The country continued rugged and rocky, though it was occasionally interrupted by cultivated ground, and a mountain group of interesting form, called Kónkel, stood out on our right.

Having entered at eight o’clock upon cultivated ground of great extent, we reached a quarter of an hour afterwards Bélem, the residence of Mʿallem Dalíli, a man whom I had heard much praised in Saráwu. Bíllama wished to spend the day here, but I was very anxious to proceed, as we had already lost the preceding day; but at the same time I desired to make the acquaintance of, and to pay my respects to, a person whom every one praised for his excellent qualities. I therefore sent forward the camels with the men on foot, while I myself entered the village with the horsemen. Crossing a densely inhabited quarter, we found the mʿallem sitting under a tree in his courtyard, a venerable and benevolent-looking old man, in a threadbare blue shirt and a green “báki-n-záki.” We had scarcely paid our respects to him, and he had asked a few general questions in Arabic, when an Arab adventurer from Jedda, with the title of sheríf, who had roved a good deal about the world, made his appearance, and was very inquisitive to know the motives which had carried me into this remote country; and Bú-Sʿad thought it prudent to pique his curiosity, by telling him that we had come to search for the gold and silver in the mountains. Old Mʿallem Dalíli soon after began to express himself to the effect that he should feel offended if I would not stay with him till the afternoon; and I was at length obliged to send for the camels, which had already gone on a good way.

A rather indifferent lodging being assigned to me, I took possession of the shade of a rími, or béntehi,—the bentang-tree of Mungo Park (Eriodendron Guinense), of rather small size, and there tried to resign myself quietly to the loss of another day, while in truth I burned with impatience to see the river, which was the first and most important object of my journey. However, my quarters soon became more interesting to me, as I observed here several peculiarities of arrangement, which, while they were quite new to me, were most characteristic of the equatorial regions which I was approaching. For while in Bórnu and Háusa it is the general custom to expose the horses, even very fine ones, to all changes of the weather—which on the whole are not very great,—in these regions, where the wet season is of far longer duration and the rains much heavier, it is not prudent to leave the animals unsheltered, and stables are built for them on purpose,—round spacious huts with unusually high clay walls; these are called “debbíru” by the Fúlbe of Ádamáwa, from the Háusa word “débbi.” Even for the cattle there was here a stable, but more airy, consisting only of a thatched roof supported by thick poles, and enclosed with a fence of thorny bushes.

The vegetation in the place was very rich, and an experienced botanist might have found many new species of plants, while to me the most remarkable circumstance was the quantity of Palma Christi scattered about the place, a single specimen of the gonda-tree, and the first specimen of a remarkable plant which I had not observed before on my travels,—a smooth soft stem about ten inches thick at the bottom, and shooting up to a height of about twenty-five feet, but drawn downwards and inclined by the weight and size of its leaves, which measured six feet in length and about twenty inches in breadth. The Háusa people gave it the name “alléluba,” a name generally given to quite a different tree which I have mentioned in speaking of Kanó. The plant bears some resemblance to the Musa, or banana; fruits or flowers it had none at present.

I had been roving about for some time when the sheríf, whom I mentioned above, came to pay me a visit, when I learned that he had come to this place by way of Wadáy and Logón, and that he had been staying here already twenty days, being engaged in building a warm bath for the mʿallem, as he had also done for the sultan of Wadáy.

The reader sees that these wandering Arabs are introducing civilization into the very heart of this continent, and it would not be amiss if they could all boast of such accomplishments; but this rarely happens. Even this very man was a remarkable example of those saintly adventurers so frequently met with in Negroland, but who begin to tire out the patience of the more enlightened princes of the country. He brought me a lump of native home-made soap, with which, as he said, I might “wash my clothes, as I came from the dirty, soapless country of Bórnu.” This present was not ill-selected, although I hope that the reader will not thence conclude that I was particularly dirty,—at least not more so than an African traveller might be fairly expected to be. I had laid in a good store of cloves, which, as I have had already occasion to mention, are highly esteemed here, so I made him very happy by giving him about half a pound weight of them.

More interesting, however, to me than the visit of this wandering son of the East was the visit of two young native noblemen, sons of the Ardo Jídda, to whom belongs the country between Sugúr and Wándalá or Mándará, and the younger of whom was a remarkably handsome man, of slender form, light complexion, and a most agreeable expression of countenance. This, however, is a remark which I have often made on my travels, that the males among the Fúlbe are very handsome till they reach the age of about twenty years, when they gradually assume an apish expression of countenance, which entirely spoils the really Circassian features which they have in early life. As for the females, they preserve their beauty much longer. While these young men were giving unrestrained vent to their admiration of my things, the old mʿallem came with a numerous suite of attendants; whereupon they drew shyly back, and sat silently at a distance. In this part of the world there is a great respect for age.

The mʿallem and his companions were not only astonished at my instruments, but manifested much curiosity about the map of Africa, which I unfolded before their eyes, being greatly struck by the extent of the continent towards the south, of which they had previously no idea. I shall show in another part of this work how far the Fúlbe have become acquainted with the regions about the equator, and how a faint rumour of the strong pagan kingdom of Muropúwe has spread over the kingdoms of North Central Africa. Their esteem for me increased when I showed them my little prayer-book, which I wore in a red case slung round my shoulders, just as they wear their Kurán; indeed a Christian can never be more sure of acquiring the esteem of a Moslim—at least of a learned one—than when he shows himself impressed with the sentiments of his religion; but he must not be a zealous Roman Catholic, nor broach doctrines which seem to deny the Unity of God. He took great delight in hearing a psalm of the well-known “nebí Dáúd” (David) read in English. He, as well as almost all his companions, spoke Arabic; for, as Saráwu Beréberé is a colony of Bórnu people, Bélem is a pure Arabic colony, that is to say, a colony of the Sálamát, a tribe widely-scattered over Bórnu and Wadáy. Mʿallem Óro, or, as he is popularly called, on account of his humility and devoutness, Mʿallem Dalíli, was born in Wadáy, but settled in Bórnu, from whence at the time of the conquest of the country by the Fúlbe or Felláta (in the year 1808) he fled to avoid famine and oppression, like so many other unfortunate inhabitants of that kingdom, and founded a village in this promising region. This is the country for colonies, and I do not see why a colony of the liberated slaves of Sierra Leone might not be advantageously established here. All these people wear indigo-coloured shirts, and in this manner, even by their dress, are distinguished from the Fúlbe. They are tolerated and protected, although a Púllo head man has his residence here, besides the mʿallem.

We were to start in the afternoon; but my stupid Fezzáni servant, Mohammed ben Habíb, had almost killed himself with eating immoderately of ground-nuts, and was so seriously ill that I was reduced to the alternative either of leaving him behind or waiting for him. Choosing the latter, I made a day of feasting for the whole of my little company, the mʿallem sending me a goat for my people, a couple of fowls for myself, and corn for my horses; besides which, I was so fortunate as to buy a supply of rice. In consideration of his hospitable treatment, I sent the old mʿallem a bit of camphor and a parcel of cloves. Camphor is a most precious thing in these regions, and highly esteemed by the nobler classes, and I cannot too strongly recommend a traveller to provide himself with a supply of it. It is obvious that a small quantity, if well kept, will last him a long time. He may find an opportunity of laying a man of first-rate importance under lasting obligations by a present of a small piece of camphor.

Tuesday, June 17th.We at length set out to continue our journey. The morning was beautifully fresh and cool after the last night’s storm, the sky was clear, and the country open and pleasant. A fine grassy plain, with many patches of cultivated ground, extended on our right to the very foot of Mount Kónkel, which as I now saw is connected by a lower ridge with Mount Holma. We passed the ruins of the village Bíngel, the inhabitants of which had transferred their settlement nearer to the foot of the mountains. Then followed forest, interrupted now and then by corn-fields. My friends, the young sons of Ardo Jídda, accompanied me for full two hours on horseback, when they bade me a friendly farewell, receiving each of them, to his great delight, a stone-set ring, which I begged them to present to their ladies as a memorial of the Christian traveller. I now learnt that the young men were already mixing a good deal in politics; the younger brother, who was much the handsomer, and seemed to be also the more intelligent of the two, had till recently administered the government of his blind father’s province, but had been deposed on account of his friendly disposition towards Wándalá, having married a princess of that country, and the management of affairs had been transferred to his elder brother.

Forest and cultivated ground alternately succeeded each other; a little after nine o’clock we passed on our left a small “rúmde,” or slave-village, with ground-nuts and holcus in the fields, and most luxuriant pasture all around. The country evidently sloped southwards, and at a little distance beyond the village I observed the first watercourse, running decidedly in that direction; on its banks the corn stood already four feet high. The country now became quite open to the east and south, and everything indicated that we were approaching the great artery of the country which I was so anxious to behold. In the distance to the west, a range of low hills was still observable, but was gradually receding. About ten o’clock we passed the site of a straggling but deserted village, called Melágo, the inhabitants of which had likewise exchanged their dwelling-place in this low level country, for a more healthy one at the foot of the mountains where there is another village called Kófa, homonymous with that in the Marghí country; for this district belongs to the country of the Bátta, a numerous tribe nearly related, as I have stated above, to the Marghí. All the ruins of the dwellings in Melágo were of clay, and the rumbú or rumbúje—the stacks of corn—were of a peculiar description; fine corn-fields spread around and between the huts.

Having rested about noon for a little more than two hours on a rather damp and gloomy spot near a dirty pond, we continued our march, the country now assuming a very pleasant park-like appearance, clothed in the most beautiful green, at times broken by corn-fields, where the corn—Pennisetum or géro—stood already five feet high. We soon had to deliberate on the very important question which way to take, as the road divided into two branches, the northern or western one leading by way of Búmánda, while the southern or eastern one went by way of Sulléri. Most of my companions were for the former road, which they represented as much nearer, and as I afterwards saw, with the very best reason; but fortunately the more gastronomic part of the caravan, headed by Bíllama, who was rather fond of good living, rejected Búmánda, as being inhabited by poor inhospitable pagans, and decided for the promising large dishes of Mohammedan Sulléri. This turned out to be a most fortunate circumstance for me, although the expectations of my friends were most sadly disappointed. For if we had followed the route by Búmánda, we should have crossed the Bénuwé lower down, and I should not have seen the “Tépe,” that most interesting and important locality, where the Bénuwé is joined by the Fáro, and swelled to that majestic river which is at least equal in magnitude to the Kwára. Of this circumstance I was then not aware, else I should have decided from the beginning for the route by Sulléri. Unfortunately, owing to my very short stay in the country, I cannot say exactly where Búmánda lies; but I should suppose that it is situated about ten miles lower down, at a short distance from the river, like the place of the same name near Hamárruwa[113], and I think it must lie opposite to Yóla, so that a person who crosses the river at that place, goes over directly to the capital, without touching either at Ribáwo, or at any of the neighbouring places.

Having, therefore, chosen the eastern road, we soon reached the broad, but at present dry sandy channel of the máyo Tíyel, which runs in a south-westerly direction to join the Bénuwé; water was to be found close underneath the surface of the sand, and several women heavily laden with sets of calabashes, and belonging to a troop of travellers encamped on the eastern border of the watercourse, were busy in scooping a supply of most excellent water from a shallow hollow or “kénkenu.” The banks of the river, or rather torrent, were lined with luxuriant trees, amongst which I observed the dorówa or meráya (Parkia), in considerable numbers.

Forest and cultivated ground now succeeded alternately, till we reached a beautiful little lake called “gére[114] Páriyá” by the Bátta, and “barre-n-dáke” by the Fúlbe, at present about fourteen hundred yards long, and surrounded by tall grass, everywhere impressed with tracks of the hippopotami or “ngábba,” which emerge during the night from their watery abode to indulge here quietly in a rich pasturage. This is the usual camping-ground of expeditions which come this way. A little beyond this lake a path branched off from our road to the right, leading to Ródi, a place of the Bátta, whose villages, according to Mohámmedu’s statement, are all fortified with stockades, and situated in strong positions naturally protected by rocky mounts and ridges.

There had been a storm in the afternoon at some distance; but when the sun was setting, and just as we began to wind along a narrow path through a thick forest, a black tempest gathered over our heads. At length we reached the fields of Sulléri, and, having stumbled along them in the deepest darkness, illumined only at intervals by flashes of lightning, we entered the place and pushed our way through the narrow streets, looking round in vain for Ibrahíma, who had gone on to procure quarters.

To our great disappointment we found the house of the governor shut up; and, notwithstanding our constant firing and knocking at the door, nobody came to open it, while the heavy clouds began to discharge their watery load over our heads. At length, driven to despair, we turned round, and by force entered his son’s house, which was situated opposite to his own. Here I took possession of one side of the spacious, clean, and cool entrance-hall, which was separated from the thoroughfare by a little balustrade raised above the floor. Spreading my mat and carpet upon the pebbles with which, as is the general custom here, it was strewn, I indulged in comfort and repose after the fatiguing day’s march, while outside the tempest, and inside the landlord, were raging; the latter being extremely angry with Bíllama on account of our forced entry. Not the slightest sign of hospitality was shown to us; and instead of regaling themselves with the expected luxurious dishes of Sulléri, my companions had to go supperless to bed, while the poor horses remained without any thing to eat, and were drenched with the rain.

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CHAP. XXXV.

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS. — THE BÉNUWÉ AND FÁRO.

Wednesday, June 18th.At an early hour we left the inhospitable place of Sulléri. It was a beautiful fresh morning, all nature being revived and enlivened by the last night’s storm. My companions, sullen and irritated, quarrelled among themselves on account of the selfish behaviour of Ibrahíma. As for me, I was cheerful in the extreme, and borne away by an enthusiastic and triumphant feeling; for to-day I was to see the river.

The neighbourhood of the water was first indicated by numbers of high ant-hills, which, as I shall have occasion to observe more fully in the course of my narrative, abound chiefly in the neighbourhood of rivers: they were here ranged in almost parallel lines, and afforded a very curious spectacle. We had just passed a small village or rúmde, where not a living soul was to be seen, the people having all gone forth to the labours of the field, when the lively Mohámmedu came running up to me, and exclaimed, “Gashí, gashí, dútsi-n-Alantíka ké nan” (“Look! look! that is Mount Alantíka”). I strained my eyes and saw, at a great distance to the S.W., a large but insulated mountain mass, rising abruptly on the east side, and forming a more gradual slope towards the west, while it exhibited a rather smooth and broad top, which certainly must be spacious, as it contains the estates of seven independent pagan chiefs. Judging from the distance, which was pretty well known to me, I estimated the height of the mountain at about eight thousand feet above the plain, or about nine thousand feet of absolute elevation; but it may be somewhat less.

Here there was still cultivated ground, exhibiting at present the finest crop of masr, called “bútalí” by the Fúlbe of Ádamáwa; but a little further on we entered upon a swampy plain (the savannas of Ádamáwa), overgrown with tall rank grass, and broken by many large hollows full of water, so that we were obliged to proceed with great caution. This whole plain is annually (two months later) entirely under water. However, in the middle of it, on a little rising ground which looks as if it were an artificial mound, lies a small village, the abode of the ferrymen of the Bénuwé, from whence the boys came running after us—slender well-built lads, accustomed to fatigue and strengthened by daily bathing; the younger ones quite naked, the elder having a leathern apron girt round their loins. A quarter of an hour afterwards we stood on the bank of the Bénuwé.[115]

It happens but rarely that a traveller does not feel disappointed when he first actually beholds the principal features of a new country, of which his imagination has composed a picture, from the description of the natives; but although I must admit that the shape and size of the Alantíka, as it rose in rounded lines from the flat level, did not exactly correspond with the idea which I had formed of it, the appearance of the river far exceeded my most lively expectations. None of my informants had promised me that I should just come upon it at that most interesting locality—the Tépe[116]—where the mightier river is joined by another of very considerable size, and that in this place I was to cross it. My arrival at this point, as I have stated before, was a most fortunate circumstance. As I looked from the bank over the scene before me, I was quite enchanted, although the whole country bore the character of a desolate wilderness; but there could scarcely be any great traces of human industry near the river, as, during its floods, it inundates the whole country on both sides. This is the general character of all the great rivers in these regions, except where they are encompassed by very steep banks.

The principal river, the Bénuwé, flowed here from east to west, in a broad and majestic course, through an entirely open country, from which only here and there detached mountains started forth. The banks on our side rose to twenty-five, and in some places to thirty feet, while just opposite to my station, behind a pointed headland of sand, the Fáro rushed forth, appearing from this point not much inferior to the principal river, and coming in a fine sweep from the south-east, where it disappeared in the plain, but was traced by me, in thought, upwards to the steep eastern foot of the Alantíka. The river, below the junction, keeping the direction of the principal branch, but making a slight bend to the north, ran along the northern foot of Mount Bágelé, and was there lost to the eye, but was followed in thought through the mountainous region of the Báchama and Zína to Hamárruwa, and thence along the industrious country of Korórofa, till it joined the great western river the Kwára or Niger, and, conjointly with it, ran towards the great ocean.

On the northern side of the river another detached mountain, Mount Taife, rose, and behind it the Bengo, with which Mount Fúro seemed connected, stretching out in a long line towards the north-west. The bank upon which we stood was entirely bare of trees, with the exception of a solitary and poor acacia, about one hundred paces further up the river, while on the opposite shore, along the Fáro and below the junction, some fine clusters of trees were faintly seen.

I looked long and silently upon the stream; it was one of the happiest moments in my life. Born on the bank of a large navigable river, in a commercial place of great energy and life, I had from my childhood, a great predilection for river-scenery; and although plunged for many years in the too exclusive study of antiquity, I never lost this native instinct. As soon as I left home, and became the independent master of my actions, I began to combine travel with study, and to study while travelling, it being my greatest delight to trace running waters from their sources, and to see them grow into brooks, to follow the brooks, and see them become rivers, till they at last disappeared in the all-devouring ocean. I had wandered all around the Mediterranean, with its many gulfs, its beautiful peninsulas, its fertile islands—not hurried along by steam, but slowly wandering from place to place, following the traces of the settlements of the Greeks and Romans around this beautiful basin, once their terra incognita. And thus, when entering upon the adventurous career in which I subsequently engaged, it had been the object of my most lively desire to throw light upon the natural arteries and hydrographical network of the unknown regions of Central Africa. The great eastern branch of the Niger was the foremost to occupy my attention; and, although for some time uncertain as to the identity of the river of Ádamáwa with that laid down in its lower course by Messrs. W. Allen, Laird, and Oldfield, I had long made up my mind on this point, thanks to the clear information received from my friend Ahmed bel Mejúb. I had now with my own eyes clearly established the direction and nature of this mighty river; and to an unprejudiced mind there could no longer be any doubt that this river joins the majestic watercourse explored by the gentlemen just mentioned.[117] Hence I cherish the well-founded conviction, that along this natural highroad European influence and commerce will penetrate into the very heart of the continent, and abolish slavery, or rather those infamous slave-hunts and religious wars, destroying the natural germs of human happiness, which are spontaneously developed in the simple life of the pagans, and spreading devastation and desolation all around.

We descended towards the place of embarkation, which at this season of the year changes every week, or even more frequently. At present it was at the mouth of a small, deeply-worn channel, or dry watercourse, descending from the swampy meadow-grounds towards the river, and filled with tall reed-grass and bushes. Here was the poor little naval arsenal of the Tépe, consisting of three canoes, two in good repair, and a third one in a state of decay, and unfit for service.

It was now that for the first time I saw these rude little shells, hollowed out of a single trunk—for the boats of the Búdduma are more artificial, being made of a number of boards joined together; and I soon began to eye these frail canoes with rather an anxious feeling, as I was about to trust myself and all my property to what seemed to offer very inadequate means of crossing with safety a large and deep river. They measured from twenty-five to thirty feet in length, and only from a foot to a foot and a half in height, and sixteen inches in width; and one of them was so crooked, that I could scarcely imagine how it could stem the strong current of the river.

On the river itself two canoes were plying; but, notwithstanding our repeated hallooing and firing, the canoemen would not come to our side of the river; perhaps they were afraid. Roving about along the bushy watercourse, I found an old canoe, which being made of two very large trunks joined together, had been incomparably more comfortable and spacious than the canoes now in use; although the joints being made with cordage just like the stitching of a shirt, and without pitching the holes, which were only stuffed with grass, necessarily allowed the water to penetrate continually into the boat; it, however, had the great advantage of not breaking if it ran upon a rock, being in a certain degree pliable. It was about thirty-five feet long, and twenty-six inches wide in the middle; but it was now out of repair, and was lying upside down. It was from this point, standing upon the bottom of the boat, that I made the sketch of this most interesting locality.

The canoemen still delaying to come, I could not resist the temptation of taking a river bath, a luxury which I had not enjoyed since bathing in the Eurymedon. The river is full of crocodiles; but there could be little danger from these animals after all our firing and the constant noise of so many people. I had not yet arrived at the conviction, that river-bathing is not good for a European in a tropical climate, but this was the first and last time that I bathed voluntarily, with a single exception, for when navigating the river of Logón on a fine day in March, 1852, I could not help jumping overboard, and on my return from Bagírmi, in August 1853, I was obliged to do it.

The bed of the river, after the first foot and a half, sloped down very gradually, so that at the distance of thirty yards from the shore I had not more than three feet and a half of water, but then it suddenly became deep. The current was so strong, that I was unable to stem it; but my original strength, I must allow, was at the time already greatly reduced. The only advantage which I derived from this feat was that of learning that the river carries gold with it; for the people, as often as I dipped under water, cried out that I was searching for this metal, and when I came out of the water, were persuaded that I had obtained plenty of it. However, the river was already too full for investigating this matter further.

At length a canoe arrived, the largest of the two that were actually employed, and a long bargaining commenced with the eldest of the canoemen, a rather short and well set lad. Of course as the chief of the caravan, I had to pay for all, and there being three camels and five horses to be carried over, it was certainly a difficult business. It cannot, therefore, be regarded as a proof of exorbitant demands, that I had to pay five “dóras,” a sum which in Kúkawa would buy two oxen loads of Indian corn. I allowed all the people to go before me, in order to prevent the canoemen from exacting something more from them.

There was considerable difficulty with my large camel-bags, which were far too large for the canoes, and which several times were in danger of being upset; for they were so unsteady that the people were obliged to kneel down on the bottom, and keep their equilibrium by holding with both hands on the sides of the boat. Fortunately I had laid my tentpoles at the bottom of the canoe, so that the water did not reach the luggage; but owing to the carelessness of the Hajji’s companions all his books were wetted, to his utmost distress; but I saw him afterwards shedding tears, while he was drying his deteriorated treasures on the sandy beach of the headland. The horses as they crossed, swimming by the sides of the canoe, had to undergo great fatigue, but desperate was the struggle of the camels, which were too obstinate to be guided by the frail vessels, and had to be pushed through alone, and could only be moved by the most severe beating; the camel of the Hajji was for a while given up in despair by the whole party. At length they were induced to cross the channel, the current carrying them down to a great distance, and our whole party arrived safe on the sandy beach of the headland, where there was not a bit of shade. This whole headland for two or three months every year is covered with water, although its chief part, which was overgrown with tall reed-grass, was at present about fifteen feet above the surface.

The river, where we crossed it, was, at the very least, eight hundred yards broad, and in its channel generally eleven feet deep, and was liable to rise, under ordinary circumstances, at least thirty, or even at times fifty feet higher. Its upper course at that time was known to me, as far as the town of Géwe on the road to Logón; but further on I had only heard from the natives that it came from the south, or rather from the S.S.E.

It was a quarter before one o’clock when we left the beach in order to cross the second river, the Fáro[118], which is stated to come from Mount Lábul, about seven days’ march to the south. It was at present about six hundred yards broad, but generally not exceeding two feet in depth, although almost all my informants had stated to me that the Fáro was the principal river. The reason of this mistake was, I think, that they had never seen the two rivers at this place, but observed the Fáro near Gúrin, where, a little later in the season, it seems to be of an immense breadth, particularly if they crossed from Bundang; or they were swayed by the great length of the latter river, which they were acquainted with in its whole course, while none of them had followed the upper course of the Bénuwé.

Be this as it may, the current of the Fáro was extremely violent, far more so than that of the Bénuwé, approaching, in my estimation, a rate of about five miles, while I would rate the former at about three and a half miles an hour; the current of the Fáro plainly indicating that the mountainous region whence it issued was at no great distance. In order to avoid the strongest part of the current, which swept along the southern shore, we kept close to a small island, which, however, at present could still be reached from this side with dry feet. We then entered upon low meadow land, overgrown with tall reed grass, which a month later is entirely inundated to such a depth that only the crowns of the tallest trees are seen rising above the water, of which they bore unmistakeable traces; the highest line thus marked being about fifty feet above the present level of the river: for of course the inundation does not always reach the same height, but varies according to the greater or less abundance of the rains. The information of my companions, as well as the evident marks on the ground, left not the least doubt about the immense rise of these rivers.[119]

For a mile and a half from the present margin of the river, near a large and beautiful tamarind-tree, we ascended its outer bank, rising to the height of about thirty feet, the brink of which is not only generally reached by the immense inundation, but even sometimes overflowed, so that the people who cross it during the height of the inundation, leaving the canoes here, have still to make their way through deep water, covering this highest level.

My companions from Ádamáwa were almost unanimous in spontaneously representing the waters as preserving their highest level for forty days, which, according to their accounts, would extend from about the 20th of August till the end of September. This statement of mine, made not from my own experience, but from the information of the natives, has been slightly, but indeed very slightly, modified by the experience of those eminent men who, upon the reports which I forwarded of my discovery, were sent out by her Majesty’s Government in the “Pleiad,” and who succeeded in reaching the point down to which I had been able to delineate the course of the river with some degree of certainty. That the fall of the river at this point of the junction begins at the very end of September has been exactly confirmed by these gentlemen, while with regard to the forty days they have not made any distinct observation, although there is evidence enough that they experienced something confirmatory of it.[120]

On leaving the outer bank of the river our way led through a fine park-like plain, dotted with a few mimosas of middling size, and clear of underwood. The sides of the path were strewn with skeletons of horses, marking the line followed by the late expedition of the governor of Yóla, on its return from Lére, or the Mbána country. Having then entered upon cultivated ground, we reached the first cluster of huts of the large straggling village Chabajáure, or Chabajáule, situated in a most fertile and slightly undulating tract; and having kept along it for little less than a mile and a half, we took up our quarters in a solitary and secluded cluster of huts, including a very spacious courtyard.

It was a sign of warm hospitality that, although the whole caravan had fallen to the charge of a single household, sufficient quantities not only of “nyíro,” the common dish of Indian corn, but even of meat, were brought to us in the evening. While passing the village I had observed that all the corn on the fields was “geróri,” or Pennisetum (millet—dukhn), a kind of grain originally, it would seem, so strange to the Fúlbe, that they have not even a word of their own for it, having only modified a little the Háusa word “géro;” not a single blade of “baíri,” or sorghum, was to be seen. The scarcity was less felt here than in the northern districts of the country, and we bought some grain for our horses as a supply for the next day.

Thursday, June 19th.We started early in the morning, continuing along the straggling hamlets and rich corn-fields of Chabajáule for a mile and a half, when we passed two slave villages, or “rúmde,” belonging to a rich Púllo, of the name of Hanúri. All the meadows were beautifully adorned with white violet-striped lilies. We then entered a wooded tract, ascending at the same time considerably on the hilly ground which juts out from the foot of mount Bágelé, and which allowed us a clearer view of the geological character of the mountain. Having again emerged from the forest upon an open, cultivated, and populous district, we passed the large village of Dulí, and having descended and reascended again we obtained a most beautiful view near the village Gúroré, which lies on rising ground, surrounded by a good many large monkey-bread trees, or bodóje (sing. bokki.) For from this elevated spot we enjoyed a prospect over the beautiful meadow lands sloping gently down towards the river, which from this spot is not much more than five miles distant, taking its course between Mounts Bengo and Bágelé, and washing the foot of the latter, but not visible to us. The country continued beautiful and pleasant, and was here enlivened by numerous herds of cattle, while in the villages which we had passed I had seen none, as the Fúlbe drive their cattle frequently to very distant grazing grounds.

While marching along at a good pace, Mohámmedu walked up to me, and with a certain feeling of pride showed me his fields, “gashí gonakína.” Though a poor man, he was master of three slaves, a very small fortune in a conquered and newly colonized country like Ádamáwa, based entirely upon slavery, where many individuals have each more than a thousand slaves. I was greatly surprised to see here a remarkable specimen of a bokki or monkey-bread tree, branching off from the ground into three separate trunks; at least, I never remember to have seen anything like it, although the tree is the most common representative of the vegetable kingdom through the whole breadth of Central Africa. All the ground to the right of the path is inundated during the height of the flood.

We had now closely approached the Bágelé, the summit of which, though not very high, is generally enveloped in clouds, a fact which, when conveyed to me in the obscure language of the natives, had led me to the misconception while writing in Kúkawa my report of the provisional information I had obtained of the country whither I was about to proceed, that this mountain was of volcanic character. It seems to consist chiefly of granite, and has a very rugged surface, strewn with great irregular blocks, from between which trees shoot up. Nevertheless, stretching out to a length of several miles from S.S.E. to N.N.W., it contains a good many spots of arable land, which support eighteen little hamlets of independent pagans. These, protected by the inaccessible character of their strongholds, and their formidable double spears, have not only been able hitherto to repulse all the attacks which the proud Mohammedans, the centre of whose government is only a few miles distant, have made against them, but, descending from their haunts, commit almost daily depredations upon the cattle of their enemies.[121] One of their little hamlets, perched on the top of steep cliffs, we could plainly distinguish by the recently thatched roofs of the huts, the snow-white colour of which very conspicuously shone forth from the dark masses of the rock. The country was always gaining in interest as we advanced, the meadow-lands being covered with living creatures of every description, such as cattle, horses, asses, goats, and sheep, and we reached the easternmost cluster of huts of the large straggling village or district of Ribáwo or Ribágo[122], stretching out on our left on a little rising ground. The district is not only rich in corn and pasturage, but also in fish, which are most plentiful in a large inlet or backwater, “illágul,” as it is called by the Fúlbe, branching off from the river along the north-east foot of the Bágelé, and closely approaching the village. In this shallow water the fish are easily caught.

Numbers of inquisitive people of every age and sex, gathered round us from the neighbouring hamlets; but while hovering round me and the camels with great delight, they behaved very decently and quietly. They followed us till we took up our quarters a little before ten o’clock, with a friend of Bíllama’s, in a large group of huts lying close to the path, and shaded by most luxuriant trees. Although there were several clean huts, I preferred the cool and ventilated entrance hall of the same description as I have mentioned above, and remained here even during the night, although a most terrible storm, which broke out at six o’clock in the evening, and lasted full four hours, flooded the whole ground, and rendered my resting-place rather too cool. I would advise other travellers not to follow my example during the rainy season, but rather to make themselves comfortable in the warm interior of a well protected hut.

In our last march through these rich low grounds, which are every year flooded by the river, I had not observed the least traces of the cultivation of rice, for which they seem to be so marvellously adapted, the cultivation round Ribágo being almost exclusively limited to maiwa or maiwári, a peculiar species of sorghum called “matëa” in Kanúri. On inquiring why these people did not grow rice, I learnt that the Fúlbe hereabouts had all migrated from Bórnu after the downfall of their jemmára and dominion in that country, when not only were the new political intruders repulsed, but even the old settlers, who had been established in that country from very ancient times, were obliged to emigrate. In Bórnu, however, as I have had occasion to mention before, no rice is cultivated, so that these people, although at present established in regions where rice would probably succeed much better than millet and Indian corn, abstain entirely from its cultivation. On the other hand, in the western parts of Ádamáwa and in Hamárruwa, whither the Fúlbe have migrated from Háusa, rice is cultivated to a considerable extent. On a former occasion I have already touched on the question, whether rice be indigenous in Negroland or not. It has evidently been cultivated from time immemorial in the countries along the middle course of the Ísa, or Kwára, from Kébbi up to Gágho, or Gógó; but this might seem to be in consequence of a very ancient intercourse between those regions and Egypt, which I hope to be able to establish in the course of my narrative. It grows, however, wild in many parts, from the southern provinces of Bórnu, Bagírmi, and Wadáy, as far north as el Haúdh and Bághena, on the border of the western desert.

Another important point of which I here became aware was, that the Bátta language, which, among the numerous languages of Ádamáwa, or rather Fúmbiná, is the most extensively spoken, has two very different dialects; for, being anxious to finish my small vocabulary of this language, which I had commenced in Kúkawa with the assistance of Mohámmedu, I soon found that the dialect spoken here differed considerably from that of which I had previously written specimens. The Bátta language, as I have stated above, is intimately related to the Marghí and Záni idiom, and bears several points of resemblance to the Músgu language, which is itself related to the various dialects of Kótoko. All these languages have some general points of affinity to the South African languages.

At present, however, the indigenous population is almost totally extinct in this district, which is exclusively inhabited by the conquerors, who have here found an abode remarkably suited to their mode of living. The whole place has not less than 6000 inhabitants.

Friday, June 20th.We started early in order to reach the capital, if possible, before noon, and passed through several hamlets, all belonging to the extensive village or district of Ribágo, and interrupted here and there by projecting masses of schistose rock, while the concavity between this rising ground and Mount Bágelé was fast filling with the flood from the river, and presented already a considerable sheet of water. The country, after we had passed this populous district, became thickly wooded, which I had not expected to find so near the capital; and, on account of some ravines which intersect it, and of the neighbourhood of the inlet of the river, it certainly cannot afford a very easy passage towards the end of the rainy season. Here also the rock projects above the plain in many places.

About eight o’clock, when we had travelled round the south-western foot of Mount Bágelé, we passed through a number of small hamlets, which however did not exhibit any traces of cultivation, and then again entered upon a wild tract, while we obtained a glance at a picturesquely-seated place before us, which I unhesitatingly took for Yóla, but which proved to be a small village situated at a considerable distance from the capital. Before we reached it, we had to cross a sheet of water nearly five feet deep, and called by my companions “Máyo Bínti,” which caused us a great deal of trouble and delay, and wetted almost all my luggage. The water, which at present had no current, skirts the foot of the rocky slope on which the village is situated, the name of which is Yebbórewó. Here our camels created an extraordinary interest, and a great many women, although we did not attend to their wish to stop, managed to pass under the bellies of these tall creatures, in the hope of obtaining their blessing, as they thought them sacred animals.

Having kept along the rising ground, and passed several little hamlets adorned with monkey-bread trees, we had to cross very difficult swampy ground, which, a little later in the season, must be avoided by a long circuit. Two months later Mount Bágelé must look almost like an island, so surrounded is it on all sides by deep inlets and swamps. The detached cone of Mount Takabéllo, rising to a height of about a thousand feet above the plain, for some time formed a conspicuous object in front of us on our winding path, till at length, a little before noon, we reached the outskirts of the capital in a state of mind not exempt from anxious feeling.