Captain Canot; Or, Twenty Years of an African Slaver
to confidence.
"Thus, for a while, all things went smoothly, till T---- reached our
anchorage, with several passengers in his craft, bound, as they said,
to Grand Bassa. As usual on such visits, the whole party dined with
Miguel at four in the afternoon, and, at six, retired towards their
vessel, with a gift of provisions and liquor for their voyage.
"About eight o'clock, a knocking at our gates--closed invariably at
dark, according to custom--gave notice that our recent guests had
returned. They craved hospitality for the night. They had dallied a
couple of hours on the beach, with the hope of getting off, but the
surf was so perilous that no Kroomen would venture to convey them
through the breakers.
"Such an appeal was, of course, enough for the heart of a courteous
Spaniard,--and, on the coast, you know, it is imperative. Miguel
opened the door, and, in an instant, fell dead on the threshold, with
a ball in his skull. Several guns were discharged, and the house
filled with colonists. At the moment of attack I was busy in the
_barracoon_; but, as soon as I came forth, the assailants approached
in such numbers that I leaped the barriers and hid myself in the
forest till discovered by some friendly natives.
"I remained with these Africans several weeks, while a canoe was
summoned from Gallinas for my rescue. From thence I sailed to Cuba,
and was the first to apprise our owners of the piratical onslaught by
which the factory had been destroyed.
"After this, I made several successful voyages to the coast; and, at
last, sauntering one evening along the _paseo_ at Havana, I met Don
Miguel's brother, who, after a sorrowful chat about the tragedy,
offered me a quarter-master's berth in a brig he was fitting out for
Africa. It was accepted on the spot.
"In a month we were off Mesurado, and cruised for several days from
the cape to Grand Bassa, avoiding every square-rigged vessel that
loomed above the horizon. At length, we espied a small craft beating
down the coast. We bore the stranger company for several hours, till,
suddenly taking advantage of her long tack out to sea, we gave chase
and cut off her return towards land.
"It was a fine afternoon, and the sun was yet an hour in the sky when
we intercepted the schooner. As we ran alongside, I thought I
recognized the faces of several who, in days of old, wore familiar in
our factory,--but what was my surprise, when T---- himself came to
the gangway, and hailed us in Spanish!
"I pointed out the miscreant to my comrade, and, in an instant, he was
in our clutches. We let the sun go down before we contrived a proper
death for the felon. His five companions, double-ironed, were nailed
beneath the hatches in the hold. After this, we riveted the murderer,
in chains, to the mainmast, and, for better security, fastened his
spread arms to the deck by spikes through his hands. Every sail was
then set on the craft, two barrels of tar were poured over the planks,
and a brand was thrown in the midst of the combustible materials. For
a while, the schooner was held by a hawser till we saw the flames
spread from stern to cut-water, and then, with a cheer, _adios_! It
was a beautiful sight,--that _auto-da-fe_, on the sea, in the
darkness!
"My confession, Don Teodor, is over. From that day, I have never been
within a church or alongside a _padre_; but I could not die without
sending the gold to my sister, and begging a mass in some parish for
the rest of my soul!"
I felt very conscious that I was by no means the person to afford
ghostly consolation to a dying man under such circumstances, but while
I promised to fulfil his request carefully, I could not help inquiring
whether he sincerely repented these atrocious deeds?
"Ah! yes, Don Teodor, a thousand times! Many a night, when alone on my
watch at sea, or in yonder stockade, marching up and down before the
_barracoon_, I have wept like a child for the innocent crew of that
little schooner; but, as for the murderer of _Don Miguel_--!" He
stared wildly for a minute into my eyes--shuddered--fell back--was
dead!
I have no doubt the outlaw's story contained exaggerations, or fell
from a wrecked mind that was drifting into eternity on the current of
delirium. I cannot credit his charge against the Monrovian colonists;
yet I recount the narrative as an illustration of many a bloody scene
that has stained the borders of Africa.
FOOTNOTE:
[G] The reader will recollect this is not CANOT'S story, but the
sailor's.
CHAPTER LXI.
During my first visit to Digby, I promised my trading friends--perhaps
rather rashly--that I would either return to their settlement, or, at
least, send merchandise and a clerk to establish a factory. This was
joyous news for the traffickers, and, accordingly, I embraced an early
occasion to despatch, in charge of a clever young sailor, such stuffs
as would be likely to tickle the negro taste.
There were two towns at Digby, governed by cousins who had always
lived in harmony. My mercantile venture, however, was unhappily
destined to be the apple of discord between these relatives. The
establishment of so important an institution as a slave-factory within
the jurisdiction of the younger savage, gave umbrage to the elder. His
town could boast neither of "merchandise" nor a "white man;" there was
no profitable tax to be levied from foreign traffic; and, in a very
short time, this unlucky partiality ripened the noble kinsmen into
bitter enemies.
It is not the habit in Africa for negroes to expend their wrath in
harmless words, so that preparations were soon made in each settlement
for defence as well as hostility. Both towns were stockaded and
carefully watched by sentinels, day and night. At times, forays were
made into each other's suburbs, but as the chiefs were equally
vigilant and alert, the extent of harm was the occasional capture of
women or children, as they wandered to the forest and stream for wood
and water.
This dalliance, however, did not suit the ardor of my angry favorite.
After wasting a couple of months, he purchased the aid of certain
_bushmen_, headed by a notorious scoundrel named Jen-ken, who had
acquired renown for his barbarous ferocity throughout the
neighborhood. Jen-ken and his chiefs were _cannibals_, and never trod
the war-path without a pledge to return laden with human flesh to
gorge their households.
Several assaults were made by this savage and his _bushmen_ on the
dissatisfied cousin, but as they produced no significant results, the
barbarians withdrew to the interior. A truce ensued. Friendly
proposals were made by the younger to the elder, and again, a couple
of months glided by in seeming peace.
Just at this time business called me to Gallinas. On my way thither I
looked in at Digby, intending to supply the displeased chieftain with
goods and an agent if I found the establishment profitable.
It was sunset when I reached the beach; too late, of course, to land
my merchandise, so that I postponed furnishing both places until the
morning. As might fairly be expected, there was abundant joy at my
advent. The neglected rival was wild with satisfaction at the report
that he, too, at length was favored with a "white-man." His "town"
immediately became a scene of unbounded merriment. Powder was burnt
without stint. Gallons of rum were distributed to both sexes; and
dancing, smoking and carousing continued till long after midnight,
when all stole off to maudlin sleep.
About three in the morning, the sudden screams of women and children
aroused me from profound torpor! Shrieks were followed by volleys of
musketry. Then came a loud tattoo of knocks at my door, and appeals
from the negro chief to rise and fly. "The town was besieged:--the
head-men were on the point of escaping:--resistance was vain:--they
had been betrayed--there were no fighters to defend the stockade!"
I was opening the door to comply with this advice, when my Kroomen,
who knew the country's ways even better than I, dissuaded me from
departing, with the confident assurance that our assailants were
unquestionably composed of the rival townsfolk, who had only
temporarily discharged the bushmen to deceive my entertainer. The Kroo
insisted that I had nothing to fear. We might, they said, be seized
and even imprisoned; but after a brief detention, the captors would be
glad enough to accept our ransom. If we fled, we might be slaughtered
by mistake.
I had so much confidence in the sense and fidelity of the band that
always accompanied me,--partly as boatmen and partly as
body-guard,--that I experienced very little personal alarm when I
heard the shouts as the savages rushed through the town murdering
every one they encountered. In a few moments our own door was battered
down by the barbarians, and Jen-ken, torch in hand, made his
appearance, claiming us as prisoners.
Of course, we submitted without resistance, for although fully armed,
the odds were so great in those ante-revolver days, that we would have
been overwhelmed by a single wave of the infuriated crowd. The
barbarian chief instantly selected our house for his headquarters, and
despatched his followers to complete their task. Prisoner after
prisoner was thrust in. At times the heavy mash of a war club and the
cry of strangling women, gave notice that the work of death was not
yet ended. But the night of horror wore away. The gray dawn crept
through our hovel's bars, and all was still save the groans of wounded
captives, and the wailing of women and children.
By degrees, the warriors dropped in around their chieftain. A
_palaver-house_, immediately in front of my quarters, was the general
rendezvous; and scarcely a _bushman_ appeared without the body of
some maimed and bleeding victim. The mangled but living captives were
tumbled on a heap in the centre, and soon, every avenue to the square
was crowded with exulting savages. Rum was brought forth in abundance
for the chiefs. Presently, slowly approaching from a distance, I
heard the drums, horns, and war-bells; and, in less than fifteen
minutes, a procession of women, whose naked limbs were smeared with
chalk and ochre, poured into the palaver-house to join the beastly
rites. Each of these devils was armed with a knife, and bore in her
hand some cannibal trophy. Jen-ken's wife, a corpulent wench of
forty-five,--dragged along the ground, by a single limb, the slimy
corpse of an infant ripped alive from its mother's womb. As her eyes
met those of her husband the two fiends yelled forth a shout of
mutual joy, while the lifeless babe was tossed in the air and caught
as it descended on the point of a spear. Then came the _refreshment_,
in the shape of rum, powder, and blood, which was quaffed by the
brutes till they reeled off, with linked hands, in a wild dance
around the pile of victims. As the women leaped and sang, the men
applauded and encouraged. Soon, the ring was broken, and, with a
yell, each female leaped on the body of a wounded prisoner and
commenced the final sacrifice with the mockery of lascivious
embraces!
In my wanderings in African forests I have often seen the tiger pounce
upon its prey, and, with instinctive thirst, satiate its appetite for
blood and abandon the drained corpse; but these African negresses were
neither as decent nor as merciful as the beast of the wilderness.
Their malignant pleasure seemed to consist in the invention of
tortures, that would agonize but not slay. There was a devilish spell
in the tragic scene that fascinated my eyes to the spot. A slow,
lingering, tormenting mutilation was practised on the living, as well
as on the dead; and, in every instance, the brutality of the women
exceeded that of the men. I cannot picture the hellish joy with which