But although he is petrified the Soninké chief retains his magic power, and the village is still under his protection. At the foot of the hill two sacred rocks receive the offerings of the negroes, consisting of ears of millet, chickens, and calabashes filled with degue (millet flour boiled and strained).
Somangoro is supposed, or rather was supposed, not to tolerate neighbours, so that when in 1885 a post-office was for the first time set up on the plateau of the hill, the chief of the village thought it his duty to warn the officer in charge that it would certainly fall down. And so it did, for it had been put up too hurriedly, and collapsed in a violent storm. In 1889 I, in my turn, tried to build nine earthen huts on the same spot to accommodate the staff of the Niger flotilla. Pressed for time, I began by putting up a wooden framework, and the roof was being put on simultaneously with the adding of the earthen walls. Of course I had supported the corners of my framework by pieces of wood, but my mason, finding himself in want of them, did not hesitate to remove them, and therefore, just what might have been expected happened—my house went down like a castle of cards, dragging the roof and the men at work on it with it. Fortunately no one was hurt. Naturally the influence of Somangoro was supposed to have been at the bottom of the catastrophe, and I could not get any natives from the village to work for me on that spot again. I was very much vexed, but fortunately I suddenly remembered how a certain General of the first Republic managed to get the blood of Saint Januarius to liquefy when it rebelled against performing the miracle expected of it. I presented Somangoro with a white sheep, and at the same time told the sorcerer who superintends the rites of the hero’s worship that he had a choice of a good present or a flogging, according to the answer his master should make to them through him. Under the circumstances, I added, Somangoro would surely do the best he could for the welfare of his faithful servant. The event was as I foresaw. The oracle, when consulted, declared that full permission was granted me to reside where I liked. Since then I have been supposed throughout Bambara to be on excellent terms with Somangoro.
Mount Kolikoro is a harbour of refuge for escaped slaves who have fled from the injustice and brutality of their masters, and declare themselves to be the captives of Somangoro. No one dares to touch them as long as they keep close to the rock, so they have built huts there and till the ground for food.
Another noteworthy fact with regard to this mountain is, that an oath taken by it whilst eating degué is inviolable. He who should perjure himself by a lie after that would be sure to lose his life. When I was in command there I often turned this belief to account, and got at the truth in matters far too complicated to be solved by the ordinary light of human reason.
I must also add that Somangoro is also the enemy of thieves. When anything has been stolen in the village of Kolikoro, a crier is heard going through the streets at night, calling upon the dead hero to cause the death of the culprit if he does not return the fruit of his larceny. Generally the person robbed recovers his property. I do not know why, but this easy mode of invoking the power attributed amongst Catholics in Europe to Saint Anthony of Padua is called Welle da, which means literally to appeal to the door.
The first days of our stay at Kolikoro were occupied in unpacking and going over our stores. We landed our two wooden barges from the old flotilla, brought down by Taburet, to have the necessary repairs done. Alas! what a disagreeable surprise we had! It was not mere repairs they needed, but a complete overhauling. During the previous winter the wood of the outside had rotted, partly from being badly kept, and more than half the boarding had to be replaced with new. The only thing to do was to set to work vigorously to remedy the evil. Fortunately our friend Osterman, who had already rendered us so many services, was now at Kolikoro superintending the building of canoes for the re-victualling of the river stations, and he was ready to help us again in every way. We succeeded in putting our three little barks in order, but we never made them as watertight as they were originally, and especially with the Aube the leakage was a constant source of anxiety to us all through our trip.
REPAIRING THE ‘AUBE.’
TIGHTENING THE BOLTS OF THE ‘DAVOUST.’