Not least interesting is the moulding of the signallers. Obviously it is of vital importance on an expedition that detached parties, perhaps unexpectedly surrounded by overwhelmingly superior numbers whom they may be able to keep off temporarily, shall be equipped with means for making their position and plight known to the main body.
Whether the men selected for signalling tuition are Hausa or Pagan matters not. Scarcely any can read, much less write, their mother tongue. That, to say nothing of English, would be as Greek is to the average recruit in Great Britain.
You will gather what pains and patience the British N.C.O. exercises with his charges when it is said that these Nigerians—some, wild men from the hills and mountains; others, simple labourers or farming hands previous to the equivalent of “taking the King’s shilling”—can not alone signal by flag, lamp and heliograph a message handed to them in English but—it seems almost marvellous—receive from any of the three instruments mentioned, and write, such a message, not knowing in the least what it means.
The explanation is simple. They learn that a figure—for example, B—is sent by a particular form of flag-waving, lamp-flashes or helio-rays. Conversely, certain movements of flag or the other instruments mean that the man receiving them has to draw the character—i.e., letter—associated with the sign; space between words, of course, being recognised as well.
Imagine what it must be to teach that to simple creatures who know no writing and can read none and who never fingered a pencil until they entered the signalling squad, for, as has been said, they have not the least idea what meaning is conveyed by the messages they despatch or receive.
The value of signalling was utilised for civil purposes two years ago, when early in the tornado season the telegraph connecting Zungeru with the important centre of Minna, 38 miles distant, was destroyed by storms. For 10 days, until the line could be restored, communication between the two places was uninterruptedly maintained by the signalling section of the First battalion.
A message was flagged under my observation by the Second battalion, at Lokoja. Beyond handing the paper to the native Corporal, no white man gave instructions or interfered in the slightest. On page 290, photograph 1 shows the original communication; photograph 2 is as the receiving signaller wrote it. I asked Major Baker, temporarily in command of the battalion, to use the words employed, as I wished to have a kinematograph illustration of the operation.
Then there are the bands, and excellent they are. Both the Hausa tribes and the Pagan tribes have a multiplicity of musical instruments on their native heath, wind and even string. A detailed catalogue would occupy space of an article as long as this. But the military band of each battalion is quite in the lines of English regiments.
Instruction? Well, the men are as innocent of eye-understanding music as they are of caligraphy. You might as well show them the signs of the zodiac or the combination of any other astronomical constellation. The English bandmaster teaches his pupils through their ear. Heaven only knows how he obtains the result from such raw material. Listening to the band playing alternately popular tunes and classical airs outside the officers’ mess in the evenings, you would indeed wonder.
The titles of the pieces might naturally puzzle, or at least confuse, the performers. They could scarcely be expected to differentiate on an order for Cavalleria Rusticana or one for Rule Britannia. Therefore, the simple expedient is adopted of giving the compositions numbers, which obviously are much easier borne in mind. Thus, on the bandmaster ordering, for instance, “One,” God Save the King would be rendered; “Two,” Rule Britannia; “Three,” A Life on the Ocean Wave; “Four,” Hearts of Oak; and so on.