CHAPTER III

FROM TIMBUKTU TO TOSAYE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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