If anybody endowed with an unflinching philosophic spirit wishes to have that spirit tried to the utmost, if anyone desires to test whether his heart will break at unexpected, unavoidable, exasperating delays and disappointments, then let him come to Northern Nigeria under such conditions and limitations as I and endeavour to carry out a time-table of moving through the country. Nobody I had met in England seemed to have any idea of the difficulties, each appearing small in itself, yet, accumulating, presenting an absolute bar to progression, a bar that no will could overcome.

A Governor, Resident or other high official in the public service is able to bend the resources of each district to his requirements. Rightly so, for matters of high importance may depend on the celerity of his movements. A Director of a large company or a member of a mine staff finds everything arranged. Horses and servants, previously provided, meet him at railhead and an ample supply of food boxes is sure to be included in his equipment by those who made the arrangements on this side. The sooner a good-salaried man gets to his task the quicker his employers are likely to turn dead outlay into a living profit.

But in the case of the journalist whom nobody knows, a stranger within the gates, nobody’s child, perhaps misled by well-meaning folks in England who, in full belief, assured him there would be no special trouble in getting about; one who has to work out one’s own salvation almost from stage to stage. Him, my readers, bear with in his efforts, wearing efforts, more wearing than any physical exertion, bear with him in delays which to you may seem inexplicable. You in that other part of the globe, away from this West Africa where transport and movement are distant from railroad or river, you can go from place to place by probably half-a-dozen alternatives should one fail.

Here there is no alternative; you must wait. You must depend on yourself absolutely. A man whose property you visit may give you some help to get on the way; it were unreasonable to look for anybody to do more.

Here as in other parts of the globe one must not expect too much just because one is a journalist. The journalist may at considerable outlay go to a country for the purpose of making the work of the men there known to the larger world outside. The men may care nothing for that knowledge being propagated nor for the opinions and judgments of the larger world—in which case, if I dare say so, they are foolish and make a gigantic mistake—or they may live in a little world of their own which takes count of little beyond. Their all-in-all is bound up in the place where their lives are spent, and nothing else matters. A visitor from abroad may be more an object of curiosity than of interest. In the course of pilgrimages through lands as Special Correspondent for the African World I have met some peculiar characters but never, I think, more—or as peculiar—as in Northern Nigeria. Certainly they are the exceptions. I make no complaint personally. These reflections are simply put down as observations on the workings of minds so unusual that they must be noted. There are frequent speculations as to what is at the back of the black man’s mind. I have occasionally wondered what moulds ideas in some white men’s minds in Northern Nigeria.

What has been stated can be read in connection with my own situation. That situation was this. I had settled to leave Naraguta on November 4 for the southward trek to Jemma. Everything had been arranged to the utmost detail. It was to be the last chapter, though not the last stage, of this portion of the journey and, bearing in thought former delays, I was firmly determined nothing should detain me a day. So much for human calculations.

The start was to be on a Monday. On the previous Friday morning I found myself without house-boys. Two of the three had gone for causes which need not be intruded here, and Oje was manfully going through the daily task single-handed pending the arrival of assistance. Friday morning Oje announced his wish to leave “for 10 days.” It was not the labour he had to do which prompted the step; in fact, he had asked to continue alone. The story he gave—I am convinced the true one—was that a man who owed him £4, 16s. was at Zaria—at least 3 days’ journey for him, though he used the railway—and he desired to go and claim the money. No persuasion or sternness could induce him to stay. I offered to give him the £4, 16s. He was worth that and more. No use. Go he would. He knew the serious trouble he would give me and said he was sorry, but nothing could alter his attitude. It was one of those strange aberrations of the native from down country which defy reading by the white man, however experienced; for between the lad and myself there was a strong attachment. Evidence of it had occurred unmistakably a few days earlier.

He wanted to leave next day, by which time, he explained, he would find me a cook. When I saw it was hopeless to make him remain, in order to show independence I told him he could go at once. He did, notwithstanding he thought he might be forfeiting several sovereigns I was keeping for him. Although I knew it was not easy to obtain house-boys at short notice at Naraguta, I hoped to, and whether I did or not, I was set on starting Monday morning. It was a serious position to go without at least one, but I would be deterred by no inconvenience—to use a moderate expression—taking my chance of picking some up en route. So much for human calculations.

Next day occurred a much more severe blow to the plans. One pony which had not been very well became seriously ill and the other suddenly went quite lame. It was clear to even my limited veterinary knowledge that neither could be taken out for more than a week. To obtain fresh ones in the required time at Naraguta was out of the question. I was for walking. A man to whom I mentioned this spoke of it as “downright madness under the conditions.” He said I would be meeting disaster and that I ought to regard myself as fortunate if I were as much as carried back.

Moreover, the servant difficulty was not easily adjusted. The first applicants were obviously to be shunned at any cost. Their presence would prove a great deal more trouble than their absence. For three days I was completely without house-help of any kind. For those three days, with the anxiety on my hands of a horse becoming weaker and weaker, in spite of all done for the poor animal, I had nothing to eat beyond hard, thick, dry cabin biscuits and a cup of tea morning and another in the evening. This was the only time I could spare from writing to make up a fire. There was a single deviation from the diet. It was a morning when I had been invited to breakfast. I had to walk nearly two miles in the heat and glare of 9 a.m. without the preliminary morning tea. My host, Mr F. Beckles Gall, the Resident at Naraguta, one of the kindest of men, will on seeing these lines in print learn to his surprise in what a plight was his guest of that morning.

It may be asked whether I could not avoid so much discomfort and prevent such risks in a country where food is a prime consideration for health. The answer is that I had gone up under the impression that anything could be bought near, whereas transport of supplies was not then in the more advanced state to which it has since been brought, and although fresh meat and poultry are for sale in the public market, there are some things a white cannot do; one is to go to market. You might as lief see a Duchess on knees cleaning her doorstep in Belgrave Square.

There were, possibly, several men within a radius of five miles—which here corresponds to the distance of a short street in England—who would have had me at their table had they known. But one does not care to run about with all one’s small worries. There is so much done by some people for a stranger that he does not wish to put their goodness at undue strain.

Yes, in Naraguta, which away from a town is regarded as rather a large centre, I have endured—I will not say suffered, for I do not make a suffering or a trouble of it—I have undergone more hardships in the matter of food than anywhere in the whole course of this journey. My inconveniences are given in detail as a signal to others, though probably they will not be subject to the same limitations. Expansion of purchasable supplies is likely to be full.

Oje returned Sunday afternoon, very tired, downcast and contrite. He had been overcome by a kind of home-sickness and at Rahama turned from his purpose. He begged hard to be taken back. I subsequently learnt, not from him, that although money was in his pocket, he had had no food for two days. Water had been his only sustenance.

Still without house-boys, I rejoiced at seeing him, though sorry for the hard time he had evidently experienced. My liking for Oje was too strong to be destroyed even by the way he had acted. I was convinced he had been led to it by somebody who hoped to victimise him.

But it would not do to let him see forgiveness could be had on request, so I sternly told him I would not have him again.

He stayed near for the remainder of the day, sometimes sitting on the ground at the side of the bungalow, always looking wistfully when I went outside. Once, as I sat writing, he came into the room and commenced to make the bed ready for the night, as he had done for so many months, but I ordered him out and declared he was never to think of doing anything for me again, though I almost broke down before the sentence was finished. He went out with tears trickling. That night he slept in one of the outhouses and directly I opened my door at 5.30 next morning he was waiting and commenced “I beg, sir-r.”

I told him to come back at 10 o’clock. He elected to remain on the spot. Another boy was engaged as steward and then poor little Oje was reinstalled a step lower, as cook.

The horse difficulty remained. On Tuesday the one that had been growing weaker died. I must not overlook the attention it received all through from doki boy Kolo, not the one originally in my service but a Beri-Beri. Kolo is not handsome to gaze upon—he has one eye, a phenomenally long mouth and wears a short pig-tail falling from the crown to the side of his head—but I liked him from the first meeting.

It was clear I must obtain horses if my stay was not to be prolonged to a length driving me to lunacy. But no Glendower can conjure them up at Naraguta within a fortnight of the great Hausa festival known as the Salah. However, if I did not try I certainly would not succeed, and, making efforts and my wants known in all directions, at last a Hausa dealer brought a strong-looking pony he had purchased from Pagans. It stood about 12 hands and, all being well, was just the kind of beast for trekking. The dealer rode him a short distance, and, although not taking kindly to bit or saddle, he seemed all right. I then walked, trotted and cantered him, and a friend having done likewise and pronounced him passable except for a defect in the shape of his legs, I bought the animal for £5.

The same evening the pony broke his tether and wildly tore about the compound seeking who of his kind he might fight and bite. For 20 minutes he was pursued by half-a-dozen doki boys, whom he repeatedly evaded by sharp turns and wheels to the left or right. Eventually wary tactics were adopted. The pony was quietly allowed to approach another horse and, as the Pagan beast stood for a moment, one of the doki boys threw his arms over the neck and the others closing in, the runaway was held captive, in spite of frantic plunging, backing and kicking.

Kolo held him whilst ropes were being sought, and maintained the charge when the pony recommenced the contest by biting a gash in Kolo’s leg, from which the blood came freely. At last the beast was put in a doki house, both fore and hind legs hobbled, a stout rope round his neck and tied to the roof, but of sufficient length to allow lying down. The entrance was crossed with heavy beams and the barricade made complete by a large iron wheelbarrow against it. A peace-offering, in the form of a heap of cut grass, was placed on the ground to keep the rioter quiet during the night. He rejected all these overtures and frequently signified his protest at the restraint imposed by attempting to break away, but that had been too carefully provided against.

I had thought during the performance that I would give him as much galloping as he wished for, and more, next morning.

At 10 a.m. the little brute was led to the bungalow. He was in anything but an angelic mood. Ears set back, a spiteful look in his eyes, seemingly spoiling for a fight, he seemed generally typical of the wild people who had bred him. I calculated that all this vicious energy would be fully expended in the couple of miles’ gallop to and up the hill on which the post office stands. The pony had other plans.

It was a long business getting him to take the bit, which was only done after the beast had been tied to a post by a halter round his neck. The two doki boys had all they could do before the bridle was in position. The saddle was then put on and the halter taken off.

But the pony by no means entered into the spirit of what was intended. He jumped about and swung round, never giving chance of a foot being placed in the stirrup. At last the doki boys had to hold his head firmly, and a moment afterwards I was up and they let go to give a clear course. Instead of starting off like a flash, as I expected, he not merely reared but threw himself backward, his full length on the ground.

Taken unawares, I was not in time to check the movement and fell sideways, as fortunately only the extreme end of the boots were in the stirrups. To add injury to insult he attempted to roll on me—I had by chance fallen a little too widely—and then he jumped up and made off madly.

This part of the programme I heard of afterwards, as the fall stunned me. A thick, pith helmet—the gift of a friend in London—had been providentially strapped under the chin, and therefore remaining in position had thus prevented my cranium coming into direct contact with the stony ground. Had it, the more or less valuable contents thereof would probably have been deranged by concussion of the brain or some similar pleasantry.

When after a minute or so of unconsciousness I came to, the delinquent was being held near by. He did not appear to be the least ashamed of his handiwork. At first I could not get up and assumed some bone had been broken, especially as assistance to rise gave such pain that I asked to be left. Presently I was able unhelped to change from the horizontal to the perpendicular position and at once proceeded to take stock by feeling the ribs and shoulder-blade for fracture. All were intact.

Then about the mail, for I was taking to the post things written for the African World Annual and this was the latest day for forwarding them. The sport of a further try with the Pagan pony involved too great a risk of missing the mail, so I had another horse, which I had on hire, brought out, saddled and reached the post office just before the bags were closed.

Next day it was clear I had been hurt more than I thought. The pain in the side had increased and any movement such as sneezing caused the agony as of internal knives cutting. The following day the signs having intensified, with added pain when in the prone position, I made an appointment to see Dr Costello, the Government medical officer. He promptly diagnosed the symptoms as contusion of the muscles. I was not able to ride and he, with the usual care given to each individual case, offered the use of his own hammock for the trek.

That is a mode of progression few use if they can avoid. With a squad of bearers not trained to work together, the discomfort on a journey of length has to be experienced to be realised. Moreover, lying down was bad enough in bed; in a jolting hammock it would be impossible.

However, I still determined to leave on the appointed day of the following Wednesday, though I had to walk. Annoyance at the continual delays was felt to be more risk to health than trekking in the tropics on foot over a bad path.

But a difficulty much harder to remove than absence of horses presented itself. The great, national festival of the Salah—the Hausa Christmas, as it is termed locally—was approaching and carriers would not move from their homes and miss the two days’ jollification. No reasonable remuneration would entice them. Though I were prepared to go without the necessary couple of horses, the indispensable carriers would not be forthcoming. There was, therefore, absolutely no alternative to possessing my soul in patience as best I might until the human and equine elements shaped into propitious form.

The Salah over, the Pagan pony having been disposed of—thereby hangs another story, which cannot be told now—having been promised hire of a second horse, and the carriers been engaged, I am leaving to-morrow morning southwards.