430 AFRICA SPEAKS 



way again in five hours, but three miles farther on we 

 stuck again, and, as darkness was approaching, we 

 camped on the spot. 



Lightning flashed and distant peals of thunder rolled 

 across the heavens; dark clouds scudded between us 

 and the moon, and a group of hyenas sang a sorrowful 

 serenade, their melancholy howling adding a dismal 

 note to the dreary pitter-patter of the rain. Jones 

 was very sick during the night and his condition added 

 to my anxiety ; for if the rain should prove a heavy one, 

 our chances of getting through to the hospital at 

 Kaduna would be meager. 



Only a light shower fell, however, and the morning 

 dawned clear and bright. The trail was still hard 

 but almost impossible to follow on account of the high 

 grass which had overgrown it, making it often appear 

 as if we had strayed on to the wrong path. It was 

 providential that the storm of the previous night had 

 passed around us, for otherwise we would never have 

 reached Kaduna, the ground over which we sped so 

 easily needing only one heavy rain to make it an im- 

 palBsable quagmire. 



After placing Jones and one of my black boys in 

 the hospital, I scouted around seeking road informa- 

 tion, becoming acquainted with Lieutenant Colonel 

 Percy Batty e, an officer of the Welsh Guards, now 

 commanding the First Battahon, Nigerian Regiment, 

 Royal West African Frontier Force. This famous 

 band of black troops was formed by General Lugard 

 more than thirty years ago. The four battahons 

 comprising the regiment are distributed throughout 

 Nigeria; headquarters being Kaduna, Kano, Calabar, 

 and Ibadan. 



