“That they are,” he replied, “and here is my friend Mahámadu Dam-Bornu, who has travelled with us from Kantámpo. Mahámadu, this is that Yúsufu of whom we have told thee, who has come back to us from the land of the dead.”
“They do not appear to spend much on clothing in that country,” remarked Mahámadu with a grin, “nor on food either, for that matter.”
“No, indeed,” agreed Abduláhi; “thou lookest but poorly in body and in pocket. But that matters little, for Musa hath all the gold that thou didst leave behind as well as thy good clothes and the money that we owe thee.”
I was sorry that he had mentioned this matter publicly, for the musicians, who had pressed forward to listen, pricked up their ears mightily at his words, and I caught a greedy glitter in the eyes of my friend Ali.
“Come with me now to our house that our brethren may see thee,” said Abduláhi, and taking me by the hand, he marched off, leaving Dam-Bornu and my companions to follow with the gratified Aminé.
He led me to a large, prosperous-looking house in the Mahommedan quarter, and entering a gateway, we found ourselves in a wide compound where numerous packages of merchandise were piled under a thatched shed. Through an open doorway I had a view of Musa, Dambiri, and several other of my friends, seated upon a handsome rug, holding an animated discussion. They uttered a shout of surprise when they saw me, and leaping to their feet ran forward to greet me.
“Now God be praised,” exclaimed Musa, holding both my hands, “that thou art delivered from the hand of the heathen. We had thought thee dead long since, and have spoken of thee as one cut off from the land of the living. But God is merciful and wise, and thou hast come back to us.”
“I thank God truly that thou hast come back to us,” said Alhassan, “for it was I that showed thee the accursed pool. Often in my dreams have I seen the horned devil devouring thee, but now I trust I shall see him no more.”
“Thou wilt come and stay with us, Yúsufu,” said Musa; “there is room to spare in this house. But who are these minstrels and the young woman who have come with thee?”
“We,” said Ali, coming forward with a greasy smile, “are the friends of Yúsufu, who have stood by him in the hour of adversity, and whom I know he will not despise in his prosperity.”
“Assuredly,” said I, “my good fortune shall benefit you as well as me, but go now, for I have to speak to my friends of matters which concern them alone.”
“Very well,” replied Ali. “We will see thee to-morrow. Come, Aminé.”
“I stay with my husband,” said Aminé haughtily, taking hold of my hand.
“Yes; she will stay with me,” I said. “Sei gobé” (au revoir), and the three minstrels, returning my adieu, swaggered out of the compound.
“Thou hast better taste in women than in men,” said Musa drily, as he gazed at Aminé, who wriggled shyly at the implied compliment.
“Yes, truly, those minstrels seem but sorry knaves,” agreed Dan-jiwa. “Where didst thou pick them up?”
“Thou shalt tell us all thy adventures to-night,” said Musa. “Now we must go and look at the market, but first let me give thee back thy goods and pay our debt to thee.”
He fetched from his own chamber a bundle securely sewn up, which he proceeded to rip open before me.
“Here are thy clothes,” he said, “and thy purse with the gold coins in it. Here is the strange gold laiya” (he meant my watch), “and the laiya of leather, and the other things that we found when thou left us. Also I have put in this little bag the gold dust that we owe thee—for we sold all the guru quickly at Kantámpo, and are even now going to Bontúku to trade with the profits before we set out for our country. See that all is right; thy spear standeth there in the corner.”
I checked the articles and handed the more bulky ones over to Aminé (who was all agog to see me put on the fine clothes), thanking Musa most warmly for his scrupulous care and conscientiousness.
“It is nothing,” he replied. “If thou hadst not come back we should have divided thy goods amongst us when we got back to Kano. But we like it better to give thee back thine own. Now, come and I will show thee thy room.”
He led the way across the compound to an unoccupied room or hut, which he assigned to my use, and here Aminé deposited my property.
“Now go in and put on thy fine clothes,” said Dan-jiwa, who had followed us, “for thy wife longeth to see thee fitly dressed, as, indeed, do I also.”
I retired and rapidly made the change, while Aminé remained outside babbling ingenuously to the amiable giant. When I came out resplendent in riga saki, embroidered wondo, in turban and face cloth, and yellow slippers, the former gave a shriek of delight and clapped her hands.
“Now thou hast a fine husband, Aminé,” said Dan-jiwa, laughing. “I see thou hast put on thy laiya,” he added, taking in his hand the leather-cased amulet that Pereira had included in my outfit. “We have often wondered about the writing on the back of it, which seems not to be Arabic, for even Musa could not read it. Dost thou know what it is?”
I turned the laiya over and looked at the back, and there, as Dan-jiwa had said, was an inscription, done with a lead pencil, and so inconspicuous on the black leather that it had escaped my notice. It was a good deal rubbed, but I made out without difficulty the words, “Open this case when you are alone.”
“It is certainly not Arabic,” said I. “Perhaps some Christian has written upon it. It was given to me in one of the towns where there are Christian merchants.”
“No doubt that is so,” rejoined Abduláhi, and the subject dropped.
It will readily be understood that I was now consumed with impatience to be alone that I might probe the mystery of this leather case, but Abduláhi stuck to me like a leech, and I had no heart to shake the affectionate fellow off. Then it was necessary that Aminé, who had shared so cheerfully my poverty and hardship, should be made to partake of my good fortune, so I invited the pair to come with me and look at the market.
There was not so fine a display as at Táari, but I managed to buy Aminé a fine new túrkedi, a silken zenné, or veil, a handsome pair of sandals, and a coral necklace, and with these purchases she tripped homeward, chattering with joy. Abduláhi I presented with a pair of finely-worked slippers, and for myself, I bought of the sandal-maker some of the slender thongs with which leather is sewn, and at another booth a few large-eyed needles.
Having diplomatically sent Aminé and Abduláhi home with their presents, I made my escape from the market and hurried out into the country.
It was near noon, and there were few people stirring on the road, which was moreover but a bypath leading to a neighbouring village, so that I was no sooner fairly out of the town than I found myself in complete solitude. I looked before and behind, and seeing that no living being was in sight, I drew out my knife with a trembling hand and slipped the cord of the laiya from around my neck. It was sewn, as was usual, with fine thongs of skin, but the stitching had evidently been renewed, and that by a hand less skilful than that of the Hausa leather-worker. With the point of my knife I cut through one stitch after, another until three sides were unfastened and I could lay the case open. As I did so, a mass of wadding fell out, in which was a small paper packet which I opened with feverish haste. Inside it was a plain gold locket, and on the paper was written in Isabel’s handwriting:—“May God bless you and keep you and bring you safely through all your perils. Think sometimes of us, who have you constantly in our thoughts.”
The flutter of anticipation with which I unfastened the clasp of the locket merged into a thrill of intense emotion as my eyes fell upon its contents. From one side of it looked out the old-world cavalier-like visage of Pereira; from the other the calm and lovely face of Isabel.
I cannot describe the feelings which surged through me as I gazed at those beautiful and beloved features. For months—long months filled with peril and suffering that made them seem like years—I had not looked upon the face of a European; I had not even seen my own face since the day on which I fled from Annan. Gradually my standard of human beauty had become accommodated to my surroundings, until Aminé—by far the handsomest African woman I had ever seen—had come to represent a quite satisfying type of feminine comeliness. And now this vision of beauty burst upon me, dispelling in a moment the bias of recent experience, and I stood, in my turban and riga, the same Richard Englefield who had looked upon the setting sun as it sank in a crimson glow behind the palms of Jella Koffi.
I sat down upon the spreading roots of a baobab that stood by the wayside with its squat colossal trunk, like some weird Hamadryad, grown elderly and stout, and with the open locket in my hand, fell into a brown study. Straightway the present vanished and was forgotten. The bare and dismal orchard land with its meandering trail; the vultures wheeling in the blue, the stealthy antelope, the brown baboons, watchful and inquisitive, and the hollow-voiced secret cuckoo: all faded out of my consciousness, and I looked upon a flat sea-shore where the surf fretted upon shining, pearl-tinted sands; I heard the ripple of girlish laughter mingle with the murmur of the sea; I felt again that gracious presence that had stolen into my lonely life and filled it with beauty and romance. Often in the strenuous, eventful life of the last few months had my thoughts turned to that quiet house by the lagoon, that held all that I really loved in the world; but I had rarely been alone, and my harassing circumstances had left me little opportunity for reflection, so that this vivid message, coming as it were direct from another world, gave substance and reality to what had begun to appear but a dream.
“Here he is! I have found him! What? Art thou meditating and seeing visions again?”
It was the voice of Aminé, and it jarred on me like the jangling of discordant bells. Back in an instant I was dragged from my reverie of peace and love into this hurly-burly of savagery, with its sordid unrestfulness; back from the sweet domestic calm to the clamour of barbarism. I hastily closed the locket and secreted it, and dropping the open leather case through the neck hole of my riga, stood up.
“We heard thou hadst taken this road,” said Dan-jiwa, who had accompanied Aminé as bodyguard, “and so came to meet thee. Musa is roasting a sheep that we may rejoice at thy return.”
I turned and sauntered regretfully towards the town, still thoughtful and abstracted; but as we entered the street Aminé stole up and shyly took my hand.
“Thou hast not looked at my new túrkedi or my zenné,” she said plaintively.
I stopped, deeply ashamed of my unsympathetic egotism, and looked at the girl.
She was indeed transformed. In her dark blue túrkedi with the darker blue silken zenné dropped hoodwise over her head, the scarlet beads upon her shapely neck, and the dark line drawn under her eye-lashes with the stibium-rod, she made a most striking figure, and might have been some princess of the house of Judah. It was not the most auspicious moment to have chosen in which to bespeak my admiration, but I told her that she looked fit to be the wife of the Sultan of Sokoto, and this seemed to give her pleasure.
“I want no Sultan for my husband, if I have thee,” she said simply, at which Dan-jiwa patted her on the shoulder approvingly, saying—
“Thou art right, Aminé, and art a wise girl not to leave it to other women to find out thy husband’s merits.”
The feast given that evening by Musa was a magnificent affair, for the well-stocked market of Banda had been ransacked for dainties, and the cooking operations had been on a portentous scale. It was my friends’ last evening at Banda, and they intended that it should be a memorable one. Accordingly the feasting commenced early and went on until the town was wrapped in silence, and even then was only brought to a close by the extermination of everything eatable. Yet it was not a scene of gluttony, for as soon as the edge was worn off the appetites of the revellers, conversation and anecdote took the place of steady eating, and very soon a demand was made for an account of my adventures; to which I responded with perfect frankness, giving a true and detailed account of all that had befallen me, excepting the incident of the treasure. I had for a moment thought of confiding this secret to them also, and of engaging them to help me to remove the gold, but on reflection I resolved to speak of the matter to no one until I had consulted Pereira, with whose aid I had no doubt I could organise an expedition for lifting the treasure with safety and certainty.
When we were about to separate for the night I took out my purse, and setting on the mat five sovereigns, pushed them towards Musa.
“At daybreak to-morrow,” I said, “you all depart for Bontúku. Before we part, I wish to give you a little present that you may buy something to take back to your country.”
“Nay,” replied Musa, pushing the coins back, “put up thy money. Thou wilt want all that thou hast on thy journey.”
“Not so,” I rejoined. “I have enough for my needs, and it will be a pleasure to me, if it please God that we meet no more, to think that my friends have taken with them to their country some little thing, which when they look on will bid them think of their old comrade, Yúsufu Dan-Égadesh.”
“It shall be as thou sayest, and we thank thee, my son,” said Musa, taking up the coins; “but it needs not thy gifts to make us remember thee, and we shall at least all meet again where there is no buying and selling nor long journeys, nor weariness of the feet nor hunger and thirst.”
At daybreak Musa and his people were up and ready to start. Aminé and I walked with them for half a mile along the Bontúku road, and we then took leave of them with many expressions of affection and goodwill on both sides.
“God be with thee, my son,” said Musa, “and may we meet again soon. One thing I would counsel thee, and that is that thou walkest no more with those vagabond minstrels. Either go thy way alone, or wait until some men of reputation will journey with thee.”
“I will remember thy words, my father,” I replied, and pressing his hand once more I turned back. I was strongly disposed to abide by the old man’s advice and cut myself adrift from the good-for-nothing musicians, and had, indeed, almost made up my mind when, on reaching our house, I found them waiting at the gate.
“Thou hast not gone with thy friends, then,” said Ali, with evident relief at seeing me.
“No. I think of remaining at Banda for a while,” I replied.
Ali’s face fell. “That is a pity,” said he, “for we had intended to start at once for Ogúa. Osman knoweth the way well, and he sayeth he can take us thither in eighteen or twenty days.”
My heart gave a bound. Eighteen or twenty days! In three weeks I might, with reasonable good fortune, be on board ship, or even at Quittah. The thought was intoxicating.
“To speak the truth,” I said, “I like not the way in which thou and thy brethren pilfer from the country people.”
“We will do so no more,” replied Ali persuasively. “We are not now so poor, for we have earned a little here, and thou hast enough for thyself. If we promise to steal from no one wilt thou come with us?”
It was a great temptation.
If I went with them I should be in Cape Coast in three weeks, with all my troubles and hardships behind me, whereas if I waited at Banda it might be weeks before I met with any travellers bound thither, for I had learned that most of the European trade was conducted not with Cape Coast but with Kinjabo (Grand Bassam).
I pondered for a minute, while Ali softly thrummed upon the balafu, and at length succumbed to the temptation.
“Very well,” I said. “I have thy promise to pilfer no more. Wait here while I put my things together, and we will start.”
It was a fateful resolution.
CHAPTER XXII.
A CATASTROPHE.
In less than an hour we were on the road, stepping out briskly towards the south. A good store of provisions was in our scrip, and we had that comfortable feeling of being independent of the vicissitudes of the hour that accompanies a well-lined purse.
The musicians strode on ahead, Osman leading, and as they went they chattered gaily, and broke out from time to time in snatches of song. Aminé and I walked some distance behind that we might talk more freely, for neither of us felt any desire to increase our intimacy with the minstrels.
“Yúsufu,” said Aminé suddenly, when we had left the town behind, “what was it that thou hadst in thy hand when Abduláhi and I came upon thee sitting under the tree?”
“In my hand?” I repeated, considerably disconcerted by the question.
“Yes. Thou didst hide it when I spoke, so I said nothing, because Abduláhi was there.”
I was surprised at her discretion, and after a moment’s reflection decided to get the explanation over at once. I therefore drew out the locket (which I had not yet sewn up in its hiding place) and opened it. Aminé gazed at the two faces in blank amazement, and for a time spoke not a word.
“What is it?” she asked at length; “is it witchcraft?” and then with sudden suspicion, “who are they? Who is the woman?”
“She is the maid who is to be my wife,” I replied, feeling about as comfortable as a polar bear might in a Turkish bath, and perspiring almost as freely. “The old man is her father.”
“Thy wife!” exclaimed Aminé hoarsely. “Thou toldest me nothing of this!”
She made a sudden snatch at the locket, which I narrowly evaded, and hastened to stow the precious bauble out of harm’s way.
“I will get that thing and fling it in the fire,” Aminé declared in a voice husky with anger, “and as to the woman, I will kill her when I meet her.”
I made no reply, being not a little distressed at the turn things were taking.
“Why didst not thou tell me?” Aminé continued passionately, “that thou hadst a beautiful wife, one far more handsome than me? I would not have come with thee. Abduláhi would have taken me gladly.”
I wished most fervently that he had, but held my peace.
Suddenly she burst into a storm of sobs, beating her breast and moaning aloud, and tearing the coral necklace asunder, she flung it down in the road.
I feigned not to see this, and presently she went back and picked it up, but she did not again overtake me, but continued to follow some twenty or thirty yards behind.
Throughout the day she maintained an attitude of sullen aloofness, never coming near me nor speaking unless under actual necessity, and when she was compelled to address me she spoke with a gruff curtness in extreme contrast to her usual soft and winning manner. Her altered behaviour was viewed with but ill-concealed amusement by the musicians, and Ali took the opportunity to adopt a highly insinuating and sympathetic manner towards her; but his attempts to fish in troubled waters met with no better result than a vehemently uttered threat on her part to break his skull with a large stone.
Late in the afternoon we turned off the road on which we had been travelling, and took a small and indistinct track, which Osman informed me would shorten our journey by a couple of days, and which presently brought us to a tiny hamlet on the bank of the river Tain—a large tributary of the Firráo or Volta. Here Aminé obtained for herself and me a house which stood in a small compound of its own, and she commenced to prepare our meal, leaving the minstrels to make their own arrangements. When the meal was ready she took it into the house, and set it before me in silence; but instead of sitting down with me to share it, she went out into the compound and supped alone by the fire.
By the time I had finished eating the night had closed in and the hut was in darkness, but presently Aminé brought in a large shea-butter lamp or candle and set it on the floor; then she cleared away the remains of the food, and again left me in solitude.
For a long time I sat cross-legged at the end of my mat, watching the shadows dance upon the walls as the unsteady flame flickered in the draught, meditating gloomily upon this new complication in my affairs, and wondering what the end of it would be. My reflections were at length interrupted by the entrance of Aminé, who walked straight up to my mat, and, kneeling down upon it, laid her head upon my feet.
“Wilt thou forgive me, Yúsufu?” she asked meekly, “for the wrong that I have done thee? I was vexed when thou didst show me the face of thy wife, and I saw that she was so fair to look upon, for I feared that thou wouldst love her only and not me. I will trouble thee no more, my husband, nor make strife in thy house, and the beautiful woman shall be as my sister, and I will even be subject to her, and serve her as her bond-maid if it please thee, so that thou shalt love me too. Wilt thou not forgive me, seeing that I am but a woman, and that my folly ariseth out of my love for thee?”
She raised a piteous face to me, and her big eyes were swimming with tears as she made her humble appeal. As to me, I was too much overcome to be capable of any reply, and giving way to a natural, though insane, impulse, I took her head in my hands, and laid her cheek against mine. She uttered a sigh of profound content, and presently rose, and, spreading her mat near mine, curled herself up upon it and there lay, not sleeping, but watching me like some devoted terrier basking upon a rug, with one fond eye fixed upon its master.
I was deeply affected, and very angry with myself, for by thus weakly yielding to my emotion, natural though it was, I had made the situation far worse than it was before, and the bitter disillusionment had to be begun all over again. And then how pitiful it was to see all this noble and faithful love running to waste in a world where it is so precious and so rare; when so many have to pass through life uncared for and alone.
When I came out of the hut in the morning I found Aminé dressed in her old túrkedi, holding a review of our household goods, which were spread out on her mat.
“I have been thinking,” she said, “that it seemeth a pity for us to be wearing our fine clothes on this rough journey through the forest, so I have put on my old túrkedi. Wilt thou, too, not wear thy old riga and wondo, and let me put the fine ones in a bundle and carry them?”
It seemed a reasonable suggestion, so taking the old clothing into the hut, I made the change.
“It would be well,” said she, as she folded my embroidered riga, “to put in the bundle all that thou needest not for use on the road, so that thou shalt walk more easily.”
To this I also agreed, and laid on the mat my watch, pistol, and cartridge box, my purse with the remaining money in it, the bag of gold dust that I had received from Musa, and a few other odds and ends. I kept out a bag of kurdi for our immediate wants, and I wore my two knives—my original knife and the one I had obtained in the mine—stuck through the waist-band of my wondo. The locket I had already hastily stitched into its case, and this hung round my neck.
As Aminé was putting the finishing touches to the bundle, I strolled towards the gate of the compound, and was just stepping out, when Ali strode up hurriedly and with an air of confusion for which I could not at the moment account.
“I have come to look for thee, thou sluggard,” said he boisterously. “Wilt thou keep us waiting for ever?”
“I am going to find our landlord, that I may pay him for our lodgings,” I replied, but at that moment the man himself appeared and saluted me civilly. I thanked him (in Hausa—which he did not understand) for the loan of his house, and presented him with a handful of cowries, which he received with lively tokens of gratitude, and as Aminé was now waiting with our entire effects upon her head, we made our way to the river, picking up Osman and Baku on the way.
We forded the Tain without difficulty, for there was barely four feet of water in the middle, the river being now at its lowest; but the high, steep banks showed us what a volume it swelled to in the wet season, and we saw that, had we been a month later, it would have been quite impassable. For we were now at the very end of the dry season, and, indeed, one or two showers had fallen while we were at Banda.
The track along which we travelled became more and more obscure as we went on, but Osman picked his way along it with the confidence of a skilled path-finder. I noted, however, with some concern, that in spite of his promise that we should keep to the more open orchard-country, we were already entering the outskirts of the forest. Another thing I noticed before we had been long on the road, and that was that we had evidently crossed a water-parting, for the brooks and little streams that we forded in the early part of the day all ran towards the north-east, evidently going to join the Tain, but about midday we began to meet tiny streams meandering away to the south-west; and in the afternoon we crossed a more considerable—though still small—river, three times in rapid succession, after which it turned westward, and we saw it no more. About an hour after we had crossed this river the sky became suddenly overcast, and the chill of approaching rain was sensible in the air, while the forest was filled with the strange continuous murmur of moving leaves that foretells a storm.
We had passed no village or sign of habitation since leaving the Tain, and Osman assured us that we should meet with none until late on the morrow.
“Wherefore,” said he, “we had better make ourselves a shelter against the storm as quickly as we can.”
On hearing this we lost no time, but forthwith set about collecting the necessary materials, the minstrels and I cutting long sticks for the framework, while Aminé, armed with one of my knives, mowed down the high elephant grass of the opening in which we were to camp, thus at once clearing a space for the huts, and accumulating a pile of cut grass with which to thatch them. We worked with such a will that in less than an hour we had two tiny wigwam-like huts erected in the middle of the opening, where, if they were more exposed to the rain, they were safe from the principal danger—that of falling trees.
We had just finished the huts and piled inside one of them as many dry sticks as we had been able to find, when the storm burst and the rain fell in torrents. But in spite of the threatening signs of its approach, it was but a small affair after all, and in half an hour the sun was shining again, and there was every promise of a fine night.
“That is well over,” observed Ali, putting his head out of the low doorway of his hut. “We can make us a fire outside now, and cook us some food.”
“There is mighty little to cook,” said Baku, following his leader into the outer air. “It is a pity that we did not stop to catch some of the fish that were swimming about in the river. There were plenty of them, and fine, large ones too.”
“For that matter,” said Osman, “we might go and catch some now while Aminé tends the fire. I have some hooks that I bought at Táari.”
“It is a long way back,” I objected.
“We need not go back,” replied Osman. “The river is not far from here; I can show thee quite a short way. It should be good fishing after the rain.”
“Then we should have to leave Aminé all alone,” I said.
“I do not mind being left,” said she. “You will be back by the time it is dark. Go and catch some fish while I get the fire ready to cook it.”
I at length agreed to “go a-angling” with the musicians, and in a few minutes had made the necessary preparations. A wicker bag—Aminé’s original caterpillar bag, in fact—fitted with a sling of creeper, answered as a creel; a ball of cotton yarn from Aminé’s private bundle would serve as a line, and Osman had a dozen or so of large, coarse hooks. With these appliances, and such bait as we might pick up, it would be possible to capture some of the fish, provided they were of an unusually unsophisticated and confiding nature.
Osman’s short cut to the river turned out as disappointing as short cuts generally do. We scrambled through the thick undergrowth, pushing through thorny bushes and tripping up over the sprawling roots of great trees, but making very little headway, and the manner in which we twisted and turned and altered our course made me fear that Osman had lost his way.
“We should have done better to go by the road,” I grumbled, as I extricated myself from the grapnels of a climbing palm; “we should have been there by now, and with less labour.”
“The way is rough, indeed,” Osman admitted, “but we are nearly there.”
He pushed on ahead and disappeared among the trees, and sure enough in a few minutes we heard his cheery announcement:
“Here we are; here is the river at last, and here are the fish, too—swarms of them.”
The conditions were certainly favourable enough for sport, for the river, swollen by the rain, was now swift and turbid, and even through the muddy water we could see the fish snapping at the floating insects and débris that had been swept into the stream. Nor was there any scarcity of bait, for snails, large and small, crept upon every bush, and caterpillars and grubs could be collected by the dozen.
Osman served out to each of us four hooks, while I furnished the others with lengths of cotton yarn, and soon we were fully equipped, with the spare hooks stuck in our rigas. A fat, green caterpillar served me for bait, and with my spear as a rod I proceeded to make a trial cast.
The fish were truly most confiding. Quite unsuspicious of the thick white yarn and the great hook, they proceeded to gorge the wriggling bait and came up spluttering on to the bank in the greatest astonishment. It was magnificent, but it was not sport; however, the basket soon began to wax heavy, and visions of broiled fish floated across my mental horizon.
“Where are Ali and Osman?” I asked of Baku, who was fishing a few yards away from me.
“They are further down, just by the bend,” he replied.
“If they have been as successful as thou and I, they will have nearly enough,” I said, for I had seen Baku hooking the fish out even faster than I was doing. “We must not stay too long, or we shall have the darkness upon us.”
“That is true,” he answered. “I shall go and collect a few more caterpillars, and then when I have caught three more fish I shall angle no more.”
He wound up his line and began searching the bushes, among which I soon lost sight of him. I had just stowed a specially large fish in my basket when, looking up, it seemed to me that the light was beginning to fail.
“Come, Baku,” I called out; “here is the evening closing in, and we have to get back. We must start at once.”
He did not answer.
“Where art thou, Baku?” I called again, raising my voice, as I wound up my line and stuck the hook in my riga.
There was still no answer.
“Ho, there!” I shouted. “Ali! Osman! Where are you all?”
I listened, but not a sound came back but the cry of a hornbill that had been startled by my shout.
With a sudden pang of suspicion I ran along the bank looking in all directions and shouting at the top of my voice, but no sign of my companions was to be seen nor did my shouts evoke any answer. They had gone, and the stealthy manner of their departure filled me alike with anger and anxiety. For when I would have followed them I realised that I had but the vaguest idea of the direction in which the camp lay. The devious manner in which we had approached the river had completely bewildered me, and I dared not trust myself to plunge into the pathless forest in search of so small a point as our opening. There was only one thing to be done; I must work my way up the river and endeavour to identify the place where we had crossed it, and this would be difficult enough, for, as I have said, the path on which we had been travelling was but an obscure and unfrequented track, and it was now rapidly growing dark. Moreover, I had no means of judging how far I was from the ford, whether it was but a few hundred yards away or a dozen miles; I could not even be certain that this was the same river, although I felt very little doubt that it was.
I at once commenced a systematic examination of the banks, working my way slowly up stream—for the ford undoubtedly lay in that direction—and the more I searched, the more hopeless did the task appear. The night came on apace, and soon I could barely see the ground without stooping. Once or twice I struck off on what I thought looked like a trail, but after following it for a hundred yards or more, found myself in impenetrable bush. And every moment my anxiety grew more and more intense.
As I recalled the incidents of the day the evidence of a settled plot became so manifest that I marvelled at my blindness. I remembered Ali’s confusion when I encountered him at the compound gate, where he had without doubt been watching through the fence as Aminé packed the valuables in her bundle; I perceived that Osman’s pretended short cut to the river through the trackless bush was but a device to prevent me from finding my way back; and again the sinister question presented itself, “What was their object in all this?” That they intended to make off with the gold was obvious, but what about Aminé? Would they drag her off with them, or would they leave her alone and helpless in the wilderness? With these questions I continued to torture myself, cursing my folly in having associated myself with these villains after what I had seen of them, and still searching with a sinking heart for any trace of our trail on the banks.
It had been dark more than two hours, during which time I had toiled painfully along the brink of the river, now wading in the shallows and now climbing the rugged banks, oblivious alike of the stampede of startled antelopes and the angry growls of beasts of prey, when the rising moon threw a shaft of pale red light through the trees; and at the same moment I seemed to recognise something familiar in the surroundings.
I gazed at the banks and perceived that they shelved in the same manner as I remembered them to have done at the ford. Trembling with mingled hope and anxiety, I eagerly examined the ground by the wan moonlight; and suddenly my heart gave a bound, for there in the soft earth was a familiar little oblong depression, and near it a footprint. The depression was the mark of the heel iron of my spear, as I now made certain by fitting the iron into it, and the little track, indistinct as it was, could yet be made out, meandering away into the forest.
Having definitely ascertained that this was really the path, I hurried forward as fast as I dared in the dim moonlight—for the track in places almost completely disappeared—my anxiety becoming keener with every moment that passed; but with all my haste, a full hour passed, and yet no sign of the camp appeared. A dreadful fear that I had strayed from the track began to be added to my other troubles, and grew momentarily more acute.
Suddenly a breath of wind in my face brought with it the scent of burning wood, and a minute later I perceived through the trees the glow of a fire. In a tumult of excitement I broke into a run, and almost immediately came out into the opening by the two huts.
The large untended fire and the silence of the camp struck me with a chill of foreboding. I rushed forward, calling loudly to Aminé, and, receiving no answer, dragged aside the thatch of our hut and crept in trembling with fear, and reaching out my hand touched a soft, chilly arm.
“Who is it?” I gasped. “Is it thou, Aminé?” and then, receiving no reply, I dashed out of the hut, and snatching a great faggot from the fire, ran back, blowing it into a flame.
Great God! What was this?
It was indeed Aminé!
Aminé with limp disordered limbs, and staring eyes that saw not, with a little pool of blood by her side, and a gaping wound in her breast!
For a full minute I knelt transfixed, holding the shaking brand over her face; then with a hoarse cry I rushed from the hut and flung myself on the earth.
I thought my last moments had come, and that I must die where I lay. My head seemed bursting; a roaring was in my ears, and lights danced before my eyes.
As I slowly recovered, the shock of overwhelming horror and grief became mingled with an access of fury that threatened my reason. I stalked up and down before the huts, shaking my fists and cursing aloud like a maniac. If I could have laid my hands at that moment on the murderers, there is no act of ferocious cruelty of which I should not have been capable. To merely tear them limb from limb or hack them into pieces would have seemed too merciful, in the passion of hatred and rage that now possessed me, and I have since been thankful that I did not then encounter them, for I should certainly have disgraced my civilisation with some horrid act of barbaric vengeance.
Presently I grew calmer, and setting a cotton wick—torn from my riga—to one of the balls of shea butter that lay in her brass cooking-pan near the fire, I made a lamp and carried it into the hut.
Poor child! Poor faithful heart! Was it for this that I had brought her through so many perils and hardships, away from the promise of a home in some far away Hausa city, where she might have shared the love of some husband of her own race and seen her children grow up around her? In a passion of sorrow and bitter regret I stooped and kissed the cold cheek of the sweet barbarian, and knew for the first time how dear she had become to me with her simple faith and love, so childlike and yet so womanly.
As to the details of the foul deed, they were now obvious and plain. The fishing excursion had been deliberately planned to get me out of the way, and Osman’s devious wanderings to and fro in the forest were doubtless designed to confuse me as to our direction (for probably the river was really close at hand, as he had said). When we arrived at the river, Ali and Osman must have hurried back almost immediately, while Baku remained for a time to occupy my attention. No doubt the two villains had endeavoured to persuade Aminé to accompany them in their flight (for Ali had ever cast a greedy eye on the handsome Fulah girl), and on her refusing and retreating to the hut to protect our valuables, they had followed her and silenced her resistance by stabbing her to the heart. As to which of them was the actual murderer I had little doubt, but any that I had was quickly resolved, for one of the hands of the poor dead maid was closed and seemed to grasp something, and on my gently opening it I took out a wisp of hair and a couple of red glass beads. Now, the three musicians wore, after the Wongára fashion, a plait of hair on each side of the face. Osman’s plaits were plain, Baku’s were ornamented with threads of coloured cotton, while Ali had decorated each of his plaits with a bunch of red glass beads.
If curses could have killed, the villainous balafu-player would never again have looked upon the daylight, for I heaped upon him every malediction that my lips could frame or my heart conceive, and I swore that if ever I met him, even though it were under the very walls of the castle, he should not escape until he had paid his debt to the uttermost farthing.
Curses, however, could not undo the dreadful deed nor bring back life to the poor chill body, and there remained the last sad offices to be performed for the lost companion of my wanderings. These I set about with the tears streaming down my face, and many a choking sob, as I recalled the little incidents of our comradeship, and especially the affecting scene of the previous night; reverently I composed the contorted limbs, and closed the eyes that had looked on me with such fond devotion, and with my broad spear-head began to turn up the earth in the floor of the hut.
It was but a shallow grave that I could dig with my imperfect appliances, for the soil was gravelly and hard, and the greater part of the night was spent before the narrow trench was hollowed out. By that time the last of the shea butter was burnt out, and I was faint from want of food, so I went out, and, laying a few of the fish upon the red embers, waited for the dawn, unmindful of the hyænas that prowled, moaning and snuffling around the camp.
As the first pale glimmer appeared above the trees, I went back to the hut. The little clay tablet that the poor child had so prized still hung in its bag around her neck. I untied the string and transferred it to my own neck, and having cut off one of the long soft plaits of which she was so justly proud, I lifted the dead girl and tenderly laid her in her narrow bed, spreading her turkedi over her and tucking it around her that I might not see the cold earth fall upon her body. Then I filled in the grave and piled the little mound of earth over her, and going out, securely closed up the doorway of the hut.
The rest of the day I resolved to spend collecting stones with which to build a cairn over the grave, for I could not bear to think of her resting-place being desecrated by the ghoul-like beasts of the night.
I had for a moment had a wild idea of going in pursuit of the murderers, but the futility of this was so apparent that I immediately abandoned it; for apart from the fact that they had many hours’ start, I could not tell whether they had gone forward or backward, and it was quite certain that they would take effectual means to avoid being overtaken. I therefore broiled the remainder of the fish, and when I had eaten it and piled up the fire with green wood, I took my mat into the vacant hut to sleep awhile before resuming my labours.
I did not sleep more than two or three hours, notwithstanding my fatigue, for the sun was near the zenith when I arose, and as I wished to complete my task before night, I set to work without delay. There are plenty of large stones to be picked up in most parts of the forest, for the heavy rains lay bare the rocky subsoil wherever there is much slope, so I had little difficulty in finding the material for the cairn, although it was heavy work carrying what I had collected to the camp.
In one of my excursions I took my way, with the wicker bag, down the path that led from the camp, as I had observed the ground to be more stony in that direction, and I had walked barely half a mile when I came to the river, which here made a sweep to the east and then turned away westward again. At this point there was a small rapid, and the bed of the stream was full of waterworn fragments of rock, most of them of considerable size. With these I filled up my bag, but before returning to the camp I baited a couple of my hooks with fragments of snail and secured the lines to overhanging branches so that the baited hooks nearly touched the bottom.
I made several journeys to the river, returning each time with a bag of stones on my head, a number of others in my pocket, and a big one under each arm, and in the course of the afternoon I caught four good sized fish. The day’s wants being thus provided for, I proceeded with my melancholy task, and before nightfall I had built up a cairn over poor Aminé’s grave that nearly covered the floor of the little hut, and had moreover strengthened the hut itself with a number of thorny branches, which I hoped would effectually prevent the beasts from tearing it open. The short remainder of the daylight I spent in making more secure the hut in which I was to sleep, and in collecting an abundance of firewood; and when the darkness at length closed in I cooked my frugal meal and then made up the fire. I did not turn in for a long time, but sat by the fire, in the blackest dejection, gazing at the crackling sticks, meditating upon my forlorn and hopeless condition, and thinking of the poor murdered girl who lay under the cairn, whom but yesterday I was so anxious to be rid of, and whose cheerful prattle I would have given so much to listen to again.
At length, as I felt that I was becoming sleepy and the prowling beasts were stealing up on all sides, I again fed the fire and banked it up with grass and sods of earth, and retiring to my hut, secured the doorway with strong lashings of creeper.
But I spent a miserable and unrestful night, for as soon as the fire burned low the camp was filled with the most hellish uproar, and several times a vigorous scratching at the frail wall of my hut had to be stopped by a thrust of my spear between the frame poles. Towards morning, however, the hubbub subsided, and I fell into a sound sleep from which I did not waken until the sunlight was streaming in through the chinks in the thatch.
CHAPTER XXIII.
I MAKE A CURIOUS DISCOVERY.
When I came to review my situation as I raked together the almost extinct embers of last night’s fire, and coaxed them into life with dry twigs and charred fragments, I could not but be dismayed at the difficulties and perils with which I was surrounded.
Here I was, alone in the wilderness, without a morsel of provisions, totally ignorant of the locality, quite unacquainted with the speech of the forest peoples, and with but a hazy idea of the direction in which I should turn my steps. True, I knew that far away to the south lay the Gulf of Guinea and the European settlements; but between me and the coast lay the whole width of the forest and the kingdom of Ashanti.
I might perhaps succeed in making intelligible to the forest villagers an inquiry as to the way to Cape Coast, but my judgment urged me to give all villages a wide berth in my solitary and unprotected condition. Then I might—taking the sun and stars as my guide—strike due south, when sooner or later I must reach the sea—if I were allowed to pass unmolested; but my experience of the treatment of solitary strangers was far from reassuring, while the stories I had heard of the sacrificial customs of Ashanti—stories that I had largely verified—made a journey through that country seem a forlorn hope indeed.
On the other hand I might, of course, retrace my steps, and endeavour to overtake Musa and his people; but this would be to renew and extend my wanderings into the interior of the continent, of which I was by this time heartily sick. Besides, my mission was accomplished; I had found the treasure and tested the truth of the narrative in Captain Hogg’s journal, and now I yearned for the sight of a white face, longed to hear the voices of my friends, and to be among people of my own race.
No! However great the dangers, and however many the obstacles, the passage of the forest must be made. The sea was my goal, and I must keep my face resolutely towards the south. But how to reach the sea was a problem that I found myself utterly unable to solve. In the deepest perplexity I turned over the various alternatives that presented themselves without hitting upon any feasible plan of action. The obvious thing, however, being that I must obtain food without delay, and the river furnishing the only means of my doing so, I took my way thither, pursuing my reflections as I went.
Having found a comparatively deep pool some distance below the rapid, I baited my hooks, and flinging them into the water, sat down on the bank to wait for a bite.
Angling has been described by its immortal exponent as “the contemplative man’s recreation.” Its contemplative character is perhaps apt to be interfered with if the possible catch stands between the angler and starvation; nevertheless, as I sat and watched my hooks, I found myself again picturing in detail the various possibilities of the immediate future. I saw myself, without fire or shelter, slowly starving to death in the wilderness; or, once more bound and captive, borne off to grace some funeral sacrifice at Kumasi or some infernal fetish rites in a forest village. Perhaps I might encounter another slave caravan, or be murdered by wandering natives, or devoured, whilst sleeping, by wild beasts. These things were all possible, and not so very improbable.
I was pursuing my meditations in this cheerful fashion when my attention was arrested by a small object that was floating slowly past. It was an empty Achatina shell, buoyed up by a bubble of air in the spire; and as it drifted along on the surface of the quiet, clear water, turning round and round or bobbing up suddenly when some inquisitive fish smelled at it, I found myself watching it with a strange wistfulness, and speculating upon its destination and the incidents of its voyage.
Down the river, ever downwards, it would pursue its noiseless journey; through the lonely forest, past noisy waterside towns and villages; hurrying through blustering rapids, lingering in silent pools, turning in many an eddy and backwater; on, till the river grew broad and the crocodiles basked on the bank; on, till it met the mangrove, and heard the roaring of the bar; and so out into the dancing waters of the ocean where the dolphins were at play, and the great ships spread their sails in the sunshine.
The shell drifted out of sight, and I sighed disconsolately. Where should I be when it reached its destination on the surf-beaten shore?
Suddenly there came into my mind a new thought. Why should not I also make the river my highway? It led to the sea, I knew. Why should I not make myself some raft or coracle and drift down the stream, too, like the infant Moses or the Lady of Shalott? I grinned sardonically at the whimsical idea—and yet it was less impracticable than any other plan that I could think of. Indeed, the more I thought about it the more did it commend itself to me, and my imagination soon began to fill in details of the scheme. The river would not only be my guide to the sea; it would carry me without fatigue on my part, and furnish me with food—for I could fish as I went. Then the approaching rains, which would flood the forest lands and make the roads impassable, would fill the river and make it safer by covering rapids and shallows. Finally, I could build a little shelter on my coracle, and thus take my house with me, and so could even travel in the heavy rain, when walking would be impossible.
So strongly did the idea begin to take hold of me, that my excitement made me restless, and as I had now caught two fish, and was secure from immediate starvation, I arose, and winding up my lines, began to wade through the shallows, searching the banks for a suitable place to take up my abode in while the coracle was being made.
The river was, as I have said, but a small stream, formed by the confluence of a number of tiny brooks; but its banks rose pretty steeply for fully seven feet above its present level, showing that in the rains it carried a large body of water. I had wandered down nearly half a mile when I found the banks receding on either side as the river grew rapidly wider, and then the stream appeared to divide into two. At first I supposed that a tributary had entered it, but on going to the fork and observing that the water flowed down each side, I perceived that the river had really divided, and I had no doubt that the central portion of land was an island. In order to ascertain if this was the case I took the left-hand division, scanning the banks closely as I went, and as I proceeded the stream continued to widen out, forming a lake-like expanse, the appearance of which impressed me with a strange sense of familiarity. Presently I set my foot upon a hard, smooth body, the feel of which I knew at once. It was an affaní, and as I picked the mollusc up and dropped it into my wicker bag, the chain of association was complete. I felt certain that this was the very place where Bukári Moshi and I had crossed with the bags of gold upon our heads.
With my heart thumping with excitement and anxiety, I splashed across the stream to the bank of what I believed to be the island, and wading along the shore, looked for the landing place. Presently I came to a spot where the bank shelved down more gradually, and running up the incline, found at the top a wide stretch of level ground covered with soft moss. Surely this was the place; there could be no doubt about it; but yet so intense was my excitement and my fear of a disappointment that I hardly had the courage to look for the crucial proof. At length I summoned up my nerve, and casting my eyes across the river, at once made out a tall oil palm rising out of the undergrowth, and near to it a lofty silk-cotton. Between the two stems was an opening in the foliage, through which I could see some high ground in the distance. I drew off a few paces to the left, but the two stems approached and came into one line. Then I stepped away to my right, and as the stems separated, the hill became more visible, until suddenly there appeared through the opening a patch of red cliff on the hillside. It was the cliff on to which the tunnel opened.
Inch by inch I shifted my position until the red patch appeared midway between the palm and the silk-cotton. Then I stooped, and began frantically driving my knife into the soft moss; and I had scarcely made a dozen stabs when I felt the point arrested by something hard. With a hasty glance around to make sure that my solitude was undisturbed, I cut out a square slab of the moss, and thrusting my hand into the hole, dragged out a bunch of the gold manillas.
Very absurd was the triumph with which I gloated over the precious trash and dusted the black mould from their shining surfaces. Indeed, I could not but be struck by the irony of the situation. Here I was, sitting upon a fortune of some seventy thousand pounds, of which the whole was mine—or, at least, I considered it to be—with death from starvation or exposure staring me in the face! It was a fine commentary upon the worthlessness of riches, to which my gnawing hunger gave a special point; and as my momentary exultation flickered out, I sadly poked the manillas back into the hole, and replaced the moss, carefully pinching the cut edges together.
The treasure was mine indeed, but should I ever possess it? Through what perils and miseries must I pass before I could finally lay hands upon it? I had yet to creep like some belated ancient Briton in a wretched coracle of wicker and skin down an unknown river, through a land swarming with savage beasts and peopled by savage men. Should I ever reach the coast? and if I did, would even this great fortune tempt me again into this loathsome wilderness? Or even if I did come with trusty companions, if the natives permitted us to pass, could I make sure of finding the treasure again? To none of these questions could I give a confident and satisfactory answer, and my short-lived triumph was succeeded by black despair.
Suddenly a new idea flashed into my mind, and although I put it away at once as preposterous, it returned again and again with such insistence that I presently began to seriously entertain it.
It was this.
I had resolved that the river should not only be my guide to the sea, but should actually carry me to my destination. Why should it not carry the treasure, too? If I were lost, then it would matter nothing that the treasure should be lost with me; while if I could succeed in navigating the river, the presence of the treasure need not materially add to the danger. Of course, it would be no wicker-built coracle that would carry half a ton of metal. A really stout canoe would be required, and the construction of this was the main, and almost the only, difficulty. Now, given the materials and appliances, there was no doubt of my ability to build a canoe or boat, since I had both built and rigged the canoe-yawl in which, as I have mentioned, I used to sail around the Thanet coast; but my sole appliances at present were my knives, my spear, and a few needles, and as to materials, they would have to be gathered in the forest.
The question was, therefore, whether it would be possible, with the means at my disposal, to build a canoe of the necessary strength. At the first glance the thing appeared impossible, but I determined to give it careful consideration, for if it could be done, and I could successfully navigate the river, then I could say good-bye, once for all, to the inhospitable forest.
Meanwhile I resolved to shift my residence to the island at once, for whether I built a large canoe or merely a small coracle, this would be a most suitable place in which to carry out the work, not only because of its being actually on the river, but also on account of the improbability of any person visiting it.
The country round, indeed, appeared to be almost uninhabited, for I had not seen a human being since we left Tain-su; but on the mainland there was always the possibility that a chance stranger might appear, whereas the island was almost completely secure from intrusion.
Before returning to the camp I looked round for an “eligible building site.” The island was about a hundred and fifty yards long by fifty broad. It was mostly above the level of the banks of the river (and therefore above the flood level), but at the end near which the treasure was buried there was a central hollow or miniature valley, and this I pitched upon as the site for my hut, as the higher ground on each side would conceal it from anyone walking by the river. As a first instalment of furniture, I carried a number of stones to the spot, and laid them down as a hearth in readiness for the fire. Then, having collected a dozen or so of affaní, I made my way back to the camp, which I found to be little over a mile distant.
While the fish and affaní were roasting, I occupied myself in taking down the hut that the musicians had built, for it would be quicker to carry the materials to the island than to cut and collect fresh ones. Then I ate my all too frugal meal, and, having devoured the last morsel, even to the fishes’ heads, I made preparations for the removal.
My first care was the fire—for although I had once kindled a fire by means of the drill, I might not succeed a second time, and I meant to take no risks. I therefore scooped up all the red embers and charcoal into Aminé’s brass pan, piling up as much as it would hold, and gathered up the faggots into a bundle with their glowing ends together. Then, setting the pan upon my head, which I protected with a pad of grass, and taking the bundle of faggots in my hands like a huge torch, I ran off towards the island like some African Solomon Eagle.
The faggots were still alight, and the embers in the pan still glowing when I reached my new abode, and I at once proceeded to build up my fire after the fashion that I had learned from the Hausas. The art of making and maintaining a fire with green wood is a very simple one, but requires to be practised with method. The important thing is to place the faggots like the spokes of a wheel with the burning ends at the centre. Thus each faggot becomes dried by the heat, and the fire slowly spreads outwards, becoming more and more dull as the burning ends become more widely separated; but built in this way it will burn without attention for an incredible time, and when almost extinct, it can be revived in a moment by simply pushing the faggots forward until their ends meet in the central heap of embers and hot ashes.
I tipped out my pan of charcoal on to the hearth, and arranged the faggots in the way I have described, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing a well established fire in my new camp. It took me two more journeys to transport the poles and thatch of the hut, and as I came away with the last load, I looked round sadly at the little grassy oasis in the forest. It was now to be left desolate and deserted. A large white patch of ashes and poor Aminé’s primitive mausoleum alone remained as memorials of the dreadful tragedy that it had witnessed.
The remainder of the day was spent in fishing, collecting firewood, and re-erecting the hut, which I did not build in its original beehive form, but in a conical shape like that of a bell tent. I constructed it without a centre post because, as my stay on the island might be a prolonged one, I intended to build a larger house for permanent use, and this conical hut would then serve to make the fire in, so that it might not be extinguished by a night’s heavy rain.
Through the long evening as I sat by the fire I considered and re-considered my wild scheme of carrying away the treasure, and as I turned it over, its difficulties—so insuperable at first sight—began to melt away, while its attractions grew upon me, and, when I at last banked up the fire and turned in, I had made up my mind not to abandon the plan until I had tried it and found it impossible to carry out.
Daybreak saw me hard at work on my new residence, a building of much more ambitious and extensive design; for in a tropical country with nearly twelve hours of darkness out of the twenty-four, life would be intolerable with no better shelter than the tiny conical hut afforded, and I could not at present judge how long my labours might detain me on the island. A reasonable amount of comfort and convenience was indispensable, and with this view I decided to build the new house in the square Ashanti style—a much more commodious form than the conical or beehive shape. As to the dimensions, the floor space was to be, roughly, ten feet by eight, the height to the ridge of the roof six feet six inches, and the height to the eaves three feet. This was a very different affair from the little temporary huts that I had hitherto made. The mere cutting of the poles and the creepers for lashings was a work of some hours, and I had not completely finished setting up the framework when the light failed, and the long evening’s idleness commenced.
While I had been at work I had left my baited lines pegged down near a spot which I had ground-baited with the offal from my meals, visiting them from time to time, and so had a fair supply of fish for my supper; but this diet was both scanty and monotonous, and I felt that some better arrangements would have to be made in regard to board as well as lodging.
When I came to survey the result of my day’s work on the following morning, before recommencing my labours, I was not a little pleased to see how much was done. The frame was nearly complete, and looked like a huge wicker bird-cage, but it stood firm, and was stiff and strong, and the interior seemed very large and roomy. Half an hour’s work sufficed to finish the framework, and then came the tedious task of clothing the skeleton. I did not propose to use thatch, for grass was scarce in the forest; but leaves were abundant enough, and it seemed to me would answer the purpose better. I had noticed, in particular, a creeper that shrouded almost every tree trunk, and bore stout, glossy leaves nearly a foot long. These—of which I could gather as many as I wanted—would be almost as good as shingles for the roof, while the flexible stems could be split to furnish lashings. I accordingly collected a quantity of this creeper, and fastened the broad leaves in overlapping rows on to the roof and gables; but although I worked steadily from daybreak to sunset, with but short intervals of fishing and firewood cutting, when the darkness closed in I had only the roof and gables finished. However, as the night looked threatening, and I was uneasy about the fire, I moved into the unfinished house, and transferred the blazing faggots to the interior of the conical hut; and it was well that I did so, for that night the rain fell for a short time in such torrents that, had the fire been exposed, it must have inevitably been put out.
Another hard day’s work saw my house completed, and not only completed, but furnished; for in addition to a door—three feet high by two broad—which could be firmly secured by a lashing, it boasted a bedstead—a structure of sticks much resembling a wooden gridiron on eight small posts, on which I could spread my mats, and sleep clear of the damp ground.
In this palatial residence I took up my abode in state as soon as it was dark, and by way of making it more cheerful, kindled a fire in the middle of the floor, by which I got not only light—and a great deal of smoke—but a warmth that was most grateful, for the nights were now damp and very chilly.
Here, upon my new bed, I sat through the long evening, with the door shut and fastened, and the flickering flames lighting up the little interior, uncommonly elated at finding myself so comfortably housed, and full of enthusiasm for the work that the morrow was to see begun. For now that I had a comfortable home, the building of the canoe must be pushed forward with all speed, so that I could make my dash for the coast as soon as the river was full.
Long that night I sat cogitating upon my scheme, and as it took more definite shape and details suggested themselves, I covered my dirty white riga with figures and diagrams scrawled on it with a stump of charcoal from the fire. The problem to be worked out was simple enough. The weight of the gold I estimated at half a ton; it could hardly be more, for Bukári and I had carried it from the mine to the river in five journeys, each carrying, of course, a tenth part of the whole treasure. My own weight was eleven stone—probably less now—or a hundred and fifty-four pounds, making, with the gold, a total of twelve hundred and seventy-four pounds. This weight added to the weight of the canoe itself, represented the displacement of the vessel when fully loaded, that is to say, the loaded canoe would displace, in floating, this weight of water. Now a cubic foot of water weighs sixty-two and a half pounds, or a little less in the Tropics. Calling it sixty-two, to be on the safe side, the gold would displace eighteen cubic feet of water, and my body would displace two and a half, a total of twenty and a half cubic feet without reckoning the weight of the canoe.
This was not in itself an alarming amount. A canoe twelve feet long by three wide, and drawing one foot of water, will displace about twenty-four cubic feet, and these dimensions were considerably less than those of the canoe-yawl that I had built at Ramsgate. But there was the weight of the vessel itself—which must be strong to carry this weight, and withstand the rough usage that it would certainly meet with—and this I could hardly estimate until I had decided on the materials of which it was to be made. Reckoning it, however, provisionally at three hundred-weight (which was probably excessive), a canoe twelve feet long by three and a half wide, and drawing one foot, would answer the purpose, for a vessel of these dimensions would displace twenty-nine cubic feet of water, or three cubic feet more than was necessary.
The question of materials had next to be considered. Of what was the canoe to be made? A “dug-out” or hollowed log I at once rejected, for not only is such a vessel clumsy and very heavy, but the making of one involves the felling of a tree, the shaping of the log, and the digging out of its interior—a task quite beyond my powers, seeing that my entire outfit of tools consisted of two knives, a spear, and the packet of large needles that I had bought at Taari.
Evidently the canoe would have to be made on the principle of a coracle—a framework of wicker or lashed sticks with a covering of some sort, and this covering was the real crux of the situation. As to the frame, I felt confident of being able to build that without difficulty, but the covering gave me pause.
The Britons covered their coracles with hide, but it was tanned hide, which I could not procure. The Eskimo cover their canoes with untanned skin; but they navigate frozen seas, whereas the tepid waters of the Tropics would reduce such skin to putrefying pulp in forty-eight hours. Suddenly I bethought me of the birch-bark canoes of the Redskins, and with a thrill of exultation I felt that the difficulty was solved. For the forest abounded in the Hon-ton tree, to the tough, canvas-like bark of which Isaaku had introduced me; and this material, easy to obtain and to work, would form an ideal covering or skin for my canoe. It was true that the bark was rather porous, and so not very watertight, but it would be hard if I could not devise some means for filling the pores. At any rate, the main difficulty was disposed of, and with a sigh of satisfaction I lay down upon the mat that covered my bed, and drawing Aminé’s mat over me by way of bedclothes, settled myself for the night.