Through unknown Nigeria

By John R. Raphael

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Title: Through unknown Nigeria

Author: John R. Raphael

Release date: August 16, 2024 [eBook #74268]

Language: English

Original publication: London: T.Werner Laurie ltd, 1914

Credits: Peter Becker and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

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_THROUGH UNKNOWN NIGERIA_

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THROUGH
UNKNOWN NIGERIA

BY
JOHN R. RAPHAEL
LATE TRAVEL EDITOR OF “THE AFRICAN WORLD”

ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR

LONDON
T. WERNER LAURIE LTD.
8 ESSEX STREET, STRAND

PREFACE

Nigeria is in process of change, in some places rapid change. Since this
book has been written Southern and Northern Nigeria have been amalgamated
administratively. The two colonies, or protectorates, whichever title be
preferred, are being unified. The public service have been fused. What
were the Lagos Government Railway, the Baro-Kano Railway and the Bauchi
Light Railway recently received the comprehensive designation of Nigerian
Railways. The volume was in too advanced a condition for the alterations
to be made; and perhaps use of the old names will give a better idea of
the efforts to open up the youngest dependency brought under the Crown.

Linking rich Southern Nigeria with her Northern sister provides money
for railway and other development, which is to be pushed on vigorously.
Many of the conditions of the country must necessarily alter. The
locomotive is to whistle through regions where few white men have trod.
Wild areas are to be penetrated by trains. Naturally the character of
the inhabitants will be affected: no doubt many superstitious rites and,
incidentally, cruelty and inhumanity in social customs be dispelled.
Pagans will catch the passing fashions, or an imitation, and clothe, or
at least cover, themselves.

These and other material benedictions are sure to radiate from the
emblems of civilisation. Let us hope we shall not also be the means of
dispensing many of the blessings taken by Europeans to the Coast towns of
West Africa in former centuries and in evidence to-day by the moral and
physical degeneration of adult natives, as well as by children saturated
with hereditary disease.

Contact with aborigines may be a very fine thing for them. Let care be
taken that their second state is not worse than the first. That is likely
to be avoided if the policy followed by Sir George Taubman Goldie and Sir
Frederick Lugard with the Fulani and the Hausa population of Northern
Nigeria be scrupulously continued: that of encouraging and fostering
all which is good in tribal life, repressing only those features which
violate the principles of human existence.

No attempt has been made in the following pages at an historical survey
or at a deep examination of the difficult problems that confront the
administration. There are a number of books in which both subjects are
treated excellently. Recent ones occurring to mind are Lady Lugard’s,
“A Tropical Dependency”; Colonel Mockler-Ferryman’s, “British Nigeria”;
Captain Orr’s, “The Making of Northern Nigeria”; Mr E. D. Morel’s,
“Nigeria: Its People and Problems”; and the several publications of Major
Tremearne.

This volume is no more than impressions taken from a quiver of them
gained in the course of a rather long visit, part of it through country
not well known. Most chapters were written during the journey, either at
the close of a day’s trek or whilst detained at various spots.

My obligations are manifold for the courtesy, kindness and assistance
shown in various quarters. If all to whom I feel indebted were stated
several pages would be required.

I cannot, however, allow the volume to go to Press without again
tendering thanks to my former Editor and present friend, Mr Leo.
Weinthal, of _The African World_, for the opportunity given to carry
out the expedition and for allowing me to incorporate in these pages
matter printed in his paper; Sir Walter Egerton and Sir Hesketh Bell,
ex-Governors respectively of Southern and Northern Nigeria, for the
letters of introduction which proved an open sesame to the good-will of
the high officials administrating each colony; Mr F. Seton James, C.M.G.,
and Mr A. G. Boyle, C.M.G., both of whom in the course of my stay were
in turn Acting Governors of Southern Nigeria; Mr F. W. Waller, Acting
General Manager, Lagos Government Railway; Mr Charles L. Temple, C.M.G.,
Acting Governor of Northern Nigeria; Captain G. C. Kelly, temporarily
in command of the 1st Battalion Northern Nigeria Regiment; Captain C.
F. S. Maclaverty, in charge of the Battery; Mr C. Maclean, Agent of the
Niger Company at Zungeru; Mr E. M. Bland, Deputy Director of Railways,
Northern Nigeria; Mr Joseph E. Trigge, Managing Director of the Niger
Company; the late Mr Walter Watts, its Agent General; Mr Robert Lenthall,
also Agent General of same Company; Mr W. P. Byrd, and Captain J. J.
Brocklebank, D.S.O., of Kano, and also my native friends of that city,
Adamu Ch’Kardi and Suly; Mr F. Beckles Gall, Resident at Naragutu; Mr F.
D. Bourke, Manager of Naragutu Tin Mine; Mr S. E. M. Stobart, Resident
at Bukuru; Mr T. H. Driver, Manager of the Anglo-Continental Mines; Mr
A. C. Francis, Acting Resident at Zaria; Major E. M. Baker, temporarily
in command of the 2nd Battalion Northern Nigeria Regiment; Mr W. H.
Hibbert, of Lokoja; Mr Bertram D. Byfield, Cantonment Magistrate there;
and Mr A. E. Price, of Burutu. Although not strictly within the scope of
this book, I add Mr J. B. McDowell, Managing Director of the British and
Colonial Kinematograph Company, who gave special care and attention to
the apparatus and material which enabled me to bring back unique moving
pictures of people in whose country no instrument of the kind had ever
been taken.

J. R. R.

CONTENTS

PAGE

CHAPTER I

OUTWARD BOUND

Call of the Coast—Mal-de-mer—Coasters afloat—From 78° to
90°—The Kru sailor—His civilised degeneration—Laundryman’s
discipline—A dangerous stretch—The skipper—From ship to train 1

CHAPTER II

FROM THE COAST BY TRAIN—THE WEST AFRICAN PULLMAN

Iddo Wharf—Strange sights and
thoughts—Umbrellas—“Niggers”—Train luxuries—Liquor permits—The
iron-horse at the Niger—Ferry and bridge—Budget details 12

CHAPTER III

ZUNGERU—THE CAPITAL OF THE PROTECTORATE

A garden-city Capital—“Ikey” square—Autocracy
thorough—Circumscribed accommodation and doubled-up
quarters—Young administrators—Strict, stern, severe economy—The
Governor’s “Palace”—Job-lot furniture—His Excellency’s
1s.-an-hour, Bank-Holiday motor-car—Pooh-Bah Cantonment
Magistrate 19

CHAPTER IV

ZUNGERU—THE CAPITAL OF THE PROTECTORATE—(_continued_)

Native settlement—Rents and Treasury—A model prison—Northern
Nigeria Constabulary—Mails paid time-work—Sport at the
door—Up-country and Coast natives—Selection of Zungeru—The
future Capital 33

CHAPTER V

ZUNGERU TO KANO

Everybody his own porter—Religion and missions—Divining
water—Carriages patchy in parts—Native passengers—In the
track of the slave-raider—Engine sustenance—Kaduna Bridge—A
tight-rope performance—Close cultivation—“The lazy negro”—Two
civilisations—At Kano 43

CHAPTER VI

ARRIVAL AT KANO

Plans and expectations—Small water-famine—The handy man—Change
of quarters—Ants as sauce—Niger Company 57

CHAPTER VII

FASHIONS, GOVERNMENT, ADMINISTRATION

An Empire builder—The country and population—Hausa
tribes—Moslem and Pagan—Sartorial distinctions—Ruling through
natives—Election of their own rulers—Lugard’s peaceful
persuasion—A modern Earl of Warwick—The genius of Taubman
Goldie and Lugard—Native administration—Residents—Taxation—Law
Courts 63

CHAPTER VIII

KANO PROVINCE AND CITY—BRITISH TRADE PROSPECTS

Town and country—Officials and traders—Belgravia and
Bermondsey—A housekeeping budget—European stores—Buying and
selling—A Syrian in the fold 72

CHAPTER IX

A GENTLEMAN ADVENTURER

The London and Kano Trading Company—The Captain
intervenes—Army, Civil Service, Commerce—Discarding
appearances—Contrast of mansions—The pleasure of
business—“Traders” and others 80

CHAPTER X

KANO CITY

The founder—Hunter and prophet, too—The city wall—Warfare and
slave hunts—Provocation and defiance to the British—The Emir’s
challenge—March on the city—First check—Renewed attempt—Entry—A
new ruler 86

CHAPTER XI

KANO CITY—(_continued_)

Houses and rents—From 1s. 6d. to £5 a year—Mud mansions—No. 1
Kano—When to build and repair—Advice on building—A contract and
a surprise 93

CHAPTER XII

KANO MARKET

A cosmopolitan rendezvous—Arab merchants—The desert route and
the iron-horse—War and commerce—Local industries—Arts and
crafts—Skilled workers—Camels, cattle, sheep, horses—Pitiful
brute suffering—An appeal 100

CHAPTER XIII

KANO MARKET AND CITY—(_continued_)

Deference to the Englishman—A sagacious policy—Administration
of justice—An Alkali’s judgment—The native Treasury—Kano
municipality—Money matters 112

CHAPTER XIV

SOME ASPECTS OF SOCIAL LIFE

Wives of the upper-class—Women and the mosques—Polygamy—Its
difficulties in the home-circle—How to maintain peace—Hints
on management of the feminine character—A domestic
diplomat—Slavery—The former and the present position—Status of
a slave 119

CHAPTER XV

THE MISSIONARY QUESTION

Missions and Moslems—Strong comments—Bearings of the
situation—Present practice—The British solemn promise—The
alternative 125

CHAPTER XVI

THE BAUCHI LIGHT RAILWAY

Zaria and other stations—The two gauges—Through new
country—Second-hand rails—A new post for Sir Frederick Lugard—A
relic of tribal warfare—Sport for the gun—A derailment—Blend of
tongues—Smart re-railing work 130

CHAPTER XVII

AT RAHAMA RAILHEAD

Engaging carriers—How to facilitate getting away—Hausa horse
coupers and political economy—Bullock transport—Donkey
carriage—The man who belies a fable 139

CHAPTER XVIII

ON TREK—RAHAMA TO JUGA

Heavyweight and overweight—The white barred—Collective
displeasure—Getting off—A doki boy—Tin-mine pilgrims—A
scion of royalty—The rest-house—Village elders—Acrobatic
horsemanship—The carriers—Headman Hanza—Over the edge of the
Pagan belt 146

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 156

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 169

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 175

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 181

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 194

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 202

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 209

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 221

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 230

CHAPTER XXVIII

CLOSE OF THE TREK

Character of carriers—The only blow given—Native grooms’
monetary transactions—Material for a _cause célèbre_—Dispensing
justice on the road—Headman Dan Sokoto—Dan’s sharp practices—A
long march 237

CHAPTER XXIX

TOWARDS THE PAGAN COUNTRY

Hausa and Pagan—Distinction of dress—Deeper divisions—The
price of peace in former days—Public highway—Revenge and
brotherhood—Scope of an Assistant Resident 243

CHAPTER XXX

IN A PAGAN TOWN

Bukuru Residency—Bukuru town—Its ingenious defences—Traps
for an attacking force—The blacksmith—Musical
instruments—Pagan orchestras—A royal male Pavlova—The
Court band—A King’s reward—Pagan homesteads—The sleeping
apartment—Farming—Incentives to obtain, money—Enhancing
nature’s charms—Male and female decorations—Bareback and
bitless horsemanship—Races—Care of horses—The hunt—Sign
language 247

CHAPTER XXXI

ADMINISTERING JUSTICE AND TAXATION

Direct rule—Cases in a Resident’s Court—Wife and “another
man”—Trial by ordeal—Modification of that method—Kidnapping for
slaves—“The liberty of the subject”—Extenuating circumstances
and even-handed justice—Benefits that are not welcomed—The
joy of fighting—Graduated taxation—How to express numerals to
people who have no such terms—Two tax collectors—First lessons
in administration 260

CHAPTER XXXII

MARRIAGE AND DEATH CUSTOMS

Fashions—A wedding-ring warning—The former way with
undesirables—Succession to a Chief ship—Marriage—Dowries—A
perpetual leap-year—Widows—Burial usages—Cannibalism—Eating
those who die from natural causes—Etiquette of the practice—A
credit and debit account 269

CHAPTER XXXIII

SOLDIERS AND THEIR SPORTS

British-trained troops—Little-known Mr Atkins—Swearing-in
recruits—Hausa and Pagan oaths—Native priests on active
service—Number of wives allowed—Artillery on men’s heads—Gun
drill—Dipping for toroes—Mounted infantry—Signalling
tuition—Teaching the band—Inculcating self-reliance—The
military classification of white civilians 278

CHAPTER XXXIV

ZARIA CITY AND PROVINCE

Prominence of Zaria—As a produce and trading centre—The
gold discoveries—Opposite deductions—Model, native
town-planning—Various taxes 291

CHAPTER XXXV

THE BARO-KANO RAILWAY

Emir’s assent—Compensation for palm trees—A locomotive’s
food—Engine whistling preferred to Caruso—Official
opening—Natives’ curiosity—A Mallam’s impressions—Horse _v._
train 299

CHAPTER XXXVI

BARO ON THE NIGER

Baro port—A Selfridge-Whiteley 400 miles up the Niger—London
frock-coats in West Central Africa—Fretwork and ladies’
garments—An untutored eye and its guide—The rat a table
delicacy—Oje’s local patriotism—Baro and Jebba; hygienic
problems—A superfluous hospital 306

CHAPTER XXXVII

LOKOJA

First stage down the Niger—Lokoja’s past—The discovery
of the brothers Lander—Previous theories—McGregor
Laird’s enterprise—Eighty per cent. mortality—The 1841
expedition—Richardson, Barth and Overweg—Laird’s second
endeavour—The House of Commons scuttle policy—Its
reversal—First Fulani battle—Imperial control—Commerce of
Lokoja—Vessels at the beach—Loading boats—Freedom of contract 312

CHAPTER XXXVIII

LOKOJA—(_continued_)

A cosmopolitan town—A Baron Haussman—The Cantonment
Magistrate—Some of his duties—Expenditure and economy—King
Abigah—A plea for generosity—The hospitals—A black Bishop’s
legacy—The missionary question—Critics and the converse 324

CHAPTER XXXIX

NAVIGATING THE NIGER

Rise and fall—A tideless stream—Comfort afloat—The uncertain
river—Nasaru the Pilot—Altered channels—When aground—Breakdown
of machinery and smart repair—Tropical scenery—The crocodiles’
rest—Riverside villages—Where money is ignored—Estimation
for old bottles and tins—Harmattan fog—An island trading
station—Hazard and skill to maintain a time-table 334

CHAPTER XL

BURUTU

A port in a swamp—Training native engineers—A composite
village—Social grades—Medical provision—Mr John Burns on a
Nigerian river—Back to the sea 348

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

A Gateway in the Wall of Kano _Frontispiece_

The Rt. Hon. Sir George Taubman Goldie, Founder of
Nigeria _Facing page_ 64

One of the Emir’s Trumpeters ” 78

Native Skin-merchants with Transport, Kano ” 78

Captain J. J. Brocklebank, D.S.O. ” 82

The Premises of the London and Kano Trading Company at Kano ” 82

Sir Frederick Lugard, D.S.O., First Governor of Northern
Nigeria ” 92

Houses in Kano City. The cheapest type, rent 1s. 6d. a year ” 94

Houses in Kano City. A detached dwelling, rent 1s. 9d. a
year ” 94

House in Kano City, rent 2s. 6d. a year ” 96

No. 1 Kano. The houses in the city are numbered to
facilitate taxation ” 96

An Arab Merchant who trades from the Shores of the
Mediterranean to Kano ” 102

Ex Sergt.-Major Dowdu, a Beri-Beri from Bornu ” 102

The Magistrate’s Court in the Market. His worship is on
the steps ” 108

A Detachment of the Emir’s Police ” 108

A Corner of Kano Market. Note the stocks ” 112

A Section of the Market with Open-air Stalls ” 112

The Principal Mosque ” 114

An Entrance to the Courtyard of the Emir’s Palace ” 114

The Royal Courts of Justice ” 116

The Native Treasury, known as the Beit-el-Mal ” 116

A Street in Kano ” 118

Doctor’s Shop in the Market ” 118

Hausa Woman-trader. Her clothes are silk and her rings
silver ” 120

A Hausa Belle ” 120

Tureg Traders from Lake Chad. They are reformed robbers ” 122

Abigah (seated) and his Two Wives ” 122

“Zaki!”—Natives giving the usual salute to a white man ” 128

Respect to the Aged is shown by removing the Shoes and
Curtsying ” 128

The Religion of the Mohamedan forbids the use of soap, as
it contains fat. Shaving therefore is done with the aid
of water only ” 138

Specimen of the Barber’s Art ” 138

Carriers ready to start ” 168

A Bridge which is swept away by the stream each year during
the wet season ” 168

A Government Rest-house ” 174

The Headman’s House at Toro, where the Author slept ” 174

Approach to a Pagan Town. A maze of impenetrable cactus ” 248

A Pagan Homestead, built against a rock to prevent rear
attacks ” 248

Pagan Farmer using his only implement, a spade-hoe ” 250

The King of the Jarawa Pagans dancing in Honour of the
Author’s Visit. The accompaniment is by his Court band
in State uniform ” 250

A Naked Pagan riding his pony barebacked ” 256

Pagan Horsemen ” 256

Bukuru Sign Language ” 258

Mr S. E. M. Stobart, the Resident at Bukuru, and His Staff ” 268

Bukuru Residency ” 268

Pagan Feminine Fashions ” 270

A Pagan Beauty of the Dass Tribe ” 272

A Girl of the Jarawa Tribe. The cuts in the face are made
when she reaches the age of puberty ” 272

Jarawa Pagans. The marks are produced by the flesh being
cut and charcoal placed in the incision ” 276

Signalled message _Page_ 290

A Beri-Beri Woman with an elaborate headdress _Facing page_ 290

Swearing in a Pagan and a Mohamedan for the Northern
Nigeria Regiment ” 290

Hausa Boy playing the molah, a kind of banjo ” 298

Fiddle with Strings and Bow of Horse-hair rubbed with Gum ” 298

Hausa House-Building with Grass. The foundation ” 310

The Finished Mansion. It is put up, including cutting the
grass, in a couple of hours ” 310

Manicure. The fee is twenty cowries, i.e., about
one-fourteenth of a penny ” 338

A Nupé Pilot on the Niger ” 338

A European Trading Station on the Niger ” 342

On a Creek of the Niger ” 342

The Niger Company’s Wharf at Burutu ” 348

Shipping Palm-oil for Direct Transit to Liverpool ” 348

THROUGH UNKNOWN NIGERIA

CHAPTER I

OUTWARD BOUND

What induces that mysterious, elusive “call to the Coast” to which
few who have been to West Africa remain unresponsive? None deny its
existence, even those who remain unaffected. Yet no conclusive answer
has been given for a strange, fascinating attraction to revisit a part
of the world which is regarded as uninviting. The “call” cannot be one
of mere novelty, for it is only men and women who have lived in West
Africa—perhaps suffered there—who are impelled to return, in spite of its
drawbacks and talked-of risks, some real, some unduly and unnecessarily
magnified.

Whether I felt the “call” strongly, overpoweringly, or merely preferred
the country as a change to England has been tested. Not long ago my
Editor enquired was I willing for a journey to Egypt, with its splendid
climate and the charm of looking on the land of Bible stories; he asked
whether I cared for a trip through East Africa, with the delightful flora
and fauna of a new colony. Neither attracted me. The mention of each
created no eagerness. But when, one Wednesday afternoon, he called me
into his room and spoke of West Africa I was all agog.

“You will be there in the rainy season,” he warned.

“I know, though I should prefer another period of the year; but do not
ask anybody else if you wish me to go.”

“All right. When would you be ready to start?”

“From London next Tuesday if you urgently desire, but I should like a
little longer, to fulfil a special engagement.”

The conversation took place at 2.30 p.m. By 5.30 the following afternoon
everything had been settled.

Another prospective journey in West Africa filled me with delight, and
no more blithesome soul stepped on the Elder Dempster liner _Akabo_ the
morning she left the Princes’ Quay at Liverpool.

A smooth course through the Irish Sea takes us next morning round
Land’s End and across the mouth of the English Channel, which is in
anything but a friendly mood; and, as usual on the second day out, the
chronicler promptly goes into involuntary retirement. In previous similar
experiences he had not troubled the ship’s doctor, but on the present
occasion a slight trouble not yielding to the applications from his
own medicine-case, he thinks it well to utilise skilled, professional
treatment.

As promptly as if he were carrying out a three-guinea visit, Dr Hanington
appears. A British Columbian with an exceedingly rapid delivery of
words, before you have finished your explanation, not a look at tongue
nor a touch at the pulse, he has darted out of the cabin and almost
instantaneously returns, holding a tube of gelatine in the left hand and
a tumbler of water in the other. You cannot gulp down drug and liquid and
splutter or stammer your thanks in time for them to catch the swiftly
disappearing doctor, who whilst you have been employed in the operation
of swallowing has ejaculated, with a delightful Irish brogue, “That will
put you right. You will be skipping about the deck to-morrow.”

Three times that day Dr Hanington came unsolicited to see the patient,
the two later visits extending to interviews with conversations. They
were of the bright, cheery kind, such as, “The Channel is always beastly.
I am usually sick there myself. We shall be through the Bay to-morrow
noon. It will be smoother than this choppy water”—a glance through the
glass of the porthole—“and then you will be running along the promenade
deck.” That seems a far-distant vision to the helpless victim of grievous
mal-de-mer, though its manifestation is limited to intense headache.

Meanwhile prompt attention is forthcoming from the berth steward, W.
Harrison. The measure of your suffering is indexed by your feed. The
first morning of being down Harrison enters the cabin and asks tenderly,
“What can I get you for breakfast, sir?” holding out a menu-card. “Don’t
show me that” is the shuddering reply. The sight certainly the thought,
of it provokes an internal protest against food. “My stomach no fit
for chop,” as the natives down the Coast would say. Anglise: “I cannot
possibly eat.”

Midday Harrison appears in an enquiring attitude, “No, thank you; not
now.”

The evening brings him again. The situation is slightly on the mend, for
a few grapes are requested and a large bunch is sent in by the chief
steward, Mr James Toner. Next morning there is a brighter outlook. Life
appears worth living. Dry biscuits and grapes are readily asked for. The
doctor makes a call, which is repeated a few hours later, and each time
he insists, in his quick manner of expression, that the still-stricken
patient is appreciably nearing the stage of tearing about the deck.

Lunch-time the menu-card, which Harrison on his calls has evidently been
holding behind him, out of sight, no longer creates the former revulsion,
and a little cold meat, mashed potatoes and biscuits are selected. The
fulfilment of the doctor’s prophecy still, however, feels a long way off,
but he urges the powers of the sea, the fresh air and the breeze, adding
that “the close breathing in a cabin gives as much trouble as the rolling
waves.”

Two efforts were made to dress. They had to be abandoned. The prone
position was the only one endurable. An hour or two and a third
endeavour. Very laboured was each stage of the toilet. There were strong
indications that internal influences would prevail. Fortunately the
perpendicular balance was maintained until the last touch had been given,
and then a washed-out looking object crawled upstairs and huddled itself
in a deck chair. Dr Hanington’s declaration was not as far removed
from justification, after all, for the fresh air proved wonderfully
recuperative, and by the following morning the patient was, like Richard,
himself again. It was the shortest of his many terms of mal-de-mer, the
limited span entirely due to the excellent doctor of the _Akabo_.

Now there is opportunity to look at one’s surroundings. We have not
many trippers aboard. Half-a-dozen for the Canary Islands. The rest are
Coasters, the term given to men employed in West Africa, either in the
Government service or in commercial concerns. Some are going out for the
first time; others have served many years and are returning after the
home leave which is given at the close of every twelve months, eighteen
months, or two years, according to the agreement. Government men are
allowed four months in England, on full pay, for every twelve spent in
West Africa. It sounds pleasant and easy, but, although marvels have been
wrought in the health statistics by the discoveries of Manson, Ross and
Boyce on the transmission of malarial fever; and the splendid medical
staff in the colonies, with the hospital Sisters, have multiplied many
times the chances of life, still, under the best conditions the climate
must remain a trying one, and an unduly long sojourn in it is likely to
undermine the constitution of the strongest.

Contact with another civilisation, or years passed in places where there
is none, has not made coarse the tender chord of sentiment in these
outward-bound Coasters. Look in at their cabins and you will frequently
discover the framed photograph of a female figure and perhaps the
voyager in front of it, bent, writing. Possibly the original in some
English home is similarly occupied towards this direction.

It must not be assumed, however, that people whose days are spent in
West Africa have a more serious view of life than the rest of mankind.
As a body, they are a happy, light-hearted community, with the colonial
spirit of good-fellowship. No fears of the unhealthiness of the climate
affect them. If fever or worse is to come, time enough when it puts in
an appearance. They are not men to meet trouble half-way. Part of the
battle in warding off climatic disease is not to think of it. They act on
that principle. Whether as Government officials or those associated with
mining or commerce, nearly all are physically above the corresponding
class in Europe.

One quickly realises why the men are the few chosen from the many called.
They have been selected with care. There is no place for wasters in West
Africa, either from the health or the business aspect. A few may get
there. They are soon found out. In recruiting their staffs the trading
firms select those likely to justify the expense of being sent. The
salary to be earned as an “agent”—manager of a store—attracts persons who
have not the opportunities in England which present themselves in West
Africa. There are drawbacks, but the recompense is not small for a man
who can make his way. Everybody must weigh the pros and cons for himself.

A sharp change of temperature occurs as we pass Cape Verde, nine days
out. A little beyond this point is the great Gambia River, which comes
out heated by the scorching winds of the Sahara Desert, and at the mouth
of the river there are also flowing up towards us warm currents from
the south. It is not uncommon for hardy voyagers to be weakened and
temporarily knocked over by the sudden rise of temperature. These are the
figures we experience:

Thursday 10 a.m. 72° off Cape Blanco.

Friday 10 a.m. 78° approaching Cape Verde.

Saturday 10 a.m. 82°.

Saturday 4.40 p.m. 86° in a well-ventilated cabin with an
electrical fan running.

Saturday 4.40 p.m. 90° on deck of the ship at full speed, under
a stout awning.

At Sierra Leone—eleven days from Liverpool—the ship’s company is
augmented by a number of Kru sailors, who proceed to a spring-cleaning
with a zest and enjoyment unmistakable.

The Kruman is the seaman of West Africa. His villages are on the
seashore. He is put in the water and made to swim from babyhood. He can
be seen coming to a ship, on rough, rolling waves, in a frail canoe
crudely cut or burnt out from the trunk of a soft-wood tree. A couple
of small boys will paddle such a canoe two or three miles out to sea.
At certain parts of the Coast the lads dive for coppers thrown from an
anchored vessel, and do it as unconcernedly as though they were in a calm
river instead of a place frequented by sharks. Yet no fatalities are
known, which is probably due to the noise the youngsters make. Should a
shark be espied hovering near, several of the boys will even swim towards
it, shouting, yelling, and splashing, and the brute, who is a coward,
slips away.

At Axim, Gold Coast, three days beyond Sierra Leone, a further complement
of Krumen are shipped. Each batch is of a different tribe. That from
Sierra Leone consists of Nana Krus; at Axim they have come from the
Beri-Beri country, on the French Grain Coast. Some years ago they
clandestinely left French territory, where they were compelled to labour
on public works, and founded a small settlement near Axim, for the
purpose of serving on British ships. At one time the French prevented
shipment from their own shore unless at a tax per man, but now there is
no objection to enlistment at recognised ports of entry. Krus who have
made homes in the British sphere prefer to remain there.

Considerable difference is noticeable between the two tribes mentioned.
The Nanas are greatly inferior in physique and stamina. The degeneration
is due to evils resulting from the “civilisation” to be found in certain
districts of Sierra Leone. The Beri-Beris, who have been freer from these
influences, are a much better type. In a set period, fifteen of the
latter will do more work, with less effort, than can be carried out by
twenty-five of the former in the same time.

Each body of Krus is under its own Headman, who will be either a village
Chief or appointed by the Captain of the ship. The Headman can usually be
relied upon to keep his folks up to the mark. He receives instructions
from the officers as to what is required. They leave him to have it done,
and, as a rule, it is sure to be done well. The Headman is given tea and
other small luxuries, in addition to the usual rations of rice and fish,
and he is allowed to bring a small boy, usually his son, to assist him
in cooking.

At Sierra Leone there has also come on board the black laundryman and
his “boys,” who deal with passengers’ linen. It is not turned out in the
finished style of a first-class establishment in England, but what is
lacking in other respects is made up by very liberal starching. A couple
of collars feel they could support an anchor.

The laundryman frequently walks round with a broom. The article is not
for professional use in connection with the tub; the handle is utilised
for gentle persuasion and is applied to the cranium of the delinquent who
needs stimulus or correction. When applied, the thwack can be heard many
yards distant and is only rivalled in sound by the ship’s siren. A thin
skull would be crushed by such a blow. The “boy” who receives one shakes
it off as nothing, and sometimes gets a succession of them for laughing
at the first. There is “Home Rule all round” for the various black
departments of the vessel, and he is a wise man who does not attempt to
interfere with local customs and usage.

The night after leaving Sierra Leone we are passing the Kru Coast,
Liberia, probably the most uncertain and dangerous four hundred miles
stretch along West Africa, because of the outlying rocks and reefs
and the irregular insetting currents. Except at Monrovia, Grand Bassa
and Cape Palmas, and even there the lights are of minor power, no
illuminations or beacons mark the dangers. Often without warning the
currents set towards the land. No precautions on the ship are considered
superfluous. The deep-sea lead is cast at not longer intervals than every
four hours, and anybody who owing to the heat has made his bed on deck
and is awake may see the figure of the Captain frequently flit from his
cabin during the night to join the officer on watch on the bridge.

When we are in calmer waters and the dark night has shut out surroundings
and made us feel we are a little world to ourselves, we are now and again
reminded of the vigilance maintained for our safety, as the look-out
sings to the officer of the watch, “Light on the starboard bow, sir,”
and you see, miles away on your right front, a small gleaming lamp which
tells of another ship on these trackless areas. And if the officer of the
watch is in light mood you may hear him humming the doggerel of the “rule
of the road” at sea:

“If all three lights I see ahead, I port my helm and show my red,
For green to green and red to red are perfect safety, ‘Go ahead.’
But if to starboard red appear, it is my duty to keep clear.
To act as judgment says is proper, port or starboard, back or stop her.
But when in danger or in doubt I always keep a good look-out.
In danger with no room to turn, I ease her, stop her, or go astern.”

Skippers of these West African liners become well known to the voyagers
who pass backwards and forwards at regular intervals, and it is my good
fortune to sail with one of the most popular of them. The manner Captain
Pooley is regarded by travellers may be gauged from the fact that three
on this journey are making the third voyage designedly on his ship and
another had altered the date of starting by a fortnight to again be with
him.

Twenty years along the West Coast of Africa and among its native
population has not dulled the sympathy of Captain Pooley towards that
race. All that can possibly be done for the deck passengers, taken on
at the various ports, is effected. Canvas awnings are put up to protect
the men “and especially the women and babies,” as he explains, from the
downpours of the wet season.

The skipper is a storehouse of stories about the Krumen. He tells a tale
related by a fellow Captain against himself. He was carrying two white,
Rotterdam hogs to the Oil Rivers and noticed one of his Kru sailors
seated on the ground, gazing into the pen where the animals were kept.
Placing his hand on the Kruman’s woolly pate, he said, “Hullo, my frien’,
you look your brudder, eh?”

Turning his face upwards the Kruman answered, “Massa Capin, he no be my
brudder,” adding, with a twinkle, “he be white.”

Secondee, Cape Coast and Accra are the further ports at which stops are
made, and at 7 a.m. on the sixteenth day from leaving Liverpool we are
at anchor about four miles off Lagos, the capital of Southern Nigeria.
Passengers going up-country tranship to a branch steamer of about eight
hundred tons which takes them over the sand-bar, which the liner cannot
pass, and across the large lagoon, depositing them at Iddo Wharf, the
railway terminus.

CHAPTER II

FROM THE COAST BY TRAIN—THE WEST AFRICAN PULLMAN

Iddo Wharf—Strange sights and
thoughts—Umbrellas—“Niggers”—Train luxuries—Liquor permits—The
iron-horse at the Niger—Ferry and bridge—Budget details.

Passing the length of the lagoon—a mile wide at its broadest
point—leaving the town of Lagos, with its busy wharves and crowded
streets, on his right, less than an hour’s steaming from the Roads and
the traveller is at Iddo Wharf. The train is drawn up near the water, and
passengers walk a few steps from marine to land locomotion.

Strange sights appear to the traveller as he stands at Iddo Wharf. The
strangest—or the strangest thought—of all is that there should be a train
running in West Africa on which there is every reasonable comfort and
luxury, and that this train should be in existence—the first of its kind
in this part of the world—a few months after the extension of the line
had been opened. First, however, a word or two on the surroundings at the
terminus.

The train leaves at 9 p.m. on whatever day the ocean ship arrives. The
vessel is due in the morning, but people have not the inconvenience
of loafing about a strange town for hours. The boat train is an ark,
available all day as a resting-place for the sole of the foot. All its
resources for meals can at once be utilised.

By nightfall most of the luggage will have been stowed in the vans. A few
late arrivals, perhaps persons who have not come by the ship, will be
having their belongings attended to. Black wharf labourers, who have been
working late and are going home, put their umbrellas on the ground in
order to give a hand in packing the vans. These labourers, whose attire
is usually like that of the Wandering Minstrel in “The Mikado,” “a thing
of shreds and patches,” almost to a man carry an umbrella as they go home
o’ nights—bless you! not for protection against rain, but as an article
of adornment. It is as much a matter of course with them as the clay pipe
and the cloth cap are with their counterpart in Great Britain. Different
countries, different customs.

Nearly all the other officials at Iddo Wharf are also indigenous West
Africans—clerks, inspectors, foremen, porters. There are as many grades
and degrees of education among any one Coast people as there are with
our folks in Europe. Were this fact always recognised and remembered,
perhaps a little more tact might be exercised by individuals who regard
all black men as “niggers” and suit their actions to the word. I stand as
no apologist for the smatteringly-educated native, who dressed in uniform
takes up an attitude truculent and offensive towards white men. It is
British policy and systems of education which are responsible.

There is also at Iddo Wharf at least one first-class, white railway
official on duty to attend to any matter requiring his attention.

The train usually consists of eight coaches, some of them fifty feet
long, and therefore easy running at the fairly high speed over certain
portions of the line. Meals are served en route, and every attention
is received from the inspector of restaurant cars, who was formerly a
chief steward in the Elder Dempster fleet. In the course of the journey
I witnessed his solicitude, and that of the European head guard, Cyril
Richards, for passengers who were not well and unable to take the table
meals. The inspector, whose name I regret to have mislaid, had light
food brought instead, the charge for which was, in instances, less than
a quarter that of the regular menu. Perhaps the action does not appear
surprising, but it means a deal in a country where a man feels weak and
knows he has little margin of strength to withstand the effect of the
climate.[1]

The term sleeping saloon means provision of bed, blankets, and linen.
Couches are fitted for rest during the day. Electric light is in all
compartments, which are provided with electrically-driven fans and have
mosquito-proof windows. Shower baths are another luxury for which there
is no extra payment. No doubt it all sounds prosaic enough to the trotter
across the European continent. Let him “pad the hoof” in the tropics, or
so much as be in an ordinary West African train for several days where he
is entirely “on his own,” with a temperature ranging from 90 degrees to
112 degrees in the shade, or with the Harmattan winds bringing scorching
dust into his ears, nostrils and the pores of his skin, covering every
mouthful before it can enter that avenue. Should he have experienced
these things, have a memory, and is inclined to gratitude, then he will
take off his hat to the Administration of the Lagos Government Railway,
if he does not go so far as to be Biblically impelled and rise up and
call the work of their hands blessed.

The traveller wakes for early morning tea to find himself traversing the
palm belt. There is a continuous line of the tall, thin, bare trunks,
surmounted by the graceful, drooping palms beneath which cluster the
kernels which are the main wealth of Southern Nigeria. Palm kernels and
palm oil are to Southern Nigeria what coal is to England. There are
rumours that that mineral has been located on the lower Niger. Possibly I
may be able to say something on the subject as I come down the river on
the return journey.

Running through at night, several features of interest are unseen,
prominent among them the exceptionally pretty view towards the Sacred
Hill at Olokemeji and Ibadan, the largest town in West Africa, though not
nearly so frequently spoken of as the much smaller ones of Zaria, Bida,
Sokoto and Kano. Each has had the advertisement of war.

A short stop for water—not the first—is made at 6.45 a.m. at Oshogbo,
187 miles from Lagos, and still one of the hopes of the British Cotton
Growing Association. Little more than an hour later the line enters
Northern Nigeria. At Offa, the station over the frontier, permits have
to be shown to take wines or spirits into the Mohamedan land, even for
personal consumption. We are now 1,500 feet above sea level.

Jebba, 306 miles, is reached at noon, and here one of the stiff
difficulties of railway construction which faced the engineers can be
seen. The Niger must be crossed. The easiest way of doing so is from the
south mainland to a large island, thence to the north mainland. The south
channel is 1,100 feet broad, the north one rather less. The latter has
been bridged; the former is still under that operation, which will not be
finished for two years, making three in all.

The length across the river is the least of the obstacles to be solved.
Heavy rises and falls of the water—in a month it may alter from 15 feet
to 50 feet—made the work not only hard and hazardous, but impossible at
certain periods of the year. But with hundreds of miles of rail completed
south and north last November, it would have been an exasperating
position to have to wait a further two and a half years for through
connection. A civil engineer will tell you that nothing on earth is
impossible. It is only a matter of money and time.

Well, the same train which carries you from Lagos to its destination at
Minna, 161 miles beyond Jebba, covers its course without the traveller
having to leave his carriage. The train goes over the Niger by means of
a ferry. That, however, is itself a difficult subject by reason of the
varying height of the river. The question at issue was how to transport
weights, too heavy to be safely lifted, from a fixed level to an
alternating one.

The carriages are run to the head of an inclined plane and a wire rope
fastened to each coach, the other end encircling a winding drum. Another
rope bound to the further end of the carriage draws it on the slope
of the plane, and the winding machine lets it down. The plane carries
the carriages to a trolly bridge resting on the river, and rising and
falling with it. The trolly bridge fits to a steam ferry which bears four
carriages, so that the entire train is taken over in two journeys. At
Jebba Island the reverse process is followed, and a freight engine being
coupled up the train proceeds over the north channel bridge and thus
onwards.

Kooty-Wenji should be made by daylight, and there a halt is made till
next morning, as the line has not yet been ballasted, and is therefore
not safe to be used at night.

At 6 a.m. the train is again on the move, and in less than an
hour-and-a-half we draw up at Zungeru, 430 miles from Lagos. The course
has been covered in thirty-six hours. A week later the boat train
attained a record by doing the journey in twenty-four hours.

I am making a short stay at Zungeru; but perhaps it will make a better
connected narrative if a few additional railway particulars are given
now. Midday the train leaves for Minna, which is its destination. A
journey straight ahead can be made by ordinary train to Kano, 282 miles
from Zungeru. The traveller for the tin fields in the Bauchi and the
Nassarawa Provinces will alight at Zaria, 90 miles south of Kano. From
Zaria, the Bauchi Light Railway will in seven hours take him the 88½
miles to Rahama railhead.

Appended are the through fares by the boat train, including sleeping
accommodation and attendance:

£ s. d.
Lagos to Ibadan 3 0 6
” ” Zungeru 6 7 3
” ” Zaria 8 12 4
” ” Rahama 9 14 7
” ” Kano 9 14 10

First-class passengers by the boat train are allowed the following weight
of luggage, excess of which is placed at heavier rates:

2 cwts. free.
20 ” at 7s. 2d. per cwt. to Zungeru.
20 ” at 9s. 3d. ” ” to Zaria.
20 ” at 9s. 11d. ” ” to Kano.
Additional 20 ” at 10s. 6d. ” ” to Zungeru.
” 20 ” at 13s. 6d. ” ” to Zaria.
” 20 ” at 14s. 6d. ” ” to Kano.

Meals are charged: early morning tea, 6d.; breakfast, 2s.; lunch, 3s.;
afternoon tea, 1s.; dinner, 4s. 6d.

Doubtless very mundane details, but useful to the man who desires to know
before setting forth from Europe how he is to fare financially in small
matters.

CHAPTER III

ZUNGERU—THE CAPITAL OF THE PROTECTORATE

I expected to find Zungeru a town more or less roughly divided into
official, business and residential quarters, with clearly-defined and
named roads and thoroughfares. The Capital of Northern Nigeria—the
administrative headquarters—is, however, a city in a garden; and a very
small city at that, probably the smallest in existence, much smaller than
Monrovia, the Capital of the Republic of Liberia.

Still, power is seated at Zungeru—power strong, clear, absolute. The
Governor of Northern Nigeria is given fuller authority over the people
and the country than is in the hands of the Kaiser of Germany or the
Czar of Russia. Without giving a reason he can decide questions of life
and death; cancel a lease held by European or native; deny entry of or
expel white or black; make law by simply issuing a Proclamation. He has
not even a nominated Legislative Council, as in Crown Colonies. The form
of government for natives in Northern Nigeria will be dealt with in a
separate chapter.

Zungeru consists of a few bungalows dotted irregularly amidst trees
in open grass and bush country. The roads, made by the Public Works
Department, are very good: gravel, 10 to 30 feet wide and excellent for
cyclists. The thoroughfares are all unnamed. You do not say that you live
at such-and-such a house in such-and-such a road, or avenue, or street,
but that your address is number one, two, or three, or any other number,
as the case may be, Zungeru.

One point must not be included in this generalisation. Leaving out the
Secretariat, five of the principal Government buildings face the same
centre, and are designated by the natives Aiki—pronounced Ikey—Square.
Aiki is the Hausa word for work, and the name therefore means “the place
where the work is done.” Gratifying to the persons whose hours are spent
there.

Certainly there is an official quarter, but it comprises the whole of the
town, with the exception of the Niger Company’s store, and the native
village, which is a recent creation. Midway between the two points are
the native clerks’ houses. Distinct from all the places stated are the
military lines and the police barracks. That, in outline, is the story of
Zungeru to-day.

It is ten years old, and previous to the advent of the British, in 1901,
was scarcely a “geographical expression,” for few maps gave the place.
The population is made up of seventy officials, two hundred native
officials, and four white members of the staff of the Niger Company and
the Bank of Nigeria.

The extension of the Lagos Railway from Jebba to Kano via Zungeru last
January has brought the last-named within two days of the sea, instead
of between three and four weeks, according to the state of the rivers.
But the character of Zungeru is unchanged, and is likely to remain so.
There is no prospect within sight of its becoming a city or even a town,
as understood in Europe. More passengers may pass up and down the line,
for commercial or other reasons, than formally travelled through, and a
number of individuals may consider it necessary to come to Zungeru to see
Government officials about mining matters—though the total of these is
not likely to be large, as the Government Inspector of Mines, who advises
the Governor, is located at Naraguta—but there is nothing at present to
indicate an appreciable influx of population to Zungeru.

Let there be no mistake about the accommodation in Zungeru. It is
extremely limited. If anybody thinks to arrive by train and “roll off”
to an hotel he will be grievously disappointed. Only in one town of
Southern and Northern Nigeria—territory 333,300 square miles in extent—is
there an hotel. That is at Lagos. Men come without previous notice or
inquiry to Zungeru and expect provision to be made in the way of board
and lodging. It simply cannot be done. Bungalows are few and nearly all
are overcrowded, from Government House down. The Chief Secretary to the
Government, the Chief Justice, the Attorney-General, the Commandant, the
Treasurer, the Director of Public Works, the Principal Medical Officer,
the Chief Transport Officer, the Inspector-General of Police, and the
Commissioner of Police alone have separate housing, very circumscribed.
The rest of the Government staff are “doubled-up,” i.e., two men to
every three-roomed bungalow. As matters stand, there are not sufficient
bungalows to go round even on this plan. It is not uncommon for an
official to be moved from one to another as a man returns to duty, just
finding room where somebody is going on vacation.

Four rest-houses are provided for visitors staying temporarily. The
structures are rather primitive, of dried mud walls and thatched roofs.
The stranger within the gates must bring all his daily requirements with
him: bed, table, chair, cooking utensils, groceries, etc. Fresh meat can
be bought in the native market at certain hours of the day.

Happy in the enjoyment of hospitality at a large private house, I felt
quite a twinge of unworthiness at going to interview at one of these
rest-houses a President of Chamber of Mines, Colonel Judd, who in England
probably dines at the Carlton, the Ritz, or the Midland Grand, and who,
even in Northern Nigeria, wearing a bush shirt, was still spruce, with a
gold-rimmed monocle. A dozen people would have been glad to pay him the
compliment of an invitation as guest, but there was simply no room in
Zungeru where he could be placed. Colonel Judd was the least concerned of
anybody. He expressed himself as quite content, and told me, as we both
sat on the arm-rests of the single deck-chair available, that he had had
to put up with much worse places in the course of his journey and that I
would be fortunate to get as good in the areas I shall shortly cross.

These four rest-houses are frequently all occupied to the fullest
extent. The advent of a stranger, perhaps bent on business with a
Government department, creates a painful situation.

Everything in Zungeru has been done on the lowest price scale, which
is perhaps not the cheapest. From the first, Northern Nigeria has been
short of funds. The Imperial grant-in-aid was kept down to a minimum,
and that minimum much less than it should be in justice to the men who
serve here at great risk to life and health. Not a penny has been spent
that could be avoided. With the exception of the railway bungalows, which
are of brick, but for which rich Southern Nigeria paid, all the others
are of wood which has been exposed to a wasting climate for ten years.
Several are in a dilapidated condition. They are occupied by men holding
high posts whose work is essential to the administration, the finances,
and the peace of the country; yet we make them live in dwellings—there
are none other—which are a daily challenge to health and provocation to
disease. This is not economy; it is gambling with men’s lives for the
sake of a miserable few shillings capital outlay. Sanitary housing—houses
of the proper material and with ample air and protection against the
insect and accompanying pests of the land—is second only to good food in
keeping “fit.” It is high time the necessary measures were carried out.

Excuses have been made for the situation. The future of Zungeru is
uncertain as the Capital of the Protectorate. I will deal with that as
a separate question. On the ground that the Capital may eventually be
located elsewhere, the word went forth five years ago that no further
building was to take place beyond what was absolutely necessary. It is
only what is absolutely necessary that I advocate.

The high invaliding and death-rate which formerly obtained amongst
officials in Northern Nigeria is to be attributed to the bad housing
to which they have been subjected. The rate has lowered greatly. But
too strong a deduction should not be drawn from the latest figures. An
unhealthy station may enjoy long immunity. Tropical illnesses will not
always arrange their appearance in the arbitrary terms of twelve months.
To facilitate statistical argument, they more frequently rise and fall in
a cycle of years. Let the proper steps be taken in Zungeru before the old
high percentage of mortality reasserts itself.

Northern Nigeria is a country of and for young men.

The Postmaster-General strikes you as a fair-haired boy of twenty-two. He
tells you, with pride, he is “much older than that.” He is thirty-two.
The Acting Chief Justice is no “potent, grave, and reverend seigneur,”
but is of an age when in England he would probably be fulfilling the rôle
of “devil” to a leader in the High Court. The cool, clear-headed, and
obviously capable officer temporarily in command of the 1st Battalion
(1,314 men) Northern Nigeria Regiment, Captain G. C. Kelly, would,
elsewhere, in these days of slow promotion, be lucky to have got his
company. His colleague in charge of the battery of four light guns,
Captain C. F. S. Maclaverty, could not hope to discharge anything like
that responsibility at home. The Deputy Director of Railways, under the
famous John Eaglesome, might pass as a youth who had not long finished
his articles.

Those at the head of affairs are not much older in years. I do not
venture to ask the Acting Governor his age, and there is no “Who’s Who”
within reach, but I should judge Mr C. L. Temple, C.M.G., to be on this
side of forty; and the next in rank, the Acting Chief Secretary, Mr H. S.
Goldsmith, who recently temporarily carried out the duties of the highest
position—with absolute rule over a territory containing 10,000,000
inhabitants—is, I learn from a friend, thirty-eight.

He started thirteen years ago, when Northern Nigeria was taken over by
the Crown from the Niger Company. He began, as there was urgent demand
for getting the administrative machinery into working order, in a very
junior post in the Protectorate. In the course of his first year he had
to give help wherever it was most pressing, going from one office to
another: Stores, Transport, Treasury, and the Marine Department. All his
willingness and eagerness were not wasted. Although seemingly unnoticed
at the time, it marked out the kind of officer Sir Frederick Lugard
wanted. In the last birthday honours list Herbert Symond Goldsmith,
Acting Chief Secretary to the Government of Northern Nigeria, received a
C.M.G.

Yes, the country has still opportunities for the man who is ready and
keen. But it is not the place where “the lotus life” can be lived. The
tradition of plenty of work and responsibility which Lugard established
still obtains. Government office hours end at 2 p.m., with an hour’s
interval from nine to ten for breakfast. But they start early, and you
may be startled at first at finding that an appointment for which you
asked has been fixed for 7 a.m.

The time for official hours does not mean that it is a case of “down
tools” as the clock points. I have found the Chief Secretary still hard
at his duties at 5.30 in the afternoon, and one Sunday morning, when I
went to see Captain Kelly at his bungalow, I learnt that he was closely
engaged at the Brigade Office on a defence scheme.

The Secretariat has only a few constituting the personnel, nothing
like the number one might look for at the Capital of such a large and
well-populated territory. In Northern Nigeria the Government is greatly
decentralised. Wide discretion is left to the Residents, who in some
distant and not easily accessible places, such as Bornu and Sokoto,
occupy the position of well-nigh sovereign kinglets. Further, actual and
daily rule is left to the hereditary Emirs of the Provinces, subject to
the advice and guidance, when necessary, of the Residents.

Another cause of the limited staff at the Secretariat is that in Northern
Nigeria strict, stern, severe economy remains the order of the hour.
There is evidence of it all round. The Secretariat is a poor building
indeed. Bare brick whitewashed walls and cement floor crumbling in
places, and in others worn into holes. Not a roll-top desk or anything
approaching it in the place. Old, plain wooden tables, and, at the
farther edge of each, roughly-made pigeon-holes. By way of contrast,
the tables are of a light colour and the pigeon-holes have at some time
or other been given a single daub of green paint, now faded. The Chief
Secretary’s room is just like the others. His table is covered by a bit
of threadbare green baize which a messenger at Whitehall would not think
fit to wipe his boots upon and for which no Hausa trader would give a
handful of cowries.

At present occupied by the Acting Governor, Mr Temple—whose wife
shares his “plain living”—the Governor’s “Palace” is a mean shanty. A
seven-roomed, wooden bungalow, it has stood “the battle and the breeze”
for nine years and shows signs of the ordeal in all directions. It looks
as though it could be easily shaken to bits. The dining-room is walled
with boards which once received a single dash of brown staining. This
apartment, however, is luxurious compared with the Governor’s office
adjoining, the plank partition of which has not its ugliness improved by
a sparse covering of green paint, of the quality used in England on the
garden fences of thirty-pounds-a-year houses. Nor does His Excellency
recline on soft velvets or plush cushions, as might be expected of the
ruler of Emirs and Kings who turn out in splendour. As I talked with him
he sat in a plain chair, the hardness of the seat of which was somewhat
relieved by an old horse-blanket folded.

The furniture at Government House is of the same nondescript character.
It might have been picked up in job lots at public auction rooms. In
order that I might take a group photograph six chairs were brought into
the grounds from the drawing-room and I noticed that the six were made up
of three different styles. Before the picture could be composed I had to
do a temporary repair to one of the chairs.

The motor-car in which he gets about Zungeru, and which is used for
traversing distant roads the railway does not cover, is an old shambling
machine making as much noise as a traction engine. The motor-cabs of
Europe, and even the vehicles of the London General Omnibus Company are
smart and ultra-fashionable by comparison. I should say that a suburban
shopkeeper would scorn to hire it at a shilling per hour on a Bank
Holiday to take his family round Battersea Park or Hampstead Heath.
Well-to-do natives in Lagos use better.

These latter things are not written in any mere fault-finding, jeering
spirit. They are set out in heartfelt admiration of the manner in which
unnecessary hardships are cheerfully accepted by the members of the
Government of the Northern Nigeria Protectorate, from the highest to the
humblest. Millions have been spent on the country, but the money has
gone in building railways, facilitating commerce, bettering the material
opportunities of the native population and assuring them protection that
they may pursue their ways in peace. The question may fairly be asked
whether the time has not come when something should be done for the men
who have put this policy into actual operation. John Bull stands to gain
a great deal by the acquisition of Northern Nigeria. I am sure he would
willingly acquiesce in more liberality on the part of those who act for
him.

A figure which pervades Zungeru at every turn is the Cantonment
Magistrate. The Governor is a commanding person, of whom everyone, from
the visiting Sultans and Emirs to resident and travelling Europeans,
stand much in awe. But the Governor is on a pedestal away from the
general, daily run of affairs. Excepting on special occasions, when
Government House is opened to hospitality, or an audience is sought, the
ordinary individual does not come in contact with the Governor.

The Chief Secretary, as the leading member of the administrative staff,
is pretty prominent, yet unless a matter is of importance he will not
personally appear on the scene, though his name or signature will be used.

But the Cantonment Magistrate! You cannot get away from his authority.
His functions seem interminable. He is a dozen individuals rolled into
one. He is a veritable “Pooh-Bah” without, as it was darkly hinted to me,
the emoluments of that Gilbertian creation.

Here are some of the parts carried out by the Cantonment Magistrate of
Zungeru, formerly Captain, now Mr, J. Radcliff:

He is President of the Cantonment Court, and tries small cases
at law.

He is Coroner within the area of the Cantonment.

He is an ex-officio Commissioner of the Supreme Court.

He is the Public Trustee, being charged with administration of
the estates of all deceased Europeans.

He is the Borough, or Town Council, for to him falls the
levying of rates on all houses in the Cantonment, excepting
those occupied by Government officials.

He is Public Treasurer, as keeper of the Cantonment Fund.

He is Registrar General, for he must keep a register of all
residents.

He is the local London County Council, as he regulates all
streets and buildings. You may not cut down a tree without the
permission of the Cantonment Magistrate.

He is the Highways Committee of the local London County
Council; he constructs the roads.

He is the Local Government Board, for the work of the public
department in England in the matter of sanitation is at Zungeru
discharged by the Cantonment Magistrate.

He bears another duty of the L.C.C., in issuing licences to
domestic servants, who are all males.

He does what is performed over post-office counters in England
at certain times, for he gives a licence to keep a dog.

He supervises the native quarter of Zungeru.

He is the outside Master of Ceremonies of Government House, as
he arranges communications and interviews between the local
native notables and the Governor.

See the Cantonment Magistrate in his own court. Note the side glance of
scepticism, scorn, and unbelief as a voluble female pours out her tale
of woe. It is just the glance of the stipendiary on the bench at home.
Looking at the lady, one would be driven to the conclusion that, after
all, human nature is pretty much the same the world over, and that there
is no great difference between Bridget or Mary Ann in England and Amina,
Fatima, or Rekia in Zungeru.

Every Wednesday morning the local native Council consult with the
Cantonment Magistrate. I chanced to be at his office as the four of
them and the Chief came up. They salaamed by kneeling and bending their
heads to the ground, and then arose and followed the Englishman into the
building. Conversation ranged over several subjects. The C.M. lightly
reminded the Chief that rents of market pitches were not being collected
with that regularity, thoroughness, and completeness which the Governor
liked. The Chief responded that people complained of little business, but
that he would see to the arrears forthwith, and he improved the occasion
by pointing out to the C.M. that certain parts of the market needed
repair and money spent on improvements. The C.M. answered that it would
be the first thing to be put in hand as soon as the arrears were received.

The talk branched into another channel. The Chief proceeded to say that
he had been somewhat troubled in mind of late. The slightest trace of
a questioning smile came on the visage of the Cantonment Magistrate.
The Chief continued that it was so long since he had paid his respects
to the Acting Governor that he was commencing to feel quite uneasy.
His Excellency might consider him indifferent to politeness and his
obligations.

The Cantonment Magistrate gravely told him to sleep well at nights on
that score, as the Acting Governor was thoroughly aware of the Chiefs
loyalty. All the same, the C.M. would ascertain His Excellency’s
convenience for the audience and would promptly inform the Chief.

Then the visitor asked about the health of the Acting Governor. The C.M.
gave satisfactory assurances on that point. The next enquiry was as to
the well-being of Mrs Temple. The C.M. rendered an equally gratifying
report, and diplomatically remarked that she was looking forward to the
pleasure of meeting the Chief, at which his face showed that he rejoiced
exceedingly.

With similar ceremony to that at the commencement of the visit it ended.

CHAPTER IV

ZUNGERU—THE CAPITAL OF THE PROTECTORATE—(_continued_)

The only European trading establishment in Zungeru is the store of
the Niger Company. It adjoins the Cantonment. With a white population
composed entirely of Government officials, all of whom bring their main
requirements for a twelve-month’s term, it cannot be said there is room
for another firm. The store is a great convenience, as men frequently
miscalculate what they will need, or occasionally run out of some article
of diet or clothing. The store is comprehensive, and stock is kept of
provisions, hardware, men’s wardrobes, and wines.

During one of my purchases over the counter a man who had been up-country
for a considerable period, and whose attire was much the worse for what
it had undergone, came in to be equipped for a visit to comparatively
fashionable Lagos. He was fitted literally from head to foot, if not
in Bond Street style, at least in striking contrast to what would pass
muster in the bush districts.

The store stands in a compound wherein grow trees bearing paw-paws,
limes, oranges, mangoes, cactus and rubber shrubs.

A mile or so from the Cantonment is the native town, which shows in
miniature the principle on which the government of the country is carried
on, that of ruling the natives through and by natives. At Zungeru a
native settlement came as a sequence to the selection of the place as the
administrative headquarters. The people were given plots 100 feet by 50
feet. The town has been designed on thoroughly sanitary lines and wells
were sunk. A market, with iron roof and concrete floor, is in the centre
of the town. For a pitch in it two shillings and sixpence per month is
paid. Another market has been put up with thatch-covered stalls, and here
ninepence per month is the due.

These market dues go entirely to the native Treasury, which has to
render a strict account to the Cantonment Magistrate, and are used for
the upkeep and improvement of the native town and for payment of native
officials who are appointed by the Chief, including the market and the
Alkali’s court officials and the town police.

First-class plots for houses are rented at sixteen shillings a quarter,
second-class plots eight shillings a quarter. Half the rent goes to the
Government and half to the native Treasury.

Reverting to the direct British administration, Zungeru possesses a model
prison, where the inmates have humane treatment without being made so
comfortable that they welcome a sojourn within its walls as a place where
the tasks are light and regular food is in larger quantities than they
would get “on their own.” The prison, which is used for convicts sent
from various parts of the country to serve long sentences, is controlled
by Captain A. E. Johnson, D.S.O., who is also Inspector-General of the
Northern Nigeria Police. He is making good use of his hobby as a skilled
amateur gardener. Prison labour has been used to lay out a rubber
plantation of 100 acres, started 3½ years ago and added to annually. It
promises to yield good results.

He has also had fruit trees set along the left bank of the Dago: orange,
lime, mango, guava, banana, covering 30 acres, all of which are doing
well; and these at the proper stage will give Zungeru and surrounding
districts the luxury of fresh fruit supplies. It may be asked why the
step has been left to the Director of Prisons to utilise suitable soil.
The answer is that with an 8 months’ severe drought in 12, the necessary
watering could never be done by private and paid labour at a remunerative
sum.

The interior organisation of the gaol is equally estimable. Whilst a
number of prisoners are put to road-making, railway construction—they
made the first five miles from Zungeru to Minna—the best behaved are
taught trades. There are five workshops—detached structures of brick,
put up by delinquents—where carpentry, blacksmithing, tailoring, boot
and slipper making, and grass mats (coloured and used as window and door
screens) are turned out.

In the blacksmith’s section curios are made. I saw a pair of native
stirrups produced from old aluminium water bottles. Used cartridge cases
are converted into various articles; they are hammered into one piece
and a fancy plate shaped from it. The plan in all these trades is for a
long-term man of commendable conduct to be taught a trade, and he teaches
others. The system makes honest labour of more monetary value than
malpractices to the discharged convict.

The Emirs and Chiefs throughout the Protectorate raise and maintain
their own native police, but there is also a force under the central
Government, termed the Northern Nigeria Police. It was started in 1900 by
Sir Frederick Lugard, with 50 men selected from the Royal Niger Company
Constabulary. It now consists of an Inspector-General, the aforesaid
Captain A. E. Johnson, a Deputy Inspector-General, 4 Commissioners, 14
Assistant Commissioners, and 838 non-commissioned officers and men, the
training being on modified military lines. The Sergeant-Major of the
Zungeru detachment is the best-looking negro I had met to the time of
visiting the town, and his intelligence is equal to his position. Several
times I asked the Commissioner, Captain F. A. E. Godwin, to alter the
position of the body paraded to be photographed. In every instance the
request was transmitted to the Sergeant-Major, who promptly gave the
proper order in military terms, never once failing to bring the 40 men
into the required situation.

The force is recruited chiefly from ex-soldiers of the West African
Frontier Force. Among the representative races the proportions are:
Hausas, 60 per cent.; Yorubas, 30 per cent.; the remainder is comprised
principally of Daka-Keri, Kukuruku, and Bauchi Pagans. For night duty the
constables carry tell-tale clocks with dials for pricking at certain
hours, and there are similar clocks in fixed spots where they must also
register. The rank and file live together in lines, each man having his
separate house. There are no bachelors in the Zungeru detachment.

The 1st battalion of the Northern Nigeria Regiment and 4 guns of the
artillery are quartered at Zungeru. The training and efficiency of the
troops are dealt with separately in Chapter XXXIII.

The Postmaster-General of Northern Nigeria, Mr H. M. Woolloy, is located
at Zungeru. Mail services are by rail or river, where practicable. In
many instances, however, runners have to be employed. Where possible,
they are mounted on Bornu ponies. The runners are specially selected
and work by contract; the faster they travel the more their pay. This
is found more expeditious than providing relays. Thus the road from
Zungeru to Sokoto is really a 17 days’ journey. It is covered by the
mail runners, afoot, each carrying a 40 lb. to 50 lb. bag, in 11 days.
The postal and telegraph services were originally designed solely for
administrative and strategical purposes and were not calculated to
prove revenue-producing until a remote period. In spite of this, whilst
the income in 1901 was £842, last year the value of the work performed
amounted to over £20,000, obtained with an expenditure of £16,000. Apart
from the Naraguta and the Kano telegraphs, none north of Zungeru can be
regarded as of any commercial value.

The little white community of Zungeru try to make life pass pleasantly.
The Games Club provides for tennis and golf, and there are similar
associations for angling, polo, and races. A horse costs about £8. Sport
with the gun abounds, though it must not be indulged within 3 miles of
the Cantonment, or, figuratively, the hand of the C.M. would be on your
shoulder.

Anybody may walk beyond the limit and easily find plenty of warthog,
hartebeest and winged game, and sometimes bigger prizes. These
occasionally visit the Cantonment. The other evening a large leopard
stood looking contemptuously at the bungalow in which I am staying but
elected not to jump the low palings. Had he, no doubt the C.M. would have
taken a merciful view of the use of a couple of rifles which were cocked
and ready. Nearly every evening at the same distance there is a vocal
performance by a company of hyænas.

There is an extremely pleasant aspect in Zungeru, typical of Northern
Nigeria, of the respect and good feeling shown by the coloured population
to the white, and reciprocated. I say “coloured” instead of “native,”
for there are a fair number of “foreigners” from the Gold Coast and from
Sierra Leone, imported for routine clerical work. The native Moslems
invariably salute a European. The form of salute is generally that of
removing sandals, followed by a low bow. The Gold Coast and Sierra
Leone clerks are affected by the environment and custom. They scarcely
ever fail to raise their hats and utter a “Good morning” or “Good
afternoon, sir.” In the Coast towns the prototypes of these young men
are too frequently gratuitously arrogant and needlessly insolent towards
an Englishman. Problem: Why is the up-country native in all British
West African colonies, be he Moslem or Pagan, in nearly every case a
gentleman by nature, whilst the output of the Government and missionary
schools, with the possible exception of Catholics, too often a creature
who makes himself hateful to white men?

The theme could be enlarged by analysis of the proportion contributed
by the clerk class in Europeanised towns to the criminal calendar.
Elementary education on English lines in West Africa is certainly not a
success, decidedly not in the aspect of honesty and morals.

Does the respectful salutation of the Moslem to the English mark the
subserviency of one to the other? Emphatically, no. It is a token of
respect towards a race standing in the position of a Protectorate
Power, exercising its position in the interest of the inhabitants and
safeguarding their traditions, their customs, their religion.

Now, a few words on a question which has been discussed in West Africa
and, to a certain extent, in England, namely, the selection of Zungeru
as the administrative headquarters and its future. Sir Frederick Lugard
has been criticised for the choice, though, considering what he did in
and for the country with the means at his disposal, I marvel at any
nature hardy enough to comment in an adverse sense. Still, I suppose the
former High Commissioner would be one of the last to complain of his
actions being scrutinised. I can write without subjecting myself to the
suggestion of personal influence, for I have never met Sir Frederick
Lugard. I merely speak as one who for several years has been a close
student of West African affairs, who has had the advantage of looking
at matters on the spot, and who for a long period wrote publicly on
military operations. I make bold to assert that all the complaints on
the selection of Zungeru are made by persons who do not study what the
conditions were in 1902 when Jebba was discarded.

Let any reader take a map of Northern Nigeria and argue out the question
for himself. Zungeru was decided upon, not, I should say, solely because
it was in a central position, but on the strategic ground that it
occupied a point extreme north of the territory then actually controlled,
with an excellent administrative base from which movements of troops and
political officers could be directed. It was also comparatively easy of
access from the south.

No man was less ready than Sir Frederick Lugard to fussily interfere
with the petty acts of subordinates. One of his primary principles was
that of delegation and personal responsibility. But in the critical
years between 1900 and 1907 the presence of the High Commissioner was
continually essential in the Provinces northwards of Zungeru, and in
those days of bush trekking, when covering 100 miles would be calculated
at little less than a week, being as much “on the spot” as possible was
a weighty consideration. The Sultans and Emirs to be visited or to be
installed would regard nobody in the same light as they would the High
Commissioner, whose name and fame had spread through the land. What
Kitchener was and Wingate is in the Sudan, Lugard has been to Northern
Nigeria.

Take a map and consider the situation in 1902. The Provinces of Sokoto,
Kano, Bauchi, Nassarawa, Kantagora (although the town of that name had
been taken), and the walled city of Zaria, and the large town of Bida,
were all either actually or passively hostile. One of 3 courses: They
would have to be brought into line with the rest of Northern Nigeria or
there was the alternative of maintaining a large standing army or of
retiring south. Zungeru was the best pivot on which to turn wherever
attention might be required. Why, it has been asked, select a place which
was not easily accessible in the dry season and a low river? No other
spot presented even the qualities of Zungeru. It was within 10 miles of
the navigable part of the Kaduna River—with which it was connected by
a steam tramway—and through the town itself there ran a stream of pure
water all months of the year. The climate has proved to be as healthy as
at any other station.

Sooner or later, however, a decision must be taken whether Zungeru is
to be retained as Capital. On it being now the most suitable spot I do
not feel qualified to give an opinion. But Lokoja and Jebba, which have
each been spoken of as the “natural Capital” may be dismissed. Both have
been tried. Kano has also been referred to in the same connection, so put
forward for the glamour of its name and the prominent place it has become
in recent history, as well as for its commercial importance.

The very qualities cited operate against the central authority being
established in or near Kano. A largely populated centre is not the
best situation for a government. The local powers-that-be are unfairly
dwarfed and the neighbouring population likely to exercise an undue
influence on the executive. Possibly, London is an example of these
drawbacks. On the one hand, the L.C.C., bearing in mind the interests
and area it represents, is overshadowed by its towering legislative
big brother at Westminster. On the other hand, an outdoor demonstration
of large dimensions in the metropolis has more influence on the Cabinet
than a similar gathering five times the size in Lancashire, Dublin, or
Glasgow. South Africa has shown wisdom by not locating the Parliament at
Johannesburg.

The Bauchi Highlands have been brought forward as the coolest, best
temperature for a new Capital. Much water will flow down the Niger before
any such scheme is practicable. At present the main obstacle to Bauchi
is lack of transport. When a railway makes it like Zungeru, within a
few days of Lagos, instead of two or three weeks, then Bauchi will come
within the sphere of practical politics. Lastly, the administrative
headquarters of Northern Nigeria may, in the near future, be of less
importance than it has been, for by the union with Southern Nigeria,
the seat of the Lieutenant-Governor of each—assuming that be the form
adopted—will obviously fulfil quite a secondary rôle. And to me it seems
inevitable that Lagos will become the capital of United Nigeria.

CHAPTER V

ZUNGERU TO KANO

“The line is the thing,” to modify Hamlet’s phrase. To get the track into
working order at the earliest possible day, that is the object of all
concerned in the construction of a railway, once it has been started. You
must have rails laid, locomotives, carriages. All subsidiary matters can
be improvised provisionally. It is not necessary to wait until “the last
button on the soldiers’ leggings” has been fixed. Thus, on the section
from Zungeru to Kano a number of things remain to be done before there is
the completeness which is seen south of the Niger.

To anybody with whom time is a consideration, a railway, instead of the
old method along the cart-road of 282 miles to Kano, is an unspeakable
boon.

Some novel travelling features appear on Zungeru Station. There has
not been sufficient time to enrol a full staff and therefore one must
make one’s own arrangements for getting heavy packages into or from
the train. First-class passengers can enjoy the unusual experience of
obtaining from the Stationmaster partly printed labels, writing on them
the destination, then hunting for a glue-pot and themselves affixing
the labels. It is a case of every man his own porter. We are not at a
fashionable resort, and all who have to do the job undertake it in a
laughing spirit.

Directly the train moves off you realise you are on your own resources.
Private, or even official, hospitality cannot extend to a train where
everybody is expected to look after himself in all things for nearly half
a week. A 50-foot coach is partitioned into four divisions, all quite
bare. In a division—you may be fortunate in having two—you must rig up
your little home: a sitting and dining-room by day; a sleeping apartment
at night. Each end of the coach has a stove, where the cooks can prepare
meals.

Minna—38 miles—is reached in two hours, and here the night is spent. In
the hot weather passengers put their camp-beds on the open platform,
arranging them under the projecting roof if rain threatens.

Arrival of the train at Minna marks a busy time, for the line upwards
from Baro joining, passengers who have come by the river route are
waiting to continue the journey northwards, or others may have come down
from that direction.

Amidst all the bustle of people coming and going, of the excitement of
sorting baggage for carriers, of piles of bales and boxes being moved,
of loud whistling of locomotives and of shunting engines, I saw a
white-robed figure go on his knees, turn his face to the east and bend
his head in devotion. It was a Mohamedan silently offering up evening
prayer. Religious duty was louder to him than the babel resounding
around. He was not ashamed to speak with his Maker in sight of the
multitude.

Yet there are worthy folks at home who seek to send missionaries to
these people to teach them to worship the same God but in a different
way. Why is the money and the energy expended on such missions—which are
practically hopeless in Mohamedan countries like this—not deflected to
the better purpose of mitigating the vice, the crime and the preventable
poverty in the great cities of the United Kingdom, where the triple evils
stalk abroad in the daylight, unabashed, unashamed.

At Minna Station one must see Mr A. Newport, the stalwart traffic
inspector. I say one “must,” because the first time travelling over
the line there are enquiries which have to be satisfied. For instance,
change of train is made for the journey continued early next morning.
Further, it may not have occurred to a traveller, even thinking out all
requirements to the most minute detail, that wood for a fire on the train
to cook food would be necessary. Finally, one’s filter may not be within
easy access and condensed water be needed for preparing the evening meal.

In all these, and perhaps other instances, Mr Newport is of incalculable
aid and value. Whatever the multitude of matters pressing upon him for
immediate attention, he always seems willing to accept one more without
impatience or irritation. But if everybody going through Minna leaves all
these things to be supplied by Mr Newport, it is likely that he will not
have a sufficiency of them to satisfy everybody’s expectations. Maxim
and moral: When travelling in Nigeria never depend on supplying from
another’s provisions that which you have wilfully neglected to provide
for yourself.

At Minna Station one may also meet Mr E. H. Biffen, Traffic
Superintendent of the Baro-Kano Railway, uniformly genial and courteous,
and ever ready to do all in his power to help a traveller; and on the
platform there will probably be Mr J. Oldfield, Traffic Assistant, who
seconds the manner of his chief.

On waking up at Minna Station one realises more fully than on the
previous afternoon what it is to be on one’s own resources for bodily
needs. Sufficient condensed water had been economised for breakfast,
but, in a tropical country above all, some kind of wash, at least once a
day is almost as necessary for comfort as food, and for preference the
operation is performed on getting out of bed.

Just at 6 o’clock, as I was wondering, after an hour’s cogitation, what
was to be done in a distinctly uncomfortable predicament, mental relief
came. Looking out of the window I saw my native servant—for the time
being maid-of-all work, cook, steward, and general factotum—Oje, trudging
along towards the stationary train with a pail on his head, and by the
manner of balancing the utensil it was clear that it contained water.
Without being told, Oje had set out and discovered water.

How did he come to divine its presence in a place where he had not
previously been and of which he had never heard? I asked him. He said
he saw a footpath from the railway and sagely concluded it must lead
somewhere. That somewhere, he deduced, was likely to be a native village.
A village was sure to be near a stream or other water. He would go and
investigate.

I do not mean that Oje argued all these points in their logical sequence,
after the manner of a Sherlock Holmes; instinct told him at once.

The water had come from a shallow, stagnant, well-nigh dried-up water
course. It looked yellow, and on being shaken took the consistency of
thick soup. Still, it was water, and for that relief much thanks.

Oje—poor, friendless Oje, hundreds of miles from home and parents—had
more prescience than his master—employer is a word I would sooner
use—more prescience than any white man on the train. A chapter could
easily be written of Oje. He deserves it, is worthy of it. He is always
helpful, frequently a pleasant companion to speak with, and occasionally
a comfort to talk to in the silent evenings when flying insects make
writing impossible, in spite of his limited vocabulary of even pidgeon
English. His devotion is staunch and unmistakable. I shall remember Oje
with many kindly sentiments when thousands of miles of sea and land
separate us, and when, perhaps, I am tramping through the lands of
another continent.

The prospect of an unwashed state happily past, as the train spins along
one can heartily enjoy the free-and-easy existence, as one sits on a
camp chair and, facing the open door of the “saloon,” tries to catch the
breeze stimulated by the running train. It seems more enjoyable than
the luxury of the boat express. Your pail containing water may leak;
no matter, you _must_ effect a repair on the spot, and that is done by
drawing a rag into the hole. You discover that you have no bread for
breakfast and that none was to be bought at Minna Station; no matter,
a tin of biscuits from your food boxes will serve instead. You find
out that the firm who made up the food boxes have omitted the sugar;
no matter, some other passenger will help you out. Whatever your petty
troubles, they are lost sight of in the feeling that you are in your own
little compartment, within its walls living in your own way, distant from
the stilted and artificial manners which clog life at home.

The celerity with which the Baro-Kano Railway was constructed—its
junction with the Lagos Railway is at Minna—and the instant and
remarkable success it has proved have caused an “over-running of the
constable” in the provision of rolling stock. You may notice that the
first-class coaches are patched up in parts. As a matter of fact, I
believe that a number were to have been broken up, having been discarded
by home lines, but the call for accommodation was so pressing that as
many as could be made serviceable were again put on the rails. So you see
the result of two or three worn-out carriages being made into a single
sound one; sides and floor, with some doors from other carriages screwed
on to form a complete article.

The demand on the part of third-class passengers—of course, all
natives—was much greater. It was not merely a case of the construction of
the finished track outstripping the supply of carriages; the number of
passengers carried had exceeded the utmost expectations. It was estimated
that the total receipts for the last financial year, 1911-12, April to
March, would amount to £10,000, but they totalled £46,000. It is clear
that on this line, as in the case of most in the United Kingdom, the
third-class passenger is to be the stand-by of income for human freight.
Apart from the fact that there are few Europeans in the country—I
should say less than 700 to a native population of 10,000,000—averaging
the 255 miles between Minna and Kano, the respective proportions are:
first-class, seven Europeans; second-class, two or three Europeans; third
class, 150 natives.

The supply of ordinary third-class coaches was utterly insufficient.
Every type of truck has had to be used in addition, or the passengers
left. All canvas sheetings obtainable for roof coverings did not suffice,
and as native travellers clamoured to be carried in any way so long as
only they were carried, low side trucks were put on, and then high ones,
containing coalite and other goods in transit on which the passengers
wished to sit.

It should be borne in mind that these people have always been in the
habit of moving from one place to another—these Hausa traders—and they
quickly grasped the advantage and the comfort of riding in trains at a
low charge instead of tramping along bush paths or caravan roads. By
means of using the railway they could do as much business in one day,
with less marching, as they formerly did in a month.

And how these people enjoy the train ride! No party of school-children
on their one-day-a-year excursion more so. See them crowded as the
proverbial sardines, laughing, joking, happy, with legs dangling over the
sides of the goods trucks. When Lugard projected, Girouard put in hand,
and Eaglesome carried out the railway from Baro to Kano they builded
better than they knew.

The track between Zungeru to Minna takes a gentle rise; the latter is
500 feet higher than the former. The country traversed is wooded and
fertile, but depopulated, the effect of the cruel slave-raiding descents
from the north, which devastated districts, leaving, as evidence of the
visitation, burnt-down villages, the inhabitants all either dragged off
to slavery or put to the sword on the spot. The land sunk into disuse and
desolation.

British power has stopped it for ever, at least, as long as British power
is supreme. But decades must pass before tillers are again on the soil.
When they are the wide acres of Northern Nigeria will give agricultural
produce on a scale that will bring great prosperity to the Protectorate
and render it of value to territories beyond its borders, exporting
perhaps foodstuffs, and certainly those essential oils for which
manufacturers in Europe are searching the tropics.

Immediately after leaving Minna, in the first six miles the rise is
300 feet. The track then becomes fairly level, frequently crossing
tributaries of the Kaduna River, the largest of which is the Kogin
Serekin Pawa. From this the line follows the valley of the Kugo River,
climbing 30 miles to the Zaria Plateau, which is touched at Bakin Kasua,
70 miles south of Zaria City and 19 before reaching the Kaduna. Then a
drop of approximately 400 feet to Kaduna Station.

Over certain parts of the track, where temporary work has quite recently
been superseded by that of a lasting character which has not yet hardened
and settled, the train proceeds very gingerly, for it is heavily laden
and must needs be hauled with caution and knowledge.

Most of the stations consist of a bank of gravel, levelled as a platform
would be, with a 10 feet by 12 feet corrugated iron box, which holds
telegraph instruments—the eyes and ears for safe conduct of the line—and
is also the Stationmaster’s office. Two or three huts near by are the
domiciles of the staff, comprising a telegraphist, a pointsman, and a
labourer, all natives. A pointsman is necessary, as, although the line is
a single track, every station has a loop for trains passing each other.
At stations of a very minor type the Stationmaster is also telegraphist.

At intervals the engine halts for sustenance. A tank is set up, sometimes
quite in bush country but always near streams which are never completely
dried up, and water forced into the tank by a hand-pump worked by “boys,”
who live in huts near by. The railway engineers have made small dams
across the streams as safeguards for supply.

Every three or four miles are gangs of eight to ten “boys,” who live in a
small settlement of their own, and, under a headman, pay attention to the
track, supervised by a European platelayer, who has charge of 25 to 30
miles of line.

There is unmistakable evidence of approaching Kaduna. The line broadens
out to four tracks and there are other adjuncts of a locomotive depôt.
Kaduna has also the importance of being the headquarters of the Director
of Railways. In the absence on vacation of Mr Eaglesome, I spent the
evening—the train stays overnight—with the Deputy Director, youthful Mr
E. M. Bland, referred to in the Zungeru chapter.

Among the entertainments in the way of sightseeing and instruction which
he gave me was a walk across the adjacent Kaduna River railway bridge.
I was lured on unsuspectingly and, I am sure, innocently on the part of
Mr Bland. He never guessed—nor will he know until he sees these lines in
print—of the ordeal it was to the visitor. The Kaduna Bridge is 660 feet
long. The rails are fixed to sleepers the spaces between which are open
to the river below.

In the middle of the track is a narrow sheeting of iron and along this
Blondin-like tight-rope strode the Deputy Director, I tremulously
following. Had I half an idea that he intended going beyond the first few
inches I would either have invented some excuse for turning back or have
boldly asked to be excused on the score of a sudden headache or something
of the kind. I certainly expected every minute that this exasperatingly
cruel guide would stop. When we reached midway across I wondered why on
earth he was continuing the walk. Only that I did not trust myself to
turn round on the narrow pathway I would have returned forthwith.

Mr Bland never ceased to speak of points of interest left and right,
throwing a directing finger first in one direction and then in another,
I more or less mechanically answering in monosyllables, the slippery,
heavy nails in my boots striking the narrow metal pathway ominously, and,
scarcely lifting my eyes from it all the time, I thought of people I knew
in England, conjuring up what they would say to my having come to my end
by falling through into the waters beneath Kaduna Bridge, instead of
going under by the more heroic malarial fever.

Once Mr Bland, indicating a notable landmark, turned round to make the
matter clearer, and on my quickly replying with a “Yes,” as though I saw
and understood everything—earnestly praying he would get over the bridge
at the earliest possible moment—he remarked that I was looking the wrong
way and that the object to which he referred was half-a-mile off the
opposite side of the bridge.

At last we were across, and I glanced around to discover a boat by which
we could row or paddle back. Before I could gain breath to utter a word
out spake Mr Bland. He said how sorry he was that he could not indulge in
canoeing, as he did at home—he is a Canadian—as there was no craft of any
kind for miles.

Then we must go back over that few-inches-wide iron path! Why were
engineers so madly stupid as to place such an ordeal under the uncertain
feet of an enquiring journalist? However, there was no alternative. A
repeated 660 feet of mental tribulation and we were safe on the other
bank.

Immediately I developed a wonderful power of conversation and comment on
all the Deputy Director had told me during those horrible perambulations
from bank to bank. In my exuberance of spirits I felt I wanted to
slap him on the back. Oh, yes, I now saw quite distinctly and with
eagerness the concrete piers on which the temporary bridge was laid for
construction purposes, and a little higher up the river I recognised,
visually, the ford used in the old days of the caravan road from the
north.

Kaduna is left at 5.45 a.m., and 13 miles further on is Rigachikun,
remembered as the former point of departure from the train for the tin
fields. It was from Rigachikun the Government made a 12 feet wide roading
for transport to the fields.

A further higher altitude is reached at Dumbi, 12 miles south of the
station of that name. The native village is 6 miles nearer the station.
From Dumbi there is again a descent. The land is open, with trees in
some parts singly and occasionally in clusters, but never in the jungle
density which flanks most of the line of another West African railway,
the one from Secondee to Coomassie. The park-like appearance of this
Province of Northern Nigeria makes the view indistinguishable from
English scenery. The fields are in a bright, in fact brilliant, green
from the overnight rain; the tall, waving grass brushes the carriages
as they roll past. Sheep and herds of cattle are on the pasture land.
One crowd of them merely gaze at the passing train; another batch, more
apprehensive, scamper away. Their colours contrast with the uniformity
of the green ground: brown, black, and a drove of about 30 all white. So
the landscape continues until Zaria is reached. Here is a branch line—the
Bauchi Light Railway—to the tin fields. To that I shall return for the
Bauchi Plateau trek.

Proceeding northwards, after half-an-hour’s stop at Zaria, 25 miles
further on, for the third time since leaving Minna, there is a rise to
over 2,400 feet above sea-level, at Anchou, and from here all the rivers
and their tributaries flow into Lake Chad, those previously passed going
to the Gulf of Guinea. Twelve miles south of Kano, which is 90 from
Zaria, the Shallawa River—a broad, sandy stream—is spanned by the largest
bridge on the Baro-Kano Railway. From Anchou there is a gradual fall,
amounting to 700 feet, to Kano.

As one approaches the 50 miles radius from Kano City one sees evidence
of close cultivation of the soil which marks that Province of Northern
Nigeria. The land is flat, open, and in parts fairly well wooded. There
appears to be no barren waste soil within sight. Plots, varying in
size, are clearly marked off and separated by 2 feet high straw fences,
close-growing grass of the same height, or neatly-trimmed bushes. The
fields are green—freshened by recent light rains—and occasionally the
bright colour merges into a fainter tint, whilst tracts are yellow with
the ripened crops shortly to be harvested.

As the eye is cast across the level plains, now and again backgrounded by
hills and small mountains, the scene might be taken for one in an English
agricultural county. The illusion would the more readily be accepted, for
the circular clumps in the fields might easily pass as small haystacks.
They are native houses, and a fuller understanding of the situation is
grasped as the busy figures hoeing the furrows look up and it is seen
that they have black skins.

Are these busy groups of men industriously winning produce from the soil
the “lazy negroes” in whom we—new-comers to the land—are to inculcate
“the dignity of labour”? Can it be that we have as little to teach them
in that respect as in several others?

The scenes of sowing, planting, reaping, gathering, are repeated in
various forms as the train rolls on until, there in the distance, is
a greyish line which must be the walls of famed Kano City. The engine
heads straight for the wall, as though it would impatiently break down
whatever should stand in the way of modern ideas of advancement; but as
we draw nearer it would seem wiser councils prevail, and, bearing to the
right, we swing past the city walls, showing that by tact, sympathy,
imagination, and judgment the two civilisations can exist side by side.

Speed is being reduced, but a couple more miles are to be covered, and as
we go slowly a clearer view of the stout encircling wall is discerned.
First to relieve its evenness is the Dan Agundi Gate, and near that
opening—between it and the railway—is the discarded mission house, where
a few months ago poor Fox died. Next we pass the Nassarawa Gate, then
the Mata Gate, and a few yards further on the train pulls up at the spot
where Kano Station is to be built.

CHAPTER VI

ARRIVAL AT KANO

Plans and expectations—Small water-famine—The handy man—Change
of quarters—Ants as sauce—Niger Company.

It is well perhaps that things should not go too smoothly. It is well,
probably, that though matters are thought out and plans made in advance
they should crumble by no fault of the maker. It is as well, no doubt,
that suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune should befall
one who until arriving in Kano had had a pleasure trip, not made less
pleasurable by unremitting work, the joy of the journey enhanced rather
than lessened by a few minor discomforts.

I had imagined that the previous enjoyment would be multiplied many
fold at Kano, famous Kano. Everything possible had been done to prevent
mishaps. The house had been engaged. It was one of those the Government
has put up for travellers passing through. True it was a circular hut
of mud and straw, but, I was told, two French officers were occupying a
similar dwelling, so it was as good as I had any warrant to expect. The
train by which I was to arrive had been notified to the quarter that had
a right to know. Nothing seemed omitted from the preliminary arrangements.

No more forlorn figure landed on a foreign shore than the writer of
these lines presented, to himself at least, as he stood on the ground
known as Kano Station. He knew only a single person in Kano, and, for
what appeared justifiable cause, he would not humble himself by sending a
message to that individual. No porters are at Kano, and there the fresh
arrival stood, helpless to move, with a couple of dozen heavy boxes. He
had not the slightest idea of the situation of the hut in which he was to
live, and nobody present could inform him. It was a pretty predicament.
Of course, there was a cause for the embarrassing situation, but it need
not be explained.

An hour passed, and then someone saw who had a heart. As on several
occasions in the course of this journey aid came from a Baro-Kano Railway
man. Mr A. W. Brayscher, Traffic Assistant, the officer in charge of Kano
terminus, came up and asked if he could be of service. Having told him,
minus details, how badly stranded I was, he offered a mud and straw hut
similar to the adjacent one in which he lived, belonging to the railway
and used by engine-drivers. It was eagerly accepted and the impedimenta
promptly transferred under its roof. Here I thought to settle down for a
week, and, at all events, to be conscious of a spirit of independence.

But my troubles were not ended. Food now became a consideration. For that
water was necessary. Where was it to be obtained? I learned, at a well
“over there,” the locality indicated being a field half-a-mile away. If,
my reader, you desire to be satisfied with, if not thankful for, the high
charges of your British Municipality or Metropolitan Water Board, come
to a place like Kano and prove what it is to be compelled to go out and
find a well sunk in a spot unrevealed until you are actually at it. The
humour (?) of the situation is the richer by your being conscious that
you have been warned that the quality of the liquid is suspect.

Be the water whatever it might, it must be had. One has not necessarily
to get desperate in order to have that frame of mind. One has only to
be hungry and very thirsty, the thirst accompanied by a headache which
produces a positive craving for a cup of tea.

It had become dark. Still, the blessed water must be got. I could not
send Oje half-a-mile across strange grass country, with no sign of a
path. The hurricane lamp had been lit, and I was about to start off
with the faithful lad in search of the well when up walked Mr Brayscher
holding out two pint bottles of water which had been boiled and filtered.
Heaven knows whether I should have found the well, for the moon was not
up, and there appeared to be nobody to act as guide. The search could now
be deferred to morning.

I never had to attempt the task. Another dweller in a hut near by was Mr
W. J. Marsh, who was a passenger on the ship by which I came out, but
with whom I did not come into contact on board and who was practically a
stranger, though he was in the saloon at a little entertainment on the
voyage in which I took part. Hearing I had arrived in Kano, and knowing
the water trouble, he very thoughtfully sent four pint bottles of the
precious liquid, boiled and filtered. Mr Marsh, like Mr Brayscher, is
on the Baro-Kano Railway. He is a First Grade Foreman of Works, and is
rated as a Second-Class Officer. Be his class what it may, I am proud to
mention W. J. Marsh as a friend indeed.

As a matter of fact my indebtedness did not end with the indispensable
water for breakfast. A week or so later the exceedingly intricate and
delicate mechanism working the shutter of an expensive camera got out of
order. After long and unsuccessful efforts to make it work the thing was
given into the hands of Mr Marsh. I admit I had small hopes of his being
able to accomplish anything. Had the matter been one of drawing an iron
bolt or straightening the axle of a locomotive I would have been more
trustful, but the elaborate springs of a photographic shutter resemble
the interior of a Geneva watch.

However, the handy man at Kano Station, after a wrestle lasting not quite
an hour with the fragile springs, sent the camera back in perfect working
order. It was also the most natural thing in the world, when my Browning
automatic pistol jammed, to call in Mr Marsh, who put it right in the
proverbial jiffy.

The wealth of six pint bottles of filtered water, though seriously
diminished after two meals, made the water question less urgent, and,
therefore, I sallied forth the morning after arriving to buy a few
utensils which had not been included in the domestic purchases down
country. The walk brought me acquaintance with my greatest benefactor
during the stay at Kano.

Entering the Niger Company’s store to obtain the articles required, Mr
Byrd, the Kano Agent—Manager he would be called in England—enquired if
I was who I happened to be, and on my admitting the fact he said that
the District Agent at Zaria, Mr Wilks (whom I saw there, but who I did
not know intended taking the step), had wired him of my coming up, but
that the telegram had only just been delivered, though handed in 24 hours
earlier 90 miles away. It was subsequently ascertained that the native
post office messenger had received the telegram for delivery in due time
but had put it in his robe pocket and taken it home, judging that next
day, on the way to his duties, would do just as well for the addressee.
Mr Byrd, learning where I was living, offered the use of an unoccupied
house in his compound. It was like the railway hut, made of mud and straw
but had the great advantage of a cement, instead of an earth, floor.
Although consisting of a single room, it was quite a mansion in its way.
The change of quarters was speedily made and I at once settled down to
write.

“You always speak well of the Niger Company,” was the remark made by a
man I met in the train. Certainly, I do. I have the best of reasons for
doing so, for while journeying in these parts I have invariably received
the utmost courtesy and aid from all members of the staff. This is
evidently done on principle, for the few shillings spent at the stores
must be of the smallest consequence. Nor can the attention be given me
just because I happen to be Special Correspondent for a London journal.
I have heard of similar help being rendered to other travellers who
have passed over ground where the Niger Company are established. I have
heard of it at Bassa, in the south of the Protectorate; I have heard of
it at Yola, in the east; and I gladly testify to a large measure of
appreciation in the north.

The superiority of my new residence over my former habitation was soon
manifest. Whereas the white ants in my first resting-place were to
be numbered in hundreds of thousands—at a modest computation—in the
second they were a mere matter of hundreds, and with a hard floor the
rendezvous they formed there could be swept clear periodically, which
is not practicable where the floor of a hut is soft ground and the ants
come upwards. In the new residence they descended from the walls and from
above only. From the latter direction they dropped into the hot meals but
seemed to make no difference to the flavour of the food. The best way was
to look away from the table; then one could not be positive that ants
accompanied the food in its transfer from platter to palate.

Still, the house is really comfortable. A mud wall encloses a verandah,
level with the ground, round the house. The roof, of dried grass, is
double. Between the lower and the upper ones a clear space provides
excellent ventilation without interfering with the rainproof qualities.

CHAPTER VII

FASHIONS, GOVERNMENT, ADMINISTRATION

When the British Government assumed control of the territories over which
the Royal Niger Company had held its charter for governing and trading
those lands were divided into the Protectorate of Southern Nigeria—since
amalgamated with the Colony of Lagos—and the Protectorate of Northern
Nigeria. Together they extended nearly half-a-million square miles.
That has been the tangible contribution of the Royal Niger Company
to the British possessions. Sir George Taubman Goldie, founder and
head-and-front of the Company for a number of years, deserves the title
of Empire builder, if ever man did.

Northern Nigeria is 255,700 square miles, with an estimated native
population of 9,269,000. This population may be divided into Mohamedans
and Pagans. The former are frequently spoken of as Hausas, although the
term comprises the Fulani, the pure Hausa, the Beri-Beri, the Bornu, the
Borgu, the Nupé, the Yoruba and others.

Apart from religion there is a marked sartorial distinction. Moslems
when not at some heavy, laborious task usually display garments of ample
size. Men above the poorest ranks wear flowing robes and trousers as
close as a knickerbocker below the knee, above it very wide, the waist
part sufficiently so to accommodate at least three persons if it were not
folded and held in position by a broad strip of cloth. The women, who
ignore foot covering of any kind, use cloths and wraps from the shoulders
to within a few inches of the ankle.

Costume among Pagans varies from a loin-cloth for men who live on the
belt of their area which adjoins Hausa country, where they have become
what is called Hausaised to this extent, to the stage where ladies and
gentlemen are in the simple condition of the guest at Hans Breitman’s
party.

Kano is the centre, the focus of the Moslem population.

A few brief words on the government of the Hausa Provinces. As stated
in Chapter IV, we rule by and through the natives, leaving to them the
selection who shall be their Kings—known as Emirs—subject to the approval
of the Governor of the Protectorate. Although a Protectorate has been
declared for a considerable period, previous to the assumption of power
by the Crown a large part of the country was occupied only in name. The
endeavour of Sir Frederick Lugard, the first Governor, was to bring
those areas under influence without the use of troops if possible. No
civilian could be more a man of peace than this ex-soldier. In one of his
memoranda to the political officials he wrote: “Capable officers can do
much more by getting in touch with the people than can be effected by a
series of punitive expeditions and bloodshed.”

[Illustration: THE RIGHT HON. SIR GEORGE TAUBMAN GOLDIE.

Founder of Nigeria.

[_From the Painting by Herkomer._]

He acted on that principle himself. When eventually he had sufficient
troops to impose his will he always held them back until amicable
counsel, reasoning and argument became hopeless. Wherever an Emir, no
matter what his former record, promised to rule his people fairly,
justly, and not to war upon or raid tribes for slaves or other plunder,
he was confirmed in his position and promised the moral and, if
necessary, the material support of the suzerain Power.

Where Emirs persistently and defiantly continued evil practices they were
deposed. When that had to be done Sir Frederick moved rapidly. He was up
and down and across the country at remarkable speed and with marvellous
energy, trekking all the time and covering wonderful distances in the
hottest periods of the year, playing the part of the famous Earl of
Warwick, unmaking and making Kings as he went along. Whenever the ruler
had to be dethroned Sir Frederick called on the Chiefs of the people to
select and elect the successor, whom he then ceremoniously installed, he
representing the Great White King beyond the seas. Of the several thus
put on thrones, I do not think a single one has had to be removed.

Even when military operations were imperative, it might appear
astonishing how quickly the inhabitants acquiesced in the new order of
things. That is to be largely attributed to the fact that in the old days
of tribal warfare or raids the fruits of the fighting were gathered by
the caste above, by the Emirs and their satellites and parasites; the
commonalty had to be content with the husks. The readiness with which
dwellers accepted the new Heads was to a great extent also due to the
perception that the British hand was not to be on them but against the
methods of an Emir whose weakness, and the consequent harshness of his
hangers-on, pressed hardly on his own subjects.

Sir Frederick Lugard always made that clear, just as he endeavoured to
obtain from the leading folks promises to amend crooked ways. In his
first annual report to the Colonial Office he said: “I am anxious to
prove to these people (the Fulani) that we have no hostility to them and
only insist on good government and justice; and I am anxious to utilise,
if possible, their wonderful intelligence, for they are born rulers and
incomparably above the negroid races in ability.”

It is to the genius first of Taubman Goldie then to that of Lugard that
the faculty of the Moslem population of Northern Nigeria to govern has
been utilised to the admirable extent in existence to-day. The former
recognised and gave scope to the faculty in the time of the Royal Niger
Company, when he was practically if not actually supreme ruler of as
much of the country as control could be exercised over; the latter, on
becoming Governor at the advent of the Crown, continued on, and extended,
the same line. The result is that we have over hundreds of square miles
a capable, efficient—one may say, in their own way a talented and
gifted—civil service composed of natives of all grades who are doing
duties which no number of Europeans could effect so well. Internal
administration, maintenance of order, appointment of judges, punishment
of criminals, assessment and collection of taxes are well carried out in
the Hausa States by the Emirs of the various provinces and the men they
select for the work, carried out in accordance with local tradition and
still not violating the cardinal ideas of justice and humanity.

There are, therefore, more than 250,000 square miles, a population much
over 9,000,000, many of whom were first-class fighting men in the shape
of formidable cavalry, and 424 Englishmen officials. Most of these are in
the political department and termed Residents. They advise the Emirs on
matters which need assistance and they generally supervise, seeing that
the Government is continued without those mischiefs and tragedies which
stained the old rule of the Fulani, but interfering as little as can be
in the routine of internal affairs.

In a narrative of this kind no more than an outline can be rendered of
the singular system of native government. It is also referred to in
Chapter XIII as I observed it in being.

I hope this part of the subject is not dwelt on unduly—it seems to me
an intensely interesting study—by explaining how taxes are assessed,
collected and allocated. The matter is stated pithily in the last annual
report by the Governor of the Protectorate, then Sir Hesketh Bell, and
his words, which cannot be bettered, are quoted. Possibly the statement
does not make quite clear that the British official who fixes the
assessment does so in conjunction with a representative of the Emir of
the Province.

“In Sokoto Province each village is assessed, after careful
inquiries made on the spot by a British official as to
the resources of the inhabitants, at a lump sum, and the
apportionment of the amount payable by the individual is
left to the village Head and his Council. They are directed
to assess the individual in accordance with his wealth from
whatever source it may be obtained. In Bassa the individual is
assessed at a fixed and universal rate _per capita_.”

These two systems represent the extremes of divergence which occur in
methods of assessment and are each suited to the conditions existing in
the Provinces where applied, which differ in a corresponding manner.
In Bassa the village Heads could not apportion the tax proportionately
amongst the individuals, whilst in Sokoto the native would disapprove of
a system which compelled the poor to pay as much as the rich.

“The total amount of the taxes paid by a native unit are
divided into four parts. Two of these form the Government share
and are paid into the general revenue. The other two are paid
into the Beit-el-Mal (native treasury). One is earmarked for
the payment of fixed emoluments individually to the Emir, his
councillors, his police, his official messengers, the officials
told off by him to look after roads, buildings, sanitation, and
public works generally, and to the payment of the native Judges
(Alkalis). Also to defray the cost of public works such as
markets, gaols, etc., road-making, well-making, of education,
and of the subsistence of persons who according to Moslem
tenets should receive State aid. Also towards establishing a
reserve fund, in case at any time, owing to the failure of
crops, it should be necessary to remit a portion of the taxes.

“The remaining fourth share is divided among the district
and village Heads in proportion to the amounts of rents and
taxes for the collection of which each is responsible. In
some Provinces the district Heads have been placed on fixed
salaries, notably Bornu, but it has not yet been decided as to
whether this system should be adopted generally.

“The organisation described in the preceding paragraphs has not
been entirely elaborated in the Pagan districts, but in every
case efforts are being made, and in many with considerable
success, to establish a common fund, administered on the lines
described.

“Generally speaking, it has been found expedient to pay the
native officials on a generous scale, and it must be said in
justice to them that a marked improvement in his work has
followed in every case where an official has been granted an
assured income. The funds administered by the Beit-el-Mal
throughout the Protectorate amounted to over £200,000 during
the year under review.”

TYPICAL DISTRIBUTION OF FUNDS ALLOCATED TO NATIVE TREASURIES, TAKING KANO
AS AN EXAMPLE, A TERRITORY OF 28,600 SQUARE MILES AND WITH A POPULATION
OF 3,500,000.

Salaries, Central Administrations 6556
Salaries, District Administrations 20910
Salaries, Village Administrations 13940
Judicial 2760
Police 1769
Prisons 1438
Public Works Department 4836
Treasury 540
Education 1240
Land Survey 600
Hospitals and Sanitation 1024
Special Grants for Economic Development 500
Charity and Entertaining 500
Miscellaneous Contingencies 1000
Balances and Reserves 12027
------
£69640
------

From the same source I also take the constitution of the native law
Courts:

“The effect of the payment of the native Judges deserves
special notice. The improved position and growing efficiency
of the native Judiciary has now been established. In former
days the Judges had no fixed stipends and depended for their
livelihood on the generosity of the reigning Emir, or on the
fees collected through orders from their own Courts. In such
circumstances it could hardly be expected that the Courts
would be efficient or free from bribery and corruption. It is
now generally conceded that the former weakness of the native
Courts was caused rather by a radically bad system than by any
real lack of men who could, if properly supported, efficiently
administer justice.

“In Kano and Katsena a measure has been adopted which it is
hoped it will be found possible to extend elsewhere. In these
two Emirates the Courts do not execute their own judgments.
The Court informs the Head of the district in which it is
situated that an order has been given, and should this entail
the payment of a judgment debt, the Beit-el-Mal is also
informed by the Court. The district Head is responsible for
the execution of the order, for the collection of any amount
due and for its payment into the Beit-el-Mal. By this means
a complete check on both the Judiciary and the Executive is
established.

“At the present time in the Northern Provinces almost every
district has a salaried Alkali’s Court with considerable but
limited powers. Minutes of every case tried in the district
Courts are submitted monthly to the chief native Judges at
the various Capitals of the Province. Serious cases are
referred to the Courts in the Capitals of the Emirates....
Crimes of violence and robbery, which in the early years of
the Protectorate were so regrettably numerous, have almost
disappeared since the native Courts, with their corollary,
native police (dogari), have been given a free hand.”

In Kano Province last year the Alkalis’ Courts tried 20,740 cases, of
which 1,267 were criminal indictments and 19,473 civil actions. I grieve
to think that the last category includes no less than 9,020 instances of
the disturbance of connubial bliss under the heading of “Matrimonial.” It
is pleasant to learn that few of the assault cases were of a serious kind
and still more gratifying to know that violence to women forms a small
proportion.

An analysis shows that only ·07 of the population committed acts which
brought the perpetrators within the law, whilst grave crime is so small
in quantity that there is not a European nation which would gain by
comparison with Kano Province, Northern Nigeria.

CHAPTER VIII

KANO PROVINCE AND CITY—BRITISH TRADE PROSPECTS

Town and country—Officials and traders—Belgravia and
Bermondsey—A housekeeping budget—European stores—Buying and
selling—A Syrian in the fold.

The Province of Kano extends 28,600 square miles and has a population
of 3,500,000 souls. Kano City and the settlement near it are, however,
spoken of as Kano. Kano City accommodates a native population of more
than 30,000 inhabitants. Outside the city there are an English official
quarter and a few European stores. The latter are, roughly, two miles
from the native city, and the official quarter is a corresponding stretch
further on. Each centre is separate, distinct, isolated. Between the
stores and the native city there is, however, constant communication,
much coming and going for business purposes. Between the official quarter
and the stores there is scarcely anything more than the most limited
exchange of messages, verbal or written, stiff, formal and frigid.

There is not so much difference in London between Belgravia and
Bermondsey as there is in Kano between the official and the traders’
quarter. In London efforts are made to minimise and soften the extremes
of existence, while at Kano, if there are extremes, the policy pursued
has the effect of hardening, accentuating, emphasising them. Why this
spirit should be necessary in Kano I do not know. It does not exist in
Lagos or Zungeru.

I leave this part of the subject with the remark that I can say very
little about the official quarter, as there was never any cause for me
to enter it beyond a few yards when I had to go to the Post Office to
despatch cables, for two visits to the Residency and one to the Treasury
to obtain change of money. The place is no doubt comfortable enough.
Reports say that it lacks little in that respect. But in Mandarin-like
attempts to set up a caste apart from all other men, it reminds one of
the Forbidden City of Pekin. Yet these matters are insignificant—I hope I
ruffle nobody’s sense of dignity by saying so—compared with the interest,
the attraction, the fascination, and the importance of Kano City and its
inhabitants.

First, however, some reference to the European stores which have been
started at Kano. They belong respectively to the Niger Company, Lagos
Stores, the Tin Areas of Nigeria, the French Company, and a Syrian
trader. The latter has a house and does not live in a hut in the native
quarter, as do nearly all his compatriots in West Africa. He approaches a
great deal more than they to the European manner of carrying on business.
Messrs John Holt have a site, but building has not been started.

All the stores adjoin one another. They are within a few feet of the
railway. The sites were selected by Sir Hesketh Bell during his term as
Governor. His policy of facilitating commerce in every colony of which he
has had charge is recognised by merchants at home, and has been publicly
acknowledged repeatedly. The Niger Company and the French Company do what
is termed a canteen business—i.e., that of retailing tinned provisions,
etc.—as well as dry goods, whilst the other firms confine themselves
to the heavier class of articles, though a few of the former class are
also disposed of over the counter. There is not sufficient demand to
maintain even a single little store for Europeans. The number of white
people, officials and traders, does not exceed 30, and all bring their
requirements, except fresh food, for the term of service.

The stores started only a few months ago, when the railway was completed.
They are not in working order and he is wise in his generation
who does not rely on them. My stay in Kano has been longer than
planned, with the result that for a week I had no bread; hard, thick
biscuits—euphemistically called cabin bread—having to be a substitute.
They were eaten with tea for which neither milk nor sugar was obtainable.
Subsequently I learnt that I could buy fresh cow’s milk from native
farmers at 3d. a pint bottle. When the flour had been consumed, I again
flourished on cabin bread.

On a supply of flour coming up—sold at 4s. 6d. for a 7 lb. tin—the always
willing and useful Oje declared that he “fit to make bread,” and quite a
palatable quality he produced.

Fresh food retailed in Kano City is at low figures, though prices have
greatly advanced recently. A chicken, furnishing a meal sufficient for
two persons, is bought for 5d.; a guinea-fowl, larger than the chicken,
costs 3d. or 4d. A duck is to be had at a corresponding figure. Eggs
are purchased at 10 a penny. Sweet potatoes—long, thin, circular—are not
disposed of by weight, but are retailed at sight; and fivepennyworth
lasts four meals. Onions—larger than turnips, some of them scaling 1½
lbs.—minus the strong flavour of the English variety—cost 4 a penny. By
going two or three miles to the farms where they are grown, sufficient to
fill an apple-barrel can be secured for 6d. A leg of mutton—flesh that is
dearer than beef—sells at 5d., and is more than enough for four diners.

Man does not live by meat alone, and anybody coming here should bear in
mind that he is entering a new country, from the European standpoint,
where, although foodstuffs are raised, the population has quite a
different standard of feeding from his; where railway communication has
been merely a matter of months; that things which he probably considers
necessary for his existence are just beginning to be sold and that they
are of less importance and value to the firms selling them than other
articles, which therefore are naturally given preference; and, further,
that the articles referred to and others of the same character are
occasionally sold out at the great port of Lagos. I had trouble there to
buy two tins of sugar. Estimate, then, the position in Kano, distance of
a week by railway.

With the exception of the Lagos Stores, all the establishments at Kano
are in temporary buildings. The Niger Company has houses of mud and straw
and one of corrugated iron. The Tin Areas Company has corrugated iron
and also mud houses; whilst the French Company and the Syrian trader
have confined themselves to the latter material. Each store stands in a
compound. A section is 300 feet long by 100 feet wide. The Niger Company
has four sections, the French Company four, the Tin Areas two, Lagos
Stores two, the Syrian one. The buildings, of course, only cover a small
portion of the ground occupied.

I have stated that the chief business of the stores is to buy, not sell.
There are great quantities of native produce for which eager markets in
your part of the world wait, and though a good profit should show between
the prices here and those in Europe, there is strong competition in
purchasing, and everyone will be able to gauge its effect on the vendors,
who are keen and alert. They have sharpened the hereditary instinct
in the course of generations. Therefore, it can be seen that it is no
easy, certain course to sit down and deal for merchandise brought in.
The principal articles are hides, skins (goats’ and sheep), ground-nuts,
gutta percha, beeswax, and ostrich feathers. I am only touching on
articles brought out of Kano City in large quantities to the neighbouring
stores, not to those on sale at the market there.

Sheep and goats’ skins and ground-nuts form the main items in the former
category. The skins are tanned and dyed red, yellow, and green. The
dyeing process is kept secret, but I know that the ashes of dung burnt in
open ovens near the entrances to Kano City—such spots being by no means
attractive in an olfactory sense—I know that such ashes are used, and
that the bright red colour much in favour is obtained from juice of the
holcus.

I am unable to say at what price the skins are purchased. One cannot
put such questions to buyers who, obviously, are averse from disclosing
information which would be useful to rivals, but I believe the figure to
be well under to slightly above 1s. each. The sound quality skins easily
fetch 6s. or 7s. each in Europe. They are used for satchels, purses,
bookbinding, and, within the last few years, slippers and boots have been
made from them.

It is safe to state that the purchases of all the other stores together
do not approach those of the Niger Company. One can see quite a string
of dealers, accompanied by servants carrying skins on their heads,
processions of camels and bullocks bearing large bales of skins, and
hundreds of donkeys panniered with ground-nuts making their way to the
compound of that Company.

It is no reflection on the men in charge of the other stores to say
that they have a very difficult task indeed in competing with the Niger
Company. In the first place, it is known, and was well known before its
present competitors were heard of. Ask anybody in Kano of the Bature
Company—the White Company—and, if he can, he will direct you to the Niger
Company’s store. European firms may comment as they will, the Niger
Company is liked by the population. “In the days of the Company’s rule,”
I was told in the southern part of the Protectorate, “we paid no taxes.”
That is not accurate, but it is believed, which is just as good as if it
were. People, therefore, who have skins to sell naturally first think of
the Niger Company, and as it has a name for fair dealing, undoubtedly a
heavy preponderance is taken there. Everything is paid for by cash, on
the spot.

But the Company depends not on its name alone. An elaborate organisation
exists by which native merchants who are vendors are introduced by
brokers—a better analogy is that of an outside clerk to a stockbroker—who
help a transaction through. Some Arab and native local merchants have
already established a branch in England, where skins and feathers are
sent direct. To these men the Niger Company acts as forwarding agent,
sending goods over the railway to Baro, thence by the river route to the
sea for shipment.

Although the general canteen business of the stores—apart from the
trade to Europeans—is small at present, it should extend. In Kano and
the immediately surrounding districts there must be 50,000 to 60,000
inhabitants. Nearly all have some money to spend. The trade with these
people will probably not be done in a direct manner, but by native
retailers, who know their own folk best and with whom, as dealers,
Europeans cannot compete. The trade, I think, will be a small wholesale
one.

What can be done in that way is already clear from the six months’ work
of the Syrian previously referred to. In the six months he has been up
here he has done business to the amount of £4,000 in English calico and
beads. Doubtless the gentleman will be surprised to find that these
figures are known to me. They have been obtained in no underhand manner.

[Illustration: ONE OF THE EMIR’S TRUMPETERS.]

[Illustration: NATIVE SKIN-MERCHANTS WITH TRANSPORT, KANO.

(See page 76.)]

No wonder he is about to open a place at Manchester to be used as a
forwarding depôt. Though this Syrian, Farris George, is not to be
compared to the large firms, his record demonstrates the field of trade
that can be cultivated in Nigeria. A few years ago he landed at Lagos
and commenced trading in a street market in the smallest manner. Steadily
he did more and more; was joined from time to time by members of his
family; and eventually he became well-to-do. When, as the phrase goes,
the railway opened up Kano to outside commerce, George was quickly on the
spot, and he has improved his opportunities all the time. Although when
the stores get into their stride his total will appear insignificant, I
shall be surprised if he has not secured quite a respectable proportion
of the whole, an amount not to be despised and very difficult indeed to
lower.

CHAPTER IX

A GENTLEMAN ADVENTURER

The London and Kano Trading Company—The Captain
intervenes—Army, Civil Service, Commerce—Discarding
appearances—Contrast of mansions—The pleasure of
business—“Traders” and others.

Although there is a law that no non-native of Nigeria may live
permanently in Kano City, the London and Kano Trading Company has a large
establishment there. That is because the firm took the step long before
the present regulation was promulgated, or probably thought of.

The London and Kano Trading Company was started in 1903 by Mr Loder
Donisthorpe and Mr White. Both were in the Northern Nigeria Government
service, and they were so taken with the idea—and, I think I may add,
with the prospect of making a fortune—that, not staying to finish their
12 months’ term of duty, they resigned and commenced the new concern. But
though chances were plentiful enough, the handicaps to utilising them
formed a serious drawback, so serious that, at least once, abandonment of
the enterprise was contemplated, or, at all events, considered.

Within the last year two events occurred which placed the L. and K. T. C.
in an entirely superior position. One was the completion of the railway,
which, forming a junction at Minna, connects Kano with the port of Lagos
and with Baro, thus linking up the river route. The second occurrence was
the advent of Captain J. J. Brocklebank on the directorate of the L. and
K. T. C. That event proved the turning-point in the career of the concern.

Yet, it took place quite by chance, almost accidentally. Having acquired
an interest in the company, he came to Northern Nigeria—not for the first
time—for a short visit of 4 months, intending to dabble in the work and
have some big game shooting; but, captivated by the first, he threw in
his lot with the company and now largely directs its operations, which
have since proceeded at express speed and have become greatly enlarged.

No more interesting or romantic figure—certainly among the Europeans—is
to be found within 100 miles of Kano. Educated at Eton and Cambridge,
Captain Brocklebank commenced soldiering by going on active service in
the South African war, as a subaltern of the 8th Imperial Yeomanry,
from which he was gazetted in 1900 Second Lieutenant in the King’s
Dragoon Guards and soon afterwards won the D.S.O. Seeing little chance
of adventure with that regiment, he got seconded to serve with the
Mounted Infantry of the Northern Nigeria Regiment, and in 1908 was
promoted Captain in his own corps. The same year, at his request, he was
transferred to the Political Branch of the Northern Nigeria Government,
but in 1911 he resigned from that and from the Army, electing for
leisure, travel and sport. The London and Kano Trading Company meeting
him before he could formulate a scheme of jaunts, there he is. It is
rumoured that he has a personal income which would enable him to pass
life luxuriously and without effort. He evidently prefers to be in Kano.

He dresses with studied neglect. Sundays and week-days I have seen him
in the same suit of clothes, which are not even of the style generally
worn here in the bush country. They are made of tweed and are faded
to the verge of shabbiness. The ends of the coat sleeves are usually
covered by the turned-up cuffs of his shirt. Instead of riding boots,
he wears low-cut shoes, like dancing pumps—of course, of dull leather.
A first-rate horseman, he is never seen mounted; he goes hither and
thither in a pair-horse buggy, the only horse-drawn vehicle in or about
Kano. Colonials in hot climates have their hair cut close, but his would
almost do for a Bohemian actor, musician, or artist. He is the only man
I have seen for hundreds of miles who wears a beard that is more than
stubble. Yet no one would mistake him for anything but what he is, a
gentleman—gentleman from boyhood. Thinking of him, it strikes one as
childish to painfully labour the point that the managers of the stores
are merely “traders,” as distinct and distant from the very superior
persons who are not. Technically correct, the term trader is understood
in these parts to apply to natives who sit in open places or who are
peddlers.

[Illustration: CAPT. JOHN J. BROCKLEBANK, D.S.O.

(See page 81.)]

[Illustration: THE PREMISES OF THE LONDON AND KANO TRADING COMPANY AT
KANO.

(See page 80.)]

Captain Brocklebank will occasionally say something stronger than a big
D but always with the slight drawl which marks his intonation, never
raising his voice, and with the smile which shows he is not angry. I have
never seen him look so serious and solemn as he did when I was taking his
photograph. He speaks Hausa colloquially and will frequently make the
natives laugh by his waggisms in that tongue. I have heard him switch
off his conversation with an Arab merchant to discuss matters with a
French officer who could talk only in his own language. He would probably
strike you as being languid and indifferent, but no Arab merchant is more
alert, mentally, to the turns in a business transaction, and I happen to
know that there are few, if any, individuals who look further ahead in a
commercial survey. He appears to take things easily, and never hustles;
but no day’s work ever overlaps another.

A man who in England is spick and span, keeps his high-power motor and
dwells in a large town house and a country mansion, at Kano his domicile
is a more or less dilapidated mud dwelling where white ants cause pieces
from what must be called the ceiling to drop continually on the mosquito
curtains over the camp-bed. The combined sitting and dining-room is,
I warrant, not nearly as comfortable as the stable for his hunters in
England. The “wine cellar” is a shelf in the mud wall furnished with one
decanter and three other bottles. The wines are for his friends. He does
not take any.

As we sat in this hovel, comparatively speaking, smoking cigarettes over
a cup of tea, Captain Brocklebank leaned back in his folding chair and
remarked laughingly, “I really don’t know why I am here.”

“Nor does anybody else,” was my rejoinder. “I assume because you like it.”

“Yes, that’s the explanation, I suppose.”

“But how came you to give up the Army, and then the interesting
occupation of the political branch of the Northern Nigerian Government?”

“Well, there did not seem much in humdrum soldiering. I might have
reached command of my regiment, but there appeared to be nothing beyond.
And with all its engrossing interest, the civil department in Northern
Nigeria was a little monotonous.”

“You wanted greater freedom?”

“Not quite that—opportunities for initiative. I felt that I wished to do
something, to be going ahead, and going by my own efforts.”

“Being your own master, as the phrase is?”

“Yes and no. I had not the slightest ground for complaint of any kind
against the policy I was a humble unit in helping to carry on, nor
against my colleagues, with whom I have always been on the best of terms.
I simply wanted to do something fresh, and chance brought me here.”

“Neither you nor your present associates regret the connection?”

The reply was a smile, followed by “I think not.”

“Are you likely to remain?”

“Oh, certainly, unless there is an unexpected upheaval.”

“That was not your original plan?”

“Quite so. I commenced by nibbling; now I have my teeth fairly locked in
a grip of the things; and I have no inclination to lose them. I am going
on.”

In a compound near by Captain Brocklebank had 20 horses; his personal
property. I asked whether they were kept for pleasure or for business
purposes, and the answer was “For either, or rather for both.” The cost
of feeding such a stud by one who bought his guinea-corn in the fat
period of the year is small. If his friends wish to borrow a horse for a
day or so they can have it. If there is enquiry for something the London
and Kano Company have not but which is worth getting, Captain Brocklebank
sends half-a-dozen mounted messengers in as many directions to try and
secure it. If anybody desires to purchase a horse he is pretty sure to
see one at his figure among the batch; and if anyone desires to sell,
then the Captain is ever a buyer. An animal more or less makes little
odds.

The acquisition of a man of this kind by the London and Kano Company
is of value beyond words. Well-to-do and helping the concern with “the
sinews of war,” he can assist in a commercial fight at every step. He
has already reaped largely in the new sphere opened by the railway.
Greatly liked by both the official element and the representatives of
the merchants, he can probably do business easier than one of less
ingratiating manners, and, being a principal in the firm, he can promptly
say yea or nay to a proposition of any magnitude. A man of his education,
means, family connection, and social status is surely the equal, to say
the least of it, of anybody else in Kano Province, which shows still
more clearly the absurdity of looking down on the commercial class as
something beneath notice, or only to be noticed in curt, frigid form and
sternly ignored in every other way.

CHAPTER X

KANO CITY

Kano City seen from a distance of a couple of miles presents no special
features to the eye. It is practically indistinguishable from the
surrounding country, which is flat and sparsely wooded. Fields of tall
guinea-corn and clusters of trees screen the houses of the town. In their
midst, however, two oblong hills, side by side, with flat tops, stand
against the sky-line. That to the left, looking westward, is named Goron
Dutsi, and the one to the right Dalla. On this hill the founder of the
city is said to have lived more than 1,000 years ago. He, Berbushay,
legend credits with having killed an elephant single-handed with his
spear and carried the carcase on his head to a spot near his house. The
place where the burden was put down became Kano, and Berbushay was its
first Chief. He was not so ambitious as the rulers of the Balkan States
to-day and did not aspire to the kingly title. That was assumed by one
David, forerunner of the several conquerors of Kano. His success had been
foretold a generation earlier by Berbushay, who apparently besides being
a mighty hunter was also a bit of a prophet.

Nearer approach to Kano discloses an encircling wall, with tall date-palm
trees standing sentinel-like. A closer examination shows the wall to have
a thickness of 40 feet at its lowest part, and to run to a height of 50
feet. The top has half-circles, at the backs of which bow-and-arrow men
could shoot with ease, and elsewhere this opportunity for defence is
varied by mud compartments—as hard as stone—fashioned into the top of
the wall where men could stand and use muskets through loopholes in the
solid wall. A deep ditch lies in front of the wall, which has thirteen
gates for entrance. The road to each gate narrows, with heavy, low side
walls, so that an attacking party would be crowded into a small space,
allowing few to press forward together. Several of the gates were further
protected by the wall turning at an angle outwards, allowing missiles to
be poured on the flank of an advance party.

Inside this Kano, less than eleven years ago, a slave market flourished,
although the country was then a British Protectorate, and out of these
gates there issued forth from time to time the then Emir and his
thousands of mounted spearmen, setting out on slave-hunting expeditions,
cheered by the loud-sounding drums and trumpets, and encouraged by the
cries of the women-folk, who yelled to their lords to bear themselves
well. So the Emir’s following rode on, raiding tracts of territory,
carrying off the women and children, slaughtering male adults with never
a second thought. When the dwellers in a village had wind of the coming
onslaught and hid themselves, the raiders burnt the houses and crops to
the ground, leaving the people to perish by exposure and starvation. Thus
was the land being depopulated. In 50 years it had been decreased to less
than a fifth.

In 1900 organised raids on a large scale, to keep up the supply of
slaves, were brazenly carried on by the Emir of Bida and the Emir
of Kontagora, almost within sight of the British administrative
headquarters—then at Jebba—where the High Commissioner, Sir Frederick
Lugard, sat impotent. It was as much as he could do to maintain his hold
on the Provinces occupied, for the large contingent of troops—1,200—he
had to supply for the Ashanti War had left Northern Nigeria helpless to
stop the murder, plunder, and slave-hunting that was taking place from
the north.

With the return of the native soldiers the subsidiary Emirs were dealt
with separately, but Kano, the political centre, the strong place of
Hausaland, stood out defiantly. Sir Frederick Lugard tried persuasion,
for he realised that his resources were not on a scale to tackle the
great fortress city of Kano unless at much risk.

The wall ran to a circumference of just over 11 miles, and the town had
means of maintaining those within it indefinitely. Herds of cattle and
sheep, and wide grazing grounds for raising more, acres on which were
grown corn and wheat, gave a supply of food far in excess of requirements
and made a siege, even were an army available for an investment, a futile
proceeding.

Could Sir Frederick but bring the Emir to a peaceful frame of mind
tremendous dangers would be avoided. But the Emir treated all overtures
with contumely or open defiance and provocation. Still, the High
Commissioner cultivated patience. An unsuccessful attack on Kano would be
immediately followed by a rising of the most powerful Moslem Provinces.
Some who had made their submission were suspect, and others were merely
waiting to see whether Kano, to which their eyes were turned, and on
which their hopes rested, would be able to defy the new Power which had
established itself in the southern Provinces.

An event took place which brought the situation to a climax. The
Magasi—Viceroy—of Keffi murdered a British Resident with his own hands
and fled to Kano. The Emir challenged the High Commissioner, not only
by giving the murderer refuge but by providing him with a house and
according him the place of honour on the Emir’s right hand in royal and
public processions.

That was in 1902, and if there were any remaining doubts of the
sentiments of the Emir they were swept away by his organising an
expedition and marching at the head of it to attack the British garrison
at Zaria, only 90 miles to the south, in November of the same year.
Perhaps fortunately for us, the Emir and his armies turned back, on
word reaching him that the Emir of Katsena refused to be drawn into
the enterprise. But possibly others might, especially if they saw
the now defiant, truculent Emir of Kano not only flouting the High
Commissioner but actually taking steps to overrun a Province in which
his representatives had been accepted and over which the British flag
flew. Unless the whole country was to remain in a condition of ferment,
unrest and apprehension, clearly there was only one course for the High
Commissioner, and that was to strike, if he could. He determined to make
the attempt.

As many troops as could be collected—as could be spared from other
parts—were assembled at Zaria. They were exclusively Protectorate
soldiers, for quickness in delivering the blow was a great factor
towards the chance of success. The force was made up of 550 infantry,
101 mounted infantry, 71 artillerymen with 475 mm. guns and 4 Maxims,
and the following Europeans: 24 officers, 2 doctors, 12 non-commissioned
officers. Colonel Morland, D.S.O., was in command.

On the night of February 2 the column camped at the Shallawa River, 6
miles from Kano and next morning advanced on Kano, leaving the carriers
in a zariba guarded by 2 officers and 75 men.

First an attempt was made to blow in the Dukawayia Gate, but it was so
constructed that the guns could not be placed where their projectiles
would strike. Then the guns were turned on the mud wall, in the endeavour
to break it down or make a breach. The shells had absolutely no effect.
Though of mud, the great thickness of the wall, baked by the sun’s rays
to the hardness of stone, remained intact.

The position was not a comforting one, in fact it was distinctly bad, for
unless the city was taken, and taken quickly, the besiegers were likely
to find themselves in the position of being besieged or of retiring, with
Kano immensely enhanced in prestige by having driven off the English. The
result would undoubtedly have been a general rebellion over the entire
northern Provinces of the Protectorate, and possibly in the southern
ones as well. Colonel Morland saw the impossibility of carrying the
Dukawayia Gate and at the same time was impressed with the necessity of
fulfilling Sir Frederick Lugard’s plan. The town must be taken.

Although several of the gates had been built in the manner of the
Dukawayia, the mounted infantry, which was commanded by Major Porter,
reconnoitered and discovered a gate, the Kukabuga, where a gun could be
trained without the gunners being under fire from the walls. A move was
made to that point, the gate quickly breached, and a storming party, led
by Lieutenants Dyer and Gascoyne and Sergeant Lefanu, rushed through.
On a broad, open space a short distance ahead a large body of horsemen
carrying spears were preparing to charge. A gun which was at the heels
of the leading troops was quickly brought into action and a single
shell discharged into the mass of horsemen scattered them. They never
re-formed. The enemy manning the wall were easily driven off. As Colonel
Morland’s column moved into the city the defenders broke up and all real
resistance had ended. There was some slight fighting on entry being made
into the Emir’s Palace. That was all.

The Emir had gone to Sokoto previous to the arrival of the British,
taking 2,000 mounted fighting men with him. The force he had left to
defend the city now streamed out with the intention of joining him. They
were directed to surrender their arms, and, not doing so, Colonel Morland
ordered them to be broken up, which was done by the mounted infantry.

Colonel Morland and his staff took up quarters in the Emir’s Palace,
and so readily was the new order of things accepted by the inhabitants
that a few hours later British officers were strolling about the streets,
unattended, sightseeing. The very next day the market resumed most of
its activities, and within three days from the entry was again in full
swing, with a notable omission: the slave section had disappeared. The
Headmen of the people were invited by Sir Frederick Lugard to elect the
new Emir. Selection fell on the Wombai, the deposed Emir’s brother, who
had counselled him to submit to the British. He is on the throne to-day.

[Illustration: SIR FREDERICK LUGARD, D.S.O.

First Governor of Northern Nigeria and now Governor-General of Nigerias
Southern and Northern.

[_Photo by Elliott & Fry._]

CHAPTER XI

KANO CITY—(_continued_)

Houses and rents—From 1s. 6d. to £5 a year—Mud mansions—No. 1
Kano—When to build and repair—Advice on building—A contract and
a surprise.

The residential parts of Kano are made up of irregular square mud houses,
most of them with slightly domed flat roofs. That is the prevailing form
of architecture. There are some round ones having thatched tops and a few
made altogether from that material. They belong to the poor. The style is
not favoured by reason of the danger from fire. The Emir allows the more
flimsy product on an understanding that it be replaced by mud as soon as
the worldly prospects of the dwellers warrant the improvement.

There is no private landlordism—or rather, according to the law, there
is supposed to be none—in Kano. The State, in the person of the Emir,
owns the ground. It is not his individually; it belongs to the people; he
regulates occupation.

A ground rent is fixed according to the space covered by the
compound—which may contain several buildings—at the fraction of a penny
per square foot annually. This does not work out at an extravagant sum
according to our ideas. You can, as a native of Northern Nigeria—none
others are allowed to be occupiers—obtain a house if it be vacant or
ground to build one at a rental of 1s. 6d. a year. These dwellings are
not exactly palatial mansions.

The scale of rents rises by a few pence to 3s. 6d., at which quite a
desirable residence may be secured. My very good friend Adamu Ch’Kardi,
a man greatly respected by all classes, from the Emir to the beggars in
the streets, pays 3s. 6d. a year, and as 34 persons live in his house
and its annexe, and as Adamu is not a person to be content with piggish
surroundings, the house will be estimated as pretty large. Those who
desire to keep up greater style have full opportunity. Rents go as high
as £1 a year or even £2, £3, £4, or £5, which is the scale for a palace
with a large surrounding garden. The Prime Minister occupies a house of
the kind in the corresponding Belgrave Square of Kano.

Though there are 30,000 inhabitants, streets are not named, but each
house has a number. I do not know the top numerals; all my observations
and investigations were made without official local assistance. Adamu’s
house is 4,032, and I have seen 6,249. So, whilst in the Cantonment at
Zungeru you may live up to number 8 Zungeru—if I remember rightly that
is the highest—here your address might be 6,242 Kano. I happened to pass
number 1 and took a photograph of it. It struck me as distinctive—no. 1
Kano. But there was nothing distinctive about the house. The occupier’s 9
olive branches came outside for the picture, but neither is that quantity
of youngsters distinctive for a proud father in these parts.

[Illustration: HOUSES IN KANO CITY.

The cheapest type of house. Rent, 1/6 a year.

A detached dwelling. Rent, 1/9 a year. (See page 93.)]

The population is to some extent a floating one. Many persons stay in
Kano a matter of weeks or months, then journey eastwards or north for a
similar period, alternating from Kano to the centres of commerce in the
interior of Africa and on the shore of the Mediterranean. Certain of the
Arab merchants keep their own houses in Kano. Others are boarded and
lodged for a stipulated amount. The more general arrangement is for a man
to be put up at no settled sum. He agrees to pay his host 1s. from each
£5 worth of goods sold, and the host helps the guest by making enquiries
respecting requirements in quarters where he will have better and more
intimate knowledge than the stranger within the gates.

The mud habitation is characteristic of Hausaland. Persons in Europe may
think of them as thin, weak structures, run up in a few hours and liable
to be blown to bits by a strong wind. Nothing of the sort. A mud house
which you folks at home would look upon as a mere hut, properly made may
be the ideal form of domicile, away from the perfectly-constructed stone
bungalow with scientific ventilation—punkahs, air-fans, etc., etc.—and
electric light. And I am not at all sure that I do not prefer the mud
dwelling. The principal advantage of the former is that a continuous
draught clears winged insects, an exasperating torment when writing
continuously. In the course of the last few weeks, days and nights have
been passed in four mud houses each of which differed from the others.
Two of them were as comfortable as one could wish to be, much more so
than the ordinary house in England during the extremes of summer or
winter.

But the mud house, as I have said, must be properly built. There is a
right and a wrong way, as in most things. They know the correct way in
Kano. The time to erect your mud house is at the end of the wet season,
when there is an abundance of water in the ponds and lakes of the city
and the ground is soft, for you can obtain ample material gratis. But it
must not be taken from the street; fields are set apart for the purpose,
and there people draw supplies.

Bit by bit the walls are raised, the outcome of each day’s work being
plastered by hand into that of the preceding ones, and before the last
layer has been laid on, the whole will be still susceptible to thumb
pressure. Completed, the building is left to dry in the undiluted blaze
of the burning African sun, which bakes all into the hardness of brick.

The wet season certainly puts mud houses to severe trial, and those of
the jerry-built order sometimes succumb. Even the strongest, having walls
two or three feet thick, have to be repaired and patched after continuous
rain—as it rains in Northern Nigeria—and the time for general exterior
overhauling is also at the close of the wet season, if the threatened
habitation will stand so long.

Mud houses are quite common for Europeans near Kano City; in fact, with
the exception of brick bungalows in the official element quarter, all
whites have that type of dwelling. Part of this chapter has been written
in one of recent erection which had not gone through the months of
hardening process. It looked substantial enough, with its 24-inch stout
walls, circular, from a distance resembling a Martello tower. One might
have believed it to be proof against any soaking. Five hours of much
less than the standard tornado had caused a steady run of mud to drop
with ominous sound on various parts of the floor. The wooden gutters that
projected horizontally had been undermined and fallen, and the top of the
wall on which they had rested was being steadily and in rather liquid
form deposited around me. Still, the very centre of the room was, so
far, clear of direct descent; and splashes of dirt, though persistently
maintained, are a mere nothing in this country. Presently the owner of
the house came in to warn me that I had better stop writing and move my
bedding and boxes into his store. In his opinion it was not unlikely
the walls would collapse. As he did not seem quite certain on the point
I said I would chance it and remain. A journalist who desires to send
an expected contribution to his paper must not be over-particular about
falling walls around him. Nothing on this earth is so important to his
mind as the thought that he must not miss the mail. So I rattled on.

[Illustration: HOUSE IN KANO CITY.

Rent, 2/6 a year.]

[Illustration: NO. 1 KANO.

The houses in the City are numbered to facilitate taxation. (See page
93.)]

Presently one of my boys ran in dripping, his face—as much as a black
skin can be—pale. He gasped, “Massa, the wall he be fit for fall!” and at
the same moment the friend who had placed the house at my disposal came
and begged me in emphatic language not to make a fool of myself and to
clear at once. I did, for the next worst thing to not doing his duty to
his paper is for a Special Correspondent to get killed in trying to do it
extra well. Sure enough, seen from outside, the thick wall had cracked
from top to earth and the perpendicular had distinctly shifted from its
original alignment.

The larger houses, in or out of Kano City, are not home-made. There
is a recognised trade of builders. If you are ordering a house do not
fix the price by contract. You will probably be able, especially if you
pride yourself on your astuteness, to beat the builder’s estimate down
to almost any figure you care to push it, but refrain from reflecting
afterwards that you are an exceedingly clever fellow who has prevented
somebody from making a fair profit, which you have saved for yourself.
The builder will make the profit he calculated from the first. Your
house, or rather you, will be the loser.

It is infinitely better to pay the contractor so much a day, or per week,
as long as he and his assistants are building. He will certainly keep
the job going as long as he can; it may run into months where days would
easily cover from start to finish, but if you keep visiting the busy bees
you can be satisfied that more and more is being added to the house, and
when you feel content that it suffices for your purpose you cry out,
“Hold! Enough!”

Should you, however, decide for a contract payment, be careful that it is
comprehensive. Contracts are not sealed, signed, and settled portentous
documents. They are verbal and made in the presence of an interpreter.
What wonder that where Europeans are concerned misunderstandings arise,
and naturally nobody is more surprised at them than the bland, ingenuous
builder. He made sure everything was so perfectly clear.

I knew a European who contracted to have a house built, of course outside
the city. He would leave no backway to any individual to get the better
of him, so he carefully stipulated for every detail, and emphasised them
all. He went to bed content that he had made a good bargain. No other
Englishman, he was sure, had concluded so cute an agreement.

The walls grew, and as they did—the requisite thickness never
lessening—his complacency rose in corresponding degree. The agreed height
was reached, and the builder asked for payment.

“Pay you!” cried the indignant recipient of the request; “certainly not;
not until the job is finished.”

“It is finished,” was the polite retort.

“Finished! How can it be finished with no roof? Put on the cement roof I
said I wanted and you can have your money.”

“Oh,” explained the builder through the interpreter, “the cement roof is
another man’s work. Putting on a roof is never understood to be in our
agreement. It is quite separate.”

The householder withheld payment, and on the dispute coming before the
Resident’s Court—the tribunal which tries cases in which a white is
complainant or defendant—the decision, based on local custom, was that
the builder was right and that the other must pay.

CHAPTER XII

KANO MARKET

Kano market is famed throughout Africa. To it pilgrims of commerce come
east, north and a hundred and more directions between these points of the
compass. It is said to be the largest market in the world, but a man who
has also been to Timbuktu tells me that it is four times the size of Kano
and has four times as many people frequenting it. Kano, however, need not
bury its diminished head. If there be another Richmond in the field Kano
shall not feel ashamed.

Various calculations have been made of the number of persons who
congregate there on the busiest days of the week; 7,000, 8,000 have been
figures given. I put it higher and estimate the crowds at 10,000 to
12,000 and one who probably knows Kano in this respect better than any
other individual agrees with my rough-and-ready census.

What African cosmopolitan crowds they are! Not merely Fulanis, Hausas and
Nupés, but Turegs—who gave the French so much trouble—Ansim men, Arabs
from every part of North Africa on the Mediterranean—Tripoli, Morocco
and Tunis—Arabs of every degree of colour, coal black to skins as white
and clear as that of an English girl.

Fine-looking men most of them, and finely clothed: turbans of cambric
and turbans of gold-like embroidered cloth. Vests—resembling an army
officer’s mess jacket—also of embroidered cloth, the edges set with
valuable lace of rare make and exquisite quality. Beneath the full robe
of white, blue or other colour, trousers on which fancy work of many
designs have been wrought. Each of these garments costs a matter of
sovereigns. I have handled vests for which the owners paid £7 each.

See these gaily-bedecked Arab magnates mounted. The native saddle with
curved-up back displays the skill of yet another craftsman; saddle
cloth of brilliant and varied hues—scarlet to yellow—girth straps
picked out with designs woven in silver. Bridle and head-collar hidden
behind tassels and hanging cords bearing more tints than the rainbow
when the sun shines brilliantly after a summer shower. The running,
horse-attendant completes the picture of men of affluence who omit
nothing the absence of which would detract from their rank and dignity.

No Zaki salute—on the knees and with head to the ground—comes from these
men. Meeting you when they are mounted, they may—one in a 100—raise the
right hand from the elbow—tantamount to taking off the hat in Continental
Europe—or, passing you on foot, they may, in the same proportion, render
a slight token of military salute. As a rule they give no sign beyond a
side scrutiny, as one does at an unusual visitor from another country
They convey to you that they know too much of the world to look upon
you—you and each of you—as a great leader, a chief, a Zaki.

They are not as the Moslem who has never been out of Hausaland and who
knows you only by the prowess and governing ability of your countrymen
there. These cosmopolitan Arabs appraise differently. They tell you, by
looks, that chance has given you the upper hand. So be it. They care not.
Let them go on with their trading and they are utterly cold as to who
rules. There is no common, fellow-feeling between these men and those
among whom they move. No feeling of patriotism unites them. There is a
link, however, stronger, more potent, one that would draw as a magnet
millions of Moslems in Africa and beyond. It is their religion. Let us
beware.

You may not like these Arab merchants from the north and from the east.
You may regard them as prepared to trade in anything for gain. You may
believe them to have been the moving spirit of the former slave-hunting
days. But they are picturesque, and if you are not satiated with
sightseeing you must turn and look at them.

These Arabs, who are principally from Morocco, from Algeria and from
Tripoli, bring European goods—wools, cloths, beads, scents—and take back
chiefly skins and ostrich feathers. They formerly came, and some still
do, by camel caravan from the north, traversing the sandy wastes of the
Sahara. The journey occupies 6 months in the wet season and 4 months in
the dry.

[Illustration: EX-SERGT.-MAJOR DOWDU.

A Beri-Beri from Bornu.]

[Illustration: AN ARAB MERCHANT

Who trades from the shores of the Mediterranean to Kano. (See page 101.)]

It was inevitable that the extension of the railway from Lagos would draw
the life out of the desert route. This process of travel is dying of
inanition. It might still have lasted years, for trading was to be done
en route and people naturally conservative in habit do not readily change
their methods. But the Morocco trouble and the Tripoli war have given the
desert route the happy despatch. It is already practically dead. Healthy
commerce and warfare cannot exist together, and the desert route has been
abandoned by the majority of the Arab traders.

They are coming and going by the sea service from Europe to Lagos or
Forcados and thence either by train all the way from the former port or
from the latter one by boat up the Niger to Baro and then by rail to
Kano. These plans have been accompanied by other advantages, for the
continental goods previously brought by the Arabs from the Mediterranean
ports have to a considerable extent been replaced by British
manufactures. Moreover, several of the Arab merchants are establishing
branches in Manchester and Liverpool. If they can obtain in England
the articles wanted the men will not incur the expense of going to the
Continent to buy.

The Arabs from North and from Central Africa form a very small proportion
of the crowds in Kano market. How are these crowds to be described?
Not at all, unless at tabulated length. Buyers and sellers come in
from districts 100 miles away and intermediately. There are markets
and markets, near and far, large and small, and Kano is the hub, the
receiving and the distributing centre of them all. Sokoto, Katsina,
and their surrounding districts send horses and cattle. Villages near
weave cloth, plait straw into mats, basins and a dozen other forms, and
place the article in Kano market. Kano itself and a wide radius around
supply hides and skins, and Kano tans and dyes them. It is the combined
Lancashire and London of West Central Africa; manufactures and the
centre of exchange. But there are no large factories. Tanning, dyeing,
weaving, the basket industry, leather work, all and much else are done by
individual families or by men employing half-a-dozen employees.

Do not conclude that Kano market is only for big transactions. You can
buy anything there, from flocks and herds to native-grown cotton, ginned
or unginned, or less than a handful of ground-nuts—known in English fruit
shops as monkey-nuts—for a few cowries, of which 280 are the local rate
of exchange for a penny.

Arts and crafts flourish in Kano market. Yes, arts and crafts
essentially. Note the skill of the fancy leather worker: satchels
of many kinds; long, flat purses wherein a double compartment slips
perpendicularly into another—a favourite form of keeping money or
documents—slippers and covered sandals of brightly-dyed leather carrying
devices in still brighter contrast; cushion covers looking as though a
dozen chess-boards had been interwoven; large and small bags; whips and
many other articles fancily formed of leather, and strips of it decorate
spurs and anything where art or ornament can be used with effect. Nothing
is more noticeable than the riding boots reaching above the knees and
bearing in front brilliant figuring fit for a Claude Duval.

There is the wood carver, handling a small, crude blade and fashioning on
calabashes, large and small, curves and lines and flowers, symmetrically
shaped and arranged, and selling the whole thing, according to the size
of the vessel, for 1d., 2d., 3d., or 4d.

In the blacksmith’s shop only implements of utility are being produced,
principally the hoe, which, used by hand, takes the place of our plough
in forming a furrow for planting. It consists of a short handle—about 18
to 24 inches—and a small shovel blade set at right angle at the end.

Although not made in the market, there you may see knives and swords
of diverse quality, always encased in a leather sheath. The knives,
which are of the dagger type, are mostly worn for show. A common way of
carrying is at the elbow, the lower part of wearer’s arm passing through
a broad ring of leather. Swords nowadays are not regarded as to be drawn
for offensive or defensive purposes. But every gentleman of quality wears
one. And in Hausaland a gentleman of quality may be a man of poverty with
his robe in rags. For ordinary walks abroad the sword will be held by a
length of lamp wick or several strips of discoloured linen passing over
the shoulder. On State occasions—for processions of the Emir—the sling
will be wool, plaited to thick tubular form, the ends finished by large
tassels. Green, yellow, red are the colours of slings, some combining the
three.

These swords are remarkable evidence of the ability of the metal workers.
The blades are occasionally made from high quality steel previously used
in a similar capacity, but most have been iron which bound packing-cases,
and to this iron is added odd bits of other iron—nails or whatever of
the kind comes to hand—the whole welded by hand hammering.

It is astonishing to take some of these swords and, placing the point in
the ground, bend them to a half-circle, so finely tempered has the metal
been brought by the simple process. The handles are dulled and set with
pieces of brass cut from used cartridge-cases and fitted artistically.
The leather scabbards are also daintily picked out with small corners of
the same metal alternating with polished tin. The swords range in price
from 1s. 6d. to 35s.

A number of used cartridge cases will be hammer-beaten by hand into one
sheet which is made into a fairly deep dish to hold food or the takings
at a stall.

The locksmith’s stall has ordinary shaped padlocks of iron, copied from
European patterns and commonplace in make and finish. At this stall I
bought a couple of native-made padlocks—all that were in stock—very rough
in shape but, I think, quite unique in form. Each was an oblong box,
and at an end a screw, having a ring top, was wound. When the screw was
inserted and turned to the left it went along the threads, closed the
bolt and came out: it was the key. When the screw was again inserted and
turned righthandwards it released the bolt and returned.

Native-grown cotton can be seen being drawn into thread by hand, and
although, as just stated, most of the straw work—flat, dish-shape and
baskets with covers, like a lady’s house receptacle for needles, cotton,
thimbles, etc.—is done in the outlying villages, men and women are also
practising the industry in the market.

Guinea corn is another feature of the market, though little is to be
seen. Sales of large quantities mostly take place with the article
stored. Outlying markets, however, send supplies to Kano, where at
present more than 10 times the quantity available would be bought as food
for labourers on the tin fields.

The Government at Zungeru has recognised the situation, and a few
days ago I met by chance my old friend, Mr J. E. Selander, lately
Engineer-in-Charge of Construction of the Jebba-Zungeru section of the
railway, who since August, when the line was handed over as completed,
has been detailed to make a survey for motor roads in various parts of
Kano Province.

Most valuable of all would be one from Katsina, about 120 miles
north-west of Kano. Katsina is a great centre for horses, cattle and
grain produce. Motor roads would be practicable for 9 months in the year,
and impossible only during the heavy rains. The country is flat, with
no necessity for bridging. Cost of labour should be low, about 1d. a
day per man, and when the road was finished motor lorries could be run
in conjunction with the train service from Kano. Transportation from
railhead to many of the tin fields could be made easy for mechanical
means.

Just off the centre of the market is an Alkali’s Court, placed there
specially to adjudicate on quarrels arising on the spot. Persons get to
loggerheads over some deal. There is no long-drawn wrangle and subsequent
exchange of solicitors’ letters followed by briefing of counsel. The
parties and their overlooking witnesses, with the evidence fresh and
red-hot, simply step across to the Alkali’s Court and he judges and
settles the dispute out of hand. It is justice whilst you wait.

We turn to the cattle section of the market. There are camels, bullocks,
sheep, donkeys and goats. Horses stand in an adjoining street. Few camels
are bought and sold. Ansim, near Lake Chad, seems to be the country for
that business; £7 each is the average price at Kano. A bullock fat for
the butcher is worth £4, whilst his brother to be used for transport, in
nearly every case with panniers, will realise from 35s. to 45s. The price
of sheep has a longer scale, comparatively, than any other animal. The
value is from 3s. 6d. to 18s. each. Goats are sold from 3s. to 4s. 6d.
each.

A donkey figures at an average of 30s., which is double the price of a
few years ago, due to the demand for transport to and from the tin fields.

A horse, or rather pony, useful for riding is worth £5. An animal of
corresponding kind in England would change owners for from £15 to £25. A
polo pony should be obtained in Kano for something between £8 and £12.
The English figure is £40 to £60. Kano is not a horse-breeding district.
Sokoto and Katsina are the principal districts whence they come. Kano is
the chief market for that stock.

The horses are generally small, I should say, from 13½ hands to 15 hands.
One of 17 hands towers over nearly all it will pass in the course of a
month. The animals have not the stamina of the British horse and are
slower. They are entire. An experiment was made to have 17 geldings in
the mounted infantry, but the animals proved dull and spiritless and
were discarded as useless.

[Illustration: THE MAGISTRATE’S COURT IN THE MARKET.

His Worship is on the steps. (See page 107.)]

[Illustration: A DETACHMENT OF THE EMIR’S POLICE.

(See page 68.)]

Horses are unshod and mercifully their tails are not cut short, for flies
around Kano are a perpetual torment to man and beast. The rest-house (!)
in which I was sentenced to live, but to which I did not go, would have
been a torture in that respect. It stood in a field near where herds of
cattle passed accompanied by swarms of winged insects. An ideal place,
truly, to put anybody who was writing hours daily. Knowing what I now do
of Kano ways, it is just what might have been looked for from one quarter.

The bit used by natives is similar to that seen in North Africa and
other Arab towns. The pace of the horse is checked by the rein bearing
on the bit, as a person would press a lever, the action causing the bit
to press on the palate, and as the iron bar has two prongs which rise as
the rein is tightened, the result is extremely painful. At times blood
will trickle from the animals’ mouths, the palate having been pierced by
the prongs on the bit bar. It is right to say that this bleeding will
occasionally be caused by champing and not by misuse.

Horses ridden by natives are, as a rule, never thoroughly groomed.
They are given a rub down about once a week. I have heard that once a
year represents a nearer estimate on the period when the operation is
performed.

Of course, horses belonging to Englishmen have the pattern bit in use at
home, and the doki boy—as the groom is styled, doki being horse in Hausa
language—is soon initiated into the use of curry-comb and brush. The
weekly cost of having a horse is small: 3s. for guinea corn and 3s. 6d.
the doki boy’s wages.

The pain from the native bit is nothing to the unutterable suffering
endured by camels and donkeys engaged in bringing loads to Kano City
and taking them thence to places around. It is too terrible for words
to express adequately one’s sense of shame and anger that such a state
of things should exist. I am given to understand that the folks at the
Residency are so frightfully busy, but I do wish the Resident would
find a few minutes to make representations to the Emir. I am certain an
immediate improvement could be brought about and probably a permanently
better condition effected in the course of a few months.

Camels have large patches of flesh raw and open and on these places the
wooden saddle holding heavy packages will rest. At times the blood can be
seen running from under it, as fresh skin is rubbed off. When the load
remains on the beast for a long journey the heat of the body will dry the
liquid part and a sore forms which becomes glued to the load. When this
is taken off strips of flesh are torn away and into these exposed parts
stinging and other flies cluster in swarms. As the animals have the packs
removed from their backs the cries and groans go to one’s heart. It is
awful.

One of the worst sights I saw was that of a camel with flesh exposed and
festering for about 6 inches long and 2 inches wide between the eyes
and the nostrils, and the whole of this skin-bare flesh was practically
covered with flies, which the beast was unable to shake off, as it was
tied to a string of other camels. A pennyworth of shea butter mixed
with minesam would have kept the insects away effectively. I do most
earnestly plead to the British Resident at Kano to have such distressing
occurrences remedied.

A man from Lagos up at Kano was with me when a file of camels were
approaching their destination. He rubbed his hands gleefully. “This is
quite Eastern,” he exclaimed, as the animals swung along towards us.

Presently they were halted and made to go down and then was commenced the
unloading. The beasts wailed piteously.

The visitor asked me, “Why do they make this painful, crying noise?”

I said nothing, clenching my teeth.

As the loads were removed and the bleeding flesh exposed my friend said,
“Good God! This is terrible. Now I am sorry I came.” He turned away. The
sight was more than he could bear.

The poor, patient little donkeys also suffer shockingly. No notice
is taken by most natives of sore backs and flanks when placing loads
pannier fashion, so heavy that a donkey may have difficulty to walk,
and when standing puts its legs wider apart to prevent the topheaviness
overbalancing.

Oh! how I wish the King and Queen, with their solicitude for all
sufferers, human and animal, would go to Kano. If they saw one thousandth
part of what I witnessed I am certain a new era would open for the silent
victims of the brute creation in this part of the world.

A more pleasant topic is that of the people of Kano.

CHAPTER XIII

KANO MARKET AND CITY

Deference to the Englishman—A sagacious policy—Administration
of justice—An Alkali’s judgment—The native Treasury—Kano
municipality—Money matters.

Reference has been made to the Arab merchants. They, however, constitute
only a small number of the multitude who frequent the market and the
adjoining streets. You will see them at their stalls or continually
passing along in the afternoon, the thoroughfares crowded with them:
Fulanis, Hausas, Nupés, Beri-Beris, male and female, many carrying in
hands or on head cotton goods, native and imported, for sale. It is a
busy multitude and few there are not intent on business.

The men are tall and bear themselves well, in turban and robe wide and
ample, of blue or plain white or white figured with green or whatever
may be the decorative colour. Respectful, nearly every one of them. They
invariably give the salute which is regarded as due to the Englishman in
Northern Nigeria: removal of sandals and kneeling on the ground, though,
of course, where persons are thickly gathered only the semblance of the
compliment can be performed.

[Illustration: A CORNER OF KANO MARKET.

Note the Stocks. (See page 112.)]

[Illustration: A SECTION OF THE MARKET WITH OPEN-AIR STALLS.

(See page 104.)]

Where instead of the turban a kind of white fez is worn, as is frequently
the case with young men, it is lifted in courteous salute. An Englishman
may well feel proud whilst walking in the streets of Kano, not because
his vanity is ministered to by the repeated deference, but that he may
reflect and remember the courageous pioneers of only a dozen years ago
who with resources improvised in the country won the land for Great
Britain and placed the name of Englishmen highest in the land.

Going through the streets the white man is gazed at as an unusual sight,
but the people did not look at me with more interest than I at them,
wondering how we, a mere handful, overthrew their rulers and the large
armies of mounted, trained fighting-men and captured their strong towns.
However, one need not wonder long. Knowledge of contemporary events gives
the answer. Still more to admire—for, after all, conquering is only a
feat of arms—is the sagacity which produced the policy in full operation
to-day, that of the people ruled by those whom they have selected, and
rulers and people thoroughly co-operating with the governing Power in
administering the affairs of the country. History furnishes no example
where that has been done with anything like the same material in a
similar period.

A peculiar thing struck me in connection with this general salutation. In
Zungeru, esteeming the excellent feeling shown by the native population
to the English, I was told I would find it still better in Kano. That
is just what I did not find. In Kano City, yes, and, to an extent, at
the despised British traders’ stores, but the nearer one goes to the
Residency quarter the less general is the salute given an Englishman.
Apparently, estimating from such signs and tokens, he is respected most
in the native area. Strange, this.

Not alone the city but the entire Province of Kano is ruled by the Emir,
who appoints native Judges, and from him subsidiary Chiefs and village
Headmen, through Chiefs of districts, take instructions and render
reports. We rule through the native rulers, the leaders of the people. A
very brief survey of its operation in Kano City may not be out of place.

The entire administration of justice has been placed in native hands,
except where a European is involved. The Alkali, as the Judge is called,
decides cases civil and criminal, framing his decisions on custom and
usage based on the Koranic law. That, purged as it has been of corruption
and inhumanity, is approved by the population, who are overwhelmingly
Mohamedan, as being right and just, much more than would any application
of English forms and methods. The Alkali is paid a fixed salary from the
public Treasury and no longer, as formerly, has a share of the monetary
penalties exacted.

Moreover, although acting under the general administration of the Emir,
the Alkali is irremovable, as Judges are in England. These features of
a regularly-paid, ample salary and fixity of office give the Alkali—and
other Alkalis as well—an independence of judgment uninfluenced by
temptation of bribery. The Governor can, of course, remove an Alkali,
and though there is no formal appeal from an Alkali’s Court, which at
Kano is empowered to deliver death sentence in a case of murder, all the
decisions can be altered by the Resident or revised by the English Chief
Justice attached to the Governor’s headquarter staff.

[Illustration: AN ENTRANCE TO THE COURTYARD OF THE EMIR’S PALACE.]

[Illustration: THE PRINCIPAL MOSQUE.]

Judicial and administrative functions are separate. The Alkali decides
punishment and the Emir’s officers carry it out, just as in England,
though Nigeria practice is the outcome of native usage.

A single decision of the Alkali is selected as an example. A young
constable complained that his wife—who looked his senior by several
years—entrusted with some cattle for sale had appropriated the proceeds
and transferred her affections to another married man with whom she had
dissipated the money claimed by her rightful lord. The woman admitted the
action but put in as defence that what she had sold had been purchased
with her own earnings and was her individual belonging. She proved that
to the Alkali, who thereupon dismissed the charge of theft but held that
if the woman did not promptly return to her husband the new domestic
partner she had taken unto herself must monetarily recompense the
original one for the loss of connubial felicity and to the extent of the
wedding portion he paid for the angel on the hearth, minus a proportion
for the years of married life.

The Married Women’s Property Act may not be embodied in clauses and
sections; statutes of Parliament are not codified and docketed;
jurisprudence is not packed in dusty volumes, one contradicting another;
but the principles of justice and common-sense, blended with the outlook
of the people on what is right and proper and fair, mark the judgments of
the men set up to decide among them.

Assessment and collection of taxes have been explained in Chapter VII.
I went to the Beit-el-Mal and saw the accumulated revenue in boxes
holding copper and nickel penny coins, bags of guinea corn—taxes paid in
kind—neatly piled and stored to be sold at suitable opportunity—and boxes
containing silver coins, which were interned in an inner chamber, locked
and dark.

Hanging up ready for inspection at any moment by those empowered to
examine were satchels in which had been put counterfoil receipts,
all numbered and in regulated order, and suspended near was the book
specifying what should be in the building and the general total. The
descriptions were written in Hausa, but with Roman characters and
figures. The intelligent Fulani and Hausa people have been trained by
British officials to modify their former system to this extent.

I was also formally invited by the Resident to accompany the Acting
Governor of the Protectorate on his visit to the native prison and on
that occasion peeped round the corner inside for a few seconds. Though
I believe the prison is excellently kept, I should have liked to have
gone more privately when there would have been opportunity for asking
questions.

Quite a different place, outside the city, which I should also have
been glad to look over was the school for Mallamai (Mohamedan scholars)
and Chief’s sons at Nassarawa. But for some reason the aid to general
investigation at Kano, which I had a right to expect, was proffered in
such a way that nobody with self-respect could use it, and having to
set about seeing things by other means, so much time was occupied that
the Nassarawa school was one of the places which had to be cut from the
programme. The establishment is based on the lines of that at Bo, Sierra
Leone, which was copied from the one in French Senegal.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL COURTS OF JUSTICE.

(See page 114.)]

[Illustration: THE NATIVE TREASURY, KNOWN AS THE BEIT-EL-MAL.

(See page 115.)]

Besides the central, native Government, Kano City has also a rough form
of municipality. It is divided into wards, each under a Wardmaster,
responsible to the Emir. The streets are kept scrupulously clean from
refuse. That must be placed in stated spots and is removed daily.

As a matter of fact, there is little. The people waste nothing that can
by any possibility be utilised. Cattle are killed in the open market by
the Mohamedan priest, and nearly every part goes to a useful purpose:
some of the internals are made into strings for musical instruments and
from the bones praying beads and other articles are fashioned. Small
portions of offal thrown in the appointed places are disputed for by
ownerless dogs who wander about and by vultures.

Do not shudder at the word vulture and conjure up scenes of battle and
men dead and dying. The vulture is quite a useful institution here.
In the compound where I live two will perform the office of minor
scavengers. So much are the birds esteemed that you kill one at a penalty
of £5.

Even the clearings where cattle stand is removed by arrangement with the
city authorities by persons who buy it either to use in the preparation
of cloth dyes or for field manure.

To persons going up to Kano—or, for the matter of that, to any part
of Northern Nigeria—small money will be a considerable convenience
and probably saving. No gold coins circulate although legal tender. A
two-shilling piece is rare. If a shilling is given in the market-place
for a purchase, more likely than not that the stallkeeper will have
to ask several of his neighbours to change it. The threepenny bit and
pennies and halfpennies are best for one’s exchequer. The “dash”—i.e.,
tip—is not the disease it has grown to be in Sierra Leone and Lagos, but
tangible recognition of little services rendered is not wasted at Kano,
any more than it is elsewhere. Visitors may, however, be reminded that a
“dash” is not looked for in Northern Nigeria to the extent it is in Coast
towns.

For everyday transactions nothing equals the threepenny bit for
convenience. It is preferred by sellers. A good supply should be brought
up from the bank at Lagos or Forcados. I am now in possession of my
second £10 worth. Persons must not rely on obtaining the coin to any
extent here nor on the way.

Of £25 drawn from the Bank of British West Africa at Zaria, no threepenny
bits could be spared for that amount, £50 being the minimum with which
they were given and then only to the extent of 2½ per cent. of the sum
drawn. I could be given no more than £1 in sixpences, the remaining £24
was in shillings. Both the Manager, Mr Fenn, and the Cashier, Mr Cameron,
are always willing to accommodate clients as much as possible, but
request for smallest money and for nickel pieces are so many that a scale
of proportions has to regulate drawings.

[Illustration: A STREET IN KANO.]

[Illustration: DOCTOR’S SHOP IN THE MARKET.]

CHAPTER XIV

SOME ASPECTS OF SOCIAL LIFE

Wives of men not well-to-do have stalls in public places, peddle or
trade by travelling fairly long distances. When the women are their own
capitalists the money earned is by no means handed over to the husband.
He, too, must work and pay towards the housekeeping. Women of the Hausa
and kindred tribes have decided wills of their own. The profits from
their trading go to maintain aged relatives or to obtain for themselves
cloths and other articles of adornment which the husband’s wages will not
procure.

Wives of what may be styled the upper-class do not trade. Nor do they
perform housework. That is done by hired servants or by domestic slaves.
These wives are not kept in seclusion, but they seldom go out of the
compound adjoining the husband’s house except on Fridays—the Mohamedan
Sabbath—and then only to visit intimate female friends.

Although many women have affixed to the head, suspended round the neck
or attached to the arm little leather cases containing selections from
the Koran, unless advanced in years, they do not attend a mosque for
prayers. Their religious worship is fulfilled at home. Why only elderly
ladies at the mosque? Because, say the Mallamai—teachers; literally, wise
men—presence of the younger feminine element would be likely to deflect
the thoughts of the male portion of the congregation from the sacred
purpose for which they go to a mosque.

Polygamy is general, as with all Mohamedans. Among the native friends
made in the course of the journey I count Abigah one of the most
illuminating on domestic problems. Abigah’s father, also that name, is
King of Lokoja. Abigah junior speaks English fluently. For 12 years
he was an attentive pupil at the Church Missionary Society school at
Lokoja, becoming a teacher there in secular subjects. Outside the school
strong pressure was put upon him by an official then high in the public
service of the Protectorate to forswear Mohamedanism. Immediate reward
and alluring prospects were offered. The young man was firm. He would
not, as he expressed himself to me, “be false to the faith of my people.”
He is now at full manhood, and, like all his brothers, has been sent by
the father to learn the world in the best manner of tuition, namely, by
having to earn a livelihood away from home.

[Illustration: A HAUSA BELLE.]

[Illustration: HAUSA WOMAN TRADER.

Her clothes are silk and her rings silver.]

Abigah junior has two wives. Now, there are tribes much lower in the
scale of civilisation than the Mohamedans of Northern Nigeria when the
more wives a man has the prouder each of them is to be one, as the
larger the number the greater the husband’s importance. They are not
reciprocally jealous. It is different with the Fulani, the Hausa, the
Beri-Beri and cognate folk. A man has to be both tactful and firm to
maintain peace in the domestic circle. Abigah told me he determined to
start with that object in view, and therefore directly he put on double
matrimonial harness he informed his spouses, in kindly but decisive
tones, “Remember, there must be no wrangling. If either of you want to
quarrel, quarrel with me.” His admonition has been effective.

In the higher castes wives do not sit at meals with the husband, though
in some cases they cook for him. It would not be considered dignified
for him to be seen by them eating. The food is carried to him by a
male servant. Where wives are on good terms together the husband’s
cooking is done co-operatively. When strained relations make that course
impracticable, wives take in turns culinary duty two or three days each.

“Never,” Abigah warned me, “tell one she is a better cook than the other
in the hearing of that other.”

“Why?” I innocently asked.

“Because,” he replied, “there is nothing so likely to make a woman
bad-tempered and spiteful to her own sex than being inferentially
belittled by praise of someone she knows well.”

At times Abigah has to leave on business for weeks. He takes one wife. I
enquired, “But is there no rivalry as to which shall be with you?”

“Oh, yes,” he exclaimed, “and I manage it in this way. For several days
previous to going I am very soothing to the one to be left, reminding
her she is to go next and promising to bring her a present of a fine
piece of cloth.”

“You keep your promise?”

“Certainly.”

“Does the wife who has been your companion regard your company as
preferable to a length of cloth?”

“Well,” said Abigah, confidentially, “I give her a little present, too;
something small, so as to make matters as nearly equal as possible to
both. Never,” he added, advising as though I were about to plunge into
polygamy, “let any wife believe you like another better. Make each think
she is _the_ one.” A domestic diplomat is Abigah.

Reference has just been made to domestic slaves. As the subject may
not be fully understood at home a short explanation is offered. Under
British suzerainty the capture of any person as a slave, as well as sale,
exchange or gift of a slave have been prohibited; and all children born
of slave parents after the promulgation of that declaration were to be
free. It may be asked by worthy individuals at home, who only England
know, why Great Britain should assent to the status of slavery in any
shape or degree?

[Illustration: ABIGAH (SEATED) AND HIS TWO WIVES.

(See page 120.)]

[Illustration: TUREG TRADERS FROM LAKE CHAD.

They are reformed robbers. (See page 100.)]

The answer is, first, that in Northern Nigeria slavery was a recognised
and integral part of the social organism, and had an enactment been put
into effect that all slaves were forthwith at liberty to discard control
there would have been crowds of workless, loafing gangs roaming over the
country, a misery to themselves and a danger to peaceable, industrious
inhabitants. Secondly, such an enactment would have brought to ruin many
rich and middle-class families whose herds, farms, and businesses were
carried on by slaves.

That would inevitably have created an uprising which local troops would
not have resisted. Even had England herself found money to remunerate
owners, the first-mentioned peril would have occurred and the entire
basis of society and commerce thrown out of gear.

What the British Governors did, in addition to what has been stated,
was to get the Emirs to agree that any slave might claim his freedom by
payment to the master. The roads, the railway and other public works
then being put in hand by means of the grant-in-aid from Imperial funds
enabled a slave by exertion of his muscle to gain the wherewithal for
complete independence.

The method was a simple one. He would go to an Alkali’s Court and make
his desire known. The Alkali gave a certificate which enabled the man to
move without restraint and at the same time intimated the position to the
department under which the man wished to serve. The department deducted
in weekly amounts from the man’s earnings the recoupment to his former
master, which was remitted through the Alkali.

The fact should not be overlooked that domestic slavery—i.e., slaves born
in a household and remaining there with parents—is a very different thing
to the barbarous raiding, with its attendant bloodshed, which was in full
swing previous to British influence making itself felt.

Even in the earlier period a man could be prosecuted for ill-treating a
slave, who by law was entitled to food, housing, care in sickness and
release from all control for several days in the year. That the practice
of domestic slavery did not bear hardly is shown by the large number who
voluntarily remained, notwithstanding the facilities for independent
employment. There is generally mutual trust and confidence between
master and domestic slaves. It is not unusual for the former to supply
the latter with goods for trading and to send him or her on a journey
of several days’ duration. On returning and handing over the takings
the slave will be given a proportion of the profits. Were slavery the
servitude which some folks view it, nothing would be easier than the
oppressed to go off with sufficient endowment of the master’s property to
give a sound start in an unreined career.

CHAPTER XV

THE MISSIONARY QUESTION

Missions and Moslems—Strong comments—Bearings of the
situation—Present practice—The British solemn promise—The
alternative.

I should have preferred passing over the question of religion in
connection with politics, but the matter is of supreme importance in
Nigeria and therefore I shall not mince words in dealing with the subject.

An English friend in Nigeria has sent me a copy of the _Birmingham Weekly
Post_ in which a letter appeared from a missionary, stating, apropos
of the prohibition of conversionist activity among the Moslems of Kano
Province:

“... It will now be generally known that the Government have
shown themselves in their true colours, and not only England
but the whole Christian world will now see that the English
Government in Africa, Egypt and West Africa especially is
distinctly anti-Christian and pro-Mohamedan. In all the
large towns in Northern Nigeria schools are to be opened by
the Government, in which Mohamedanism is to be taught and
fostered. We hear, too, that in Bauchi the Pagan tribes are
being put under Mohamedan Emirs, which practically means that
the Government intend to force Mohamedanism on the Pagans and
compel their law Courts to be based on Mohamedan law.”

My friend has asked me to write him what I think of the communication.
As I have no time for private correspondence I sent a postcard saying,
as comment on the missionary testimony, “The 9th Commandment.” It is
distressing to find a gentleman who is a teacher of religion and an
exponent of ethics delivering himself of half-truths mixed with facts in
a way to give an entirely wrong impression.[2]

Let the public at home understand the situation in all its bearings.
Mohamedanism may sit lightly on a section of the population, but once
allow the idea to take root with the inhabitants that this faith of
theirs is being menaced and you produce the cohesive influence which will
bind the population together in a resisting, very likely an aggressive,
mass. Now the Government does no more than leave the people and their
religion alone.

There is perfect freedom of thought and practice. The native clerks and
artisans from Sierra Leone, the Gold Coast and Lagos who are Christians
can, and do, have their churches and chapels and worship as they please.
To admit active propagandist methods in such a Moslem centre as Kano
would be tantamount to waving a lighted torch in a magazine.

Do not speak of its being done tactfully and without ruffling the
susceptibilities of a population ever suspicious of interference with
its national faith, the faith on which its laws are based. Picture the
result of projecting among such a population a fanatic of the type of
some missionaries. No doubt their intentions are good enough. These
intentions put into practice at Kano would pave the way to making it
correspond to a place the way to which, a proverb says, is also paved
with good intentions.

Further, a solemn promise would be violated by allowing missionaries in
Kano against the expressed wish of the native rulers, who are opposed to
the intrusion on the ground that it would be a danger to peace. When Sir
Frederick Lugard formally extended the authority of Great Britain over
the territory he pledged his word that no interference should ensue to
the religion of the people.

It shows a total absence of knowledge of local circumstances to argue
that there is no interference by allowing missionaries to come in, the
native being free to listen or not, as he desired. The native of Northern
Nigeria looks upon every Englishman as above himself, as one to whom he
must listen and obey. A missionary would be regarded by many in the same
light, but the strain on the loyalty of others—of the great majority of
the leaders and thinkers—would be too great. They would likely resent it
with as much fanaticism as that which the missionary advocate shows in
his epistolary fighting, with this difference, we should realise in their
case that the sword was a more practical protest than the pen.

Of course, if the British nation is prepared to impose missionaries
on its Moslem fellow-subjects of Kano against the advice of every
disinterested native and European whose word is worth anything—opinion
I found unanimous, even among devout Churchmen—then do so; but count the
cost. You will need a considerable force of white troops permanently
stationed in a distant tropical land where preservation of health is a
serious thought for each European living there. You must have the little
army in a country where at present it is not necessary to maintain a
single white soldier, except for a term as instructor to native troops.
If the British public are prepared for all this and the attendant danger,
to please those who agree with the gentleman whose letter was published,
by all means do it. But count the cost.

There are a number of other aspects of life in and around Kano upon which
a great deal could be written, but a message is to hand stating that the
long-expected transport carriers from Rahama to the Bauchi Plateau will
be ready by the time I arrive at the former spot.

[Illustration: “ZAKI! ZAKI!”

Natives giving the usual salutation to a white man.]

[Illustration: RESPECT TO THE AGED IS SHOWN BY REMOVING THE SHOES AND
CURTSEYING.]

I must not, however, close this chapter without short acknowledgment of
assistance I have received here from two men among several others. If I
were to mention at every place the courtesy and aid received I should
have to tabulate a list and give the names of almost all with whom I
came into repeated contact. At Kano, however, the early difficulties
in being in a position to acquire full information were as unexpected
as they have been exceptional. The task has been fulfilled, thanks in
particular to Mr. W. P. Byrd, Agent of the Niger Company, and Captain J.
J. Brocklebank, of the London and Kano Trading Company. The facilities
for moving about which they gave me, especially Mr. Byrd in that respect,
and the channels of information which I was enabled to reach by the
help of both allowed me to carry out my duty almost as well as if I had
gone forth arrayed in local, exalted patronage. My indebtedness for much
interesting knowledge is also due to my excellent native friends, Adamu
Ch’Kardi, of Kano, and to Suly, of Fuggi, the adjoining village. With
sincere regret I take leave of them and of others whom I frequently met.

CHAPTER XVI

THE BAUCHI LIGHT RAILWAY

Going down the railway from Kano the traveller opens his eyes widely at
Zaria Station. At Kano there is no platform and no station. Time had not
been sufficient to build either. Passengers climb into the train from the
rails. For 90 miles southwards—to Zaria—the same conditions exist, with
this difference, that there are not so many people to see the engine and
carriages and their human freight as at the terminus. At Kano a small
corrugated iron shed for the telegraph instruments, a mud house for the
office, and a board indicating the place are all that mark the spot. You
thoroughly realise you are in a country only recently opened.

But, arriving at Zaria, instead of a single track there are seven wide
gauge—3 feet 6 inches—four narrow gauge—2 feet 6 inches—tracks and
commodious engine sheds, a large building being put up to warehouse the
increasing quantities of tin which the Government expects from the tin
fields.

White railway officials hurry hither and thither with an air of bustle,
hustle and business, and, most striking of all at first sight, a station
with an upper story for the administration staff. As you look nearer you
notice that the roof is merely of iron and that the ornamented woodwork
appears somewhat crude in its first coating of green paint. But, coming
from where there are none of these adjuncts, the general appearance of
Zaria Station is imposing, and, although tiny by comparison, the thought
occurs of Euston, Paddington or Waterloo. Men coming upwards from the
Coast may not be impressed by these things, for they have recently been
where larger dimensions rule.

Bound for Bauchi, at Zaria Station the traveller takes the first turning
to the right, literally so, as he walks from one side to the other of the
island platform for the continuation of his journey. But the continued
progress is not quite so promptly accomplished as may be imagined from
this description.

The boat train from Lagos, which should leave on the previous Friday
evening, is due at Zaria 11 a.m. on Tuesdays. The traveller must wait
till next morning, as it is not possible to transfer luggage, etc., from
the boat train to the one going to the foot of the Bauchi Plateau in time
to reach that destination the same day, and, as the Bauchi line is fresh
and unballasted, the service cannot safely be carried on during darkness.
The night is therefore spent in a rest-house, for which a charge of 2s.
is made. Next morning at 7 a.m., the train starts from Zaria Station for
Rahama, turning eastwards and forming an angle to the main line.

I will not work myself into a state of uncontrollable excitement and
frenzy over the Bauchi Light Railway having been laid down a narrower
gauge than the line of which it is a branch, nor will I belch forth fire
and fury, in the shape of epithets of stupidity and ignorance, against
whoever decided on the gauge. I will content myself with saying that it
would have been better to have had the uniform gauge and thus avoid the
delay and expense of breaking bulk on transfer. The line was laid down
at a time of emergency and was largely an experiment, for then the exact
direction of the main tin deposits had not been determined. The prime
object was to have rail transport for the tin as quickly as possible and
for as long a distance as the £200,000 given by the Home Government would
cover.

There is no need to weep and wail and tear one’s hair about the thing,
for it is merely temporary. Embankment and bridges have been built to
take the wider gauge and the rolling stock is easily convertible to use
on that measurement.

You in England, as many do here, may laugh at this little line, which
needs a day to traverse 88¼ miles, sometimes not doing it in that period.
You may call it ironically, as people do here, the Bauchi Express or the
Bauchi Flyer, but I must admit I was never so thrilled at any mechanical
means of traction, never so impressed by any trial trip of a gigantic
ocean liner, never so moved by participating in the initial run of a
train at home embodying some new feature intended to make the public
admire, I was never so thrilled by any one of such many departures in
which I have taken part as I was when the train started round the iron
curve from Zaria for Rahama.

One must indeed possess a dulled imagination not to have one’s feelings
stirred by contemplation of this line running through quite new country
where it seems but yesterday a white man had scarcely trod. Who can go
over this line and omit to think of John Eaglesome and his staff for
having given them in the course of a few months means of transportation
on a course where everybody is feverishly eager to get to his destination
at the earliest possible moment, for nowhere more than in mineral
prospecting is time, every minute of it, money.

You may rate me too ecstatic. But trek 90 miles along unmade paths in the
extreme hot season or in the excessively wet season. Then say what you
would give for a railway lift from starting-point to finish.

The first 14½ miles of rails are second-hand. They are taken from the
old tramway which ran from Barijuko, on the Kaduna River, to Zungeru
previous to the advent of the Lagos Railway. The remaining 5½ miles of
rails of the tramway are being used for the trollies which take the
refuse from Zungeru every morning. The old tramway station is re-erected
as the central market shed in Zungeru native village. That is the way
they administer in Northern Nigeria. Nothing is wasted. Lugard had left
when that was done, but his spirit and methods remained. Complaints are
heard in England of extravagance and wastefulness by public departments.
I wonder whether the appointment of Sir Frederick Lugard to control the
spending departments in London would effect a remedy.

Passengers on the Bauchi Light Railway have a plain van with a sliding
door the height of the coach. A van serves for two men, who must bring
chairs and, in case of the train being detained overnight en route,
beds, and also make their own arrangements for cooking. The demand for
accommodation frequently exceeds the supply; and that men be not delayed,
the traffic staff provides a similar van but one usually used for goods.
Such a van will not have the cooling, protecting matchboard under the
iron roof, and persons using a van of that kind should therefore remember
that a helmet, or at least some headcovering, is a wise provision against
sun troubles.

Vans have a small compartment at each end for native servants, but there
are no stoves. Should, however, there be a delay during the journey,
passengers’ cooks get out and kindle a fire on or near the track. That
is the chance for a hot meal. There are seven stations: Awai, Soba,
Duchi-n-Wai (for the Berrida and neighbouring tin mines), Karre, Kudara
(for the Wassaku Concessions), Worroko and Rahama.

The first 10 miles passed are open, flat country, having slight bush,
with sections here and there under cultivation for guinea corn. Near
Awai, 17 miles from Zaria, can be seen the remains of a walled town.
The wall, now quite thin, has been worn away by the weather to a few
feet in height, broken and irregular at top, and within it thick trees
of many years’ growth and wild grass demonstrate that where thousands
of souls lived and where their children might be dwelling to-day has
been destroyed utterly, the dead fruit of fierce tribal warfare. A few
straw, circular huts belong to recent comers who are tilling bits of the
desolate city.

At 10 o’clock, whilst at Soba Station, word came that the heavy rain of
the night had caused a washout of the line some miles ahead. Questions
were asked whether we should have to tramp the remaining distance to
Rahama. “Oh, no; it would only mean a stay of about four hours.”

Now, you folks at home, delayed at a tiny village station would probably
exhaust the interest of the place in a few minutes and relieve the tedium
of waiting by gloomy maledictions or settle down to fitful and impatient
reading. Not so out here. We are all philosophers at such trifles.
We know that a day’s set programme may at any moment be completely
upset by the elements. One of the passengers, Mr D. Bannerman, of the
Northern Nigeria (Bauchi) Tin Mines, complacently unlocked his gun case,
shouldered a rifle and, accompanied by a little party, sallied forth in
the bush to look for sport and perchance bring something fresh back for
the dinner pot, arranging with the engine-driver that a long loud whistle
should notify that telegraphic word had come that that washout was near
being remedied. Mr Bannerman was back well before a start was made, at
2.45.

Thirty-five miles from Zaria the Duchi-n-Wai hills loom in front, only
the tips of them, above the dark green of trees, now much closer, which
on both sides have closed in the view to a mile or so. They soon give way
left and right to fields less freely timbered, with an occasional acre
bearing guinea corn.

It had been clear when we left Soba that the journey could not be
completed that day, so on reaching Duchi-n-Wai, at 4.15, a stop was made
for the night. Cooks cut wood for fires from trees near and commenced
preparations for dinner.

With two camp-beds up and mosquito curtains there is not much room for
other furniture in a van. Folding chairs and tables are therefore brought
and put on the rails, and along the side of the train they are ranged,
each with its hurricane lamp amidst plates and dishes.

The native servants make their fires the other side of the train, sit
round them and join together in song, sleeping on the ground, in the
open, which they prefer to inside the carriages.

Six o’clock next morning another start was made. At Bibin, between the 60
and 61 miles’ boards, high, rocky hills are within a few hundred yards
of the line. As the engine stops for water and you glance backwards, it
looks as though the train had entered a very narrow opening. In front
is a similar view. Going out of this gorge there is again grassy plains
studded with trees.

We had left Kudara Station, 66 miles from Zaria, and were thinking of
an easy, plain spin for the rest of the journey, when occurred a sudden
severe jolting, the more pronounced as the sleepers are of metal and not
covered by gravel: we were derailed. There was just a semblance of panic
among some of the passengers and one rather excitedly jumped from the
train. We had been going round a curve and doing it slowly, at 6 miles an
hour, so there was not much danger of being upset. The train was quickly
stopped. The driver gave the double whistle which is a distress signal
and tells all who know railway language that there is a mishap.

It happened that near by was the hut of Mr Robert Brown, Bridging
Foreman, who had gone in to read a letter from his wife, in England,
which the train had dropped a few minutes earlier. Running out and seeing
what had occurred he had a trolly put on the line and sent word to the
temporary workshed at Kudara Station for hydraulic jacks and other
implements. The double whistle had also brought hurrying to the spot
Richard Brown, driver of a ballast train a quarter-of-a-mile away. Never
have I seen men work with more energy than these two and the driver of
the train, J. Swainson, did on that tropically hot morning. Swainson had
ordinary jacks on the engine, and a start was made with them. Of the
seven coaches, three had been derailed, each 26 feet long and weighing
about 8 tons.

Everyone who has duties keeping him in this country speaks some Hausa.
It is especially necessary for persons who are in constant direction
of natives. A large gang at work on construction—for the line is not
nearly finished, and is only open unofficially for the convenience and
assistance of transport to and from the tin fields—had been summoned and
Robert Brown disclosed his linguistic acquirement as his men ran to and
fro at his orders.

But there are some words for which the Hausa tongue has no equivalent,
and these words have become incorporated in their pristine freshness into
local vocabularies. Thus, it sounded amusing to hear, “Kow jack; Muzza
muzza.” (“Bring the jack, quickly, quickly.”) Sharply also were called
the orders to “Kow crowbar,” “Kow slewing bar” and “Kow” half-a-dozen
other things given their English names.

By the exertions of the two Browns and Swainson (who had all along been
obliging in every way he could to the passengers) the three derailed
coaches were lifted back on the rails, and in an hour-and-a-half from the
time of the accident the train was again running. As it moved off we gave
a hearty cheer for the Browns and for Swainson.

No further incidents marked the trip.

At 88 miles the train glides round a headland, and a little in front
there are several straw huts and a crowd of figures—there have been
scarcely any at the intermediate stations—diminutive in the distance
but distinct, white-robed, indicating that that is Rahama; and in a few
minutes the train pulls up in a shallow cutting which is the present
railhead.

You climb up from the track by steps cut into the clayey earth, and
shortly after rain it is all a chance whether you maintain your balance
whilst making the ascent. Having got to the higher ground you are at the
jumping-off point for trekking.

[Illustration: THE RELIGION OF THE MOHAMEDAN FORBIDS THE USE OF SOAP, AS
IT CONTAINS FAT.

Shaving is therefore done with the aid of water only.]

[Illustration: SPECIMEN OF THE BARBER’S ART.]

CHAPTER XVII

AT RAHAMA RAILHEAD

Engaging carriers—How to facilitate getting away—Hausa horse
coupers and political economy—Bullock transport—Donkey
carriage—The man who belies a fable.

At Rahama one says good-bye to the railway. Henceforth locomotion must be
of the animal or the human kind. The whole of the transport onwards is
in the hands of the Niger Company, and everybody who desires to progress
must go there.

Perhaps I should not say “must.” All are free to make their own
arrangements, but it will be found impossible to engage carriers direct,
for every man-Jack available is constantly employed by the Niger Company,
who could do with hundreds, if not thousands, more. Had the Company, or
someone else, not organised transport there would have been such scramble
and chaos in the endeavour to get carriers for the tin fields that the
Government would have been compelled to itself organise the service, for
the confusion would have been intolerable. As matters are, everything
goes much easier and is a great deal more reliable than if carriers were
hired casually.

The Niger Company is sharply, even bitterly, criticised for the time
occupied in goods reaching consignees in the tin fields’ area. The fact
should be remembered and counted as an element of consideration that
not only is the country new but that the tin-mining industry has come
unexpectedly and with a rush and no public or private concern in the land
which is actively involved can cope with the mountain of requirements
which have arisen. Railways, roads—where there were not so much as bush
paths—and transfer of thousands of men from one occupation to another are
not evolved in a day, or a year, by the mere want of them. They cannot
be produced by a Governor’s proclamation, the most potent document in
Northern Nigeria. They take time; and attempts to do things too hastily,
regardless of special local difficulties, mean courting a complete
breakdown.

Decidedly it would not do for men to come to railhead and bid against
one another for carriers. That would mean the individual with the
longest purse would always be first, and the cost to everyone would
be more than it is. If the Niger Company at Rahama is advised well in
advance of a person’s wants he is seldom, if ever, kept waiting. Goods
cannot be forwarded at once. A man and his immediate belongings are. Of
course, people must not expect 300 carriers apiece. The plan is to allow
sufficient for personal requirements—I think 30 carriers to an individual
is the present limit—and an ample margin beyond. Engaging and taking away
a large number of carriers might be a trick to keep other persons back.

Above everything, I am informed, is it necessary to let the officer in
charge at Rahama know as long as possible in advance. Whilst I was there
a man who had not given previous notice of his requirements offered to
pay more than anybody else, and was willing to put the money down on the
spot, if he could be immediately supplied with carriers. His offer was
declined. The transport officer acted on the principle of the Company,
that having taken in hand persons’ needs it was morally bound to comply
with them, as though there had been a contract. It seems to me that the
work at Rahama is regulated by a sense of responsibility and fairness.

In obtaining a pony for trekking there is a broader choice. It can be
bought from or through the Niger Company or purchased direct from a
dealer in Rahama Town, near by. I should not advise the latter way. The
horse dealer here is not far removed in instinct from his counterpart in
England. He takes stock of his client and acts accordingly. “He savvy
plenty he be Bako Bature”—“He recognises that the buyer is a stranger
white man,” as a Hausa interpreter expressed the situation to me—and
therefore fair game. Although the horse merchant has not been a deep or
diligent student of the works of Adam Smith and John Stuart Mill, and
probably cannot read or write a word in any language, he estimates to a
nicety the extreme doctrine of political economy, and nobody knows better
how to hold the market and shape his bargains after that preliminary.

A horse for which £12 is asked in Rahama Town can be bought through the
Niger Company for £8, 10s. I will not give my own experience as it might
be thought I was favoured. I will relate two cases of fellow-passengers
which came under my notice, as each showed me his mount for an opinion.
One went direct to a Rahama dealer and paid £8, 5s. for an object on four
legs, which, poor beast, seemed inured against the persuasion of reins
or whip Another passenger had from the Niger Company a black Katsena
pony—next to the Pagan horse, the best type for trekking in a country of
broken roads and stone-stepping spruits—at £8.

One must not expect at Rahama a fiery, untamed, prancing Arab. Untamed,
possibly yes; more probably, utterly broken in spirit and with a mouth as
firm as granite. No novice need fear getting on top, and if he does roll
off there is not far to fall, for the average height appears to be from
12 to 14 hands.

Should a horse be wanted for settled use in the country it ought to be
obtained at Zaria or Kano, the latter greatly for preference.

A further word of advice. Bring saddle and bridle from England. Any for
sale here are immediately snapped up. Owing to the competition a man
will likely have to pay more for an English bridle and saddle falling to
pieces than the cost of a new one at home plus the expense of carriage
out.

The Niger Company bullock transport for the tin fields keeps 150 animals
going, worked when necessary in teams of 16. Thirty oxen will draw 12
two-wheeled carts of half-a-ton carrying capacity at an average speed
of 10 to 12 miles a day. The men who drive were taken over from the old
cart transport between Zungeru and Kano, instituted by Sir Frederick
Lugard previous to the railway being laid. The training on the road was
done by drivers from India, many of whom had passed through the military
transport service there, to which no doubt is to be traced some of the
words used. The bullocks shamble off hearing “Tashi!” the Hausa word for
“Start!” and stop at the sound of “Halt!”

Besides bullock carts and wagons, donkeys are also used in the dry
season for the tin fields’ work, not in traction but in pannier style.
They are cheaper than human carriers. A donkey will take the load of
two of them, and one man—the owner of the animals hired—looks after
three. The donkeys have not to be supplied with provender. They fend for
themselves on the march, feeding on the dry stalk of the guinea corn—in
some cases an inch in diameter—after the ear has been garnered.

The Rahama branch of the Niger Company is in charge of Mr Percy Garrard,
who had Government experience in South Africa, East Africa and India.
His post is far from being an enviable one, especially on the arrival
of a train, when perhaps several men who have given no notice of their
coming want to be horsed, equipped with carriers and away in a twinkling.
Though his position is one where many of us would turn savagely on folks
harassing us to death, or at least to distraction, Mr Garrard does
nothing of the sort. He just does the best he can for everybody, giving
precedence for those for whom he has prepared and fitting up the others
as quickly as he is able. He works rapidly, as he must or he would be
overwhelmed by the continuous stream of matters claiming attention.

He is one of the most remarkable individuals to be met with in Northern
Nigeria. Not alone that he is incessantly occupied, doing things at
lightning speed and yet never becomes flurried nor loses his temper,
it seems incredible that the whole of the transport work at Rahama is
directed by him with only one European to assist in the multifarious
duties, which commence at high pressure at 6 a.m., and continue at an
equal rate throughout the day.

Nobody has so many pressing requests from impatient travellers. Everybody
who arrives from the Coast of course wants carriers at once, probably
needs a horse, and, more likely than not, wishes to take with him more
packages than there are carriers to bear them.

All these desires are urged on Mr Garrard, and, naturally, each person
believes his own business to be more urgent than that of anybody else.
The wonderful thing is that Garrard not only tries to please everyone,
but, notwithstanding the tragic fate of he who in fable attempted a
similar result, Garrard succeeds, although it is seldom possible to do
all that is asked. He has an infinite capacity for what is known as
getting on with people. All speak well of him; in fact, that is putting
the position too mildly; they speak of him enthusiastically. A couple of
men who were out for their second year and had been through Rahama four
times said to me, “If you write a book on your travels you should include
Garrard’s photograph. We would cut out the picture and carry it with us,
and whenever we happened to be annoyed at not having forwarded things we
wanted, whilst we were miles away in the bush, we could look at Garrard’s
portrait and that would give us pleasurable recollections and tone down
anger at the delay.”

The offices and stores of the Company are corrugated iron sheets, not
fixed together to form a wall, but merely touching one another, leaning
on bamboo frames and covered by a dried-grass roof. The whole thing is
taken to pieces and carried forward as the railway line advances and is
put together at each new railhead.

Rahama is also the clearing centre outwards. To it, from different
districts, comes tin, which is sent by the Bauchi Light Railway to Zaria,
then transferred to the Baro-Kano Line and taken to Baro, where it is
carried down the River Niger and shipped to England.

CHAPTER XVIII

ON TREK—RAHAMA TO JUGA

Be sure no package exceeds 60 lbs. That is the first thing to govern
preparation for the trek. If parcels are heavier carriers may refuse to
take them. Do not talk about “making” the men do so. You who have had
experience with carriers on the Coast, in other parts of Africa, or in
the Far East, must not think of putting into operation methods which
obtain there. You will find that the natives here are entirely different,
have different ideas, and require different handling. You must begin
learning knowledge of carriers and other labour afresh. That is not the
product of my own philosophy. The words were said by a man who had been
mining all over the world and whose years of observation probably doubled
those of anybody now actively engaged in Northern Nigeria. The carrier
here is, however, one of the best fellows on the face of the globe. He
needs to be understood. That accomplished, you can get him to do anything
in reason. Such is my conclusion and testimony. I am referring to men
who are carriers from choice, not to those taken from other occupation,
more or less against their wish.

Though it is essential your loads shall not exceed 60 lbs. each, to avoid
opening and redistributing the contents of trunks in the open ground
there is no reason to inconvenience yourself by placing more in boxes
than you desire. The golden rule is not to have any above the specified
standard. Below it does not mean increase in the number of carriers. The
procedure at Rahama is this. All packages are set in a line. Mr Garrard
looks at each and quickly weighs them up mentally, testing by lifting.
A load of, say, 20 lbs. is placed with another or more and all securely
tied to equalise every load to about 60 lbs. The carriers do their own
roping, according to the individual manner of bearing a package, which is
on the head.

For the first day an early start is out of the question. A number of
little things have to be done which cannot be effected in advance. Nor
should a long stretch be decided upon for the initial stopping-place.
The men like a near one in order that they may settle down and become
accustomed to their loads before the journey is entered upon in real
earnest. You will lose nothing in the end by humouring these feelings of
the carriers. Give way to them in small things, which do not matter, and
you will be able to have your way in larger ones that do matter.

My packages were paraded in the way prescribed, and the carriers stood
behind them ready for Mr Garrard’s directions. Just then I walked up,
and as soon as it was seen that I was to accompany the party two of the
men showed restiveness and said they did not wish to go. Now, I do not
think I am a very fearsome-looking personage, and I failed to understand
why a glance at me at once deterred otherwise willing workers. It was
subsequently elicited that the two men had previously marched with a
European who had hurried, harried and bullied them, and whilst they were
quite ready to take any load and go anywhere, they desired to do it only
with their fellows. When a party of that kind travels the men usually
do very short distances in the preliminary part and select their own
stopping-places, generally near a market that suits them, but whatever
time be lost by these deviations they are sure to make it up and to
arrive at a destination at the stipulated hour. They merely like to do
things in their own way.

Mr Garrard simply dismissed the gang and called up the next in waiting.
All these carriers working for the Niger Company receive a fixed wage,
with additions for the journeys carried out. I asked whether any
reprimand or punishment would be given to the two refractory carriers.
Mr Garrard replied, not by him. The gang would be put last of those in
waiting and might not be sent out that day. The members of it would,
therefore, lose their “extra,” and those of them who were willing would
be sure to lead the couple of recalcitrant ones to a suitable place and
there administer the measure of their displeasure at being baulked of the
earnings.

The fresh carriers were soon apportioned their loads and streamed away
towards Gidan Gombo, the first stopping-place, 11 miles. They left at 11
a.m. The caravan consists of 20 carriers and a Headman, two doki boys and
three boys for domestic service. The last department is made up of a
steward, a cook and a small boy as general help.

I did not ride out until 4 p.m., staying to write and send off _African
World_ despatches, as after leaving Rahama I would not be near a post
office for at least nine days. Kogini Rahama—Rahama Brook—a narrow river,
had a bridge made of rails and sleepers thrown across it by the railway
survey people, but it had met the fate of many bridges at this season; it
had been broken by the storms and floods. Mr Garrard has an arrangement
with the owner of a canoe to take across any traveller and his carriers
at a charge of 2s.

A few hours previous to my starting heavy rain had fallen, and the first
miles were over ground so slippery for the horse that I found it quicker
to walk. Where the road was firm I rode hard, in the endeavour to get
to Gidan Gombo before dark. Mr Garrard’s own doki boy, who was to bring
a parcel back, came with me, and however quickly I rode he remained
running in front, carrying a rather heavy writing satchel all the time.
(Doki is the Hausa word for horse, and all servants, no matter their age,
are styled boys.) Among those for whom I shall take away a very kindly
feeling, and also one of admiration, is the best type of doki boy.

The portions of greasy road were so long that, following the brief
twilight of the tropics, though darkness had set in by 7 o’clock I was
still jogging along. The doki boy, however, knew the route, and there
was no drawback except that of going over strange ground with no moon.
About a quarter-of-an-hour later there was the unpleasant sound under
these circumstances of breaking water ahead. Nobody had passed us for
some time. During the day it is easy to learn if a stream across the
high road is fordable. Persons coming from the direction on the tramp
have evidently crossed the water, but at night, after a recent downfall,
streams which might have been walked over on stones prior to the deluge
are impassable.

I was nearing the place and debating in mind whether to chance trying
to go over—there seemed no alternative, unless I was either to ride
back and so put twenty miles on the journey, or stay at the spot all
night—when a light swung ahead. A little party from the rest-house had
brought a lantern to obviate the difficulty of crossing and by its light
stepping-stones were clearly visible. The rest-house was only a mile
further on, and into the compound I passed at 7.40.

An example of willingness on the part of good carriers was furnished.
One had been overtaken by a mounted messenger when nearly half-way with
an order to return. He was bearing a steel trunk not less than 60 lbs.,
and awkward to hold. It contained papers which should have been shown at
Rahama. The man turned back, set out again, and although walking alone
and going over the same ground on which I found it not easy to keep a
horse up, and the latter part over which the pony went at a fair pace,
still the carrier, who only had two hours’ start, came in at 8 o’clock,
with no more stimulus than 1s. given at Rahama.

The rest-house compound at Gidan Gombo had within it quite an assemblage
of natives who were tramping to Naraguta district attracted by the
expectation of employment at the tin fields. Not labourers—they sleep
in villages—but Coast mechanics and similar workmen and interpreters. In
a rest-house compound are a number of smaller mud huts for the carriers,
and in these shelters coloured men pass the night. There was a lad among
them said to be son of the former Emir of Kano. If so, the scion of
royalty had been much reduced in position. He—who whether the story be
true or not was evidently of a superior caste—had been servant to Captain
Maclaverty, of Zungeru, and was walking to Naraguta with a friend of the
family—an interpreter—to enter the service of an Englishman there.

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_)

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

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

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

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_)

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.

You may assume that there was nothing more in this than ordinary
politeness, and that anybody would act similarly. I should like to be
able to say so. You may think I make too much of common courtesies and
small hospitalities. Travel across a country such as this and you will
appreciate them, the more by contrast. I suppose a great deal depends
on character and temperament, otherwise there is no understanding the
difference which marks men.

Not long ago I was located in a mud hut which was clean and roomy and in
which I was quite happy. The second night I was informed it was wanted
for someone else—a junior member of the staff of the concern—and although
there was plenty of accommodation for either him or me in other buildings
on the ground, the quarter given me to sleep in was of a kind that, in
preference, I went to the hovel where two of my native servants—the horse
boys—were passing the night, and had the bed brought there.

Of course I could have had the place to myself, but the boys were there
first and had made a fire to keep themselves warm during the cold hours.
Had I turned them out, they could not then have secured further fuel, and
to have gone into a cold hut from a warm one, with their single blanket
apiece, would be dangerous to health.

You may not regard highly the Englishman who puts another into the
position stated, though it be merely a passing traveller. I make no
grievance of the incident, unpleasant as the situation undoubtedly was.
When, therefore, a T. H. Driver appears in the path, with his considerate
heart, too much can scarcely be said for him.

My own case is not the only one I have witnessed. When passing through
Gurum on a previous occasion I saw a man being carried in an invalid’s
hammock towards Rahama. His health had broken. He had been sent home and
was too ill to ride a horse. The bearers stopped a little way from Mr
Driver’s bungalow, and the sick man sat under the shadow of some trees as
a temporary rest from the tiring hammock. I looked on as Mr Driver went
over. He exchanged a few words with the man, who was a stranger, and then
led him across.

The miner had been a burly, strong fellow. Now he was in a shattered
state and could not stand alone. With arm round the poor fellow’s waist
and as tender and gentle as if he had been a girl, Driver helped him
along with slow steps to his own bedroom and bade him lie and rest there
until the midday intensity of the tropical sun had abated. And when
the invalid resumed his journey Driver had given him a proper utensil
for boiling water and thus added to the stranger’s chance of retaining
life whilst in the bush. “Good luck! Drop me a line to say how you are
on reaching the Coast,” were Driver’s parting words. They constitute a
tactful paraphrase of a request to know whether a man has lived to get to
the sea.

I was away from Gurum in the early morning, and we easily arrived at
Raffan Governor, 14 miles, about the time people in England would be
finishing breakfast. There was thus a clear day for writing, and the
carriers would have a good rest, away from the nocturnal attractions of a
large village, for the long march on the morrow.

The carriers were aware that on the last day they had to do the
longest—though, as regards the ground, not the hardest—march since they
had been with me, and there was no trouble in parading them early and
getting away.

Since I previously came over this ground the aspect has altered
considerably. The rain-torn roads, making them into ditches and ridges,
have been repaired and are now smooth enough to have wheeled along them
frail bassinettes. The surface is as level as an ideal sand road. No one
who had not seen would think that it will be washed away to a condition
impassable for wheeled vehicles in a few weeks of the rainy season.

The streams, some impassable after a short storm, are in many cases now
completely dried up. There are a number which would not be recognised
as watercourses. Even rivers as broad as the Thames at Windsor are
sufficiently shallow to be crossed on stepping-stones.

Other signs are to be noted. One sees that one has returned to a caravan
route. Instead of two or three persons met during the day, the 20 feet
wide road has carriers—a file of 30 or small detachments of a larger
party—about every 100 yards.

But carriers, donkeys, and bullock wagons, they all seem so primitive,
the method so ancient. It recalls the Biblical period. One thinks of
mechanical transport; if not the railway, which, with a single train at
its slowest, would whirl along in half-a-day the load which thousands
of carriers need six times as long to transport, then of motor lorries,
a couple capable of doing in a day work that requires 150 men with
head-loads three days. Such lorries are due up a fortnight hence and will
be the first distinct step in utilising the latest product of mechanical
science to supersede the old, human manner.

A pleasant companion for several miles was Mr Speed, a grey-bearded
veteran who had come to Northern Nigeria to judge its value for ranching.
He has seen much of the world. Born in Australia, and a few years ago
associated with mines in Rhodesia, he knows the whole gamut of colonial
life.

He is as enthusiastic over this country as man can possibly be. He
considers it admirable for cattle-raising and for wheat production.
Any question of hazards to health he waves aside. He thinks there is
no reason why Englishmen should not settle permanently on the land, as
they have done elsewhere. He argues that, by reasonable precautions,
danger from the sun’s rays can be avoided. He says they are bad, if not
so strong, in Rhodesia and that there white women and children live and
thrive, though a few years ago it was declared to be fever-ridden and
impossible to any but the hard, inured campaigner.

Why, he asks, should not the present health conditions in the Chartered
Company’s territory be brought about in Northern Nigeria? He affirms
that, as far as he can tell from intense observation, no cause exists to
deter that consummation.

Mr Speed is one of those exceptional cases where an individual ignores
some of the prime safeguards of two kinds against fever. In spite of the
fact that he is much older than is regarded as safe for men to spend more
than a fleeting visit to West Africa, he tells me that he never has a
net to protect him from mosquitoes at night, as such an adjunct on his
bed would prevent him sleeping by impeding free passage of air; and also
that he does not use a filter, merely taking care that drinking water is
simply boiled. That line of conduct with many men would be tantamount to
signing their death warrant.

CHAPTER XXVIII

CLOSE OF THE TREK

I left Mr Speed at the Gidden Gombo rest-house in order that I might
push on to railhead the same day. The distance was only 10 miles and
the carriers quite fresh and fit at this stage. It is surprising what
difference a few miles additional to an ordinary march will effect.
Though my men would, of course, have preferred to have stayed at Gidden
Gombo with Mr Speed’s carriers, they offered not the slightest demur to
going forward; and after stretching themselves on the ground for about 20
minutes they rose willingly and headed their loads with smiles.

There are shirkers and wasters and defaulters among the Hausa carriers,
as there are among bodies of men of lighter colour skin; human nature
does not become perfect, whatever the externals; but treated properly—by
which is meant, with tact, firmness when necessary, and consideration—my
testimony is that the Hausas are as good-tempered a class as can be found
anywhere, and always ready to respond to whatever call is made upon their
endurance.

Do not conclude they are free from frailties and failings found
elsewhere. Justice is, however, the talisman for ruling them, justice
with self-control, never allowing your temper to master you, be the cause
what it may.

This particular gang had been with me nearly four weeks, and it is
scarcely probable that in that period there would not be among themselves
cases of quarrels brought to the white master for settlement or an
occasional act which needed some disciplinary step.

Both were surprisingly few. Only on one occasion was the strong measure
taken of striking a blow. The steward boy, Oje, during a temporary halt
on the road objected to a carrier sitting on a box containing food,
and as the man would not move Oje attempted to draw the box from under
him, whereupon he slapped the boy’s face with such force as to make
him stagger. Oje responded by hitting with a light cane, and then the
carrier—a rather tall fellow—advanced menacingly towards the lad. As he
did, I, who unknowing to them happened to be standing by, stepped forward
and with a single sharp cut from a short riding whip recalled the carrier
to his senses.

A few words of admonition on the cowardice of a big man striking a
little one brought approving cries from the gathered circle, and the man
expressed his regret on the spot. Later he spontaneously apologised to
Oje.

The two horse boys—Kolo and Mama—usually the friends of a common
fraternity, sometimes had mutual monetary dealings. The outcome of a
transaction of that kind—the loan of 3d.—was a dispute. The alleged
debtor, Kolo, asserted he had paid. Persisting in the declaration, Mama
flew into such a rage that, in his exasperation, he tore the other’s
robe. This was clearly wrong, so, to maintain good order, I awarded Kolo
6d. from Mama’s wages, subsequently, in order that Mama might not feel
embittered at the loss, taking care he should do a special service with a
reward of 9d.

After the reconciliation which followed the judgment, and notwithstanding
my reiteration of Polonius’ advice to Laertes, rendered colloquially,
a week later a feud broke out between the same two over the loan of a
penny. The matter was brought for my decision. To have gone into the
question would have incurred very much longer time than could be spared,
so, warning each disputant against a resort to violence—threatening to
have both punished if they fought and to have the one who hit first
thoroughly flogged—I told them that, as the trek would end in a couple of
days, they must take what would possibly be regarded as a local _cause
célèbre_ to the court of the Alkali, the native judge.

The Headman of the carriers, Dan Sokoto, was quite a character, as most
Headmen are. He was a strong contrast to Headman Hanza, with whom I first
set out on trek. Still, I got to like Dan. Rather under the height of
most Hausamen and an age that would be looked upon by them as old, he was
wiry and as alert as the youngest. He did not wear a turban, like the
stately Hanza, but affected a white embroidered linen cap, conical shape,
cocked rakishly to incline to the right eye. His goatee beard he would
stroke whilst he smiled benignly when the steward or the cook asked
for the money which Dan made a point of getting either as a temporary
personal accommodation or to buy for them some extraordinary bargain of
clothing or a sleeping mat from any market we happened to be passing. Dan
was always ready with a reason why the purchase was deferred and why he
should in the meantime retain the money.

His industry was to be admired. Whenever we stopped, whether it be for a
few minutes or as a rest in the course of a long day’s march, out would
come his needle. He plied it incessantly either in making himself nether
garments or in fancy woolwork. At both he acquitted himself well.

Dan started his service badly. I had engaged 20 carriers. Dan turned up
with 22. Asked why the requisite number was exceeded, he answered that
the loads were too heavy to be apportioned to the lesser figure. As he
had not seen them, it was unmistakably an attempt to have more men under
him than I considered necessary. He would no doubt have drawn an illicit
commission from the wages of the couple unwarrantably enrolled.

The superfluous couple were dismissed. Really, made up into about 60-lb.
loads, only 18 men would have been wanted, but going away for a month
from the chance of refilling any vacancy, it was desirable to have two
spare men in case any of the others fell ill. In order that all might
do their share as long as possible, the loads were arranged into 20
divisions.

At the close of the first day’s trek I called Dan Sokoto and told him I
did not at all relish the trick he had tried and that if anything of the
kind occurred again I would send him back and appoint another Headman.

The answer was characteristic. He did not attempt to justify his conduct.
He said he was sorry for what he had done; that he hoped to remain with
me; that if I forgave him I would have no further cause for complaint.
Put in a more blunt way, he meant, “I tried to get the better of you; I
failed. There is no necessity to make a fuss about the thing; let it pass
and allow me to serve you.” So I regarded the matter.

Perhaps I should apologise for making this digression from the narrative,
but progression on trek depends so much on one’s carriers that I thought
these glimpses into their personality and manners might be of interest.

I have mentioned that a few miles added to a normal march will
occasionally mean much more than the distance appears. Though the men
went on from Gidden Gombo buoyantly and light-heartedly, after a couple
of hours, with the sun’s rays increasing in power, the pace fell off
considerably. The men held on bravely and were as good-tempered as ever,
but were unable to maintain the rate, and by the time we had entered the
last five miles there were signs of distress among some. I encouraged and
stimulated them, referred to this being the end of their present efforts;
joked of the “dash”—i.e., present—to be given when we reached Rahama and
of their having light work, or none to do, the next day.

The heat and dust had become very trying, and although the carriers could
march easily in the early mornings bearing their loads for 10 or 12 miles
without a stop over fairly rough roads, they were now so done up on this
last stretch that in the final 5 miles they had to rest three times.

It would have been easier for me to have cantered on, but I felt it due
to the excellent fellows with whom I had been across and back over the
Plateau for so many days to stay with them; and so together we at last
reached Rahama; again saw a railway, and found Mr Garrard, the local
senior representative of the Niger Company, as cheery as ever. The men,
each carrying at least 60 lbs. weight on his head, had covered 26 miles
in a typically torrid temperature.

It was well the march had been maintained, as the weekly train was to
leave at 8 a.m. the following morning.

CHAPTER XXIX

TOWARDS THE PAGAN COUNTRY

Hausa and Pagan—Distinction of dress—Deeper divisions—The
price of peace in former days—Public highway—Revenge and
brotherhood—Scope of an Assistant Resident.

The inhabitants of Northern Nigeria may be broadly classed as Hausa and
Pagan. Each comprises many tribes. The Hausa is generally regarded as a
Mohamedan, though no more so than that everybody in England who does not
attend chapel, synagogue or meeting-house is to be counted as Church of
England.

The distinction between Hausa and Pagan is easily seen in dress. Any
Hausa worth the name sports a flowing robe and wide linen trousers. A
well-to-do man’s garments of that kind will make those of a British
Jack-tar appear puny and of spider proportions. Costume affected by the
Pagan sexes will be referred to presently.

A less visible but far deeper division between the two is that formerly
the Hausa people raided Pagan tribes wherever it could be done, dragging
prisoners to slavery, killing the villagers unfit for it, burning the
houses, destroying the crops and food stored for the lean months,
and leaving any persons who had escaped the raiding bands to death
by exposure and starvation. The price of peace to a Pagan tribe was
tribute, which usually took the form of an annual quota of slaves. They
were mostly obtained by raiding other Pagan tribes, and, as an area that
was secure from raiding found a vent for its energies and warlike skill
by inter-fighting, the whole countryside for hundreds of square miles was
in a continual ferment of bloodshed.

The advent of the British made a radical alteration. When a Protectorate
was proclaimed it was announced that whilst the Pagan would be preserved
from being raided he was to allow free passage through to the Hausa, for
a few years ago no Hausa dare enter these regions where the Pagans were
strong enough to resist attack. Caravans which came near enough to the
danger zone were assailed or harassed by the wild men from the hills.

With the inception of the new conditions, a public path, corresponding
to a highway in England, was marked out, wherever possible away from
the Pagan villages, and it was proclaimed that any peaceable stranger
passing along who was murdered would be avenged by the British. Although
that is enforced to some extent in the neighbourhood of large centres of
administration, it cannot be the uniform rule over a vast territory where
means of locomotion are almost entirely confined to bush and mountain
tracks. Held in check by the supreme authority, the fierce hatred and
enmity of Hausa and Pagan remain. You cannot eradicate in less than a
decade the memory of wrongs for generations, nor at once replace with a
spirit of sweet and loving brotherhood the intense desire for revenge.
The feeling manifests itself around outlying posts in minor ways. Murder
is, however, seldom resorted to.

Seven days’ marching has brought us to the middle of the Bauchi Plateau,
4,000 feet above sea-level, although the spot could have been reached in
four days by a more direct line from Rahama.

I speak of “The Pagans of the Plateau,” but the term should be understood
to comprise a number off it. There are two reasons for the extension.
First, some tribes are spread from the Plateau to the lower land, and,
secondly, it is better that certain of the customs and practices should
not be precisely located, for, notwithstanding they are known to the
higher British authorities, no Resident or other official would wish them
placed to his discredit by people unaware how limited were his resources.
It is not realised at home that large tracts of the country are no more
than nominally occupied, and it would be unreasonable to expect that
close supervision and control of social habits are to be effected by
an Assistant Resident responsible for a district extending to anything
between 5,000 square miles and 10,000 square miles, where he is expected
to maintain peace between sections mutually yearning to fight; where
he exercises magisterial functions and enforces sentence; where he has
to collect taxes from quarters none too willing to pay; and where, to
carry out these duties with force and pressure additional to his own
personality, he has a garrison of 10 native policemen. If he failed to do
all these things he would be sharply called to account by the Governor of
Northern Nigeria; and if in his zeal to do any of them he caused a rising
that needed troops to repress, then he would be asked why he could
not, like others, accomplish his task without requiring the use of the
military.

There are dozens to whom the description applies. I shall presently show
part of an Assistant Resident’s functions in operation and an estimate
can then be formed of what these men do in Britain’s name for the people
placed in their charge. Every one with whom I came in contact was imbued
with the desire to administer the principles of humanity and justice
between man and man, or man and woman, and to do so in a common-sense
spirit.

This preamble is given so that readers may not be unduly shocked at
the introduction of cannibalism, especially at the fact that the diet
is indulged in merrily in a British colony. Other customs are given
precedence.

CHAPTER XXX

IN A PAGAN TOWN

Bukuru Residency—Bukuru town—Its ingenious defences—Traps
for an attacking force—The blacksmith—Musical
instruments—Pagan orchestras—A royal male Pavlova—The
Court band—A King’s reward—Pagan homesteads—The sleeping
apartment—Farming—Incentives to obtain money—Enhancing nature’s
charms—Male and female decorations—Bareback and bitless
horsemanship—Races—Care of horses—The hunt—Sign language.

At Bukuru is the post of an Assistant Resident, typical of several.
Formerly no Hausa would dare to penetrate so far into the Pagan country
or within a week’s march of this part. Now there is a Hausa market
established within sight of the highway, for the convenience of caravans
passing through.

About half-a-mile away is the Residency, a ramshackle mud dwelling not
nearly as good as a farmer’s stable in England. Living in such places,
out of sight and out of mind of the public at home, badly housed, these
Residents are paid immeasurably less than the value of the service they
render the nation. A few feet from the entrance, at the top of a thin
flagstaff planted in the ground, a Union Jack flutters. It is the symbol
of a power—accepted by faith rather than by sight—strong enough to
enforce peace and to hold the scales evenly in disputes brought to its
representative.

Two miles from the Residency is the nearest Pagan town, that of Bukuru.
It is not situated, as some are, in the mountains or on a high hill. It
spreads, roughly, six miles by two, on ground slightly above the level
of the surrounding country. But the approach is impossible to traverse
without a guide. Nearly a mile before the first batch of houses is
reached you enter a narrow avenue of cactus. Not the form of plant seen
in English public parks but strong trees clustered from the ground to
the crown with thick, hard leaves each edged with a dozen or more prongs
sharp enough to tear a man’s clothes and his flesh to ribbons. These
cactus trees are planted so closely that, the branches interweaving, you
cannot see between them. The top ones cross and intertwine, forming a
tunnel 15 feet high.

It was a scheme of defence in the days when a swarm of Hausa horsemen
might swoop on a Pagan town and overwhelm it. The cactus avenue is
planned on the principle of a maze. It winds, twists, turns, has
branching courses leading to blind alleys where the sides are too close
to allow a horse to be turned: a perfect ambush. Other narrow ways take
you back to places you have passed in coming inwards, the design having
been to bring the front sections of a hostile column of mounted men,
hurrying on, face-to-face with the middle or the rear sections of the
force, who would also be impetuously pushing forward, anxious to be clear
of the trap in as short a time as possible.

[Illustration: APPROACH TO A PAGAN TOWN.

A maze of impenetrable cactus. (See page 248.)]

[Illustration: A PAGAN HOMESTEAD.

Built against a rock to prevent rear attacks. (See page 251.)]

The confusion produced is easily imagined. From the side walls of cactus
through which the Hausas could not break, even with the weight of their
horses, the Pagans sent showers of poisoned arrows, galloping on ponies
from point to point as the situation required.

Nearer to the town the cactus sides compress to almost touch your elbows
as you sit in the saddle; and, making it still more difficult for hostile
horsemen who had managed to get so far to either go on quickly or to
retreat, the pathway slopes into trench-form, sufficiently deep to reach
to a horse’s knees and with so little width that the animal cannot stand
with the forelegs side-by-side and therefore must keep moving. An enemy
forced to fight in such quarters would be helpless.

No wonder those Pagans of the Plateau maintained their towns inviolate
against the raiding Moslem tribes.

Having passed through the cactus maze we are entering the town. The first
house differs from the others further on, not only in size, but in use.
It is about 15 feet in diameter and is the only place of business in the
town. It belongs to the blacksmith. The spade-hoe, spear points, broad
swords and knives, the jointed bar which is placed on the nose and under
the chin of a horse, a small bell that hangs from the pony’s neck, these
are the manufactures. All are of iron. The metal is obtained by smelting
ironstone, but customers must bring their own charcoal, so scarce is
fuel. Payment is by accha, the native grain.

Everything else each Pagan produces for himself, though there are
exchanges, such as a man who has aptitude for making musical instruments
swopping one to a neighbour good at, say, shaping pipes.

Musical appurtenances range from a harp, 20 inches by 8 inches, made
entirely of reeds, and drums, to wind instruments of a score variety:
flutes, piccoloes and an article resembling an orange which is hollowed,
hardened and three holes bored on top thus: [Illustration]. The bottom
one is whistled through, fingers placed on the smaller holes regulating
the sound.

Every village has its band and no orchestra is without a drum. Tunes are
beyond the comprehension of white men, but undoubtedly the Pagan learns
on some distinct principle. Usually the music is of a low, sing-song
tune. A common practice is for the performers to form a circle and walk
behind one another whilst playing, which increases the monotony of the
music.

I have, however, heard spirited, enlivening airs, as at Fedderi, where
the Chief, or King, of the Jarawa tribe performed a skirt dance in honour
of my visit. Gathered round was “a large and appreciative audience”
of his own folks. The old Chief’s everyday dress does not err in the
direction of excess, but, to constitute himself a royal male Pavlova,
he donned a Hausa robe, which was kept at his hut exclusively for the
purpose. The musical accompaniment was “by special request” rendered
by the Court band, who wore their State uniform. What that was can be
seen from the photograph facing this page. The dance proved really
entertaining, and, like the music, developed on settled lines; it was not
a mere inconsequent throwing about of the limbs.

I gave each of the instrumentalists a threepenny bit and the King a
shilling. His Majesty was so overjoyed at this munificence that I
believe I could have made a treaty of alliance, with any clauses I
liked, straightway. I mean a treaty in the domain of diplomacy, not
of matrimony. That has been offered to me times out of number in West
Africa.

[Illustration: PAGAN FARMER USING HIS ONLY IMPLEMENT, A SPADE-HOE.

(See page 253.)]

[Illustration: THE KING OF THE JARAWA PAGANS DANCING IN HONOUR OF THE
AUTHOR’S VISIT.

The accompaniment is by his Court band, in State uniform. (See page
250.)]

A few hundred feet beyond the blacksmith’s establishment we are abreast
of the first cluster of houses. The scattered Pagan settlements are
called towns for want of a better title. They could as well be spoken of
as big villages. Bukuru is one of the largest.

A single family, perhaps two, will have its own plot of about a
quarter-of-an-acre. This is enclosed by a fence of cactus, not nearly so
formidable as the outer defences of the town; merely to prevent marauding
sheep, goats and dogs of neighbours from enjoying themselves on the
cultivated part of the compound.

The ring-fence used to be stronger in days when the lust of combat
induced disputes between a couple of men to result in an assault on the
domicile of one of them, though, if blood did not boil too rapidly, the
disputants usually agreed to fight out their differences at a suitable
spot away from the dwellings, so that the friends of each party could
have a hand in the fun.

A Pagan homestead comprises a cluster of huts. Whereas the Hausa house
may consist of one room screened by hanging mats into two or more
compartments—though, among the well-to-do in cities such as Kano and
Zaria the buildings have interior walls making distinct rooms—the Pagan
has a separate hut for each part of his daily life. They are small,
circular, very neat, about six or eight feet in diameter, of mud with a
roof of the same material lightly covered with thatch. One or more will
be the grain store, where the gathered crops are kept and drawn upon for
food whilst others are growing. The supply is reached from the top, by
tilting the roof, which makes thieving less easy than if there were a
door. The solid wall also prevents insects getting through. To safeguard
the contents against ants the grain huts are built on big stones and are
placed high enough for the fowls to take shelter from storms and to go to
roost at night.

Various members of a family have different huts for sleeping; the younger
children in one, grownups in another, and possibly an aged parent of wife
or husband in a third. His spouses will be accommodated either singly or
in couples and the requisite number of huts built.

In the centre of the cluster of huts meals are prepared and the evening
one eaten round a fire. At many parts of the Pagan country wood is
scarce. Fuel consists of dried cattle-dung and sapless cactus. A leaf or
grass without moisture takes the place of the English kitchenmaid’s paper
for lighting the fire. Flame is obtained by striking flint on a bit of
iron or focussing the sun’s rays by means of a piece of glass, probably
part of a broken bottle dropped by some Hausa miles away and picked up in
the fields. Where a Hausa village, which always means a market as well,
is near, matches are being introduced.

As the keen, evening air strikes chilly, the family huddle round the
fire, and, shortly after eating, retirement to rest takes place. A 86° or
higher temperature when the sun is up falls in the dark hours to 44° or
less.

No lights are used in the houses. Lamps are unknown. How, then, is warmth
gained during the cold night? People who wear no clothes by day are not
likely to don pyjamas or fancy bedgowns. Civilisation has not touched
them to the use of a blanket, like the Hausas.

When sleeping huts are built a broad shelf of mud is made to the wall.
This is the couch of repose. Under it a fire is lit, and, every crevice
of the doorway being closely covered, temperature soon rises. There is
no ventilation whatever, so the smoke disposes of any mosquitoes and
other insects, though I should say that the carbonic thickness of the
atmosphere would alone effect the purpose. The marvel is for any soul to
emerge alive. Asphyxiation seems certain. Yet I gathered from the Pagans
that they enjoy the hours in comfort and tranquillity.

In the plot of ground in front of the huts small vegetables are grown: a
kind of kitchen-garden and kept scrupulously clean. I have looked over
dozens of plots without finding a single weed in any.

The farm land is not in the towns. It may be four to eight miles away.
A man, riding a pony, goes to his farm in the morning when the sun has
made its warmth felt and remains at work until about 4 o’clock in the
afternoon. The pony is not tethered. A hobble-rope is put on two legs
and the animal allowed to wander. A bell attached to the neck indicates
its whereabouts to the owner, who occasionally has to penetrate through
grass higher than himself to bring back the steed. The heavier work of
the field, such as hoeing, is done by the farmer and his sons, whilst the
ladies of the household assist at sowing and reaping and alone do the
weeding. That arrangement applies both in the farm land and the compound
adjoining the dwelling. But the feminine units are expected to walk to
their tasks. The wife on domestic duty goes out with the food for her
husband and for those of his other wives and sons and daughters who are
with him on the farm.

The main crop is accha. There are also an inferior kind of guinea-corn
known as magaragara, which grows about 4 feet high, douro, gwaza, doiya,
tamba, risga and tobacco, which is smoked in long pipes by both men and
women. In some parts the ladies do not smoke; they chew tobacco. Bees are
kept in hives of mud, and though there are few flowers, honey is obtained
plentifully.

A pony is not possessed by every farmer, and at first it is a strange
sight that of a farmer walking to or from his ground with a string of
four or five wives, the party in single file and absolutely no clothing
on any of them.

The Hausa is a skilled agriculturist, who has nothing to learn in that
respect from any white race. He, however, is distanced considerably by
the Pagan, who tends his land cleaner. The soil is much poorer than that
of the Hausa country and needs greater skill and effort for cultivation.
At present the Pagan raises only sufficient for his own requirements,
which besides the matter of food remain small. When he and his womenkind
yearn for the gee-gaws of what is termed civilisation, and he wants money
to purchase them, then he will make more use of the nearest Hausa market
to transform his corn or other produce into cash. So far, the principal
luxuries which attract most Pagans are matches and cigarettes. In some
places the people are developing a taste for meat, for which, of course,
money must be earned. Though sheep, goats and, in instances, cattle are
bred, seldom are any killed for food. They represent a man’s wealth and
in the owner’s view it would be rank heresy against political economy to
consume them.

There is a large open space—three or four acres—in Bukuru town. Nobody
farms the ground, nor is it used for individual purpose. There the people
foregather for public celebrations, which take place at least twice a
year. Events that prompt these assemblies are gleaning of the farm crops
and other agricultural periods in the calendar. Then it is that the
fashions of Bukuru can be seen in all their glory.

Clothing does not enter into the pageantry. Paint is the agent employed
to enhance nature’s charms. Earth and tree-bark are ground into a red
paste and with it the fair young dames cover between the ankle to
below the knee, where a narrow white colouring marks the limit of the
decoration. Only this; nothing more.

Men dab the red paint on chest and nose and also use it on their
ponies. More attention is bestowed on the animals than the owners
give themselves. The hindquarters are painted red on which, at equal
distances, white circles the size of a five-shilling piece are
superimposed. The breast of the horse may likewise be embellished with
red pigment, and on its face brass ornaments or a band of the same metal
across the forehead are fixed for festive parades.

No stirrup or saddle is used, though on show days a piece of goatskin is
put on the horse’s back as a decoration, not for utility or comfort. Nor
is a bit utilised. A light iron, jointed, across the nose and another
under the jaw are connected by a ring on the left-hand side of the head.
To that ring a single grass rope is joined, passing under the animal’s
neck and held in the hand of the rider. By that means a horse is pulled
up and partly guided. Its movements left and right are regulated by the
rider’s feet in the inner side of the forelegs.

The equestrian will perhaps have a plait of straw encircling his head or
possibly wear a hat of the same material. Besides half-a-dozen spears in
his hand, he will likely carry a long knife or sword in a brass sheath
hanging from his waist. A grass bag in the left side, suspended from the
right shoulder, provides a receptacle for trophies of the chase or any
other article, such as a pipe.

At the public assemblies at the open spaces everybody who has a horse
brings it. The men ride in line and in file, throwing themselves into
various attitudes to amuse the crowd.

Short races take place across the 1,000 yards or so of ground. There is
no settled plan for the contest. One of a group challenges another, and
at once off they dash, most likely accompanied by a third or fourth who
heard the summons. On pulling up the chances are there will be pushing,
either as a joke or in the course of a dispute as to which has won. Then
spears are flourished and a thrust is almost a certainty, though seldom
is there more damage than a slight flesh wound. The day winds up with a
general carouse, in which the local-made beer has a leading rôle.

[Illustration: A NAKED PAGAN RIDING HIS PONY BAREBACKED.

(See page 255.)]

[Illustration: PAGAN HORSEMEN.

(See page 255.)]

Bukuru men are excellent horsemasters. The appearance and condition of
the animals are better than those belonging to Hausas elsewhere and are
equal to any except the very best kept by Englishmen. Horses belonging to
others which were lame or would not thrive have been taken by the Bukuru
people, who returned the animals in first-class health and fettle. They
will not disclose the details of their methods. One includes hot water
drunk by the horse and another is that of salt and other ingredients made
into a ball which the animal is forced to swallow.

The Pagan hunt is a mild performance. It takes place in the dry season.
The high grass is burnt and the flames beaten out when sufficient space
has been cleared. Some distance from the clearance the grass is again
fired, whilst the huntsmen, waiting on their ponies for the rats and
lizards which dart out, spear the vermin. A few small, bush deer are
obtained in the same way. A free fight is not an uncommon wind-up to the
hunt.

* * * * *

The folks of Bukuru are people of few words, signs being largely used
instead of speaking, though, estimating from the number of wives acquired
in some quarters, I should say that the language of love must be an
extremely easy dialect.

To express “No” in the sense of there being none, the right forefinger is
brought past, touching, the lips, at which the slightest semblance to a
whistling sound is made.

“I do not know,” such as the answer to where a person is for whom the
questioned individual has regard, is replied to by raising the shoulders.

“I do not know and I do not care” is conveyed by the open hands and the
forearm at right-angle to the upper limb.

Answer respecting the age of anyone not the person questioned is made
by the fist held vertically at a distance from the ground, indicating
the height of the individual, from which illustration the age has to be
gauged. The people have no sense of calculation beyond four or five years.

A gift or anything given in payment is usually received without word or
sign. Should it be sufficiently liberal to impel stronger feeling the
equivalent of “Thank you” will probably be uttered. Should the recipient
be stimulated to add emphasis he will say “Mr feng”—the first word
pronounced Mer—translated, “I rejoice,” and with the elbows of bent arms
strike the ribs repeatedly.

The figures in the photographs which exemplify the sign language were
placed at my disposal by the kindness of Mr E. Evans, one of the two men
of the Sudan United Mission station in Bukuru. The natives were in his
service, which accounts for wearing so much clothing and also, possibly,
for their rather fleshy appearance. The Pagan working in the fields is
lean, wiry, active, yet strong and healthy.

[Illustration: BUKURU PAGAN SIGN LANGUAGE.

(1) “No.” (2) Indicating a person’s age. (3) “Don’t know and don’t care.”
(4) “Don’t know.” (5) Gratitude. (6) Large numbers expressed by beating
the fists together. (See page 257.)]

What is to be said of this mission station planted in the heart of the
country of wild tribes? Medical attendance is given, and it was pathetic
to see the look of appeal by women, children and men who came for wounds
and ulcerous parts to be washed. Several young natives had been trained
to the use of the antiseptic syringe and dressing and they carried out
that part of the treatment after a case had been looked at by one of
the white men. In this humanitarian course the mission is doing angel’s
work, though I cannot refrain from wondering if it was necessary to
go so far afield for needful patients. As to the religious aspect, I
cannot understand why this out-of-the-way part of the world was sought
to spiritualise the heathen whilst so many of that description abound in
Great Britain.

CHAPTER XXXI

ADMINISTERING JUSTICE AND TAXATION

Possessing no corporate existence or regular system of government the
Pagans must therefore be ruled in a direct way by the British. The
authority and influence of their Kings and Chiefs vary and is seldom
strong and capable of being exercised in accordance with equity and
humanitarian principles. Where in touch, the Residents are endeavouring
to stimulate them to accept responsibility, but it must necessarily be a
slow process, as the men shirk incurring unpopularity and dislike among
their own people by discharging unpleasant tasks. At present the main
thing is to prevent fighting, which until recently was the usual manner
of settling a dispute, either between individuals or ’twixt tribe and
tribe. Tribal warfare had become a recognised part of existence. Quarrels
had engendered aloofness to such an extent that to-day there are villages
15 miles apart which do not understand each other’s dialect. The British
have endeavoured to impress on the Pagan that any quarrel which cannot be
composed amicably must be brought to the nearest Resident, who acts the
part not merely of Judge but also that of friendly adviser.

Whilst at Bukuru I spent two mornings in the Court held by the Resident,
Mr S. E. M. Stobart—he has the rank of Assistant Resident—and what was
seen will perhaps give an idea of one portion of the excellent work
performed by the British political officers in these all but unknown
areas of Northern Nigeria.

The first case was that of an elderly Pagan who complained that a young
wife of his had gone to the house of “another man,” who struck him when
he went to interview and claim the lady. Mr Stobart sent one of his
native staff to make enquiries. The report put a fresh complexion on the
story. True the girl was living in the house of “another man” and he had
assaulted the veteran Benedick; but the girl was his daughter and she
had sought refuge from the ill-usage of her husband. Mr Stobart told the
complainant that when he was satisfied the young woman would be properly
treated she would be ordered to return; not until.

The next suit dealt with a plot of farming land near Bukuru. Each of
the two men claimed it. As tribal convention tinged with a dozen local
considerations would be a determining factor guiding a conclusion, the
Resident had referred the question to the sub-chiefs of the respective
wards in which the men lived. Previous to the advent of the British,
if a fight had not been desired the issue would be tried by ordeal. At
the direction of a Chief, poison would be prepared by a medicine man
for both parties, which they would swallow, and the one who survived or
better resisted the effect of the draught would be adjudged the award.

Trial by ordeal is now strictly prohibited, but until the Pagan people
have developed more intelligent methods a substitute remains unbanned.
This consists of each party to a dispute providing a fowl, which is given
poison. The owner of the surviving bird secures the verdict. It is a
process not encouraged by the British Residents, who strive to make the
leading men decide matters on their merits.

The two sub-chiefs had come to say they could not agree—no doubt because
neither was willing to give decree against a person in his own section
of the village—and they thought trial by fowls would be the best way of
reaching a satisfactory conclusion. Mr Stobart pointed out that when he
had to solve a difficult case he did not call for two fowls and that
sub-chiefs of such intelligence should be able to rely on their own
brains. He would not sanction the use of fowls. They must themselves
judge and bring adjudication to him within three days. They promised to
have another try.

A young Pagan presented himself to the Resident and stated he had been
twice sold into slavery. His story was that whilst working on his farm
he was seized by a Hausa, taken several days’ journey and disposed of
for two horses. The vendor explained to his victim that he had to do it
owing to severe need and told the sufferer that if he escaped—giving
a scheme by which he might—and came to the captor he would see that
the captive got home safely with at least part recompense for what he
would have endured. The unsophisticated Pagan did escape and came back,
whereupon he was again made prisoner and sold for three horses. A second
time he escaped, and having learnt wisdom he went to the Resident of his
district, who sent for the accused Hausa and committed him for trial by
a higher Court. If found guilty he would forfeit the five horses to the
injured party and be liable to five years’ imprisonment.

Although slave-raiding on the scale practised a few years ago is now
impossible, kidnapping and slave-dealing is by no means stamped out. One
plan is by various pretexts to induce individuals or a family to journey
to some place near the French or the German frontier and sell them over
either border, where apparently the crime is not regarded nearly so
seriously as by the British authorities.

There had been a party of Hausas who caught young fellows, sent them by
go-betweens along routes off the main track to confederates north of
Sokoto, by whom the captives were sold over the French boundary. When the
English authorities first learnt part of the scheme they kept quite quiet
until the whole plan and those engaged in it were known. Then, suddenly,
descents were made simultaneously at both ends and all the principals
and their subordinates arrested. Evidence was overwhelming. The main
offenders are serving five years’ hard labour.

A slave case of a different character came before Mr Stobart whilst I
was at Bukuru. In this instance it was a Pagan who was charged with
having in his house, prisoner, a boy, son of a Fulani. The lad had been
in charge of a herd of travelling cattle which instead of keeping
together and on the move whilst going through cultivated ground had been
allowed to stray among the Pagan’s accha crops. To his remonstrances the
youngster answered defiantly. The farmer marched the boy off and informed
his father that the child would not be given up until compensation for
the damage was forthcoming. The Fulani went to Mr Stobart, who sent
his police for all the parties and, having heard what they had to say,
delivered judgment, in effect, as follows: The Pagan had done serious
wrong by interfering with the “liberty of the subject.” Technically he
had made the boy a slave and therefore was liable to severe punishment,
especially as he should have known that redress was always exacted for
damaged crops. However, taking into consideration the provocation, for
every day he had held the lad prisoner he must go to prison for 4, making
16 in all. On the other hand, the Fulani was responsible for not taking
care that his cattle were controlled in a way that would prevent them
damaging the crops of the Pagan and therefore the order was for him to
pay all the compensation claimed.

A case which arose from a similar cause was that of a Pagan having
speared a Fulani in the leg. Only a flesh wound had been inflicted. The
Fulani’s bullocks, passing the farm of the Pagan, had eaten his growing
guinea-corn. The sentence of the Resident was that although the Pagan
suffered a grievance he had no right to take the remedy into his own
hands and would accordingly be fined eight spears—all he possessed—whilst
the Fulani, who should have precluded his animals straying off the path,
must requite the complete damage specified.

I gathered that Mr Stobart uniformly exacts full compensation for damage
by cattle to Pagans’ crops, as, being only agriculturists, their crops
are their all-in-all. The award is made even when a Pagan is punished
for retaliating. Further, now that the Fulani, the Hausa and similar
tribes have right of passage through Pagan country, not infrequently
going with herds of cattle, they must understand that the property of the
inhabitants has to be scrupulously respected.

Another Pagan was charged with slightly spearing in three places a Hausa
living in the public market recently opened near the highway path a few
miles from Bukuru. The Pagan, evidently excited from indulgence in the
native beer, had attempted to pass through the Hausa’s house, and, the
occupier barring the way, declared he would go where he pleased. On the
Hausa advancing, the trespasser struck him as stated. A hue and cry
was raised and the Pagan made off across the fields, throwing away his
spears to facilitate progress. I saw the fugitive running, with a large,
gladiator-like sword unsheathed. As the pursuing crowd was rounding him
up he cast off the sword, was arrested and at once taken before the
Resident.

The case was heard patiently, the situation illustrated by rough diagrams
drawn on the earth floor, as the Pagan asserted it was a “near cut”
through the house to his village. Mr Stobart asked what he would say if
a Hausa endeavoured to go into his house without permission. The Pagan
answered that that was different. He was convicted without extenuating
circumstances of any provocation and received the light sentence of 14
days’ imprisonment, which merely meant being kept under restraint, not
sent a long journey to a prison. He would be set to gardening work in the
Residency compound. But the four spears and the sword thrown away were
confiscated, as it was against orders for men to be in the public market
carrying such weapons; for obvious reasons, though no notice is taken if
the people pass along the centre path and do not stop.

A Resident’s duties are by no means confined to exercising judicial
functions. He has to collect taxes, which are no more popular among the
wild Pagans of Northern Nigeria than is the rule in English cities.
Most of the tribes never experienced a requisition until recent days.
Still, it is desirable that, either as tribes or individuals, they should
pay. It is the most convincing lesson of the power of the ruler. They
have value for the impost. Peace and security for life and property are
maintained. The Fulani and others are prohibited from swooping down
with armies of cavalry to raid the country for slaves, and inter-tribal
warfare among the Pagans themselves is sternly forbidden. But, sooth
to say, these benefits are not welcomed. The people do not thank us
for them. They would infinitely prefer to be without taxation and to
take their chance. They say that over very large tracts of country,
particularly on and around the Bauchi Plateau, they were well able to
take care of themselves against Fulani, Hausa and the kind, who would not
venture in the area; whilst as to fighting among themselves, why, it was
that which made life worth living.

Efforts of the Residents have been to persuade unwilling tribes to accept
the principle of taxation; to get in the thin edge of the wedge, as it
were. Reasonable increase can be made as the British control becomes
firmer. Taxation of the Pagans therefore ranges from a goat paid yearly
by a village of between 700 and 800 inhabitants to 2s. 6d. annually per
male adult of other villages.

A taxation census is taken where that can be done without using troops.
Only an approximate result is obtained. The Resident goes to a village
and notes the compounds, asking how many men live in each. The people
cannot count nor express themselves in numerals. They have names for
figures up to 10 but do not give them with confidence after 5. They may
be able to speak of 6, 7, 8 or 9, though not at all sure. At the figure
of 10 they are, as that simply means two 5’s. The fingers of one hand
keep the mind fresh up to the lower number. As Mr Stobart goes through
the villages of the Bukuru division he collects at each village a small
bag of stones and uses them as denomination for questions relating to
figures. I saw an answer given in that form as to the number of wives a
man had. Fortunately the bag of pebbles was ample for the expression.

The same method is employed in conveying details of taxation. One day
I was in the circular mud hut which Mr Stobart has as his Court and
office and some taxes were brought in from Bukuru village. Village
Chiefs are appointed for the collection, so that by degrees they may
learn simple administration. They are given 10 per cent. of the amount
gathered. Recalcitrant individuals are reported to the Resident, who
takes measures to make them do as their neighbours. The usual method
is to send a couple of native police early in the morning to bring in
the defaulters. They are told that if payment be not forthcoming in a
reasonable period certain of their goods, such as a goat or a horse, will
be confiscated.

Bukuru village is taxed at 1s. per adult annually. On the occasion
referred to, the sections whose payments the two Chiefs had brought
should have yielded £5. The amount counted on the ground, in shillings,
was £1, 10s. short. The couple of worthy gatherers, who probably wondered
why in their mature years they should be afflicted with the mental
worries of revenue and finance, were made to understand by means of 30
small stones that there was that quantity of backsliders who must be made
to toe the monetary line or the names given to the Resident. They went
home, I believe animated by the honest desire to do their best. But this
tax-gathering must be a sore trouble to the Pagan village Chiefs, who
formerly never knew the need of money and who regarded wealth only as
represented by horses, sheep, goats or oxen.

In no instance is taxation oppressive, harsh or even hard to pay. Corn
is easily grown by the Pagans, and the sale of a single sackful produces
a year’s tax on the highest scale. The establishment of Hausa markets on
the main caravan paths provide places where the corn is sold easily. The
markets have been made possible by the British declaration that neither
Hausa nor Pagan shall attack the other.

[Illustration: MR. S. E. M. STOBART, THE RESIDENT AT BUKURU, AND HIS
STAFF.

(See page 261.)]

[Illustration: BUKURU RESIDENCY.

(See page 247.)]

CHAPTER XXXII

MARRIAGE AND DEATH CUSTOMS

Fashions—A wedding-ring warning—The former way with
undesirables—Succession to a Chiefship—Marriage—Dowries—A
perpetual leap-year—Widows—Burial usages—Cannibalism—Eating
those who die from natural causes—Etiquette of the practice—A
credit and debit account.

In referring to social customs of the Pagans on and just off the Bauchi
Plateau it is desirable to survey the subject comprehensively in order to
avoid repetition and overmuch detail. First, fashions. Little can be said
on that topic. Men in the outer districts, who for some time have been
more-or-less in contact with the Hausa people, rejoice in a loin-cloth,
and, in a few instances, a short, loose shirt which once was white,
whilst the women wear a large bunch of leaves in front and another at the
back. Towards and in the inner areas of the Pagan country transition of
male attire is abrupt to nothingness.

As one travels through the country one sees that the ladies of the
various tribes exercise more gradation. Change is not so sudden. The
two fronds of leaves give place to one, which is worn either fore or
aft, according to individual fancy. Further on, a bunch of grass stalks,
six inches long, secured by a string round the body, hanging behind
and looking like a table crumb-brush, constitutes the sole extraneous
adornment to the female form divine.

Then, presently, even so much is not used. In some of these last areas,
during the first few months of married life the matron dons a thin plait
of skin or grass round the waist, as a kind of wedding-ring, probably
to warn all and sundry gallants that henceforth they may not pay their
court to her. In one large village I saw some unmarried girls each with
a walking-out costume consisting of a small bell, made by the native
blacksmith, tied by a string round the loins and suspended in front
tinkling.

* * * * *

The absence of any corporate government, civil or military, among the
Pagans makes getting into touch with the people a slow and tedious
process. They never, like the Fulani and Hausa tribes, had police,
prisons and other adjuncts for ruling. Questions that affected the
community were decided by public opinion. If there were persons who were
a danger or a nuisance, the villagers assembled and settled what was to
be done to the delinquents. They might deny an indictment and be tried
“by ordeal”; or, waiving that test, the verdict would be death or being
despatched to the Hausa country and sold for slaves. Pagan villages
and hamlets which paid annual tribute of slaves to the Fulani Emirites
disposed of their own desirables in that way, filling up the quota by
raiding other villages.

[Illustration: PAGAN FEMININE FASHIONS.

(See page 269.)]

* * * * *

There are Pagan “Kings” and Chiefs, but their authority in many
instances is slight and always confined to a limited area. The Burrum
tribe—one of the largest—comprises 26 large villages, called towns, each
with a separate and independent Chief. The regulations for succession to
a chiefship are not uniform in all tribes. At Burrum towns the eldest
brother of a deceased Chief takes his place; in the absence of eligible
brothers, the son of the defunct occupies the post. With the Jarawas,
the Headmen of a town elect a Chief from the family of the last one. It
is usually the eldest brother. The Rukuba Chiefs, whose authority is
stronger than in most Pagan tribes, nominate their successors, which is
either a son or a brother, according to preference.

* * * * *

Marriage is of extreme simplicity in most quarters. The Teria folks,
although so isolated in their lives that no other village speaks their
language, are not alone in the manner of mating up. With them merely a
nominal dowry passes for a wife. But no woman of theirs has more than two
children, and as infantile mortality runs its course the town is rapidly
becoming depopulated.

The word dowry is used, though among all the tribes of Nigeria where
the usage prevails it is payment by the husband to the girl’s father or
guardian.

The Jarawas have no regular dowry system. “Free love” is carried to the
most extreme line and no claim by a man to a woman is allowed. When,
however, a swain from another tribe comes wooing his affinity in this
one he has to pay a dowry of a horse and five goats and then, in the
event of infidelity of his wife, he is held to have a claim against his
father-in-law.

The Rukubas do not understand chastity on the part of unmarried girls.
This tribe also has no regular practice of dowry, which is quite formal:
perhaps either some beans, a hoe, two goats, pots, or 10 calabashes. If a
wife leaves her husband he seeks out a discontented couple and pairs off
with the lady.

The Burrum population honour a rigid dowry scheme, which consists of
payment of a horse and five goats. Marriage is not recognised until the
dowry has been paid. If a couple elect to go in double domestic harness
without that preliminary, all children born to them can be claimed by the
woman’s father. Should a wife desert her husband for another, he must
pay the original consort the counterpart of the dowry. Failure to do so,
or husband number 1 declining to accept the solatium, children born to
the couple are forfeit to the grass-widower. Their value is apparent.
The girls would be a source of potential wealth to whoever gave them in
marriage, whilst the boys could be set to work on the farm from an early
age.

With the Angass tribe courting is a perpetual leap-year, for the girl
selects the husband and tells her mother whom she has chosen. Of course,
Barkis must be willing, as the dowry is from 20 to 30 sheep. Provided
the prospective bridegroom is agreeable, he liquidates the dowry by
instalments, leaving about seven sheep to be paid when the girl is to go
to him. That is decided by her mother, upon which the balance is handed
over. There is no special wedding ceremony. The marriage tie is a loose
one. If the girl does not find her husband congenial she is free to leave
him, but her parents or the next husband refund the dowry. Until she
marries again she is at liberty to distribute her qualities as a wife to
whom she likes and to as many as she pleases.

In this tribe no marriages are permitted among blood relatives or even
with those connected by family.

[Illustration: GIRL OF THE JARAWA TRIBE.

The cuts on the face are made when she reaches the age of puberty.]

[Illustration: A PAGAN BEAUTY OF THE DASS TRIBE.

The incisions on the face are tribal marks.]

* * * * *

On the demise of a father who has grown-up sons, in most tribes his
possessions pass to them. A widow becomes the property of the eldest of
any sons the deceased husband may have had by another wife. At times
this works out that the widows are divided up among the sons. It may be
assumed that the practice is a hardship on the head of the household
which takes in the widow. By no means. The man who wishes to marry her
has to pay dowry to her guardian, and, in the meantime, or if she is on
his hands altogether, a woman is always welcomed to help in the field or
to relieve another from cooking for that purpose. As a matter of fact,
unless quite aged, widows go off splendidly. They are usually a thorough
success. As was explained to me on a previous journey by a Chief in
another country who offered a rather ancient matrimonial gift from his
own ample store, it is not always the youngest who are the most tractable
or industrious.

On the death of a widow having a young family her property, i.e., the
children, go to her husband’s brother.

* * * * *

Burial usuages are marked by great diversity, according to tribal
tradition. The Teria tribe, in this as in many observances, is distinct.
Mourning is notified by a rope round the loins. The dead are sewn in
grass mats. Cooked beans and mai—fat—are buried with him. Ten days later
gia—native beer—is poured in the grave. Members of the same family are
buried in one grave. When an interment takes place the remains of the
preceding occupants are taken out, the latest tenant put in and the
disinterred corpses—or what is left of them—placed last. This must be
quite an exhilarating and healthful exercise. The top man cannot improve
by the repeated handling.

The Jarawa bury anywhere in the bush, a few inches deep, the face of the
dead covered with a cloth. There is no regular cemetery.

A Burrum man of position is sewn in the skin of his horse and buried
behind his house. Individuals of lesser rank are enclosed in goats’ skins
and put under ground at a place in the bush kept for that use. The flesh
of the animals whose integument has formed the shroud, whether horse or
goats, are eaten at the feast which immediately follows the funeral. If a
man expresses a wish that his other horses be killed at his death, that
is done and the hides buried with him.

The Narubunu tribe consists of four towns, or villages: Buji, Gurrum,
Gussum and Jengre. At the last two there is a ceremonious washing of the
corpse by the subordinate members of the household of the Madaiki. (It is
a Hausa word meaning the second man of the town.) Burial takes place in
a large hole in front of the entrance to the Chief’s house, resembling a
catacomb, which must make it quite a cheerful residence. The corpse is
laid on a mat and carefully covered.

But a number of the tribes, more than are assumed, eat their dead who
die from natural causes. Possibly you shudder at the thought of a corpse
which came to that stage by disease being consumed for food. I admit
it does not seem nice, according to our tastes and ideas, but if I am
ever to be the dainty served up at a meal I greatly prefer the cannibal
company having the feast through my having shuffled off this mortal
coil more or less of my own volition, so to speak—by fever or other
illness—rather than the diners should hasten the consummation by means of
spear or poisoned arrow. If they enjoy the tit-bit, I am sure I shall not
mind. The trouble, in the event of any of my friends wishing to make a
pilgrimage to the sepulchre, would be locating it.

None of these cannibal gentry ever hunted or specifically killed human
beings for food; certainly not in recent times.

The causes which operated to make mortal remains find their way to the
cook-pot were that of the vital spark having been quenched in fight; the
frame which held it put to death for an offence against the community; or
that it gave up life in the ordinary way.

With tribal and inter-tribal wars forbidden and exaction of the death
penalty in the hands of the supreme authority, menus in which human flesh
figures are now necessarily fewer.

In this eating of the dead there is a certain etiquette. You will
appreciate that the pleasure of the palate must be tinged with some
sadness, or at least regret, in the knowledge that—assuming you to be
a cannibal—your meal is made from the man who lived across the way or
further up the path and with whom you had been on visiting terms; whilst
obviously there must be some sentiment against consuming one’s near
relations.

Count is taken of these human traits, and a village which indulges in
cannibal luxury will exchange bodies with another village. It occurred to
me that mortality would not invariably be equal between the contracting
villages and I asked whether a debit and credit account was kept. The
question was put jokingly, as I expected the thing would be allowed to
work itself level, but I found a rough-and-ready record was kept of the
village exports. An epidemic, such as smallpox, may yield quite a harvest
of material to the larder—whatever the disease makes no difference
to those who sit down to the feast; they are not at all fanciful or
capricious—and so pile up the debt beyond chance of quittance within a
reasonable period. Therefore a settlement is made at regular periods and
the balance defrayed by cows or goats.

The number of bodies is not alone computed. You need not be an epicure in
the business to understand that a fully-developed individual who becomes
_non est_ is, in a table sense, worth several ancient, withered carcases.
All this is calculated in the settlement.

[Illustration: JARAWA PAGANS.

The marks are produced by the flesh being cut and charcoal placed in the
incision.]

There is also a kind of payment in advance, to facilitate the process
of exchange. If a village sends a corpse or two, the receiving parties
hand over any persons who are very old or extremely ill. That saves the
visitors, who have perhaps come 5 or 10 miles, a double journey. It is
considerate and courteous. Whether the tramp to their new abode improves
the health of the departing ones is another question.

Some tribes are gallant enough not to eat women.

CHAPTER XXXIII

SOLDIERS AND THEIR SPORTS

Northern Nigeria is 255,700 square miles in extent, more than twice the
size of the United Kingdom and Ireland. A few years ago nearly the whole
of Northern Nigeria, with its 10,000,000 inhabitants, was more or less
hostile: at the best, that portion in British occupation no more than
sullenly acquiescent to the condition and quite “good enough” to eject
the white intruders at a suitable chance. That stage has been passed,
and, although a considerable territory remains merely nominally occupied,
most of the country has been brought within thorough control. Warlike
tribes, spending much of their lives in systematic exercise of arms and
periodically engaged in severe battles, have been overthrown. They are
now entirely engaged in agriculture or trading. The land is pacified.

The position has been attained without employing as much as a Corporal’s
guard of white troops as a separate unit. The wonder has been attained
by using natives, not as auxiliaries and in loosely-formed bodies for
merely scouting or outpost purposes, but in properly disciplined and
strictly supervised regiments prepared to withstand the shock of an
onslaught from hordes of formidable warriors. Not least remarkable has
been the breaking up in combat of large armies by comparatively small
numbers of Nigerian soldiers. The secret of this superiority has been
firmness, steadiness in defence, daring in attack; qualities due to
British schooling and leading in the field.

The regular military force of Northern Nigeria consists of the 1st and
2nd Battalions Northern Nigeria Regiment, a battery of 6 guns and a
company of Mounted Infantry. The corps are entirely unknown by sight in
England. They have taken no part in royal processions and a detachment
has never figured at the Military Tournament. There are less than 1,000
whites in the whole of Northern Nigeria, and only comparatively few have
seen the troops with which we have won the country.

A widely-prevalent practice at home is to speak of West Africa
comprehensively, as one would of Europe. There are greater differences
between peoples in the former regions, though of the same race, than
there are between the Scot and the Turk or the Celt and the Circassian.
Neither the West India Regiment—one battalion of which is usually
quartered at Sierra Leone—nor the Gold Coast Regiment are Northern
Nigeria men, notwithstanding that representatives of the first two
sometimes figure in London picture-shop windows as “Our Army in West
Africa.”

As stated in other chapters, the term Hausa is no more distinctive as a
class than is “English” when it embraces the town-bred wastrel of the
south and the hefty, pure Highlander of the north. Moreover, Mohamedanism
as a faith sits as lightly on large sections of Hausas as the tenets of
the Church of England do on many recruits in the United Kingdom. But
every regard is paid to whatever scruple a Nigerian may have in the
way of sentimental denominationalism. Whether he has any or none he is
expected to be true to his oath as a soldier.

On enrolment, therefore, the Mohamedan—orthodox or nominal—is sworn
on the Koran; the Pagan on the bayonet. Holding the blade and having
expressed in his own tongue the declaration of fealty to the King, he
touches the bayonet with his tongue and declares that, should he be
false, may it destroy him.

There is no separation in the regiment according to faith. Companies and
squads are composite. That system has not given the slightest trouble
or difficulty. A “palaver” among them over divinity matters has never
occurred. A lay Mohamedan does not seek to proselytise his fellow, and
the Pagan is not interested in the devotion of the other. The best of
comradeship prevails. If a fairly large number of soldiers go on an
expedition, Mallams—priests and religious teachers—are detailed with them
for the Mohamedans, as Army Chaplains do on active service with European
troops; and if the Mallam, who is under military law, does not attend at
the proper times to conduct prayers he must answer for it in the orderly
room.

This perspicacious measure was initiated by Sir George Taubman Goldie,
the founder of Nigeria, in his advance against Kabba, in 1897, which was
the first time Hausas had been called upon to fight people of their own
religion. The presence of Mallams counters any attempt to stir up a jehad
or to represent a campaign as due to endeavour of the white man forcibly
to convert the Mohamedan. It also prevents that argument being used to
undermine allegiance of the troops.

Social usages are likewise interfered with as little as possible.
The main consideration is that the men shall be made into thoroughly
efficient soldiers. That is what they are paid for, and nothing is
allowed to interfere. Beyond it their own customs, approved by law, are
permitted. Otherwise there would be very poor material in the ranks, for
service is quite voluntary.

Marriage prevails practically without exception among adults in West
Africa. The Tommy Atkins of Northern Nigeria, like his white comrade
here, must obtain permission to take unto himself a wife. Should he do so
without that preliminary she is not “on the establishment,” in which case
he must provide for her living outside the barracks. If the young fellow
is well-behaved the Commanding Officer gives permission for matrimony.

Of course there must be a limitation in number. A Private is therefore
allowed one wife; a Sergeant, two, and a Sergeant-Major, three; with an
additional spouse to individuals in each rank on completion of three
years’ exemplary service. When I heard of the regulation my early
aspiration for a military career recurred strongly. Forgetting the
question of race, I reflected that I might rise to be a Sergeant-Major in
the Northern Nigeria Regiment.

The regiment has English officers, who are attached for five years. They
are assisted by non-commissioned officers from home, locally styled
Colour-Sergeants, with a Sergeant-Major as senior. They supervise the
barrack-square drill and instruction, which is given by the native
non-commissioned officers, who, as has been indicated, can attain the
rank of Sergeant-Major.

The guns are carried on the men’s heads. As a faithful attendant at many
Military Tournaments in London I declare I never saw a smarter bit of
work of its kind, either by the best Royal Horse Artillery battery or by
picked men of the navy, than was witnessed on the drill ground at Zungeru.

At a whistle signal from the battery commander, Captain Maclaverty,
the men advanced about 50 yards, with the guns, in pieces, on their
heads. On the signals, “Halt,” “Action Front,” the several parts were
put together and brought into action, firing four rounds. The guns were
then broken up, the sections hoisted on the men’s heads and retired to
the original position. All this was done with the rapidity and precision
of bluejackets, without the slightest flurry or confusion, and, from
beginning to end, carried out in well under a-minute-and-a-half.

I had taken a kinematograph apparatus from England and secured moving
pictures of the operations, so there was the double test of time by watch
and the amount of film used.

The battery can, however, from the halt, walk a distance, put the guns
together and fire a round in less than 30 seconds; in fact, anything
longer is considered bad. The movement specified is that of firing
case-shot to repel cavalry attack.

The projectiles used are: shrapnell shell, 12½ lbs., effective at 3,400
yards; double common shell, 18 lbs., effective at 2,000 yards; case, 15
lbs.

The white personnel of the four guns I saw at Zungeru—the remaining
two were at Sokoto—was made up of a Captain in command assisted by
a Subaltern, and a Sergeant-Major, whose chief work was that of
Quartermaster-Sergeant. Further, there were the native Sergeant-Major and
other black N.C.O.

Gun-carriers are enlisted for two years, and actual gunners for six
years. Re-enlistment is allowed. The native Sergeant-Major has 15
years’ service. Though recruiting can be direct into the battery, the
artillerymen are drawn mainly from the gun carriers.

All gun orders are given in English. Although very few of the men
understand the tongue, they learn to recognise the meaning of the
words of command. Every officer must, however, pass a colloquial test
in Hausa. Recruits are put through their early stages by the native
non-commissioned officers, who take most of the parade drilling. All
these native Sergeants and Corporals, and most of the Bombardiers, are
capable of commanding the battery and of taking a series.

Do I labour detail too much in stating the items of transportation? The
process is as follows:

The gun itself, weighing about 240 lbs., is borne on slings, the poles
of which rest on the heads of four men.

The cradle, into which the gun fits and to which are attached hydraulic
buffers to take the recoil of firing, weighing about 240 lbs., is carried
in the same way as the gun.

The trail, or carriage, which has a spade to assist in checking the
recoil, weighing about 240 lbs., is transported as those stated above.

The two wheels are each carried by a man, who has a 70 lb. load.

The axle, about 70 lbs., is a one-man load.

A box of spare parts and cleaning traps, about 70 lbs., is carried by one
man.

There is also a Headman to superintend and assist.

Similar guns were used in the capture of Kano, in 1903, the great Hausa
city with mud walls 40 feet thick and 50 feet high. Against these walls,
which it was thought would be knocked to pieces by the artillery, all
ammunition was impotent. An entry was at last effected by smashing one of
the heavy gates with a shell.

The sports in which the men of the regiment are encouraged to indulge are
mostly of British origin. They are very keen on wrestling and tug-of-war
and greatly enjoy dipping for toroes. A toro is a threepenny bit. A large
basin of flour, in which a number of toroes have been buried, is placed
on a table. At the side of the table is a pail of water. Competitors,
stripped to the waist and with hands behind back, one by one dip their
faces into the water and then plunge them in the flour, attempting
to pick out a coin with the teeth. The crowd of sightseers at the
public display I saw at Zungeru shouted with delighted amusement at the
ludicrous appearance of each contestant as his features emerged from the
flour.

The favourite sport of the mounted infantry is wrestling on horseback.
That itself is pretty exhilarating. A spice of added excitement is
provided by the mounts, which enter into the spirit of the situation with
zest, by darting at and attempting to viciously bite one another.

I may explain that in their ordinary training the men of the mounted
infantry do not pass back into the unmounted branch. The uniform somewhat
resembles that of the Sikh, and, though their arms includes a lance, they
are taught to fight as foot soldiers as well.

Not least interesting is the moulding of the signallers. Obviously it
is of vital importance on an expedition that detached parties, perhaps
unexpectedly surrounded by overwhelmingly superior numbers whom they may
be able to keep off temporarily, shall be equipped with means for making
their position and plight known to the main body.

Whether the men selected for signalling tuition are Hausa or Pagan
matters not. Scarcely any can read, much less write, their mother tongue.
That, to say nothing of English, would be as Greek is to the average
recruit in Great Britain.

You will gather what pains and patience the British N.C.O. exercises
with his charges when it is said that these Nigerians—some, wild men
from the hills and mountains; others, simple labourers or farming hands
previous to the equivalent of “taking the King’s shilling”—can not alone
signal by flag, lamp and heliograph a message handed to them in English
but—it seems almost marvellous—receive from any of the three instruments
mentioned, and write, such a message, not knowing in the least what it
means.

The explanation is simple. They learn that a figure—for example, B—is
sent by a particular form of flag-waving, lamp-flashes or helio-rays.
Conversely, certain movements of flag or the other instruments mean that
the man receiving them has to draw the character—i.e., letter—associated
with the sign; space between words, of course, being recognised as well.

Imagine what it must be to teach that to simple creatures who know no
writing and can read none and who never fingered a pencil until they
entered the signalling squad, for, as has been said, they have not the
least idea what meaning is conveyed by the messages they despatch or
receive.

The value of signalling was utilised for civil purposes two years ago,
when early in the tornado season the telegraph connecting Zungeru with
the important centre of Minna, 38 miles distant, was destroyed by storms.
For 10 days, until the line could be restored, communication between the
two places was uninterruptedly maintained by the signalling section of
the First battalion.

A message was flagged under my observation by the Second battalion, at
Lokoja. Beyond handing the paper to the native Corporal, no white man
gave instructions or interfered in the slightest. On page 290, photograph
1 shows the original communication; photograph 2 is as the receiving
signaller wrote it. I asked Major Baker, temporarily in command of the
battalion, to use the words employed, as I wished to have a kinematograph
illustration of the operation.

Then there are the bands, and excellent they are. Both the Hausa tribes
and the Pagan tribes have a multiplicity of musical instruments on their
native heath, wind and even string. A detailed catalogue would occupy
space of an article as long as this. But the military band of each
battalion is quite in the lines of English regiments.

Instruction? Well, the men are as innocent of eye-understanding music
as they are of caligraphy. You might as well show them the signs of the
zodiac or the combination of any other astronomical constellation. The
English bandmaster teaches his pupils through their ear. Heaven only
knows how he obtains the result from such raw material. Listening to the
band playing alternately popular tunes and classical airs outside the
officers’ mess in the evenings, you would indeed wonder.

The titles of the pieces might naturally puzzle, or at least confuse, the
performers. They could scarcely be expected to differentiate on an order
for Cavalleria Rusticana or one for Rule Britannia. Therefore, the simple
expedient is adopted of giving the compositions numbers, which obviously
are much easier borne in mind. Thus, on the bandmaster ordering, for
instance, “One,” God Save the King would be rendered; “Two,” Rule
Britannia; “Three,” A Life on the Ocean Wave; “Four,” Hearts of Oak; and
so on.

It is not found specially difficult to replace a fresh tune to an old
number. On one occasion you might hear, in response to the order “Five,”
selections from The Bohemian Girl; a few months later the same word of
command would produce The Policeman’s Holiday.

You should see the Drum-Major, who is a native. He bears himself as
though leading the Grenadiers, the Coldstreams, the Scots or the Irish
Guards. His imposing staff is swung and twisted and twirled in the
air, and presently balanced horizontally as he guides the front rank
of the band wheeling, or he holds it aloft as a sign for the files to
counter-march. He is quite conscious of his importance as regards his own
men, I assure you; yet he knows his work so well that when Sergeant-Major
Slaney, who had been detailed from the Coldstream Guards for Special
Service instruction, told him how to take the band round the ground for
kinematograph purposes, it was necessary to tell him only once.

That induces me to mention the admirable method followed in handling
the men. All words of command by the whites, whether officers or
non-commissioned officers, are given in quiet, cool tones. There is never
any undue bustling in a manner to make the men frightened or nervous. Nor
are they treated as automatons. Every opportunity is taken to develop
the intelligence of those capable of exercising any. I noticed both
at Zungeru and Lokoja that whenever an officer wanted a section to go
through a movement he invariably gave the order to the senior native
non-commissioned officer and allowed him to move the squad accordingly.
In this way these non-coms become self-reliant and of immeasurably
greater value in an emergency on active service, where they may be thrown
on their own resources.

I witnessed a march of the Second battalion through Lokoja, traversing
the native quarter. It was done for recruiting. How the drums and fifes
and bugles brought the young women to line up on the route and gaze on
the troops as they proudly swept by! And there were the small boys, as
yet entirely minus clothing, trotting along to the martial sounds.

For days some of the bigger lads hung about the encampment of huts where
the troops live, desirous of enlisting as buglers but not venturing to
enter the trimly-kept compounds. At first they shrunk back with awe as a
white officer or non-commissioned officer passed in or out. But as one
of either class smiled at the youngsters or patted them on the head they
gained courage and eventually several asked a native soldier how they
could enlist. The majority of the youthful buglers are, however, sons of
soldiers or of ex-soldiers.

The military spirit has a large influence among the civilian Hausa
population. They classify all Europeans in the country into practically
two classes: “Colour-Sergeant _bature_”—_bature_ is Hausa for white
man—and “_Bombature_.” The latter is equivalent to big white men—not
in stature but status—and the former is the mark of subordinate rank.
The “Colour-Sergeant _bature_” will be men of the class of overseers
on the mines or second-class officials on the railway and others of
corresponding rating in commercial concerns, as distinguished from
their seniors. Occasionally there is an individual between the two
classifications. He is provided for by the designation “Sergeant-Major
_bature_.”

In the estimate of the Hausas, there are no whites to be ranked as
Privates. All are regarded as in some degree above themselves. It behoves
Englishmen who go to Nigeria to remember this and to bear themselves
accordingly. That does not warrant arrogance but entails self-control.

[Illustration: PHOTOGRAPH I. PHOTOGRAPH II.]

[Illustration: BERI-BERI WOMAN WITH ARTISTIC HEADDRESS.]

[Illustration: SWEARING IN A PAGAN AND A MOHAMEDAN FOR THE NORTHERN
NIGERIAN REGIMENT.

(See page 280.)]

CHAPTER XXXIV

ZARIA CITY AND PROVINCE

Prominence of Zaria—As a produce and trading centre—The
gold discoveries—Opposite deductions—Model, native
town-planning—Various taxes.

On the railway route from Lagos to Kano the largest European trading
centre produced by the opening of the line is Zaria. Several factors
have contributed to making the place prominent and important. Until
Kano was subdued, in 1903, Zaria was the foremost Hausa city which had
submitted to the British. Secondly, the idea of making Zaria, instead
of Zungeru, the administrative headquarters of Northern Nigeria, and
the steps taken towards that object, which included building a suitable
house for the Governor and others for the principal officials, mark Zaria
as a Government station of distinctiveness, for though the commodious
bungalows are not occupied by the class originally intended the men there
are a senior grade.

Thirdly, the junction of the Lagos-Kano trunk line with the branch,
Bauchi Light Railway, and the fact that passengers from either to the
other must stay at Zaria at least one night necessitate the provision of
several rest-houses and has encouraged the increase of European stores to
cater for items supplementary to the outfit and the “chop boxes” which
people take from England.

Fourthly, Zaria possesses several districts in which produce is raised
of the kind readily bought by exporting firms, and the railway has
enabled natives who cultivate such material to bring it with ease to
a comparatively large purchasing centre. The chief descriptions are
shea-nuts, ground-nuts, benniseed, and a little beeswax. There are also
hides and other skins.

Of the European Stores, the Niger Company, as usual, was first in the
field, opening in the middle of 1911. It was followed shortly afterwards
by Lagos Stores and the Tin Areas of Nigeria. These were joined in time
by John Walkden and Co., and Paterson and Zochonis. Sites are now being
built upon by Ollivant and Co. and John Holt, whilst plots are in the
hands of the London and Kano Trading Co., Pagenstecher and Co., Geiser
and Co., and the French Company. Most of the establishments buy produce
as well as retail European goods.

No doubt in time Zaria will outgrow its present condition beyond
recognition, but I am by no means sure that already the supply of stores
is not well in excess of the demand for several years, both for selling
to Europeans and for the purchase of native produce. Even as matters
stand, there is not nearly enough to go round remuneratively, and, though
the amount is sure to increase, a long time will pass before it is of
sufficient quantity to warrant the number of establishments which have
been and are being run up.

Moreover, Zaria is more likely to diminish, rather than increase, in
importance as a stage on the railway when the gauge of the trunk and
the branch lines have been altered to uniform gauge—the work will have
started weeks previous to this being published—which will avoid breaking
bulk for transhipment and will enable travellers to continue the journey
without change of carriage; the acceleration providing a through service
thus making unnecessary the present enforced wait at Zaria.

The Niger Company is gathering the fruits of having been the pioneer firm
at Zaria. The mud houses and sheds are being replaced by more permanent
structures. The retail store is of brick and is 80 feet by 35 feet. There
are also two iron buildings with cement floors, one for warehousing
the trading goods and the other for keeping the produce purchased. In
addition an 80 feet long, open shed is used for weighing produce bought
and to give shelter to the sellers whilst they wait their turn. The large
compound in which the buildings stand is itself a public market on a
small scale. Natives foregather there, sit down as at a meeting-place,
and small traders assemble to sell food to the people who dispose of
their produce, which may have been brought several days’ journey.

Although it is generally assumed that the gold discoveries made are in
Zaria Province, the only one of which the finder says he is satisfied
lies just over the border, in the Niger Province. That belongs to Mr L.
H. L. Huddart, who has shown me specimens from the ground which look
enchanting. Whether the mineral is to be won in payable quantity is
a question I am not prepared to answer. There is Mr Huddart, who was
first in that field and who declares he is content with that on which
he has lighted; whilst, on the other hand, some of the smartest mining
men in the country have prospected around the centre and have reported
adversely. Of course, both may be right.

Apart from this matter of gold, Mr Huddart evidently believes in the
country’s minerals, for a couple of miles from the European cantonment
at Zaria he is putting up permanent buildings to be used as offices
and a laboratory at which he proposes to carry on his profession as a
consulting mining engineer.

Zaria, the administrative headquarters of the province of the same name,
consists of three parts: the native city—a large, walled town resembling
Kano—four miles from the railway, so that the native life, under the
Emir, may be as free as practicable from disturbing influences; the
Government offices and officials’ bungalows; and the European merchants’
stores.

The group of stores and the group of bungalows are quite near each other
and within a stone’s-throw of the station.

A quarter-of-a-mile from these centres there is the small sabon
gari—i.e., native town—established for the requirements of natives who
draw supplies there which they retail to the resident Europeans, in the
way of daily household requirements. The sabon gari is also a great
convenience to the large number of natives who bring in produce to sell
to the exporting firms. Compared with Zaria City, this sabon gari is of
limited dimensions. It differs markedly from Zaria City in having been
laid out on Sir Hesketh Bell’s plan for model native towns.

It is divided into rectangular blocks, or plots, 50 feet by 100 feet.
The rent for a plot is 12s. or 16s. a year. The main avenue is 100 feet
wide, and other roads have a breadth of 50 feet, whilst streets parallel
with the houses—which, of course, are of mud—are 15 feet across; 183
plots are occupied.

Rentals from plots are divided evenly between the British administration
and the Beit-el-Mal, but dues from the market stalls go entirely to
the Beit-el-Mal. This institution—which is the Treasury for native
administration—is described in Chapter VII.

General taxation in Northern Nigeria in every province is adjusted to
local custom and usage. Therein lies one of the secrets of our success in
governing the country, that the ways of the people are interfered with as
little as possible.

But the population must pay taxes. They have always done so in one
form or another. Whereas formerly they had to render service, or its
substitute, for war or for slave-raiding and were squeezed in actual
taxation according to the requirements of the Emir’s Chiefs and, in
addition, any man who prospered became an object of cupidity for the
taxing Chief, now everybody is rated on a general plan and the amounts
levied are decided upon in consultation between the British and the
native authorities. Perhaps it will not be considered unduly out of place
if, as an example, the system in Zaria Province is stated.

There is, first, the kurdin gidda, or house tax. Every owner—lessee, as
we should term him—pays 1s. 6d. annually for occupancy. The kurdin kassa,
or farm tax, is levied on every adult male farmer, whether working on his
own account or for somebody else. The amount depends on the wealth of
the town and the facilities of the inhabitants for earning money, such as
proximity to trade routes and a railway. The tax ranges from 3s. to 6s.
annually.

The kurdin gari—tax of the town—is paid by adult males who do not farm,
whatever their work or occupation, or if they have none. The actual sum
paid is fixed on the capacity of the payee to earn. The average is about
3s. a year.

A special tax which has been in existence for centuries is the kurdin
karra, or tax on sugar, charged on sugar-cane plots, at 4s. yearly,
independently of the size of the individual plot and of the number of men
working on it.

Native non-Moslems are levied for a hoe tax, which is imposed only on
adult male farmers, who pay from 3d. to 3s. a year on the same principle
as that applied to the kurdin kassa.

As in every Hausa Province, all these taxes are collected by the
district Chief and paid into the Beit-el-Mal. Fifty per cent. is taken
by the British administration and goes towards the cost of the supreme
Government. It is the price for protection from aggressive wars by
neighbouring peoples and for the control of their own rulers against the
extortions and oppressive demands which past rulers exercised. No part of
the present taxation is taken out of the country.

The 50 per cent. balance is divided roughly into two. One of the two
parts is for the Emir of Zaria Province, who has a fixed civil list
for his personal expenditure and the expenses of his Court and for the
payment of native Judges and police and the upkeep of a central prison;
the other part is apportioned among the town Chiefs of the Province,
who pay their subordinate officials a salary previously decided on the
proportion it shall bear from the collected taxes. The salaries must not,
however, exceed the figure decided when each appointment is made.

Of course, any attempt, detected, on the part of the Chiefs or village
Headmen who collect the taxes to act in an irregular manner is dealt
with severely. The natives know they can appeal against injustice to the
British Resident. But the Residents do not interfere between the native
Chiefs and the population unless some great principle is violated. By
utilising the machinery of social organisation, which has existed for
hundreds of years, for the purpose of native government, a Civil Service
has been obtained of men who understand their own people in a way no
white could be expected to, and is obtained at a fraction of the cost
incurred in having the work done by Englishmen, who could not carry it
out with a tithe of the efficiency.

The Government officials’ bungalows at Zaria are the best in Northern
Nigeria. Nearly all are of brick. The roads are excellent. They were
laid out by the Public Works Department, with the exception of the
main trading road to Zaria native city, which was made by the Emir
with his own people, directed by those of them who had been on railway
construction. The highway is 60 feet wide and is planted both sides with
trees, which give a comforting shade.

Two groups of rest-houses are at Zaria. One is within a few feet of the
station, in charge of the railway staff, and is very convenient for
persons who arrive by a main line train and leave the following day by
a branch line train, or _vice-versâ_; the other group is used by the
Resident for travellers who may be staying a little longer.

It was to the latter group I went on my first stay; and it would
ill-befit me to omit mentioning the courtesy shown at each visit. When
here previously the Resident, Captain Fremantle, was occupied with
preparations for moving into the native city for one of the usual
periodical visits, lasting a few days; but the morning following my
arrival he sent his next-in-command, Mr M. P. Porch, to enquire if I
was comfortably quartered, and Mr Porch so thoroughly carried out his
mission as to spontaneously ask whether I was short of any supplies, as,
if so, he would willingly send me some of his. Dr Johnson, the medical
officer, did not wait for the formality of an application for condensed
water—that or the filtered variety is indispensable—but offered the
necessary authority to draw a daily supply from the man in charge of the
condenser. Dr Johnson had sufficient thought and human feeling to reflect
that a new-comer might lack the appliances to convert liquid poison into
drinkable stuff. He did not put across a polite note a pencil scrawl,
“Apply to the railway people,” whose place is a mile away.

On reaching Zaria this time I find Captain Fremantle, whom I had looked
forward to meeting, temporarily invalided to England, his place filled
for the time being by Mr A. C. Francis, who had been described as one of
the most delightful men in the Northern Nigeria Government service. That
is just what I should say of him.

[Illustration: FIDDLE.

With strings and bow of horse-hair, rubbed with gum.]

[Illustration: A HAUSA BOY

Playing a molah, a kind of banjo.]

CHAPTER XXXV

THE BARO-KANO RAILWAY

Emirs’ assent—Compensation for palm trees—A locomotive’s
food—Engine whistling preferred to Caruso—Official
opening—Natives’ curiosity—A Mallam’s impressions—Horse _v._
train.

Previous to taking my last railway journey in the course of the present
stay in Nigeria, it will not be out of place to give a sketch of the
building of the Baro-Kano line. It starts, southwards, from Baro, on the
River Niger, to Kano, joining at Minna the system running from Lagos. The
portion of that system in Northern Nigeria was constructed with funds
advanced from rich Southern Nigeria, whereas the Baro to Minna portion
was built from the Northern Nigeria exchequer exclusively.

Although the line was imperative both for strategic and commercial
purposes, care was taken not to ride roughshod over the susceptibilities
of the people nor to run full-tilt against any prejudices of theirs. The
Emirs through whose territory the track passed were formally asked to
signify assent, which they readily gave. They are highly intelligent men
who, long ago having realised that British ascendency was inevitable and
permanent, saw clearly that their own positions would be strengthened
by increased facilities of the paramount and protecting Power to move
troops should that be necessary.

Every palm-kernel or other trade-value tree cut down was paid for at five
years’ purchase, assessed at the rate of 10s. annually, the money handed
to the Chief of the area. This policy earned the hearty good-will of the
population directly affected.

The line passed through the county of three Emirs: those of Bida,
Zaria, and Kano. All displayed the utmost cordiality and co-operation
in the construction. They directed and encouraged their subjects to
work in building the railway, though labourers were paid personally and
individually.

The Emir of Zaria evinced so much interest in construction that he was
in the habit of sitting on the embankment, with his officers of State
around, watching the rails laid. He would repeatedly enquire how much the
locomotive ate, in the matter of fuel—wood—and what quantity of water it
drank. He regarded it quite as a living creature. Above everything, he
loved to hear its voice, to listen to its whistle and shriek. For his
greater enjoyment, the whistle would be kept going at its loudest for
several minutes at a stretch. That appealed to him more than the finest
tones of a Caruso or the sweetest notes of a Melba or a Tetrazzini.

The Emirs were each invited to perform the ceremony of opening the
railway in his own Province. In 1909 the Emir of Bida opened the 43
miles’ section from Baro to Badegi, Sir Percy Girouard, then Governor of
Northern Nigeria, being present with his staff; early in 1911 the Emir of
Zaria opened the extension to 267 miles’ point, Mr C. C. Temple, Acting
Governor, attending; and the lengthening to Kano was opened by the Emir
of that name. The Emirs were presented with bronze spanners—a material
more highly valued than silver—with which they screwed up the last
fish-plate bolt.

For the first few months or so that weekly trains were running to Kano,
natives from the city and the surrounding villages displayed curiosity
concerning the locomotive to the degree of assembling in crowds on the
track at the railhead—there is no station yet—to gaze again and again at
the engine. Quite polite and giving no trouble to the officials, they
would examine it from every point of view, some lying on the ground to
look underneath the phenomenal thing.

Last January, shortly after the railway started, a treat was given to the
pupils of the Government schools at Nassarawa. The establishment is used
for instruction to the sons of Emirs and Chiefs and to men for public
duties, of whatever age, to equip them better mentally for their tasks.
The treat consisted of an outing by train. One of the pupils, a Mallam
from Bornu, 70 years old, was with difficulty persuaded to go into the
truck. Covered carriages had not arrived. Eventually he did and was soon
at his ease. He watched intently all that took place during the trip and
on returning was asked cheerily by one of the young engineers what he
thought of it all. The old man thanked the railway officials for so much
education given in so short a period, but in reply to the question he
said he could tell them only by writing a big book. One pointed out that
some of them might not live until he had finished, in which event they
would die in ignorance of the knowledge sought from him. Therefore he
should speak at once.

After thinking, the Mallam replied that he might tell them a few of his
impressions in a long speech, and was preparing to gird up his loins for
the operation. That prospect was not at all alluring to the audience, so
he was urged to give voice to the one thing which impressed him most.
He at once answered, “The fact that the engine drank more water than a
thousand elephants!”

Some Chiefs from outlying districts were brought in for a joy ride in
trucks. When the initial uneasiness at the novel form of movement had
passed off, they seemed to enjoy the thrill of being whirled along at 20
miles an hour by no effort of theirs. Asked whether the sensation was not
better than travelling in the saddle they replied, “Certainly not, as the
horse did not spit hot sparks at a man on his back or behind him.”

* * * * *

A little after 6 a.m. the train by which I travelled left Zaria for Baro,
which is a two days’ journey. The first night was spent at Minna, 155
miles from Zaria. The line from Lagos and that from Baro roughly form the
apex of a triangle at Minna, with the Niger, between Baro and Jebba, as
the base.

Two years ago railhead from Baro was at Minna, then a small, temporary
station, really merely a stopping-place. Now there are platforms 300
yards long, and the station offices are of red brick, made on the spot,
with cement facings. The station is lit by incandescent oil lamps,
the oil forced up 30-feet standards. It is the only station which has
semaphore signals, three in each direction. There are six tracks of the
standard West African gauge—3 feet 6 inches—and a turn-table capable of
taking the largest vehicle on the railway, 50 feet.

One sees as many as 50 trucks, brought up or down the line, waiting to be
made up for their several destinations. They contain cotton goods from
England, cement and machinery for the tin mines, kola nuts from the Gold
Coast Colony for the great Mohamedan centres of Zaria and Kano. Formerly
the nuts were taken by head carriage.

After the first few stations from Minna towards Baro permanent buildings
are in existence: square, brick buildings, with an annexe consisting of
a roof on pillars, used as a waiting-room for native passengers, where
they can go for protection from the rain. I noticed, too, that the
open trucks, which were all that could be obtained for the unexpected
dimensions of the native traffic in the earlier months of the opening of
the line, are being converted into covered carriages.

It is good to see on this Baro-Kano Railway, so much used by native
passengers, the provision made for their reasonable comfort. They are
regarded as human beings, not merely freight. Their fares contribute
considerably to the revenue of the railway. There were people in England,
and plenty in Nigeria who had not been through the district, who saw in
the scheme of the line from Baro to Minna, running as it does parallel
with the section from Jebba to Minna, only an unnecessary competing span
with the latter stretch, just built, so they said, to satisfy Sir Percy
Girouard’s idea, he being “out” to propound a scheme of construction in
accordance with his reputation as a railway builder.

Persons who formed so ungenerous a judgment thought of merchandise alone;
they took no note of the inhabitants of the land. Such persons should
see the immense convenience the line is to the native; to what an extent
it has lightened his life, in more ways than one, and then they would
recognise both its utility and necessity. This is stated independently
of considering the Baro-Minna section in the general, broad policy of
railway development.

A gladsome sight at some of the stations south of Minna was bananas
brought by women for sale. A bunch of 12 for a penny was the price, which
my boy, who made the purchases, told me was double the charge he would
pay if marketing for himself. Still, I was eager enough to buy at the
higher rate, for I had had no fresh fruit, and, with the exception of
onions and potatoes, very few vegetables of the same character for about
six months.

The appearance of the fruit showed I was passing into country where the
cultivation and climate differed from that lately seen. There were other
signs. Flat, open, grassy land, fairly wooded, but not to the extent of
marring the landscape view, the general effect in several respects is to
make it indistinguishable in appearance from English country. This effect
is rather added to than otherwise by an occasional sheet of water. But a
characteristic of the tropics is distinguishable in the aristocratic-like
palms, standing separately and much higher than the other trees.

Near some villages along the railway are a few small patches of tobacco
growing, the long and broad leaf drawing attention to the plant from the
surrounding greenery. There is a freshness of verdure in these low-lying
lands of more marked kind than the higher, cooler, and drier reaches
yield. It is here and still further below in the valleys of the Benue
that cotton will be produced if the plant is to be cultivated in any
quantity in Northern Nigeria.

The train was due at Baro on Saturday evening, and my plan was to go
straight on board a launch, if one was available, leave in the early
morning for Lokoja, there to join the first mail stern-wheeler for the
sea. During Saturday afternoon a telegram was handed me at a station,
sent by Mr E. N. Coleman, Transport Agent of the Niger Company at Baro,
who had been a fellow-traveller on the voyage from England, containing an
invitation to the hospitality of the bungalow there for the night, and
stating that the launch was ready for continuing the journey next day. It
was quite dark when the train drew into Baro.

CHAPTER XXXVI

BARO ON THE NIGER

Up early the following morning, to make most of the time before starting
down the Niger, a quick look round at once gave a view more like the
general pictures of West African towns seen along the Coast than the
plains and highlands recently left. Small, square, and oblong houses,
painted white and with red roofs, surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped hill
400 feet high, covered with green, bring to mind some resemblance to
Sierra Leone and Monrovia, as seen from the sea at a distance.

Baro is 130 miles below Jebba, and was selected by Sir Percy Girouard for
the terminus of the railway. The Niger is 1,000 feet across, divided into
two channels by an island about two miles long, on which the native town
is located. The south channel—the one nearest the railway—is only 100
feet wide, and you can walk over it, on sand, at lowest water.

Formerly Baro was an important produce-buying station of the Niger
Company, principally for shea-nuts and ground-nuts. Since the opening
of the railway the place has become important as a transport point for
transference from the river stern-wheelers—run in connection with the
ocean liners—to the train, for passengers and material bound for the tin
mines. Now an average of 5,000 packages are handled weekly, ranging from
personal baggage to heavy parts of machinery.

There are a number of people, particularly those going to the tin fields,
who have little time to make purchases in England and who cannot supply
the deficiencies when at the mouth of the Forcados River, as there is
direct transhipment from the ocean ship to the stern-wheeler. Practically
any requirement can, however, be satisfied at Baro, where there is always
some interval between the arrival of the stern-wheeler and the departure
of the train. The stay is long enough to make any outlays. The store of
the Niger Company was stocked as I had not seen an establishment stocked
for a long time, not since I had been in Zungeru more than six months
earlier. There was everything actually on sale needed for a man going to
the mines or prospecting. I walked up and down the building, as big as
a large drill hall, and noted light tools for joiners and carpenters;
oil stoves, useful for doing cooking on the train when a carriage has no
facilities of that character; table and wall lamps; medicines, including
quinine; tinned and bottled fruits; table necessaries and delicacies;
liquids, from lemon squash, lime juice and Wincarnis to champagne; clocks
and wristlet watches. I counted 6 brands of cigars and 20 kinds of
cigarettes, camp-beds, deck chairs, men’s clothing, from soft felt and
tweed hats to boots of various sorts, even to sock suspenders.

Then, to my surprise, I saw black frock-coats, just as the doctor or
other professional man would wear in England. Although second-hand, I was
staggered on learning that they are sold at 3s. 9d.! Fancy being rigged
out in a respectable frock-coat 400 miles up from the Coast in West
Africa at a cost of three shillings and ninepence! And, presumably, this
figure leaves a profit after payment of transit from home.

And who wants to wear a black cloth frock-coat in these sultry regions,
where white linen is more appropriate? I ask.

The answer is that there are two destinations for the articles. Natives
in the district who are well off—such as a petty trader—buy and use them
as rain-coats. They enquire at the store for “a water, black gown.”

The second destination to which a frock-coat goes which may have graced
the figure of a company director, or even a member of the House of Lords,
is as a present to some native Chief in Southern Nigeria, who will don it
on State occasions, as the Lord Mayor of London comes out resplendent in
his robes of office when an imposing ceremony is afoot.

In this store there was an array of another garment which my untutored
eye took to be men’s undervests having intricate fretwork at the neck and
on the short sleeves and under the fretwork what I thought to be blue
and pink blotting-paper. On enquiring the correctness of my surmise,
young Mr Coleman, who was showing me round, said in a rather loud tone,
half-scornful at ignorance and half-pitiful, “What! Men’s undervests!
Why, they are ladies’ chemises, with insertion. What you call fretwork,
as though it were wood carved, is embroidery. Did anyone ever hear of
embroidered men’s undervests!” And he laughed. After a pause he added,
“Aren’t you married?” “No.” His rejoinder was merely “Oh!” I learnt he
was.

Naturally I wondered what female form was decorated with such trappings
and was told that the belles from villages miles around were particularly
partial to this adornment, worn without anything over it; whereas in more
civilised lands—so Mr Coleman informed me in a confidential, fatherly
way—a dress covered the artistic production.

I always try to understand a subject in all its bearings, but you who may
regard me as woefully deficient in knowledge on this topic please bear in
mind that I have just come down from country where fashions and styles
and manners of dress are much simpler and approximate—in fact, in many
cases have not even attained—to the Garden of Eden stage.

The large number of rat-traps for sale led me to enquire whether there
was a plague of the rodents. I was told No, but that the folks of the
neighbourhood esteemed the vermin as an article of diet, properly cooked.
The traps were used to secure the delicacy. My boy Oje informs me his
people—the non-Moslem Yorubas of Ibadan—also enjoy the dish of rat, but
he made clear that they would not demean themselves to eat the house
variety, as the Hausas at Baro do, instead catching the field rat,
“because he chop (feeds) on corn and be big and good past the other.”
Oje never misses an opportunity to give reasons why his tribesmen and
tribeswomen are superior to all the coloured race. He has a bump of local
patriotism fully developed.

After looking over the excellent Railway Institute—a great boon to the
employees—closer examination than had been practicable the previous
evening was given to the Niger Company bungalow for staff quarters. It is
built of cement blocks, with an overhanging verandah of wood and a roof
of tiles, which has the immense advantage over iron or tin in that rest
is not disturbed at night during the wet season, as, at the most, the
rain merely purrs on the tiles. Under them is a wooden ceiling, giving
coolness, and corresponding effect is obtained on the hottest day by
use of cement blocks for the walls. The cement came out in barrels and
the blocks were made by a Cyclops hand machine on the spot. When the
railway authorities saw the bungalow a similar block-making machine was
immediately ordered for their own purpose.

The whole bungalow is large and airy. It contains eight bedrooms—the
verandah is suitable for sleeping during the highest temperature—and
downstairs there are a lounge for smoking and reading, a dining-room, and
a domestic store. All the rooms have been made mosquito-proof.

[Illustration: HAUSA HOUSE-BUILDING WITH GRASS.

The Foundation.]

[Illustration: THE FINISHED MANSION.

It is put up by two men in a couple of hours, including cutting the
grass.]

Baro presents a peculiar hygienic problem. The mortality formerly
associated with Jebba baffled doctors as to its cause. Baro, on the other
hand, used to be regarded as possessing peculiarly unhealthy conditions
in the marshy land along the river shore. Yet, with the exception of the
first year of railway construction, cases of illness have averaged few
and are now lower than ever. So much so that the hospital has been closed
some time as there were too few cases to keep the staff employed. There
are not many of that kind in West Africa. This qualified immunity could
probably be traced to personal precautions. The lesson should not be lost
by new-comers to the country, not necessarily new-comers to this part, as
the same principles apply all through West Africa.

There were other spots at Baro I should have been glad to visit, but,
being due at Lokoja—70 miles—the same night, at 11 a.m. I went aboard the
small steam-launch the _Rattler_ and commenced the 406 miles’ journey
down the Niger.

CHAPTER XXXVII

LOKOJA

“Steam at 10 o’clock, Cappy.” That was the order given by Mr Coleman
at Baro in the evening to the skipper of the _Rattler_ launch for the
following morning. “Cappy,” of course, was an abbreviation of Captain.
This commander was of the Nupé tribe, and the craft in his charge was
used by Mr W. H. Hibbert, Divisional Agent of the Company, for inspection
tours of the stations in his division. He had kindly sent it up from
Lokoja to save me waiting three or four days for a large stern-wheeler
coming down the Niger.

The wish, however, of several people that I should see the places in
which they were specially concerned made the hour 11 a.m. when the
_Rattler_ steamed away on the 70 miles’ run to Lokoja.

The launch, propelled by a screw, was 75 feet long, with a beam of 8½
feet, and 4½ feet deep, drawing 2 feet 9 inches. The boat is used as a
habitation by Mr Hibbert for weeks together as he travels up and down
the main streams and tributary creeks to visit the many stations of the
Company where produce is purchased by the men in charge and European
goods sold to the natives.

Just below Baro the Niger is 1,200 feet across, as smooth as the
Serpentine lake in Hyde Park. The banks of the river are low, in some
cases edged with narrow strips of sand and in others completely grass
covered. As one steams down, the crowded trees make a wall to within a
quarter of a mile of the bank, whilst in spots this thick wooding comes
to the edge of the water and continues along it. Occasionally, in the
background, are ranges of hills, giving a higher and less regular sky
line. Clear and distinct on the sand beaches crocodiles can be seen at
intervals snoozing in the sun.

This broad river is not so easy for navigation as it looks, for there are
plenty of shallows and submerged islands where our little craft might
easily run aground. “Cappy,” therefore, does not take a direct line, but
frequently has the boat in a diagonal course, as though he were tacking
against the wind, giving directions by a slight move of the hand to the
sailor at the wheel.

Although no stop was made on the journey down, it was quite dark
half-an-hour before arriving at Lokoja, where Mr A. Coombe, also a
fellow-passenger on the voyage from England and District Agent of the
Niger Company, was waiting on the beach with a lamp to guide “Cappy” to
his moorings alongside the bank.

Lokoja has a past. Not in the sense applied to Mrs Ebbsmith, but in
the place it has occupied in the record of West African exploration.
The story, even given briefly, may convey some notion of the climatic
deterrents on the one hand and, on the other, how the British outlook on
colonial expansion has changed—completely reversed—and how that policy
was, it may be said, almost involuntarily effected.

I do not propose, at least here, to take a literary jaunt along the 2,500
years since the Niger River was first mentioned by a writer, the worthy
Herodotus. I merely venture to sail lightly over the 82 years that have
elapsed since the course of the waterway was discovered by the brothers
Lander. That is done by reason of the very important trading position
Lokoja occupies and the dominating influence it has had in the political
advancement of the country.

The connection of Lokoja to the Niger is as strong as London is to the
Thames or Liverpool to the Mersey, though the famous African town does
not correspond topographically to either, for it is 337 miles from the
sea.

That part of the Niger was unknown to whites until the brothers Lander
came down the stream in a canoe from Boussa and, continuing, traced the
river to its outlet. Europeans had traded in the delta for hundreds of
years but did not suspect it was the same stream Mungo Park and other
travellers had struck in the hinterland.

Two men had, however, formed theories concerning the course of the Niger
from Boussa. One, Herr Reichard, argued in print, in 1808, that the
river took the line which was to a large extent eventually proved, but he
did not indicate accurately how it was disposed at the mouth. The other,
James McQueen, issued in 1816 a small publication in which he traced the
direction of the Niger to the sea; five years later he elaborated his
views in a volume, illustrating them by maps. As McQueen—a merchant of
the West Indies—had never been in Africa, his conclusion was scorned.
Nine years afterwards he heard its accuracy verified, when Richard and
John Lander came out at the southernmost arm of the mighty stream.

The news acquired by the Landers in 1830 that the river was navigable
from the delta, in 1832 induced two vessels propelled by steam to be
fitted out at Liverpool for trading up the river. The expedition was
financed and organised by the pioneer of British commerce in this part of
Nigeria, McGregor Laird. The vessels together carried a crew of 45, of
whom, in a couple of years, the climate killed 36. This heavy mortality
shocked people at home, and for some time the country was looked upon as
impossible for Europeans.

However, in 1841 another attempt was made, though for a different
purpose. Three steamers went out from England, carrying 145 persons.
Their object was towards the abolition of slavery solely by peaceful
measures. The officers were all drawn from the Royal Navy. The
expedition, like the former one, were absent two years, and although
the deaths were not so overwhelming in this case, they were appalling:
practically 33 per cent., for 49 succumbed. In the main design of the
journey nothing was effected. A piece of land was purchased adjoining
the river. The intention was to work it as a model farm, using free
labour. When the ships turned homewards the plot of ground was abandoned.
It was, however, subsequently to be one of the most-talked-of spots in
Northern Nigeria. Lokoja stands there.

In 1850 the British Government sent a small expedition, consisting of
Richardson, a German named Barth, and another of the same nationality,
Overweg, to march from Tripoli southwards across the desert and explore
the eastern territory of what is now Northern Nigeria. The trio broke up.
Mr Richardson died in Nigeria, and whilst Dr Overweg went to report on
the country in Lake Chad district, Dr Barth reached Yola, on the Benue
River, 467 miles from where it forms a junction with the Niger facing
Lokoja. Barth advised the Government that the Benue be utilised for
trading with the interior, Lander having demonstrated that the double
waterway communicated with the sea.

On the strength of Barth’s reports, and notwithstanding the deplorable
experience of the previous parties, McGregor Laird in 1854 applied to the
Government for permission to explore and trade on the Niger. His request
was granted and he built a steamer, the _Pleiad_, for the purpose.
It carried quite a mixed consignment, consisting of trading goods; a
zoologist, who was to pursue his own branch of study; and several native
missionaries in the service of the Church Missionary Society. Every
health precaution was adopted, including quinine daily; and, in striking
contrast to former results, after about five months every one of the
Europeans was brought back.

Laird’s expedition had proved so promising that in January 1857 he
offered, for a subsidy by the Government, to place a steamer on the
Niger and maintain communication between the sea and about 400 miles
up country. The proposal was adopted, and a few trading centres were
soon established along the route. These, however, resulted in friction
with the natives, and, after a period of three years, Laird’s death and
other causes were followed by abandonment of the centres and almost the
complete relinquishment of direct British interest in that part of the
territory.

Dr Baikie, R.N., who had been in charge of Laird’s first expedition, on
the second being arranged was sent out as British Consul and took up
quarters on the river shore which had been acquired for the 1841 model
farm and which in Baikie’s consulate was named Lokoja.

In 1868, in furtherance of the policy of the period to reduce, not to
extend, British influence, Baikie was withdrawn, and the Niger territory,
beyond a few miles from the mouth of the river, cut from our control. The
ideas of the day had been expressed by the House of Commons Resolution
of 1865, which directed that: “... the object of our policy should be to
encourage in the natives the exercise of those qualities which may render
it possible for us more and more to transfer to them the administration
of all the Governments with a view to our ultimate withdrawal from all
[West Africa] except, probably, Sierra Leone.”

Well, where pusillanimous Cabinets feared to go unofficial enterprise
boldly stepped, and, whether the Home Government wished it or not,
circumstances so willed that the Union Jack came to be eagerly
planted on the Niger territories and subsequently carried far into the
interior, or the British would have been hemmed in on the coast by other
Continental nations. The former attitude of general withdrawal had in
the course of a single generation become utterly discredited. In 1886
the Niger Company received its Charter, and from that time the peace and
prosperity of Northern Nigeria has proceeded apace.

Lokoja was the administrative headquarters of the Company. Here, in 1897,
Sir George Taubman Goldie—the Mr Goldie Taubman of those days—organised
the force to proceed to Kabba City, which was the initial occasion Hausas
were put to fight against their co-religionists. The care and thought
these pioneers gave to the study of local feeling and tendencies is shown
by the appointment for the first time of Mallams to accompany the troops,
and, like army chaplains, minister to their spiritual requirements. That
step prevented the enemy from undermining the soldiers’ staunchness
on the subject most likely to touch their sentiment, and it also
counteracted the risk of a jehad being preached on the ground that the
white man sought forcibly to convert the Mohamedans to his own faith.

It was from Lokoja that Sir George Taubman Goldie set out the same year,
and, with native regiments which numbered all ranks between 500 and 600,
defeated, in a two days’ battle, the Emir of Bida’s army, estimated at
from 10,000 to 15,000 first-class fighting men, including the famous
Fulani horsemen, who until that encounter had been looked upon as
invincible in war.

The Company’s Charter was taken over by the Imperial authorities at
the opening of 1900, and Jebba, 200 miles higher up the river, shortly
afterwards made Government headquarters.

If Lokoja does not possess the former political predominance, its
business importance is more than ever. The town may be said to occupy
a strategic commercial position. It stands, as has been stated, at the
confluence of the Benue and Niger rivers, which here are together about
two miles across.

The Benue flows into the Niger at an angle of 45 degrees and is navigable
to Yola, 467 miles distant. It runs through the Bassa country, remarkably
rich in agricultural and sylvan produce, of which not a tithe has yet
been tapped.

There are eight European firms in Lokoja, namely, the Tin Areas of
Nigeria, the British Cotton Growing Association, the Niger Company,
Messrs Pagenstecher, John Holt, G. W. Christian, J. D. Fairley, and the
Bank of British West Africa. The first five are buyers of produce as well
as storekeepers, whilst the remainder only engage in the latter form of
business. The exception to both descriptions of business is, of course,
the bank, which does not go beyond its own sphere.

Kabba Province, in which Lokoja stands, is noted for the rubber,
palm-kernels, and shea-nuts cultivated by the native farmers, with
comparatively little beeswax and a few hides. The Niger Company is the
largest buyer. Away from the headquarters, at Burutu, it is the largest
station of the Company. In the sheds I saw tons and tons of palm-kernels,
shea-nuts, rubber, and other forest products brought from the interior
and exchanged for British goods and for the small amount of Continental
articles which British manufacturers cannot make; and there are also
large cash transactions—in fact, most of the purchases are paid for in
cash—of which only a small proportion is expended on the spot.

This is not done at once, nor is it necessarily carried out with the firm
to whom the native farmer or trader has sold the produce. He is not the
man quickly to launch into outlay. He is cool, careful, calculating, and,
having disposed of what he has to sell, will sit down for two or three
days to cogitate on what he shall buy in the way of presents to take to
his folks at home. Having brought himself to the mood of expenditure, he
probably inspects all the stores before deciding where he is to bestow
his patronage, which may be no more than 5s.

A somewhat similar procedure is followed when he is a seller. Each
European firm will be tried and the amount it will give for the produce
ascertained previous to one being selected. Time is no object. If anybody
fresh from England and not conversant with native methods sought to
inculcate new ideas and method by refusing to pay the price offered and
declined a few days earlier for the native produce, then that merchant
would simply take it away and probably never bring more to the same place.

* * * * *

Lokoja has this difference from its Lancashire prototype, Liverpool,
that whereas the Mersey and the Manchester ends of the Ship Canal
are the water termini of sea-borne merchandise, Lokoja is a kind of
clearing-house for general distribution. To its beach are moored screw
and stern-wheelers, from 10 tons’ freight to the larger ones of the
“Naraguta” class, for freight of 600 tons; barges drawing 12 to 15
inches, for passing up the broad though very shallow creeks of the Niger
and the Benue, carrying goods of English make to the inhabitants of
districts which can give our home manufacturers those essential oils and
other products of the soil necessary for their industries, and which they
scour the world to discover.

To other parts of the beach come and go native canoes of infinite variety
in shape and size, some as long as vessels seen on European canals, and
decreasing by degrees until there is the plain dug-out made from the
trunk of a tree, in which the perambulating trader, with wife and child,
makes his peregrinations perhaps 500 miles up the Benue, buying and
selling and exchanging at the stopping-places, and at night sloping his
mat on a pole fixed horizontally, thus providing a house and shelter for
sleep. Lokoja is the great centre of them all.

It is also the Northern Divisional Headquarters of the Niger Company,
the division supervised by Mr W. H. Hibbert, and comprising 6 districts,
with 30 trading stations and stores, reaching as far as Ilorin in one
direction and Jemma and Loko in the other.

Loading or unloading the larger river boats is worth describing. Word
goes round the native town when the operation is to take place and a
great crowd of all sorts and conditions foregather to take a hand. There
is no elaborate and intricate supervision to ensure that each labourer
shall prove himself worthy of his wage. He is paid piecework in the most
direct, precise, and simple manner. The honorarium is rendered at every
load.

Suppose it is a case of loading fuel—wood—for a stern-wheeler. The corps
of workers assemble where the material is stacked, are given baskets,
which, being filled, they hoist on their heads, and half-run, half-walk,
close on one another’s heels, in a long, winding line to the boat.

As they pass along a plank from the shore to the craft there stands on
it a native clerk who hands to every person payment. Wages are high at
Lokoja, compared with what they were when I was up at Jebba three years
ago. At Lokoja, as in some parts of England, there is the cry of rise
in the cost of living. Consequently a few cowries no longer suffice as
an inducement for beach work. A journey with a load to or from the boat
is rewarded by a tenth of a penny. Nickel coins of that denomination
are sent from England for currency in Nigeria. The native name is
nini, pronounced neenee. Tenth of a penny is the minimum payment. Do
not conclude that these very casual labourers would be content with
whatever you cared to offer. Nothing of the kind. The tenth is for
a generally-agreed distance between the points of taking a load and
discharging it. Should the points be wider apart, two, three, or even
four tenths must be disbursed as each worker performs his, or her, task.

An amusing crowd it is that scampers along at this work: men, women, and
children of all ages and sizes. The most complete freedom of contract
obtains. Everybody is free to enter and head a basket, and anybody can
give up when they please. In hurrying over the narrow plank to the boat,
occasionally bearer and load will overbalance and topple into the river,
at which the noise of shouting with which the work is carried on will be
heightened by loud laughter, whilst the fallen warrior collects basket
and contents from the running stream and completes the task of depositing
his charge at its proper destination.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

LOKOJA—(_continued_)

The commercial aspect of Lokoja has occupied the main portion of the
preceding chapter, but, of course, a large business centre necessarily
attracts other adjuncts of life. The coloured population is 13,484, of
whom 11,680 are natives of Nigeria and 1,804 come from Coast towns. The
72 Europeans are composed of 38 Government officials and 34 engaged in
the stores and missionary work.

Lokoja is a cosmopolitan town, in an African sense. It is Lagos on a
small scale. In it you can see the West African of every kind to be met
along the Coast belt, from the educated type of the Coast and portly
mammies of Sierra Leone to the Mohamedans of other countries.

There is thorough segregation. Lokoja proper may be described not even
as oblong but in the form of a narrow strip—nail-like—parallel with
the Niger. At one end of the strip is the native quarter, forming a
kind of oval head to the nail-shaped town. A wide thoroughfare—Camp
Road—stretches about a mile. At each side and sometimes a little way
back are the European stores, and at the further end—the point—the
Government offices and residential bungalows, the barracks, and the
hospital.

On the excellent principle of keeping European commercial development
separate from the purely native administration of the country—so that the
former does not disorganise the latter—that is fixed at Kabba. At Lokoja
the political officer has the rank only of Cantonment Magistrate, but the
heavy duties he performs, the hours I have seen him at his tasks, their
multifarious nature, and the way he has of “getting on” with all kinds of
people, all mark Mr Bertram Byfield as among the best type of official to
be found in British colonies.

He is the Baron Haussman of Lokoja. He takes as much pride in it as did
the famous improver of Paris in his own city or as a man might in the
garden to his house. Mr Byfield walks along Camp Road and into the native
quarter always alert to detect in the course of his peregrinations what
may be necessary for public health or convenience. He seems to regard
himself as always on duty. In the course of each of my walks with him he
noted half-a-dozen things to be done.

He has completely rearranged the market on the plan of Sir Hesketh
Bell’s model town-planning. The streets are in straight lines and run
sideways and at right-angles to one another. To an eminence high enough
to be approached by a zigzag path he has removed the Court house of
the Alkali, in order that cases may be heard clear of the turmoil of
the market-place. Cheaply-made bridges he has placed across dykes, and
so given a short and direct cut between parts of the native quarter
formerly connected only by a long detour. Another phase of his daily life
is holding his Court for the trial of offences which do not go on the
“list” of the Alkali.

The first occasion I called on Mr Byfield he was doing none of these more
or less dignified acts, but (also in pursuance of his duties), of all
things in the world, haggling over the price of old, disused kerosene
cans from the military people! Such is the variety to which the qualities
of capable officials in Northern Nigeria have to be turned.

What has the Cantonment Magistrate—he really should be a Resident—to do
with cast-off kerosene cans? you ask. This. Although there is a sort
of native Mayor and municipality—all appointed by the C.M.—for the
native quarter of the town, the C.M. must see that they carry out his
directions, for he would be held answerable if a serious outbreak of
illness occurred. They needed the tins for hygienic use. But, again, why
haggle over 3d. more or 3d. less per can? Because the strictest economy
is the order of the day in Nigeria, and if when the accounts came to be
overlooked the Governor saw that the C.M. of Lokoja had paid more than
somebody elsewhere, His Excellency would demand the reason why.

You may remark that the procedure is straining a principle to pedantry,
as the expenditure merely transfers money from one public department to
another. Your assumption would be incorrect—at all events, incomplete.
The outlay on military needs comes out of the general funds, raised
by Customs, and by further revenue on all classes of the population,
European as well as other; whereas such local requirements as the
cans are discharged by direct native taxation. British administration
says that whilst it is fair and proper that indigenous dwellers should
pay taxes for increased advantages to themselves, every care must be
exercised that the money of these people is laid out with scrupulous
economy.

A historic figure is Abigah, King of Lokoja, with whose son I had the
illuminating conversation on domestic felicity detailed in Chapter XIV.
Mr Byfield kindly sent for the old man to meet me in the market. I had,
of course, known that the King had been brought by Dr Barth to Europe
and that he had visited England and seen Woolwich Arsenal. He told me
that Dr Barth also took him to Berlin, and introduced him to the Emperor
William I. (then simply King of Prussia), who, noticing Abigah’s strong
and healthy appearance, tapped him on the chest and declared he was “a
piece of black mahogany.” Although more than 50 years have passed, Abigah
is still as active in walking as a young fellow. He speaks English quite
well, not in the pidgeon manner.

I omitted to ask what the King’s means are. As he must be over 70 years
of age and has been useful to England since Barth visited Lokoja, I
hope the Government of Nigeria will take care that the old man’s latter
days are not embittered by poverty. This remark is made as I had heard
up-country he was badly off. I am sorry the matter slipped my memory when
speaking to Mr Byfield. In maintaining our rule in Northern Nigeria we
depend so much on the cordial co-operation of the native, natural leaders
of the people that it would be a great pity to jeopardise our good name
for fair-dealing towards those whose supreme functions we have taken over
by failing to be not only strictly just but somewhat generous in a case
where that would be no more than discharging an obligation of honour, for
Abigah has always been a staunch friend of the British.

At the other end of the town is the hospital, which fills an exceptional
place in a mental survey of Nigeria. There are two routes from the Coast
to the interior. One is by the railway from Lagos, the other the river
route from Forcados. Along the former line, besides the large hospital at
Lagos, there is a similar establishment at Zungeru, as well as a smaller
one at Ibadan, and, all being on the railway, a patient living near the
line is within easy reach of any of them.

On the river route, and then beyond it from Baro right up inland,
there is no hospital approaching to that of Lokoja in size, technical
resources, and with the unspeakable blessing of feminine nursing.

Do not, however, expect an institution the dimensions of those in English
cities. The term Lokoja Hospital really means two hospitals—for Europeans
and for natives. The first is of wood, bungalow shape, raised from the
ground and resting on iron pillars with stone foundations. There is
accommodation for 10 beds in wards made mosquito-proof, as is also the
nurses’ sitting-room.

Everything is done in a thorough, systematic way, for which purpose a
laboratory and an operating room are provided. One of the patients came
from Forcados. When there he was ill. Not sufficiently so to be invalided
home but too low in health to remain. So he had been sent the 337 miles
up the Niger to Lokoja Hospital to be nursed and was about to be returned
“as good as new.”

The staff consists of a senior medical officer, a medical officer, four
nurses, and two Sergeants of the Royal Army Medical Corps, who are
storekeeper and dispenser.

The hospital for natives is several hundred yards away. A brick building
90 feet long, it holds 35 beds, of which 2 (in a separate room) are for
women, though there are seldom in-patients of that sex. The principal
complaints which bring men towards the end of the year are sciatica,
lumbago, and bronchitis. Malaria is always represented, but the most
common case is tape-worm, due to dirty food. The operating-room and
dispensary are in buildings apart from the wards.

The two white doctors have as assistants here—all natives—a wardmaster
and three dressers, and also as dressers one Corporal and three orderlies
of the Northern Nigeria Regiment.

In no part of Northern Nigeria is the native population, in health or in
sickness, more solicitously watched than in Lokoja.

There are two further features of life in Lokoja which should not be
ignored. One is the military, the other the missionary. The former is
dealt with in Chapter XXXIII; as to the latter, I make no pretence
about looking upon that aspect of European influence, as a rule, with
disfavour. In one case I have criticised with perhaps extreme severity.
All the same, I hope I have the spirit of fairness, and it is only bare
fairness to say what is done by the Church Missionary Society in Lokoja.

The compound in which the house stands presents the gladsome sight of
trees bearing oranges, guava, mangoes and sweet cassava. The only other
orange tree in any part of the town is at the local headquarters of the
Public Works Department. Apart from bananas, native cultivation of fruit
in those parts of Nigeria through which I have passed is practically nil.
But wherever there is a branch of the Church Missionary Society there you
will see fruit trees. That is due to the late Bishop Crowther, in whose
day all missionaries in Nigeria were, like himself, blacks. He insisted
on every station showing at least one fruit tree flourishing.

It has been said, times out of number, in Nigeria and in many other
lands, that the net result of even secular missionary education in most
instances spoils the natives; that their innate reliable qualities
are destroyed, and only the rote, not the practice, of ethics adopted
instead. I merely express what is stated by opponents of the movement,
without confirming or denying. But it is proper that the other side of
the question should be given at a place where I had a better opportunity
than anywhere else of learning what was being done there. The station at
Lokoja is in charge of Archdeacon J. L. Macintyre.

The allegation of denationalising the native is warmly repudiated, as
is that of spoiling him by unduly indulgent treatment and by overpaying
those who may be employed and thus making them discontented for service
with anybody else. I give a plain statement of the educational scheme
carried out at Lokoja. No child is allowed to learn English till he or
she can read their own language, i.e., Nupé, Yoruba, or Hausa. When
passed in vernacular reading, children enter Standard I. and begin
to learn English, though all the teaching is in the native tongue.
On emerging satisfactorily from Standard IV., which is as far as is
taught in the C.M.S. schools, a boy of good character may be engaged
as a pupil teacher for three years. He is paid 7s. 6d. a month during
the first year, increasing to 10s. and 12s. 6d. monthly in the second
and third years respectively. A simple, native dress is provided. The
pupil teachers teach five hours a day in school and receive two hours’
instruction out of school hours. They are given quarters and shown how
to play cricket and football. At the end of the three years’ course the
boys are free to leave. The majority go as clerks to Government offices
or merchants’ stores, but some stay as assistant schoolmasters at £1 a
month, that amount rising annually 2s. 6d.

These details are set out for the reason stated above, and, I am
informed, far from young natives being spoilt by the C.M.S., the
grievance of the officers of that body is that their efforts to retain
and conserve the simple habits of the country are frequently nullified by
the action of those who disseminate the complaints.

Elsewhere I have been so severe a critic on the lay issues of missionary
work that the least I can do, in the attempt not to be one-sided, is
to pay a tribute of reverence to those who labour in what they regard
as a sacred purpose. An example of their self-sacrifice is Archdeacon
Macintyre. When with him he was in anything but robust health. Really, he
should go to Europe to recuperate. The doctor urged that course, but Mr
Macintyre was trying his utmost to avoid peremptory invaliding orders. A
few days earlier he had got up from a sharp and trying attack of malarial
fever, and was about to take a trip down the Niger, to be followed by a
week on an Elder-Dempster liner at anchor off the mouth of the river,
in the hope that the double change would patch him up for the remainder
of his term. Twice he has had the dangerous blackwater fever. Disagree
as one may from the outlay and the result of missionary efforts in West
Africa, one must admire and honour the spirit shown by the noble men and
women who give health and life for the cause, sacrificing these precious
possessions in silent and obscure countries as freely as a soldier dies
in a blaze of glory and renown.

I had several talks with Mr Macintyre, who, of course, had been
made aware of my views on the subject of his work. We discussed it
unreservedly. I said the position seemed to me that he was wearing
himself out to small attainment, when there were so many heathens of
our own colour, so much pain, poverty and misery in the great cities of
Britain. Why, I asked, could not he and others look there instead of
perceptibly putting themselves into the grave in malarious West Africa?

Mr Macintyre, whose age is probably about the thirties, replied that
there were plenty of regenerating agencies in England if properly
systemised and organised. He had been a curate, he related, in a poor
district, and the various religious and philanthropic bodies tumbled
over each other there in discharging their several tasks. There were
more than enough persons to do all that was called for in England. There
was no opportunity to break new ground. In West Africa, however, a man
could feel he had fresh, untouched, unspoilt material to work upon and
consequently facilities for tangible achievement; a man could be sure of
doing something.

To do this something you see splendid fellows, of whom J. L. Macintyre is
a type, sacrificing strong frames to a wasting condition, enfeebled and
weak. He is paying still higher, for I gather that he has the happiness
of a wife and a home in England. He is here on what he looks upon as his
duty. I repeat, splendid. But, with much admiration and personal esteem,
I remain unconvinced.

Four clear days were spent at Lokoja. In no corresponding period of
the journey did I make more friends; at no place experienced a greater
willingness to assist in obtaining information. Nowhere did I receive
more individual kindness in the time; nowhere met better fellows. The
four days were strenuous ones, spent amidst a torrid, damp atmosphere,
but each hour was fully enjoyable and I said _au revoir_ with regret at
parting.

CHAPTER XXXIX

NAVIGATING THE NIGER

The River Niger at Lokoja should not be likened to the fickleness of
a woman but to the quick alternating of moods which distinguish that
inexplicable and unfathomable sex. In a July the river has been less than
2 feet in depth, by an October it once rose to more than 35 feet. The
respective averages in the two months are 3 feet 6 inches and 31 feet 3
inches.

Not an easy river to use for transport of heavy material, as the fall
is as rapid as the rise, and by December it is generally below 8 feet,
reduced in January to little more than 6 feet. Until the railway, which
runs parallel to the river, starting at Lagos, 120 miles from the mouth
of the Niger, was recently completed to the Bauchi Plateau, the river was
the highway for goods eastward, i.e., in a line direct inland from the
sea.

At Lokoja where, as previously explained, the Niger is joined by the
Benue, the former is three-quarters of a mile wide and the latter more
than a mile. This two miles’ expanse has a number of islands, most of
which are submerged at the high-water months, but, whatever the depth
of the river, their positions produce currents running side by side in
opposite directions.

The Niger is tideless, in expression of ebb and flow; it is always
running seawards. The rise and fall of the water are reflections of the
rainy and dry seasons. But so long a distance have the floods to travel
from the higher lands and so many tributaries empty themselves into the
Niger and the Benue in the upper reaches that the wet season of one year
does not make itself felt on the navigable parts of the rivers until 12
months later.

The strength of the current, which varies from three to seven miles
an hour—always towards the same quarter—and the height of the river
considerably modify the time-table of the larger vessels. Lokoja to
Forcados, 347 miles, in the high-water season occupies two-and-a-half
days. Forcados to Lokoja, at the same time of the year, is a day more.

At low water you may calculate anything beyond the periods given, but you
should keep to calculating, not form any conclusion, for the precise, or
even approximate, day and hour you reach your destination are largely
on the knees of chance, in the matter of silted-in channels and quickly
formed sandbanks; and though the skill and alertness of the native Pilot
may evade these checks for a long time, he is sure to be caught by them
sooner or later and the craft held up from an hour or so to a question of
days.

I left Lokoja at 8 a.m. aboard the stern-wheeler _Mungo Park_, belonging
to the Niger Company. She is the latest passenger-cargo boat on the
service, carrying 220 tons on high water, drawing 5 feet, and 130 tons at
low water, drawing about 4 feet. There is accommodation for eight saloon
passengers, whose quarters are on the upper deck.

The vessel has electric light, electrically-operated air fans, and the
bedrooms are mosquito-proof. I say bedrooms advisedly, not cabins, for
the sleeping apartments are large, roomy apartments, with iron bedsteads
which do not need the generally indispensable protection from winged
insects of enclosing curtains. Every provision is here for comfort.
Though we have no ladies this journey, the skipper, Captain W. H.
Stephenson, has shown me, with pride, that their well-being has not been
overlooked, for special accommodation has been furnished for them.

To me this form of locomotion is ideal of its kind. The barque is
sufficiently large to give one the impression of being on an ocean-going
ship, whilst the uniform smoothness of the stream sets the mind at rest.
I am not oppressed by the uneasiness which ever haunts me on a liner and
which prompts anxious looks to discern if there are signs of the wind
freshening and enforcing a hasty retirement and abstinence from food.
Whatever befalls on the Niger, there is no mal-de-mer. The most sensitive
internal organism will not be disturbed.

We are propelled by two paddles at the back of the vessel and there are
extra large balance rudders for sharp movement of the craft. They are
frequently required at this season, as you shall learn. Our average speed
is 12 miles an hour. Cargo is carried on the lower deck, where native
passengers also settle.

There is only one European in the crew, the Captain. The other members
are the Chief Engineer and his two assistants, the Pilot, Bos’n, four
Quartermasters, and 22 deck hands. With the exception of the Engineers
and the Pilot, all are river “boys” from the towns of Onitsha and Aboh
and river villages.

The Niger Company does four-fifths of the cargo transport up and down the
rivers—trading goods up, produce down—making no preference in selection
between their own cargoes and those of firms who are side-by-side
competitors in trading at dozens of places. The exception to this
four-fifths division of carrying is Messrs John Holt, who have their own
boats.

The first day the _Mungo Park_ made 56 miles, measured by the direct
course of the river, to Idah. It was not much to show for the full day’s
steaming, but the way had to be picked very warily. Though the broad
river was certified as between 6 feet and 7 feet deep, that did not mean
all the way across; it only specified the channel along which such a boat
as ours could travel. Nor was the channel necessarily in the middle or
the side of the river; it might twist from the former to the latter, or
_vice versâ_; or it might take a zigzag course. As a matter of fact, it
described all these gyrations, with variations made from parts of them.
We tacked and turned from bank to bank; then, perhaps, for a few miles
heading straight down stream, along the middle of it, presently to
revert to forming angles and curves.

The guide to these evolutions is the Pilot. A Nupé, clad in the long
flowing robe of the Mohamedans, capped by a white turban, Nasaru remains
at his post on the bridge from dawn to dusk. He takes no rest or time
off. He has his food where he stands. His eyes are unvaryingly directed
on the surface of the stream, from which he reads the changing position
of the narrow channel. That is the only line we can thread without being
caught on a submerged sandbank.

How Nasaru remains awake all these hot, monotonous hours, scarcely
moving, his gaze fixed on an inappreciably altering, dull scene, is
remarkable. His principal movement is to raise his forearm at right-angle
from the elbow and extending the fingers as signs to the man at the wheel
which way to steer; and, without looking down at the instrument, he
frequently uses the telegraph to the engine-room to alter speed. The only
occasions during the 14 hours’ run that Nasaru relinquishes duty is when
he drops on his knees for the Moslem prayers. He does that on the bridge,
at the spot where he stands throughout the day.

It is imperative the river be watched so closely and unremittingly, as
during the low-water season the channel along which safe travel can
be made changes continuously and the course up or back may be quite
impracticable on the return. This is due to the sand washed down and the
pressure of the current wearing a channel where there is least resistance
from irregularity of the banks or any other cause, throwing the displaced
sand into the previously-travelled channel. How requisite it is to
visually trace the course was proved on our approaching a double channel,
one each side of a large sandbank, really big enough to be termed an
island.

[Illustration: A NUPÉ PILOT ON THE NIGER.

(See page 338.)]

[Illustration: MANICURE.

The fee is twenty cowries, _i.e._, about one-fourteenth of a penny.]

Nasaru did not like the look of the water. It did not now appear to have
the same depth as when traversed on his previous journey. The vessel was
stopped, and he went off in a small boat to explore the channel on the
other side of the island. On coming back from his soundings he directed
the _Mungo Park_ through the new channel, which gave 5 feet and 6 feet of
water, whereas we subsequently learnt that the one he had stopped at bore
only 3 feet 6 inches.

During the journey from Lokoja to Burutu three times we have seen
stern-wheelers fixed on a sandbank. Each occasion, after he had peered
through his telescope, Captain Stephenson remarked, with a chuckle of
satisfaction, “Not one of our Company’s.”

When a steamer of size goes aground there are three courses to be
followed. Perhaps only one or two of them need be resorted to. The first
is to try to get off by means of the propelling engines. If the vessel
does not readily respond the engines are stopped, as to keep them going
in such a position must cause the paddles to throw up sand, which,
settling round, still further embeds the craft.

The first attempt yielding no satisfaction, the next step is to have
the rowing-boat, slung at the side, brought to the bows and the anchor
put in it and taken to deep water, dropped there, and a steel hawser
attached. The other end of the hawser is led to a powerful windlass on
the stern-wheeler, and on heaving away—in landlubbers’ parlance, the
windlass working—the vessel usually comes from her grounding. For this
purpose a stern-wheeler of the _Mungo Park_ type carries three Trotman
anchors—respectively 10 cwts., 8 cwts., and 4 cwts.—besides the ordinary
patent anchor for general use.

But should the vessel be so firmly fixed that she cannot be moved off by
either of the means stated, then there is a third resource. At low water
every stern-wheeler tows a barge alongside. On the most severe form of
going aground the barge is piled with cargo from the stern-wheeler, and,
when sufficiently lightened, that vessel is drawn into the navigable
channel by again heaving on the anchors. But though the steamer has
floated, the heavily laden barge, which was alongside it, is now
itself obviously aground, so the cargo is once more transferred to the
stern-wheeler, the operation being carried out by a roomy rowing boat,
which may go backwards and forwards scores of times on the errand. Thus a
couple of days are easily consumed. Less haste, greater speed is an axiom
of navigation on the Niger for several months of the year.

Opposite the town of Onitsha, near where we stopped for native
passengers, there was a large depression in the bed of the river, which a
battleship would not cover, holding 40 feet of water, but no anchorage,
as the bed was rock. Yet the other side of the deep water gave no more
than 2 feet, except where the channel ran. It is easy enough to wreck a
vessel in these parts.

At the close of the second day, which accounted for 90 miles, we stopped
overnight at a point 10 miles below Onitsha and 146 miles from Lokoja.

A fog on the morning of the third day prevented a start until 7.30, and
later there was a breakdown of machinery, which brought us to a complete
standstill. The mishap was not a slight one. A fracture had occurred
to the shaft on the circulating pump, which forces water through the
condenser to cool steam that has passed through the cylinder. The shaft
was broken diagonally close to the flange. The nearest marine engineering
shops were at Burutu, about 170 miles down the river. Had we been
compelled to send there and wait for mechanics and new parts we should
have had to remain helpless three or four days.

The Chief Engineer informed Captain Stephenson that he could repair
and set the engines going with the material at hand. All the Company’s
large boats carry a forge, anvil and general outfit of tools. This Chief
Engineer is a black, a Sierra Leonean, trained by the Niger Company at
the Burutu workshops. He and his assistants were soon at work.

The flange was filed out, neatly fitted on the broken shaft by filing
key-ways and securing the flange in position by steel keys, forged there
and then, which held the shaft to the flange. I watched all this, which
was done with celerity, yet in a cool, matter-of-fact way, as though it
were all in the day’s work.

At the commencement of the repair no statement could be made as to how
long it would take. At the end of five hours’ close application the
skipper received the Chief Engineer’s report that he was ready for the
word to proceed, and, the engines starting very gently at first, in a few
minutes were once more full speed ahead.

All the way down there has been a full range of tropical landscape. At
some places the forest comes to the edge of the water and presents a
barrier to sight of what may be beyond. At other sections of the route
trees are not so crowded and stand a few score feet back, whilst where
they are more scattered there is opportunity to notice the arboricultural
variety, in which the palm always stands out distinctively against the
sky background.

Where a stretch of sand lines the shore or there is grass not shadowed or
hidden by taller growths, crocodiles are frequently seen at rest. They
sprawl on the sandbanks and seldom dive off unless the stern-wheeler
passes quite near. There are plenty opportunities for a rifle-shot at the
brutes, but he who fires does so at a risk of being fined £5, for that is
the penalty the Government has fixed to deter shooting from a boat.

The usual scenery of the bank is occasionally broken by a trading
station, usually consisting of two or three corrugated iron sheds placed
adjacent to the beach but on rising ground which the flood-level does not
reach.

Standing quite alone, many miles from trading stations, are the riverside
villages, enveloped on three sides by the forest. The architecture tells
that the Hausa country has been left. These lower-river tribes build
their oblong houses of bamboo, placed vertically. On the approach of
the stern-wheeler numbers of the male inhabitants paddle off in frail,
dug-out canoes and plunge in the water after anything pitched to them,
as though there were no crocodiles on the prowl. Bottles are the articles
most esteemed by the seekers of what they can get from the passing boat.
If a bottle and money be thrown together, the swimmers will always ignore
the coin for the bottle. Next in value are tin boxes of the kind which
have held sardines or biscuits.

[Illustration: A EUROPEAN TRADING STATION ON THE NIGER.

(See page 342.)]

[Illustration: ON A CREEK OF THE NIGER.]

Apart from this crowd in the water to pick up unconsidered trifles, there
is a turn out of villagers for the purpose of yelling a greeting to some
neighbour who is among the crew. The exile will have made a hoard of all
the discarded bottles and tins he could lay hands upon since the boat
last passed, and over they go to delight his kinsmen and friends.

Captain Stephenson, in order to assist my having a photograph of the
scramble in the water, told his personal steward boy to bring up some old
bottles. The lad appeared with two, saying they were all he could find.
He was sternly sent back and eventually produced six, declaring he knew
of no more on board. Later the same afternoon, as we went by another
village the skipper pointed to his steward boy perched on the deck where
he imagined he could not be seen, flinging bottles with both hands, as
quickly as he could pick them up from a pile of not less than two dozen.
They were his collection on the voyage and now he was giving them to the
folks of his home.

That night we stabled at a point two hours’ steaming below Aboh, having
done 64 miles since the morning. There was still a chance that, in the
absence of any but small mishaps—and not many of them—we should complete
the balance of 127 miles to our destination on the morrow.

We started at the usual hour, 5.30 a.m., but at 7 o’clock there was
an ominous check. A thick, harmattan, dry fog compelled us to anchor.
For what period we should remain no one could say. It must be until
the air cleared. To go on would be madness, sure misfortune. That was
plain enough, whatever remained obscured. Vision was very deceptive; the
nearest bank appeared to be half-a-mile away, whereas it was less than
200 yards distant.

An-hour-and-a-half, and the mist lifted, and again we were under way.
At places the depth of the narrow channel on which we glided became so
reduced, nearly on the border line of safety, that great care had to be
exercised and slow speed maintained for several stretches.

It is still broad, afternoon daylight as we pass Gana-Gana, 35 miles from
Forcados, and therefore only 30 miles from Burutu, which is regarded as
practically the same; so we may still reach the latter to-day.

Gana-Gana is the first trading station of the Niger Company from the
headquarters at Burutu. The river is a-quarter-of-a-mile across. In
mid-stream is a small island on which the station has been made. The
manager’s house is a medium-size stern-wheeler hauled up on the island,
The lower part of the boat is used as a store for bought produce; the
upper part remains little altered from when the barque was afloat, the
saloon merely modified to the conveniences of living on land.

A screw steamer has also been drawn up, roofed with corrugated iron and
is used as living quarters for the black staff. No one else remains on
the islet during the night.

In addition there are three corrugated iron sheds for stores and another
for trading goods. Produce is brought by natives in canoes from both
banks of the river.

This placing of a trading station on an island was of considerable
advantage in the old days when a general attack on a European store,
firing the building and murdering the occupants was a periodical
entertainment of inhabitants up the rivers. The station being surrounded
by water which had to be crossed gave the defenders a chance, with the
use of rifles, to beat off an assault.

All the trading stations are kept busy from morning to night, so there is
little likelihood of anybody in one experiencing monotony; but in former
days there was the additional exhilaration of always having in mind the
probable need of a sudden run for firearms to keep at bay a howling mob
of savages bent on killing and plunder. By comparison, things are quite
tame nowadays.

Although the river, broad as it is, gives practically nothing to spare
in depth, we spin along in the effort to reach Burutu to-night, but the
channel occasionally becomes so shallow that, unless we are to be run
aground after all, the engines have to be slowed; for, whilst it is
urgent to reach Burutu without stop, as a mail liner leaves Forcados
to-morrow morning for England and we have light cargo for her, if we go
on a sandbank the whole scheme must be upset and a week’s delay ensue.
That means, instead of the goods being directly transhipped, the labour
and extra expense of warehousing and handling them three times instead
of once. Therefore, notwithstanding the brief twilight is passing and
darkness coming on, the engines continue their regular sharp pulsation
and the stern-wheels strike the water with their pat-pat-pat sound,
and no halt is made as the night settles around, though we are still
some 20 miles from Burutu. Fortunately, the moon is clear. Nasaru looks
unflinchingly ahead. He has been doing so for 12 hours, yet he shows no
sign of weariness and appears as visually alert as he was at the start.

Should anything untoward occur to delay us, it is the skipper who will be
blamed. He is expected to be in time for whatever is to be transferred
from his boat to the homeward-bound liner. If he does not maintain that
time-table he must give a good reason why; it must be a very good reason.
Still worse is it for his reputation if he runs aground. That may be no
fault of his; still, he is judged from results. There is nothing like
being careful; an excess of that quality, however, means that dovetailed
arrangements and schedules are put out of gear. Whatever difficulties
or obstacles come in the path of a skipper of a large stern-wheeler on
the Niger—and many do—in thinking how to overcome any one of them he can
always murmur truthfully, as did Desdemona, “I do perceive here a divided
duty.”

Steadily, yet with unrelaxed caution, paddling, the miles between us and
our goal are reduced one by one, until, at nearly 10 o’clock, in the
distance there is a cluster of white specks, too bright to be stars. As
we move onwards it becomes plain they are the electric lights on the
wharf at Burutu. Half-an-hour more and we are up to them and at anchor.

It seems we have suddenly sailed into a new world, or, rather, into the
old, strenuous, restless world again. The long rows of large sheds, the
big arc lamps and the smaller ones together throwing a glare half-way
across the river, and the wide-funnel ocean ships and others of lesser
degree clustered, all tell you are at a large shipping port planted in
West Africa.

Nearly everybody ashore has gone to bed, but Captain Stephenson promptly
reports his arrival to Mr Price, the Burutu Agent of the Niger Company,
and word is brought back from him that the _Mungo Park_ is to leave at 6
a.m. for Forcados, so that anybody who desires to land at Burutu must do
so before that hour next morning.

CHAPTER XL

BURUTU

A port in a swamp—Training native engineers—A composite
village—Social grades—Medical provision—Mr John Burns on a
Nigerian river—Back to the sea.

Burutu, like Forcados, five miles lower down the Niger, was a mere
mangrove swamp, a forlorn no-man’s land. It has been reclaimed by the
Niger Company for headquarters, and is now a bustling, thriving spot,
large enough to be termed, by comparison, a small Glasgow in West Africa.

It has most of the characteristics of a port. On the 3,000 feet frontage
two ocean liners can lie end-on—there is always one berthed—and seven
of the eight hatches simultaneously discharging or loading; smaller
craft—branch boats of 1,000 tons to stern-wheelers and launches for river
traffic—are continuously bringing produce and passengers and taking up
country small goods, among which bags of salt occupy an important place;
whilst the coal wharf knows no rest. Awaiting shipment are 7,000 casks of
palm-oil. Recently there were 10,000.

Besides, there are three hulks converted from two old sailing ships
and a steamer. Two of the hulks are used to warehouse bulk produce of
palm-kernels and shea-nuts; the third holds coal. But the Company are
building a new coal wharf of two tiers to enable the coal ships to
discharge cargo direct into trucks.

[Illustration: THE NIGER COMPANY’S WHARF AT BURUTU.]

[Illustration: SHIPPING PALM-OIL

For direct transit to Liverpool. (See page 348.)]

Fifteen corrugated iron sheds, 90 feet by 30 feet, give accommodation
on the wharf for goods which should not be left in the open, and also
for the extensive engineering and carpenters’ workshops, under a white
Superintendent Engineer, who has with him three European fitters, a
boiler-maker, two shipwrights and a large body of skilled natives from
Coast towns. A couple of slipways take the river craft for repair, from
launches to steamers up to 700 tons.

The coloured staff of fitters, blacksmiths, turners, moulders, and the
rest of them are men from Sierra Leone, the Gold Coast, and Nigeria. They
serve apprenticeship in the Company’s engineering shops for five years.
If their conduct has been satisfactory they will be graded as improvers.
Next they may be drafted on a river boat as third engineers, rising to
second or to chief engineer. Others may start on shore, either in the
workshops or as house-boys. Should they wish it, and their behaviour be
good, they go on the river steamers, commencing as stewards or deck hands
and going through every stage, as quartermasters, boatswains, and mates,
and rising to command the vessel, for, with the exception of three, all
the stern-wheelers and small steamers are in the hands of black captains,
and thoroughly capable they are. It was with such a “Cappy” I came from
Baro to Lokoja.

Burutu does not consist of only a long line of reclaimed beach and
workshops abutting. There is much more. Hundreds of labourers are
employed—400 on the commercial beach alone—and for them and others model
villages have been laid out and the forest cleared for some distance
back; for, previous to the Niger Company making Burutu its principal
centre, the trees crowded down to the water edge, as they do at the
opposite side of the river and at the ends of the nearly two miles of
beach.

These villages have districts. You must not expect, say, the native
clerk from Sierra Leone, the Gold Coast, or Lagos to have his residence
cheek-by-jowl with the Yoruba labourer or the Ijaw river boys. Why should
he not object? This is not said in an ironical tone. Do we not have a
corresponding feeling? How shocked English suburbia would be, to be sure,
if their neat promenades and well-laid-out boulevards were the resort of
men who gained a living with pick and shovel! And who can say he enjoys
huddling in train or tram against a navvy with the clay on his clothes,
fresh from the exercise of his profession? The black man, too, has steps
in his social ladder. He, too, has feelings, like all of us, whether he
be the Coast person with elementary education and sometimes deservedly
hated by the white; whether he be the Mohamedan of the hinterland;
whether he be the Pagan of the uplands and the hills.

Therefore, the houses for colour men are in separate groups, according
to the class occupying them. The labourers’ dwellings of bamboo walls
and palm leaves are being gradually replaced by buildings bricked to
about three feet at the sides and continued with corrugated iron, the
same material for roof, and with cement floors. The ten senior coloured
clerks are given two large bungalows divided into two rooms for each
married couple, a portion of the verandah walled off from the adjoining
family. The newer houses being erected will include bathrooms and
kitchens.

An isolation hospital for natives holds any case of a contagious nature.
To the hospital for Europeans a dispensary is attached, and to it come
daily between 50 and 60 of the black dwellers in Burutu, including
mammies and piccaninnies. Most of the male patients’ ailments are simple
knocks or cuts received in the course of their work. The expenditure for
all this is borne by the Niger Company, as well as the services of the
Government doctor at Forcados, who is at Burutu every day except Sunday
and attends to both Europeans and natives.

The European bungalows are made mosquito-proof. In each of the messrooms
is a large overhead fan, electrically driven, and in the principal
rooms portable table fans kept going from the same source. Even persons
who live in a cold climate will realise what a boon these fans are in
a quarter of the country where the heat is excessive and is always
associated with a damp enervating atmosphere.

I suppose it is generally known that the Right Hon. John Burns, now a
Cabinet Minister, in his younger years served a term, as an engineer,
with the Niger Company. The statement is frequently made in West Africa
that it took place at Burutu. That is incorrect. In Mr Burns’s time
Burutu was a desolate mangrove swamp; the headquarters were at Akassa, at
the mouth of the River Nun, about 50 miles further along the Coast from
Forcados. Several renderings of a snake story have appeared in English
papers. An old number of _The Engineer’s Gazette_, dated May 1893, has
furnished me with what is evidently the correct account. The appended
quotation is taken from a contribution by John Parkin, who in the text
describes himself as “Superintendent of an engineering repairing shop.” I
gather that the period of which he has written was 1880 or thereabouts.

“My next adventure in the snake line was at Akassa, while in
charge of the engineering workshop there. The shop was built
between the river and the jungle and the boiler fixed outside
the building and close to rank vegetation. One day, after
making my usual inspection of the boiler, I was startled to
see a large snake making tracks for me. For the moment I was
half-paralysed with fear, but instantly recovering myself and
deeming prudence the better part of valour, I took to my heels.
I was soon arrested in my inglorious flight by the derisive
laughter of a fellow engineer, who, with characteristic pluck
and presence of mind, picked up a shovel and chased the serpent
that was chasing me, and with one well-aimed blow cut it in
two. That daring engineer was John Burns, now of the L.C.C. and
M.P. for Battersea.

“That was not the only occasion on which Burns showed his
intrepidity. One day he and I were returning from the Brass
River, through the creeks, in a steam launch. The propeller
had only two blades.... They worked loose and fell off. The
situation was alarming, as we were near a small village
inhabited by cannibals, whilst the creek was teeming with
sharks and reptiles. Fortunately the creek was not deep, it
being low tide. The bottom was composed of soft, stinking mud
and decayed vegetable matter; so we had but faint hopes of
finding either of the blades. I proposed testing my skill as
a diver, but Burns wouldn’t hear of it. ‘No,’ said he, ‘you
are married and I am single. If either of us risks his life
I’m the man’; and, immediately stripping, he plunged in. To my
delighted surprise he found one blade, and we managed to fix
it in the boss and proceeded on our course, arriving at Akassa
in safety, though several hours late. We had been a long time
without food and were ravenously hungry. Both of us did our
duty at the table, but I was not in it with Burns, who ate
nearly the entire leg of a goat.”

The launch of my very good friend, Mr Price, of Burutu, took me from
there the five miles to the sea, and once more I steamed away from the
land of Nigeria, which, notwithstanding the privations and hardships
undergone, and the bad name the climate is given, retains for me a
continual attraction and fascination to revisit.

FOOTNOTES

[1] I have since learned that what was done was quite in accordance with
the spirit of the instructions that are laid down from the boat train.
They are, in effect:—“We do not seek to make a profit, but we do wish to
have no complaints.”

[2] Since this was written I have met the writer of the letter on the
journey down the Niger. The matter was discussed and he told me the
letter was sent to a relative without intention of its subsequent
appearance in print. Publicity having been given to the assertions, I
think it right the above comment on them should be made, notwithstanding
my cordial relations with the writer.

[3] On discovering the loss the previous evening at the rest-house I
sent a note to Mr Garrard, by his doki boy, offering £1 reward to any
individual or body of men who found the pen. Next morning Mr Garrard sent
out a party of six, notifying that 10s. would be paid to he who recovered
the article. Although the night rain had displaced portions of the road,
one of the men brought back the pen, which was handed to me on the return
journey, some months later.

[4] Fit is used in pidgin English expressions to mean either willing,
desirous or able.

INDEX

Abigah junior, 120-2

Abigah, King of Lokoja, 327-8

Aboh, 337, 343

Aborigines, Preface viii

Accra, 11

_African World_, 149, 211, 218

Agent (in West Africa), 6

Aiki Square, 20

Akabo, 2

Akassa, 351-3

Algeria, 102

Alkali, 68, 70, 71, 107, 114-15, 123, 239, 325-6

Amadu, 153, 158-9, 161, 166, 172

Ansim men, 100

Ashanti, military contingent for, 88

Ashanti War, 88

Awai, 134

Axim, 8

Badegi, railway from Baro to, 300

Badiko, 161, 163, 165, 195

Baikie, R.N., Dr, 317

Baker, Major E. M., Preface x

Bakin Kasua, 50

Bank of British West Africa, 118, 319

Bannerman, Mr D., 135

Barijuko, 133

Baro, 103, 145;
railway from, to Badegi, 300, 306-11

Barth, Dr, 316, 327

Bassa, 68

Bauchi, 40;
as the Capital, 42;
Province of, 155, 205;
expedition against Emir of, 195;
Plateau, 223, 245, 266, 269, 334;
escarpment, 224-5

Beit-el-Mal, _See_ Native Treasuries

Bell, Sir Hesketh, Preface ix, 67, 73, 294, 325

Bensusan, Mr F. L., 171-2

Benue River, 187, 224, 316, 319, 321, 335

Berbushay, 86

Beri-Beri country, 8

Beri-Beris, 63, 112, 121

Berrida, 134

Bibin, 136

Bida, 15, 40;
Emir of, 88;
railway through Province of, 300;
battle of, 318

Biffen, Mr E. H., 46

Biscay, Bay of, 3

Bland, Mr E. M., Preface ix, 52

Borgu, 63

Bornu, Resident at, 26, 63, 69

Bourke, Mr F. D., Preface x, 174

Boussa, 314

Boyce, Sir Rupert, 5

Boyle, Mr A. G., C.M.G., Preface ix

Brass River, 352

Brayscher, Mr A. W., 58, 59

Brocklebank, D.S.O., Capt. J. J., Preface x, 81-85, 128, 192

Brown, Mr Richard, 137-8

Brown, Mr Robert, 137-8

Bugi, 175

Bukuru, 196, 247-268

Burns, M.P., the Right Honourable John, 351-3

Burutu, 348-353

Bush fires, 222-3

Byfield, Mr Bertram D., Preface x, 325-7

Byrd, Mr W. P., Preface x, 60, 128

Cactus, 248-9, 251

Camel transport, 191-2

Camera, 60, 160

Canary Islands, 5

Cannibalism, 246

Cantonment Magistrates, 28-9, 30-2, 325-6

Cape Coast, 11

Cape Palmas, 9

Cape Verde, 6

Carriers, 139-40, 146-180, 185, 219;
pace of, 226, 237-242;
_See_ also Dan Sokoto and Gotum Karo

Caruso, 300

Catholics, 39

Central Province, 205

Ch’Kardi, Adamu, Preface x, 94, 129

Chief Justice, the acting, 24;
the, 114

Christian, Messrs G. W., 319

Clerks, Gold Coast and Sierra Leone, 38, 350-1

Climate, 5, 236

“Coast, call to the,” 1

Coast towns, Preface viii, 118, 324, 349

Coasters, 5, 6

Coleman, Mr E. N., 305, 308-9, 312

Coombe, Mr A., 313

Costello, Dr, 201, 219

Cotton growing, 305;
British Cotton Growing Association, 319

Cowries, 104, 322

Crowther, Bishop, 330

Cyclops cement-block machine, 310

Dago River, 35

Daka-Keri, 36

Dalla, 86

Dan Sokoto, 239-41

David, 86

Deleme River, 173, 195

Donisthorpe, Mr Loder, 80

Donkey transport, 142-3, 192-3

Driver, Mr T. H., Preface x, 232-4

Dyer, Lieutenant, 91

Duchi-n-Wai, 134, 135

Eaglesome, Mr John, 25, 49, 133

East Africa, 2

Egerton, Sir Walter, Preface ix

Egypt, 2

Emirs, 26, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 70, 296, 299-301

Emlyn, Dr A., 199-200

Emperor William I. of Germany, 327

_Engineer’s Gazette, The_, 352

English Channel, 2, 3

Euston, 131

Evans, Mr E., 258

Exclusive Prospecting Licence, the first, 195

Fairley, Messrs J. D., 319

Farms, Hausa, 55;
Pagan, 253-4

Fedderi, 178-80

Forcados, 103, 118, 348

Fox, the late Rev. C., 56

Francis, Mr A. C., Preface x, 298

Fremantle, Captain, 298

French Company, the, 73, 74, 75, 76, 292

Frontier, of Southern and Northern Nigeria, 15

Fulani, Preface viii, 67, 100, 112, 116, 121, 154, 207, 263-6, 318

Gall, Mr F. Beckles, Preface x, 205-8, 213

Gambia River, 7

Gana-Gana, 344

Garrard, Mr Percy, 143-4, 147-9, 242

Gascoyne, Lieutenant, 91

Geiser and Company, 292

Gidan Gombo, 148, 149, 150-2, 257

Girouard, D.S.O., Sir Percy, 49, 300, 303, 306

Glasgow, 348

Godwin, Captain, F. A. E., 36

Gold Coast Colony, kola nuts from, 302

Gold discoveries, the, 293-4

Goldie, Sir George Taubman, Preface viii, 63, 66, 281, 318

Goldsmith, C.M.G., Mr H. S., 25

Goron Dutsi, 86

Gotum Karo, 179-80

Government House, 27

Governor, authority of, 19, 245

Graham, Mr F. G., 166

Grand Bassa, 9

Grant-in-aid, 23, 205

Gurum River, 175-7, 231, 233

Gussum, 153, 154

Hanington, Dr, 3, 4

Hanza, 153-4, 156-168, 172, 174, 178

Harmattan, 14, 223

Harrison, Mr W., 3, 4

Hausa, Preface viii, 36;
traders on the railway, 49, 63, 64, 67, 100, 112, 116, 121, 137,
154, 162, 207, 226-8, 237, 243-4, 247-8;
house, 251, 254, 262-6, 280-1, 290, 318

Herodotus, 314

Hibbert, Mr W. H., Preface x, 312, 321

Hill Division, 207

Holt, Messrs John, 73, 292, 319, 337

Horses, 108, 109, 141-2, 164, 216-18, 249, 253, 255-7

Hos, 225, 228

Hospital Sisters, 5

Hospitals, Jos, 200;
Baro, 311;
Lokoja, 328-9

House of Commons Resolution, 317

House of Lords, the, 308

Huddart, Mr L. H. L., 293-4

Ibadan, 15, 309

Iddo Wharf, 11-13

Ijaw, 350

Imperial Yeomanry, 8th, 81

Inspector of Mines, Government, 21

James, Mr F. Seton, C.M.G., Preface ix

Jebba, 16, 40;
as the Capital, 41, 88, 319

Jemma, 223-4

Johnson, Captain, A. E., D.S.O., 35, 36

Johnson, Dr, 201, 298

Jos, 174, 181-93, 196, 221, 230

Judd, Colonel, 22

Juga, 154, 167, 169

Kabba, expedition against, 281, 318;
Province of, 319;
City of, 325

Kadaura, 169

Kaduna Bridge, 52

Kaduna River, 41;
tributaries of, 50

Kano, 57-129

Kantagora, 40;
Emir of, 88

Karre, 134

Karshi, 225, 228

Katsina, 70;
Emir of, 89, 103, 107

Keffi, Magasi of, 89

Kelly, Captain G. C., Preface ix, 24, 26

Kendall, Mr, 191

King, the Great White, 65

King’s Dragoon Guards, 81

Kogin Serekin Pawa, 50

Kogini Rahama, 149

Kolo, 215-16, 238-9

Kooty-Wenji, 17

Krumen, 7-8, 11

Kudara, 134, 136, 137

Kugo River, 50

Kukuruku, 36

Lafee Sala, 163

Lagos, 11, 12;
as the capital, 42;
Colony of, 63, 73, 75, 103, 118

Lagos Stores, Ltd., 73, 75, 76, 292

Laird, McGregor, 315-17

Lake Chad, 54, 316

Lander, the brothers, 314-16

Langslow-Cock, Mr A. E., 204-5

Laundryman, 9

Laws, Mr H. W., 195-6

“Lazy negroes,” 55

Lefanu, Sergeant, 91

Leighton, Mr, 175

Lenthall, Mr Robert, Preface x

Liberia, 9

Liverpool, 2, 11, 103, 315

Lokoja, as the capital, 41, 311, 313-33;
distance from Forcados, 335

Loko-Keffi route, 187-8, 224

London and Kano Trading Company, 80-85, 292

Lugard, Lady, Preface viii

Lugard, Sir F., Preface viii, 25, 36, 30, 40, 49, 64, 65, 66, 88, 89,
90, 92, 127, 133, 142, 194-5

Macdonald, Mr George, 195-6

Macintyre, Archdeacon, J. L., 330-2

Maclaverty, Captain C. F. S., Preface ix, 24, 151, 282

Maclean, Mr C., Preface ix

Magama, 165

Mail services, 37

Malarial fever, 5, 329

Mal-de-mer, 3

Mallam, 280-1;
on railway, 301-2, 318

Mama, 238-9

Manchester, 103

Manson, Sir Patrick, 5

Marsh, Mr W. J., 59, 60

McDowell, Mr J. B., Preface x

McQueen, James, 315

Medical staff, 5

Melba, Madame, 300

Migeod, Mr C. L., 207

Military, 1st Northern Nigeria Regiment, 24;
West African Frontier Force, 36;
artillery, 36;
operations, 65;
Northern Nigeria Regiment, 81;
contingent for Ashanti, 88, 278-90;
marriage in the service, 281;
the guns, 282-4;
sports, 284-5;
signalling, 285-7;
the bands, 287-8;
classification of white civilians, 289-9;
expedition against Kabba, 318;
Battle of Bida, 318

Minerals royalty, 198

Minna, 16;
station, 44-5-6, 302;
distance from Zaria, 302

Missionaries, 45, 125-9, 258-9, 316, 324, 329-332

Mockler-Ferryman, Colonel, Preface viii

Mohamedan and Moslem, 38, 39, 44;
clothing, 64, 66, 68, 102, 114, 127, 243, 249, 280-1, 318, 324,
338, 350

Molyneux, Mr S. A., 179-80

Money, 117-8, 185, 322

Monrovia, 9

Morel, Mr E. D., Preface viii

Morland, Colonel, 90-1

Morocco, 101, 102, 103

Mosques, 120

Motor lorry transport, 191-2

_Mungo Park_, the, 336-7, 339-40

Musical instruments, Pagan, 249, 250

Naraguta, 169, 173, 195-6;
extended, 196, 197, 205, 214

Nasaru, 338-9, 346

Nassarawa, 40;
Province of, 223, 225

Navy, the Royal, 315

Newport, Mr A., 45

N’Gell, 196

Nicolaus, Mr G., 195

Niger Company, 33;
constabulary, 36, 61, 63, 66, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 139-145;
finance department, 184-6;
transport department, 186-193;
mining department, 194-8, 293, 307, 310, 318-19, 321, 336-7, 348-51

Niger River, 16;
ferry, 16;
bridge, 17, 103, 145;
at Baro, 315;
exploration of and early trading on, 314-17, 319, 321;
navigating the, 334-37

“Niggers,” 13

Nun River, 351

Nupés, 63, 100, 112, 312, 338

Nursing, feminine, 200-1, 328

Offa, 15

Officials, English, number of, 67

Oil Rivers, 11

Oje, divines water, 46, 59, 170, 182, 211-15, 238, 309-10

Oldfield, Mr J., 46

Ollivant and Company, 292

Olokemeji, 15

Onitsha, 337, 340

Orr, Captain, Preface viii

Oshogbo, 15

Overweg, Dr, 316

Oxen transport, 142, 191-2

Paddington, 131

Pagans, Preface vii, 36, 38, 63, 64, 69, 154, 177-8, 207, 224, 226-8,
243-77;
musical instruments, 250;
houses, 251-3;
fuel, 252;
farms, 253-4;
cattle and herds, 255;
public celebrations, 255;
races, 256;
as horsemasters, 256-7;
hunting, 257;
sign language, 257-8;
administering justice, 260-6;
authority of Kings and Chiefs, 260, 270-1;
trial by ordeal, 262;
taxation, 266-8;
marriage customs, 271-3;
death customs, 273-5;
cannibalism, 275-7;
military, 280, 350

Pagenstecher and Company, 292, 319

Park, Mungo, 314

Parkin, Mr John, 352

Paterson and Zochonis, 292

_Pleiad_, the, 316

Police, Northern Nigeria, 35-6;
Emir’s, 36, 245

Polygamy, 120

Pooley, Captain, 10, 11

Population, number of, 67;
decrease of, 88

Porch, Mr M. P., 298

Porter, Major, 91

Postmaster-General, the, 24, 37

Price, Mr A. E., Preface x, 347, 353

Probis, Mr, 195

Public Works Department, 20

Radcliff, Captain J., 29

Rahama, 134, 138-145, 147, 231

Railway, Anchou, 54;
Baro-Kano, Preface vii, 48, 58-9, 145, 299-305;
Bauchi Light, Preface vii, 17, 131-8, 145, 154;
Boat train, 12, 14, 131;
Deputy Director of, 24-5;
Dumbi, 54;
extension from Jebba to Kano, 20-1;
fares, 18;
ferry, 16;
gauges, 132;
Hausa traders on the, 49;
Kaduna station, 50-1;
Kaduna bridge, 52;
Kano, approach to, 56;
Kano station, 58;
Kano and the desert route for Arab merchants, 102;
Lagos Government, the, Preface vii, 15;
locomotive and elephants, 302;
locomotive and horse, 302;
meals on the, 18;
Nigerian, Preface vii;
proportion of travellers per class, 49;
Rahama, trains from, 231;
receipts, 48-9;
Rigachikun, 54;
road transport contrasted with the, 235;
rolling-stock, demand for, 48;
Shallawa River, 55;
terminus, 11, 12, 13;
3rd class coaches, 49;
track repair, 51;
water for engines, 51;
Zaria junction, 291;
Zaria Plateau, 50;
Zungeru, 17;
Zungeru station, 43;
Zungeru to Kano train, 44

Rats, as food, 309-10

_Rattler_, the, 312-13

Reichard, Herr, 314-15

Residents, discretion to, 26, 67, 205-8, 245-6, 247-8, 260-1, 263,
266-8, 297

Rest-houses, 22, 57, 109, 150-1, 164, 297-8

Rhodesia, 236

Richards, Mr Cyril, 14

Richardson, Mr, 316

Rigachikun, 187

Ross, Major Sir Ronald, 5

Raffan Governor, 234

“Rule of the road” at sea, 10

Sahara Desert, 7, 102

Salah, the, 216, 219-220

Scarbrough, Lord, 197

Schools, Government and Missionary, 39

Secondee, 11

Selander, Mr J. E., 107

Shallawa River, 90

Sierra Leone, 7, 8, 9, 118

Sign language, 257-8

Signalled message, 290

Simmonds, Mr E. B., 186

Slave-raiding, 50, 243, 262-4

Slaves, domestic, 122

Soba, 134, 135

Sokoto, 15;
resident at, 26;
mails to, 37, 40, 67, 68, 91, 103

Soper, Captain, F. P., 224

South African War, 81

Speed, Mr, 235-7

Stephenson, Captain, W. H., 336, 339, 343, 347

Stobart, Mr S. E. M., Preface x, 261-7

Sudan United Mission, 258-9

Suly, Preface x, 129

Sussex scenery, 223

Swainson, Mr J., 137-8

Syrian trader, a, 73, 75, 76, 78

Taxation, native, 67, 207, 245, 266-8, 295-7

Temperature, 7, 14, 159-60, 225-6, 252-3

Temple, Mr Charles L., C.M.G., Preface ix, 25, 27, 300

Territory, extent of, 63, 67, 278

Tetrazzini, Madame, 300

Tilde Fulani, 171, 180, 195

Tin areas of Nigeria, 73, 75, 76, 292, 319

Tin fields, travellers for, 17;
inception of, 194-8;
mining regulations, 202-5;
Government Inspector of Mines, 204-5;
travellers to, 307

Toner, Mr James, 4

Toro, 169, 170

Trading firms, European, 6, 73

Transvaal scenery, 221

Treasuries, native, 34, 68, 69, 70, 115, 295-6

Tremearne, Major, Preface viii

Trial by ordeal, 262

Trigge, Mr Joseph E., Preface x

Tripoli, 101, 102, 103, 316

Tunis, 101

Turegs, 100

Vultures, 117

Walkden and Company, John, 292

Wallace, Sir William, 195-6

Waller, Mr F. W., Preface ix

Wassaku Concessions, 134

Waterloo, 131

Watson, Dr, 199-200

Watts, Mr Walter, Preface x, 194-5

Weinthal, Mr Leo, Preface ix

West African Frontier Force, 36

White, Mr, 80

Wilks, Mr, 61

Women traders, 119

Woolloy, Mr H. M., 37

Worroko, 134

Yola, 316

Yorubas, 30, 63, 309, 350

Zaria, 15, 17, 40, 89, 90;
station, 130-1, 182, 291-8;
native taxation, 295-7;
Emir of, 296;
railway through Province of, 300;
kola nuts for, 303

Zungeru, 19-20;
character of, 21;
living accommodation in, 21-2;
houses and food, 22-3;
rest-houses at, 22;
future of, as Capital, 23, 39;
hours of work at, 26;
Secretariat, 26;
Government House, 27;
Governor’s motor-car, 27-8;
Cantonment Magistrate, 29-32;
Chief of, 31-2;
Niger Company’s store, 33;
native town, 34;
prison, 35-6;
mail services, 37;
sports, 38;
native and other coloured inhabitants, 38;
strategic position of, 40-1, 73

THE NORTHUMBERLAND PRESS, THORNTON STREET, NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE.

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