Having returned to the town, I related to the vizier my unsuccessful excursion in search of the Tsád, and he obligingly promised to send some horsemen to conduct me along the shore as far as Káwa, whence I should return to the capital.
Saturday, April 26.—The sheikh, with his court, having left Ngórnu before the dawn of day, on his return to Kúkawa, I sent back my camel, with my two men also, by the direct road; and then having waited awhile in vain for the promised escort, I went myself with Bu-Sád, to look after it, but succeeded only in obtaining two horsemen, one of whom was the Kashélla Kótoko, an amiable, quiet Kánemma chief, who ever afterwards remained my friend, and the other a horseguard of the sheikh’s, of the name of Sále. With these companions we set out on our excursion, going north-east: for due east from the town, as I now learned, the lagoon was at present at more than ten miles’ distance. The fine grassy plain seemed to extend to a boundless distance, uninterrupted by a single tree, or even a shrub; not a living creature was to be seen, and the sun began already to throw a fiery veil over all around, making the vicinity of the cooling element desirable. After a little more than half an hour’s ride we reached swampy ground, and began to make our way through the water, often up to our knees on horseback. We thus came to the margin of a fine open sheet of water, encompassed with papyrus and tall reed, of from ten to fourteen feet in height, of two different kinds, one called “méle,” and the other “bóre,” or “bóle.” The méle has a white tender core, which is eaten by the natives, but to me seemed insipid; the bóre has a head like the common bulrush, and its stalk is triangular. The thicket was interwoven by a climbing plant with yellow flowers, called “bórbuje” by the natives, while on the surface of the water was a floating plant called, very facetiously, by the natives, “fánna-billa-bágo” (the homeless fánna). This creek was called “Ngíruwá.”
Then turning a little more to the north, and passing still through deep water full of grass, and most fatiguing for the horses, while it seemed most delightful to me, after my dry and dreary journey through this continent, we reached another creek, called “Dímbebér.” Here I was so fortunate as to see two small boats, or “mákara,” of the Búdduma, as they are called by the Kanúri, or Yédiná, as they call themselves, the famous pirates of the Tsád. They were small flat boats, made of the light and narrow wood of the “fógo,” about twelve feet long, and managed by two men each; as soon as the men saw us, they pushed their boats off from the shore. They were evidently in search of human prey; and as we had seen people from the neighbouring villages, who had come here to cut reeds to thatch their huts anew for the rainy season, we went first to inform them of the presence of these constant enemies of the inhabitants of these fertile banks of the lagoon, that they might be on their guard; for they could not see them, owing to the quantity of tall reeds with which the banks and the neighbouring land was overgrown.
We then continued our watery march. The sun was by this time very powerful; but a very gentle cooling breeze came over the lagoon, and made the heat supportable. We had water enough to quench our thirst—indeed more than we really wanted; for we might have often drunk with our mouth, by stooping down a little, on horseback, so deeply were we immersed. But the water was exceeding warm, and full of vegetable matter. It is perfectly fresh, as fresh as water can be. It seems to have been merely from prejudice that people in Europe have come to the conclusion that this Central African basin must either have an outlet, or must be salt. For I can positively assert that it has no outlet, and that its water is perfectly fresh. Indeed I do not see from whence saltness of the water should arise in a district in which there is no salt at all, and in which the herbage is so destitute of this element, that the milk of the cows and sheep fed on it is rather insipid, and somewhat unwholesome. Certainly, in the holes around the lagoon, where the soil is strongly impregnated with natron, and which are only for a short time of the year in connection with the lake, the water, when in small quantity, must savour of the peculiar quality of the soil; but when these holes are full, the water in them likewise is fresh.
While we rode along these marshy, luxuriant plains, large herds of “kelára” started up, bounding over the rushes, and sometimes swimming, at others running, soon disappeared in the distance. This is a peculiar kind of antelope, which I have nowhere seen but in the immediate vicinity of the lake. In colour and size it resembles the roe, and has a white belly. The kelára is by no means slender, but rather bulky, and extremely fat; this, however, may not be a specific character, but merely the consequence of the rich food which it enjoys here. It may be identical with, or be a variety of the Antilope Arabica, and the Arabs, and those of the natives who understand a little Arabic, call both by the same name, “el áriyel.”
Proceeding onwards, we reached about noon another creek, which is used occasionally by the Búdduma as a harbour, and is called “Ngúlbeá.” We, however, found it empty, and only inhabited by ngurútus, or river-horses, which, indeed, live here in great numbers, snorting about in every direction, and by two species of crocodiles. In this quarter there are no elephants, for the very simple reason that they have no place of retreat during the night; for this immense animal (at least in Africa) appears to be very sensible of the convenience of a soft couch in the sand, and of the inconvenience of mosquitoes too; wherefore it prefers to lie down on a spot a little elevated above the swampy ground, whither it resorts for its daily food. On the banks of the northern part of the Tsád, on the contrary, where a range of low sandhills and wood encompasses the lagoon, we shall meet with immense herds of this animal.
Ngúlbeá was the easternmost point of our excursion; and turning here a little west from north, we continued our march over drier pasture-grounds, placed beyond the reach of the inundation, and, after about three miles, reached the deeply indented and well-protected creek called “Ngómarén.” Here I was most agreeably surprised by the sight of eleven boats of the Yédiná. Large, indeed, they were considering the shipbuilding of these islanders; but otherwise they looked very small and awkward, and, resting quite flat on the water, strikingly reminded me of theatrical exhibitions in which boats are introduced on the stage. They were not more than about twenty feet long,[47] but seemed tolerably broad; and one of them contained as many as eleven people, besides a good quantity of natron and other things. They had a very low waist, but rather a high and pointed prow. They are made of the narrow boards of the fógo-tree, which are fastened together with ropes from the dúm-palm, the holes being stopped with bast.
The Kánembú inhabitants of many neighbouring villages carry on trade with the islanders almost uninterruptedly, while elsewhere the latter are treated as most deadly enemies. Two parties of Kánembú happened to be here with argúm or millet, which they exchange for the natron. They were rather frightened when they saw us, the Búdduma being generally regarded as enemies; but the sheikh and his counsellors are well aware of this intercourse, and, wanting either the spirit or the power to reduce those islanders to subjection, they must allow their own subjects, whom they fail to protect against the continual inroads of the Búdduma, to deal with the latter at their own discretion. It was my earnest wish to go on board one of the boats, and to examine their make attentively; and, with the assistance of Kashélla Kótoko, who was well known to the Búdduma, I should perhaps have succeeded, if Bú-Sád, my Mohammedan companion, had not behaved like a madman: indeed I could scarcely restrain him from firing at these people, who had done us no harm. This was certainly a mere outbreak of fanaticism. When the people in the boats saw my servant’s excited behaviour, they left the shore, though numerous enough to overpower us; and we then rode on to another creek called Méllelá, whence we turned westwards and in about an hour, partly through water, partly over a grassy plain, reached Maduwári.
Maduwári, at that time, was an empty sound for me—a name without a meaning, just like the names of so many other places at which I had touched on my wanderings; but it was a name about to become important in the history of the expedition, to which many a serious remembrance was to be attached. Maduwári was to contain another white man’s grave, and thus to rank with Ngurútuwa.
When I first entered the place from the side of the lake, it made a very agreeable impression upon me, as it showed evident signs of ease and comfort, and, instead of being closely packed together, as most of the towns and villages of the Kanúri are, it lay dispersed in eleven or twelve separate clusters of huts, shaded by a rich profusion of kórna and bíto-trees. I was conducted by my companion, Kashélla Kótoko, to the house of Fúgo ʿAli. It was the house wherein Mr. Overweg, a year and a half later, was to expire; while Fúgo ʿAli himself, the man who first contracted friendship with me, then conducted my companion on his interesting navigation round the islands of the lake, and who frequented our house, was destined to fall a sacrifice in the revolution of 1854. How different was my reception then, when I first went to his house on this my first excursion to the lake, and when I revisited it with Mr. Vogel in the beginning of 1855, when Fúgo ʿAli’s widow was sobbing at my side, lamenting the ravages of time, the death of my companion, and that of her own husband!