CHAPTER SEVEN.
ENEMIES ARE CHANGED INTO FRIENDS--OUR TRAVELLERS PENETRATE INTO THEINTERIOR OF THE LAND.
To possess the power of looking perfectly calm and unconcerned when youare in reality considerably agitated and rather anxious, is extremelyuseful in any circumstances, but especially so when one happens to be inthe midst of grinning, gesticulating, naked savages.
Our hero, Harold Seadrift possessed that power in an eminent degree, andhis first-mate, Disco Lillihammer, was not a whit behind him. Althoughboth had started abruptly to their legs at the first alarm, and drawntheir respective revolvers, they no sooner found themselves surroundedby overwhelming numbers than they lowered their weapons, and, turningback to back, faced the intruders with calm countenances.
"Sit down, men, every one of you except Antonio," said Harold, in aquiet, but clear and decided voice.
His men, who, having left their guns in the canoe, were utterlyhelpless, quietly obeyed.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded Antonio, by Harold'sorder.
To this a tall negro, who was obviously the leader of the band, repliedin the native tongue,--"It matters little who we are; you are in ourpower."
"Not quite," said Harold, slightly moving his revolver. "Tell him thathe _may_ overcome us, but before he does so my friend and I carry thelives of twelve of his men in our pistols."
The negro chief, who quite understood the powers of a revolver,replied--"Tell your master, that before he could fire two shots, he andhis friend would have each twelve bullets in his body. But I have nottime to palaver here. Who are you, and where are you going?"
"We are Englishmen, travelling to see the country," replied Harold.
The chief looked doubtfully at him, and seemed to waver, then suddenlymaking up his mind, he frowned and said sternly--"No; that is a lie.You are Portuguese scoundrels. You shall all die. You have robbed usof our liberty, our wives, our children, our homes; you have chained,and tortured, and flogged us!"--he gnashed his teeth at this point, andhis followers grew excited. "Now we have got free, and you are caught.We will let you know what it is to be slaves."
As the negro chief stirred up his wrath by thus recounting his wrongs,and advanced a step, Harold begged Disco, in a low, urgent voice, not toraise his pistol. Then looking the savage full in the face, withoutshowing a trace of anxiety, he said--"You are wrong. We are indeedEnglishmen, and you know that the English detest slavery, and would, ifthey could, put a stop to it altogether."
"Yes, I know that," said the chief. "We have seen one Englishman here,and he has made us to know that not all men with white faces aredevils--like the Portuguese and Arabs. But how am I to know you areEnglish?"
Again the chief wavered a little, as if half-inclined to believeHarold's statement.
"Here is proof for you," said Harold, pointing to Chimbolo, who, beingscarcely able to move, had remained all this time beside the fireleaning on his elbow and listening intently to the conversation. "See,"he continued, "that is a slave. Look at him."
As he said this, Harold stepped quickly forward and removed the blanket,with which he had covered his lacerated back after dressing it.
A howl of execration burst from the band of negroes, who pointed theirspears and guns at the travellers' breasts, and would have made a speedyend of the whole party if Antonio had not exclaimed "Speak, Chimbolo,speak!"
The slave looked up with animation, and told the rebels how hisPortuguese owner had ordered him to be flogged to death, but changed hismind and doomed him to be drowned,--how that in the nick of time, thesewhite men had rescued him, and had afterwards treated him with thegreatest kindness.
Chimbolo did not say much, but what he did say was uttered with emphasisand feeling. This was enough. Those who would have been enemies weresuddenly converted into warm friends, and the desperadoes, who wouldhave torn their former masters, or any of their race, limb from limb, ifthey could have got hold of them, left our adventurers undisturbed intheir bivouac, after wishing them a prosperous journey.
It was nevertheless deemed advisable to keep watch during the night.This was done faithfully and conscientiously as far as it went. Haroldtook the first hour by way of example. He sat over the fire,alternately gazing into its embers while he meditated of home, and roundupon the dark forest while he thought of Africa. True to time, hecalled Disco, who, equally true to his sense of duty, turned out at oncewith a deep "Ay, ay, sir." The self-styled first-mate placed his backagainst a tree, and, endeavouring to believe it to be a capstan, orbinnacle, or any other object appertaining to the sea, stared at theghostly stems of the forest-trees until they began to dance hornpipesfor his special gratification, or glowered at the shadows until theybecame instinct with life, and all but induced him to rouse the camptwenty times in the course of his hour's vigil. True to time also, likehis predecessor, Disco roused Antonio and immediately turned in.
The vivacious _chef de cuisine_ started up at once, took up his positionat the foot of the tree which Disco had just left, leaned his backagainst it, and straightway went to sleep, in which condition heremained till morning, leaving the camp in unprotected felicity andblissful ignorance.
Fortunately for all parties, Disco awoke in time to catch him napping,and resolved to punish him. He crept stealthily round to the back ofthe tree against which the faithless man leaned, and reached gentlyround until his mouth was close to Antonio's cheek, then, collecting allthe air that his vast lungs were capable of containing, he poured intoAntonio's ear a cumulative roar that threw the camp and the denizens ofthe wilderness far and near into confusion, and almost drove the wholemarrow in Antonio's body out at his heels. The stricken man sprang upas if earth had shot him forth, uttered a yell of terror such as seldomgreets the ear, and rushed blindly forward. Repeating the roar, Discoplunged after him. Antonio tumbled over the fire, recovered himself,dashed on, and would certainly have plunged into the river, if not intothe jaws of a crocodile, had not Jumbo caught him in his arms, in themidst of a chorus of laughter from the other men.
"How dare 'ee go to sleep on dooty?" demanded Disco, seizing the culpritby the collar, "eh! we might have bin all murdered by rebels or eaten bylions, or had our eyes picked out by gorillas, for all that _you_ wouldhave done to prevent it--eh?" giving him a shake.
"Oh, pardon, forgif. Nevair doot more again," exclaimed the breathlessand trembling Antonio.
"You'd _better_ not!" said Disco, giving him another shake and releasinghim.
Having done so, he turned on his heel and bestowed a quiet look, inpassing, on Jumbo, which of course threw that unfortunate man intoconvulsions.
After this little incident a hasty breakfast was taken, the canoes werelaunched, and the voyage was continued.
It is not necessary to trace the course of our explorers day by day asthey ascended the Zambesi, or to recount all the adventures ormisadventures that befell them on their journey into the interior. Itis sufficient for the continuity of our tale to say that many days afterleaving the coast they turned into the Shire river, which flows into theZambesi about 150 miles from the coast.
There are many fountain-heads of slavery in Africa. The region of theinterior, which gives birth to the head-waters of the Shire river, isone of the chief of these. Here lies the great lake Nyassa, which wasdiscovered and partly explored by Dr Livingstone, and hence flows aperennial stream of traffic to Kilwa, on the coast--which traffic, atthe present time, consists almost exclusively of the two kinds of ivory,white and black, the former (elephants' tusks) being carried by thelatter (slaves), by which means the slave-trade is rendered moreprofitable.
Towards this populous and fertile region, then, our adventurers directedtheir course, when they turned out of the great river Zambesi and beganto ascend the Shire.
And here, at the very outset of this part of the journey, they met witha Portuguese settler, who did more to open their eyes to the blightingand withering influence of slavery on the land and on its people thananyth
ing they had yet seen.
Towards the afternoon of the first day on the Shire, they landed nearthe encampment of the settler referred to, who turned out to be agentleman of a Portuguese town on the Zambesi.
Harold found, to his delight, that he could speak English fluently, andwas, moreover, an exceedingly agreeable and well-informed man. He wasout at the time on a hunting expedition, attended by a party of slaves.
Harold spent the evening in very pleasant intercourse with Senhor Gamba,and at a later hour than usual returned to his camp, where heentertained Disco with an account of his new acquaintance.
While thus engaged, he was startled by the most appalling shrieks, whichproceeded from the neighbouring encampment. Under the impression thatsomething was wrong, both he and Disco leaped up and ran towards it.There, to his amazement and horror, Harold beheld his agreeable friendSenhor Gamba thrashing a young slave unmercifully with a whip of themost formidable character. Only a few lashes from it had been givenwhen Harold ran up, but these were so powerful that the unhappy victimdropped down in a state of insensibility just as he reached the spot.
The Portuguese "gentleman" turned away from the prostrate slave with ascowl, but betrayed a slight touch of confusion on meeting the gaze ofHarold Seadrift.
"Senhor!" exclaimed the latter sternly, with mingled remonstrance andrebuke in his tone, "how _can_ you be so cruel? What has the boy doneto merit such inhuman chastisement?"
"He has neglected my orders," answered the Portuguese, as though heresented the tone in which Harold spoke.
"But surely, surely," said Harold, "the punishment is far beyond theoffence. I can scarcely believe the evidence of my own eyes and earswhen they tell me that _you_ have been guilty of this."
"Come," returned Senhor Gamba, softening into a smile, "you Englishcannot understand our case in this land. Because you do not keepslaves, you take the philanthropic, the religious view of the question.We who do keep slaves have a totally different experience. You cannotunderstand, you cannot sympathise with us."
"No, truly, we can _not_ understand you," said Harold earnestly, "andGod forbid that we should ever sympathise with you in this matter. Wedetest the gross injustice of slavery, and we abhor the fearfulcruelties connected with it."
"That is because, as I said, you are not in our position," rejoined theSenhor, with a shrug of his shoulders. "It is easy for you to take thephilanthropic view, which, however, I admit to be the best, for in theeyes of God all men are equal, and though the African be a degraded man,I know enough of him to be sure that he can be raised by kindness andreligion into a position not very inferior to our own; but we who keepslaves cannot help ourselves we _must_ act as we do."
"Why so?--is cruelty a necessity?" asked Harold.
"Yes, it is," replied the Senhor decidedly.
"Then the abolition of slavery is a needcessity too," growled Disco, whohad hitherto looked on and listened in silent wonder, debating withhimself as to the propriety of giving Senhor Gamba, then and there, asound thrashing with his own whip!
"You see," continued the Portuguese, paying no attention to Disco'sgrowl,--"You see, in order to live out here I must have slaves, and inorder to keep slaves I must have a whip. My whip is no worse than anyother whip that I know of. I don't justify it as right, I simply defendit as necessary. _Wherever slavery exists, discipline must of necessitybe brutal_. If you keep slaves, and mean that they shall give you thelabour of their bodies, and of their minds also, in so far as you permitthem to have minds, you must degrade them by the whip and by all othermeans at your disposal until, like dogs, they become the unhesitatingservants of your will, no matter what that will may be, and live foryour pleasure only. It will never pay me to adopt your philanthropic,your religious views. I am here. I _must_ be here. What am I to do?Starve? No, not if I can help it. I do as others do--keep slaves andact as the master of slaves. I must use the whip. Perhaps you won'tbelieve me," continued Senhor Gamba, with a sad smile, "but I speaktruth when I say that I was tender-hearted when I first came to thiscountry, for I had been well nurtured in Lisbon; but that soon passedaway--it could not last. I was the laughing-stock of my companions.Just to explain my position, I will tell you a circumstance whichhappened soon after I came here. The Governor invited me to a party ofpleasure. The party consisted of himself, his daughters, some officers,and others. We were to go in boats to a favourite island resort,several miles off. I took one of my slaves with me, a lad that I keptabout my person. As we were going along, this lad fell into the river.He could not swim, and the tide was carrying him fast away to death.Dressed as I was, in full uniform, I plunged in after him and saved him.The wish alone to save the boy's life prompted me to risk my own. Andfor this I became the jest of the party; even the ladies tittered at myfolly. Next evening the Governor had a large dinner-party. I wasthere. Having caught cold, I coughed slightly; this drew attention tome. Remarks were made, and the Governor alluded in scoffing terms to myexploit, which created much mirth. `Were you drunk?' said one. `Hadyou lost your senses, to risk your life for a brute of a negro?' saidanother. `Rather than spoil my uniform, I would have knocked him on thehead with a pole,' said a third; and it was a long time before what theytermed my folly was forgotten or forgiven. You think I am worse thanothers. I am not; but I do not condescend to their hypocrisy. What Iam now, I have been made by this country and its associates." [Thesewords are not fictitious. The remarks of Senhor Gamba were actuallyspoken by a Portuguese slave-owner, and will be found in _The Story ofthe Universities' Mission to Central Africa_, pages 64-5-6.]
Senhor Gamba said this with the air of one who thinks that he hasnearly, if not quite, justified himself. "I am no worse than others,"is an excuse for evil conduct, not altogether unknown in more highlyfavoured lands, and is often followed by the illogical conclusion,"therefore I am not to blame," but although Harold felt pity for hisagreeable chance acquaintance, he could not admit that this explanationexcused him, nor could he get over the shock which his feelings hadsustained; it was, therefore, with comparatively little regret that hebade him adieu on the following morning, and pursued his onward way.
Everywhere along the Shire they met with a more or less hospitablereception from the natives, who regarded them with great favour, inconsequence of their belonging to the same nation which had sent forthmen to explore their country, defend them from the slave-dealer, andteach them about the true God. These men, of whom mention is made inanother chapter, had, some time before this, been sent by the Church ofEngland to the Manganja highlands, at the suggestion of Dr Livingstone,and laid, we believe, the foundation-stone of Christian civilisation inthe interior of Africa, though God saw fit to arrest them in the raisingof the superstructure.
Among other pieces of useful knowledge conveyed by them to the negroesof the Shire, was the fact that Englishmen are not cannibals, and thatthey have no special longings after black man steaks!
It may perchance surprise some readers to learn that black men everentertain such a preposterous notion. Nevertheless, it is literallytrue. The slavers--Arabs and Portuguese--find it in their interest toinstil this falsehood into the minds of the ignorant tribes of theinterior, from whom the slaves are gathered, in order that theircaptives may entertain a salutary horror of Englishmen, so that if theirdhows should be chased by our cruisers while creeping northward alongthe coast and run the risk of being taken, the slaves may willingly aidtheir captors in trying to escape. That the lesson has been well learntand thoroughly believed is proved by the fact that when a dhow isobliged to run ashore to avoid capture, the slaves invariably take tothe woods on the wings of terror, preferring, no doubt to be re-enslavedrather than to be roasted and eaten by white fiends. Indeed, sothoroughly has this been engrained into the native mind, that mothersfrequently endeavour to overawe their refractory offspring bythreatening to hand them over to the dreadful white monster who will eatthem up if they don't behave!