OUR "FARTHEST NORTH"
On January 11th, 1914, we left Mangu, where we had been since December
the 23rd, and resumed our journey northward. Beyond Mangu, Togo has
not yet been opened up, nor is the country considered altogether
safe for Europeans. We only went there by special permission of the
Government, obtained through H.H. the Duke of Mecklenburg, and he only
granted it because Schomburgk was personally known to him as an old
and experienced African traveller, who could be trusted to treat the
natives well, to neither do nor say anything to provoke them, and who
yet was capable of holding his own in an emergency if he were attacked.
Before setting out, too, Schomburgk had to sign an official document,
promising only to go north along the Oti River, and not to attempt
to enter the Gourma country. He was also warned to be on his guard
against the Tschokossi people in the villages of the extreme north,
as these were reputed to be shy and suspicious of white strangers
entering their territory. As a matter of fact, Schomburgk insisted,
in talking the matter over with me, that the Tschokossi are nowhere
dangerous if properly handled, and that there was likewise little or
nothing to fear from the Gourma people living in German territory,
although he admitted that occasionally parties of Gourma come over from
French territory as far as Panscheli, whither we were bound, and that
these strays are apt to be troublesome, and even truculent. Indeed,
only quite recently a German officer traversing the very district into
which we were about to penetrate, and having with him a big escort
of soldiers, was attacked by prowling savages, who shot a flight of
poisoned arrows into the tent where he was asleep. According to the
version of the affair I heard, he must have escaped death by a miracle.
He was, I was told, lying down asleep when he was awakened by the
"plunk, plunk, plunk," of the arrows striking and penetrating the taut
canvas. Jumping up, he ran to the entrance of the tent, whereupon the
lurking savages shot another volley, one of the arrows glancing from
the tent pole behind which he was standing, and wounding him on the
forehead. With commendable presence of mind, instead of going after
his assailants, he at once sat down upon the ground, and called to his
native boy, who there and then set to work to suck the poison from the
wound. In this way his life was saved, for although he suffered great
agony, and was seriously ill for quite a long while, he recovered in
the end. He was lucky, for, as a rule, the least scratch from one of
these poisoned arrows proves fatal. I made many inquiries during my
stay in the country, and afterwards, as to what was the particular
poison used by the natives on their arrow tips, but I could get no
proper information, or rather, I should say that what I did get was
extremely contradictory. A Doctor Porteous, a friend of mine, assured
me that he had analysed some of it taken from a freshly-smeared arrow,
and found it to be a preparation of digitalis, made from a native plant
of the fox-glove variety. On the other hand, I have talked with people
who claim to have actually seen the natives poisoning their arrows by
the simple process of sticking the points in a lump of putrid meat, and
leaving them there for a while; while yet others assert that the poison
is a preparation of rotting vegetable earth taken from the nearest
bog-hole. There may be some truth in this, for it is known that people
wounded by the arrows frequently succumb to tetanus. The probability
is that no one poison is used at all times, and by all the tribes, but
that different kinds are utilised as opportunity offers.
It was on a Sunday morning that we quitted Mangu, and Captain von
Hirschfeld, with his usual kindness, made all arrangements for carriers
and so forth, and also stored our spare baggage against our return.
Our first day's march was only five miles, and, travelling as we did
along the Oti valley, in which the natives had just been burning the
grass, it was anything but pleasant riding. The air was filled with a
black impalpable dust, which got into my eyes, down my throat, up my
nostrils--everywhere. The heat was terrific, and caused one to perspire
freely, so that our faces soon took on a most unbeautiful streaky
appearance. The water I washed in when we camped became of the colour
of ink, and the consistency almost of pea soup; and when I unbound my
hair, showers of blacks descended from it to the ground.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
AN UNFORTIFIED TSCHOKOSSI VILLAGE
The semi-wild Tschokossi of the extreme north of Togo are great
believers in fetishism and fetishes. In the above photograph a field
fetish, in the form of two calabashes joined together, is seen in the
tree on the left; this is supposed to make the corn grow plentifully.
In the centre is a pedestal-like arrangement of hard clay; this is for
the sacrifice of fowls. Other fetish emblems are seen on the huts, and
elsewhere.]
Schomburgk wanted to camp at a village, but I was greatly taken with
a very pretty spot, lying fifteen feet or so up on a bluff in a bend
of the river, and from which a beautiful view could be had over the
surrounding country. To this Schomburgk objected, saying that the wind
was likely to prove troublesome by day, and that at night we were
pretty certain to be eaten up by mosquitoes. I persisted, however,
and in the end he allowed me to have my way. Afterwards, I wished he
hadn't. His prediction was verified. Very much so, in fact. As the day
advanced, a hot wind swept across the Oti plains in fierce eddying
gusts, bringing with it more clouds of black dust from the burnt veldt;
and at night the mosquitoes were so bad that we couldn't sleep, exactly
as he had foretold. I never encountered anything quite so bad in the
way of insect pests as were these mosquitoes on the banks of the Oti.
The boys had to light fires of green boughs to drive them away, and
while they were crouching over them, half-suffocated by the smoke,
Schomburgk started to tell me about some mosquitoes he once encountered
in the Congo forest region. "Why," he remarked, "we used to shoot them
like game with our revolvers as they sat perched on the boughs of
the trees above our heads, and so big were they that several of them
weighed a pound." "Get out," I retorted indignantly, "there are no such
insects anywhere in the world." "It is the literal truth I am telling
you," he replied, gravely, "several of those Congo mosquitoes weighed
a pound." "Yes," put in Hodgson slyly, with a laugh and a wink at me,
"_several_ of them. Several thousands--or millions if you like."
Then, of course, I saw the joke, such as it was, and we all laughed.
The place near to which our camp was pitched was a small Tschokossi
village called Bwete. The people were very wild in appearance. The
Tschokossi living in and about Mangu were comparatively civilised,
but these were just savages pure and simple. The men wore only small
loin slips of undressed bark, the women bunches of green branches
before and behind. These they renewed daily when they went down to the
river to wash in the early morning. Each woman or girl plucked a few
branches, thereby possessing herself of a new dress. In this respect
these children of nature go one better than ourselves. No civilised
woman, I take it, be she ever so wealthy, has a new dress _every_ day.
Schomburgk considered these umbrageous costumes hideous, but I thought
them very pretty, modest, and becoming. Certainly, on hygienic grounds,
the custom has much to recommend it.
In the afternoon all our boys went down to the river to bathe in a
big deep pool, in which I had previously observed several crocodiles
disporting themselves. I was horrified when I saw them, and called to
them to come out, telling them what I had seen; but they only laughed
at my fears, and went on swimming, skylarking, and splashing about. The
natives assert, and probably with truth, that whereas for one man to
venture alone by himself into a crocodile-infested pool would be for
him to court almost certain death, a number of them can go in together
with impunity. Doubtless the reptiles are frightened at the noise and
the splashing, and lie low instead of attacking, fearing for their own
safety.
On the road to this village a pet monkey we had bought earlier in the
trip got loose, and bolted across the veldt. It was being carried shut
up in a hen-coop, and probably resented the indignity. We were greatly
perturbed, for we had all of us become more or less attached to the
"comical little cuss," as Artemus Ward would doubtless have called him,
and we did not want to lose him. The boys tried their hardest to catch
him, and failed; but directly Schomburgk called him, he came to him,
and rode coiled up on the front of his saddle for the rest of the day.
Shortly after this episode we came upon a very picturesque little lake,
a really pretty sheet of water, long and narrow. We had been on the
look-out for this, because before we left Mangu one of the officials
there told us that he had recently shot a big bull hippopotamus here,
and Schomburgk was anxious to film one or more of these creatures.
So we circled the entire lake, going up one side and down the other,
examining it carefully. There were lots of water-fowl, but no hippos,
big or little, male or female. When we reached camp, our boys told
us that they had seen a big herd of antelope. This was tantalising,
for we wanted meat for the pot, and we had seen nothing of them. The
natives are still busy at their favourite pastime--at this season of
the year--of burning the grass on the Oti flats, and the wind, as
usual, blew the calcined debris into our eyes and noses. Anything but
pleasant!
Next day we resumed our march. Our intention had been to follow the
Oti, but the river winds in and out just about here in the most
bewildering and tantalising manner, and our soldier guide from Mangu,
in attempting a short cut, lost his way. We passed through or round
a number of dirty Tschokossi villages, but the people were sullen
and suspicious, refused to answer our questions, or replied only in
non-committal monosyllables. These people live, like the Konkombwa, in
tiny hamlets of two or three families, and, to judge by their replies
to our requests for information, one would have imagined that no such
river as the Oti existed anywhere in Togo, let alone close to where
they lived, moved, and had their being.
At length, thoroughly vexed and tired out, hot, dusty and thirsty,
we halted at noon at a place called Magu, and put up our tents under
some low, withered trees. It proved to be a most uncomfortable camping
ground. The black dust settled everywhere. The sun beat down with
a perfectly awful intensity, and it was practically impossible to
obtain shelter from the heat, the country all round being low bush,
interspersed with open veldt. Late in the afternoon, after a rest,
Schomburgk set out to try and find the Oti, and returned in a little
while with the somewhat comforting news, under the circumstances, that
it was only about a quarter of an hour's march ahead. And yet the
people here had assured us that it was "very far away." This shows
what reliance is to be placed on the word of a wild native. Schomburgk
further told us that on the way back from the river he had sighted a
roan antelope, but that it was too far off for him to be able to get a
shot. Another disappointment!
Before going to bed that night Schomburgk instructed the interpreter
to rouse us at 5 A.M. Presently I heard him calling out as usual that
it was time to get up, and in obedience to the summons I arose, though
feeling unusually sleepy. I put this down, however, to the tiring
events of the day previous, and, having washed and dressed, I went
outside the tent. To my surprise, I found the moon still high in the
heavens, and only then did it occur to me to look at my watch. The time
was 2.30 A.M. After saying some things the reverse of complimentary
to the interpreter, I re-entered my tent and lay down, intending to
try and get to sleep again. But meanwhile Hodgson, who had also been
awakened, had started a long confab with one of the native boys.
Hodgson was a first-rate operator, and a very decent sort of a fellow
to boot, but he was one of the most confirmed chatterboxes I ever came
across. I used to tell him that he would talk to his own shadow, if
there was nothing and nobody else to talk to. In this respect he was
the very reverse of Schomburgk, who, like most men who have lived long
in the wilds, was a very quiet, reserved sort of man.
At five o'clock, we rose finally for the day, and resumed our march
in the direction of the Oti, striking it, as Schomburgk had already
told us we would, in from fifteen to twenty minutes. We are now in an
utterly wild country, where few, if any, white people, whether men
or women, have ever been before. There are no paths, and the native
tracks--one cannot call them trails--lead nowhere save from village to
village, or possibly to water-holes, or river fords, as the case may
be. For the most part we tried to follow the Oti, but the wide bends it
made, and the nature of the banks in places, rendered this at times an
absolute impossibility.
We are in a fine game country, and we saw many troops of antelope.
Flocks of guinea-fowl, too, ran along in front of the horses; francolin
flew up in coveys of ten and twelve; crested crane kept passing
overhead on their way from one feeding-ground to another, uttering
their haunting rasping cry. It was a beautiful sight to a city-bred
girl. I felt I was really near to Nature at last; that here was God's
big "zoo." I did not want to talk--only to listen and look. I am
beginning to understand now how it is that all the white bush people
are quiet men, who think a lot, but say little, like the famous parrot
of immortal memory. Crossing, as I have already said, a succession of
big bends, we were mostly out of sight of the river, but when we did
catch a glimpse of it I could see that it was covered with ducks, teal,
and all sorts of water-fowl; while every thicket and clump of trees we
came to held colonies of bright-hued land birds, blue jays, sun-birds,
and so on, whose gorgeous plumage, flashing in the sunshine, was a
source of never-ending pleasure.
It was concerning these fine-feathered birds that Schomburgk and I
had "words" one day. I badly wanted him to shoot a few specimens, and
preserve them for me, as I had reason to know that he is an exceedingly
skilful amateur taxidermist. But he politely and firmly declined to do
anything of the kind. He is in favour of the protection of wild birds,
and holds strong views about killing them in order to strip them of
their plumage. "We might," he said, "take back to Europe hundreds of
pounds' worth of feathers and skins from this district, but to do so
would be a crime against Nature and against Nature's God." I replied
that I didn't want to do murder for money, but that I would like a few
specimens for my own personal use and adornment. "Besides," I added,
"you kill birds for the pot--francolin, quail, and so forth--and what
the difference is between killing them to eat and killing them to wear,
I cannot for the life of me make out. So far as I can see, it makes
precious little difference to the poor birds." To this Schomburgk
retorted that men must eat, and women too for that matter, but that
the latter need not stick feathers or stuffed birds in their hats.
Eventually, however, he did so far do violence to his principles as to
shoot me a single sun-bird, out of the many hundreds that were flying
about. These little creatures are exceedingly beautiful; purple red
about the body, with lovely blue heads, a splash of blue at the root
of the tail, and very much elongated and very brilliant tail feathers.
Schomburgk, also, yielding to my earnest entreaties, shot me a blue
jay, and gave to Hodgson permission to shoot me one other. These have
been greatly admired since in London, for, of course, we took care
before shooting them to select perfect specimens in full plumage. But I
wish my fair friends could have seen them as I saw them first, when the
feathers were alive. The difference between the plumage of a stuffed
bird and a living one, or even one recently killed, is very marked.
It is the difference between a woman's own hair and a made-up switch,
between a peroxide blonde and a real one.
These bright-plumaged birds, by the way, do not sing. A few of them
whistle, but mostly their cries are coarse and rasping ones. The reason
is, of course, that they rely upon the beauty of their colouring to
do the work of sex attraction. It is wonderful, when one comes to
think of it, how always and everywhere it is love, love, love, that
makes the world go round. To it we owe the beauty of the colouring of
the sun-birds, the tail feathers of the bird of paradise, the song
of the nightingale, and these in their turn, no doubt, in the dim,
distant past, gave birth to painting and to music. No doubt the first
Tschokossi belle who tore down a green branch to deck herself withal,
was moved in the first instance by sex attraction, and the same holds
good to-day of a frock by Worth.
It is astonishing how tame the antelope, and four-footed game
became--so far at least as I personally was concerned--as we trekked
farther into the wilderness. They seemed almost to have lost all fear
of me whatever. The pretty little puku antelopes used to stop and
gaze curiously at me until I was within a few yards of them, and once
a couple of reitbuck got up right in front of my horse, and stood
stock-still staring at me. I called to Schomburgk to bring his rifle,
but by the time he got to me they had galloped off.
On the morning of January 13th, after following the Oti for about
eight miles, we debouched on to a big open plain, and Schomburgk and
Hodgson rode on ahead along the river bank to explore, leaving me to
lead the caravan across the flat. The going for the horses soon became
exceedingly bad, so that we could only move at a snail's pace. It is
the kind of country that is known out here as "yam-field country"; for
the following reason. The natives, when they cultivate their yams,
hoe up a little hillock round each plant. Now in the rainy season the
country we are crossing--part of the Oti flats--is all under water, and
when this dries up it leaves a lot of little hillocks, which the sun
presently bakes into the consistency of bricks. Hence the name!
Owing to the recent firing of the old grass, however, there was plenty
of fresh green stuff in the interstices between the hillocks, and this
furnished fodder for countless troops of antelope. I never saw so many
together at one time before. Some of the herds we encountered numbered
between thirty and forty head. While Schomburgk and Hodgson were with
the caravan, they were shy, but with me riding alone it was quite
different. They seemed instinctively to realise that they were in no
danger. They would stand still gazing stolidly in my direction until I
was within thirty or forty yards of them, before gracefully cantering
off, afterwards stopping every now and again to turn round and stare
inquisitively at what was evidently something quite new to them.
Others would simply trot a little way to one side of the path we were
following, then line up to see us pass, like soldiers on parade.
It was while I was gazing admiringly at a row of these pretty little
creatures, that my boys drew my attention to a big moving object in
the distance, whispering excitedly: "Look, missy--some big meat!" The
native, I may explain, calls all game "meat." Focussing the object
through my field-glasses, I saw that it was an unusually fine specimen
of a roan antelope, the size of a small horse. These roan antelopes
are, of course, quite different from the small puku, and other similar
varieties; they are, in fact, the second biggest of the antelope
species, only the eland being larger. This one, to the unaided eye,
looked like a blue-black shadow moving obliquely across the bright
sunlight, and I do not suppose I should ever have noticed it had it not
been for my boys. With the glasses, however, I could see distinctly the
beautiful dappled skin, note the proud carriage of the creature's head,
and watch its long tail swaying rhythmically and regularly to and fro
as it switched the flies from its hind quarters. It was moving across
our track well in advance, and was evidently travelling from the river,
where it had been for its morning drink, back to the safety and shelter
of the bush beyond. When I first focussed it, it was going quite
leisurely, but after I had been observing it for about a minute or two
I saw it stop suddenly, and gaze anxiously in my direction. Evidently
it had got our wind. It started to throw up its head in angry defiance.
Then it began to paw the ground, and a moment later it was off and away
like an arrow from a bow.
[Illustration: NATIVES GAMBLING
This game is played with the hollowed-out rib of a palm leaf, into
which small round stones, or beads, are dropped through a hole in the
centre. Both skill and luck enter into its composition.]
Presently we breasted a slight rise, and then rode down into a sort
of circular depression, in the centre of which was a small "vley,"
or hollow, where the water collects from the rainy season. It was
literally covered, and also surrounded, by an immense collection of
birds of all kinds, amongst them being about a hundred marabou. My
heart gave a great bound at the sight of these latter, and for the
first and last time during our journey I regretted that I carried no
gun. Here were hundreds of pounds' worth of the most beautiful and
highly-prized feathers in the world within easy reach of me, and I
couldn't get one of them. I could easily have shot them had I a weapon
handy, for they allowed me to come quite close to them, before lazily
rising, only to settle again a few hundred yards farther on. Later on
I told Schomburgk about them, and begged him to go back and get me at
least one bird; but his reply was a blunt negative. "I've told you
already I will not shoot these beautiful creatures," he said. "But
marabou feathers!" I replied, almost crying with vexation. "You don't
know what they mean to a woman. And such splendid specimens too. Why
they are practically priceless." To all of which, and much more on
similar lines, he listened in silence, only shaking his head doggedly
from time to time. However, I was destined to get my marabou feathers
later on, and that, too, without doing violence to Schomburgk's
feelings by killing even one single bird. But that is another story,
which will come in its proper place. These marabou birds, by the way,
were first discovered to exist in Togo by Schomburgk during this very
trip, he coming across a flock of them accidentally, just as I had
done. When we went back to Mangu, and he told them there what he
had seen, they absolutely declined to believe him, holding that he
must have mistaken some other commoner species of the crane family
for the rare and valuable marabou stork. Our old friend. Captain von
Hirschfeld, was especially emphatic on the subject, saying that he had
resided in the country for years, that he had travelled all about it
on his official tours of inspection, and that if there were any such
birds in Togoland he would have been sure to have come across them.
We were standing on the square in front of the Captain's house when
this conversation took place, and Schomburgk, happening to glance up,
remarked quietly to von Hirschfeld: "Why, there's one flying overhead
now," at the same time handing him his glasses. "By gad, you're right,"
cried the Captain, after he had focussed the bird, "I can see the
tail feathers plainly." And from now on therefore the _Leptoptilus
crumenifer_ will figure in the list of birds indigenous to Togo. I
may add that after coming to London I made frequent inquiries in the
millinery shops of the West End for African marabou feathers, but never
once did I succeed in getting even a peep at the genuine article. Those
I was offered, and at very high prices too, were mostly of the far less
valuable Indian variety, though others were not even derived from any
of the cranes, but were the product of all sorts of birds, including
vultures.
After leaving the vley where the marabou were, we rode on and on across
the shadeless, waterless, sun-baked plain. The heat was terrific, and
the guide seemed to have completely lost his way. I confess to feeling
anxious, and at length I called a halt, feeling that we might as well
be sitting still, as to go on travelling in a direction that might be
a wrong one. In about an hour Schomburgk and Hodgson turned up. They
had been following the course of the river, scouting, taking compass
bearings, and doing a little mapping. They had found that the Oti took
another big bend just here.
Schomburgk took over command of the caravan from me, and set a course
due north, towards a fairly large village called Sumbu. Soon afterwards
we quitted the plain, and climbed up on to a plateau. Everybody was
very tired, including myself, and I quite understood now why natives
preferred to go nude, or with only a loin-cloth. One never realises
how utterly ridiculous and superfluous civilised clothing can become,
until one travels in the African bush during the heat of the day. We
passed many dirty little Tschokossi villages, mostly deserted or in
ruins, but saw no inhabitants. At last, when we were beginning to
despair, we discerned in one we sighted some slight signs of life; a
stray chicken or so, and a mongrel dog. Riding up to it we found it
to be quite a small hamlet, inhabited by a mixed lot of Tschokossi,
and some Fulani, who were looking after their cattle. The Tschokossi,
I may explain, are not themselves cattle-breeders. All the stock they
own comes down to them from the north by way of trade, and always in
charge of the Fulani, who, in regard to their knowledge of cattle and
their ways, may be termed the Masai of Western Africa. These Fulani
drovers, being mostly poor men in their own country, or at all events
cattle-less, which amounts to much the same thing, are only too glad
to remain and settle down amongst the Tschokossi for a while, and look
after their herds. They receive as their reward the milk, and at stated
intervals a calf or two. These latter increase and multiply, and in
time each Fulani possesses a herd of his own, and returns to his own
land a rich man, judged by Fulani standards. I was greatly interested
in these people, who are, as I think I have already mentioned, of an
altogether different type to the ordinary negro tribes dwelling in
this part of Africa. I found them quite intelligent to talk to. They
possess clear-cut features, approximating to the European standard,
light chocolate-coloured skins, and some of the women I saw were by no
means bad-looking. The Fulani as a class are supposed to be of Arab and
Berber blood, with a dash of the negroid. At this village we called a
halt, and partook of a hurried lunch, which was greatly improved by a
big calabash of fresh milk brought us by the Fulani herdsmen.
After lunch Schomburgk and I cantered on to Sumbu, about two miles
distant, leaving the caravan to follow. On the way two reitbuck got
up, and stood looking at us not ten yards away. Schomburgk's language
at not having his rifle with him was, to put it mildly, not elegant.
Personally, I was glad that he hadn't got it with him, but I did not
tell him so. The beautiful creatures were so close up, that I could
see the look of startled terror in their lovely big brown eyes, and I
was pleased when they scampered away, even though their meat would
have come in most handy for the pot. At Sumbu, we pitched our camp on
a promontory overlooking the Oti, which is here bordered with fresh
grass, very pretty. The outlook, too, over the plains to the north and
west was very cheering, with herds of puku grazing quietly at intervals
as far as the eye could reach. We intend staying here four or five
days.