At last the sun sets, the sentinels are chosen and posted for the night, and we gather once more round our little table for supper, chatting now about our plans for the future, now about the past, telling stories which ere long will become so familiar that we could all repeat them by heart and give them each a number of its own. Then one after the other we retire to our camp-beds to enjoy such repose as the horrible mosquitoes, which are so clever in finding the tiniest holes in the nets, will allow, till the morning réveil is sounded on the horn, and we begin another day, exactly like its predecessor.
Such was our life for twenty days, with slight variations, such as the crossing of rivers, the over-turning of carts through the breaking of axles or shafts, etc.
At Kita, however, a very unusual thing occurred: we were able to indulge in a bicycle race. Our own bicycle, which we had called Suzanne, met a rival. After all she was not the first comer to the French Sudan, for a trader at Kita owned another. The match took place near the post-office, on a really excellent course, and Suzanne won, although she was not, like her antagonist, provided with pneumatic tyres. During the race we were entertained by the playing of a band of little negroes under the care of the Pères du Saint Esprit. The boys, who were some of them scarcely as big as their instruments, gave us several charming selections from their repertory. Their conductor was Brother Marie Abel, who with his long beard towered above his troupe, and reminded me of pictures of the Heavenly Father surrounded by cherubs, only these cherubs had passed under the blacking brush. You see we were not without amusements in the Sudan.
DOCTOR TABURET.
On November 8 we reached Bamako, and after a day’s rest started for Kolikoro, which was the last stage of our journey by land, for we were now to become sailors.
On the eve of our arrival, as we were breakfasting at Tolimandio, who should suddenly appear but our good friend Dr. Taburet, hot, perspiring, and out of breath with the haste he had made to join us. I have already said that the two barges, the Enseigne Aube and the Dantec, belonging to the Niger flotilla, had been placed at my service. Taburet, who had received my telegram, had come from Jenné to Sego, and taken the boats to Kolikoro. Then, eager to be en route, he had gone up stream on the Dantec as far as Tolimandio in advance of us.
We plied each other with questions, of course. Taburet knew only one thing, and that was that he meant to accompany me on my expedition. I had to tell him all that had happened since our parting in June, and we made the last stage of our journey to Kolikoro riding side by side, and discussing every detail of our plans.
Kolikoro, or more correctly perhaps, Korokoro, which means the old rock, was well known to me. I had stopped there in 1889 with the Niger flotilla for nearly a year. It occupies an extremely important position, marking as it does the highest navigable point of the central stretch of the Niger. Of course it is possible to go, as Taburet had just done, as far as Tolimandio, or even to Manambugu, at very high tide, but on account of the numerous impediments in the bed of the stream, it is far better to stop at Kolikoro, which has, moreover, other advantages in its favour.
I was indeed glad when we came in sight of the curiously abrupt outlines of the hill overlooking the village. This hill is surmounted by a plateau on which we had camped once before, and there is a legend connected with it and Kolikoro, relating to the exploits of Somangoro, and the long struggle which was at one time maintained between the Soninké of the Niger districts and the Malinké from Kita.