Like my uncle Dr. Barth in Sarayamo, I now found myself looked upon as the bringer of storms. He had also been looked upon as a marabout saint, and the _Fatiha_ had been recited to him in the hope that he would open the floodgates of heaven. We, Kaffirs though we were, would soon in our turn be entreated to remove our interdict on the rain so much needed. _May 7._—Tierno, after many a discussion, has at last succeeded in getting us a courier in the person of an ivory merchant from Hombori. He will take our letters for Bandiagara, an advanced French post of Massina. Aguibu, king of Massina, and under our protection, had sent an agent to Hombori, which is on the road there. Our man would go for 200 francs, 100 payable at Bandiagara and 100 on his return to us. All, therefore, was for some days excitement and bustle in our camp. Maps, reports, letters were being rapidly got ready, and nobody had a moment to spare. Our courier, who did not seem to feel quite sure of his safety, sent to ask whether during his absence his family could go to our friend Galadio, who would protect them. We said yes, of course. He returned a month later, and said he had not been able to get to Bandiagara. The Habés, who had risen in revolt, had robbed him near the village of Dé. He had only escaped with the greatest difficulty under cover of a tornado, leaving his packet of letters in the hands of our enemies. We think he romanced a good deal on the subject, and I fancy that a good search in Amadu Saturu’s camp would probably result in the discovery of our packet intact, except for being perhaps gnawed by termites. I had some little doubt on the subject, however, and it is thanks to that doubt that the courier still has his head on his shoulders. I never saw him again. _May 13._—Great news! We are told by Osman that there are some white men on the Dori side of the river, but no one knows exactly how many. Barges full of white men are floating down-stream; they are now off Ansongo. There is talk of three iron boats like ours; those in them are all for peace, nothing but peace. _May 16._—Who is our friend Pullo bringing us this morning? Who is that man with him who looks like a Tuareg, dressed in blue Guinea cloth, with a _grisgris_ on his head and a spear and javelin in his hand? He is a Fulah, the foster-brother of Madidu, with his pockets full of news. Twenty days ago he said he had left his “big brother” to come to Say and sell four oxen for some of the cloth of the district. One of these oxen had died, another had been stolen. What a good opportunity to ask us to give him a _bubu_ to make up for his losses. Madidu had not known that we were still at Say. Had he done so he would certainly have sent messengers, perhaps even have come himself. He or Djamarata would have visited us, for they had gone down the river as far as Ayoru to chastise Yoba for some want of respect to us, but I am sure I don’t know what.