On January 27th the Kaiser's birthday was celebrated in Mangu, sports and games being organised for the natives, who took the keenest interest in them. A water race for women caused great excitement. They had to run a certain distance, carrying calabashes of water, the prizes going to those who succeeded in spilling least. A blind-fold pot-smashing competition was also the cause of a lot of fun. In the afternoon Captain von Hirschfeld distributed the prizes to the winners, and I also gave away some pieces of silk, cloth, and beads as supplementary ones.
One morning an exceedingly smart-looking Hausa, from the heart of the true Sudan, came into the station with a wild ostrich for sale. It was a very fine bird, the biggest in fact, Schomburgk said, that he had ever seen, and he promptly bought it. The bird had been tightly tied up for some considerable while, and as a result it was all sore and chafed about the legs. Schomburgk therefore set him loose. And the bird showed its gratitude by immediately bolting. The result was that we had to organise a party to recapture him. It was by no means bad fun, however, and besides we were able to film an ostrich hunt on the veldt. Everybody nearly enjoyed it first rate, including, I verily believe, the ostrich. The one exception was our camera man, who soon ran himself out of breath, and was as limp as a wet rag by the time we had finished. Before this little episode he had been very keen on game pictures, but it was noticeable that afterwards he studiously avoided referring to them. However, he made a lovely film of this one, and we were highly pleased, naturally.
We were due to leave Mangu for good on February 1st, and the last few days were spent in packing up, sorting out our stores for the downward journey, and disposing of such as we no longer required. A lot of tinned stuff we gave away, and one of the horses that was ill Schomburgk presented to the white non-commissioned officer at the station. Our one hundred loads that we had started with had dwindled by now to about forty.
Suddenly Schomburgk announced a most terrible and alarming discovery. He had run out of cigarettes. A package supposed to contain a reserve supply was found on being opened to be filled with packets of tea, sugar, and other groceries. He flew to the telephone and sent an urgent message to Sokode for a fresh supply, to be despatched by special runner. Meanwhile he growled and grumbled like a bear with a sore head. Nor did matters improve greatly when the cigarettes at length arrived. The Sokode people had run out of the best Egyptians—his usual smoke—which retail out there at sixpence a dozen, so they had sent him a very inferior sort, known locally as "battle-axe brand," and costing about sevenpence for fifty. They have been christened "battle-axes," Schomburgk explained, in between two long strings of swear words, because two of them will knock you on the head and kill you. On the same principle the Western American cowboy dubs the vile spirit sold in the frontier cattle towns "forty-rod whisky." You walk forty rods after drinking a glass of it, then you drop down dead. I cannot, of course, speak as to the whisky; but the cigarettes fully deserved their evil name. Navvy shag was simply "not in it" with them. When Schomburgk started to smoke one, everybody ran away. I am told they are exported to Togo from England for native consumption. All I can say is, I pity the natives.
At last the day of parting came. I can hardly find words to express how sorry I felt to leave Mangu and our dear little home. Captain von Hirschfeld, who had shown us such splendid hospitality all through our stay there, rode three miles with us on the return journey. We are not travelling back along the same route we came up by, but are setting a course some distance to the westward of it, so as to break new ground. Our first camp had been fixed at a place called Unyogo, and as the distance was comparatively short, Schomburgk and I did not quit Mangu until three o'clock in the afternoon, having previously sent our carriers on ahead to pitch the tents, and get everything ready. Our boy we took with us on horseback to carry our water-bottles, but he didn't keep up with us, and somehow he managed to tumble off his horse. Naturally, the riderless animal promptly bolted back for its comfortable stable at Mangu, with the boy hot a-foot after it. As a result we had no water to drink during the stage, which was a very hot one, with no shade whatever and clouds of dust. I suffered considerably from thirst. So did Schomburgk, who, however, was able to console himself by smoking "battle-axes" and swearing at intervals, both palliatives denied to me. It was a glad moment for both of us when at length we caught sight of our green tents under the trees outside Unyogo.
Hodgson was already there, having gone on ahead on his bicycle. He was greatly excited, and would hardly give us time to get a drink of water, or a cup of tea, before plunging into a narrative of what he somewhat grandiloquently termed his "adventure." It appeared that he had been pedalling silently along on his bicycle, when a covey of grouse flew up almost from under his front wheel, and cannoned into one another in their fright and excitement with so great violence that six of them fell to the ground. Dismounting, he picked up five of the birds quite dead; the sixth was only stunned, and, recovering itself, fluttered off into the bush. The incident was certainly a remarkable one, almost incredible indeed, for grouse are notoriously hard birds to hit. But there they were, all five of them, mute witnesses to the truth of his story. None of them bore any shot, or other wound, to account for their deaths; and besides, Hodgson had no gun with him. We cooked them for supper, and very delicious they were. Afterwards, we sat outside our camp in the moonlight talking and laughing, and in high spirits at the thought of going home—all but Schomburgk, who declared that the trip was far too short a one. "Some day," he remarked, "we will come out here again, film some more pictures, and return home the other way." "Other way?" I inquire dubiously. "Yes," he replied airily, "round by Timbuctu, and north across the Sahara. It will be grand fun, and we shall get some unique pictures." "Yes-s!" I reply feebly. And no more is said. But I think a lot.
That night a woman palaver started right outside my tent. I was awakened at dead of night by the cries of a female in distress—shouting, howling, and sobbing. Jumping up, and throwing on a wrap, I hurried outside, imagining that murder was being done at the very least. The noise was being made by the wife of one of our soldiers, who declared, on being questioned, that her husband had tried to kill her. Schomburgk, whom the noise had also awakened, and who now put in an appearance, promptly sent for the man, and cross-examined first him and then his wife. The true facts of the case were thus elicited. It turned out that the woman, having had a wordy quarrel with her husband—no blows were struck—had announced her intention of forthwith going back to Mangu. Her husband had, quite properly, prevented her from carrying out her intention. Whereupon she had rushed out of their hut, and over to our camp, where she had started howling and yelling, hoping thereby to get her husband punished. Had Schomburgk been an inexperienced African traveller, unused to the little wiles of native women, she might possibly have succeeded in her design. But he was too old a bird to be caught that way. Instead of punishing the husband, who was obviously not to blame in the matter, he told him to take his wife back to their hut, and if she didn't behave herself, he had his (Schomburgk's) full permission to give her a hiding. I never saw a woman so completely taken aback as this one was when she heard the judgment delivered. Her jaw dropped, her look of hard defiance gave place to one of abject fear, and without a word she followed her lord and master to their joint domicile, where, for the rest of that night at all events, peace reigned once more.
Photo by
Miss M. Gehrts