CHAPTER IX

ON THE MARCH ONCE MORE

On December the 16th, at five o'clock in the morning, we left Bafilo, where we had been since the first day of the month, and started on trek again, bound for Dako and the north. On the road an incident occurred that upset me greatly. A certain Dr. Engelhardt had died in Togo about three weeks previously of some malignant malady of the fever type. They--Schomburgk and the rest--had given me to understand that he died at Sokode. Now it transpired that he had really died at Bafilo, and in the very hut and on the identical spot where my bed had stood. They had kept this from me, not wishing to alarm me. Now they thought it a good joke to tell me, and were quite taken aback when I got exceedingly angry. They pointed out that the hut had been thoroughly disinfected. But I was not at all appeased. I said they were cold and callous, and many other things, but they only laughed.

The distance from Bafilo to Dako is only a little over twelve miles, yet it took us four hours or thereabouts to cover it, the reason being that the road was so bad. It was all up hill and down dale, and covered with big rocks and loose round stones. As a result, I was quite shaken up and tired on arrival, and the sight of the clean and pretty little rest-house was a welcome one. There was, however, I found, no accommodation for our horses, and we had to tether them all together under a big tree. We took our meals under another tree, and were very comfortable and "picknicky."

Next day, on to Kabu. The going was even worse than on the previous day. Indeed, I have never experienced anything like it, either before or since. The road, a mere native track, crossed at right angles a continual succession of mountain ridges, with narrow wooded valleys in between, along which in the rainy season rapid streams flowed. To ride down the steep sides of many of these valleys was a sheer physical impossibility. We had to dismount again and again, and scramble down as best we could. Even without their riders the poor horses had hard work to keep their footing at times, and one of them nearly met with a bad accident when crossing one river bed that was not yet wholly dry. He had negotiated successfully the exceedingly steep slope down to the river, and was in the act of crossing, when he somehow got his near hindleg between the root of a big tree and the bank, and nearly broke it. He was our best horse too, and my own for riding purposes, and I was fearfully anxious about him until Schomburgk assured me, after a careful and prolonged examination, that beyond a straining of the tendons, there was no harm done.

As the day advanced it grew fearfully hot. I kept on asking how much farther it was, and the answer from the interpreter hardly ever varied between "Not far," and "Only half an hour." It turned out to be three full hours from the last "only half an hour," the whole journey occupying from 4 A.M. till 1.30 P.M., so that we were nine and a half hours in the saddle without a break, barring the time that we were climbing and slithering on foot up and down the sides of the valleys. Even the horses felt the strain, and although I had two mounts, and changed them frequently, they were both pretty well knocked up by the time we reached our journey's end. Schomburgk, who knew beforehand that the stage was likely to be a hard one--although even he did not realise how hard--had strongly advised me, before setting out, to wear my pith helmet. But I, with true feminine perversity, had insisted on donning a big slouch hat of the cowboy type to which I was partial. I realised my mistake when the sun was well up, but my pride would not let me admit it. The last few miles were the worst. Only my thick hair, I am convinced, saved me from sunstroke. Once or twice I reeled in the saddle, almost overcome with weariness and the terrible heat. I got, however, but scant sympathy from the men. Schomburgk especially was most rough and unkind, and this was so unlike him, as a general rule, that at length, after one or two half-hearted appeals for sympathy, I got very angry, gritted my teeth, straightened myself in the saddle, and made up my mind to go through with it come what would. Afterwards, when we had camped and rested, he told me that he had acted of set purpose. He had realised that I must be on the very verge of collapse, and knew that if he could succeed in making me angry, I should probably succeed in pulling myself together; while if he started to condole with me, he feared that I might break down altogether. No doubt he was right. Wholesome anger is a good tonic.

Anyhow, I managed somehow to hold out until our arrival at Kabu. Here the chief's hut was placed at my disposal, there being no rest-house, and throwing myself full length on the horse blanket and with my saddle for a pillow, I slept soundly for a full hour. I woke greatly refreshed, and ravenously hungry. Unfortunately there was no food available, the carriers with the chop boxes not having yet arrived. However, the negroes brought us some big calabashes full of native beer. It was the first time I had ever tasted it, and I am bound to say that I found it both refreshing and sustaining. This was lucky, as we had nothing to eat until six o'clock that night. It is a fermented drink made from guinea corn, and is, I was told, highly intoxicating if one drinks enough of it. It has a peculiar sweetish sour taste, not at all unpleasant. After my sleep, a wash, and supper, I felt none the worse for our long march, notwithstanding that it was the worst and longest one we ever did. Here for the first time I saw antelope spoor all along the road, but no antelope were visible. We expect, however, to meet plenty before long, as well as other game, for we are now in the heart of wild Africa--no proper roads, only native tracks, and all round us the shadeless, waterless bush.

Our next day's stage, to Bapure, was a short one. I felt unusually fit and well, and the road being good rode nearly the whole way in a canter. I forgot to say that after Sokode we got a different lot of carriers at each stage; what are called out here "exchange carriers." These are furnished by the chief of each village, on payment of course, and each day a soldier of our escort was sent on ahead to arrange for the proper number being forthcoming. There is practically no difficulty about this so far as Togo is concerned, although in some other parts of Africa, I was informed, things are very different. On the whole trip we only once had any bother about carriers, but I shall come to that later on. I may add that there are two sides to the exchange of carriers. It has its advantages and its disadvantages. One of the principal advantages is that with fresh people each day, one naturally travels faster than with "stale" men. On the other hand, a nucleus of old carriers is to be preferred, because they know the loads, and can consequently pack up very much quicker. Coming up from Atakpame to Sokode it usually took us no more than about half an hour to pack up in the morning and get away, whereas now our exchange carriers take fully three times as long.

At Bapure, we first came into contact with the Konkombwa, admitted by everybody to be the finest race of savages in Togo. As, however, Bapure is only a border village, the ones we saw here were not, for the most part, pure bred; and nothing like such fine specimens, consequently, as those we saw farther up country. For this reason I will defer my description of them until later.

We camped here under a big tree, the roosting place of innumerable tame guinea-fowl, who greatly annoyed us by their incessant cackling. The heat in the middle of the day was very excessive, and in order to get the maximum of fresh air and the minimum of sunshine, we adopted the expedient of detaching the outer canvas roofs over our tents, and using them as awnings. It was surprising what a difference it made. Beneath this awning, and still further sheltered from the sun's glare by the thick branches of a big tree, I enjoyed my siesta in perfect comfort and comparative coolness, whereas when I remained cooped up in the tent, I found it usually impossible to obtain any sleep whatever during the daytime. The fact of the matter is that a tent in the tropics is not at all a desirable kind of dwelling-place. It looks cool, and it sounds cool, but it isn't anything of the kind. On the contrary, its interior is almost always stiflingly hot.

Whilst we were waiting here for our carriers to come up, I was greatly amused by the antics of two travelling coast natives who unexpectedly put in an appearance. They were "beautifully" dressed in what they, no doubt, considered the latest European styles; broad-brimmed straw hats, short tight trousers, and cut-away coats. As soon as they saw us they came swaggering over to where we were seated. Said Schomburgk: "Where do you come from?" "From the coast," they replied. Said Schomburgk: "You look it." That was all. But it was enough. The two "culled gentlemen" beat a quick retreat, and for the rest of their stay they left us severely alone; which was precisely what we wanted. They had two carriers for their belongings, and later on we saw them seated back to back on their boxes in the middle of the village street, each reading a book, while a crowd of gaping bush negroes stood round, evidently greatly impressed, and very much amazed at so marvellous a display of erudition on the part of men of their own race and colour. Of course it was all done for effect.

Although the days in this part of the Togoland Sudan are frequently fearfully sultry, the heat radiates quickly in the thin dry air at this season of the year, and the nights, consequently, are apt to be chilly. On the morning when we left Bapure, for instance, at 5 A.M., it was quite cold, so that my teeth chattered as I dressed myself. A quick short canter, however, soon put the blood into circulation. The first part of our journey was along a picturesque native path, just wide enough to allow two people to ride abreast, and bordered on either side by open bush country. About half-way between Bapure and our next halting-place at Gerin-Kuka, however, we crossed a river, the Dakpe, which forms the boundary between the Sokode and the Mangu districts, and immediately found ourselves on a broad, well-kept Government road. I didn't like it at all. The tortuous native tracks, winding in and out, may not be so good for quick or easy travelling, but they possess the charm of the unknown. When riding along them, one is always wondering what new scenery the next turn will disclose. But this wide straight highway where one could see miles ahead. Bah! There was no more romance or element of uncertainty about it, than there is about Rotten Row.

However, I was soon to be reminded that, road or no road, I was not anywhere in Europe, but in the heart of savage Africa. We had arrived within a mile or two of Gerin-Kuka, when there suddenly sounded ahead of us a most terrific din, and presently there came in sight an immense crowd of Konkombwa people, who advanced towards us leaping and yelling, and brandishing in the air long bows and barbed arrows--the latter, I was informed, poisoned. It was a most imposing, barbaric sight. The savages, all nude, or nearly so, kept up a chorus of yells, a series of long-drawn and sonorous "ha-ha-has," threw their bows into the air, and dexterously caught them again. And all the while they were dancing and capering, and making swift, short darts forward, as if bent on attacking us.

I confess to having been a wee bit frightened at first, until Schomburgk assured me that this was merely their way of saluting an honoured guest, and that the honoured guest on this occasion was myself, the first white woman who had ever adventured herself within the confines of their country. I can quite understand, however, what a welcome of this description might easily be misunderstood, and possibly lead to complications, as it has, in point of fact, upon occasions, and this not only amongst the Konkombwa, but amongst other more or less kindred people, whose customs in this respect are practically identical. In this connection Schomburgk mentioned an incident that came within his own personal knowledge. It happened some years ago, in what is now the north-western corner of Rhodesia, in the bend of the Kafue River. Here a traveller, who shall be nameless, first came into contact with the Mashukulumbwe. This traveller had heard a lot about the fighting prowess of the Mashukulumbwe, in just the same way as I had heard a lot about the fighting prowess of the Konkombwa, and when they came out to greet him, as the Konkombwa came out to greet us, he, like me, grew frightened, and fired and killed one of them. The poor savages, utterly at a loss to understand in what way they had offended, went in a body to the District Commissioner to complain of the outrage, and to ask for redress and compensation. They got what they asked, the money payment they received being afterwards recovered from the traveller, who was severely called over the coals for his share in the matter.

This was the first time I had ever met any real full-blooded Konkombwa, and I was greatly struck with their appearance. Tall, splendidly proportioned, and of fierce and warlike aspect, they carried themselves with a grace and dignity one could not help admiring. They were great dandies, too, for although they wore no clothes to speak of, many of them had little copper plates woven into their woolly hair, or had their heads surmounted with curious helmet-like head-dresses of cowrie shells, topped by antelope horns. The quivers in which they carried their sheaves of poisoned arrows, too, were beautifully designed and ornamented; and round their arms, from wrist to shoulder in some cases, they wore bracelets of brass and copper alternating. These were kept brightly polished, and glistened in the sun as they moved, making an extremely effective picture. So I rode into Gerin-Kuka in state, surrounded by my savage escort, dancing, shouting, and leaping. The noise made my horse exceedingly restive, and I began to fear that I might be unable to control him, so that I was very glad when, after we reached the confines of the village, they suddenly with one accord stopped shouting, and began to sing, a low, melodious, yet barbaric chant, altogether different from any native singing I had ever heard before. The interpreter explained that it was a song specially composed in my honour, and in which I was told that I was more fair than the moon, brighter than the sun, and more graceful and beautiful than a roan antelope.

The rest-house at Gerin-Kuka is very large and comfortable, and beautifully clean. It is square, not round, as is usual with the Togo rest-houses, and this in itself was a change. We were its first occupants, which accounted perhaps for its being so altogether spick-and-span; although as a matter of fact the rest-houses all over Togoland are invariably kept in first-rate order. Only white people are allowed to occupy them, and it is the duty of the chiefs of the different villages where they are situated, to keep them clean. It must not be imagined, however, that it is only the white travellers whose convenience is studied by the Government in this respect. In the neighbourhood of each of the rest-houses for Europeans, there has also been built a compound for natives. Many of these compounds are quite imposing-looking places, being, in fact, self-contained villages, comprising often as many as fifty or sixty round huts, each of which affords accommodation for a native family. The entire compound is called a "songu," and is in charge of a native official called the "sery-chi-songu" (I won't vouch for the spelling), whose duty it is to keep it clean and tidy, and to see that the occupants of the huts sweep them out before they leave in the morning for the next stage of their journey. This sweeping out process, I may mention, is by no means perfunctory, for the Government insists on cleanliness in regard to the native rest-houses, as well as in regard to those used by the whites. But it is not by any means an ordeal. There are no brooms provided, but the natives soon improvise one from the branches of the nearest tree, the work--as usual--falling upon the women, when there are any in the party. One penny a day is charged for the use of a hut, the money being collected by the man in charge of the compound. No party is allowed to remain beyond a certain time--usually three days--at any one rest-house, except in case of sickness. One result of the provision of these compounds, and of the roads the Government have caused to be built, is that there has grown up quite a regular system of travel to and fro between the rail-head at Atakpame, and other parts of Togo, and not only are the roads and rest-houses used by the Togoland natives, but those from the northern parts of the British possessions on the one side, and the French possessions on the other, also come down through Togo to the coast, when they wish to make the journey, in order to avail themselves of the facilities provided.

It was outside the Gerin-Kuka rest-house, by the way, that I first paid our carriers in salt, the currency in general vogue throughout the Mangu district, where we now are. Each carrier received two cupfuls of salt for his day's work. Schomburgk saw nothing extraordinary in this, and rather pooh-poohed the idea when I suggested cinemaing the incident. He consented, however; and afterwards, when we came to show the films in London, this one created quite a lot of interest. People seemed to find it strange that natives could be found willing to carry heavy loads all day in the broiling sun for what was, from their point of view, so altogether inadequate a remuneration.

In the afternoon, the Konkombwa, not content with their magnificent reception in the morning, gave a grand dance in my honour. Afterwards, Schomburgk went out into the bush to look for antelope. He had previously told me that he would not be gone more than about an hour or so, and when darkness came on, and he had not returned, I grew alarmed for his safety, remembering how easy a matter it is to lose one's way in the African bush. Hodgson kept trying to reassure me, saying that it was quite certain that so old and experienced an African traveller as Schomburgk was would not get bushed. As, however, he had not returned by eight o'clock, I ordered out the soldiers to look for him, and fired several revolver shots to guide him in our direction in case he was anywhere within hearing. I also sent natives out with lanterns, and soon the bush all round Gerin-Kuka was alive with twinkling points of fire. At nine o'clock the truant turned up. He had, he explained, struck some fairly fresh antelope spoor, and, urged on by the ardour of the chase, had gone further afield than he had at first intended. As is the way with men the world over, he was not a bit grateful to me for my thoughtful solicitude. On the contrary, he growled and grumbled, saying that the lights of the lanterns had dazzled and confused him, and so caused him to be even longer on the way than he otherwise would have been; also that all the unnecessary hubbub and excitement had made him look foolish in the eyes of the natives. "I am quite capable of looking after my own safety, thank you," he snapped in conclusion; to which I icily retorted that if he thought it was his safety I was anxious about he was mightily mistaken, my only reason for acting as I had done being that I had no ambition to be left stranded alone with a leaderless caravan in the heart of the African wilds. It is perhaps unnecessary to add that after this little passage of arms we parted on not the best of terms that night.

Next morning he was all smiles and kindly courtesy, and as I showed by my manner that I had forgiven his boorishness of the previous night, we made a first-rate start. We are now bound for Sansane-Mangu, the northernmost Government station in Togo, by way of Kadjamba and Nali, and are in the heart of the Togoland Sudan. The days are intensely hot, and the nights seem to get colder and colder. This morning, for instance, the frost lay thick on the ground, so that we shivered under our thick wraps. These extremes of temperature are very trying. For at least nine out of the twelve hours of sunshine that one gets in these latitudes, the sun pours down scorching rays from a cloudless sky upon sandy plain and mountain rock, and the whole landscape shimmers and glows like the mouth of the furnace; but with the coming of night a sudden chill seems to fall from the stars, the heat radiates rapidly into space, and the mercury in the thermometer drops often as many as forty or fifty degrees in hardly more than as many minutes. Of course the above applies to the dry season only.

On leaving Gerin-Kuka we did not take the main road, but branched off into a side-path which it is only possible to use in the dry season. After riding a few miles, Schomburgk stopped his horse, and, stooping down, called my attention to a small round depression, or hole, in the hard clay soil. It looked for all the world as if some one had jabbed the bottom of a bucket deep down into the clay when it was soft, and that the indentation so made there had then been left to harden. I looked at it, as he bade me; but I did not see anything very remarkable about it, and I said so. "Perhaps not," replied Schomburgk. "Nevertheless, it happens to be an elephant's spoor, the first you have ever set eyes on." Of course my interest was aroused at once, and I dismounted in order to examine it more closely. Schomburgk explained that it was an old spoor from the last rainy season. I thought the footprint an enormous one, but Schomburgk said that it was made by quite a small elephant. We followed up the spoor for some little distance, and I received my first lesson in wood-craft, Schomburgk pointing out to me where the beast had stopped to feed, breaking off the branches and uprooting a number of small trees, and where he had stopped to rest for a while. In the rainy season all this part of the country is under water and impassable, and the elephants then come here to feed from the mountain country of the north-east, and from the Kara River region, where, in the "gallery forests," as they are called, there are elephants all the year round. Later on, during the next day's march, we struck this same Kara River, and I saw spoor of hippopotami and buffalo. We also encountered immense flocks of guinea-fowl. The flesh of these birds is eatable, but tough.

Kadjamba we found to be quite a small village. We could not even get carriers to take us on to Nali, the next stage, but had to keep those we had brought from Gerin-Kuka. There was only a small rest-house, and I slept under my tent, being badly bitten by mosquitoes, which swarmed about the place in countless myriads. Amongst them were numbers of anophele, the carriers of the malarial fever microbe. Only the female anophele stings, and she has got to be herself previously infected by the fever germ before she can convey infection to the person bitten. Consequently, anopheles inhabiting densely populated regions are far more dangerous than those found in comparatively deserted ones, such as we were now in. In and around the big villages practically every anophele is a germ carrier, and capable of breeding infection, while those breeding out in the bush are comparatively innocuous.

Next day we started at 6 A.M. as usual, and after an hour and a half's ride we reached and crossed the great river Kara, our horses going in up to their saddle-flaps. This river drains the Kabre Mountains, and is one of the main tributaries of the Oti, the big river of Northern Togo, and which is itself in its turn a tributary of another and yet bigger river called the Volta, which forms the boundary between the British and German territory. In the dry season, which is of course now, the Kara is only about 100 yards wide and comparatively shallow, with a slow, sluggish stream; but in the wet season it is, I was informed, fully 500 yards wide, and so deep and swift as to be quite unfordable.

The Konkombwa country, in which we now are, differs from the Tschaudjo country in many respects, and especially as regards the number and extent of the villages. The Konkombwa live in little homesteads of two or three huts, distributed thickly but unevenly all over the country, the reason being that these people are in the main agriculturists, getting their living from the soil. The Tschaudjo, on the contrary, are traders and warriors, caring little for agriculture, and so in the course of ages they have come to concentrate together more and more. Paratau, which may be described as the capital of Tschaudjoland, has a population of several thousand souls, and Bafilo is even bigger.

Two hours after crossing the Kara we rode into Nali, where the chief had laid out all his "presents" under a big tree. The collection made a goodly show; quite a lot of flour, some unground corn, many chickens, and a big pile of eggs. In return we gave him brass, tobacco, and salt, and he retired highly pleased. Later in the day Schomburgk and Hodgson went out shooting, and the latter returned greatly excited. He had seen a school of hippos for the first time. His jubilation, however, over the incident, was greatly marred by the fact of his rifle having jammed in a most extraordinary manner when he was making ready to let drive at them. He had it already loaded at the time with a cartridge carrying a soft-nose bullet for shooting antelope, and pulled the lever in order to extract it, with a view to reload with one carrying a solid bullet. But the case came away, leaving the bullet in the barrel, and as he had no ramrod his rifle was put altogether out of action for the time being. There were five or six hippos in the school, and for days afterwards, Hodgson did not cease to lament having been unable to bag at least one of them.

From Nali we rode on in the morning for about ten miles, then camped on the open veldt. There was no rest-house available, of course, and we put up our tents. The next day, December 23rd, we struck camp at six as usual, and after an hour and a half's ride we reached the Oti River. Here we halted, had breakfast, and tidied ourselves as best we could for our entry into Sansane-Mangu, which lay only about another hour and a half' ride in front of us.