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