These rest-houses are put up by the Government. But for them one must

perforce carry a tent or go to a native village, not an ideal place

in which to sleep, from the health or any other point of view. The

rest-house usually consists of a fairly stout circular mud wall, round

which is a lower one, the intervening space covered by the sloping roof

and forming a verandah. Rest-houses are in charge of the Headman of an

adjacent village. He collects, for the Government, 2s. per night from

each occupant, the payment including a supply of wood and water. If

required, he has to sell for himself, at fixed rates, fowls and guinea

corn for horses.

It is quite a little ceremony at some places where the Headman,

accompanied by one or two village elders, pays his respects to

the white visitor by coming to the rest-house, and there on knees

saluting, by bowing the head and exclaiming several times, “Zaki! Zaki!

Zaki!”—literally “Lion”—corresponding to “Sir” or “Your Honour” or “Your

Lordship.” The visitor gravely replies “Agaisheka!” (“Hail to you!”) and

then proceeds to business by stating his requirements in the matter

of supplies and asking how much he has to pay. After the evening meal

prepared by his servants in a cook-house in the compound, bed is the

usual order of procedure.

The start next morning was at 6.30. I did not accompany the carriers

but turned back to look for a Swan fountain pen jerked out of my pocket

the previous afternoon and immensely valued not so much for its great

convenience on a journey of this kind, when writing must be done at odd

moments anywhere, but still more prized at being the gift from former

colleagues. Nearly an hour’s search along the road failed to discover

the article, so the forlorn hope was abandoned, and I turned round to

overtake the carriers.[3] They would be, of course, about two hours in

advance.

I had long repassed Gidan Gombo and, relying on the horse’s reputation

for being sure-footed, was galloping him along a ridge on the road,

each side cut into a ditch by further heavy rains of the early morning,

when, a slip to the right, he involuntarily bent his head and over

it I went, as cleanly as if I had been an acrobat. As is my practice

when dismounting in this manner, I retained hold of the reins, but it

was well the doki knew his manners and pulled up, for the bridle came

off completely. A mud bath and a few slight bruises constituted the

casualties, for the pony did not even go on his knees. He looked rather

forlorn standing in the road with naked head, and as I went up to replace

the bit he appeared to say, with a half-apologetic, sorrowful air, “Well,

upon my soul! Who would have thought it?”

The sun had come out strongly, removing the dampness and leaving a caking

of earth and mud on breeches and shirt as I cantered along to Gussum, 14

miles from Gidan Gombo, reaching it some time after the carriers.

Everybody having now settled down to their work, I decided on a 5 a.m.

start for next morning, but at that hour the night rain was still

falling, and you will seldom induce carriers to step out into a storm.

If one comes whilst they are on the march they sturdily go on. A wetting

from above is the most severe minor discomfort a native can suffer. It

was 7 o’clock before the air had cleared, and we set forth. The Naraguta

pilgrims continued towards their goal along the road that has been made

southwards, whereas we, after going back a few hundred yards, left the

road and struck south-east.

It was the first day I had ridden with the carriers, and within a couple

of hours, without having spoken to any, I seemed to be on good terms with

each. A more buoyant, light-spirited, smiling set nobody would wish to

march with. One, Amadu, had suspended round his neck a kind of shepherd’s

pipe roughly fashioned of wood, which, with a line of airholes along it,

yielded shrill tunes. We set out with this pipe sounding a cheery note

that stimulated all of us more for the day’s work.

Another leading figure of the party is the Headman Hanza, a fine type

of Hausa, the kind of man whom nature has indicated should be above his

fellows. His control of the men is thorough yet easy, and exercised with

an entire absence of anger or high words. When he has to speak to any

of them reprovingly, which is only called for when getting them to make

more haste for the early morning assembly, it is never done by shouting.

A few words in a deliberate, slow tone are all that is necessary. His

articulation through a perfect set of teeth is so clear that a stranger

to his language could catch every syllable.

It is on the Bauchi Light Railway that the Pagan belt of land is first

touched, but there they are a very mild variety, a kind of Hausa-Pagan,

the two having largely mingled and intermarried. Along the route we are

now crossing there is a nearer approach to the real article, but nothing

approaching the wild tribes on the further stages on the plateau. Men

and women in the Gussum-Juga direction wear scarcely any clothing—males,

a narrow loin-cloth; females, a bunch of leaves in front and another at

the back—and keep themselves rather apart from the other population.

The men turn from their work in the fields to bow to the white men. The

Hausa villages and Fulani farms are not far from the dwelling-places of

their aforetime prey, for slaves, and sworn enemies. Cultivation of the

land, though not general, is fairly frequent. Pagan villages, instead of

always being made in rocky heights where they were safe from the raiding

Fulani horsemen, are now seen pitched lower, and not infrequently in the

valleys. The British power ensures them protection and peace. Raiding

for slaves is over, in these parts.

From Rahama the ascent to the plateau of Bauchi Province is an

imperceptible slope. After leaving Gussum towards Juga there is a gentle

down-grade for half the distance, carrying and concentrating rain from

the hills and mountains, and in the course of a few hours making dry

river beds and shallow streams into rushing, dangerous waters. This we

experienced.

CHAPTER XIX

RAHAMA TO JUGA—(_continued_)

Stopped by a stream—A volunteer—Amadu the carrier—Sun

heat—Across the river—“Kow abinshi”—The doki boy’s

experiment—The climate and granite—Domestic details on trek—A

chilling downpour—Mark Tapleys—Sun and warmth—Hanza’s command—A

dignified procession.

Half-a-dozen men who had come from the opposite direction, and who were

some distance to the right, shouted in a warning tone as we passed, “Rau”

(“Water”). The reason we soon understood. A few minutes later we were at

the edge of a steep bank below which a swift, swirling river was being

impelled from rapids quite near. The sound of the torrent as it fell on

the rocks made one feel utterly insignificant, a mere twig if within such

force and power.

It was clear that the water was not to be crossed lightly, and the first

thing was to ascertain whether the depth was above a man’s shoulders.

Under the direction of Hanza several of the carriers threw aside their

loin-cloths and waded in. Almost at once they were off their feet,

swimming, splashing, laughing, shouting with joy at the cool bath. The

bends of the bank enabled them to get back without distress. Evidently,

however, the river was impassable, for some of the carriers could not

swim, and even if all could the question of taking over heavy loads had

to be solved.

Hanza considered the best course would be to send the horses across and

to instruct one of the doki boys to ride to a village a few miles distant

and bring a man who had a boat. The “boat” I subsequently found out was

a large calabash ball with a stake through it, the upper part grasped by

a passenger who sat on the calabash. This floated whilst the voyager was

carried along by the stream; if he were able, paddling with feet until he

was across, and if he had not confidence to do that then carried by the

current until a turn of the bank on the other side intercepted him. Such

a “boat” was lying near. When discovered, the question of conveying boxes

over remained a difficulty.

The horses were unsaddled; taken to a point where it was calculated the

current would not bear them past the part on the opposite bank where they

could get out of the water, and swum across. We saw one of the doki boys

mount and ride away. There was nothing for it but to sit down and wait.

We had arrived at 10.20, and after an hour’s delay and no sign of the

doki boy, Hanza told me that one of the carriers thought he knew where

the bed of the river rose somewhat, and had volunteered, if I would

consent, to try and carry the loads across one by one. Glancing at the

strongly-running stream, I said I would first prefer to see the man go

over unencumbered. Hanza answered that the test was whether the man

could keep on his feet bearing a load against the pressure of water.

I appreciated the argument and looked along the line of packages for

something easy. In order to cover the ground as quickly as possible I

travel lightly. It seemed rather hard to decide what, if a sacrifice

had to be made, should go. The photographic equipment was the lightest,

but that was the most precious, more precious than the food. Scanning

the boxes, I selected a case containing a tin of kerosene as being the

article the loss of which would cause least inconvenience. Hoisting it on

his head, Amadu—for he was the volunteer—went down the bank and entered

the water.

Gingerly he stepped out, for the current went hard and the ridge along

which he walked was not too broad. Fortunately it curved leftwards, so he

was able to give ground to some degree to the pressure of water on his

right. But as he went deeper his efforts, it was distinctly visible, were

more severe, and by the time he was in the middle of the stream—at its

widest point—I had become very anxious. The river was up to his shoulders

and beating across him ominously.

He went on, with the eyes of all his fellows following him intently. My

gaze fixed intently on the now slowly-moving figure, which seemed to be

struggling to maintain its upright position. I saw he was treading into

deeper water. It was washing round his ears, and in a moment more had

reached to the top of them. Still he pushed forward, and as the level of

his eyes was reached and he painfully struggled on, his arms stiffened in

the endeavour to raise the heavy load pressing on his head, and to bring

his face above water to breathe. I could stand the sight no longer, and,

breaking the spell of silence, shouted “Adja kasa! Adja kasa!” (“Throw it

down! Throw it down!”)

Amadu either could not hear or would not heed. He stopped, and not once

but thrice or more he tried to bring his face above the water. No, it

could not be done there. Would he wear out his remaining strength and

drop? A score of pairs of arms must have involuntarily twitched in the

desire to help the brave carrier whose endurance was at breaking-point.

His feet felt their way by inches, and whilst I stood, both sick and

fascinated, more of his head seemed to show, and, sure enough, he was on

the upward slope, and in a few moments again stood still, now his mouth

and nostrils above water, and drew several long breaths.

Lifting the load two or three times in playful manner, as a signal to

his comrades that he was all right, he strode on into the shallower

flow and putting the box down on the bank scrambled up. I gave a volley

of hand-clapping as vigorous and hearty as I ever rendered to actor or

singer, and the carriers also broke out into loud “Ah’s” in token of

admiration. Without waiting for a question from Hanza, I told him that I

would not think of consenting to any further experiment of the sort. The

risk was far too much for the man, without a thought of the safety of the

things he was willing to carry over.

Amadu swam back, and all stretched themselves at ease to await the boat.

Ground-nuts bought at a small village earlier in the morning were roasted

and eaten by the happy, light-hearted carriers. A fire was easily made by

gathering leaves. Notwithstanding the downpour of the night, the sun had

dried them to tinder.

So powerful were the sun’s rays that my chest, exposed for the coolness,

was as though a strong mustard plaster had been administered. When the

blistering and peeling process ensued I had some bad five minutes.

My arms, the skin now quite dark and hardened by three months’ daily

exposure on horseback to wind and sun, also blistered. The camera, of

polished teak and with brass binding, specially made for the tropics,

gave a tendency to stiffness of the joints due to warping, but the

excellence of the wood and workmanship stood the test without impairing

the apparatus for usefulness. A closed tin of butter, protected in a

thick wooden box, melted and percolated through. I afterwards learnt

that the temperature had been 139 degrees. So fresh is the atmosphere on

the Bauchi Plateau that although I had given up my horse to another at

half-past eight, and had, therefore, tramped with the carriers for two

hours, I was not in the least fatigued, in spite of the heat.

At 1.15 the doki boy was seen coming back. He was accompanied by three

villagers who called that there was an easy ford a little higher up.

Pointing, they made towards it, and Hanza and a couple of men went to

verify the information. Pushing our way through grass higher than the

tallest among us, we came to a clearance a few hundred yards above the

falls where the stream had narrowed considerably, and here the villagers

demonstrated by wading to the middle breast-high and holding up their

arms. The carriers were brought round, and by 1.45 we were over, I going

pick-a-back. And very cool and comforting the muddy water felt as it made

its way between the leather riding leggings and through the laced boots.

It then transpired there were two further streams near by to be got over.

The next was a little deeper than the place just crossed, but presented

no serious bar.

The third, however, though not so deep as the first, was quite as broad,

about 300 feet, and proved to be only just fordable. Some of the carriers

would not venture with loads, which were, therefore, taken over by a

few making double journeys, and I sailed across “flying-angel” fashion,

the sturdy Amadu being the craft. Instead of the water going deeper by

degrees, almost at once the furthest point down was touched and lasted

half-way. Balanced aloft, it was not too pleasant feeling the moving

foundation gently and tentatively feeling his foothold, suddenly immersed

to the chin, and to be conscious of a fairly hard current washing over

your knees. However, nothing worse than a ducking was possible, and that

was avoided.

When all the traps had been gathered it was 2.30, and Hanza enquired

whether I would stay for the night at a village near by or go on to

Badiko, which was three hours’ march. Personally, I would have preferred

pushing on, but the men had been out 7½ hours in great heat, had not

stopped at any place where they could get a meal, and had three high

stream crossings, so after a little consideration I elected to stay at

the village overnight.

There were notes of gratification at the announcement, and at once we

struck inwards, passing, left and right, a plantation set with yams;

then between guinea-corn 10 feet high, the stems bending and providing

a shaded avenue; ground-nuts just in leaf, set at right-angles to the

path and growing on ridges, the furrows as neatly weeded as any kitchen

garden in England.

As we went across the open fields Hanza called to some people in the

distance “Kow abinshi” (“Bring food”), and the cry was gladly repeated

by the carriers—“Kow abinshi, Kow abinshi.” The hearers proceeded to

carry out the request and to obtain the articles necessary for a little

business, which to the Hausa women is second nature.

The tiny village into which we stepped was surrounded by guinea-corn

taller than I had seen anywhere. The stems were 12 feet from the ground,

completely hiding the mud houses. A roomy, circular one, not arranged by

the Government—for the place is off the main bush track—but one belonging

to the Headman of the village, a Fulani, was placed at my disposal. He

brought fowls, a pumpkin, and had yams dug up. The inclusive charge for

the house as well was 4s. He explained that no guinea-corn could be

spared for the horses, so the doki boys were sent to cut grass.

Next morning came the villagers who had shown the river crossing. They

were given 6d. each. As I came out of the house the second doki boy

appeared. He wanted a “dash” for having swum his horse across the river

the previous day. I asked him for what he thought I paid him wages; he

shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Then I said that any “dash” I might

give him would be at the end, not the beginning of his services, when I

knew how he had done his work. Again a broad smile. Finally, I told the

gentleman that the next time he asked for a “dash” I would discharge

him instantly. A bow, and a “To, Zaki”—(“Very good, sir”)—was the

acknowledgment. The “To”—pronounced “Taw”—was repeated by the circle of

carriers who had come, doubtless at his invitation, to see the result of

the doki boy’s experiment with the new master. It had failed.

To get to Juga that day was not within the range of trekking at this

season, so Badiko, where I had calculated to be more than 40 hours

earlier, was selected for the day’s halt. The village Headman led the

way from the village—the name of which I gathered phonetically as Lafee

Sala—through a maze of growing guinea-corn to open country. At the edge

of the plantation, land formerly cultivated had reverted to a wild state.

Traversing a few miles of bush country, we pass hills of rock, showing,

with uneven tops, one line behind another. Occasionally 15 feet boulders

are at the side of the path, rolled down from the mountains, cut and

severed by perpetual rain wearing away this hardest of granite until

it breaks and tumbles below. Mountains hundreds of feet high have huge

slabs resting on the solid hill. Intense heat has expanded, and sharp

cold the same day has contracted, the rock, splitting it into slabs and

dome-shaped crags. All around, on the rocky hill and over the earthy

soil, there are the grass, trees, and the low bush of Northern Nigeria,

with patches here and there of guinea-corn, sweet potatoes, ground-nuts

and yams. The entire acreage is cultivatable.

Small Hausa villages are passed. At one, native-grown cotton is being

drawn into thread by the naked fingers. Badiko is reached at 9.45 a.m.

and a stop made until the following morning. Water and wood are brought

by a little maiden and her small brother, both bearing the necessaries

on their heads in the orthodox fashion.

The first hour or so at a rest-house are occupied by attending to the

domestic details, when one has to superintend them oneself. The cook

receives his instructions for the day and perhaps is sent to market

for articles not provided by the village Headman. The horse must be

looked after. It is a sound precaution to always have him fed within

sight; otherwise the doki boy will take the “chop” for his own larder

and the pony be in the plight of the “poor little dog” in the nursery

rhyme of Mother Hubbard. The amount of guinea-corn I give out is 2 lbs.

before starting in the early morning, 2 lbs. on arrival at the day’s

destination, and 4 lbs. about 5.30 p.m. after watering, with plenty of

dry cut grass. Two lbs. can be gauged as two double handsful. A full day

with the pen will find you quite ready for bed at 7 o’clock.

I fixed 5 as the hour for starting next morning. Four o’clock is my

favourite time to commence trekking, 3.30 is still better; but, for

either, a clearly-seen roadway or a full moon is required, and as at this

period the nights are quite dark and we are mostly on bush paths, it is

desirable not to set out until at least the approach of daybreak. The

early start enables 18 miles, which is as much as carriers will cover,

except in emergency, to be done by 9 or 10 o’clock; allows marching in

the coolest hours, and gives a full day for work.

It is remarkable how a reliable Headman, without watch, moon, or sun,

will wake up and rouse his men at any hour. But if I can avoid doing so

I never rely entirely upon anybody. My watch had been rather erratic

and was not quite sure at the end of a day whether to be 20 minutes fast

or 20 minutes slow. It refrained from registering the happy mean. In

order to run no risk of being late next morning, the night at Badiko I

put it on an hour, there being, of course, no clock to check by. I had

not met a European since leaving Rahama. As might have been expected, it

was eventually discovered that before the alteration the watch had been

20 minutes ahead of meridian time, so instead of rising at 4 o’clock

as intended, I turned out at 2.30 a.m. and within an hour had finished

breakfast. When the fact became clear that I had anticipated the time

of assembly, I sat down to an hour-and-a-half of writing by a hurricane

lamp. At 4.45, not waiting for Hanza’s whistle, I sounded my own. He,

however, was ready; repeated the sound; and we sallied out just as a thin

streak of dawn appeared across the eastward sky.

As the sun rose we wound round great hills of rock, circular, oblong,

pointed, and flat topped, the liquid deposit of past ages now gneissose

and hegmatite. Here and there the face had been washed by recent floods

to a brightness which in the distance looked like a mirror of running

water.

At 7.45 a halt was made in the market-place of Magama village for the

carriers to have breakfast. Ground-nuts, maize, and milk made up the

meal, Hanza having a rather superior course of milk mixed with powdered

millet and taken from a calabash by a wooden spoon. When they had

finished eating every man washed his mouth and teeth at a stream, and one

good-looking young Hausa completed his toilet by placing antimony on his

eyelids. Another had utilised a few spare minutes by bringing needle and

cotton and mending a garment: scarcely an indication of “the lazy black.”

At 8.30 Hanza’s whistle caused the loads to be hoisted and five minutes

later the chilling wind gave sign of rain, which presently came in

torrents. Mr F. G. Graham, in charge of Lucky Chance Polchi Mine,

hearing I was in the neighbouring village and noting signs of the coming

downpour, had ridden out and left an invitation with the head of the

little column for me to shelter at his house, near by. At the path

leading to the haven of hospitality Mr Graham’s servant waited to direct

me. But what the carriers, my own servants, and the doki boys had to

endure without any protection was quite good enough for me, in oilskin

and mounted, so, with a message of thanks to Mr Graham, I went on with

the men, who were being drenched.

I am sure I would not have been happier in the dry house eating a welcome

second breakfast, for the heavier the rain beat on them the merrier the

carriers became, shouting and singing. In spite of the discomfort they

would not be downhearted. At each gust of wind, enough to shiver them,

they shouted the louder. Amadu’s musical pipe was brought into vigorous

use, and when from sheer lack of breath it slackened for his lungs to

be replenished, the men broke into a chorus, the notable part of which

seemed to me to be a series of hurrahs. It made one’s heart glad to be

with a party determined not to be cast down by trying circumstances.

Somehow, although it is known not to generally last long, tropical

rain in the day-time is usually distinctly depressing. I suppose the

feeling is induced by the sudden fall in temperature. Little more than

half-an-hour and the rain had ceased; the sun shone, and soon we were all

dry again.

Meantime, there was evidence we had entered the tin country, not merely

where it was being prospected, but where it was in being. A board

announced “Nigeria Tin Corporation,” and as we went along men, singly and

in twos and threes, were met carrying shovels. Further certainty we were

nearing the goal was a piece of wood on low posts notifying “Juga, 5½

miles.” That was probably fixed before distances were understood and when

a few miles understated made no difference to anybody.

Passing the board we entered the nearest resemblance to African forest

hitherto touched. Trees were more thickly clustered and bordered closer

to the path, which led to the long narrow valley of South Juga, the Juga

Hills towering to the left. From a rise in the ground, we saw below a

village and small market. Hanza halted his command, took from his head

the pail he had used inverted to keep off the rain, and replaced his

turban and a long robe. Telling the men to maintain even distance between

each other, and, seeing that I was close behind him, he gave the word

to go forward and we did, with quite an appearance of dignity. It was

pleasant to see this esprit-de-corps and pride in a leader, and responded

to by men who might be supposed to belong to the casual labourer class.

As though we were a regiment of regulars, we went through the village,

and in less than half-a-mile more swung round the path into the

compound of houses which are the administrative headquarters of the Juga

properties. In the middle and at the sides were flower beds of zinnias,

red, pink, yellow, and white, and another bed of large sunflowers. The

fair face of an English girl would have made one fancy oneself at home

again.

[Illustration: CARRIERS READY TO START.

(See page 153.)]

[Illustration: A BRIDGE WHICH IS SWEPT AWAY BY THE STREAM DURING THE WET

SEASON AND REGULARLY REPLACED.]

CHAPTER XX

JUGA TO NARAGUTA

Native feminality and the cavalry spirit—Scarcity and economy—A

house of straw—Carriers, professional and other—Diversified

panorama—Parting with the first carriers.

The journey between Juga and Naraguta, 35 miles, is mapped into three

stages of a day each. I wished to push through in two days. Headman Hanza

was for the easier form of covering the ground, but on the intimation

being conveyed to him that the quicker programme must be carried out and

that the night would be passed at Toro he at once acquiesced, with “To,

Zaki,” and we moved off.

Passing through the native village of Juga, where the carriers had put

up for the last few days, it was clear that, true to their reputation,

they had improved the occasion by ingratiating themselves into the good

graces of the ladies, and many were the partings verbally exchanged as

we marched away. Pre-eminent in receiving these attentions was my first

doki boy—a gambling thriftless rascal—for the reason, I suppose, that the

cavalry spirit always has a charm for the other sex.

Seven-and-a-half miles out, at the market-place of Kadaura, the carriers

halted for their first meal. I also had arranged the plan of having

breakfast en route instead of disposing of that necessity before

starting, as is my usual practice. Perhaps there is some pleasure in

an open-air table, but it does not facilitate one hurrying. Nearly

half-an-hour elapsed before Oje and his assistant presented the porridge.

They were not to blame. The ground was wet from the overnight rain,

and still more so the twigs collected for a fire. Oje was equal to the

drawback, which he overcame by pouring kerosene over the wood, a method

not to be encouraged in a part of the country where a tank of the oil

which can be purchased in England for 2s. 8d. costs 18s. 6d. and in some

places is not to be obtained at any price. Living in a land where there

is scarcity of certain essentials, habits of economy become imperative.

The country traversed resembles that previously described, with the

exception that the path draws further from the mountains.

Toro was reached at midday. The Government rest-house is on the slope of

a low hill, and on riding up to the building I found it occupied by an

official engaged in telegraph construction. He was good enough to offer

to share with me the one-roomed dwelling, but as I wished to have a few

hours’ work I thought better to pitch my tent elsewhere.

There was a rest-house 3 or 4 miles further on. To have gone there would

not have materially saved time on the journey. I therefore elected

to have a house at the bottom of the hill, a house belonging to the

village Headman which was kept, so he informed me with many bows, for

distinguished visitors. It was of straw throughout, and as I looked at

the flimsy structure I bethought the mud walls of recent residences as

quite mansions. There was a kind of entrance-hall, also of straw, which

gave an extra apartment. The floor was ordinary earth. It had not been

hardened in any way.

As the boxes were about to be taken in up rode Mr F. L. Bensusan, of

Juga Mine, who had overtaken me on the road and from whom I had parted

a few minutes earlier when he was to turn off to Tilde Fulani. Seeing

me returning down the hill he cantered forward to ascertain what was

amiss. He remarked that the house was all right in the absence of two

visitations: one was a strong wind, which would throw it down, and the

other rain, which would come through the roof on the bed.

I replied I intended to slumber in the hope neither would come and I

trusted that that night would be different from all other nights of late.

He, however, insisted on lending me his waterproof ground-sheet, which he

rigged up as a second roof, sloping one side so that the rain would run

off to the side of the bed instead of weighing down the sheet, water and

all, on to the occupant.

We had tea and biscuits and then he instructed his steward boy to tell

his carriers to go on to Tilde Fulani and he would follow. The steward

boy took the instruction and returned with the message that “The carriers

say they no fit.[4] They fit stay at Toro and go Tilde Fulani to-morrow.”

“No fit!” exclaimed Mr Bensusan; “you go and bring me the carrier who say

he no fit.”

There is usually a ringleader and spokesman in these little mutinies.

The answer which came back turned pressure from an individual. “The

carriers say,” reported the steward boy, “no one say he no fit. They all

say they no fit!”

“Oh, do they,” observed Mr Bensusan; and he put on his helmet to go and

make his recalcitrant servants toe the line. I followed to support his

action.

“Who say he no fit to go for Tilde Fulani?” demanded Mr Bensusan, as he

faced the half-dozen men. No words; only scowls.

“You take up your load, and you, and you, and you,” was the order given

along the line. The men did, and they had not gone 500 yards when they

were laughing among themselves as though nothing had happened. The essay

had failed, as did the one on me in the village of Lafee Sala. Doubtless

the men reflected, at least they had tried.

These men were not professional carriers, men who had taken to the

calling from choice. They were labourers on the mine called upon for the

special service. As a rule the labourer does not accept kindly the work

of a carrier, and the carrier can seldom be prevailed upon to keep to any

other occupation.

Soon after daybreak next morning Hanza’s whistle and Amadu’s musical pipe

roused the carriers, who had been sleeping in the scattered huts, near my

own, on the small tableland of grass on which the village stood.

For the last time in this stage of trekking they headed their loads and

we were off towards Naraguta.

There are no fresh features of the country, which, however, is rather

more open and flat. The tall hills on the left are of irregular height,

and towards Naraguta they bend inwards to the path to a point where the

way, after a short climb, is through a gorge. That leads to another broad

expanse of country, also edged by a series of unconnected hills which in

their turn bend inwards. Swerving round the end of them one rides on to

the sub plateau which contains Naraguta.

A wide panorama is unfolded, circled by hills clearly and sharply defined

against the sky background, and beyond these hills, showing between them,

are others, fainter by the blue haze covering them as though it were

gauze, giving the effect of what artists term “distance.”

Across this panorama of verdure there are, perhaps three or four miles

away, clusters of little brown circular objects, which look as though

they were mushrooms on the plain. A telescope or field-glasses would

disclose them as mud huts, the settlement of natives drawn to Naraguta

for employment of one kind or another, whilst further evidence of human

occupation is a squarely-cornered bungalow, nearly as small as the huts

but distinct.

This sub plateau, slightly sloping to the middle, where runs the Deleme

River, and fringed by hills which rise gradually, is covered with green.

So are the hills. They give a dozen or more tints as the grass is fresh

or dry and as the sun shines directly or as its rays are modified in

varying degrees by passing clouds that render patches of shade and

contrasting brightness.

The atmosphere is clear and affords full vision all round the plateau,

and a picture so long round that the clouds in some parts are quite

different to those in others. It can be seen, as we survey the scene,

that whilst in one district against the hills there is a clear sky,

adjoining that area rain is evidently falling. A ride of about three

miles with all this enchanting scenery and we are near the centre of the

plateau.

It was within half-an-hour of completing our journey that the weather,

which had behaved splendidly, altered. The rainstorm which had been

witnessed from afar was coming towards us and in a few minutes the poor

carriers were cold and dripping. They had to stand through the downpour

whilst I went forward to find the correct one of several paths, and when

I came back to lead them to the bungalow placed at my disposal by Mr

Frank D. Bourke, Manager of Naraguta Tin Mine, none felt more miserable

at their condition than I.

Probably the dullness of spirits we all felt was due not so much to the

rain as to the knowledge that we had reached the place where we were

to part company, as my stay at Naraguta would be long enough not to

justify retaining 20 carriers. All through the marches we had been on

such excellent terms with each other that severance of association was

welcomed by neither side. However, it had to be.

The rain had ceased and the men stood in line in front of the bungalow.

I thanked them for the way they had worked and handed to each a tangible

token of recognition. They gave the equivalent to a cheer several times

as they went across the compound towards Jos village, Hanza staying to

the last and repeatedly turning to wave a farewell.

[Illustration: A GOVERNMENT REST HOUSE.

(See page 151.)]

[Illustration: THE HEADMAN’S HOUSE AT TORO, WHERE THE AUTHOR SLEPT.

(See page 170.)]

CHAPTER XXI

TWO SHORT JOURNEYS

Man proposes—A narrow river barrier—Travellers this side of

the stream; beds, the other side—Pagan cultivation—A postal

description—Headmen and Headmen—Gotum Karo.

This narrative may be made easier to follow if explanation is given of

the outline of movement. That is based, not on a series of consecutive

marches, but of making Naraguta a centre of operations and working from

there in two directions, of a few days each, until the final trek is

entered upon, which is to be across and off the Bauchi Plateau, then over

it again and back to railhead.

He is wise who travelling at this period of the year—October—does not

make sure in the morning where he will sleep that night. Man proposes; a

set of unexpected circumstances disposes. I formed this plan. To leave

Naraguta at 11 a.m.; lunch at Gurum—a bad 10 miles of road—afterwards

covering the seven miles to Bugi.

Gurum was reached in an hour-and-a-half. I set out for Bugi with, as

guide, Mr Leighton, of Gurum Camp, which is the headquarters in Nigeria

of the Anglo-Continental Mines.

A five miles’ ride through pleasant, open, bush country took us to the

Gurum River ford. Though a narrow crossing, the merest glance showed

that visual bearings must be taken before entering the water. The

morning’s downpour had deepened and quickened the current, which swirled

and rushed in a menacing manner, as to say, “I forbid anybody touching

me whilst in my present mood.” One of the Gurum Camp doki boys who

frequently acts as guide across the stream declared himself “No fit” to

try and get over. He declined to step from the bank.

We turned off the path to try another point, near the rapids, about

half-a-mile away. That was at once seen to be utterly impossible. Not

only had the water risen considerably; the surface showed that it covered

holes and rocks, and in the shallow sections were flat granite faces so

polished by the running water that it was evident no horse or man could

maintain foothold. Going over at that point or at the ford was out of the

question. But there was this difficulty to turning back and staying the

night at Gurum: the camp-beds were doubtless on the other side. They had

been sent by carriers in advance of our start and as we had not overtaken

the men they must have got over. It was easy to conjecture where; it must

have been by a narrow bridge of tree-trunks much higher up, over which

horses could not be taken and where the river did not allow them to be

swum or otherwise led.

Gurum Camp has a name for hospitality to persons on trek, but, like most

places, it possesses no spare sleeping equipment. What was to be done?

Our hope rested in the trust that we were earlier than the carriers,

whose way was along a path near the other side of the ford. How we

devoutly wished they had not struck a different direction! Still, they

were not likely to look for us and we might not see them, hidden by the

long grass. Standing at the edge of the river, we therefore took turns

in shouting and sounding a whistle. The performance had become a trifle

monotonous and trying when we were gladdened by the sight of the loads

moving along our front a few hundred yards distant. The whistle drew

attention, and on the men coming to the brink of the river they were

made to understand that they were to return to Gurum Camp, and we also

retraced our course.

Next morning, little rain having fallen during the night, I determined to

again try the ford of the Gurum River. The stream had greatly abated and

the doki boy now quite “fit” to lead the way over. The necessity for a

guide may be explained by the fact that although the crossing is a narrow

one it is hazardous to go over without a competent guide after a storm,

as the action of the water, pouring along, frequently works deep holes in

the bed, and a horse stumbling into one might readily break a leg. Should

the guide step over such a cavity he could swim away. Taking a zigzag

line, with the water up to the horses’ girths we went across.

A little way past there is a patch of cultivation by Pagans who live

up in the neighbouring hills. It is a good example of their skilled

agriculture. Yams, sweet potatoes and ground-nuts are planted on ridges

of earth straight, wavy and forked shaped; and on low circular mounds

enclosed by a six-inch higher layer of soil to keep the rain from running

off the ground.

Another system of miniature irrigation practised on the patch is that of

rings of earth, about three feet in diameter on the top of which—three

inches wide—ground-nuts grow, the cup-like interior retaining rain.

Narrow, shallow ditches intersect the field and are instrumental in

fertilising it.

The lines between the early-growing crops are scrupulously weeded.

Notwithstanding continuous alternating showers and sunshine, there

was not a blade of parasitical growth. I estimated the Hausas of Kano

Province to be scrupulously clean farmers, unexcelled until I came to

this Pagan country. Yet the people, who are also workers in metal and

have a love of music, are, I suppose, to be ruled outside civilisation

because they wear practically no clothes. How horrible! Wait until they

learn the graces of the silk hat and the unnaturally tight-lacing,

then they will be our brothers and sisters, especially if they do the

proper thing religiously. Now they have their ju-jus, their harmless

superstitions. How awful! I hope we on the continents of Europe and

America have no ju-jus.

* * * * *

Having returned to Naraguta the next short journey was to Fedderi,

for the purpose of seeing the tin-mining there. Fedderi is 24 miles

south-east, two days’ trek. It is postally described as “near Naraguta.”

There are Headmen and Headmen; I mean of working gangs or carriers,

not village Headmen. Many of the former are thoroughly reliable; some,

speaking a few words of English, I fear cannot be given that character.

They mislead both sides between whom they are a link of conversation, the

white man and the labourers or carriers.

Hearing I wished to visit the tin-winning operations at Fedderi, Mr S.

A. Molyneux, the Manager, offered the use as carriers of his labourers

who were bringing tin for transport. They presented themselves, in charge

of a Headman named Gotum Karo. He at once favourably impressed me as

having thorough control over his men, who promptly moved as he ordered.

Instead of allowing them to pick up and, as is sometimes done, to an

extent scramble in selecting their respective loads, he partly lifted

each to try its weight and sharply told off a carrier for the duty. I

subsequently heard that Gotum Karo had been in the Northern Nigeria

Regiment. He had evidently taken away with his service the facility of

giving the word of command. I soon discovered he had also acquired some

of the evil cunning of “the old soldier.”

As the labourers stood in line, the packages laid in front of them, Gotum

Karo advanced towards me and proceeded to several salaams and “Zaki”

repeatedly. Becoming impatient to get on the road, I interrupted the

salutations by asking severely what he was seeking and why he did not

move off. He came to the point immediately. “They,” he said, pointing

over his shoulder to the labourers, “want chop money,” i.e., money for

food allowance.

Oh, that was it. During the performance of Mr Gotum Karo’s prolonged

politeness I had become suspicious and therefore was not taken unawares.

Knowing that Mr Molyneux would not have sent his men without the

wherewithal for sustenance, I answered, “Tell them they will have no

chop money from me. If they no fit to carry loads, you take them back to

Bombature (the important white man) Molyneux.” After a pause I added,

“Any dash (tip) I give be at Fedderi.”

Gotum Karo did not deliver the message. He simply told the men to lift

the boxes and to march. This little omission of his involuntarily

disclosed that the scheme to obtain money was his own idea, not theirs.

He would have had the lion’s share; probably all.

But Gotum Karo had imbibed the British characteristic of not knowing

when he was beaten, though his application of the doctrine was not to be

admired.

When we had arrived at the rest-house at Tilde Fulani, where the night

was to be spent, Gotum came and spun a story of having lost 12s. and

of the labourers owing him money. I cut him short by enquiring what he

expected me to do, and he then put the request into the form of “Lend me

2s.” until the following day, when he would recover his debts and pay.

This style of a loan is a common manner of extortion, as it is realised

that the white man will not ask for a shilling or so due to him. The

fellow declared—a palpable untruth—he had had no food for 24 hours. I

gave him 6d. and told him that if he did not clear out of the house I

would kick him through a doorway, indicating the one. He retired.

It may be matter for wonder that such tricks should be tried on persons

who are practically, if not actually, guests of the delinquent’s

employer. Yet they are frequently, probably with knowledge of the

reluctance on the part of a visitor to complain.

CHAPTER XXII

THE NIGER COMPANY’S JOS CENTRE

Jos and St Peter’s—A wet and dry object—Fashion in

stationery—Smoking and writing materials—The cost of money—Coin

in transit—Tin-mine labourers and food—Inception of European

transport—Linguistic stimulus and aptitude—Donkey caravans—The

animals’ acumen—Double-distilled philosophy.

Four miles from Naraguta is Jos. You have never heard of Jos? Were you

however distantly connected with the tin fields Jos would loom very large

in your thoughts. Comparing very small things with great ones, you can

no more go to Naraguta and avoid Jos than anyone would think of going

to Rome and not visiting St Peter’s. At Jos is the store of the Niger

Company. Similar places, or rather places resembling it, can be found in

other parts of Northern Nigeria, but Jos is essentially the store for

the tin fields, albeit most of the mines are several days’ journey. The

nearest store in one direction is Zaria, about four days away, and on the

opposite side a small one at Jemma, about five days distant.

Many things have been said about this Niger Company’s store at Jos. Some

of them were stated to me before I went out from England. They were to

the effect that there would be no need to carry things on the voyage or

to buy them on the Coast as “everything” could be obtained at Jos. When

I reached what may be termed the Jos radius several men told me that the

Jos store contained “nothing,” or that it only contained those things

which I should not need. Put in practically the exact way uttered, the

matter was presented that whatever was asked for at Jos would sure not

to be in stock. Now, as in most extreme assertions, the truth was found

between the two.

I was rather a pitiful-looking object on reaching Naraguta. My boots

were literally falling to pieces. They had showed signs of distress

weeks earlier, and I had tried to buy a suitable pair both at Kano and

at Zaria. Kano had no such article for sale, and the only pair to be

purchased at Zaria was at least 5 sizes too large. Oje had tried his

hand at keeping the soles from parting from the uppers, by driving

nails, extracted from small packing-cases, through the top of the welts.

Faithful Oje! He had mended my brown bush-shirt, worn and torn to

rags by pushing through thick growth; and, as long as they would hold

together, he had sewn my tattered socks. He still “fit,” as he told

me, to keep going at the boots. But they had been too severely tried.

Riding across streams that reached to the knees, soaking the boots, and

the next minute into a blazing sun had as effectually disintegrated the

parts as a hydraulicing jet performs similar office on soil and tin.

Had readers seen me in the condition at home I am sure they would have

compassionately dropped a copper in my hand.

At Jos I was shod in a twinkling. Among further requirements, one was

as far off from boots as a fountain pen, and that I also obtained. The

pen cost no more than 6s. and has been in continual use. But there were

a number of things between the two which I was unable to obtain. The Jos

store, like every other institution on the tin fields, has been unable to

cope with the demands made upon it. The demands have grown at a greater

ratio than supplies could be forwarded.

The store is an immense convenience. No matter how well equipped a

man’s belongings may be when he brings out the hundred-and-one things

necessary for a fairly-long residence in a new country where food is only

obtainable in limited quantities, it is certain that he will have made

some miscalculation of needs. Thus Jos sets the fashion in many things.

There is a shortage of stationery, and you receive envelopes made by your

correspondents in the country: crude and awkward and very inartistic, but

the best that can be done under the circumstances. Suddenly comes along

an ordinary envelope, and then, whoever sends you a letter, you will find

using this identical kind of envelope. The Jos store has had a stock of

stationery!

So with smoking requisites. There have been times when men have had no

alternative between either using the Contrabanda cigarettes sent out for

natives and sold in boxes at 1s. 9d. a 100 or smoking nothing at all.

Then, day after day, whoever you meet has between his lips a Three Castle

cigarette, or it may be a Gold Flake cigarette, or, perchance, a State

Express. Everybody is sporting the same brand, whatever it be. Answer

why: Jos has received a consignment.

It is peculiar how shortage of articles affects different people. Unto

me, who had come from England to learn all about the country, were

brought many complaints and expostulations.

“Is it not bad,” said one, “that I can buy no flour?”

“What do you think?” remarks another. “I can get no biscuits.”

“Here none of us can buy a cigarette anywhere,” is the agonised wail of a

third. And so on, almost indefinitely.

To each and all I replied that I felt I was a greater sufferer than any.

To every tale of woe, I represented my own plight and endeavoured, I must

admit unsuccessfully, to play the martyr by setting forth the pathetic

tale that “I cannot obtain either ink or paper.”

The Finance Department is specially interesting. There is no bank nearer

than Zaria, and were it not for this Finance Department of the Niger

Company the mines would have to keep very large sums of money for the

labourers’ wages. It is not a banking business; money is only paid on

demand. Of course, there has been a preliminary arrangement between

the mining concern and the Niger Company in London by which the former

guarantees to meet the cheques presented to the latter up to a stipulated

sum.

That arrangement having been settled, the mine manager sends to Jos—maybe

a distance of four miles, maybe a five days’ journey—for the money with

which to pay his labourers weekly, presenting a cheque for the amount.

The money is charged at a rateage according to where the cheque may be

payable. Supposing it is drawn on the bank at Zaria, then 1½ per cent. is

the rate; if it be drawn on the bank at Lokoja, which is further away, 2½

per cent. is charged.

Why this difference? In England we are not charged a larger rate for

a cheque drawn on a bank at Newcastle than we do for one drawn on

Birmingham. No; but in England transport charges do not enter into the

question as finely as they do in Northern Nigeria. It all relates to the

cost of getting up specie, which works out on the river at the rate of

1d. per £200 per mile; and, of course, land carriage adds to the expense.

Cost of transport regulates the price of everything in the country, even

of money.

Specie is made up into boxes, each containing £300, weighing 80 lbs.

This is in silver coins, gold having practically no circulation in the

country. A mine manager makes his personal provision for taking the money

from the Finance Department to his own place. The usual plan is for the

manager or one of his principal assistants, carrying firearms, to travel

with his own carriers, who bear the money on their heads.

The Niger Company’s plan differs. A European accompanies the specie and

has as a guard for it four dogarie, i.e., policemen belonging to one of

the native rulers. Then, besides each carrier bearing a load, there is

another between each of them as a relief. So if any of the men fall out

his relief takes the load, which prevents the gang stopping or a box

passing from the direct view of the European. When long journeys are

undertaken stops must be made sometimes overnight, but the method of

working is to get the men over the ground as quickly as can be done with

as few stops as possible.

Although the Finance Department was established for the mines it is of

very great service to anybody travelling through the country who may

require cash. All that is necessary is a telegram from the bank where

the traveller has a deposit to the Niger Company’s Finance Department

authorising payment of the sum asked for. And a feature of the department

is the patience and courtesy of the one in charge, Mr E. B. Simmonds, in

dealing with the many matters, occasionally novel ones, which come before

him from men strange to the country.

Another Niger Company department at Jos, separate from the others, is

that of Transport.

Than transport no matter is of greater importance to the mines.

Everything depends upon it. By “everything” is meant the primary items of

food and machinery, on which all else rests. Even were the soil capable

of being cultivated to an extent which would yield food for the labourers

brought from other parts of the Protectorate, at least some years would

have to pass before the process was in operation. Food must, therefore,

be imported from the districts where it is grown.

It has been said there is not sufficient food in the country to satisfy

the requirements of the 12,000 or so labourers on the mines. As, with

insignificant exceptions, these labourers are all natives of Northern

Nigeria, and no foodstuff to speak of crosses the border inwards, it

is obvious that previous to coming on the tin fields they must have

eaten indigenous products. I am sure that any difficulty in obtaining

sufficient labour is largely, if not wholly, a question of food supply,

and that supply cannot flow unless there are efficient channels for its

passage: transport.

There is the general problem of labour on the mines and the rate of

payment by the owning companies, but consideration of that aspect of the

question does not come within the scope of this chapter, which is to deal

wholly with the matter of supply. The same means, on the return journey,

are employed to take the tin towards its destination. Transport from

railhead at Rahama and also at the terminus of the trunk line at Kano is

wholly in the hands of the Niger Company, except in the case of one or

two mines that have partially made their own arrangements.

To survey the situation thoroughly it is necessary to hark back to the

time when the railway was being pushed up as extensions of the Lagos line

and had only reached Rigachikun, 585 miles from the sea. That marked the

old route to the Bauchi Plateau tin fields. From that point a road was

made. As the line was laid further up, Zaria, 622 miles, was touched.

That had all along been recognised as the most suitable place for direct

access to the foot of the Plateau, in the direction where the main tin

deposits had been located. There was, however, about 100 miles between

the railway and the foot of the Plateau, to the south-west of the line.

At this time the Niger Company was doing all transport to and from the

mines. Twelve to 14 days were occupied on the Rigachikun road, and a

fair proportion of goods was sent up and tin brought down along the

Loko-Keffi route, on the opposite side of the Plateau, for shipment on

the Benue River, thence down the Niger to the sea. But in looking into

this important matter of road transport, perhaps it will be best to start

at the inception.

It began between five and six years ago, when the Niger Company commenced

regular prospecting for tin. Before that time the only whites up-country

were the Government officials, and as they were few and far between there

was no call for transport, even of the primitive and limited kind in

operation to-day. The Niger Company’s prospecting camps needed supplies,

both of food for the squads of natives employed and of material for the

engineers, as well as edibles for their tables. So small caravans of

carriers were sent up to the camps. The route was then what is known as

the Loko-Keffi one; that is to say, from the sea by river to Loko, from

which point the overland line was taken to Keffi, almost due east.

At that time the amount despatched, inwards and outwards, was probably 5

tons monthly. Now by rail to Rahama, and from there distributed via the

Niger Company’s Jos centre, it must average 500 tons monthly, with about

14 tons still going over the old Loko-Keffi route.

As the various tin-mine companies were formed and proceeded with their

operations, transport became a first-value consideration. You have only

to plant yourself in a virgin country and depend upon outside supplies

for sustenance to realise that. Folks in England, with everything brought

to their doors—parcel post and carrying agencies playing the part of

universal provider—can scarcely appreciate what it means to have a single

slender source of supply, and that necessarily an uncertain one. Try

the real simple life under these conditions, not a few hours from the

railway or navigable river, but five to seven days’ journey. Then you

will understand how much gratitude you can feel towards people whom you

are glad to pay at their own figure for what they bring; and you are

also sure to discover what a wealth of strong language you can employ

without an effort when you are disappointed in such small items as

kerosene, or flour for bread-making. You may afterwards wonder at your

linguistic aptitude, you who at home never uttered an expletive under

normal annoyances and disappointments; yet in most instances the tongue

accomplishment comes in the easiest and most natural manner possible. I

marvel at my own deficiency in that respect.

It was the Niger Company’s organisation which supplied the indispensable

adjunct of lines of communication to the various mining camps. The

Company had all the human machinery working. There was none other,

and therefore the system which was wanted and that available adjusted

themselves accordingly. It only had to be expanded. True, the expansion

could not be made on a scale commensurate with the needs of the hour. But

what would have occurred had that organisation not been available? Each

camp would have had to make its own transport arrangements. That would

have resulted in confusion, if not chaos. The competition for labour has

been bad enough. Imagine what it would have meant for the mining concerns

to have scrambled for carriers as well, whose services were in more

urgent demand than ordinary labourers.

I am no special pleader for the Niger Company, but I do consider it due

to that body to state that the tin-mining industry would have been in a

much more backward state had the Company not taken the part it has in the

development of the fields. I have been told that if the Niger Company had

not—in the matter of transport and its Finance Department—somebody else

would. Possibly. That does not alter the principle of merit being given

where earned. Were I not here writing these despatches probably someone

else would; and there is no doubt scores would be glad to do it. Yet

surely that would be a poor argument against awarding any reward there

might be due to the individual who did the work.

So, too, it has been said that the Niger Company was actuated by

self-interest; that it was not philanthropic. Who is, in business? If

the Niger Company has profited by its enterprise it deserved to. It at

the same time helped—or, at all events, enabled—others to thrive. I am

free to admit that occasionally it has among the employees a member whose

manner leaves something to be desired. Any more than elsewhere, there is

no monopoly of boorishness and rudeness by any class in Northern Nigeria.

It is quite the exception, though here and there are bad examples. I

found it in the case of a mining engineer whom I met on horseback—an

awfully important personage whose silly pomposity made me laugh, where he

looked for my being impressed—and, whisper it not in Gath, I have even

come across one or two Government officials whom you would not recognise

for gentlemen, though they would have you think they were far from the

common clay. Yea, in a certain place, no doubt taking their cue from the

head of it, there is a small collection of such freaks, with a few men

among them who must not be so labelled.

The Niger Company looms so large in the acquisition and in the industry

of the country that, like the Government at home, it is a big object at

which to have a shy; and, I cannot avoid thinking, blamed at times as

unreasonably as is the London Cabinet whatever its political complexion.

I have said the road and bush transport began on a regular scale between

five and six years ago. Then it was confined to human head carriage.

After a while donkeys were tried on a small scale, and their use has been

extended during the dry seasons. Two years ago 10 two-wheeled bullock

transport carts were put on to connect Loko and Keffi, and since then

others, and also four-wheeled wagons, with teams of 8 and 16 oxen, have

been working between Rahama and Jos.

A few camels were formerly employed, but not continued, as the animals

are not obtained without difficulty in Nigeria; the nearest market for

them on anything but a small scale is over the French border, though

some are still utilised for transport from Kano to the Ninghi district.

Now, I hear, the long-expected motor lorries have arrived at Baro and

are to be running on the road in the course of the next few weeks. I am

informed that Mr Kendall, the Niger Company’s chief transport officer at

Jos, is considering whether bullocks, which need extreme care to keep in

a condition, cannot be superseded by horses. In no part of Nigeria are

they used in any other way than for riding, with the exception of a pair

Captain Brocklebank has trained to draw a buggy at Kano.

The relative values of the given forms of transport are: Head carriage,

one man bears a 60-lb. load; a donkey takes a 120-lb. load; each bullock

in a two-wheeled cart draws a 500-lb. load; one camel bears a 420-lb.

load; one motor lorry carries a 4,400-lb. load.

Donkeys are not bought outright. The animals and their owners are hired.

Each man has three donkeys under his personal supervision on the march.

These quadrupeds are generally spoken of as a synonym for stupidity. In

Nigeria they develop acumen which puts the human controller in a quandary

where he perceives a divided duty. The load, placed pannier fashion, is

not tied on. Its weight keeps it in position. But the four-footed bearer

will take into his head to ease the task by walking close against a tree

in a way that throws the entire load to the ground.

The donkey owner has to catch the erring beast, which, light-hearted

at its sudden buoyant condition, has likely run on ahead. Brought back

after a chase, the man has then to lift the 120 lbs. to the original

position. You may be sure that in the meantime the companion pair of

donkeys have improved the shining hour by roaming around, usually in

opposite directions; or, if they do go together, it will probably be back

on the path along which they came. The combined trio performance may be

coincidental; it may be arrant conspiracy.

Whatever it be, the donkey owner and the white man in charge of a caravan

numbering hundreds of the patient little brutes must be endowed with a

large and double-distilled philosophic temperament not to exhibit loss of

a calm exterior.

I must bear testimony to a measure that is being taken to add to the

comfort of the human transport carriers. The Niger Company is forming

at eight-mile stages rest camps of huts, with caretakers and women to

cook the carriers’ food. The carriers will thus be able to rely on

having meals, and a day’s march not arbitrarily fixed by the position of

villages from one another.

A few words on recruiting for carriers. The labour is obtained in the

open markets. Men from the mines are not accepted knowingly, so as to

avoid dislocating local conditions. Gangs who have been working on a

mine and who present themselves at Jos must bring from the manager under

whom they served his permission to enter the Niger Company’s service

before they are enrolled. Forty labourers and Headmen who had been on

the Bisichi mine applied and were declined for the reason indicated.

Remembering how strong is the demand for carriers, this is “playing the

game” as it should be played, and it deserves recognition.

CHAPTER XXIII

MINES—MEDICAL

Tin-mining—First Exclusive Prospecting Licence—Early

tin-winning—Mr Law’s work—Health and economics—Feminine

nursing—The medical service.

Although Jos is chiefly known for the Niger Company’s trading store

and Finance Department, there are two other phases which should not be

omitted. They are the Company’s Mining Department and the headquarters of

the medical officer, who is supposed to be engaged by most, if not all,

the mines, whereas he is really the officer of only a few. The Mining

Department, is, to an extent, explained by its title. There may, however,

be people in England who are not acquainted with the part the Niger

Company has taken in development of the tin fields, and it is for these

persons that this short story is given; not in any tone of exaltation,

simply an unvarnished tale with tone and shade to present what seems to

me a true picture. Nothing like a complete history of the movement is

being rendered; merely a thin outline for better understanding of how the

position of to-day has been reached.

In 1901 Mr Walter Watts, Agent-General—a West African title corresponding

to General Manager—of the Niger Company asked Sir Frederick Lugard,

High Commissioner—Governor—of Northern Nigeria for a concession to

send prospectors for tin. The High Commissioner refused, on the ground

that there was no mining law to regulate the situation. The position

was altered the following year by the promulgation of the Mining

Proclamation, and on Sir Frederick returning from furlough in England

Mr Watts followed him to Jebba and obtained the first issued Exclusive

Prospecting Licence, which related to 1,000 square miles with Badiko as

centre. The same day Mr George Macdonald was granted a similar E.P.L. for

3,000 square miles surrounding that ground.

On receipt of information from Mr Watts that he had secured a Licence,

the London office of the Niger Company despatched Mr G. Nicolaus to test

the existence of tin. He located the Deleme River deposits at Tildi

Fulani as a payable portion. Mr Nicolaus was on the tin areas only a few

weeks, but his reports led the Niger Company to send Mr H. W. Laws to

ascertain definitely whether the areas were of commercial value.

In 1902 Mr Macdonald commissioned Mr Probis to test the land the former

had acquired. The resultant report on the prospects generally induced

Macdonald not to proceed with the work.

The investigations of both Nicolaus and Probis were confined to the north

of the Plateau.

Meanwhile, in the early part of 1902 Mr, now Sir, William Wallace, then

in the service of the Niger Company as Political Agent, accompanied

the expedition against the Emir of Bauchi. At the close of operations,

by means of messengers he obtained about a quarter-of-a-hundredweight

specimens of tin from the Deleme River, at Naraguta, which is six days’

journey from the place whence Mr Wallace had sent his emissaries. That,

apparently, was the first tin obtained by a European in Northern Nigeria,

although about the same time Mr George Macdonald led a prospecting party

into Bauchi territory and brought back tin.

Mr Laws arrived towards the end of 1903 and formed his principal camp

between the present Naraguta Mine and Naraguta Extended, in fact where

Naraguta village now stands. His expeditions practically discovered the

configuration of the Plateau and located tin at Jos, in the neighbourhood

of Bukuru and at N’Gell. At the close of 1905 Mr Laws took out plant and

commenced systematic tin-winning at Naraguta.

Having discovered ore, the next question to be decided was what should

be done with the acquisition? Whilst the Niger Company had every wish

and interest to see the tin fields, and the country generally, grow

and flourish, it had no desire—so I gather—to add to its commercial

responsibilities that of mining on a large scale. It preferred that

should be done by people who could concentrate on that form of activity.

There was, however, this difficulty, that scarcely any outside attention

was given to the subject. No notice seemed to be taken of what was being

done. The Company was, therefore, faced with the alternative of itself

working the mineral deposits or abandoning them. The latter course would

have been a criminal one—speaking in a figurative sense—against the

shareholders, to whom the discoveries belonged, and steps were taken for

Mr Laws to demonstrate what was in the ground; in other words, for the

mining staff to indefinitely work the centres where tin had been found

in payable conditions. Still, scant notice was taken by outside bodies,

notwithstanding the results. In March, 1907, Lord Scarbrough, Chairman

of the Niger Company, told the shareholders that during the previous 15

months 240 tons of tin oxide, of £30,000 value, had been obtained from

the Naraguta property, and the following year a corresponding amount was

won. It was effected without machinery, by the antiquated methods of

ground sluicing and calabashing.

Not until 1910 did the possibilities of the tin fields attract the

consideration which has since given them so much prominence. At this

point the wider question is left for future treatment, as I do not

purpose now writing a full account of the short history of tin-mining in

Northern Nigeria.

The policy of the Niger Company appears to have been only to develop

a mine until other people saw the thing “good enough” to take up.

That is the rôle of its mining staff, which have headquarters at Jos,

quite distinct and some little distance from the trading store. I

believe that all the earlier properties have been disposed of, but the

further potentialities of the country are still being tested in various

directions.

It may be asked why the Niger Company gives to second parties, even by

sale, the opportunity of making a profit which it might itself reap.

Whilst I am no more empowered than any other investigator to speak for

the Company, I should say that the reason is the one stated above. No

doubt the Company is only on the threshold of the advance to be made

in trading development—trading in agricultural, sylvan, and other

produce—in Southern and Northern Nigeria, and to do that adequately

is, to use an inelegant but expressive term, to bite off as much as it

can chew. The fact should be remembered that it gains by everyone’s

prosperity.

On surrendering the Charter, the Government agreed to give the Company

half of its 5 per cent. royalty on the export of all minerals. Besides

the river and road transport, prosperous communities, white and black,

mean increased trade for the stores, for although there are a number of

such new arrivals in Northern Nigeria the Niger Company maintains an

incalculably premier position.

Present regulations for mining are explained in the next chapter.

* * * * *

The health of every white man on a mine in Northern Nigeria is a serious

matter for each owning company. Flesh and blood is not as cheap as in

some parts of industrial Britain; it cannot be replaced at a day’s notice

and to an illimitable extent. A man, whether he be manager or in any

intermediate grade to the most junior rank, is brought out at no little

expense. If he becomes altogether incapacitated at an early stage of

his service the persons in whose engagement he is lose what the double

journey costs, for he will probably not have rendered sufficient work

to recoup them; whilst if he goes temporarily on the sick list as long

as he remains there he, of course, is not earning anything for the firm

which has paid his expenses. Men of use in Northern Nigeria are therefore

valuable, as horses are where it costs money to replace them, though

perhaps in the same place there is so great a supply of human animals

that _their_ living or dying is of no economic consequence.

The question is put at its lowest commercial basis so that the importance

of health may be seen from every point of view, and in setting the

position in that light I rely on my meaning not being misinterpreted to

read that men in the service of mines are only rated as horses. I desire

to show that a mine—or, for the matter of that, any other employing

concern—in most cases loses by the breakdown of a member of the staff.

Here the mines’ employees are alone being dealt with.

Were the tin fields camps clustered in one or two small areas the problem

would be easy of solution. They are not. They are scattered over the

country, in some instances more than a week’s journey by road from one

another. Special medical provision for the mining staff is therefore

not an easy programme to carry out unless a fairly large number of

doctors were appointed, and at present the quantity of men who might

require their attention is too few to justify that course. There are the

Government medical officers, but they are stationed where they can be of

most use to officials, and that may be 30 miles or more from a mine camp.

Under all these circumstances some of the mining companies, and the Niger

Company as the only European trading firm in that part of the country,

decided to provide special medical facilities for their employees in

the Bauchi tin fields region. There are two doctors: Dr Watson, who is

stationed near Juga, and Dr Arthur Emlyn, who is at Jos, regarded as the

headquarters and within range of more mines than any other situation

would be.

I have looked over the hospital at Jos. Previous to it being built

patients were accommodated in tents and in small but comfortable huts.

The hospital was put up by Dr Emlyn, and, except for two weeks when he

was ill and his assistant, Dr Watson, supervised the native workmen,

the whole scheme was effected by the former, who combined the parts of

builder, nurse, housekeeper, and medical attendant. I find that during

the two years the hospital has been in existence there have been 65

European patients, of whom two have died. The official records show that

one was in hospital two days and the other two-and-a-half hours. The

cases may therefore be regarded as having reached a critical stage before

coming to the hospital. I have not had time to obtain the total visits

of European out-patients, nor of natives, which far exceed those of the

whites.

Strengthening the medical service in Northern Nigeria is a measure which

should be well pondered over by the Government at Zungeru. The value of

a hospital can be gauged from what is done by the establishment at the

Capital of the Protectorate. The necessity of a hospital is not to be

estimated by the fatal cases which come under its roof. An overwhelming

majority of sickness among whites is that of fever. The great chance of

a cure is taking the indisposition in time and nursing, and no nursing

on this earth equals the nursing of a sympathetic woman. A nurse of the

best kind is the nearest picture we can imagine of one of God’s angels.

The light, feminine movement; the exquisite solicitude for suffering; the

sisterly soothing influence on a pain-racked brain; the gentle, yet not

tiresome, attention to unexpressed wants, all these seem almost divine

qualities which appeal to even my dull, unimaginative mind. They impress

me, who had never needed them; they are qualities not possessed by one

man in two millions; they are qualities to be found in several places in

West Africa; they have counted in many recoveries to health.

The Zungeru hospital is spoken of as a sanatorium. That is because men go

there when early symptoms of malaria declare themselves, and frequently

after a few days’ treatment—which may be described as rest, change, and

the inestimable frequent medical examination and attendant nursing—the

aforetime invalid returns to his duties thoroughly well. There must have

been hundreds of lives saved by hospital treatment in West Africa, lives

which would have been lost but for prompt entry into a hospital.

Those of us who have seen men stricken with fever in some out-of-the-way

spot in the bush, lying on a camp-bed in a mud hut many miles from the

reach of a doctor, ourselves doing in a rough way all the nursing we

could, we know what a relief it would have been to welcome the appearance

of a skilled man versed in the art of healing.

In Nigeria, North and South, most of the Government medical officers

are as splendid fellows as you would wish to meet. In Southern Nigeria

some of the cherished personal friendships I have made in the course of

journeys are among that profession; and in Northern Nigeria if I have not

come in contact with so many they have been sufficient to show that the

same spirit prevails. I gladly remember two who went out of their way to

render me acts of kindness: Dr Johnson, of Zaria, and Dr Costello, of

Naraguta.

CHAPTER XXIV

A MURDER TRIAL

Mining licences and leases—The Government Inspector of

Mines—Nine years without doors—Two Residents—Poisoned arrow

welcome—A murder trial.

Previous to leaving the subject of the tin fields it is appropriate a

few words are said on the Government administration of that territory

controlled from Naragutu.

Leave to prospect in the area known as the tin fields has been suspended,

pending a regular survey of the properties pegged out, and as the

suspension is temporary, and, moreover, does not apply to other parts

of Northern Nigeria, it may not be out of place if the conditions under

which minerals can be sought are stated.

The first requisite for anybody who wishes to go prospecting is to obtain

permission from the Governor or whoever may be acting for him. If not

received before arriving in the country, it can be asked for at Zungeru,

the Capital of the Protectorate, or at Lokoja. The former is on the

railway journey and the latter on the river route, which are the only

avenues by which one can enter. In order not to entail delay of waiting

at either place, permission is also to be obtained at Naraguta, after the

application has been forwarded to Zungeru from Lokoja, which would be

done by telegraph if not made previous to the applicant’s arrival there.

The Governor’s assent is given in the form of a general prospecting

right. That costs £5, and the applicant must show he has available

locally not less than £100. That done, he has to get a permit from the

Resident in each Province where he seeks to prospect. The Resident only

withholds a permit if the district is in an unsettled state.

An Exclusive Prospecting Licence comes next. The cost is £5 per square

mile, and the prospector must have satisfied the Crown Agents that he

possesses £500 in money for every square mile applied for. Whilst he

holds the Exclusive Prospecting Licence he has the sole right to have a

mining lease of the ground. Before, however, it is taken out, he must

submit plans, which have to be passed by the Government Inspector of

Mines and the Advisory Committee associated with him, which consists

of three or four Government officials, who have power to co-opt

non-officials.

Everything being in order and satisfactory, the applicant is granted an

Exclusive Prospecting Lease. Following the Exclusive Prospecting Lease

comes a Mining Lease. For that he must show he has at command £10 for

every acre applied for. A lease is given for any period up to 21 years.

It is incumbent on a man coming out for a company that he shall have a

properly-executed Power of Attorney. That is stipulated so as to fix

direct responsibility and to avoid disavowal by the man’s principals of

steps he might take in their name.

Anybody holding an Exclusive Prospecting Licence cannot sell or transfer

it without the consent of the Governor. Should he, the Licence can be

cancelled. The object of this measure is to prevent hawking or peddling

of Licences and is an endeavour to protect the public against persons who

might try to exploit uncertain or valueless land.

Whilst, of course, there is a Mines Department at Zungeru—really a

section of the Secretariat that specially deals with mining matters—the

office of the Government Inspector of Mines, Mr E. A. Langslow-Cock, at

Naraguta. A few facts of the duties he has to perform will not be out of

place here. Upon him is focussed most, if not all, dissatisfaction at the

mining law and impatience that things are not done or decisions given.

Langslow-Cock is too good an official, too loyal a subordinate, to even

suggest or infer that he should not be blamed for what he has to carry

out or for that at which he must hold his hand. If people blame him let

them, he seems to say mentally. His temperament enables him to receive

the slings and arrows of criticism with equanimity, and his personal

popularity stops marksmen from dipping the points of their shafts into

bitterness.

The work of the office has been said to be in a state of chaos. A greater

misapplication of words could scarcely be used. If statements of that

kind are not completely denied there usually is a suspicion that there is

some ground for the indictment. As the term is understood, I say there is

none. With the staff the Government Inspector of Mines has, the duties

have been expeditiously and well performed. With the exception of the

railways, where it is a question of safety of life, there is hardly a

department of the public service not undermanned. Until this year the

Protectorate has been allowed an Imperial grant-in-aid. Whether on that

account or for any other, expenditure on salaries has, in most cases,

been kept as low as possible—in many instances much lower than they

should be—and too few men in receipt of them for the extent of country

occupied. This does not apply specifically to the Government Inspector of

Mines staff, but generally.

Naraguta is the centre of administration for the Central, formerly the

Bauchi, Province. Naraguta bulks so largely in men’s minds that some

persons who have not seen the place regard it as a small town. Nothing

of the kind. Except for the scattered houses and offices, all but two of

mud, for the half-dozen or so English officials, there is nothing, beyond

the alluvial tin operations a few miles round and the native village

which has sprung up in consequence, to mark the country from the virgin

land it was 10 years ago.

“The office of the Government Inspector of Mines” sounds imposing. That

building Mr Langslow-Cock had to have put up by his native servants. No

windows or doors are fitted to the mud structure; only openings. I have

seen him drawing a Government map whilst rain came through the roof,

dropping at the side of the table at which he worked.

The Resident, Mr F. Beckles Gall, has the luxury of a three-roomed

stone bungalow. He deserves it. For nine months, when stationed here,

which included the wet season of 1911, his dwelling consisted of two

circular mud huts, both having merely holes in the walls for light and

ventilation, and through them the rain swept night and day. I learnt by

chance conversation that his present abode is the first with doors he has

lived in for 8 years.

The Naraguta Resident has the attributes which help to make the best form

of administrator in a high position: the qualities of open-mindedness, a

capacity for taking any amount of trouble in order to fully understand

every view-point of a question, and, not least, a sympathetic temperament

which inclines him to help people instead of baffling them or putting

difficulties in their way in an effort to enhance his own importance.

I think the Government are fortunate in having at Naraguta a man of the

type of Mr Beckles Gall, for however indifferent a Resident may be to

irritating or causing resentment among people who are not in his coterie,

the Government at Zungeru, certainly the Colonial Office at home have

no wish to see the resultant friction, bad feeling, and public comments

in England. It is bad enough for a person to plume himself on being

superior to all mankind; it is infinitely worse to parade belief of that

superiority and to try and enforce it by contemptuous acts to those who,

though not within his circle, by reason of his position must communicate

with him from time to time. The supercilious attitude which I saw to an

offensive extent towards non-officials at another place—I cannot help

concluding, bearing seeds of possible mischief in the event of trouble

with the natives—is altogether absent at Naraguta.

Besides being the chief centre of the mines administration away from

Zungeru, Naraguta is the headquarters of the Hill Division, which is

that section of the political service which deals with the Pagan tribes

of the Province. The department is in charge of Mr C. L. Migeod, who

in the course of his service has had two horses killed under him by

poisoned arrows aimed at the rider. Those occurrences did not take place

whilst hostile measures were being taken against the wild people of

the hills. That is a step which every Governor of the Protectorate has

frowned upon. Political officers are expected to allay, not aggravate,

any resentment natives may feel towards the white man’s presence and to

get recalcitrant tribes round to a spirit of sweet reasonableness and an

accommodating manner without necessitating the use of troops. Mr Migeod

was endeavouring to carry out this policy, and whilst riding up a hill to

a village on the top for the purpose of more fully explaining a message

he had sent pointing out how nice it would be for the villagers to pay

taxes, he received the welcome stated. He was a passenger on the ship by

which I left England, but though we spoke freely on board he mentioned no

word of what is now related. I only heard of the matter when I came to

live in the district.

In a subsequent chapter the method and manner of ruling these Pagan

tribes is explained. They, unlike the Fulani, the Hausa and cognate

people, have no corporate life.

A single instance is rendered to show the spirit which animates the

Government of Northern Nigeria in dealing with the inhabitants of the

country.

A native was charged with murdering another and the case came before the

Resident at Naraguta for trial. The prisoner, who had been brought in

from some distance, was taciturn, but pleaded “Guilty,” that is to say,

he declared, “I did kill him.” He repeated the phrase, but would say

nothing more. He remained obstinately silent when pressed why he did it.

The witnesses could explain no cause. The only reason they knew was that

the prisoner and the man killed had quarrelled. Mr Gall did not forthwith

sentence the prisoner to death. He reflected that no individual takes the

life of another unless there is a strong motive, and he remembered that

the poor wretch on the ground in front of his table was, after all, like

the rest of us, a human being, though black and friendless.

Although prompt justice is generally esteemed in Northern Nigeria, Mr

Gall put the case back and sent one of his native political officers

to make enquiries in the district where the crime took place. Those

enquiries showed the prisoner to have been provoked and wronged to such

an extent that instead of being sent for execution he was given a month’s

imprisonment.

I learnt these particulars, not from Mr Gall, but since I have left him,

and from a non-Government man, who, as is the way in this country, had

not been sufficiently interested in the incident to be able to tell me

what was the provocation. “I have my own business to attend to and cannot

bother about such details, like you journalists who want to know all of

everything; in fact, it was Gall’s splendid fairness to the poor devil

that made me notice the thing at all. And good luck to you for putting it

down.” So spoke my informant.

CHAPTER XXV

TROUBLES OF THE TREK

Philosophers’ test—At the back of white men’s minds—Human

calculations—Blows to plans—Oje leaves—The servant

problem—Short, severe rations—Doki boy Kolo—A Pagan pony—Its

performances—Injury to insult—Human and equine elements.

If anybody endowed with an unflinching philosophic spirit wishes to

have that spirit tried to the utmost, if anyone desires to test whether

his heart will break at unexpected, unavoidable, exasperating delays

and disappointments, then let him come to Northern Nigeria under such

conditions and limitations as I and endeavour to carry out a time-table

of moving through the country. Nobody I had met in England seemed to

have any idea of the difficulties, each appearing small in itself, yet,

accumulating, presenting an absolute bar to progression, a bar that no

will could overcome.

A Governor, Resident or other high official in the public service is

able to bend the resources of each district to his requirements. Rightly

so, for matters of high importance may depend on the celerity of his

movements. A Director of a large company or a member of a mine staff

finds everything arranged. Horses and servants, previously provided, meet

him at railhead and an ample supply of food boxes is sure to be included

in his equipment by those who made the arrangements on this side. The

sooner a good-salaried man gets to his task the quicker his employers are

likely to turn dead outlay into a living profit.

But in the case of the journalist whom nobody knows, a stranger within

the gates, nobody’s child, perhaps misled by well-meaning folks in

England who, in full belief, assured him there would be no special

trouble in getting about; one who has to work out one’s own salvation

almost from stage to stage. Him, my readers, bear with in his efforts,

wearing efforts, more wearing than any physical exertion, bear with him

in delays which to you may seem inexplicable. You in that other part

of the globe, away from this West Africa where transport and movement

are distant from railroad or river, you can go from place to place by

probably half-a-dozen alternatives should one fail.

Here there is no alternative; you must wait. You must depend on yourself

absolutely. A man whose property you visit may give you some help to get

on the way; it were unreasonable to look for anybody to do more.

Here as in other parts of the globe one must not expect too much just

because one is a journalist. The journalist may at considerable outlay

go to a country for the purpose of making the work of the men there

known to the larger world outside. The men may care nothing for that

knowledge being propagated nor for the opinions and judgments of the

larger world—in which case, if I dare say so, they are foolish and make a

gigantic mistake—or they may live in a little world of their own which

takes count of little beyond. Their all-in-all is bound up in the place

where their lives are spent, and nothing else matters. A visitor from

abroad may be more an object of curiosity than of interest. In the course

of pilgrimages through lands as Special Correspondent for the _African

World_ I have met some peculiar characters but never, I think, more—or

as peculiar—as in Northern Nigeria. Certainly they are the exceptions. I

make no complaint personally. These reflections are simply put down as

observations on the workings of minds so unusual that they must be noted.

There are frequent speculations as to what is at the back of the black

man’s mind. I have occasionally wondered what moulds ideas in some white

men’s minds in Northern Nigeria.

What has been stated can be read in connection with my own situation.

That situation was this. I had settled to leave Naraguta on November 4

for the southward trek to Jemma. Everything had been arranged to the

utmost detail. It was to be the last chapter, though not the last stage,

of this portion of the journey and, bearing in thought former delays, I

was firmly determined nothing should detain me a day. So much for human

calculations.

The start was to be on a Monday. On the previous Friday morning I found

myself without house-boys. Two of the three had gone for causes which

need not be intruded here, and Oje was manfully going through the daily

task single-handed pending the arrival of assistance. Friday morning Oje

announced his wish to leave “for 10 days.” It was not the labour he had

to do which prompted the step; in fact, he had asked to continue alone.

The story he gave—I am convinced the true one—was that a man who owed him

£4, 16s. was at Zaria—at least 3 days’ journey for him, though he used

the railway—and he desired to go and claim the money. No persuasion or

sternness could induce him to stay. I offered to give him the £4, 16s.

He was worth that and more. No use. Go he would. He knew the serious

trouble he would give me and said he was sorry, but nothing could alter

his attitude. It was one of those strange aberrations of the native from

down country which defy reading by the white man, however experienced;

for between the lad and myself there was a strong attachment. Evidence of

it had occurred unmistakably a few days earlier.

He wanted to leave next day, by which time, he explained, he would find

me a cook. When I saw it was hopeless to make him remain, in order to

show independence I told him he could go at once. He did, notwithstanding

he thought he might be forfeiting several sovereigns I was keeping for

him. Although I knew it was not easy to obtain house-boys at short

notice at Naraguta, I hoped to, and whether I did or not, I was set on

starting Monday morning. It was a serious position to go without at

least one, but I would be deterred by no inconvenience—to use a moderate

expression—taking my chance of picking some up en route. So much for

human calculations.

Next day occurred a much more severe blow to the plans. One pony which

had not been very well became seriously ill and the other suddenly went

quite lame. It was clear to even my limited veterinary knowledge that

neither could be taken out for more than a week. To obtain fresh ones in

the required time at Naraguta was out of the question. I was for walking.

A man to whom I mentioned this spoke of it as “downright madness under

the conditions.” He said I would be meeting disaster and that I ought to

regard myself as fortunate if I were as much as carried back.

Moreover, the servant difficulty was not easily adjusted. The first

applicants were obviously to be shunned at any cost. Their presence would

prove a great deal more trouble than their absence. For three days I was

completely without house-help of any kind. For those three days, with the

anxiety on my hands of a horse becoming weaker and weaker, in spite of

all done for the poor animal, I had nothing to eat beyond hard, thick,

dry cabin biscuits and a cup of tea morning and another in the evening.

This was the only time I could spare from writing to make up a fire.

There was a single deviation from the diet. It was a morning when I had

been invited to breakfast. I had to walk nearly two miles in the heat

and glare of 9 a.m. without the preliminary morning tea. My host, Mr F.

Beckles Gall, the Resident at Naraguta, one of the kindest of men, will

on seeing these lines in print learn to his surprise in what a plight was

his guest of that morning.

It may be asked whether I could not avoid so much discomfort and prevent

such risks in a country where food is a prime consideration for health.

The answer is that I had gone up under the impression that anything

could be bought near, whereas transport of supplies was not then in the

more advanced state to which it has since been brought, and although

fresh meat and poultry are for sale in the public market, there are some

things a white cannot do; one is to go to market. You might as lief see a

Duchess on knees cleaning her doorstep in Belgrave Square.

There were, possibly, several men within a radius of five miles—which

here corresponds to the distance of a short street in England—who would

have had me at their table had they known. But one does not care to run

about with all one’s small worries. There is so much done by some people

for a stranger that he does not wish to put their goodness at undue

strain.

Yes, in Naraguta, which away from a town is regarded as rather a large

centre, I have endured—I will not say suffered, for I do not make a

suffering or a trouble of it—I have undergone more hardships in the

matter of food than anywhere in the whole course of this journey.

My inconveniences are given in detail as a signal to others, though

probably they will not be subject to the same limitations. Expansion of

purchasable supplies is likely to be full.

Oje returned Sunday afternoon, very tired, downcast and contrite. He had

been overcome by a kind of home-sickness and at Rahama turned from his

purpose. He begged hard to be taken back. I subsequently learnt, not from

him, that although money was in his pocket, he had had no food for two

days. Water had been his only sustenance.

Still without house-boys, I rejoiced at seeing him, though sorry for the

hard time he had evidently experienced. My liking for Oje was too strong

to be destroyed even by the way he had acted. I was convinced he had

been led to it by somebody who hoped to victimise him.

But it would not do to let him see forgiveness could be had on request,

so I sternly told him I would not have him again.

He stayed near for the remainder of the day, sometimes sitting on the

ground at the side of the bungalow, always looking wistfully when I went

outside. Once, as I sat writing, he came into the room and commenced to

make the bed ready for the night, as he had done for so many months,

but I ordered him out and declared he was never to think of doing

anything for me again, though I almost broke down before the sentence was

finished. He went out with tears trickling. That night he slept in one of

the outhouses and directly I opened my door at 5.30 next morning he was

waiting and commenced “I beg, sir-r.”

I told him to come back at 10 o’clock. He elected to remain on the

spot. Another boy was engaged as steward and then poor little Oje was

reinstalled a step lower, as cook.

The horse difficulty remained. On Tuesday the one that had been growing

weaker died. I must not overlook the attention it received all through

from doki boy Kolo, not the one originally in my service but a Beri-Beri.

Kolo is not handsome to gaze upon—he has one eye, a phenomenally long

mouth and wears a short pig-tail falling from the crown to the side of

his head—but I liked him from the first meeting.

It was clear I must obtain horses if my stay was not to be prolonged to

a length driving me to lunacy. But no Glendower can conjure them up at

Naraguta within a fortnight of the great Hausa festival known as the

Salah. However, if I did not try I certainly would not succeed, and,

making efforts and my wants known in all directions, at last a Hausa

dealer brought a strong-looking pony he had purchased from Pagans. It

stood about 12 hands and, all being well, was just the kind of beast for

trekking. The dealer rode him a short distance, and, although not taking

kindly to bit or saddle, he seemed all right. I then walked, trotted

and cantered him, and a friend having done likewise and pronounced him

passable except for a defect in the shape of his legs, I bought the

animal for £5.

The same evening the pony broke his tether and wildly tore about the

compound seeking who of his kind he might fight and bite. For 20 minutes

he was pursued by half-a-dozen doki boys, whom he repeatedly evaded by

sharp turns and wheels to the left or right. Eventually wary tactics were

adopted. The pony was quietly allowed to approach another horse and, as

the Pagan beast stood for a moment, one of the doki boys threw his arms

over the neck and the others closing in, the runaway was held captive, in

spite of frantic plunging, backing and kicking.

Kolo held him whilst ropes were being sought, and maintained the charge

when the pony recommenced the contest by biting a gash in Kolo’s leg,

from which the blood came freely. At last the beast was put in a doki

house, both fore and hind legs hobbled, a stout rope round his neck and

tied to the roof, but of sufficient length to allow lying down. The

entrance was crossed with heavy beams and the barricade made complete

by a large iron wheelbarrow against it. A peace-offering, in the form

of a heap of cut grass, was placed on the ground to keep the rioter

quiet during the night. He rejected all these overtures and frequently

signified his protest at the restraint imposed by attempting to break

away, but that had been too carefully provided against.

I had thought during the performance that I would give him as much

galloping as he wished for, and more, next morning.

At 10 a.m. the little brute was led to the bungalow. He was in anything

but an angelic mood. Ears set back, a spiteful look in his eyes,

seemingly spoiling for a fight, he seemed generally typical of the wild

people who had bred him. I calculated that all this vicious energy would

be fully expended in the couple of miles’ gallop to and up the hill on

which the post office stands. The pony had other plans.

It was a long business getting him to take the bit, which was only done

after the beast had been tied to a post by a halter round his neck. The

two doki boys had all they could do before the bridle was in position.

The saddle was then put on and the halter taken off.

But the pony by no means entered into the spirit of what was intended. He

jumped about and swung round, never giving chance of a foot being placed

in the stirrup. At last the doki boys had to hold his head firmly, and

a moment afterwards I was up and they let go to give a clear course.

Instead of starting off like a flash, as I expected, he not merely

reared but threw himself backward, his full length on the ground.

Taken unawares, I was not in time to check the movement and fell

sideways, as fortunately only the extreme end of the boots were in the

stirrups. To add injury to insult he attempted to roll on me—I had by

chance fallen a little too widely—and then he jumped up and made off

madly.

This part of the programme I heard of afterwards, as the fall stunned

me. A thick, pith helmet—the gift of a friend in London—had been

providentially strapped under the chin, and therefore remaining in

position had thus prevented my cranium coming into direct contact with

the stony ground. Had it, the more or less valuable contents thereof

would probably have been deranged by concussion of the brain or some

similar pleasantry.

When after a minute or so of unconsciousness I came to, the delinquent

was being held near by. He did not appear to be the least ashamed of his

handiwork. At first I could not get up and assumed some bone had been

broken, especially as assistance to rise gave such pain that I asked to

be left. Presently I was able unhelped to change from the horizontal to

the perpendicular position and at once proceeded to take stock by feeling

the ribs and shoulder-blade for fracture. All were intact.

Then about the mail, for I was taking to the post things written for the

_African World Annual_ and this was the latest day for forwarding them.

The sport of a further try with the Pagan pony involved too great a risk

of missing the mail, so I had another horse, which I had on hire, brought

out, saddled and reached the post office just before the bags were

closed.

Next day it was clear I had been hurt more than I thought. The pain

in the side had increased and any movement such as sneezing caused

the agony as of internal knives cutting. The following day the signs

having intensified, with added pain when in the prone position, I made

an appointment to see Dr Costello, the Government medical officer. He

promptly diagnosed the symptoms as contusion of the muscles. I was not

able to ride and he, with the usual care given to each individual case,

offered the use of his own hammock for the trek.

That is a mode of progression few use if they can avoid. With a squad

of bearers not trained to work together, the discomfort on a journey of

length has to be experienced to be realised. Moreover, lying down was bad

enough in bed; in a jolting hammock it would be impossible.

However, I still determined to leave on the appointed day of the

following Wednesday, though I had to walk. Annoyance at the continual

delays was felt to be more risk to health than trekking in the tropics on

foot over a bad path.

But a difficulty much harder to remove than absence of horses presented

itself. The great, national festival of the Salah—the Hausa Christmas,

as it is termed locally—was approaching and carriers would not move

from their homes and miss the two days’ jollification. No reasonable

remuneration would entice them. Though I were prepared to go without

the necessary couple of horses, the indispensable carriers would not

be forthcoming. There was, therefore, absolutely no alternative to

possessing my soul in patience as best I might until the human and equine

elements shaped into propitious form.

The Salah over, the Pagan pony having been disposed of—thereby hangs

another story, which cannot be told now—having been promised hire of

a second horse, and the carriers been engaged, I am leaving to-morrow

morning southwards.

CHAPTER XXVI

INCIDENTS ON TREK

The changed seasons—End of the rainy season—Bush fires—Rolling

downs and kopjes—A 25-miles march without food or drink—Return

journey commenced—Ascent of the escarpment, 2,200 feet—A Hausa

and Pagan affray—An ugly situation.

Leaving Naraguta and making direct south, about four miles along an

excellent broad road, Jos is reached, past which one takes either a

branch, still wide, road or a path which can scarcely be termed a bush

one, for the character of the country is changing. There are granite

boulders of moderate size. The merely undulating plains with small hills

correspond to the impressions one has gained from the descriptions of

Transvaal scenery, with its expansive veldt and kopjes around.

Travelling is no longer amidst torrential downpour and flooding

tornadoes. The rains have ceased. No more will fall for at least three

months, probably four. The rains ended with the advent of the October

new moon. They stopped almost as automatically as the municipal turncock

checks the supply from the main to the household pipes in English towns.

A storm came and, continuing during the evening preceding the new moon,

a bet was made at 8 o’clock that the fall of water would last over the

astronomical change, which was to occur between 1 and 3 a.m. The man who

backed the affirmative lost. The shower ceased at 11 p.m.

The roads just here are new, smooth and hard. Bridges of earth and wood,

easily swept away by the swollen, rushing streams of the wet season, have

been rebuilt, and therefore there is no wading across rivers of doubtful

depth with deep holes in the bed or large rocks under water.

No need to watch for the sign of a storm. The sky is generally clear,

blue flecked by a little white. The surrounding land is altering its

appearance. The universal green, hitherto freshened by the rains, has

largely become russet, with fields of light yellow grass. This dry,

long grass has already provided the running ground for bush fires,

too frequently started by a lighted object thrown thoughtlessly among

quick-burning material. You can see these bush fires at night, sharp

and distinct against the blackness around. They may be small and easily

beaten out by the natives using sticks. Sometimes the fire will extend

to a half-mile front. Then it must proceed until a large river or other

barren space gives it no passage and it dies away. At the end of the

rains, the European will clear the space round his house for hundreds of

feet. So will the careful native. Should he have neglected, his dwelling

may be smouldering in a flash; and whether from the bush or by internal

cause, when a fire lays hold of a village scores of families are homeless

in a few minutes.

These bush fires of Northern Nigeria are not, however, of that wild,

devouring character seen in Canada and Australia, where the fierce roar

can be heard a mile away and where everything staying within the line

of advance must be destroyed entirely. Though here there is the sharp

unpleasant crackle and uncomfortable heat as the flames roll onwards, the

grass is not very high and being comparatively sparse does not give the

fire that firm grasp which makes it invincible to subdue.

Over the blackened ground where it has run, within a few hours you will

notice new blades of grass sprouting, so wonderfully ready to respond to

nature is this soil, poor though it is judged by the soil more to the

north, the west and the east.

There are other signs of the changed season. The harmattan haze hangs on

the hills, and presently will come those dust storms which in no slight

degree make themselves felt however you may try to protect yourself in a

dwelling of any kind.

There is little cultivation along the route we are passing. Dwarf

guinea-corn, about four feet in height, and similar millets nearly

constitute the whole. There are a few flowers bearing rich yellow petals

which easily transport one’s fancy to English counties. The impression is

emphasised by rolling downs, which remind you of Sussex scenery.

I have a wholesome fear of tiring readers with overmuch detail of travel

and therefore pass over with a few words the several days’ trek to Jemma,

with one march of 25 miles in a severely hot temperature, mostly on foot,

lasting from morning to evening, with not so much as a drink of water or

a biscuit to eat, and entailing a descent of more than 2,200 feet from

the Bauchi Plateau to Nassarawa Province. I take up the story where my

little caravan, emerging from a long lane through high grass, dipped into

a plain backed by high hills.

A pleasant little episode marked the entry to the plain. Passing a

circular mud house a white man came out of it and seeing me in doubt

as to the direction to be taken spontaneously asked, “Can I be of

assistance to you?” and then probably noticing the betravelled condition

I presented, offered refreshment. As the day’s journey was practically

ended the invitation was declined, but it was a kindly spirit that

prompted it, a spirit general among the best type of Northern Nigeria

Government Officers. The individual in this case was Captain F. P. Soper,

Assistant Commissioner of Police in charge of the Jemma district.

My stay at Jemma was not long enough to go to the head-hunters’ village

four miles across the valley, though I should have greatly liked to have

made their acquaintance. There was, however, a great deal of ground still

to be covered, so after two clear days at Jemma, the return journey was

commenced. (The various Pagan tribes visited in the course of the several

treks are dealt with together in Chapters XXIX to XXXII, instead of

referring to them here and there, piecemeal.)

Though for several reasons I should have preferred to have gone by the

old caravan route westward to Loko and thence along the Benue River, or

by the lower road northwards, considerations led to the decision to go

back on the line by which I had come.

That, of course, entailed ascending the escarpment, some 2,200 feet.

Plans were arranged accordingly. It was done on the second day’s trek,

and instead of a march of 25 miles, as when I came down it, one of 18 was

fixed. The weather was very hot, which was also taken into consideration.

The decision was made to leave Karshi rest-house at 4 a.m., and though

the sun does not rise until a little past 5 o’clock, a broad pathway

clearly showed the way to the carriers.

Getting up at 3 o’clock, by 4 o’clock breakfast had been finished, the

table, chairs and the beds made into their usual loads, and we were off a

few minutes earlier than the appointed time.

The idea governing the programme was to reach the mountain path to the

Plateau at daybreak and then cover it in the cool hours of the morning,

instead of doing so under a fierce glare, the heat intensified by

reflection from the high rocks that seemed on touch to be burning, which

was the experience on the outward journey.

The ascent to the Plateau proved much less trying than the descent had

been. True, in the latter case the hardest part was done under the most

severe heat of the day and an extra seven miles had been put on the span,

whilst on the return tramp the worst section was left behind before the

sun had put forth full power, and cold tea, kept so in a special flask,

gave relief to a parched throat and produced a general refreshed feeling.

Still, not until 12.30 was the rest-house at Hos reached and the loads

put down for another day.

Temperature on the Plateau was in marked contrast to that felt in the

lower ground of Nassarawa Province. On the higher altitude cool air and

strong breezes temper the beat rays. Instead of being charged with

moisture, the atmosphere is dry, rarefied.

At one part of the march I was walking, to ease the horse and for a

change of movement to myself, when an incident occurred which might have

produced an unpleasant result to each side in the quarrel.

The carriers were ahead, out of sight, for, notwithstanding their 60

lbs. load on the head, they will swing along on an even path at 3½

miles an hour in dry weather and 3 miles an hour over wet ground, soon

outdistancing a horse that is not trotting. With me there was only one

of the doki boys. We were passing along a winding path flanked with a

long hill on the left and high grass on the right. The noise of shouting

in front reached us, which at first I thought came from some ju-ju

celebration or other jollification at one of the Pagan centres. A bend of

the path showed a crowd of men struggling and the angry voices conveyed

unmistakably that passions were roused.

Running forward I saw a Hausa man on the ground being dragged by

half-a-dozen Pagans towards their compound and houses at the side of the

path, whilst eight or ten Hausa men were trying to prevent it. At the

moment more Pagans, who had evidently been summoned to the scene, were

hurrying up, spears in hand, though not poised ready for thrusting. I

pushed my way into the middle of the struggling mass and motioned the

Pagans to release their hold on the Hausa, which they did immediately.

He then attempted to rise, but I promptly and none too gently pushed him

down, so that adjudication could be done without giving either side the

impression of favouring the other. It was better the relative positions

remain.

The Hausa was one of a party, under a Headman, taking loads across

country. I demanded from the Headman the reason for the disturbance.

He attempted to represent the Pagans as the aggressors, but his story

was easily sifted and the truth ascertained. As I expected, the Hausa

was in the wrong. Some of the labourer class frequently adopt towards

Pagans insolence and a sneering manner they would not dare unless for the

knowledge that the British have forbidden violence and the use of weapons

to vent a grievance, under any conditions. In the present case, the

Pagans, noticing the Hausas approaching, had gone out with ground-nuts

to sell. The man on the ground had taken a handful, eaten nearly half,

and then given the remainder back, refusing to pay the penny due, on the

plea that the nuts were not good. He had further exasperated these simple

people by grinning at them as he proceeded to go away with his fellows.

They thereupon seized, and were dragging, him into their village.

I said the Hausa man must pay the penny. He asserted he did not have one.

I asked the Headman if any of the party would pay for him, and the answer

given was that none had money—a palpable falsehood. Then, I announced,

the blanket—a highly-valued article for use at night—belonging to the one

who had eaten the nuts would be torn up. I put it on the ground, placed

a foot determinedly on the edge and gripped the thing as though to rend

it. I had mentally decided that, if the penny was not forthcoming at

the last second, sooner than destroy the rug I would give the penny; but

obviously it was infinitely better that the fellow or another of the gang

paid. Just as a tug was made at the blanket the man on the ground cried

“Baboo” (“Do not do it”), and asked the Headman to hand over a penny for

him. The coin was offered to me, but I directed it be given to the Pagan.

I told the man to get up and ordered the Headman to lead the gang away

at once, warning him against any additional provocation at villages on

the way. I stayed 15 minutes to see that the Hausas got well on the road

without trouble; then mounted, waved a farewell to the Pagans, who were

mightily pleased at the settlement, and rode off.

The question may occur: What plan would have been followed had either

party to the dispute resisted the intervention? To tell the truth, I did

not have a thought on that aspect until an hour or so later. Only then,

whilst jogging along on horseback, the humour of the situation presented

itself. What I should have done in the event of the Hausas or Pagans

showing hostility I really do not know.

As a matter of fact, the advent of the white man was welcomed by both

sides: the Hausas at once realised that their brother would not be

speared and the Pagans instinctively appreciated that justice was to

be done. What would have befallen the man they were dragging into the

compound is uncertain. Probably killed, and so would those of his gang

who participated in the scuffle. A few years ago no Hausa dare venture

within many days’ journey of this Hos-Karshi bush-path. The British

authorities have made the Pagans understand that any attack on people

passing along the main track will be severely punished, at the same time

promising that their villages shall not be entered by any strangers

unless they are messengers from a Resident. Warnings and cautions to that

effect are issued to all who go through the area.

A few days’ later I saw the Resident at Bukuru and told him what had

taken place. He approved.

A further 16 miles on the following day took me to Bukuru, whence, after

the night’s rest, I struck at right-angles off the main path for South

Bukuru.

CHAPTER XXVII

INCIDENTS ON TREK—(_continued_)

Information and advice in West Africa—Different men, different

manners—Ritz by comparison—A Samaritan by the way—Dried

streams—Primitive transport—A visitor from Rhodesia—Omitting

anti-fever precautions.

The last stage of these months of trekking presented one of those

questions of distances which different persons solve in various ways.

The start was from Jos and the destination Rahama, 48 miles. The journey

could not be divided into three stretches of about 15 miles each, if for

no other reason than that I was not to leave Jos until 4 p.m., in order

that I might transmit from mind to paper the impressions and reflections

collected, get them in the post, and thus be clear to gather more as I

went along. It was plain, therefore, that, to cover the ground within

three days, on one day a long march must be made, as the position of

rest-houses did not allow more equal averaging.

Which day did not matter much. It was largely a case of personal

preference, and I mention the subject to show how men’s advice differ as

to what you should do in West Africa. There is seldom lack of advice and

information, on ship or ashore. The only element doubtful is whether the

advice is reliable.

In Northern Nigeria—these parts, at least—that does not apply. Opinions,

however, vary. One man counselled an entire rearrangement of the

programme in the sense of leaving Jos very early in the morning, doing

23 miles that day, 15 the next, and winding up with an easy 10. Another

urged me not to overdo things, and rather to make a four days’ time-table

than to court being knocked up by too much exertion in the hot season. It

is well to respect experience; nevertheless, some things must be decided

by the individual affected. It may be he should avoid risks, and it may

be that risks which ought not to be invited at an earlier period, when a

breakdown in health would be a serious derangement of plans, should not

have the same influence as a deterrent towards the end, when the main

portion of the work has been done.

I elected to act on my own devices, to put the longest march to the last,

and I determined to get through by Sunday. The governing motive in not

being later was the desire not to delay at Rahama. Only one train a week

was scheduled, and as I did not know which day it left, or the hour, by

reaching railhead on Sunday the chagrin would be avoided of arriving a

few hours after the train had gone.

It was seven o’clock and dark by the time we had done the nine miles

from Jos to Gurum. The carriers had been told that the stay for the

night would be at the rest-house there, but, instead, they made for the

Anglo-Continental Mines Camp, which is about ten minutes’ walk from the

rest-house. On seeing the mistake which had been made, I hung back out

of sight and sent the steward boy, who could speak a little English, to

the camp to enquire the way to the rest-house. I did not wish to intrude,

which I thought would seem to be if I appeared uninvited and unexpectedly

when the evening meal was due.

The steward boy returned with a message that “The white man want you.”

I knew who the white man would be, so the steward boy was sent back, as

though I had not understood, with the reiterated request to know what

path led to the rest-house. After a few minutes there came from the

lighted bungalow and through the darkness “the white man.” It was Mr T.

H. Driver, one of the most lovable characters on the tin fields. He had

been ill and could not walk without trouble, though he had the aid of a

stick; yet he must undergo the effort to invite almost a stranger to food

and better shelter for the night than the rest-house afforded.

He then had swept out an unused shed, with cement floor, brick walls, and

iron roof. It seemed a Ritz Hotel in luxury by comparison with another

place of recent memory. In the shed my camp-bed was put up and to it I

retired with thankfulness after dinner with Mr Driver and his staff.