Hoggar Tuaregs near Ahnet Wells

These curious veiled people of the Sahara are said to have been driven out of North Africa many centuries ago. They were forced south into the desert, where they have ever since remained, seemingly preferring this lonely existence to contact with a more civilized world. The “litham,” or veil, covering the face is primarily designed to keep out the choking desert sand.

THROUGH TIMBUCTU
AND
ACROSS THE GREAT SAHARA

AN ACCOUNT OF AN ADVENTUROUS JOURNEY OF
EXPLORATION FROM SIERRA LEONE TO THE
SOURCE OF THE NIGER, FOLLOWING ITS
COURSE TO THE BEND AT GAO AND
THENCE ACROSS THE GREAT SAHARA
TO ALGIERS

BY
CAPTAIN A. H. W. HAYWOOD, F.R.G.S.
Royal Artillery

WITH 45 ILLUSTRATIONS & A MAP

LONDON
SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LIMITED
38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET
1912

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THROUGH TIMBUCTU
AND
ACROSS THE GREAT SAHARA

CHAPTER I

Reasons for the journey — Selecting a servant — Preparations — The Sierra Leone Railway.

AFRICA, like India, seems often to cast a spell over those who visit it, and certainly at the end of 1909 I found myself under this curious fascination. I had spent some years soldiering in West Africa, and had often wished to explore the ramifications of the Upper and Middle Niger, but the difficulty of obtaining sufficient leave had been an insurmountable obstacle. My chance came at last, however, when I found myself quartered at Freetown, the capital of our British colony of Sierra Leone, and due for six months’ leave.

I determined to spend my furlough in a journey down the river from its source, making shooting excursions at suitable points in its basin, and directing my steps towards Timbuctu. From Timbuctu I proposed to cross the Sahara Desert, striking almost due north for Algiers. The strange tales I had often heard of this desert and the curious wandering tribes who inhabit it, interested me and made me wish to ascertain for myself the truth of them.

The first thing to be done was to get leave. In due course this was obtained, and at the same time I was informed that the French officials along my route had been told to offer me every facility for my journey.

In the meantime I had not been idle, as I was well aware of the time required before official sanction would be received. I had calculated the kind and amount of stores necessary, and these with my ammunition were on their way out from England.

In the Niger valley almost every kind of West African game is to be found, including elephant, lion and giraffe. My armament consisted of a ·303 magazine sporting Lee-Speed rifle, a ·450 Cordite Express and a 12-bore shot-gun. I took good care to be amply provided with ammunition, not only for sporting purposes, but also for self-defence, as my journey was not wholly without danger. I calculated on getting a good supply of fresh meat by my gun, and so my stores consisted chiefly of such articles as flour, tea, jam and some soups. I reckoned that the journey would take about five months, and had sufficient supplies to last me that time.

One of the chief difficulties was to find a servant who could speak the requisite languages and who was willing to accompany me to Algiers. In West Africa the language problem is always a difficult one. Tribes are so numerous, and all speak different languages. In many cases these languages bear not the slightest resemblance to one another, and are exceedingly hard to acquire. By a stroke of good fortune I succeeded in procuring a Susu native, who had a fair idea of cooking for white men, and according to himself, “saveed plenty all the talk master want.” This, being interpreted into plain English, meant that he could speak fluently the languages I required. Having had some experience of the West African negro and his capacity for lying without turning a hair, I took the precaution to put him to the test. He was made to discourse at some length with a Malinké and a Bambara, these being the two languages most necessary, and as he acquitted himself fairly satisfactorily, I engaged him forthwith. After crossing the French frontier these two languages were those most widely spoken until I should enter the Sahara. Here only Tuaregs and Arabs would be met with. I had a sufficient colloquial knowledge of Arabic for practical purposes. Further, I knew that at the big French centres I could always procure an interpreter if necessary; at the same time I wished if possible to avoid having any dealings with these gentry, as they have gained a not undeserved reputation for being first-class rogues, who, in the name of their masters, extort presents from the ignorant natives of the villages through which one passes.

In West Africa baggage is made up in loads not exceeding sixty pounds, and is carried by native porters on their heads. Consequently all my possessions had to be arranged in a manner suitable for this kind of transport. Most West African “bush paths” are not more than three or four feet wide at most, hence carriers have to walk in Indian file; indeed, so accustomed are they to this mode of progression that even where Government has built wider roads, they can never be induced to walk otherwise than one behind the other. As paths are usually so narrow, being enclosed on each side by dense bush, loads, besides not being too heavy, must not be too bulky. I had altogether fourteen carrier’s loads. My plan was to follow the Sierra Leone Railway to its terminus at Pendembu, where I arranged to pick up my carriers.

One of my chief difficulties was to arrange for money on the journey. To carry a large sum, such as would be required for the whole expedition, on my person or in my baggage, would be highly imprudent, and only act as a tempting bait to the numerous thieves and highwaymen who are always met with in these countries. There was the further complication of requiring English and French money. After some trouble I settled with a French firm at Freetown for drafts payable at two different places on my route, and a further draft to be paid at Marseilles. I was the more easily able to arrange this as, after leaving Sierra Leone, the whole of my journey would be through French possessions.

As it would be impossible for mails to reach me, I resigned myself, not altogether regretfully, to being without letters for the next five or six months. At last my preparations were complete, and on the 6th of January I left Tower Hill Barracks to catch the seven o’clock morning train from Freetown for Bo, where a halt is made the first night. It was with feelings of joy at getting away from civilization, and the delightful pleasure of knowing I should spend the next few months in close contact with all the beauties of nature, that I set forth that glorious tropical morning. It is somehow easier to cast aside the gnawing cares of the world when one is alone with nature. In tropical Africa nature is so beautiful that the most unimaginative being can hardly fail to be stirred by her fascinating charms and forget for the time the existence of sordid civilization.

The scene that met my eye at the station was a busy and amusing one. Most of the people present were the so-called Creoles. These people are the inhabitants of Freetown who have become civilized more or less, and are fond of aping the European dress and customs. The young men wear stiff collars and starched shirts with the gaudiest ties and handkerchiefs imaginable, while the ladies vie with one another in the brightness of the hues of their frocks. On their heads they wear the most brilliant coloured handkerchiefs, and this is the prettiest part of their dress. The crowd around the little train is so great that it is only with considerable difficulty that one is able to approach one’s carriage. Everyone is talking at the same time, so the noise is deafening. It must be understood that not one-tenth part of this crowd is going in the train, most of them are only idle spectators. The departure of the train is always a great excitement for the Sierra Leone native and invariably attracts a large and fashionable mob. At last all preparations are complete, the guard blows his whistle, those who are passengers are unceremoniously bundled into the train, whilst the spectators are as unceremoniously bundled out of the way, and amidst final good-byes from the assembly on the platform we steam out of the station.

The babel of voices having ceased, comparative quiet now reigns, and at last I have a chance of collecting my thoughts and observing my fellow-travellers. We are three in my compartment, all going together as far as Bo. Each of us is provided with an ample “chop-box,” or luncheon-basket. In West Africa it is a well-established maxim never to get separated from two articles: namely, one’s bedding with mosquito curtain, and one’s “chop-box.” These two things are most necessary to one’s comfort, if not to one’s existence. Without the bed and mosquito curtain you will be devoured by mosquitoes, with the almost certain result of a bad dose of fever. Without the box of provisions one runs the risk of starvation.

One of my companions is a trader, who is going up-country to investigate the advisability of starting a new store in a district recently opened up by the railway. The Sierra Leone line has done much to increase the trade of the colony and hinterland during the past few years. Trade in palm kernels and ground nuts is brisk, and the railway has quite as much as it can do to cope with the goods traffic.

The other is a bank official going to Bo on some duty connected with his bank, which has large interests in the protectorate.

The Sierra Leone Government Railway is a line of narrow gauge running almost due east from Freetown for 220 miles. Its terminus is at Pendembu, close to the Liberian frontier. Officially the railway ends at Baiima, 212 miles from the capital of the colony, the last eight miles being called a tramway, but practically there is no difference between the railway and the tramway, and both are of identical gauge. There is also a tramway running from Boia into the Yonni country. Trains run three times a week in both directions. Travelling is not comfortable judged by the standard of English railways, the compartments are small, the seats of the carriages are uncommonly hard, and the line is roughly laid. But greater comfort will no doubt come in time, and it is an undoubted boon for the traveller to have a railway of any description; in the olden days these 200 odd miles used to take him fourteen or fifteen days with carriers instead of only two.

CHAPTER II

Bush scenery — A night at Bo — The Frontier Force at Daru — Mendi and Kissy carriers — Cotton-growing — Secret societies — Poro and Bundu societies — Marriage customs — The Liberian frontier.

THE country of Sierra Leone consists of two parts: the colony and the protectorate. The colony is mountainous, and runs out in a peninsula from the protectorate or hinterland. Roughly speaking, the colony is the civilized part, and the protectorate is in West African parlance the “Bush.” In the peninsula a quantity of ginger is grown, and through these plantations the train wends its way for some twenty miles. On the left is the Sierra Leone or Bunce River, and on the east is a rocky range of hills. After leaving the colony the line runs for about 120 miles through typical West African “bush” scenery to Bo. For those who have never seen it it may be of interest to say a few words about the West African “bush.” It generally consists of a tangled mass of small trees and undergrowth, never more than some thirty feet high, so thick that it is impossible to see more than two or three yards inside it, and so dense that without cutting a path it is not possible to force one’s way through it. This bush is often the haunt of the smaller species of wild game, such as cerval cats, bush pigs and small antelope; but these are difficult to see, and still more difficult to shoot on account of the thickness of the foliage. Every three to five years the bush is cut by its owner, for all bush-land has a proprietor, who will make himself known soon enough if anyone else attempts to appropriate his particular piece of land. The landlord then clears the ground and makes a farm, planting rice, ground nuts, or whatever is suited best to that locality. This clearing process is often considerably helped by first burning the undergrowth. Bush fires for this purpose are started in January or February, when the vegetation has been dried by the hot tropical sun and by the dry winds called “Harmatan,” which blow about this time of year. After getting his crops from the land the native allows the bush to grow up once more, and so rapid is this growth in the luxuriant damp atmosphere, that in a few months after the rains have commenced the untutored eye can discern no trace of the previous existence of a farm.

In West Africa the area of land under cultivation is relatively small. For miles upon miles there is this dense bush, with here and there a clearing for a farm or a small village. Although vegetation is so luxuriant flowers are not often seen.

We steamed into Bo about eight o’clock that night, very much shaken and extremely glad to get out of the train. We arrived in pitch darkness, the train was late, and no such luxuries as lamps exist at this station. After much altercation between my “boy” and the native guard my baggage was produced from the van, and I made my way towards the rest-house, where travellers are accommodated. My recollections of that night are not altogether pleasant ones. After dinner I sat down in one of the madeira chairs belonging to the rest-house, thinking I would enjoy a quiet pipe before turning in. I had no sooner sat down, however, than a curious scrunching noise in my chair made me start and jump up pretty quickly. I had disturbed a scorpion, and only just discovered the fact in time to prevent the horrible brute from biting me. The rest-house had evidently not been inhabited for some time, and the scorpion had no doubt made himself a comfortable home in that particular chair, so nearly to my discomfiture. An amusing scene ensued while my servant and two other natives pursued the luckless scorpion with sticks, boots, and anything that came handy, shouting and hurling anathemas at him all the while. After a considerable number of lucky escapes, owing chiefly to want of skill on the part of his pursuers, he was finally laid low by a blow from one of my heavy marching boots, and after this he was soon despatched, allowing me to pass the remainder of the night undisturbed.

Barracks of the W.A.F.F. at Daru

The Sierra Leone Battalion of the West African Frontier Force have comfortable quarters near the rail-head of the Government Railway in the Protectorate. In the foreground can be seen an officer feeding some English fowls.

River Moa at a spot near the Eastern Frontier of Sierra Leone

This picturesque river has a portion of its course in Sierra Leone and a portion in Liberia. Like most of the Sierra Leone rivers, it is too rapid to be navigable except by canoes, although there is a direct waterway connecting it with the sea.

The train left at eight o’clock the following morning, so I was up betimes to secure a seat in the very small compartment which was all that was now allotted to travellers. Our train was to take us to Daru, a distance of eighty miles.

I was met at Daru by two officers of the West African Frontier Force, who have their head-quarters here. I was kindly invited to stay at the barracks during my sojourn at Daru, an invitation of which I gladly availed myself.

The barracks are picturesquely situated on the banks of the Moa River. The officers have a very nice mess and comfortable quarters. They have an English-built four-oared boat on the river, where fishing and bathing are also to be had; in addition there is a tennis-court in the mess-grounds, so that for West Africa they are extremely well provided for.

The Frontier Force Battalion in Sierra Leone is recruited from West African natives, and is a colonial corps, the officers being seconded from their regiments for short periods of duty under the colonial office. The officers are keen soldiers, and the men, under their able instruction, form excellent fighting material. They have done a lot of good service for the Empire in West Africa ever since they were first raised, a good many years ago. I spent that night at Daru, and next morning despatched my servant and baggage to Pendembu by road. In the afternoon, by the courtesy of the railway officials, I was provided with a trolly, on which I had a ride to the end of the railway, where I found my baggage already installed in the rest-house by the faithful Suri, my servant.

That night was passed in parading my carriers and allotting to each man his particular load. These men were to accompany me as far as the French frontier, where I had arranged to be met by a fresh gang. The next morning, the 9th of January, at daybreak, all was ready for a start. My escort, consisting of a non-commissioned officer and three men, kindly supplied by the officer commanding the Frontier Force, were well accustomed to their work, and had all the loads with their respective carriers ready. It was a curious sight to see these strange figures, each man squatting behind his load waiting for the order to raise it upon his woolly head. Their attire was of the scantiest and raggedest description. One man proudly displayed a threadbare frock-coat, so tattered as scarcely to hang together on him, while another had a red and yellow tam-o’-shanter jauntily placed on the side of his head. These carriers are a very merry, cheerful lot; however long the day’s march, however hot the sun may be as they trudge along with a heavy load on their heads, they seldom grumble, but chatter away to each other and crack jokes with their neighbours. Of course, carriers vary a great deal, both in their value as porters and in their disposition. The best carriers in Sierra Leone are the Mendi tribe; these people have been accustomed for centuries to carry heavy loads from the interior down to the big native markets near the coast, and are hard to beat as porters. Our road now lay nearly due north, keeping just on the British side of the Anglo-Liberian frontier.

Very soon after leaving Pendembu we came into the mountainous region which extends almost uninterruptedly along the border. The bush path here was very rough, and led us for the most part up and down steep hill-sides. This country did not appear to be much populated; occasionally a small village was seen half hidden in the bush. At rare intervals we passed a man carrying a load of palm kernels on his back, probably on his way to the nearest station of the railway, where he would dispose of his burden at a good price to the local trader. These people were Kissis. They have a peculiar way of carrying their loads. A kind of basket is first made of twisted palm leaves, in shape rather semi-cylindrical; this basket is packed with the kernels, and is then slung in the following manner over the back. Two braces are made, one to pass under each armpit and over the corresponding shoulder, while a third brace leads from the top of the basket and passes around the forehead. It is very noticeable that men who carry loads in this fashion are not half so well set-up as the Mendis, who always carry their loads on the top of their heads.

We reached the small village of Mafindo about three o’clock that afternoon, and here I decided to halt for the night. The chief was summoned and told to provide myself and my party with accommodation for that evening. I did not much relish the idea of sleeping here, as it was a very dirty cattle town; the houses looked like pigsties, and were evidently the habitation of cows as well as human beings. However, it was not feasible to push on any further that night as the next village was a long way off, so I had to make the best of Mafindo. The village itself is half in British and half in Liberian territory. The centre street, or alley-way, divides one country from the other. Each portion has its own chief with its own set of laws. A little cotton is grown in this part of Sierra Leone, each village producing sufficient for its own needs. Cotton is grown in small clearings close to the villages. It is picked by the women, who also clean it and spin it. The process is as follows. The cotton pod is rolled between two smooth stones in order to crush out the cotton seeds; it is then spun on to wooden spindles, and at the same time rubbed with bone dust to harden it. Cloth is usually woven by the men. West African cotton is very short in the staple, so that cloth is made in narrow strips about nine inches wide. To make a garment it is necessary to sew a dozen or more of these strips together. The cloth is coarse but of good quality. In some parts of the country exceedingly pretty-coloured cloths are made; some of these are quite handsome as tablecloths and similar ornaments.

The people themselves have few wants in the way of clothing. The men wear a scanty loin-cloth, and the women have a somewhat larger one, which is thrown round the body, enveloping it from the breasts to the feet. The children of both sexes run about naked until they are thirteen or fourteen years of age. Most of the wealth of the peasants of this region is in their cattle. The animals are small and the cows give little milk; but the cattle are sturdy, hardy little beasts, and seem seldom to suffer from sickness.

At last the chief came to tell me that all was ready for my inspection, with many humble wishes that I should find my abode comfortable. My friend was not a very imposing-looking individual. Although a chief, he was no better clothed than his dirty, scantily dressed fellow-citizens. He appeared to be very old as he hobbled up, leaning heavily on a stick. His chief pleasure in life was to take snuff, and his delight when I gave him a small present of tobacco is not easily described. Tobacco is a most useful article of commerce in these countries. Travellers should be careful to be amply supplied with the fragrant leaf. It will buy most things in the bush, as natives are fond of it, both for smoking and snuff-taking.

The country here is the northern limit of Mendiland. The Mendis are pagans, and are to a great extent governed by the secret society called “Poro.” The chiefs frame the laws of the country with the help of this society, and all land under cultivation is subject to the Poro laws with regard to the gathering of crops. When Poro is put on a crop the owner is not allowed to gather it until the Poro is taken off. For a civilized person it is hard to understand the signification of Poro, or to realize the tremendous influence it has on the Mendi people.

“Medicine” is often placed near the entrance to a farm to scare away evil spirits; this is usually a little rice, or a few bananas, or it may be some egg-shells, which are either laid on the path or placed in an old calabash hung over the entrance supported on two sticks. Forms of “Juju,” or “Medicine,” are varied and peculiar.

Charms are also common among these people. The Mendis hold two particular charms in great respect. One is called “Suk,” and is warranted to bring the lucky possessor good fortune. The other is called “Hoare,” and is used to protect the owner from evil influences. It is made of a plant which is fairly common in the hinterland, and which is boiled into a thick greenish substance. This is then eaten, and has the property of increasing the drinking powers of the consumer. This property enhances the prestige of the individual, as the Poro society is much given to drinking.

The usual form of charm in West Africa consists of a few verses of the Koran written on paper and enclosed in a leathern amulet. These amulets are worn round the neck, on the arms, or hung up in the house. They are also frequently found tied to horses’ tails and manes. The Mendis, however, not being Mohammedans, do not often indulge in this special kind of charm. The Poro society is not entirely a good one; for instance, the Human Leopard Society, of which the object is the murder of persons who are undesirable to the society, is an offshoot of Poro. Boys of twelve to fourteen are circumcised by Poro, and these are the youngest members of the organization. Every village has a portion of bush in the vicinity allotted as the Poro Bush, and kept sacred for the rites of the society. Anyone who penetrates it is killed without mercy. A candidate for initiation must obtain the consent of his relatives, who are required to stand surety that he will not flinch or attempt to withdraw while undergoing the ordeal. He is then confined in the Poro Bush and not allowed to leave it or to speak until the conclusion of his initiation. He is unexpectedly subjected to trials of fire and attacks from wild animals. After this period of probation he is washed, a white cap is placed on his head, and he is given a staff decorated with beads. He is then made to swear a solemn oath never to reveal the secrets of the society; this oath is usually administered on a tortoiseshell, which is regarded with special veneration by West African natives, for the tortoise is supposed to be a beast of exceptional wisdom. After this he is taken to the lodge of the society, which is ornamented for the occasion with palm leaves and other foliage. He then has marks cut on his back in the shape of triangles, with the apex on the spine and the base on the ribs. Circles are also cut on his breast.

The members of Poro are summoned by a messenger bearing a branch of a tree, on which are tied a number of pieces of stick. The number of these sticks denotes the number of days to elapse before the meeting will be held. Kola nuts are used as symbols of peace and war. Two red kolas signify war, whereas a white nut broken in two indicates peace.

Another curious custom which exists among the Mendis is that many families claim to belong to different species of animals. Many say they are of the bird family; these will not eat eggs. Again, others claiming to be descended from crocodiles will not kill these animals.

Another secret society is the Bundu. This has for its object the education of young girls. The teachers are mature women who instruct the students in the duties they will have to perform as wives and mothers. This society is a very old one. Every village has a Bundu Bush in the same way as it has a Poro Bush. Men are not allowed to enter under pain of death. There are many other societies of a more or less religious nature, but these are the most important. Women are regarded as of small consequence by these people. They are made to work in the farm and cook food for the husband while he remains idle. When a man wants a wife he goes to the parents and haggles over the price to be paid. In Sierra Leone a wife costs £3 to £4, but the price varies a good deal. The sum is paid in the presence of witnesses and the woman becomes his wife. Polygamy is the rule among pagans as well as among Mohammedans. The wife has no rights; the husband can flog her or maltreat her without the woman having any chance of redress. Girls are married at twelve, and in many cases even at nine and ten.

On the 10th of January I left Mafindo, crossing the picturesque Moa River. The inhabitants were now Kissis. The river is crossed in dug-out canoes; these canoes are simply made from the trunk of a tree which is roughly hewn out in the hollow form of a boat. In the hands of a native these cumbersome and untrustworthy-looking craft are most handy in the West African rivers. The boatman manipulates his canoe with a single paddle, which serves not only to urge it forward, but also to steer it. I must own that I never feel very safe in a dug-out. One has to sit uncommonly still for fear of capsizing, and an immersion in the swift current of the crocodile-infested streams of this region would be a far from agreeable experience.

The Kissis have three different masters, as a portion of their country lies in Liberia, and yet another portion is under French jurisdiction in Guinea. The Kissis are a war-like tribe, who have given a good deal of trouble to the British Government. They were constantly at war with their neighbours in Sierra Leone, the Mendis and the Konnohs. They also joined King Samory’s Sofas in 1891, and raided the protectorate. Their power was finally crushed in 1905 by an expedition carried out by the Sierra Leone Battalion of the West African Frontier Force. A great deal of the Kissy country is under cultivation, for they are good and economical farmers. In their farms are to be seen flourishing crops of rice, maize, and beniseed. Their villages are badly kept, and the houses are very small and dirty.

The following day we crossed the Meli River, which separates Kissy country from the Konnoh tribe. Transport across this river is done by a still more hazardous method than on the Moa River—on rafts. These rafts are made of roughly-hewn logs, lashed together with “Tie-tie.” “Tie-tie” consists of supple creepers, growing in profusion in the bush, which are most useful in a country where no rope is available. One’s baggage is first deposited on the raft, forming a dry and fairly steady platform. After this the passenger climbs warily on to the top of his worldly possessions, seating himself cautiously so as not to upset the somewhat delicate equilibrium of the craft. The raft is worked by a native with a long pole, who directs its unsteady course from the stern end. If you have any holes or weak spots in your boxes this method of transport will unfailingly find them out. Water rushes through the wide gaps between the logs of the raft, and miniature waves frequently wash over the platform.

Konnoh country is decidedly mountainous. It is intersected by broken ranges of hills, rising to a height of nearly 3000 feet above the sea. The valleys between these ranges are covered with grass-land, the haunts of “bushcow,” as the small West African buffalo is termed. The Konnohs are an offshoot of the great tribe of Mandingoes, which inhabits a vast stretch of land from the Middle Niger to the Gambia. Their country was devastated by the Sofas about 1890, consequently a large number of the people were exterminated or taken into slavery. Peace now reigns, however, and the people are regaining confidence and the population is increasing. Mohammedanism is making rapid progress among them, although a large number are still pagans. Missionaries are scarce in these parts; during my travels I do not recollect seeing a single Christian among these people.

In the village where I stayed that night I saw what is an unusual sight in Sierra Leone, a horse, or, to be strictly accurate, a small and weedy-looking pony. The proud owner was the chief, whose dignity and authority were considerably augmented by the possession of this quadruped. The disease called “Trypnasomiasis,” conveyed by the tsetse fly, is very prevalent in the protectorate, and is fatal to horses and cattle. It is, however, extremely local, certain districts being quite free from its ravages. This probably accounts for the fact that cattle can often live where horses cannot, for cattle never wander very far, thus possibly not getting into the infected area, whereas horses naturally cover greater distances and would be more likely to pass through a tsetse fly zone.

CHAPTER III

Shooting in the grass-country — An unfortunate mishap — Doubtful pleasures of a journey — Sources of the Niger — A curious frontier rock — Bush fires — Bird-life.

IN the northern Konnoh country some good bushcow shooting is obtainable. In the grass-lands before mentioned these animals are wont to feed at night and during the early hours of the morning, and this is the best time to come up with them. When the sun gets hot they retire into the bush, where they remain till late in the afternoon. They are generally to be found near water, and appear to drink in the evening and early morning. I spent a couple of days after these fine beasts, but did not have as good sport as I should have had a month or two later, when the grass is burnt. Bushcow shooting is certainly one of the most exciting forms of sport with big game. This animal is probably one of the most dangerous to tackle. A wounded bushcow almost invariably charges, and is extremely vicious. In cover, such as long grass or bush, he is exceedingly dangerous. Indeed, it is very foolish to follow a wounded animal into such places. He will lurk under cover, with his head turned in the direction from which he expects his enemy, and charge when within ten yards or so. Many serious accidents have occurred to sportsmen of late years in this manner. Finding the grass still so high I did not linger long in this district, but pushed on for the Tembikunda Range and the sources of the Niger.

The following day I had an unfortunate mishap. It was early in the morning and I had stopped to have a little sport with some pigeon in a farm. My small caravan, with the exception of one carrier, had gone on. I was turning sharply to shoot a bird flying off to my right when I struck my leg against a stump of a tree. A sharp piece of wood about three inches long penetrated just under the knee-cap, causing me to fall down in agony. The stick was firmly wedged in the flesh so that the united efforts of my carrier and myself were unavailing to extract it. I accordingly despatched him at once to stop my caravan and summon my servant with my small medicine-case. After cutting the flesh I was able to withdraw the piece of wood, but my leg was now so swollen and painful that I found it impossible to walk. The sergeant of my escort and my “boy” managed to rig up a hammock by utilizing one of my blankets and a bamboo, and in this I was slung, feeling more like a sack of goods than a human being, and thus transported for the remainder of that day’s march. The next few days were anything but a pleasant experience. I developed bad blood-poisoning in the knee and was confined to my hammock. The road was extremely rough, sometimes leading up the side of a mountain, which was so steep as to appear like a veritable precipice. When going up these inclines, in my uncomfortable conveyance, my leg got jolted unmercifully and I suffered excruciating pain. I think the worst day was on the 15th of January.

Between the villages of Kondundu and Kundema there is a stretch of bush for about eight miles, which contains some of the thickest, most impenetrable cane-brake it has ever been my lot to encounter. The path I was following was evidently little frequented, and was some miles east of the usual trade route from the north to the south of the protectorate. Our road lay along a swampy valley, much overgrown with this stiff, unyielding reed. The native matchet, which is universally used for cutting bush, was quite useless against this stubborn fibrous stuff, and the only alternative was to force our way through it. Progress was very slow. The carriers in front of me with loads on their heads had the greatest difficulty in making a path for themselves, whereas my hammock-men had a far harder task in getting the unwieldy hammock through without upsetting me in the bush. I had to be carried by two men whilst the other two bearers hurled their weight against the reeds and made a path for us to follow.

On the 16th I arrived at a small village in the Tembikunda Range, about three miles from the spot where the Niger rises. Here I had a great disappointment; I was informed there was no path leading to the river source, and that the track lay over exceedingly rough, precipitous mountains. This information proved to be only too correct. I was quite unable to walk; and to carry a hammock up those rugged precipices was quite impossible. I therefore had reluctantly to give up any idea of seeing the actual source of the great Niger River. The river is said to rise in a big rock, which is also the source of four other rivers. These are the Feliko, which flows into the Niger in French Guinea, the Bagwe, and two smaller rivers. The Bagwe is one of the biggest rivers in Sierra Leone. The Niger here is known by the name of Tembiko, or Joliba. In the Susu language, much spoken on the upper reaches of the stream, the word Joliba means “He who can run faster than any other man.” There is a curious legend attached to the source of the Niger. The natives have a superstition that a devil lurks inside the rock where it rises. It is said that any man who is intrepid enough to approach the rock and gaze on it will be killed by this demon. In consequence of this sinister reputation it is the habit of the local savage to shun the neighbourhood of the source. By judicious bribery he can be induced to show a stranger the spot, but his manner of so doing is peculiar. He will, on nearing the rock, turn round and walk backwards towards it, at the same time covering his eyes with one hand, so as not to see the haunted place, while with the other hand he indicates the point where the river rises.

This rock forms one of the boundary marks on the Anglo-French frontier, separating Sierra Leone from French Guinea. The stone has inscribed on it, upon the western side, the fact that that portion is inside the British border, and the names of the members of the Boundary Delimitation Commission are here written. On the eastern side it is stated that that portion is in French territory, and the names of the Boundary Commission are also here similarly inscribed.

The Niger rises at a height of under 4000 feet, in a very wild, uninhabited country. The Tembikunda Range is exceedingly rocky and precipitous. It consists of a rugged, broken mass of peaks; in many cases hills are separated from each other by steep, narrow valleys or gullies.

The sides of these mountains are covered with thick, grassy bush. This grass grows to a height of twelve feet and more in the rainy season. When ascending a peak it is impossible to see the summit, not because it is so high, but merely because the vision is obstructed by this tall grass. Bush fires were just commencing when I passed through the country. It was a beautiful sight at night to see the huge flames working their way up the steep mountain-sides, just like fiery serpents as they coiled and twisted themselves around some piece of bush a little greener than the rest and able to resist them for a short moment. These fires are started by natives in order to clear the ground, by burning down the bush, so that they can plant their crops. When the Harmatan wind and the sun have dried the vegetation it burns with ease. A fire thus started rapidly spreads over many miles of country. It certainly does a considerable amount of harm by killing a number of beautiful trees every year; where trees are numerous and many are thus burnt to the ground, the tendency is naturally to decrease the rainfall of that district. On the other hand, it is argued that burning the bush fertilizes the soil through the medium of the ashes of the leaves and burnt vegetation. In any case it is a very old custom among West African natives and one which would be extremely hard to repress. The negro is naturally a lazy man, consequently this mode of clearing the bush peculiarly appeals to him since it demands so little effort on his part.

Bird-life is not so abundant as might be expected in Sierra Leone. The large expanses of almost virgin bush one would almost imagine to teem with wild birds, but this is far from being the case. In the forest-country the hornbill is very common. These birds are generally seen in large flocks, and assimilate well with the solitude of their surroundings as they hover from one tree to another with their peculiar flight, uttering their weird, mournful cry. Their flight reminds one forcibly of a switchback working very slowly, as they flutter first up and then downwards, in the motion towards their goal. Hornbills often build their nests in the trunks or branches of trees. When searching for their nests it is a common sight to see the young birds peeping out of a snug nest almost hidden inside the hollow of an old branch.

The violet plantain-eater is a beautiful bird, which is also common in forest-land. It has a gorgeous colouring. The body is violet and green, while the wings are a brilliant crimson. This handsome bird has a peculiar raucous note. It is a curious fact that singing-birds are exceedingly uncommon in West Africa. I never recollect hearing any bird with a voice to be compared to our nightingale or black-cap.

In the region of the palm tree the golden oriole is frequently met with. This little bird builds its nest suspended from the branches and leaves of the tree; on a single tree as many as twenty or thirty may be counted. They strip the tree of all its foliage and in time kill it.

Among game birds the most widely distributed is one of the francolin partridges, commonly known on the coast as the “bushfowl.” It is found anywhere in the vicinity of a farm, and particularly delights to feed on cassada. This bird feeds in the early morning and again late in the afternoon, but during the heat of the day it takes refuge from the sun in the thick bush. It has a curious, hoarse note, by which the cock is often heard calling to his mate in the early morning. The best time for shooting these birds is after the grass is burnt, from March to June. Besides, the young are full-grown by then. They appear to breed in the late autumn, and birds hatch out in November and December. Guinea-fowl are found in many parts of the protectorate. Coveys of twenty and thirty are by no means unusual. Their favourite haunts are the rice-fields, in which they feed in the morning and evening. They prefer a feeding-ground which has thick cover on at least one side; in this they rest during the heat of the day and at night.

Guinea-fowl, like bush fowl, are often seen roosting in trees. Indeed, with the former, it is more usual to find them sitting in trees than on the ground. A guinea-fowl is perhaps the most wary of West African game birds. He has very keen eyesight and hearing. He will generally have discovered your presence long before you are aware of his, and in that case he takes alarm and is off immediately. Guinea-fowl run far more frequently than they fly. Once they have taken to their heels they are extremely difficult to overtake; the only plan is to cast dignity to the winds and run at your best pace after them. Even then your chance of getting a shot is very remote, and perhaps the wisest course is to leave them alone. Guinea-fowl in the bush-country are excellent eating, but I have noticed that these birds when shot in a sandy region are generally very tough. This is probably due to the different nature of food they live on. In open country, unless the sportsman is very keen, it is usually a safer plan to take a long shot with a rifle, rather than attempt to stalk these very cunning birds with a shot-gun. In the grass-country on the eastern frontier of Sierra Leone I came across one or two button-quail. But I think these birds are uncommon, and I never saw more than one at a time.

A bird locally called the grey pigeon, but in reality a large ringdove, is very common. It feeds on maize, millet and rice, and is seen in large numbers when the crops are ripe. In some parts of the country a native is on duty all day in a farm when the crops are getting ripe, his business being to scare away the birds. This individual takes up his position on a raised platform, built of rough bush-sticks, and placed at a suitable spot in the farm. He is provided with a whip of some supple bush-creeper, which he cracks with considerable noise and effect, thereby driving away any bird which contemplates an attack on the crops.

The green pigeon, or at any rate one variety of it, is found in certain localities. It is partial to water and high trees. Frequently seen on the creeks near the sea-coast, it is also found up-country in the forest belt. This bird is very swift of flight, generally flying at a considerable height; it affords some sporting shots. The colouring is a beautiful combination of green, canary-yellow and French grey. The beak is crimson, while the legs are yellow. It always appears to be in excellent condition, and is a dainty morsel for the sportsman’s table.

In the grass-country the lesser bustard is occasionally found. The bird is sometimes seen in pairs, but more frequently single. Its flight is slow, making it easy to shoot. The wings of the male are a rich black and white, and the breast is mottled grey and tan. A strange bird which frequents the open, rocky bush-country, is the standard-winged night-jar. It has a peculiar habit of crouching flat on the ground, with which its nondescript khaki colour well assimilates. I have often been startled of an evening by the sudden, silent way in which this creature has risen up from my feet. During the mating season the male bird has two curious black appendages to its tail, which add considerably to its strange appearance, and are evidently meant to attract the female bird he is courting.

The cow-bird is found in all localities where there is much cattle or game; it serves the useful purpose of consuming the ticks and lice on the bodies of these animals. It is black, and much resembles a starling in size and colouring. Its beak is sharp, enabling it to pick out these insects from their hiding-places. The sight of one of these little birds, perched on the back of a cow or climbing up its flanks, is distinctly comical.

The widow-weaver is so common that I had nearly omitted to mention it. This is a very small black and white bird, with a tail consisting of two streamers, about twice as long as itself, whose habit is to flutter about from one wisp of grass to another, in a curious, laboured fashion, just as if its unwieldy-looking tail were too heavy for its small body, and threatened every minute to weigh it down to the ground. These tails, like that of the night-jar, previously described, grow to their full length in the mating season.

CHAPTER IV

The Harmatan — Native burial rites — Koranko superstitions — The Anglo-French frontier — Solitude of a Customs post — A change of scenery — Smuggling — A change of carriers — Intoxicating liquor — The Upper Niger — A splendid spectacle — A good highway — Native music.

IN the Tembikunda Mountains I found the variations of temperature between night and day extremely trying. The maximum by day never exceeded ninety degrees, but at night the temperature used sometimes to fall to under fifty degrees. The greatest height I reached was 2480 feet. The fall of temperature was evidently caused by the dry Harmatan wind which always blows at this time of year. This wind is said to come from the Sahara; it blows from the north-east for more or less long periods during the months of December, January, February, and March, all over the West Coast of Africa. The theory that it comes from the Sahara appears to be supported by the fact that it contains a quantity of fine particles of sand. Its extreme dryness is particularly noticeable in the otherwise damp coast atmosphere. Books and papers curl up, and the skin gets uncomfortably parched at this season. Natives are especially susceptible to chills and pneumonia while the Harmatan is blowing.

In spite of sleeping in a native hut, a place not usually remarkable for its coolness, I used to shiver under my three blankets. Finally, the only way I could keep sufficiently warm to get to sleep was by lighting a huge log fire close to my bedside before retiring to rest. Of course, the cold was not really so intense, as the thermometer was several degrees above freezing; but the sudden fall in temperature between night and day had the unpleasant effect of making it appear like midwinter in England.

A curious fact about the Harmatan is that, owing to the sand carried by it in suspension in the air, a kind of haze is produced which considerably restricts one’s range of vision. The effect is very similar to that caused by a London fog. Indeed, when watching the sunset while a strong Harmatan was blowing, I could easily imagine myself gazing at that peculiar appearance seen in the sky on a foggy winter’s afternoon in Town. At times this curious wind blows with great violence. This is particularly the case in the early morning, when even on the march a thick overcoat can be worn without feeling in the least degree too hot.

The country in which I now was is inhabited by the Korankos. Their territory is a large one, extending for a considerable distance north and west of the Niger watershed, while a small portion of the tribe overflows eastward into French Guinea. The whole country is very mountainous, and the people are extremely poor. Most of them are pagans. These Korankos suffered considerably during the wars of Samory, when many of them were exterminated by his Sofas. The principal town is Kruto, lying about forty miles due west of the Niger source, and a trading centre of some importance. At the small village of Manson I arrived on the day of the burial of a chief’s son. The ceremony which takes place on such an occasion is somewhat remarkable, and it was my good fortune to witness it here.

The whole burial rites take three or four days, the body not being taken to the grave till the last day, by which time, as can be imagined, it is in an unsavoury state of decomposition, and not fit to be approached by a white man.

Immediately a death occurs the womenfolk start lamenting; in the meantime messengers are despatched to all the slaves and relatives in the other villages. As this takes some days, the body is kept in the house till they have all arrived. In the case of a Poro man, his body is deposited in the “Poro” Bush. No woman is permitted to look on the corpse. Dancing, singing, and tomtoming are vigorously kept up the whole time. The women take a leading part in this portion of the ceremony. A woman’s body is taken to the “Bundu” Bush until the day of burial.

On the burial day all the mourners plaster themselves with white clay and follow the corpse to the burial-ground. Country cloths are buried with the deceased, the number varying directly with his personal wealth. The favourite hour for the interment is sunset. After the burial guns are fired by anyone possessing a fire-arm, with the intention of frightening away all evil spirits; at the same time a sacrifice is made on the grave of a fowl, a sheep, or a cow, according to the wealth of the dead man. These sacrifices are also offered for the purpose of propitiating the dead man’s ancestors, who, tradition says, are otherwise in the habit of torturing his soul.

Directly after the burial the deceased’s property is taken possession of by the heir, who then invites his friends to a feast, on the principle, I suppose, of “Le roi est mort, vive le roi.” At a burial or a marriage the one aim of the native seems to be to spend as much money as possible.

Some Korankos are members of the mystical Kofung society. The Kofung society has a large organization among the Limba people, who inhabit the north centre of the protectorate; but it has also some influence over the western tribes. Its rites are of a mournful, morbid character. A candidate has to simulate death, and is supposed to be made to return to life by the officiating members at the initiation ceremony. As he lies on a litter, apparently dead, the members dance round him, raise him up, and wash his eyes with a lotion prepared from the bark of a cork tree. When the dance is ended the candidate stands over a fire, the chief of the sect then holding a burnt stick before his eyes, and making him swear the sacred oath of the society. There are several masonic signs by which a Kofung man may be recognized. He frequently has a brass ring on his toe, thumb, or wrist. One man may be recognized by a brother in the order if he crosses his arms, or crosses two twigs. Every member is supposed to have an attendant spirit who can be summoned, if required, by uttering certain magical words and calling the spirit by name seven times. Kofung men believe they can transform themselves into animals. If, however, they are tied up to a piece of corkwood, they believe they no longer possess this power.

As far as can be ascertained, the Kofung society is not dangerous to the community. Murder does not appear to come within its scope. It seems merely to teach a highly superstitious doctrine, such as the mystery-loving pagan’s soul delights in. Even when these people adopt Islam, they never seem wholly to give up the mystic rites of their former pagan teachings. They certainly never lose the superstitions of their particular tribe. In cases where pagans have been converted to Christianity exactly the same failings are almost invariably to be noticed.

Amongst many of these pagan tribes a curious superstition exists with regard to the birth of twins in a family. The twins are killed and the mother driven out into the bush, for twins are said to be a curse from the god the people worship; it being supposed that if the foregoing brutal procedure be not carried out the whole family will become mad.

On the 17th of January I set out to cross the border into French Guinea. Our road lay along small mountain-paths, more like goat tracks than roads, which wound laboriously up the precipitous, rocky slopes. The scenery here is very wild and beautiful. As far as the eye can reach there rise up a series of rugged peaks, clothed in light bush and tall elephant-grass. Numerous mountain torrents rush down in their headlong course to the plains of Sankaran, which can but faintly be discerned many miles below in French Guinea.

Some of these tiny streams are destined to grow into important if not mighty rivers; such a one is the Niger. To see this insignificant rivulet, here only a few feet wide, as it dashes down the eastern slopes of the Tembikunda Range, who would dream that it is to develop into a wide, splendid waterway, destined to fertilize large tracts of country in Western Soudan, and to carry innumerable craft on its broad bosom before it finally throws its waters into the sea 2400 miles away?

My hammock “boys” had a rough time carrying me over these mountains. We climbed up to a height of 3000 feet, according to my aneroid barometer, before commencing the descent to the plains below. Once or twice, I must own, I felt as if my last hour had come, when, having arrived at an unusually difficult place, my satellites had to raise the hammock to the full extent of their long black arms in order to clear some huge boulder blocking the path. At these moments I used to gaze down at the yawning precipice at my side, knowing that if one of those arms should waver, be it ever so slightly, I should in all probability be hurled down some 2000 feet into the chasm below. Fortunately for me my bearers were brawny fellows, and we arrived at the frontier village of Farakoro without any mishap.

The good people of this little place were evidently not used to visits from white men, and were much astonished at my sudden appearance. The trade road between French Guinea and the east of Sierra Leone is a considerable distance north of this place, and goes to the important station of Kaballa, which is the head-quarters of one of the Sierra Leone District Commissioners. On my arrival at Farakoro the inhabitants fled precipitately, and I found myself left in undisputed possession of the village. I at once sent my servant with reassuring messages to the chief, who had taken refuge in the neighbouring bush with his followers. My escort was no longer with me, for I had sent the soldiers back to Daru that morning. After some palaver the old chief was induced to show himself, and finally led his people back to the market-place, although it was palpable that his suspicions of us were not quite set at rest.

I halted an hour here to give the carriers a little well-earned repose, and, while they were resting, I thought I would try the effect of a present of tobacco on my old friend the chief. It was magical. No sooner had he got possession of this highly prized article than his face became wreathed in smiles, all suspicions either vanished or were forgotten, and we were on the best of terms. The old man produced some bananas for myself and some rice for my carriers, so that everyone was in the highest of spirits. Food has a most remarkable effect on the negro. If his stomach is well cared for he is a cheerful rascal, and will follow you almost anywhere. Whether he wants it or not he is always ready to eat; indeed, the amount consumed by a black man at one meal is something prodigious. I recollect seeing one of these men devour his ration, one and a half pounds of rice, which, when boiled, swells to a considerable volume, and is itself more than a meal for two very hungry Europeans. After this he bolted two large yams, which are also a very satisfying form of diet, and finally he ended the meal with a leg of goat! Strange to relate, after a few hours’ peaceful slumber he appeared to be none the worse for his huge repast.

The road now improved considerably, and two miles farther we finally left the mountains, emerging into the broad Sankaran plains. The change in scenery was really remarkable. Broad rice- and maize-fields stretched on every side; in place of the wild, rugged hills we were in a smiling land of peace and plenty. Habitations were numerous, peasants were everywhere at work in the well-cared-for farms, and one was at once struck by the general air of prosperity. We soon came to a comparatively wide road, which we followed to Sarafinian. The country was now decidedly open. Bush there was, as there always is in West Africa, but it was all of the nature of very low scrub and grass-land.

On my arrival at Sarafinian I was greeted by a French official, who proved to be the Customs officer. At certain places along the frontier of French Guinea there are Customs Stations established in order to prevent smuggling of dutiable articles across the border. In charge of these posts there are one or more Europeans. They are provided with a small staff of native policemen who assist them to carry out their duties. My friend had to supervise a section of over sixty miles of frontier. The work is arduous and not unattended by danger. Would-be smugglers naturally choose the night for their dashes across the border, so a considerable portion of the work has to be done after sunset. Even the best-behaved smugglers are not men to hold human life of much account, so that the task of capturing them is attended with a good deal of risk. The existence must be a very lonely one. Situated as he was in a desolate spot, thirty or forty miles from the nearest white man for twelve months or more, and leading a life of some danger, it requires a man endowed with particularly high spirits not to get depressed at times. This French official was blessed with a large share of his country’s native vivacity. He had been fourteen months by himself at this little station, and during this long period had only seen one white man; yet his good spirits never seemed to have failed him. He welcomed me most warmly, and was kindness itself during my short stay at Sarafinian.

I was glad of an opportunity of resting my leg here. The knee was much swollen, being so painful I could not bear to put my foot to the ground. For the first time I had a chance to get it well dressed, and by the 19th it was so much better that I decided to push on upon my journey northwards.

Here I paid off my Sierra Leone carriers, whose shining black faces beamed with delight at receiving so much wealth all at once. I think, too, that they were rather pleased to get back to their native land. These people are generally eager for a job in their own country, or even, perhaps, anywhere in the protectorate; but as soon as they get into a foreign region, where food is different, and the laws and customs are not the same, they begin to “fear,” which, being translated into plain English, means that they are nervous of what may happen to them.

My new gang of carriers were local natives. They were not in the least anxious to be engaged, but the promise of high pay and the glowing pictures painted by the Customs interpreter of the way they could enjoy life on the proceeds thereof when they returned, were effective in producing a sufficient number of stalwart porters for my needs. The carrier in Sierra Leone is paid ninepence, but the French Guinea carrier seldom gets more than sixpence per diem. My offer of ninepence, therefore, was to these men a munificent one, and the tempting bait of so much wealth was more than they could resist. The chief of the town was present while the bargain was being made, as it is the custom for all such dealings to be done through the medium of the chief concerned. He was highly interested in the question of the amount to be paid each man. In fact, so eager was he that I am afraid he had in his mind some material gain for himself rather than the welfare of his people. This chief was a strange, uncouth individual.

His hair was very long and matted; he also wore his beard long, but this was twisted in a miserable thin plait, hanging down below his chest. He looked so dirty that it would have been necessary to scrape him with a spade for some time before he could possibly be washed; finally, he had an inordinate craving for absinthe, or any kind of alcohol, and, according to my French acquaintance, he was usually the worse for liquor. How he managed, in this remote little place, to get so much European liquor was an amazing problem to everyone. Few traders came that way; besides, absinthe and such-like dainties are expensive luxuries in French Guinea, where import duty is exceedingly high, and our worthy friend was a poor man. This was apparently a secret known only to himself, and one he would never disclose even when he was in his most confidential moods. So the problem is, and appears likely to remain, unsolved. Of course, there is also a great deal of native alcohol drunk by the negro in West Africa. In all the districts within some 200 miles of the coast there is a broad belt of palm trees. These trees produce a wine which, if allowed to ferment, is highly intoxicating. The wine is obtained in the following manner. An incision is made near the top of the tree, close to where the leaves sprout; a calabash is then hung in such a position as to catch the liquid as it flows out. At convenient times the owner comes to remove the contents, which are a very cool and refreshing beverage when not fermented.

The mode of climbing a palm tree is peculiar; it reminds one of the proverbial monkey on a stick to see the native as he ascends a tree. Ladders are not used for this purpose, but a loop is made with a supple creeper and placed round the trunk of the tree. The climber then seats himself in the free end of the loop, placing his toes against the bark of the palm. By digging his toes firmly into the tree-trunk he is able to relieve the loop of his weight sufficiently to permit of the loop being pushed further up the tree. In this manner the top is gradually reached. Natives generally climb their trees to fetch the wine in the early morning; the liquor is then left to ferment in the sun till the evening. About sundown the men assemble in a hut and drink the intoxicating stuff while squatting by the fireside. Women as a rule do not drink; at any rate, I never remember seeing a woman under the influence of palm-wine in the bush.

Soon after leaving Sarafinian I crossed the Niger. It was here about ten yards wide, and not more than three feet deep. The stream at this stage is, of course, of no importance, but is of interest purely on account of the greatness which is to be its portion later. Between this spot and Faranah the stream is crossed three times, gradually widening out as it has room to expand in the comparatively flat Sankaran plains, till at Faranah it is about seventy yards broad. It is fordable all the way, and until this town is reached no canoes are seen on its waters. The banks are lightly wooded, sloping easily down to the water’s edge. As the little river meanders peacefully through the bush-country, it might well be a trout stream in some quiet spot in England.

That day’s march was a long one, for I only reached camp at six o’clock. The carriers were all behind my hammock, and some did not get in till long after dark. About eight o’clock the headman arrived with the pleasant news that two of the porters had thrown the loads on the ground and bolted several miles back. As might have been expected, these two loads were just the most important ones of my caravan, one of which was my camp bed. I immediately ordered two men to be despatched to retrieve them, inwardly praying that they had not already been stolen by some rapacious negro on the road. This habit of throwing down one’s belongings and running away when they feel so disposed is a common one among West African carriers, and is particularly annoying to their unlucky employer. However, in that land one soon gets philosophical about such trifles, and comes to the conclusion that life is too short to permit of them being taken too much to heart. So, making the best of affairs, I lay down on a blanket and soon was fast asleep.

The next morning, having enrolled two fresh men from the village where I had slept, we were once more up to marching strength. The sun was now getting decidedly hot; the country was undulating bush, but fairly open. We had not gone many miles when dense clouds of smoke and huge flames became visible on the horizon. It was evident we were marching towards a bush fire. The heat grew more and more intolerable as the wind drove the flames in our direction, and the porters instinctively began to run forward in order to dash through the burning zone as quickly as possible. It was the first time I had actually marched through a large bush fire, although I had, of course, often been close to a patch of burning bush-country.

In spite of the terrific heat, the spectacle was so splendid as to make one oblivious of the discomfort. For miles in front of us was a huge wall of leaping, hissing flames. Through the centre there ran a narrow path from which the blazing fire seemed to have been hurled back to the right and left, thus giving us a free passage through the scorching bank of flames. The fire was approaching with amazing rapidity. In front of it darted out many terrified inhabitants of the bush, such as hares, field-mice, and partridges, all wondering, no doubt, what was this infernal, blazing demon which thus relentlessly drove them from their homes. While the ground was covered with these poor frightened creatures, the air was full of equally terrified insects, attempting to get out of danger before their wings should be singed by those cruel flames. In many cases their attempted flight only drove them into the clutches of their arch-enemies the hawks, who, seemingly oblivious of the heat, circled in the air above their luckless victims, every now and then pouncing down on a tempting morsel.

Once we started running it did not take long to get to the other side of the fire, for it sweeps forward with extraordinary speed, burning up the grass and small bushes in a few seconds, leaving in its wake only charred remains and here and there a tree or bush, more tenacious of life than the others, still wrapped in a sheet of flame while the fire is disappearing in the distance. Big trees are often to be seen still blazing some days after the bush fire has passed that way. After emerging from the flames we were all begrimed with the soot and ashes; even the natives’ dusky faces showed signs of having been through something blacker than the colour of their skins.

The change which had now come over the surface of the landscape was remarkable. In place of the waving bush, which had existed but a few minutes before, there was now an open plain, almost devoid of vegetation, carpeted with smouldering ashes. Under the heat of that tropical sun one missed the grateful shade afforded by the bush, and the perspiration rolled in big drops from the faces of the carriers as they trudged stolidly on under the weight of their loads.

On the 21st of January our bush path merged into the main road which runs from Faranah to Kissidougou. This is a highway, fifteen feet wide, and kept in good repair by the French. It was far superior to any road I had yet come across, and made a very decided difference to our rate of marching. There is one great drawback to these wide roads in West Africa, viz. they are much hotter to march on, as there is no shade available. But that is, after all, a minor disadvantage, as the communications of a country are obviously greatly facilitated. Here I saw the telegraph line for the first time since leaving the Sierra Leone Railway. To a visitor in French West Africa it soon becomes apparent that our continental neighbours excel in the matter of public works in their colonies. Roads, railways, bridges and telegraphs have the most careful attention, and a vast amount of money is spent on their construction.

That night I camped at the village of Kamaraia. The inhabitants are an offshoot of the Korankos of Sierra Leone, and are similar to them in their habits; but as the country is more fertile they are more prosperous. The evening was beguiled by some native music. The musician played an instrument called “Ballaini.” It produces a melodious and rather liquid sound, and was one of the most musical native instruments I heard. It is made of a gourd, partially covered over with goatskin, and has narrow cross-pieces of bamboo nailed over it. The musician produces the different notes by hitting these cross-pieces with a small stick. Most natives have a good ear for music, but their repertoire of melodies is extremely small. A man will be quite happy, however, in sitting the whole evening repeating the same bars over and over again to an admiring audience. I regret to say that I was not so easily amused, and after half an hour had to tell our friend to finish his performance elsewhere.

CHAPTER V

Faranah — The Malinkés — Castes — Big game on the Mafou River — Native methods of hunting — Trapping — Ground nuts — The native trader — Kouroussa — Native types — French gardens — Native dances — Beehives — Fruit.

BY the 22nd of January, the date of our arrival at Faranah, I had so far recovered as to be able to walk a few miles each day. My usual plan was to walk in the early morning until the sun got oppressive, when I retired to the hammock until about eleven. About this hour I used to halt in a shady spot, by a stream, and have my breakfast while the carriers cooked their food and rested. A halt till two or three o’clock gave my “boy” time to prepare my meal and to have his own food and a rest before we again set out. On one of these occasions, just after I had halted, I noticed the unusual spectacle of two Europeans in hammocks with a number of carriers coming towards me. One of the two proved to be a lady, while the other was her husband. They stopped, and we had a few minutes’ conversation. They were on their way to Kissidougou, a large French post in the south of Guinea. He was the director of the telegraphs, and they had but lately arrived from France. The lady had the characteristic vivacity and charm of her countrywomen; she was nursing a young bushfowl which they had picked up on the road, and which had hurt its leg. The poor little bird’s bright eyes wore a terrified look, but this soon began to disappear under the gentle treatment of its kind mistress. The lady had never been out of her native land previously, and was much interested in the strange sights of West African bush life.

Faranah is the first place of any size and importance on the Niger. It consists of a native population of about 2000, and a dozen Frenchmen. The native town lies in a hollow, close to the banks of the river, while the Residency and European quarter are on a hill above. Faranah does a small trade in rubber and cattle, most of which are sent down to the coast port of Konakry. There is a caravanserai, or rest-house, in the town. This useful construction is found in nearly every village of any size in French Guinea, and is a great boon to the traveller. The headman of the place is charged with the duty of keeping it clean, and as it is constantly inspected by a French official, the house is usually in the best of order. The houses at Faranah are built of mud, with walls about two feet thick, and thatched roofs. They are very cool in the hot weather, but are rather cold and draughty in the rainy season, when it is a good plan to light a fire in the middle of your room.

At Faranah I stayed with the French District Commissioner, who was a most hospitable and courteous host. Here I was delighted to be able to discard my hammock, as my knee was nearly healed. A two days’ halt was necessary to collect fresh carriers, and to get information of the shooting prospects in front of me.

My intention had been to march as rapidly as possible to Kouroussa, and strike eastward from that place into the Wasulu country, which lies between the Niger and the Ivory Coast. At Faranah, however, I was informed that there was some excellent shooting to be had on the Mafou River, a tributary of the Niger, which is crossed on the road to Kouroussa. I therefore determined to halt at this stream on my way, and sample the big-game shooting in the vicinity.

On the 24th, bidding good-bye to my kind hosts, I set out. The road follows within a few miles of the Niger, which here takes a north-easterly course. The country is rather thick bush, but is well populated. Villages occur every three or four miles most of the way. The people who inhabit this part of French Guinea are Malinkés, and they are dark of complexion and stoutly built. They are a higher type than the coast negro, having probably intermarried with the Fulanis, to whom they no doubt owe their more regular features and thinner lips. They are chiefly an agricultural people, but are not fond of work in any form. The majority of them are Mussulmans.

The king of the tribe is called the “Alimamy.” He has a large court, chiefly composed of his relations, who all expect to profit, either directly or indirectly, by their position. They are the channel of communication between him and his people. His council is composed of the headmen of the villages, and rich native traders. The council decides all matters of dispute with other tribes. The decision for making peace or war rests with them, and, in the event of the king’s death it is this body who elects the new Alimamy.

Villages are organized on the same lines, each village having a chief, assisted by his council of influential villagers. The tribe is divided into two portions, those who are free, and those who are captives.

The free portion of each tribe is again divided into five castes:

(1) The Horos, who are citizens.

(2) The Sohrés, weavers.

(3) The Garangis, or shoemakers.

(4) The Hrabis, or blacksmiths.

(5) The Yellimanis, or jesters.

The Horos are the only class from which chiefs and headmen can be selected. They are the predominant caste, and all the others are their menials.

Horos can only marry in their own class. The other people can marry amongst themselves as they please.

The Hrabis are looked on with great contempt, corresponding in caste to the sweeper class of India. It is uncertain what was the origin of this, but there is a story connected with Mohammed and a blacksmith which probably accounts for it. It is said that the Prophet was once pursued by some infidels, and concealed himself in the trunk of a tree near the spot where a blacksmith was at work. The latter was on the point of betraying Mohammed’s hiding-place when he was struck blind by God. Mohammed, when he issued from the tree, is supposed to have cursed the blacksmith and all his kind.

The Yellimanis are a very obnoxious class. They spend their time in abusing those who do not give them any money, while they sing the praises of their patrons. Every chief has an entourage of these jesters. They are often equipped with musical instruments, and form a sort of band which precedes him wherever he goes.

Families have always some animal which is their particular aversion, or evil spirit. It may be a lion, or leopard, or crocodile, or some such beast. For example, it is supposed that if a man’s evil genius was a crocodile, and he should eat some of this animal’s flesh, it would give him some terrible skin disease, such as leprosy.

The captives, or slaves, are of course not now officially recognized by the French. Any man who is a slave can at once obtain his freedom by applying to the nearest Commissioner. It shows how contented these captives usually are with their lot, when it is noticed that they very rarely ask to be made free. They are well treated, are not hard worked, and get free board and lodging. These slaves were taken from various tribes during the intertribal warfare which raged in this part of West Africa for many years. In most cases these people have quite forgotten the country of their origin, and are perfectly content to remain with their masters. A slave, when he has gained his freedom, can be permitted to join any of the above-mentioned castes, or may marry into any of them. His position is therefore superior to that of a Hrabi. The captive lives with the members of the family, and is in every way treated as one of them.

On the 26th of January I arrived at the Mafou River, where I had great hopes of getting some elephant. These animals were reported by the natives to come down here at this time of year. On the river there was a certain palm of which they were very fond. Native information is, of course, frequently the only kind available, but it is also far from reliable. The negro, when interrogated, will give the answer that comes easiest to him, and will usually say what he thinks will most please you. So I was far from placing too much faith in their reports. Having procured two native hunters, I sent them out to get news of the whereabouts of the elephant, and in the meantime decided to try my luck with a third hunter after waterbuck and kob, of which I had seen traces in the neighbourhood. The banks of the Mafou River are swampy and the ideal home of kob.

Here I managed to secure a fine beast, with the best head I had yet shot in West Africa. Pleased with my day’s sport I returned to my camp at the village that afternoon, hoping to get some good news from my hunters. I was therefore much disappointed to be told that the elephant had not been seen in that district for some weeks, and the tracks seen by the hunters were at least a month old. I had myself that morning seen elephant tracks, close to a place where they had evidently been in the habit of bathing in the Mafou River. These tracks were likewise some weeks old. As there seemed no prospect of elephant in the neighbourhood, I decided to follow my original plan of pushing on with as little delay as possible to the Wasulu country.

The next day I continued my journey to Kouroussa. It was always my custom to set out in the morning, just before daylight, and to have a start of about half an hour on my carriers. In this way one often got a chance of a shot at game while it was feeding within range of the bush path, and had not been disturbed by passers-by. I used to wear boots with noiseless soles, finding this a good plan for enabling me to approach without being heard. A bush path is a very sinuous affair as a rule, and it frequently happens that one suddenly turns a corner and comes in sight of game, quite as unaware of the proximity of man as you are of its presence. One morning, while walking thus ahead of my carriers, I suddenly espied a small duiker dart across the road, and was fortunate enough to get a snapshot at it before it disappeared into the bush. It proved to be a “crowned duiker,” a beautiful little animal, only fifteen inches high. This small antelope is of a bright yellowish fawn colour, with remarkably long and pointed ears. The tail was short and blackish, more like the tail of most oribis. The horns were very small and delicate, but this little beast is uncommon, so my delight at securing it was great; moreover, I had never before seen it wild. The habit of all duikers is to conceal themselves in the bush, consequently one does not often see them unless a drive is organized, and this to me always appears rather an unsportsmanlike procedure.

This little antelope derives its name “crowned” from the dainty crownlike tuft on the top of its head. The duiker probably falls a victim, more than any other kind of antelope, to the native hunter. His method of killing game is distinctly brutal. When the bush is ready to be burnt, a number of hunters collect together and proceed with the boys of the village to the scene selected for the sport. The hunters line up at a suitable place, on a path, down-wind. The boys are sent to drive the game in the direction of this path out of the bush. Their procedure is as follows: each person being equipped with a tomtom, an old tin, or some similar article capable of producing a noise, sets to work to make a tremendous din. At the same time the grass is set on fire. The unfortunate animals in the bush, scared out of their senses, dash the only way open to them, viz. towards the path on which are the hunters. As they appear, at a range of a dozen yards or less, they are received with a volley of scraps of old metal, iron nails and sharp stones, fired from the flint-lock guns of the sportsmen. The din is deafening, missiles are flying in all directions, and the carnage amongst the luckless little beasts is great. At the same time the shooting is decidedly wild, and it is a matter of congratulation that this is the case, for the slaughter is not so terrible as it would otherwise be. It is a marvel that these people do not often kill one another by their wild shooting. It is true occasionally a maimed native is seen who admits that he has been crippled in this manner, but on the whole the casualties are not so large as might be expected.

Baro Village in the Kouroussa District of French Guinea

The people of this district suffered very severely in the Sofa wars. King Samory spread fire and sword throughout the land, and carried off many of the people into slavery. The inhabitants of Baro have only returned and rebuilt their houses in recent years. They have the downtrodden, low-spirited nature of men who have lived many years in captivity.

Another favourite method of killing game is by trapping it. The ordinary form of trap is a long barricade of sticks and palm leaves, built up to a height of several feet. At intervals in this hedge there are narrow openings, with a running noose cunningly concealed on the far side. A drive is organized and the animals are frightened through the bush in the direction of this barricade. On finding the openings they naturally endeavour to escape by them, but are caught by the noose as they struggle through. Traps of this nature are set for birds, as well as other small game. These barricades are frequently built as much as a mile long. Yet another form of trap I have often met with is simply a pit, dug to a depth of six or seven feet, at the bottom of which is planted a stake, having the sharpened end sticking vertically upwards, ready to impale the unfortunate animal which falls upon it.

The pits are usually covered over with leaves, and are thus invisible to the unsuspecting victim. These snares are often as dangerous to strangers as to game, on account of this invisibility, and it is dangerous to wander in the bush of a hunting country without a local guide. On one occasion one of my porters strayed away from camp after dark. In the morning he was not forthcoming to carry his load when all was ready for the start. A comrade suddenly recollected that he had gone towards the bush the previous night, and it transpired that he had not since been seen. Search parties were at once organized and despatched in search of him. After some time they returned with a very pitiable-looking object, whose clothes were torn, and whose nether garments were smeared in blood. This proved to be the lost carrier. He had fallen into a hunter’s pit some distance from camp, and all his cries for help had not been heard. Fortunately he was more frightened than hurt, and certainly profited by his experience, for he never wandered into strange bush again!

We had now left the belt of oil-palm country behind. The chief product of this district was rubber. The rubber is here the product of the rubber vine, and is seen in some quantities growing in the bush. But the majority of the rubber of French Guinea is grown in the east of the colony.

In the farms one notices particularly rice, maize and ground nuts. The latter is a pretty little plant with a small yellow flower. The nuts themselves grow on the roots in the ground, something after the fashion of a potato. The fruit is ripe after the plant has flowered. On one plant will be found as many as fifty nuts. They are much relished as a form of diet by the native, while the oil of the nut is a valuable thin oil, much used in Europe for making fine soaps, scents, and as a dressing similar to salad oil.

In the bush it is of the greatest use as a lamp oil, but must first be purified by straining through a thin cloth. For about three months I used nothing else, and found the light as good as that of a kerosene lamp.

The trader one encounters in the bush is the native trader, called the “Dioula.” The European trader is only met with on the coast, or in the biggest markets of the interior. The term Dioula merits a word of explanation. These people are supposed to have originally been wandering Mohammedan merchants, but now the term applies to any travelling trader. The Dioula is a very thrifty individual, usually commencing life in a most humble way. He probably leaves his village with only a few francs in his pocket, which he exchanges at a suitable opportunity for some article of commerce, such as salt. He then travels a bit nearer to the coast, exchanging his salt for rubber or perhaps ground nuts. This process he continues, constantly bartering one article for another, until he finally reaches the coast. Here he purchases cloth, or some such European goods, and works his way back to the interior, bartering as he goes. These traders often accumulate quite big fortunes by their keen business instincts.

Kouroussa lies on a bare open plateau, overlooking the Niger. It is the centre of the district of the same name, and is increasing in size and importance daily. The cause of its growth is the Guinea Railway, emanating from the coast port of Konakry, and destined to reach Kouroussa in a very short time. The total length of this line will be about 400 miles. The object of the railway is to tap the trade of the Futa Jallon region, and the fertile country on the banks of the Niger. As the Niger is more or less navigable from Kouroussa for canoes and quite small lighters, this will also open out a line of communication from the interior of the Soudan and French Guinea to the coast.

When I arrived at Kouroussa I went to pay my respects to the Commissioner. I found him contemplating a ruined building with a rueful eye. It was all that remained of his house. When I had introduced myself to him he proceeded to explain that the previous night his house had been burnt to the ground. The act was attributed to the spite of a native, who had been punished by him for some misdemeanour. Unfortunately it was difficult to collect proof against the man, and it appeared as if he would escape from the hands of justice. The people of this town are a strange mixture of several tribes. At or near this point three great races meet—the Susus, from South-Western Guinea, the Malinkés, from the south of the colony, and the Fulanis, from Futa Jallon, in the west. The consequence is that a hybrid race formed by the intermarriage of these different clans has sprung up. The natives are perhaps a higher class than the ordinary negro of Guinea. They inherit from the Fulanis a finer type of features, thinner lips and more aquiline noses. Their hair, however, remains woolly, and stamps them as undoubtedly negroid. They are chiefly agriculturists. Some, however, are cattle-men, owning considerable herds. They are distinctly lazy; this, perhaps, is hardly to be wondered at, as their country is fruitful and it needs but little work to get a living out of the soil. Besides, a man need only gather a small quantity of rubber in the bush to gain a livelihood.

At Kouroussa the French officials have a fine garden. Almost every kind of European vegetable is grown by them. The garden is personally supervised by one of the officers, who has a large number of native gardeners under his orders. From one year’s end to another they are never without some sort of vegetables. The garden is planted on the banks of the Niger, so that a constant supply of water is available. There is also a well-stocked fruit plantation, where one can enjoy a variety of tropical fruits such as oranges, pomegranates, bananas, etc. The French show a particular aptitude for gardening, and it was a point which struck me very forcibly that in almost every station where there was a European, a good garden would be found. On one evening of my stay at Kouroussa I witnessed the interesting and rather weird spectacle of a native dance. This particular dance was performed by some young girls, to the accompaniment of much tomtoming and cheering from the assembled throng of admiring onlookers.

These girls were dressed in short skirts, much resembling a ballet-dancer’s skirt, but made out of a sort of bulrush very common in these parts. The bodice was a brightly coloured native cloth, twisted gracefully round the breast and waist. On the head was worn a bonnet of plumes of various hues. We were escorted to the place of honour by the side of the chief, who then clapped his hands as a sign for the performance to commence. The spectators were thronged in a circle round him, many being provided with tomtoms and musical instruments of all descriptions.

At the given signal the dancers dashed into the ring, joining hands and advancing with a graceful swinging step towards the chief, the tomtoms all this time playing a slow measure. The music gradually became faster and faster, while the dancers increased their pace in unison with it. Turning and twisting their lithe bodies, they now retired, at every step the music waxing faster and their pace becoming more frenzied. This performance was repeated many times, until the pace was so rapid and the dancers had got so exhausted as to no longer be able to keep time with the music. At this moment they flung themselves on the ground before the chief and the tomtoms simultaneously ceased beating. It appeared evident that it was now we were expected to show our appreciation of the skill of the dancing-girls, so we rewarded each one with a small coin, after which they retired. Similar dances were executed by individual girls; in several cases they displayed remarkable agility and grace in their movements. The spectators were untiring in their tomtoming and applause, and it was evident that this dance was a most popular one.

Dancing is a very favourite amusement among West African natives. Every tribe has its special dances, some of which are far from graceful according to our ideas. There is, however, an undeniable fascination in seeing these weird black figures leaping and pirouetting in their picturesque costumes, with the strange glow of the firelight casting mysterious shadows on them as they move backwards and forwards.

In the vicinity of Kouroussa the natives keep a number of beehives. These hives are frequently seen stuck up in high trees. They are made out of reeds bound in the form of a hollow cylinder, having the ends closed with plastered mud. One of these mud doors has a hole in the centre, providing an entrance and exit for the bees. The negro has a great liking for sweet things, so a quantity of this honey is consumed. Before it can be eaten by the European it must be strained through a piece of muslin, as it is exceedingly dirty. When properly cleaned, however, it is excellent.

Wild fruit is scarce, and in any case should be partaken of with great caution, as there are several poisonous varieties. There is a kind of wild plum which is fairly common in this part of French Guinea and has a pleasant flavour. Occasionally wild bananas and pawpaws are met with; they almost invariably indicate the site of an old, abandoned village.

CHAPTER VI

Samory and the Sofas — The Sofa wars — Desertion of my “boy” — Kouroussa and Kankan — Native horses — An inhospitable reception — Kankan — Trade at Kankan — The rubber vine — Native telegraphy — Personal adornment.

MENTION has several times been made of King Samory and his Sofas. Kouroussa was for some time the centre of his plundering operations; it will therefore be advisable to give some account of this enlightened chief’s history before describing his doings in that country.

Samory came from the neighbourhood of Bobodjilassu, an important town between the north of the “Gold Coast Northern Territories” and the Niger. He was a Mohammedan, and became a very influential chief on account of his strong personality.

He collected an army of between 30,000 and 40,000 men, and ravaged practically the whole of what is the colony of French Guinea, as well as a portion of the French Soudan and Sierra Leone Protectorate. His troops were first composed of Mandingoes from the Middle Niger, but gradually as he advanced he absorbed large numbers of other tribes whom he had subjugated, and the whole army was designated by the name of Sofas. For fifteen years he spread terror throughout the land, on several occasions even inflicting severe reverses on the French troops he encountered. He was finally captured by the French in 1897, and died in captivity three years later. His army was too large to be concentrated for any time, so had to disperse to obtain supplies. This resulted in wholesale plunder and wanton devastation of the land. The natives hated the Sofas, who pillaged their homes and carried off their wives without any mercy.

Large districts were depopulated by their ravages; indeed, to this day the ruins of villages, which were abandoned during the Sofa wars, are frequently seen in the bush. It is only during the last few years that this part of West Africa has begun to settle down peacefully after the long period of plunder and wholesale murder which existed during the reign of King Samory.

A further cause of this prolonged warfare at this time was that when the Sofa lieutenants were not employing their soldiers on behalf of Samory, they were in the habit of letting their services out to anybody who was willing to pay for them. This system naturally led to a number of local small wars, thus further aggravating the harm done by Samory and his followers.

This chief was certainly the biggest native general ever encountered by European troops in West Africa. Many of his soldiers afterwards enlisted in British and French colonial corps, and proved themselves excellent fighting material.

In Kouroussa market-place there is a large baobab tree, under which Samory used to hold court. Here he used to try his prisoners, and here they used to be executed. That tree must have seen some horrible sights in its day. What tales it could tell of murder and injustice committed under its shady boughs! Baobab trees are common in these parts; nearly every village possesses one, and it is under these spreading branches that the chief and his followers are wont to sit and gossip during the heat of the day.

One of my carriers about this time was an oldish man, who had been a young warrior in Samory’s army. He used to relate some blood-curdling stories over the camp fire at night of the atrocities committed by that chief. The carrier had himself, it appeared, been a participator in some cruel acts. On one occasion he was sent with a party to exact tribute from a refractory town, with orders to inform the people they would be plundered and their town burnt unless they complied. He described with a great show of pride how he first extorted twice the required sum, and then proceeded to massacre the unfortunate, helpless inhabitants. Little wonder that Samory’s soldiery was feared and mistrusted in those days of plunder and bloodshed.

On the morning of the 31st I had given my “boy” particular orders to call me early, in order to start on my way to Kankan. About five o’clock I woke, and could see no signs of my servant. This surprised me, as he was usually very punctual. I called, but receiving no reply, went out to investigate the cause of his non-appearance. On entering the kitchen it became evident that he had run away, for all his personal property had been removed. I never saw him again, and can only conclude that he had found the journey rather harder work than he had bargained for, and had decided to return to his native land before it was too late.

This incident was extremely annoying just as I was about to start for my shooting-ground, and I was much afraid it would be impossible to get a “boy” suited to my requirements in the place. Fortune, however, favoured me, and the District Commissioner assured me he would be able to procure a cook who could speak French and Bambara in a few hours. I decided to march off, on the understanding that the “boy” would follow and meet me that evening in camp. True to his promises, the Commissioner sent me the servant, who remained with me until I reached Timbuctu. His name was Mamadu; he had many faults and was hardly the sort of “boy” I should have chosen, but I was lucky to get one at all, and after all he possessed one or two good qualities, and could bake bread better than any native servant I had yet had.

Mamadu’s chief fault was his irrepressible tongue. I made many efforts, both by gentle and strong means, to curb this bad habit while he was with me, but have to acknowledge complete failure. Incessant chatter is a failing of most negro tribes, but I never met such an inveterate talker as Mamadu before, nor am I likely to do so again. At night he would be talking when one wanted to go to sleep, and in the early morning I was generally wakened by his unceasing chatter. When he slept and what he had to talk about were two problems I never succeeded in solving.

At Kouroussa the Niger is about 250 yards wide, and here there is a canoe ferry to the point on the opposite shore where the Kankan road commences. As I mentioned before, the Niger is partially navigable from here to Bamako, a distance of about 200 miles. Navigation is frequently interrupted by sandbanks, which are fairly common in this part of the stream. At such places canoes have to be unloaded, and the contents carried to the other side of the obstruction, where fresh canoes are in waiting— a somewhat tedious and slow process.

There is a remarkable scarcity of waterfowl on the Niger above Bamako. I do not recollect seeing a single duck or goose on this section of the river, although occasionally I saw a few teal. It is true that the river was rather dry at this time, but I was informed by French officials that it was very unusual to find duck at any time of year in the upper reaches of the Niger.

The country between Kouroussa and Kankan consists of rather thick bush, except for a stretch of more open grass-land between the Niger and its tributary the Niandan. Rice is rather scarce in this region. The native lives principally on sweet potatoes and cassada. The Niandan is a stream of no great size, but with a very rapid current. It is not too deep to be fordable, but the swiftness of the current makes it dangerous to try the experiment. It was here that I first saw horses in any numbers during my journey, so we were evidently out of the tsetse fly belt, which is so fatal to these animals. An old chief rode up to the stream as we arrived, mounted on a horse with gay trappings, and his toes thrust into the curious, heavy iron stirrups always used in West Africa. The saddles are made of wood, with a high back, and are extremely hard, although not otherwise uncomfortable. The wickedest part of the saddlery is the bit. This is made of rough iron, having a ring through which the animal’s tongue is thrust, and a cruel spike so fashioned as to stab the roof of the horse’s mouth each time the reins are pulled; the inevitable consequence being that a horse’s mouth is almost always spoilt when he is young, and is usually in a lacerated condition. Malinkés are good riders, but atrocious horsemasters. Horses are generally ridden too young, frequently getting their backs strained from this cause. Animals here average about thirteen hands or less, and it is seldom that a good beast is seen, owing to the system of inbreeding which prevails.

The horses in this part of the country are not bred locally, but are imported from the south of French Soudan. Indeed, I much doubt if horses are ever bred in French Guinea, or anyhow in the eastern half of the colony.

The native’s chief delight is to gallop. He will often be seen careering along at racing speed, for no reason whatever except that he appears to think that the horse is only born to carry him at the top of its pace. These people are very fond of horse-races. Here, too, their one idea is to gallop hard the whole distance. Their knowledge of the staying powers of their animals seems to be strangely lacking. The result is that their horses finish at a snail’s pace and are quite exhausted. Besides, horses are generally grass-fed, and consequently very soft. In spite of all the bad treatment he suffers from, the native pony is frequently a hardy little animal, capable of doing a long day’s work, making one wonder what he might not be able to do if breeding were carefully attended to and the animals were well looked after.

I had no difficulty all this time in keeping the larder well supplied with birds, while an occasional buck brought joy to the carriers’ hearts. Bush-fowl and guinea fowl were sufficiently numerous in the farms on the roadside to provide for my wants. The day of my arrival at Kankan I had started in the morning, as was my custom, before the carriers, with my shot-gun on my shoulder, intending to do a little shooting on the way. Having secured all I wanted, I pressed on to the town, accompanied by one man to carry the birds. I have no doubt I looked an extremely uncouth and grimy figure, for I had been walking for some hours, and the road was hot and dusty. My costume, too, no doubt looked strange, consisting as it did of khaki shooting-breeches cut short at the knee and a rough khaki flannel shirt, open at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. In spite of my curious appearance, however, I was much amazed to be mistaken for a villain intent on taking the life of the French Commissioner! Yet such was the case.

On approaching the European quarter I observed a native policeman, whom I asked to direct me to the Commissioner’s house. This individual, to my surprise, immediately seized me and attempted to wrench the gun out of my hand. It was with difficulty that I restrained my anger in time to prevent myself striking him, so sudden and unexpected was the onslaught. Fortunately at this moment the Commissioner, hearing the commotion, came out of his office, and matters were satisfactorily explained. It appeared that some time previously a native who bore a grudge against the Commissioner had attempted to shoot him, hence the policeman had been on the alert in case of another attempt. My black friend, in the zeal of performing his duty, had jumped to the conclusion that I was a would-be assassin, and had lost no time in trying to deprive me of my gun in consequence. I was much sunburnt at that time, and it is possible that I looked to his excited imagination almost as dark as his coloured brethren! That evening I dined with the official and his wife, and we laughed heartily over the dramatic nature of my arrival into Kankan.

I was rather surprised to find a French lady so far from the haunts of civilization, but was informed that there were two more ladies, the wives of French traders, in the town. The traveller in the bush cannot but be struck with the refinement brought by a woman’s presence to a lonely West African station. Colonials necessarily grow rough in their habits when removed from the gentle influence of woman’s society. In her presence the roughest of mankind feels softened, and his better nature seems brought to the front.

Kankan is a large town of 12,000 inhabitants. It owes its importance to its position in the centre of the rubber-growing district of Guinea. Moreover, before the appearance of the white man and the consequent development of the rubber trade, Kankan had for many years been a large native market. Probably the reason of this is that it lies on the Milo River, one of the few tributaries on this bank of the Niger which are navigable to any extent. From Kankan the French traders are enabled, by using this stream, to send boats with produce direct either to Bamako or Kouroussa.

There are no less than fourteen French trading firms established at this place. Their chief business is, of course, done in rubber. In addition to rubber, a large quantity of ground nuts, rice, millet and gum copal pass through this large market, while Moors from the north of the Senegal River, and Fulanis from the Middle Niger, bring herds of cattle for sale to the town. It is indeed an amusing sight to wander through the market-place in the morning, when it is crowded with a cosmopolitan collection of coloured races. People of every shade of colour will be seen. There is the negro from the coast, with a face almost as black as coal, jostling against the reddish-complexioned Fulanis and the pale-coloured Moors, while men and women of every intermediate hue are also to be seen. The babel of voices in many different tongues is most remarkable, and the French traders used to tell me that they require interpreters in about half a dozen different languages in their stores, for so varied is the speech of their customers.

At Kankan I saw for the first time those curious bars of salt transported from the desert salt-mines of the Sahara. They are brought many hundreds of miles for sale in the interior of Guinea, where salt is an article of considerable value. These bars weigh fifty to sixty pounds, and are here sold for as much as thirty francs. In the district of Kankan nearly every native is employed collecting rubber in the bush, which he brings to the French merchants for sale. The rubber vine grows in extraordinary profusion to the north and east of the district. On the latter side its range extends into the north of the Ivory Coast Colony. The vine should not be tapped before it is four years old, when the plant is about as thick as a man’s wrist. Unless it is cut in a spiral fashion the plant will be killed. Much harm was done to the rubber trade by the natives a few years ago by the wasteful manner in which they tapped the vines. They used to make deep, circular gashes completely round them, as by this means they were able to get the sap out more easily, quite heedless of the fact that by so doing they were killing the plants. Strict legislation has now been introduced to prevent this wasteful and wanton destruction. When I first saw men tapping rubber vines I was surprised to notice they invariably rubbed the place where the incision was made with some dirty-looking liquid. I was informed that this liquid was lime juice and water, the object being to cause the rubber to agglomerate as it exuded from the incision.

Native Types at Kankan

This place is a big rubber market of French Guinea. Rubber commands a good price, so most of the natives are well-to-do, as may be judged by their prosperous appearance. The country east of Kankan is prolific in rubber vines, and the labour entailed in tapping the vine is very small.

Rubber is collected in balls, which have a dirty greyish appearance, and it is in this form that it is sold to the merchants. To increase the weight of these balls it is a common practice for the wily natives to mix water with the rubber, or to place mud or some heavy substance in the interior. These tricks are now becoming well known to the European trader, who is not often deceived by them, although, when the ruse was first started, I understand it met with considerable success. It is probable that a large portion of French Guinea will be entirely devoted to the rubber trade in the future, for it is mostly a rather scrubby bush-country eminently suited to this particular commerce. Owing to the large and increasing demand for rubber at the present time, Guinea rubber, which is of good quality, commands a high price in France.

At Kankan I had to change my carriers, and here I arranged to send all the kit which I did not require on to Bamako, while only taking a month’s stores, my rifles and camp equipment, on my shooting trip into Wasulu country. After an interview with one of the French trading firms, it was settled that my surplus baggage should be forwarded in their lighters by river to Bamako, where I would find it on my arrival at that place.

My carriers were now reduced to eight, and with this small party I set out on the 3rd of February. For the first few miles the road was the main route to the gold-mining district of Siguiri, a fine, broad highway which joins Kankan to the town of that name, a distance of sixty miles. After leaving this road we turned into a small bush path, striking nearly due east into the heart of the Wasulu country. At Niansumana the Milo River is crossed. It is a stream about 100 yards wide, which we found fordable at this season. That evening I observed a big drum in the chief’s compound, and thinking it might be of some service to me, I inquired whether the village would send word of my approach to the town of Falama, and ask if the hunters I required were ready. The chief readily acquiesced, stating that within an hour the people of Falama would have knowledge of the message. Falama was nearly fifty miles from Niansumana, so that I was anxious to see if the experiment would really be successful. In less than three hours a reply had come from the hunters to say they were ready awaiting me.

These drums are much used for signalling in this part of the country, and without doubt account for the rapidity with which news becomes known at a considerable distance from the spot where it originates. The drums are made of a rough piece of log hollowed out, often as much as four feet long, with the ends covered with goat’s skin stretched taut. The drummer beats on the end with a couple of sticks, or with his hands. It is wonderful how skilled they are about sending quite long messages in this way. Of course, every native does not understand the drum language. An expert ear is necessary to send as well as to read a message. When war is declared the inhabitants of the surrounding villages are all made aware of the news by a drum message. In fact, when rapidity is an object, the natives prefer to send their messages this way rather than by messenger. The drum is in common use in many West African countries. It is frequently used to call the people together for a palaver, and can be heard by men working in the most distant farms, who at once obey the signal, leaving their crops to return to the town.

We were now getting into a more open country watered by numerous streams, most of which flowed north-west into the Niger. Villages were becoming scarcer, and it was evident that the country was more thinly populated. I was careful at each village I passed to make inquiries for game, but it appeared that the game country hardly started before the Sankarani River, which I should cross before arriving at Falama. Cattle were far more numerous here than I had yet seen them. The milk was exceedingly rich, and I was always supplied with a large bowl of it on camping near a village. The people were mostly cattle-men, and were a fine stalwart race. The men must average five feet ten inches. The women are considerably smaller. The latter go in for a great deal of personal adornment. Their hair is dressed in small ringlets, screwed up tightly to the side of the head, giving them a decidedly comical appearance, and hardly enhancing their rather doubtful claims to good looks. The wealthier women wear a large amount of cheap jewellery. Their fingers and toes are decorated with silver rings, generally about as thick as a lady’s bracelet in England. Their necks are freely adorned with necklaces of large yellow or blue beads. Like most native women, they are extremely fond of bright-coloured dresses.

CHAPTER VII

Hippopotami — Game in the Wasulu country — Lazy carriers — In pursuit of elephants — Fetish haartebeest — “Red” elephants — A fetish altar — Braimah’s juju — Charms and tests.

AT Falama I found the two hunters I had engaged for my shooting expedition. They were the head hunters of the district, one of them being a man from the big hunting village of Dialakoro, who was reputed to know every yard of the game haunts in the Wasulu country, so it was with high hopes of good sport that I began to talk over plans with these two local celebrities. The Sankarani River runs in a semicircle round the village of Falama, at a distance varying from one to three miles from the place. I was informed that there was a hippopotamus pool in the river, so I decided to bend my steps thither that afternoon, on the chance of getting a hippo and also with a view to seeing the nature of the country from a shooting standpoint.

Taking Braimah, the expert from Dialakoro, with me I set out about 3 p.m. We traversed a patch of grass-country, in which I saw traces of kob and waterbuck, for about a couple of miles before reaching the river. Braimah led me to a well-worn hippo path in some rather thick undergrowth near the river-bank, on the off-chance of finding a hippo on land. After twisting and winding for some time in this thicket, I heard the movements of a ponderous body in front of us. This was without doubt the beast we were hunting, and sure enough in a few minutes, after some careful stalking through the bush, I caught sight of him. He was within fifty yards, and had just turned broadside on to listen, with his piglike eyes looking in our direction. His massive form was plainly outlined at that distance, as fortunately the bush was a little thinner here. A shot from my ·450 rifle rolled him over, hitting him in the heart. After this we made our way to the pool, taking up a concealed position on the river bank. Three or four hippos shortly appeared, frolicking in the clear, cool water of the pool. For some time I lay in the shady refuge of the bushes, watching their playful antics. It was an amusing sight to see these huge monsters gradually and lazily raising their big heads out of the water, until finally with a snort the whole head was thrust out to full view, when, after drawing a deep breath, they would suddenly disappear beneath the calm waters of the stream. After for some time watching this pretty scene and regretting I had not brought my camera, I decided to have a shot at a big bull who was in the party. The best shot at a hippo in the water is one directed at his nostrils, which can be seen when he thus raises his head. Consequently the next time my friend appeared I fired at this spot. It took three shots before I was satisfied I had killed him, and then I turned away rather disgusted with the sport, for hippos are harmless creatures and the amusement derived from shooting them does not give one much satisfaction.

I have heard some men give the hippo credit for being vicious, but personally I am of opinion that he will never wilfully harm anyone. It is true they have been known frequently to overturn canoes on a river, but I cannot help thinking that, when this does occur, it is purely an accident, for the hippo is very blind and it is quite conceivable that he may often raise his big head just underneath a canoe without being aware of the latter’s presence. On leaving the pool we soon picked up the tracks of a herd of kob, which had recently passed that way. There was still an hour and a half before dark, so I decided to follow them. We were now once more in the open grass-land where the grass had been burnt in patches. Proceeding cautiously up-wind, for these antelopes have a very keen sense of hearing and smell, we espied the herd peacefully grazing in the distance. After a careful stalk of 400 or 500 yards I managed to secure a fair-sized male. It was now nearly dark, so we proceeded towards camp. Parties were sent out to bring in the meat of the first hippo and of the kob, and all the village was full of joy at the prospect of plenty of “beef.”

The second hippo would have to be left till the following day, for they sink when shot and the bodies do not float for about twenty-four hours. A message was sent to the fishermen down-stream to look out for the animal, and to bring it in as soon as it was found. They were to have the meat on condition they brought me the tusks, an arrangement which pleased everybody!

I had arranged with my hunters to proceed the next day to a place called Doulajan, sixteen miles east, where they reported that I would be in the centre of the elephant country. As my chief object in visiting the Wasulu country was to hunt elephant, and my time was limited, I was anxious to reach this locality as soon as practicable. That day, after making my plans, I had already despatched the second hunter to Doulajan to get all news of the elephants’ whereabouts at that time and to meet me on my arrival at camp, or as soon after as possible.

The next morning, as we set out, my heart was light at the prospects of some really good sport, for I had every reason to believe I was within easy reach of the elephant, and from all accounts there were some fine tuskers among them.

That day, however, was doomed to be a day of annoyance and disappointment. Leaving my carriers to follow by the ordinary road, I and Braimah were to leave before dawn by a small hunters’ track, known only to himself, which would lead us through a favourite haunt of waterbuck. I ordered my “boy” to meet me at a place where the two paths crossed, at eleven for breakfast.

After a very hot and disappointing walk, during which I saw not a single trace of waterbuck, we arrived at the place where I proposed to breakfast. My carriers and servant had not arrived, so I got a hut swept out by the chief and composed myself for a little sleep. I was feeling fatigued, after the early start and the heat of the day, so I slept for some hours and woke to find it was three o’clock and still no sign of my carriers. I began to be uneasy that some might have run away and could not be replaced. I was also by this time uncommonly hungry, and decided to get some food from the chief and then set out with Braimah to look for my “boy” Mamadu. After a refreshing meal of fresh milk and pawpaw, I felt fortified once more and departed with my hunter in quest of the missing carriers and “boy.” We had gone three or four miles, I suppose, when I heard a chattering proceeding from a tree close to the path just in front of us. On turning a corner we came into full view of Mamadu, the carriers and the loads all under a shady tree. The men seemed to be enjoying themselves vastly and not to be in the least concerned about me! My wrath can be more easily imagined than described at the spectacle thus disclosed. Here had I been waiting several hours for these lazy scoundrels and imagining all sorts of disasters that might have befallen them, when all the time they were simply loafing and enjoying a rest on the roadside. They jumped up pretty sharply on my appearance, and proceeded to place their loads on their heads. Mamadu was of course full of excuses to account for the delay, but I fear he so perjured himself as to lose any chance of a seat in heaven. The most annoying feature of the business was that I should not now be able to reach my shooting-camp at Doulajan that night. And it appeared that the only reason for all this delay was that my servant might enjoy his silly habit of chattering!

It was quite dark when we reached the village where I should have breakfasted, and here another disappointment awaited me. The hunter I had sent to Doulajan had arrived with news, as I hoped, of the elephant. His information was distinctly disheartening. He stated that some hunters from the south of Wasulu had been among the herd a few days previously and had driven them some distance east of their previous feeding-ground. In fact, he stated that it was rumoured the animals had gone almost to Odienné, which I knew to be five or six days’ march from Doulajan. The only thing to be done was to go on to Doulajan next day and follow up the elephants if there seemed any chance of overtaking them within a reasonable time.

The place I selected for my camp was on the banks of a small stream, about five miles from the village of Doulajan. Here I pitched my tent, which had hardly as yet come into requisition. The spot was a delightful shady place, which seemed a veritable haunt of wild game, judging by the numerous tracks of animals coming down to drink at the stream hard by. I had procured a third local hunter, and now sent two men off to get more definite news of the elephant, while I kept one with me for shooting purposes near my camp.

These hunters are strongly imbued with ideas of fetish. Braimah had a long flint-lock gun of which he was inordinately proud. To a native his gun is an object more to be cherished than his child. He carries it with him everywhere, even when going to his peaceful farm where there is no danger from man nor the likelihood of his seeing any wild beast. This particular gun was decorated with every imaginable sort of “juju,” or fetish charms. Panthers’ claws, lions’ teeth, antelope horns and pieces of waterbuck’s hide adorned the stock. The butt had a piece of elephant tail freely smeared in the blood of the wild boar tied upon it. The latter animal is particularly venerated for the good luck it is supposed to bring to the sportsman.

Our camp was on more than one occasion visited by the wild beasts of the neighbourhood. Leopards and hyenas were fairly numerous here, while the deep musical roar of the lion was frequently heard resounding through the bush at night.

One morning as I was making my toilet preparatory to an early start on a hunting trip, I saw the beautiful sight of a herd of about fifteen West African haartebeest coming down to drink at the stream. My attention was at first attracted by hearing the thundering of many hoofs on the stony ground outside the camp. Rifle in hand I cautiously crept out of my tent, and soon they came into full view, never suspecting the near presence of man, for our camp was well concealed in the trees and they did not get our wind. There is something awe-inspiring to my mind at the spectacle of wild animals when they are unaware of the proximity of man and are seen thus in their native haunts. Game is always most beautiful when it is most natural and unalarmed. It makes one feel a brute to shoot it, thereby destroying the life of a fine creature.

The West African haartebeest here were the best I saw during my travels, and I secured two very good heads. These animals were numerous in the Wasulu country, herds of twelve or fifteen being frequently seen, although I never saw them in larger numbers than this. This animal is, I suppose, quite the most clumsy-looking of all West African antelopes, its curious, ill-shaped head and lumbering gait reminding one more of a donkey than any other animal. I spent three days thus and enjoyed some good sport with antelope. During my expeditions I used to come across tracks of elephant fairly often. These appeared to be at least a month old, and I began to doubt the veracity of the statement that these animals had been seen here more recently than that. It seemed to me evident that they had retired towards the better watered country in the direction of the Ivory Coast forest some considerable time previously.

The dry season was now in full swing and streams in the Wasulu district were drying up rapidly. I observed two distinctly different kinds of tracks. One lot appeared to be those of the ordinary elephant, while the other lot seemed to belong to a smaller species of that beast. On discussing the matter with my hunter he confirmed my theory by stating that the smaller tracks were those of a herd of the “red” elephant. This animal I had never yet seen, but had heard it mentioned for the first time by some French friends. At Faranah they had again told me of its existence. So I was very eager to get a specimen. The elephant appears to be of a reddish grey hue, probably terra-cotta would be a better description, and to the best of my belief is peculiar to this region, although as I never saw one, nor could I even see the skin of one in the district, I am not in a position to give any more authentic information on the point. It has the reputation of being very fierce, and is said to charge without provocation, but I am inclined to believe this is an exaggeration. It is certainly a good deal smaller than the ordinary African elephant, and carries quite small tusks by all accounts.

That day my two hunters returned, and much to my disappointment their reports of the elephant were most discouraging, and made me only more certain that the animals had left our vicinity some time back, which would make my chance of ever coming up with them exceedingly remote. The same evening I got news, however, from the chief of Doulajan that he had heard on the most reliable authority that the herd had been seen at a place three days’ march from our camp, close to Odienné. I at once determined to proceed there on the chance of there being some truth in the yarn, although I must confess that I was not very sanguine as to the success of my quest.

Striking camp at an early hour in the morning, we marched for three days through a more wooded country, gradually verging into forest-land. Tracks of elephant were numerous, but these were by no means fresh. Finally, I was forced to abandon the enterprise, for I was daily getting farther and farther from my northerly route, and could afford no more time to spend in hunting in this country.

The dense forest we were now in reminded me how extremely difficult it is to see these huge beasts in country of this nature. I recollect once when tracking a large herd from an early hour until late in the afternoon, through a swampy country, I had quite lost all traces of them and began to despair of finding them again. I was on the point of turning homewards, but thought I would first cross a neighbouring swamp to have some lunch on the opposite bank, which appeared dry. Being on the point of sitting down I suddenly observed what appeared to be a moving leaf. On closer inspection it proved to be the ear of an elephant not more than twenty yards away and concealed in the foliage. A little manœuvring resulted in a successful stalk, and the animal, which was a fine tusker, was bagged. These beasts, although not actually deaf, get so accustomed to forest sounds that they had never heard our somewhat noisy approach across the swamp.

My plan was to return to Falama on the Sankarani River, where I had arranged for fresh carriers to meet me, and from thence to proceed to Bamako by the shortest route. The hunting villages which are passed in this district gave a very fair indication of the game to be found in the neighbourhood. It is the custom to erect outside the village a high altar, built up with the horns of antelope and the skulls of almost every conceivable beast shot by the local hunting people. This altar is erected for fetish purposes, the heads being allowed to remain there till they rot. The native hunter has no sense of sport as we look upon it. He kills wild animals primarily for the meat he will get, and, as trophies of the chase, horns and skins have no value in his eyes. Some of the more dangerous animals may sometimes be hunted for the danger involved in attacking them, but even then it is done more out of bravado than from the love and excitement of the sport.

One of my hunters had a native flute which he would play at night in camp to amuse himself and his companions. The instrument is a very simple one, made out of a reed-cane, having a few holes punched in it to form the notes, and a roughly shaped mouthpiece. The music is melancholy, and by no means disagreeable. He was a lithely built, active fellow, making a picturesque figure as he sat in the glow of the firelight playing strange native melodies on his instrument.

Braimah had a greater weakness for “Juju” than the others. His chief care, after seeing to his gun before our start every morning, was to find out if Diana intended to favour our sport that day. The method adopted to carry out this test was a curious one. The only things necessary to work the charm were two kola nuts. His procedure was as follows:

A kola was taken in each hand and some mystic words were then muttered over them, the gist of which was, as far as I could understand, something like this: “May the God of the Chase grant me good fortune, and may he cause these two kolas to point towards me.”

The kolas were then thrown in the air, and the way in which they landed on the ground decided the luck that was going to be his that day. If the two kolas fell with their ends both pointing towards the thrower all would be well. On the other hand, if the kolas, when they reached the earth, had the pointed ends turned away from Braimah, then the God of Hunting was full of wrath and would not be appeased that day. If one nut was pointing towards him and the other in the inverse direction, the operation had to be repeated three times before a definite decision could be arrived at. It must be explained for the benefit of those who have never seen a kola nut that one end is more pointed than the other. The shape of the nut resembles that of a Brazil nut, a sort of pyramid on a triangular base, and the colour is either white or pink.

Braimah’s trick, I noticed, often did not give a correct forecast of the day’s performances. When I tackled him on this point he always had some ready excuse on his tongue, and I never succeeded in shaking his conviction of the infallibility of the charm. As a matter of fact, a native has such a strongly rooted belief in his various fetishes and superstitions that it seems quite impossible ever to shake it. Of course, in many cases, when fetishes are in the hands of “medicine-men,” these people are so crafty that the particular charm they are working appears never to fail. I have in mind the charm used for the purpose of testing adultery among certain tribes. In this case the accused is told to drink a mixture made of the infusion of leaves of the cotton tree and some other ingredients, the reasoning being that if he drinks it and vomits he is innocent, but if he is guilty he will die in agonies. As a matter of fact, the result is a foregone conclusion, for if the “medicine-man” wishes the death of his victim he merely puts a little deadly poison into the concoction, thereby producing the desired result, while the natural property of the mixture is to make the imbiber vomit. This performance is carried out in the midst of the congregated villagers, so that the effect produced on their ignorant and superstitious minds is tremendous.

If the accused man is rich, he can generally buy his innocence by a judicious bribe paid to the “medicine-man.” Fetish priests wield great power over the people in West Africa. Their influence is in a way similar to that of the “Mullahs” in the East among Mohammedans. The latter stir up the people to mad religious fervour by their frenzied preachings in much the same manner that the fetish priest excites the minds of his hearers.

CHAPTER VIII

Mamadu’s new hat — Tribal marks — Unreliable guides — A lonely prospector — Bolting carriers — A local chief — More trouble with carriers — Hunting eland — Sand-flies and mosquitoes — The headman’s duty — Undesirable presents — Jomongonas — A magnificent view — Jilingé — Gold — Superstition of the River Fie — A Niger ferry — An unappreciated delicacy — Fishing on the Niger.

AT Falama I procured the requisite carriers from the chief. It was arranged that they should accompany me all the way to the Niger, should I find any difficulty in replacing them before that river was reached. I was particularly careful to have this explained to each individual carrier in the presence of his chief, for I had had some experience of the difficulty of keeping these men to their promises already. A favourite trick of this class of gentleman is, after being most fervent in his protests of wishing for no happier lot than to accompany you as far as you want to go, suddenly, and generally at a most awkward moment, to casually cast your belongings into the bush and run away. One has in such cases nothing but the grim consolation that he has deprived himself of his pay, which is but poor satisfaction for the annoyance and inconvenience he causes you. The chief of Falama was a man of some influence, being also one of the leading magnates of the Wasulu country. I therefore hoped that his authority would be sufficient to ensure their remaining faithful to me.

At Falama Mamadu invested in a new hat. This was a wonderful bit of head-gear. The hat was made of plaited straw of several bright colours, among which green and red were most prominent. It was made with a very wide brim, and the top worked up to a point, in conical fashion. It certainly had the advantage of protecting him from the glare of the sun, for it was at least two sizes too big for him, so that it descended right over his eyes and almost rested on the bridge of his nose. He was greatly pleased with his new purchase, bringing it to me to show off with much pride.

Among my new carriers I noticed one with different tribal marks from the rest. On inquiry I was told he came from the Sanafou country near the Ivory Coast Colony. His face was beautifully decorated with four semicircular gashes, each about a quarter of an inch wide, down both sides. These cuts started on the temple about on the level of the eyes, and went right down the cheeks to the mouth, at which point they converged. They certainly gave him a very remarkable appearance, rather suggestive at a distance of the black marks put on the face of a clown in a circus. A good knowledge of tribal marks will often enable one to tell the tribe of a man at sight. They are not, however, an infallible proof of the tribe of an individual, for sometimes a boy, when taken into slavery, will have the marks of his master’s tribe cut upon his face. Some races do not practise the custom of tribal marks. But it is generally done in all pagan nations. The Wasulu marks consisted of two or three very thin cuts made vertically down each cheek, usually not more than three inches long. The marks were often so slight as not to be noticeable except at close quarters.

My shortest road was across the Sankarani River, then up the valley of the Fie, finally crossing the Niger a little south of Kangaba, and following its left bank to Bamako. A reliable guide was an unknown article in these parts. The natives of this region are not traders, consequently they travel little. I had to depend on getting a guide day by day to lead me through the bush-country which intervened between me and the Niger; but once on the other side of that stream, there was said to be an excellent road leading to Bamako.

The first part of the journey lay across hills of laterite rock. Our track could only by courtesy be dignified by the name of a path. The country was practically uninhabited, although, as usual in this district, there were numerous traces of ruined villages, all testifying to the devastations of Samory.

At one place I saw the remains of a hut, rapidly falling into decay. I was rather surprised to observe a weather-beaten old board nailed on a tree opposite the door. This board had some writing on it, which was with difficulty decipherable. It stated that a man called Paul Rieu had for two years made his home in that hut, where he had stayed while seeking gold in the vicinity. As a proof of his words I could see pits dug at the small river near by, and evidently made by him during his search for the precious metal. He must have been all alone; and what a dreary life to lead in this desolate spot, with nothing but the wild African bush for miles on all sides! I conclude his search was not successful. The poor fellow must have gone away disappointed after two years of lonely toiling under the hot tropical sun.

After this the country began to get more open, and it was evident that we were rapidly descending towards the Sankarani River. We passed through a wide grassy plain on to the right bank of the river. It looked a likely place for kob, which are fond of the marshy swamps bordering on streams; but though I saw some fairly fresh tracks we did not come across any of these antelope. The river is about 100 yards wide here, and has a very swift current. I looked in vain for a canoe, as it was impossible to ford it. In the distance we could see a village on the far bank, but the people could not, or would not, hear our repeated shouts. A few shots from my rifle eventually brought out some men who half hid in the bush, thinking we were come to “make war.” Probably the last time they had heard rifles fired was during the Sofa war, and the unaccustomed sound called up unwelcome memories of rapine and slaughter. With some difficulty I managed to reassure them, and proceeded to explain we merely wanted a canoe to convey us and our belongings to the other shore.

We halted at the village, which was called Balandougou, and it was here that my troubles with the porters commenced.

In the afternoon I had been out to see if I could pick up a few bushfowl on some likely-looking farms close by, and on my return was met by Mamadu, who told me that he had heard the carriers talking about deserting me. Although I only wanted eight men, I was aware that it would be extremely hard to get any to replace them at this village, which had only a score of inhabitants, mostly decrepit men and women or quite young children. I was therefore determined not to give them the opportunity of bolting. Further, I was much annoyed at their faithless behaviour, after their promises to accompany me until I reached the Niger, if necessary. I summoned them at once, telling them I had knowledge of their intention to desert, and that any man attempting to do so would be flogged. They all denied they had ever been guilty of such a base thought! But, needless to say, I did not believe them. That night I made them all sleep in the same hut, pitching my camp bed outside one exit, while Mamadu was made to sleep outside the other.

This little arrangement successfully stopped them from carrying out any projects they might have formed. Next day I had to take precautions on the march to prevent their defection. I constituted myself rearguard, making my servant walk beside the leading carrier, and in this order we proceeded until we arrived at a large village about eleven o’clock. Here I decided to halt for breakfast and interview the headman with a view to getting fresh porters. As a matter of fact, the headman of the place was a local chief of some importance, as I soon perceived, when he arrived dressed in a finely embroidered gown and wearing a sword. Certain chiefs in Guinea are allowed by the French to wear swords as a mark of rank. He came with a picturesque following of courtiers, such as these men love to surround themselves with.

They have usually several advisers among them, and it is quite amusing to notice how the advisers often rule their king. Frequently, when asking a chief a question, one will notice that he is not even given the chance of answering for himself; his so-called adviser chips in with his answer before the chief has time to open his mouth! They came to the hut which had been prepared for my breakfast, sitting down at my invitation. After a lengthy palaver it was settled that eight carriers were to be sent to the spot where I should camp that night to replace my present gang. This seemed preferable to the alternative of waiting here till evening for the young men to come in from their farms, where they were now at work. I despatched Mamadu to inform my porters that they would be released that same night as soon as their reliefs arrived, and then settled myself down to breakfast. It never occurred to me that it would be necessary to any longer keep guard over them, as they now knew they would so soon be released.

After my meal I went outside the hut for a stroll, when to my disgust I saw only three carriers remaining, while a couple of them were just to be seen running as fast as their legs would carry them towards the bush in the distance. Having threatened the remaining three with dire vengeance should they try to follow their comrades, I despatched Mamadu to the chief to order him to have the defaulters caught without delay. At the end of a couple of hours the fugitives were brought back, and I was able to proceed on my journey. We resumed the march in the same order as that morning, for it was obviously not safe to let them go unguarded.

All the time I was rather anxious as to the chances of the chief fulfilling his promises about sending me the fresh carriers that night. However, there was nothing to be done but to hope for the best, and in the meantime to keep a sharp eye on my present porters. That night I halted at a small stream, which was the only water within some miles, and was the place where I had directed the new carriers to meet me. I did not much relish the prospects of the evening before me; keeping a watch on the would-be truants and slumber were two things that would hardly reconcile themselves without the assistance of the friendly hut of yesterday. About 9 p.m., however, to my joy, I heard a commotion outside the small camp, and on going out of my tent found it indicated the arrival of the carriers from the previous halting-place. The chief had after all been honest to his promises, and I had been unjust to his majesty.

The following morning I made a very early start, about four o’clock, with the intention of trying for a West African eland. My “boy” and carriers were to go on to a small village only some ten miles away, where I would join them that night. I had been told that eland were to be found in this neighbourhood, and had myself seen tracks of one the previous day. Not having time to wait more than a day in that part of the country, I did not feel inclined to go away without trying my luck after one of these fine animals. The eland is one of the very largest of West African antelopes, and is decidedly rare. The horns make a splendid trophy, which I was most anxious to add, if possible, to my collection. One of my new carriers professed to be a hunting-man out of work and to know the country well, so I had arranged to take him with me. We were now on the watershed between the Rivers Fie and Sankarani, a rather sparsely wooded country, intersected by several small streams which flowed down on either side to join the two big rivers in due course. The haunts of the eland were said to be on the eastern side towards the Sankarani River, whither we directed our steps.

The ground slopes gradually here down to the river, and was some of the prettiest scenery I had seen since my entry into French Guinea. Large stretches of open grass-land alternated with park-like country, and occasionally one came on a more thickly wooded part, through which ran sylvan glades, carpeted with emerald-green grass, by the side of which flowed a tiny stream of crystal water. The spot seemed a paradise for game of all sorts, judging by the numerous tracks. My time was too limited, unfortunately, to allow of other game than eland to be pursued. I must own I felt sorry now that I had not come straight to this place instead of spending those last few days in Wasulu on a fruitless expedition after the elephant. I simply could not afford to spend more than the single day in this pleasant game-haunted locality. My plan was to devote all my time till four o’clock to the joys of the chase, by which hour, if luck favoured me, I hoped to have bagged an eland; in any case, I would have to wend my steps campward by that time, as I should probably have three or four hours of walking in front of me.

My cherished hopes were, however, doomed to disappointment, for although we searched all the most likely places, not a sign of the beasts could we discover. There were, it was true, a good many old tracks, but that was poor consolation. It seemed that I was out of luck just now; first there was my disappointment about the elephant in Wasulu, and now the evasive eland was having a laugh at my expense. Cheering myself up with the thought that there must be a good time in store for me in the near future, at four o’clock I directed my shikari to show me the homeward path. It was dark by the time we got out of the bush on to the track, and I was not sorry at last to see the cheerful glow of a fire in the distance which indicated the position of my hut. I had been on my legs for a good many hours that day, and that, with the natural feeling of disappointment, made me feel really tired. A hot bath, dinner and a pipe by the fireside made me feel a new man again. It was my invariable custom to have a fire of logs at night. This was useful more especially to keep off the mosquitoes, which are always most assiduous in their onslaughts after sunset.

Sand-flies, too, were bad in many places, and the ordinary mosquito-net was of no use against these tiny, venomous creatures. The meshes, close enough to protect you from the attacks of the “anopheles,” were by no means impermeable to the minute sand-fly. Fortunately for me, I had previous experience of these wicked insects, and had prepared myself with a net of close meshes to guard me against their unwelcome attentions. To travellers in the bush I would always recommend a net with fine meshes, for sand-flies are not uncommon in any part of West Africa. The chief drawback is that one naturally feels hotter in this pattern of net, but to my mind this is infinitely preferable to being tortured by sand-flies all night, thereby making sleep a physical impossibility.

On my arrival I was told by Mamadu that the chief had refused to provide “chop” for the carriers, saying he had none in the place. I at once sent for the old man to ask for some explanation, as I was well aware that rice or millet was fairly abundant at this time of year, and my party was a small one to cater for.

After a good deal of palaver and threats on my part of reporting him to the Commissioner at Siguiri, in which district I was now travelling, he was reduced to a more sensible frame of mind, and hurried off to carry out my orders with considerable alacrity. This was the first occasion on which I had had any trouble about rationing my followers.

The French have an excellent custom in Guinea, and one which I had previously never found to fail me. When a white man arrives in a village it is the duty of the chief or headman, without any order from the traveller, to at once provide and cook sufficient food for the whole party of carriers and “boys.” The ration is about one and a half pounds of rice or millet per head. The meal is brought to the European for inspection about sundown, and payment is then made at the tariff rates. In some places the headman or chief will bring presents of fowls, or perhaps some eggs. When the native is a rich man he will often even produce a sheep or cow. These presents, of course, cannot be accepted without payment, or a return present in kind of about equal value. Some people give a return present of much greater value in money or kind, but this system seems to me to be a bad one, as it encourages these natives to make a sort of trade, most profitable to themselves, in so-called “presents.”

The French deprecate the habit of paying more than the actual value to the individual concerned. I have frequently found this custom of “presents” such a nuisance that I now inform the chief on my arrival in a town of exactly what I require in the way of food, at the same time telling him that “presents” are not wanted. There is no doubt that this saves a good deal of annoyance and unnecessary expense. It would, for instance, be most inconvenient and rather expensive to be “dashed” a bullock, when one’s following only consisted of eight persons, and to have to expend four or five pounds in payment therefor. To encumber oneself with a live bullock until one had a chance to dispose of it would be an impossibility, and the only alternative is to slaughter it at once. It will be realized that this sort of entertainment, if repeated three or four times, would soon lead to bankruptcy! I recollect seeing a curious and amusing kind of “dash” made on one occasion.

A friend of mine, who was a distinguished official, had been to a country which had only lately come under control of the Government, and in which the natives were unaccustomed to the usual method of showing their appreciation of a white man’s visit. They evidently thought that this was a moment when a great effort must be made to display their generosity. A solemn cortège arrived, headed by the chief, with the “dash.” I shall never forget the horror-stricken look on my friend’s face when, with due ceremony, a young girl was produced and handed over to him. As the official in question was a particularly shy and modest man, the full humour of the situation will be thoroughly appreciated.

The following day the country began to take on a more populated appearance. Large expanses of land planted with crops of millet and cassada were to be seen, while villages became more frequent and natives passed us from time to time on the road. About eight o’clock in the morning we arrived at the top of a big hill, upon the summit of which there was perched a small hamlet. The headman brought out a calabash of delicious fresh milk, rich and frothy, just drawn from the cow. I gladly took a cup of the refreshing beverage while we were waiting for the last carriers to come in. These people were Jomongonas, a section of the widely distributed Malinké tribe. They are purely agriculturists, as was indeed evidenced by the wide farms of waving crops through which we had passed.

The view from the top of this hill was magnificent. We were now well down the western slope of the Sankarani-Fie watershed, and from here I got my first glimpse of the latter river. To the north there ran a mass of isolated peaks, like a series of broken links in the chain of hills along which we had been marching for the last two days. The reddish-brown hue of the laterite rocks of which they were formed made a pleasing contrast to the golden fields of ripe millet scattered chequerwise over their steep sides. Far away in the south could be seen the River Fie, a tiny shimmering streak of water, gradually widening, as it flowed westward to join the Niger, into an imposing expanse. The valley through which it flowed was a wide, fruitful plain, where cassada and millet crops jostled against each other, and in the centre of which could be discerned a thin line of rich, dark green foliage, marking the course of the winding stream.

Overhead was a bright, azure sky with the golden rays of the morning sun shining upon the smiling landscape. We rested that night at the town of Jilingé, the biggest place I had yet seen in the bush-country of Guinea, and the centre of the millet-growing district. Jilingé consists of three large villages, each of which on a rough estimate must contain 2000 inhabitants. The central village is the principal one, and it is here the chief of the Jomongonas resides. I was lodged in a palatial hut, with two imposing, carved wooden doors, and what was more to the purpose, they were doors through which one could enter without fear of knocking one’s head. Most West African huts have one point in common, that the doors are built so low that it is necessary for the shortest person who wishes to enter to double him or herself up in a most undignified fashion if a severe blow on the head is to be avoided.

My house was also roomy and airy in comparison to the average edifice it had been my fate to live in, so I began to feel myself in luxury. My feelings of comfort and rest were, however, soon to be crushed. Mamadu arrived at the door with a long face, which I felt sure meant some catastrophe of a serious nature. His news was that the carriers had all bolted. This was really too annoying just when I thought I had got matters satisfactorily arranged till we should reach the Niger. I suppose the sight of such a metropolis, as Jilingé must appear to them, had produced this demoralizing effect. I summoned the chief for a palaver on the carrier question, with imprecations on my lips against the faithless fugitives. The chief was amiability itself, and promised me as many men as I should want for the following day; but there was one small matter on which we could not agree. He said the carriers should take my loads as far as the next village, where I could procure fresh men, who would carry for me to the succeeding village, and so on.

As the country was now getting thickly populated, it appeared that I would have to change my porters every two miles or so, in other words, ten times before reaching the Niger! It is hardly to be wondered at that I vowed I would never do this, even if I had to take the chief with me to ensure my carriers remaining faithful. He intimated that this was the custom of the country, and had so been from time immemorial. I politely replied that I was the last person in the world to wish to break old customs (this custom did seem such a probable one!), but that it was also a custom for chiefs to supply white men with carriers when necessary, and for as long as they might be required in a particular “cercle,” as the French call their districts. It was not till I had tried every conceivable argument, and had at last to resort to the old threat of reporting him to the Commissioner, that he finally promised his men should go as far as I desired. True it is that by this time I was aware the chiefs had not much influence over their people, and the promise he had given might be broken through no fault of his; still, it would have been impossible to get the fellows even to start without him, so I had to hope for the best while fearing the worst.

A Senafou Native from the Neighbourhood of Wagadugu

Two deep gashes from the eye to the mouth are the tribal marks of these people. The particular tribe of a native in West Africa can in many cases be determined by the size and position of the cuts, or tribal marks, on his face.

M. Louis Novella at Sarafinian

M. Novella was in charge of the customs post at Sarafinian, situated in the plain below the eastern slopes of the Tembikunda Range, which separates our British protectorate of Sierra Leone from French Guinea. I have to thank him for his hospitality during my short stay at his post.

On leaving Jilingé we passed several small streams, flowing towards the Fie, in which natives were to be seen washing gold. The metal is found in small quantities about the Fie River, and this is noticeable, as many women wear gold ornaments in this region. Every village has a native goldsmith, who fashions rough trinkets, such as ear-rings, bracelets, etc., for the adornment of the local beauties. The gold in this part is entirely alluvial, according to native information. I should imagine even this is only found in very small quantities. The gold mines are on the other side of the Niger in the direction of Buré, some fifty miles north-west of the town of Siguiri. I did not visit Siguiri myself, but I understand that there are several European companies there who are interested in gold. British and German are said to predominate, but at present business is not very bright in the mines.

We marched for some miles up the Fie valley before striking the right bank of the stream.

This was the last river of any size to be crossed before meeting the Niger. Here I noticed a peculiar thing connected with native superstition, and one I had likewise remarked at the crossing of the Sankarani. The Fie was the natural geographical boundary of the Jomongona tribe. A belief existed among the people that any man who should cross this “Rubicon” would bring misfortune to his family. It seems curious that a tribe should be afraid of passing the boundary into the next country, when the two tribes were at peace, but so it was. On account of this superstition the Jomongonas have not spread westward, nor have they had any intercourse with the people over their border. Intermarriage between the two races seemed to be unknown. I was unaware that this strange belief existed until I reached the river and noticed the hesitation of my carriers to cross it.

My difficulties now appeared to be on the verge of recommencing. What was the use of chiefs who promised by all they held sacred to ensure the loyalty of the porters, when there remained strong superstitions of this kind to be overcome? Having placed their loads on the ground they stoutly refused to move a yard farther. My situation was comical if it had not been so tragic. Here was I, with my worldly possessions, stuck on the bank of this river in the middle of the bush, while my carriers refused to advance a step and might at any moment run away, leaving us in the lurch without any prospect of replacing them. I tried in turn gentle persuasion and threats of chastisement. The former had the effect such methods generally produce on natives of making them think I was “soft,” while the latter had the equally disastrous effect of making them so frightened that, if I had not stopped the ringleaders myself, they would have all run away. There seemed to be only one way out of the predicament. I called Mamadu, telling him to make all haste and return to the chief of Jilingé with a message from me that he must come to the Fie at once and palaver. The carriers were informed of my intentions, and told to remain till his arrival. Mamadu went off, and I took up a position on the bank above the men, where I could watch any attempt at desertion, at the same time taking the precaution to place my rifle by my side—an act of which they realized the significance.

I had now to possess my soul in patience, for Mamadu and the chief could not possibly arrive for a couple of hours, it being quite three miles to the town. The porters did not give any trouble, but sat silently and sullenly below me. Never had two hours seemed so long! Eventually, to my joy, I espied my servant, heading a small procession, moving across the plain towards me. The chief and his followers seated themselves around me, and, to cut a long story short, after a long discussion, in which he was made to understand that if he did not compel his men to cross with my loads, he would be made to come with me to the nearest Commissioner, he did what I required.

When the last load had been despatched to the other bank I let him depart, made happy with a present of a small packet of tea and sugar, and vowing that the carriers would give me no further cause for annoyance. On this point I had my doubts, but told him I sincerely hoped for his sake that they would not, as I should certainly report the whole occurrence to the Commissioner.

These vexatious delays had caused me to lose many precious hours, and I now pushed on as rapidly as possible to the Niger, which we reached on the 17th of February, at a place called Balandougou-Somno-Bara, not far from the large village of Nafadié. For the time being, at any rate, I had no more carrier troubles, and was quite as glad as they were to see the big river once more.

At this village with the very long name there is a canoe ferry. The river was about 300 yards wide at this point, but divided into two streams of equal width by a long, narrow sandbank. While watching my loads being transported I noticed a river barge, under full sail, going up-stream towards Bamako. It was the property of a French trading firm, the name of which was inscribed in large letters on the sails. These barges are made of wood, and will carry two or three tons of merchandise. The usual period of transit from Kouroussa or Kankan to Bamako occupies seven days. During the rainy season, when there is plenty of water, barges of twenty-five tons burden can navigate this portion of the stream.

I calculated I must be about 100 miles south of Bamako, and determined to push on that night to Tombola, on the other bank, which was on the main Siguiri-Bamako road.

While the transport operations were going on Mamadu, whose duty it was to see the loads safely shipped, disappeared. On looking up the river I observed him in the distance, stealthily approaching a group of waterfowl of all sizes and descriptions, which were sunning themselves on the sandy bank of the stream. The ground was as flat as at pancake, without any sort of cover, and it was obvious that his painful endeavours to advance unperceived were doomed to failure. Sure enough, the birds soon rose in a cloud, flying off out of sight round a bend of the river. Mamadu went forward, however, to the spot where they had been, where he stooped to pick up something. I took no further notice of his movements, until I heard his familiar voice close by. He then appeared, staggering under the weight of a big fish, which must have weighed at least twenty pounds, and had the look of an Indian mahseer. The fish was beginning to rot, and had such an unpleasant smell that I bade him remove it at once. This he did with a look of reproach, as much as to say that this was an ungrateful way of showing my appreciation of his labours.

For the benefit of the uninitiated I may state that the native prefers rotten fish to the fresh article, probably and justly thinking there is more flavour about it. Mamadu’s version of his adventure was highly amusing. He said that seeing a bird near the water, which was “très bon manger,” he had intended to try to catch it with a small fishing-net which he had found close by. His idea was to approach within a few yards and then lasso it! Several of the birds were pelicans, and had evidently been discussing their morning meal when he frightened them and they flew off, dropping the dainty morsel.

The people here are mostly fishermen. They catch many kinds of fish in the Niger, some of which have an excellent flavour. The best fish I ever tasted was the “capitaine”; it runs up to ten or twelve pounds weight frequently, and is beautifully firm. Many of the Niger fish are difficult to eat on account of the numerous bones they contain, but this variety has few bones. Electric mud fish are fairly common when the river is low. They are flat, reminding one of dabs, and if you touch them you experience a decided electric shock. These fish make a peculiar “clucking” sort of noise, by which they can often be easily located. The native fisherman catches his fish with nets, or more frequently in traps. In some parts they even spear fish, but it is unusual on this portion of the Niger.

It is a usual sight in the early morning to see the father of the family, accompanied by his son, often quite a small urchin, setting out from his village in a dug-out canoe for the fishing-ground. He then casts his net into the water, dragging it while the little chap sits in the stern and cleverly manipulates the paddle. These fisherfolk are brought up, almost from the cradle, to paddle a canoe; it is wonderful with what energy and endurance the youngsters will propel the craft. On the Niger it is unusual to see the women paddling, but in other West African rivers this is a common sight.

The fish-traps are generally made of reed-canes, in the shape of a cone, with the base open and the apex tightly closed. A series of these are placed in some suitable spot, such as a backwater, the bases being turned up-stream. There are several devices for keeping the fish in once they have entered the base of the cone, but the principle is that of a trap door which closes on the victim as soon as it has entered.

CHAPTER IX

Kob — A West African road — Characteristics of the Moors — The influence of Islam — The French Soudan — Kangaba — Hospitality — A picturesque market — Vexatious delays — African punctuality — A new acquaintance — Uncomfortable marching — Shea-butter — Its uses — A native toothbrush — Arrival at Bamako.

OUR route to Tombola lay across a marshy, open stretch of land for some miles. The marsh was dried up in many places, and a rank, coarse grass grew over it to a height of seven or eight feet. This place was the haunt of herds of kob. The natives evidently were not hunters, for these animals could be seen within half a mile of a village; in fact, one I shot was close to a village. The kob is a beautiful creature, and the herds we saw made a pretty picture as they streamed away in the distance with their easy, graceful strides which cover the ground so rapidly. Once or twice we disturbed a whole family party, who, unaware of our approach as we came up against the wind, suddenly emerged from amidst the waving grass, not more than a hundred yards away, throwing up their beautiful heads to stare at us for an instant and then scampering off in alarm to a safer distance. With that curiosity so fatal to the antelope, they would halt after galloping a short way and turn broadside on to have another stare at the intruders of their domains. This was the moment for the sportsman to take his shot, and it was at such an occasion that I bagged my beast.

The country now assumed a more wooded aspect. Trees of the nature of an African oak were dotted here and there over the grassy surface of the ground, while small rivulets, with steep banks and deep pools in their rocky beds, were the happy playgrounds of merry parties of hippopotami, who disported themselves in full enjoyment of the bright scorching rays of the sun. These rivulets were tributaries or backwaters of the Niger, breaking up the otherwise even surface of the land. After halting at one of these streams for the thirsty carriers to drink, we espied close by the big road which we must follow to Bamako. The road is a mere sandy track, thirty or forty feet wide, worn, by the feet of hundreds of passers-by and herds of cattle, into a passably level route. Level, that is to say, for a West African road, but not at all suitable for a two-wheeled cart, as its evenness is broken by frequent ruts, probably made by the rains. But this road is a trade route of some importance, leading as it does from the metropolis of the French Soudan to the heart of French Guinea, and passing through the large markets dotted about the left bank of the Upper Niger.

We constantly met large herds of cattle, usually owned by Moors, as the French indiscriminately call the inhabitants of the vast territory north of the Senegal River, which reaches up to the confines of Morocco, in Northern Africa. These people are great traders, but dishonest, often lazy, and the most unblushing liars in the world, I should imagine. They are also very dirty in their person and their habits. The Moors, however, possess some excellent qualities, for they are extremely intelligent and most enduring on the march. Their knowledge of cattle-tending must be great, as these beasts are brought hundreds of miles from the interior of Mauretania to the markets of Guinea without any appreciable loss of animals. The Moor is a cunning trader, who makes large profits out of his transactions with the more simple-minded Malinké. Their faces are pale, dirty whitish yellow, their features are aquiline, while their noses have a distinctly Jewish, hooky appearance.

The Moor has bright, piercing black eyes, which are a sufficient testimony of his shrewd nature. On the march the cowherd travels on foot with his beasts, driving the huge droves in front of him with many weird cries and much thwacking with a stout stick, stopping every now and then to chase a truant out of the bush whither he has wandered to enjoy a succulent mouthful of grass, at the same time heaping imprecations on the luckless animal’s head. They travel slowly, and will probably cover only ten miles in one day. It is by no means unusual for a caravan of cattle to take three months over its journey. The master does not accompany his animals. He is far too superior a person. He is the proud possessor of a horse, and follows his cowherds at leisure. On arriving at my halting-place in the evening, about five o’clock, I have frequently seen this individual just mounting his steed in order to follow the herds we had passed that day. Riding his mount he will cover the distance to their halting-place in a couple of hours, and sleep there that night. The cattle are fine, big animals, and are the humped variety. They have huge, branching horns, stout bodies and short, strong legs. The cows have small udders, and give but little milk in comparison to an English milch cow of their size.

Besides cattle the Moors bring large quantities of rancid butter and curdled milk to the French Soudan, where these find a ready market. The butter, which is carried in leather bags called “guerba,” is specially appreciated by the natives, who do not appear in the very least to be disconcerted by the unpleasant smell thereof. The Moors speak a harsh, guttural language containing a good many Arabic words. Their knowledge of the native languages is small, hardly extending beyond an acquaintance with sufficient market expressions to enable them to drive a good bargain. When they arrive at a village they herd together in their own quarter of the place, mingling little with the West African natives, whom they despise with a contempt they take no pains to conceal.

Natives Pounding Rice at Tombola

This village, which is in the south of the Upper Senegal and Niger Colony, is in the rice-growing country of that region. Rice is the staple native food, and it is a familiar scene to watch it being pounded in a large wooden mortar by means of a heavy wooden pestle. This work is usually performed by the women or small boys.

It is a sound principle to avoid camping in the neighbourhood of Moors, on account of their thieving propensities; indeed, with their long, unkempt hair and wild, fierce faces they have such an unprepossessing appearance that one naturally shuns coming into close contact with such rascally-looking people.

It was noticeable as we advanced that we were getting into a land more under the influence of Islam than heretofore. In every village was a place set aside for the mosque. This consisted simply of a few rough logs, laid on the ground in the form of a hollow square, with a break at one side for the doorway. At sunset the “muezzin” could be heard calling the faithful to prayer, and a large proportion of the villagers would obey the summons. Mohammedanism is undoubtedly making great strides in this part of Africa, but as yet the Mussulmans are far from being devout followers of the teachings of the Prophet. Drinking, for instance, is far from unusual, but the religion has certainly had a beneficial influence on these people in more ways than one, and they are decidedly all morally better for their conversion from paganism.

After leaving Tombola we marched for two days through a sandy country, where the vegetation was more stunted and water more scarce. Although within three or four miles of the left bank of the Niger, running water is scarce near the villages on the roadside. Most of them dig wells, for water is found close to the surface of the ground, and this is preferable to sending daily to the river for their supply. In the rainy season there is not this difficulty about water, as the whole country is low-lying and would be inundated by the river. The lesser bustard I saw and shot frequently in this region, where the flat, grassy plains are a favourable haunt of this bird.

All this bank of the Niger is much inhabited by the cobus kob; every morning early I used to see large herds grazing in the distance near the river. Stalking here was a difficult matter as the country was so open. Except for an occasional oribi there seemed to be no other variety of antelope in our vicinity. Bushfowl and guinea-fowl were very plentiful, and it was never necessary to resort to the tough, skinny fowl which so often forms the staple article of diet for the white traveller in West Africa. My luxuries, such as whisky and sugar, had by this time run out, but thanks to a good supply of flour, the faithful Mamadu was always able to bake me plenty of bread. With that and an abundant supply of fresh meat and milk I fared none too badly for the bush.

On the 19th of February we reached the large, important village of Kangaba, called sometimes Kaba. This was the first place of any size in the French Soudan, although the actual boundary between it and French Guinea was close to the spot where I had crossed the Niger.

I have several times used the expression “French Soudan,” and feel it perhaps requires some explanation. It is a name the French have given, in a very broad sense, to the whole of that vast territory which comes into their sphere of influence from Lake Chad to the Senegal River, and bounded on the south by the coast colonies of Guinea, Ivory Coast and Dahomey, while the northern limit is the Sahara Desert. The western portion of this country is officially known as the “Upper Senegal and Niger Colony,” and this extends from Niafounké on the Niger, south-west of Timbuctu, to the Senegal River on the west.

The colony is divided up into a number of administrative districts, and, of course, covering as it does such a large area, the races who inhabit it are of many different types and shades. Kangaba is a walled town with a population of 2000 inhabitants. The walls, which were built in the time of the Sofa wars, are now crumbling to pieces as they are not kept in repair. They are built of red clay, which is found in quantities in these parts. The walls are still in some places twenty feet high and five to six feet thick. There are four gateways, one at each main point of the compass. The wall has been constructed out of the clay excavated from a big ditch running round the town. The ditch is now filled in in many places. Kaba stands on the southern slope of a hill, commanding a fine view of the Niger valley towards Bamako. The other sides of this hill and the plain leading down to the river on the east are covered with farms of Guinea corn, rice and millet. Kangaba is divided into three villages. The main one is the market for all the trade following the Bamako-Siguiri road. Between it and the Niger there are two other smaller villages. The nearest of these is the farming village, in which live many of the cultivators of the local crops. The third village is almost on the Niger banks, at least three miles from the market, and here the fisherfolk live.

I had great hope of being able to pick up a passing trading barge here which would give me a lift to Bamako. But at the time there was unfortunately none on the river.

My “boy” was very sore-footed and doleful when we reached Kaba, informing me that he could not walk any farther without a rest. He really was going rather lame, but was suffering more from want of pluck than fatigue, I fancy. It had certainly been very hot on the march, particularly during the past few days; also we had marched continually since leaving Falama, and some of the days had been long ones. However, I decided to make one day’s halt to let him rest, and at the same time to arrange for fresh carriers. Mamadu came to ask me for an advance of pay, going off in great jubilation to the market to spend on fineries the ten francs I gave him. He was no exception to the ordinary West African native, who is inordinately vain and lavishes all his money on dress.

The chief of the town was full of protestations of hospitality, and nothing would satisfy him but that I should live in his house. He and his family turned out, going to a hut near by. The old man was evidently of a kindly disposition, for I soon discovered to my cost that his hut was a right-of-way for all kinds of domestic animals. In the early morning I would be awaked by the lowing of a cow as she casually sauntered through my bedroom on her way to the pastures outside the village. The same animal paid me a visit one night while I was having a bath after my evening’s shoot. On that occasion she seemed in no hurry to go away, appearing fully to realize the advantage of her position while I was bathing! My cries, intended to frighten her, were treated with silent contempt. When I flicked handfuls of water at her she merely started to lick that portion of her anatomy which had suffered a wetting. Finally, I had to call my “boy” to drive out the offending beast. When the chief was given orders to prevent a recurrence of the annoyance, he gently replied that he was sure the “missi” (Malinké word for “cow”) meant no harm. Besides the cow, numerous pigs, goats and fowls used to make my room a daily promenade. The only way out of the trouble was to blockade the doors. I finally chartered two small boys whose duty it was to sit, one at either doorway, and drive away any offender which attempted to force an entrance.

At night the market was a picturesque scene. Innumerable tiny stalls, each lit up by a small native lamp or flare burning ground-nut oil, were dotted about. At each sat a woman, disposing of her wares. The articles for sale included fish, different kinds of native diet and fruit. But more interesting to the European were the vendors of such articles as grass mats, country cloths, gold ornaments made by the local smith out of Siguiri gold, also balls of rubber and bars of native salt. While the women mostly sat quietly selling, the men wandered about in groups of two and three, chattering and smiling as they strolled along, giving to the whole scene more the aspect of a promenade taken for amusement than for the sake of buying anything. Occasionally, however, one of these tall figures, clothed in a white Mohammedan gown, would stop in front of a stall and ask the price of some object he fancied. This usually was the preliminary to a great deal of haggling, and in the end the article was probably sold for about half the price originally asked.

The Spread of Islam in the Western Soudan

A Malinké chief and his followers in their Mohammedan robes illustrate the influence the religion of “the Prophet” has gained of recent years in these regions; for this dress is the hall-mark of the Mussulman in West Africa. A wave of Mohammedanism has swept rapidly and steadily westward from Egypt across some three thousand miles of the African continent during the last century. Apart from the consternation this causes in the hearts of those who are endeavouring to establish Christianity in the Dark Continent, serious thinkers are not lacking who view with alarm the possibilities of an African “holy war” in the future.

Bargaining is a feature of all transactions among natives, and necessarily so, for the seller goes on the principle of asking about double the value of his wares in the hopes that he will get it, and secure in the knowledge that he can, if required, reduce the amount by one half and yet not lose.

On the 21st I started off once more, hoping that this time, as we were out of the wildest bush, I should have no further trouble with carriers. Things in this particular respect were, to my disgust, worse than before. Along the high road to Bamako villages were now strewed at close intervals. Having gaily started off with eight picked porters of sturdy build, I was congratulating myself that they would take my loads along at a fine pace to Bamako, and I need no further worry myself about them. Misfortune visited me at the first village, however, where my servant came to report that the carriers wanted to be paid and changed! We had not walked more than four miles, so it was rather trying to my temper to hear this piece of news.

Haranguing was of not the slightest use, and one and all proceeded to slope away into some friendly hut or other convenient place of refuge. I summoned the chief and made him send for a fresh gang at once. After infinite delay I got started on the road once more, but did not reach my halting-place till late that night, after many similar vexatious delays en route. The numerous villages on the way made the task of keeping the carriers faithful doubly hard, they appearing to think that their duty was only to carry from their township to the next one. After this experience I decided to abandon the attempt of keeping my porters even for one day, since no promises of high pay nor any amount of argument seemed to produce an effect. I now arranged with the chief, or headman, of the village where I spent the night to supply carriers to the next village only; at the same time he was told to warn the headman of that village that I would require fresh men ready at the hour of my arrival the following day. The latter in his turn was ordered to inform the succeeding village of my requirements, and thus I laid a “dak” of porters for the whole of the morrow’s march. This plan, although not an ideal one, I found worked better than the previous arrangement, and I adhered to it for the rest of the journey. The chief drawback to it was the loss of time involved.

If I ordered my new carriers to be ready at a certain village at a certain hour, the chief of the place, with the native’s delightful disregard of punctuality, would frequently not think of sending for his gang until I hove in sight. Time is no object to the negro, and he can never understand why it is a matter of any importance to the white man. Of course, these people have no watches, and their only way of illustrating time is to point to the position the sun will approximately occupy in the sky at that hour. Even that is not generally reliable within less than three hours. Often when marching to an unknown spot have I asked my guide where the sun will be in the heavens when we arrive, and he has buoyed up my hopes of an early arrival by indicating three o’clock, whereas we have not arrived till about six in the evening.

That night, on entering the halting-place, I noticed a white man standing in the market. He was a French trader who had just arrived, like myself, but from the opposite side of the Niger, where he had been to buy rubber for his firm. I asked him to give me the pleasure of his company at dinner, when we would celebrate the meeting of two white men in the bush. The last European I had seen was at Kankan, a comparatively short time ago, but this trader had been in the wilds for six months without a sight of a white face, he informed me. We had a very pleasant evening together, and I produced the only kind of alcohol that remained for the festivity. It was a small bottle of rum, a part of my medicine stores, and we drank to the entente cordiale in a glass of that!

My new acquaintance gave me some interesting information about the trade of the country. He said the rubber trade did not now pay as well as it used to do, for the natives were no longer content with a few beads or looking-glasses in exchange for their produce as had been the case a few years, or even months, ago. They now would only take cash, and demanded a far higher value for the rubber. We conversed on many topics of mutual interest and it was with regret that I bade him good-bye when he got up to leave.

Owing to the open nature of the country the marches were hotter even than before. In the middle of the day, when halting for a meal and a rest, one was plagued by myriads of small midges. These little insects are not to be seen when you are on the march, but as soon as you make a halt in the shade they spring up, from goodness knows where, in an incredibly short time, buzzing round your face in a most distracting fashion. They do not bite, but have a nasty habit of getting into your eyes, down your ears, and in your mouth and nose if you give them half a chance. I don’t think I have ever been so worried by flies as I was here. Flicking with a handkerchief only seems to increase the fury of their onslaughts without visibly diminishing the number of your tormentors. The only remedy is to abandon the shade you had been so thankful to seek, and, if rest you must, sit in the sun as far from shady trees as possible. After about 4 p.m. these miniature demons seem to disappear, no doubt exhausted with their ceaseless activity of the daytime, and seeking a much-needed rest.

Two trees must be mentioned which grow in profusion here; one is the “shea-butter,” and the other the “African oak” (mentioned above). The former, called in Mandingo or Malinké “shi,” and known to the French as the “carité,” grows about the size of an ordinary apple tree. The leaves are a refreshing emerald-green, and its graceful spreading branches and silver-grey trunk make it one of the most picturesque flora of the landscape. The fruit ripens about September or October. It is then picked and buried in the earth, where it is allowed to remain till it rots. It is then crushed with stones, and the oil which is expressed by this process is boiled. The resulting substance is what is commercially called “shea-butter.” It has in this form a greyish-white colour, and is made up into balls or small blocks for convenience of transport.

Shea-butter has several uses. It is first and foremost used by the natives as a cooking ingredient. The native is extremely found of oily dishes, consequently shea-butter takes a prominent part in all his culinary recipes. The odour of the butter, when cooking, is quite one of the most unpleasant it has been my misfortune to meet with in Africa. To my mind it is so disgusting that I can think of nothing in England with which to compare it, and I feel convinced that any comparison would be inadequate, only being an insult to the English article! But in spite of its unpleasant smell it is only fair to say that it is invaluable to the native in a country where oil of any description is scarce. The oil is also used for lighting purposes, in the same way as ground-nut oil. Small flares of shea-butter are used for the house or market at night. The method is simple in the extreme. A piece of wood, or a bit of the bark of a tree, is scooped out so as to form a tiny hollow vessel, and the butter is poured into this. Wick is manufactured out of the fibres of a palm, and is steeped in the butter and lighted. This primitive little night-light is very serviceable and does not blow out easily in a wind. Shea-butter is now exported to Europe, where the oil is in some demand for making cart-grease and coarse lubricants. The export trade of the French Soudan in this article is increasing. The trees require practically no attention, growing wild in the bush in certain localities where the soil and climate are favourable.

The other tree mentioned above is called in Mandingo “Mannagézé.” It also is very abundant in this part of the Soudan. It has a pretty white flower, with a delicious smell like a magnolia. The tree flowers through a great part of the dry weather. The small twigs of this tree, which grows to a height of thirty or forty feet, are used by the natives for cleaning their teeth. The bark or skin is first peeled off and the teeth are then rubbed with the exposed portion of the wood. It has a bitter taste, not unpleasant, which remains in the mouth for some time after the teeth have been cleaned. In the early morning it is a very ordinary sight to see every carrier chewing one of these sticks as he walks, and when his load is laid on the ground he will start to use it much in the same way as one uses a toothbrush.

Walking along thus, and covering twenty to twenty-five miles a day, we reached Bamako on the 23rd of February. We were now about 400 miles from the source of the river, and since leaving the railway at Pendembu I had walked over 600 miles, almost without a whole day’s repose, for when I had halted I had usually been out shooting from early morning till evening, so I was glad of the thoughts of a rest. During the last thirty miles of the march a low range of hills appeared on the west; this was the edge of the Kati Plateau. This plateau stretches for some miles towards the Bafing River, and is a striking feature of the scenery near Bamako, for it dominates the town on this side, while the surrounding country is by contrast very flat and low-lying.

The road gradually approaches the Niger on the east, being intersected by numerous small rivulets flowing in sparkling crystal streams from the Kati Plateau to the big river.

The last ten miles or more are a vast expanse of cultivated land. Rich rice and millet fields stretch as far as the eye can reach in either direction, towards the Niger on one side and to the foot of the plateau on the other. This is the heart of a rice-growing district for the big markets which depend on Bamako for their annual supplies of food. The busy farmers of this region are prosperous and appear happy and contented, as they well may.