The peculiar character of lofty sandy ridges and thickly overgrown hollows continued also in this district; no dúm-palm was to be seen, but only the dúm-bush, called ngílle by the Bórnu people. About two miles and a half behind Shógo we passed a wide and most beautiful basin, with rich pasture-grounds enlivened by numbers of well-fed cattle. Stubble-fields, with small granaries such as I have described above, were scattered about here and there. Then keeping on through a more level country with patches of cultivation, we reached the fields of Bandégo. The village introduced itself to our notice from afar by the sound of noisy mirth; and I was surprised to hear that it was occasioned by the celebration, not of a marriage, but of a circumcision. This was the first and last time during my travels in Negroland that I saw this ceremony performed with so much noise.
We were quietly pitching our tent on the east side of the village, and I was about to make myself comfortable when I was not a little affected by learning that the girls, who had been bringing little presents to the festival, and who were just returning in procession to their homes, belonged to Ngurútuwa, the very place where the Christian (Mr. Richardson) had died. I then determined to accompany them, though it was late, in order to have at least a short glimpse of the “white man’s grave,” and to see whether it were taken care of. If I had known, before we unloaded the camels, how near we were to the place, I should have gone there at once to spend the night.
Ngurútuwa,[40] once a large and celebrated place, but at present somewhat in decay, lies in a wide and extensive plain, with very few trees, about two miles north-east from Bandégo; but the town itself is well shaded, and has, besides kórna and bíto, some wide-spreading umbrageous fig-trees, under one of which Mr. Richardson had been buried. His grave, well protected with thorn bushes, appeared to have remained untouched, and was likely to remain so. The natives were well aware that it was a Christian who had died here; and they regarded the tomb with reverence. The story of his untimely end had caused some sensation in the neighbourhood. He arrived in a weak state in the evening, and early the next morning he died. The people had taken great interest in the matter, and the report they gave me of the way in which he was buried agreed in the main circumstances with that which I afterwards received from his servants, and of which I forwarded an account from Kúkawa. Unfortunately I had no means of bestowing gifts on the inhabitants of the place where my companion had died. I gave, however, a small present to a man who promised to take especial care of the grave; and I afterwards persuaded the vizier of Bórnu to have a stronger fence made round it.
It was late in the evening when I returned to my tent engrossed with reflections on my own probable fate, and sincerely thankful to the Almighty Ruler of all things for the excellent health which I still enjoyed notwithstanding the many fatigues which I had undergone. My way of looking at things was not quite the same as that of my late companion, and we had therefore often had little differences; but I esteemed him highly for the deep sympathy which he felt for the sufferings of the native African, and deeply lamented his death. Full of confidence I stretched myself upon my mat, and indulged in my simple supper, accompanied with a bowl of milk which the inhabitants of Bandégo had brought me. The people were all pleased with us; only the cattle, when returning from their pastures, took offence at my strange-looking tent, which I had pitched just in the path by which they were accustomed to return to their usual resting-place.
Friday, March 28.—At an early hour we were again on the march, conducted a little while by an inhabitant of the village, who undertook to show us the direct road, which passes on its south side. He represented the road which we were about to take as much infested by the Kindín or Tuarek at that moment; and he advised us, as we went on from one place to another, to make strict inquiries as to the safety of the road before us. With this well-meant advice he left us to our own discretion; and I pursued my way with the unsatisfactory feeling that it might be again my fate to come into too close contact with my friends the Tuarek, whom I had been so glad to get rid of. Saddened with these reflections, my two young companions also seeming a little oppressed, and trudging silently along with the camels, we reached Aláune, once a considerable town, but now almost deserted, and surrounded by a clay wall in a state of great decay. Accosting the people, who were just drawing water from the well inside the wall, and asking them about the state of the road, we were told that, as far as Kashímma, it was safe; but beyond that they pronounced it decidedly dangerous. We therefore continued our march with more confidence, particularly as we met some market-people coming from Kashímma.
Aláune is the same place which, by the members of the last expedition, has been called Kabshári, from the name of the then governor of the town—Bu-Bakr-Kabshári—after whom the place is even at present often called “bílla Kabsháribe” (the town of Kabshári). Keeping on through a country partly cultivated, partly covered with thick underwood, which was full of locusts, we were greatly delighted by obtaining at about eight o’clock a view of a fine sheet of water, in the dale before us, surrounded with a luxuriant vegetation, and descended cheerfully towards its shore, where two magnificent tamarind-trees spread their canopy-like foliage over a carpet of succulent turf. While enjoying this beautiful picture, I was about to allow my poor horse a little feed of the grass, when a woman, who had come to fetch water, told me that it was very unwholesome.
This is the great komádugu of Bórnu, the real name of which is “komádugu Wáube,” while, just from the same mistake which has caused Aláune to be called Kabshári, and the river of Zyrmi, Zyrmi, it has been called Yeou; for though it may be called the river of Yeou, or rather of Yó, particularly in its lower course, where it passes the town of this name, it can never be called “the river Yó,” any more than the Thames, on account of its flowing through London, can be called the river London.
While ordering ʿAbdallah to follow with the camels along the lower road, I ascended with Mohammed the steep slope of the sandy swell, rising to about three hundred feet, on the top of which Kashímma is situated in a fine healthy situation commanding the whole valley. It is an open place, consisting entirely of huts made of cornstalks and reeds, but is of considerable size and well inhabited. However, I was not disposed to make any halt here; and learning, to my great satisfaction, that no Kindín had been seen as far as the Eastern Ngurútuwa, I determined to go on as fast as possible, and persuaded a netmaker to point out clearly to me the road which we were to take; for we had now rather difficult ground before us—the wide bottom of the valley, with its thick forest and its several watery channels.
The path led us gradually down from the eminence upon which Kashímma is situated, into the bushy dale with a great quantity of ngílle, and also a few dúm-palms. Here we saw numerous footprints of the elephant, and some of enormous size; and truly the wanderer cannot be surprised that this colossal animal has taken possession of these beautiful, luxuriant shores of the komádugu, from which the native in his inborn laziness has despairingly retired, and allowed them to be converted into an almost impenetrable jungle. The thicket became for a while very dense, a real jungle, such as I had not yet seen in Negroland, when a clearer spot followed, overgrown with tall coarse grass ten feet high, fed by the water which after the rainy season covers the whole of this low ground, and offering a rich pasture to the elephant. Then we had to traverse a branch of the real komádugu, at present very shallow, but at times, to be crossed only with the aid of a “mákara.” In the thick covert which bordered upon this channel the dúm-palm was entirely predominant.
Though the thicket was here so dense, the path was well trodden, but as soon as we reached a place which had been cleared for cultivation we lost all traces of it, and then turned off to our right, where we saw a small village and a farm situated in the most retired spot imaginable. Here we found a cheerful old man, the master of the farm, who, on hearing that we too were going eastward, begged us, very urgently, to spend the remainder of the day in his company, adding that he would treat us well and start early the next morning with us for Ngurútuwa; but, however delightful it might appear to me to dream away half a day in this wilderness, my anxiety to reach Kúkawa compelled me to reject his proposal. However, the thicket became so dense, that we had the utmost difficulty in getting my bulky luggage through it.