Would this be the spark which would set fire to the gun-powder? Hurrah! If it were, our protectorate would become an effective one; we should have a fine rôle to play; that of intervening in favour of a native coalition against the parasitical Toucouleurs, the hereditary enemies of French influence in Africa.
A COBBLER OF MOSSI.
All, then, was tending in the direction of our hopes. A good job too, for the river was falling, falling, falling. Our island was completely transformed, for a big isthmus of sand and flints now united it to the right bank. Hundreds of determined men, or of men driven in from behind, might pour into the camp any night now, as into some popular fair.
Reassured though we were by what we heard of the political condition of the country, and by all these protestations of friendship, we yet awaited the 14th July with impatience, and we celebrated its passing as joyfully as possible when it came at last. No sooner was it over, however, when slowly and quietly, and at first very doubtfully, certain bad news filtered through, which gradually gained certainty.
For once, indeed, there was no doubt about the evil tidings, which were diametrically opposed to all that the politeness of the natives would have had us believe. The whole country, Toucouleurs, people of Say, of Kibtachi, and of Torodi, with the Sidibés, the Gaberos and others, had combined against us and were marching to attack us.
Naturally no one had thought fit to warn us. It was Osman, poor fellow, who, in spite of himself, put us on the scent, and gave us the alarm. He meant to play the part of an angel of light, but, as is often the case, his rôle was really quite the reverse.
One fine day he said to us point-blank, “There is no cause for anxiety now, you can sleep with both ears shut, for Amadu Saturu and Amadu Cheiku are both most favourably disposed towards you.”
“Why do you tell us that, Osman?” I asked. “I feel sure you have some very good reason, but take care what you say. You are lying, I know. Amadu is really trying to pick a quarrel with us.”
“Bissimilaye! not a bit of it,” was the reply. “He is only getting his column together to move against Djermakoy.”