We were up betimes on the following morning, and shaking off the abundant dust of Osumánu's inhospitable abode, sallied forth with our companions. It was Ali's plan to give an entertainment in the market before leaving Táari, that we might start with replenished purses, but the people were now busy with the commencement of the day's work, and no strangers had yet arrived; whence the performance—in which I took no part—fell rather flat, and was brought to a premature close; so, having invested the meagre collection in a small stock of provisions, we took to the road.
It had been our original intention to pass through Bontúku on our way south, but the fiddler, Osman, who knew the country well, urged us to turn south-east by way of Banda, as we should thus considerably shorten our journey through the forest; and, as my recollections of the horrors of forest travelling were most vivid, I supported Osman in his contention that we should keep as long as possible in the orchard country. We therefore turned off from the Bontúku road and took a smaller path, which led through Banda to Ashanti.
Along this road we met but few travellers, and, although the villages were pretty numerous, they were small and poverty-stricken. We gave a performance in one of them, but the result was not encouraging. It is true that there was no lack of an audience, for every person in the village attended; but when Baku, the drummer, went round with his calabash, the people merely peered into it, and not a single shell was forthcoming. Baku pointedly suggested that a few plantains or beans would be acceptable, but the hint was received with surly derision, and, when at length the minstrels assumed a bullying manner and Osman attempted to snatch up a stray fowl, the women and children vanished as if by magic, and the men, marshalled by the chief, assumed such a threatening attitude that we were glad to take ourselves off.
It being thus pretty evident that we should not make much profit out of the villages, we pushed on at a rapid pace towards Banda, which town, I gathered, was about forty miles distant from Táari. As we went along, my companions enlivened our journey with an unceasing flow of talk, but, like many public performers, they were a little disappointing in private life, and their conversation was often of a kind that would have deeply shocked the pious and patriarchal Isaaku; indeed, the more I saw of my new associates, the less I liked them; and I could not but admit the justice of Aminé's estimate of them. They had all the faults of the strolling Bohemian, with perhaps some of his virtues, for they were certainly gay, careless fellows, taking little thought for the morrow, and making light of present discomforts; but they were greedy though extravagant, grasping though improvident, coarse in their manners, lax in morals, and very obscure in their ideas of honesty.
When we came to prepare our evening meal at the village in which we intended to sleep, Ali spread out a mat, and the three minstrels, to Aminé's astonishment and mine, began to unship from their enormous pockets various odds and ends of food—one or two plantains, a few sweet potatoes, a couple of red yams, loose handfuls of beans, millet and maizemeal; and Osman produced a large lump of fufu wrapped in leaves.
"Where didst thou get all these things?" Aminé asked the latter as he laid down the fufu. "I did not see thee buy anything."
The three men looked at one another and laughed long and loud.
"Didst thou not see Osman go a-marketing at the last village we passed?" asked Ali with a sly leer.
"I did not see him at all there," replied Aminé.
"Then thou mightest have known that he was gone a-marketing," rejoined the balafu-player, and the minstrels all roared with laughter again.
"I like not these Wongáras," said Aminé to me when we had retired that night to the hut that the headman had lent us. "They are but a party of thieves, and will get us into trouble; and that old ape, Ali, trieth to make love to me when thou art not looking. As though I would look at a black, monkey-faced Wongára, who have a husband like thee!"
There was much truth in these observations, and the conduct of our companions caused me some anxiety. But what troubled me much more was the attitude of Aminé herself. Her calm adoption of me as her husband was beginning to be a very serious matter. Of course, her position was a perfectly reasonable one from an African point of view. A Mahommedan is not restricted to one wife, and certainly no countryman of Aminé's would have hesitated a moment to snap up such a prize as this handsome Fulah girl. Nevertheless, the position was a very awkward one, for while, on the one hand, my acceptance even of the outward appearance of the relationship was an affront to Isabel and a reproach to my love and fidelity, on the other it was unfair to the poor girl herself, a fact that was impressed on me anew by every fresh instance of her simple faith and devotion. Yet I could not bring myself to the point of dispelling her delusion, and when my conscience rebuked me, as it often did, I was apt to put myself off with the hope that when we arrived at the Coast, Aminé's fancy might be captivated by some gaudy sergeant-major or native officer of the Hausa force.
As we marched along next day I kept a sharp eye upon our companions, and soon had an opportunity of observing the manner in which their "marketing" was conducted; which was characterised by masterly simplicity. As we neared the first village, Osman began to lag behind, and I presently noticed the handle of his fiddle sticking out of Baku's pocket. On entering the village street Ali and Baku began to thump their instruments vigorously, and both the rascals burst into song, shouting at the very tops of their voices. As an inevitable result, the people came running from every part of the village, and crowded round us as we sauntered slowly down the street; and when we halted near the end, we were surrounded by a mob that, no doubt, included every living soul in the place. Here we stood for some minutes with drum and balafu in full blast, until Osman strolled up and began to beg from the bystanders; on which Ali and Baku shouldered their instruments, and we all moved briskly out of the village.
This performance was repeated at every hamlet through which we passed, each of the rascals taking his turn at the "marketing," so that as the day went on, the pockets of each became more and more portly. For my part, as I had no intention of sharing the plunder, I gave Aminé my cowrie-bag, and told her to buy what was necessary for us from the villagers.
It was already dark when we reached Banda, and as we had covered in the day considerably over twenty miles, we were all very tired. Fortunately we had no difficulty in finding lodgings for the night, and our good-natured landlady even agreed to prepare us a meal, so that we spent the remainder of the evening pleasantly enough; and as we learned that the market day was on the morrow, and that many strangers had already arrived in the town, we turned in betimes with the intention of making an early start with our business in the morning.
Nevertheless the sun had been up a long time when we strolled out into the street and looked round at the scene of bustle that it presented. The market women were already streaming into the town in long files, and many had taken their places and were setting out their stalls, while the strangers roamed about in little groups, chattering, laughing, eating, and examining the wares of the market people. We had joined the throng of idlers, and were slowly making our way up the market place, when our attention was attracted by a person who was approaching from the opposite direction. This was a tall and powerful elderly man, who stalked along at the head of a small party of followers, pausing now and again to bestow on them a few words of abuse. His aspect was fierce and forbidding, and one blind eye, white and opaque, did not increase his attractions. Although he wore but a single cloth or ntama after the fashion of the pagans, he was evidently a person of consequence, for he was followed by a stool-bearer, a pipe-bearer, and numerous other dependents, on two of whom he leaned heavily—for early as it was, he was considerably the worse for liquor.
As he came up to us he stopped and regarded us with a drunken stare.
"Who are you, my fine fellows?" he asked gruffly in very bad Hausa, "and what do you do in this town?"
"We are musicians, most mighty chief," replied Ali in his oiliest manner, and bowing to the ground before the old reprobate, "and we have come to sing to the people in the market, if it please the valiant chief to graciously permit us."
"We want no wandering vagabonds here," exclaimed the old man fiercely. "More likely ye have come to thieve than to sing. Still, I will hear your singing, and if it please me not I will fling this bottle at your heads. Now! begin! Do you hear me?" he shouted. "Sing!"
The stool-bearer planted the seat upon the ground, and the old ruffian dropped upon it heavily, and sat swaying from side to side, scowling at us, and holding a square gin bottle poised ready to throw.
My companions were in such a hurry to obey that they all commenced simultaneously with different songs, but perceiving their mistake before it was noticed by the chief, Osman and Baku stopped, leaving Ali to sing alone; which he did with surprising spirit, pouring out a torrent of extemporised ribaldry of a foulness beyond belief. He had, however, hit off the taste of his audience to a nicety, for, as the performance proceeded, the old chief lowered the gin bottle and shouted with laughter and enjoyment.
"Thou art a proper singer," said he, as Ali struck out a few concluding flourishes. "Now let us hear that long-nosed Moor who is with thee. He looketh as sour as a monkey-bread; if his song is not more pleasant than his face he shall have the bottle at his head. Come, sing, thou yellow-skinned baboon, before I smash thy ugly face."
"Sing, in the name of God!" exclaimed Ali, tremblingly slinging the balafu from my shoulders. "He is the chief of the town, and will certainly kill us if we cross him."
I was much disposed to consign the old savage to Hades or its pagan equivalent, but I smothered my wrath as well as I could, and hammered out a flourish on the balafu, while I decided on a suitable song. After a moment's consideration I hit upon the "Leather Bottél" as being specially appropriate to the old rascal's condition, and began forthwith to bellow it out. The crowd rapidly increased, and gave manifest signs of approval, for the melody had in it just that swinging rhythm that is so grateful to the African ear; but the old chief evidently found it a dull performance, for in the middle of the second stanza he staggered to his feet, and roaring out, "I understand not one word of thy gibberish!" lurched off. However, I did not allow his departure to interrupt my performance, for Baku was already busy with the calabash, and I could hear the kurdi rattling into it; so I worked my way through stanza after stanza until I reached the last; and I was just considering the advisability of beginning over again when I was startled by the apparition of a man's head and shoulders standing up above the heads of the onlookers. For an instant I supposed that it was some idler who had raised himself upon a stool or case that he might get a better view, but at a second glance I recognised with a thrill of astonishment my old friend Abduláhi Dan-Daúra. The recognition was mutual, and in a moment the genial "child of the elephant," with a cry of joy, pushed his way through the crowd, and folded me in his enormous arms.
"And is it indeed thou, Yúsufu, child of my mother!" he exclaimed, almost weeping with delight. "Little I thought ever to set eyes upon thy face again. We had given thee up for dead long since, and now here thou art, all alive and singing like a cricket in a meal pot! Musa will rejoice to see thee, and so will the others."
"Are they in this town then?" I asked, rubbing the hand that he had pressed in the exuberance of his affection.
"That they are," he replied, "and here is my friend Mahámadu Dam-Bornu, who has travelled with us from Kantámpo. Mahámadu, this is that Yúsufu of whom we have told thee, who has come back to us from the land of the dead."
"They do not appear to spend much on clothing in that country," remarked Mahámadu with a grin, "nor on food either, for that matter."
"No, indeed," agreed Abduláhi; "thou lookest but poorly in body and in pocket. But that matters little, for Musa hath all the gold that thou didst leave behind as well as thy good clothes and the money that we owe thee."
I was sorry that he had mentioned this matter publicly, for the musicians, who had pressed forward to listen, pricked up their ears mightily at his words, and I caught a greedy glitter in the eyes of my friend Ali.
"Come with me now to our house that our brethren may see thee," said Abduláhi, and taking me by the hand, he marched off, leaving Dam-Bornu and my companions to follow with the gratified Aminé.
He led me to a large, prosperous-looking house in the Mahommedan quarter, and entering a gateway, we found ourselves in a wide compound where numerous packages of merchandise were piled under a thatched shed. Through an open doorway I had a view of Musa, Dambiri, and several other of my friends, seated upon a handsome rug, holding an animated discussion. They uttered a shout of surprise when they saw me, and leaping to their feet ran forward to greet me.
"Now God be praised," exclaimed Musa, holding both my hands, "that thou art delivered from the hand of the heathen. We had thought thee dead long since, and have spoken of thee as one cut off from the land of the living. But God is merciful and wise, and thou hast come back to us."
"I thank God truly that thou hast come back to us," said Alhassan, "for it was I that showed thee the accursed pool. Often in my dreams have I seen the horned devil devouring thee, but now I trust I shall see him no more."
"Thou wilt come and stay with us, Yúsufu," said Musa; "there is room to spare in this house. But who are these minstrels and the young woman who have come with thee?"
"We," said Ali, coming forward with a greasy smile, "are the friends of Yúsufu, who have stood by him in the hour of adversity, and whom I know he will not despise in his prosperity."
"Assuredly," said I, "my good fortune shall benefit you as well as me, but go now, for I have to speak to my friends of matters which concern them alone."
"Very well," replied Ali. "We will see thee to-morrow. Come, Aminé."
"I stay with my husband," said Aminé haughtily, taking hold of my hand.
"Yes; she will stay with me," I said. "Sei gobé" (au revoir), and the three minstrels, returning my adieu, swaggered out of the compound.
"Thou hast better taste in women than in men," said Musa drily, as he gazed at Aminé, who wriggled shyly at the implied compliment.
"Yes, truly, those minstrels seem but sorry knaves," agreed Dan-jiwa. "Where didst thou pick them up?"
"Thou shalt tell us all thy adventures to-night," said Musa. "Now we must go and look at the market, but first let me give thee back thy goods and pay our debt to thee."
He fetched from his own chamber a bundle securely sewn up, which he proceeded to rip open before me.
"Here are thy clothes," he said, "and thy purse with the gold coins in it. Here is the strange gold laiya" (he meant my watch), "and the laiya of leather, and the other things that we found when thou left us. Also I have put in this little bag the gold dust that we owe thee—for we sold all the guru quickly at Kantámpo, and are even now going to Bontúku to trade with the profits before we set out for our country. See that all is right; thy spear standeth there in the corner."
I checked the articles and handed the more bulky ones over to Aminé (who was all agog to see me put on the fine clothes), thanking Musa most warmly for his scrupulous care and conscientiousness.
"It is nothing," he replied. "If thou hadst not come back we should have divided thy goods amongst us when we got back to Kano. But we like it better to give thee back thine own. Now, come and I will show thee thy room."
He led the way across the compound to an unoccupied room or hut, which he assigned to my use, and here Aminé deposited my property.
"Now go in and put on thy fine clothes," said Dan-jiwa, who had followed us, "for thy wife longeth to see thee fitly dressed, as, indeed, do I also."
I retired and rapidly made the change, while Aminé remained outside babbling ingenuously to the amiable giant. When I came out resplendent in riga saki, embroidered wondo, in turban and face cloth, and yellow slippers, the former gave a shriek of delight and clapped her hands.
"Now thou hast a fine husband, Aminé," said Dan-jiwa, laughing. "I see thou hast put on thy laiya," he added, taking in his hand the leather-cased amulet that Pereira had included in my outfit. "We have often wondered about the writing on the back of it, which seems not to be Arabic, for even Musa could not read it. Dost thou know what it is?"
I turned the laiya over and looked at the back, and there, as Dan-jiwa had said, was an inscription, done with a lead pencil, and so inconspicuous on the black leather that it had escaped my notice. It was a good deal rubbed, but I made out without difficulty the words, "Open this case when you are alone."
"It is certainly not Arabic," said I. "Perhaps some Christian has written upon it. It was given to me in one of the towns where there are Christian merchants."
"No doubt that is so," rejoined Abduláhi, and the subject dropped.
It will readily be understood that I was now consumed with impatience to be alone that I might probe the mystery of this leather case, but Abduláhi stuck to me like a leech, and I had no heart to shake the affectionate fellow off. Then it was necessary that Aminé, who had shared so cheerfully my poverty and hardship, should be made to partake of my good fortune, so I invited the pair to come with me and look at the market.
There was not so fine a display as at Táari, but I managed to buy Aminé a fine new túrkedi, a silken zenné, or veil, a handsome pair of sandals, and a coral necklace, and with these purchases she tripped homeward, chattering with joy. Abduláhi I presented with a pair of finely-worked slippers, and for myself, I bought of the sandal-maker some of the slender thongs with which leather is sewn, and at another booth a few large-eyed needles.
Having diplomatically sent Aminé and Abduláhi home with their presents, I made my escape from the market and hurried out into the country.
It was near noon, and there were few people stirring on the road, which was moreover but a bypath leading to a neighbouring village, so that I was no sooner fairly out of the town than I found myself in complete solitude. I looked before and behind, and seeing that no living being was in sight, I drew out my knife with a trembling hand and slipped the cord of the laiya from around my neck. It was sewn, as was usual, with fine thongs of skin, but the stitching had evidently been renewed, and that by a hand less skilful than that of the Hausa leather-worker. With the point of my knife I cut through one stitch after, another until three sides were unfastened and I could lay the case open. As I did so, a mass of wadding fell out, in which was a small paper packet which I opened with feverish haste. Inside it was a plain gold locket, and on the paper was written in Isabel's handwriting:—"May God bless you and keep you and bring you safely through all your perils. Think sometimes of us, who have you constantly in our thoughts."
The flutter of anticipation with which I unfastened the clasp of the locket merged into a thrill of intense emotion as my eyes fell upon its contents. From one side of it looked out the old-world cavalier-like visage of Pereira; from the other the calm and lovely face of Isabel.
I cannot describe the feelings which surged through me as I gazed at those beautiful and beloved features. For months—long months filled with peril and suffering that made them seem like years—I had not looked upon the face of a European; I had not even seen my own face since the day on which I fled from Annan. Gradually my standard of human beauty had become accommodated to my surroundings, until Aminé—by far the handsomest African woman I had ever seen—had come to represent a quite satisfying type of feminine comeliness. And now this vision of beauty burst upon me, dispelling in a moment the bias of recent experience, and I stood, in my turban and riga, the same Richard Englefield who had looked upon the setting sun as it sank in a crimson glow behind the palms of Jella Koffi.
I sat down upon the spreading roots of a baobab that stood by the wayside with its squat colossal trunk, like some weird Hamadryad, grown elderly and stout, and with the open locket in my hand, fell into a brown study. Straightway the present vanished and was forgotten. The bare and dismal orchard land with its meandering trail; the vultures wheeling in the blue, the stealthy antelope, the brown baboons, watchful and inquisitive, and the hollow-voiced secret cuckoo: all faded out of my consciousness, and I looked upon a flat sea-shore where the surf fretted upon shining, pearl-tinted sands; I heard the ripple of girlish laughter mingle with the murmur of the sea; I felt again that gracious presence that had stolen into my lonely life and filled it with beauty and romance. Often in the strenuous, eventful life of the last few months had my thoughts turned to that quiet house by the lagoon, that held all that I really loved in the world; but I had rarely been alone, and my harassing circumstances had left me little opportunity for reflection, so that this vivid message, coming as it were direct from another world, gave substance and reality to what had begun to appear but a dream.
"Here he is! I have found him! What? Art thou meditating and seeing visions again?"
It was the voice of Aminé, and it jarred on me like the jangling of discordant bells. Back in an instant I was dragged from my reverie of peace and love into this hurly-burly of savagery, with its sordid unrestfulness; back from the sweet domestic calm to the clamour of barbarism. I hastily closed the locket and secreted it, and dropping the open leather case through the neck hole of my riga, stood up.
"We heard thou hadst taken this road," said Dan-jiwa, who had accompanied Aminé as bodyguard, "and so came to meet thee. Musa is roasting a sheep that we may rejoice at thy return."
I turned and sauntered regretfully towards the town, still thoughtful and abstracted; but as we entered the street Aminé stole up and shyly took my hand.
"Thou hast not looked at my new túrkedi or my zenné," she said plaintively.
I stopped, deeply ashamed of my unsympathetic egotism, and looked at the girl.
She was indeed transformed. In her dark blue túrkedi with the darker blue silken zenné dropped hoodwise over her head, the scarlet beads upon her shapely neck, and the dark line drawn under her eye-lashes with the stibium-rod, she made a most striking figure, and might have been some princess of the house of Judah. It was not the most auspicious moment to have chosen in which to bespeak my admiration, but I told her that she looked fit to be the wife of the Sultan of Sokoto, and this seemed to give her pleasure.
"I want no Sultan for my husband, if I have thee," she said simply, at which Dan-jiwa patted her on the shoulder approvingly, saying—
"Thou art right, Aminé, and art a wise girl not to leave it to other women to find out thy husband's merits."
The feast given that evening by Musa was a magnificent affair, for the well-stocked market of Banda had been ransacked for dainties, and the cooking operations had been on a portentous scale. It was my friends' last evening at Banda, and they intended that it should be a memorable one. Accordingly the feasting commenced early and went on until the town was wrapped in silence, and even then was only brought to a close by the extermination of everything eatable. Yet it was not a scene of gluttony, for as soon as the edge was worn off the appetites of the revellers, conversation and anecdote took the place of steady eating, and very soon a demand was made for an account of my adventures; to which I responded with perfect frankness, giving a true and detailed account of all that had befallen me, excepting the incident of the treasure. I had for a moment thought of confiding this secret to them also, and of engaging them to help me to remove the gold, but on reflection I resolved to speak of the matter to no one until I had consulted Pereira, with whose aid I had no doubt I could organise an expedition for lifting the treasure with safety and certainty.
When we were about to separate for the night I took out my purse, and setting on the mat five sovereigns, pushed them towards Musa.
"At daybreak to-morrow," I said, "you all depart for Bontúku. Before we part, I wish to give you a little present that you may buy something to take back to your country."
"Nay," replied Musa, pushing the coins back, "put up thy money. Thou wilt want all that thou hast on thy journey."
"Not so," I rejoined. "I have enough for my needs, and it will be a pleasure to me, if it please God that we meet no more, to think that my friends have taken with them to their country some little thing, which when they look on will bid them think of their old comrade, Yúsufu Dan-gadesh."
"It shall be as thou sayest, and we thank thee, my son," said Musa, taking up the coins; "but it needs not thy gifts to make us remember thee, and we shall at least all meet again where there is no buying and selling nor long journeys, nor weariness of the feet nor hunger and thirst."
At daybreak Musa and his people were up and ready to start. Aminé and I walked with them for half a mile along the Bontúku road, and we then took leave of them with many expressions of affection and goodwill on both sides.
"God be with thee, my son," said Musa, "and may we meet again soon. One thing I would counsel thee, and that is that thou walkest no more with those vagabond minstrels. Either go thy way alone, or wait until some men of reputation will journey with thee."
"I will remember thy words, my father," I replied, and pressing his hand once more I turned back. I was strongly disposed to abide by the old man's advice and cut myself adrift from the good-for-nothing musicians, and had, indeed, almost made up my mind when, on reaching our house, I found them waiting at the gate.
"Thou hast not gone with thy friends, then," said Ali, with evident relief at seeing me.
"No. I think of remaining at Banda for a while," I replied.
Ali's face fell. "That is a pity," said he, "for we had intended to start at once for Ogúa. Osman knoweth the way well, and he sayeth he can take us thither in eighteen or twenty days."
My heart gave a bound. Eighteen or twenty days! In three weeks I might, with reasonable good fortune, be on board ship, or even at Quittah. The thought was intoxicating.
"To speak the truth," I said, "I like not the way in which thou and thy brethren pilfer from the country people."
"We will do so no more," replied Ali persuasively. "We are not now so poor, for we have earned a little here, and thou hast enough for thyself. If we promise to steal from no one wilt thou come with us?"
It was a great temptation.
If I went with them I should be in Cape Coast in three weeks, with all my troubles and hardships behind me, whereas if I waited at Banda it might be weeks before I met with any travellers bound thither, for I had learned that most of the European trade was conducted not with Cape Coast but with Kinjabo (Grand Bassam).
I pondered for a minute, while Ali softly thrummed upon the balafu, and at length succumbed to the temptation.
"Very well," I said. "I have thy promise to pilfer no more. Wait here while I put my things together, and we will start."
It was a fateful resolution.
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