CHAPTER X.
British Sherbro—The Bargroo River Expedition—Professional Poisoners—An African Bogey—A Secret Society—A Strange Story—A Struggle with Sharks—Startling News from the Gold Coast.
To the south of the peninsula of Sierra Leone lies the tract of low-lying country called British Sherbro, which was acquired by treaty with the natives in 1862, though Sherbro Island has been British for a much longer period. It is intersected by numerous rivers such as the Valtucker, Tittibul, Bargroo, Jong, Mongray, and Boom Kittam, which with their numberless tributaries form a complete network over the country.
The King of Sherbro was formerly one of the largest and most notorious slave-dealers in this part of the world; and, on three different occasions, the British naval squadron destroyed his town and slave barracoons. Even to the present day, though domestic slavery is nominally abolished, the inland traffic in slaves still flourishes in this region.
The Sherbros, like the Timmanees, are utter savages, and it is to these people that the world is largely indebted for the practices of Obeah and professional poisoning. They, however, show more aptitude for manufactures than the Timmanees, and weave a cloth of a beautiful texture and curious pattern, from indigenous cotton dyed with vegetable dyes. Some travellers have professed to discover some affinity between this tribe and the Kaffirs of South Africa, but upon what they based their assumption I have never been able to discover. There is no similarity in language, and but very slight resemblance in customs; in fact no greater than might be expected between the customs of the races inhabiting the same continent, and both equally plunged in barbarism. Their architecture, if hut-building may be so termed, is entirely different; and they sometimes use the bow and arrow, while it is the absence of that implement of war that has always specially distinguished the Kaffirs from the negro tribes living to the north, and the Hottentots and Bushmen to the south.
The Sherbros are a turbulent and restless people, and disturbances in British Sherbro are of almost yearly occurrence. Beginning from 1848, when Captain Monypenny, R.N. destroyed a stockaded fort in Sherbro river, hardly a year has passed without an expedition of some kind having been undertaken. The year 1875 was unusually prolific. In October of that year some Mongray people plundered Mamaiah, a village on the frontier, and kidnapped several British subjects. A gunboat, with some troops and police, was accordingly sent up the Mongray river, and scarcely had this expedition returned to Freetown when news of another difficulty on the Bargroo river arrived. A party of Mendis crossed the border about the middle of November and plundered and destroyed thirteen villages in British territory, carrying off most of the inhabitants as slaves. On receipt of this intelligence Mr. Darnell Davis, the Civil Commandant of Sherbro, left Bonthe, the headquarters of the local Government, accompanied by nineteen armed policemen, and proceeded to Conconany, the scene of the outrages, to endeavour to restore tranquillity. Hearing there that some of the captives were at Paytaycoomar, a village about ten miles inland from Conconany, he landed to proceed there, in company with a friendly chief and about a hundred of his followers. On his way to Paytaycoomar Mr. Davis and his party were attacked by a body of men lying in ambush, and himself and several others wounded; but he nevertheless proceeded and arrived before the village, which he found to be defended by three strong stockades. The Mendis opened fire from their “war-fences,” and the friendly chief and his followers at once took to flight, carrying away with them the axes with which the Commandant had intended cutting his way into the place. Nothing daunted, however, by this desertion, he broke through the first and second gates of the stockades, ten policemen, who were old soldiers, alone following him. Between the second and third stockades they were met with a heavy fire that killed four policemen almost at once, and wounded the Commandant very severely; and the latter, seeing that it would be mere folly to persevere longer, retired with the remnant of his men to Conconany; being again attacked by an ambuscade on his way there, and wounded a third time with several of his men.
In consequence of this a force consisting of a detachment of the First West India Regiment and a body of armed police left Freetown for Sherbro with Lieutenant-Governor Rowe; a number of stockaded towns were shelled and burned, the leaders of the invading Mendis captured, and order restored. The defences of some of these towns were, considering the difficult nature of the country, formidable. Ordinarily they were surrounded by triple stockades, 20 feet high, and formed of posts about 10 inches in diameter. A space some 20 feet broad intervened between each stockade, nor were the entrances of these opposite each other. The town of Tyama-Woro was further fortified by two encircling mud-walls, 15 feet high and 12 feet thick at the base, inside which were two broad and deep ditches. In some of the towns machicoulis galleries had been constructed over the gates, and the entrance further protected by semicircular flanking bastions.
Expeditions such as these appear small affairs when compared with our South African wars, but they are at least as worthy of recognition as the numerous “Hill Tribe” wars of India, for which the troops employed are invariably granted a medal. In West Africa the difficulties attending such expeditions are very much greater than in India, and there can be no comparison between the hardships experienced by both officers and men. The country consists of dense forest, through which the only roads are narrow paths, wide enough only for the passage of men in single file, obstructed by fallen trees, swamps, and unbridged streams, and where continual precautions have to be taken against surprises and ambuscades. Everything has to be carried on the heads of terror-stricken carriers, who bolt at the least alarm, and render the difficulties of the transport service almost insurmountable. Supplies are precarious, and of bad quality; while, in addition to all this, the climate is the worst in the world, and the constitution of a European does not for years recover from the injury caused to it by the exposure incidental to such expeditions. Some wars, such as the Quiah war of 1861, are serious affairs; and it is difficult to understand upon what principle of justice rewards should be granted for such services in one part of the world and not in another. It would be a very simple matter to establish a West African medal similar to the Indian one, the clasp to which would show for what particular service it had been granted.
The professional poisoners of Sherbro, Rossu, and Timmanee, are notorious: the practice of getting rid of any objectionable individual by secret poisoning is only too prevalent throughout the whole of West Africa, but usually it is carried out through the agency of fetish men, whereas in this portion of the continent it is elevated to the dignity of a profession on its own account. These poisoners, or necromancers, since they pretend to compound spells by means of which they attain their ends, are acquainted with various deadly vegetable poisons entirely unknown to the European pharmacopœia, and many persons yearly fall victims to them, whose deaths, as the medical men are unable to recognise any of the symptoms attributable to known poisons, are ascribed to other causes. They are also equally well acquainted with the antidotes for their deadly drugs; and, when an individual has reason to suspect that he has had poison administered to him, his sole chance of recovery is to call in one of these practitioners, if possible the one who has been paid to make away with him, and offer him a bribe for a counter-charm, as these people like to call it. When any vindictive savage has a grudge against a European, or against any one else, all he has to do to obtain revenge is to go to one of these poisoners, and, stating his wishes, pay a small sum of money, and the victim is then doomed to certain death, sometimes sudden and sometimes lingering, unless, in the latter case, he succeeds in discovering what is going on and outbids his secret enemy. Old residents in Sierra Leone and the Gambia know of several cases on record in which member after member of a family has wasted away and died of an unknown and inexplicable disease, and where the survivors have only been saved from a like doom by calling in one of these diabolical wretches. If native accounts may be believed, these poisoners are as well versed in their destructive study as were their kindred spirits in the age of Catherine de Medici; and, besides drugs which are deadly when placed in food or drink and taken into the stomach, know and use others which scattered about a room poison the atmosphere, or, sprinkled upon wearing apparel, cause death by absorption through the skin, and perfumes, to inhale which is fatal. The manner of compounding and preparing these poisons is preserved with great secrecy and mystery, and transmitted from father to son in certain families of hereditary poisoners; but the natives popularly believe that there is a kind of college, situated in an impenetrable forest somewhere near the Jeba river, at which would-be professors of this art enter themselves as students, where they learn their nefarious calling, and finally emerge with a degree as full-blown murderers. In Sierra Leone proper, this practice, euphoniously called witchcraft, or laying spells or charms, is forbidden by law, and is not now very common.
Another custom peculiar to the three above mentioned tribes is that of Egugu, which, however, is neither secret nor vindictive, and the Egugu man himself might not inaptly be described as the personification of the English “bogey” with which nurses terrify children. This arch-impostor is supposed to have revealed to him, by unknown powers, the name or appearance of every wife in the country who has been guilty of infidelity; and he makes periodical visits to each town and village for the purpose of exposing and punishing these frail fair ones, he and his following being entertained and feasted on these occasions at the expense of the inhabitants. When the Egugu man is approaching a village his retainers go ahead and announce his presence by the beating of drums, accompanied by wild howls and cries; and consternation at once falls upon the entire feminine portion of the community, for, as they are nearly all equally guilty, the only difference being that some have already been detected by their husbands while others have not, they all equally dread the threatening punishment and public exposure. On such occasions, those fair creatures, who have hitherto been so fortunate as to bear an unblemished reputation, generally find that they have pressing business which requires their immediate presence in the bush, and some thus contrive to escape the ordeal, though usually each husband takes care that all his wives shall be present; while those whose guilt has been already declared by the Egugu man, and who have consequently already experienced the worst, alone prepare themselves for the ceremony with a certain amount of indifference.
The Egugu man enters the town, or village, wrapped in a piece of country cloth, which entirely covers the face and head, and which covering he never removes except when alone with his immediate associates; while curious persons of either sex are restrained from pulling it aside, or endeavouring to obtain a glimpse of his face, by the belief that to look upon his countenance is certain death. He then traverses the village and enters every house in succession; while the female occupants, anxious to propitiate their judge, lay before him the most recherché dishes of savage African cookery, viz., the palm oil stew, the cassava cakes and the “stink-fish,” while to wash down this regal banquet jars of palm wine and bottles of rum are provided. The Egugu man is cunning enough to know that the innocent, if any, will seem most unconcerned, and he consequently regards with suspicion those women who appear most anxious to please him, and usually picks out those who have treated him most hospitably, and with the greatest respect, for exposure and punishment. He is commonly very successful in his choice: it would be difficult in any case to pick out a guiltless woman, and, even in the remote chance of his doing so, the woman’s protestations would not be believed; while those who have forgotten the fidelity due to their liege lords, imagining that everything is known and about to be proclaimed, confess at once, so that they can give their own version of the story. The Egugu man then administers a few stripes to the culprits himself, and leaves them to the tender mercies of their spouses and the jeers and sarcasms of those more fortunate females who have gone through the ordeal in safety.
Should the village be pleasantly situated, and the people unusually hospitable, this flimsy juggler will remain in it for several days, examining the women in detail; and, when he has eaten up all the good things, or when he thinks he has nearly exhausted his welcome, for he is too wary to spoil his pleasant profession by overdoing it, he moves off to another village and commences anew. As he is sometimes accompanied by as many as one hundred followers, or disciples, all of whom are fed and housed at the expense of the village, this absurd custom must be rather a tax upon the natives; but no village is visited more than once a year. It has always been a wonder to me that every negro in these countries does not set up as an Egugu man, or, at all events, become a follower of one, since it would be impossible to conceive a mode of life more pleasing to the negro mind. He goes about from village to village, fêted and honoured, living on the fat of the land, with no work to do, plenty to drink, the luxury of beating women and the satisfaction of being regarded with awe and wonder, all this too for nothing but the trouble of a little humbug; and it is certain that there would be an immediate rush of the male population for similar appointments were it not that they are sufficiently credulous to believe that there is really some sorcery or supernatural power at the bottom of the business.
Among the Sherbros there exists a secret society, which consists of various families, bound together by mysterious ceremonies for offensive and defensive purposes, and other reasons which are unknown. If my memory serves me rightly, this society is called the Society of Bonn, and the families composing it meet at stated periods to celebrate their union with infamous rites; and annually, at one such meeting, a virgin is put to death, the victim being supplied by each family in rotation. Each member of the society is bound by diabolical oaths to preserve the secrets of their rites, and to slay any other member whom he may suspect of revealing them; thus all that is known about the fraternity has been gleaned from the reports of natives who do not belong to it, and who cannot know much about it; though some do assert that they have been hidden eye-witnesses of the annual human sacrifice. That such a society does exist, and that its members do put a young girl to death every year, is, however, well authenticated; and a French trader residing in the Sherbro on one occasion almost surprised them in the actual commission of the murder. I will give his story in his own words: he said—
“M. A—— my principal, sent me from Sherbro island to some chiefs on the mainland who were large customers of ours. I had six or seven Krooboys with me, and was away a little more than a week. On the last day, when I was coming towards the coast, I was delayed by one of my boys getting into some little trouble at a village, and, about nightfall, found myself at eleven or twelve miles from the sea. There was a good path through the forest, so I determined to go on and get back to the factory that night—I was in a hurry to return to a good bed and something fit to eat.
“You have walked perhaps in the forest at night mon ami, and you know the feeling of awe which the darkness, the silence, and the sombre trees, with their long arms reaching towards you, awakes within one. The night was dark, dark as a pit; not a sound was to be heard but the rustling of our feet on the dead leaves, and the grey trunks of the trees stood up all round in the forest like spectres. I was very tired—I had been walking nearly all day, and we did not get along very quickly; so that about nine o’clock we were still in the forest, and neither the Krooboys nor myself were sure that we were in the right path—we had passed several forks, and had taken the road that seemed to lead towards the sea, but you know how these paths twist and wind about.
“Suddenly, in the midst of the dead silence, a chorus of howls and screams, the most horrible, the most blood-curdling, rose up in the depths of the forest, and died away in a long, low, melancholy wail. I was startled—not frightened—for I am not more superstitious than most men; but the cries had been so sudden, and were so strange, that we all stopped still. All was as silent as the tomb, and we were so quiet that I could hear the breathing of the Krooboys. While we were standing with our ears straining to hear, the sound came again louder and louder—it seemed to be some little distance away in the direction in which we were going. I told the boys to go on, and I followed them. Six, seven, and eight times this long cry—the most despairing—, it made my blood run cold, was repeated; and then we heard the noise of the beating of drums. We knew then that it was only some natives observing a custom, and that there must be a village near; so we walked on. Soon the drums stopped, and the night was again as still as the grave.
“Suddenly, without any warning, we turned an acute corner in the path; and I saw before me some few houses, and a crowd of people standing together round something, in a clearing of the forest—they had with them two or three little lamps. At the same moment that I turned the corner and saw this, I heard a shriek, the most horrible—the shriek of a woman in the agony which is mortal. My hair raised itself on my head—my Krooboys stopped and muttered to themselves. I ask of them the cause, and they tell me of some secret brotherhood of the people, who sacrifice each year a woman. I draw my revolver: I cry to them—‘En avant—En avant;’ and we all run fast to the crowd. Then, pst, pst, out go all the lights; I hear the rustling of many feet; all again is black darkness.
“We reach the square of the village: there is nothing—nobody to be seen. Nobody? Ah! Mon Dieu, somebody. I nearly fall over some object which strikes my feet. I look down to see what it may be, and I see a corpse. Yes, a corpse of a young girl, une pucelle; still warm. I look for the cause of death, and I find, horrible to speak of, on the left breast a dreadful wound, a cavity—the flesh tom away. Mon ami, the heart of that poor girl had been torn out. Ah! so young, such beautiful limbs—It is the work of the accursed fraternity.”
“Well,” said I, when he had arrived at this point, “what did you do?”
“Do? What could I do? Nothing at all. There was not one person left in the village—I searched each house: all empty. Could I go and hunt in the dark forest for the murderers? No—I went on my way and arrived at my factory.”
“I suppose you told the Commandant of Sherbro about this?” I inquired.
“Yes, I told him; but he said he could do nothing, and it was not advisable to make trouble. It is many years ago now, and Chief Manin had just signed a treaty with your Government. They did not wish to have any more palaver.”
When I arrived at Sierra Leone in January 1881 everybody was talking about an extraordinary instance of tenacity of life which had come to light three or four days previously. It appeared that a European madman, who, for safe keeping, had been confined in the Colonial Hospital, escaped from custody one afternoon; and, being pursued, jumped, about nightfall, into the sea from the harbour works. Some boats put out after him, but as nothing was to be seen of him it was concluded that he was drowned. About 9 p.m. on the same day, the occupants of a boat returning from Cape Sierra Leone heard, as they were passing King Tom Point, somebody groaning on the beach; they put ashore, and found the escaped maniac lying on the rocks in a horrible condition. During his swim from the harbour works to the spot in which he was found, a distance of some half-a-mile, he had been pursued and attacked by the sharks which swarm in the harbour, had lost an arm, and been dreadfully lacerated about the shoulders and thighs. From his own account they seemed to have kept up a running fight with him; and how he contrived to reach the shore, and, in his mutilated condition, draw himself up out of reach of his pursuers, was as great a mystery as was his subsequent recovery from his injuries.
About 4·30 p.m. on January 28th, just before parade, we were surprised by the unusual spectacle of two steamers coming round the cape together; there was a general rush for telescopes, and we saw that one of them was the outward-bound steamer “Cameroon,” which had only left the harbour about half-an-hour previously, and the other the mail from the Coast. This latter had the signal “Government Despatches” flying; it was evident that something was wrong down on the Gold Coast, and that it was of sufficient importance for the “Cameroon” to turn back. Imagination was at once busy as to what was up: some said it was the long-expected mutiny of the Houssa constabulary, others a revolt of the Accra people on account of the imprisonment of their king, Tacki, by Mr. Ussher, the late Governor, and a third party that the Awoonahs had risen; but while we were still deliberating, and before the steamers had dropped anchor in the harbour, the “fall in” sounded and we had to go on parade.
About five, while the parade was still going on, a Colonial messenger darted on to the parade ground, seized the commanding officer, and thrust a voluminous despatch into his hand. The latter cast a hurried eye over it, and instantly moved off with hasty strides towards a hammock that was waiting for him outside; calling out to his second in command that the parade was to be dismissed, but that no officers or men were to leave barracks. We knew then that something serious was the matter, and went and sat down by the fountain in front of the mess to wait for the news. At about 6 p.m., when our patience was nearly exhausted, an official appeared, panting and blowing up the hill. He came towards us, and said, in gasps:
“Gentlemen—The fact is this, gentlemen. It’s simply this, gentlemen. Bloody wars, gentlemen—Bloody wars.”
This was highly satisfactory, but did not enter much into detail, so we applied for more information. We then learned that King Mensah of Ashanti had sent the golden axe to the Lieutenant-Governor of the Gold Coast colony at Cape Coast, to demand the surrender of a fugitive; and, on the 24th, when the surrender was refused, had, through his ambassadors, declared war against the British. We heard further that the homeward-bound steamer was going direct to Madeira to telegraph the news to England, and that troops were to go down by the S.S. “Cameroon” next day. The Government of the Gold Coast had asked for three hundred and fifty men, but, as the entire garrison of Sierra Leone only consisted of four companies, that is a little over four hundred men, the authorities had decided that it would not be wise, on account of the Timmanees, to denude the Colony of troops to so great an extent, and about two hundred were to be despatched with stores and ammunition. Of course everybody wanted to be among the two hundred: the news had spread among the men, and a tremendous cheering broke out all over the barracks; they were delighted with the prospect of a brush with the Ashantis, and the band volunteered en masse. By 7 p.m. it was decided which companies were to go, and I found mine was one of the lucky ones: as we were to embark at 3 p.m. next day there was plenty of work to be done, while to make matters worse there was a dinner to be given that very night, and the guests would have to be looked after and entertained.
That night the excitement rose to boiling point: we who had been selected to go were objects of envy to all the less fortunate people who had to remain behind, and who went about with long and melancholy faces bewailing their ill-fortune and cursing their luck. The guests quoted Byron, talked of “sounds of revelry by night,” and drew comparisons, entirely in our favour, between the ball at Brussels on the eve of Waterloo and our dinner on the eve of departure for the new Ashanti war. They shook hands with us time after time, their voices thick with emotion; some almost shed tears as they suddenly awoke to the fact of their great affection for us, and thought that they might never see us again; while others, more sanguine, prophesied all kinds of impossible honours as our share of the coming campaign. It was out of the question to got away from these warm-hearted partisans, and it must have been nearly daybreak before we got to bed.
At 2 p.m. next day, after such a morning of work as I am in no hurry to experience again, the two companies paraded, and we marched down the hill to the harbour, headed by the band. I never saw Freetown in such a state of excitement; every road was crammed with men, women, and children, shouting, cheering, laughing, and crying, and the crush was so great that there was scarcely room for the column to march; but at last all were safely got on board, and at 5 p.m. the “Cameroon” steamed off direct for Cape Coast. We had on board forty-five tons of stores, two 4-2/5-inch howitzers, and almost all the ammunition of the Colony, the whole of which had been put on board in half-a-day.