The portions of greasy road were so long that, following the brief twilight of the tropics, though darkness had set in by 7 o’clock I was still jogging along. The doki boy, however, knew the route, and there was no drawback except that of going over strange ground with no moon. About a quarter-of-an-hour later there was the unpleasant sound under these circumstances of breaking water ahead. Nobody had passed us for some time. During the day it is easy to learn if a stream across the high road is fordable. Persons coming from the direction on the tramp have evidently crossed the water, but at night, after a recent downfall, streams which might have been walked over on stones prior to the deluge are impassable.
I was nearing the place and debating in mind whether to chance trying to go over—there seemed no alternative, unless I was either to ride back and so put twenty miles on the journey, or stay at the spot all night—when a light swung ahead. A little party from the rest-house had brought a lantern to obviate the difficulty of crossing and by its light stepping-stones were clearly visible. The rest-house was only a mile further on, and into the compound I passed at 7.40.
An example of willingness on the part of good carriers was furnished. One had been overtaken by a mounted messenger when nearly half-way with an order to return. He was bearing a steel trunk not less than 60 lbs., and awkward to hold. It contained papers which should have been shown at Rahama. The man turned back, set out again, and although walking alone and going over the same ground on which I found it not easy to keep a horse up, and the latter part over which the pony went at a fair pace, still the carrier, who only had two hours’ start, came in at 8 o’clock, with no more stimulus than 1s. given at Rahama.
The rest-house compound at Gidan Gombo had within it quite an assemblage of natives who were tramping to Naraguta district attracted by the expectation of employment at the tin fields. Not labourers—they sleep in villages—but Coast mechanics and similar workmen and interpreters. In a rest-house compound are a number of smaller mud huts for the carriers, and in these shelters coloured men pass the night. There was a lad among them said to be son of the former Emir of Kano. If so, the scion of royalty had been much reduced in position. He—who whether the story be true or not was evidently of a superior caste—had been servant to Captain Maclaverty, of Zungeru, and was walking to Naraguta with a friend of the family—an interpreter—to enter the service of an Englishman there.
These rest-houses are put up by the Government. But for them one must perforce carry a tent or go to a native village, not an ideal place in which to sleep, from the health or any other point of view. The rest-house usually consists of a fairly stout circular mud wall, round which is a lower one, the intervening space covered by the sloping roof and forming a verandah. Rest-houses are in charge of the Headman of an adjacent village. He collects, for the Government, 2s. per night from each occupant, the payment including a supply of wood and water. If required, he has to sell for himself, at fixed rates, fowls and guinea corn for horses.
It is quite a little ceremony at some places where the Headman, accompanied by one or two village elders, pays his respects to the white visitor by coming to the rest-house, and there on knees saluting, by bowing the head and exclaiming several times, “Zaki! Zaki! Zaki!”—literally “Lion”—corresponding to “Sir” or “Your Honour” or “Your Lordship.” The visitor gravely replies “Agaisheka!” (“Hail to you!”) and then proceeds to business by stating his requirements in the matter of supplies and asking how much he has to pay. After the evening meal prepared by his servants in a cook-house in the compound, bed is the usual order of procedure.
The start next morning was at 6.30. I did not accompany the carriers but turned back to look for a Swan fountain pen jerked out of my pocket the previous afternoon and immensely valued not so much for its great convenience on a journey of this kind, when writing must be done at odd moments anywhere, but still more prized at being the gift from former colleagues. Nearly an hour’s search along the road failed to discover the article, so the forlorn hope was abandoned, and I turned round to overtake the carriers.[3] They would be, of course, about two hours in advance.
I had long repassed Gidan Gombo and, relying on the horse’s reputation for being sure-footed, was galloping him along a ridge on the road, each side cut into a ditch by further heavy rains of the early morning, when, a slip to the right, he involuntarily bent his head and over it I went, as cleanly as if I had been an acrobat. As is my practice when dismounting in this manner, I retained hold of the reins, but it was well the doki knew his manners and pulled up, for the bridle came off completely. A mud bath and a few slight bruises constituted the casualties, for the pony did not even go on his knees. He looked rather forlorn standing in the road with naked head, and as I went up to replace the bit he appeared to say, with a half-apologetic, sorrowful air, “Well, upon my soul! Who would have thought it?”
The sun had come out strongly, removing the dampness and leaving a caking of earth and mud on breeches and shirt as I cantered along to Gussum, 14 miles from Gidan Gombo, reaching it some time after the carriers.
Everybody having now settled down to their work, I decided on a 5 a.m. start for next morning, but at that hour the night rain was still falling, and you will seldom induce carriers to step out into a storm. If one comes whilst they are on the march they sturdily go on. A wetting from above is the most severe minor discomfort a native can suffer. It was 7 o’clock before the air had cleared, and we set forth. The Naraguta pilgrims continued towards their goal along the road that has been made southwards, whereas we, after going back a few hundred yards, left the road and struck south-east.