interior to the coast.
It is supposed that the agents of European origin, Portuguese for the
most part, are only rascals whom their country has rejected, convicts,
escaped prisoners, old slave-drivers whom the authorities have been
unable to hang--in a word, the refuse of humanity. Such was Negoro,
such was Harris, now in the service of one of the greatest contractors
of Central Africa, Jose-Antonio Alvez, well known by the traders of
the province, about whom Lieutenant Cameron has given some curious
information.
The soldiers who escort the captives are generally natives in the pay
of the traders. But the latter have not the monopoly of those raids
which procure the slaves for them. The negro kings also make atrocious
wars with each other, and with the same object. Then the vanquished
adults, the women and children, reduced to slavery, are sold by the
vanquishers for a few yards of calico, some powder, a few firearms,
pink or red pearls, and often even, as Livingstone says, in periods of
famine, for a few grains of maize.
The soldiers who escorted old Alvez's caravan might give a true idea
of what African armies are.
It was an assemblage of negro bandits, hardly clothed, who brandished
long flint-lock guns, the gun-barrels garnished with a great number of
copper rings. With such an escort, to which are joined marauders who
are no better, the agents often have all they can do. They dispute
orders, they insist on their own halting places and hours, they
threaten to desert, and it is not rare for the agents to be forced to
yield to the exactions of this soldiery.
Though the slaves, men or women, are generally subjected to carry
burdens while the caravan is on the march, yet a certain number of
porters accompany it. They are called more particularly "Pagazis," and
they carry bundles of precious objects, principally ivory. Such is the
size of these elephants' teeth sometimes, of which some weigh as much
as one hundred and sixty pounds, that it takes two of these "Pagazis"
to carry them to the factories. Thence this precious merchandise is
exported to the markets of Khartoum, of Zanzibar and Natal.
On arriving, these "Pagazis" are paid the price agreed upon. It
consists in twenty yards of cotton cloth, or of that stuff which bears
the name of "Merikani," a little powder, a handful of cowry (shells
very common in that country, which serve as money), a few pearls, or
even those of the slaves who would be difficult to sell. The slaves
are paid, when the trader has no other money.
Among the five hundred slaves that the caravan counted, there were
few grown men. That is because, the "Razzia" being finished and
the village set on fire, every native above forty is unmercifully
massacred and hung to a neighboring tree. Only the young adults of
both sexes and the children are intended to furnish the markets.
After these men-hunts, hardly a tenth of the vanquished survive. This
explains the frightful depopulation which changes vast territories of
equatorial Africa into deserts.
Here, the children and the adults were hardly clothed with a rag of
that bark stuff, produced by certain trees, and called "mbouzon" in
the country. Thus the state of this troop of human beings, women
covered with wounds from the "havildars'" whips, children ghastly
and meager, with bleeding feet, whom their mothers tried to carry in
addition to their burdens, young men closely riveted to the fork, more
torturing than the convict's chain, is the most lamentable that can be
imagined.
Yes, the sight of the miserable people, hardly living, whose voices
have no sound, ebony skeletons according to Livingstone's expression,
would touch the hearts of wild beasts. But so much misery did not
touch those hardened Arabs nor those Portuguese, who, according to
Lieutenant Cameron, are still more cruel. This is what Cameron says:
"To obtain these fifty women, of whom Alvez called himself proprietor,
ten villages had been destroyed, ten villages having each from one
hundred to two hundred souls: a total of fifteen hundred inhabitants.
Some had been able to escape, but the greater part--almost all--had
perished in the flames, had been killed in defending their families,
or had died of hunger in the jungle, unless the beasts of prey had
terminated their sufferings more promptly.
"Those crimes, perpetrated in the center of Africa by men who boast of
the name of Christians, and consider themselves Portuguese, would seem
incredible to the inhabitants of civilized countries. It is impossible
that the government of Lisbon knows the atrocities committed by people
who boast of being her subjects." ---Tour of the World-.
In Portugal there have been very warm protestations against these
assertions of Cameron's.
It need not be said that, during the marches, as during the halts, the
prisoners were very carefully guarded. Thus, Dick Sand soon understood
that he must not even attempt to get away. But then, how find Mrs.
Weldon again? That she and her child had been carried away by Negoro
was only too certain. The Portuguese had separated her from her
companions for reasons unknown as yet to the young novice. But he
could not doubt Negoro's intervention, and his heart was breaking at
the thought of the dangers of all kinds which threatened Mrs. Weldon.
"Ah!" he said to himself, "when I think that I have held those two
miserable men, both of them, at the end of my gun, and that I have not
killed them!"
This thought was one of those which returned most persistently to Dick
Sand's mind. What misfortunes the death, the just death of Harris and
Negoro might have prevented! What misery, at least, for those whom
these brokers in human flesh were now treating as slaves!
All the horror of Mrs. Weldon's and little Jack's situation now
represented itself to Dick Sand. Neither the mother nor the child
could count on Cousin Benedict. The poor man could hardly take care of
himself.
Doubtless they were taking all three to some district remote from the
province of Angola. But who was carrying the still sick child?
"His mother; yes, his mother," Dick Sand repeated to himself. "She
will have recovered strength for him; she will have done what these
unhappy female slaves do, and she will fall like them. Ah! may God put
me again in front of her executioners, and I--"
But he was a prisoner! He counted one head in this live-stock that the
overseers were driving to the interior of Africa. He did not even know
whether Negoro and Harris themselves were directing the convoy of
which their victims made a part. Dingo was no longer there to scent
the Portuguese, to announce his approach. Hercules alone might come to
the assistance of the unfortunate Mrs. Weldon. But was that miracle to
be hoped for?
However, Dick Sand fell back again on that idea. He said to himself
that the strong black man was free. Of his devotion there was no
doubt. All that a human being could do, Hercules would do in Mrs.
Weldon's interest. Yes, either Hercules would try to find them and put
himself in communication with them; or if that failed him, he would
endeavor to concert with him, Dick Sand, and perhaps carry him off,
deliver him by force. During the night halts, mingling with these
prisoners, black like them, could he not deceive the soldier's
vigilance, reach him, break his bonds, and lead him away into the
forest? And both of them, then free, what would they not do for Mrs.
Weldon's safety. A water course would enable them to descend to the
coast. Dick Sand would again take up that plan so unfortunately
prevented by the natives' attack, with new chances of success and a
greater knowledge of the difficulties.
The young novice thus alternated between fear and hope. In fact, he
resisted despair, thanks to his energetic nature, and held himself in
readiness to profit by the least chance that might offer itself to
him.
What he most desired to know was to what market the agents were taking
the convoy of slaves. Was it to one of the factories of Angola, and
would it be an affair of a few halting-places only, or would this
convoy travel for hundreds of miles still, across Central Africa? The
principal market of the contractors is that of N'yangwe, in Manyema,
on that meridian which divides the African continent into two almost
equal parts, there where extends the country of the great lakes, that
Livingstone was then traversing. But it was far from the camp on the
Coanza to that village. Months of travel would not suffice to reach
it.
That was one of Dick Sand's most serious thoughts; for, once at
N'yangwe, in case even Mrs. Weldon, Hercules, the other blacks and
he should succeed in escaping, how difficult it would be, not to say
impossible, to return to the seacoast, in the midst of the dangers of
such a long route.
But Dick Sand soon had reason to think that the convoy would soon
reach its destination. Though he did not understand the language
employed by the chiefs of the caravan, sometimes Arab, sometimes the
African idiom, he remarked that the name of an important market of
that region was often pronounced. It was the name Kazounde, and he
knew that a very great trade in slaves was carried on there. He was
then naturally led to believe that there the fate of the prisoners
would be decided, whether for the profit of the king of that district
or for the benefit of some rich trader of the country. We know that he
was not mistaken.
Now, Dick Sand, being posted in the facts of modern geography, knew
very exactly what is known of Kazounde. The distance from Saint
Paul de Loanda to this city does not exceed four hundred miles, and
consequently two hundred and fifty miles, at the most, separates
it from the camp established on the Coanza. Dick Sand made his
calculation approximately, taking the distance traveled by the
little troop under Harris's lead as the base. Now, under ordinary
circumstances, this journey would only require from ten to twelve
days. Doubling that time for the needs of a caravan already exhausted
by a long route, Dick Sand might estimate the length of the journey
from the Coanza to Kazounde at three weeks.
Dick Sand wished very much to impart what he believed he knew to Tom
and his companions. It would be a kind of consolation for them to be
assured that they were not being led to the center of Africa, into
those fatal countries which they could not hope to leave. Now, a few
words uttered in passing would be sufficient to enlighten them. Would
he succeed in saying those words?
Tom and Bat--chance had reunited the father and son--Acteon and
Austin, forked two by two, were at the right extremity of the camp. An
overseer and a dozen soldiers watched them.
Dick Sand, free in his movements, resolved to gradually diminish the
distance that separated him from his companions to fifty steps. He
then commenced to maneuver to that end.
Very likely old Tom divined Dick Sand's thought. A word, pronounced in
a low voice, warned his companions to be attentive. They did not stir,
but they kept themselves ready to see, as well as to hear.
Soon, with an indifferent air, Dick Sand had gained fifty steps more.
From the place where he then was, he could have called out, in such
a manner as to be heard, that name Kazounde, and tell them what
the probable length of the journey would be. But to complete his
instructions, and confer with them on their conduct during the
journey, would be still better. He then continued to draw nearer to
them. Already his heart was beating with hope; he was only a few
steps from the desired end, when the overseer, as if he had suddenly
penetrated his intention, rushed on him. At the cries of that enraged
person, ten soldiers ran to the spot, and Dick Sand was brutally led
back to the rear, while Tom and his companions were taken to the other
extremity of the camp.
Exasperated, Dick Sand had thrown himself upon the overseer. He had
ended by breaking his gun in his hands. He had almost succeeded in
snatching it from him. But seven or eight soldiers assailed him at
once, and force was used to secure him. Furious, they would have
massacred him, if one of the chiefs of the caravan, an Arab of great
height and ferocious physiognomy, had not intervened. This Arab was
the chief Ibn Hamis, of whom Harris had spoken. He pronounced a few
words which Dick Sand could not understand, and the soldiers, obliged
to release their prey, went away.
It was, then, very evident, for one thing, that there had been a
formal order not to allow the young novice to communicate with his
companions; and for another, that his life should not be taken.
Who could have given such orders, if not Harris or Negoro?
At that moment--it was nine o'clock in the morning, April 19th--the
harsh sounds from a "condou's" horn (a kind of ruminating animal among
the African deer) burst forth, and the drum was heard. The halt was
going to end.
All, chiefs, porters, soldiers, slaves, were immediately on foot.
Laden with their packs, several groups of captives were formed under
the leadership of an overseer, who unfurled a banner of bright colors.
The signal for departure was given. Songs then rose on the air; but
they were the vanquished, not the vanquishers, who sang thus.
This is what they said in these songs--a threatening expression of a
simple faith from the slaves against their oppressors--against their
executioners:
"You have sent me to the coast, but I shall be dead; I shall have a
yoke no longer, and I shall return to kill you."
CHAPTER VIII.
SOME OF DICK SAND'S NOTES.
Though the storm of the day before had ceased, the weather was still
very unsettled. It was, besides, the period of the "masika," the
second period of the rainy season, under this zone of the African
heaven. The nights in particular would be rainy during one, two, or
three weeks, which could only increase the misery of the caravan.
It set out that day in cloudy weather, and, after quitting the banks
of the Coanza, made its way almost directly to the east. Fifty
soldiers marched at the head, a hundred on each of the two sides of
the convoy, the rest as a rear-guard. It would be difficult for the
prisoners to flee, even if they had not been chained. Women, children,
and men were going pell-mell, and the overseers urged them on with the
whip. There were unfortunate mothers who, nursing one child, held a
second by the hand that was free. Others dragged these little beings
along, without clothing, without shoes, on the sharp grasses of the
soil.
The chief of the caravan, that ferocious Ibn Hamis, who had interfered
in the struggle between Dick Sand and his overseer, watched this whole
troop, going backwards and forwards from the head to the foot of the
long column. If his agents and he troubled themselves but little about
the sufferings of their captives, they must reckon more seriously
either with the soldiers who claimed some additional rations, or with
the "pagazis" who wanted to halt. Thence discussions; often even an
exchange of brutality. The slaves suffered more from the overseers'
constant irritation. Nothing was heard but threats from one side, and
cries of grief from the other. Those who marched in the last ranks
treaded a soil that the first had stained with their blood.
Dick Sand's companions, always carefully kept in front of the convoy,
could have no communication with him. They advanced in file, the neck
held in the heavy fork, which did not permit a single head-movement.
The whips did not spare them any more than their sad companions in
misfortune.
Bat, coupled with his father, marched before him, taxing his ingenuity
not to shake the fork, choosing the best places to step on, because
old Tom must pass after him. From time to time, when the overseer was
a little behind, he uttered various words of encouragement, some of
which reached Tom. He even tried to retard his march, if he felt that
Tom was getting tired. It was suffering, for this good son to be
unable to turn his head towards his good father, whom he loved.
Doubtless, Tom had the satisfaction of seeing his son; however, he
paid dear for it. How many times great tears flowed from his eyes when
the overseer's whip fell upon Bat! It was a worse punishment than if
it had fallen on his own flesh.
Austin and Acteon marched a few steps behind, tied to each other, and
brutally treated every moment. Ah, how they envied Hercules's fate!
Whatever were the dangers that threatened the latter in that savage
country, he could at least use his strength and defend his life.
During the first moments of their captivity, old Tom had finally made
known the whole truth to his companions. They had learned from him, to
their profound astonishment, that they were in Africa; that Negoro's
and Harris's double treachery had first thrown them there, and then
led them away, and that no pity was to be expected from their masters.
Nan was not better treated. She made part of a group of women who
occupied the middle of the convoy. They had chained her with a young
mother of two children, one at the breast, the other aged three years,
who walked with difficulty. Nan, moved with pity, had burdened herself
with the little creature, and the poor slave had thanked her by a
tear. Nan then carried the infant, at the same time, sparing her the
fatigue, to which she would have yielded, and the blows the overseer
would have given her. But it was a heavy burden for old Nan. She felt
that her strength would soon fail her, and then she thought of little
Jack. She pictured him to herself in his mother's arms. Sickness had
wasted him very much, but he must be still heavy for Mrs. Weldon's
weakened arms. Where was she? What would become of her? Would her old
servant ever see her again?
Dick Sand had been placed almost in the rear of the convoy. He could
neither perceive Tom, nor his companions, nor Nan. The head of the
long caravan was only visible to him when it was crossing some plain.
He walked, a prey, to the saddest thoughts, from which the agents'
cries hardly drew his attention. He neither thought of himself, nor
the fatigues he must still support, nor of the tortures probably
reserved for him by Negoro. He only thought of Mrs. Weldon. In rain
he sought on the ground, on the brambles by the paths, on the lower
branches of the trees, to find some trace of her passage. She could
not have taken another road, if, as everything indicated, they
were leading her to Kazounde. What would he not give to find some
indication of her march to the destination where they themselves were
being led!
Such was the situation of the young novice and his companions in body
and mind. But whatever they might have to fear for themselves, great
as was their own sufferings, pity took possession of them on seeing
the frightful misery of that sad troop of captives, and the revolting
brutality of their masters. Alas! they could do nothing to succor the
afflicted, nothing to resist the others.
All the country situated east of the Coanza was only a forest for over
an extent of twenty miles. The trees, however, whether they perish
under the biting of the numerous insects of these countries, or
whether troops of elephants beat them down while they are still young,
are less crowded here than in the country next to the seacoast. The
march, then, under the trees, would not present obstacles. The shrubs
might be more troublesome than the trees. There was, in fact, an
abundance of those cotton-trees, seven to eight feet high, the cotton
of which serves to manufacture the black and white striped stuffs used
in the interior of the province.
In certain places, the soil transformed itself into thick jungles, in
which the convoy disappeared. Of all the animals of the country,
the elephants and giraffes alone were taller than those reeds which
resemble bamboos, those herbs, the stalks of which measure an inch in
diameter. The agents must know the country marvelously well, not to be
lost in these jungles.
Each day the caravan set out at daybreak, and only halted at midday
for an hour. Some packs containing tapioca were then opened, and this
food was parsimoniously distributed to the slaves. To this potatoes
were added, or goat's meat and veal, when the soldiers had pillaged
some village in passing. But the fatigue had been such, the repose so
insufficient, so impossible even during these rainy nights, that when
the hour for the distribution of food arrived the prisoners could
hardly eat. So, eight days after the departure from the Coanza, twenty
had fallen by the way, at the mercy of the beasts that prowled behind
the convoy. Lions, panthers and leopards waited for the victims which
could not fail them, and each evening after sunset their roaring
sounded at such a short distance that one might fear a direct attack.
On hearing those roars, rendered more formidable by the darkness,
Dick Sand thought with terror of the obstacles such encounters would
present against Hercules's enterprise, of the perils that menaced each
of his steps. And meanwhile if he himself should find an opportunity
to flee, he would not hesitate.
Here are some notes taken by Dick Sand during this journey from the
Coanza to Kazounde. Twenty-five "marches" were employed to make this
distance of two hundred and fifty miles, the "march" in the traders'
language being ten miles, halting by day and night.
-From 25th to 27th April.---Saw a village surrounded by walls of
reeds, eight or nine feet high. Fields cultivated with maize, beans,
"sorghas" and various arachides. Two blacks seized and made prisoners.
Fifteen killed. Population fled.
The next day crossed an impetuous river, one hundred and fifty yards
wide. Floating bridge, formed of trunks of trees, fastened with
lianes. Piles half broken. Two women, tied to the same fork,
precipitated into the water. One was carrying her little child. The
waters are disturbed and become stained with blood. Crocodiles glide
between the parts of the bridge. There is danger of stepping into
their open mouths.
-April 28th-.--Crossed a forest of bauhiniers. Trees of straight
timber--those which furnish the iron wood for the Portuguese.
Heavy rain. Earth wet. March extremely painful.
Perceived, toward the center of the convoy, poor Nan, carrying
a little negro child in her arms. She drags herself along with
difficulty. The slave chained with her limps, and the blood flows from
her shoulder, torn by lashes from the whip.
In the evening camped under an enormous baobab with white flowers and
a light green foliage.
During the night roars of lions and leopards. Shots fired by one of
the natives at a panther. What has become of Hercules?
-April 29th and 30th-.--First colds of what they call the African
winter. Dew very abundant. End of the rainy season with the month of
April; it commences with the month of November. Plains still largely
inundated. East winds which check perspiration and renders one more
liable to take the marsh fevers.
No trace of Mrs. Weldon, nor of Mr. Benedict. Where would they take
them, if not to Kazounde? They must have followed the road of the
caravan and preceded us. I am eaten up with anxiety. Little Jack must
be seized again with the fever in this unhealthy region. But does he
still live?
-From May 1st to May 6th-.--Crossed, with several halting-places,
long plains, which evaporation has not been able to dry up. Water
everywhere up to the waist. Myriads of leeches adhering to the skin.
We must march for all that. On some elevations that emerge are lotus
and papyrus. At the bottom, under the water, other plants, with large
cabbage leaves, on which the feet slip, which occasions numerous
falls.
In these waters, considerable quantities of little fish of the silurus
species. The natives catch them by billions in wickers and sell them
to the caravans.
Impossible to find a place to camp for the night. We see no limit to
the inundated plain. We must march in the dark. To-morrow many slaves
will be missing from the convoy. What misery! When one falls, why get
up again? A few moments more under these waters, and all would be
finished. The overseer's stick would not reach you in the darkness.
Yes, but Mrs. Weldon and her son! I have not the right to abandon
them. I shall resist to the end. It is my duty.
Dreadful cries are heard in the night. Twenty soldiers have torn some
branches from resinous trees whose branches were above water. Livid
lights in the darkness.
This is the cause of the cries I heard. An attack of crocodiles;
twelve or fifteen of those monsters have thrown themselves in the
darkness on the flank of the caravan.
Women and children have been seized and carried away by the crocodiles
to their "pasture lands"--so Livingstone calls those deep holes where
this amphibious animal deposits its prey, after having drowned it, for
it only eats it when it has reached a certain degree of decomposition.
I have been rudely grazed by the scales of one of these crocodiles. An
adult slave has been seized near me and torn from the fork that held
him by the neck. The fork was broken. What a cry of despair! What a
howl of grief! I hear it still!
-May 7th and 8th-.--The next day they count the victims. Twenty slaves
have disappeared.
At daybreak I look for Tom and his companions. God be praised! they
are living. Alas! ought I to praise God? Is one not happier to be done
with all this misery!
Tom is at the head of the convoy. At a moment when his son Bat made a
turn, the fork was presented obliquely, and Tom was able to see me.
I search in vain for old Nan. Is she in the central group? or has she
perished during that frightful night?
The next day, passed the limit of the inundated plain, after
twenty-four hours in the water. We halt on a hill. The sun dries us
a little. We eat, but what miserable food! A little tapioca, a few
handfuls of maize. Nothing but the troubled water to drink. Prisoners
extended on the ground--how many will not get up!
No! it is not possible that Mrs. Weldon and her son have passed
through so much misery! God would be so gracious to them as to have
them led to Kazounde by another road. The unhappy mother could not
resist.
New case of small-pox in the caravan; the "ndoue," as they say. The
sick could not be able to go far. Will they abandon them?
-May 9th-.--They have begun the march again at sunrise. No laggards.
The overseer's whip has quickly raised those overcome by fatigue or
sickness. Those slaves have a value; they are money. The agents will
not leave them behind while they have strength enough to march.
I am surrounded by living skeletons. They have no longer voice enough
to complain. I have seen old Nan at last. She is a sad sight. The
child she was carrying is no longer in her arms. She is alone, too.
That will be less painful for her; but the chain is still around her
waist, and she has been obliged to throw the end over her shoulder.
By hastening, I have been able to draw near her. One would say that
she did not recognize me. Am I, then, changed to that extent?
"Nan," I said.
The old servant looked at me a long time, and then she exclaimed:
"You, Mr. Dick! I--I--before long I shall be dead!"
"No, no! Courage!" I replied, while my eyes fell so as not to see what
was only the unfortunate woman's bloodless specter.
"Dead!" she continued; "and I shall not see my dear mistress again,
nor my little Jack. My God! my God! have pity on me!"
I wished to support old Nan, whose whole body trembled under her torn
clothing. It would have been a mercy to see myself tied to her, and
to carry my part of that chain, whose whole weight she bore since her
companion's death.
A strong arm pushes me back, and the unhappy Nan is thrown back into
the crowd of slaves, lashed by the whips. I wished to throw myself on
that brutal----The Arab chief appears, seizes my arm, and holds me
till I find myself again in the caravan's last rank.
Then, in his turn, he pronounces the name, "Negoro!"
Negoro! It is then by the Portuguese's orders that he acts and treats
me differently from my companions in misfortune?
For what fate am I reserved?
-May 10th-.--To-day passed near two villages in flames. The stubble
burns on all sides. Dead bodies are hung from the trees the fire has
spared. Population fled.
Fields devastated. The -razzie- is exercised there. Two hundred
murders, perhaps, to obtain a dozen slaves.
Evening has arrived. Halt for the night. Camp made under great trees.
High shrubs forming a thicket on the border of the forest.
Some prisoners fled the night before, after breaking their forks.
They have been retaken, and treated with unprecedented cruelty. The
soldiers' and overseers' watchfulness is redoubled.
Night has come. Roaring of lions and hyenas, distant snorting of
hippopotami. Doubtless some lake or watercourse near.
In spite of my fatigue, I cannot sleep. I think of so many things.
Then, it seems to me that I hear prowling in the high grass. Some
animal, perhaps. Would it dare force an entrance into the camp?
I listen. Nothing! Yes! An animal is passing through the reeds. I am
unarmed! I shall defend myself, nevertheless. My life may be useful to
Mrs. Weldon, to my companions.
I look through the profound darkness. There is no moon. The night is
extremely dark.
Two eyes shine in the darkness, among the papyrus--two eyes of a hyena
or a leopard. They disappear--reappear.
At last there is a rustling of the bushes. An animal springs upon me!
I am going to cry out, to give the alarm. Fortunately, I was able to
restrain myself. I cannot believe my eyes! It is Dingo! Dingo, who is
near me! Brave Dingo! How is it restored to me? How has it been able
to find me again? Ah! instinct! Would instinct be sufficient to
explain such miracles of fidelity? It licks my hands. Ah! good dog,
now my only friend, they have not killed you, then!
It understands me.
I return its caresses.
It wants to bark.
I calm it. It must not be heard.
Let it follow the caravan in this way, without being seen, and
perhaps----But what! It rubs its neck obstinately against my hands. It
seems to say to me: "Look for something." I look, and I feel something
there, fastened to its neck. A piece of reed is slipped under the
collar, on which are graven those two letters, S.V., the mystery of
which is still inexplicable to us.
Yes. I have unfastened the reed. I have broken it! There is a
letter inside. But this letter--I cannot read it. I must wait for
daylight!--daylight! I should like to keep Dingo; but the good
animal, even while licking my hands, seems in a hurry to leave me. It
understands that its mission is finished. With one bound aside, it
disappears among the bushes without noise. May God spare it from the
lions' and hyenas' teeth!
Dingo has certainly returned to him who sent it to me.
This letter, that I cannot yet read, burns my hands! Who has written
it? Would it come from Mrs. Weldon? Does it come from Hercules? How
has the faithful animal, that we believed dead, met either the one
or the other? What is this letter going to tell me? Is it a plan of
escape that it brings me? Or does it only give me news of those dear
to me? Whatever it may be, this incident has greatly moved me, and has
relaxed my misery.
Ah! the day comes so slowly. I watch for the least light on the
horizon. I cannot close my eyes. I still hear the roaring of the
animals. My poor Dingo, can you escape them? At last day is going to
appear, and almost without dawn, under these tropical latitudes.
I settle myself so as not to be seen. I try to read--I cannot yet. At
last I have read. The letter is from Hercules's hand. It is written on
a bit of paper, in pencil. Here is what it says:
"Mrs. Weldon was taken away with little Jack in a -kitanda-.
Harris and Negoro accompany it. They precede the caravan by three
or four marches, with Cousin Benedict. I have not been able to
communicate with her. I have found Dingo, who must have been
wounded by a shot, but cured. Good hope, Mr. Dick. I only think of
you all, and I fled to be more useful to you. HERCULES."
Ah! Mrs. Weldon and her son are living. God be praised! They have not
to suffer the fatigues of these rude halting-places. A -kitanda---it
is a kind of litter of dry grass, suspended to a long bamboo, that two
men carry on the shoulder. A stuff curtain covers it over. Mrs. Weldon
and her little Jack are in that -kitanda-. What does Harris and Negoro
want to do with them? Those wretches are evidently going to Kazounde.
Yes, yes, I shall find them again. Ah! in all this misery it is good
news, it is joy that Dingo has brought me!
-From May 11th to 15th-.--The caravan continues its march. The
prisoners drag themselves along more and more painfully. The majority
have marks of blood under their feet. I calculate that it will take
ten days more to reach Kazounde. How many will have ceased to suffer
before then? But I--I must arrive there, I shall arrive there.
It is atrocious! There are, in the convoy, unfortunate ones whose
bodies are only wounds. The cords that bind them enter into the flesh.
Since yesterday a mother carries in her arms her little infant, dead
from hunger. She will not separate from it.
Our route is strewn with dead bodies. The smallpox rages with new
violence.
We have just passed near a tree. To this tree slaves were attached by
the neck. They were left there to die of hunger.
-From May 16th to 24th-.--I am almost exhausted, but I have no right
to give up. The rains have entirely ceased. We have days of "hard
marching." That is what the traders call the "tirikesa," or afternoon
march. We must go faster, and the ground rises in rather steep
ascents.
We pass through high shrubs of a very tough kind. They are the
"nyassi," the branches of which tear the skin off my face, whose sharp
seeds penetrate to my skin, under my dilapidated clothes. My strong
boots have fortunately kept good.
The agents have commenced to abandon the slaves too sick to keep up.
Besides, food threatens to fail; soldiers and -pagazis- would revolt
if their rations were diminished. They dare not retrench from them,
and then so much worse for the captives.
"Let them eat one another!" said the chief.
Then it follows that young slaves, still strong, die without the
appearance of sickness. I remember what Dr. Livingstone has said on
that subject: "Those unfortunates complain of the heart; they put
their hands there, and they fall. It is positively the heart
that breaks! That is peculiar to free men, reduced to slavery
unexpectedly!"
To-day, twenty captives who could no longer drag themselves along,
have been massacred with axes, by the -havildars-! The Arab chief is
not opposed to massacre. The scene has been frightful!
Poor old Nan has fallen under the knife, in this horrible butchery!
I strike against her corpse in passing! I cannot even give her a
Christian burial! She is first of the "Pilgrim's" survivors whom God
has called back to him. Poor good creature! Poor Nan!
I watch for Dingo every night. It returns no more! Has misfortune
overtaken it or Hercules? No! no! I do not want to believe it! This
silence, which appears so long to me, only proves one thing--it is
that Hercules has nothing new to tell me yet. Besides, he must be
prudent, and on his guard.
* * * * *
CHAPTER IX.
KAZOUNDE.
ON May 26th, the caravan of slaves arrived at Kazounde. Fifty per
cent. of the prisoners taken in the last raid had fallen on the road.
Meanwhile, the business was still good for the traders; demands were
coming in, and the price of slaves was about to rise in the African
markets.
Angola at this period did an immense trade in blacks. The Portuguese
authorities of St. Paul de Loanda, or of Benguela, could not stop it
without difficulty, for the convoys traveled towards the interior
of the African continent. The pens near the coast overflowed with
prisoners, the few slavers that succeeded in eluding the cruisers
along the shore not being sufficient to carry all of them to the
Spanish colonies of America.
Kazounde, situated three hundred miles from the mouth of the Coanza,
is one of the principal "lakonis," one of the most important markets
of the province. On its grand square the "tchitoka" business is
transacted; there, the slaves are exposed and sold. It is from this
point that the caravans radiate toward the region of the great lakes.
Kazounde, like all the large towns of Central Africa, is divided into
two distinct parts. One is the quarter of the Arab, Portuguese or
native traders, and it contains their pens; the other is the residence
of the negro king, some ferocious crowned drunkard, who reigns through
terror, and lives from supplies furnished by the contractors.
At Kazounde, the commercial quarter then belonged to that Jose-Antonio
Alvez, of whom Harris and Negoro had spoken, they being simply agents
in his pay. This contractor's principal establishment was there, he
had a second at Bihe, and a third at Cassange, in Benguela, which
Lieutenant Cameron visited some years later.
Imagine a large central street, on each side groups of houses,
"tembes," with flat roofs, walls of baked earth, and a square court
which served as an enclosure for cattle. At the end of the street was
the vast "tchitoka" surrounded by slave-pens. Above this collection
of buildings rose some enormous banyans, whose branches swayed with
graceful movements. Here and there great palms, with their heads in
the air, drove the dust on the streets like brooms. Twenty birds of
prey watched over the public health. Such is the business quarter of
Kazounde.
Near by ran the Louhi, a river whose course, still undetermined, is an
affluent, or at least a sub-affluent, of the Coango, a tributary of
the Zoire.
The residence of the King of Kazounde, which borders on the business
quarter, is a confused collection of ill-built hovels, which spread
over the space of a mile square. Of these hovels, some are open,
others are inclosed by a palisade of reeds, or bordered with a hedge
of fig-trees. In one particular enclosure, surrounded by a fence of
papyrus, thirty of these huts served us dwellings for the chief's
slaves, in another group lived his wives, and a "tembe," still larger
and higher, was half hidden in a plantation of cassada. Such was
the residence of the King of Kazounde, a man of fifty--named Moini
Loungga; and already almost deprived of the power of his predecessors.
He had not four thousand of soldiers there, where the principal
Portuguese traders could count twenty thousand, and he could no
longer, as in former times, decree the sacrifice of twenty-five or
thirty slaves a day.
This king was, besides, a prematurely-aged man, exhausted by debauch,
crazed by strong drink, a ferocious maniac, mutilating his subjects,
his officers or his ministers, as the whim seized him, cutting the
nose and ears off some, and the foot or the hand from others. His own
death, not unlooked for, would be received without regret.
A single man in all Kazounde might, perhaps, lose by the death of
Moini Loungga. This was the contractor, Jose-Antonio Alvez, who agreed
very well with the drunkard, whose authority was recognized by the
whole province. If the accession of his first wife, Queen Moini,
should be contested, the States of Moini Loungga might be invaded by
a neighboring competitor, one of the kings of Oukonson. The latter,
being younger and more active, had already seized some villages
belonging to the Kazounde government. He had in his services another
trader, a rival of Alvez Tipo-Tipo, a black Arab of a pure race, whom
Cameron met at N'yangwe.
What was this Alvez, the real sovereign under the reign of an imbruted
negro, whose vices he had developed and served?
Jose-Antonio Alvez, already advanced in years, was not, as one might
suppose, a "msoungou," that is to say, a man of the white race. There
was nothing Portuguese about him but his name, borrowed, no doubt, for
the needs of commerce. He was a real negro, well known among traders,
and called Kenndele. He was born, in fact, at Donndo, or the borders
of the Coanza. He had commenced by being simply the agent of the
slave-brokers, and would have finished as a famous trader, that is to
say, in the skin of an old knave, who called himself the most honest
man in the world.
Cameron met this Alvez in the latter part of 1874, at Kilemmba, the
capital of Kassonngo, chief of Ouroua. He guided Cameron with his
caravan to his own establishment at Bihe, over a route of seven
hundred miles. The convoy of slaves, on arriving at Kazounde, had been
conducted to the large square.
It was the 26th of May. Dick Sand's calculations were then verified.
The journey had lasted thirty-eight days from the departure of the
army encamped on the banks of the Coanza. Five weeks of the most
fearful miseries that human beings could support.
It was noon when the train entered Kazounde. The drums were beaten,
horns were blown in the midst of the detonations of fire-arms. The
soldiers guarding the caravan discharged their guns in the air, and
the men employed by Jose-Antonio Alvez replied with interest. All
these bandits were happy at meeting again, after an absence which had
lasted for four months. They were now going to rest and make up for
lost time in excesses and idleness.
The prisoners then formed a total of two hundred and fifty, the
majority being completely exhausted. After having been driven like
cattle, they were to be shut up in pens, which American farmers would
not have used for pigs. Twelve or fifteen hundred other captives
awaited them, all of whom would be exposed in the market at Kazounde
on the next day but one. These pens were filled up with the slaves
from the caravan. The heavy forks had been taken off them, but they
were still in chains.
The "pagazis" had stopped on the square after having disposed of their
loads of ivory, which the Kazounde dealers would deliver. Then, being
paid with a few yards of calico or other stuff at the highest price,
they would return and join some other caravan.
Old Tom and his companions had been freed from the iron collar which
they had carried for five weeks. Bat and his father embraced each
other, and all shook hands; but no one ventured to speak. What could
they say that would not be an expression of despair. Bat, Acteon and
Austin, all three vigorous, accustomed to hard work, had been able
to resist fatigue; but old Tom, weakened by privations, was nearly
exhausted. A few more days and his corpse would have been left, like
poor Nan's, as food for the beasts of the province.
As soon as they arrived, the four men had been placed in a narrow pen,
and the door had been at once shut upon them. There they had found
some food, and they awaited the trader's visit, with whom, although
quite in vain, they intended to urge the fact that they were
Americans.
Dick Sand had remained alone on the square, under the special care of
a keeper.
At length he was at Kazounde, where he did not doubt that Mrs. Weldon,
little Jack, and Cousin Benedict had preceded him. He had looked for
them in crossing the various quarters of the town, even in the depths
of the "tembes" that lined the streets, on this "tchitoka" now almost
deserted.
Mrs. Weldon was not there.
"Have they not brought her here?" he asked himself. "But where could
she be? No; Hercules cannot be mistaken. Then, again, he must have
learned the secret designs of Negoro and Harris; yet they, too--I do
not see them."
Dick Sand felt the most painful anxiety. He could understand that Mrs.
Weldon, retained a prisoner, would be concealed from him. But Harris
and Negoro, particularly the latter, should hasten to see him, now in
their power, if only to enjoy their triumph--to insult him, torture
him, perhaps avenge themselves. From the fact that they were not
there, must he conclude that they had taken another direction, and
that Mrs. Weldon was to be conducted to some other point of Central
Africa? Should the presence of the American and the Portuguese be the
signal for his punishment, Dick Sand impatiently desired it. Harris
and Negoro at Kazounde, was for him the certainty that Mrs. Weldon and
her child were also there.
Dick Sand then told himself that, since the night when Dingo had
brought him Hercules's note, the dog had not been seen. The young man
had prepared an answer at great risks. In it he told Hercules to
think only of Mrs. Weldon, not to lose sight of her, and to keep her
informed as well as possible of what happened; but he had not been
able to send it to its destination. If Dingo had been able to
penetrate the ranks of the caravan once, why did not Hercules let
him try it a second time? Had the faithful animal perished in some
fruitless attempt? Perhaps Hercules was following Mrs. Weldon, as Dick
Sand would have done in his place. Followed by Dingo, he might have
plunged into the depths of the woody plateau of Africa, in the hope of
reaching one of the interior establishments.
What could Dick Sand imagine if, in fact, neither Mrs. Weldon nor her
enemies were there? He had been so sure, perhaps foolishly, of finding
them at Kazounde, that not to see them there at once gave him a
terrible shock. He felt a sensation of despair that he could not
subdue. His life, if it were no longer useful to those whom he loved,
was good for nothing, and he had only to die. But, in thinking in that
manner, Dick Sand mistook his own character. Under the pressure of
these trials, the child became a man, and with him discouragement
could only be an accidental tribute paid to human nature.
A loud concert of trumpet-calls and cries suddenly commenced. Dick
Sand, who had just sunk down in the dust of the "tchitoka," stood up.
Every new incident might put him on the track of those whom he sought.
In despair a moment before, he now no longer despaired.
"Alvez! Alvez!" This name was repeated by a crowd of natives and
soldiers who now invaded the grand square. The man on whom the fate
of so many unfortunate people depended was about to appear. It was
possible that his agents, Harris and Negoro, were with him. Dick Sand
stood upright, his eyes open, his nostrils dilated. The two traitors
would find this lad of fifteen years before them, upright, firm,
looking them in the face. It would not be the captain of the "Pilgrim"
who would tremble before the old ship's cook.
A hammock, a kind of "kitanda" covered by an old patched curtain,
discolored, fringed with rags, appeared at the end of the principal
street. An old negro descended. It was the trader, Jose-Antonio Alvez.
Several attendants accompanied him, making strong demonstrations.
Along with Alvez appeared his friend Coimbra, the son of Major Coimbra
of Bihe, and, according to Lieutenant Cameron, the greatest scamp in
the province. He was a dirty creature, his breast was uncovered, his
eyes were bloodshot, his hair was rough and curly, his face yellow;
he was dressed in a ragged shirt and a straw petticoat. He would have
been called a horrible old man in his tattered straw hat. This Coimbra
was the confidant, the tool of Alvez, an organizer of raids, worthy of
commanding the trader's bandits.
As for the trader, he might have looked a little less sordid than his
attendant. He wore the dress of an old Turk the day after a carnival.
He did not furnish a very high specimen of the factory chiefs who
carry on the trade on a large scale.
To Dick Sand's great disappointment, neither Harris nor Negoro
appeared in the crowd that followed Alvez. Must he, then, renounce all
hope of finding them at Kazounde?
Meanwhile, the chief of the caravan, the Arab, Ibn Hamis, shook hands
with Alvez and Coimbra. He received numerous congratulations. Alvez
made a grimace at the fifty per cent. of slaves failing in the general
count, but, on the whole, the affair was very satisfactory. With
what the trader possessed of human merchandise in his pens, he could
satisfy the demands from the interior, and barter slaves for ivory
teeth and those "hannas" of copper, a kind of St. Andrew's cross, in
which form this metal is carried into the center of Africa.
The overseers were also complimented. As for the porters, the trader
gave orders that their salary should be immediately paid them.
Jose-Antonio Alvez and Coimbra spoke a kind of Portuguese mingled
with a native idiom, which a native of Lisbon would scarcely have
understood. Dick Sand could not hear what these merchants were saying.
Were they talking of him and his companions, so treacherously joined
to the persons in the convoy? The young man could not doubt it, when,
at a gesture from the Arab, Ibn Hamis, an overseer, went toward the
pen where Tom, Austin, Bat and Acteon had been shut up.
Almost immediately the four Americans were led before Alvez.
Dick Sand slowly approached. He wished to lose nothing of this scene.
Alvez's face lit up at the sight of these few well-made blacks, to
whom rest and more abundant food had promptly restored their natural
vigor. He looked with contempt at old Tom, whose age would affect his
value, but the other three would sell high at the next Kazounde sale.
Alvez remembered a few English words which some agents, like the
American, Harris, had taught him, and the old monkey thought he would
ironically welcome his new slaves.
Tom understood the trader's words; he at once advanced, and, showing
his companions, said:
"We are free men--citizens of the United States."
Alvez certainly understood him; he replied with a good-humored
grimace, wagging his head:
"Yes, yes, Americans! Welcome, welcome!"
"Welcome," added Coimbra.
He advanced toward Austin, and like a merchant who examines a sample,
after having felt his chest and his shoulders, he wanted to make him
open his mouth, so as to see his teeth.
But at this moment Signor Coimbra received in his face the worst blow
that a major's son had ever caught.
Alvez's confidant staggered under it.
Several soldiers threw themselves on Austin, who would perhaps pay
dearly for this angry action.
Alvez stopped them by a look. He laughed, indeed, at the misfortune
of his friend, Coimbra, who had lost two of the five or six teeth
.
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