.
I tried to close all openings with my available blankets, but the
result was very poor, and in the end I had to resign myself to the
inevitable and get “sanded” patiently!

The sandstorms were very frequent in the Tanezrouft, and much worse
than I had hitherto experienced. The days succeeded one another
without great variation in the monotony, for except for the degree
of violence in the sandstorms, one day was almost exactly the
counterpart of another.

These sandstorms were really the most horrible feature of that
dreaded waterless desert. The storm would begin with little
warning. All of a sudden in the distance there would appear a dense
greyish yellow cloud, whirling rapidly towards us from the distant
horizon. This was preceded by an intensely hot wind, resembling
somewhat the hot-air blast from a furnace when the doors are
opened. This hot wind carried with it countless scattered particles
of sand, the scouts, as it were, of the storm which was following,
and sent on to find out what human beings or animals were there
to become the object of its attack. This preliminary wind, with
its accompanying sand, was a mere bagatelle. The real trial was
to follow. Close on its heels came the sandstorm—a whirling,
densely packed bank of sand, hurrying forward at a headlong pace,
blinding and overpowering everything with which it came in contact.

Before one of these terrible storms it is impossible to stand up
without the danger of being overcome. The only plan is to fall on
the ground and cover up your face, lying there until the storm is
past. The camels instinctively do the same. They know, even quicker
than a man, when a sandstorm is coming, and prostrate themselves
before it arrives. These sandstorms are awful things, to which even
the most experienced and philosophical of Arabs never get used.
Instead of cooling the air, they seem to make it hotter. The heat
when a sandstorm is about is remarkably oppressive. Just before and
after a storm of this description the sun is seen through a haze,
reminding the spectator of the appearance it has in London on a
foggy day. Of course, while the storm is raging no sun is to be
seen. Indeed, the air is so thick with sand that it is impossible
to see more than a few yards. Moreover, the person who raises his
head when a really bad storm is raging is foolhardy in the extreme.

[Illustration: MY SERVANT MUSA IN THE SAHARA

This faithful Hausa servant accompanied me uncomplainingly through
the hardships of nearly two months’ desert travel. It will
be noticed that his garments are rather the worse for wear, and,
indeed, he was in a far more deplorable condition in this respect by
the time we reached Insalah. He, like myself, was obliged to adopt
the “litham,” to prevent the blinding and choking effects of
the sand.]

Besides making one’s eyes very sore and mouth very parched in
spite of every precaution, I found that it made my nose bleed, so
great was the irritation caused by the gritty particles of sand. It
was rare to have a sandstorm at night. I recollect only one case,
and in that instance it was not very severe. These storms usually
sprang up about 9 a.m., and raged discontinuously until 5 or 6 p.m.

It was bad enough for me, but in many ways I pitied the unfortunate
Musa most. He, after a long, weary night march, was perhaps trying
to cook my simple repast at midday, when a sandstorm would come up
with its usual impetuosity and bury everything in oceans of sand. I
must have eaten gallons of sand on this portion of my trek. I
often marvelled that it did not make me ill, but I never noticed
any unpleasant effects except for the disagreeable taste at the time.

During these fatiguing days I found it impossible to sleep at the
midday halt, tired though I was. The discomfort of the interior
of my shelter, even when it was not enveloped in a sand-cloud,
was so great that sleep was out of the question. I always longed
to start on our weary way once more. But the camels had to rest,
and the Arabs and Musa appeared to find no difficulty in slumbering,
for which I heartily envied them. The only time I managed to sleep
was during the short rest in the evening after dinner. The hour of
our departure at night varied with the time of moonrise, but the
evening rest rarely exceeded two to three hours. Altogether we used
to march about eighteen hours out of the twenty-four.

Even when sleeping in the Sahara it behoves the traveller to have one
eye open, for there is always the fear of possible attack from desert
robbers. I used to be very particular at night to secure the safety
of the camp as far as I could. On arriving at the halting-place the
camels were formed in a small circle, each one depositing its load
at the spot where it had halted. A miniature zariba of baggage was
thus formed. At the rear end of this I would have my bed pitched,
and never went to sleep without having my two rifles loaded by my
side. Danger in the desert generally coming from the rear, I was
in a position to meet it at once, for I am a light sleeper. I could
not depend on the Arabs or my servant to keep watch in turns, as I
had previously intended them to do. In any case in the Tanezrouft
the men were generally so weary that it was almost impossible not
to drop asleep.

On the 29th of May, the fourth day of our journey through the
Tanezrouft, the monotonous stretch of sandy plain which we had seen
without interruption since leaving Timissao, gave way to a different
nature of scenery. The country now became rocky and hilly. Barren,
rugged peaks of isolated hills appeared. These rocks were of granite,
split and cracked into hundreds of clefts by the action of the
powerful sun. Although the sandy plains we had been crossing until
now were dreary, desolate expanses, yet, in some ways, the gaunt,
gloomy rocks before us were suggestive of a terrible loneliness
too. On those gloomy but scorching hill-sides there existed no
living thing. That parched-up land of desolation was the home of
eternal death. The tops of the rugged peaks rose some three or
four hundred feet above the surrounding plain, and I dare say, if
some enterprising person cared to climb to the top, he would have
a view over the whole Tanezrouft from one side to another, for the
atmosphere is extraordinarily clear when no sandstorm is blowing.

This rocky spot in the centre almost of the Tanezrouft is known
as In Zize. We were to camp on the other side of these hills at
noon that day, and as we marched we saw some human skulls and the
skeletons of three or four camels. The ghastly remains of some lost
caravan. The bones, and in some cases the skins, were perfectly
preserved. Here there were no vultures or wild animals to feast
on the bodies, nor was there any damp to rot the skin. It was not
difficult to surmise how this caravan came to perish. In the desert
it is nearly always the same story. Either through losing their way,
or an accident to the water supply, a caravan struggles on until
it is exhausted and dies of thirst.

After quitting this place of rocks the desert resumed its former
appearance. The interminable stretches of hard sand seemed to
extend into infinity. As a rule it was flat as a billiard table,
but here and there could be seen a small sandy mound or undulation
which probably served as a landmark to the guide. Our daily marches
averaged forty-eight kilometres, about thirty miles. As the camel
is a slow marcher when laden, and sandstorms greatly interrupted
progress, the distance covered was considerable. Besides, the animals
were now weary and had some difficulty in maintaining even their
usual pace. I was obliged to discard some of my baggage, chiefly
ammunition, heads, and “couscous,” in order to lighten the
loads. The water supply was lightening itself with alarming rapidity,
and required a watchful eye. Musa was the chief, and indeed the only,
offender. The negro is used to drinking a great deal of water, being
ignorant of the virtue of self-control in this matter. I several
times caught him taking surreptitious draughts at the water-skins,
and had to check him severely. The heat, and thirst engendered
by it, were certainly intense, so that I could not help secretly
sympathizing with him, although it was necessary to be harsh. The
daily ration of water was doled out twice a day—at the midday
halt, and again in the evening—and at no other time was anyone
allowed to touch the water supply.

Each day passed in the same fatiguing, wearisome manner. Long,
exhausting night marches, a halt in the midst of heat and discomfort,
followed by further marching in the afternoon, until, by the evening
halt we were dead beat. And all the time, at short intervals, we
had those horrible sandstorms. At night, while marching, it is true,
we were exempt from the trials of a sandstorm, but by that time we
were so tired that we marched sullenly on more like machines than
men. The trials of those days in the Tanezrouft are not easily
to be forgotten. Sometimes I used to wonder if there would be any
end to it. The place in my imagination conjured up ideas of what
the infernal regions must be like. A continual struggling forward
with endless difficulties to contend against. To all intents and
purposes no rest, a thirst that could never be quenched, and an
utter distaste for the monotonous diet of dates and “couscous”
well mixed with sand!

I often now wonder how one got through those weary days. When we
halted in the daytime, as I could not sleep I used to attempt to
write and work up my notes, but the discomfort was so great that
the work I got through did not amount to much. Towards the end the
water we had to drink was so disgusting, owing to the time it had
lain in the water-skin, that the only way I could drink mine was
in the form of tea. Fortunately I was well provided with tea all
through my Sahara trek, and I used my ration of fuel in order to
boil water for tea.

[Illustration: MY ARAB GUIDE, MAHOMED-BEN-KAID-KADDOUR

This man, to whose skill and endurance I am indebted for safely
crossing some eight hundred miles of the Sahara wastes, was a
typical, hardy desert wanderer. With a cupful of water and a handful
of dates as his daily ration he would bear the scorching heat and
suffocating sandstorms without showing any signs of fatigue.]

On the sixth day we crossed a series of parallel ridges of
sand-hills. The sand here was, of course, quite soft, and the
camels’ feet used to sink several inches deep into it. These
sand-hills appeared to stretch as far as the eye could reach to the
west, and possibly have some connection with the hills of moving
sand known as Amool Gragim, which lie to the north of the desert
salt-mines of Taudeny.

On the evening of the 1st of June, just before sunset, we arrived
at the wells of Ahnet, having, to everyone’s joy, at last emerged
from the desolate wastes of the Tanezrouft. Here there was fair
pasturage for the camels, and everyone was in need of a rest,
so I halted for a day and a half.

Some of our animals were in a bad condition. The march had been more
than usually trying owing to the heat, and to the fact that caravans
so rarely travel at this time of year in consequence. A feeling of
satisfaction came over me at the thought that the worst was now over,
for the strain of the last few days had been almost intolerable.

One of the most marvellous things about desert travel in the Sahara
is the extraordinary instinct for finding the way possessed by the
guides, and already referred to.

For miles and miles on the Tanezrouft there was, as far as I could
see, no landmark of any description to assist Mahomed, yet he never
erred. On this vast plain it would be extremely easy to miss a
well, for an error of a few minutes in direction, when prolonged
over a distance of about 133 miles, would bring the caravan to a
point many miles away from the well on one flank or the other. For
this very reason a compass is not of much use in desert travelling.
The guide’s knowledge and instinct must alone be relied upon. Of
course, the sun and stars give a good guide a very fair indication
of his direction, but as I have just hinted, a greater degree of
accuracy than this is imperative, for, surrounding a well, for many
miles there are probably no landmarks to help the guide, and the
well itself can usually not be seen till it is actually reached.

Towards the end of the Tanezrouft Mahomed’s sight began to get
weak. He had probably strained his eyes by continually gazing at
the far-distant horizon. I gave him some lotion from my small stock
of medicines which did him good in a few days.

In the desert one of the commonest diseases, if not the only one
observed in this healthy region, is ophthalmia. It is said to be
produced by the sand which is always in motion in the atmosphere.
Grown-up people and children alike suffer from it.

Our chief source of anxiety was always the water. The skins, or
“guerbas,” in which this is carried are extremely susceptible
to injury. Thorns, which are so common in the Sahara, penetrate the
soft goatskin with ease, causing a puncture which very soon empties
the bag of its precious liquid. For this reason great precautions
are necessary, when a halt is made, that the water-skins shall not
be placed on the bare ground on being taken off the camel’s back.
It is essential to place something firm underneath. Further, the
“guerba” should be covered over in the daytime to prevent it from
perspiring unduly on account of the heat. In the desert one gets to
care for one’s water supply with extraordinary solicitude. But
this is hardly to be wondered at, since it is the very soul of
existence there.

These water-skins each carry about six gallons when full. They
resemble the “mussock” of the Indian “bhisti,” and have
one end left unsewn to act as a mouthpiece. This end is tied up
with string on the march. The “guerba” is slung, by means
of a rope attached to two of its corners, across the hooks on the
pack-saddle. At first I used to carry a water-bottle on my own camel,
but latterly I rejected this in favour of a small “guerba,” which
carried about a gallon of water and kept it far cooler. I never used
a filter, and sometimes was obliged to drink the most filthy water,
which under ordinary circumstances one would not have washed in. I
must say that I seldom felt any ill-effects for long, after drinking
this unwholesome stuff, and can only attribute it to the fact that
one keeps in marvellously good health in that dry atmosphere.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE region of the Tanezrouft, which we had just quitted, divides
Adrar from the Hoggar country, and it was into the Ahnet, or Western
Hoggar, that we had now emerged. The subsoil of Hoggar Ahnet consists
of a certain amount of clay underneath the sand. In this respect
it differed from the Tanezrouft, which has a large proportion of
salt in its subsoil. The salt is, of course, to a great extent
responsible for the barrenness of the Tanezrouft.

Western Hoggar consists of a plateau, about 200 feet lower than the
Tanezrouft, the average height of which is 1200 feet. The whole of
Hoggar is a mountainous country, situated almost in the middle of
the Central Sahara. The nomads, as has already been stated, are
a tribe of the Tuareg race. Their country is poor, as is only to
be expected in the Sahara, but at the same time a little barley is
grown in certain parts, while a small grape is also known to exist.
These Tuaregs have a certain number of sheep and goats, but they
are far inferior in quality as well as numbers to the flocks of
the Iforas. Indeed, the Hoggars buy goats and sheep from the nomads
of Adrar.

The Hoggars had a most unenviable reputation as the greatest robbers
in the Sahara until quite recent years. The French desert columns
have, however, inflicted some severe lessons on them, and they are
now no longer so much to be feared as formerly. That they have
not altogether abandoned their marauding propensities, however,
I was soon to discover for myself.

The Hoggar country is well placed for its nomads to practise
their robberies. This land lies on the flank of the trade routes of
caravans proceeding from the north to the Niger, or to Domaggoran and
the Hausa States. Hence the Hoggars were greatly feared by these
caravans for many years. If a caravan was not well protected it
was sure to fall a prey to their plundering bands, while isolated
parties of two or three men and a few camels ran considerable
risk of being captured and killed by them. These Tuaregs, like
nearly all their race, are not traders. They have none but the
most meagre resources in their own country, therefore they had to
plunder to live. In the desert they have few superiors, and are
adepts at handling camels. In some parts of their country water is
comparatively plentiful, while owing to the height of the mountains
the cold in the night and early morning from October to January is
very great. The highest peak, Mount Illimane, rises to a height
of 9000 feet, and I have been told that Tuaregs state that snow
has been seen on it. Hoggar Ahnet is in the nature of a flat spur
projecting from this otherwise mountainous country.

At 2.30 p.m. on the 3rd of June we left the wells of Ahnet. This was
now the last stage of the march to Insalah, and as time was getting
short I was anxious to push on as rapidly as possible. I calculated
I had still 800 miles of desert to traverse before reaching the
Algerian railways, and as my leave expired on the 10th of July I
should have some difficulty in reaching England by that date.

Compared with the Tanezrouft this land appeared to be a smiling
garden, so sharp was the contrast! Here there were wide “oueds,”
with good grazing for camels, and the relief at seeing even that
dried-up Saharan vegetation was indescribable. Wells were by no
means numerous, however, and between Ahnet and the next well,
called El Jibal, there was a stretch of eighty-eight miles, or
three long days’ march. It was while traversing this piece of
desert that we had an encounter with some Tuareg highwaymen.

One afternoon, about three o’clock, I noticed three wild figures
riding rapidly towards us on camels. They were approaching from
the south-east, so presumably came from the interior of the Hoggar
country. I called Mahomed’s attention to them, and instinctively
felt for my rifle, which I always carried slung at my saddle. The
small rifle was similarly slung on the saddle of my servant, and
both were always ready for use.

Mahomed was armed with an old French Lebel rifle and was, I knew,
a good shot. Othman had only a flint-lock muzzle-loader, which
was of doubtful value even if he were an expert marksman. In the
Sahara no one travels unarmed, so we were not surprised to see the
new arrivals had weapons. But they were literally armed to the
teeth, so appearances rather suggested they were up to no good.
Each man had an almost new Lebel carbine, with a bandolier full of
ammunition slung beside it, in addition they carried the two Tuareg
swords and a spear each.

Mahomed said nothing in reply to my ejaculation, but I saw him
slip a cartridge into the breech of his rifle, which significantly
showed what he thought of them. I gave Musa a warning word to be on
the alert with the ·303, and by this time they were almost within
speaking distance.

Their appearance was fantastic, reminding one forcibly of the
brigand in a play. The leader, a stalwart man with his face more
than usually enveloped in his “litham,” wore a bright red cloth
thrown over his shoulders, while his legs were encased in a pair of
gaily decorated leather boots, which reached almost to the thigh,
and covered entirely the lower part of his baggy white trousers.
The two followers were similarly attired, but less elaborately, and
appeared considerably inferior in rank. All three were mounted on
the shaggy-haired camels which are bred in the mountainous country
of Hoggar. These beasts looked built for speed, and appeared to be in
first-rate condition. Until I was more certain of their motives I did
not produce my rifle, although I was ready to do so at an instant.

[Illustration: ARAB AND TUAREG

Typical nomads of the Sahara. Observe how their faces are covered
with a veil (“litham”) to keep out the desert sand.]

At the time I was in rear of the little convoy, and the leader,
closely followed by his companions, rode rapidly up to Othman,
who was in front with Mahomed. Two men roughly seized Othman’s
“mesoued” (leather kitbag), while the third got in front of him,
laying his hand on his rifle. Their movements, evidently carefully
prearranged, had been so rapid that all this had happened in a
few seconds. I at once produced my rifle, urged my camel forward,
and ordered them to desist. My knowledge of Temacheq, as the Tuareg
language is called, was limited to a few words, but, on hearing my
tone of voice, they immediately looked towards me, and I covered
the third member of the gang with my rifle. He let go his weapon
at once, and the other two desisted. By this time Musa and Mahomed
had also got their rifles raised, and they realized, I suppose,
that the game was up. I can only imagine that they took it for
granted that we would be cowed at their overbearing demeanour,
otherwise their action in plain daylight would appear very foolish.

I told Mahomed to tell them to clear off at once or I should
make them prisoners; at the same time we relieved them of their
ammunition, without which they were harmless. I could not carry
their rifles, so left them in possession of these. Moreover, rifles
are fairly easy to replace, as there is so much gun-running in
North Africa, but ammunition is very hard to obtain. So ended this
little incident, which was my only experience with desert robbers.
It was perhaps fortunate that this party was such a small one, but,
in any case, we were well armed, and could always have given a good
account of ourselves.

After descending from the plateau of Ahnet we approached the
desolate region called Mouyidir, which lies between Ahnet and the
Tidikelt country. It first appeared as a frowning mass of black,
rocky hills on the east, which got nearer to us as we advanced
each day. Finally, we were marching on the western border of
the Mouyidir country. At this point was a well, called Imbelram,
which we reached on the 8th of June. This well was so salt that
the water was almost undrinkable. My first draught of water made me
ill, and it had an unpleasant effect on all who drank it. However,
we had to fill up our “guerbas” with this water, for there was
ahead of us a waterless region, about eighty miles wide, which was
a part of the Mouyidir plateau.

In some respects this region was as inhospitable as the Tanezrouft,
but a scanty amount of pasturage and fuel existed for the first
fifty miles, the remainder of the desert being absolutely without
any vegetation whatever.

Mouyidir is a district in which rain seldom falls. For the past seven
years there had not been a drop, so it was hardly to be wondered
at that there was little vegetation in the land. The plateau is
of chalky soil, the northern part being cut up with numerous slaty
gullies. Although sandstorms were less frequent here I found the heat
more trying than in the Tanezrouft. The highest shade temperature
I recorded was 111·5 degrees, and possibly we were fatigued by
our previous experiences, so noticed the heat more than we should
otherwise have done.

Musa was quite overcome on two occasions, and I began to feel glad
we were so near Insalah, where he would be able to rest. Poor Musa
by this time had assumed a woeful appearance. His clothes were in
such rags that he had to discard his nether garments altogether,
and turn his coat into trousers, by using the sleeves for his legs!
Around his body he carelessly flung his blanket, thus creating such a
ludicrous object that I could not help laughing when he first showed
himself in his new attire. My own scanty wardrobe was sadly in need
of repair, so I also longed for a chance of mending my clothes.

At this time I had, fortunately, one water-skin of fairly good water
remaining from the previous well, so decided to use it, only, for the
passage of the Mouyidir desert as long as it would last. The salt
water of Imbelram not only made me ill, but seemed to increase,
instead of alleviating, the thirst. Here again hard marching was
the order of the day. The distance to the well of El Gouirat on the
north side was covered in fifty-four hours; and the last fifty-five
miles took no more than thirty-four hours, in which we only rested
for four hours altogether. I must own to being greatly fatigued on
arriving at the well of El Gouirat, but as Mahomed declared it was
“quite near” to Insalah, indicating that we could reach it in
three hours, I decided to go on with him that afternoon, leaving
the baggage to follow with Othman and Musa the next day.

I suppose Mahomed’s joy at being so near his destination made
him exaggerate, for, to my cost, I discovered it was about twenty
miles to the oasis, and we did not arrive till eight o’clock that
night. Our camels were weary, and we were not a whit less so when,
at last, we saw the palm trees of the oasis in the distance.

As we rode over the crest of a sandy ridge Mahomed pointed in front
of us to a faint, dark line, just visible in the rapidly falling
dusk. The houses I could not see; even in the daytime they are
difficult to distinguish from the surrounding sand until one is
quite close to them.

My entry at the officers’ mess was a strange one. The Arab
servant who answered my summons at the door regarded me with evident
suspicion. Probably the only Europeans he ever saw were the officers
with whom he was well acquainted, and the sight of a strange white
face seemed to cause him great uneasiness. He positively refused me
admission, so I brushed past him and mounted some steps towards the
flat roof on which I could see some men sitting. When I announced
myself their surprise was hardly less than that of the servant. They
afterwards told me that they had heard news of my projected journey
during the previous October, nine months ago. They had expected
me to pass through Insalah in March or April, and, as I had not
arrived, they thought I had probably abandoned my plan or come to
grief in the Sahara. No wonder, therefore, that my appearance now
caused them some surprise.

When I arrived that night, the 12th of July, the heartiness of their
welcome could not have been exceeded. It made one really appreciate
kindness when it was extended, as it was by these French officers
to me, with such thorough genuineness.

At the risk of being accused of gluttony, I must acknowledge
how I enjoyed my supper at Insalah that night. After eating food
cooked in sand for the past five weeks it was a treat to have a
well-served-up dish.

It appeared that the Commandant, Colonel Laperine, was away, a
piece of news at which I was much disappointed, for I had heard so
much of his fame as a soldier skilled in desert warfare, that I had
looked forward to this opportunity of meeting him. In the Central
Sahara, I suppose there is no name so widely known and respected,
or feared, as the case may be, by Tuareg and Arab. He had served
for many years with French troops in this region, where only the
hardest and most self-controlled men can possibly exist, and on
many occasions had led “forlorn hopes” with brilliant success.
Although he has now left those parts for a high command in France,
Colonel Laperine’s name is one which will live for many a long
year in the Central Sahara.

[Illustration: INSALAH OASIS

Date-palms grow here in profusion, thanks to the liberal system
of irrigation which waters their roots. In the moist ground at
their feet are grown small patches of barley and a few coarse
vegetables. On seeing this vista of emerald verdure, who would think
that for many hundred miles south, east, and west there is scarcely
a green blade, nor anything more restful to the traveller’s jaded
eye than small patches of sun-scorched Saharan vegetation?]

I was comfortably housed in the post at Insalah that night, and the
following day my baggage arrived at an early hour, having marched
all night. The exhausted camels were taken away by Mahomed for a
well-earned feed on dates and a thorough rest. Although we had been
fortunate in not losing a single animal during the hardships of
the last five weeks, yet most of them were in a desperately poor
condition, and would need many weeks in a pasturage before they
would be again fit for work.

From Gao to Insalah I calculated I had marched across 936 miles of
desert, and the time taken was fifty days.

I had slept that night on the roof of my house, as I was warned
it would be very hot inside. I awoke very early to find a small
sandstorm raging round me, and jumped out of bed fairly quickly. It
was not till some hours later, when the wind had abated, that I
was able to get my first real glimpse of Insalah.

The officers’ quarters were all inside the fortified post, and
were built with thick walls of red clay. This clay is found in the
desert in certain places not far from Insalah, at some feet below
the sand, and all the huts at Insalah are made of it. Insalah lies
in the middle of a sandy plain, which is enclosed on the east and
west by low ridges of sand-hills. It is one of the oases, and the
principal one, in the region called Tidikelt. It is a date-palm oasis
of some importance. The oasis stretches for a distance of about three
and one-third miles to the west, while the grove of palm trees is
on the average one and one-third miles wide. Insalah is made up of
three “ksours” or villages. The total population is about five
hundred. These consist mostly of Arabs, but traders from all parts
of the Sahara, who are constantly arriving on their way through,
make a further floating population of fifty to one hundred souls.

The importance of Insalah is due to its geographical position.
It lies at the eastern extremity of the long line of oases which
commences with Colomb Béchar, extending through Beni Abbes and
the Touat. Owing to this comparatively fertile region of oases
giving a good line of communication into the Sahara from the west,
caravans from the borders of south-west Morocco naturally follow
this route and come to Insalah. From Insalah there are several
important caravan routes leading north, south, and east. The main
caravan route from the north, leading from Biskra to the Niger,
passes through here; while caravans proceeding to Tripoli from the
west also use this route in preference to any other.

Water at Insalah is very plentiful, but slightly salt. It is found
at a depth of about fifteen feet, but the second layer of water,
which is preferable for Europeans to drink, is found at a depth of
thirty feet.

The principal resource of Insalah is its dates. The population lives
on the date harvest, and there is a sufficient surplus for sale to
nomads in less favoured localities in the desert. A small quantity of
corn and barley is also grown by irrigation. The method of irrigating
is worthy of notice. Water is, of course, led from the wells, of
which there are positively hundreds at Insalah. Small trenches
are dug, called “fogara,” by which the water is conducted
from the well to the foot of the palm trees, thus irrigating the
dates. Around the foot of the palms each landowner grows a small
farm of corn or barley. These little farms are irrigated from the
main “fogara,” by minor channels leading in different directions.

During the past three years the French have bored numerous artesian
wells. The largest gives an output of 4500 litres a minute. The
result of all this irrigation is to produce a wonderfully verdant
mass of foliage, which is most refreshing to the eye of the desert
traveller, who, like myself, has not seen anything that could be
called really green for many weeks. It cannot be said that Insalah
is a prosperous centre of trade. Beyond a little commerce in dates
it does no business whatever. The inhabitants are poor. The place
is being rapidly encroached on by the desert sand, and, altogether,
its future does not appear bright. In order to prevent the sand
from encroaching desperate efforts have been made to keep it out
by building barricades on the side from which the prevailing wind
blows. These barricades, built on the north-east of the oasis, are
made of batches of palm leaves, placed on the tops of high mounds
or sand-dunes. But Insalah is a place of sand, in which, during the
greater part of the year, a strong north-east wind is blowing, ever
bringing more and more sand into the oasis. The so-called streets
are several inches deep in soft sand, and everything gets covered
with it in the houses.

[Illustration: THE ARTESIAN WELL OF EL BARHA AT INSALAH

By boring artesian wells the French have done much to fertilize the
Insalah oasis. The first layer of water at Insalah is close to the
surface, but is exceedingly saline, which is seen by the curious
crust of salt deposited on the surface of the sand in the vicinity
of a well. The water at this artesian well rushes out with great
force, being led off in various directions by small channels to
irrigate the surrounding land.]

[Illustration: THE MARKET-PLACE, TOUGGOURT

Groups of Arabs are to be seen, squatting in Eastern fashion,
selling their wares at these stalls in the daytime. The market
is also a great place for gossip, where the news of the desert is
dispensed—often highly coloured—to all comers. One of the chief
features here is the tea tavern, much frequented by these people,
who, being Mussulmans, are forbidden, by the tenets of the Koran,
to drink alcohol.]

While at Insalah I went for a ride in the palm groves, and it was
then that I learned something about dates. There are many varieties
of the fruit, but the principal ones are the “grhess” and the
“deglet-nour.” The former is the ordinary date of commerce, and
is the one grown and sold at Insalah. It is the “grhess” which
is eaten by the desert traveller, and it is carried for sale in bags
made of camel’s hair, called “tellis.” A “tellis” contains
eighty to one hundred kilos of dates, and two “tellis” make a
camel’s load. Dates are harvested in September or October. At this
period of the year nomads flock to the oasis to gather their harvest
or buy the fruit if they do not themselves possess trees at Insalah.

The “deglet-nour” is a finer date. It is, indeed, the date we
see in England, sold for dessert in white boxes. None of these are
grown at Insalah, but they come from the oases in the extreme north.

If rain falls in any quantity where dates are growing the fruit is
ruined. The date tree requires plenty of irrigation at the roots,
but water on the fruit quite spoils the latter. The reason for this
is that dates are covered with a coating of sugar, which protects
and nourishes the fruit, but rain washes this off. At Insalah,
and all date oases, there are swarms of flies. These flies come to
feed on the sugar, just mentioned, on the coating of a date. The
plague of flies in these places is most disagreeable, and commences
from the time the fruit begins to ripen, continuing till the end
of the harvest.

Pasturage for camels is bad and scarce near Insalah. Camels have
to be sent 200 kilometres away to graze, so that, when they are at
Insalah, some other form of food has to be given them. The animals
actually stopping in the oasis are generally fed on dates. These are
broken up into small pieces, and either given raw, or cooked soft,
to the beasts. Dates are an expensive form of diet for the camel,
as his appetite is so insatiable, but at the same time they are
very nourishing. Camels are also fed on barley, but as the quantity
grown at Insalah is so small this form of food is exceptional.

Some of the streets of Insalah are absurdly narrow. The main street
in the principal “ksour” in one place is barely twelve inches
wide. The ponies of the oasis are very clever at passing along
it—from constant practice, I suppose. The houses at this spot
have been built so close together that little room was left between
them for a street. Insalah has the appearance of an Eastern town.
Arab beggars and cripples are a common sight in its streets. Some
of these are uncommonly dirty, but picturesque. Tattered, flowing
gowns, once white, but now coffee colour from the dirt of ages,
adorn their lean bodies; while the older ones have fine white beards,
often sweeping half-way down their breast. The Arabs of this part are
fine-looking men as a rule. They are very pale of complexion, with
black or dark brown eyes, aquiline noses, and white teeth. Most of
them are muscular and extremely wiry. I fancy a great many children
die at birth, so it is a case of the survival of the fittest.

A strange place is this little town of sand, buried in the heart of
the Central Sahara, but although so small, and with such limited
resources, what a paradise it seems to many a wayfarer in the
desert! Here at least it is possible to get shelter from the cruel
sandstorms and from the fierce heat of the sun. At Insalah there is
that precious necessity of life, water. While here, also, a man can
rest, and his camels can be relieved of their burdens. The necessity
for hurrying forward with the restless energy which is required
of a caravan in the Sahara need no longer be exercised. Peace and
rest are the two exclamations which must rise to the lips of almost
every traveller when he sees the Oasis of Insalah before him.

CHAPTER XXIV

Disturbing news — _En route_ for Algiers — A remarkable man —
Horses at Insalah — Hospitality of French officers — Slavery
amongst the Arabs — An unusual sight — A pathetic story —
My own valet and cook — A precipitous track — The “Great
Erg”— Hassy Inifel — An incompetent guide — Lost — A useful
camel-driver — A hospitable Arab chief — An unappetizing menu —
The dates of Ouargla — Touggourt — A ramshackle coach — Biskra.

THE morning after my arrival at Insalah the officer in command of
the post came to see me wearing a very troubled look. I could not
help surmising that some serious incident had occurred, and waited
for him to tell me what it was.

It appeared that a messenger had just arrived in great haste on a
camel from a place called Tit, which was a small oasis in the Touat
region, about sixty-six miles from Insalah.

The messenger, a “Méhariste” of the camel corps, stationed in
the Tidikelt, was one of a column which had gone out with Captain
Niéger, some days previous to my arrival, into the desert west of
Insalah. This column was engaged in some military operations in that
district which were expected to last some time. The news which he
brought was grave. It appeared that Captain Niéger had stopped at
Tit to settle some dispute between two Arabs there. One of these
men, apparently dissatisfied with the decision of the Captain in
the matter, had waited his opportunity for revenge.

When Captain Niéger was entering his tent and had his back turned
to the man, the latter sprang upon him and stabbed him in the
liver. He then lifted his dagger for a second blow, but Captain
Niéger had quickly turned and caught his hand as it was descending.
The second stab was of no consequence, merely cutting his wrist,
but the first one had caused a dangerous wound. The Captain lay in
a serious condition at Tit. The message urgently asked for a doctor
to be despatched at once. It was further stated in the message that
the would-be murderer was a fanatical Mohammedan, but that he had
been caught, and it was hoped the trouble would not influence other
fanatics in the district to a serious rising. My host was naturally
very disturbed at this news, especially as the Captain was a great
personal friend of his. A doctor was immediately despatched to
the scene of the incident, and we could only hope that he would
be in time to save the officer’s life. It was evident that his
condition was critical, for the Captain had sent a message for his
family in France.

I had now to arrange for fresh camels and a new guide to accompany
me from Insalah to the end of my journey. My original plan had been
to go from Insalah to Colomb Béchar. The latter oasis lies about
600 miles north-west of Insalah. It is at the rail-head of the
Oran railway. I now found, however, that I should not have time to
carry out this part of my programme, and that I should be obliged
to adopt the shorter route to Algiers, which led almost due north
through the oases of Ouargla and Touggourt. By this latter route I
should be able to join the railway line at Biskra, 125 miles north
of Touggourt. Moreover, between Touggourt and Biskra I could have
the benefit of the coaching service, which runs three times a week
and covers the distance in two days.

An Arab trader was found willing to let me have camels and to act
himself as guide. My caravan was to be ready on the 15th. I had now
consumed, or thrown away, so much of my ammunition and provisions
that I could with ease reduce the number of baggage animals to two.

A French sergeant, who was proceeding on leave, was to accompany
my caravan. He also had two camel loads. Our two “méhara,” or
riding camels, made the total of the caravan amount to six camels.
The guide had one “sokrar,” or camel driver, to assist him,
and included in the party was an Arab soldier going on furlough to
the north.

Our guide was not a prepossessing individual. He belonged
to a mongrel race who were an offshoot from the big Chaamba
tribe. His appearance led one to believe that he was a lazy and
not over-intelligent scoundrel. However, guides do not grow on
every gooseberry bush at Insalah, so I considered myself lucky to
be able to secure one so quickly.

A question that rather puzzled me was how the news of my intended
arrival had not reached Insalah by the messenger who had been
despatched from Kidal. I was informed, however, that he had not
yet arrived, and, curiously enough, he did not arrive till the day
before I left Insalah. So I had actually travelled more rapidly
than he had done! He had been much delayed by some accident to his
camel and by the great heat on the way.

The camels I was to use were far stronger-looking animals than any
I had seen in the south. On the other hand, the riding camels of
the north are inferior to those of the Iforas. The baggage camels
will here carry enormous loads. It is quite a common sight to see
400 to 500 pounds on an animal’s back, while they even carry as
much as 600 pounds in some parts. Camels will travel without a halt
for a fortnight with such a load on their backs without suffering
any ill-effects. But, at the same time, it must not be thought that
these animals will be fit for hard work at once directly they reach
their journey’s end. Like other camels in the Southern Sahara,
they require long periods of rest after accomplishing a long desert
march. Two to three months in perfect liberty in their pasturage
is necessary for a camel in such a case.

[Illustration: THE SPRING OF EL GUETTERA

This is an unusually attractive-looking spot for the Sahara
Desert! It was the only occasion on which I saw water flowing out
of a spring between Gao and Biskra—1600 miles. A spring of cool,
crystal water flows out of the rock here—a grateful boon to the
thirsty traveller who, like myself, has been existing on disgusting
liquid, made nauseous by several days’ jolting in a not over-clean
water-skin.]

At Insalah there is a fine library well equipped with books on
desert travel. I had little time to do more than glance at one
or two of these, but any desert traveller could not fail to be
interested in much of this literature. One book particularly roused
my interest. This was a work of Saharan travel by a man called
“Père de Foucauld” (the Vicomte de Foucauld), whose name is
well known to men in Central Sahara.

This remarkable man was originally in the French army, but latterly
joined the sect of the “White Fathers.” He has travelled much in
the desert, and a great many years ago executed a wonderful journey
from the Mediterranean through Morocco to the Atlantic coast in the
Spanish colony of Rio del Oro. This journey he performed in disguise
as an Arab, but was discovered by the natives to be a Christian
and a European, and only escaped with his life after running some
extraordinary risks. M. de Foucauld has for the past few years
taken a great interest in the Tuaregs of the Hoggar country. He
resides among them, treating sick people and doing much good in
several ways. He has so far gained their confidence as to be able
to remain unmolested in their wild land. Further, he has greatly
assisted the French Government in stopping the plundering habits of
the Hoggars. He resides in a little hut in a part of their desert
called Tamanrasset, a good many miles to the east of the route I
had taken, and is almost the only European with any knowledge of the
language of the Tuaregs. He is now engaged in writing a dictionary
which will be of the greatest assistance in the study of Temacheq.

The horses in use at Insalah come from the north. They are bred
in that part of Algeria called the Tell, which is a region along
the coast of the Mediterranean. These horses seem to keep very
fit at Insalah. They are sturdy little animals, about 13.2 to 14
hands, rather resembling the Barb, but more stoutly built. All the
Europeans at Insalah keep horses. Of course, these animals are of
no use in the desert, but to ride about in the oasis they are most
useful. The chief difficulty is getting them across the Northern
Sahara to Insalah. They are fed on barley or crushed dates. No sheep
or cows were to be seen, but I was told that in the cooler season,
from October to January, when the caravans are trading with the
Adrar of the Iforas, a considerable number of sheep are brought
here for sale. My guide Mahomed told me that the previous year
he had brought a flock of sheep from Kidal, which had cost on the
average 5 francs a head, and he had sold them at 15 to 25 francs
apiece at Insalah. The profit was good, but obviously the risk
was great, even when wells were more numerous and better supplied
with water than at the present season of the year. Moreover, there
was always the dangerous passage of the Tanezrouft to cope with,
and for that portion of the journey water had to be carried for
the sheep as well as the men of the caravan, thus entailing a huge
number of camels for water alone.

The last morning of my stay at Insalah I was the guest of the
officers at _déjeuner_. I was much honoured at being the recipient
of many kindly expressed wishes from the good friends I had made
there, and, as they stated, it was rather a unique occasion for an
English officer to be entertained in the Sahara by officers of the
French army. Many and fervid were the words in which the Commandant
hoped for the continuance of the _entente cordiale_, and I could
only reply that, judging from my experiences while travelling
through the vast country which was ruled under the French flag,
there seemed little likelihood of the good feeling between the two
countries not enduring for many years to come.

My servant Musa had not yet recovered from the effects of our trials
in the Tanezrouft, and I had some doubt as to the advisability of
taking him any further. Unfortunately, there was not the slightest
prospect of getting a servant of any description at Insalah. While I
was debating this point, however, he hinted at being frightened of
going into Algeria on account of his dread of being captured into
slavery by Arabs. Until quite recent times much of the slave-trade
in the Sahara was carried on by the Arabs. These people used to
raid down into the south, carrying off into slavery the negroes
of the Niger valley. Since the advent of the French this trade had
practically ceased to exist, although isolated cases did even now
occur. Musa had probably heard some of the harrowing tales of olden
days, and seemed to think he would be putting his head into the
lion’s mouth should he venture into the very country of the Arabs.

In the ordinary course not much harm was done by capturing slaves
in the old days, for they were very well treated, not hard worked,
and well fed. In fact, many of these slaves used to refuse to take
their liberty when it was offered them. But in the case of slaves
being captured by Arabs the position was a very different one. The
Arabs were cruel masters, who beat and sometimes killed their slaves
for the most trivial offences. Hence they were universally hated
and feared by the negro. I pointed out to Musa that this sort of
thing could not easily happen at the present day, and that with me
he would be perfectly safe. I think, however, that his nerves were
rather overwrought at what he had suffered, and he hardly seemed
to be convinced. Under the circumstances it seemed more prudent
to allow him to remain behind. Accordingly, I arranged with a
French officer to take charge of him until there was a suitable
opportunity of sending him with a caravan to the Niger in the
autumn. I was sorry to part with Musa for several reasons. He was
an excellent, hard-working, and faithful “boy.” I had hardly
heard him utter a single complaint all through that trying time
in the desert. Moreover, his loss was an irreparable one for me.
Henceforth I should have to cook my own food and make my own bed. I
can hardly say I relished the prospect!

For the first twenty-five miles of our journey north there were
two oases, in each of which the water was obtained from artesian
wells, and was excellent. The idea of finding wells at such close
intervals appeared strange after our former experiences, and it
hardly seemed as if we could really be still travelling through the
Sahara. The intervening country, however, was typical desert. These
two spots had been fertilized by purely artificial means, merely
possible because the water here is plentiful and at no great depth
below the surface of the sand. The surroundings are desolate in
the extreme. A bare, undulating, sandy plain is the characteristic
feature of the whole country. No “oueds” or pasturage for camels
are anywhere available. Not a leaf or blade of grass is to be seen.
Camels are fed on dates procurable at these two oases _en route_.
At the second oasis, called Foggaret el Zoua, there is a fair amount
of barley grown. After this there was no water for fifty-seven miles,
until we reached the mountain range of El Guettera. Here there is
a spring in the rock, so that one actually sees a faint trickle of
running water—an unusual sight in the desert, and one I had not
seen since quitting the Niger, nearly eight weeks previously.

[Illustration: THE OASIS OF OUARGLA

This place might appropriately be called one of the outposts of
civilization in the Northern Sahara. After crossing over 1300 miles
of desert one sees for the first time a collection of flat-roofed
houses, a market-place full of bargaining, gesticulating Arabs,
and that most evident sign of civilization the electric telegraph.
Ouargla exists by reason of her date trade. Here is grown the finest
date of commerce, viz. the dessert date as we know it in England.]

There is rather a pathetic story attached to this spring. About
two months earlier, an Arab and his wife were journeying from the
north towards Insalah. They had missed their way and exhausted
their water supply. First, all their camels died by the road, one
by one overcome with thirst. The man and his wife struggled on,
hoping to find the spring of El Guettera, and well aware that it
could not be far off. The woman next succumbed, but the man kept
on, dragging himself wearily along, buoyed with the hope that he
must be close to water. The distance, however, was greater than he
had thought, and he too died. His body was discovered a few days
later by a passing caravan. He had actually arrived within half
a mile of the spring, and if he had only known this, poor fellow,
he would probably have had strength to reach it!

All this time I had been practising doing valet and cook to
myself with indifferent success. I knew sufficient about cooking,
of course, to be able to make simple dishes for myself, having
frequently done this before, as must anyone who wishes to travel.
But when I arrived at the halting-place, generally after a long,
hot march, I felt anything but inclined to begin to cook my own
repast. Moreover, the difficulties caused by periodic gusts of sand,
from which we were not exempt here, made the effort of cooking most
fatiguing. At night, too, I used often to feel very disinclined
to make my own bed, and again to pack it up when we started once
more. Indeed, latterly, I used infinitely to prefer to sleep on
one blanket on the sand to getting out my bed and pitching it,
with its paraphernalia of bedding. The two Arabs were far too busy
with their camels and too ignorant of cooking in any form to be of
the slightest assistance. The same argument applied to the soldier
“Méhariste.” All these people live practically on a handful
of raw dates, and any form of food different from this is unknown
to them. How I envied them their simple tastes sometimes!

The range of El Guettera forms the south-western border of the
plateau of Tademayt. This rocky plateau runs in a north-and-south
direction, and at its foot lies the region of the oases, viz.
Insalah, Touat, Beni Abbes, and the eastern extremity of Colomb
Béchar. Its elevation above the sea is about 1600 feet. On climbing
up to the top of this plateau we had to follow a precipitous track,
on each side of which was a deep chasm. In the chasms could be
seen the bones of camels, which had evidently, at different times,
lost their footing and perished. Fortunately for us we reached
the summit in safety, but many times a camel’s foot slipped,
and his fate hung in the balance. As we progressed across the
plateau the surface became more sandy and level. Pasturage, too,
was more plentiful, and that night, the 18th of June, we camped
in a fine wide “oued,” called by the name of Musa Benaïsch,
and the camels fairly revelled in the pasturage here, for it was
the first good feed they had had since leaving Insalah, and in any
case they infinitely preferred the “acheb” here to the diet of
dates to which they had so long been accustomed.

Near this spot we came upon an encampment of Chaamba Arabs. They
had a large number of camels and sheep. This was the first time
that I had seen any sheep since leaving Adrar. Of course, they
refused to part with any, so our hopes of fresh meat were soon
dashed to the ground. There had been no signs of game hitherto,
as indeed was only natural, for there was nothing for them to eat,
but now that “oueds” were becoming more plentiful we noticed
tracks of Loder’s gazelle from time to time.

On the 29th of June we quitted the Tademayt plateau and descended
on to a wide plain of gravelly soil. This plain was flanked on the
east and west by the two great sandy deserts known as the Eastern
and Western “Great Erg” respectively. The character of the
country in the “Great Erg” is unique in the Sahara. The word
“erg” in Arabic means sand-hill. And these two vast deserts
consist of wide expanses of dunes of soft sand. They stretch almost
uninterruptedly from Morocco on the west to Tripoli on the east.
Marching in this dreary region is most difficult for man and beast.
At every step the feet sink deep into the sand. Moreover the sand
drifts on account of the usual prevalent north-east wind, frequently
changing the appearance of the sand-hills to such an extent that
guides lose their landmarks and miss the way.

But although these “erg” appear so barren there is a fair amount
of Saharan vegetation, and pasturage for camels is not difficult to
obtain. The sand is a dazzling yellowish white, but in some instances
one sees several ridges of reddish sand, showing out very distinctly
in contrast to the ordinary colour. From here to the next well it
was a two days’ march. We had already had several examples of our
guide’s incompetence. He often appeared to be at fault. But it was
not till now that he actually lost the way. He would, I am convinced,
have never found it had it not been for the “Méhariste.” This
man was a typical nomad of the Sahara, and, although having only
once previously travelled by this route, he managed to lead us
out of our difficulties to Hassy Inifel. “Hassy” is the word
for “well,” so that nearly every well has the word “hassy”
prefixed to its name in the Central Sahara.

At Inifel there is a stone block-house, built by the French
some years ago, when this was a military post. In it there were
two comfortable rooms, where we could rest from the heat of the
day. We were now about half-way to Ouargla, and so the sight of
Inifel cheered us up, making us feel that we had left another
milepost behind.

From Inifel the way lay north-east, following close to a big
“oued”—the Oued Mya. This dried-up waterway runs for about 200
miles north-north-east to Ouargla, and must have been an important
river in its day.

Between Inifel and the next well, called Zmeila, there was a
long march of three days, which took us over ninety-five miles of
stony ground, lying several miles to the west of the “oued.”
In this country the camels had rather a rough time, for there was
practically no pasturage for them, and our guide, with his usual
ignorance, or want of foresight, had not arranged to carry any food
for them. To add to his delinquencies, the stupid rascal again lost
the way. At the time we were marching at night. He had pointed to
his “sokrar” the direction in which he said the well lay, while
he made an excuse for dropping in rear of the caravan. I thought he
was an unusually long time in regaining his place, and so turned
back to see what he was doing. I found him peacefully sleeping on
a baggage camel, and, had I not been so angry, I could not have
helped laughing at the humorous spectacle that met my eyes. He
was in a crouching position, half lying on his stomach, with his
legs firmly clasped round the camel’s hump. How on earth he could
manage to sleep in this extraordinary posture was more than I could
understand. His appearance suggested a sack of potatoes thrown
over the animal’s back! I applied my riding-whip pretty freely
to a certain portion of his anatomy, and he awoke with a start,
nearly losing the balance he had so marvellously preserved hitherto.

When he had rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and seemed to realize
the situation, he looked ahead of him into the expanse of desert
and solemnly declared that we were lost. He said he did not in the
least know where we were, and that it was the “sokrar’s”
fault for not keeping the direction he had given him. We soon
came to the conclusion that he was speaking the truth with regard
to not knowing where we were, and as to the reason how this had
happened it appeared to be immaterial. It is a strange thing how
philosophical one becomes in the desert, and the position, which
was really sufficiently serious to cause anxiety, did not disturb
our equanimity as much as it should have done.

[Illustration: THE RESIDENCY AT TOUGGOURT

The official who resides here is a military officer, and administers
a large portion of the Sahara, south of Algeria, called the “Annexe
of Touggourt.” This oasis boasts of a small hotel and is visited by
some of the more enterprising tourists from Biskra occasionally. The
distance to Biskra is only 125 miles, which can be covered in two
days by the desert coach running between the two places.]

[Illustration: CHAAMBA ARABS AT TOUGGOURT

A desert caravan has just arrived; the camels have been unloaded
and are going to water. The bags in the foreground are the familiar
“tellis” of the Northern Sahara. They are made of camel’s hair,
are very strong, and are used to carry dates.]

The only thing to do was to strike in the direction in which we
knew the “Oued Mya” must lie, and then follow its course up
towards the well which lay in its bed. As the “oued” wound
about considerably this would lengthen our march a good deal, but
this seemed a more prudent course than to make blind “casts”
in the desert.

As matters turned out, the “Méhariste” again came to the rescue
when day dawned. He rode out at a trot some distance in advance of
the caravan, to scout, and, after an hour or so, he returned with
the information that he could find the well, without the need for
further lengthening our march. He acted up to his promise, and we
thus did not go more than some ten miles out of our way. After this
our journey was accomplished without further incident to Ouargla,
where we arrived on June 29th.

The day before our arrival we passed a small oasis, in which
there lived an influential Arab chief. This man invited me to have
breakfast with him. Knowing that he would be hurt if I refused,
and also that it would be considered, by the custom of the country,
that I wished to insult him if I did not accept his hospitality,
I agreed to come.

My heart misgave me when I saw the nature of the feast provided.
There were several huge dishes of oily-looking food, the contents
of which could only be guessed at. One looked less uninviting than
the others. It consisted of rice with some spices, so I hastily
indicated that I would take some of that. But I soon discovered
that I was not to get off so easily. I was expected to partake of
all the dishes. Moreover, if I did not help myself liberally, some
hospitably-inclined follower of the chief would fill up my plate
for me. I groaned inwardly at the thought of having to eat these
horrible-looking things. Finally, I said I was ill after my long
travels and could not eat well, so I hoped the chief would excuse
my small appetite. But the repast was not yet finished. A whole
sheep roasted was now produced. This is prepared in some strange
fashion, being well ladled with oil and covered with chili peppers,
and is the _pièce de résistance_ at an Arab feast. It is called a
“meshoui.” All this time the chief was eating with great gusto,
and what he could not himself consume he handed to his followers,
of whom there must have been at least half a dozen present. Their
manner of eating was anything but pleasant to watch, especially
when I was feeling far from well after partaking of some of these
horrible dishes.

It took me a long time to recover from the effects of that meal,
and I vowed that at the risk of offending the whole of the Arab
race, never again would I consent to touch one of their repasts.
When I related this story to the officers at Ouargla they laughed
heartily, but said they did not wonder at my being ill!

The country all round Ouargla for many miles is soft sand and
undulating. The oasis itself lies in a basin surrounded by low
sand-hills. There are about 3000 sedentary inhabitants, and in
the date season this number is increased by nomads who come in for
dates as they do at Insalah. Ouargla is famed for its fine dates.
These are of the best quality, viz. the “deglet-nour.” Large
quantities are exported every year to Biskra, whence they are sent
to Europe.

[Illustration: THE MOSQUES AT OUARGLA

These narrow, tall mud towers are ascended by a steep and tortuous
stairway. At the summit is a small platform on to which the
“muezzin” climbs when he summons the faithful to prayer. These
Arabs are one and all fervent Mohammedans; a mixture of creeds such
as obtains in India finds no favour with them. The European is to
them a Christian dog whose presence is only tolerated because he
is feared.]

From Ouargla to Insalah it was 390 miles, and we had covered this
distance in fifteen days, without halting for more than a few
hours at a time. This was pretty good going, and our camels were
now showing decided signs of fatigue. I was anxious to move again
as soon as possible, as time was getting very short. There were
still 100 miles of desert between us and Touggourt. I therefore
only stayed two days in order to enable the guide to change the
tired camels, and on the 1st of July we again set forth.

Between Ouargla and Touggourt there are wells almost every day,
and except for the heat there was nothing very trying in the
marches compared with what had gone before. I was now travelling
very light. I had discarded my tent and bed as useless. My stock of
provisions was very low, and at Ouargla I had given away a lot of
ammunition, so that now my effects were not numerous. One baggage
camel amply sufficed for my needs. On the 3rd of July we arrived
at the oasis of Touggourt.

The signs of better accommodation and more comforts in the everyday
existence of the inhabitants had been already apparent at Ouargla,
but at Touggourt this was all the more so. Indeed, from Ouargla
the telegraph runs across the desert to Touggourt and the north,
while at Touggourt itself there are such signs of civilization as a
small hotel and, of course, the coach to Biskra. At both these towns
the Europeans live in well-built houses, some of which are of stone.

At Touggourt I enjoyed the real luxury of a douche. The officers
there have an ingeniously contrived douche in their gardens,
which is fed by an artesian well. The joy of a proper bath was
really indescribable.

Touggourt is already within touch of civilization, for tourists,
or a few of the most enterprising among them, come here by the
coach in the Biskra season, and put up at the curious little hotel
of which the place boasts.

From the top of the big mosque at Touggourt a splendid view is
to be had over the desert. I went up there one day with a French
officer to have a good look at the desolate region in which I had
spent so many days.

I now counted my journey as practically finished.

On the 5th of July I took the coach to Biskra, where we arrived
early on the 7th. The coach consists of a ramshackle vehicle,
holding three people on the front and three on the back seat. For
the first sixty-six miles it is drawn by mules, and for the last
eighty-six miles the team consists of three ponies. The track is
well defined, but rather heavy going through deep, soft sand.
Sometimes the passengers have to get out and help to extricate
the cart from the ruts into which it has sunk. The traveller gets
well shaken up on the journey, but after a long ride on camels one
hardly noticed that. The French sergeant accompanied me as far as
Biskra. Biskra did, indeed, mean civilization. Here there was the
railway to Algiers, and the fatigues of travelling were made easy.
At Biskra there are some six or seven hotels, all of which were
empty when I passed through. The season is in the winter, and
at that time of year a considerable number of people visit this
outpost of civilization. Date palms are numerous, and all water is
still obtained from wells. But at Biskra there is no lack of water
close to the surface of the ground. At Touggourt the water is so
salt that all Europeans have to drink it distilled, but this is
not necessary at Biskra.

This oasis is a beautiful spot. Amongst a grove of palms will be seen
a pretty little house, by the side of which is a garden well stocked
with beautiful green shrubs and flowers. All irrigation is easy here,
as water is so plentiful. Hence the contrast as one emerges from
the desert into this paradise of verdure and colour is very striking.

I spent only two hours at Biskra. I had just time to don my one
and only flannel suit after drinking a cup of coffee, and pay my
respects to the officer in command of the garrison, when I had to be
back at the railway station, for my train left at 8.30 that morning.

CHAPTER XXV

By rail to Algiers — A difficult project — The resources of
the Sahara

AS I settled myself in the railway carriage I had ample food for
reflection over the events of my journey. Naturally the part that
had made the most impression on me in many ways was the journey
across the Sahara. It had taken me exactly seventy-five days to
cover the total distance from Gao to Biskra, nearly 1600 miles. Now
that the strain was over I began to feel really fatigued. It was
pleasant to sit quietly in the train and watch the passing landscape,
so different from what I had been looking at for many a long day.

First the train climbed laboriously up the steep sides of the
mountains, which lead up into the high plateaux of Southern
Algeria. As we stopped at stations and I noticed the number of
Europeans about and the bustle that reigned everywhere as soon as the
train stopped, it seemed hard to realize that I was not dreaming,
and that I should not shortly wake up to find myself again in the
Sahara—among those familiar scenes that I had got to know so well,
and which were all summed up in the one word desolation.

But as we got on to the plateaux above Biskra we came into a land of
peace and plenty. There were miles upon miles of waving fields of
wheat and barley. Prosperous farms were often to be seen standing
in the midst of their rich agricultural lands. That year there had
been a good rainfall on the plateaux, and in consequence the crops
had done even better than usual.

That night we arrived at the big town of Setif, where I had to change
and wait several hours for the midnight express to Algiers. I had
engaged a sleeping-berth on the train, so I had a comfortable journey
to the capital. When I awoke in the morning we were passing through
rich vineyards, down the western slopes of the Kabyle Mountains.

I had travelled 3758 miles across Africa, 1560 of which had been
through the Sahara. The whole journey had occupied six months and
two days. My stay at Algiers was short. I caught the first steamer
available to Marseilles, where I arrived on the 11th of June.

On the following night I reached London, travelling via Calais
and Dover.

I was two days late for my leave, but under the circumstances I
had travelled as rapidly as possible.

After what I saw of the Sahara I came to the conclusion that the
project of building a railway across from Algeria to the Niger is
never likely to mature. Indeed, I fancy that most Frenchmen who
have any experience of the Central Sahara long ago came to the
same opinion.

The scheme was mooted some years ago as a useful connecting link
between the Algerian railway system and the Niger. The difficulties
in the way of carrying this out are almost insuperable. To start
with, there is no coal in Algeria or, of course, in the Sahara.
Again, if the difficulty of obtaining fuel could be overcome the
constant sandstorms would make engineering works hard to construct
and harder still to maintain. The railway line would probably be
constantly buried in sand, so that some contrivance for clearing
the way in front of the engine would be necessary. Moreover, what
would be the advantages gained by the construction of such a railway?

The resources of the Sahara are practically _nil_, while the total
values of the caravans which cross this portion of it do not amount
to 1,000,000 francs per annum. Therefore as a commercial enterprise
the railway could never pay, and the advantage of having this shorter
line of communication between Western Soudan and France, if it could
be constructed, would not certainly be worth the enormous expenditure
involved. Of course, there is always the difficulty of water supply
for the engines. Even along the most practicable route, from Insalah
to Gao, wells are few and far between. The output is frequently very
slow. Artesian wells would have to be made where possible. In fact,
it appears that the resources of the Sahara are so very restricted
and incapable of further development unless great mineral wealth
be somewhere found, that its future state is not likely to be any
brighter than its present condition. The question as to what the
Sahara was originally is an interesting one.

The Arabs who wander in the desert around the Oases of Touat and
Beni Abbes declare that in ancient times these oases were islands,
and that a very big water existed between them and the sea and
between them and Taudény in the south.

It seems possible that this theory is correct, for there is a marked
depression formed by the Oued Mya, which extends south through
the oases towards Taudény, eventually terminating in a big basin,
called El Djouf, or “the belly of the desert.” Further, from the
formation of the country it seems quite possible that the salt-water
lakes, or “chotts” of Tunisia, which themselves are, or were,
connected with the sea, contributed their waters to this depression,
and thus there was at one time a practically uninterrupted waterway
from the sea to Taudény. The water from this source then surrounded
the oases, isolating them from the rest of the Sahara, which would
bear out the legend of these Arab tribes.

APPENDIX

List of principal game shot during the expedition, showing the
measurements of best heads obtained.
_Oryx leucoryx_, 37 inches.
_Addax_, 25½ inches.
Gazelle, _dorcas_, 10¾ inches.
Gazelle, _Loder’s leptoceros_, 11¼ inches.
Ditto, female, 9¼ inches.
Gazelle, _Rufifrons_, 10½ inches.
Haartebeest, _Bubalis_, 18¼ inches.
Haartebeest, _Damaliscus Corrigum_, 19¾ inches.
Duiker, Yellow-backed, 6¼ inches.
Duiker, Crowned.
Duiker, Maxwell’s, 2 inches.
Waterbuck, Sing-sing, 28 inches.
Kobus Kob, 20½ inches.
Bohor Reed-buck, 8½ inches.
Elephant. Tusks weighing 52 lbs. each.
Lion. Length along the contour, 9 feet 2 inches.
Hippopotamus. Measurements not recorded.
Bushcow. Measurements not recorded.

INDEX

Abdul Karim, 228
Abeibera, wells, 282, 284
Acheb, a desert herb, 292, 330
Addax in the Sahara, 284
Adrar country, 266, 270, 271, 273, 277, 278, 280, 284, 297,
298, 310, 316
Africa, 17
Agamhor, wells of, 257
Ahnet wells, 307, 310, 311, 312, 314
Akka, 173, 174
Algeria, 134, 287, 338, 339
Algerian rams, 180
Algiers, journey to, 17, 323, 339
Alimamy, West African chief, 57
Amool Gragim, 307
Ansongo, 134, 223
Arabs, Berabeesh, 231
Chaamba, 324
Kountah, 226, 231, 250, 253, 265
Saharan, 304, 316, 318, 320, 321, 323, 327, 329
Western Soudan, 192, 219, 231, 245, 272, 282, 289
Architecture, Western Soudan, 154
Aresou, a Saharan plant, 300
Armas, race of, 244
Arrej, or camel saddle, 296
Artesian wells, 319, 335, 340
Atlas Mountains, 193
Azalai, salt caravan, 230
Bagwé River, 36
Baiima, 22
Balandougou, 92, 103
Ballaini, a musical instrument, 54
Bamako, 70, 73, 85, 90, 103, 104, 107, 111, 113, 118, 119, 120,
133, 195, 233, 240, 241
Bamba, 239, 241
Bambara language, 18, 69
people, 122, 123, 136, 141, 192, 227, 236
Maaundée, 207, 208, 217
Bandiagara, 128, 157
Bani River, 150, 156, 157, 159, 176
Baobab tree, 68
Bara Issa, River, 173, 182, 190, 191, 195, 204, 219, 220, 222
Barges, Niger, 103, 145, 154, 176, 233, 235
Barley, 318, 338
Barter, articles of, 234
Barth, explorer, 228
Beehives in Guinea, 66
Beni-Abbes, 318, 330, 340
“Bend” of Niger, 128, 130, 131, 164, 177, 187, 193, 206,
229, 235, 239, 243
Beyla slaves, 271
Bird life, 38, 39, 40, 41
Biskra, 318, 323, 335, 336, 337, 338
Bo, Sierra Leone, 20
Bobo Djilassu, 67, 141, 144, 148
Boia tramway, 22
“Borgou” herb, 171, 177, 186, 221, 238, 239, 243
Bosos, fishermen, 151, 192, 221, 222
“Boucle,” the, 128
Boundary of Algeria-Soudan, 287
Bouramaka Yaroro, 203
Bourassa wells, 284, 285, 287
Bourem, 242, 243, 253
Braimah, my hunter, 78, 81, 82, 86, 87
Bread, cost of, 190
Breeding of Soudan horses, 140, 222
Bullock transport, 217
Bunce River, 23
“Bundu” society, 23, 31, 44
Buré, 101
Burial rites of Korankos, 43, 44
Bushcow in Konnoh country, 34
Bush fires in West Africa, 37, 38, 52
Bushfowl in French West Africa, 39, 110, 179, 218
Bustard, 40, 164, 178, 218
Butter-making at Bamako, 130
Camels on the Niger, 132, 144, 217, 231
Camels in the Sahara, 245, 250, 252, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261,
262, 268, 276, 279, 286, 287, 292, 295, 298, 300, 320, 328, 332
Camping on the Niger, 148
Cancer, tropic of, 280
Canoe-building, 193, 195
Canoes on the Niger, 185, 193, 222, 226
Caravans in the desert, 242, 269, 286, 305, 323, 324, 339
Carriers, French Guinea, 49, 52, 81, 92, 94
Kissy, 26
Mendi, 26
Upper Senegal and Niger, 113
Castes, in French Guinea, 57, 58
Cattle, 171, 197, 238
Cave-dwellers, 215
Chaamba Arabs, 324, 330
Chad, Lake, 110
Charlotte Ville, 160, 161
Chiefs in French Guinea, 93
Chop-box, definition of, 21, 141
Chotts, 340
Clay in the Niger Valley, 195, 243
Coach to Biskra, 336
College, Arabic, at Djenné, 161
Colomb-Béchar, 318, 323
Cook, my native, on the journey, 18, 70, 236
Corn-growing, 318
Cotton-growing in Sierra Leone, 27
West Africa, 28, 150
Couscous, 234, 275, 286, 306
Cowbird, peculiarity of, 41
Cram-cram grass, 238, 265, 268, 291
Creoles, description of, 20
Crested crane, 241
Crocodiles, 146, 147
Crown-bird, 241
Dahomey, 130, 245
Dakar, 153, 228
Dances, native, 65, 66
Daru, head-quarters of Frontier Force, 25
Dates, in the Sahara, 275, 286, 318, 319, 320, 328, 330, 334
Date palms, 239, 317, 318, 319, 336
Defile of Tosaye, 241, 242
De Franco, Captain, 140
Déglet-nour, dates, 319, 334
Délou, waterbucket of the desert, 250
Diafarabé, 154, 176
Dialakoro, hunting village, 78
Digue, Commandant, 133
Dioula, trader of Western Soudan, 63
Djenné, Holy City of Western Soudan, 153, 154, 157, 159, 161,
167, 176, 192, 229
Domaggaran, 311
Donkeys in the Western Soudan, 223, 231, 284
Douentza, in the Niger “Bend,” 202, 207, 208, 210
Doulajan, 80, 82
Doves in the Sahara, 256
Driver ants, 168
Drums, use of, as signals, 76
Duck on the Niger, 70, 148, 172, 174, 175, 188, 218, 240
Duiker “crowned,” 60
Dum palms, in the Niger Valley, 190, 193, 197
Egrets on the Niger, 165
Eguerrer, Oueds, 265
El Bashir, camel driver, 285, 286, 287, 297
El Gouirat, wells of, 316
El Guettera, spring, 328, 329, 330
El Jibal, 312
El Djouf, the “Belly of the Desert,” 340
Elephant bathing at night, 211, 212
Elephant in the Niger Valley, 18, 59, 80, 82, 84, 85, 95, 96, 211
Elephant skulls at Gao, 243
Erg, the Great, 331
Erg-Iguidi, 272
Escort to Kidal, my, 245, 246, 251, 267
Es-Souk, 229, 277
Ethel, Saharan vegetation, 290, 291, 298
Explorers in North and West Africa, 227, 228
Falama, French Guinea, 76, 78, 85, 89, 111
Fama, the, of San Sanding, 151
Farakoro village, 46, 47
Faranah, French Guinea, 51, 53, 56, 84
Feliko, River, 36
Ferrière, Captain, 225
Fetish charms of hunters, 83, 86, 87
Fie River, 90, 95, 99, 101, 102
Firearms, antiquated, 197
Fishing on the Niger, 105
Fish-tanks on the Niger, 186, 238
“Flamboyant” tree, 144
Fogaras, 318
Foggaret-El-Zoua, 328
Foucauld, Vicomte de, 325
Freetown, 17
Frontier Force Battalion, 25
Frontier rock, Sierra Leone, 36
Fruit in Guinea, 66
Fruit in Upper Senegal and Niger, 123
Fuel for Niger launches, 144, 148
Fulani, 57, 64, 74, 186, 190, 192, 199, 200, 202, 207, 209,
217, 222, 238
Fulani cattle, 171, 197, 238, 240
Futa Jallon country, 63, 64, 72, 200
Gadel, Commandant, 236
Gangaber, on the edge of the Sahara, 247
Gao, 225, 226, 233, 234, 237, 243, 251, 252, 254, 257, 274,
279, 284, 295, 317, 338, 340
Garangis, caste of, 57
Garden in French West Africa, 65, 123, 149
Gauba, the ostrich farm, 179, 182, 184
Gazelle of the Sahara, 179, 196
“Red-Fronted,” 178, 240, 255
Gazelle, “Loder’s,” 265, 284, 297, 298, 330
Geese on the Niger, 70, 172, 174, 175, 188, 218
Giraffe in the Niger basin, 18, 241, 246, 247
Giraffe skins for manufacture, 246
Goats on the Niger, 156, 238
in the Sahara, 256, 273, 289
Gold in French Guinea, 91, 101
“Gold mohur” tree, 144
Goose, the “bio-lou” species, 175
Great Erg, 230
Grhess, a variety of date, 319
Ground nuts, 62, 63, 130
Guerba, a leather vessel, 249, 250, 308, 309, 315
Guides in the desert, 248, 250, 261, 263, 264, 269
Guinea-fowl, 39, 110, 179, 270
Guinée, a trade cloth, 234, 256, 270
Gundam, near Timbuctu, 228
Haarta, Saharan plant, 300
Haartebeest, 83, 178, 204, 206
Habbés, cave-dwellers, 215, 216
Halley’s Comet, in the desert, 287
Harmatan, a north-east wind, 24, 42, 43
Hassy, Arabic term for well, 331
Hausas in the Western Soudan, 192, 203, 236, 311
Head-dress of West Africans, 123
Highwaymen in the desert, 312
Hippopotamus, 79
Hoare, a Mendi charm, 29
Hoggar Tuaregs, 287, 300, 310, 311, 312, 313, 325
Holy City of the Western Soudan, 153
Hombori Mountains, 215
Hornbill, habitat of, 38
Horos, castle of, 57
Horses, native, 71, 125, 131, 139, 140, 201, 209, 222, 231
Hotels in Western Soudan, 132, 134
Hourst Expedition, 138
Hrabis, caste of, 57
Human Leopard Society, 30
Hump of the camel, peculiarity, 280, 295
Hunters, types of, 78, 195, 207, 208, 210
Hunting, native methods of, 60
in French West Africa, 78
Huts, native, 190, 202
Hyenas, 83
Iforas in the Sahara, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 276, 277, 278,
283, 287, 310, 324, 326
Ihagareen, Tuareg chiefs, 271
Illimane, Mount, 311
Imbelram, wells of, 315
Imrads among Tuaregs, 271
Inifel, the wells of, 331, 332
In Ouzel, well at, 285, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290, 294, 297
Insalah, 249, 251, 269, 274, 275, 279, 315, 330, 331, 340
Insects in the “bush,” 116
Inundations of the Niger, 158, 190, 201, 220
Inzize, 305
Issa-Ber, River, 173, 176, 182, 184, 186, 190, 222
Ivory Coast, 130
Jilingé village, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102
Joliba River, 36, 156
meaning of the word, 36
Jomongonas, 98, 99, 101
“Juju” in West Africa, 29, 83, 87, 88
Kaballa, in Sierra Leone, 47
Kabara, port of Timbuctu, 173, 177, 220, 221, 223, 237
Kadi, a native judge, 153
Kamaraia, 54
Kangaba, 90, 110, 111
Kanioumé, 207
Kankan, French Guinea, 70, 73, 74, 75, 103, 115, 131
Kano, 192
Kari-Déna, Tuareg chief, 272
Kati Plateau, 118, 120, 124, 125
Kayes, Senegal Colony, 129, 130, 150, 151
Kerchouel, 254
Kidal, 245, 246, 250, 251, 252, 254, 256, 266, 267, 268, 270,
274, 275, 276, 277, 281, 298, 326
Kiénéfala, rapids on the Niger, 136, 137, 241
Kissidougou, 52, 55
Kissy carriers, 26
mode of carrying, 27
country, 32
wars, 32
Koh, in West Africa, 44, 45, 80, 106, 110, 184, 221, 240
Kofung secret society, 44
Kola nuts, 86, 87, 203
Konakry, 63, 228
Kondundu, Sierra Leone, 35
Konnoh country and people, 32, 33
bushcow in, 34
Koran, use of in charms, 29
Korankos, rites of, 43, 44, 45
Korioumé, 223
Koulikoro, on the Niger, 122, 127, 129, 133, 148, 150, 151,
195, 222
Koulouba, 126, 127
Kouroussa, 56, 60, 63, 64, 67, 68, 70, 73, 103
Kruto, Sierra Leone, 43
Ksour, Arabic village, 317, 320
Kundema, Sierra Leone, 35
Kurorua, lake of, 215, 216
Kwarra, name for the Niger, 156
Ladies, European, in West Africa, 55, 73, 120, 134, 222
Laing, Major, 227
Lake District of Middle Niger, 206, 207
Langel, Lieutenant, 134
Laperine, Colonel, 316, 317
Launch, journey on, 141, 144
Lenz, explorer, 228
Leopard in Niger Valley, 83, 181
raid by, 181
Level, Mr., 150
Limba natives, 44
Lion in Niger Valley, 18, 83, 179, 187, 197, 198, 199
cubs as pets, 165, 166
Litham of Tuaregs, 270, 271, 312
Macina Province, 131, 157, 159, 161, 243
Madambougou, graves at, 138
Mafindo, village of, 27
Mafou River, game on, 56, 59, 60
Mahomed, my guide, 269, 277, 282, 284, 286, 288, 289, 297, 298,
299, 304, 307, 308, 312, 313, 316, 326
Maize in West Africa, 62, 111
Maje, explorer, 139
Malbranque, Mr., 176
Malinké language and people, 18, 57, 64, 71
Mamadu, my servant, 69, 70, 81, 89, 92, 93, 94, 96, 100, 102,
110, 112, 118, 185, 188, 189, 236
Mandingoes, distribution of, 33, 67
Mannagézé, 116
Marabout, a Niger bird, 241
Markets of French West Africa, 74, 112, 122, 130, 131, 192
Marriage customs, Sierra Leone, 31
Mauretania, 107, 144, 274
Méhari, riding camel, 270, 324
Méhariste, 322, 329, 331, 333
Meli River, passage of, 32
Mendi carriers, 26
mode of carrying, 27
paganism of, 29
secret societies, 29
Mendis, charms of, 29
Meshoui, an Arab dish, 334
Mesoued, for desert travel, 248, 313
Millet-growing, 111, 158, 192, 202
Milo River, 73, 76
Mimosa trees, 163, 178, 204, 206, 246, 254, 266, 289, 290
Moa River, Sierra Leone, 25
Mohammedanism, progress of, 33, 109, 200
Mopti, on the Niger, 123, 156, 157, 158 to 170, 171, 173,
175, 176
Mopti, King of, 159, 160
Monoroues, stern-wheelers, 142
Moorish occupation, 224, 229, 230, 239
Moors in Western Soudan, 74, 107, 108, 109, 131, 239, 244
Morocco, 225, 227, 228, 325, 331
Mosques, 230, 244
at Djenné, 153
Mosquitoes, 96
Mossis, 192
Mouyidir in the Sahara, 314, 315
Musa, my Hausa cook, 236, 285, 287, 288, 289, 297, 304, 313,
316, 327, 328
Musa-Benaïsch, 330
Music of natives, 54
Nafadié, 103
Niafounké, 110, 141, 173, 177, 178, 179, 182, 185, 191, 222
Niandan, River, 70, 71
Niangaye, Lake, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 210, 215, 216, 218, 219
Niansumana, 76
Niéger, Captain, 322, 323
Niger, Middle, 17, 67, 134, 157, 159, 171, 172, 179, 200, 219,
222, 229, 240, 244, 251, 276, 318, 328, 339
Niger, navigation of, 70, 73, 122, 134, 135, 136
Niger, sources of, 36, 46
Upper, 17, 51, 56, 63, 70, 77, 89, 90, 92, 99, 100, 101, 103,
104, 105, 107, 109, 110, 111, 115, 118, 132, 135, 172, 244
Niger Valley, 18, 327
Nightjar, standard-winged, 41
Night marching in the Sahara, 264, 300
Nioro, Western Soudan, 140
Oases of the Sahara, 268, 315, 316, 317, 328, 333, 334, 335,
336, 337, 340
Obb, Commandant, 223
Odienné, Ivory Coast, 82, 85
Ophthalmia in the desert, 308
Oribis, 60, 110
Oriole, the golden, 39
Ornaments, native, 77, 123
Oryx, white (leucoryx), 265, 284
Ostriches, 132, 182, 183, 218
Ostrich farm, Middle Niger, 182, 183
Othman, a guide, 297, 298, 312, 313, 316
Ouargla oasis, 323, 332, 333, 334, 335
Oued Mya, 332, 333, 340
Oueds in the Sahara, 242, 265, 268, 274, 290, 328, 330
Ouillimiden Tuaregs, 253, 272
Oysters in Lake Dhebo, 173
Palm-wine drinking, 50
Pasturage in the Sahara, 253, 257, 260, 291, 320, 328, 330, 332
Pelicans on Lake Niangaye, 218
Pendembu railway terminus, 19, 22
a night at, 26
Pigeon, varieties of, 40, 148
Plantain-eater, violet, 38
Poro secret society, 29, 30, 31, 44
Potters at work in the “Bend” of the Niger, 185
Presents to natives, 97, 98
Rahla, a riding saddle, 296
Railway, Algerian, 311, 336, 337, 338, 339
French Guinea, 63, 64, 130
Oran, 323
Senegal and Niger, 120, 129, 130, 133, 161
Sierra Leone, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25
Trans-Saharan, 339
Rapids on the Niger, 136, 137, 241
Reed-buck, Bohor, 221
Réné Caillé, 141, 228
Reservoir of Lake Dhebo, 172, 173
Rice-growing, 111, 157, 192, 202, 243
mill at Mopti, 161, 162
Rio del Oro, 325
Roads in French Guinea, 53, 54, 75, 107, 111
in Sierra Leone, 35, 36
in Western Soudan, 122, 161
Rubber vine, 62, 74
trade, 74, 75, 115
Saddle of native horses, 188, 189
Saddles, camel, 248, 275, 295, 296
Sahara, edge of the, 178, 193, 242, 252, 256, 272, 290, 325
Central, 266, 280, 310, 316, 317, 321, 325, 339
journey across, 17, 248, 249, 307
languages of the, 19
vegetation of the, 290, 291, 292, 300, 331
Salt caravans, 202, 230
mines of the Sahara, 74, 307
Salutations, native, 145
Samory, King, 67, 68, 69, 91
Sand-banks, 70, 145, 237
-dunes, 239, 319, 331, 334
-flies, 96, 149
-grouse, 178, 218
-storms in the desert, 288, 289, 302, 303, 306, 321
Sankaran, plains of, 46, 48, 51
Sankarani River, 78, 85, 90, 91, 95, 99, 101
Sansanding, on the Niger, 151, 152, 153
Saraféré, 173, 187, 191, 192, 193, 195, 197, 201, 203, 207
Sarafinian, Customs post, 48
Scorpion, incident at Bo with, 24
Sébi, the haunt of lion, 187, 201
Ségou, on the Niger, 149, 150, 151, 152
Senafou, a native of, 90
Senegal River, 74, 107, 110, 129, 132, 150, 233, 234
navigation of, 129
haartebeest, 204, 205, 206, 208
Seriamou, 220
Sétif, Algeria, 339
Shea-butter tree, 116, 117
Sheep of the Niger, 156, 180, 238
of the Sahara, 256, 273, 289, 290
Shi, tree of, 116
Sibo, Niger Valley, 184
Sierra Leone, Colony of, 17, 245
railway of, 19
Siguiri district, 75, 97, 101, 104, 111
Sikasso, Upper Senegal and Niger Colony, 144, 159
Sirocco, 230
Slavery in French Guinea, 58
among the Arabs, 327, 328
Smuggling on Sierra Leone border, 48
Sofas of King Samory, 67, 68, 92
Sohré, caste of, 57
Sokolo, Western Soudan, 140
Sokrar, camel driver, 333
Sonrhais of the Niger, 154, 186, 192, 221, 222, 227, 229, 236,
237, 238, 244, 272, 277
Sotuba, rapids of, 137
Spears as a native arm, 209, 271
St. Louis, Senegal Colony, 129, 161
Stone Age in the Sahara, 277
Suk, a charm of the Mendis, 29
Sun spectacles, use of, 267, 270, 271
Susu native as my cook, 18
people, 64
Tademayt, plateau of, 330
Tamanrasset, 325
Tanezrouft of the Sahara, 245, 279, 287, 294, 297, 298, 299,
300, 301, 306, 310, 311, 315, 326, 327
Tango-Maré, 219
Taoundert, 285, 287
Taudény, salt mines, 230, 240
Tea, Arabic, 283
Teal, 218, 240
grey, 175, 190, 204
Telegraph, electric, 239, 246
Telegraphy, native, 76
Telemsi, “Oued” or “Wad,” 242, 265
Tell, the country of, 326
Tellak, a camel dagger, 271
Tellis, a camel bag, 319
Temacheq, Tuareg language, 272, 313, 326
Tembiko River, 36
Tembikunda Mountains, 34, 42, 156, 172, 240, 241
Tennis at Koulikoro, 135
Tide on Lake Niangaye, 205
Tidikelt, 315, 317
Timbuctu, 17, 69, 110, 121, 125, 135, 141, 151, 164, 167, 176,
177, 179, 191, 195, 202, 217, 220, 222, 223, 243, 272
Timissao, 297, 298, 299, 300
Tindéran, wells of, 263, 264, 265
Tinsida, in the “Bend” of the Niger, 216
Tirailleurs, Senegalese, 251
Tirik, Jibal el, 297
Tit, Touat oasis, 322, 323
Tobacco-growing in Western Soudan, 149
Tobacco, its value to travellers, 28, 283
Tombola, 104, 106, 109
Tondibi, 243
Tosaye, defile of, 241, 242, 243
Touat oasis, 282, 322, 330, 340
Touggourt, 323, 335, 336
Trade in French West Africa 73, 74, 75, 108, 130, 161
Trapping game in Guinea, 62
Tribal marks, 90
Tripoli, 228, 318, 331
Trypansomiasis, 33, 140
Tsetse fly, where met, 32, 140
Tuaregs of the Sahara, 19, 192, 202, 219, 224, 229, 238, 240,
253, 263, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 283, 287, 289, 310, 316,
325, 326
Tunisia, 230, 340
Tusks of elephants, 214
Twins, custom of killing, 45
Upper Senegal and Niger Colony, 110, 120
Lieut. Governor of, 126, 127
Vedette, a Niger launch, 142
Villages, Fulani, 190, 191
Wagadugu, town of, 192
Wart-hog in French Soudan, 162, 163, 164, 167, 179, 184
Wasulu country for sport, 56, 60, 75, 80, 82, 83, 84, 89, 90,
95, 96
Waterbuck in the Niger Basin, 59, 81, 184
Waterfowl on the Niger, 70, 148, 172, 174, 175, 184
Water, means of transporting, 249, 250
Water-skins in the desert, 249, 267, 273, 275, 294, 295, 308,
309, 316
Wells in the Sahara, 225, 249, 250, 253, 254, 257, 263, 264,
267, 273, 274, 282, 284, 285, 297, 298, 299, 307, 315, 316, 331,
332, 333, 335, 340
Wheat, African, 228, 234, 338
White ants in Africa, 167, 168
Widow weaver, a bird of West Africa, 41
Winds of the Niger, 176
Winds in the desert, 192
Winds on Lake Niangaye, 205
Wool-making on the Niger, 181
Yakubu, a character at Timbuctu, 226, 227
Yellimamis, caste of, 57
Yonni tramway, 22
Zaberma, 236
Zariba for lion, 179
Zinder, on the Niger, 253
Zmeila, wells of, 333

[Illustration: MAP SHOWING THE ROUTE OF CAPTAIN HAYWOOD’S JOURNEY]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Major Laing’s grave has quite
recently been discovered, according to French reports, at a place
called Saeb, thirty miles north of Timbuctu, but his valuable papers
have not been found.]

Transcriber's note:

pg 40 Changed: alway to: always
pg 62 Changed: themeslves to: themselves
pg 104 Changed: on he sandy bank to: the
pg 194 Added period after: on the river
pg 207 Added period after: but so it is
pg 228 Added period after: explorer of Africa
pg 241 Added period after: higher up the Niger
pg 343 Changed reference to pg. 267 to: 207
Added [Map] at the end of the List of illustrations

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Through Timbuctu and across the great Sahara : an account of an adventurous journey of exploration from Sierra Leone to the source of the Niger, following its course to the bend at Gao and thence across the great Sahara to Algiers" ***

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