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Dick Sands, The Boy Captain, a fiction by Jules Verne |
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Part The Second - Chapter 8. Notes By The Way |
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_ PART THE SECOND CHAPTER VIII. NOTES BY THE WAY The storm of the preceding evening had now passed away, but the sky was still cloudy and the weather far from settled. It was the 19th of April, the time of the masika, or second period of the rainy season, so that for the next two or three weeks the nights might be expected to be wet. On leaving the banks of the Coanza the caravan proceeded due east. Soldiers marched at the head and in the rear, as well as upon the flanks of the troop; any escape of the prisoners, therefore, even if they had not been loaded with their fetters, would have been utterly impossible. They were all driven along without any attempt at order, the havildars using their whips unsparingly upon them whenever they showed signs of flagging. Some poor mothers could be seen carrying two infants, one on each arm, whilst others led by the hand naked children, whose feet were sorely cut by the rough ground over which they had trod. Ibn Hamish, the Arab who had interfered between Dick and the havildar, acted as commander to the caravan, and was here, there, and everywhere; not moved in the least by the sufferings of the captives, but obliged to be attentive to the importunities of the soldiers and porters, who were perpetually clamouring for extra rations, or demanding an immediate halt. Loud were the discussions that arose, and the uproar became positively deafening when the quarrelsome voices rose above the shrieks of the slaves, many of whom found themselves treading upon soil already stained by the blood of the ranks in front. No chance again opened for Dick to get any communication with his friends, who had been sent to the van of the procession. Urged on by the whip they continued to march in single file, their heads in the heavy forks. If ever the havildar strolled a few yards away, Bat took the opportunity of murmuring a few words of encouragement to his poor old father, while he tried to pick out the easiest path for him, and to relax the pace to suit his enfeebled limbs. Large tears rolled down old Tom’s cheeks when he found that his son’s efforts only resulted in bringing down upon his back some sharp cuts of the havildar’s whip. Actæon and Austin, subject to hardly less brutality, followed a few steps behind, but all four could not help feeling envious at the luck of Hercules, who might have dangers to encounter, but at least had his liberty. Immediately upon their capture, Tom had revealed to his companions the fact that they were in Africa, and informing them how they had been betrayed by Harris, made them understand that they had no mercy to expect. Old Nan had been placed amongst a group of women in the central ranks. She was chained to a young mother with two children, the one at the breast, the other only three years old, and scarcely able to walk. Moved by compassion, Nan took the little one into her own arms, thus not only saving it from fatigue, but from the blows it would very likely have received for lagging behind. The mother shed tears of gratitude, but the weight was almost too much for Nan’s strength, and she felt as if she must break down under her self-imposed burden. She thought fondly of little Jack, and imagining him borne along in the arms of his weary mother, could not help asking herself whether she should ever see him or her kind mistress again. Far in the rear, Dick could not see the head of the caravan except occasionally, when the ground was rather on the rise. The voices of the agents and drivers, harsh and excited as they were, scarcely roused him from his melancholy reflections. His thoughts were not of himself nor of his own sufferings; his whole attention was absorbed in looking for some traces of Mrs. Weldon’s progress; if she, too, was being taken to Kazonndé, her route must also lie this way. But he could discover no trace of her having been conducted by this line of march, and could only hope that she was being spared the cruelties which he was himself witnessing. The forest extended for about twenty miles to the east of the Coanza, but whether it was that the trees had been destroyed by the ravages of insects, or broken down before they had made their growth by being trampled on by elephants, they were growing much less thickly than in the immediate vicinity of the river. There were numbers of cotton-trees, seven or eight feet high, from which are manufactured the black-and-white striped stuffs that are worn in the interior of the province; but, upon the whole, progress was not much impeded either by shrubs or underwood. Occasionally the caravan plunged into jungles of reeds like bamboos, their stalks an inch in diameter, so tall that only an elephant or giraffe could have reared above them, and through which none excepting such as had a very intimate knowledge of the country could possibly have made their way. Starting every morning at daybreak they marched till noon, when an hour’s halt was made. Packets of manioc were then unfastened, and doled out in sparing quantities among the slaves; sometimes, when the soldiers had plundered some village, a little goat’s flesh or some sweet potatoes were added to the meal; but generally the fatigue, aggravated by inadequate rest, took away the appetite, and when meal-time arrived many of the slaves could hardly eat at all. During the first eight days’ march from the Coanza no less than twenty unfortunate wretches had fallen upon the road, and had been left behind, a prey to the lions, panthers, and leopards that prowled in the wake. As Dick heard their roars in the stillness of the night, he trembled as he thought of Hercules. Nevertheless, had the opportunity offered itself, he would not for a moment have hesitated in making his own escape to the wilderness. The two hundred and fifty miles between the river and Kazonndé were accomplished in what the traders call marches of ten miles each, including the halts at night and midday. The journey cannot be better described than by a few rough notes that Dick Sands made upon his way. April 25th.—Saw a village surrounded with bamboo palisading, eight or nine feet high. Fields round planted with maize, beans, and sorghum. Two negroes captured, fifteen killed, rest took to flight. 26th.—Crossed a torrent 150 yards wide. Bridge formed of trunks of trees and creepers. Piles nearly gave way; two women fastened to a fork; one of them, carrying a baby, fell into the water. Water quickly tinged with blood; crocodiles seen under bridge; risk of stepping into their very jaws. 28th.—Crossed a forest of bauhinias; great trees, the iron-wood of the Portuguese. Heavy rain; ground sodden; marching difficult. Caught sight of Nan in the middle of caravan; she was toiling along with a black child in her arms; the woman with her limping, and blood trickling from her shoulder. 29th.—Camp at night under a huge baobab, with white flowers and light green leaves. Lions and leopards roaring all night. A soldier fired at a panther. What has become of Hercules? 30th.—Rainy season said to be over till November. First touch of African winter. Dew very heavy. Plains all flooded. Easterly winds: difficulty of respiration; susceptibility to fever. No trace of Mrs. Weldon; cannot tell whether she is ahead. Fear Jack may have a return of fever. May 5th.—Forced to march several stages across flooded plains, water up to the waist; many leeches sticking to the skin. Lotus and papyrus upon higher ground. Great heavy leaves, like cabbages, beneath the water, make many stumble as they walk. Saw large numbers of little fish, silurus-species; these are caught by the natives, and sold to the caravans. 7th.—Plain still inundated. Last night, no halting-place to be found. Marched on through the darkness. Great misery. Except for Mrs. Weldon, life not worth having; for her sake must hold out. Loud cries heard. Saw, by the lightning, soldiers breaking large boughs from the resinous trees that emerged from the water. The caravan had been attacked on the flank by a dozen or more crocodiles; women and children seized and carried off to what Livingstone calls their “pasture-lands,” the holes where they deposit their prey until it is decomposed. Myself grazed by the scales of one of them. A slave close beside me torn out of the fork, which was snapped in half. How the poor fellow’s cry of agony rings in my ear! This morning, twenty missing. Tom and the others, thank God! are still alive. They are on in front. Once Bat made a sharp turn, and Tom caught sight of me. Nothing to be seen of Nan; was she, poor creature, one of those that the crocodiles had got? 8th.—After twenty-four hours in the water we have crossed the plain. We have halted on a hill. The sun helps to dry us. Nothing to eat except a little manioc and a few handfuls of maize. Only muddy water to drink. Impossible for Mrs. Weldon to survive these hardships; I hope from my heart that she has been taken some other way. Small-pox has broken out in the caravan; those that have it are to be left behind. 9th.—Started at dawn. No stragglers allowed; sick and weary must be kept together by havildars’ whip; the losses were considerable. Living skeletons all round. Rejoiced once more to catch sight of Nan. She was not carrying the child any longer; she was alone; the chain was round her waist, but she had the loose end thrown over her shoulder. I got close to her; suppose I am altered, as she did not know me. After I had called her by name several times she stared at me, and at last said, “Ah, Mr. Dick, is it you? you will not see me here much longer” Her cadaverous look pained my very soul, but I tried to speak hopefully. Poor Nan shook her head. “I shall never see my dear mistress again; no, nor master Jack; I shall soon die. “Anxious to help her, I would gladly have carried the end of the chain which she had been obliged to bear because her fellow-prisoner was dead. A rough hand was soon upon my shoulder; a cruel lash had made Nan retreat to the general crowd, whilst, at the bidding of an Arab chief, I was hustled back to the very hindmost rank of the procession. I overheard the word Negoro, in a way that convinced me that it is under the direction of the Portuguese that I am subject to this hard indignity. 11th.—Last night encamped under some large trees on the skirts of a forest. Several escaped prisoners recaptured; their punishment barbarously cruel. Loud roaring of lions and hyenas heard at nightfall, also snorting of hippopotamuses; probably some lake or water-course not far off. Tired, but could not sleep; heard a rustling in the grass; felt sure that something was going to attack me; what could I do? I had no gun. For Mrs. Weldon’s sake, must, if possible, preserve my life. The night was dark; no moon; two eyes gleamed upon me; I was about to utter a cry of alarm; fortunately, I suppressed it; the creature that had sprung to my feet was Dingo! The dog licked my hands all over, persisting in rubbing his neck against them, evidently to make me feel there; found a reed fastened to the well-known collar upon which the initials S.V. had so often awakened our curiosity; breaking open the reed, I took a note from inside; it was too dark for me to see to read it. I tried, by caressing Dingo, to detain him; but the dog appeared to know that his mission with me was at an end; he licked my hands affectionately, made a sudden bound, and disappeared in the long grass as mysteriously as he had come. The howling of the wild beasts increased. How I dreaded that the faithful creature would become their prey! No more sleep this night for me. It seemed that daylight would never dawn; at length it broke with the suddenness that marks a tropical morn. I was able cautiously to read my note; the handwriting, I knew at a glance, was that of Hercules; there were but a few lines in pencil:— “Mrs. Weldon and Jack carried away in a kitanda. Harris and Negoro both with them. Mr. Benedict too. Only a few marches ahead, but cannot be communicated with at present. Found Dingo wounded by a gun-shot. Dear Mr. Dick, do not despair; keep up your courage. I may help you yet. “Your ever true and faithful “HERCULES.” As far as it went, this intelligence was satisfactory. A kitanda, I know, is a kind of litter made of dry grass, protected by a curtain, and carried on the shoulders of two men by a long bamboo. What a relief to know that Mrs. Weldon and Jack have been spared the miseries of this dreadful march! May I not indulge the hope of seeing them at Kazonndé? 12th.—The prisoners getting more and more weary and worn out. Blood-stains on the way still more conspicuous. Many poor wretches are a mass of wounds. One poor woman for two days has carried her dead child, from which she refuses to be parted. l6th.—Small-pox raging; the road strewn with corpses. Still ten days before we reach Kazonndé. Just passed a tree from which slaves who had died from hunger were hanging by the neck. 18th.—Must not give in, but I am almost exhausted. Rains have ceased. We are to make what the dealers call trikesa, extra marches in the after-part of the day. Road very steep; runs through nyassi, tall grass of which the stalks scratch my face, and the seeds get under my tattered clothes and make my skin smart painfully. My boots fortunately are thick, and have not worn out. More slaves sick and abandoned to take their chance. Provisions running very short; soldiers and pagazis must be satisfied, otherwise they desert; consequently the slaves are all but starved. “They can eat each other,” say the agents. A young slave, apparently in good health, dropped down dead. It made me think of Livingstone’s description of how free-born men, reduced to slavery, will suddenly press their hand on their side, and die of a broken heart. 24th.—Twenty captives, incapable any longer of keeping pace with the rest, put to death by the havildars, the Arab chief offering no opposition. Poor old Nan one of the victims of this horrible butchery. My foot struck her corpse as I passed, but I was not permitted to give her a decent burial. Poor old Nan! the first of the survivors of the “Pilgrim” to go to her long rest! Poor old Nan! Every night I watch for Dingo; but he never comes. Has Hercules nothing more to communicate? or has any mishap befallen him? If he is alive he will do what mortal strength can do to aid us. _ |
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