At seven in the morning we found the river turning N. E. and about nine o’clock it began to flow due east, in which direction it continued for four or five miles; then again it turned N. E., and about two in the afternoon we found ourselves before the little village of Diré, a dependency of Timbuctoo. As far as I could judge, I should suppose it contained about 150 or 200 inhabitants. Their houses are built of earth, and have terraced roofs. In an arm of the river which branched off in the neighbourhood of the village, there were six vessels of sixty tons burthen, on their way from Jenné. They had been waiting for us sixteen days. The Soorgoos or Tooariks would not allow them to pass without the payment of a ransom. These robbers daily went on board the canoes to levy contributions of food. The Soorgoos are a wandering tribe who inhabit the banks of the Dhioliba. They contrive to make themselves feared, and live at the expense of the poor negroes, whom they make their tributaries. I shall describe them more fully hereafter. The vessels which had been so long detained, joined us, firing muskets in token of their joy. The negroes of Diré, who are tributaries of the Soorgoos, informed us that the latter were absent, and that consequently we should escape the annoyance of their visits. In company with the canoes which had joined us, we now proceeded about four miles to the north-east, and afterwards turned due east. At sun-set we were overtaken by a violent storm, and we gained the right bank of the river, to which we moored our canoes with pikes made for that purpose. From N. E. to S. W. the sky was overspread with clouds driven by a gale, which continued part of the night. It did not raise the sand, but the heat was very great.
At six o’clock on the morning of the 15th of April, we took an easterly direction, and shortly afterwards I observed the river turning S. E. It was still as wide and deep as before, and its banks were very low. A few dwarf trees were growing in the plains. I was astonished to see so vast a mass of water, notwithstanding the idea I had formed of the magnitude of this river before my departure. The Senegal is but an ordinary river in comparison with this, which, at the season here referred to, was nine or ten feet deep. The current is scarcely perceptible; I should think about a knot and a half an hour. About eight in the morning we passed an island, on which grow some low shrubs. We proceeded but slowly, having to wait for the large canoes, which could not advance so rapidly as we did.
About half past eight in the morning we lay to for half an hour before the island. We saw the little village of Khokhoola, which like Diré, is a dependence of Timbuctoo. Here we met a little canoe which had left that city on the preceding morning. She had on board several of the Soorgoos, who exact a maintenance for themselves as far as Salacoila, where they stop, and then get conveyed home by some returning canoes. If they cannot obtain a conveyance in this way, they travel home by land. At Khokhoola the river takes a little turn to the N. E. and then to the north. The Soorgoos were waiting for us in the village, having been informed of our expected arrival.
They came on board the canoes, being rowed, from the shore, in little boats of their own. They were supplied with rice and water and honey mixed, a beverage of which they are exceedingly fond, and which they call Jenné-hari (water of Jenné.) These vagabonds levy their exactions without moderation. We did not allow them to come on board our canoe; we handed them out a bag of rice and they went away to importune some of our companions. When they are on board the canoes, and the negroes want to get rid of them, they fire a musket close to their ears, and they speedily take their departure, for they are very much afraid of gunpowder. They themselves never make use of fire-arms.
During the visit of the Soorgoos I was directed to go below, to avoid being seen by them; for, when they see a Moor on board, especially if his colour be lighter than usual, they assert that he is richer than the rest, as if his fortune depended on his complexion. They then become extremely troublesome, and will not suffer the canoes to depart without exacting a contribution from the white man, whom they call almankoye (the rich man.).
I was afterwards informed that these savages had detained on shore a Moor, whose complexion was, unluckily, not very dark, and who was imprudent enough not to conceal himself. They extorted merciless contributions from him. The Moors, aware of this danger, are accustomed to conceal themselves in the canoes, and only quit their hiding-place during the night.
The negroes only have the privilege of remaining on deck; they are looked upon as an inferior class, who have not much to give, and are merely the servants of the Moorish merchant.
Wishing to see without being seen, I made several holes in the matting that covered that part of the canoe in which I was concealed. In this place the heat was so excessive, that it gave me a violent head-ache. The Moorish merchants of Timbuctoo have no authority over these robbers: not one of them would have ventured among the Soorgoos to claim the six canoes which were so long detained. If they had, they would have been sure of being laid under contribution themselves; yet, they frequently make presents to the Soorgoos.
Each flotilla that navigates the river has a chief called the amiroo, and it is he who determines the periods for halting and starting; he is always the oldest man among the crews; it is his business to settle the amount of the contributions with the Soorgoos: though he has some influence over them, yet he can do nothing in behalf of the Moors, and if the Soorgoos see one on board his canoe, they become refractory, and often proceed to the utmost extremities to obtain what they want. “If you were not worth a single cowrie,” said the negroes of our canoe to me, “they would declare that you were very rich, and you would be obliged to give them something before they would allow us to proceed.”
The river, after flowing three or four miles to the north, turns to the east, and then to the N. E.; its width still continuing the same, and its banks being uniformly low and barren.