Exploration of Aïr

At Kano I picked up two more natives to accompany me on my journey, a Hausa youth named Mona and a half-caste named Outa, while the interviews with applicants were not without amusement, since conversation was carried on in my somewhat amateur Hausa, with John privileged to look on, and give his comical but shrewd opinion of the character of his probable fellow-travellers—and he had his strong likes and dislikes, though he judged his subjects solely by eye, for he could not speak Hausa, as is the case with many natives of other tribes, and in particular with coast boys.

Languages are very numerous in Africa, and to know them all would be a great task, but every European on the West Coast knows and makes use of the amusing native patois termed “Pigeon English,” which is the crude English that natives learn to speak who come much in contact with white men. And when one begins to form sentences in Hausa, and troubles to translate them literally into English, it is amusing what peculiar phrasing is arrived at, and how similar it is to the patois of the natives. Thus here are some literal translations of some of the Hausa sentences I used:

Interrogating native hunter.

“You, you make king of hunting in your town?”

“I make journey, I reach Aïr, after so I return within Kano when my work I finish. You agree you come far together with me?”

“Money how much you wish you do work with me moon one one?”

“You agree you do month ten (with me)?”

Consulting a chief for information of local hunting-ground and local hunter.

“I want I may collect birds and animals of bush.”

“I want I may flay them and I look inside of them.”

“I wizard am. I carry them and I show them to white men wizards in land (of) Europe.”

“Not I wish I make journey quick because I want I catch them all.”

“I want I may make hunting where grass it makes tall.”

“I want I may make hunting where rivers they make many: a place of lake and marsh.”

“You are able you give me a hunter, he come along with me: he point out to me a bush good?”

Translation of Hausa speech to natives when camping and hunting.

“We shall alight here.”

“Perhaps we sit here days ten and four.”

(Or in opposite case): “We shall sit here little little, not we shall delay place this. I will go I make hunting at (this) night. You it is necessary you sit; you look (my) camp. Do not you sleep.”

“I will take (my) gun, I will go, I will make of hunting now.”

“You bring trap of iron.”

“We will sit here, we will watch in silence.”

“Do not you make (of) moving.”

“Beast that it is with a bad wound, we will follow it.”

The natives secured at Kano completed my personnel for hunting—Sakari and Mona being available for gun-bearing, bag-carrying, and skinning, Outa as horse-boy, and John as cook and caretaker of his master, for he had already attached himself to me with the sincerity of a faithful servant and was now watchful of my welfare, especially taking upon himself to warn me when he detected any “slim” manœuvring over camels or food or gifts by cunning characters that came about camp or were met on our wayfaring.

Delays always seem to dog the start of a prearranged journey—the more anxiously planned, the more sure some fateful hitch at the last moment—and my experience at the “end of the line” in Nigeria was no exception. At Kano the large quantity of stores of food and hunting accessories that were to carry me through barren country for about a year lacked almost all gun and rifle ammunition and an important crate of apparatus for entomological work; all of which had missed the steamer at Liverpool; which advice I received in due course.

However, as the neighbourhood of Kano had been unworked by collectors, it was not unprofitable to make a beginning there, while observations alone would give me a good ground work to go on as I moved further north, for by being familiar with species that inhabited the Kano region of Northern Nigeria, I could the more surely detect types peculiar to localities or given latitudes as I encountered them in the Sudan.

Therefore I did not stay many days in Kano while waiting the arrival of the lost supplies, and with the aid of native carriers moved out with all my baggage to camp about six miles north of the town near to a small village named Farniso.

My experiences there need not be unduly dwelt on. The country-side was for the most part thickly populated and well cultivated, and collecting was not of an exciting order. There were no antelope in the neighbourhood, and jackals and foxes were the largest animals I collected. Jackals were very plentiful, and I have seen their dens even in the walls of Kano.

Reports reached me that there were a few lions in low-lying country on the Hadeija river, where it passes through N’gourou, and also that there was some good big-game country east of Kano towards Maidugari (nearing Lake Chad territory), and I have no doubt but that such reports were true, although I had no opportunity of hunting in those localities. I judge that the big-game hunter who journeyed to Kano would not find his hunting there, but would seek it some days away to the east or the west or the north. I know not the territory any great distance east and west, but I know something of it northwards, and anon will explain where game lies where I have seen.

Though collecting in the neighbourhood of Kano was not exciting, bird life was attractive and abundant, as were small mammals, and my days were well filled hunting in the early morning or late afternoon during the hours of feeding and movement of the creatures of the underbush, who dislike as much as humans do the intense heat of an overhead sun, and skinning and setting specimens all through the day, and after dark at night, in camp. During the few weeks I remained camped near Farniso I collected 207 birds and 83 mammals, and also a quantity of butterflies and moths.

In due course the lost ammunition arrived and a great anxiety was lifted from my mind, for new regulations with regard to arms and ammunition being exported from England were so complicated at the time, that long delay, or even loss of authorisation was possible if not probable; and I would have been in a nice predicament and completely crippled without this item, which was so indispensable to me on my journey. I assure you I could have shouted with sheer joy when I saw the small weighty business-like boxes coming into camp on the heads of carriers that were groaning under their loads.

The arrival of ammunition stores left me free to begin the camel journey northward over the boundary into French territory, though I was still short of the crate of entomological apparatus— which did not reach me till more than a month later, forwarded by courtesy of the French officials.

In departing from Kano I would say good-bye to the last post that boasted of civilisation and pass “out of the world,” for there are surely few places on the face of the earth more remote and God-forsaken than the interior Sahara of Central Africa—as in due course I was to learn; though in this I was to some extent prepared by study of bare incomplete maps, and in finding how difficult it was to glean any information of the country in England before sailing. But I was not prepared to find how little was known of the country at Kano, where I had calculated I would probably learn much about my journey ahead, whereas, in fact, I gained practically no information from the few white men there, and very little from natives, who were much given to reticence with strangers, or, if free-spoken, to wild exaggerations. I did not meet a single Englishman or Scot in Kano who had been across the boundary into French territory as far as Zinder, which is a ten days’ camel journey north, and it is strange but really true that almost as little is known of the Territoire du Niger in Nigeria as in England, though the two former are next-door neighbours. But so far as travelling to Zinder is concerned, apart from Zinder being in French Territory, it can be readily understood why British Europeans do not make the journey from Kano if one can realise the desolation of the country and the exhausting heat of the African sun, which makes such a trip, merely for the sake of sight-seeing, altogether uninviting.

By reason of preparing to enter this land that knew the sadness and solitude of “the lone places” rather than even the rudiments of civilisation and commerce, I had perforce to carry all stores necessary to life; and I must carry money also—not a little, but a quantity sufficient to last me over a protracted period. Therefore, my last act on the eve of departing was to ride into Kano to draw money from the bank. And through the kindness of the manager of the Bank of British West Africa, who rightly viewed my task in the light of one of national importance and not one of trade, I was enabled to have the large quantity I required issued to me in silver; which was a generous concession on his part, and of the utmost value to me, for silver was at that time at a premium, and one could purchase at least 25 per cent. more with coin than with paper-money, which found ill-favour with the natives.

There are two reasons why notes, which, at the time of my visit to West Africa, were causing much inconvenience and concern to traders in Nigeria and to the military officials in the French colony, are disliked. In the first place, many of the natives are unable to read the value printed on paper-money, both the actual figures and the wording being in English, so that when it is tendered in purchase, they are sometimes doubtful of the value they are receiving; whereas with coin they can easily judge the different values by the variety of size. Secondly, it is the habit of the natives to conceal their wealth in a secret hole in the walls of their huts or in the ground, and paper-money is not adapted for such a purpose, since it is not impervious to damp in the rainy season, nor the ravages of white ants or mice at all times. Furthermore, the “brown paper” shilling currency is a poor affair at best, and not durable to the large amount of outdoor handling which money receives at the hands of the natives, and whenever a note becomes torn, it is looked upon as valueless among themselves, and quickly reaches the white man’s store, where it is known it will be accepted and taken off their hands.

So, with knowledge of the drawbacks of paper, I gleefully returned to camp with my supply of silver, and that night secreted the major portion of the coin in various ammunition boxes in the hope that it would in that way escape detection and plunder on my long journey. Silver in quantity is very heavy to transport, but that was fully compensated for—for had it not the power to put one on good terms at once in all dealings necessary with natives? Further, I found it unnecessary to make exchange to French coin once I had crossed the Frontier, since the English shilling and two-shilling piece were acceptable everywhere.

I secured ten camels for my journey to Zinder, and not, in a limited time, since it was ground-nut season, when transport animals are in great demand, being able to obtain the full number required to transport my loads, which weighed close on 4,000 lbs., I had to fall back on oxen to complete the complement, taking four of the latter to carry loads equivalent to that which two camels could carry. Camels can load 300 to 400 lbs.

The camels of Hausaland and the Territoire Militaire du Niger are the one-humped race that are named “Rakumi” in Hausa and “Alum” in Tamāshack, and they are the outstanding transport animals of the country. Indeed, without camels it is difficult to see how the inhabitants of the interior Sahara could subsist, for they are, in essentials, the only animals truly adapted to long journeys in barren land, where water and food are often very scarce. The distance they can travel with 300 to 400 lbs. loaded on their backs, and their uncomplaining endurance is altogether marvellous, and it would be a man of poor appreciation indeed who knew their habits and had not praise for them.

Donkeys and oxen are two other animals of transport which are used on routes that are not too severe, and donkeys in their patience and endurance have some of the commendable traits of camels, and are capable of accomplishing long journeys if not too heavily loaded—100 to 150 lbs. is a fair load—though they are slower in getting over the ground. Oxen, on the other hand, are of secondary value as transport animals, and are seldom satisfactory on a journey of any length, for they do not harden well to their work, and often break down tamely under a prolonged burden. This is because the heat of day is very trying on them when en route, while it has little effect on either camels or donkeys.

As Aïr, and the section of the Territoire Militaire through which my journey led me is the home of the camel, and since I travelled hundreds of miles with those fine animals, perhaps a few remarks concerning them would not be out of place.

The market-price of camels in 1920 at Kano and Agades was about £8 for a young beast 4 years old, and about £15 for a full-grown animal 9 to 15 years old. Those prices, even though they have risen considerably since the war, like everything else even in such remote parts, must appear small if it is taken into consideration that camels require to be nourished and reared for 8 to 10 years before they have reached maturity and are really fit to join the caravans and bring recompense to the owner. On one occasion I saw a young camel of 4 years, small and still with a semi-calf look about it, being ridden by a Tuareg who was a lightweight; but to break a camel at that age is quite exceptional, if not foolish, for in all probability this early labour, before bones are hardened and muscles full and set, spoils the ultimate development of the animal. Some camels are considered developed enough for short journeys when 6 years old, though they are seldom fully matured until 8, 9, or 10 years, while they reach their prime about the age of 15 years; afterwards they begin to lose a little ground, but are often quite useful and strong up to and over 20 years. At an age of 30 years a camel may be said to be altogether beyond work.

In colour there is considerable range among camels, the most common variety in this territory being light buffish-brown, somewhat resembling sand, while piebald and brindled camels are also numerous, the latter having random patches of white on a surface that is chiefly dull lead-like blackish-grey. Those piebald and brindled beasts are reputed to be an Aïr race, but how far that is true I had no opportunity of proving, though I can vouch for having seen among the Aïr mountains more camel-calves of that colour than any other. Moreover, it is a splendid protective colour against the mountain background of blackish rock and pools of sand, so that the claim has at least that in its favour. A colour that is not very common among camels is pure white, while one that is quite rare is rich tawny reddish buff. I have seen a score of animals of the former colour, but only two of the latter.

In selecting camels to make up a caravan, it is problematical whether you get good-tempered or bad-tempered beasts, and one should be optimistic enough to accept the bad with the good and put up with the annoyance of saddling and loading cantankerous individuals, for there is no caravan was ever without them. But if you wish to use a camel for hunting—and they are exceedingly good for the purpose, being very noiseless of foot—great care in selection should be exercised, and only a tried animal should be used which is good-tempered and taught that it must not roar as you dismount to commence your stalk on sighting game. The awkward and somewhat wooden appearance of camels does not lead one to associate much intelligence with them, but to think so is a mistake, and if one desires to have a really good hunting camel, I know of no better method to secure it than to select a good-natured beast from the rank and file, and hand-feed it with tit-bits of vegetation, and pet it when mounting and dismounting, and let no one else saddle it or ride it, and before long you will be astonished to find that you have won a queer pet and a useful and obedient comrade. It will have been gathered that it is the noisiness of the brutes that has to be guarded against when hunting, and that is so, for they are fearful beasts to roar on the slightest provocation. Besides being timid animals, they are very tender skinned, and almost all of them emit a loud complaining roar whenever they are touched by a human hand or there is the slightest movement in the position of the saddle in mounting or dismounting; while if an animal happens to be suffering with horrible septic saddle-sores, such as are very common, it is sure to make a terrifying uproar whenever approached.

When travelling with a caravan, it is usual to commence to load up before daylight and get well started on the way before sunrise, which is about 6.30 a.m., or—especially if there be a moon—to make a start at 2 or 3 a.m. in the night, and travel the greater part of the day’s journey free from the rays of the exhausting sun. On such occasions the camels are gathered in at sundown on the eve before from browsing among the acacias, and made to lie down by the camp-fire, so that they are at hand when the camel-men go to work in the darkness. Then, when the hour to start comes round, logs that have been collected the night before are kindled to make a blazing fire, and by the light of the flames the loads are securely roped and loaded across the pack-saddles, so that equally balanced packs rest on either side, while throughout the process the black bush silence of the night is rudely broken by the deep querulous roars of the camels in protest against being handled. Loading up in the poor light of night is a slow process, and in my case three or four men usually took from an hour to an hour and a half to load ten to fifteen camels. But the secret of a smooth journey is to begin the day with loads thoroughly secure and well balanced so that they will not annoy the bearer; and with bulky loads, such as the chop-boxes and collecting-cases of the white man, which are unfamiliar and clumsy both to the natives and their beasts, it requires considerable care in loading to be reasonably sure of a well-ordered start. When things do not go well, it is a mistake for the traveller to become impatient and abuse or hurry the camel-men in the early morning, when tempers are apt to be short, for although they are undoubtedly slow in their methods, they know their work and their animals, and will make the better loads if left alone, and you merely lend a hand here and there, and joke with them over their work, and thus gain their good-will and confidence. As to the type of saddle, a serviceable and simple saddle is made of wood in this fashion: first there are two arch-shaped pieces which are made to fit over the back of the animal, and which rest before and behind the hump, while underneath them are bound leather pads filled with palm fibre, so that the saddle is comfortably received on the camel’s back; secondly, from the back and front pieces there are run four horizontal bars, which are bound in position to the arches with goat-skin or sheep-skin thongs, whereby the saddle is made rigid and complete. It is a very simple piece of construction, but serves the purpose.

Sometimes no saddle is used when carrying good loads, such as bales of grain or salt, which naturally lie very close and compactly to the body of an animal, in which event two long goat-skins are used, puffed out like pillows with filling, which are thrown over the back on either side of the hump, and receive the burdened load ropes which carry the bales in position on the sides.

When loading camels on the first day at the commencement of a journey, or after having been idle for a week or two turned loose in the bush, they are afraid of their unfamiliar loads, and behave like bolting horses or wild colts, and saddles and packs are no sooner secured, and the brutes on to their feet, than they show their ill-humour and everything is thrown to the ground again. Once, twice, even thrice this may happen with three or four camels in the caravan, while it seems as if you will never be able to get out and away on the road. But in the end all are ready and in line and a start is made. But on that day you are sure of trouble en route with the fractious animals, and not until the morrow need you expect anything like reasonable order, when you will almost surely find that even the worst of the brutes has become docile and resigned to steady work.

I did not miss any of my share of this sort of experience when the day came for me to set out from Kano—I don’t think anyone does. Camels and their Tuareg drivers were in my camp at Farniso ready to start on the morrow (12th January). That evening trouble began: the camel-men, not having finished their private bargaining in Kano and seeking an excuse to delay, had put their heads together, with the result that they concocted a story that they had not enough rope to cope with the tying of the awkward loads of the white man—which was true, in fact, though anyone might know that it was not necessary to go to Kano to secure them with a village close at hand. However, knowing their homes were distant, and that it might be long before they had again occasion to visit Kano, I gave permission for one of them to go back, provided he would start there that night when the moon rose at 11.30 p.m., which he promised to do. Being easy-going and trusting at that time, which was before I had much knowledge of the plausible and sly-tongued Tuareg, I turned in and slept soundly—and so did the cameleer, for next morning I learned that he had not started for Kano until daylight. This meant that the whole morning was lost—not very pleasant when tents are down and everything you possess is bundled up and roped in camel-loads, and there is nothing left to do but sit on them and smoke innumerable cigarettes and inwardly curse your camel-men and your luck.

The camels were, in the meantime, turned at large to feed in the neighbourhood with their fore-feet hobbled, which was as it should be; and all was right until the man returned from Kano with more ropes and his purchases of cloth, and a cameleer hastened out to bring in the animals, but returned in about an hour to say that he could not find two of the camels.

At this stage everything seemed fated to go wrong on this day.

But there is a rift in the clouds even on the worst of days, and in the end the lost camels appeared in view, coming in at a breakneck pace before a mounted camel-man who had skilfully tracked them down in the sand for a long distance and rounded them up. The brutes, though their fore-feet were hobbled, had tried to return to their old haunts in Kano.

It was after 3 p.m. before we got loaded and away on this ill-fated day.

I had arranged before starting that we would camp at Fogalawa, 18 miles away, and it was well I did so, for, after starting out together on the road, I did not see the main part of the caravan again until midnight, since I remained throughout the journey with the tail-end of the line, where an obstreperous and unruly old female camel made the devil’s own trouble, and threw her load again and again with most vicious determination. The climax came close on sunset, when the camel-man and I were overheated and dust-grimed and angry over our exertions, and the cantankerous brute cut loose once again, and threw and shattered the chop-boxes and strewed the contents on the road. While bemoaning my ill-luck, and letting tongue run loose on the virtues (?) of our beast of burden, and at a loss to know what to do next, a native chanced to come up with some unloaded camels, and I was able to strike a bargain for a beast to take the place of the unruly one.

Thereafter the journey was a smooth one, but, nevertheless, I had lost so much time on the way that it was midnight before I came into camp behind the last camel, and had been nine hours on a journey that should ordinarily take five and a half to six and a half hours.

So much for the discrepancies of the “first day”; and now I must return to our starting-point, so that I may tell of the wayside. During the afternoon and through the night in the darkness we travelled over a broad roadway of loose shifting sand that held north through fairly open country that was, in general, under cultivation. Trees were plentiful, growing for the most part singly and not in close-set mass, but they do not impress one with height or stature at this season, though in the Rains the full-leaved trees of any size are imposing and conspicuous enough in most of the flat country between Kano and Kanya. No doubt the whole country has been covered with acacia bush at one time, with an odd large tree shooting above the dwarf forests here and there, and though the acacia bush has been cleared away to give place to cultivation, the big trees have been left standing, since to the toilers in the fields they are harbours of shade from the merciless sun.

Along the road a constant incoming string of caravans of camels and donkeys and oxen passed us, carrying bulging bales of ground-nuts to Kano, for the ground-nut season had begun, and unprecedented prices were being paid for them by the white man, which had created a widespread boom in the district and a tremendous wave of speculative excitement. It was a great year— 1920—of prosperity for the natives of Kano, this last fling of commercial extravagance at the end of the war—a rich year that, in the end, must have left its mark, for one could easily forecast the time to come, when there would be acute comparisons between the heyday of the boom and that other day when the boom must burst, and hearts be sore—for it is hard even for a native to come back to the solid old ground-level after he thinks he has reached a golden citadel in the clouds.

Next morning we continued on our way without any repetition of trouble with the animals, and the old camel, that had stubbornly refused to carry the white man’s boxes yesterday, to-day carried with ease a greater load of ammunition packed in native grass-woven bales. The brute had been nothing more than wildly scared of the strange articles that it had been set to carry.

The road continued broad to-day, but grew ever heavier underfoot with loose sand. By the wayside there was not so much cultivation as yesterday, and few habitations, except at Kore and Minna. We camped in mid-afternoon at the small village of Kanya after a pleasantly smooth journey. It was gratifying, after our trials of yesterday, to see how nicely the camels of a well-ordered caravan move forward over the ground with their soft-footed methodical gait; they get over the heavy sand road not only with their long pacing stride, in which both legs on the same side are lifted together, but also they move with a strange stealthy silence, which is due to the rubber-like give of their soft elastic pads. A further odd and striking detail about the feet of a camel is that, unlike other animals, the fore-feet are larger than the hind-feet.

Travelling by the wayside in inhabited country, if you happen to be near human dwellings, cockcrows will herald in the African dawn from some village hut-top obscure among the bush foliage, and on the third day we were busy with the load-ropes in the chill of late darkness ere the first glad cock-call told of approaching day. Already we had learned that it was wise to travel in the cool hours as far as possible and save our animals from the great heat of day, so long as short nights and loss of sleep were not over-fatiguing to ourselves, or, rather, perhaps I should say to myself alone, for natives have the knack of sleeping in daylight just as easily as in darkness, and throw themselves down in any little patch of tree-shade at the end of a journey and retrieve their night-sleep almost before it is lost: while that I could never do, even if I had not work to attend to.

But there was one native with me who worked long hours without sleep much as I did, and he was the faithful John. On his broad shoulders rested all the petty duties of attending to his master’s welfare in camp: a host of small duties indeed, such as cooking meals at any hour— early or late, at noon or midnight; pitching or striking my camp-bed (for I slept in the open); or doing the services of a valet in looking after all my personal belongings, and my toilet, even washing clothes when he had the time to spare—in general, cookboy and houseboy all in one, and a treasure. Moreover, he afforded amusement all round through the medium of his perpetual cheerfulness and expansive grin. Often I have laughed to see him, after the rush of getting ready to start, when he had got the last bundle turned over to the camel-men and his master’s camp clear, come saucily forward in his cloth cap and with his cane walking-stick—both relics of the coast which were inseparable from his person— and with a perceptible swagger over his “English” (?) and his importance as the master’s boy, grin broadly and ejaculate to the head camel-man: “Come on, come on, Aboki (friend), we wait for you!” which assurance always provoked laughter among the men, while Sakari explained to them in Hausa John’s “English” (?), and added to it in the telling.

The Harmattan winds had been very pronounced since starting, and the third day was as bad as its predecessors. So full of sand-dust was the air, that a white cloud hung over the land through which the sun was unable to break clearly. The mane of my horse was white with dust, and, looking on the acacia trees a little way off in the bush, they had the appearance they would bear on a frosty morning, with the fine dust, like white mist, hanging low and falling upon them to lie whitely upon the leaves and boughs.

I noticed at Kanya, and beyond, that the peculiar reddish sand and soil of Kano had given place to ordinary whitish-grey.

On this day we travelled to Jigawa, 18 miles away, on the banks of the Tomas river, which, though it was nothing more than dry bed at this season, is a very considerable stream during the Rains, quite one hundred yards across the floodwater. The place is a small town, with the remains of a stockade about its outskirts, and it contained wells of water and the usual village produce of eggs, fowls, and millet-meal, as well as goats and cattle. It may be stated here that there is no scarcity of water or food experienced anywhere on the journey from Kano to Zinder.

I heard at this village the first news of big game that I had had, and in the cool of the afternoon I went out westward to investigate, and the result of a prolonged hunt through fairly open thorn bush was that I sighted, and viewed through field-glasses, four Red-fronted Gazelle, which the local natives with me said were in fair numbers in the neighbourhood. The beasts, at which I fired one ineffectual shot, were very wild, and gave me the impression that they were disturbed often by the natives who hunt them.

The fourth day was a pleasant one, for it entailed only a short ten-mile journey; and I can assure you that a short day after two or three long, hot, and exhausting ones is a very agreeable change.

We camped at noon at Barbara, our day’s task finished; and the camels were hobbled and turned out into the scrub bush to enjoy a lengthy repast. Barbara is a large town that lies five miles on the British side of the frontier, and here it was that I bid good-bye to Nigeria for a time. Hence I made it a stopping-place, and an easy day. (I did the same thing many months later, on my return, and was royally received by the Saraki (native king) and his people-a large number of whom were Fulani—who en masse spent the day in holiday and dance because the White Man had safely returned and was glad.)

On the morrow we crossed the boundary and entered French territory, having crossed the line about an hour after starting where it lay between the two small villages of Baban Mutum (British) and Dashi (French); places, like many others, that were not shown on either of the incomplete maps I possessed, which were the best I could procure in England.

In the afternoon we halted and camped at Magaria, where there is a small French fort commanded by a European officer, with native troops under him. Here I was most cordially welcomed to French soil, and enjoyed the frank, unfettered hospitality that for ever is to be found with the big-hearted men of the Lone Places. Though I was not yet more than eighty-five miles from Kano, a European visitor was rare to the board of this solitary soldier, and so I was made doubly welcome over our cups of good comradeship, though neither could glibly speak the other’s tongue, and conversation was carried on for the most part in halting words of Hausa. He was a jovial good fellow, beside being the kindest of hosts, and ere the day was out I think we put the sober mud walls of his little cabin to shame with our gladness and laughter. That he was a lone man could be gleaned from his surroundings and his tastes. For companions about his abode he had a cage full of little waxbills, a grey parrot, two pie-dogs, two cats, and four Dorcas Gazelles— all bird and beast of the country-side, except the two cats, which were Persian. The barrack square and the garden of the Fort afforded him further pleasures in homely hobbies: in the square, young trees had been lately planted to form an entrance avenue and give shade, and to watch them take root and thrive was this man’s way with his treasures. And in the garden among the shrubs and vegetables his interest was the same to coax plants that were not indigenous to grow in the sandy, thirsty soil; and that he had some success I can vouch for, for there were beds of such vegetables as carrots, radish, beetroot, peas, and cabbage growing quite fairly at the time of my visit.

As I progressed later on, I found such humble gardens wherever white men were stationed: only a few places in all, it is true, but always a garden to furnish the need for vegetables, which is a pressing one to the health of Europeans in such a barren land as this, for rarely vegetables and no fruit can be obtained from natives. Apropos to this, entering a country of tropical heat, I was not prepared to find that it was devoid of fruit (excepting a limited amount of dates in the rainy season), and the discovery disappointed and dismayed me, I must confess, for it left me on short commons in that respect throughout the expedition. And when one lives for a prolonged period on the unchanging diet of animals that fall to your hunting, the hunger for fruit or vegetable grows ever greater, and is, at times, very difficult to allay.

The sixth day found us on the road at dawn, with Nigeria behind and the caravan well started on the way to Bande, our next halt. On this day and the next, over a belt of about twenty-five miles, country of marked change was passed through, and one got the impression that it was now turning more to desert. Dum palms, in small groups or solitary, sceptral with their tall graceful stems and tufted rustling tops, were now in the landscape, while there was a new sense of open space about one, such as is felt on sea or prairie, which was brought about by the wide views of grass-grown land before one where eye could range for long distances.

With the regularity of routine we were marching off the distance on the map, and each day we camped a stage further on—and a day nearer to Zinder. On the seventh day we made the journey from Bande to Makochia, over a very heavy road of loose sand; on the eighth we camped at Dogo— ever the cruel sand-drifting winds of Harmattan in our faces, while ever we held steadily on, for after camels are loaded at the dawning of day, never halt is made by the roadside until the journey’s end is reached and the patient brutes lie down and are relieved of their burdens.

The day of our journey to Dogo was one of particularly fierce storm, and we went forward against a very heavy wind and enveloped in continuous clouds of drifting sand: and, besides, it was so cold that I had to keep on my woollen sweater and khaki tunic throughout the day, although hitherto I had not on any day worn a tunic, and as a rule discarded my sweater an hour or two after the chill of dawn. At Dogo I was forcibly reminded of a snowstorm on the Canadian plains; before the village there is a wide white level stretch of sand almost plant-bare, over which winds and driftings rushed fiercely from afar to pounce madly upon whatever lay across their path. Not snowstorm nor piercing cold are elements of this land, but imagine the soft sand underfoot, like snow, the drifting sand, the snow blizzard, and the sting of the storm in eyes and nostrils and throat as unpleasant as the tang of biting cold, and you have the comparisons that have a very decided resemblance.

The road to Dogo lay over undulating country, pale with dry grass and sand, with a touch of faded green where there were trees in the open spaces. It should be a fair country to look upon in the Rains, but it is for the present inert, and discoloured with the drifting sand, and is a melancholy land indeed.

The country by the wayside had for a time a pronounced fall away to a deep valley visible to the west.

The altitude of Dogo is 1,375 ft., so that we had descended some 300 ft. since leaving Kano.

Dogo is the Hausa for tall, but I could gather no particular reason for the name. Had it been called Gara (the white ant), however, I would have well understood, for I have seldom seen an equal to the plague of termites that was here: boots, leggings, articles hung to the wall, every box among the camel-loads, was attacked by the infernal pests as soon as ever we camped and before we had time to prepare rough timber platforms to raise everything off the ground. White ants have to be guarded against everywhere in the Sudan, but I never saw them worse than at Dogo.

Next day, which was the ninth day of our journey, we reached Baban Tubki, six miles south of Zinder, where there were a few small date groves and plentiful well-water, and more luxuriant vegetation than usual. So that I decided that here I would pitch a collecting camp, and with that purpose in view swung the caravan west of the road, and sought a camping-place among the scattered trees and tall grass about a mile away. Camels were unloaded and the packs freed from their many ropings, and the preparations of camp erection were begun—and trekking for the present was at an end. . . .

In the part of the territory of Damagarim through which I had travelled since crossing the frontier there was no great change from that of Nigeria. It was certainly less populated, but the Hausa, Fulani, and Beri-Beri tribesmen were the same, as also was the construction of their grass huts and villages, though some of the latter were somewhat dilapidated and had the aspect of belonging to a poorer or more careless class of natives.

So far as I could tell by daily short excursions into the bush off the road, none of the country I had passed through was notable for big-game; but if I was to hunt in that particular territory, I would start at Jigawa (fifty-six miles north from Kano), and work north as far as Makochia, about fifty miles further on. I know there are Red-fronted and Dorcas Gazelles in that belt, but that is as far as my limited knowledge goes for the present.

By the wayside, each day, I had made notes of every living thing I had seen—bird or beast or butterfly. Now it was my task to set to work and preserve a representative collection of the fauna of Damagarim, and forge one link in the chain of the zoological geography of the country, of which up to the present nothing was known.

Collecting was my constant occupation during the month that I camped and hunted near Zinder.

Now, collecting Fauna for the scientific purposes of large Natural History Museums is work somewhat out of the ordinary; so much so, in fact, that I would like to show clearly what such pursuits entail, and to do this will endeavour to describe some of the actual work in the field.

To begin with, the climate is African: which means, in this territory, that for at least nine months in the year the land knows not rain, and lies like an overdone pie-crust, withering beneath a heat that is too great. Day after day, with unchecked regularity, from the break of dawn, a fierce sun rises rapidly high up in the sky, and as it gains in strength, so a silence settles upon the earth, for so great is its oppression, that at the height of its power it subdues all living things. About 10 a.m. you may notice that the glad sounds of morning have faded—birds are retiring to leafy shades, the boisterous noise of natives at work in the village has died down; before noon the land is wrapped in silent solitude, and Old Sol alone is left in the field.

Hence the time to go hunting in this land is early in the morning or late in the afternoon, when the creatures of the underworld have left their hiding-places and are up and about in eager quest of feeding. For the hunter and his native boys it is also the favoured hour, for, as in travelling, the cool of the day allows of the maximum of exertion without any forfeit of sheer exhaustion which the noonday sun inexorably imposes.

Let us follow the proceedings of a morning’s hunting. I have turned wakeful toward dawn, and lie warmly in my blankets awaiting the sound of cock-crowing to tell me the time, for I am without a watch since the sand has damaged both I possess. When I hear the call I listen for, I know full well I must bestir myself if I would go away to the fields in good time. Blankets and bed are provokingly comfortable at that moment, but it is fatal to hesitate, so I call “John!” and at once he answers, for he too has been sleeping lightly; and while I am dressing he lights a camp-fire and prepares tea. Sakari and Mona are also awakened, and sit, with their coloured blankets over their shoulders and drawn about them, huddled before the few embers of a fire that they have rekindled, for there is a chill in the air and they are still half asleep and without vigorous circulation.

When I am ready, we prepare to start. My search is for birds this morning, so I take ·410 shot-gun for collecting small specimens, 12-bore shot-gun for anything larger, and a ·22 Winchester rifle in case I find some wary bird that I cannot get within gun-shot of, and yet may see it watchfully perched within the range of the little rifle. I fill my pockets with cartridges: those for the ·410 loaded with dust for sparrow-sized birds, and with No. 8 for birds of the size of doves; while I carry only No. 6 in the cartridges for the 12-bore gun, which I have found will kill vulture or eagle or bustard—in fact, any bird less than an ostrich. Also, I take an open basket, so that I may carry the specimens I capture with great care and without damage to the plumage, some cotton wool to stop bleeding and fill wounds, and a notebook in which to record the colours of the soft parts before they fade at death—viz. the colour of the eyes, the bill, and the feet.

John stays behind to prepare breakfast and make camp clean and tidy for the day; Sakari and Mona come with me.

I know where I will go—I keep more westerly than yesterday. We go carefully at first over the uneven ground, for it is not yet light, though there is now a faint brightness in the eastern sky. We are well away from camp, and cannot see it when daylight is upon us. I am alert now that the sky has cleared; eyes roam everywhere, catching movement in the undergrowth, among the leaves of big trees, or in the sky. Many birds I see: little brown ones like the undergrowth or ground; pale ones like the sand; dark ones like the trees; or gorgeous ones that have no shy colouring, but are gems unto themselves, that peep out brightly revealed in the dark background of their leafy haunts. I know them all, they are very familiar—for am I not among them every day? I am not concerned with these: I pass on ever observant, ever expectant, knowing that there are others that I will find. . . . Soon I am arrested: I have heard a note that I do not know—so often I am guided in that way. I go forward watchfully in the direction of the sound. . . . I have now marked down the clump of bushes whence the call proceeds. . . . I am within range of it— when I see a long-tailed bird dive from it and disappear in an instant. I have seen that it is a Coly, but not of a race I know. . . . Pray do not think I have lost this valuable quarry, though it has flown and is out of sight. Ah, no! birds that inhabit a favoured thicket are unlikely to fly very far, especially in the feeding hours of morning. So I pause and listen attentively, and anon I think I hear the tell-tale somewhat mournful single-pipe call of the bird I seek, but it is so faint that I wonder if fancy is deluding me. There is no time now to be lost. I hasten forward among the thorn trees that in a belt grow numerously, and the pulse quickens as I again hear the call for certain, and from more than one bird. . . . I feel my way toward the sounds. . . . I am not sure of the direction at first, but as I draw near there is no doubt. The birds are ferreting for leaf-buds among the thick tangle in the centre of a thorn tree (acacia). I get up in time to see them dart away, and succeed in shooting one specimen. But that is not enough, for the species, a long-tailed Coly, with a blue band on the back of the head (Colins macrourus), is new to my collection; I must follow them up. So I hunt on for an hour or so, with the result that I capture four; and it has been an exciting chase, for the birds were peculiarly wild, though they are of a kind that are often easy of approach.

I am very warm, and stand beside a tree to smoke a soothing cigarette. I have seen a number of hawks in the air during the morning; now that I am idling in the shade I see another. It is of a species that I have observed before, but that I have never been able to approach—a very large hawk, of even dark leaden-grey colour, with mighty wings and a crested head. The bird swings slowly over the land about a quarter of a mile away, and I give up following it, and drop my eyes to look about nearer at hand.

I had forgotten the incident, when Sakari aroused me with: “White man, dem shafo (hawk) live for tree—look him!” and he pointed away to a small group of tallish trees on our right. Sure enough, following Sakari’s directions, I could make out the outline of a heavy bird perched near the top of one of the trees, whence it overlooked the whole countryside. The native had watched it fly and settle there.

Now began a stalk as exciting as one could wish for. I always look on birds of prey, the hawks and the eagles, as royal game, and feel about the same intense interest in hunting a wild species of them as I do when stalking a particularly fine head of big-game. Between me and my prey there was hardly any tree cover. I could only trust to using the “lie” of the hollows to reach the bird unobserved or at least unsuspected. I ordered the two natives to remain where they were, while I took my shot-gun and started on a wide detour, so that I might reach a little dry streamlet hollow that led in toward the trees. Rapidly, but carefully, after I had got round into position, I advanced, crouching and creeping, toward the bird; and always when I dared to glance ahead I saw my coveted quarry perched in place and unalarmed. When I drew closer I could distinguish the eyes and hooked beak, and saw that the bird was watchful, for it turned its head in one direction and then in another as it looked out over the landscape. . . . Now I was crawling flatwise, bare bruised knees and all, and before long stood breathless among the trees—the bird somewhere overhead. As I moved to get a better view through the branches, the bird swooped from its perch to make off; and then crumpled up in mid-air as the report of my gun rang out. Seldom have I been more satisfied with the sound of the fall of a heavy bird; for many a like stalk have I made after equally rare prize, only to find the sharp-eyed quarry depart when I was half-way on my journey, or sometimes when almost within shooting range.

The natives soon joined me, and having now enough specimens for the work of the day, we turned back to camp.

On the way home I had two fox-traps to visit and lift, for it is not safe to leave them set during daylight, lest browsing goat or village cur stumble into them. The luck of the morning continued, for in the second trap there was a struggling captive—a beautiful buff sand-coloured little fox known as Vulpes pallida edwardsi.

This capture afforded the two natives great satisfaction, and, as is their habit, they showed fiendish glee over the downfall of this creature of renowned wit and cunning. If they were not restrained by my presence, I know they would poke it with sticks and jeer at it, and in many ways act with unconscious cruelty, for they have not an atom of pity for such things—no African has. If they were free to kill the fox, they would secure the teeth and the eyes and the skin to secrete the parts about their persons as charms in the firm belief that they thus invest themselves with the high gifts of the animal against the cunning of their opponents or enemies.

Thus finished a morning’s hunting. Sometimes, on other days, I would meet with greater success, sometimes with less; and sometimes, too, I would have my days of disappointment, when a rarity was seen and lost through a missed shot or in losing all traces of it in its flight. But the hunter does not readily forget, and naturally memorises a place where he has once found quarry, so that again and again he will revisit it, and often picks up on a later day that which has escaped him at the start.

There were few big-game in the district, and, in my case, for the present, it was not my concern to hunt them, except that I might have fresh meat.

But in addition to ornithological research, I was interested in collecting all kinds of small mammals, and as few indeed were ever seen in daylight, I had to resort almost altogether to steel traps to make my captures, and had mouse-traps, rat-traps, rabbit-traps, and fox-traps set at nights wherever I found an inhabited burrow or den or a frequented “run.”

Furthermore I had yet other matters to give thought to, for I was to bring home collections of Lepidopteræ, which entailed long excursions in the heat of the day in quest of butterflies, and patience-trying hours of watching by a lamp-lure in the darkness of night in quest of moths.

Altogether, I can assure you I had no time to weary for companionship or to realise my loneliness, and that was a comforting consideration.

I have described the manner of hunting specimens, and would now turn to the work of preserving them.

I have built a rough-framed grass hut for workshop, close to my tent. When I return in the morning, it is here that the specimens are taken, and work is begun at once, for the temperature is so great that a lifeless carcass cannot be relied on to keep fresh longer than five hours, and will certainly be beyond handling if left to the end of the day. I usually preserve from five to ten specimens in a day, the number depending on size or the success of hunting; while on special occasions I have finished as many as fifteen in a day.

Sakari and Mona, the boys selected at Lagos and Kano to help in skinning specimens, can now be trusted with certain work. The fox had been put out of pain, and, laying it on its back, I make the opening cut in it and start Sakari on the task of skinning. As he proceeds to work the skin off, from the belly upwards, the limbs are drawn inside and severed at the heel of the paws, the tail is pulled out by the root, and in time the skin is clear of the body and drawn off over the neck and head. The limbs are then labelled: “right fore,” “left fore,” “right hind,” and “left hind,” and are severed from the carcass at the hip and shoulder joints, and, along with the skull, are scraped clean of flesh and numbered and laid aside to go with the finished skin of the specimen. All the scraps of flesh and fatty matter are then removed from the skin, and I take it over from Sakari to apply a thorough coating of arsenical soap preservative, when it is labelled and completed, and laid aside to dry. It has taken Sakari about an hour and a half to do the work, and when he is finished I set him to partly skin the smaller birds, for he is light-fingered and has considerable skill.