“He succeeded in regaining the coast and returned to London, bringing
with him the captain’s papers, and an exact narrative of his own
journey. He then offered his services to the government to complete the
reconnoissance of the Niger. He took with him his brother John, the
second child of a poor couple in Cornwall, and, together, these men,
between 1829 and 1831, redescended the river from Boussa to its mouth,
describing it village by village, mile by mile.”
“So both the brothers escaped the common fate?” queried Kennedy.
“Yes, on this expedition, at least; but in 1833 Richard undertook a
third trip to the Niger, and perished by a bullet, near the mouth of
the river. You see, then, my friends, that the country over which we
are now passing has witnessed some noble instances of self-sacrifice
which, unfortunately, have only too often had death for their reward.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINTH.
The Country in the Elbow of the Niger.—A Fantastic View of the Hombori
Mountains.—Kabra.—Timbuctoo.—The Chart of Dr. Barth.—A Decaying
City.—Whither Heaven wills.
During this dull Monday, Dr. Ferguson diverted his thoughts by giving
his companions a thousand details concerning the country they were
crossing. The surface, which was quite flat, offered no impediment to
their progress. The doctor’s sole anxiety arose from the obstinate
northeast wind which continued to blow furiously, and bore them away
from the latitude of Timbuctoo.
The Niger, after running northward as far as that city, sweeps around,
like an immense water-jet from some fountain, and falls into the
Atlantic in a broad sheaf. In the elbow thus formed the country is of
varied character, sometimes luxuriantly fertile, and sometimes
extremely bare; fields of maize succeeded by wide spaces covered with
broom-corn and uncultivated plains. All kinds of aquatic
birds—pelicans, wild-duck, kingfishers, and the rest—were seen in
numerous flocks hovering about the borders of the pools and torrents.
From time to time there appeared an encampment of Touaregs, the men
sheltered under their leather tents, while their women were busied with
the domestic toil outside, milking their camels and smoking their
huge-bowled pipes.
By eight o’clock in the evening the _Victoria_ had advanced more than
two hundred miles to the westward, and our aëronauts became the
spectators of a magnificent scene.
A mass of moonbeams forcing their way through an opening in the clouds,
and gliding between the long lines of falling rain, descended in a
golden shower on the ridges of the Hombori Mountains. Nothing could be
more weird than the appearance of these seemingly basaltic summits;
they stood out in fantastic profile against the sombre sky, and the
beholder might have fancied them to be the legendary ruins of some vast
city of the middle ages, such as the icebergs of the polar seas
sometimes mimic them in nights of gloom.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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