CHAPTER XI

OUR "FARTHEST NORTH"

On January 11th, 1914, we left Mangu, where we had been since December the 23rd, and resumed our journey northward. Beyond Mangu, Togo has not yet been opened up, nor is the country considered altogether safe for Europeans. We only went there by special permission of the Government, obtained through H.H. the Duke of Mecklenburg, and he only granted it because Schomburgk was personally known to him as an old and experienced African traveller, who could be trusted to treat the natives well, to neither do nor say anything to provoke them, and who yet was capable of holding his own in an emergency if he were attacked.

Before setting out, too, Schomburgk had to sign an official document, promising only to go north along the Oti River, and not to attempt to enter the Gourma country. He was also warned to be on his guard against the Tschokossi people in the villages of the extreme north, as these were reputed to be shy and suspicious of white strangers entering their territory. As a matter of fact, Schomburgk insisted, in talking the matter over with me, that the Tschokossi are nowhere dangerous if properly handled, and that there was likewise little or nothing to fear from the Gourma people living in German territory, although he admitted that occasionally parties of Gourma come over from French territory as far as Panscheli, whither we were bound, and that these strays are apt to be troublesome, and even truculent. Indeed, only quite recently a German officer traversing the very district into which we were about to penetrate, and having with him a big escort of soldiers, was attacked by prowling savages, who shot a flight of poisoned arrows into the tent where he was asleep. According to the version of the affair I heard, he must have escaped death by a miracle. He was, I was told, lying down asleep when he was awakened by the "plunk, plunk, plunk," of the arrows striking and penetrating the taut canvas. Jumping up, he ran to the entrance of the tent, whereupon the lurking savages shot another volley, one of the arrows glancing from the tent pole behind which he was standing, and wounding him on the forehead. With commendable presence of mind, instead of going after his assailants, he at once sat down upon the ground, and called to his native boy, who there and then set to work to suck the poison from the wound. In this way his life was saved, for although he suffered great agony, and was seriously ill for quite a long while, he recovered in the end. He was lucky, for, as a rule, the least scratch from one of these poisoned arrows proves fatal. I made many inquiries during my stay in the country, and afterwards, as to what was the particular poison used by the natives on their arrow tips, but I could get no proper information, or rather, I should say that what I did get was extremely contradictory. A Doctor Porteous, a friend of mine, assured me that he had analysed some of it taken from a freshly-smeared arrow, and found it to be a preparation of digitalis, made from a native plant of the fox-glove variety. On the other hand, I have talked with people who claim to have actually seen the natives poisoning their arrows by the simple process of sticking the points in a lump of putrid meat, and leaving them there for a while; while yet others assert that the poison is a preparation of rotting vegetable earth taken from the nearest bog-hole. There may be some truth in this, for it is known that people wounded by the arrows frequently succumb to tetanus. The probability is that no one poison is used at all times, and by all the tribes, but that different kinds are utilised as opportunity offers.

It was on a Sunday morning that we quitted Mangu, and Captain von Hirschfeld, with his usual kindness, made all arrangements for carriers and so forth, and also stored our spare baggage against our return. Our first day's march was only five miles, and, travelling as we did along the Oti valley, in which the natives had just been burning the grass, it was anything but pleasant riding. The air was filled with a black impalpable dust, which got into my eyes, down my throat, up my nostrils--everywhere. The heat was terrific, and caused one to perspire freely, so that our faces soon took on a most unbeautiful streaky appearance. The water I washed in when we camped became of the colour of ink, and the consistency almost of pea soup; and when I unbound my hair, showers of blacks descended from it to the ground.

Schomburgk wanted to camp at a village, but I was greatly taken with a very pretty spot, lying fifteen feet or so up on a bluff in a bend of the river, and from which a beautiful view could be had over the surrounding country. To this Schomburgk objected, saying that the wind was likely to prove troublesome by day, and that at night we were pretty certain to be eaten up by mosquitoes. I persisted, however, and in the end he allowed me to have my way. Afterwards, I wished he hadn't. His prediction was verified. Very much so, in fact. As the day advanced, a hot wind swept across the Oti plains in fierce eddying gusts, bringing with it more clouds of black dust from the burnt veldt; and at night the mosquitoes were so bad that we couldn't sleep, exactly as he had foretold. I never encountered anything quite so bad in the way of insect pests as were these mosquitoes on the banks of the Oti. The boys had to light fires of green boughs to drive them away, and while they were crouching over them, half-suffocated by the smoke, Schomburgk started to tell me about some mosquitoes he once encountered in the Congo forest region. "Why," he remarked, "we used to shoot them like game with our revolvers as they sat perched on the boughs of the trees above our heads, and so big were they that several of them weighed a pound." "Get out," I retorted indignantly, "there are no such insects anywhere in the world." "It is the literal truth I am telling you," he replied, gravely, "several of those Congo mosquitoes weighed a pound." "Yes," put in Hodgson slyly, with a laugh and a wink at me, "_several_ of them. Several thousands--or millions if you like." Then, of course, I saw the joke, such as it was, and we all laughed.

The place near to which our camp was pitched was a small Tschokossi village called Bwete. The people were very wild in appearance. The Tschokossi living in and about Mangu were comparatively civilised, but these were just savages pure and simple. The men wore only small loin slips of undressed bark, the women bunches of green branches before and behind. These they renewed daily when they went down to the river to wash in the early morning. Each woman or girl plucked a few branches, thereby possessing herself of a new dress. In this respect these children of nature go one better than ourselves. No civilised woman, I take it, be she ever so wealthy, has a new dress _every_ day. Schomburgk considered these umbrageous costumes hideous, but I thought them very pretty, modest, and becoming. Certainly, on hygienic grounds, the custom has much to recommend it.

In the afternoon all our boys went down to the river to bathe in a big deep pool, in which I had previously observed several crocodiles disporting themselves. I was horrified when I saw them, and called to them to come out, telling them what I had seen; but they only laughed at my fears, and went on swimming, skylarking, and splashing about. The natives assert, and probably with truth, that whereas for one man to venture alone by himself into a crocodile-infested pool would be for him to court almost certain death, a number of them can go in together with impunity. Doubtless the reptiles are frightened at the noise and the splashing, and lie low instead of attacking, fearing for their own safety.

On the road to this village a pet monkey we had bought earlier in the trip got loose, and bolted across the veldt. It was being carried shut up in a hen-coop, and probably resented the indignity. We were greatly perturbed, for we had all of us become more or less attached to the "comical little cuss," as Artemus Ward would doubtless have called him, and we did not want to lose him. The boys tried their hardest to catch him, and failed; but directly Schomburgk called him, he came to him, and rode coiled up on the front of his saddle for the rest of the day.

Shortly after this episode we came upon a very picturesque little lake, a really pretty sheet of water, long and narrow. We had been on the look-out for this, because before we left Mangu one of the officials there told us that he had recently shot a big bull hippopotamus here, and Schomburgk was anxious to film one or more of these creatures. So we circled the entire lake, going up one side and down the other, examining it carefully. There were lots of water-fowl, but no hippos, big or little, male or female. When we reached camp, our boys told us that they had seen a big herd of antelope. This was tantalising, for we wanted meat for the pot, and we had seen nothing of them. The natives are still busy at their favourite pastime--at this season of the year--of burning the grass on the Oti flats, and the wind, as usual, blew the calcined debris into our eyes and noses. Anything but pleasant!

Next day we resumed our march. Our intention had been to follow the Oti, but the river winds in and out just about here in the most bewildering and tantalising manner, and our soldier guide from Mangu, in attempting a short cut, lost his way. We passed through or round a number of dirty Tschokossi villages, but the people were sullen and suspicious, refused to answer our questions, or replied only in non-committal monosyllables. These people live, like the Konkombwa, in tiny hamlets of two or three families, and, to judge by their replies to our requests for information, one would have imagined that no such river as the Oti existed anywhere in Togo, let alone close to where they lived, moved, and had their being.

At length, thoroughly vexed and tired out, hot, dusty and thirsty, we halted at noon at a place called Magu, and put up our tents under some low, withered trees. It proved to be a most uncomfortable camping ground. The black dust settled everywhere. The sun beat down with a perfectly awful intensity, and it was practically impossible to obtain shelter from the heat, the country all round being low bush, interspersed with open veldt. Late in the afternoon, after a rest, Schomburgk set out to try and find the Oti, and returned in a little while with the somewhat comforting news, under the circumstances, that it was only about a quarter of an hour's march ahead. And yet the people here had assured us that it was "very far away." This shows what reliance is to be placed on the word of a wild native. Schomburgk further told us that on the way back from the river he had sighted a roan antelope, but that it was too far off for him to be able to get a shot. Another disappointment!

Before going to bed that night Schomburgk instructed the interpreter to rouse us at 5 A.M. Presently I heard him calling out as usual that it was time to get up, and in obedience to the summons I arose, though feeling unusually sleepy. I put this down, however, to the tiring events of the day previous, and, having washed and dressed, I went outside the tent. To my surprise, I found the moon still high in the heavens, and only then did it occur to me to look at my watch. The time was 2.30 A.M. After saying some things the reverse of complimentary to the interpreter, I re-entered my tent and lay down, intending to try and get to sleep again. But meanwhile Hodgson, who had also been awakened, had started a long confab with one of the native boys. Hodgson was a first-rate operator, and a very decent sort of a fellow to boot, but he was one of the most confirmed chatterboxes I ever came across. I used to tell him that he would talk to his own shadow, if there was nothing and nobody else to talk to. In this respect he was the very reverse of Schomburgk, who, like most men who have lived long in the wilds, was a very quiet, reserved sort of man.

At five o'clock, we rose finally for the day, and resumed our march in the direction of the Oti, striking it, as Schomburgk had already told us we would, in from fifteen to twenty minutes. We are now in an utterly wild country, where few, if any, white people, whether men or women, have ever been before. There are no paths, and the native tracks--one cannot call them trails--lead nowhere save from village to village, or possibly to water-holes, or river fords, as the case may be. For the most part we tried to follow the Oti, but the wide bends it made, and the nature of the banks in places, rendered this at times an absolute impossibility.

We are in a fine game country, and we saw many troops of antelope. Flocks of guinea-fowl, too, ran along in front of the horses; francolin flew up in coveys of ten and twelve; crested crane kept passing overhead on their way from one feeding-ground to another, uttering their haunting rasping cry. It was a beautiful sight to a city-bred girl. I felt I was really near to Nature at last; that here was God's big "zoo." I did not want to talk--only to listen and look. I am beginning to understand now how it is that all the white bush people are quiet men, who think a lot, but say little, like the famous parrot of immortal memory. Crossing, as I have already said, a succession of big bends, we were mostly out of sight of the river, but when we did catch a glimpse of it I could see that it was covered with ducks, teal, and all sorts of water-fowl; while every thicket and clump of trees we came to held colonies of bright-hued land birds, blue jays, sun-birds, and so on, whose gorgeous plumage, flashing in the sunshine, was a source of never-ending pleasure.

It was concerning these fine-feathered birds that Schomburgk and I had "words" one day. I badly wanted him to shoot a few specimens, and preserve them for me, as I had reason to know that he is an exceedingly skilful amateur taxidermist. But he politely and firmly declined to do anything of the kind. He is in favour of the protection of wild birds, and holds strong views about killing them in order to strip them of their plumage. "We might," he said, "take back to Europe hundreds of pounds' worth of feathers and skins from this district, but to do so would be a crime against Nature and against Nature's God." I replied that I didn't want to do murder for money, but that I would like a few specimens for my own personal use and adornment. "Besides," I added, "you kill birds for the pot--francolin, quail, and so forth--and what the difference is between killing them to eat and killing them to wear, I cannot for the life of me make out. So far as I can see, it makes precious little difference to the poor birds." To this Schomburgk retorted that men must eat, and women too for that matter, but that the latter need not stick feathers or stuffed birds in their hats. Eventually, however, he did so far do violence to his principles as to shoot me a single sun-bird, out of the many hundreds that were flying about. These little creatures are exceedingly beautiful; purple red about the body, with lovely blue heads, a splash of blue at the root of the tail, and very much elongated and very brilliant tail feathers. Schomburgk, also, yielding to my earnest entreaties, shot me a blue jay, and gave to Hodgson permission to shoot me one other. These have been greatly admired since in London, for, of course, we took care before shooting them to select perfect specimens in full plumage. But I wish my fair friends could have seen them as I saw them first, when the feathers were alive. The difference between the plumage of a stuffed bird and a living one, or even one recently killed, is very marked. It is the difference between a woman's own hair and a made-up switch, between a peroxide blonde and a real one.

These bright-plumaged birds, by the way, do not sing. A few of them whistle, but mostly their cries are coarse and rasping ones. The reason is, of course, that they rely upon the beauty of their colouring to do the work of sex attraction. It is wonderful, when one comes to think of it, how always and everywhere it is love, love, love, that makes the world go round. To it we owe the beauty of the colouring of the sun-birds, the tail feathers of the bird of paradise, the song of the nightingale, and these in their turn, no doubt, in the dim, distant past, gave birth to painting and to music. No doubt the first Tschokossi belle who tore down a green branch to deck herself withal, was moved in the first instance by sex attraction, and the same holds good to-day of a frock by Worth.

It is astonishing how tame the antelope, and four-footed game became--so far at least as I personally was concerned--as we trekked farther into the wilderness. They seemed almost to have lost all fear of me whatever. The pretty little puku antelopes used to stop and gaze curiously at me until I was within a few yards of them, and once a couple of reitbuck got up right in front of my horse, and stood stock-still staring at me. I called to Schomburgk to bring his rifle, but by the time he got to me they had galloped off.

On the morning of January 13th, after following the Oti for about eight miles, we debouched on to a big open plain, and Schomburgk and Hodgson rode on ahead along the river bank to explore, leaving me to lead the caravan across the flat. The going for the horses soon became exceedingly bad, so that we could only move at a snail's pace. It is the kind of country that is known out here as "yam-field country"; for the following reason. The natives, when they cultivate their yams, hoe up a little hillock round each plant. Now in the rainy season the country we are crossing--part of the Oti flats--is all under water, and when this dries up it leaves a lot of little hillocks, which the sun presently bakes into the consistency of bricks. Hence the name!

Owing to the recent firing of the old grass, however, there was plenty of fresh green stuff in the interstices between the hillocks, and this furnished fodder for countless troops of antelope. I never saw so many together at one time before. Some of the herds we encountered numbered between thirty and forty head. While Schomburgk and Hodgson were with the caravan, they were shy, but with me riding alone it was quite different. They seemed instinctively to realise that they were in no danger. They would stand still gazing stolidly in my direction until I was within thirty or forty yards of them, before gracefully cantering off, afterwards stopping every now and again to turn round and stare inquisitively at what was evidently something quite new to them. Others would simply trot a little way to one side of the path we were following, then line up to see us pass, like soldiers on parade.

It was while I was gazing admiringly at a row of these pretty little creatures, that my boys drew my attention to a big moving object in the distance, whispering excitedly: "Look, missy--some big meat!" The native, I may explain, calls all game "meat." Focussing the object through my field-glasses, I saw that it was an unusually fine specimen of a roan antelope, the size of a small horse. These roan antelopes are, of course, quite different from the small puku, and other similar varieties; they are, in fact, the second biggest of the antelope species, only the eland being larger. This one, to the unaided eye, looked like a blue-black shadow moving obliquely across the bright sunlight, and I do not suppose I should ever have noticed it had it not been for my boys. With the glasses, however, I could see distinctly the beautiful dappled skin, note the proud carriage of the creature's head, and watch its long tail swaying rhythmically and regularly to and fro as it switched the flies from its hind quarters. It was moving across our track well in advance, and was evidently travelling from the river, where it had been for its morning drink, back to the safety and shelter of the bush beyond. When I first focussed it, it was going quite leisurely, but after I had been observing it for about a minute or two I saw it stop suddenly, and gaze anxiously in my direction. Evidently it had got our wind. It started to throw up its head in angry defiance. Then it began to paw the ground, and a moment later it was off and away like an arrow from a bow.

Presently we breasted a slight rise, and then rode down into a sort of circular depression, in the centre of which was a small "vley," or hollow, where the water collects from the rainy season. It was literally covered, and also surrounded, by an immense collection of birds of all kinds, amongst them being about a hundred marabou. My heart gave a great bound at the sight of these latter, and for the first and last time during our journey I regretted that I carried no gun. Here were hundreds of pounds' worth of the most beautiful and highly-prized feathers in the world within easy reach of me, and I couldn't get one of them. I could easily have shot them had I a weapon handy, for they allowed me to come quite close to them, before lazily rising, only to settle again a few hundred yards farther on. Later on I told Schomburgk about them, and begged him to go back and get me at least one bird; but his reply was a blunt negative. "I've told you already I will not shoot these beautiful creatures," he said. "But marabou feathers!" I replied, almost crying with vexation. "You don't know what they mean to a woman. And such splendid specimens too. Why they are practically priceless." To all of which, and much more on similar lines, he listened in silence, only shaking his head doggedly from time to time. However, I was destined to get my marabou feathers later on, and that, too, without doing violence to Schomburgk's feelings by killing even one single bird. But that is another story, which will come in its proper place. These marabou birds, by the way, were first discovered to exist in Togo by Schomburgk during this very trip, he coming across a flock of them accidentally, just as I had done. When we went back to Mangu, and he told them there what he had seen, they absolutely declined to believe him, holding that he must have mistaken some other commoner species of the crane family for the rare and valuable marabou stork. Our old friend. Captain von Hirschfeld, was especially emphatic on the subject, saying that he had resided in the country for years, that he had travelled all about it on his official tours of inspection, and that if there were any such birds in Togoland he would have been sure to have come across them. We were standing on the square in front of the Captain's house when this conversation took place, and Schomburgk, happening to glance up, remarked quietly to von Hirschfeld: "Why, there's one flying overhead now," at the same time handing him his glasses. "By gad, you're right," cried the Captain, after he had focussed the bird, "I can see the tail feathers plainly." And from now on therefore the _Leptoptilus crumenifer_ will figure in the list of birds indigenous to Togo. I may add that after coming to London I made frequent inquiries in the millinery shops of the West End for African marabou feathers, but never once did I succeed in getting even a peep at the genuine article. Those I was offered, and at very high prices too, were mostly of the far less valuable Indian variety, though others were not even derived from any of the cranes, but were the product of all sorts of birds, including vultures.

After leaving the vley where the marabou were, we rode on and on across the shadeless, waterless, sun-baked plain. The heat was terrific, and the guide seemed to have completely lost his way. I confess to feeling anxious, and at length I called a halt, feeling that we might as well be sitting still, as to go on travelling in a direction that might be a wrong one. In about an hour Schomburgk and Hodgson turned up. They had been following the course of the river, scouting, taking compass bearings, and doing a little mapping. They had found that the Oti took another big bend just here.

Schomburgk took over command of the caravan from me, and set a course due north, towards a fairly large village called Sumbu. Soon afterwards we quitted the plain, and climbed up on to a plateau. Everybody was very tired, including myself, and I quite understood now why natives preferred to go nude, or with only a loin-cloth. One never realises how utterly ridiculous and superfluous civilised clothing can become, until one travels in the African bush during the heat of the day. We passed many dirty little Tschokossi villages, mostly deserted or in ruins, but saw no inhabitants. At last, when we were beginning to despair, we discerned in one we sighted some slight signs of life; a stray chicken or so, and a mongrel dog. Riding up to it we found it to be quite a small hamlet, inhabited by a mixed lot of Tschokossi, and some Fulani, who were looking after their cattle. The Tschokossi, I may explain, are not themselves cattle-breeders. All the stock they own comes down to them from the north by way of trade, and always in charge of the Fulani, who, in regard to their knowledge of cattle and their ways, may be termed the Masai of Western Africa. These Fulani drovers, being mostly poor men in their own country, or at all events cattle-less, which amounts to much the same thing, are only too glad to remain and settle down amongst the Tschokossi for a while, and look after their herds. They receive as their reward the milk, and at stated intervals a calf or two. These latter increase and multiply, and in time each Fulani possesses a herd of his own, and returns to his own land a rich man, judged by Fulani standards. I was greatly interested in these people, who are, as I think I have already mentioned, of an altogether different type to the ordinary negro tribes dwelling in this part of Africa. I found them quite intelligent to talk to. They possess clear-cut features, approximating to the European standard, light chocolate-coloured skins, and some of the women I saw were by no means bad-looking. The Fulani as a class are supposed to be of Arab and Berber blood, with a dash of the negroid. At this village we called a halt, and partook of a hurried lunch, which was greatly improved by a big calabash of fresh milk brought us by the Fulani herdsmen.

After lunch Schomburgk and I cantered on to Sumbu, about two miles distant, leaving the caravan to follow. On the way two reitbuck got up, and stood looking at us not ten yards away. Schomburgk's language at not having his rifle with him was, to put it mildly, not elegant. Personally, I was glad that he hadn't got it with him, but I did not tell him so. The beautiful creatures were so close up, that I could see the look of startled terror in their lovely big brown eyes, and I was pleased when they scampered away, even though their meat would have come in most handy for the pot. At Sumbu, we pitched our camp on a promontory overlooking the Oti, which is here bordered with fresh grass, very pretty. The outlook, too, over the plains to the north and west was very cheering, with herds of puku grazing quietly at intervals as far as the eye could reach. We intend staying here four or five days.