A Camera Actress in the Wilds of Togoland
by Meg Gehrts · English · Gutenberg #45442 · 501,532 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: A Camera Actress in the Wilds of Togoland
Author: Meg Gehrts
Author of introduction, etc.: Hans Schomburgk
Release date: April 20, 2014 [eBook #45442]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CAMERA ACTRESS IN THE WILDS OF TOGOLAND ***
A CAMERA ACTRESS IN THE WILDS OF TOGOLAND
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
KONKOMBWA WARRIOR IN FULL GALA DRESS
The helmet is a calabash, elaborately ornamented with cowrie shells,
and surmounted by a fine pair of roan antelope horns. Other less lucky
warriors, or less clever hunters, content themselves with the smaller
horns of the commoner puku antelope. Note the beautifully ornamented
quiver filled with poisoned arrows.]
A CAMERA ACTRESS
IN THE WILDS OF
TOGOLAND
THE ADVENTURES, OBSERVATIONS & EXPERIENCES OF A
CINEMATOGRAPH ACTRESS IN WEST AFRICAN FORESTS
WHILST COLLECTING FILMS DEPICTING NATIVE
LIFE AND WHEN POSING AS THE WHITE
WOMAN IN ANGLO-AFRICAN
CINEMATOGRAPH DRAMAS
BY
MISS M. GEHRTS
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY MAJOR H. SCHOMBURGK
WITH 65 ILLUSTRATIONS & A MAP
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
LONDON: SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LTD.
1915
INTRODUCTION
BY MAJOR H. SCHOMBURGK, F.R.G.S.
It was after my return from my first West African cinema expedition,
in June 1913, that I made up my mind to try and film native dramas in
their true and proper settings.
My aim was to visualise, as it were, for the European public, scenes
from African native life as it once was all over the continent, and
as it is even now in the more remote and seldom-visited parts; and it
was further my object to so present the various incidents as to ensure
their being pleasing and interesting to all classes and conditions of
people.
To this end, then, it became necessary for me to find a white woman
capable of acting the principal parts, supported by native supers.
My thoughts at once reverted to Miss Gehrts, a lady with whom I have
been acquainted for some little while, and whom I knew to be a keen
sportswoman, a good rider, and possessed of histrionic ability of no
mean order.
It did not take me long to persuade her to accept the offer I made
her; but her parents raised many objections, based principally on the
supposed dangers and privations which they assumed--not altogether
wrongly--to be inseparable from the trip. These objections, however,
were eventually overcome, the enterprise was undertaken and brought to
a successful conclusion, and this book is one result of it.
Personally, I must confess to not being altogether favourably impressed
with the ordinary African "travel book" of the typical globe-trotting
woman writer: the kind of one, I mean, who either conscientiously and
carefully hugs the coast, or else ventures but a little way into the
hinterland along the ordinary caravan routes, and then puts upon record
a long string of facts and fancies which only serve to raise a smile on
the faces of those who really know their Africa, exemplifying, as they
almost invariably do, that, with regard to this vast and most wonderful
continent, more than perhaps anywhere else, a little knowledge is a
dangerous thing.
Miss Gehrts' book--and I say so frankly and freely without fear or
favour--is not of this sort. She quitted the beaten track altogether;
so much so that north of Sokode she was absolutely the first and only
white woman the natives had ever beheld. She had, therefore, the
satisfaction of seeing these interesting peoples--the Tschaudjo, the
Konkombwa, the Tschokossi, and many others--in their original unspoilt
state of free and proud savagedom.
I am pleased to say that she appreciated the opportunities afforded
her, using her powers of observation to very good purpose indeed, and
with results that were not a little surprising even to old dwellers
in the country. For instance, it was she who discovered the curious
industry of making beads from palm nuts, described in Chapter VII, as
also the unique fortified native village of which a plan and drawing,
as well as a full and most interesting description, will be found in
Chapter XII.
For these reasons I am inclined to dissent from the view, expressed by
her in her foreword, that the book possesses no scientific value. I
also disagree with most of what she has written in the opening chapter
concerning myself: it is far too flattering.
On the other hand I cannot praise too highly the work done by her
in connection with the expedition. I am only afraid that no reader
will either appreciate or understand, from her very self-restrained
narrative, what she really underwent while acting in the dramatic
pieces.
Miss Gehrts also took charge of the commissariat, and I am sure that
every member of the expedition will be only too pleased to certify
that a better could not have been evolved than the one that was run so
easily and beautifully by "our little mother," as the "boys" used to
call her.
Finally, I should like to say that this book possesses the distinction
of being the first published record of a journey through Togoland ever
written by anybody, man or woman, black or white. It is, therefore,
in a sense unique, and I wish it all the success that, in my humble
opinion, it deserves. I cannot say more: nor can I say less.
HANS SCHOMBURGK.
LONDON, _July 9, 1914_.
FOREWORD
In the beginning, when I first went out to West Africa, it had never
entered into my head for a single instant that my experiences there
might form the subject of a book. But I fell into the habit of keeping
a diary of my journeyings, and afterwards many of my friends, as also
other people in a position to judge, seemed to think it almost a pity
that the adventures and impressions of the first white woman to travel
through Togoland from the sea to the northern border and back again,
should go unrecorded. It was pointed out to me, too, that the fact of
my being the first cinema actress to perform in savage Africa, and with
savages as "supers," would most certainly add to the interest, even if
it did not enhance the value, of such a record.
In this way the present volume came into being: a creation born--to
be perfectly and absolutely frank--of egoism and flattered vanity.
I should like to say at the outset, however, that it does not make
any pretence to add to the sum of human knowledge in a scientific
sense; it is merely a plain and simple narrative of a girl's seeings
and doings amongst strange and primitive folk living in a remote and
little known land. Still, should there be found in it anything new
of anthropological or ethnological value, it will be to me an added
pleasure; for I particularly tried, to the best of my ability, to keep
my eyes and ears open for the reception of such. Likewise, I shall be
glad if this, my first attempt at authorship, helps to win friends for
the colonial cause, and tends to dispel the altogether erroneous idea
anent West Africa being, in the sense in which the phrase is usually
interpreted and understood, the "white man's grave."
Speaking for myself and on the whole, I was both healthy and happy out
there. I received nothing but kindness from white and black people
alike; so much so, indeed, that I have come to love and admire the
country into which I first adventured myself with feelings akin to fear
and repulsion. Africa, in short, has cast her spell over me, as she
does, I am told, over most others. Even as I write these few last lines
I can feel "the call of the wild" stirring my blood.
In concluding this brief foreword, I should wish to be permitted to
thank His Highness the Duke of Mecklenburg, Governor of Togoland, whose
personal interest in the welfare of the expedition, shown in many ways
and at divers times, made it possible for us to carry it out in its
entirety on the lines originally laid down.
My thanks are also due to Commander Triebe, of the S.S. _Henny
Woermamm_, for many kindnesses and courtesies received on the outward
voyage, as well as to his colleague, Captain Pankow, of the _Eleonore
Woermamm_, for other similar evidences of good-will on the voyage home;
to Lieutenant von Rentzel, who so kindly placed his house at our
disposal on our first arrival in Lome, the capital and port of Togo;
and to Mr. Kuepers, the head-master of the Government school in Sokode,
for welcome hospitality freely extended to us.
Especially, too, am I grateful to Captain von Hirschfeld, District
Commissioner of Mangu, who not only showed us personally every
hospitality and kindness during visits extending altogether to over
a month, but who also went out of his way, at considerable trouble
and inconvenience, to help us in filming many subjects, scenes, and
incidents of native life, which we should otherwise hardly have been
able to secure; his efforts in this latter direction being ably
seconded by his two European assistants, Messrs Sonntag and Gardin.
Mr. Muckè, of Bassari, also showed us many kindnesses for which I
am sincerely grateful; and my best thanks are likewise due to Herr
von Parpart, District Commissioner of Sokode, whose hospitality on
our return journey to the coast made our last evening in the African
bush an outstandingly pleasant recollection. Mr. James S. Hodgson,
our camera man, besides proving himself a first-rate and exceedingly
careful operator, kept us lively of an evening by his clever playing on
the mandoline, while his imperturbable good-humour, even in the most
trying circumstances, helped to make our trip a pleasant and agreeable
one.
Finally, I should wish to thank my friend, Mr. C. L. McCluer Stevens,
of "Ivydene," New Malden, Surrey, author and journalist, for the
skilful and painstaking manner in which he has edited my rough
manuscript and put it in trim for the publishers, as well as for
valuable advice and help regarding the treatment and scope of the
various chapters and the work as a whole.
M. GEHRTS.
LONDON, _July 1, 1914_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
LONDON TO LOME
PAGES
I am "up against" a queer business proposition--Doubts and
difficulties--Assent--Major Schomburgk, F.R.G.S., the
leader of the expedition--His African experiences--
Filming cinema pictures in the tropics--The start from
England--Dover to Madeira--Life on board ship--Madeira
--Teneriffe--Las Palmas--Motoring under difficulties--
Arrival in Togo--"Yellow Jack"--Kindness of H.H. the Duke
of Mecklenburg, the Governor of Togoland--A jolly dinner
party--Rickshaw riding in Lome--Off to Atakpame 17-28
CHAPTER II
HOW WE FILMED "THE WHITE GODDESS OF THE WANGORA"
A tiresome railway journey--My hut in the forest--A trying
toilet--Native inquisitiveness--_Haute cuisine_ in the
heart of Africa--Mosquitoes--My first night in the bush
--A very primitive shower-bath--Rehearsing our first
cinema drama--Savages as "supers"--Irritating delays--
A false alarm--Filming the principal scene in the _White
Goddess_--I am knocked up--And laid up--Malarial fever
--"If you cough you'll die"--Convalescence--I try
cookery--A disconcerting experience--Eating 9863 chickens
--A little about lizards--Also about ants and beetles 29-39
CHAPTER III
LIFE AT KAMINA
Troubles of cinema playing in Central Africa--Enforced leisure
--Native girls and a gramophone--Women and work--Native
children--A negro philosopher--Native servants--
Learning to cycle--Improvising a studio--Wild monkeys--
Native dances--A perilous climb 40-48
CHAPTER IV
STARTING "ON TREK"
On the march into "the back of beyond"--Packing our "chop
boxes"--Quinine--"I didn't want to do it"--The starting
of the caravan--Good-bye to Kamina--Kindly forethought
of the Duke of Mecklenburg--Our first day's march--
Sleeping out in the bush--Rest-houses--Our operator goes
astray--Dish-washing extraordinary--Our cook disappears
--To return with a wife--I try my hand at bush cooking--
"Feed the brute"--A native belle 49-56
CHAPTER V
ATAKPAME TO SOKODE
Our friend the doctor--A new way with natives--Laughable
results--And to Njamassila--Travelling by hammock
--A rash resolve--Njamassila to Agbandi--Sleeping
on the march--A native giant--Agbandi to Djabotaure
--Depressing effects of the West African climate--An
adventure at Djabotaure--Native festivities on the eve of
Ramadam--Djabotaure to Audasi--Incompetent hammock boys
--"Sea-sickness" on land--A moonlight night in the bush
--Nearing Sokode--Our horses waiting for us in charge of
a European--A bush toilet--Arrival in Sokode--Kindly
hospitality 57-68
CHAPTER VI
IN THE CAPITAL OF TSCHAUDJOLAND
In camp at Paratau--Uro Djabo, paramount chief of the
Tschaudjo--A courtly savage--The Tschaudjo a conquering
tribe who came riding on horses from the north--Djabo's
palace--His wives--A much-married monarch--His prime
minister and attendants--He comes to afternoon tea--A
democratic king--Tschaudjo horsemen--An accident--
I nearly lose my life--A nervous breakdown--We leave
Paratau in a hurry--Kindness of the German Government
officials at Sokode--They lend us one hundred carriers
--On the road to Aledjo-Kadara, "the Switzerland of
Togo" 69-79
CHAPTER VII
ALEDJO-KADARA--THE SWITZERLAND OF TOGO
On the march from Paratau to Aledjo-Kadara--A terrible stage
--Doubt and depression--An uphill journey--I feel my
health improving--An accident--Native sympathy--Our
cook annexes our dining-table--A lovely camp--A thousand
yards up and surrounded by mountains--The Switzerland of
Togo--Beautiful rest-houses--The harmattan--Grass
fires--Filming a drama--Another accident--Nebel and I
nearly fall over a precipice--Nebel homesick--He leaves
for Europe--Filming the final scene of _Odd Man Out_--We
visit Bafilo, near Aledjo--Great reception by natives for
the first white woman--The Uro (king) of Bafilo meets us
in state--Torch play to celebrate the finish of Ramadam--
More filming--An astonished native--Industrial films--
The cotton industry--Trade guilds--Primitive looms and
spindles--Making beads from palm nuts--Baboons like dogs
and rabbits with feet like elephants 80-96
CHAPTER VIII
AMONG THE BAFILO FOLK
The native market at Bafilo--Native sweetmeats--Cowries as
currency--A native barber shaving a baby's head--Togo
boys playing at the West African equivalent of pitch and
toss--A woman's dance that out-tangos the tango--Native
baskets at a farthing apiece--Hyenas--I am nearly bitten
by a puff-adder--A leopard--Early stables--Filming
again--A glut of supers--A "woman palaver"--One of our
people abducts a native girl--His punishment--I read the
girl a lecture--But make little impression--"He gave me
these"--A drunken native--I intercede for him with his
chief--Wild tribes from the Kabre Mountains--Nude but
modest--The shy girl and her bag of salt--A native falls
in love with me--Beautiful native work--I buy a cloak of
native manufacture--Good-bye to Bafilo 97-107
CHAPTER IX
ON THE MARCH ONCE MORE
On trek once more--A disquieting discovery--I am very angry
--A long day's journey--I narrowly escape sunstroke--
"Wholesome anger a good tonic"--I taste native beer for
the first time--And find it both refreshing and sustaining
--Antelope spoor--Exchange carriers--First meeting
with the Konkombwa--The finest race of savages in Togo--
Native dandies--Trouble with our horse boys--They are
punished--In the heart of the wilds--European and native
rest-houses--Paying our carriers with salt--Schomburgk
gets "bushed"--Resents my anxiety--We quarrel--Elephant
spoor--I am given my first lesson in wood-craft--
Mosquitoes--The yellow-fever breeding anophele--We cross
the Kara River--First sight of hippopotami--We strike the
Oti, the principal river of Northern Togo 108-124
CHAPTER X
CHRISTMAS AT SANSANE-MANGU
At Mangu--Captain von Hirschfeld--I make an "impression"--
Though not the kind I should have liked to have made--"The
Place where Warriors Meet"--A brush with the Tschokossi
--Captain von Hirschfeld's splendid hospitality--Tamberma
Fort--The head tax---The Mangu plantations--Mangu in
the rainy season--Great heat--Terrific thunderstorms--
Our Christmas dinner at Mangu--New Year's Eve festivities
--We burn three thousand feet of film--Game birds round
Mangu--A fishing carnival--Queer native methods--
Canoeing on the Oti River--A marvellous shot--Filming in
the tropics--More difficulties--The new station at Mangu,
and the old one--A striking contrast--The big Mangu
"songu"--A gathering of the clans--Trapping a hyena--
A plague of bats--Fresh milk and native butter--Ancient
records at Mangu 125-140
CHAPTER XI
OUR "FARTHEST NORTH"
Northward from Mangu--Wild savages and poisoned arrows--A
treacherous attack and a lucky escape--Different arrow
poisons--Grass fires and their drawbacks--Mosquitoes and
some yarns about them--Wild natives--The wild Tschokossi
women--A new dress every day--Our boys go swimming in
a crocodile-infested pool--Our pet monkey gets loose--
Searching for hippos--An unreliable guide--Sullen natives
--A too-early call--A wonderful game country--In God's
big "zoo"--Gorgeous plumaged birds--I want Schomburgk
to shoot some for me--He objects--Sun birds and blue
jays--Across a yam-field country--A bird sanctuary--
Discovery of a flock of marabou--I regret having no gun--
The costliest feathers on earth--Our guide loses his way
again--Fulani herdsmen--They supply us with fresh milk--
Arrival at Sumbu 141-158
CHAPTER XII
AMONG THE SUMBU SAVAGES
At Sumbu--Wild savages--Our boys afraid--Tschokossi
refuse to sell us provisions--I enter a village and buy a
chicken--Astonishment of the people at their first sight
of coined money--I make friends with the children--Lumps
of sugar--A new delicacy--The "white honey rock"--I
become "chummy" with the chief--He invites me to go over
his village with him--I accept the invitation--A unique
village--Elaborate precautions against attack--Where did
the Tschokossi learn to build these remarkable villages?--
"Every village a fortress and every house a fort"--Messa
gets scared--And Alfred follows suit--Cleanliness and
the "classes"--I try my hand at cheese-making--Our too
energetic "washerwoman"--A novel theory of wages--The
ugliest chief in Togo--Marriage among the wild Tschokossi
--Men's view--A primitive form of eugenics--"Can white
women laugh?"--Our boys are boycotted--Native women
refuse to cook for them--Salt the only currency--Sleeping
"rough"--My boys' anxiety for the safety of their "little
white mother"--Messa makes himself putties--His anxiety
about his wife--A case of filaria--Dangerous symptoms 159-182
CHAPTER XIII
BACK TO MANGU
An adventure with a puff-adder--Welcome news--"Chief's
mail"--Out after hippo--Inexperienced hammock boys--
My first sight of hippopotami--I am not impressed--
Crocodile island--An extraordinary sight--Birds that
pick crocodiles' teeth--Panscheli--Hodgson shoots two
hippos--Our boys fetch them from the pool--Cutting up the
carcases--A loathsome sight--We break camp--Homeward
bound--Huge oyster "middens"--Stalked by savages--A
_nuit blanche_--A leopard--and other things--Bad news
--Back in Mangu 183-197
CHAPTER XIV
THROUGH THE KONKOMBWA COUNTRY
At Mangu--The harmattan--A meteorological mystery--Filming
ethnological pictures--Building the new Mangu station--
Drilling native soldiers--Marriage in the native army--
Buying wives--Their market value--Polygamy _v._ monogamy
--Filming Togo history--We reconstruct a big battle--
Celebrating the Kaiser's Birthday--We buy a wild ostrich--
It escapes--An ostrich hunt on the veldt--Packing up for
the downward journey--Horrible discovery--No cigarettes
--"Battle-axe" brand _v._ best Egyptians--Quitting
Mangu--On the march to Unyogo--No water--Hodgson has
an extraordinary "adventure"--A woman palaver--On to
Djereponi--Chameleons--Nambiri--Nothing to eat--A
glorious feed--An egg-laying story--In the heart of the
Konkombwa country 198-212
CHAPTER XV
NAMBIRI TO TSCHOPOWA
The chief of Nambiri--One of Nature's gentlemen--Killing the
fatted calf--Pretty Konkombwa villages--The Konkombwa
and the Dagomba--Elaborate head-dresses of the Konkombwa
men--Konkombwa women--A domestic row--Wonderful
recuperative powers of savages--Konkombwa dances--A
wonderful performance--Studies in facial expression--
Distributing kola-nuts to the dancers--A native delicacy--
On to Tschopowa--Voluntary carriers--A "royal" progress
--Marabou feathers--A welcome surprise--I secure a
wonderful bargain--The rest-house at Tschopowa--A huge
baobab tree--Bow and arrow competitions--We secure
pictures of hippo--Remarkable corn bins--Roast bats as
native luxuries--I decline a share in the "banquet"--A
live alarum clock 213-226
CHAPTER XVI
THE WOMEN MINERS OF BANJELI
Tschopowa to Kugnau--No roads--A careless guide--Schomburgk
loses his way--Crossing the Oti River--Mosquitoes at
Kugnau--Asmani and his "mosquito slaps"--A disconcerting
mistake--Messa and Asmani fall out--The Konkombwa and
their helmets--A too officious soldier--Anecdote about
the Duke of Mecklenburg--Crossing the Oti for the last
time--Arrival at Ibubu--A "Roman Fort"--In the Sokode
district--Small food rations--Truculent natives--We buy
a second ostrich--Lack of carriers--A serious dilemma--
The chief of Ibubu is impertinent--"I can't make carriers
out of mealie cobs"--I go on ahead with the few carriers
available, leaving Schomburgk to follow--The disappearing
women--On the road to Banjeli--Beautiful scenery--
Schomburgk orders the chief of Ibubu to be arrested and
brought a prisoner to Bassari--Women carriers--A glut
of green and gold beetles--Our mail arrives at Banjeli
from Bassari--News from home--I buy a pig--And am
disappointed--A native "cooler"--Our personal boys imbibe
not wisely but too well--A model punishment--Filming the
native iron industry at Banjeli--Slave women miners--A
pitiful sight--We obtain some most interesting pictures 227-248
CHAPTER XVII
IN A MOUNTAIN COUNTRY
Banjeli to Bassari--In a mountain country--Crossing the
Katscha River--Bush riding--Arrival at Beapabe--An
avenue of mango trees--We reach Bassari--Hospitality of
Mr. Muckè, the Sub-District Commissioner--He places the
"Massow House" at our disposal--Sleeping in a dwelling with
windows--Scarcity of water--The "King of Bassari"--
An Arab stallion--Native smiths at Bassari--The Mallam
Mohammed, a local Pooh-Bah--An open-air school--The
Mallam's eight wives--Their house and its treasures--They
pay me a return visit--A Jack-in-the-box baby--Native
jewellery--The District Commissioner from Sokode passes
through Bassari 249-262
CHAPTER XVIII
A WOMAN "PALAVER"
Native marriages--A matter of sale and exchange--Infant
betrothals--Native weddings--A Tschaudjo ceremony--
A trying ordeal--Polygamy--Childbirth--Infant diet
and infant mortality--Baby girls--A bush ordeal--The
"Women's Queen"--Fetish women--Secret rites--Status of
native wives--Widows--African death customs--Caravan
cookery--Native cooks--Monkey-nut soup--Potatoes a
coveted luxury--Bush delicacies 263-279
CHAPTER XIX
BACK IN SOKODE
Bassari to Malfakasa--Crossing the Kamaa River--A fearful
climb--Mountain scenery--Uro-Ganede-Bo--A royal
sanctuary--The last of our provisions--The outlaw of
the "Long Gun" mountain--On the road from Malfakasa to
Sokode--The Tim plains--Arrival in Sokode--In touch
with civilisation once more--A telegraphic orgie--We
say good-bye to our horses--Sending them down through
the tsetse-fly belt--Precautions--Sleeping sickness--
The Mallam of Dedaure--A splendid native--The native
Government school at Sokode--Mr. Kuepers, the schoolmaster
--Native scholars--Good manners of the children--Native
children apter to learn than white up to a certain age--
Herr von Parpart gives a farewell dinner--We meet Mr. and
Mrs. Dehn--The choir invisible--By motor car to Atakpame
--A breakdown on the road--Arrival at Atakpame--Kamina 280-295
CHAPTER XX
KAMINA--LOME--HOME
Warm welcome to Kamina--I am introduced to the Baroness Codelli
von Fahnenfeld--Good news--A faithful black "boy"--
The great wireless station at Kamina--Feminine vanity
--Camping out _v._ living in--A tornado--Good-bye to
Kamina--By rail to the coast--At Lome--Filming the
first scene of our principal drama--We want a white baby
--Difficulties of the quest--Shall we paint a black
baby white?--A compromise--Social life in Lome--Herr
Vollbehr paints my portrait in the gardens of the Duke of
Mecklenburg's palace--The great pier at Lome--Coast
natives--We part with our "boys"--Good-bye to Africa--
Vain regrets--Las Palmas--I try a mild gamble--And win
£7--We are nearly sunk when nearing Southampton 296-311
INDEX 313-316
ILLUSTRATIONS
KONKOMBWA WARRIOR IN FULL GALA DRESS _Frontispiece_
_To face page_
PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR 32
REHEARSING FOR THE CINEMA 36
PLAYING AN "INTERIOR" SCENE IN A NATIVE DRAMA 36
CINEMA ACTING IN THE WILDS 42
AUTHORESS AND BODYGUARD OF TSCHAUDJO HORSEMEN 46
MAJOR HANS SCHOMBURGK 50
EUROPEAN REST-HOUSE AT TSCHOPOWA 52
CINEMA FILMS:--(1) A KONKOMBWA GIANT;
(2) PAYING CARRIERS IN SALT;
(3) THE OLD URO DJABO OF PARATAU;
(4) A LIVE ALARUM CLOCK;
(5) BOY SCOUTS 62
MARKET SCENE IN PARATAU 72
NATIVE BOYS AT PARATAU 74
CINEMA FILMS:--(1) WOMEN HAIRDRESSING;
(2), (3) BABY'S BATH;
(4) BETTER THAN THE TANGO;
(5), (6) SCENES FROM "THE WHITE GODDESS" 88
CINEMA FILMS: BEAD-MAKING 94
A HAUSA WOMAN 104
TSCHAUDJO GIRL FROM BAFILO 104
KONKOMBWA WARRIOR 112
CAMPING OUT IN THE BUSH 112
KONKOMBWA DANDY 116
YOUNG KONKOMBWA WARRIOR 116
CINEMA FILMS: A WOMAN'S WORK 120
TAMBERMA FORT 128
CANOEING ON THE OTI RIVER 134
CHIEFS' COMPOUND 138
NATIVE PIG IRON 138
UNFORTIFIED TSCHOKOSSI VILLAGE 144
NATIVES GAMBLING 154
SKETCH OF A FORTIFIED TSCHOKOSSI VILLAGE 166
PLAN OF THE SAME VILLAGE 167
BASKET-MAKING 170
AUTHORESS AND DEAD "HIPPO" 188
A FINE HEAD OF HAIR 208
NATIVE HAIRDRESSING 208
YOUNG KONKOMBWA WARRIOR 214
A HUGE COMMUNAL CORN-BIN 224
"ROMAN" FORT AT IBUBU 232
BANJELI THE CENTRE OF THE NATIVE IRON INDUSTRY 240
SECTION OF OLD NATIVE IRON FURNACE 244
A COUPLE OF YOUNG SUPERS 260
A STUDY IN WHITE AND BLACK 260
NATIVE VILLAGE IN NORTHERN TOGO 280
CINEMA FILMS: KONKOMBWA AT ARCHERY PRACTICE 290
A CAMERA ACTRESS IN THE WILDS OF TOGOLAND
CHAPTER I
LONDON TO LOME
Actresses who, like myself, specialise in cinema productions,
frequently find themselves "up against" all sorts of queer propositions
of a business character; and we are not, therefore, easily surprised
out of that orthodox professional calm, which we all try, more or less
successfully, to cultivate.
When, however, it was suggested to me, early last summer, that I should
take a trip into the far interior of Africa, in a district where no
white woman had ever been before, in order to play "leading lady" in
a series of dramas of native life, I confess to having been for once
completely taken aback.
Nor did even the fact that the proposed expedition was being financed
and personally conducted by Major Hans Schomburgk, F.R.G.S., the
well-known African explorer and hunter, completely reassure me. I
hesitated long. But eventually the prospect of shaking the dust of
cities from my feet for awhile, and living the (very much) simple life
amongst unspoilt children of nature in altogether novel surroundings,
tempted me into acquiescence; and--greatly against the advice of my
relatives and friends--I "took on" the job.
Largely I was influenced in my decision by the fact of my having known
Major Schomburgk for some time previously, for we are both natives of
Hamburg.
Although not perhaps so well known in England--outside of scientific
circles--as he is in Germany, he can nevertheless, if he wishes to,
truthfully lay claim to be one of the most successful African explorers
and big-game hunters now living; and as his name will figure pretty
prominently in the pages of this book, a brief description of him and
his work may not be out of place.
Thirty-three years of age, of medium stature and somewhat slim build,
he is nevertheless endowed with great physical strength. The last
sixteen years of his life--since he was a lad of seventeen, that is to
say--have been spent almost entirely in Africa, hunting, fighting, and
exploring.
Speaking English like a native, he served in the Natal Mounted Police,
and in the last Boer War, for which he has the medal, with four clasps.
As a hunter, it is no exaggeration to say that his prowess is famed
throughout Africa. No fewer than sixty-three full-grown elephants
have fallen to his rifle, and he once bagged four big tuskers in four
shots--two rights and two lefts.
Twice he has crossed Africa. His most adventurous trip--one of five
years' duration--was from the Victoria Falls to Angola, Portuguese West
Africa, thence back through the Congo Free State, Northern Rhodesia,
and German East Africa, coming out eventually at Dar es Salam, near
Zanzibar. During the whole of that time he never saw a railway, or
slept in a stone house. For an entire year he was exploring the source
of the Zambesi, in the Walunde country, which had not been previously
visited by white people; and it was during this expedition that he
trapped, and brought to Europe alive, a specimen of the East African
elephant, a feat that had been frequently attempted before, but never
successfully performed.
He was, too, the first white man to secure alive specimens of the
rare pygmy hippopotamus, an animal that in its native state is so
exceedingly scarce and shy that its very existence even was denied up
till comparatively recently by most African hunters and explorers.
Major Schomburgk knew better, however, for he had actually seen one
of the miniature creatures during an early trip into the West African
hinterland; and in 1911, after infinite difficulty, and some danger, he
succeeded in trapping no fewer than five living specimens, and, what
is more to the point, conveying them from the interior down to the
sea-coast, whence they were safely shipped to Europe.
Two of these are now in the London "Zoo"--one specimen having been
presented by the Duke of Bedford, who bought it from Mr. Carl
Hagenbeck, for whom Major Schomburgk was acting; the other three are in
the New York Zoological Gardens. All five "pygmys," I may mention, were
shown to the Kaiser, who was greatly interested in the curious little
beasts, and warmly congratulated their captor on his success.
In addition to those mentioned above, Major Schomburgk has also
discovered and named many hitherto unknown species of African fauna,
including a rare new buffalo, the _Bubalus Schomburgki_.
Nor was this the first cinema expedition that he had organised and led
into the West African hinterland. Scarcely three weeks prior to the
date when he first approached me with an offer to go out to Togo as
leading (and only) lady, he had returned home from conducting a similar
enterprise into the hinterlands of Liberia and Togo. But that one was
not a success; one reason being, he informed me, that the negative
stock he took out was not the right kind for the tropics. Then, too,
his camera man proved a failure.
The net result was that the money invested in financing the expedition
was practically all lost. This time he hoped, profiting by experience,
to attain to far better results, and, after I had signed my contract,
he infected me with his enthusiasm, so that I grew quite learned--in
theory--about celluloid ribbon, reels, and so forth.
I may say at once that we succeeded even beyond our expectations. In
fact, it has been admitted since by experts, that the collection of
films we brought back, dramatic, ethnographic, and anthropologic, were
the finest that ever came out of the tropics. I can say this without
egotism, and even without appearing unduly to flatter Major Schomburgk,
since the pictures were not taken by either of us, but by his camera
man, Mr. James Hodgson. Of course, we both of us acted in the dramatic
films, but that is another matter.
It was on August 26th, following the necessary preliminary preparations
in London, that we sailed from Dover in the "good ship"--I believe that
is the accepted nautical term--_Henny Woermamm_, bound for Lome, which
is the capital and port of Togo, a tiny German protectorate wedged in
between the Gold Coast Colony on the west and Dahomey on the east.
The coast-line is only thirty-two miles long, but inland the country
widens out a lot, and it was for this "hinterland"--largely unknown and
uncharted--that we were bound.
I must confess to a certain feeling of pleasurable excitement--what
girl would not experience such?--on the occasion of this first start on
what will in all probability always stand out in memory's record as the
longest and most adventurous journey of my life.
Our prime business was, of course, to film pictures, and we set to
work promptly. Directly we got on board the tender, we commenced
photographing the first scene in a drama entitled _Odd Man Out_,
the scenario of which had already been put together in London, and
concerning the plot of which I shall have more to say presently.
Naturally our business excited the curiosity of the other passengers,
and as the tug drew near to the great liner, I could see that the rails
of the decks nearest to us were lined with row on row of the passengers
who had joined the vessel at Hamburg, all eagerly intent on watching us
and our doings; and as we stepped on board, all eyes were directed at
us, and many smiled a kindly greeting. As for me, however, during those
first few hours my one wish was to be alone, to arrange my cabin,
unpack my belongings, and generally make my surroundings as comfortable
and homelike as possible.
It is the fashion of old West African travellers to protest that the
pleasures and amenities of the voyage do not really begin until Madeira
is passed, but as far as I was concerned I had quite settled down to
life on board after our first day at sea. We played the usual ship's
games, sang, talked, and I am afraid that most of us, old as well as
young, married and single, flirted a little bit. I soon gathered round
me quite a small circle of friends. They were mostly men friends,
but this was not exactly my fault. An actress is an actress. _Que
voulez-vous?_
And here I feel that I must say how greatly I appreciated the kindness
and attention I received during the voyage from the ship's officers.
The captain, a most fatherly old gentleman, the oldest officer and the
commodore of the fleet of mail steamers to which the _Henny Woermamm_
belongs, was unceasing in his efforts to do all he could for my
comfort and convenience. The food, too, was excellent, and the whole
surroundings most comfortable, not to say luxurious; equal, in fact, to
those of any first-class hotel.
Curious how one gets used to the throbbing of the engines on board
ship, and the vibration of the propeller. When they suddenly ceased,
very early one morning, I was wide awake immediately. For a few
moments I lay quite still, wondering lazily what was the matter. Then
it suddenly flashed upon my mind that we must be at Madeira, and all
desire for further sleep promptly vanished. I jumped up, peeped out of
my port-hole, saw at once that it was even as I had surmised, and at
once I proceeded to dress and hurry on deck.
It was Sunday morning. Before my eyes lay Madeira. Never in all my life
had I seen anything one-half so beautiful. I was quite taken aback by
the ethereal loveliness of the picture, and could only stand still and
gaze at it in speechless admiration.
I was almost the first on deck, and so I had it all to myself for
a while, and I could drink in the beauty of it, and enjoy it at my
leisure. But soon the other passengers came pouring up from below in
ever increasing numbers, and all became bustle, noise, and animation.
Native boys swam out and round the ship in shoals, shouting, jabbering,
and gesticulating, and diving for pennies which were thrown to them by
the passengers.
After breakfast we went ashore, hired a motor-car, and drove up the
mountain side to a spot whence a magnificent view is obtained of the
whole of the bay, harbour, and town. The road up is exceedingly steep,
and it was, take it altogether, the most exciting motor ride I ever
experienced. I was, in fact, afraid at times that the car would slip
backwards.
But if the ride up was exciting, it was nothing by comparison with the
ride down. This return journey is made by means of queer-looking native
sleighs over a smooth cobble-paved, but exceedingly steep road. Each of
these sleighs will accommodate two passengers, and is manipulated by
a couple of natives, who stand bolt upright on the elongated runners
that project behind, and guide its course with their feet.
It is very like tobogganing, minus the snow and ice, and most of the
passengers made light of it, but to my mind it was a rather terrifying
and not altogether pleasant experience; for the road is inclined in
places at an angle of something like ninety degrees, there are many
sharp curves, and the crazy little vehicles fly downwards with the
rapidity of lightning. Nevertheless, so skilful are the natives that I
was assured that accidents are practically unknown.
After our ride our party went together into the town, and I found it
very interesting to watch the passengers busily engaged in buying
curios, and specimens of native work, to take home to their friends.
Everybody haggled to get the price as low as possible; and yet
afterwards, when they got back on board ship, everybody came to the
conclusion that they had been "had."
We utilised, too, our short stay on shore to film yet another scene
in the _Odd Man Out_ drama, this being taken in the gardens amidst
beautiful tropical vegetation; and one of the curious island sledges,
drawn by oxen, was also introduced. In fact, I may say here that we
hardly ever missed a suitable opportunity throughout the voyage to
get local colour for this our first cinema play, the early scenes in
which are concerned with a young white woman going out to join her
husband in the wilds of Central Africa. When later on, for instance,
we passed a mail steamer in mid-ocean, the camera was got ready, and I
was set to pose and act on deck, with the big ship flitting past in the
background as a setting. We had some gorgeous sunsets, too, and these
also we pressed into our service, so to speak.
The "Blue Peter" flying from the masthead is the signal for everybody
to hurry on board, and soon the anchor is up, the screw starts to
revolve, and we resume our journey. Between Madeira and Las Palmas we
enjoyed two of the lovely sunsets mentioned above. I never saw anything
to equal them, and certainly I could never have imagined anything
half so beautiful. If a painter could have painted them exactly true
to nature, I am quite sure that he would have been laughed at as a
futurist, or something artistically as dreadful; because no one, who
had not seen the original, would have believed in the reality of his
vivid colour effects.
On the morning of September 1st we passed Teneriffe, but only stopped
there for quite a short while to put off a few passengers. At noon we
anchored at Las Palmas, where we had a long wait. A party of us went
ashore, and visited the cathedral and the few other "sights" that the
place boasts of.
Then we hired a motor-car for a drive up to the Hotel Monte. At least,
the chauffeur who drove us called his conveyance a motor-car, but it
was the awfullest type of its kind I ever came across. The bumping was
terrific, but looking over and under to try to ascertain the reason
I discovered to my amazement that one of the wheels was practically
destitute of any vestige of a tyre. About every ten minutes, too, we
had to stop dead, because the motor got hot, and there was no water
available to cool it.
At last, after a thorough shaking-up, the worst I think I ever had
in my life, we arrived at the hotel, and had our tea. The view from
the summit made amends in part for the disagreeableness of the drive.
It was superb. It struck me as being very strange, however, that the
one side of the mountain is quite bleak and bare, whilst the other is
beautifully green and wooded.
In Las Palmas I saw for the first time women washing the family linen
at the sides of the roads in the streams that flow downwards through
pebble and shingle. The Las Palmas roads, by the way, are atrocious;
but the strongly built mail-coaches, each drawn by six mules, make
light of their unevennesses.
At five o'clock we paid a visit to S.M.S. _Bremen_, which lay in the
harbour near the _Henny Woermamm_. Three officers belonging to her had
accompanied us as far as Las Palmas, and we had been great friends
with them, and now they invited us to come on board their vessel for a
farewell visit. Champagne was produced, and I took a couple of glasses
and found they did me good, the heat being very great, and the ride up
to the Hotel Monte and back dreadfully dry and dusty.
Our captain had fixed six o'clock as the hour of departure, but we did
not actually start until eleven. The ship seemed almost unnaturally
quiet now that the naval officers had left her, for they were always
bright and jolly, and I must confess that I had got to like "my little
boys in blue," as I had christened them, very much indeed. However, I
am naturally light-hearted, so I quickly banished sadness, consoling
myself with the reflection that there are, after all, heaps of nice
men in the world.
At length Lome hove in sight, and while I was being lowered, together
with three other passengers, into the boat that was to take us
ashore, the band struck up a song that was pretty popular amongst the
passengers on board, "Do you think that I love you because I have
danced with you?" and on deck stood an army lieutenant who was going to
join his regiment in Kamerun, and with whom I had often danced. I was
convulsed with laughter, because I knew that it was all his work. After
this ditty came "The Girl I Left Behind Me," and looking back from the
boat I saw my dear old captain, and an elderly civilian gentleman who
had paid me a good deal of attention, standing on deck with a huge bath
towel between them, on which they were pretending to dry their tears.
It was exceedingly comical.
Landing at Lome is not at all a simple matter. First one has to be
lowered into the boat from the deck of the steamer in what is called
a "mammy chair"--mammy being a coast term for woman. It is a sort of
wooden skip, something like one of the old-fashioned swing-boats one
sees at village fairs.
The passage from ship to shore is exciting, and in bad weather it
is even considered dangerous, and there is considerable surf; but
the sea happened fortunately to be calm when we got there. Otherwise
our arrival was inopportune. On the day before a member of the tiny
European colony there had died of yellow fever, and all the flags were
at half-mast.
This rather cast a damper over our spirits, although nothing could
exceed the kindness and courtesy shown us by the Togo officials, from
the highest to the lowest. The custom-house officers hurried over
the necessary formalities as quickly as possible; and although the
governor, H.H. the Duke of Mecklenburg, was unable to receive us, being
engaged with Sir Hugh Clifford, Governor of the Gold Coast Colony, who
had come to pay him an official visit, he had kindly arranged quarters
for us, and done everything in his power to welcome us and make us
comfortable.
His adjutant, Lieutenant von Rentzel, who was in hospital at the time,
put his house and servants at the disposal of our party, and we had
a jolly dinner party there that night, at which I played the part of
hostess. He also lent me personally a rickshaw, and a boy to draw it,
so that I might be able to see what there was to see in and about the
town with the minimum of fatigue and inconvenience.
However, I had not much time to devote to sight-seeing, for very early
on the morning after our arrival we set out to journey up country to
a place called Atakpame, distant about 110 miles from Lome. A railway
runs so far; and at the rail-head civilisation may be said to come
abruptly to an end.
CHAPTER II
HOW WE FILMED "THE WHITE GODDESS OF THE WANGORA"
Oh that railway journey! Shall I ever forget it? The dust and heat were
awful, and owing to some unaccountable oversight, nobody had thought
to lay in any provisions for the trip, which lasted from six o'clock
in the morning till four in the afternoon. The only food we were able
to obtain _en route_ consisted of monkey nuts. Our thirst, however,
we quenched quite satisfactorily with luscious, juicy pine-apples,
of which the natives brought us unlimited supplies at every
stopping-place, offering them clamorously for sale at the uniform rate
of one penny each.
Arrived at Atakpame, we were given a right royal welcome by Baron
Codelli von Fahnenfeld, who is building for the German Government, at
Kamina near by, an immense wireless station, intended to communicate
direct with the wireless station at Nauen, just outside Berlin.
The baron first introduced to me my "house," a straw hut, like all the
dwellings hereabouts, but, as he proudly pointed out, it was, unlike
them, possessed of a cement floor. I duly thanked him, and tried to
smile my gratitude. But my heart misgave me, for to my mind it seemed
to lack pretty well all the essentials that a dwelling-place should by
rights possess.
To begin with, it most certainly was not weather-proof, for I could
see, through the interstices of the loosely-thatched roof, the stars
twinkling far above. The wind blew in the front and out at the back,
and I was conscious, all the time I was dressing for dinner, that I was
the cynosure of several hundred pairs of eyes, belonging to as many
natives, men and women, who, "clad in the climate," as the saying is
out there, crowded in serried ranks all round the wattle walls, anxious
for a glimpse through the all too numerous chinks at the wonderful
white woman timidly robing and disrobing within.
But dinner made amends for everything. We were the baron's guests for
that evening. It was a glorious, gorgeous meal, beautifully prepared
and perfectly served under conditions which seemed ideal to me, partly
no doubt because they were so altogether novel. The warm African night
was absolutely still, save for the continual monotonous humming of
myriads of insects. All around was the silent mysterious bush, from
which came no sound, either of man, or of beast, or of bird.
And we--we were in a little gastronomic world of our own; a tiny bit
of London, or Paris, or Berlin, planted out in the wild. There was
the same sheen of damask napery, the same glitter of crystal and
silver, the same faint, almost imperceptible perfume of exotics, as
one associates mentally with, say, the Ritz or the Savoy. Only the
servitors here, instead of wearing black clothes and having white
faces, were ebon black in colour, and their liveries were white, all
white, from head to foot, save for the silver blazonry of the baron's
crest.
Oh, how I enjoyed this my first real meal in the real heart of Africa!
The memory of the taste of it lingers on my palate yet, even as I
write. Nothing was lacking, nothing was _de trop_. The caviare was
as good as the consommé, and both were perfect. The partridge _en
casserol_ was hot, juicy, and tender. The spring lamb with asparagus
shoots was a dream. The peach Melba melted in one's mouth. The coffee
was as good as any I have tasted in Vienna, which is only another
way of saying that it was the very best possible. The wines, like
the liqueurs, were just "it." When my host informed me, over our
cigarettes, that all the comestibles came out of cans, I simply could
not believe it. But it was the truth, of course, nevertheless. Only
canned provisions are available in the Togo hinterland, if one excepts
chickens and eggs, and an occasional joint of very tough and very
insipid beef.
After dinner, however, came my first real African ordeal. Wishful to do
honour to our genial host, I had donned one of my prettiest low-necked
frocks, and the mosquitoes took a mean and dastardly advantage of
my innocent inexperience. The baron and Major Schomburgk swathed me
from head to foot in blankets and tablecloths, so that I looked like
an Egyptian mummy. Nevertheless, ere bedtime, I grew unbeautifully
speckled, and very, very lumpy.
I had almost forgotten to record that the dinner was served in an open
thatched house, like my own, but somewhat larger, so that the insects
had free access everywhere. The light came from one of Baron Codelli's
acetylene motor-bike lamps, placed at some distance from the table. A
lamp placed anywhere on, or near the table, attracts insects in such
countless myriads as to render eating and drinking almost out of the
question.
I slept fairly well through my first night in the African bush, having
previously learnt to lie perfectly straight and still on the narrow
camp bedsteads that are everywhere in vogue in Togo. If one wriggles
about under one's mosquito-net, or throws one's arms about, the
bloodthirsty little brutes are sure to get at one, and then woe betide
the sleeper. He, or she, becomes the sleeper awakened with a vengeance.
On rising at sunrise, I asked quite innocently for my bath. My native
boy grinned; and pointed to a bucket hanging from the top of a tall
pole in the open compound fronting my hut. At the same time he
explained by gestures that by pulling out, by means of a cord that was
attached to it, the bung in the bottom, I could manage to obtain a very
good imitation of a genuine shower-bath.
Nobody seemed to think that there was anything amiss in the publicity
that must of necessity have attached to the proposed performance, but I
was of a different opinion. I shirked my bath for that one morning, and
during the afternoon my boy, acting on my instructions, built a wattle
screen round the compound.
I was looking forward to start rehearsing that day on the first of our
native plays, which we had entitled tentatively, _The White Goddess
of the Wangora_; but then I knew nothing at the time of the delays
incidental to any kind of work in which natives play a part.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR
Painted in Togoland, by Ernst Vollbehr of München. The native is a
Konkombwa.]
Time is of no value whatever to these wild and woolly savages, and
as we had of necessity to get together a small army of several hundred
"supers," literally weeks elapsed before we were ready. I chafed
dreadfully at the delay, but there was no help for it. The requisite
number of natives had to be laboriously collected from a score or more
of villages scattered over a wide area of country, and then, when we
had got them together, everything had to be explained to them over and
over again through the medium of three or four different interpreters.
In fact, it was nothing but talk, talk, talk, palaver, palaver,
palaver, from morning till night.
There was considerable difficulty, too, in getting them to face the
camera. Like most savages, these Togo natives have an inherent rooted
aversion to being photographed. Luckily, however, Major Schomburgk
had taken moving pictures of some of their villages during a previous
expedition he had led into these parts, and some of the very natives we
had engaged figured in them.
So, as we had brought a projecting machine with us, we made shift to
rig up a screen, and showed them themselves, their wives and their
little ones, going about their ordinary avocations in their own homes.
The effect was instantaneous. They had, of course, seen ordinary
photographs before, but none of them had ever beheld any moving
pictures. Now they all wanted to come into one; and whereas before
the most of them hung back, they were now only too anxious to push
themselves in the forefront of every scene.
Only one act they shirked. This was a battle scene in which several of
the warriors were supposed to be slain. We had the greatest difficulty
in persuading even one native to "act dead." Their objection, they
explained, was due to the fact that they believed that if they played
at being dead before the white man's mysterious machine, they would
most likely be dead in reality before morning.
At length, by the promise of a liberal bonus, one warrior, greatly
daring, consented to play the part. The next morning the head
interpreter knocked at the door of my hut to inform me that there were
"eight dead natives lying in the compound outside."
"What!" I screamed, in great alarm. And, hastily donning my
dressing-gown, I ran out.
But I need not have got scared. The eight were not really defunct. They
were merely shamming death, and wanted me to see how well they could do
it, with a view to being taken on for the part in the forthcoming day's
rehearsal.
The one who had played dead the day before had not of course died
during the night, as they more than half expected he would have done,
and they were consequently now only too willing and anxious to follow
the lead he had set them.
At length the long, wearisome series of preliminary rehearsals came to
an end. Everybody was supposed to be part perfect, and we made ready to
film the play.
Up to this I had, of course, rehearsed in ordinary attire. Now
I had to don native dress; and as I am a stickler for realism I
insisted--against Major Schomburgk's advice--in playing in bare feet
and legs, bare shoulders and arms, and with no head covering.
As the principal scenes were laid out of doors in the middle of the
bush, and under a blazing tropical sun, this, as was pointed out to me,
was a pretty "big order." Nevertheless, I thought I could "stick it";
and, as a matter of fact, I did, though I suffered for it afterwards.
My part was, of course, that of the "White Goddess." I was supposed
to have been cast ashore as a babe on the coast of Togo, and taken
up-country by the savages who found me, and who afterwards placed me
in charge of their principal ju-ju shrine, paying me, in the course of
time, almost divine honours.
I had grown to womanhood without ever having seen one of my own colour
and race, and when a white hunter (Major Schomburgk) was taken prisoner
by the tribe whose high priestess I was, I was naturally attracted to
him. Bound hand and foot, he was cast into a hut, preparatory to being
put to death. I had to free him from his bonds, and guide him in a wild
flight for freedom over rocks and bushes, through foaming streams, and
up hill and down dale.
All this I did. It is the great scene of the play, and to film it took
one whole day. Major Schomburgk had given strict orders for all our
eight hundred or so of supers to muster at 6 A.M. sharp, but with the
irritating perverseness of natives they did not put in an appearance
until 10 A.M., when, of course, the sun was already high in the heavens.
This added tremendously to my trials and tribulations, and was, in
fact, to a great extent the cause of my subsequent breakdown. By noon,
when the sun was directly overhead, it was so hot that the operator
was unable to bear to touch with his ungloved hand the brass work of
his machine.
How I got through the afternoon's work I don't know to this day. I
managed it somehow. There is a marvellous sustaining power in the mere
nervous tension of acting, and the click, click, click of the camera
helps to keep one tuned up as it were. But directly it was all over
I fell fainting on my camp bed in my hut, and the doctor had to be
called in. My feet were all cut and scarred, and full of thorns and
jiggers.[1] My legs, too, were pretty badly scratched and torn. And, to
crown all, I had got a "touch of the sun."
[1] Also known as the chigoes and the sand-flea.
The next day I was in a high fever, and the day after that in a higher
one. Malaria had gripped me, and I really thought at one time that my
first African photo-play rehearsal was going to be my last one. Even
the doctor looked grave after the first week or so. "You have got
malarial fever," he explained, "and you have got it pretty badly. Your
spleen is about four times larger than it ought to be, and if you cough
it will probably burst."
As at that time I was troubled with an almost incessant cough, this
was not consoling. However, liberal doses of quinine, repeated at
frequent intervals, cured me at last, and in order to celebrate my
convalescence, as soon as I felt well enough I prepared a little dinner
with my own hands, and invited Baron Codelli and Major Schomburgk to my
hut to partake of it.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
REHEARSING FOR THE CINEMA
Another scene from the moving picture play "The White Goddess of the
Wangora." Note the intent look on the little black girl's face, and the
pleased expression on that of the authoress. The black lady on the left
is the head "super" amongst the native women at Kamina.]
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
PLAYING AN "INTERIOR" SCENE IN A NATIVE DRAMA
The authoress is reclining on a leopard-skin rug, and is supposed to be
sleeping, while a "slave-girl"--really a native "super"--fans her with
a feather fan. Taken at Kamina.]
I rather fancy myself as a cook, and I had prepared, as the _pièce de
résistance_, a couple of nice plump fowls. When the dish was uncovered
my guests glanced sharply at one another, turned very red, and
looked quite uncomfortable.
I could not make out what was the matter, and in my usual impetuous
way, I blurted out, plump and plain, the question that was uppermost in
my mind.
"Is there anything wrong with the chickens?"
This was too much for their gravity. Both the baron and Schomburgk
burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter, and the former ran to fetch
his diary.
"Look here," he said, pointing to one of the last entries, "I have
already, during the years I have spent in this benighted country, eaten
9863 chickens. Schomburgk has probably eaten _pro rata_ at least as
many"--the major nodded--"and now you give us two more _as a treat_! O
Lord!"
I joined in their laughter then. I had to. And, after all, my little
dinner passed off excellently well, for of course there were other
dishes. Meanwhile I had learnt one more African lesson. Never, _never_,
NEVER offer your guests chicken if there is anything else under the
sun obtainable by hook or by crook. Cheese and crackers, if you
like; or tinned salmon, or sardines, or even "bully" beef. But the
domestic fowl, regarded as more or less of a luxury in Europe, is in
Africa absolutely tabu. It is the one article of flesh diet that is
all-pervading everywhere out there, and which everybody consequently
soon heartily sickens of. As well might one offer a dish of salmon to
an Alaskan fisherman; or a ragout of mutton to an Australian boundary
rider.
Another lesson I learnt during my long and wearisome illness was
never to kill a lizard, the reason being that lizards eat insects, and
insects of innumerable and most diverse kinds constitute the principal
pests of equatorial Africa. The houses out there swarm with lizards,
and they are big ones too, fully eighteen inches or more in length.
Nobody dreams of interfering with them. On the contrary, they are
everywhere petted and made much of. One old fellow I got quite attached
to, and he to me. I always knew him from the others because he had only
three legs, having lost the other, probably in an encounter with one
of his kind. He was as good as a watch. I used to call him my tea-time
lizard, because he always put in an appearance precisely at four
o'clock every afternoon.
Schomburgk used to tell me that every lizard was responsible for
killing and eating I don't know how many hundreds--or was it
thousands?--of white ants daily. Very likely. But all the same the ants
did not seem to me to diminish perceptibly. The venomous and vicious
little pests swarmed everywhere in incredible numbers. Nothing seemed
to come amiss to them. Our operator declared that he once found a lot
of them trying to make a meal off a sixteen-pound cannon-ball that he
used as a make-weight to the tripod of his machine to prevent it being
blown or knocked over, but this I altogether decline to believe. He
must have been--well, mistaken. But I can vouch from bitter personal
experience that they will devour, in the course of a single night,
photographs hung on the walls, and boots left standing on the floor;
and once a detachment of them riddled so badly a strong wooden box in
which I kept my letters and papers that it fell to pieces in my hands.
Another troublesome insect pest was a kind of big wood-boring beetle,
that made its home chiefly in the beams of the roof. These he would
riddle so completely that sooner or later the thatch was practically
certain to come tumbling about one's ears. While in between whiles he
peppered the interior with sawdust from his carpentering operations to
such an extent that I was kept continually busy dusting and sweeping it
out.
Later, however, when we trekked further up-country right into the real
heart of the unexplored hinterland, I learnt that Africa held other
even worse insect pests than white ants and wood-boring beetles. But of
these more anon.
CHAPTER III
LIFE AT KAMINA
There seems to be no end to trouble when filming cinema plays in
equatorial Africa. No sooner had I recovered from my bout of malarial
fever than our leader and producer, Major Schomburgk, was stricken down
with it, and everything was at sixes and sevens once more.
However, I employed my interval of enforced leisure in making my
temporary home as comfortable as possible, and in getting acquainted
with the natives, and so managed to pass the time pleasantly and
profitably enough.
My nicest hours were those spent before my hut between four o'clock and
dark, after the day's work was done. Then I took my tea, and passed the
time of day with the women and girls who came with huge calabashes on
their heads to get water.
At first they used to hurry by shyly, with eyes downcast, and without
speaking. But I laughed and smiled at them, and by degrees, after
the first day or two, we became quite friendly. They were chiefly
interested in my needlework and my hair. Then one day a thunderstorm
broke suddenly while they were near, and I invited them into my hut
for shelter and set my gramophone playing. This delighted them
immensely, although for a long while they seemed to be more or less
frightened of it.
There are some sweet girls amongst them, and many of them are quite
modest in their demeanour, and well-behaved, although in the matter of
clothes, of course, they have not much to boast of. The young unmarried
girls are some of them quite pretty, with lithe graceful figures,
beautifully proportioned busts, and well-shaped arms and shoulders.
All of them have to work hard, however, and the existence of the
married women especially seemed to me to be one continuous round of
drudgery. In fact, the daily life of a native wife out here might
well serve the advanced suffragettes at home as a typical, "terrible
example" of what my sex has to put up with from "tyrant man."
She has to rise at dawn, sweep out the homestead, fetch water from the
river, often far away, do the scanty family washing, tread out the
corn, grind it to flour and make it into porridge, gather and prepare
for food various wild roots, herbs, and vegetables, cook the family
meals, wash and tend the children, and perform a hundred and one other
similar duties, while her lord and master is, for the most part,
quietly resting "in the shade of the sheltering palm."
Nevertheless, I am bound to say that the women do not appear to mind
it, but seem, on the contrary, to be quite happy and contented. And
indeed their lives compare very favourably on the whole with the lives
led by many married women of the lower classes in the great cities of
England, Germany, and elsewhere.
The native husband is, as a rule, of a good-natured and kindly
disposition, tolerant to a fault almost, and passionately fond of his
children. Domestic quarrels are rare, and "nagging" on the part of
the wife--that great source of strife amongst the lower classes in
Europe--is practically unknown in Africa. Then, again, if there are no
palaces in Togoland, there are likewise no slums. Everybody is well
housed, according to native standards, and they have plenty to eat. The
children especially are well looked after in this latter respect. There
is no "under feeding" of _them_, at all events, and a Togo mother would
probably regard as an insult any offer on the part of the State to
provide "free meals" for her offspring.
The worst class of natives to get along with are those who have been
brought continually into association with Europeans, and have acquired
thereby an exaggerated notion of their own importance. Our chief
interpreter, for instance, required at first a good deal of keeping in
his place, although his views on life and things in general used to
afford me considerable amusement.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
CINEMA ACTING IN THE WILDS
The authoress is here shown playing a part in a cinema drama, "The
White Goddess of the Wangora." The big trunk in the background is that
of a very large "cotton tree," regarded as sacred by the natives.
The small tree in the foreground, against which she is leaning, is a
pawpaw, valued for its refreshing fruit.]
One day, for instance, seeing me rather downcast--it was when I was
recovering from my illness--he surprised me by offering to sing to me.
I thanked him, and told him to get on with it, expecting to hear some
ordinary tuneless native ditty. Instead, he greatly astonished me by
singing, in a fairly passable voice, some very nice songs in German.
I complimented him, and asked him where he had learnt them. He said,
"At the Catholic Mission." Then he went on to inquire whether I had a
mother still living, and on my answering him in the affirmative, he
remarked: "I, too, have a mother, a dear good woman, and twenty-five
brothers and sisters."
I suppose I looked the astonishment I felt, for he hastened to add that
his father had five wives. "My father," he remarked, "is a fine big
man, with a good figure, and in Togo, if a man has a good figure, he
can get plenty of wives."
As my interpreter possessed what he called "a good figure," I asked him
if he had many wives. "Oh no," he replied, in quite an offended tone,
"I am a scientist, and I only have one wife."
"How scientist?" was my next question, spoken quite gravely.
"Well," he replied, "I understand German."
"And does your wife understand German too?" I inquired.
"Oh dear, no," he answered, "that is forbidden amongst us, because we
hold that it is not good for a woman to be educated."
"And why, pray?" I asked.
"Well," he said, "supposing I return home to-night and issue some
instructions to my wife, she would probably, assuming her to have been
educated, reply: 'Talk to yourself, my husband, not to me; you cannot
teach me anything; I am as clever as you are.' As it is, however, she
just obeys my instructions, and says nothing. It is better so."
I was inclined to laugh just at first at this example of negro
philosophy, when it suddenly struck me that I had listened to very
similar sentiments expressed by men in far more civilised communities.
"The girl I shall choose for my wife," I once overheard an eminent
lawyer remark, "will not be one of your new-fangled sort, all fads and
fancies, but one of the good old-fashioned kind, who will faithfully
minister to the comfort of my home and willingly share my bed."
London lawyer and Togo interpreter--there was scarcely a pin to
choose between them as regards their outlook on marital life and its
duties and obligations. Both cherished at bottom precisely the same
sentiments, and neither's ideal of femininity was one whit higher than
the other's.
I also had some differences with my cook. He demanded a lot of money
for "extras," and so forth, and the results were, as a rule, distinctly
disappointing. I was especially struck with the toughness and
tastelessness of the meat served at table, until I discovered, quite
by accident, that he was in the habit of making soup out of it for his
family and relations, we getting the solid--very much solid--residuum.
After that I insisted, much against his wish, in superintending his
culinary operations, with the result that we got good palatable food at
about one-half the cost.
My best servant, or at all events the one I liked best, was a young
girl of about fourteen or fifteen, who acted in our dramas, and was my
personal attendant between whiles. She was a really nice little lassie,
with no nonsense about her, and an excellent taste as regards the most
suitable native attire for me to wear in our various plays, and the
best way to drape and arrange it. She, too, was a bit of a philosopher
in her way, some of her remarks being exceedingly quaint, and yet
sensible.
Once, for instance, when I was attired in evening dress for a certain
social function I was attending, she started admiring my costume,
and on the spur of the moment I said to her: "How would you like to
wear clothes such as I am wearing?" Quick as a flash came the answer:
"Ma'am, what one can never own, one must not permit one's self to
like." There is a world of meaning in that little sentence--especially
for our sex--if one stops to weigh it carefully. Nor does it
necessarily apply only to dress, but to--well, other things.
Another use I made of my enforced leisure at this time was to learn
to cycle, this being by far the easiest way of getting about in
southern Togo, where the roads are fairly good. I had several spills,
for it must not be imagined that the Togoland roads, good though they
are judged by African standards, are in any way comparable with the
macadamised highways one cycles over at home. Still, I persevered, and
after a while I became a fairly proficient rider.
One advantage I had, and that was not being hampered in any way as
regards dress. One returns to nature in equatorial Africa. No tight
skirts, but riding-breeches, in which one can move about easily.
No high heels or wafer soles, but good strong boots that are alike
serviceable and comfortable. No waved hair, because the waves would not
remain in for even half an hour in this hot, damp atmosphere.
Of course we were all the while on the look-out for suitable subjects
and settings for our pictures. I rigged up a studio out of half a hut,
and we filmed many scenes of native life and customs. Amongst other
pictures we took was one showing the daily life and work of a native
woman, as set forth above. This was entirely my own idea, and when the
films came to be developed, and shown in London later on, this one
attracted a very great deal of attention indeed.
I found, however, that the native women and girls made far worse
subjects for the camera, taking them altogether, than did the men.
It was more difficult to get them to pose, or rather, to be strictly
accurate, they were always posing whenever the camera started clicking,
instead of going about their natural avocations in the ordinary way,
which was what I wanted them to do. Their silly giggling, too, used to
get on my nerves, and at times made me quite angry.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
THE AUTHORESS AND "BODYGUARD" OF TSCHAUDJO HORSEMEN
Miss Gehrts is in the foreground, mounted on her favourite horse,
"Nucki." She is really playing in a native drama for the cinema, and
her "bodyguard" consists of "supers" drawn from the tribe mentioned
above, who are noted for their fearless and splendid riding.]
There were other difficulties also as regards the mechanical part
of the business. Occasionally the heat was so great that it almost
sufficed to melt the films, or even to set fire to them; and they had
to be kept stored, therefore, in a special sort of cooling case, built
on the principal of the vacuum flask. Later on, when marching in the
far north through the Togoland Sudan, the cases containing the films
had themselves to be protected from the heat by being swathed in green
banana leaves.
On October 10th I saw wild monkeys for the first time. Near my hut is
a mealie field, and they came there at noon every day to eat their
dinners. They are queer little creatures, very cunning and amusing,
but very shy, so that it is difficult to get near them and study their
antics.
Once or twice I went to a native dance, but I must confess that I was
not greatly impressed. It amused me for ten minutes or so, but as the
movements are always the same I soon grew tired of watching them. And
the noise of the native drums is simply deafening, so much so that it
generally brought on a more or less severe attack of headache.
On the night of October the 15th I had quite a little adventure. It
was bright moonlight; I could not sleep, and at eleven o'clock, when
the whole place was hushed in slumber, I was seized with the desire
to climb to the top of one of the great steel towers that have been
erected here by Baron Codelli von Fahnenfeld in connection with the
Government wireless telegraphy station, mention of which has been made
in a previous chapter.
There are no fewer than nine of these towers, varying in height from
about 250 feet, up to about 400 feet, and with an enterprise born of
ignorance and inexperience I chose the tallest of them all for my
experiment. I thought how beautiful the African landscape would look
seen from the top under the light of the tropical moon, and started on
my long climb full of hope and enthusiasm. By the time I had reached
about a third of the way up, however, all my ambition had evaporated,
and I was glad to go slowly back again. I found the climb down even
more nerve-trying than the climb up--for one thing the stimulus had
departed--and I reached the ground in a state bordering on collapse.
CHAPTER IV
STARTING "ON TREK"
The first few days of November were spent in packing up our belongings
and making ready to start up-country away from the rail-head, and into
"the back of beyond," as Schomburgk put it.
The packing process interested me greatly; partly, I suppose, because
it gave my housewifely instincts full play. It was like making
preparations for a glorified picnic on a gigantic scale. Piles of
provender, pyramids of stores of all kinds, cumbered the camp, and it
fell to my lot to bring order out of chaos.
Necessaries and provisions for a five months' trip had to be packed,
and all the "chop boxes," as they are called out there, had to be
carefully marked and their contents scheduled. It was also necessary to
see that each box weighed precisely 60 lb., neither more nor less, this
being what each porter contracts to carry in Togo.
This was my work, and the motto given me for my guidance was "in every
box a little of everything." This obviated the bother of opening a
separate box for each article wanted on the march, one or two days'
supplies being carried in each box, and used as required, after which
the empty box could be discarded, and another one opened.
The most important single article amongst the host of stores was the
quinine. Over and over again I was urged to look carefully after this.
One can do without food in the bush, I was told; one can even do, for
a while at all events, without water; but to be without quinine spells
death.
Everybody takes it regularly out there, and quite as a matter of
course, the usual dose being thirty-five grains or thereabouts each
week. I took my little lot in two separate doses on Saturday and
Sunday, and I don't mind confessing that, in the words of the popular
ditty of the day, "I didn't want to do it." Only I had to. There was no
escape. Schomburgk and Hodgson, our operator, who were the only other
white people in the party at this stage of the journey, took theirs on
the instalment principle, five grains each evening. But I preferred the
other way.
At last everything was ready. Our one hundred carriers, collected and
sorted with elaborate care from a dozen or more different villages,
made a brave show. Altogether, with our personal staff, interpreters,
and so forth, we had a retinue of exactly 120 followers; a greater, I
reflected, than any I was ever likely to travel with in future, and
certainly far in excess of any that I had been honoured with in the
past.
On the evening of the 4th of November we entertained to dinner the good
Fathers of the Catholic Mission from Atakpame, who had shown us many
kindly courtesies during the time we had spent in their neighbourhood,
and on the 5th we said good-bye to Kamina, and started on our journey.
[Illustration:
_Photo by_ _A. Mocsigay, Hamburg_
MAJOR HANS SCHOMBURGK
The leader and organiser of the expedition. During the last sixteen
years he has only spent about two years outside Africa.]
Our object was to film scenes and plays of native life amongst
absolutely virgin and unspoiled surroundings, and to this end we
intended to penetrate to the extremest northern confines of Togo, as
far at least as the borders of the French Sudan. As I have already
intimated, no white woman had ever travelled so far afield in this part
of Africa before, but we anticipated little difficulty or danger on
this account, the natives being reported as quite friendly everywhere
along our proposed line of route. Then, too, His Highness the Duke of
Mecklenburg, the governor of the colony, had very kindly instructed
all district commissioners and other Government officials to render
the expedition every assistance in their power; so that altogether we
looked forward to a pleasant, if possibly a somewhat strenuous trip.
The first stage of our journey was to a place called Sokode, seven
days' march, and up to this point there is a very fair road.
Consequently we had arranged to cycle so far, the major explaining that
we should have all the horseback riding we wanted later on.
Our first day's trek was to have been a very short one, only seven
miles, and so we did not start until four o'clock in the afternoon,
having sent on our carriers and instructed them where to wait for
us. But once again we had experience of the curious perversity of
the African native. Instead of covering a short seven-mile stage, as
ordered, they travelled a good fifteen before they condescended to call
a halt.
As a result darkness overtook us long before we overtook them, and I
had one or two rather nasty spills, reaching camp at last sore, shaken,
and bruised. Schomburgk was furious, but was obliged to dissemble
a good deal, as at this stage of the journey, with the carriers
comparatively close to their homes, any undue show of harshness or
temper might easily have resulted in stampeding the whole lot of them.
That night I spent on a camp bed in an old deserted straw hut. It was
not altogether uncomfortable, but I got little sleep. The carriers were
all round me in groups of messes, each with its own little fire, and
they were all the time mumbling and talking to one another.
The next day we made a short march, as the rest-house was only about
eight miles ahead. These rest-houses are strung out all along the
Kamina-Sokode road at distances about twenty miles apart, and each
marks the end of a stage. Our operator, Hodgson, should have picked
us up here. He had left Kamina the day after our departure, intending
to overtake us, but he passed us somehow, and cycled on to the next
rest-house.
Naturally we wondered what on earth had become of him, and were
beginning to get rather anxious when, about four o'clock in the
afternoon, a messenger arrived with news of his whereabouts, and
bearing a letter asking urgently for a supply of provisions to be sent
on to him, as he had nothing to eat where he was, and had tasted no
food all that day.
[Illustration: EUROPEAN REST HOUSE AT TSCHOPOWA
The enormous baobab tree on the right was the roosting-place of
innumerable bats, which were greedily eaten, after being killed and
spitted over a fire, by the native "boys" attached to the caravan.]
By degrees things began to settle down. I had charge of the
commissariat and cooking arrangements. The natives I found tractable
enough, but woefully deficient in their notions of cleanliness. Most of
them entertained the idea that the proper way to wash a plate or a
dish was to lick it all over thoroughly. In this way, they explained,
they not only cleansed it, but at the same time were able to get at
least a taste of the white man's "chop."
Water, they contended, was for drinking, not for washing things in.
Even to rub over a kitchen utensil with a wisp of dried grass seemed
to them a work of supererogation. Eventually I used to boil the water
myself in which the dishes were washed up--a necessary precaution
against dysentery--and superintend the washing-up operations from start
to finish. It was, I found, the only way.
I also had charge of the petty cash book, and used to make small
advances to the boys as occasion demanded. They had christened me "The
Puss," and applications for money became more frequent and insistent
than Schomburgk deemed consistent with good order and discipline. It
was, "Please, Puss, give me some pennies," "Me want one shilling,
please. Puss," and so on from morning till night.
The climax came on the evening of the second day, when we were about
twenty-five miles out from Kamina. Just as I was retiring for the
night, a letter was handed to me which purported to come from Messa,
our cook, and Alfred, our chief interpreter, but which was really, I
found out afterwards, inspired by the first-named individual, although
drawn up and signed by them both.
"Dear Puss," it ran, "cook and myself want advance. One pound please.
Or more. If not more, less would be good. Farther up in the bush
presently we no want one penny. This the last. So please not tell
master, because perhaps he make palaver. Good evening, dear Puss. We
salute you. Alfred and Messa."
Well, I made a bit of a palaver myself about it, for a sovereign seemed
a good round sum for a couple of natives to want all of a hurry, but
eventually, yielding to their urgent entreaties, I let them have it.
We broke camp next morning at three o'clock, so as to avoid marching
in the heat of the day. To my amazement and disgust the cook had
disappeared. So, too, had one of our bicycles. The chief interpreter,
on being interrogated, disclaimed all knowledge of the whereabouts
of the absent man. He had, he asserted, merely written the letter
to oblige Messa, and had no idea that he intended deserting, as he
apparently had done.
Here was a pretty go and no mistake. The major swore fluently; I
cried--profusely. Then we both got angry. He said it was all my fault.
"The idea of giving a nigger a whole sovereign advance!" I retorted
that he ought to have impressed upon me more carefully what mean,
underhand skunks niggers were.
Gloomily we marched to the next camp, and I could hear Schomburgk
grumbling to himself at intervals whenever I got near enough to him,
which was not often. "No cook! Whatever shall we do? And Messa was a
good cook. A better one I never had. And good cooks cannot be picked up
in the bush like paw-paws." And so on, and so on.
We marched eighteen miles that morning, the longest stage we had done
so far, then halted for breakfast.
"Sardines and crackers!" sneered Schomburgk.
"For gracious sake go away somewhere for half an hour," I retorted
hotly. "I'm going to run this chop."
He picked up his gun, and strolled off into the bush--grumbling. I set
to work to prepare breakfast. It was hard work to bring my self-imposed
task to a successful issue, for I had only the most rudimentary cooking
utensils, and an open fire.
By dint of much labour and perseverance, however, I managed in the end
to prepare a very decent dish of eggs and bacon, with hot rolls, and
strong steaming coffee. Schomburgk grunted approval when he came to
partake of it, and afterwards was quite genial, despite the affair of
the missing Messa. "Feed the brute!" I forget the name of the tactful
woman who first gave our sex that very excellent piece of advice, but
she knew what she was talking about. She had studied men, and to some
purpose.
An hour later our truant cook turned up. He explained that just prior
to starting on trek with us he had married a young wife, and having
regard to her attractiveness and inexperience he had, on mature
reflection, deemed it inadvisable to leave her behind. He had therefore
gone back to fetch her, borrowing the bicycle and the sovereign for
that purpose.
By dint of cross-examination I elicited that he had not left our
previous camp until midnight. He had therefore cycled twenty-five miles
to Kamina, and the same distance back again, plus the eighteen miles we
had marched that morning, or nearly seventy miles in all in rather less
than nine hours, a wonderful performance for a native, and on a native
road.
I asked him about his wife. "Oh," he replied, "she come presently. She
walking."
Sure enough she turned up that afternoon, having trudged the whole
distance from Kamina, forty-three miles. When I saw her I did not blame
Messa for not caring to leave her behind. She was as pretty a girl,
for a native, as I ever wish to see. Fourteen or fifteen years old,
probably, but quite fully developed and beautifully proportioned, with
a pair of roguish alluring eyes, and a face all smiles. She accompanied
us throughout the trip, and proved herself quite an acquisition.
As for Messa, we ought of course to have chided him severely. But, as
a matter of fact, we were so exceedingly glad to get him back again
that but little was said to him at the time. Later on, however, he was
taken pretty sternly to task, and warned that any similar breach of
discipline would in future be very seriously dealt with.
CHAPTER V
ATAKPAME TO SOKODE
I forgot to say that shortly after leaving Kamina, at a village called
Anâ, we were overtaken by another caravan convoying a European, a
certain Dr. Berger, who was travelling up-country as far as Sokode,
with a view to vaccinating the natives there.
The meeting came about in this wise. On arriving at Anâ, we discovered
that the rest-house there was already occupied by a Mr. Lange, an
engineer, who was building a bridge across the Anâ river.
He was away at work when we got there, and Schomburgk sent his
(Lange's) boy to tell him of our arrival. Presently Lange turned up,
looking rather perplexed, and not a little worried. The statement made
to him by his boy, it appeared, had been couched in the following
terms: "Master, two white men have arrived, and one of them looks like
a woman."
Lange had guessed from this the identity of our party, for he had known
Schomburgk during his previous trip, and had heard of his re-arrival in
the colony, and of my presence there with him. His worried appearance,
we found out, was due to the fact that he had practically run out of
provisions just then, and so was unable to show us the hospitality
he would have desired; and he was greatly relieved when we asked
him to be our guest during our stay at Anâ. I may add that this was
Schomburgk's invariable practice, and I have often heard him inveigh
against the thoughtlessness sometimes shown by a certain type of
globe-trotting European travellers in Africa in planting themselves
upon other Europeans, sometimes for days together, and eating up food
which is perhaps badly needed, and may be very difficult to replace.
Of course hospitality under such circumstances is never refused. It is
the unwritten law of the bush that white man shares with white man. But
all the same there are times when it works hardly on the individual who
does the sharing.
Well, luncheon was served and eaten, and we were enjoying our coffee
and cigarettes, when a new lot of carriers hove in sight.
"Hullo!" remarked Lange to Schomburgk, "this looks like a white man's
caravan"; and the two fell to discussing the foolishness of the
individual, whoever he might be, in travelling thus during the heat of
the day.
Presently the owner of the caravan, the Dr. Berger mentioned above,
turned up, looking very hot and tired. Of course we made him
welcome--it is wonderful how bush life makes one relish the advent of a
white stranger--and we spent a very pleasant time together during the
rest of the day.
He was the most even-tempered man as regards his dealings with the
natives that I have ever come across. Nothing that they did or said
seemed to disturb him in the least.
Curiously enough, although he was a Government official, he was
travelling unprovided with an interpreter; and he himself, of course,
understood no word of any of the native dialects.
When he wanted anything he simply asked his boy for it, addressing him
at considerable length and with much circumlocution in German. Now this
boy, whose name by the way was Joa, had been specially engaged by the
worthy doctor because he had represented himself to be a fluent German
scholar.
As a matter of fact, beyond a few phrases that he had learned to repeat
parrot-like, he knew nothing whatever of the language, and the result
of their joint efforts to make themselves understood was laughable
in the extreme, and was not rendered the less amusing owing to the
fact that the doctor would not allow our interpreter to intervene to
straighten out the verbal tangle. He wanted, he said, to train his boy
to understand German sufficiently well to minister to his wants.
As a result we nearly laughed ourselves into fits over scenes like the
following, repeated at intervals, and with variations, all through the
day.
"Joa," the doctor would say, "my friends would like a whisky and soda,
and I myself could do with a drop. A small modicum of alcohol, Joa,
after the day's march, certainly does no harm to a white man, and may
conceivably do him good. Therefore, Joa, you may bring us a syphon of
soda, please, together with a bottle of whisky"; and the doctor would
imitate in dumb show the process of drawing a cork out of a bottle.
"Yah!" Joa would say, his face all one broad grin; and off he would go
to his master's tent, to return presently with--a telescope.
"Now, Joa," the doctor would remark genially, "a telescope is a very
good thing in its way, but one cannot drink telescopes, Joa. What we
now want, Joa, is a whisky and soda, especially the soda." And he would
start to imitate the pressing down of the lever of a soda-water syphon.
A new light would then break on Joa's face. "Ah! Yah!" he would cry,
and trot off again, to reappear a minute or so later carrying with due
care and circumspection his master's double-barrelled rifle, loaded,
and at full-cock.
And so the pantomime would proceed, master and man both in the best
of tempers, until at last, perhaps at the fourth or fifth attempt,
perchance at the tenth or twelfth, the native would hit upon the right
article, either by accident, or by the slower process of elimination.
Whereupon the doctor would smile gravely yet pleasantly at us, as if in
mild reproof of our unseemly mirth, and remark: "There you are; with
time and patience one can achieve anything, even in Africa and with
African natives."
On the morning after this little episode we rose at three o'clock in
order to cover the next stage, as far as a place called Njamassila,
before the worst heat of the day began. This, I may say, was our usual
practice henceforward; as it is, indeed, that of all old seasoned
travellers in this part of the world.
The distance from Anâ to Njamassila is roughly about twenty miles, and
the road in places is not particularly smooth. It was too, of course,
quite dark when we started, so that altogether I was not particularly
sorry when Schomburgk decreed that I was to do the first part of the
journey in my hammock.
In this way I was carried about two-thirds of the stage. Then, when it
got light, I climbed out, mounted my bicycle, and rode the remainder
of the distance. It was rough going, and very cold at first, but I
persevered, rather reproaching myself for my earlier laziness. When,
however, I discovered on arriving at Njamassila that our doctor
friend had elected to be carried the whole of the way, I went to the
other extreme, shook hands with myself, metaphorically speaking, and
plumed myself mightily on my "wonderful" exhibition of hardihood and
endurance. "I intend to cycle the whole of the next stage," I told
Schomburgk.
Alas, my pride in this respect, and on this occasion, was of the kind
that goes before a fall. Whether or no it was due to my unwonted
exertions of the previous day--I had done a lot of running about on
foot besides the cycling--I cannot say, but the fact remains that when
we struck camp at 2.30 next morning I felt so weak and dizzy, as well
as stiff and sore, that I could hardly stand.
Under the circumstances there was nothing to do but to seek refuge
in my hammock once more, where, snuggled beneath many rugs and wraps
designed to keep out the cold night air, and lulled by the rhythmic
swaying of the conveyance, I promptly fell sound asleep.
It seemed to me that I had hardly closed my eyes more than a very few
minutes, when I was awakened by hearing Schomburgk angrily inquiring of
the hammock boys why they were standing idle, and whereabouts was I.
"Master," they replied, "she is inside asleep, and we feared you would
be angry did we wake her."
All this I heard dimly as in a dream between sleeping and waking.
Lazily I lay back, too comfortable even to raise myself on my elbow and
peer out; but I was beginning to wonder what was the reason for the
long delay, and how soon we were going to resume our journey, when the
sound of Schomburgk's voice, once more raised in protest, roused me
into instant and complete wakefulness.
It was me he addressed this time, and his words were as follows:
"Come, little lady; are you not going to get up?"
"But why should I get up?" I replied. "What time is it? Where are we?"
"It's eight o'clock," he answered, "and we are at Agbandi."
"What!" I screamed; and, pulling the curtains aside, I bounced out on
to the ground.
What I saw made me rub my eyes with amazement. Before me was a
new rest-house, and a village that I had never seen before, and
preparations for breakfast were, I could see, well under way. Only then
did I realise that I had slept right through the entire twenty-mile
stage from Njamassila to Agbandi.
[Illustration: REPRODUCED FROM CINEMATOGRAPH FILMS
1. A Konkombwa Giant
2. Paying Carriers in Salt
3. The Old King of Paratau dancing before the Camera
4. A live alarum clock. A cock which accompanied the expedition, and
roused them every morning
5. Boy Scouts]
In the afternoon, after the worst heat of the day was over, we strolled
down to the village. There was very little to see, however, and we were
on the point of returning to our camp, when there suddenly confronted
us from out of one of the huts the tallest and biggest man I have ever
seen, either in Africa or out of it. He stood over eight feet high,
and was very broad and immensely powerful, the muscles bulging out
under his skin like bosses of beaten bronze.
We would have liked to have filmed him, but unfortunately we did not
have our camera with us. Later on, however, we unearthed another giant,
of scarcely inferior size, and him we did succeed in photographing,
Schomburgk meanwhile standing beside him to show the contrast in size
and height, and lifting and displaying at intervals the big man's
various personal paraphernalia--his bow and arrows, his spear, and the
curious iron rattle which all the Togo natives carry, and concerning
which I shall have more to say presently.
Our next stage was from Agbandi to Blita, and at this latter place we
were met by a fresh lot of carriers, men of the Kabure tribe, who had
been sent down from Sokode to meet us. Our other carriers were sent
back to Atakpame.
The Kabures inhabit the Trans-Kara country, and are, as a rule, fine
strong men, but the lot we got were rather poor by comparison with the
Atakpame people. However, they carried our belongings to Sokode all
right, which was all we wanted of them.
They were absolutely the wildest-looking lot of natives I had yet
come in contact with. There were ninety of them altogether, and they
were all quite nude--not even a loin-cloth amongst the lot of them.
Their dialect, too, was quite different from anything I had heard up
till now. It sounded to my ears more uncouth and uncivilised, a mere
succession of grunts and gurgles.
Here, too, I realised for the first time that my personal appearance
might possibly inspire fear, or even disgust and aversion, for when
I went into the market-place in the afternoon to have a look round
as usual, the children fled screaming with terror, and even their
mothers looked askance at me. I did not mind the latter so much, for
I had already discovered that the women dwelling in these remote bush
villages were not always very pleasant companions to have in too
close proximity to one. They are apt to be--well, smelly. But I felt
really hurt at the attitude of their offspring, for I am very fond of
children, and they of me, as a rule, and in Kamina we had been great
chums together. But then in Kamina there were always white people
about, whereas I was the first white woman, at all events, that these
nude little ebony imps had ever set eyes on. Consequently, I suppose,
they regarded me as a sort of pale-faced bogey, to be avoided promptly,
and at all hazards.
I slept again in my hammock during our march from Blita to our next
halting-place at Djabotaure. This sounds a bit lazy, I must admit; but
then it has got to be borne in mind that this moist, hot West African
climate is exceedingly enervating, especially to a European woman, and
to an unacclimatised European woman at that. Spend an hour or so in
the Palm House at Kew Gardens, and you will get a faint idea of what
it is like. The least exertion during the daytime causes one to break
out into a profuse perspiration. Worse still, it seems to sap all one's
energy and vitality, so that one feels like a wet rag from morning
till night. To fight against it is well-nigh impossible. I used to go
to bed tired, and wake up more tired. After a while, however, these
symptoms entirely wore off, and I became quite strong and well, despite
the heat and the constant travelling. Truly the human machine is
marvellously adaptable.
It was at Djabotaure that I had quite a little adventure. I was taking
my usual afternoon stroll through the village, the men being out in
the bush shooting for the pot, when suddenly, from just outside, and
in the opposite direction from where I had entered it, there arose a
most terrific noise of tom-tomming, mingled with much shouting, the
clattering of rattles, and the trampling of horses.
I stood stock still in the middle of the village, not quite knowing
what else to do, and in a few minutes a group of five horsemen, looking
very fierce and wild, galloped up and halted before me, and these were
followed by others, who took up positions to right and left. Meanwhile,
our interpreter, who had put in an appearance for once just when he
was really wanted, had mutually introduced us, so to speak, and the
foremost horseman dismounted and greeted me with stately courtesy. I
was, he remarked, the first white woman he had ever seen; and having
seen me, he trusted that he would live to see many more. Not a bad
compliment for a nearly naked savage to pay one off-hand in the heart
of the African bush!
The newcomers were, the interpreter explained, a chief and his retinue
from a neighbouring village, and they had ridden into Djabotaure in
order to take part in the festivities that precede the great Mohammedan
fast of Ramadan.
This, as most people are aware, corresponds roughly to our Lent. It is
supposed to commemorate the first "revelation" received by Mohammed,
and during the entire four weeks that the fast lasts a strict Moslem
may not eat or drink, smoke or bathe, smell any perfume, or even
swallow his own spittle, till after sunset.
All this, however, is pure theory, so far as regards the Togo native
Mohammedans. They certainly celebrate the festivities which usher in
the fast with a tremendous enthusiasm--they kept us awake all night
with their singing and dancing--and they are equally enthusiastic over
the bairam festival which marks its close. But as regards the actual
fast itself, I could not see that it made any difference to them
whatever. They ate, drank, and smoked just as they always do; the real
truth, of course, being that these people are Mohammedans in name only.
The day following this affair we marched as far as Andasi, our next
halting-place, I still travelling in my hammock. I had not yet become
acclimatised, and was very weak and languid. For some reason, too, my
relays of hammock boys on this occasion proved themselves altogether
incompetent, a most unusual thing. They swung me from side to side,
tipped me this way and that, and only grinned idiotically when I
complained. It was like being out in a small boat in a gale, and I
really felt quite "sea-sick" during the last few miles.
The next morning we started at 3 A.M., in full moonlight, to cover
the last twenty miles to Sokode, which is one of the largest and
most important Government stations in this part of Togo. Wonderfully
beautiful are the moonlight nights in Africa, whether, as was the
case now, one is on a comparatively open road, or following one of the
native tracks that disclose, with each fresh twist and turn, some new
vista of silvery enchantment. The grey, mysterious bush takes on, under
such circumstances, a hitherto undreamt-of beauty. The many clumps of
tropical vegetation in the frequent open glades one encounters, stand
out clear-cut and still, looking like white metal trees fragilely
carved out of frosted aluminium.
At eight o'clock in the morning we reached a spot about four miles
from Sokode, where our horses were waiting for us in charge of a young
European, Mr. Kay H. Nebel. Up to this point I had travelled, after
quitting the rail-head, entirely by bicycle and hammock; now it was to
be principally horseback riding.
Mr. Nebel had been attached to Major Schomburgk's former expedition
in the capacity of staff artist, and had been left behind at Sokode
in charge of spare stores and equipment when Schomburgk had quitted
that place on June 1, 1913. I knew him fairly well, having met him in
Hamburg, where my home is.
It seemed passing strange to renew the acquaintance out here in the
African wilds. The sleek, well-groomed young fellow I remembered had
developed into a typical bushman. His face, neck, and arms were burnt
and blackened by the sun to a very deep mahogany colour. He wore a huge
cowboy hat, beneath which his long hair fell almost to his shoulders,
_à la_ Buffalo Bill. His flannel shirt was open at the throat. He
looked wonderfully picturesque, and also marvellously disreputable,
a sort of cross between a typical grand-opera brigand and a Western
American desperado, as depicted on the cinema films in New York and
London.
After mutual greetings and explanations we pitched a tent, made a
hurried toilet, and changed our clothes, in order to arrive somewhat
clean in Sokode, where we found awaiting us a welcome luncheon, the
outcome of kindly forethought and hospitality on the part of Mr.
Kuepers, the Government schoolmaster at the station.
At Sokode we remained resting during the heat of the day. After which
we struck off at right angles into the bush to a village called
Paratau, distant about four miles from Sokode.
Here it was our intention to make a rather prolonged stay, in order to
film a number of dramatic, and some ethnological scenes.
CHAPTER VI
IN THE CAPITAL OF TSCHAUDJOLAND
Paratau, where our camp was situated, is the residence of Uro Djabo,
the paramount chief of the important Tschaudjo tribe. Uro means "king,"
and it is indeed virtually as King of the Tschaudjo that Djabo is
recognised, and subsidised, by the German Government.
In Togo it is customary for white strangers to visit a really big chief
like this before proceeding to the Government rest-house, and although
I was very, very tired, West African etiquette had to be observed.
I found the Uro a most charming host, and although he was old and fat,
and his personal appearance, therefore, was not particularly imposing,
he managed somehow to convey the idea of dignity, and the power and
ability to command. He received us in great state, surrounded by a big
bodyguard of officials and personal attendants, conspicuous amongst
the former being his prime minister, Mama-Sugu, an exceedingly tall,
well-proportioned, and fine-looking man. In his turban he looked quite
young; in fact, I made a mental note of his age as probably about
thirty. Afterwards, however, he removed it, and I then saw that he was
grey-headed and partially bald. Probably he was about fifty, but this
estimate is, of course, only approximate, for natives keep no records
of their birthdays, and have only the most hazy notions, consequently,
as to how old they really are.
Governments are not remarkable for gratitude, but the German Government
has certainly good reason to be grateful to Uro Djabo, since it was
to his father and predecessor that it practically owes its possession
of Togoland. When the famous Dr. Kersting, the founder and pioneer of
northern Togo, first entered the country, he found it inhabited by many
distinct and warlike tribes, continually fighting with one another.
Following in a small way the example set by Cortez in Mexico, and by
Clive in India, he allied himself with the strongest and most warlike
of the lot, the Tschaudjo to wit, and he and the old Uro between them
practically subdued the whole country, and placed it under the German
flag.
In the course of our somewhat prolonged stay at Paratau I had several
chats with Uro Djabo, and he used to hold forth at length, through an
interpreter, of course, concerning the former power and greatness of
the Tschaudjo people. They were originally it appeared a conquering
tribe, like the Masai and the Zulus, and they swept down from the north
many years ago, devastating the country as they advanced. They came
riding on horses, and as these animals had never before been seen in
Togoland, the terror they inspired almost sufficed by itself to ensure
the defeat of the aboriginal owners of the soil.
Djabo also showed me over his "palace," a collection of circular huts
of various sizes, arranged in irregular zigzag fashion, and connected
by a wall. The principal hut, which was very much bigger and higher
than any of the others, contained the entrance-hall and stables, and
was surmounted by an ostrich egg, the emblem of royalty.
At the other extremity of the space enclosed by the huts and connecting
wall a crested crane was kept. Uro Djabo attached very great importance
to this bird. It was, I was informed, sacred; and anyone killing it,
or otherwise interfering with it, would be very severely punished. The
crane knew quite well that it was privileged, and it used to strut up
to the cooking-pots when the natives were at dinner, and help itself
to any choice morsel that took its fancy. Any ordinary bird acting
after this fashion would have promptly had its neck wrung, for hardly
anything upsets a West African native more than a liberty taken with
his food. But directly the crane appeared, they would all draw away
from their cooking-pot, and patiently wait until he had finished
helping himself before resuming their meal. I tried hard to get Uro
Djabo to tell me all about this bird, but he always avoided the
subject, and when I pressed him, he refused point-blank. Nor did anyone
else seem inclined to say anything about it, beyond telling me, in
awe-struck whispers, that it was the Uro's ju-ju.
Djabo, as I have already intimated, kept up considerable state for a
native. He was always accompanied by his band, mostly drum, with one
or two reed-like instruments; and by his prime minister, sword-bearer,
personal servants, and the like, all elaborately attired in Arab dress.
Thus, when one day we asked the old fellow to our house for afternoon
tea, he came with a retinue of about twenty followers, completely
filling the small compound. He was, however, a most democratic sort of
a king. When, for instance, he helped himself to a biscuit, he first
took a bite, then handed it round for everybody else to have a nibble
at it. When Schomburgk gave him a cigar, all his attendants smoked it
after him in turn, each taking two or three big whiffs before passing
it along to the next in waiting. I never saw a cigar smoked by so many
people, or last so short a while, for each native tried to draw into
his lungs as big a modicum of smoke as he possibly could, so that it
was burned away and done with in no time. Djabo meanwhile chatted and
joked with all and sundry. In fact, the only difference discernible
between the king and his subjects was that he sat in a chair, while the
others squatted on the ground.
Subsequent to this visit, Djabo received me alone in his palace, and
introduced me to his wives. I saw about twenty of them. Two or three
were young girls, and fairly presentable; but mostly they were old,
fat, and ugly. After the reception was over I complimented him, not
upon the beauty or intelligence of his wives, but on the fact of
his being able to afford so many of them, for this is West African
etiquette. "Oh," he replied lightly, "this is nothing. I have hundreds
more scattered up and down the country."
[Illustration: MARKET SCENE IN PARATAU
This is a typical small market, no permanent stone seats being used,
such as are seen, for example, in the big market at Bafilo.]
Among other presents that Djabo had received from the Government at
one time and another was a large and very substantial garden chair. It
was of extremely ordinary appearance, and quite out of keeping with
the surroundings of the African bush; but old Djabo was inordinately
proud of it, and even went to the length of keeping a chair-bearer,
whose sole duty it was to look after this one piece of furniture, and
to carry it about to wherever his master went. This was a source of
difficulty to us when we came to film his Majesty, for he would insist
on being photographed seated in it, a proceeding which, of course,
would have rendered the picture worthless from our point of view.
Eventually, however, after many palavers, and the present of a piece of
silk stuff, he consented to dispense with it for that one occasion.
There is a big native market at Paratau, and food is very cheap. Eggs,
for instance, can be bought at the rate of eight a penny. Lemons are
a farthing a dozen. A fine plump pigeon costs threepence. These sums
represent, of course, very much more to a native than they do to a
European; but even allowing for the difference in the value of money,
I came to the conclusion that the average Tschaudjo man or woman
could, if they choose, live far better at a much cheaper rate than can
the average labouring man of, say, England or Germany. Certainly the
majority of those I met appeared to be well fed and contented.
I have alluded elsewhere to the skilful riding of the Tschaudjo
horsemen, and one of the objects of our stay at Paratau was to film
them. In this we succeeded perfectly. In fact, I was myself immensely
pleased, and even surprised, at the faithful realism of the scene when
I came to see it afterwards in London on the screen. Everybody was
very much taken by the clever equestrian feats performed by the Arabs
at the International Horse Show at Olympia last year. But there were
only a few picked men. We were able to film a much greater number of
the genuine wild horsemen of the Sudan, and to film them, too, at home
among their native surroundings.
By the way I am frequently reminded here, as elsewhere, that I am
the first white woman to intrude her presence among these primitive
people. The women shrink from me, or look askance, and the children run
screaming in terror away from me. Once I got the interpreter to inquire
of one sweet little lassie of about nine or ten why she had run from
me. He brought the child before me, but for a long time she would not
say a word. She just stood still, with eyes downcast, and trembling in
every limb.
At length she looked quickly up, and shot a hard, swift question at the
interpreter.
"No! No! No!" was his reply. "Of course not. Stupid little one! Why do
you think such things?"
I asked him what the child had said. He answered that she had asked
whether, if she spoke the truth, I was going to flog her.
"Tell her," I said, "that, on the contrary, I will make her a present."
He translated my promise, whereupon the girl, after one quick
half-inquiring, half-doubting glance at me, rapped out something that
sounded short, solid, and authoritative, like the rat-a-tat-tat of a
door-knocker.
[Illustration: NATIVE BOYS AT PARATAU
They were rather shy at having their photographs taken, one even going
to the length of covering his face with his arm.]
Then it was the interpreter's turn to take refuge in silence. He
absolutely declined to translate what she had said, saying that it was
too dreadful, was quite unfit for me to hear, &c. &c.
"Very well," I said at last, "I will go and tell Major Schomburgk that
you refuse to perform your duties."
Whereupon the poor man, driven into a corner, blurted out the
message, running his words altogether in his confusion and
excitement. "The impudent little wench says," he rapped out, "that
shefearstolookuponyoubecauseyouaresougly."
I had to laugh. I simply could not help it. But my mirth had a
slight--a very slight--tinge of bitterness in it. To be told to my face
that I was ugly! And by this naked little ebony imp.
Well, men, I reflected, had not found me uncomely. And even from my own
sex--supremest test of all--I had listened to words of appreciation,
and even of admiration upon occasion. So I playfully pinched the cheek
of my little critic, and sent her away happy in the possession of a
gaudy-coloured silk handkerchief.
This incident broke the ice, so to speak, and soon I was on the best
of terms with practically the entire juvenile population of Paratau.
They discovered that I was not really an ogre, as they had imagined
at first. But I could not prevail upon them to admit that I possessed
any claim upon their admiration, whatever I might have upon their
gratitude. "Am I really and truly ugly?" I one day asked a little boy,
a dear little chum of mine. "Really and truly you are, dear Puss,"
he replied, with childish frankness. "But," he added in extenuation,
and as a balm perhaps for my wounded feelings, "you cannot help that.
The good God made you so, did he not? We cannot all be black and
beautiful."
Projecting my mind into theirs, and trying to think as they thought, I
have come to the conclusion that they regarded me much as a white child
regards a black golliwog--a something to be frightened of at first,
and yet cherished because of its strangeness and uncouthness. Only in
their case the golliwog was alive, and so all the more fearsome until
experience had shown them its harmlessness.
After spending about ten days in Paratau, I began to feel my health
breaking down. Our camp was pitched close to the old Government
station, and the site was by no means an ideal one. My hut, like
the others, was close, very stuffy, and almost unventilated. It had
no windows, and it was built of the usual wattle and daub, which is
all right when fairly fresh, but when old, as this was, it is apt to
give off a sickly, mouldy odour. Then, too, there were the smells
from the native village--anything but pleasant. While to crown all,
the entire place was surrounded by dense fields--you might almost
call them plantations--of guinea corn, fifteen to twenty feet high,
which effectually shut out any breath of air. Not, however, that this
mattered so very much; for the harmattan season had now set in, and
the hot, palpitating air was filled with an impalpable yellow dust,
like fog, so thick that one could look straight into the sun at mid-day
without hurting one's eyes.
One result was that I suffered from almost incessant headaches. Yet I
did not like to complain, for we were now in the middle of a new drama,
and I knew that Schomburgk had set his heart on completing it at as
early a date as possible. But sometimes, after rehearsing from seven
till eleven in the broiling heat, in cowboy dress, and with crowds of
perspiring niggers for supers, I felt that I must drop in my tracks
from sheer physical exhaustion.
The climax came one day when I had to enact the heroine in a scene
where Nebel, who was supposed to be a fugitive from justice, was
galloping away across the mountains, and I after him, followed by
twenty or thirty Tschaudjo horsemen. Nebel kept turning round in his
saddle and firing at me. The horsemen behind were emitting a series
of the most blood-curdling yells. And between them they frightened my
horse, so that it bolted, and headed straight for the brink of a fairly
high cliff, with a lot of rocks and broken ground at the bottom.
Greatly alarmed, I threw away my revolver, and using both hands, and
all my strength, I tried my hardest to pull up my frightened steed. He
was a grand horse, the best in Sokode, and he and I were great friends.
Ordinarily, I could do anything with him, but now he was simply mad
with terror, and I was entirely powerless to even check appreciably his
wild race towards what appeared to be certain death for both of us.
Nebel tried his best to stop him by grabbing at his bridle as we flew
past him, but the runaway swerved violently, nearly unseating me then
and there. The next instant he leapt wildly into the air over rocks and
boulders, and I gave myself up for lost.
As luck would have it, however, he alighted on almost the only patch
of moderately soft ground that there was anywhere in the vicinity. A
yard to the left, a yard to the right, were masses of jagged rocks, and
had he come down on these I should almost inevitably have been killed.
As it was he stumbled, recovered himself, stumbled again, and again
recovered, and then stood stock still, streaming with perspiration and
trembling in every limb.
I was, of course, riding astride; luckily for me. Had I been in a
side-saddle, I do not see how I could by any possibility have retained
my seat. As it was I was badly bruised and shaken, and this, coupled
with the shock to my nerves, so aggravated my previous indisposition
that I collapsed.
"I must go away, and at once," I told Schomburgk that evening, "or I
feel that I cannot recover."
To his credit be it said, Schomburgk was most sympathetic. He saw that
matters were serious, and although the hour was late, he sent a special
messenger to Sokode to tell the authorities there how things stood, and
to ask for their assistance. With a promptitude and kindness that I
can never forget, the German Government officials set to work at once,
collected a hundred carriers from their own working staff, and sent
them over to us the first thing in the morning, in order that we might
be able to start straight away for Aledjo-Kadara, the sanatorium of
Togo.
An hour later we had left our pretty but unhealthy camp at Paratau,
and were on the march for the highlands on which Aledjo stands--the
Switzerland of Togo as grateful invalids from the sweltering lowlands
have enthusiastically christened it.
CHAPTER VII
ALEDJO-KADARA--THE SWITZERLAND OF TOGO
The march from Paratau to Aledjo-Kadara, or Aledjo, as it is generally
called for short, was a very tedious one, and took us two days. One
reason for this was that the men so kindly provided for us by the
officials at Sokode were ordinary station labourers and not used to
carrying; consequently they made but slow progress.
I was carried all the way to our camp at Amaude by hammock, reaching
there at two o'clock, accompanied by Schomburgk as escort, but it was
getting dark before the rest of the caravan turned up, shepherded by
Nebel and Hodgson. They had had a terrible time with the men, and at
one period during the worst heat of the day they had almost given up
hope of accomplishing the stage at all. The poor fellows staggered in
under their loads in a terrible condition, some of them so utterly
collapsed that I could not bear to look at them. The baggage was
only got up at all, Nebel informed us, by requisitioning the help of
the natives--other than carriers--who accompanied the caravan in a
permanent capacity. Even the interpreters, and our personal boys, had
to take turns in carrying loads, greatly to their disgust, for these
people consider themselves to be on a higher plane altogether than the
porters. It was as if one should ask the office staff at, say, a big
contractor's place of business, to doff their black coats and white
shirts, and start in to shovel clay or carry bricks.
As for me, I felt more dead than alive on arrival. My head ached
terribly; not the ordinary headache of civilised climes, which if
painful is at least endurable, but a burning, throbbing, rending
torture, that seemed at times as if it would drive me to the verge
of insanity. The heat, the dust, and the added anxiety as to the
whereabouts of the caravan, made matters worse. There was no proper
rest-house; only a tumble-down hut, dirty and evil-smelling, into
which, however, I was glad to crawl and seek refuge from the blinding
glare outside. After a while I fell asleep, and awoke feeling much
better, but ravenously hungry. As, however, the carriers had not yet
arrived, there was no food available, and by the time they did turn up
I was nearly dead with hunger. This was not surprising, as I had had
nothing to eat for twelve solid hours, from six o'clock in the morning
until six o'clock at night. When the kitchen boxes did at last put in
an appearance, we lost no time. The cook was put upon his mettle, and
in rather less than a quarter of an hour we were doing full justice
to a glorious meal of delicious little Frankfort sausages, tinned
vegetables, and potatoes, washed down--this was an extra special
treat--by a bumper of champagne, which had been kept cool in bottle
by being wrapped in wet blankets. Afterwards I crawled into my hut,
wrapped myself in a horse-rug, and with a saddle for a pillow, I cried
myself to sleep. My last thoughts were, I remember, of a most doleful
character. I wished most fervently that I had never come to Africa; I
was quite sure that I was going to die out there in the wilds, and I
even contemplated seriously cancelling my contract and insisting on
returning to Europe.
Next morning, however, I awoke feeling very much better, and all the
dark misgivings of the night before were completely dispelled as soon
as I stepped out into the glorious air of the early African dawn. The
men, I discovered, had slept out in the open all night, it having been
too dark to see to pitch the tents when the last of the carriers with
the heavy baggage had straggled in, and the boys too utterly exhausted
into the bargain. They, however, like me, were feeling much better,
and we made a good start; I on horseback, as I felt that the exercise
in the open air was preferable to the stuffy hammock, and might help
towards my recovery.
Nor was I mistaken. We were now leaving the lowlands, and mounting
upwards, and ever upwards, by a winding serpentine mountain road, and
after the first few miles I could feel my health and strength coming
back almost with every yard we progressed. I was not destined to reach
Aledjo, however, without further mishap. Misfortunes, they say, seldom
come singly, and it was most certainly so on this occasion as regards
myself. Schomburgk and I had cantered on ahead of the caravan, and on
reaching a little native village we called a short halt, in order to
rest awhile and allow the carriers to come up. Our two horses were
tethered close together, and out of sheer devilment Schomburgk's horse
edged back behind mine and bit him on the tail. He lashed out with his
hind feet at his offending mate, and, fearing further trouble, I went
up to stroke him, and try to pacify him. Usually I could do anything
with him. He would follow me about the camp like a dog, whinnying for
sugar, and poking his soft nose about my shoulders and bosom. But on
this occasion no doubt he was angry and terrified, and the moment I
laid my hand on his flank he lashed out with both hind feet, kicking
me in the calf of the leg, and sending me flying head over heels clean
off the path and into the middle of a small corn patch. Half-stunned
and dazed, I tried to pick myself up, but found that I could not stand.
The pain in my injured leg was awful. I never experienced anything like
it in my life. Schomburgk and the others thought that it was broken,
and were naturally very much concerned, since it would have taken at
least a week to get a doctor up. They tried to get my riding-breeches
off, but I could not stand the agony, and had to beg of them to desist.
Meanwhile our boys stood round in a circle, muttering "Poor Pussy! Poor
little Pussy!" and showing in their black countenances the concern they
felt at my sufferings. I was greatly touched.
After about an hour the pain began to abate, and I was able to
endure the removal of my riding-breeches. Then, to my great relief,
I discovered that the limb was not fractured, but terribly bruised
and swollen. Luckily the horse was not shod, or one or more bones
would almost inevitably have been broken. The poor beast was not to
blame, and as showing how sorry he was for what he had done, I may
mention that for fully a week afterwards he would shrink away and
hang his head whenever I approached him. He seemed to know that he
had unwittingly caused me pain, and no doubt if he could have spoken
he would have told me how he had let fly on the spur of the moment,
without looking round, not knowing that it was me, but imagining it to
be the other horse, intent on inflicting further annoyance.
When we at length reached Aledjo, the boys, owing to our being
delayed by the above incident, had got there before us, and had begun
preparations for camping. Now we had heard on the way up that there
was a very nice, large dining-table in the Aledjo rest-house, and
as dining-tables in the African bush are rare luxuries, affording a
welcome change from the usual ricketty folding things carried in a
caravan, we naturally looked for it the first thing on our arrival. To
our surprise it was nowhere to be seen, and on inquiring we discovered
that it had been calmly annexed by Messa, our cook, who had carted
it over to his kitchen, and arranged all his pots and pans on it in
beautiful apple-pie order. He was greatly chagrined and annoyed at
having to submit to their being all dumped unceremoniously on the
ground, and the table returned to its proper place. We dined off it
later in state, and enjoyed an extra good meal owing to the thoughtful
kindness of the good fathers of the Aledjo Roman Catholic Mission,
who sent us over a supply of fresh vegetables, a treat which only a
prolonged course of tinned stuff enables one to appreciate fully.
The next day I felt as fit as a fiddle as regards my bodily health,
although my leg still pained me somewhat. It is simply marvellous the
difference a few thousand feet of elevation seem to make in equatorial
Africa. From out of the depths of a steaming cauldron, so to speak,
one is transported in the course of a few hours to a region where the
air seems as pure and bracing as that of, say, the Austrian Tyrol. Of
course it isn't. It is the force of contrast. If a European could be
transported straight from such a climate to that which prevails in the
dry season at Aledjo, he would probably laugh to scorn its claim to be
entitled the Switzerland of Togo. But to poor, jaded me, it was as the
very elixir of life itself.
And it is not the climate only. Aledjo itself is a beautiful place,
and beautifully situated on a lofty plateau nearly 3000 feet above
the level of the sea. Here Dr. Kersting has built for himself an
everlasting monument. Foreseeing how in time it would be needed,
he laid out the place as a health resort for Europeans, and built
beautiful roomy and airy rest-houses overlooking a wide expanse of
plain and mountain, the plain in front, the mountains behind.
These Aledjo rest-houses consist of a series of enormous round huts,
connected by covered corridors. All the rooms are very large, and have
big windows and doors, so that the fresh air can come in everywhere.
The dining-room especially is big enough for a circus to perform in.
And what delighted me perhaps more than all was that there were the
very finest set of stables for our horses that I had seen anywhere in
Africa.
In time Aledjo is bound to become a place of considerable importance.
Already there is in course of erection there a fine Catholic Mission
Station. I am not a Catholic myself, nor is Schomburgk, but
nevertheless we became great friends with the good fathers who were
there superintending the work. We dined together nearly every night,
and organised jointly some sports--target shooting and so forth--which
were very well attended.
We also utilised our stay here to film what afterwards proved to be
one of our very best dramas. We called it _The Outlaw of the Sudu
Mountains_, and in the beginning we merely intended to use the play
as a sort of setting for the beautiful scenery around Aledjo, much of
which is, as I have already intimated, grand beyond description. When,
for example, the harmattan is not in evidence, and the atmosphere is
consequently clear, one can see right away to the Bassari Mountains,
and the lofty outstanding peak of Mafakasa, meaning "Long Gun." At
night, too, when the moon is shining as only it does in the tropics,
the landscape takes on a new, mysterious beauty, on which I was never
tired of gazing. Other nights, when there was no moon, the grass
fires lit up the country for miles around, so that I thought I had
never seen anything so awe-inspiring and magnificent. These grass
fires are started by the natives at regular intervals during the dry
season, as otherwise the country would be covered with an altogether
too luxuriant vegetation. It is simply marvellous how quickly nature
repairs the ravages of the flames. After two or three days, new green
grass shoots up through the ash-covered soil, and clothes the whole
of the burnt areas with a beautiful carpet of verdure three or four
inches high, on which the antelope, and other small four-footed game,
feed greedily. The natives call this "the sweating of the country,"
a most expressive phrase. The flames did not as a rule sweep onward
with a wide front, but ate broad streets and roads, as it were, through
the bush; and we used to amuse ourselves after dinner of an evening
by making imaginary comparisons between these fiery thoroughfares and
places we knew. "There is the Strand," we would say, "and over there
the Unter den Linden. Yonder are the long-drawn-out lights of the
Thames Embankment, and that is the Boulevarde des Italiens. This is the
White City, that is Earl's Court, and so on." It was all very amusing,
and served to recall memories of home and friends, and of happy hours
spent in far different surroundings. Later on, I may add, when our
caravan had to make long detours to avoid these same grass fires, I
was not so greatly in love with them. Our horses, however, were not in
the least frightened of them, which was one comfort. They would even
gallop through some of the lesser ones, and seemed to have a perfectly
marvellous knack of finding openings in the advancing line of dancing
flames, through which they trotted unconcernedly. The reason for this
is, of course, that these African horses have been used to grass fires
all their lives. An animal fresh from Europe would probably go wild
with terror, if confronted with one for the first time.
We evolved the plot of the _Outlaw_ film practically on the spot, and
I have very good reason to remember it, for while playing in it I met
with yet another of those mishaps which seem to be inseparable from
the profession of cinema acting. Briefly the story of the play is as
follows. A white man is outlawed from amongst his fellows, and takes
to the bush, living as a native amongst the natives. Prowling about
one day in the vicinity of a settlement, he approaches a farmer's
homestead, and is ordered off by the farmer's wife--myself. Cursing
and threatening, he goes away to his lair in the hills, where he
has collected together a lot of black scalliwags, of whom he is the
self-elected chief. He sits apart on a knoll, brooding over the slight
that has been put upon him, and vowing revenge.
His chance comes sooner than he had anticipated. From his eerie in the
hills he sees me walking along a lonely path, decides to kidnap me,
and does so, carrying me, struggling wildly, to his lair, over steep
and dangerous mountain tracks. Part of the way led along the brink of
a precipice, where the foothold was extra precarious, but of course I
had to keep on struggling and squirming, as obviously a robust young
woman of two-and-twenty is not going to submit to be abducted in this
rough-and-ready fashion without making a fight for it.
[Illustration: REPRODUCED FROM CINEMATOGRAPH FILMS
1. Hair-dressing
2, 3. Baby's Bath
4. Better than the Tango. A curious bumping dance
5, 6. Scenes from "The White Goddess"]
It was this that was the cause of the accident. The camera man was
grinding away at his machine, and calling out "Capital! Capital! Keep
it up! Keep it up!" while Schomburgk sat a little way off on a rock
out of range and beamed approval. Everything, in short, was going
on first-rate, when suddenly Nebel, who was playing the part of the
outlaw, stumbled over a boulder that lay in his way. At the same moment
I, over-anxious perhaps to do perfect justice to the situation by
making it as realistic as possible, gave a more than usually energetic
wriggle. The result was that he lost his balance completely, and we
tumbled head over heels on the very brink of the precipice. As the
scene had been originally mapped out, he ought to have been carrying me
in his arms. But he had insisted that this was not the way an outlaw
would carry off a woman, and had hoisted me across his shoulder. As
a result, when he fell, I flew clear of him, and landed within less
than a foot of the edge of the cliff. Had I gone over, it goes without
saying that I should most certainly never have played in a cinema drama
again. As it was, I was cut and bleeding, and pretty badly bruised,
but my professional instinct caused me to ask almost automatically as
they picked me up, "What sort of a picture did it make?" As a matter of
fact, except that it did not show the depth of the precipice, it made a
very good one, for the operator had never ceased all the while turning
the handle of his machine. Nothing short of an earthquake, and a pretty
big earthquake at that, would, I am convinced, upset the equanimity of
a cinema photographer to the extent of making him stop grinding away at
his beloved camera.
Whether it was the effect of this little upset or not, I am unable to
say, but the fact remains that soon afterwards Nebel got homesick, and
gave out that he must return to Europe then and there. So, as we still
had to film one or two scenes in our _Odd Man Out_ drama, in which
we wanted him to act, we went to a place called Bafilo, only about
eight or nine miles from Aledjo, where we had previously decided to
act them. I might mention here that all the dramas we played in Togo
were entirely the work of Major Schomburgk, who wrote the scenarios,
produced them, and also acted in all of them. The germ idea of _The
White Goddess of the Wangora_, however, was given him by Mr. L. Dalton,
a young London journalist.
We had a tremendous reception at Bafilo, the Uro and all his people
turning out to do us honour. It was very flattering, no doubt, but
all the same I could not help wishing that they would not be quite so
demonstrative. The din was simply terrific, and the heat and the clouds
of dust together were well-nigh overpowering.
The station at Bafilo is perched on a plateau, with a sheer drop down
to the native town, which is a very large one; and here one night,
soon after our arrival, I was witness to a scene that at the time made
a deep impression on me. It was pitch dark, no moon, but millions on
millions of stars twinkling like points of fire out of a coal-black
sky. We were sitting on a sort of platform, which Dr. Kersting had had
built on the extreme edge of the plateau, jutting out over the valley.
The native village, or rather the cluster of native villages that
constitute Bafilo, lay beneath us, but for all that we could see or
hear of them they might have had no existence. Neither sight nor sound
came from the depths to indicate that hereabouts were the homes of many
thousands of people.
I had just commented upon this strange and altogether unusual
stillness, when there was borne upwards on the night air a curious,
almost uncanny, sort of rustling sound, like the sudden soughing among
trees of a newly-awakened wind, and which yet had something human about
it, as of a vast multitude bestirring itself uneasily. Then, all at
once, in every village for miles around, thousands of lighted torches
twinkled into being, and a chorus of delighted shouts burst from as
many savage throats.
It was the beginning of the festival of Bairam, the great Mohammedan
period of rejoicing which marks the end of the fast of Ramadam,
mentioned in a previous chapter. From what I heard and saw, I am
quite sure that the Bafilo people paid little or no attention to the
fast, but they certainly let themselves go on the festival. Many of
them threw the torches that they carried high in the air, so that
they resembled very much a flight of rockets. And they seemed to vie
with one another in running swiftly about with them all over the
place. Eventually they all converged at a level spot just outside the
principal village, where the half-burnt torches were thrown together
in a huge heap, making a very presentable bonfire. One has only to
remember that the Moslem festival of Bairam commemorates the offering
of Isaac by Abraham on Mount Moriah to appreciate the significance of
this bonfire. But of that these savages knew naught. It was to them
just an occasion for merry-making. Had they known of the word they
would doubtless have called it a "beano." All that night, at intervals
when I awoke, I heard the weird negro music, and the singing of men and
women. It sounded not unmusical--heard afar off.
We were kept very busy filming at Bafilo. First we played the scenes in
_Odd Man Out_ that I wrote about, so that Nebel could leave for home.
These occupied us off and on, and counting the preliminary rehearsals,
for about a week, from December 1st to 8th, on which latter date Nebel
left us, with many expressions of regret and best wishes on both
sides, to start on his journey down to the coast.
One incident of this drama caused us a good deal of amusement. Nebel,
acting the part of the brutal husband, had to throw a plate at my
native boy; and in order to get exactly the right expression we
decided not to tell him anything about it beforehand. The result was
eminently satisfactory from our point of view. Hodgson having been
previously warned to have his camera in readiness, Nebel pretended at
breakfast-time one morning to find fault with his porridge--served
purposely cold for the occasion--and seizing hold of the plate and
contents he hurled them at the boy, who was standing behind my chair.
I never saw a native so completely flabbergasted in my life. His whole
face, attitude, and manner expressed unbounded amazement, not unmixed
with fear. I take it that he imagined that Nebel had suddenly gone
mad. For perhaps half a minute he remained rooted to the spot. Then
he turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him to the shelter
of the cook-house. Of course the nature of the incident was explained
to him later on, whereat he laughed heartily, quite entering into the
spirit of the joke.
After disposing of the _Odd Man Out_ drama, we started on some
industrial films, and these I found extremely interesting. Among
others we took, was a series showing the various processes in the
native cotton industry from start to finish. A great deal of cotton
is grown round about Bafilo, and the people are exceedingly clever in
cultivating it, preparing it, and making it up into garments.
First we filmed the cotton growing in little plots, or fields, which
the natives clear from time to time, in the midst of the virgin bush,
and where it was being tended and picked by the native girls. Then
we photographed one by one the various processes, such as ginning,
spinning by means of hand-worked spindles manipulated by the women,
dyeing, and so on, down to the final process of weaving the cloth on
the queer, old-fashioned native hand-looms, the pattern of which has
been handed down unchanged probably for thousands of years. These looms
are most curious, and likewise extremely primitive. The cloth can only
be woven on them in strips about four to five inches wide, and these
have afterwards to be laboriously sewn together by hand in order to
make of them whatever garment is required. The native tailors are,
however, marvellously expert with their needles, the stitches they put
in being so tiny, and so close together, and the thin strips of cloth
so evenly matched, that at a little distance the finished garment
appears as if it had been woven in one piece.
The ginning is done by hand, and mostly by the women and girls,
who tease it out very finely and quickly. In other parts of Togo,
however, I have seen the natives accomplish this same process even
more expeditiously by rolling it on a stone. The skeining is done by
boys. Men everywhere undertake the important work of weaving, with the
one exception that there exists at Bafilo a sort of class, or guild,
of women weavers. These, however, work on quite different principles,
and with altogether different looms, to those used by the men; and
the cloth, instead of being woven in narrow strips, is made all in one
piece, and of practically any width. It is a sort of primitive home
industry, occupying women in their spare time, and is carried on inside
their huts. When we wanted to film one of these women weavers at work,
we had to get her to bring her loom out from her hut, and set it up in
the open. I may add that these workers' guilds are common in Togo, not
only amongst women, but to an even greater degree amongst men. They are
very strict and conservative as regards the qualification for admission
to membership; and as regards their aims and objects, they correspond
in some respects to our European trade unions, while in other
directions they approximate very closely indeed to the caste system of
India.
[Illustration: BEADMAKING: A NATIVE INDUSTRY DISCOVERED BY THE AUTHOR
1. Ordinary palm nuts
2. Are cracked on a stone
3. The cracked shells are smoothed with water between two stones
4. Holes are drilled in the cracked and smoothed pieces
5. Then strung together
6. And the whole string made round and smoothed with the help of a
stone and mud and water
7. The bead belt is put on over the head
8. And worn as a hip ornament by the women]
The dyeing is also women's work, a beautiful dark blue colour being
obtained from a preparation of native indigo. Most interesting of all
from my point of view was the process of spinning. The hand-worked
spindles are merely hard round sticks, which are inserted through a
hole drilled in a flat disc--more rarely pear-shaped--of soft stone,
or of clay baked hard, the weight of which helps to keep the spindle
revolving, and also regulates its speed--performing, in fact, the
functions of the governor of a steam-engine. The women, who do all
the spinning, are marvellously expert with this exceedingly primitive
contrivance. Resting one end of the spindle in the hollow of a calabash
placed upon the ground, and sanding their fingers from time to time
so as to get a grip, they make it revolve evenly and rapidly, and
seemingly with little or no exertion. Sometimes one sees a woman
revolving the spindle on her knee. A white woman trying the experiment
would probably succeed in drilling a hole in her knee-cap, that is, if
she continued the experiment for any length of time, but the skin of a
native woman's knee is calloused by continual kneeling to almost the
consistency of bone. I have occasionally, too, seen a spinner of more
than ordinary dexterity throw the spindle away from her, and draw it
back by the thread, keeping it revolving in the air all the while.
Another industry which we filmed, and one which, so far as Schomburgk
could discover, is peculiar to the district, I can lay claim to be
the discoverer of. I was out one day after butterflies, when I came
unexpectedly on a number of girls busily engaged, by the banks of a
little stream, in grinding and polishing a number of small objects, the
exact nature of which I could not at first determine. Inquiry revealed
the fact that they were palm nuts, out of which they were manufacturing
artificial pearls to make up into waist-belts. By marshalling a bevy of
the girls together, and setting them to work, we were able to secure
a number of most interesting photographs of their unique industry,
showing the whole process, from the first cutting of the nuts, drilling
the holes, stringing the "pearls," and so on, down to the moment when
the native belle, broadly smiling her manifest delight, puts the
finished girdle round her ample waist.
I quite forgot to mention that while we were at Aledjo, Nebel went out
one day and shot a "dog monkey," otherwise a baboon. It was as big as
me, and looked so human that I could not bear to gaze upon it. In the
evening I inquired casually what had become of the carcase, and was
informed that our boys had cooked and eaten it. I shuddered. To me it
seemed only one remove from cannibalism. Another queer little animal we
shot here was called a rock-rabbit. It was exactly like a rabbit as to
the body, but its feet reminded me very much of an elephant's hoofs.
CHAPTER VIII
AMONG THE BAFILO FOLK
Besides the films mentioned in the last chapter, we also took advantage
of there being an unusually large market at Bafilo in order to
photograph a series of unique moving pictures of this side--a very
important one--of the natives' daily life. It was my business, as
well as Hodgson's and Schomburgk's, to be constantly on the look-out
for fresh scenes and incidents in this connection, and between us we
managed to secure a complete representative collection.
To mention but a few of them. In one film boys are seen bargaining for
supplies of native sweets, made from flour and wild honey. Payment for
these toothsome delicacies, it may be mentioned, is made in cowrie
shells, coined money being very rarely used. The value of these shells
varies, according to distance from the coast, difficulty of transport,
and so on, from about 2500 to the shilling up to as few as 1000. In
Bafilo, they were worth about sixpence a thousand. In another film
we showed a native barber shaving a baby's head, in accordance with
native custom. The baby was held tight in the mother's arms, during
the operation, which it did not seem to relish at all, for it kicked
and screamed the whole while. After it was over I asked the woman the
reason of the custom. "How else would you keep the lice from feeding on
its little scalp?" she asked in evident surprise. We also photographed
boys engaged in gambling for cowries at a curious kind of native game,
the equivalent, I suppose, to our pitch and toss. Only in Bafilo there
are no policemen to interfere with the urchins or mar their enjoyment.
The kind of dour puritanism that is so prevalent in England--and
in parts of Germany, too, for that matter--would find but little
encouragement among the Togo people. It was at Bafilo, too, that we
filmed a most curious native dance, performed entirely by women and the
principal feature of which consisted in violently bumping one another
with that portion of their anatomy on which boys are birched at school.
It was a most strange and mirth-provoking spectacle, but the women
take this particular dance very seriously, and will continue at it for
many hours at a stretch, encouraged by the loud yells of approval from
the spectators that invariably follow an extra hard bump, and by the
terrific tom-tomming of the native band. In yet another film, vultures
are seen acting as scavengers; while hard by warriors are engaged in
mimic sword-play. The manufacture of leather mats, an industry peculiar
to the place, was also filmed--together with basket-making from the
stalks of the palm leaf, which we photographed from start to finish.
The finished articles are sold for a sum approximating in value to one
farthing apiece.
There are many wild animals in the bush round Bafilo, but the hyenas
are the most trying. At Paratau we had heard these noisy brutes at a
distance, but here they came quite close up. Night after night, one's
rest was broken and disturbed by them. I used to get up and throw
empty bottles and things out of the window to drive them away, much as
one scares off the nocturnal domestic cat at home; but, though they
would slink off for a while, they always came back again. Some nights
were worse than others. I remember, on one occasion, there seemed to
be a regular pack of them prowling round the huts, and their fierce
howls sounded quite terrifying. Next morning, Hodgson, who slept in
a detached hut some distance away from those occupied by the other
members of our party, turned up at breakfast looking unusually pale
and hollow-eyed and, on inquiring, we found that he had been sitting
up all night with his revolver fearing an attack. Presently Nebel
put in an appearance--it was just before he left for Europe that the
affair happened--and remarked casually to Hodgson that he had been
unable to sleep for the noise, and had at one time been on the point of
coming round to his (Hodgson's) hut for a chat. "Good job for you, you
didn't," replied Hodgson, wearily. "I should most likely have shot you.
My nerves were in such a state that I am quite sure I should have let
drive at any living thing [only he didn't say _living_] that had come
to the door of my hut in the dark."
There were also numbers of scorpions about the place, and snakes,
although for a long time I did not see any of the latter. In fact, one
evening when we were sitting outside our hut on some stones, chatting
and enjoying the cool night air, I remarked generally to the men-folk
that I did not believe one half of the many snake yarns they were
in the habit of telling one another from time to time. "Here I have
been at this place for a whole week, and nary a snake," I remarked.
"I don't believe that there are any." Hardly were the words out of my
mouth, when one of the boys standing near darted forward to where I
was seated, and started lashing furiously with a stick at something on
the ground at my feet. It proved to be a puff-adder, one of the most
poisonous reptiles to be found in the whole of Africa, and its deadly
fangs were actually within a foot or so of my lightly covered ankles at
the very moment when I was deriding the existence in Bafilo of him or
any of his species.
Curiously enough, too, a somewhat similar incident occurred here in
connection with a leopard; and this also took place in the evening. The
men had been talking about these animals, and of how plentiful they
were, until their stories rather got on my nerves. "Oh, bother your
leopards," I cried. "I don't believe there is one within a hundred
miles." I spoke in jest of course, and looked towards Schomburgk
expecting him to laugh. Instead, he held up a warning hand, as if to
enjoin silence, while with the other he pointed to what looked to me
like a black shadow slinking slowly past where we were sitting, and
not more than five or six yards distant. "A leopard!" he whispered.
Hodgson and I both laughed, thinking he was joking, and that what we
had seen was probably nothing more dangerous or uncommon than a native
dog. We were sitting outside our hut as usual, and without a light, for
the night, though dark, was fine and warm. But Schomburgk was quite
sure, and he called up the native boys, who lit lamps, and there, sure
enough, clearly discernible even to my inexperienced eyes, in the
soft sand, was the spoor of a big, full-grown leopard. He must have
come our way from the village, climbed up on to the plateau, spotted
us, and slunk off between the huts, and so escaped. When we came back
from examining the spoor, Hodgson said to me, remembering our former
experience with the snake: "Well, you're a prophetess the wrong way
about; only say you don't believe in elephants, and I'll go and load my
gun."
From the 10th to the 13th of December, I suffered from a relapse of
fever, and had to lay up, but during the rest of the time, as I have
said before, we were kept pretty busy. There were seven horses to
look after, and I usually superintended their early morning toilet
myself, taking my coffee by the stables at six o'clock. Every afternoon
we went riding, and the mornings were devoted to acting, or filming
ethnological subjects. One thing, there was no lack of supers for our
dramatic scenes at Bafilo. Once, when we asked for fifty negroes, fully
a thousand turned up. Naturally they all wanted to be taken on, and the
noise and clamour they made was simply deafening.
One day a "woman palaver" caused considerable trouble. The word
"palaver," I may explain, stands for anything and everything in
West Africa. Originally it meant a talk, a formal conference or
conversation. Nowadays any happening in the least out of the common is
referred to as a palaver. If, for example, you go to buy a horse--that
is a "horse palaver." Does the cook spoil or steal your rations? There
follows a "cook palaver." And so on. Most frequent of all, however, are
the woman palavers, for my fair but frail sex was, I found, the cause
of fully as much trouble in Togo as it is generally credited with being
elsewhere. _Cherchez la femme._
This particular case began in this way. During the afternoon, while
the men were away shooting, a native came from the village to
complain that one of our soldiers--we had two as escort provided by
the Government--had decoyed away his daughter, a girl of fourteen or
fifteen. She had, he said, been sent to the market that morning to
buy provisions, and the "soldier" had met her, and induced her to go
away with him. I called the soldiers before me, and questioned them
jointly and severally, but they both denied most strenuously having
had anything to say to any girl, one of them adding, with a great show
of virtuous indignation, that he had a wife of his own in Sokode. This
latter assertion, however, though doubtless correct, did not greatly
impress me, because I had only the evening before come across him
canoodling one of the native women on the outskirts of the camp.
While I was trying to get at the bottom of the matter, Schomburgk
returned and, on my explaining to him what it was all about, he called
Alfred, our chief interpreter, and ordered him to translate the man's
story carefully, and word for word. This, however, Alfred seemed
either unwilling or unable to do, so we called in the aid of Mseu,
another interpreter, who understood the Bafilo dialect better than
Alfred did. Mseu heard what the man had to say, and translated it
sentence by sentence, adding voluntarily, after he had finished, that,
in his opinion, the man was a liar. I began to think so myself, for it
suddenly occurred to me that the two soldiers had been about the camp
practically all the morning, and could not, therefore, have been down
in Bafilo, philandering with native girls.
The man, however, insisted that what he said was correct, and that
his daughter was even now concealed in our camp, so we told him to go
with Mseu and see if he could find her. This he appeared unwilling to
do, and Mseu also, but Schomburgk insisted, and eventually they went
off together, to return presently with the girl. This, of course, was
a serious matter, as these sort of "women palavers" may easily lead
to grave bother with the natives. So we held a sort of informal Court
of Inquiry, and went thoroughly into the matter. In the end we found
that it was Mseu himself who had taken the girl away. Schomburgk fined
the delinquent ten shillings--a big sum to him--to be handed over as
compensation to the girl's father, and gave him the option of taking
a letter to the Government Commissioner at Sokode, or of suffering
personal chastisement at his hands there and then. He promptly chose
the latter alternative, and Schomburgk gave it to him soundly. He
yelled like a hyena, and screamed for mercy, to the huge delight of our
boys, for Mseu was always greatly interested and pleased when anybody
else got a hiding. Afterwards I took the girl aside, and gave her a
good talking to, but I am sorry to say it seemed to make very little
impression on her. To all my questions as to how she came to act in
such a wicked manner--for it transpired that she had gone away with
Mseu quite willingly--she would only reply in snappy monosyllables,
or by that forward and upward thrust of the chin which is everywhere
associated with sulky indifference. Once only did she show any sign of
interest or animation, and that was when I asked her if she had gone
with the man because she loved him. "Love him!" she cried indignantly.
"Indeed no. He is old and ugly. But--he gave me this." And she pointed
to a string of common white beads, value perhaps three-halfpence, which
she was wearing round her throat. Poor child! To her they were a rope
of rarest pearls, and for ropes of pearls, I reflected, European women,
dainty and well-educated and well-bred, have ere now been not unwilling
to barter their honour.
[Illustration: A HAUSA WOMAN
Note the curious helmet-like way of dressing her hair. This is only one
of many similar eccentric methods in vogue amongst these people.]
[Illustration: TSCHAUDJO GIRL FROM BAFILO
The Tschaudjo women are amongst the most modest and well-behaved of the
Togo peoples. This young lady took a lot of persuasion before she would
consent to pose for her photograph in public, but having done so she
put on her pleasantest and most engaging smile.]
It was at Bafilo that there also occurred another palaver, in which I
was more directly concerned. I was out riding one day, when a native
lad of about sixteen or seventeen started dancing and shouting in the
path in front of my horse. The more I expostulated with him, the worse
he went on, and I was afraid that he would frighten the horse, and
perhaps cause it to bolt. Luckily, Schomburgk rode up at the crucial
moment, and secured the offender, who proved to be drunk. We handed
him over to his chief, who was furious, and promptly ordered him
to be flogged. I waited till he was triced up, then interceded for
him, but I had the greatest difficulty in inducing the chief to forego
the punishment. I do not know whether the culprit was grateful to me
or no--gratitude being, to put it mildly, not a strong point in the
character of the African native--but he at all events ought to have
been, for a chief's flogging is no joke.
An endless source of interest to me during our stay in Bafilo were
the long strings of natives belonging to different tribes, Losso,
Lamantiné, etc., from the Kabre Mountains--semi-wild people, who were
travelling back to their far-off homes after going down to do their
tax-work at Sokode, or to labour for wages on the railway at Atakpame
and beyond. All these people were accompanied by their women to cook
their food, and both sexes were absolutely nude; not even a loin-cloth
amongst hundreds of them. Yet, somehow, after the first impression
wore off, one saw nothing to cavil at in it. Their black skins seemed
quite to do away with the impression of nudity, and their extremely
graceful movements, and modest carriage, made their nakedness seem
not only natural, but admirable. The women were especially modest in
their demeanour, and the younger girls were even painfully shy. If one
spoke to them in passing, one might get a swift shy smile in return,
accompanied by a sudden uplifting of the head for a fraction of a
second. But if one approached one of them in order to try to converse,
they seemed to be absolutely paralysed with fright. Like a startled
fawn, they would stand stock-still, and trembling all over, until one
was within a yard or so of them, then fly away like an arrow from a
bow. Numbers of them carried on their heads big bags filled with salt,
the ordinary currency of the Kabre country, and representing probably
the wages of the bread-winner for many months. On one occasion a young
girl thus loaded stumbled and fell right opposite my hut, the bag
burst, and some of the precious salt was spilled and wasted. I felt
sorry for her, and went in and got some of our own salt to give to her.
But directly I approached her with it, she fled like the wind, after
giving one startled scream. However, I went after her, and by the aid
of the interpreter I eventually succeeded in calming her fears, and
inducing her to accept my salt.
Another thing that amused me greatly, although I was chaffed about
it considerably by Schomburgk and the others! The son of the richest
native in Bafilo took it into his head to fall violently in love with
me. There was nothing offensive about his attentions. It was merely
a dumb, dog-like sort of devotion. He would sit for hours silently
watching me, would run to anticipate my wants, and was constantly
bringing me presents, and expecting nothing in return, a thing
absolutely foreign to native methods. Poor chap! I have a pretty little
table-cover of native workmanship spread upon the table at which I
write these words--his parting gift! I can see him now, the tears
streaming down his squat ebony face, as I turned in my saddle to wave
him a last farewell--a ludicrous sight, and yet somehow pathetic.
By the way, some of the native cloth-work at Bafilo is exceedingly
beautiful. I bought a number of specimens of it, among the best being
a handsome toga-like garment of hand-woven blue stuff, elaborately
embroidered, and which I am now wearing as an opera cloak in London,
where it has been greatly admired. It is woven in narrow strips about
two inches wide, and these are then sewn together by stitches so small,
even, and regular, that they are practically invisible. It cost me £3,
10s., a big sum out there, and to a native, but then it must be borne
in mind that one of these cloaks takes about a year to make.
CHAPTER IX
ON THE MARCH ONCE MORE
On December the 16th, at five o'clock in the morning, we left Bafilo,
where we had been since the first day of the month, and started on trek
again, bound for Dako and the north. On the road an incident occurred
that upset me greatly. A certain Dr. Engelhardt had died in Togo about
three weeks previously of some malignant malady of the fever type.
They--Schomburgk and the rest--had given me to understand that he died
at Sokode. Now it transpired that he had really died at Bafilo, and in
the very hut and on the identical spot where my bed had stood. They
had kept this from me, not wishing to alarm me. Now they thought it a
good joke to tell me, and were quite taken aback when I got exceedingly
angry. They pointed out that the hut had been thoroughly disinfected.
But I was not at all appeased. I said they were cold and callous, and
many other things, but they only laughed.
The distance from Bafilo to Dako is only a little over twelve miles,
yet it took us four hours or thereabouts to cover it, the reason
being that the road was so bad. It was all up hill and down dale, and
covered with big rocks and loose round stones. As a result, I was quite
shaken up and tired on arrival, and the sight of the clean and pretty
little rest-house was a welcome one. There was, however, I found, no
accommodation for our horses, and we had to tether them all together
under a big tree. We took our meals under another tree, and were very
comfortable and "picknicky."
Next day, on to Kabu. The going was even worse than on the previous
day. Indeed, I have never experienced anything like it, either before
or since. The road, a mere native track, crossed at right angles a
continual succession of mountain ridges, with narrow wooded valleys
in between, along which in the rainy season rapid streams flowed. To
ride down the steep sides of many of these valleys was a sheer physical
impossibility. We had to dismount again and again, and scramble down
as best we could. Even without their riders the poor horses had hard
work to keep their footing at times, and one of them nearly met with a
bad accident when crossing one river bed that was not yet wholly dry.
He had negotiated successfully the exceedingly steep slope down to the
river, and was in the act of crossing, when he somehow got his near
hindleg between the root of a big tree and the bank, and nearly broke
it. He was our best horse too, and my own for riding purposes, and I
was fearfully anxious about him until Schomburgk assured me, after
a careful and prolonged examination, that beyond a straining of the
tendons, there was no harm done.
As the day advanced it grew fearfully hot. I kept on asking how much
farther it was, and the answer from the interpreter hardly ever varied
between "Not far," and "Only half an hour." It turned out to be three
full hours from the last "only half an hour," the whole journey
occupying from 4 A.M. till 1.30 P.M., so that we were nine and a half
hours in the saddle without a break, barring the time that we were
climbing and slithering on foot up and down the sides of the valleys.
Even the horses felt the strain, and although I had two mounts, and
changed them frequently, they were both pretty well knocked up by the
time we reached our journey's end. Schomburgk, who knew beforehand
that the stage was likely to be a hard one--although even he did not
realise how hard--had strongly advised me, before setting out, to wear
my pith helmet. But I, with true feminine perversity, had insisted on
donning a big slouch hat of the cowboy type to which I was partial. I
realised my mistake when the sun was well up, but my pride would not
let me admit it. The last few miles were the worst. Only my thick hair,
I am convinced, saved me from sunstroke. Once or twice I reeled in the
saddle, almost overcome with weariness and the terrible heat. I got,
however, but scant sympathy from the men. Schomburgk especially was
most rough and unkind, and this was so unlike him, as a general rule,
that at length, after one or two half-hearted appeals for sympathy, I
got very angry, gritted my teeth, straightened myself in the saddle,
and made up my mind to go through with it come what would. Afterwards,
when we had camped and rested, he told me that he had acted of set
purpose. He had realised that I must be on the very verge of collapse,
and knew that if he could succeed in making me angry, I should
probably succeed in pulling myself together; while if he started to
condole with me, he feared that I might break down altogether. No doubt
he was right. Wholesome anger is a good tonic.
Anyhow, I managed somehow to hold out until our arrival at Kabu. Here
the chief's hut was placed at my disposal, there being no rest-house,
and throwing myself full length on the horse blanket and with my
saddle for a pillow, I slept soundly for a full hour. I woke greatly
refreshed, and ravenously hungry. Unfortunately there was no food
available, the carriers with the chop boxes not having yet arrived.
However, the negroes brought us some big calabashes full of native
beer. It was the first time I had ever tasted it, and I am bound to
say that I found it both refreshing and sustaining. This was lucky, as
we had nothing to eat until six o'clock that night. It is a fermented
drink made from guinea corn, and is, I was told, highly intoxicating
if one drinks enough of it. It has a peculiar sweetish sour taste, not
at all unpleasant. After my sleep, a wash, and supper, I felt none the
worse for our long march, notwithstanding that it was the worst and
longest one we ever did. Here for the first time I saw antelope spoor
all along the road, but no antelope were visible. We expect, however,
to meet plenty before long, as well as other game, for we are now in
the heart of wild Africa--no proper roads, only native tracks, and all
round us the shadeless, waterless bush.
Our next day's stage, to Bapure, was a short one. I felt unusually
fit and well, and the road being good rode nearly the whole way in a
canter. I forgot to say that after Sokode we got a different lot of
carriers at each stage; what are called out here "exchange carriers."
These are furnished by the chief of each village, on payment of course,
and each day a soldier of our escort was sent on ahead to arrange for
the proper number being forthcoming. There is practically no difficulty
about this so far as Togo is concerned, although in some other parts
of Africa, I was informed, things are very different. On the whole
trip we only once had any bother about carriers, but I shall come to
that later on. I may add that there are two sides to the exchange of
carriers. It has its advantages and its disadvantages. One of the
principal advantages is that with fresh people each day, one naturally
travels faster than with "stale" men. On the other hand, a nucleus of
old carriers is to be preferred, because they know the loads, and can
consequently pack up very much quicker. Coming up from Atakpame to
Sokode it usually took us no more than about half an hour to pack up in
the morning and get away, whereas now our exchange carriers take fully
three times as long.
At Bapure, we first came into contact with the Konkombwa, admitted by
everybody to be the finest race of savages in Togo. As, however, Bapure
is only a border village, the ones we saw here were not, for the most
part, pure bred; and nothing like such fine specimens, consequently,
as those we saw farther up country. For this reason I will defer my
description of them until later.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
A KONKOMBWA WARRIOR
He is not wearing a helmet, or a cap of some kind, as might be
supposed, but his own hair, into which is woven a number of little
rings of copper and brass.]
[Illustration: CAMPING OUT IN THE BUSH
The authoress is sitting outside her tent, busy at needlework. Note the
double awning, the bed with mosquito curtain, the portable washstand on
the right, and the chairs and tables all made to fold up into a small
compass. This photo was taken at Kugnau.]
We camped here under a big tree, the roosting place of innumerable tame
guinea-fowl, who greatly annoyed us by their incessant cackling. The
heat in the middle of the day was very excessive, and in order to get
the maximum of fresh air and the minimum of sunshine, we adopted the
expedient of detaching the outer canvas roofs over our tents, and using
them as awnings. It was surprising what a difference it made. Beneath
this awning, and still further sheltered from the sun's glare by the
thick branches of a big tree, I enjoyed my siesta in perfect comfort
and comparative coolness, whereas when I remained cooped up in the
tent, I found it usually impossible to obtain any sleep whatever during
the daytime. The fact of the matter is that a tent in the tropics is
not at all a desirable kind of dwelling-place. It looks cool, and it
sounds cool, but it isn't anything of the kind. On the contrary, its
interior is almost always stiflingly hot.
Whilst we were waiting here for our carriers to come up, I was greatly
amused by the antics of two travelling coast natives who unexpectedly
put in an appearance. They were "beautifully" dressed in what they, no
doubt, considered the latest European styles; broad-brimmed straw hats,
short tight trousers, and cut-away coats. As soon as they saw us they
came swaggering over to where we were seated. Said Schomburgk: "Where
do you come from?" "From the coast," they replied. Said Schomburgk:
"You look it." That was all. But it was enough. The two "culled
gentlemen" beat a quick retreat, and for the rest of their stay they
left us severely alone; which was precisely what we wanted. They had
two carriers for their belongings, and later on we saw them seated
back to back on their boxes in the middle of the village street, each
reading a book, while a crowd of gaping bush negroes stood round,
evidently greatly impressed, and very much amazed at so marvellous a
display of erudition on the part of men of their own race and colour.
Of course it was all done for effect.
Although the days in this part of the Togoland Sudan are frequently
fearfully sultry, the heat radiates quickly in the thin dry air at
this season of the year, and the nights, consequently, are apt to be
chilly. On the morning when we left Bapure, for instance, at 5 A.M.,
it was quite cold, so that my teeth chattered as I dressed myself. A
quick short canter, however, soon put the blood into circulation. The
first part of our journey was along a picturesque native path, just
wide enough to allow two people to ride abreast, and bordered on either
side by open bush country. About half-way between Bapure and our next
halting-place at Gerin-Kuka, however, we crossed a river, the Dakpe,
which forms the boundary between the Sokode and the Mangu districts,
and immediately found ourselves on a broad, well-kept Government
road. I didn't like it at all. The tortuous native tracks, winding in
and out, may not be so good for quick or easy travelling, but they
possess the charm of the unknown. When riding along them, one is always
wondering what new scenery the next turn will disclose. But this wide
straight highway where one could see miles ahead. Bah! There was no
more romance or element of uncertainty about it, than there is about
Rotten Row.
However, I was soon to be reminded that, road or no road, I was not
anywhere in Europe, but in the heart of savage Africa. We had arrived
within a mile or two of Gerin-Kuka, when there suddenly sounded ahead
of us a most terrific din, and presently there came in sight an immense
crowd of Konkombwa people, who advanced towards us leaping and yelling,
and brandishing in the air long bows and barbed arrows--the latter, I
was informed, poisoned. It was a most imposing, barbaric sight. The
savages, all nude, or nearly so, kept up a chorus of yells, a series
of long-drawn and sonorous "ha-ha-has," threw their bows into the air,
and dexterously caught them again. And all the while they were dancing
and capering, and making swift, short darts forward, as if bent on
attacking us.
I confess to having been a wee bit frightened at first, until
Schomburgk assured me that this was merely their way of saluting an
honoured guest, and that the honoured guest on this occasion was
myself, the first white woman who had ever adventured herself within
the confines of their country. I can quite understand, however, what a
welcome of this description might easily be misunderstood, and possibly
lead to complications, as it has, in point of fact, upon occasions,
and this not only amongst the Konkombwa, but amongst other more or
less kindred people, whose customs in this respect are practically
identical. In this connection Schomburgk mentioned an incident that
came within his own personal knowledge. It happened some years ago, in
what is now the north-western corner of Rhodesia, in the bend of the
Kafue River. Here a traveller, who shall be nameless, first came into
contact with the Mashukulumbwe. This traveller had heard a lot about
the fighting prowess of the Mashukulumbwe, in just the same way as I
had heard a lot about the fighting prowess of the Konkombwa, and when
they came out to greet him, as the Konkombwa came out to greet us, he,
like me, grew frightened, and fired and killed one of them. The poor
savages, utterly at a loss to understand in what way they had offended,
went in a body to the District Commissioner to complain of the outrage,
and to ask for redress and compensation. They got what they asked,
the money payment they received being afterwards recovered from the
traveller, who was severely called over the coals for his share in the
matter.
[Illustration: YOUNG KONKOMBWA WARRIOR
These people are an ethnological puzzle. No one knows their origin, and
their history is practically non-existent. As regards their appearance,
dress, tribal customs, and so forth, they are utterly unlike the other
Togoland natives.]
[Illustration: A KONKOMBWA DANDY
The helmet-like head-dress is ornamented with cowrie shells, as is also
the quiver in which he carries his poisoned arrows. This kind of shell
ornamentation is peculiar to these people, who have brought it to a
high pitch of perfection.]
This was the first time I had ever met any real full-blooded Konkombwa,
and I was greatly struck with their appearance. Tall, splendidly
proportioned, and of fierce and warlike aspect, they carried themselves
with a grace and dignity one could not help admiring. They were great
dandies, too, for although they wore no clothes to speak of, many of
them had little copper plates woven into their woolly hair, or had
their heads surmounted with curious helmet-like head-dresses of cowrie
shells, topped by antelope horns. The quivers in which they carried
their sheaves of poisoned arrows, too, were beautifully designed and
ornamented; and round their arms, from wrist to shoulder in some cases,
they wore bracelets of brass and copper alternating. These were kept
brightly polished, and glistened in the sun as they moved, making
an extremely effective picture. So I rode into Gerin-Kuka in state,
surrounded by my savage escort, dancing, shouting, and leaping. The
noise made my horse exceedingly restive, and I began to fear that I
might be unable to control him, so that I was very glad when, after
we reached the confines of the village, they suddenly with one accord
stopped shouting, and began to sing, a low, melodious, yet barbaric
chant, altogether different from any native singing I had ever heard
before. The interpreter explained that it was a song specially composed
in my honour, and in which I was told that I was more fair than the
moon, brighter than the sun, and more graceful and beautiful than a
roan antelope.
The rest-house at Gerin-Kuka is very large and comfortable, and
beautifully clean. It is square, not round, as is usual with the
Togo rest-houses, and this in itself was a change. We were its first
occupants, which accounted perhaps for its being so altogether
spick-and-span; although as a matter of fact the rest-houses all over
Togoland are invariably kept in first-rate order. Only white people
are allowed to occupy them, and it is the duty of the chiefs of the
different villages where they are situated, to keep them clean. It
must not be imagined, however, that it is only the white travellers
whose convenience is studied by the Government in this respect. In
the neighbourhood of each of the rest-houses for Europeans, there has
also been built a compound for natives. Many of these compounds are
quite imposing-looking places, being, in fact, self-contained villages,
comprising often as many as fifty or sixty round huts, each of which
affords accommodation for a native family. The entire compound is
called a "songu," and is in charge of a native official called the
"sery-chi-songu" (I won't vouch for the spelling), whose duty it is
to keep it clean and tidy, and to see that the occupants of the huts
sweep them out before they leave in the morning for the next stage of
their journey. This sweeping out process, I may mention, is by no means
perfunctory, for the Government insists on cleanliness in regard to the
native rest-houses, as well as in regard to those used by the whites.
But it is not by any means an ordeal. There are no brooms provided,
but the natives soon improvise one from the branches of the nearest
tree, the work--as usual--falling upon the women, when there are any
in the party. One penny a day is charged for the use of a hut, the
money being collected by the man in charge of the compound. No party
is allowed to remain beyond a certain time--usually three days--at any
one rest-house, except in case of sickness. One result of the provision
of these compounds, and of the roads the Government have caused to be
built, is that there has grown up quite a regular system of travel to
and fro between the rail-head at Atakpame, and other parts of Togo, and
not only are the roads and rest-houses used by the Togoland natives,
but those from the northern parts of the British possessions on the one
side, and the French possessions on the other, also come down through
Togo to the coast, when they wish to make the journey, in order to
avail themselves of the facilities provided.
It was outside the Gerin-Kuka rest-house, by the way, that I first paid
our carriers in salt, the currency in general vogue throughout the
Mangu district, where we now are. Each carrier received two cupfuls
of salt for his day's work. Schomburgk saw nothing extraordinary in
this, and rather pooh-poohed the idea when I suggested cinemaing the
incident. He consented, however; and afterwards, when we came to show
the films in London, this one created quite a lot of interest. People
seemed to find it strange that natives could be found willing to carry
heavy loads all day in the broiling sun for what was, from their point
of view, so altogether inadequate a remuneration.
In the afternoon, the Konkombwa, not content with their magnificent
reception in the morning, gave a grand dance in my honour. Afterwards,
Schomburgk went out into the bush to look for antelope. He had
previously told me that he would not be gone more than about an hour or
so, and when darkness came on, and he had not returned, I grew alarmed
for his safety, remembering how easy a matter it is to lose one's way
in the African bush. Hodgson kept trying to reassure me, saying that it
was quite certain that so old and experienced an African traveller as
Schomburgk was would not get bushed. As, however, he had not returned
by eight o'clock, I ordered out the soldiers to look for him, and fired
several revolver shots to guide him in our direction in case he was
anywhere within hearing. I also sent natives out with lanterns, and
soon the bush all round Gerin-Kuka was alive with twinkling points
of fire. At nine o'clock the truant turned up. He had, he explained,
struck some fairly fresh antelope spoor, and, urged on by the ardour of
the chase, had gone further afield than he had at first intended. As
is the way with men the world over, he was not a bit grateful to me
for my thoughtful solicitude. On the contrary, he growled and grumbled,
saying that the lights of the lanterns had dazzled and confused him,
and so caused him to be even longer on the way than he otherwise would
have been; also that all the unnecessary hubbub and excitement had
made him look foolish in the eyes of the natives. "I am quite capable
of looking after my own safety, thank you," he snapped in conclusion;
to which I icily retorted that if he thought it was his safety I was
anxious about he was mightily mistaken, my only reason for acting as I
had done being that I had no ambition to be left stranded alone with
a leaderless caravan in the heart of the African wilds. It is perhaps
unnecessary to add that after this little passage of arms we parted on
not the best of terms that night.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
A WOMAN'S WORK
Five phases of a native woman's life are given here. She brings in the
firewood and the water, does the cooking, and attends generally to
domestic duties and family cares, whilst her lord and master passes the
time in pleasant oblivion under a tree.
_Reproduced from Cinematograph Films._]
Next morning he was all smiles and kindly courtesy, and as I showed by
my manner that I had forgiven his boorishness of the previous night,
we made a first-rate start. We are now bound for Sansane-Mangu, the
northernmost Government station in Togo, by way of Kadjamba and Nali,
and are in the heart of the Togoland Sudan. The days are intensely
hot, and the nights seem to get colder and colder. This morning, for
instance, the frost lay thick on the ground, so that we shivered under
our thick wraps. These extremes of temperature are very trying. For at
least nine out of the twelve hours of sunshine that one gets in these
latitudes, the sun pours down scorching rays from a cloudless sky upon
sandy plain and mountain rock, and the whole landscape shimmers and
glows like the mouth of the furnace; but with the coming of night a
sudden chill seems to fall from the stars, the heat radiates rapidly
into space, and the mercury in the thermometer drops often as many as
forty or fifty degrees in hardly more than as many minutes. Of course
the above applies to the dry season only.
On leaving Gerin-Kuka we did not take the main road, but branched off
into a side-path which it is only possible to use in the dry season.
After riding a few miles, Schomburgk stopped his horse, and, stooping
down, called my attention to a small round depression, or hole, in
the hard clay soil. It looked for all the world as if some one had
jabbed the bottom of a bucket deep down into the clay when it was
soft, and that the indentation so made there had then been left to
harden. I looked at it, as he bade me; but I did not see anything very
remarkable about it, and I said so. "Perhaps not," replied Schomburgk.
"Nevertheless, it happens to be an elephant's spoor, the first you have
ever set eyes on." Of course my interest was aroused at once, and I
dismounted in order to examine it more closely. Schomburgk explained
that it was an old spoor from the last rainy season. I thought the
footprint an enormous one, but Schomburgk said that it was made by
quite a small elephant. We followed up the spoor for some little
distance, and I received my first lesson in wood-craft, Schomburgk
pointing out to me where the beast had stopped to feed, breaking off
the branches and uprooting a number of small trees, and where he had
stopped to rest for a while. In the rainy season all this part of the
country is under water and impassable, and the elephants then come
here to feed from the mountain country of the north-east, and from the
Kara River region, where, in the "gallery forests," as they are called,
there are elephants all the year round. Later on, during the next day's
march, we struck this same Kara River, and I saw spoor of hippopotami
and buffalo. We also encountered immense flocks of guinea-fowl. The
flesh of these birds is eatable, but tough.
Kadjamba we found to be quite a small village. We could not even get
carriers to take us on to Nali, the next stage, but had to keep those
we had brought from Gerin-Kuka. There was only a small rest-house, and
I slept under my tent, being badly bitten by mosquitoes, which swarmed
about the place in countless myriads. Amongst them were numbers of
anophele, the carriers of the malarial fever microbe. Only the female
anophele stings, and she has got to be herself previously infected by
the fever germ before she can convey infection to the person bitten.
Consequently, anopheles inhabiting densely populated regions are far
more dangerous than those found in comparatively deserted ones, such
as we were now in. In and around the big villages practically every
anophele is a germ carrier, and capable of breeding infection, while
those breeding out in the bush are comparatively innocuous.
Next day we started at 6 A.M. as usual, and after an hour and a half's
ride we reached and crossed the great river Kara, our horses going in
up to their saddle-flaps. This river drains the Kabre Mountains, and is
one of the main tributaries of the Oti, the big river of Northern Togo,
and which is itself in its turn a tributary of another and yet bigger
river called the Volta, which forms the boundary between the British
and German territory. In the dry season, which is of course now, the
Kara is only about 100 yards wide and comparatively shallow, with a
slow, sluggish stream; but in the wet season it is, I was informed,
fully 500 yards wide, and so deep and swift as to be quite unfordable.
The Konkombwa country, in which we now are, differs from the Tschaudjo
country in many respects, and especially as regards the number and
extent of the villages. The Konkombwa live in little homesteads of two
or three huts, distributed thickly but unevenly all over the country,
the reason being that these people are in the main agriculturists,
getting their living from the soil. The Tschaudjo, on the contrary,
are traders and warriors, caring little for agriculture, and so in the
course of ages they have come to concentrate together more and more.
Paratau, which may be described as the capital of Tschaudjoland, has a
population of several thousand souls, and Bafilo is even bigger.
Two hours after crossing the Kara we rode into Nali, where the chief
had laid out all his "presents" under a big tree. The collection made a
goodly show; quite a lot of flour, some unground corn, many chickens,
and a big pile of eggs. In return we gave him brass, tobacco, and salt,
and he retired highly pleased. Later in the day Schomburgk and Hodgson
went out shooting, and the latter returned greatly excited. He had
seen a school of hippos for the first time. His jubilation, however,
over the incident, was greatly marred by the fact of his rifle having
jammed in a most extraordinary manner when he was making ready to let
drive at them. He had it already loaded at the time with a cartridge
carrying a soft-nose bullet for shooting antelope, and pulled the lever
in order to extract it, with a view to reload with one carrying a solid
bullet. But the case came away, leaving the bullet in the barrel, and
as he had no ramrod his rifle was put altogether out of action for the
time being. There were five or six hippos in the school, and for days
afterwards, Hodgson did not cease to lament having been unable to bag
at least one of them.
From Nali we rode on in the morning for about ten miles, then camped on
the open veldt. There was no rest-house available, of course, and we
put up our tents. The next day, December 23rd, we struck camp at six as
usual, and after an hour and a half's ride we reached the Oti River.
Here we halted, had breakfast, and tidied ourselves as best we could
for our entry into Sansane-Mangu, which lay only about another hour and
a half' ride in front of us.
CHAPTER X
CHRISTMAS AT SANSANE-MANGU
Mangu, the northernmost Government station in Togo, is in charge of a
District Commissioner, Captain von Hirschfeld, who is assisted in his
duties, which are arduous and important, by two other white men, one
of whom is a non-commissioned officer, the other a civilian. Between
them, these three representatives of a dominant race, carry on from
year's end to year's end administrative and executive duties over a
tract of country as big as half a dozen English counties, and larger by
far than many of the smaller semi-independent German States. It is a
country, too, difficult of access at all times, and in the rainy season
impossible altogether to traverse in many parts. It is, moreover,
inhabited by a people diverse and strange, speaking different dialects,
possessing different tribal customs, manners, and beliefs; and in some
instances--and in all instances at times--truculent, intractable, and
treacherous.
That this vast, far-flung region, in parts even now largely uncharted
and unknown, should have been brought, within comparatively recent
times, under a settled and stable government, and tribal and
internecine warfare practically abolished, speaks volumes, I venture
to think, for the character and abilities of the men who have
accomplished the task. Earliest among these pioneers was Dr. Gruner,
who took the German flag right up to the Niger bend, but who had to
withdraw owing to the shortsightedness of the German Parliament. The
British Government, by the way, made no such mistakes, I notice. I have
read in our history books how, some twenty years ago, Lord Rosebery's
Government was on the eve of adopting a similar policy of scuttle in
regard to Uganda. But the Rosebery Government went down in response to
a popular outcry, and as a result your Union Jack waves over all that
portion of East Africa. Our Parliament was subject to no such popular
pressure--at all events at that time, and in regard to this matter. But
here I had better stop. I am trenching upon high imperial, not to say
international, politics, and such things are not for a girl like me.
Let me get back to the Mangu of the present day, which we are now, if
you please, dear reader--I like that old-fashioned phrase--approaching
on horseback from the lowlands about the Oti River. A big broad road
leads up to the station from the Oti, and the station buildings can be
seen a long way off, gleaming white in the sunshine, and giving one,
even at a distance, the impression of extreme neatness and cleanliness.
As our caravan, with its long string of porters, winds slowly upwards,
I observe through my field-glasses that flags are flying from every
point of vantage, and I guess, even before Schomburgk tells me so, that
the decorations are in honour of the advent of myself, the first white
woman in Mangu. Presently, Captain von Hirschfeld, accompanied by a
mounted bodyguard, canters out to meet us, and I, intent on making as
imposing an entry as possible, ride forward to greet him. But alas, for
the plans of mice and men, to say nothing of women! A patch of soft
sand--a quicksand, no doubt, in the rainy season--lay directly in my
path. When my horse reached it, he first sank in it over his fetlocks,
then floundered, then fell, pitching me over his head. And in this
unceremonious, not to say undignified, fashion, the first white woman
made her first entry into the far northern station of Mangu. Captain
von Hirschfeld and myself often laughed over the incident later on, but
to me at the time it was no laughing matter. Not that I was hurt in
the least. The sand, fortunately, was soft, and the floundering kind
of stumble my horse made resulted, so far as I was concerned, in a
subsidence ra
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