Sporting Trips of a Subaltern 



down to the pool and began stripping for a bathe. 

 I had actually waded in nearly waist deep when 

 one of my Bariba guides, coming down for water, 

 saw me, and set up a great shouting ; I couldn't 

 understand him, but, wishing to be on the safe 

 side, I came out. Next morning at daybreak 

 I rode off at the head of my party, and was passing 

 the pool when there was a splash, and I just 

 saw a huge crocodile dive in from the overhanging 

 rocks. It did not need the "Ah, ahs " of my 

 men and their glances at me to tell me what a 

 fearful fate I had escaped, and while I felt a 

 cold shiver run down my back, I vowed to be 

 tempted by no more rocky and innocent-looking 

 pools. 



Another adventure on this march that might 

 have proved more exciting than it did, hap- 

 pened at a place midway between Kiama and 

 Boussa. Wawa, I think, was its name, and the 

 friendly King of Kiama had warned me that the 

 inhabitants thereof were " bad men." It was 

 somewhat extraordinary in Borgu that, dotted 

 about, were villages of what Indians would call 

 "budmarsh" men, that is, sort of Ishmaelites, 

 whose hand was against every one, and who looted 

 and slave-raided till a chief, such as Kiama, would 

 lead a punitive expedition against them, when 

 they fled to the bush and reappeared elsewhere. 



My escort consisted of ten men only, and I 

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