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Full Chapter Imaginez 4Th Edition Severine Champeny PDF
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Champeny
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Our visitors were really many of them very fine-looking fellows in
their long Tuareg bubus or mantles, with the red pocket on the
breast. Their naturally picturesque attitudes lent them a really regal
appearance, and they might very well have passed for proud, highly-
born nobles, when, leaning on their spears, they looked about them,
their great black eyes gleaming from the voluminous folds of their
veils. But when the distribution of presents began the glamour
disappeared, the haughty noble was gone, to be replaced by a
greedy, rapacious savage, until, his big pocket as full as it would
hold, he resumed his disdainful attitude.
We started very early the next morning, but our guide got
confused, and did not know the way to Gungi. Some men in a canoe,
however, directed us, and we had to go up-stream again beyond
Agata, and get into another arm which we had passed on the left.
We then, though not without some difficulty, succeeded in reaching
the village, passing several artificial dykes, beyond which stretched
rice-fields now inundated. Gunga, a wretched little place, is peopled
by slaves taken in war by the sheriffs of Agata. Mohamed’s rice was
handed over to us, but it was all still in the husk, and it would take us
the whole of the next day to get it shelled.
During the night a Kel es Suk arrived, who, in a very important
manner, informed me that he had very serious news to
communicate. The whole of the tribes of the Sahara, he said, had
combined against the French, and were advancing upon Timbuktu.
Awellimiden, Hoggars and all the rest of them were up, and Madidu
himself was at Bamba at the head of his column. This was really too
big an invention, and the narrator overreached himself by going so
far. Without losing my sang-froid for a moment, I thanked my
informant, Father Hacquart acting as interpreter, for my visitor spoke
Arabic well, and begged him to take my best compliments to Madidu.
The old rogue then turned to the subject he really had most at heart,
and tried to make me give him a garment of some kind as a present,
but I was too deep for that, and sent him off empty-handed.
OUR PEOPLE SHELLING OUR RICE AT GUNGI.
I observed that I had already given him stuff enough to clothe his
whole family.
“But my bubu and breeches are dirty now!” he replied. “Well, go
and wash them, you wretch!” was the angry rejoinder. “What!” he
cried, “would you like a soldier under such a chief as you to demean
himself by such work as that?”
Sheriff Hameit, to whom I had sent Abiddin’s letter the evening
before, answered us very impolitely, declaring that his religion
forbade him to have anything to do with infidels.
I consoled myself for this fresh failure by having a chat with the
little Kunta Tahar, Mohamed’s companion, who had come on to
Gungi to see that the rice was duly handed over to us.
He told me of the death in 1890 near Saredina of Abiddin, the son
of Hamet Beckay, of whom he had been a faithful retainer when at
Gardio near Lake Debo.
This Abiddin and his followers had come to make a pilgrimage to
the tomb of the great marabout, and also to try to win recruits against
the Toucouleurs of Massina, with whom Abiddin carried on the
struggle begun by his father. Two columns had marched forth
against them, one from Mopti, the other from Jenné, and surrounded
them. Abiddin was wounded and taken prisoner, but his faithful
Bambaras of Jenné, who had always followed his fortunes, rescued
him from the hands of the enemy. But, alas! no less than three
bullets hit the doomed man after this first escape, killing him on the
spot, and a great storm then arose which put an end to the battle,
only a few of those engaged in it escaping to tell the tale.
The wind, which was very violent and dry, whirled up such
quantities of sand that the corpse of Abiddin was buried beneath it,
and no one was ever able to discover the place where he lay, as if
Nature herself wished to protect his body from desecration and
insult.
WEAVERS AT GUNGI.
Tornadoes play a great part in the histories of Kunta wars. Hamet
Beckay is supposed to have had the power of calling them up when
he liked, and to have by their means several times overwhelmed
armies sent to attack him, but that of Saredina came too late to save
his son.
Can it have been the story told to me by my friend the Kunta
which caused a tremendous tornado to sweep down upon us that
very evening, with thunder and lightning and torrents of rain all
complete, soaking everything and everybody on board?
Our rice shelled, put into bags, and stowed away in the hold, we
went on and anchored the next morning opposite Baruba to
breakfast there. The ancient town, the Kaaba of the Tuaregs, which
was still standing in the time of Barth, has since been destroyed, but
its site is marked by piles of rubbish such as are still characteristic of
the environs of Timbuktu, and from their vast extent prove that it was
a city of considerable importance.
The country round about is extremely picturesque. The
descendants of those who dwelt in the old city have moved a little
further down stream to a dune which is so completely surrounded
with water during inundations as to form an island. They bury their
dead beneath the shade of the thorny bush beyond their settlement.
At Baruba we saw some date trees which had reverted to the wild
state, and were very majestic looking. We visited the site of the old
town, and then anchored opposite its successor. Now that the waters
of the Niger were beginning to subside, and the island was becoming
a peninsula only, the inhabitants were losing their sense of security,
and talking of migrating to an islet in the river itself opposite their
present home. A few huts had already been put up on it, making
white spots amongst the dense green verdure.
There we received envoys from the chief named Abder Rhaman,
who brought us a letter in which we were informed that the reason
the writer did not come to see us was, that he was afraid we should
not understand each other, and bad results might ensue.
Then came a band of Kel-Owi, serfs of the Igwadaren, bringing
ten, twenty, or thirty sheep, which they informed us they meant to
give us. The number of animals seemed increasing at every
moment, and I at once feared there was some sinister intention
behind this unusual generosity. But no, I was wrong. They were
really good fellows these Kel-Owi, though the merit of their
munificence rather melts away when you examine closely into
motives. It was present for present, as of course they knew I should
not take their beasts without giving them something in exchange. I
had the greatest difficulty in making our visitors understand that our
boats were not sheep-pens, and that all I could do was to choose out
the five finest animals.