By permission of
Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S.
Banjeli, the Centre of the Native Iron Industry
The smelting of iron by these primitive peoples is entirely of native origin, and is, therefore, of considerable interest. The work is done under conditions approximating fairly closely to those prevalent in civilized countries, but the furnaces, etc., are, of course, of much ruder construction.
After we had been here a short while, a little native boy came into our camp bringing me as a present a very pretty little green and gold beetle. We gave him a pfenning (eight pfennings go to the penny) for it, and seeing I was pleased with it, Schomburgk said he would purchase at the same rate as many other similar beetles as he or the other children cared to bring in. It proved to be a rash promise. The wonderful news must have spread like wildfire amongst the village urchins, who must, moreover, have immediately set to work with feverish energy to secure a goodly store of beetles, for soon the camp was alive with grubby little boys and girls, some carrying no more than a single beetle, or two or three, others with both dirty little paws filled with the pretty delicate insects. It was one of the most comical sights I ever saw. There was Schomburgk dishing out pfennings in exchange for beetles, and the more pfennings he distributed the more children came rolling up with their beetles. They pressed and clamoured round him like English children round a street hawker of toy paper windmills, so that eventually he had to take refuge on a chair in order to escape being mobbed by them, while I set to work to marshal them into a queue, which, as regards both its extent and the happy eagerness of its component parts, reminded me of that which assembles outside the Gaiety on the first night of the production of a new musical comedy.
Whilst we were resting that afternoon, our mail arrived from Bassari. It had come by post-runner to Bassari, whence it had been forwarded by special messenger to Banjeli. At once everybody was on the alert to secure his or her letters, and once secured we retired to a quiet corner to read them. We got two mails together—a month's letters and papers—on this occasion, so that we had plenty of reading matter to occupy ourselves with. Afterwards we came together again to compare notes, and tell each other tit-bits of personal news, talking and chatting until dinner-time, and afterwards far into the night. Amongst a bundle of papers sent out by my sister was a copy of the Elegante Welt, Germany's leading fashion paper, and, womanlike, I was immensely interested in seeing, out here in the wilds, what was being worn at home by the "smart set" in Berlin, London, and the other European capitals.
So utterly sick and tired of fowls had a lengthy sojourn in the African wilds made me, that at Banjeli I decided to have for once a dinner of roast pork, and sent Messa into the village with strict injunctions to bring back a pig, no matter what the cost. He succeeded almost too well, returning in about half an hour at the head of a procession of natives, leading, driving, and carrying pigs of all sorts and sizes. In only one respect were they alike. They were the ugliest-looking lot of porkers I ever set eyes on; all black as to colour, and with long bristly hair, not at all like the rosy-snouted little piglets one sees in the German villages. However, I reflected that I was not buying a pig to look at, but to eat, so I picked out one I considered to be the best and fattest of the lot, paying for him what seemed to me the ridiculously small sum of four shillings. Then, spurred on by my success in the pig-killing line at Mangu, I superintended the similar necessary operations here, only to find, however, when my porcine purchase came to be cut up and dressed, that he was about as scraggy, scrawny, lean, and generally unprofitable a specimen of his species as one could possibly conceive of. What he had been fed on, Heaven only knows. Sawdust and wood shavings, I should imagine, from the taste of him. And this, I hasten to add, was not the fault of the cooking, for from almost the beginning of the trip I have made the kitchen and its conduct my own special care.
Taught in the first instance by that old Togoland campaigner, Captain von Hirschfeld, I have, too, succeeded in perfecting a very excellent system of keeping our drinks cool, and our cheese and butter from running to oil. It is worked this way. In Togoland we have what is called a "Hausa load." This is not a "load," as might be imagined, but a long, narrow basket made of split bamboos laid closely together lengthways, and bound together crossways with strips of bark. Into this long wicker trough I used to put the things I wanted kept cool, wrapped up and covered with sacks kept constantly wet. It was marvellous how beautifully they were preserved by this simple expedient. Even on the march, by detailing a boy to constantly sprinkle the sacks, I was able to keep the butter quite solid, the bottles of liquid comfortably cooled, and even perishable provisions, such as cooked meat for instance, fresh and sweet.
It was Anton, our pet monkey, by the way, who was the alleged cause—as a matter of fact he was quite innocent in the matter—of a grave dereliction of duty on the part of seven of our boys. The affair happened on the road to Ibubu, where the whole lot of them turned up very late; a long way, in fact, in rear of the carriers, who, of course, made ordinarily considerably slower progress with their heavy loads than did our personal servants, who carry no loads. They had, it transpired, met some friends on the road, who treated them to palm wine and native beer; but their excuse was that Anton had scampered off into the bush, and refused to be caught for some time, thereby delaying them. Now this was an excuse that might easily have held water, for we knew, and our boys knew that we knew, that Anton was addicted to such tricks. But on this occasion their somewhat unsteady gait and the strong smell of alcohol that hung about them convicted them, and one by one they broke down under cross-examination, and confessed to the truth. Then came the question of their punishment.
Very early in our trip Schomburgk had told me that the best way to punish a lazy carrier was not by personal chastisement—for which they care little unless it be carried to such an extent as to be inhuman, which, of course, is not to be thought of—nor by fining them; but that if a carrier was really lazy, coming in a long while after the others, the best thing to do was to give him a load, and stand him with it on his head in the middle of the camp, making him stay there for as long a time as he had been behind his fellow-carriers. "Then," said Schomburgk, "the others will all make game of him, and he will have learnt a lesson he is not likely to forget."