“Ulululu cries the brook, the big river is silent.”
A true description indeed of what really often seemed to happen during our long imprisonment on our island, for we could hear the gurgling of the rapid further down-stream, but the voice of the river was hushed.
Our nights passed quietly enough, watch being always kept by one white man, one black subordinate officer, and two coolies. From Timbuktu to Lokodja, that is to say, from January 21 to October 21, we five Europeans had taken the night-watch in turn. It must be admitted that at Fort Archinard it was sometimes rather difficult to remain awake, and to keep ourselves from yielding to our exhausting fatigue. We had to resort to various manœuvres, such as pinching ourselves, bathing our feet, wrists, or head, and walking rapidly up and down. Sometimes, as one or another of us sat in Father Hacquart’s folding-chair, looking out upon the moon-lit scene, there was something very charming about the silence and repose, and as we have already given several quotations of poetical effusions, I think I must add just one more on the night-watch, also composed by one of our party.
NIGHT-WATCH.
I loll and smoke, with mind a-blank;—we sail
Together, all ye stars of motion slow!
Moon! a poor trophy you may hang me now
Upon one horn—Moon! like a fairy’s nail
Curved, tilted, thin and delicately pale!
You, old Orion, may not lift your brow