by Jules Verne
In spite of myself I have to associate these deeply cut grooves with the roaring we heard the other evening. It was at Kankan, too, that we heard that strange roaring before we noticed those inexplicable marks on the ground.
What connection is there between these two phenomena, the roaring, the pairs of grooves, and the Ke'nie'lala of Kankan? I can't see any. Yet this connection must exist: while I'm wondering about these enigmatical furrows, my subconscious spontaneously calls up the ugly face of the Negro sorcerer. And how that face looks to me now that, of the four predictions of the old humbug, the third, after two of the others, has just been fulfilled!
There, alone with my black companion in the immensity of the desert, a cold shiver, the second, counting the one I felt yesterday, runs down my back from head to heels, and for a moment, thinking of the mystery which surrounds me, I feel afraid.
It's agonizing, especially in such conditions. Yet it does not last, because I'm not much addicted to fear. My own weakness is curiosity. So, while we're going back, I go again and again over these irritating problems which I have to solve, and make myself dizzy looking for the answer. This exercise absorbs me so much that I hardly notice what's around me.
When we reach the camp, I jump. Tongane without the slightest warning, suddenly says:
"Toulatigui (lieutenant) him no good. Dirty monkey head."
I answer without thinking, and that must be my excuse: "That's itl"
17th February. A long march today, and longer still yesterday. Thirty miles in two days. Tchoumouki hasn't come back-the swine! Nobody has seen him. Guided only by Tongane our muleteers and porters are doing marvellously and stepping out as briskly as they can.
I must admit that during these two days my misgivings have rather died away. The escort has been strictly attending to its duties, though these are not very onerous. The twenty men, in two files, flank the convoy, just like those of Captain Marcenay. The only thing I notice is that they do not exchange with our black personnel the jokes of the same colour of which their predecessors were not sparing. That, however, does honour to their discipline.
The two N.C.O.'s, when they are not moving up and down the fine of Tirailleurs, usually stay with the rearguard. They do not speak to anyone except their men, to whom every now and again they give curt orders which are obeyed instantly. If our escort is not strong, it is at least firmly commanded.
Lieutenant Lacour goes at the head, almost in the place which Captain Marcenay used to take, beside M. Barsac. I notice that Mlle Mornas has fallen back a few paces. She stays with St. Berain, behind Dr. Chatonnay and M. Poncin. She doesn't look as if she much values the lieutenant's company.
There is little to say about him, however. If he doesn't speak, he acts. Certainly his attitude is not entirely unconnected with the satisfactory result of these two days' march.
No, nothing to say. And yet. .. .
But, that must be a fancy of my own. The mystery I feel around me, the weird facts which I've observed, are troubling my mind, and I'm inclined, perhaps too much inclined, to see treachery everywhere.
Whatever it may be, this is what arouses my misgivings.
It was this morning, about nine. We were going through a little village which was completely deserted when we heard groans coming from one of the huts.
On M. Barsac's orders, the convoy stops and Dr. Chatonnay, accompanied by Lieutenant Lacour and two Tirailleurs, goes into the hut. Needless to say the Press, in the person of myself, goes in with them.
There a sad spectacle meets our eye. There are two dead bodies, and a wounded man. A frightful thing, the two corpses, a man's and a woman's, are horribly mutilated! Who has killed and wounded these poor people? Who can be guilty of these atrocious mutilations?
Dr. Chatonnay at once deals with the wounded man. As it is so dark in the hut, he orders two of the Tirailleurs to carry him out. He is an oldish Negro. He has been injured in the shoulder, and the wound is terrible. The collarbone is exposed. I wonder what weapon could have caused such damage.
The doctor cleans up the wound and extracts numerous fragments of lead. He brings the flesh together, puts in some stitches, and carefully dresses the wound, while Lieutenant Lacour helps him by handing him the dressings. Throughout the whole operation, the patient never stops giving heartrending groans. He seems to be suffering less when the treatment is finished.
But the doctor seems anxious. He goes a second time into the hut and examines the two corpses, and when he comes out he is more anxious still. He goes up to the sufferer, whom he interrogates with the help of Tongane.
From the poor Negro's story, it appears that, six days ago, that would be the 11th, three days before our escort was changed, the tiny village had been attacked by a party of Negroes led by two white men. Except for the man and woman whose corpses we had found and who hadn't had time to take cover, the inhabitants had fled into the bush. The wounded man had been with the others. Unfortunately, while he was running away a shot had hit him in the shoulder, but he none the less had time to hide himself, and so he had escaped. Later his companions had brought him back to the village, but everybody had again taken flight when they saw another troop coming, exactly from the direction in which the first had gone.
Such was his story, and it did not fail to disquiet us. It can't be very pleasant, indeed, to learn that a horde of such miscreants is roaming about the country. It was only by sheer luck, indeed, that we hadn't run into them when they were coming towards us.
However, the poor devil was expressing gratitude to Dr. Chatonnay when suddenly he fell silent, while his eyes showed the greatest terror and fixed their stare on someone or something behind us. We looked round and found ourselves face to face with one of our two N.C.O.'s; it was the sight of him which had so frightened the Negro.
The N.C.O. didn't seem troubled. He seemed troubled enough, however, when the frozen eyes of Lieutenant Lacour sent him a message of reproach and menace. I caught a glimpse of this glare, which I am unable to explain. The sergeant simply touched his head, to indicate that the sufferer was delirious, and went off to rejoin his men.
We went back to our patient. But the spell was broken. He looked at us terrified, and we couldn't get another word out of him. He was carried back into his hut and we went off, partly reassured as to his fate, for Dr. Chatonnay says his wounds will heal.
I don't know what my companions made of it. For my part, as we went on, I dug into this new problem. Why had the old Negro shown so much fear? Why, when he had paid no attention to Lieutenant Lacour, had this terror been aroused, there was no doubt of this, by the sight of one of our sergeants?
For a change, there is no solution to this problem. All these insoluble riddles with which chance perplexes us end by being disquieting.
This evening, fairly late, we pitch our tents near a little village called Kadou. We are sorry to reach it, for it was at Kadou that Mlle Mornas and St. Berain were to leave us. While we were going straight on towards Ouaghadougou and the Niger, they would push on northwards, with Gao and that same Niger as their objective.
Needless to say how all of us try to make them give up this insane project. Our efforts were in vain. I dare to forecast that the future better half of Captain Marcenay will not be very amenable. When Mlle Mornas has got an idea into her head, the devil himself couldn't get it out!
In despair, we ask the help of Lieutenant Lacour and beg him to explain to our fair companion the folly she was about to commit. I am sure his efforts would have been thrown away, but he didn't take the trouble to make them. He made an evasive gesture and smiled, with a smile which I thought rather queer, but I can't exactly say why.
So we halt near Kadou. Just as I am about to retire to my tent, Dr. Chatonnay calls me back. He says: "One thing I want to tell you, Monsieur Florence, is that the bullets which struck those Negroes that day were explosive."
And he goes off without waiting for my reply.
Well! Another mystery! Explosive bullets now! W
ho can use such weapons? How, indeed, can such weapons exist in this country?
Two more riddles to add to my collection, which never stops growing. On the other hand, it's my collection of answers which never gets bigger!
18th February. The very latest news, without comment Our escort has gone. I say it's gone completely.
I insist because this is quite incredible, and I repeat: our escort is gone. When we got up, three or four hours ago, we could not find them. They had evaporated, gone off like smoke during the night, and with them had gone all the porters and muleteers without exception.
Is that clear? Lieutenant Lacour, his two sergeants and his twenty men, had not gone out for their morning constitutional, meaning to get back for lunch. They're gone, de-fin-it-ive-ly gone.
Here we are alone in the bush, with our horses, our personal weapons, thirty-six donkeys, provisions for five days and Tongane!
Well, I wanted adventures....
CHAPTER XI
WHATS TO BE DONE?
When the members of the Barsac Mission realized as they awoke at Kadou on the 18th February that their escort and their black personnel had vanished, they were stunned. So extraordinary was this twofold defection, especially that of the escort, that for a while they could not believe it. But then came evidence that soldiers and servants were gone never to return.
Amedee Florence had broken the news to the others who quickly gathered together. Naturally, the discussion was at first desultory, a matter of exclamations rather than of thoughts. Plans for the future are always preceded by expressions of astonishment at the present.
A groan from an adjacent thicket showed them that they were not as alone as they supposed. They ran to the place whence the groaning seemed to come and there He never reached them. Half-way across, he had been pounced on by two men, one of whom had gripped him by the throat without giving him time to utter a word. In a moment he was thrown to the ground, gagged, bound. But he was able to see that the Africans, porters and muleteers alike, were being loaded with numerous packages.
Having thus rendered Tongane helpless, his assailants were making off, when Lieutenant Lacour asked curtly: "That settled?"
"Yes," replied one of the sergeants.
There was a brief silence. Tongane felt that someone was bending over him. Hands were moving over his body, were feeling him.
"But you are fools, I tell you," said the lieutenant. "You're going off and leaving a rascal who may have seen too much. Robert, kindly stick a bayonet into this vermin."
The order was at once carried out, but Tongane was able to give his body a twist. Instead of piercing him in the chest, the weapon simply slid along his side, so that the wound was spectacular rather than serious. In the darkness, the lieutenant and his two acolytes were deceived, especially as the astute guide had taken the precaution of groaning as though he were rendering up his soul, and then holding his breath; the blood on the bayonet also deceived the assassins.
"That settled?" repeated Lieutenant Lacour, when the blow had been delivered.
"All right!" replied the man called Robert.
The three men had then moved away and Tongane had heard nothing else. Soon he lost consciousness, partly because of the gag which stifled him, partly because of his loss of blood. He knew no more.
This made it clear that it was a question not of a temporary absence of the escort but of a premeditated desertion.
That settled, the explorers looked at each other, stupefied and overcome with consternation. The first to break the silence was Amedee Florence, for whom the reader's indulgence is again asked.
"Quick work," he exclaimed, expressing the general thought in somewhat familiar form.
That comment seemed to release the tension, and soon measures were being taken to meet the situation. First a schedule had to be drawn up: seven guns, including six for hunting, ten revolvers, plenty of ammunition, seven horses, thirty-six donkeys, about 1,000 pounds of trade goods and provisions for four days. So there was no lack of means of defence and transport, and there was no need to worry about provisions, for it would be easy to get them in the villages, as hitherto; hunting would moreover be possible. So wherever they might end up, the party would not be hindered, from the material point of view, by any insuperable obstacle.
First the donkeys, which would be a serious hindrance without experienced muleteers, had to be got rid of. Then a plan was drawn up. If they decided to push on any distance, they would try to hire five or six porters, to carry the trade goods which they could exchange in the villages for the provisions they would need. Otherwise they would dispose of these at once regardless of cost, to avoid the need for porters and facilitate progress.
Jane Mornas and St. Berain, the only two who could understand the natives, at once got into touch with the inhabitants of Kadou. They were warmly welcomed in the village, and a few little gifts won the sympathy of the head man, who gave them all the help he could.
Thanks to his aid, the donkeys were sold at about 10,000 cowries (about thirty francs) each, making more than 350,000 cowries in all. This alone would assure for over twenty days the existence of the members of the Mission and the payment of the five porters which the head man was able to supply.
These negotiations took several days, but this time was not wasted, for Tongane could not have been ready to take the road earlier. At last his wound, which was quite superficial, was well on the way to healing.
So, on the morning of the 23rd, six camp chairs were arranged in a circle with the maps spread out at the centre. Then, with Tongane and Malik for audience, the discussion began under the chairmanship of Barsac.
"The session is open," he said mechanically, like a man used to the protocol of the Chamber. "Who wishes to speak?"
There were concealed smiles. Amedee Florence, somewhat addicted to irony, replied without even a cough: "We'll speak after you, Monsieur le President."
"As you wish," agreed Barsac, not at all surprised at the title bestowed upon him. "First we must define the situation. We find ourselves abandoned by our escort, but well supplied with weapons and trade goods, right in the Sudan, some distance from the coast."
At these words M. Poncin drew his huge notebook from his pocket, balanced a pincenez on his nose, and, he who never spoke, he said: "Exactly 880 miles, 938 yards and 1 foot and 4% inches, reckoned from the centrepost of my tent."
"So much precision isn't needed, M. Poncin," Barsac commented. "Sufficient to say that we are about nine hundred miles from Konakry. As you are not unaware, we planned to go much further but the new situation demands a new solution. To my mind our objective should be to reach, if not most quickly at least most safely, some centre where there is a French post. There we will take council, and we can examine quite calmly what we are to do next." Agreement was unanimous.
"The map," Barsac continued, "shows that we ought to try to reach the Niger somewhere along its course. Couldn't we make for Saye, by way of Ouaghadougou and Nadiango? Since they captured Timbuctoo, the French posts have never stopped gaining ground downstream. I don't know, I admit, whether they have got to Saye, but that's possible, I will even say probable. Then if we succeed in obtaining another escort, that will have the advantage of following the programme scheduled."
"But that will have the inconvenience, Monsieur le President," burst out M. Poncin, feverishly jotting down figures in his note-book, "of demanding a journey of five hundred miles. But our paces, I am informed, are on the average twenty-five inches. Five hundred miles would thus make 1,011,111 paces and a fraction." He continued with a string of figures.
"OH! oh! oh!" came a crescendo of exclamations from Amedee Florence, who was on the point of having a nervous breakdown, "couldn't you simply say that it will take fifty three days at ten miles a day, but only forty if we can make it twelve and a half? What do you expect to get out of these frightful figures?"
"Simply this," M. Poncin replied coldly, putting his impressive note-book away, "that it would be better
to reach the Niger by way of Djenne. That would cut the distance down by half, to two hundred and fifty miles."
"This would be better still," Amedee Florence objected, pointing to the map. "Reach the Niger at Segou Sikoro, going by way of Bama, and so forth. That would be only about a hundred miles. What's more, that centre is fairly large, and we'd be sure to get help there."
"Excellent," Dr. Chatonnay agreed. "All the same, I think we could do better still. Let's just return on our tracks, maybe not to the sea but at any rate to Sikasso, only about a hundred and twenty miles away, where we'll find our fellow countrymen who welcomed us so warmly. Then we can decide whether to go on to Bammako or, as Monsieur Amedee Florence thinks, and I think too, up to Segou Sikoro."
"The doctor's right," Florence concurred. "That will be wisest."
"Monsieur Florence," Barsac continued, after a moment's reflection, and wanting to impress his companions with his heroism, "you and the doctor may be right. But I beg you to consider, that returning to Sikasso would show that, for a time at all events, we had abandoned the mission I had accepted. But, gentlemen, a man who puts duty before all.. . ."
"We understand your reluctance, Monsieur Barsac," broke in Florence, who saw where the discourse was tending, "but it's a question not of duty but of prudence."
"It remains to settle," replied Barsac, "exactly what the position is. Our escort has deserted us, certainly, but I vainly ask what dangers menace us. Our only risks have come from some hypothetical adversary-probable I agree but not certain, because we only know about him through the blows he gives us. Consider these blows in themselves, and they will not seem much. What has anyone done except annoy us?