As long as our boats were in sight of the station we could see handkerchiefs and helmets waving to us in token of adieu, and when the flag of the fort disappeared from view our hearts felt somewhat oppressed, for we were leaving all that in our exile from France represented our native country. Henceforth we five white men, with our twenty-eight black followers, were thrown on our own resources, and had to depend upon ourselves alone. How many of us would return? How many of us were destined to sleep our last sleep beneath the soil of Africa?
AT TIMBUKTU.
DROVE OF OXEN.
CHAPTER III
FROM TIMBUKTU TO TOSAYE
On January 22 we made a very short stage, and moored about mid-day at Geïgelia, a little village picturesquely perched on rising ground of a reddish hue, a little below the mouth of the stream, which, as I have said, gives access to Day and Kabara.
We determined to spend the afternoon in making things snug. Hitherto we had put off from day to day the task of arranging our cabins. Now our three little craft are all the world to us, the floating castles which must drift down with us to the sea, Inch Allah! (God willing), as the Mussulmans say. We must shake down in them as comfortably as possible.
I occupy the fore-cabin of the Davoust. On one side is my plank bed, with, for mattress, the wrappings of the presents which we take out one by one as required, replenishing them from the bales in the hold.