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 ox-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 tent-poles 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 south-south-east.
It was a quarter before one o’clock when we left the beach in order to cross the second river, the Fáro, 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 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 unmistakable 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.[63]
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.[64]
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 a 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.