Inside the gate by which we entered was an extensive space of open ground and level turf, where the cattle were quietly grazing, and the people passing up and down; far away in the distance were the buildings, flushed in the sunset, overtopped by towering trees and clusters of feathery palms. It was a sore disappointment to have to turn away without exploring that unknown city, to turn my back on Hadeija, a mere passing traveller, knowing that the chances of my seeing it again were infinitesimal,—to me, it has always been the most poignant regret of these five years spent in Nigeria. I am thankful not to have known then, that so soon those peaceful streets would echo with war-cries, and bloodshed and death be dealt out with a just, though unsparing hand, for the sake of civilization and progress. I had just time to try to make a hurried pencil-sketch of the scene before me, and the gate. This, however, was rendered almost impossible by the friendly surging crowd, by that time assembled,—all longing to know what in the world I was doing, chattering, peeping, pressing forward—not mobbing, though—that delicate attention is reserved for highly civilized countries; in Africa it is ‘not done!’ So I gave up the attempt in amused despair, showed my pictures to as many of my new friends as I could reach, and shut up my sketch-book to take a last look at one of the most fascinating places of its kind that I have ever seen.
The next morning we were up early, teeth chattering, and shivering in the bitter chill of the winter dawn, in spite of a huge wood fire. The Emir had announced his intention of escorting us on our way, to a point seven miles from Hadeija, adding with emphasis, that, when the Sariki-n-Mussulmi passed through, he only accompanied him five miles! He clattered off, surrounded by his army of horsemen and an apparently unlimited crowd on foot, leaving us to digest the compliment, and drink our morning coffee over the fire.
We found them all assembled under a group of trees. As we dismounted, the horsemen formed up into a gigantic double circle, ourselves, the Emir, his head men, and a few of our own people in the centre. When the last farewells had been said, my husband asked that the Limam might offer prayers for our safe journey, and—perhaps—another meeting some day, a suggestion which evoked a deep murmur of satisfaction. The ‘cavalry’ dismounted and stood beside their horses, the Limam stood up, his towering white head-dress and earnest dark face turned to the morning sun, his solemn clear voice pouring out the prayer in sonorous Arabic, every word distinct in the great silence; thousands of heads and hands around followed every gesture, our own included, for, at that strange moment creeds seemed very far away, and the one Father of us all, to whom such earnest words were being addressed on our behalf, the sole reality. It was a sight, I suppose, such as few people have ever witnessed, and it made a very deep and lasting impression on us. I had a lump in my throat when, as I turned to mount my pony, the stately old Emir laid his slender brown hand, with a beautiful amber rosary twined among the fingers, on my arm, and said gently: ‘You will come back to us; surely God will send you back,’ And perhaps not the least remarkable incident was, when, as we turned our horses’ heads, our escort, those who had been most suspicious, most incredulous of our host’s good intentions, asked leave, to a man, to fall out and obtain the Limam’s blessing, kneeling humbly at his stirrup!
Bringing in Fire-wood. ([p. 103])
A Kano Doorway. ([p. 107])
The whole circumstances of our visit to Hadeija, compared with the stormy events which took place there two years later, are illustrative of a point, we have frequently noticed, on hearing accounts of the peaceful journeys of missionaries and sportsmen, and of the perfect hospitality and friendliness they have found everywhere: that it is one thing to travel independently through the unknown parts of Africa, and quite another to administrate them successfully, introducing, of necessity, unpopular measures, and restraining undesirable existing customs. One acquaintance of ours, travelling about in search of sport, has wandered all through the Munshi country, where the natives have proved themselves aggressive and inimical to a degree towards any effort to establish law and order. This is a fact, I think, commonly overlooked by those who, with insufficient knowledge of the immense difficulties confronting a Government in territories such as these, are inclined to condemn wholesale and belittle the necessity of punitive expeditions and display of force.
From Hadeija our march was perfectly ‘plain sailing,’ The Emir’s messenger went before us and smoothed away every possible difficulty, only leaving us on the border of the Kano Province.
One incident of the road which stands out in my memory was the ludicrous struggles of our old cook, Jim Dow, to become an expert horseman, and to fully enjoy the privilege of having a horse to ride. He had bought an extremely tall horse, attracted more by its utter mildness of disposition than by any other remarkable point of suitability. Having saddled up his depressed-looking steed, he, being a dumpy little individual, under five feet in height, could not possibly mount without assistance. This he indignantly spurned, and would solemnly lead the horse, till he discovered a likely-looking tree. The horse was placed conveniently under it, and the little man clumsily and slowly climbed into the lower branches, from which he hoped to drop gracefully into the saddle. But the sad steed invariably strolled off in an absent-minded fashion at the critical moment, leaving poor Jim Dow hanging painfully from a branch, and using blistering language in ‘Kru’! I have seen this manœuvre repeated four or five times on a march, and he was a never-failing source of amusement to the whole party!