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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IX

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XI

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

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

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

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

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