To me this form of locomotion is ideal of its kind. The barque is sufficiently large to give one the impression of being on an ocean-going ship, whilst the uniform smoothness of the stream sets the mind at rest. I am not oppressed by the uneasiness which ever haunts me on a liner and which prompts anxious looks to discern if there are signs of the wind freshening and enforcing a hasty retirement and abstinence from food. Whatever befalls on the Niger, there is no mal-de-mer. The most sensitive internal organism will not be disturbed.
We are propelled by two paddles at the back of the vessel and there are extra large balance rudders for sharp movement of the craft. They are frequently required at this season, as you shall learn. Our average speed is 12 miles an hour. Cargo is carried on the lower deck, where native passengers also settle.
There is only one European in the crew, the Captain. The other members are the Chief Engineer and his two assistants, the Pilot, Bos’n, four Quartermasters, and 22 deck hands. With the exception of the Engineers and the Pilot, all are river “boys” from the towns of Onitsha and Aboh and river villages.
The Niger Company does four-fifths of the cargo transport up and down the rivers—trading goods up, produce down—making no preference in selection between their own cargoes and those of firms who are side-by-side competitors in trading at dozens of places. The exception to this four-fifths division of carrying is Messrs John Holt, who have their own boats.
The first day the Mungo Park made 56 miles, measured by the direct course of the river, to Idah. It was not much to show for the full day’s steaming, but the way had to be picked very warily. Though the broad river was certified as between 6 feet and 7 feet deep, that did not mean all the way across; it only specified the channel along which such a boat as ours could travel. Nor was the channel necessarily in the middle or the side of the river; it might twist from the former to the latter, or vice versâ; or it might take a zigzag course. As a matter of fact, it described all these gyrations, with variations made from parts of them. We tacked and turned from bank to bank; then, perhaps, for a few miles heading straight down stream, along the middle of it, presently to revert to forming angles and curves.
The guide to these evolutions is the Pilot. A Nupé, clad in the long flowing robe of the Mohamedans, capped by a white turban, Nasaru remains at his post on the bridge from dawn to dusk. He takes no rest or time off. He has his food where he stands. His eyes are unvaryingly directed on the surface of the stream, from which he reads the changing position of the narrow channel. That is the only line we can thread without being caught on a submerged sandbank.
How Nasaru remains awake all these hot, monotonous hours, scarcely moving, his gaze fixed on an inappreciably altering, dull scene, is remarkable. His principal movement is to raise his forearm at right-angle from the elbow and extending the fingers as signs to the man at the wheel which way to steer; and, without looking down at the instrument, he frequently uses the telegraph to the engine-room to alter speed. The only occasions during the 14 hours’ run that Nasaru relinquishes duty is when he drops on his knees for the Moslem prayers. He does that on the bridge, at the spot where he stands throughout the day.
It is imperative the river be watched so closely and unremittingly, as during the low-water season the channel along which safe travel can be made changes continuously and the course up or back may be quite impracticable on the return. This is due to the sand washed down and the pressure of the current wearing a channel where there is least resistance from irregularity of the banks or any other cause, throwing the displaced sand into the previously-travelled channel. How requisite it is to visually trace the course was proved on our approaching a double channel, one each side of a large sandbank, really big enough to be termed an island.
A NUPÉ PILOT ON THE NIGER.