The modestly-told story of a daring deed. At a time of
great anxiety, when England and France were on the verge of
conflict in Africa and the powerful Mohammedan native States
were watching for an opportunity of throwing off the yoke of
both countries, Mr. Martin was District Agent of the Royal
Niger Company at Borgu. He was instructed to secure reliable
information as to what was happening in the turbulent robber
kingdom of Kontogora, and he obtained it by the hazardous
expedient of disguising himself as a Haussa and, taking his
life in his hands, penetrating right into the enemy’s capital.
His adventures during this journey are set forth below, though
the narrative contains barely a hint of the strain of the
ordeal or the awful fate that would have befallen the author
had his real identity been suspected.
Towards the latter end of 1898, before the conquest of Nigeria, I was
placed in charge of the interests of the Royal Niger Company, Chartered
and Limited, in the Borgu district of the Niger Territories. My
instructions, amongst other things, were to watch events, political and
otherwise, and to report the same to head-quarters.
It was a time of great stress and no little peril to our West African
Empire, for not only were the various races of the Territories in a
state of unrest and hostility to the white man’s domination, but at
that period we were also at loggerheads with the French, whose troops
were encroaching on our frontiers from all sides, necessitating a
special field force being formed, under Colonel (later General Sir
Frederick) Lugard, to deal with the situation. The native Mohammedan
States, seeing this, thought to take advantage of the crisis to the
detriment of both nations.
The most turbulent of all these native States was Kontogora, a town
lying to the eastward of the Niger River. At the time of which I write
there were British troops at Jebba, Leabba, Boussa, Roffia, Gomba,
Lafagon, and Illa, as well as smaller garrisons scattered about, all on
the Niger. There was a strong force also at Zaria, a large town away to
the east, some distance south of Kano. The French were prowling about
in between.
It being reported that Kontogora was preparing to take up arms, I
determined to find out the facts of the case for myself, as, if this
State seriously intended causing trouble and gained any successes
against us, the whole Mohammedan Empire was sure to rise to a man,
and it would be difficult for us to hold our own, to say nothing of
expelling the French. My orders were to remain in Boussa, but, having
weighed the pros and cons very carefully, and decided that it would be
well within the spirit, if not exactly the letter, of my instructions
to take the action I intended, I determined to find out in person how
far this rumour was true and how great the danger really was to our
Imperial interests. I had mastered the Haussa tongue, the prevailing
language of those regions, and could hold my own easily with the
Haussas themselves, my natural aptitude for picking up tongues standing
me in good stead. Consequently, without informing anyone where I was
going, beyond leaving word that I was off on a shooting trip, on the
night of the 17th of November, 1898, I dyed myself from head to foot
a deep brown, arrayed myself in very shabby Haussa clothes, and set
off, with my guide, Mama, for Kontogora. I took the name of “Abdu
Maidowda”--Abdu the dirty. All carriers in Haussaland take nicknames,
given them by their masters or companions. It is seldom that a white
man ever knows the real names of his servants.
We tramped all that night, and next morning stopped at a small village
in the midst of farmlands in the N’gaski Kingdom. The whole country
hereabouts was bitterly hostile to the white man’s _régime_. The state
of unrest was manifest everywhere; people went armed to their work in
the fields, as raids from neighbouring towns seemed to be of frequent
occurrence. Although the various native kingdoms were quite at one with
regard to their hatred of the white man, yet amongst themselves they
were always warring and raiding for slaves--the big towns bullying the
smaller villages. The main cause of this was the heavy slave tribute
levied by the Sultan of Sokoto--the great head of the Moslem Church in
the Sudan--on all his vassal States.
Having rested for a few hours, we set out again about midday. It
was fiercely hot as we trudged through the guinea-corn fields that
stretched for miles all around us, and the heat, striking down from
the fiery sun, that hung directly overhead, made me dizzy. I staggered
along at times in a kind of hot, sweltering day-dream--seeing things
that did not exist, and thinking the most absurd thoughts. Once I
called a halt at a well of very dirty water, flung myself down on my
hands and knees, and bathed my head and neck for several minutes, Mama
looking on amused. The people in the fields were gathering in the corn
in feverish haste, but every now and then they paused long enough to
question us as to our destination and whence we came. We invariably
told the same tale--we were travelling to Kontogora from Illorin.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR, MR. S. F. MARTIN, IN HAUSSA DRESS.
_From a Photograph._]
It must have been about 4 p.m., judging by the sun, when, on that
second day out, we topped a rise of rocky ground and came face to
face with the head of a caravan of some thirty people, with a large
number of goats, coming from the westward. There were several women
on donkeys, ten armed men on horseback, and the balance consisted of
carriers. As we stood watching them the caravan halted and one of the
horsemen came prancing up to us with a great flourishing of his spear.
He asked us, very roughly, whence we came and whither we were bound.
Mama answered that we were from Illorin, whither we had taken loads for
a rich merchant from Kano, and were now bound for Kontogora, where we
hoped to obtain work, as we understood that the Emir was preparing for
war on the white man. He then asked our questioner if we might not join
his caravan, and if he would let us carry a load each in return for our
food. At this we were taken before the head of the party, who proved
to be an enormously fat woman. With a wave of the hand she gave her
consent, and we were forthwith enlisted in the line of coolies.
We pushed on that afternoon to some farmhouses, where we halted for
the night. The fat lady took up her abode in the headman’s hut, and
we carriers wandered about to find quarters for ourselves. For the
most part we slept in the open, beneath a great tree growing outside
the entrance to the headman’s compound. Mama and I had no intention
of losing sight of our companions, as we did not wish to let slip
this excellent chance of getting in to Kontogora, which was also the
destination of the caravan, without danger of possible discovery.
The farm people were good enough to give us food and drink, and also
supplied us with plenty of firewood.
After sitting around the fire for a short time, we coolies one by one
curled up on our mats (each carried a small grass mat) and, with our
feet to the fire, slept the dreamless sleep of the utterly weary.
Next morning I was awakened by Mama shaking me by the shoulder. My
clothes were wet with dew, and I commenced to shiver with cold, cursing
myself in my sleepy condition for being so foolish as to put myself in
such a perilous predicament.
As I arose and stretched myself I beheld silent forms passing to
and fro, and signs that the world was awakening became increasingly
evident. Then fires were lit and breakfast cooked; but not before we
had washed our eyes, mouth, and hands, uttering a few words from the
Koran the while. After partaking of boiled guinea-corn and soup, we
espied the fat lady preparing to mount her donkey, and, securing our
loads, took our place in the column that began to form up. Soon we were
once again trudging through the open country on our way to Kontogora.
[Illustration: “ONE OF THE HORSEMEN CAME PRANCING UP TO US WITH A GREAT
FLOURISHING OF HIS SPEAR.”]
All along the route I was struck with the apparent haste with which
the people were gathering in the corn. Our companions told us that the
Seriki (King) of Kontogora was preparing to wage war on the white man,
and had ordered his people to get in all their corn at once.
The day before we entered Kontogora we were overtaken by a raiding
party, who were returning to that place with their spoil--about twenty
young girls and women, as well as several little children--all tied
together, each having one wrist made fast to the neck, across the chest.
Their captors were Fulehs and Haussas, on horseback, armed with swords
and spears, and one or two with guns. Some of the poor captives looked
terribly emaciated, and could hardly get along. I saw one woman get a
slash of a hippo hide whip across the face, that sent her reeling to
the ground, with a great gash on her forehead. The incident stopped
the whole column for a few minutes, as the woman was fastened to her
fellow-prisoners by the neck, and, when she fell, prevented them from
advancing. The whip was then applied freely in all directions. The
chief of the band ordered the wounded woman’s squirming comrades to
pick her up and carry her, but they were unable to do so, being too
utterly worn out, I could see. They were coated in dust from head
to foot, and the perspiration trickling down their naked skins and
mingling with the dust made the poor things appear a sorry sight. The
band had, apparently, captured them at some far-distant spot, and must
have brought them along at a great pace, judging by the rate they were
going when they overtook us.
Furious at their inability to pick the woman up, the ruffian in command
raised his spear and plunged it three times into the body of the
prostrate woman. He followed this up by actually trampling her under
his horse’s feet, while I groaned in an agony of horror and impotent
rage at the ghastly spectacle.
The brute, having satisfied himself that his victim was dead, cut the
grass rope that bound her to her fellows with a slash of his sword,
and ordered the party to proceed. They left us at a quick walk--some
of the poor captives even running in their terror--and were soon out
of sight over a rise in the ground. Our party followed at a slower
pace in dead silence, leaving the poor mangled thing by the roadside
to provide a meal for the vultures and hyenas that would soon be on
the scene. I for one, however, realized then that no wild beast of the
desert could compare for utter brutality and lust for blood with the
human satyrs who overran that land at the time of which I write. For
miles around, between Kontogora and the Niger, and farther afield to
the north, south, and east, the smoking ruins of raided villages told
the ever-repeated tale of death and violence, robbery and rapine, and
I knew full well what would happen to me should my disguise, by any
mischance, be penetrated.
About five miles outside Kontogora our caravan was stopped by some
horsemen who came galloping towards us and drew up across our path.
They had a long parley with our chiefs before allowing us to proceed,
and only did so on payment of a toll. These men were scouts, and I
found out later that the whole country for five miles around the city
was effectually patrolled, no one being allowed to enter or leave
without permission. When we finally arrived outside the walls of
Kontogora it was night, and in the moonlight the scene was beautiful
and striking. The high castellated ramparts, with watch-towers over the
gates, looked strange and fantastic in the soft, mysterious light.
As we approached the gate we mingled with the members of another
caravan. Mama and I were at the tail of the line, about five or six
from the end. We chose this position to minimize the possibility of
trouble, although there really seemed little chance of that in such a
deceptive light. Still, there was just the chance, as we soon found out
when the head of the caravan reached the gate. Here it was abruptly
ordered to halt, and the guards held quite a long palaver before it
was allowed to proceed. At the same time a little incident occurred
that made my blood run cold for a few minutes. There was a cry of
“Abokai! Abokai! Kai!” (“Friends! Friends! Halloa, there!”) from the
gate, and the whole column was soon calling “Aboki! Aboki!” (“Friend!
Friend!”)--the Haussa manner of hailing anybody. They were shouting,
it soon appeared, for myself and Mama, and we were speedily hustled
forward by our companions. When we reached the gate our employer,
the fat lady merchant who had engaged us, indicated us to the guards
with a haughty wave of the hand. We could see a crowd of mounted and
unmounted men in the darkness of the gateway, and one among these, who
seemed gigantic in the moonlight as he rode forward on a horse equally
gigantic, curveted up to us. Striking my turban from off my head with
the tip of his spear, he loudly asked for our names. I answered that we
were two poor travellers from Illorin, come to offer our services to
the Emir. He asked us where our belongings were and the money that our
master had paid us at Illorin. I told him that the white man had met
us on the road and taken everything, as we were friends of Kontogora.
At this the captain of the gate gave vent to some extremely sulphurous
language. Then, with a slight movement of the reins, he caused his
horse to rear up on his hind legs and, with pawing fore-feet, to burst
furiously through the crowd of coolies round about us, trampling one
or two badly. Finally, the caravan was allowed to move on under the
gate into the town. As we entered, the _mallams_ (priests) were calling
to prayer, and the long-drawn cry, like an appeal for mercy, floated
through the night, striking on the air with that strange, indefinable
sense of mysticism that belongs to the East alone.
We wound in and out, out and in, through the moonlit streets with their
black shadows, their mud walls, and conical, thatch-roofed houses. Then
we emerged into the market-place, near which our employer resided.
Entering her compound, we put down our loads, and, seating ourselves,
awaited our wages. Mama and I were the first to be paid. We were handed
one string apiece of cowrie shells--equivalent to one shilling each,
at that time and place. We haggled over this like true-born carriers
for fully half an hour, and, as the fat lady’s head slave refused to
budge, accepted what we got with a blessing--and promptly received
another five hundred cowries for our good nature. The Haussa will often
do this, for, as much as he fears a curse, by so much does he value
a blessing. A great many rogues take advantage of this trait in the
native character.
Having been paid off, Mama and I left the compound rejoicing. Here we
were, in the very heart of Kontogora--scatheless! We wandered into the
market-place, where some people were still loitering, and decided to
sleep in one of the stalls and begin our investigations in the morning.
It was many hours before I got to sleep, as my feet ached fearfully and
were badly torn and blistered. During the march I had alternately gone
barefoot and in sandals to rest them, and at times I got badly knocked
about when carrying the leathers in my hand. Several times during the
night bands of young Haussas passed through the market-place, shouting
and laughing, boasting what they were going to do to the Turawa (white
man).
Four batches of labourers passed through also, between the time we
retired and dawn, dragging dead horses out of the town. Tom-toms
were going all the night; at times the whole air quivered with the
rhythmical sounds. The quaint tinkling of the Haussa guitar rose
and fell at intervals, and from time to time the weird notes of the
“ghoghie,” or native fiddle, could be heard from the compounds. A
spirit of excitement and revel seemed to pervade the whole town.
Next morning we loitered about until the market began to fill, when we
bought some food. We then repaired to the Galadima’s residence, and
enlisted in the army of labourers that were employed in repairing the
walls of the town. Many of these labourers were slaves, sent by the
various chiefs and big men; others belonged to the Emir himself. About
four hundred of us were dispatched to the north wall. Here some made
bricks out of the soft clay; others, including myself, stood on the
wall and laid them, and yet others passed those already dried up to us
on the wall.
While working in this way I gathered a lot of information. Raiding
parties had been out all the week, I learned, and spies and runners
from Zaria brought in news every day concerning the movements of the
white men in that city. Bands of armed men were continually bringing
in slaves from the ruined villages in the surrounding country. It was
said that N’gaski and Kontogora would join forces, attack the whites in
Zaria, and drive them out. Dandugnsu and Ridjion, neighbouring towns,
had promised their support in the campaign. I also learnt that orders
had come in from the Sultan of Sokoto that the Emir was not to commence
a war against the white man, but to remain on the defensive. The Emir
of Kontogora had replied that he was quite prepared to meet all comers,
from whatever direction--a pretty broad hint to Sokoto, I thought.
One fellow laying bricks told Mama that the man who killed Lieutenant
Thomson at Bida, in the late Niger Sudan campaign undertaken by the
Chartered Company against the Fulehs of Bida and Illorin, was now in
the town and was considered a very great hero.
About midday an order came for some twenty men to repair to the Emir’s
compound. I was chosen as one of the gang, together with Mama. So
off we marched. When we arrived we found that a horse and a cow had
died, and were to be dragged out of the town and thrown into the moat
under the walls. Tying up the hind legs with grass rope, we hauled the
carcasses through the streets and out by one of the gates and dumped
them into the ditch. Having finished our unpleasant task, we trudged
back to the north wall and recommenced laying bricks.
One swaggering youngster had annoyed me very much all the morning. He
was an overseer amongst the men, and apparently one of the wealthy
young bloods of the town. Shortly after my return from removing the
dead horse this youth strutted up to me and started cursing me roundly
in Haussa, saying that I was more like a woman than a man and that
my work was no good. Finally, raising his hand, he struck me in the
mouth. Forgetting myself completely for the moment, I stepped up to the
fellow, who promptly drew his sword. Without any trouble I disarmed
him; then, catching him by the neck, I shook him like a rat and dropped
him into the ditch on the far side of the wall.
For a moment there was dead silence; next a chorus of applause and
laughter broke out. But Mama plucked me by the sleeve. “Go,” he said,
in a low tone; “I will meet you to-night, an hour after sundown, at the
place we slept in last night.”
[Illustration: “I SHOOK HIM LIKE A RAT AND DROPPED HIM INTO THE DITCH.”]
Divining my danger, I slipped away and mingled with the crowd, nobody
venturing to interfere. I passed down some side streets that zigzagged
about confusingly, wandered in the outskirts of the town for an hour or
more, and then made my way to the market-place, which I found swarming
with people.
Buying some boiled guinea-corn, I sat down outside a stall and munched
my lunch. The woman who sold me the food was a garrulous old person,
but perfectly good-natured. She asked me all about myself, and I
told her that I had come from Zaria, where I had fled through fear
of the white men. She informed me that I had nothing to fear from
them; were it not for their guns they would be quite harmless. Then
I asked her when it was that Kontogora intended setting out to drive
the Turawa from Zaria. “Go round the blacksmiths’ shops and inquire at
the smithies,” was all the answer I could get. I thought the idea a
good one, and, bidding my new friend “Good day,” I sauntered through
the crowded market-place, stopping at various booths. In one of these
some blacksmiths were hard at work, making arrow and spear heads from
bits of iron and tin. As I stood looking at them I gathered, from
the conversation that was going on around, that some of the Emir’s
sons were expected to arrive in Kontogora that day, and that they were
bringing some of the white men’s guns with them that were taken at
Hella, when Lieutenant Keating’s party was massacred. Here was a bit
of news worth having! The conversation turning on matters that did not
interest me, I strolled on until I arrived at the head blacksmith’s
shop, near the Emir’s compound, where I watched the hammers pounding
the red-hot metal. I could see that the whole town was busy making
arms, which boded ill for the whites.
Suddenly I heard a shout of “Gashi! Gashi!” (“There he is! There
he is!”). Then there was a rush of feet, and a flash of swords in
upraised arms. Evidently my pursuers had found me out. I backed
into the blacksmith’s shop, followed by a yelling crowd, and caught
a momentary glimpse of my tormentor of the morning. Then, without
warning, something was thrown over my head, and I was dragged violently
backwards, flung to the ground, and stunned by a succession of heavy
blows.
When I came to my senses I found myself being hauled unceremoniously to
my feet, my arms bound firmly. In this ignominious state I was dragged
amid curses and cuffs through the town, a yelling crowd of bloodthirsty
ruffians surrounding me. They hauled me through a doorway into a
compound surrounded with high walls, on into a big building, through
many rooms and passages, and ultimately down some rough steps into
a filthy, stinking dungeon, reeking of mould and damp. Here, with a
violent push, I was flung headlong to the bottom, where I lay helpless
in absolute darkness.
The air was damp and chill, and the place was infested with all manner
of loathsome crawling things; I could hear them tick-ticking and
scuffling along the floor and walls. Shortly after my entry some filthy
thing touched my fingers, and I shook it off with a yell. It was a
dread place, and drove all hope of saving my life clean out of me.
How long I lay there I do not know; it was long enough, at any rate,
for a sharp attack of fever to seize me and run its course. It racked
my bones; I tossed and turned on the slimy floor, groaning aloud
in my discomfort. The hot fever-blood throbbed in my head; my eyes
and face burned, and my body became parched and dry. I moaned for
water--oh, for one drop of cool water! At one time I thought I saw
the door open and Mama enter and loose my bonds, but it was only a
vision of my disordered brain. Finally I sank into unconsciousness. I
awoke--drenched in a profuse perspiration--with men’s voices sounding
round about me. A figure was standing over me holding a lamp--an
earthenware, ewer-shaped vessel with a cotton dip--which gave a
wavering yellow radiance and cast grim dancing shadows on the walls. I
could see that the door was ajar, and a pale light was stealing into
the horrible place from outside. Roughly I was dragged to my feet. I
staggered a bit, but soon steadied myself, and--pushed, cursed, and
beaten--I accompanied my captors up the steps and out into the light of
day again, or, rather, of evening. One glorious breath of the upper air
repaid me for all that I had suffered in that black hole of Kontogora.
I did not care now if they were leading me out to kill me; I was not
going to die like a rat in that horrible pit.
As we emerged from the compound we were joined by a chattering,
mocking, hostile crowd of men, women, and children. Every now and then
one of the latter would strike me with a stick, my guards making no
effort to protect me. At last we entered the Emir’s compound and I was
taken into his presence. He was seated on a dais covered with mats and
a leopard skin, and was talking in a low monotone to some men lying
round about him on the floor of the chamber.
The young blood that I had flung over the wall, and who was the cause
of all my troubles, stepped out and told the King what I had done,
asking leave to kill me then and there. Next, to my astonishment, Mama
stepped out of the crowd and told the Emir plainly that he and I had
come all the way from Illorin to serve him, and had intended craving
his permission that morning had not my tormentor interfered and sought
a quarrel with me, in which he had got thrown over the wall for his
pains. Subsequently, through treachery, continued my faithful guide,
my enemy had had me taken and flung into prison without the Emir’s
knowledge.
The Emir, who seemed a decent sort of old man, listened patiently
to his two petitioners. Then, advising my enemy to calm himself, he
told one of his retainers to question me. I thanked Heaven that the
simpleness of my disguise and my grip of the Haussa tongue precluded
any very great possibility of detection. The Emir, before my questioner
started, informed the assembled crowd that, were I proved to be a rebel
and a traitor, he would hand me over to my enemy to do what he wished
with.
My inquisitor was a type of the grovelling bully. He tried to put
one or two posers to me, but got more than he expected in return;
and I actually got a smile out of the Emir, which elicited the loud
and flattering applause of the retainers, when I suggested that my
questioner was behaving very like a traitor himself in trying to cast
a slur on the character of one of the Emir’s most faithful subjects.
I told that monarch that I had come all the way from Illorin to serve
him, and this was the way I was being treated--dragged, beaten and
bleeding, before him from a dungeon, and bound like a common slave.
Suddenly the Emir asked me how many white men there were in Borgu;
I told him about one hundred thousand, and more to come. He seemed
greatly impressed, as well he might be. I then craved permission to
enter his service, and he inquired if I could ride. I told him to try
me. This he agreed to do. If I could ride and prove myself worthy of
entering his service he said he would pardon my imprudence of yesterday
and make me a member of his bodyguard.
My bonds were cut, and as these fell from me the pain of the blood
returning to my swollen, half-numbed hands was excruciating. I managed,
however, to keep a brave face. We retired from the Emir’s presence
and waited outside under a great shady tree, where, eventually, a
fiercely-pawing stallion was brought up, and I was ordered to mount.
This I did, the brute biting, kicking, and plunging all the time. I
had to get into one of those horrible native saddles that box you
up completely, fore and aft. Once mounted, I let the horse do as he
pleased, and he led me a terrible dance, rearing and plunging about,
dashing first to one side and then another. As he was in the midst
of his attempts to buck me off, the Emir appeared and stood watching
the tussle with interest. As a matter of fact, the horse had not much
chance when once I was on his back, for I had had a great deal of
experience of the Haussa beast, and knew his ways. He soon grew tired,
and within half an hour was quite submissive. I used no stick, but just
sat quietly in the saddle. To my surprise and delight the Emir told
me that the horse was mine, and that I was to come to see him on the
morrow, about noon. I thanked him gratefully and rode off, Mama walking
by my stirrup.
After a consultation we agreed that it would be dangerous to remain
in the town any longer, as our enemies were bound to try to get the
better of us, sooner or later. We therefore arranged that Mama should
leave the town at once, and make for Boussa as best he could, on foot;
I would leave that night. We then parted, and I was left alone in the
midst of the enemy.
At sundown I rode through the south gate, but was immediately stopped
by the guard. I told them that I came by order of the Emir, but they
demanded proof. This was distinctly awkward, for, of course, I had no
proof to give. I therefore resolved upon a bold stroke. I requested
the chief to ride with me, telling him I would give him in confidence
all the proof he would require. Unsuspectingly he rode up alongside.
Leaning over towards him, I suddenly gripped him by the throat with
both hands, at the same time ramming my heels into my horse’s sides.
The startled animal leapt forward, wrenching my opponent from the
saddle with a jerk, and I swung him across my horse’s withers, where I
held him--my right hand on his throat, my left gripping his left knee,
bending him backwards like a bow. In this fashion we flew along the
path by which two days before I had entered the robber city on foot.
A howl of execration and a clatter of hoofs followed us, and a shower
of arrows and spears fell harmlessly on either side of me. When we had
gone about a quarter of a mile I slid my hapless prisoner off on to his
head, intending to stun him. My horse, feeling the relief, went away at
renewed speed, and I had no difficulty in outdistancing my pursuers,
especially as they stopped to see to their unconscious chief. I met one
party of traders coming into the town, but they stood aside to let me
thunder past, not doubting that I was an emissary of the Emir on some
urgent business. The moon was just rising as I topped a low ridge, and
all the world was soon bathed in a soft and silvery veil of light.
Kontogora was far behind in the plain, the thousand conical roofs away
in the distance looking strangely unreal.
As I drew near the five mile radius I began to wonder how I was going
to get through the line of scouts. Capture now would mean death in
some horrible form or other; at all costs I must not be taken alive.
Suddenly I heard a shout far away on my right, and in the dim light
saw a body of horsemen coming my way. Touching my mount with my
heels I again gave him his head, and he flew like the wind, with
ever-increasing speed. The pace was terrific and absolutely foolhardy
in that light, although the road was fairly good. I expected every
moment to be pitched head foremost to the ground, but the surefooted
beast kept on without a stumble. The shouts and thunder of hoofs behind
grew fainter and fainter, until at last, to my infinite relief, they
entirely died away. Still, however, I kept on. Here and there, when
the road passed through a village or beside a farm, frightened figures
would slink away into the shadows and a startled cur would burst into
a violent fit of barking, as I clattered by on my panting steed, now
reeking and white with sweat.
[Illustration: “IN THIS FASHION WE FLEW ALONG THE PATH.”]
I rode fast all through the night, my horse showing splendid spirit
and pluck, and at sunrise halted on the banks of a river. Leaving my
hard-ridden beast to cool a little first, I then watered him and,
cutting some guinea-corn stalks from a patch near by, gave him a good
feed, munching some myself at the same time and quenching my thirst at
the river. Then, after about two hours’ rest, I proceeded, but at a
lesser speed.
I rode all that day and well into the night, finally resting by the
pool where I had cooled my heated brow on the way to Kontogora. After
some hours’ halt I pushed on again, obtaining food at farmhouses
on the way, and next evening, utterly weary, arrived at the Niger
opposite Boussa. My journey was over; I was safe at last! Arriving at
my quarters in the Niger Company’s compound, I flung myself down on my
camp bed just as I was and slept for sixteen hours.
The faithful Mama turned up four days later. He went to Yauri, a
friendly State, coming down river by canoe. For his services I
presented him with the Emir of Kontogora’s horse.
During all the years that have gone by since my secret trip to
Kontogora and my subsequent escape I have never regretted having run
the double risk of disobeying orders on the one hand and risking my
life on the other. I had been instructed to get news and I got it--not
the idle tales of paid spies, but a record of sights seen and things
heard with my own eyes and ears.
[Illustration]
_A Voyage on an Ice-Floe._