BOUBAKAR-SINGO.
On the morning of the 18th I engaged the coolies who were to follow us. Most of them were Sarracolais, whose tribe lives on the Senegal between Bakel and Kayes. From amongst a hundred candidates Baudry had already picked out twelve, and to these had been added a second master pilot belonging to the local station. All these were experienced campaigners, who had long been in the French service; they were sturdy, well-built fellows, eager for adventure. I had but to eliminate three, and to confirm Baudry’s choice of the others, for we were limited to eight men, including their leader. After all, however, the coolies were dismissed by order of Governor Grodet before we actually started, so there is no need to introduce them more particularly. Boubakar-Singo, the second leader, who became pilot of the Davoust, alone deserves special mention. He was a splendid-looking Sarracolais, a first-rate sailor, who, when a storm came on, would jump into the water stark naked intoning all the prayers in his repertory.
THE COOLIES ENGAGED AT ST. LOUIS.
Our coolies engaged, we had not only to equip, but to dress them. We set them to work at once, for we had already solved the difficulty of how best to transport our stores. The governor lent us a thirty-five ton iron lighter, into which we stowed away everything, and the Brière de l’Isle took her in tow.
It was not, however, without considerable trouble that we managed the stowing away of all our goods, but we succeeded somehow in being ready in good time. On the evening of the 19th the Brière weighed anchor, and we started for the upper river; our friends at St. Louis, the Government officials, the sailors, the tradespeople waving their hats and handkerchiefs in farewell, and shouting out “Good luck.”
What a Noah’s ark was this thirty-five ton barge of ours, and what a mixed cargo she carried, with our bales and her sails, not to speak of the passengers! coolies, stately Moors, sheep and women. With the sails of the Davoust we rigged up a kind of shed in the stern to protect all these people, who, with nothing to do all day, crept about on the sloping roof sunning themselves like lizards. We turned the two days during which we were towed along to account by going over our numerous bales yet once more. Strange to say, almost incredible indeed, nothing was missing. It was worth something to see Bilali Cumba, a herculean coolie, pick up the instruments, weighing in their galvanized case more than 240 lbs., as easily as a little milliner would lift a cardboard box.
It was Bilali who made me the following sensible answer the other day, when we had given out wooden spoons to the men for their own use. Of course, like all negroes, they ate with their fingers, making their porridge up into a ball, and rolling it till it was quite hard before putting it into their mouths. I was laughing at Bilali about this when he said, “Friend, tell me what is the good of your spoon?” then spreading out the palms of his toil-worn hands he added, “What is good to work with is good to eat with.”
As Joan of Arc with her flag, he dedicated his hands to toil and honour too.