Northern Nigeria 



of September, and the illness of my white non- 

 commissioned officer later in the month, kept me 

 busy. I only had this one white man with me at 

 first, though later on I was able to get up a 

 corporal of the Army Medical Corps. Incessant 

 rain, too, had undermined the high mud walls of 

 my fort, and at all hours of the day or night they 

 would fall with terrific crashes. It kept us busy, 

 filling the gaps with stout stockading, which I 

 infinitely preferred. At the beginning of October 

 matters again became strained with our white 

 neighbours. It was the time of the Fashoda 

 crisis, and as Kiama was close to the frontier, and 

 within fifty miles of the strongly held French 

 post of Nikki, this entailed a great lot of extra 

 work and vigilance. Simultaneously with this 

 my N.C.O. developed that fearful scourge of West 

 Africa, black-water fever, and for days lay help- 

 less, hovering between life and death. I am 

 thankful to say he eventually pulled through, and 

 was got back to England safely. 



Among other things at this time I ordered 

 the King of Kiama to clear a broad belt of bush 

 round the fort to get an open field of fire. I was 

 awakened one morning before daybreak by a most 

 unearthly clamour just outside the walls, shrieks 

 and yells accompanied by the blowing of horns 

 and the beating of war-drums. Living, as I then 

 was, in a state of perpetual readiness, I was out 



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