396 AFRICA SPEAKS 



There were no white men at this remote post, but 

 a native in charge who spoke French. When he 

 proudly informed us there was a telegraph line run- 

 ning to Fort Lamy, I immediately prepared a tele- 

 gram to the governor, inquiring about the best way 

 to get through. When I proffered it for sending, 

 however, this man shrugged his shoulders and said the 

 wire would not work; that he didn't know why, but 

 he did know that his ticker had ceased to tick a long 

 time ago I 



Joe and I gained some information about the ter- 

 rain on this side of the river, coming to the conclusion 

 that our only hope lay in attempting to reach Fort 

 Lamy via Massenya. This made it necessary to trans- 

 port the trucks across the river, so our ex-telegrapher 

 sent messengers forth with instructions to bring in a 

 small army of helpers and enough dugout canoes to 

 construct a raft. He then led us to a hut perched 

 high on the river bank, and now, two clean-looking 

 black boys, dressed in spotless white, brought us a 

 real treat in the way of a meal, consisting of two kinds 

 of green vegetables, excellently seasoned meat, and a 

 gallon jar of fresh sweet milk. Everything was well 

 served, and we learned that both these boys had been 

 trained in the household of the governor at Fort 

 Lamy. During this repast a sudden thundershower 

 cooled the atmosphere, but enjoyment of it was tem- 

 pered by the knowledge that every drop of rain made 

 our progress westward more difficult. 



At dayhght, while crossing the river on the way to 

 the trucks, I shot a huge crocodile. When the bullet 

 struck, he jumped for deep water, but died before 

 reaching it. These reptiles are exceptionally savage 



