I Join a Party of Bohemians

On the opposite side of the river we found a broad, well-worn track, along which we took our way at a brisk pace, in a very different frame of mind from that which we had experienced before we met Isaaku and his people. Indeed, it amused me to note what a difference was made in our condition by a few poor rags of clothing. No longer did we sneak stealthily along the path, hiding ourselves from casual wayfarers, but strode forward boldly, entering the villages with confidence, and exchanging cheerful salutations with all whom we met on the road. And it was well that our affairs were in this improved condition, for we were now on the main road from Bori to Bontúku; and not only were the travellers numerous, but villages and hamlets occurred at pretty frequent intervals.

We trudged on steadily for a couple of hours, meeting small parties of travellers—mostly travelling Wongáras—and passing through two or three villages, until we came to a small stream with the usual fringe of shady woodland; and here Aminé proposed that we should halt and breakfast.

“I know not why we should push on so fast,” said she, “seeing that one place is as good for us as another,” and she sat down on a moss-covered bank and began to rummage in the provision bag.

“Is it true that thou lookest for friends in Bontúku?” she asked presently, as she pulled a leg off a spare and ascetic-looking fowl.

“I look for friends everywhere,” I replied with a grin. “Perhaps we may meet thy father there”—for she had told me that she had been kidnapped while accompanying her father on a journey to Kong.

“There is little fear of that,” she rejoined. “He will have gone back to his country long since.”

“Little fear!” I exclaimed. “Dost thou not wish to meet thy father then?”

“Not I,” she answered, “for if we should meet him he would take me back, and since thou hast not the wherewith to pay my dowry, he would perhaps give me to some other man.”

As the conversation appeared to be drifting into an undesirable channel I changed the subject.

“What hast thou in that little bag that is hanging round thy neck?” I asked.

“This?” exclaimed Aminé, taking it in her fingers. “Surely it is the little clay tablet that thou didst write the holy words upon. Thou didst not write me a laiya upon the bark as thou didst for the others,” she added, a little reproachfully.

This was a sad oversight. The fact was that I had not reckoned on her taking my performance seriously, seeing that she was more or less of a confederate, and I had forgotten how little she really knew about me. However, I hastened to retrieve the situation.

“I have kept three,” I said, taking the bundle from my pocket, and spreading out the documents before her. “Take the one that thou likest best.”

She fingered the squares of bark with childish pleasure, comparing their merits, and then handed them back to me, saying:

“Do thou choose for me, Yúsufu; thou knowest better than I which is the best.”

I selected one and held it out to her.

“Keep it for me in thy pocket,” said she, “until I can get a leather case to carry it in;” so I replaced it and resumed my assault upon the provisions.

“I wish I was able to write words as thou art, Yúsufu,” said Aminé presently, when, having finished our meal, we sat dreamily watching the little stream as it pursued its noiseless course.

“Why dost thou wish that, Aminé?” I asked.

She crept closer to me and laid her cheek against my shoulder, regarding me with an expression that filled me with vague uneasiness.

“Thou didst tell the people,” said she, “that the written words speak ever without ceasing. If I could write, I would make thee a laiya, and I would write on it, ‘Aminé loveth thee,’ and thou shouldst wear it always round thy neck.”

“It needeth no laiya to tell me of thy faithfulness,” said I. “Thy deeds speak more clearly than words written on paper or clay. Ever since I met thee thou hast been to me even as a dear sister.”

Aminé sat up with a jerk.

“God hath given me as many brothers as I want,” she said shortly. “As for thee, thou art not my brother, nor am I thy sister, of which I am truly glad, for if I were, then could I not be thy wife.”

“That is true,” said I helplessly; for this frank avowal, with its implied proposal, left me fairly dazed with astonishment, and I had barely presence of mind enough to again turn the conversation into a new channel.

“Thou art a good girl, Aminé,” I said, rather irrelevantly, “and thou art very patient with our poverty and hardship. Perhaps we shall meet with some better fortune at Bontúku. At any rate, we have enough kurdi to keep us for a day or two.”

“Thou must keep thy kurdi as long as thou canst,” said she, coming back reluctantly to the prosaic realities of our life. “For my part, I shall gather these yellow caterpillars that swarm upon the trees. If I cannot sell them in one of the villages, we can eat them ourselves.”

I made an involuntary grimace at the suggestion, which did not escape her notice, for she exclaimed somewhat severely:

“Thou art a very dainty man, Yúsufu. Thou wilt not eat snails nor crabs nor the little black plums, and now thou makest a wry face at the good, fat caterpillars, although we have but a handful of kurdi to buy us food. Thou canst teach wisdom to others, but thine own actions are full of folly.”

“He who giveth much alms leaveth his pockets empty,” said I, laughing, whereupon she slapped me smartly on the shoulder, and emptying the provision bag into my pocket, went off to collect caterpillars.

We walked on at a more easy pace for the rest of the day, for we learned from some travellers, whom we met, that the large village or town of Táari lay at no great distance ahead; and as we journeyed, Aminé’s bag became gradually filled with a writhing, squirming mass of the large, yellow caterpillars, which she persisted in thrusting under my nose at frequent intervals, by way, I supposed, of awakening in me a less fastidious appetite.

The afternoon was well advanced when we entered the village of Táari, and sat down for a brief rest under the enormous shade-tree that graced the middle of the principal street. This tree was the most wonderful specimen of vegetation that I saw in all my wanderings—more wonderful even than the colossal silk-cottons of the forest, for whereas the latter towered aloft to an immense altitude, this great banyan-like shade tree spread abroad over an area that was almost incredible. In shape it was like a giant mushroom, the flat under surface supporting multitudes of dangling bunches of aërial roots, and the shade that it cast was as profound as that of a yew tree. We sat in the deep twilight on a pile of fantastically twisted roots, and looked out into the dazzling street on to a scene of life and bustle that was new and strange to me. Hausas, Fulahs, and Wongáras in their gay rigas strode to and fro; strangely-dressed natives of unknown regions came and went, and now and again some wealthy merchant rode by upon his horse; and as we watched, a caravan, which must have followed us along the Bori road, entered the town, led by three men mounted on white, humped oxen.