CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 



PLATEAU OF THE PAGANS 



A FTER several days of heartbreaking toil, during 

 S\- which time the expedition experienced its worst 

 hours in Africa, we arrived at Bousso. Here, in a 

 large comfortable hut that overlooked the broad River 

 Chari, with a cool breeze blowing away the insect 

 pests and bringing rehef from the stifling heat, I could 

 relax for a while; but in retrospect I endured again 

 those memorable days of struggle beneath the scorch- 

 ing rays of a fierce sun as we had gradually fought 

 our way here from Fort Archambault. We were now 

 four thousand one hundred sixty-three miles from our 

 starting point at Mombasa, but still some thirteen 

 hundred miles from Lagos, and I wondered what fate 

 awaited us along the road to the Slave Coast. 



At Fort Archambault the Commandant had ar- 

 ranged some scenes for our camera. We photographed 

 natives spinning and weaving cloth and others who 

 gave us primitive syncopation on crude instruments — 

 a sample of original and pure jazz. The orchestra 

 consisted of drums, a contrivance resembling a ma- 

 rimba, and several flutes, each pitched in a different 

 key. We filmed a young swain of the village in his 

 attempts to trade a pet hyena and a marabou stork 

 for a lovely bride, and we paid a visit to the location 

 where over two thousand men were clearing the jun- 

 gle and preparing the ground for a landing field. 



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