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Dick Sands, The Boy Captain, a novel by Jules Verne |
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Part The Second - Chapter 9. Kazonnde |
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_ PART THE SECOND CHAPTER IX. KAZONNDE
Angola at that time was the scene of a large negro-traffic, and as the caravans principally wended their way towards the interior, the Portuguese authorities at Loanda and Benguela had practically no power to prevent it. The barracks on the shore were crowded to overflowing with prisoners, the few slave-ships that managed to elude the cruisers being quite inadequate to embark the whole number for the Spanish colonies to America. Kazonndé, the point whence the caravans diverge to the various parts of the lake district, is situated three miles from the mouth of the Coanza, and is one of the most important lakonis, or markets of the province. The open marketplace where the slaves are exposed for sale is called the chitoka. All the larger towns of Central Africa are divided into two distinct parts; one occupied by the Arab, Portuguese, or native merchants, and containing their slave-barracks; the other being the residence of the negro king, often a fierce drunken potentate, whose rule is a reign of terror, and who lives by subsidies allowed him by the traders. The commercial quarter of Kazonndé now belonged to José Antonio Alvez. It was his largest dépôt, although he had another at Bihé, and a third at Cassangé, where Cameron subsequently met him. It consisted of one long street, on each side of which were groups of flat-roofed houses called tembés, built of rough earth, and provided with square yards for cattle. The end of it opened into the chitoka, which was surrounded by the barracks. Above the houses some fine banyan-trees waved their branches, surmounted here and there by the crests of graceful palms. There was at least a score of birds of prey that hovered about the streets, and came down to perform the office of public scavengers. At no great distance flowed the Loohi, a river not yet explored, but which is supposed to be an affluent or sub-affluent of the Congo. Adjoining the commercial quarter was the royal residence, nothing more nor less than a collection of dirty huts, extending over an area of nearly a square mile. Some of these huts were unenclosed; others were surrounded by a palisade of reeds, or by a hedge of bushy figs. In an enclosure within a papyrus fence were about thirty huts appropriated to the king’s slaves, another group for his wives, and in the middle, almost hidden by a plantation of manioc, a tembé larger and loftier than the rest, the abode of the monarch himself. He had sorely declined from the dignity and importance of his predecessors, and his army, which by the early Portuguese traders had been estimated at 20,000, now numbered less than 4000 men; no longer could he afford, as in the good old time, to order a sacrifice of twenty-five or thirty slaves at one offering. His name was Moené Loonga. Little over fifty, he was prematurely aged by drink and debauchery, and scarcely better than a maniac. His subjects, officers, and ministers, were all liable to be mutilated at his pleasure, and noses and ears, feet and hands, were cut off unsparingly whenever his caprice so willed it. His death would have been a cause of regret to no one, with the exception, perhaps, of Alvez, who was on very good terms with him. Alvez, moreover, feared that in the event of the present king’s death, the succession of his chief wife, Queen Moena, might be disputed, and that his dominions would be invaded by a younger and more active neighbour, one of the kings of Ukusu, who had already seized upon some villages dependent on the government of Kazonndé, and who was in alliance with a rival trader named Tipo-Tipo, a man of pure Arab extraction, from whom Cameron afterwards received a visit at Nyangwé. To all intents and purposes Alvez was the real sovereign of the district, having fostered the vices of the brutalized king till he had him completely in his power. He was a man considerably advanced in years; he was not (as his name might imply) a white man, but had merely assumed his Portuguese title for purposes of business; his true name was Kendélé, and he was a pure negro by birth, being a native of Dondo on the Coanza. He had commenced life as a slave-dealer’s agent, and was now on his way towards becoming a first-class trader; that is to say, he was a consummate rascal under the guise of an honest man. He it was whom Cameron met at the end of 1874 at Kilemba, the capital of Urua, of which Kasongo is chief, and with whose caravan he travelled to Bihé, a distance of seven hundred miles. It was midday when the caravan entered Kazonndé. The journey from the Coanza had lasted thirty-eight days, more than five weeks of misery as great as was within human power to endure. Amidst the noise of drums and coodoo-horns the slaves were conducted to the marketplace. The soldiers of the caravan discharged their guns into the air, and old Alvez’ resident retinue responded with a similar salute. The bandits, than which the soldiers were nothing better, were delighted to meet again, and would celebrate their return by a season of riot and excess. The slaves, reduced to a total of about two hundred and fifty, were many of them almost dead from exhaustion; the forks were removed from their necks, though the chains were still retained, and the whole of them were driven into barracks that were unfit even for cattle, to await (in company with 1200 to 1500 other captives already there) the great market which would be held two days hence. The pagazis, after delivering their loads of ivory, would only stay to receive their payment of a few yards of calico or other stuff, and would then depart at once to join some other caravan. On being relieved from the forks which they had carried for so many weary days, Tom and his companions heartily wrung each other’s hands, but they could not venture to utter one word of mutual encouragement. The three younger men, more full of life and vigour, had resisted the effects of the fatigue, but poor old Tom was nearly exhausted, and had the march been protracted for a few more days he must have shared Nan’s fate and been left behind, a prey to the wild beasts. Upon their arrival all four were packed into a narrow cell, where some food was provided, and the door was immediately locked upon them. The chitoka was now almost deserted, and Dick Sands was left there under the special charge of a havildar: he lost no opportunity of peering into every hut in the hope of catching a glimpse of Mrs. Weldon, who, if Hercules had not misinformed him, had come on hither just in front. But he was very much perplexed. He could well understand that Mrs. Weldon, if still a prisoner, would be kept out of sight, but why Negoro and Harris did not appear to triumph over him in his humiliation was quite a mystery to him. It was likely enough that the presence of either one or the other of them would be the signal for himself to be exposed to fresh indignity, or even to torture, but Dick would have welcomed the sight of them at Kazonndé, were it only as an indication that Mrs. Weldon and Jack were there also. It disappointed him, too, that Dingo did not come back. Ever since the dog had brought him the first note, he had kept an answer written ready to send to Hercules, imploring him to look after Mrs. Weldon, and to keep him informed of everything. He began to fear that the faithful creature must be dead, perhaps perished in some attempt to reach himself; it was, however, quite possible that Hercules had taken the dog in some other direction, hoping to gain somedépôt in the interior. But so thoroughly had Dick persuaded himself that Mrs. Weldon had preceded him to Kazonndé that his disappointment became more and more keen when he failed to discover her. For a while he seemed to yield to despair, and sat down sorrowful and sick at heart. Suddenly a chorus of voices and trumpets broke upon his ear; he was startled into taking a new interest in what was going on. “Alvez! Alvez!” was the cry again and again repeated by the crowd. Here, then, was the great man himself about to appear. Was it not likely that Harris or Negoro might be with him? Dick stood erect and resolute, his eye vivid with expectation; he felt all eagerness to stand face to face with his betrayers; boy as he was, he was equal to cope with them both. The kitanda, which came in sight at the end of the street, was nothing more than a kind of hammock covered by a faded and ragged curtain. An old negro stepped out of it. His attendants greeted him with noisy acclamations. This, then, was the great trader, José Antonio Alvez. Immediately following him was his friend Coïmbra, son of the chief Coïmbra of Bihé, and, according to Cameron, the greatest blackguard in the province. This sworn ally of Alvez, this organizer of his slave-raids, this commander, worthy of his own horde of bandits, was utterly loathsome in his appearance, his flesh was filthily dirty, his eyes were bloodshot, his skin yellow, and his long hair all dishevelled. He had no other attire than a tattered shirt, a tunic made of grass, and a battered straw hat, under which his countenance appeared like that of some old hag. Alvez himself, whose clothes were like those of an old Turk the day after a carnival, was one degree more respectable in appearance than his satellite, not that his looks spoke much for the very highest class of African slave-dealers. To Dick’s great disappointment, neither Harris nor Negoro was among his retinue. Both Alvez and Coïmbra shook hands with Ibn Hamish, the leader of the caravan, and congratulated him on the success of the expedition. Alvez made a grimace on being told that half the slaves had died on the way, but on the whole he seemed satisfied; he could meet the demand that at present existed, and would lose no time in bartering the new arrival for ivory or hannas, copper in the shape of a St. Andrew’s cross, the form in which the metal is exported in Central Africa. After complimenting the havildars upon the way in which they had done their work, the trader gave orders that the porters should be paid and dismissed. The conversations were carried on in a mixture of Portuguese and native idioms, in which the African element abounded so largely that a native of Lisbon would have been at a loss to understand them. Dick, of course, could not comprehend what was said, and it was only when he saw a havildar go towards the cell in which Tom and the others were confined, that he realized that the talk was about himself and his party. When the negroes were brought out, Dick came close up, being anxious to learn as much as he could of what was in contemplation. The old trader’s eyes seemed to brighten as he glanced upon the three strapping young men who, he knew, would soon be restored to their full strength by rest and proper food. They at least would get a good price; as for poor old Tom, he was manifestly so broken down by infirmity and age, that he would have no value in the market. In a few words of broken English, which Alvez had picked up from some of his agents, he ironically gave them all a welcome. “Glad to see you!” he said, with a diabolical grin. Tom knew what he meant, and drew himself up proudly. “We are free men!” he protested, “free citizens of the United States!” “Yes, yes!” replied Alvez, grinning, “you are Americans; very glad to see you!” “Very glad to see you!” echoed Coïmbra, and walking up to Austin he felt his chest and shoulders, and then proceeded to open his mouth in order to examine his teeth. A blow from Austin’s powerful fist sent the satellite staggering backwards. Some soldiers made a dash and seized the young negro, evidently ready to make him pay dearly for his temerity; but Alvez was by no means willing to have any injury done to his newly-acquired property, and called them off. He hardly attempted to conceal his amusement at Coïmbra’s discomfiture, although the blow had cost him one of his front teeth. After he had recovered somewhat from the shock, Coïmbra stood scowling at Austin, as if mentally vowing vengeance on some future occasion. Dick Sands was now himself brought forward in the custody of a havildar. It was clear that Alvez had been told all about him, for after scanning him for a moment, he stammered out in his broken English,— “Ah! ah! the little Yankee!” “Yes,” replied Dick; “I see you know who I am. What are you going to do with me and my friends?” “Yankee! little Yankee!” repeated the trader, who either did not or would not comprehend the meaning of Dick’s question. Dick turned to Coïmbra and made the same inquiry of him; in spite of his degraded features, now still farther disfigured by being swollen from the blow, it was easy to recognize that he was not of native origin. He refused to answer a word, and only stared again with the vicious glare of malevolence. Meanwhile, Alvez had begun to talk to Ibn Hamish. Dick felt sure that they intended to separate him from the negroes, and accordingly took the opportunity of whispering a few words to them. “My friends, I have heard from Hercules. Dingo brought me a note from him, tied round his neck. He says Harris and Negoro have carried off Mrs. Weldon, Jack, and Mr. Benedict. He did not know where. Have patience, and we will find them yet.” “And where’s Nan?” muttered Tom, in a low voice. “Dead,” replied Dick, and was about to add more, when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice that he knew too well exclaimed,— “Well, my young friend, how are you? I am glad to see you again.” He turned round quickly. Harris stood before him. “Where is Mrs. Weldon?” asked Dick impetuously. “Ah, poor thing!” answered Harris, with an air of deep commiseration. “What! is she dead?” Dick almost shrieked; “where is her child?” “Poor little fellow!” said Harris, in the same mournful tone. These insinuations, that those in whose welfare he was so deeply interested had succumbed to the hardships of the journey, awoke in Dick’s mind a sudden and irresistible desire for vengeance. Darting forwards he seized the cutlass that Harris wore in his belt, and plunged it into his heart. With a yell and a curse, the American fell dead at his feet. _ |
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