ON THE MARCH ONCE MORE
On December the 16th, at five o'clock in the morning, we left Bafilo,
where we had been since the first day of the month, and started on trek
again, bound for Dako and the north. On the road an incident occurred
that upset me greatly. A certain Dr. Engelhardt had died in Togo about
three weeks previously of some malignant malady of the fever type.
They--Schomburgk and the rest--had given me to understand that he died
at Sokode. Now it transpired that he had really died at Bafilo, and in
the very hut and on the identical spot where my bed had stood. They
had kept this from me, not wishing to alarm me. Now they thought it a
good joke to tell me, and were quite taken aback when I got exceedingly
angry. They pointed out that the hut had been thoroughly disinfected.
But I was not at all appeased. I said they were cold and callous, and
many other things, but they only laughed.
The distance from Bafilo to Dako is only a little over twelve miles,
yet it took us four hours or thereabouts to cover it, the reason
being that the road was so bad. It was all up hill and down dale, and
covered with big rocks and loose round stones. As a result, I was quite
shaken up and tired on arrival, and the sight of the clean and pretty
little rest-house was a welcome one. There was, however, I found, no
accommodation for our horses, and we had to tether them all together
under a big tree. We took our meals under another tree, and were very
comfortable and "picknicky."
Next day, on to Kabu. The going was even worse than on the previous
day. Indeed, I have never experienced anything like it, either before
or since. The road, a mere native track, crossed at right angles a
continual succession of mountain ridges, with narrow wooded valleys
in between, along which in the rainy season rapid streams flowed. To
ride down the steep sides of many of these valleys was a sheer physical
impossibility. We had to dismount again and again, and scramble down
as best we could. Even without their riders the poor horses had hard
work to keep their footing at times, and one of them nearly met with a
bad accident when crossing one river bed that was not yet wholly dry.
He had negotiated successfully the exceedingly steep slope down to the
river, and was in the act of crossing, when he somehow got his near
hindleg between the root of a big tree and the bank, and nearly broke
it. He was our best horse too, and my own for riding purposes, and I
was fearfully anxious about him until Schomburgk assured me, after
a careful and prolonged examination, that beyond a straining of the
tendons, there was no harm done.
As the day advanced it grew fearfully hot. I kept on asking how much
farther it was, and the answer from the interpreter hardly ever varied
between "Not far," and "Only half an hour." It turned out to be three
full hours from the last "only half an hour," the whole journey
occupying from 4 A.M. till 1.30 P.M., so that we were nine and a half
hours in the saddle without a break, barring the time that we were
climbing and slithering on foot up and down the sides of the valleys.
Even the horses felt the strain, and although I had two mounts, and
changed them frequently, they were both pretty well knocked up by the
time we reached our journey's end. Schomburgk, who knew beforehand
that the stage was likely to be a hard one--although even he did not
realise how hard--had strongly advised me, before setting out, to wear
my pith helmet. But I, with true feminine perversity, had insisted on
donning a big slouch hat of the cowboy type to which I was partial. I
realised my mistake when the sun was well up, but my pride would not
let me admit it. The last few miles were the worst. Only my thick hair,
I am convinced, saved me from sunstroke. Once or twice I reeled in the
saddle, almost overcome with weariness and the terrible heat. I got,
however, but scant sympathy from the men. Schomburgk especially was
most rough and unkind, and this was so unlike him, as a general rule,
that at length, after one or two half-hearted appeals for sympathy, I
got very angry, gritted my teeth, straightened myself in the saddle,
and made up my mind to go through with it come what would. Afterwards,
when we had camped and rested, he told me that he had acted of set
purpose. He had realised that I must be on the very verge of collapse,
and knew that if he could succeed in making me angry, I should
probably succeed in pulling myself together; while if he started to
condole with me, he feared that I might break down altogether. No doubt
he was right. Wholesome anger is a good tonic.
Anyhow, I managed somehow to hold out until our arrival at Kabu. Here
the chief's hut was placed at my disposal, there being no rest-house,
and throwing myself full length on the horse blanket and with my
saddle for a pillow, I slept soundly for a full hour. I woke greatly
refreshed, and ravenously hungry. Unfortunately there was no food
available, the carriers with the chop boxes not having yet arrived.
However, the negroes brought us some big calabashes full of native
beer. It was the first time I had ever tasted it, and I am bound to
say that I found it both refreshing and sustaining. This was lucky, as
we had nothing to eat until six o'clock that night. It is a fermented
drink made from guinea corn, and is, I was told, highly intoxicating
if one drinks enough of it. It has a peculiar sweetish sour taste, not
at all unpleasant. After my sleep, a wash, and supper, I felt none the
worse for our long march, notwithstanding that it was the worst and
longest one we ever did. Here for the first time I saw antelope spoor
all along the road, but no antelope were visible. We expect, however,
to meet plenty before long, as well as other game, for we are now in
the heart of wild Africa--no proper roads, only native tracks, and all
round us the shadeless, waterless bush.
Our next day's stage, to Bapure, was a short one. I felt unusually
fit and well, and the road being good rode nearly the whole way in a
canter. I forgot to say that after Sokode we got a different lot of
carriers at each stage; what are called out here "exchange carriers."
These are furnished by the chief of each village, on payment of course,
and each day a soldier of our escort was sent on ahead to arrange for
the proper number being forthcoming. There is practically no difficulty
about this so far as Togo is concerned, although in some other parts
of Africa, I was informed, things are very different. On the whole
trip we only once had any bother about carriers, but I shall come to
that later on. I may add that there are two sides to the exchange of
carriers. It has its advantages and its disadvantages. One of the
principal advantages is that with fresh people each day, one naturally
travels faster than with "stale" men. On the other hand, a nucleus of
old carriers is to be preferred, because they know the loads, and can
consequently pack up very much quicker. Coming up from Atakpame to
Sokode it usually took us no more than about half an hour to pack up in
the morning and get away, whereas now our exchange carriers take fully
three times as long.
At Bapure, we first came into contact with the Konkombwa, admitted by
everybody to be the finest race of savages in Togo. As, however, Bapure
is only a border village, the ones we saw here were not, for the most
part, pure bred; and nothing like such fine specimens, consequently,
as those we saw farther up country. For this reason I will defer my
description of them until later.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
A KONKOMBWA WARRIOR
He is not wearing a helmet, or a cap of some kind, as might be
supposed, but his own hair, into which is woven a number of little
rings of copper and brass.]
[Illustration: CAMPING OUT IN THE BUSH
The authoress is sitting outside her tent, busy at needlework. Note the
double awning, the bed with mosquito curtain, the portable washstand on
the right, and the chairs and tables all made to fold up into a small
compass. This photo was taken at Kugnau.]
We camped here under a big tree, the roosting place of innumerable tame
guinea-fowl, who greatly annoyed us by their incessant cackling. The
heat in the middle of the day was very excessive, and in order to get
the maximum of fresh air and the minimum of sunshine, we adopted the
expedient of detaching the outer canvas roofs over our tents, and using
them as awnings. It was surprising what a difference it made. Beneath
this awning, and still further sheltered from the sun's glare by the
thick branches of a big tree, I enjoyed my siesta in perfect comfort
and comparative coolness, whereas when I remained cooped up in the
tent, I found it usually impossible to obtain any sleep whatever during
the daytime. The fact of the matter is that a tent in the tropics is
not at all a desirable kind of dwelling-place. It looks cool, and it
sounds cool, but it isn't anything of the kind. On the contrary, its
interior is almost always stiflingly hot.
Whilst we were waiting here for our carriers to come up, I was greatly
amused by the antics of two travelling coast natives who unexpectedly
put in an appearance. They were "beautifully" dressed in what they, no
doubt, considered the latest European styles; broad-brimmed straw hats,
short tight trousers, and cut-away coats. As soon as they saw us they
came swaggering over to where we were seated. Said Schomburgk: "Where
do you come from?" "From the coast," they replied. Said Schomburgk:
"You look it." That was all. But it was enough. The two "culled
gentlemen" beat a quick retreat, and for the rest of their stay they
left us severely alone; which was precisely what we wanted. They had
two carriers for their belongings, and later on we saw them seated
back to back on their boxes in the middle of the village street, each
reading a book, while a crowd of gaping bush negroes stood round,
evidently greatly impressed, and very much amazed at so marvellous a
display of erudition on the part of men of their own race and colour.
Of course it was all done for effect.
Although the days in this part of the Togoland Sudan are frequently
fearfully sultry, the heat radiates quickly in the thin dry air at
this season of the year, and the nights, consequently, are apt to be
chilly. On the morning when we left Bapure, for instance, at 5 A.M.,
it was quite cold, so that my teeth chattered as I dressed myself. A
quick short canter, however, soon put the blood into circulation. The
first part of our journey was along a picturesque native path, just
wide enough to allow two people to ride abreast, and bordered on either
side by open bush country. About half-way between Bapure and our next
halting-place at Gerin-Kuka, however, we crossed a river, the Dakpe,
which forms the boundary between the Sokode and the Mangu districts,
and immediately found ourselves on a broad, well-kept Government
road. I didn't like it at all. The tortuous native tracks, winding in
and out, may not be so good for quick or easy travelling, but they
possess the charm of the unknown. When riding along them, one is always
wondering what new scenery the next turn will disclose. But this wide
straight highway where one could see miles ahead. Bah! There was no
more romance or element of uncertainty about it, than there is about
Rotten Row.
However, I was soon to be reminded that, road or no road, I was not
anywhere in Europe, but in the heart of savage Africa. We had arrived
within a mile or two of Gerin-Kuka, when there suddenly sounded ahead
of us a most terrific din, and presently there came in sight an immense
crowd of Konkombwa people, who advanced towards us leaping and yelling,
and brandishing in the air long bows and barbed arrows--the latter, I
was informed, poisoned. It was a most imposing, barbaric sight. The
savages, all nude, or nearly so, kept up a chorus of yells, a series
of long-drawn and sonorous "ha-ha-has," threw their bows into the air,
and dexterously caught them again. And all the while they were dancing
and capering, and making swift, short darts forward, as if bent on
attacking us.
I confess to having been a wee bit frightened at first, until
Schomburgk assured me that this was merely their way of saluting an
honoured guest, and that the honoured guest on this occasion was
myself, the first white woman who had ever adventured herself within
the confines of their country. I can quite understand, however, what a
welcome of this description might easily be misunderstood, and possibly
lead to complications, as it has, in point of fact, upon occasions,
and this not only amongst the Konkombwa, but amongst other more or
less kindred people, whose customs in this respect are practically
identical. In this connection Schomburgk mentioned an incident that
came within his own personal knowledge. It happened some years ago, in
what is now the north-western corner of Rhodesia, in the bend of the
Kafue River. Here a traveller, who shall be nameless, first came into
contact with the Mashukulumbwe. This traveller had heard a lot about
the fighting prowess of the Mashukulumbwe, in just the same way as I
had heard a lot about the fighting prowess of the Konkombwa, and when
they came out to greet him, as the Konkombwa came out to greet us, he,
like me, grew frightened, and fired and killed one of them. The poor
savages, utterly at a loss to understand in what way they had offended,
went in a body to the District Commissioner to complain of the outrage,
and to ask for redress and compensation. They got what they asked,
the money payment they received being afterwards recovered from the
traveller, who was severely called over the coals for his share in the
matter.
[Illustration: YOUNG KONKOMBWA WARRIOR
These people are an ethnological puzzle. No one knows their origin, and
their history is practically non-existent. As regards their appearance,
dress, tribal customs, and so forth, they are utterly unlike the other
Togoland natives.]
[Illustration: A KONKOMBWA DANDY
The helmet-like head-dress is ornamented with cowrie shells, as is also
the quiver in which he carries his poisoned arrows. This kind of shell
ornamentation is peculiar to these people, who have brought it to a
high pitch of perfection.]
This was the first time I had ever met any real full-blooded Konkombwa,
and I was greatly struck with their appearance. Tall, splendidly
proportioned, and of fierce and warlike aspect, they carried themselves
with a grace and dignity one could not help admiring. They were great
dandies, too, for although they wore no clothes to speak of, many of
them had little copper plates woven into their woolly hair, or had
their heads surmounted with curious helmet-like head-dresses of cowrie
shells, topped by antelope horns. The quivers in which they carried
their sheaves of poisoned arrows, too, were beautifully designed and
ornamented; and round their arms, from wrist to shoulder in some cases,
they wore bracelets of brass and copper alternating. These were kept
brightly polished, and glistened in the sun as they moved, making
an extremely effective picture. So I rode into Gerin-Kuka in state,
surrounded by my savage escort, dancing, shouting, and leaping. The
noise made my horse exceedingly restive, and I began to fear that I
might be unable to control him, so that I was very glad when, after
we reached the confines of the village, they suddenly with one accord
stopped shouting, and began to sing, a low, melodious, yet barbaric
chant, altogether different from any native singing I had ever heard
before. The interpreter explained that it was a song specially composed
in my honour, and in which I was told that I was more fair than the
moon, brighter than the sun, and more graceful and beautiful than a
roan antelope.
The rest-house at Gerin-Kuka is very large and comfortable, and
beautifully clean. It is square, not round, as is usual with the
Togo rest-houses, and this in itself was a change. We were its first
occupants, which accounted perhaps for its being so altogether
spick-and-span; although as a matter of fact the rest-houses all over
Togoland are invariably kept in first-rate order. Only white people
are allowed to occupy them, and it is the duty of the chiefs of the
different villages where they are situated, to keep them clean. It
must not be imagined, however, that it is only the white travellers
whose convenience is studied by the Government in this respect. In
the neighbourhood of each of the rest-houses for Europeans, there has
also been built a compound for natives. Many of these compounds are
quite imposing-looking places, being, in fact, self-contained villages,
comprising often as many as fifty or sixty round huts, each of which
affords accommodation for a native family. The entire compound is
called a "songu," and is in charge of a native official called the
"sery-chi-songu" (I won't vouch for the spelling), whose duty it is
to keep it clean and tidy, and to see that the occupants of the huts
sweep them out before they leave in the morning for the next stage of
their journey. This sweeping out process, I may mention, is by no means
perfunctory, for the Government insists on cleanliness in regard to the
native rest-houses, as well as in regard to those used by the whites.
But it is not by any means an ordeal. There are no brooms provided,
but the natives soon improvise one from the branches of the nearest
tree, the work--as usual--falling upon the women, when there are any
in the party. One penny a day is charged for the use of a hut, the
money being collected by the man in charge of the compound. No party
is allowed to remain beyond a certain time--usually three days--at any
one rest-house, except in case of sickness. One result of the provision
of these compounds, and of the roads the Government have caused to be
built, is that there has grown up quite a regular system of travel to
and fro between the rail-head at Atakpame, and other parts of Togo, and
not only are the roads and rest-houses used by the Togoland natives,
but those from the northern parts of the British possessions on the one
side, and the French possessions on the other, also come down through
Togo to the coast, when they wish to make the journey, in order to
avail themselves of the facilities provided.
It was outside the Gerin-Kuka rest-house, by the way, that I first paid
our carriers in salt, the currency in general vogue throughout the
Mangu district, where we now are. Each carrier received two cupfuls
of salt for his day's work. Schomburgk saw nothing extraordinary in
this, and rather pooh-poohed the idea when I suggested cinemaing the
incident. He consented, however; and afterwards, when we came to show
the films in London, this one created quite a lot of interest. People
seemed to find it strange that natives could be found willing to carry
heavy loads all day in the broiling sun for what was, from their point
of view, so altogether inadequate a remuneration.
In the afternoon, the Konkombwa, not content with their magnificent
reception in the morning, gave a grand dance in my honour. Afterwards,
Schomburgk went out into the bush to look for antelope. He had
previously told me that he would not be gone more than about an hour or
so, and when darkness came on, and he had not returned, I grew alarmed
for his safety, remembering how easy a matter it is to lose one's way
in the African bush. Hodgson kept trying to reassure me, saying that it
was quite certain that so old and experienced an African traveller as
Schomburgk was would not get bushed. As, however, he had not returned
by eight o'clock, I ordered out the soldiers to look for him, and fired
several revolver shots to guide him in our direction in case he was
anywhere within hearing. I also sent natives out with lanterns, and
soon the bush all round Gerin-Kuka was alive with twinkling points
of fire. At nine o'clock the truant turned up. He had, he explained,
struck some fairly fresh antelope spoor, and, urged on by the ardour of
the chase, had gone further afield than he had at first intended. As
is the way with men the world over, he was not a bit grateful to me
for my thoughtful solicitude. On the contrary, he growled and grumbled,
saying that the lights of the lanterns had dazzled and confused him,
and so caused him to be even longer on the way than he otherwise would
have been; also that all the unnecessary hubbub and excitement had
made him look foolish in the eyes of the natives. "I am quite capable
of looking after my own safety, thank you," he snapped in conclusion;
to which I icily retorted that if he thought it was his safety I was
anxious about he was mightily mistaken, my only reason for acting as I
had done being that I had no ambition to be left stranded alone with
a leaderless caravan in the heart of the African wilds. It is perhaps
unnecessary to add that after this little passage of arms we parted on
not the best of terms that night.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
A WOMAN'S WORK
Five phases of a native woman's life are given here. She brings in the
firewood and the water, does the cooking, and attends generally to
domestic duties and family cares, whilst her lord and master passes the
time in pleasant oblivion under a tree.
_Reproduced from Cinematograph Films._]
Next morning he was all smiles and kindly courtesy, and as I showed by
my manner that I had forgiven his boorishness of the previous night,
we made a first-rate start. We are now bound for Sansane-Mangu, the
northernmost Government station in Togo, by way of Kadjamba and Nali,
and are in the heart of the Togoland Sudan. The days are intensely
hot, and the nights seem to get colder and colder. This morning, for
instance, the frost lay thick on the ground, so that we shivered under
our thick wraps. These extremes of temperature are very trying. For at
least nine out of the twelve hours of sunshine that one gets in these
latitudes, the sun pours down scorching rays from a cloudless sky upon
sandy plain and mountain rock, and the whole landscape shimmers and
glows like the mouth of the furnace; but with the coming of night a
sudden chill seems to fall from the stars, the heat radiates rapidly
into space, and the mercury in the thermometer drops often as many as
forty or fifty degrees in hardly more than as many minutes. Of course
the above applies to the dry season only.
On leaving Gerin-Kuka we did not take the main road, but branched off
into a side-path which it is only possible to use in the dry season.
After riding a few miles, Schomburgk stopped his horse, and, stooping
down, called my attention to a small round depression, or hole, in
the hard clay soil. It looked for all the world as if some one had
jabbed the bottom of a bucket deep down into the clay when it was
soft, and that the indentation so made there had then been left to
harden. I looked at it, as he bade me; but I did not see anything very
remarkable about it, and I said so. "Perhaps not," replied Schomburgk.
"Nevertheless, it happens to be an elephant's spoor, the first you have
ever set eyes on." Of course my interest was aroused at once, and I
dismounted in order to examine it more closely. Schomburgk explained
that it was an old spoor from the last rainy season. I thought the
footprint an enormous one, but Schomburgk said that it was made by
quite a small elephant. We followed up the spoor for some little
distance, and I received my first lesson in wood-craft, Schomburgk
pointing out to me where the beast had stopped to feed, breaking off
the branches and uprooting a number of small trees, and where he had
stopped to rest for a while. In the rainy season all this part of the
country is under water and impassable, and the elephants then come
here to feed from the mountain country of the north-east, and from the
Kara River region, where, in the "gallery forests," as they are called,
there are elephants all the year round. Later on, during the next day's
march, we struck this same Kara River, and I saw spoor of hippopotami
and buffalo. We also encountered immense flocks of guinea-fowl. The
flesh of these birds is eatable, but tough.
Kadjamba we found to be quite a small village. We could not even get
carriers to take us on to Nali, the next stage, but had to keep those
we had brought from Gerin-Kuka. There was only a small rest-house, and
I slept under my tent, being badly bitten by mosquitoes, which swarmed
about the place in countless myriads. Amongst them were numbers of
anophele, the carriers of the malarial fever microbe. Only the female
anophele stings, and she has got to be herself previously infected by
the fever germ before she can convey infection to the person bitten.
Consequently, anopheles inhabiting densely populated regions are far
more dangerous than those found in comparatively deserted ones, such
as we were now in. In and around the big villages practically every
anophele is a germ carrier, and capable of breeding infection, while
those breeding out in the bush are comparatively innocuous.
Next day we started at 6 A.M. as usual, and after an hour and a half's
ride we reached and crossed the great river Kara, our horses going in
up to their saddle-flaps. This river drains the Kabre Mountains, and is
one of the main tributaries of the Oti, the big river of Northern Togo,
and which is itself in its turn a tributary of another and yet bigger
river called the Volta, which forms the boundary between the British
and German territory. In the dry season, which is of course now, the
Kara is only about 100 yards wide and comparatively shallow, with a
slow, sluggish stream; but in the wet season it is, I was informed,
fully 500 yards wide, and so deep and swift as to be quite unfordable.
The Konkombwa country, in which we now are, differs from the Tschaudjo
country in many respects, and especially as regards the number and
extent of the villages. The Konkombwa live in little homesteads of two
or three huts, distributed thickly but unevenly all over the country,
the reason being that these people are in the main agriculturists,
getting their living from the soil. The Tschaudjo, on the contrary,
are traders and warriors, caring little for agriculture, and so in the
course of ages they have come to concentrate together more and more.
Paratau, which may be described as the capital of Tschaudjoland, has a
population of several thousand souls, and Bafilo is even bigger.
Two hours after crossing the Kara we rode into Nali, where the chief
had laid out all his "presents" under a big tree. The collection made a
goodly show; quite a lot of flour, some unground corn, many chickens,
and a big pile of eggs. In return we gave him brass, tobacco, and salt,
and he retired highly pleased. Later in the day Schomburgk and Hodgson
went out shooting, and the latter returned greatly excited. He had
seen a school of hippos for the first time. His jubilation, however,
over the incident, was greatly marred by the fact of his rifle having
jammed in a most extraordinary manner when he was making ready to let
drive at them. He had it already loaded at the time with a cartridge
carrying a soft-nose bullet for shooting antelope, and pulled the lever
in order to extract it, with a view to reload with one carrying a solid
bullet. But the case came away, leaving the bullet in the barrel, and
as he had no ramrod his rifle was put altogether out of action for the
time being. There were five or six hippos in the school, and for days
afterwards, Hodgson did not cease to lament having been unable to bag
at least one of them.
From Nali we rode on in the morning for about ten miles, then camped on
the open veldt. There was no rest-house available, of course, and we
put up our tents. The next day, December 23rd, we struck camp at six as
usual, and after an hour and a half's ride we reached the Oti River.
Here we halted, had breakfast, and tidied ourselves as best we could
for our entry into Sansane-Mangu, which lay only about another hour and
a half' ride in front of us.