All these warriors are fond of fighting and going on slave raids, for the glory of the Prophet, but they take very good care of their own skins. We wondered if the Toucouleurs who remained faithful to Amadu would become cowards like his own people through contact with them. Our experiences made us think that we were indeed far from the heroic days, when the Senegalese Foutankés, in the battle of Kale, charged a column on the march to rescue the wives of Ahmadu who had been taken prisoners, stopping suddenly beneath a hail of bullets from the French sharp-shooters to prostrate themselves, and make a propitiatory salaam. Having through fear abandoned the idea of attacking us at Fort Archinard, the column wandered in the rain from village to village, and was received everywhere with apparent friendship by the terrified inhabitants, so that all the fire ended in smoke, though no one seemed to know exactly why. [Illustration: LAUNCHING OF THE ‘AUBE’ AT SAY.] The check the Toucouleurs had received made it possible for some of the chiefs to show us sympathy, whether feigned or real it was impossible to tell. Amongst these was Hamma Tansa, chief of the Sillabés, who was rather an original character for a native. He was something of an epicure, what we should call a jolly good fellow, but charitable to others. He kept open house, or rather hut, and always had a lot of friends about him, whom he treated to everything. When he was informed that the meal was served, he used to jump up, flap his white _bubu_ as he would wings, and shout, “Let’s fall to!” He was literary too, and the missives he sent us, written on little plaques of wood, were, in accordance with Arab usage, very polite, and sometimes even in verse. He said he meant to pay us a visit, was most anxious to do so in fact, but somehow he never fulfilled his promise: either he had not time, or he was afraid of Amadu, or something else. One fine day our old friend Hugo appeared again, sent to us by the chief of the Kurteyes, and who, thanks to Taburet’s skill, had now quite recovered from the affection of the eyes from which he had been suffering. He sent us a message to the effect that, as long as the river was low, he and his people were afraid of the Toucouleurs; “but wait,” he added, “till it rises, for then the Kurteyes are the kings of the Niger; no one can get at us, and we shall be able to shake hands with you.” The most devoted and zealous of all our friends, however, was Galadio, and there was a perpetual going and coming between his village and our camp. Marabouts, griots, traders, etc., were constantly arriving, telling us, “I am from Galadio’s village,” and we received them, from motives of policy, with open arms, buying from them rather than from others, giving them presents, and plenty of kind words. They all sang the praises of their master, and he really did show himself to us in a very amiable light. He was perhaps if anything rather too gushing.