The Golden Pool : a Story of a Forgotten Mine
Copyright© 2024 by R. Austin Freeman
I Change My Identity
When I had pushed my way through the undergrowth to the path, I did not at once turn back towards the road, for I reflected that by this time the hue and cry was no doubt raised, and Annan might quite possibly explore this very path in search of me. That he would let me go, without making an effort to detain me, I did not imagine for an instant, for he had heard the chink of the gold in my purse and had probably surmised that it represented more than the value of all the monkey skins he was likely to secure. So instead of returning to the road I walked off briskly in the opposite direction, and had not gone very far when I made a curious and very pleasing discovery; for there came through the forest, faintly but quite distinctly, the sound of voices.
I stopped and listened intently, and soon made out that what I heard was not the deep discordant jabber of our carriers, but the sharp, high-pitched tone characteristic of the Hausa and Fulah races. My Hausa friends were at no great distance to the right of the path, and seemed to be coming nearer.
The African forest roads have a peculiarity, which they share with certain rivers like the Amazon and the Mississippi—they are never stationary but are continually altering their position from side to side. When a large tree falls and obstructs the road, isolated travellers, like our party, will climb over it; but a large and heavily-laden caravan will find it easier to cut a fresh path round the obstruction, and this new path will thenceforth be used by all persons passing along. Meanwhile, the fallen tree slowly decays, but long before it has disappeared a young growth of forest has sprung up around it. Thus the new path becomes permanent and a curve of fifty or sixty yards in span becomes added to the road. By a continual repetition of this process the road becomes, in the course of time, a succession of serpentine curves, which meander far away from the original direction, their extreme sinuosity being disguised somewhat by the density of the forest growth, until some hunter from an adjacent village restores the road to its original direction by cutting a straight path across the loop, thus saving a circuit of perhaps several miles.
Now, this path upon which I had lighted was one of these short cuts, while the road along which the Hausas and Annan were travelling, was the original winding track; and I perceived that if I made haste I might come out upon the road ahead of both parties.
I therefore hurried forward as well as I could, encumbered with the various articles that I had not yet had time to make into a bundle, and in about a quarter of an hour reached the place where the path rejoined the road. Here I stood and listened for a while, but could at first hear nothing but the ordinary sounds of the forest: the chattering of monkeys, the trumpeting of a hornbill, and the squawking of parrots.
At length a high falsetto laugh came faintly through the woods, and feeling secure now that the Hausas were behind me, I walked slowly on.
By this time the sun was getting low, and it was necessary for me to be careful that I did not overshoot the mark and get ahead of the Hausas’ camping place for the night; and I was just thinking of sitting down and waiting for them to overtake me, when a turn of the road brought me out into a small grassy opening, through the middle of which ran a brawling muddy stream. This, I thought, would make an ideal camping place, and here the Hausas would probably halt, so I determined to await their arrival, and set about making my preparations. First, with the aid of my large handkerchief and the thin stem of a creeper, I made my more bulky possessions into a small parcel, to which I lashed the masa bag and the remainder of the bunch of plantains that I had brought from the deserted village; then I put off my slippers and paddled in the muddy stream for a time, for I feared that the whiteness and tenderness of my feet would attract immediate attention unless I could get them well stained by the red clay. Finally I laid down my shawl on the ground and standing on it with my back to the setting sun, began to pray aloud in the Moslem fashion.
I was quite disconcerted and bashful when my loudly intoned “Allah!” first broke the stillness of the forest, and I had some difficulty in giving the true falsetto turn at the end of the sentence, but a few minutes’ practice improved my style and gave me confidence; and by the time the voices of the Hausas began to sound plainly through the woods, I was chanting away as though to the manner born. At length, advancing footsteps were audible close at hand. I prostrated myself on the ground—cautiously, for fear I should knock off my turban—and as, with the tail of my eye, I saw the leader of the caravan come round the bend in the road, I rose and sent forth a howl that would have done credit to the Prophet himself.
The Hausas were evidently greatly surprised at my appearance, and looked round with a puzzled air for any signs of companions; they did not speak to me, however, but after a whispered consultation, sat down at a little distance and waited for me to finish my devotions. When at length I stepped off my shawl and put on my slippers, the old man came forward and saluted me, and the others gathered round to listen.
“Are thy companions far away, child of my mother?” the old man inquired.
“They are far away by now, my father,” I replied. “They were Wongára who journeyed to Kong, and they turned off by the road to the left this afternoon to avoid passing by Kumasi and Bekwe.”
“I saw no road to the left,” said the old man dubiously.
“He meaneth the little hunter’s path that we passed this afternoon,” put in a sturdy fellow with a broad, jet-black face.
“It is as thy friend sayeth,” said I. “They went by the little hunter’s path.”
“And whither dost thou go, friend?” asked the old man.
“I go to Sálaga by way of Kantámpo,” I replied.
“Thou art not heavily burdened,” remarked the old man significantly.
“The camel steppeth lightly that carrieth the merchant’s gold,” I answered.
“It is true,” he rejoined. “And how do they call thee?”
“The Hausas call me Yúsufu Dan Égadesh, but some call me Yúsufu Fuláni, for my mother was a woman of Futa.”
“I am called Musa Ba-Kachína,” said the old Hausa. “I go with my friends to our country through Kantámpo and Gonja. If it please thee to walk with us rather than to go alone through this wilderness, our fire shall warm thee, and our roofs shelter thee, and thou shalt be as our brother for the sake of the one God whom we all serve and who guides us through the land of the heathen.”
“I will walk with thee, thankfully, my father,” said I, “and thou shalt command me as thy servant while I continue with thee.”
My position as a member of the caravan being thus settled, the company bestowed on me sundry smiles of friendly recognition and set to work preparing for the night. To me was allotted the task of collecting wood for the fire and staves for the huts, in which I was assisted by the giant, whose name I found to be Abduláhi Dan-Daúra, more familiarly known as Dan-jiwa (child of the elephant); an amiable and joyous soul, as simple as a child, and as strong as a bull. I have myself generally passed for a powerful man, but beside this brown-skinned Titan I was like a young girl. The fashion in which he twisted off great branches and snapped them across his knee was perfectly amazing, and when I had been hacking ineffectually for five minutes at some hard-wood sapling, he would come along laughing and, with a flick of his great knife, snip it off as though it were a radish.
We had soon collected a large heap of faggots and long straight poles, and these Abduláhi proceeded to tie up with cords of tie-tie into bundles proportionate to our respective sizes. I endeavoured to lift his bundle on to his head, but could not move it, on which he laughed in his soft girlish voice and hoisting it up lightly, tucked the entire collection of poles under his arm and strolled off, leaving me to follow shamefacedly with a small parcel of faggots.
When we returned to the clearing we found everyone busy and all talking at once. A large heap of grass and leaves was ready for covering the huts and making beds, and a little fire had been kindled with a flint and steel.
“We are waiting for thee, Yúsufu,” said my black-skinned friend—Mahama Dam-Bornu by name. “But I see thou art an idle fellow to let the poor little Dan-jiwa carry all the wood.” There was a general laugh at this, and I presently discovered that the good-humoured Abduláhi was one of the two standing jokes of the caravan, the other being a small man named Osumánu Ba-Kánu, but familiarly known as Dam-biri (child of the monkey), a sobriquet due partly to his remarkable agility and partly to his incorrigibly mischievous disposition.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.