The news of this disaster soon reached us; without loss of time M. Partarrieu repaired to the village where Major Gray was detained; entreaties, presents, threats, nothing could prevail upon the Foulahs to release him; and the joy we felt on being allowed to proceed at not too great distance from the river was embittered by grief at seeing the major conducted on horseback, under a strong escort, by a contrary route to ours. The Foulahs took him away solely with a view to induce us to turn back and follow him; but, conceiving that this proof of our attachment to the major would only have involved us in destruction, we took good care not to run into the snare which was laid for us, as, by so doing, we should in all probability have merely increased to no purpose the number of victims to an imprudence, which no solicitations could dissuade the major from committing.
We continued our route, still proceeding northward. After suffering at several places a repetition of the same torments, we reached Adgar, a village only a day’s journey and a half distant from Bakel. Here M. Partarrieu halted and encamped close to the place, as if he intended to make a long stay there: he then visited the chief, and talked to him of sending off his sick to Bakel, that he might afterwards proceed with more ease to Fouta-Toro; but, perceiving that this plan displeased the village chief, he had recourse to a stratagem to gain his consent: he told him that, not having animals enough to carry all his baggage, he should leave part of his goods with him. The chief, perceiving in this proposition the means of subsequently possessing himself of a valuable booty, assented to every thing. M. Partarrieu immediately directed part of the chests with which the camels were usually laden to be filled with stones, and having locked these chests, he had them carried to the chief of the village; he then put aside the chests containing our goods. The camels, it is well known, are accustomed to cry when they are loaded; to obviate the danger in which this cry, the signal for our departure, might have involved us, we took care to make our camels utter this cry for several successive nights, that the inhabitants of the village might not know the moment of our flight.
All the arrangements being made, a very dark night was chosen, and as soon as we judged that every body was asleep, we started, leaving tents, huts, and palisades, standing, without extinguishing the fires which we had kindled, without even removing the pots which had been set on them for our supper, that the discovery of our departure by the inhabitants might be delayed as long as possible. The justice of this calculation of a prudent foresight was speedily demonstrated.
Part of the caravan pushed on before by a route which it opened for itself. I remained with the rear-guard, under the direction of M. Partarrieu and an English serjeant who had the superintendence of the baggage: this division set out an hour later than the other.
Such was our fear of being discovered, and so sensible were we of the imminence of our danger, that our march was more like a rout than a retreat. Forsaken chests and bales were to be seen every where; nay the very animals, as if aware of the peril and anxious to avoid it, were more untractable than ever, and scampered away across the country after throwing off their loads. It was more than two hours before we came up with our first division. Gracious Heaven! what anxiety we felt during those two painful hours! scarcely durst we ask what had become of our companions, scarcely durst we think of them; we fancied that they were taken, and had every reason to apprehend the like fate ourselves. A horn was blown from time to time: this signal of distress, amid the silence of night and the horror of the desert, had something doleful which made us shudder. Could we but have heard some answer to it! but no, not the faintest sound, not even the shriek of a night-bird enlivened the woods which we traversed in the utmost haste. Presently we perceived nothing but ambuscades on all sides; every bush, every tree, assumed to our agitated minds the form of armed enemies; every branch was mistaken for a levelled musket. At length we had recourse to a final expedient to convey to a distance an intimation of our approach. A gun was fired: echo by repeating the report several times, increased our consternation without imparting a hope that we were heard. I then compared our situation with that of the victims on the raft of La Méduse, cast upon the bank of Arquin, without hope of relief. Excessive fear gave us the courage of despair, and we made such a noise with our horns that the first division at length heard it and answered us. With what joy did we accelerate our pace to come up with it! at last we joined it just as day began to dawn. We hastily deliberated on the course to be pursued. On all sides we were surrounded with dangers; but, at any rate, the farther we proceeded from the village which we had left the preceding night, the nearer we should approach to the Senegal. This plan was unanimously adopted; and to carry it into effect with the greater chance of success, we abandoned baggage, animals, goods of all sorts; such was the panic that had seized every mind.
Day-light appeared, and enabled us to discover a village close to us; but fortunately its inhabitants had not yet risen, and we were not perceived. We soon came to a stony road which indicated the vicinity of the river; the hope of procuring water rendered our thirst more tormenting, and agitated our minds to such a degree that we kept advancing without knowing where we were: and we might have continued thus but for a negro whom we met and forced to conduct us to the river: he first led us past a field, where several negroes, who were at work, fled at sight of us towards their village. At length, at ten o’clock in the morning, we arrived at a hamlet situated on the left bank of the Senegal, at a little distance from Bakel. Without halting there, we lost no time in availing ourselves of a ford a short way off to cross the river. Though the water was then low, yet in some places it was up to our chins, so that every man was obliged to carry his things upon his head for fear of wetting them.
We were now on the right bank of the river, and it was high time we were, for some of our number were still crossing when multitudes of Foulahs appeared on the other side armed with pikes and arrows. It had been all over with us had we fallen in with them in the woods, for they were the neighbours to our camp, enraged at having been deceived by our stratagem. They durst not cross the river; but reckoning upon our simplicity, they made signs to M. Partarrieu to come to them and explain himself. The latter replied, that if they would call upon him at Bakel he would hear what they had to say. This invitation was not acceptable to them; accordingly they never came, but returned immediately to their village.
After crossing the river we were still a day’s journey from Bakel: and though it would have been more prudent to push on to that place at once, we were all so overwhelmed with fatigue that we were obliged to encamp by the way before night. We went to sleep in the most complete security, under the idea that the sentinels would keep good watch; but these sentinels having undergone the same fatigues as ourselves fell asleep too. No accident, however, befel us, and early next morning we arrived at Bakel.
The reader may conceive our joy on entering that fort, especially when we observed the generous zeal with which Messrs. Dupont and Dusseault, who commanded there, hastened to relieve us. We were treated with the kindest attention and supplied with refreshments of all sorts; and our joy was at its height, when we saw Major Gray return, the negroes having released him as soon as they ascertained that he could not serve them for an hostage to bring us back to them: nay more, their envoys, more tractable under the cannon of the fort of Bakel, restored to us part of the things which we had abandoned on our flight, and which they had picked up.
The rainy season, upon which we were entering, shed its baleful influence over me as well as the others. I had the fever, which soon assumed so alarming a character that I quitted the expedition and embarked on the Senegal to descend to St. Louis. I hoped, by the aid of medicine and the effects of a more salubrious climate, to recover my health in that town; but my disorder was so violent, that my convalescence was long and difficult. To complete my recovery, I saw no other way but to return to France, and I sailed for L’Orient.