CHAPTER X

CHRISTMAS AT SANSANE-MANGU

Mangu, the northernmost Government station in Togo, is in charge of a District Commissioner, Captain von Hirschfeld, who is assisted in his duties, which are arduous and important, by two other white men, one of whom is a non-commissioned officer, the other a civilian. Between them, these three representatives of a dominant race, carry on from year's end to year's end administrative and executive duties over a tract of country as big as half a dozen English counties, and larger by far than many of the smaller semi-independent German States. It is a country, too, difficult of access at all times, and in the rainy season impossible altogether to traverse in many parts. It is, moreover, inhabited by a people diverse and strange, speaking different dialects, possessing different tribal customs, manners, and beliefs; and in some instances--and in all instances at times--truculent, intractable, and treacherous.

That this vast, far-flung region, in parts even now largely uncharted and unknown, should have been brought, within comparatively recent times, under a settled and stable government, and tribal and internecine warfare practically abolished, speaks volumes, I venture to think, for the character and abilities of the men who have accomplished the task. Earliest among these pioneers was Dr. Gruner, who took the German flag right up to the Niger bend, but who had to withdraw owing to the shortsightedness of the German Parliament. The British Government, by the way, made no such mistakes, I notice. I have read in our history books how, some twenty years ago, Lord Rosebery's Government was on the eve of adopting a similar policy of scuttle in regard to Uganda. But the Rosebery Government went down in response to a popular outcry, and as a result your Union Jack waves over all that portion of East Africa. Our Parliament was subject to no such popular pressure--at all events at that time, and in regard to this matter. But here I had better stop. I am trenching upon high imperial, not to say international, politics, and such things are not for a girl like me.

Let me get back to the Mangu of the present day, which we are now, if you please, dear reader--I like that old-fashioned phrase--approaching on horseback from the lowlands about the Oti River. A big broad road leads up to the station from the Oti, and the station buildings can be seen a long way off, gleaming white in the sunshine, and giving one, even at a distance, the impression of extreme neatness and cleanliness. As our caravan, with its long string of porters, winds slowly upwards, I observe through my field-glasses that flags are flying from every point of vantage, and I guess, even before Schomburgk tells me so, that the decorations are in honour of the advent of myself, the first white woman in Mangu. Presently, Captain von Hirschfeld, accompanied by a mounted bodyguard, canters out to meet us, and I, intent on making as imposing an entry as possible, ride forward to greet him. But alas, for the plans of mice and men, to say nothing of women! A patch of soft sand--a quicksand, no doubt, in the rainy season--lay directly in my path. When my horse reached it, he first sank in it over his fetlocks, then floundered, then fell, pitching me over his head. And in this unceremonious, not to say undignified, fashion, the first white woman made her first entry into the far northern station of Mangu. Captain von Hirschfeld and myself often laughed over the incident later on, but to me at the time it was no laughing matter. Not that I was hurt in the least. The sand, fortunately, was soft, and the floundering kind of stumble my horse made resulted, so far as I was concerned, in a subsidence rather than a fall. But I was deeply mortified. I had looked forward to making quite an impression, and the only kind of impression I accomplished was the one made by my face in the sand when I fell.

The full name of the station--I fancy I have mentioned this before somewhere--is Sansane-Mangu, meaning "the place where warriors meet." Once upon a time it was the gathering-place of the natives when their young men met together to set out on one of those wild forays so dear to savages the world over. The exact place of meeting was a big baobab tree, still standing, and about this tree the new station of Mangu has been built, with a view to breaking the fetish spell which in the estimation of the natives stills hangs round it. The old station at Mangu, founded by a Lieutenant Tiery, was in a different spot, overlooking the Oti River. It was a small station, but very strongly fortified; a fort, in fact. Of this station, only the walls remain. The interior of the site is used as a European cemetery. Three white men lie there. Two died, the third was killed in warfare with the Tschokossi, a tribe inhabiting the country to the north and west. The unhealthiness of the site, more than anything else, caused the old station to be abandoned. The new station was founded by a Captain Mellin, who died a few years back. A little while ago the Tschokossi rose in rebellion, and tried to capture this station, and they very nearly succeeded. There was some sharp fighting, one white man and a good many native soldiers being killed. As an act of expiation, after the rebellion had been crushed, they were forced to build, near their principal village, an immense stone pyramid, with a cross on top.

Captain von Hirschfeld, who, throughout this and our subsequent stay at Mangu, was hospitality personified, had got everything ready for us. A nice house was placed at our disposal, all swept and garnished, very large, airy, and roomy, with a fine broad verandah. Close by our house was an extraordinary-looking building of native construction called Tamberma Fort. This was built many years ago by a tribe of natives of that name, who live in the extreme north-eastern corner of Togoland. These Tamberma were, and still are, a very wild, warlike, and truculent people. The German Government, I ought to explain, exact what is called a head tax of six shillings a year from each native. It is the equivalent of the British "hut tax," and, like that impost, it has been the cause of endless trouble and bother with the negroes, who in Togoland are called upon, under its provisions, to either pay the tax in cash, or work twelve days on the Government roads, buildings, etc. Now six shillings sounds a very small sum to a civilised white man, but to a semi-wild negro, who never sees any coined money whatever from year's end to year's end, it is, of course, an altogether impossible impost. He has therefore to work it out, and in the case of a distant tribe this means a long journey forward and backward to their homes, with their wives and their little ones, all of which not infrequently involves considerable hardship and privation, for, of course, the negro has to provide food for himself and his family on the journey, though not while he is working out his tax. No wonder he resents the hated impost, and tries to evade it whenever possible; for the native is constitutionally incapable of looking ahead, and cannot be made to see that the work he is called upon to do is for his own benefit as much as, and even in a sense more so, than for that of his white masters. He sees, of course, that the roads he builds, he is able presently to travel over with an assurance unknown in the old days; that the _songus_ he erects shelter him and his family when he is on the move; and that the net result of all this easy intercommunication is a general cheapening of commodities, and the opening of new markets for those he produces. But all this weighs in the balance very little against his innate conservatism and rooted aversion to settled labour.

Well, these Tamberma people came down once to Mangu from their mountain fortresses in the far north-east; then, having finished their allotted task, they packed up their belongings and returned to their homes. And they never quitted them again--at least to come to Mangu. For shortly after they got back to their own country, a new boundary line was drawn between the German and the French possessions in this part of Africa, and the Tamberma country was intersected by this line. The result has been considerable confusion, some of the tribe owning allegiance to one government, and some to the other. Things, however, are now likely to straighten themselves out before long, the Tamberma having, by mutual agreement between the two governments, been given a year in which to decide under which they will come, and this year expires shortly. Meanwhile Tamberma Fort, erected by them as a memento of their visit, still stands in Mangu, a conspicuously picturesque object. It is, I may add, at present used as a mosque by the Mohammedans at the station, who have agreed to keep it in order in return for the privilege.

All round Mangu are big plantations of different kinds of valuable timber, a sort of experimental arboricultural farm. All this work has been done at the initiative and under the personal supervision of the officials there, and they have also carried out many other improvements. The place is, in fact, a little island of civilisation set in a wilderness of savagery, the new station house there, Schomburgk considers, being the finest and handsomest building of its kind in the whole interior of Africa. The country round the station, and especially to the north, is typical of the Sudan, the soil mostly a hard dry ironstone formation. It is on the whole of somewhat arid appearance, but grass grows freely in many parts, and along the banks of the streams, and for a considerable distance on either side one gets a belt of riverine vegetation--trees, osiers, and the like.

Mangu during the harmattan season, which lasts from October to the end of January, is an altogether delightful place of residence; no mosquitoes, pleasantly windy, cool at night, and not too hot by day, because of the harmattan, the sun's rays being unable to penetrate the dry yellow mist. During the rest of the year, however, and especially from May to August, Mangu has been not inaptly described as "Hades with the lid off." Not only is the heat terrific in the day-time--one cannot, I was assured, walk across the square without dripping with perspiration--but it is hardly any cooler at night, while to keep things lively there is an almost continual succession of thunderstorms of appalling intensity, the rain descending with tropical violence at an angle of forty-five degrees or thereabouts, and beating right into the houses, so that at times the people prefer to go out into it at once and have done with it, rather than try to take shelter inside, when it is practically unobtainable. These storms do not last long enough to cool the air, but the lightning seems to take a special fancy to strike the station or the village, one theory advanced to account for this being that there exists beneath the place a subterranean stream of water, which attracts the electric fluid. How feasible this may be, I do not know; but it is a fact that Mangu is very unfortunate in this respect. During the last rainy season, for instance, two natives were killed in the village by lightning, and one here in the station. The lightning also struck Captain von Hirschfeld's house, and went through his writing-table, destroying a lot of papers, he himself only escaping death by a miracle.

We spent Christmas at Mangu, and had a real good time. We ate our Christmas dinner in Captain von Hirschfeld's house, a fine, handsome stone building. It was only finished last October, and when inside, and especially of a night, one can hardly realise that one is in the heart of Africa. We had part of a young pig for our Christmas dinner, and I was present at the killing of him. I must confess that the sight rather sickened me, though later on I became quite an expert butcher. Curious how one sheds the veneer of civilisation in the wilds. After quitting Mangu for the north, we were destined to be absolutely cut off from the outer world for a while, and we relied almost altogether on our guns and rifles for fresh meat for the pot. Then it was the men who hunted and killed the game, and I who prepared and cooked it. In like manner, I take it, did the women of the Stone Age.

At Mangu, however, we were, of course, still in touch with civilisation, and our Christmas dinner, besides being something of a curiosity in its way, was exceedingly nice. I append the menu:

Caviare sans Ice. Asparagus Soup. Oti Fish. Ragoût à la Mangu en escallop. Saddle of Pork à la Konkombwa. Peaches à la tin. Frothed White of Eggs, Cream, Sauce Vanilla. Cheese sticks. Coffee. Liqueurs.

_Wines._ Madeira. Claret. Champagne.

On the dinner-table was a miniature Christmas tree, which had been sent all the way from Germany by Captain von Hirschfeld's mother, and after we had finished eating we gathered round it and toasted absent friends in champagne. I had not looked forward at all to this particular Christmas. In fact, I had rather dreaded it, fearing that it would bring with it more of regret than of pleasure, but as a matter of fact I thoroughly enjoyed it. For one thing, I found it hard to realise, owing to the climate and surroundings, that it was really Christmas; for another, everybody was so kind and hospitable that one could not help feeling merry and jolly. On New Year's Eve we had another little party, and on the stroke of midnight we set fire to about three thousand feet of old celluloid films. The inflammable stuff blazed up fiercely of course, directly a match was applied to it, and made a splendid bonfire.

I have alluded already to the big plantations round about Mangu. Most of these are thriving, but as regards some of them, considerable damage has been done by a species of beetle with huge saw-like forceps. It was pitiful to ride along the plantation roads, and see hundreds and hundreds of fine trees all dead or dying, killed by these insect pests. Every effort has been made, Captain von Hirschfeld told me, to extirpate them, but in vain. In the plantations are many small antelope and immense flocks of guinea-fowl and francolin, the latter a bird resembling a partridge. The best sport of all, however, was afforded by a bird called out there a koran. It is a most comical-looking creature, not unlike a miniature ostrich, but, unlike the ostrich, it is a good flier. Schomburgk was quite an expert in shooting them; right and left--bang! bang! They were excellent for the pot, yielding two distinct kinds of meat, white and brown, arranged in layers like a cream and chocolate sponge-cake. They were so plump and fat that I used to cook them in their own grease, and we all agreed that they were better done that way, being delicious eaten hot, and even better cold. There were also quail in great numbers all round the station, which I used to roast, and serve on toast in the approved fashion. We also had antelope, as many as we cared to shoot. Their meat, which had a pleasant gamey flavour, made a nice change. The only drawback was that we had to eat it too fresh, as of course everything goes bad if kept overnight in this climate.

The Oti River furnished us with fish in abundance. We rode down to it nearly every day, and once we went for a cruise in it on a big dugout native canoe. We started at seven in the morning, and got back at eleven. We were not able to go far, as the water was nearly at its lowest, but still it was very pleasant, and the scenery was very beautiful. Towards the end, however, the sun's rays, reflected back by the almost stagnant water, made things very oppressive. What it must be like in the summer I can only faintly imagine. From a sand-bank where he had stalked it, Hodgson shot a very fine paauw--a kind of bustard--with his rifle at about sixty yards, the bullet passing clean through its neck. It was, of course, a fluky shot, but Hodgson was awfully proud of it, nevertheless.

Early in the morning of December 30th, word was brought to us that the natives were gathering for a grand combined fishing expedition, and, of course, we rode out to see the fun, taking our camera and operator with us. They caught any number of fish, but in a way that I fear would hardly appeal to any genuine disciple of Isaac Walton. Still it was very interesting, and we secured some good pictures. The natives had previously built a number of dams parallel to each other across the river in a shallow and still reach, and they now proceeded to bale out the water from each inclosure until there was only liquid ooze left, in which the fishes hid, and whence they were presently scooped up by hundreds of natives armed with calabashes. Afterwards the master of the ceremonies distributed the catch to the perspiring fishermen. They were mostly of the barbel species, and of very moderate size; but there was one big fellow, which we purchased, and afterwards ate for dinner. He was very nice, unlike many of the Togo river fish, which are about as tasty as blotting-paper flavoured with mud.

We took no dramatic films at Mangu, but plenty of ethnological ones. Cinemaing had now become more difficult than ever, for the intense dry heat kept continually cracking the wood of the cameras, until both Hodgson and Schomburgk were well nigh in despair. Every evening almost they were kept busy repairing the damage done during the day-time, filling the cracks with sealing-wax, which they afterwards smoothed down with hot knives, and covered with sticky tape. We had only brought two cinema cameras with us--in addition to three ordinary ones--and the woodwork of one of these had got so badly warped by the heat on the road up as to interfere with the working of the mechanism, rendering it utterly useless. Consequently we were relying on the one machine; and if anything happened to put it out of action, the whole expedition would come automatically to an end, since no other cinema camera could be bought nearer than Europe. I never saw so much care lavished over an inanimate object, as was bestowed on that machine. Talk about a mother with a new-born babe! Why, that bit of brass and woodwork was watched over by Hodgson as though it had been the apple of his eye. He scarcely ever allowed it out of his keeping, whether on the march or in camp, and a boy was detailed to do nothing else all day long but rub it over with palm-oil.

Amongst other interesting films we took at Mangu was one showing portions of the new stone station in process of construction, with, as a contrast, the old wattle-and-daub buildings still standing in close proximity. The scene here during the hours when work was in full progress was most animated, and our cameras did full justice to it. In one picture an endless row of carriers is seen bringing up the hewn stones from the quarry. In the next native workmen are burning lime in a native kiln. Another picture shows forty stalwart negroes carrying between them an immense baulk of timber, hewn in the mountain forest country many miles away; they had been carrying it after this fashion for eight whole days at the time our photograph was taken. The skilled masonry work is being done by long-term prisoners, many of them in chains, and in charge of armed soldiers. The head mason, I was informed, was a murderer.

After taking this film we rode down to the quarry near the Oti which furnishes the stone. Here were hundreds of natives working out their tax. The quarry, which is a very large one, and seems capable of indefinite extensions, was only discovered quite recently by Captain von Hirschfeld. On the way to it we passed a large "songu," or native resting-place, equivalent to the rest-houses of the whites. Here we saw specimens of races and tribes from all parts of Western Africa, and even parts of Northern Africa, collected together--Hausas from Nigeria; Fulani, with their comparatively pale complexions, and clear-cut European looking features; squat, coal-black, pagan tribesmen from the Kabre Mountains, and the central forest region; Fulbe, from the far interior of the central Sudan; stately Arab traders from Timbuctu, and beyond, clad in flowing snow-white robes; naked Gourma people, fierce and wild looking; and many stalwart Konkombwa, upright and graceful as ever, but _minus_ their helmets and head-dresses; while in and out among the motley throng, naked little children swarmed everywhere, and perfectly nude women and girls, bearing on their heads calabashes of water, or pots of food, trod gravely and sedately to and fro, their brass anklets glittering in the sun, and making music as they moved. It was as picturesque a scene as any I had ever beheld in my lifetime, and certainly more so than any I had yet come across in Togo.

On January the 2nd, in the morning, a soldier came to say that a hyena had been caught in a trap overnight, and we at once saddled up our horses and rode out to have a look at it. The soldier led us to the place where the trap had been, but both it and the hyena had vanished. Investigation showed that the powerful brute had torn up the anchor which held the iron gin-trap in position, and had walked off with the whole contrivance. However, we knew that it was impossible for him to rid himself of the trap altogether, so we followed up his trail to a patch of jungle grass a considerable distance away, where he had hidden himself, and a soldier went in and pulled him out, trap and all. The poor beast howled horribly, and no wonder, for its mouth was all torn and bloody, where it had tried to bite away the iron of the trap. It was no goodly sight, and I was glad to turn away my head while Schomburgk put an end to its misery with a bullet from his mauser. In the afternoon came huge flocks of vultures to feast upon the carcase, and again we put our camera into requisition, getting some fine pictures. They are loathsome-looking creatures, these carrion-eating birds, but of course they are invaluable to the squalid African villages, where they act as general scavengers, and are rarely, if ever, interfered with.

Mangu is plagued with bats--millions on millions of them. I would not have credited it if I had not seen it with my own eyes. If I write that there came at dawn out of a single small hut, twelve to fifteen thousand of the creatures, darkening the air for quite a distance around, I should hardly expect to be believed. But it is so. One of the interpreters told me that on one occasion a deserted hut where there was a rookery--or should it be a "battery"?--of them, was sealed up, and sulphur burned inside. And when they unsealed it in the morning, they counted above eighteen thousand carcases of bats.

We got plenty of milk at Mangu, making a welcome change of diet, also native butter. This latter is good for cooking, but one cannot eat it on one's bread, owing to its rancid taste, even when freshly made. As regards the milk also, one has to be very careful to see that the calabashes are clean. I always saw to this myself, for native servants, as I have already stated elsewhere, have no idea of the importance of hygiene.

One evening, shortly before we quitted Mangu for our "farthest north," Captain von Hirschfeld told us about a number of most interesting records concerning the days of Dr. Gruner and the earlier pioneers, which are preserved here. Schomburgk was greatly interested in them, and urged the Captain to have them published, which he said he would probably do shortly.