The Enchanted City, page 10
A third permanent station, similar in all respects to the first two, had been set up on the shore of the little Lake Mofouse. It was called Compiègne, in memory of a young voyager who had come to explore the Ogowe, and who was soon to meet an unfortunate death in Cairo.32
On the tenth of August, the caravan had taken its leave of the cazembe, crossed the chain of the Ousango without any obstacle, and then, skirting the frontier of Ilaoua, it had entered into the Ouroungou, the region bathed by the Tanganyika. On the twenty-first of August, after thirteen days of marching, counted from the day they had said farewell to the cazembe, they arrived at Cape Kasohoa, situated on the southern shore of the lake, at 30° east longitude and 7° 20ʹ south latitude.
At the sight of the admirable equatorial Caspian, a cry of enthusiasm had escaped the throats of all the voyagers, and the negroes of the caravan had responded to it with prolonged hurrahs.
Immediately, Monsieur Fresnel had searched the region of the cape for a tract favorable to the creation of a fourth and final zeriba.
Such reconnaissance had not required long operations; the only difficulty was making a choice between the propitious sites that were offered to the commandant’s eyes. Indeed, one cannot imagine anything more beautiful than that region of the Ouroungou: the green valleys that overlook the blue expanse of the Tanganyika from six hundred meters. From Kasoha the view embraces the panorama of the lake, with its splendid shores covered from bottom to top with luxuriant vegetation. One discovers herds of elephants, buffaloes, zebras and antelopes there, coming to drink from the limpid waters populated by hippopotamuses and crocodiles, tumultuously mingled with multitudes of fish of every species. It really is a terrestrial paradise; as the English put it: “It is as perfect a natural paradise as Xenophon could have desired.”
At a very reasonable price, Monsieur Fresnel had made the acquisition of an admirable little valley, opening on to the lake and having for an annex a cove well sheltered from the winds of the open water. They had immediately set to work, and, thanks to the collaboration of the industrious Ouaroundous, the building work had proceeded rapidly. At the end of a month they were approaching their end. The new station was named Debaize, in memory of the courageous missionary who had died at Oujiji on the Tanganyika.33
They were, therefore, on the Tanganyika!
A fortunate French expedition had, in the month of September 1876, realized the wishes that were being expressed at that very moment by His Majesty the King of the Belgians. The western coast of the African continent—the coast that prolongs the occidental littoral of old Europe—was connected to the region of the equatorial lakes. The route from Saint Paul de Loanda to the Tanganyika was regularly marked out by the stations of Maizan, Le Saint, Compiègne and Debaize.
The problem was resolved.
The French expedition had spent the months of October and November 1876 at Debaize. It was at precisely that moment that the intrepid Stanley had arrived at Nyangoue, on the Loualaba.
Commandant Fresnel had attained his goal and fulfilled all the conditions of the program appended to the testament of Admiral , the patron of the enterprise. In consequence, he would have been able, without any further peregrinations, to resume the route to Saint Paul. Having fulfilled their duty, and looking over the extent of the success, had brought him certain satisfactions, but he was no longer savoring those legitimate enjoyments. Another ambition had just overtaken him.
“Yes,” he said to himself, “I’ve fulfilled the mission that was confided to me, that’s undeniable, and I could, strictly speaking, permit myself an exegi monumentum. But what was the foundation of the Admiral’s idea? What design had he conceived, if not that of putting across Africa the Atlantic Ocean in communication with the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean? And why should I, who have traveled and marked out the route from Saint Paul to the Tanganyika, renounce the honor of connecting that section of the route to one of the other sections that is already open? Why not return to France via Oujiji, Bagamoyo and Zanzibar, or even via Albert-Nyanza and the valley of the Nile? I would thus have the glory of having traversed the entire continent, of not having held to the letter but having observed the spirit of the will of the sponsor!”
Nevertheless, Monsieur Fresnel hesitated. He feared imposing on his companions a task and fatigues beyond their strength. But the latter, on being consulted, declared that they were ready to follow him.
Two routes were offered to the French expedition, which would both permit it to complete its return to France, one via the Indian Ocean, the other via the Mediterranean.
They had decided on the latter. They had resolved to traverse the Tanganyika from south to north, and from the northern shore of the lake to the south of the Albert-Nyanza. With a view to that journey, the mechanics had assembled the little steel steamer of which they had the sections; once those elements were assembled, they had a nice ship similar to the Ilala that now serves the station of Livingstonia on Lake Nyassa. It was named the Debaize, after the fourth zeriba, to which it would belong when it returned. In addition, they had bought from the Ouaroungous one of those crudely fashioned vessels, solidly built, known as daous, which would capable of going to sea. A launch drawing about thirty tons completed the French flotilla.
The French had embarked on the twenty-first of November to traverse the lake, which had previously been explored by Burton and Speke, Livingstone, Cameron and Stanley. They had traveled its entire length, from 7° 20´ south latitude to 8° 25´ north latitude—a distance of about four hundred kilometers; comparable, as the English put it, to that of the British coast from Dover to Aberdeen. The extent of the British Isles! Such is the measure of the larger dimension of the lake. Isidore was therefore not mistaken when he deigned to find it considerably superior in extent to the lake in the Bois de Boulogne, and even the bay of Toulon.
On 20 January 1877, after two months of navigation, Monsieur Fresnel, followed by his companions, had gone ashore at Magala, on the northeastern shore of the lake. The following day, the twenty-second of January, he had drawn away from that point in order to go toward Alexandra-Nyanza, a lake of relatively restricted dimensions, which extends between the Albert and the Tanganyika.
In the early days of the march, all went well. The French caravan had only had praise for the conduct of the river dwellers of the Rousizi in their regard. On the twenty-sixth of January, however, as they were entering the first district of the Mkinyaga, the complexion of things had abruptly changed. Taken by surprise by considerable hostile forces, the little troop had been temporarily broken up and dispersed.
Commandant Fresnel, who was marching at the head of the column with the engineer Duvivier, Professor Cornelius, the chaplain Couëdic and Dr. Quentin, had the escort of Biribis close at hand. Nevertheless, and in spite of heroic efforts, he had been cut off from the convoy, which had, as usual, been placed under the surveillance of Isidore, Mimoun and Chocolat.
While the latter had fallen inopportunely into the hands of the attacking hordes, and the ouaroungou porters, gripped by panic, had unceremoniously abandoned the baggage that had been confided to them, the general staff, supported by the Biribis—to whom Samanou, Amonquatia and Popo had rallied—had at first opposed a frank and solid resistance to the aggressors. Soon, however, fearing, not without reason, that they would be surrounded and overrun if they stayed where they were, they had made the decision to beat a retreat and return to the northern extremity of Lake Tanganyika.
After four days of incessant combats and great dangers, the French had been fortunate enough to find a refuge in the banza of Kisimbasimba, into which the people of the surrounding region had retreated at the same time.
This is how Cornelius gave Isidore an account of that last episode.
“That horde of negroes,” he said, “that diabolical army, as you so aptly call it, was sowing fire and blood throughout the valley of the Rousizi; populations maddened by terror were fleeing at first sight of them. The city that we’re occupying was doubtless a refuge prepared long ago for the pursued peasants, for its barriers were urgently lowered when they approached, and the doors were opened wide. Then the whole crowd of the worthy people precipitated themselves into the place…and we followed them. We simply entered pell-mell with them on the thirtieth of January.”
“But where are they, then, these townspeople?” Isidore put in.
“That’s what we’ve never been able to discover.”
“What? Aren’t they here any longer?”
“No.”
“Strange! They’ve gone away, then?”
“No, for we’re the ones who have guarded the gates; we’re the ones who’ve shut ourselves in, and since that famous day they haven’t re-opened; we’re perfectly certain of that.”
“Ah! I’ve got it. They’re clever—they came right through the city at a run; they decamped via the lake.”
“No, the bottleneck is closed by a boom that’s already covered with a thick mass of algae and mollusks; the construction of that device, in wood, was certainly anterior to our arrival here, as Monsieur Duvivier has demonstrated very clearly. In any case, all the vessels, rafts, canoes or daous, are still moored there in the harbor, where you can see them.”
“But in the end, Monsieur, what do you think has happened to the crowd? Oh, I see…they’ve gone to ground in their ruined antiquities.”
“You think they’re in these old edifices? Wrong. They’ve all been carefully searched several times. We haven’t found anything. We’ve called out; our guides have shouted words of peace at the top of their voice; no one has responded.”
“So, they came in, no one has seen them go out, but they’re no longer here? No one knows what’s become of them?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, it’s a bit stiff! But, after all, I’ve seen such funny things recently that, in truth, if someone were to tell me that these jokers have flown away over the walls like cockchafers, or eclipsed themselves like the moon, or vanished like cigar smoke… whoever told me that… well, no, Monsieur, I wouldn’t pass my skewer through his body; I wouldn’t send him to lie down in the tent; I wouldn’t even tell him to tell it to Plumeau—you know Plumeau, the zouaves’ wig maker, who tells so many tall stories! I’d simply reply to him: My friend, there’s no need to fatigue your memory or rack your temperament any longer; everything that you say there is a bit stiff…but it’s possible. I can’t say better than that.”
Chapter XIII
A Council of War
It was the twenty-eighth of March. It would soon be a month that a handful of Europeans had been holding firmly at bay the forces of an army of savages. Without improving the situation greatly, the return of Isidore might perhaps occasion modifications in the general nature of the defense. The zouave-cook, who had just presided over the operations of the attack in the capacity of commanding general, could, at any rate, supply useful information. Given that, Monsieur Fresnel thought that he ought to hold a council of war.
He assembled his companions in the shade of a palm tree, under a hut affecting an octagonal form, atop the soil of which was covered with a thick layer of goat dung. Such is, in those latitudes, the only means one has of protecting oneself against the attacks of the large ferocious ants that, in order better to bite a traveler and suck his blood, stick their entire head under his skin. A flagpole bearing the French colors was planted in front of the hut.
The members of the council presided over by the Commandant were engineer Duvivier, Professor Cornelius Bernard and Dr. Quentin. Abbé Le Couëdic, the mechanic, the smith and the carpenter represented the audience.
“Isidore Chauvelot,” called the Commandant, opening the session.
“Present!”
“You left the ranks of the column on 26 January 1877. It’s now the twenty-eighth of March. You have, therefore, been absent without leave for more than two months.”
“Two months! Well, it seemed longer than that to me.”
“I invite you to abstain from all useless or unhealthy reflections. In the course of that period of absence you accepted the command of a body of indigenous troops.”
“Yes, Commandant, that’s true.
“You, a French subject, have, without the authorization of your government, which I represent here, entered the service of a foreign power.”
“Those people were, in fact, strangers to me.”
“Please remain silent; let me establish the facts. At the head of these troops, which you describe yourself as ‘the diabolical army,’ you fought against us.”
“Oh! Commandant, I didn’t know….”
“I know what you can allege, for your defense; the court will take that into account. It understands that the circumstances in which you found yourself were exceptional; but it is nevertheless an established fact that you’ve borne arms against your fatherland. Do you admit that?”
“I can’t deny it, Commandant.”
“That’s good; stand down. The council will deliberate.”
Having saluted militarily, Isidore left the hut and went tranquilly to smoke a cigarette a short distance away. Hardened by the events that had taken place during those two months, he was quite calm.
After a quarter of an hour, hearing himself summoned, he returned with a firm tread, making the military salute once again. The members of the council of war were standing up.
“Isidore Chauvelot,” said the president, “the facts being incontestable and the terms of the law being precise….” At this point, Monsieur Fresnel’s voice caught in his throat. He had to pause.
It was the accused who went on: “Have no fear of continuing, Commandant. I’m used to all this, now that I spend my life being condemned to death.”
“Yes, unanimously, the council of war has been obliged to pronounce the death penalty against you. Have you anything to say regarding that sentence?”
“No, Commandant. It needs to end. I’d rather settle my account here than among the savages. I’d like my dozen bullets right away, and if you’re prepared to be generous, I’ll give the order to fire.”
“That’s good.”
“Let’s proceed!”
“Isidore, the council that has just condemned you has presented a plea for mercy on your behalf.”
“Ah!”
“And that mercy I grant.”
“Commandant! Oh well, what do you want me to say? That doesn’t astonish me, on your part. But if it’s any inconvenience, don’t bother. Me, I’ve seen enough lately that it’s all the same to me to get it over with. Sooner or later, it’ll still be necessary to die here.”
Isidore made as if to withdraw, but the Commandant said: “The session isn’t concluded; I invite you to remain at the disposal of the court.”
“It’s not finished, then? Do you also want to settle Mimoun’s account, or even poor Chocolat’s? Are you going to judge them?”
“No,” said the president, without any malice. “We’re only going to judge the situation.”
“The situation? Well, I like that better.”
“Messieurs,” said Commandant Fresnel, “you know what the extraordinary situation is. We have, by virtue of a providential circumstance, found refuge in a fortress admirably organized for resistance, whose natural defenders have abandoned it since we arrived here in an incomprehensible fashion. Our resources, you know; a singularly reduced personnel has nevertheless permitted us, thus far, to keep thousands of barbarians at bay.”
“Thousands, Commandant! You could say hordes—oh yes, diabolical hordes!”
“So be it. In the matter of materiel, it’s necessary to distinguish. We possess food in considerable quantities; we’ll never exhaust the immense storehouses and abundant granaries staked up under this species of Capitol that dominates the city. The inhabitants, now disappeared, have been taking their precautions for a long time and have gathered extraordinary provisions here; thus, we have at our discretion manioc, yams, maize, sorghum, ground nuts, beans, smoked fish, eland fat and eleusine beer. We have countless parks cluttered with animals, packed with livestock of every kind, and we don’t have to nourish those herds….”
“What! Not nourish them!” interrupted Isidore, sharply. “For after all, unless they can live on fresh air….”
“It’s strange, indeed, and none of us has yet been able to penetrate the mystery. What is certain is that the animals are in good condition, and that we don’t occupy ourselves with their subsistence, which is abundantly provided without our knowing how.”
“Commandant, you can speak without fear. Personally, I’ll believe anything you want now. I’ve seen so much in such a short time that, word of honor, nothing can astonish me anymore.”
“On the other hand, Messieurs, in the matter of munitions, our means are extremely limited. On the twenty-sixth of January, cut off from our convoy, we lost our baggage. When it was necessary to beat a retreat, we carried away what we had on hand or on our persons, our garments and our weapons. During that retreat we had to fire more often than we’d have liked to, with the result that we now have only a few cartridges left. In that regard, we’re in such deprivation that, if we had had to put Isidore before a firing squad, conceding him the dozen bullets to which he had the right….”
“Oh, as to that, of course, Commandant, I wouldn’t have let you off. I’ve been a soldier; I want to end as a soldier. I’ve had enough of being tied to trees or stuffed into conjuror’s bags.”
“Your rights are undeniable; but be certain that, in granting you mercy, I was consulting justice rather than economy.”
“The Commandant is great and generous; I’ve said it before and I repeat it—that doesn’t astonish me on his part. I, too, am just…but honest. I wouldn’t have cost my comrades anything. Look, Commandant, here’s eighty of them—cartridges, that is. I had four packets of twenty in my pockets. I’ll let you have them. Which proves once more that virtue is always rewarded, as Boileau says.”
