by Jules Verne
On the 3rd March, nothing special occurred, but on the 4th the explorers had to mourn another casualty. Towards evening, Barsac's horse died just like that of Amedee Florence. This was beginning to look ominous.
After examining the dead animal, Dr. Chatonnay took the first opportunity of speaking confidentially to Amedee Florence: "I waited till I could be alone with you, Monsieur Florence, to warn you of something serious."
"What's up?" asked Florence surprised.
"Those two horses have been poisoned."
"Impossible!" the reporter cried. "Who would poison them? The blacks we engaged at Kadou? They've no reason to make things difficult for us. On the contrary."
"I'm not accusing anyone," the doctor insisted. "But I stick to my guns. The first death roused my suspicions, and now I'm certain. The signs are unmistakable, and even an ignoramus could not overlook them.
"Well, what's your advice, Doctor?"
"About what?"
"About what we ought to do."
"I don't know any more than you do. My task is to warn you, and if I've done this so confidentially, it's only so that you can pass the word on to the others unknown to Mile Blazon, for there's no need to alarm her."
"Quite right," Florence agreed. "But tell me, Doctor, do we have to bring malevolence into these two accidents? Mightn't our horses have eaten some poisonous plant along with their provender?"
"That's barely possible, certainly," said the doctor. "It remains to be known whether a poisonous plant got into their food by accident or whether that accident had a human name. On this I know no more than you."
The five remaining horses had to be watched more strictly than ever, to prevent a similar calamity. Someone always kept near them during the halts, so that nobody could approach them without being seen. Whether it was through these precautions, or simply because the two deaths had been accidental, nothing further occurred on the next two days, and the travellers gradually became reassured.
So far these losses had formed the only adverse incident. The country being flat they travelled without fatigue, as fast as the porters could go, and they could still get food quite easily at the villages, so that their supply of four days' provisions remained intact.
However, when the afternoon of the 5th and the morning of the 6th had elapsed without their having seen even one village, they had to break into their reserve. This did not disquiet them, for Tongane was confident that soon they would come to a settlement large enough to supply them with food.
They arrived late on 6th of March at that town, which was called Yaho, but Tangane's promise was not fulfilled. As soon as they neared the tata, howls and even a few discharges of flintlocks were heard from its crest, where a crowd of Negroes jostled. Apart from the demonstrations at Kokoro, this was the first time they had received such a welcome since they left Konakry. Still, at Kokoro they had been able to turn the warlike reception into more friendly feelings, but at Yaho they could not even attempt this.
In vain Barsac tried to think out some way of getting into touch with the inhabitants; the methods failed one after the other. In vain was a white flag displayed on the end of a stick. This emblem, whose peaceful meaning is known the world over, provoked a stonn of howls, accompanied by a shower of musket balls which would have been fatal to the flag bearer if he had not been prudent enough to keep at a distance.
Tongane, then two of the porters, were sent as envoys. The people refused to listen, and replied only by a volley of projectiles, rendered inoffensive solely by their clumsy aim. Clearly the population for some reason or other meant to have nothing to do with strangers, and wouldn't even listen to them. The attempt had to be given up.
None the less, these inhospitable fellows confined themselves to guarding the tata and delivered no direct act of aggression.
Whatever the reason for their attitude, the travellers could not buy food there as they had hoped; on the next day, the 7th of March, they had set off with only two days' supply. Yet there was nothing else to disquiet them. They had got over two hundred miles from Kadou, about half the total journey, and had reason to suppose that other villages would be more friendly.
The question could not be settled during the journey of 7th March; this was good as regards distance covered, but now a further mishap occurred. A third horse died, just like the two others.
"Has somebody succeeded in poisoning our animals," Florence asked Dr. Chatonnay, "in spite of the look out we've kept?"
"That's not very likely," the doctor replied. "The poison must have been administered before we left Kadou, maybe on the very day our escort deserted. True, our horses have died in succession and not all at once, but that may be due to differences of their individual resistance, and no doubt to differences in the doses, too."
"And now," said Amedee Florence, "here we are three pedestrians against four horsemen. That's not so very funny!"
On the 8th, it was not without disquiet that they took to the road: the future was beginning to look black. They could not deny that the adverse power they hoped to have escaped had taken the precaution of poisoning their horses. This suggested a persistent hatred as alarming as it was inexplicable, and every moment they expected to see the surviving animals fall. Moreover, they had only one day's supply of food, and they would soon be suffering from hunger unless they reached another village before sunset.
But they had not to wait so long. Hardly had the first hour of their march elapsed when a group of huts appeared on the skyline.
The travellers stopped a few moments, trying to foresee what sort of welcome awaited them. In the vast plain stretching before their eyes there was nothing to give them any information. So far as they could judge, the village seemed dead and the land deserted. All they could see was the dense carpet of the bush and the groove made by the road; on this they noticed, here and there, dark stains whose nature they could not recognize.
After a short pause, Barsac and his companions continued their march towards the village. They had gone only half a mile when a nauseating smell gripped them by the throat. A few paces further, and they came up to one of the dark stains which they had seen in the distance. They recoiled. It was the decaying corpse of a Negro. Right up to the village the road was marked with such bodies, they could count ten of these grim waymarks.
"Look how small a hole that projectile made when it hit the man," said Dr. Chatonnay to Amedee Florence, after examining one of the bodies, "but how large the opening is where it came out. Others have struck a bone, and you can imagine the frightful damage they did. These men were killed by explosive bullets."
"Again!" cried Amedee Florence.
"Again."
"Like that old Negro whom we tended during our first march with the new escort?"
"Like him," Dr. Chatonnay replied.
Florence and the doctor rejoined their companions in silence. They were thoughtful, wondering what to infer from this inexplicable repetition of something abnormal enough in itself.
In the village the sight was more frightful still. Numerous signs indicated that it had been the scene of a furious struggle. Moreover, after the fight the victors had burned it down. In the huts which remained were more of the corpses.
"These wretches perished at least ten days ago," said Dr. Chatonnay, "and like the others they were killed by explosive bullets."
"But who could these wretches be who inflicted this slaughter?" cried St. Berain.
"Perhaps," suggested Amed6e Florence, "the people whose tracks we saw a few days ago. We reckoned they were about ten days ahead of us. That would agree with the time the doctor mentioned."
"We can't doubt that it was them," said Barsac indignantly.
"And it was to them," added Amedee Florence, "that we owe our brusque welcome at Yaho, they must have tried to treat it as they did this. But Yaho is surrounded by a tata, so they couldn't get in. That explains why the Negroes are frightened and are keeping on the defensive."
"That sounds reasonable," Dr
. Chatonnay agreed.
"But who can these wretches be?" asked Jane Blazon, "and mayn't having them near be a danger to us?"
"I don't know who they may be," replied Amedee Florence, "but I don't think we need be afraid of its having anything to do with us. Everything seems to show that they're ten to twelve days ahead, and as they're mounted, it's unlikely we shall ever catch up with them."
They passed through the burnt village without finding any living thing. If all its inhabitants had not been slain by the bullets they had fled, leaving it completely deserted. Moreover, it had been pillaged from end to end. Everything the fire had not consumed had been scattered to the four winds. The same spectacle all around, in the ravaged and devastated lougans. The spoliation was obviously deliberate.
They were a prey to the saddest thoughts as they left the unfortunate village. That evening they halted in the open. They had food only for one meal. They divided it into halves, part to be eaten at once and the rest to be kept for the morning.
On the 9th March they passed two villages. They could not get near the first, as it was protected by a small tata, and here they got much the same welcome as at Yaho. The second, which had no fortification, had again been destroyed, pillaged, burned, and bereft of its inhabitants.
"Really one would think," said Barsac, "that they were going out of their way to make a desert before us."
This seemed reasonable. If anyone had wanted to starve the travellers out, they would not have acted otherwise.
"Bah!" said Amedee Florence, deliberately cheerful, "We'll get through this desert in spite of them. It's only about a hundred miles to Koubo. After all, we shan't have to drink the sea! As the butchers and the grocers are on strike, our hunters will provide us with beefsteaks."
Except for M. Poncin, who was quite incapable of handling a gun, they all followed this excellent advice. Unfortunately the tall grass kept them from seeing far, and the country was not at all rich in game. All that day they bagged nothing but a bustard, two guinea fowl, and two partridges. To feed fourteen people, that was the bare minimum.
After the evening march, Amedee Florence and Dr. Chatonnay realized for the second time that their halting place had also been visited by others. The grass looked as if it had been trodden down more recently, as if there were a smaller distance between the two parties.
While they were discussing this, Tongane, who was looking after the horses, suddenly called them. Two of the animals had just fallen, like the others. Like these, too, nothing could be done to relieve their sufferings, and within an hour they were dead.
Two horses still remained, but not for long, for on the 10th March they too died.
Were the porters frightened by this series of deaths? More possibly, as that day the hunting had yielded only derisory results, were they afraid of starving? Whatever the reason, they vanished during the night, so on the 11th the six Europeans, Tongane, and Malik found themselves without porters, without horses, and without food.
Then came a moment of natural discouragement, amply explained by their physical weakness. Saddest of all was Jane Blazon, who, feeling responsible for their misfortunes, reproached herself for having dragged her companions into this wretched predicament. She accused herself and besought their pardon.
Amedee Florence realized how needful it was to combat the general depression.
"There's no use talking like that," he told her, in tones of affectionate brutahty. "We're not dead yet! If the hunting hasn't been good so far, what about it? It'll be better tomorrow, that's all."
"Don't forget," said Dr. Chatonnay, coming to the reporter's help, "that when they forsook us, our Negroes have relieved us from their six stomachs."
"It's all for the best," concluded Florence. "If they hadn't gone, I'd have suggested sending them back to their loving families. I reckon that as things are, nothing could be better."
"Thank you, Monsieur Florence, and you, too, gentlemen," replied Jane Blazon, deeply moved. "You may be sure I shall never forget your kindness nor your devotion."
"No more sentiment," Florence interrupted her. "Nothing is worse for breakfast. If youll take my advice we'll get on with our hunting, and then we can eat until we've got stomach ache!"
Unable to transport the baggage without the porters, they had to abandon the last of the tents and the trade goods. Unless they could find shelter in one of the abandoned villages, Jane Blazon would henceforth have to sleep in the open air. The loss of the merchandise did not distress them much. What good would it be now the country was deserted and trade impossible? Besides, if circumstances should change, hadn't they got some gold money?
On the 12th March they traversed another village, where they found nothing but a number of dead Negroes. The doctor pointed out that they had died quite recently, about two days or so earlier. Were they to infer that the murderous band was nearer, and might they expect to run into them at any moment?
In spite of this not very reassuring prospect, they pushed on northwards. What else could they do, anyhow? To return southwards, along a road marked out by villages hostile or destroyed, would be impossible. Better, at all costs, to reach the Niger, for there alone could they expect help.
It was so all along their route. Not a village which was not hostile, when a tata protected it, or, failing this, which was not pillaged, burned, devastated. Nowhere could the travellers buy food, and they existed only on chance finds: iguanas, roots unearthed in a pillaged Jougan, lucky shots, or, sometimes, some unfortunate fish taken by St. Berain.
This last resort, however, was seldom possible: they were now traversing country where water courses were rare. More than once they had to suffer thirst, all the wells which they came across having been filled in. The malevolent power which strove to overwhelm them had left nothing to chance.
Yet their spirit was unbroken. Scorched by the fiery sun, dragging themselves painfully along when game was scarce, limiting their marches by their growing weakness, they still pressed on doggedly northwards, day by day, step by step, in spite of fatigue, in spite of hunger, in spite of thirst.
The two blacks faced these trials with marvellous indifference. Accustomed to privations, accustomed to poverty, they may have suffered less than their masters. They both displayed the most touching devotion.
"Me, not have much hunger," Tongane tried to persuade Malik to take an edible root he had found.
Malik accepted, only to offer the gift to Jane Blazon, who hastened to add it to the reserve which would provide the next meal for them all.
Thus each did his duty, according to his personal temperament.
Barsac's weakness was to get angry. He hardly ever spoke, and if sometimes a word escaped his lips it was mostly addressed to the French Government whose ineptitude had placed him, Barsac, in such a predicament. He could already see himself at the tribune of the Chamber, and meantime he had prepared his thunderbolts which he meant to hurl, like Jupiter, from the height of that Parliamentary Olympus.
Dr. Chatonnay similarly spoke little, but though unskilled at hunting, he was none the less useful. He searched for edible plants, and found them fairly often; and, anxious above all to keep up at least an air of cheerfulness, he never failed to laugh, with his usual sound like escaping steam, at the slightest word of Amedee Florence.
"What a pity," the latter told him, "that all you've got is a gas leak. You haven't got a motor on you, I suppose? That would do our job for us."
At this the worthy doctor laughed once more, on principle.
M. Poncin spoke still less, because he never opened his mouth. He did not hunt, he did not fish; but on the other hand he did not complain. He did nothing, this M. Poncin, except to write now and then in his mysterious notebook; this always intrigued Amed6e Florence greatly.
St. Berain behaved as usual, neither more nor less cheerful than when they had set out. Perhaps he did not realize where he was, and was so absentminded he did not even know when he was hungry.
To judge by appearan
ces, Jane Blazon was supporting less philosophically the hardships with which fate had smitten them, and yet these had nothing to do with her increasing sadness. Never having expected to accomplish the journey without hardship, she took with a steadfast heart the obstacles she met with. Thin, weakened by privations and endless sufferings, her energy at least remained intact, and her thoughts were still directed towards her goal.
But the nearer she approached this, the more her misgivings and anguish increased without her being able to prevent it. What response would she get from the sepulchre at Koubo? What would she learn from the enquiry she was about to begin, centred at the place where her brother fell? Would she learn anything or would she have to return with empty hands? Such questions, every day more imperious and more absorbing, wore her down.
Amedee Florence could not help noticing her sadness, and he did his best to overcome it. He was indeed the spirit of that little world, and the worse trials did not affect his unquenchable cheerfulness. He explained that they ought to thank Heaven for its fatherly beneficence, as no other mode of life would conform better to the rules of hygiene. Whatever happened, he welcomed it. Were they thirsty? Nothing was better for his impending dilation of the stomach. Were they hungry? Nothing was better for warding off the artiiritis which he dreaded. Were they worn out with fatigue? In his opinion they had never slept better. And he appealed to Dr. Chatonnay, who always agreed with him, admiring the good fellow's courage and energy.
His good qualities were the greater because he felt not only the trials common to all but a further uneasiness unsuspected by his white companions. This began on the 12th of March, when, for the first time they traversed a village whose destruction seemed to have taken place only the day before. Thenceforward he felt the firm conviction that they were being watched, trailed, spied on. Yes, spies were keeping watch in the bush, he was sure of that, escorting the despairing Mission step by step, observing its distress, ready no doubt to bring to nothing the efforts of these inland castaways at the very moment when they hoped for safety.
His eye and ear continually alert, he observed much to confirm his suspicions: in the daytime, fresh traces of recent encampments, explosions only just audible, the distant galloping of horses: during the night, mutterings, rustlings, and, now and then, the movement of a dim shadow in the gloom. Keeping his observations, his reflections, and his fears from his companions so as not to increase their anxiety, he enjoined silence on Tongane who shared his suspicions. Until the reporter felt it advisable to take his friends into his confidence, they contented themselves with keeping a sharp lookout.
