Further on were other herds that no one shepherded, herds of grey crocodiles, hundreds of them asleep in the sun, submerged belly-deep in the warm waters.
And Fatou-gaye would smile. Her eyes would light up with a strange joy, for she recognised the approach of Galam, her native land.
None the less there was one thing that kept her uneasy. When she passed great, grass-grown marshes, wide, gloomy pools, bordered with mangroves, she would shut her eyes for fear of seeing the black muzzle of a hippopotamus (n’gabou) emerging from the stagnant waters. For her and hers, such an apparition would have been an omen of death.
It would be impossible to describe the ruses, the importunity, the ingenuity she had brought to bear in order to secure a passage on this ship on which she knew Jean had embarked.
Where had she taken refuge when she left the house of the griot? In what lair had she hidden herself to bring the spahi’s child into the world?
Now, at any rate, she was happy. She was on her way back to Galam, and Jean was with her; her dream had come true.
XVII
Dialdé was situated at the confluence of the Senegal and a nameless stream, a tributary which flowed in from the south.
The post consisted of an unimportant negro village and a small protecting blockhouse of French construction, resembling the isolated forts of Upper Algeria.
It was the nearest point to the country of Boubakar-Ségou, and here in the midst of tribes that were still friendly, the French forces were to effect a junction, and to camp with the allied army of the Bambaras.