CHAPTER XVI.

We had just quitted the front of the Al-waj. It was ten o'clock in the morning, and we had to cross a vast plain in order to reach our next halting-place. The heat was oppressive in the extreme, as if a storm were brewing, although the sky was cloudless. The sun, as if foreseeing that a veil would soon be interposed between him and the earth, that the rainy season was coming on, and that he would no longer be sole monarch of these districts, was darting his most burning rays. We were weary, almost done up, and as we went slowly forward, we kept close together in the vain hope of affording each other some sort of shade.

In the midst of this barren, parched, and arid plain we unexpectedly caught sight of a leafless tree, whose branches had been lopped off so completely, that nothing but a post was left. Bound closely to this tree, with his face to the sun, we perceived a human being. De Morin and Delange galloped off at once, and stopped short at the tree in astonishment at the sight which met their gaze.

A man, about twenty years of age and completely naked, was bound to the tree. His features were regular and gave token of great energy of character, his eyes had a very peculiar expression in them, and his smile was somewhat sardonic. An artistic statue in bronze, modelled by a master hand, alone could give any just idea of his splendid proportions and the lustre of his dark brown, almost metallic skin. In spite of his bonds, his attitude was noble, he stood firmly and upright, with expanded chest, and uplifted head.

Followed by our two interpreters and some of the Al-waj, who had been engaged as guides as far as the next halt, I rejoined de Morin and Delange, and with one consent we made ready to cut the captive's bonds. The natives at once came up to us and indulged us with a vehement harangue, the sense of which we were fain to obtain from our interpreters.

According to their account, the man whom we wished to rescue was a poisoner, belonging to the Baggara tribe, whose acquaintance we had made when coming from Khartoum up the Nile. Taken prisoner by some dealers on their way to the south, he had in the preceding year been sold to one of the chiefs of the Al-waj. Soon afterwards the chief, together with all his family and more than ten members of the tribe, had died from the effects of poison, and, suspicion having rested on the slave, he was condemned to death from the sun.

This punishment, of which we now heard for the first time, is of the most simple description, and it may well be asked how it is that it is not more widely known in the tropics or at the equator, for, of course, in Europe, especially in the north, it would not be very efficacious.

It consists merely of fastening the criminal in the middle of a plain, and there leaving him without the power of moving, to be burnt at a slow fire, or, to speak more correctly, by a quick sun, in the simplest possible manner, without appliances of any kind, and without any expense in the shape of stake or faggots.

The Al-waj, like true artists, introduce a certain amount of refinement into the punishment they have thus devised, for lest it should not last long enough, or lest the prisoner should die too speedily from sun-stroke, they cover his head with leaves. The skull and forehead, the most vulnerable parts, are thus protected, but all the rest of the body burns to a cinder, and gradually dries up. The skin is not long before it peels off, and the sun darts his pitiless rays upon the quivering flesh.

It may possibly be said that, notwithstanding these precautions, the punishment cannot be of very long duration. Abandoned by all, riven to his post, the slave would certainly die of hunger and thirst before the sun would kill him. They who would argue thus do not know the Al-waj. They do not so abandon the criminal, but, on the contrary, pay him every attention. Each day, when the sun has lost his power, and they themselves no longer dread his rays, they bring their prisoner a few grains and a drop or two of water, thus prolonging his existence, and condemning him to die by the sun alone, according to their decree.

These explanations, so far from inducing us to give up our ideas of mercy, made us more persistent. It is, perhaps, both imprudent and indiscreet to turn a poisoner loose on society, even if that society be African, and if it were merely a question of hanging or beheading, we should probably allow justice to take its course. But the sufferings the poor wretch endures and those which are in store for him, the very horror of his punishment, all render his crime less odious. In the victim we forget the criminal.

Armed with our knives we were again preparing to cut the prisoner's bonds, without condescending to pay any attention to the protests or remonstrances of the Al-Waj, when our interpreter Ali called our attention to the sky.

"Well," said Delange, to him. "What part does the sky play in this matter? Are you afraid that the sun will resent our depriving him of his victim? He never asked for him—no offer even was made to him."

"That is not what I meant," replied our guide. "I pointed to the sky, because at this moment it is covered with clouds. A storm will soon burst over us, the rain will fall in torrents, and as the prisoner will be saved by natural causes it is of no use our making enemies of all this tribe."

"Granted," said Delange. "The sun will be interrupted in his work of destruction. The rain will refresh this poor wretch, and will wash his wounds. I admit all that, but the luminary will soon reappear brighter and more burning than ever."

"The punishment will soon be at an end," our guide hastened to explain, "in accordance with the customs of the tribes of these regions. They have been suffering for some time past from a terrible drought, and the rains, which usually commence at the end of February, are this year a fortnight late. You have already had the Dinkas, who stand in great need of water for their flocks and herds, coming to you, and offering you ivory and slaves if you would prevail upon the rain to fell. The Al-Waj suffer quite as much as their neighbours. Superstitious, as, indeed, we all are in Africa, instead of recognizing that the rainy season will eventually commence in due course of nature, they will think that the sun does not desire the victim offered up to him, and that in order to protect and save him that luminary will withdraw his rays. Not only in that case will they hasten to cut the prisoner's bonds, but they will raise him to the dignity of a sorcerer, and, attributing to him the power of making the sun stand still and of causing the rain to fall at his will and pleasure, they will pay him the greatest respect."

The Arab was right. The rainy season was fairly setting in, and very soon a tremendous storm burst forth. Then, as he had said, the natives rushed towards their prisoner, cut his bonds, and prostrated themselves before him.

Did the slave, thus miraculously saved, really believe that he was protected by the sun? Did he seriously regard himself as a sorcerer? We did not seek to enquire, but we saw him, as soon as he was released, look proudly round him, and, followed by his former persecutors, now become his admirers, wend his way towards the village, where he would be looked upon as a demi-god, be worshipped by all, and be held capable of causing rain or sunshine as he pleased.

Perhaps, too, he counted upon being able to resume his particular trade as a poisoner, but there would no longer be any one to say him nay—in his capacity as sorcerer and demi-god, his poisoning would be carried out under official sanction.

10th March.—We are progressing very rapidly, for, thanks to extra rations and a few presents, we are getting double stages out of our escort. We now rest from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., continuing on the road from the latter hour until nine or ten o'clock at night in the clear, bright moonlight. We start, as usual, for our first stage at 5 a.m., and have now reached a kind of neutral ground, about three hundred square miles in extent, in which are situated, some five or six leagues from each other, the celebrated seribas, or depôts, of the Khartoum merchants. Owing to the letters of introduction presented to us at that town, we have been received most hospitably at all these depôts, thatched and roomy huts being placed at our disposal, as well as provisions for both ourselves and the caravan generally.

The denizens of these seribas are very far from being morally irreproachable; in fact, they fully deserve the bad character given to them by European travellers. But it must, in justice, be confessed that they perfectly understand the duties of hospitality, and that, in this regard, they do not in any way fall behind the Creoles of South America or of our French colonies.