A description of an average day's work will give you an idea of Baden-Powell's task, and the way in which his negroes worked.
Early in the morning, while the thick white mist is still hanging athwart the forest, a drummer is kicked out of bed by a white foot and bidden to sound "Reveille." Then there is a din of elephant-tusk horns and the clatter of the elephant-hide drums.

The camp is astir, and it all seems as if the men are as smart and as disciplined as their brother warriors in Aldershot or Shorncliffe.

But the negroes have only risen thus readily in order to light their fires and settle down to a lusty breakfast of plantains.

After his tub, his quinine and tea, Baden-Powell sends for King Matikoli and demands to know why his three hundred Krobo are not on parade.

His Majesty smiles and explains to the white chief that he is suffering from rheumatism in the shoulder, and therefore he, and consequently his tribe, cannot march that day.
Baden-Powell, with his contradictory smile, solemnly produces a Cockle's pill (Colonel Burnaby's _vade mecum_), hands it to the monarch, and remarks that if his tribe are not on the march in five minutes he will be fined an entire shilling.