CHAPTER EIGHT.
RELATES ADVENTURES IN THE SHIRE VALLEY, AND TOUCHES ON ONE OR TWO PHASESOF SLAVERY.
Everything depends upon taste, as the monkey remarked when it took tonibbling the end of its own tail! If you like a thing, you take oneview of it; if you don't like it, you take another view. Either view,if detailed, would be totally irreconcilable with the other.
The lower part of the river Shire, into which our travellers had nowentered, is a vast swamp. There are at least two opinions in regard tothat region. To do justice to those with whom we don't sympathise, wegive our opponent's view first. Our opponent, observe, is an honest andcompetent man; he speaks truly; he only looks at it in another lightfrom Harold Seadrift and Disco Lillihammer.
He says of the river Shire, "It drains a low and exceedingly fertilevalley of from fifteen to twenty miles in breadth. Ranges of woodedhills bound this valley on both sides. After the first twenty miles youcome to Mount Morambala, which rises with steep sides to 4000 feet inheight. It is wooded to the top, and very beautiful. A small villagepeeps out about half-way up the mountain. It has a pure, bracingatmosphere, and is perched above mosquito range. The people on thesummit have a very different climate and vegetation from those on theplains, and they live amidst luxuriant vegetation. There are manyspecies of ferns, some so large as to deserve the name of trees. Thereare also lemon and orange trees growing wild, and birds and animals ofall kinds." Thus far we agree with our opponent but listen to him as hegoes on:--
"The view from Morambala is extensive, but cheerless past description.Swamp, swamp-reeking, festering, rotting, malaria-pregnant swamp, wherepoisonous vapours for several months in the year are ever bulging up andout into the air,--lies before you as far as the eye can reach, andfarther. If you enter the river at the worst seasons of the year, thechances are you will take the worst type of fever. If, on the otherhand, you enter it during the best season, when the swamps are fairlydried up, you have everything in your favour."
Now, our opponent gives a true statement of facts undoubtedly, but hisview of them is not cheering.
Contrast them with the view of Disco Lillihammer. That sagacious seamanhad entered the Shire neither in the "best" nor the "worst" of theseason. He had chanced upon it somewhere between the two.
"Git up your steam an' go 'longside," he said to Jumbo one afternoon, asthe two canoes were proceeding quietly among magnificent giant-reeds,sedges, and bulrushes, which towered high above them--in some placesoverhung them.
"I say, Mister Harold, ain't it splendid?"
"Magnificent!" replied Harold with a look of quiet enthusiasm.
"I _does_ enjoy a swamp," continued the seaman, allowing a thin cloud totrickle from his lips.
"So do I, Disco."
"There's such a many outs and ins an' roundabouts in it. And suchpowerful reflections o' them reeds in the quiet water. W'y, sir, I dodeclare w'en I looks through 'em in a dreamy sort of way for a long timeI get to fancy they're palm-trees, an' that we're sailin' through aforest without no end to it; an' when I looks over the side an' seesevery reed standin' on its other self, so to speak, an' follers theunder one down till my eyes git lost in the blue sky an' clouds _below_us, I do sometimes feel as if we'd got into the middle of fairy-land,--was fairly afloat on the air, an' off on a voyage through the univarse!But it's them reflections as I like most. Every leaf, an' stalk, an'flag is just as good an' real _in_ the water as out of it. An' justlook at that there frog, sir, that one on the big leaf which has swelledhisself up as if he wanted to bust, with his head looking up hopefullyto the--ah! he's down with a plop like lead, but he wos sittin' on hisown image which wos as clear as his own self. Then there's so muchvariety, sir--that's where it is. You never know wot you're comin' toin them swamps. It may be a openin' like a pretty lake, with islands ofreeds everywhere; or it may be a narrow bit like a canal, or a river; ora bit so close that you go scrapin' the gun'les on both sides. An' thelife, too, is most amazin'. Never saw nothin' like it nowhere. Allkinds, big an' little, plain an' pritty, queer an' 'orrible, swarms hereto sitch an extent that I've got it into my head that this Shire valleymust be the great original nursery of animated nature."
"It looks like it, Disco."
The last idea appeared to furnish food for reflection, as the twofriends here relapsed into silence.
Although Disco's description was quaint, it could scarcely be styledexaggerated, for the swamp was absolutely alive with animal life. Theprincipal occupant of these marshes is the elephant, and hundreds ofthese monster animals may be seen in one herd, feeding like cattle in ameadow. Owing to the almost impenetrable nature of the reedy jungle,however, it is impossible to follow them, and anxious though Disco wasto kill one, he failed to obtain a single shot. Buffaloes and otherlarge game were also numerous in this region, and in the watercrocodiles and hippopotami sported about everywhere, while aquatic birdsof every shape and size rendered the air vocal with their cries.Sometimes these feathered denizens of the swamp arose, when startled, ina dense cloud so vast that the mighty rush of their wings was almostthunderous in character.
The crocodiles were not only numerous but dangerous because of theiraudacity. They used to watch at the places where native women were inthe habit of going down to the river for water, and not unfrequentlysucceeded in seizing a victim. This, however, only happened at thoseperiods when the Shire was in flood, when fish were driven from theirwonted haunts, and the crocodiles were reduced to a state of starvationand consequent ferocity.
One evening, while our travellers were proceeding slowly up stream, theyobserved the corpse of a negro boy floating past the canoe; just then amonstrous crocodile rushed at it with the speed of a greyhound, caughtit and shook it as a terrier does a rat. Others dashed at the prey,each with his powerful tail causing the water to churn and froth as hetore off a piece. In a few seconds all was gone. [Livingstone's_Zambesi and its Tributaries_, page 452.] That same evening Zombo had anarrow escape. After dusk he ran down to the river to drink. Hechanced to go to a spot where a crocodile was watching. It lay settleddown in the mud with its head on a level with the water, so that in thefeeble light it could not be seen. While Zombo was busy laving thewater into his mouth it suddenly rushed at him and caught him by thehand. The limb of a bush was fortunately within reach, and he laid holdof it. There was a brief struggle. The crocodile tugged hard, but theman tugged harder; at the same time he uttered a yell which broughtJumbo to his side with an oar, a blow from which drove the hideousreptile away. Poor Zombo was too glad to have escaped with his life tocare much about the torn hand, which rendered him _hors de combat_ forsome time after that.
Although Disco failed to get a shot at an elephant, his hopeful spiritwas gratified by the catching of a baby elephant alive. It happenedthus:--
One morning, not very long after Zombo's tussle with the crocodile,Disco's canoe, which chanced to be in advance, suddenly ran almost intothe midst of a herd of elephants which were busy feeding on palm-nuts,of which they are very fond. Instantly the whole troop scattered andfled. Disco, taken completely by surprise, omitted his wonted "Hallo!"as he made an awkward plunge at his rifle, but before he could bring itto bear, the animals were over the bank of the river and lost in thedense jungle. But a fine little elephant, at that period of life which,in human beings, might be styled the toddling age, was observed tostumble while attempting to follow its mother up the bank. It fell androlled backwards.
"Give way for your lives!" roared Disco.
The boat shot its bow on the bank, and the seaman flew rather thanleaped upon the baby elephant!
The instant it was laid hold of it began to scream with incessant andpiercing energy after the fashion of a pig.
"Queek! come in canoe! Modder come back for 'im," cried Jumbo in someanxiety.
Disco at once appreciated the danger of the enraged mother returning tothe rescue, but, resolved not to resign his advantage, he seized thevicious little creature by the
proboscis and dragged it by main force tothe canoe, into which he tumbled, hauled the proboscis inboard, asthough it had been the bite of a cable, and held on.
"Shove off! shove off! and give way, lads! Look alive!"
The order was promptly obeyed, and in a few minutes the baby was draggedinto the boat and secured.
This prize, however, was found to be more of a nuisance than anamusement and it was soon decided that it must be disposed of.Accordingly, that very night, much to the regret of the men who wantedto make a meal of it, Disco led his baby squealing into the jungle andset it free with a hearty slap on the flank, and an earnestrecommendation to make all sail after its venerable mother, which it didforthwith, cocking its ears and tail, and shrieking as it went.
Two days after this event they made a brief halt at a poor village wherethey were hospitably received by the chief, who was much gratified bythe liberal quantity of calico with which the travellers paid for theirentertainment. Here they met with a Portuguese half-caste who wasreputed one of the greatest monsters of cruelty in that part of thecountry. He was, however, not much more villainous in aspect than manyother half-castes whom they saw. He was on his way to the coast in acanoe manned by slaves. If Harold and Disco had known that this was hislast journey to the coast they would have regarded him with greaterinterest. As it was, having learned his history from the chief throughtheir interpreter, they turned from him with loathing.
As this half-caste's career illustrates the depths to which humanity mayfall in the hot-bed of slavery, as well as, to some extent, the state ofthings existing under Portuguese rule on the east coast of Africa, wegive the particulars briefly.
Instead of the whip, this man used the gun, which he facetiously styledhis "minister of justice," and, in mere wantonness, he was known to havecommitted murder again and again, yet no steps were taken by theauthorities to restrain, much less to punish him. Men heard of hismurders, but they shrugged their shoulders and did nothing. It was onlya wild beast of a negro that was killed, they said, and what was that!They seemed to think less of it than if he had shot a hippopotamus. Oneof his murders was painfully notorious, even to its minutestparticulars. Over the female slaves employed in a house and adjacentlands there is usually placed a head-woman, a slave also, chosen forsuch an office for her blind fidelity to her master. This man had onesuch woman, one who had ever been faithful to him and his interests, whohad never provoked him by disobedience or ill-conduct, and against whom,therefore, he could have no cause of complaint. One day when half drunkhe was lying on a couch in his house; his forewoman entered and madeherself busy with some domestic work. As her master lay watching her,his savage disposition found vent in a characteristic joke: "Woman,"said he, "I think I will shoot you." The woman turned round and said,"Master, I am your slave; you can do what you will with me. You cankill me if you like; I can do nothing. But don't kill me, master, forif you do, who is there to look after your other women? they will allrun away from you."
She did not mean to irritate her master, but instantly the man's brutalegotism was aroused. The savage jest became a fearful reality, and heshouted with rage:--
"Say you that! say you that! fetch me my gun. I will see if my womenwill run away after I have killed you."
Trained to implicit obedience, the poor woman did as she was bid. Shebrought the gun and handed him powder and ball. At his command sheknelt down before him, and the wretch fired at her breast. In hisdrunken rage he missed his mark--the ball went through her shoulder.She besought him to spare her. Deaf to her entreaties, he ordered herto fetch more powder and ball. Though wounded and in agony, she obeyedhim. Again the gun was loaded, again levelled and fired, and the womanfell dead at his feet. [The above narrative is quoted almost _verbatim_from _The Story of the Universities' Mission to Central Africa_, pages78 and 79, the author of which vouches for its accuracy.]
The facts of this case were known far and wide. The Portuguese Governorwas acquainted with them, as well as the ministers of justice, but noone put forth a hand to punish the monster, or to protect his slaves.
But vengeance overtook him at last. On his way down the Zambesi he shotone of his men. The others, roused to irresistible fury, sprang uponhim and strangled him.
_Then_, indeed, the Governor and Magistrates were roused to administer"justice!" They had allowed this fiend to murder slaves at his will,but no sooner had the slaves turned on and killed their master thanceaseless energy and resolution were displayed in punishing those whoslew him. Soldiers were sent out in all directions; some of thecanoe-men were shot down like wild beasts, the rest were recaptured andpublicly whipped to death!
Reader, this is "domestic slavery." This is what Portugal and Zanzibarclaim the right to practise. This is what Great Britain has for manyyears declined to interfere with. This is the curse with which Africais blighted at the present day in some of her fairest lands, and this iswhat Portugal has decreed shall not terminate in what she calls herAfrican dominions for some years to come. In other words, it has beencoolly decreed by that weakest of all the European nations, thatslavery, murder, injustice, and every other conceivable andunmentionable vice and villainy shall still, for some considerable time,continue to be practised on the men, women, and children of Africa!
Higher up the Shire river, the travellers saw symptoms of recentdistress among the people, which caused them much concern. Chimbolo, inparticular, was rendered very anxious by the account given of the faminewhich prevailed still farther up the river, and the numerous deaths thathad taken place in consequence.
The cause of the distress was a common one, and easily explained.Slave-dealers had induced the Ajawa, a warlike tribe, to declare waragainst the people of the Manganja highlands. The Ajawa had done thisbefore, and were but too ready to do it again. They invaded the land,captured many of the young people, and slew the aged. Those who escapedto the jungle found on their return that their crops were destroyed.Little seed remained in their possession, and before that was plantedand grown, famine began to reduce the ranks, already thinned by war.
Indications of this sad state of things became more numerous as thetravellers advanced. Few natives appeared to greet them on the banks ofthe river as they went along, and these few resembled living skeletons.In many places they found dead bodies lying on the ground in variousstages of decomposition, and everywhere they beheld an aspect of settledunutterable despair on the faces of the scattered remnant of thebereaved and starving people.
It was impossible, in the circumstances, for Harold Seadrift to givethese wretched people more than very slight relief. He gave them asmuch of his stock of provisions as he could spare, and was glad when thenecessity of continuing the journey on foot relieved him from suchmournful scenes by taking him away from the river's bank.
Hiring a party of the strongest men that he could find among them, he atlength left his canoes, made up his goods, food, and camp-equipage intobundles of a shape and size suitable to being carried on the heads ofmen, and started on foot for the Manganja highlands.
"Seems to me, sir," observed Disco, as they plodded along together onthe first morning of the land journey--"seems to me, sir, that Chimbolodon't stand much chance of findin' his wife alive."
"Poor fellow," replied Harold, glancing back at the object of theirremarks, "I fear not."
Chimbolo had by that time recovered much of his natural vigour, andalthough not yet able to carry a man's load, was nevertheless quitecapable of following the party. He walked in silence, with his eyes onthe ground, a few paces behind Antonio, who was a step or two in rear ofhis leader, and who, in virtue of his position as "bo's'n" to the party,was privileged to walk hampered by no greater burden than his gun.
"We must keep up his sperrits, tho', poor chap," said Disco, in thehoarse whisper with which he was wont to convey secret remarks, andwhich was much more fitted to attract attention than his ordinary voice."It 'ud never do to let his sperrits down; 'cause w'y? he's weak, an'if he know'd
that his wife was dead, or took off as a slave, he'd neverbe able to go along with us, and we couldn't leave him to starve here,you know."
"Certainly not, Disco," returned Harold. "Besides, his wife _may_ bealive, for all we know to the contrary.--How far did he say the villagewas from where we landed, Antonio?"
"'Bout two, t'ree days," answered the bo's'n.
That night the party encamped beside the ruins of a small hamlet wherecharred sticks and fragments of an African household's goods andchattels lay scattered on the ground.
Chimbolo sat down here on the ground, and, resting his chin on hisknees, gazed in silence at the ruin around him.
"Come, cheer up, old fellow," cried Disco, with rather an awkward effortat heartiness, as he slapped the negro gently on the shoulder; "tellhim, Antonio, not to let his heart go down. Didn't he say thatwhat-dee-call-the-place--his village--was a strong place, and could beeasily held by a few brave men?"
"True," replied Chimbolo, through the interpreter, "but the Manganja menare not very brave."
"Well, well, never mind," rejoined the sympathetic tar, repeating hispat on the back, "there's no sayin'. P'raps they got courage w'en itcame to the scratch. P'raps it never came to the scratch at all upthere. Mayhap you'll find 'em all right after all. Come, never say dies'long as there's a shot in the locker. That's a good motto for 'ee,Chimbolo, and ought to keep up your heart even tho' ye _are_ a nigger,'cause it wos inwented by the great Nelson, and shouted by him, or hisbo's'n, just before he got knocked over at the glorious battle ofTrafalgar. Tell him that, Antonio."
Whether Antonio told him all that, is extremely doubtful, although hecomplied at once with the order, for Antonio never by any chancedeclined at least to attempt the duties of his station, but the onlyeffect of his speech was that Chimbolo shook his head and continued tostare at the ruins.
Next morning they started early, and towards evening drew near to Zomba.
The country through which, during the previous two days, they hadtravelled, was very beautiful, and as wild as even Disco could desire--and, by the way, it was no small degree of wildness that could slake thethirst for the marvellous which had been awakened in the breast of ourtar, by his recent experiences in Africa. It was, he said--and saidtruly--a real out-and-out wilderness. There were villages everywhere,no doubt but these were so thickly concealed by trees and jungle thatthey were not easily seen, and most of them were at that time almostdepopulated. The grass was higher than the heads of the travellers, andthe vegetation everywhere was rankly luxuriant. Here and there openglades allowed the eye to penetrate into otherwise impenetrable bush.Elsewhere, large trees abounded in the midst of overwhelminglyaffectionate parasites, whose gnarled lower limbs and twining tendrilsand pendant foliage gave a softness to the landscape, which contrastedwell with the wild passes and rugged rocks of the middle distance, andthe towering mountains which rose, range beyond range, in the fardistance.
But as the party approached the neighbourhood of Zomba mountains, few ofthem were disposed to give much heed to the beauties of nature. Allbeing interested in Chimbolo, they became more or less anxious as tonews that awaited him.
On turning a spur of one of the mountains which had hitherto barredtheir vision, they found themselves suddenly face to face with a smallband of Manganja men, whose woe-begone countenances told too eloquentlythat the hand of the destroyer had been heavy upon them.
Of course they were questioned by Chimbolo, and the replies they gavehim were such as to confirm the fears he had previously entertained.
The Ajawa, they said, had, just the day before, burnt their villages,stolen or destroyed their property, killed many of their kinsmen, andcarried off their wives and children for slaves. They themselves hadescaped, and were now on their way to visit their chief, who was at thattime on the banks of the Zambesi, to beg of him to return, in order thathe might bewitch the guns of the Ajawa, and so render them harmless!
"Has a woman of your tribe, named Marunga, been slain or captured?"asked Chimbolo eagerly.
To this the men replied that they could not tell. Marunga, they said,was known well to them by name and sight. They did not think she wasamong the captives, but could not tell what had become of her, as thevillage where she and her little boy lived had been burnt, and all whohad not been killed or captured had taken to the bush. Marunga'shusband, they added, was a man named Chimbolo--not a Manganja man, but afriend of the tribe--who had been taken by the slavers, under command ofa Portuguese half-caste named Marizano, about two years before thattime.
Chimbolo winced as though he had been stung when Marizano's name wasmentioned, and a dark frown contracted his brows when he told theManganja men that _he_ was Chimbolo, and that he was even then in searchof Marunga and her little boy.
When all this had been explained to Harold Seadrift he told the men thatit was a pity to waste time in travelling such a long way to see theirchief, who could not, even if he wished, bewitch the guns of the Ajawa,and advised them to turn back and guide him and his men to the placewhere the attack had been made on the Manganja, so that a search mightbe made in the bush for those of the people who had escaped.
This was agreed to, and the whole party proceeded on their way withincreased speed, Chimbolo and Harold hoping they might yet find thatMarunga had escaped, and Disco earnestly desiring that they might onlyfall in with the Ajawa and have a brush with them, in which case heassured the negroes he would show them a way of bewitching their gunsthat would beat their chief's bewitchment all to sticks and stivers!
The village in which Marunga had dwelt was soon reached. It was, asthey had been told by their new friends, a heap of still smoulderingashes; but it was not altogether destitute of signs of life. A dog wasobserved to slink away into the bush as they approached.
The moment Chimbolo observed it he darted into the bush after it.
"Hallo!" exclaimed Disco in surprise; "that nigger seems to have took asudden fancy to the cur?--Eh, Antonio, wot's the reason of that, think'ee?"
"Dunno; s'pose where dog be mans be?"
"Ah! or womans," suggested Disco.
"Or womans," assented Antonio.
Just then they heard Chimbolo's shout, which was instantly followed by asuccession of female shrieks. These latter were repeated several times,and sounded as though the fugitives were scattering.
"Hims find a nest of womins!" exclaimed Jumbo, throwing down his loadand dashing away into the bush.
Every individual of the party followed his example, not excepting Haroldand Disco, the latter of whom was caught by the leg, the moment he leftthe track, by a wait-a-bit thorn--most appropriately so-called, becauseits powerful spikes are always ready to seize and detain the unwarypasser-by. In the present instance it checked the seaman's career for afew seconds, and rent his nether garments sadly; while Harold, profitingby his friend's misfortune, leaped over the bush, and passed on. Discoquickly extricated himself, and followed.
They were not left far behind, and overtook their comrades just as theyemerged on an open space, or glade, at the extremity of which a sightmet their eyes that filled them with astonishment, for there a troop ofwomen and one or two boys were seen walking towards them, with Chimboloin front, having a child on his left shoulder, and performing a sort ofinsane war-dance round one of the women.
"He's catched her!" exclaimed Disco, with excited looks, just as ifChimbolo had been angling unsuccessfully for a considerable time, andhad hooked a stupendous fish at last.
And Disco was right. A few of the poor creatures who were so recentlyburnt out of their homes, and had lost most of those dearest to them,had ventured, as if drawn by an irresistible spell, to return with timidsteps to the scene of their former happiness, but only to have theirworst fears confirmed. Their homes, their protectors, their children,their hopes, all were gone at one fell swoop. Only one among them--onewho, having managed to save her only child, had none to mourn over, andno one to hope to meet with--only one returned to a joyful meeting
. Weneed scarcely say that this was Marunga.
The fact was instantly made plain to the travellers by the wild mannerin which Chimbolo shouted her name, pointed to her, and danced roundher, while he showed all his glistening teeth and as much of the whitesof his eyes as was consistent with these members remaining in theirorbits.
Really it was quite touching, in spite of its being ludicrous, the wayin which the poor fellow poured forth his joy like a very child,--whichhe was in everything except years; and Harold could not helpremembering, and recalling to Disco's memory, Yoosoof's observationstouching the hardness of negroes' hearts, and their want of naturalaffection, on the morning when his dhow was captured by the boat of the"Firefly."
The way in which, ever and anon, Chimbolo kissed his poor but now happywife, was wondrously similar to the mode in which white men perform thatlittle operation, except that there was more of an unrefined smack init. The tears which _would_ hop over his sable cheeks now and thensparkled to the full as brightly as European tears, and were perhapssomewhat bigger; and the pride with which he regarded his little son,holding him in both hands out at arms'-length, was only excelled by thejoy and the tremendous laugh with which he received a kick on the nosefrom that undutiful son's black little toes.
But Yoosoof never chanced to be present when such exhibitions of negrofeeling and susceptibility took place. How could he, seeing that menand women and children--if black--fled from him, and such as he, inabject terror? Neither did Yoosoof ever chance to be present when womensat down beside their blackened hearths, as they did that night, andquietly wept as though their hearts would burst at the memory of littlevoices and manly tones--not silent in death, but worse than that--gone,gone _for ever_! Doubtless they felt though they never heard of, andcould not in words express, the sentiment--
"Oh for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still."
Yoosoof knew not of, and cared nothing for, such feelings as these. Weask again, how could he? His only experience of the negro was whencowering before him as a slave, or when yelling in agony under histerrible lash, or when brutalised and rendered utterly apathetic byinhuman cruelty.
Harold learned, that night on further conversation with the Manganjamen, that a raid had recently been made into those regions by more thanone band of slavers, sent out to capture men and women by the Portuguesehalf-castes of the towns of Senna and Tette, on the Zambesi, and thatthey had been carrying the inhabitants out of the country at the rate ofabout two hundred a week.
This however was but a small speck, so to speak, of the mighty work ofkidnapping human beings that was going on--that is _still_ going on inthose regions. Yoosoof would have smiled--he never laughed--if you hadmentioned such a number as being large.
But in truth he cared nothing about such facts, except in so far as theyrepresented a large amount of profit accrueing to himself.
The result of Harold Seadrift's cogitations on these matters was that heresolved to pass through as much of the land as he could within areasonable time, and agreed to accompany Chimbolo on a visit to histribe, which dwelt at some distance to the north of the Manganjahighlands.