French enterprise in Africa

by Hourst

Then when all are up and dressed, and everything is stowed away, all turn towards the rising sun to perform their devotions, for most of our men are Mussulmans. Some of them, who were but lukewarm believers when in their homes on the Senegal, become more and more devout the further they are from their country. Much of it is mere show, of course. Others really have a kind of instinctive religion, a sort of superstitious terror of the unseen—what may be called the natural religion of fear. In every other respect however, they are brave enough: we have had plenty of proof of that.

I must add here, however, that I have remarked rather a singular fact, namely, that great religious zeal and endless prostrations, with much posing and genuflexion, generally coincide with fits of dishonesty, lying, and treacherous behaviour. One of our fellows, who had hitherto been honest enough, took simultaneously to prayer and pilfering our beads; and a man in whom I had before had great confidence strutted about wearing strings of stolen property on his neck and arms without any attempt at disguise. This put me on my guard. Of course he had every reason to ask pardon of God for his sins and to keep on muttering, “Astafar wallaye, astafar wallaye!—Pardon, pardon!” At the same time he had taken to filching goods in the market, an aggravating circumstance of this crime being that he was trusted to look after our purchases.

There were of course some really devout Mahommedans amongst our men. Samba Ahmady, our quarter-master, for instance, always performed his devotions in private, and was a model of probity. Digui too was a true believer, but perhaps I should say of him that he was a philosopher rather than a blinded Mahommedan. He knew how to return thanks to Allah without any ostentation when we had safely got through some difficulty or danger, and whilst admitting that there were such people as bad marabouts, he sometimes talked in a manner alike naïve, touching, and elevated, of the dealings of Providence with man, which is indeed rare, especially amongst illiterate negroes.

Then Ahmady Mody, another trustworthy fellow, had a theory of his own about salaams, and all that. I said to him one day, “Why don’t you perform your salaam when the others do?”

“Commandant,” he replied, “I am too small; I will do it when I am married.”

Well, the morning devotions over, we used to go to work, for there was always something to do; the boats needed repair, or we had to add to the tata, to unpack and repack the bales, send out parties to cut wood or straw, and last, not least, to drill the men, and make them practice shooting at a target. We used to hear our carpenter Abdulaye singing as he conscientiously worked at oar-making, and his song did not vary by an iota all the time we were at Say. It was a very monotonous rhythm consisting of one word, Sam-ba-la-a-bé-é-é-é-é-é-é-. Samba Laobé, be it understood, was one of the heroes of the native resistance of the French in Cayor, and was killed in single combat with Sub-Lieutenant Chauvey of the Spahis in 1886. I don’t think Abdulaye knew more of the song about this Samba than the word forming part of his name, and though it was a seditious composition we could not be angry with him, as he evidently had not the least idea what it all meant.

REPAIRING THE ‘AUBE.’

Abdulaye, who was a big, well-built Wolof, had but one ambition during our stay at Fort Archinard, and that was to be allowed to go and smash in the jaw of his fellow-countryman Aliburi, a native of his own village. This Aliburi is a tool of Amadu, chief champion of the war to the death with the French, so Abdulaye wishes to kill him if his master is not to be got at. “Aliburi,” he would say, “is a bad Wolof.”

When the camp was cleaned and tidied up, the native traders, male and female, came with their wares, for we had started a market at Fort Archinard. When our occupation began, one of our chief fears was that we should suffer from famine through Amadu’s declared hostility to us. True, there was a village opposite to our camp, and if the worst came to the worst, we could always make an armed requisition in Say itself. But I was very averse to any such measures. They would have been far too great a departure from the pacific tactics we had so far pursued, and which were enjoined by our instructions. I was anxious to preserve that attitude, and to carry out my instructions to the letter. The people at Say seemed at the first very unwilling to sell us anything. They, of course, ran considerable risk of being robbed on their way to us, indeed this really did happen more than once, and the chief of Say, though he did not forbid their coming to our camp, did not encourage it, so that those who did venture asked extortionate prices, thirty-five to forty cubits, or about twenty-one yards of stuff for a sheep, for instance; but we were able to buy good food for ourselves and our men, which was the most important thing after all.