We were presented with a pair of tame marabouts, but their tameness was a doubtful quantity; and though it was amusing enough to see them dancing and playing about in the sunshine, their temper was not of the best, and they attacked every one who approached the house, snapping their formidable beaks angrily. The poor dogs were in absolute terror of them, and would warily wait their opportunity outside, till the marabouts’ attention was distracted, when a white streak of fox-terrier would fly in, only just escaping the furious beating of wings and clapping of beaks! They were so tiresome that we parted with them, and replaced them by a baby ostrich, which we bought for a sovereign: a most attractive little person, about the size of a duck, a mere ball of soft, mouse-coloured fluff, with beautiful velvety black eyes, and long eyelashes! It had never occurred to me before, that ostriches had eyelashes! His diet consisted mainly of chopped-up onions and bran, though he fulfilled the traditions of his race—and alarmed me horribly—by swallowing all kinds of weird things. I have seen him devour with relish all the pieces of a broken glass bangle; and any odd bits of china, stone, or metal appeared to be equally tasty morsels. He became very tame at once, and would wander about freely, and sometimes stand beside me for an hour at a time, gently nipping at my sleeve or slippers.
Life in this rural retreat, however, did not last long, and the end of January found us under orders to return to Zungeru, and, very sadly, packing once more. We started, after infinite difficulty, as usual over transport, which delayed us so long eventually that the sun was uncomfortably high before we said our farewells and rode away from Katāgum. We had a guide to set us on the road to Murmur, a different route from that by which we had reached Katāgum, and he either misled us, or was ignorant himself, for, after his last asseveration of ‘Oh! it is quite near now!’ and subsequent departure, we marched for hours, losing the almost imperceptible path, finding it again, after collecting our straggling party—a matter of some difficulty—all thirsty, tired and grumbling, calling down Heaven’s vengeance on the perfidious guide, and eventually reached Murmur after sunset.
It was a curious coincidence that we found ourselves on the spot where Richard Oudney died, exactly eighty years before (January, 1824), striving, in spite of desperate illness, to reach Kano, in company with Clapperton. The latter describes the sad events—Oudney’s determination to make a further effort, insisting on resuming the journey, for which he was quite unfit, ministering to the needs of the natives with what was absolutely his last flicker of strength, then reluctantly giving up the impossible, ‘retiring into his tent’ and lying down to die. There, Clapperton buried his beloved friend, and we were deeply interested in the site of his resting-place. The village people were quite touchingly surprised and delighted when we repeated the story to them; it was obviously a familiar one. The Sariki’s father had been a boy at the time, but such a remarkable event was not likely to be forgotten, and they started, as one man, to conduct us to the grave. It may be remembered that Clapperton gives minute details of its position, which accorded exactly with the spot to which we were led, leaving no possible doubt of its accuracy. The ‘great tree’ had fallen, and the tomb, originally a massive erection of clay, had been worn down by rain to an insignificant mound, round which we planted a circle of seeds of the fragrant white acacia, or marengo, in the earnest hope that they might grow and stand, for many years, a memorial to the honour of that brave unselfish soul.
At Murmur, a grave difficulty presented itself. The people told us we were off the main road altogether, the wells were almost dry, and we could not hope to find enough water for our party and animals between there and Kano, save on the regular caravan road, joining which necessitated our turning north and marching to Hadeija, a large town twenty miles north of Katāgum. It was not a matter to be lightly decided, adding even twenty-five miles to a march as long as ours; yet, the responsibility of taking a large party of men and animals through a waterless district was one from which most people would shrink, so we assembled the whole party, explained the situation, and frankly consulted them. They unanimously voted for the extra march to Hadeija, knowing, I suppose, better than we did, the utter impossibility of obtaining sufficient food and water anywhere ‘off the line;’ and probably influenced by the fact that the carriers from Katāgum bolted in the night, giving as their reason for so doing their determination not to ‘die of thirst.’
The decision relieved us of an immense anxiety, and we started cheerfully for Hadeija, sleeping that night at a tiny hamlet, where we were met and welcomed by the Emir’s messengers.
The following morning we reached Hadeija, and the scene, on our approach to the town, was one that I shall never forget. There was the vast extent of rose-red wall, swarming with dark figures, the river flowing between us and the town, and, on the far bank,—a space of nearly half a mile—a dense mass of people watching with intense interest and expectancy. They stood, an absolutely silent, swaying crowd, as we picked our way down the steep bank, crossed the shallow river, and scrambled our ponies up the other side. There we saw a pathway in the crowd kept by troops—positively cavalry, four or five hundred of them,—drawn up in two double lines, rigid and motionless in their saddles, the horses loaded with jingling brass armour, heavy breast-plates and head-pieces, neighing, squealing and kicking, but forced to stand comparatively still, merely pawing the ground and tossing foam from their tortured mouths; stirrup touching stirrup with a military precision that would not have disgraced any regiment of British cavalry. The soldiers were fine big men, splendidly turned out, and sat like living statues, but for the bright, restless black eyes, between the folds of white cloth litham, following our every movement. I doubt, though, whether any one there could have been half as much interested in us, as I was myself at seeing this spectacle of truly barbaric African splendour, riding behind my husband, feeling very small, travel-stained and dusty, amid so much brilliance and colour! It seemed to take one back centuries in the world’s civilization, and, with a gasp, came the realization that we had stepped into a world where time had stood still, and the ages passed over without leaving a mark!
At the end of the long line of horsemen was a little group of the chief office-holders, surrounding their Emir, who, as we dismounted, approached to greet us. He was a large, powerfully-built man, with the kindliest of faces, and the gentlest voice I have ever heard; his quiet tones, almost a whisper, veiling an authority, the response to which, in its instant obedience and child-like submission, was quite startling.
His voluminous garments of brilliant green and white, and towering white rawani, or turban, were surmounted by a burnous of white cloth, the hood of which, edged with silk fringe, drawn over the tall head-dress and falling round his face, gave him a positively patriarchal expression of benevolence and kindliness. The courteous, dignified cordiality of our welcome was perfect, and, the ceremonial greetings over, we were escorted to the rest-camp prepared for us outside the city. Here, a regular little colony of grass houses had been built, large enough to accommodate a party twice the size of ours: water, wood and provisions were ready; not a comfort was lacking, not a detail had been overlooked. My friend, the Senegalese soldier, having, as he frankly said, no experience of such friendly visits while he served in the French army, harboured suspicions of an ambush and treachery, and displayed, at first, a fierce determination not to let us out of his sight;—suspicions which, however, were completely dissipated when he discovered the unbounded, lavish hospitality offered to him and his companions!
In the cool of the evening, we walked into the city, and were amazed at the solidity and immense size of the wall, the area inferior to Kano, but, in point of height and condition, greatly superior. The gateways were huge, and so cunningly arranged with rectangular approaches that no armed force could possibly rush them,—indeed, no more than three or four men at a time could cross the narrow bridges, and, were any attempt at defence being made inside these would probably not cross them alive. The gates themselves had been removed, in obedience to an order issued by my husband, while we were at Katāgum, and Hadeija, the impregnable, the unconquered, stood friendly, smiling, open to all approach,—surely a happy omen for the future for increased prosperity and uninterrupted progress, we thought,—a hope, alas! not destined to be fulfilled.