The following September we turned our faces again towards Nigeria. The ‘Home’ climate had somewhat disgusted us, exemplified as it was by weeks of hopeless, unceasing, soaking rain in Scotland, and, but for the horrible wrench of parting again with our nearest and dearest, we prepared for our return in the most cheerful spirits.

My husband had been appointed to a new Province, eastward from Kano, named Katāgum, one which had come inside the scope of the Administration as a result of the Sokoto Expedition, and hitherto had not been ‘administered’ at all. The prospect of absolutely new ground, the North country, people of a high-class Mahomedan type, all appealed strongly to us both, especially as our way lay through Kano, of which we had all heard so much during the last six months.

To our responsibilities we added an irresistible little fox-terrier, acquiring him absurdly cheap from a dealer, on account of what the latter called a ‘marble’ in his eye—a sort of discoloured patch, which, although, of course, a blemish, did not appear to affect his sight, and was almost certainly the result of a blow. This fact we were able to deduce from subsequent events. Long before we reached Africa, we discovered that Binkie had an undying hatred for any one who had the temerity to wear blue trousers!

He commenced to act on this principle at once, by attempting to bite the guard of the train, made unfriendly overtures to the hall-porters at the hotel in Liverpool, although on the most affectionate terms with every one except the wearers of these obnoxious garments; on the landing-stage, in the intervals of caressing, and being caressed by a little girl, he made purposeful grabs at one and all of the blue-clothed porters, and reached the zenith of his reputation by biting two quarter-masters on board! It was a tiresome, and, incidentally, expensive habit, as we had no muzzle for him, and I only breathed freely on landing in Lokoja, where the majority of the inhabitants are guiltless of blue trousers. To do him credit, I must say he never touched a native, but I had to scan the garments of my callers anxiously, and warn Binkie accordingly!

On the way down the Coast we were given a ten days old bull terrier pup, a very highly-bred little person, who, having had the audacity to be born with a fawn-coloured patch, had thoroughly disgraced himself in his owner’s eyes. We had a difficult time rearing him, and nights in bed became ‘things hoped for, not seen!’

On arrival in Lokoja we found Mr. Wallace there, just starting up river to Zungeru, and he gave us a cordial invitation to visit him there, when we had made the necessary preparations in Lokoja collecting ‘the office furniture’ for Katāgum, and engaging carriers. While there we were burgled in a fashion so characteristic that it may be worth describing.

My husband was known—evidently—to have a large sum of money in silver; this he deposited, naturally, in the largest, heaviest, and therefore least removable of our boxes, but the enterprising burglar evidently thought that a tin uniform case (which happened to be padlocked) looked promising, and, during a tornado at night, carried it off!

We discovered our loss early next morning, and I was utterly dismayed, as its contents were mainly a new photographic outfit, chemicals, paper, etc. We ‘communicated with the police,’ but, meantime, some thirty carriers came to be enrolled, and, guided by previous experience, my husband informed them of the loss, expressed an opinion that the box was not far off, and, telling them to search the ‘bush,’ offered a reward of five shillings to the finder. The grass all round was over the men’s heads, and drenchingly wet, but they plunged gaily in, shouting and hunting, and in less than half an hour emerged triumphant, with the box and its contents, the latter practically ruined, having been scattered far and wide in the frantic but unavailing search for money. It must have been a ‘horrid sell’ for the thief; his only prize—at least, the only article missing—was the clockwork engine of a toy train, which I had brought out as a present for a small black friend! He had, luckily, quite overlooked a large envelope, containing stamps to the value of £25, the nucleus of a Katāgum post-office!

We left Lokoja, a large party of twelve or fourteen people, with various destinations, rather tightly packed on the Sarota, and, during a tornado, trying to shut a cabin window, my husband had a nasty accident, absolutely tearing the nail right out of one finger. It was not an auspicious moment for even a ‘partial disablement,’ and gave him a bad time at first, but healed splendidly, and, in spite of many gloomy prognostications, he succeeded in growing a new nail eventually!

We made our way up the Kaduna in a steel canoe, slept one night under a corrugated iron shed at Barijuko, and the next morning started ‘by train’ for Zungeru. It was an experience quite amusing for the first time; safely embarked in a roofed-in truck we rattled, bumped and swayed along the tiny line, with much shouting and vociferation; various passers-by, walking to Zungeru, placidly crossed the line in absent-minded fashion, under the nose of the crazy little engine, and had terrific abuse and chunks of coal hurled at them by the native engine driver. The dirt was choking, and the noise made speech impossible, so I clutched my bull-pup tightly, and watched with interest the flowers along the line—glowing yellow coreopsis, tall and slender, away down below were patches of vernonia purpurea, like a copper-coloured ‘button’ chrysanthemum, while the grass was thickly dotted with a tiny rose-coloured flower, one which grows in uttermost profusion there and in the North, but which I have never seen farther South.

Some days later we had an opportunity of really appreciating the tram-line, when we made an expedition to Wushishi on a pump trolley, and found it a really exhilarating and delightful method of travelling!

We got a warm welcome from Mr. Wallace, and spent a few days with him, enjoying his cordial hospitality and kindness while we made our final preparations for our start. Government House is, indeed, an ‘oasis in the desert’ to the weary traveller, luxuriously furnished with costly English furniture, soft carpets, bright chintzes and silk curtains, and fitted with electric light; it is all very charming, though, perhaps, not the very best preparation for thirty days in the bush!

My husband had brought out from Home a couple of mono-wheel carts, his own invention, and now had them put together preparatory to our long trek.

The cart, briefly, consisted of a single wheel, about three feet high, which revolved in the centre of a platform six feet by four, with ordinary wheel-barrow handles at either end. The platform was fixed below the wheel axle, and thus lowered the centre of gravity as much as possible, and lessened the inclination to fall over. While in England two ordinary carpenters in the workshop where the carts were built, had taken one with a load of about seven hundred pounds up and down streets with ease, and we were therefore delighted, and hoped that Nigerian transport would receive a helping hand thereby. Alas! we had not reckoned with the carrier, who, we fondly imagined, would prefer the lesser effort of trundling to carrying. He would have none of it! While the man behind had to raise the handles and start, the one in front, whose duty was only to pull and assist the balance, would also endeavour to lift! This, naturally, threw much more weight on the back handles, with the result that every few yards the whole thing would tumble over and have to be reloaded. Even placing a man on either side to prevent this happening made no appreciable difference, and, in desperation, we were finally obliged to engage extra carriers for the contents of the carts, and eventually marched into Zaria, the carts being triumphantly carried on the heads of two men!

At that time the path on leaving Zungeru, was simply villainous, beset with huge stones which even the one wheel could not avoid with the cleverest of steering, and this increased the local prejudice immensely. I really think that, had Fate decreed for us an ordinary, fairly level and well-patted down bush path, some nine inches wide, miles of which are to be found in some districts, and had our men been able to get accustomed to the novelty under such circumstances, the invention would certainly have proved a success and a great convenience at distant stations, where, at present, a tin of kerosene oil, for example, adds ten shillings or more to its original cost by the time it arrives, on account of the carrier’s pay. Later on, while we were detained at Kano, we tried to make a single cart out of the two, using both wheels, but with a very narrow track, about two feet wide, and this worked excellently until the dry wind of the Harmattan and the fierce sun heat through the day so ruined the wood-work that the wheels came to pieces, all the spokes falling out. Upon this we sorrowfully resigned the idea until a more favourable opportunity, and endured the daily irritation of seeing loads damaged by being rubbed off at each convenient tree by pack animals!

But this digression has taken me far ahead of my story, which must be resumed at Zungeru, where, one hot afternoon, on the 29th of October, we said good-bye to Mr. Wallace, and finally departed, while the bull-terrier pup shrieked aloud at being immured in a basket and treated as a ‘load’; we walked down to the river crossing, and were ferried over in a crazy canoe half full of water, which started my new riding-boots on their downward path! We afterwards discovered that one box had been planted comfortably in the same water, and, on opening it some days later, a sad scene of literal ‘blue ruin’ greeted our eyes—books, writing-paper, photographs, clothing, all hopelessly destroyed and mildewed—such is African travel!

We slept at Ganan Gabbas, a dirty stuffy little hamlet, and a sharp contrast to our quarters of the night before, but, happily, we were not in the least disposed to feel depressed over the absence of armchairs and soft carpets!

I was interested in watching the young wife of one of the native police among the escort, bathing her tiny baby (three months old) in the chill morning air before sunrise, the cold water being well smeared all over the little brown body, while the poor mite—naturally—yelled lustily! The bath finished, no drying operations being included, the mother scooped up a handful of water, closed her hand with the thumb pointing downwards, and, using the latter as a kind of spout, directed a stream of water into the baby’s mouth, slowly and steadily, totally disregarding loud gurgles, chokes and struggles of protest: meantime she was feeling and pressing the rapidly expanding little stomach, until convinced, I suppose, that its limit of capacity was reached. This treatment is meted out to all the babies, and is considered to be a great strengthening agent! This Spartan parent, having strapped the baby tightly to her back, and made ready for the start, stooped to lift a towering load of calabashes and other household goods, and doing so, put her shoulder out. She appeared to suffer a good deal of pain, but took it quite quietly, turning meekly to her husband, who, with one bare foot planted under the injured arm, gave a mighty pull, and with a snap the joint returned to its place. She thanked him prettily, adjusted the load on her head, and started off happily on her day’s march!

The march proved an interesting one, though very hot; the autumn is almost the best time of the year to ‘see the country’; in the farms the guinea-corn was just beginning to ripen and droop its massive plumes of grain, underfoot was a terribly stony path, but much of the road lay over hills, and we got magnificent views of miles upon miles of wooded hill and plain, unrolling themselves into the dim blue distance.

At Zaria we pitched our tent on the wide plain outside the great pile of mud buildings then used as the Residency. Every one was most kind to us, giving us every sort of assistance. Major Hasler, then commanding the Mounted Infantry at Zaria, specially delighted me by a present of a huge bunch of the most splendid zinnias I have ever seen—grown in the tiny garden round his quarters. He and a brother officer, I remember, ‘spread a banquet’ for us, as they expressed it, and a very merry party it was. Some anxiety was experienced during the afternoon as to the probable behaviour of a very special feature of the feast—a claret jelly—and diligent search was made for the coolest and breeziest spot in which to ‘set’ it. Our minds were relieved, however, by the triumphant announcement that it had ‘jelled’ admirably in plenty of time for dinner. We had quite beautiful table decorations of a lovely rose-coloured shrub, cunningly set in discarded cigarette tins, and one of our hosts, in his determination to do honour to the very first ‘Ladies’ dinner’ in Zaria, decided on most daring flights in his costume. But, alas! difficulties intervened, and after a little delay, he appeared—full of apologies—magnificent in regulation English evening dress, with a peerless glossy shirt-front, a tie tied to perfection—but no collar! This item was ‘lost, stolen or strayed,’ but our intrepid soldier friend did not for a moment allow such an obstacle to defeat his original plan, I am glad to say!

The road northward from Zaria was interesting, a regular market garden, miles upon miles of cultivation and farms; the grass was quite fine and short, utterly unlike the luxuriant growth down south, and tinged with a warm brownish red shade, which made a delicious ‘colour scheme,’ stretching away under great spreading trees into the far pearly blue haze.

We found Bebeji most interesting. On approaching it, the scene seemed familiar, and we felt convinced that we had seen it before, until we recollected the delicately executed pencil drawings illustrating Barth’s travels: here were the very same isolated tall palm trees, the flat-roofed massive buildings, high clay walls, and only the shortest and most meagre of herbage. We were given quarters in a couple of excellent cool lofty rooms, with a vaulted roof, beamed with wood and decorated high up with gaudy coloured earthenware plates of the commonest description, but much appreciated for this kind of mural decoration. We were destined to see them very often afterwards, and in any dwelling which has been hastily quitted by the occupants during war or under the influence of panic, almost invariably the plates are torn from the walls and carried off.