That Night We Bivouacked At The Foot Of The East-Side Of The Pass At
About Half-Past Five.
Ibrahimawa, the Bornu man whom I have already
described as the amateur botanist, had become my great ally in searching
for all that was curious and interesting.
Proud of his knowledge of wild
plants, no sooner was the march ended than he commenced a search in the
jungles for something esculent.
We were in a deep gorge on a steep knoll bounded by a ravine about sixty
feet of perpendicular depth, at the bottom of which flowed a torrent.
This was an excellent spot for a camp, as no guards were necessary upon
the side thus protected. Bordering the ravine were a number of fine
trees covered with a thorny stem creeper, with leaves much resembling
those of a species of yam. These were at once pronounced by Ibrahimawa
to be a perfect god-send, and after a few minutes' grubbing he produced
a basketful of fine-looking yams. In an instant this display of food
attracted a crowd of hungry people, including those of Ibrahim and my
own men, who, not being botanists, had left the search for food to
Ibrahimawa, but who determined to share the tempting results. A rush was
made at his basket, which was emptied on the instant; and I am sorry to
confess that the black angel Saat was one of the first to seize three or
four of the largest yams, which he most unceremoniously put in a pot and
deliberately cooked as though he had been the botanical discoverer.
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