Captain Canot; Or, Twenty Years of an African Slaver
have no thanks to return, because I have not treated you like a
_native_ Mussulman; for you were kind enough to remember all my own
little nationalities when I was your guest on the beach. ALLAH be
praised for your redemption and arrival;--and so, brother, take your
rest in peace within the realm of the Ali-Mami, your father!"
I embraced the generous fellow with as much cordiality as if he had
been a kinsman from the sweet valley of Arno. During his visit to my
factory he was particularly charmed with an old dressing-gown I used
for my siestas, and when I resolved on this journey, I caused an
improved copy of it to be made by one of the most skilful artists on
the river. A flashy pattern of calico was duly cut into rather ampler
form than is usual among our dandies. This was charmingly lined with
sky-blue, and set off at the edges with broad bands of glaring yellow.
The effect of the whole, indeed, was calculated to strike an African
fancy; so that, when I drew the garment from my luggage, and threw it,
together with a fine white ruffled shirt, over the shoulders of "my
brother," I thought the pious Mussulman would have gone wild with
delight. He hugged me a dozen times with the gripe of a tiger, and
probably would have kissed quite as lustily, had I not deprecated any
further ebullitions of bodily gratitude.
A bath erased not only the dust of travel from my limbs, but seemed to
extract even the memory of its toils from my bones and muscles.
Ahmah-de-Bellah intimated that the Ali-Mami would soon be prepared to
receive me without ceremony. The old gentleman was confined by dropsy
in his lower extremities, and probably found it uncomfortable to
sustain the annoyance of public life except when absolutely necessary.
The burden of my entertainment and glorification, therefore, was cast
on the shoulders of his younger kinsfolk, for which, I confess, I was
proportionally grateful. Accordingly, when I felt perfectly refreshed,
I arose from my matted sofa, and dressing for the first time in more
than a month in a perfectly clean suit, I donned a snowy shirt, a pair
of dashing drills, Parisian pumps, and a Turkish _fez_, tipped with a
copious tassel. Our interpreters were clad in fresh Mandingo dresses
adorned with extra embroidery. My body-servant was ordered to appear
in a cast-off suit of my own; so that, when I gave one my
double-barrelled gun to carry, and armed the others with my pistols,
and a glittering regulation-sword,--designed as a gift for the
Ali-Mami,--I presented a very respectable and picturesque appearance
for a gentleman abroad on his travels in the East. The moment I issued
with my train from the house, a crowd of Fullahs was ready to receive
me with exclamations of chattering surprise; still I was not annoyed,
as elsewhere, by the unfailing concourse that followed my footsteps or
clogged my pathway.
The "palace" of the Ali-Mami of Footha-Yallon, like all African
palaces in this region, was an _adobe_ hovel, surrounded by its
portico shed, and protected by a wall from the intrusion of the common
herd. In front of the dwelling, beneath the shelter of the verandah,
on a fleecy pile of sheepskin mats, reclined the veteran, whose
swollen and naked feet were undergoing a cooling process from the
palm-leaf fans of female slaves. I marched up boldly in front of him
with my military _suite_, and, making a profound _salaam_, was
presented by Ahmah-de-Bellah as his "white brother." The Ali at once
extended both hands, and, grasping mine, drew me beside him on the
sheepskin. Then, looking intently over my face and into the very depth
of my eyes, he asked gently with a smile--"what was my name?"
"AHMAH-DE-BELLAH!" replied I, after the fashion of the country. As I
uttered the Mahometan appellation, for which I had exchanged my own
with his son at Kambia, the old man, who still held my hands, put one
of his arms round my waist, and pressed me still closer to his
side;--then, lifting both arms extended to heaven, he repeated several
times,--"God is great! God is great! God is great!--and Mahomet is his
Prophet!"
This was followed by a grand inquest in regard to myself and history.
Who was my father? Who was my mother? How many brothers had I? Were
they warriors? Were they "book-men?" Why did I travel so far? What
delay would I make in Footha-Yallon? Was my dwelling comfortable? Had
I been treated with honor, respect and attention on my journey? And,
last of all, the prince sincerely hoped that I would find it
convenient to dwell with him during the whole of the "rainy season."
Several times, in the midst of these interrogations, the patriarch
groaned, and I could perceive, from the pain that flitted like a
shadow over the nerves and muscles of his face, that he was suffering
severely, and, of course, I cut the interview as short as oriental
etiquette would allow. He pressed me once more to his bosom, and
speaking to the interpreter, bade him tell his master, the Furtoo,
that any thing I fancied in the realm was mine. Slaves, horses,
cattle, stuffs,--all were at my disposal. Then, pointing to his son,
he said: "Ahmah-de-Bellah, the white man is our guest; his brother
will take heed for his wants, and redress every complaint."
The prince was a man of sixty at least. His stature was noble and
commanding, if not absolutely gigantic,--_being several inches over
six feet_,--while his limbs and bulk were in perfect proportion. His
oval head, of a rich mahogany color, was quite bald to the temples,
and covered by a turban, whose ends depended in twin folds along his
cheeks. The contour of his features was remarkably regular, though his
lips were rather full, and his nose somewhat flat, yet free from the
disgusting depression and cavities of the negro race. His forehead was
high and perpendicular, while his mouth glistened with ivory when he
spoke or smiled. I had frequent opportunities to talk with the king
afterwards, and was always delighted by the affectionate simplicity of
his demeanor. As it was the country's custom to educate the first-born
of royalty for the throne, the Ali-Mami of Footha-Yallon had been
brought up almost within the precincts of the mosque. I found the
prince, therefore, more of a meditative "book-man" than warrior; while
the rest of his family, and especially his younger brothers, had never
been exempt from military duties, at home or abroad. Like a good
Mussulman, the sovereign was a quiet, temperate gentleman, never
indulging in "bitters" or any thing stronger than a drink fermented
from certain roots, and sweetened to resemble _mead_. His intercourse
with me was always affable and solicitous for my comfort; nor did he
utter half a dozen sentences without interlarding them with fluent
quotations from the Koran. Sometimes, in the midst of a pleasant chat
in which he was wondering at my curiosity and taste for information
about new lands, he would suddenly break off because it was his hour
for prayer; at others, he would end the interview quite as
unceremoniously, because it was time for ablution. Thus, between
praying, washing, eating, sleeping, slave-dealing, and fanning his
dropsical feet, the life of the Ali-Mami passed monotonously enough
even for an oriental prince; but I doubt not, the same childish
routine is still religiously pursued, unless it has pleased Allah to
summon the faithful prince to the paradise of "true believers." I
could never make him understand how a ship might be built large enough
to hold provisions for a six months' voyage; and, as to the _sea_, "it
was a mystery that none but God and a white man could solve!"
As I was to breakfast on the day of my arrival at the dwelling of
Ahmah-de-Bellah's mother, after my presentation to the prince her
husband, I urged the footsteps of my companion with no little
impatience as soon as I got out of the royal hearing. My fast had been
rather longer than comfortable, even in obedience to royal etiquette.
However, we were soon within the court-yard of her sable ladyship, who,
though a dame of fifty at least, persisted in hiding her charms of face
and bosom beneath a capacious cloth. Nevertheless, she welcomed me
quite tenderly. She called me "Ahmah-de-Bellah-Theodoree,"--and, with
her own hands, mixed the dainties on which we were to breakfast while
cosily squatted on the mats of her verandah. Our food was simple enough
for the most dyspeptic homoeopathist. Milk and rice were alternated
with bonney-clabber and honey, seasoned by frequent words of hospitable
encouragement. The frugal repast was washed down by calabashes of cool
water, which were handed round by naked damsels, whose beautiful limbs
might have served as models for an artist.
When the meal was finished, I hoped that the day's ceremonial was
over, but, to my dismay, I discovered that the most formal portion of
my reception was yet to come.
"We will now hasten," said Ahmah-de-Bellah, as I _salaamed_ his mamma,
"to the palaver-ground, where I am sure our chiefs are, by this time,
impatient to see you." Had I been a feeble instead of a robust
campaigner, I would not have resisted the intimation, or desired a
postponement of the "palaver;" so I "took my brother's" arm, and,
followed by my _cortege_, proceeded to the interview that was to take
place beyond the walls, in an exquisite grove of cotton-wood and
tamarind-trees, appropriated to this sort of town-meeting. Here I
found a vast assemblage of burghers; and in their midst, squatted on
sheepskins, was a select ring of _patres conscripti_, presided by
Sulimani-Ali, son of the king, and brother of my companion.
As the Fullah presented me to his warrior-kinsman, he rose with a
profound salutation, and taking my hand, led me to a rock, covered
with a white napkin,--the seat of honor for an eminent stranger. The
moment I was placed, the chiefs sprang up and each one grasped my
hand, bidding me welcome _thrice_. Ahmah-de-Bellah stood patiently
beside me until this ceremony was over, and each noble resumed his
sheepskin. Then, taking a long cane from the eldest of the group, he
stepped forward, saluted the assembly three times, thrice invoked
Allah, and introduced me to the chiefs and multitude as his "brother."
I came, he said, to Footha-Yallon on his invitation, and by the
express consent of his beloved king and father, and of his beloved
elder brother, Sulimani. He hoped, therefore, that every "head-man"
present would see the rites of hospitality faithfully exercised to his
white brother while he dwelt in Footha. There were many reasons that
he could give why this should be done; but he would rest content with
stating only three. First of all: I was nearly as good a Mussulman as
many Mandingoes, and he knew the fact, because _he had converted me
himself_! Secondly: I was entitled to every sort of courtesy from
Fullahs, because I was a _rich_ trader from the Rio Pongo. And,
thirdly: I had penetrated even to this very heart of Africa to
purchase slaves for most liberal prices.
It is the custom in African "palavers," as well as among African
religionists, to give token of assent by a sigh, a groan, a slight
exclamation, or a shout, when any thing affecting, agreeable, or
touching is uttered by a speaker. Now, when my Fullah brother informed
his friends of my arrival, my name, my demand for hospitality, and my
wealth, the grunts and groans of the assembly augmented in number and
volume as he went on; but when they heard of my design "to purchase
_slaves_" a climax was reached at once, and, as with one voice, they
shouted, "May the Lord of heaven be praised!"
I smothered a laugh and strangled a smile as well as I could, when my
interpreters expounded the "stump speech" of Ahmah-de-Bellah; and I
lost no time in directing them to display the presents which some of