At ten o’clock we were overtaken by a tornado. We were back again in the winter in fact, and every night there was a storm, or at least a downpour of rain. On the 29th we continued our forced march, passing several fine villages surrounded by _tatas_. Kundji seemed a very big, strong place. At about eleven o’clock we passed three rocks which probably form part of a bar across the river when the water is low, marking the beginning of the difficult and broken course below. At four o’clock we anchored opposite Tchakatchi, on an island at the foot of a group of magnificent baobabs. At the end of this island is a great mass of flint, and the banks were strewn with the big rocks of polished granite we knew so well. We were back again amongst the rapids, and had once more to encounter difficulties such as we had conquered at Ayoru and Kendadji. The whole village turned out to see us, and the chief himself offered to act as pilot. I accepted his suggestion, for our old Amadu had rather exaggerated his hydrographical knowledge. The only garment of most of the men of the village was a little leather apron worn behind, but some few wore drawers made of blue Haussa cotton. The faces of the women were scarred in the same way as those of their sisters of Kebbi, and they wore as ornaments in the lobes of the ear, little pieces of white stick about a quarter of an inch in diameter by seven inches long. At seven o’clock the next day we started, preceded by the chief of Tchakatchi, who steered a tiny little canoe with a paddle curiously shaped and carved. The river was very much what we had expected it would be the evening before, the rocks forming a regular archipelago of islets, whilst rapids were also numerous. Fortunately this state of things did not last long, and presently we came to an almost calm reach, which brought us to Gilua, the capital of Yauri, where we noted one very large hut, the residence of the chief of the village. I was in despair at having to travel like a bale of goods, without being able to have any intercourse with the people whose country we were passing through. But what could we do? Since we left Say we had had no power to treat with the natives, our interpreters were scarcely any good, whilst before us we had two great obstacles, Bussa and the English. According to the most recent information collected, it was at Gilua and not at Bussa that Mungo Park died. Here then we had reached the limit of the path he trod one hundred years ago, and I remembered what Davoust had said to me: “Mungo Park has become immortal through merely having tried to do what we shall now endeavour to accomplish.” I confess in all humility that since my return to France I have had to change my opinion on that point.