Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1881-12-13
THE sPAHTS DEATH.

rpia-rs Lifts LAST romance, "Le Roman dun
Chi y il a creation beside which few productions
OF the French school can at al compare IN glow
and color-they are gray and chill besideit The
very s11n of Africa seems TO glow in its pages the
pictures of life in Senegambia, all studied from per-
sonaI observation; the vices and virtues of the
neople refrains Of African songs whereof
Translation would burn the paper !" notes upon
African music sketches of the curious military
existence the trading posts on the Senegal river
these are rather sung and painted than written.
of thirty 10 fifty lines in length each brilliant
picture in itself We attempt to give idea of the
book by putting some portions of the last six chap
tiers together, but great portion Of the effect is
lost Nevertheless it will give our readers some
idea of Lofts style The only fault-if it is fault
lis the horror Of the book in its close That close
is so intensely realistic cruelty rightful that it
is torture to the reader. and have been careful
not TO touch it in tine foowing:l
In order to get to the French tents he
had,to pass through the camp of the Bam-
bara allies. The night was transparent
and luminous, with sounds of insects buzz
ing everywhere one felt that there were
thousands and thousands OF them-crickets
and grasshoppers, under every blade of
grass, in all the littleaholes of the sand !;
sometimesilthis universal buzz swelled In
volume, it became strident, deafening, as
though all the surface Of the country were
covered with an infinite number of tiny
bells and rattles, and, then again, the sound
would die down, as though all the crickets
had been given some secret order to sing
lower; then all would fade away into ST.
lence.
Jean proceeded dreamfully upon his way
he was very dreamy that evening. And
thus dreaming as he wandered on without
looking before him, he suddenly found
himself absorbed into great round dance
which whirled in cadence ali around him.
(The round dance ia the favorite dance OF
the Bambaras)
They were all very tall men, these
dancers, wearing long. white robes and
high turbans, also white, with two black
horns.
And in the transparent night, almost
without noise, the circle turned and
dancing spirits faint rustiings OF
floating draperies. like the rustlings of the
wings OF great birds. And the dancers
all assumed divers poses together; now on
the tip of one foot, leaning backward Or
forward, simultaneously stretching their
linked hands backward and forward, and
extending like vast transparent wings, the
thousand futtering folds of their muslin
robes.
The tamtam beat softly, as if on the ally
the melancholy flutes and ivory trumpets
had muffied and, as it were, distant tones.
A monotonous music, as if of magical in.
cantation, led the round dance of the Bam-
baTas.
And passing before the Spahi, all bowed
their heads in token of recognit ton with
smiles, they murmured to him
%n0rna INN tho -
Jean recognized nearly all of them in
their festival robes-bIack Spahis or trail
leurs-who had temporarily resumed the
long white boubou and covered their heads
with the te1nbdsembe of holiday wear.
Smiling, he saluted them as they whirled
by him. '' Good evening, Niodagal good
evening, Iombe Fafandou Good evening,
Denbataco and Samba. Fal? Good even
there, taller than handsomer than all the
rest.
But Jean hurried on his way all the
same, in order to escape from these long
chains OF white dancers, which opened and
closed again, unwound and rewound them
selves about him-the luminous African
night, the ghostly dance, and the music
which did not seem to be music of this
WOTlu anu Sbill lean
come join the circle !" they continued to
whirl about him like dreams, amusing
themselves by surrounding the Spahi, by
lengthening their long chain in order to
prevent him from escaping.
When the Spahi regained his tent and
lay down to rest host of plans and fancies
passed through his mind =. Without, il
the Bambara tramp at regular intervals, ht
1 l.. - = Il 1 !.
holy cry of war in three melancholy notes
they entoned this weird owl-cry over tn,
sleeping tents, singing the black warrior
TO sleep The day of combat was a
hand, and the negro king, Bonbakar
Segou, was not far off
At last all the voices of life were hushet
in the village of Blade; and the camp ais
became silent. Altar off was heard tn
voice OF the lion, and at intervals tina
most dismal of all cries ia the world, tn
bowling of the jackal 1t seemed funera
accompaniment to the dreams of the poo
Spahi.
"Tjean come join the circle !"
Jean dozed, wearied by the long ride o
the day, and ever, while he dreamed of tn
future, in his dream he beheld whirlin
slowly around him the circle of the BAN
bara dancers. They passed and repasset
with soft gestures, dying attitudes-alway
to the sound of a vague music not of thi
world
"Tjean come join the circle p
Their heads bowling down to salute Jean
seemed to bend under the weight of thei
lofty festival head dresses. Then, al
changed. There were only grimacin,
faces, dead faces, skull faces, which bowet
to him with airs of recognition, low whis
pering with CHASTITY smiles;
''Tjean come join the circle !"
1t is the day of battle.
Seven o'clock in the morning. An un
familiar spot in the land of Diambour.
marsh full of water. plants, yelling stretcl
of water. A low hill, bounding the hori
zon to the north-on the opposite side
plains rolling away out of sight-.he vas
fields of Dialakar.
All is silent and desolate-the sun slowl,
mounts into the pure sky.
Suddenly horsemen appear in this Afri
can landscape landscape which woul,
have seemed quite as natural in some soil
tary part of ancient Gaul. Proudly cree
upon their horses they are all handsom
to look upon-with their red jackets, blu
trousers, and broad white hats pulled dow
upon their bronzed faces.
They are twelve-twelve Spahis sent on
as scounts under the command of an adju
tant-and Jean is among them.
There is no presage of death, nothing
funerael in the air-nothiDg but the cain
and purity of the sky. In the marsh
the high plants, still humid will
the dews of the night, glitter under tn
sky the dragon-hies dart about en- thei
great transparent wings spotted with black
the water lilies open their huge whit
flowers upon the water.
The heat is already intense and heavy
the horses stretch their heads out toward
the water, opening their nostrils, scentinj
the GOODNESS of the slumbering marsh. Tn,
Spahis pause moment to hold council
they dismount to moisten their hats ant
% the their feverish foreheads
Suddenly in the distance sound is heart
as of mighty blows-as of enormous bas
drums, all being beaten simultaneously.
1.-THE great tamtamSr p shouts Sergean
Muller, who had seen many wars in thu
negro country.
And instinctively all those who had dis
mounted rushed to their horses.
But black head suddenly rose neal
5lem through the grass an aged maraboui
Il L -