Part 35 (1/2)
”Dead, too--some ob ums. Ve got at um in de night. Shotted Marizano all to hatoms. Shotted mos' ob um follerers too. De res' all scatter like leaves in de wind. Me giv' up now,” added Zombo, handing his musket to Harold. ”Boys! orrer ums! mees Capitin not no more. Now, Capitin Harol', yoos once more look afer us, an' take care ob all ums peepil.”
Having thus demitted his charge, the faithful Zombo stepped back and left our hero in the unenviable position of a half broken-down man with the responsibility of conducting an expedition, and disposing of a large gang of slaves in some unknown part of equatorial Africa!
Leaving him there, we will proceed at once to the coast and follow, for a time, the fortunes of that archvillain, Yoosoof.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
DESCRIBES ”BLACK IVORY” AT SEA.
Having started for the coast with a large gang of slaves a short time before Marizano, as we have already said, and having left the Englishmen to the care of the half-caste, chiefly because he did not desire their company, although he had no objection to the ransom, Yoosoof proceeded over the same track which we have already described in part, leaving a b.l.o.o.d.y trail behind him.
It is a fearful track, of about 500 miles in length, that which lies between the head of Lake Nya.s.sa and the sea-coast at Kilwa. We have no intention of dragging the reader over it to witness the cruelties and murders that were perpetrated by the slavers, or the agonies endured by the slaves. Livingstone speaks of it as a land of death, of desolation, and dead men's bones. And no wonder, for it is one of the main arteries through which the blood of Africa flows, like the water of natural rivers, to the sea. The slave-gangs are perpetually pa.s.sing eastward through it--perpetually dropping four-fifths of their numbers on it as they go. Dr Livingstone estimates that, in some cases, not more than _one-tenth_ of the slaves captured reach the sea-coast alive. It is therefore rather under than over-stating the case to say that out of every hundred starting from the interior, _eighty_ perish on the road.
Yoosoof left with several thousands of strong and healthy men, women, and children--most of them being children--he arrived at Kilwa with only eight hundred. The rest had sunk by the way, either from exhaustion or cruel treatment, or both. The loss was great; but as regards the trader it could not be called severe, because the whole gang of slaves cost him little--some of them even nothing!--and the remaining eight hundred would fetch a good price. They were miserably thin, indeed, and exhibited on their poor, worn, and travel-stained bodies the evidence of many a cruel castigation; but Yoosoof knew that a little rest and good feeding at Kilwa would restore them to some degree of marketable value, and at Zanzibar he was pretty sure of obtaining, in round numbers, about 10 pounds a head for them, while in the Arabian and Persian ports he could obtain much more, if he chose to pa.s.s beyond the treaty-protected water at Lamoo, and run the risk of being captured by British cruisers.
It is ”piracy” to carry slaves north of Lamoo. South of that point for hundreds of miles, robbery, rapine, murder, cruelty, such as devils could not excel if they were to try, is a ”domestic inst.i.tution” with which Britons are pledged not to interfere!
Since the above was written Sir Bartle Frere has returned from his mission, and we are told that a treaty has been signed by the Sultan of Zanzibar putting an end to this domestic slavery. We have not yet seen the terms of this treaty, and must go to press before it appears. We have reason to rejoice and be thankful, however, that such an advantage has been gained. But let not the reader imagine that this settles the question of East African slavery. Portugal still holds to the ”domestic inst.i.tution” in her colonies, and has decreed that it shall not expire till the year 1878. Decreed, in fact, that the horrors which we have attempted to depict shall continue for five years longer! And let it be noted, that the export slave-trade cannot be stopped as long as domestic slavery is permitted. Besides this, there is a continual drain of human beings from Africa through Egypt. Sir Samuel Baker's mission is a blow aimed at that; but nothing, that we know of, is being done in regard to Portuguese wickedness. If the people of this country could only realise the frightful state of things that exists in the African Portuguese territory, and knew how many thousand bodies shall be racked with torture, and souls be launched into eternity during these five years, they would indignantly insist that Portugal should be _compelled_ to stop it _at once_. If it is righteous to constrain the Sultan of Zanzibar, is it not equally so to compel the King of Portugal?
The arch robber and murderer, Yoosoof--smooth and oily of face, tongue, and manner though he was--possessed a bold spirit and a grasping heart.
The domestic inst.i.tution did not suit him. Rather than sneak along his villainous course under its protecting ”pa.s.s,” he resolved to bid defiance to laws, treaties, and men-of-war to boot--as many hundreds of his compeers have done and do--and make a bold dash to the north with his eight hundred specimens of Black Ivory.
Accordingly, full of his purpose, one afternoon he sauntered up to the barrac.o.o.ns in which his ”cattle” were being rested and fed-up.
Moosa, his chief driver, was busy among them with the lash, for, like other cattle, they had a tendency to rebel, at least a few of them had; the most of them were by that time reduced to the callous condition which had struck Harold and Disco so much on the occasion of their visits to the slave-market of Zanzibar.
Moosa was engaged, when Yoosoof entered, in whipping most unmercifully a small boy whose piercing shrieks had no influence whatever on his tormentor. Close beside them a large strong-boned man lay stretched on the ground. He had just been felled with a heavy stick by Moosa for interfering. He had raised himself on one elbow, while with his right hand he wiped away the blood that oozed from the wound in his head, and appeared to struggle to recover himself from the stunning blow.
”What has he been doing?” asked Yoosoof carelessly, in Portuguese.
”Oh, the old story, rebelling,” said Moosa, savagely hurling the boy into the midst of a group of cowering children, amongst whom he instantly shrank as much as possible out of sight. ”That brute,”
pointing to the prostrate man, ”was a chief, it appears, in his own country, and has not yet got all the spirit lashed out of him. But it can't last much longer; either the spirit or the life must go. He has carried that little whelp the last part of the way on his back, and now objects to part with him,--got fond of him, I fancy. If you had taken my advice you would have cast them both to the hyenas long ago.”
”You are a bad judge of human flesh, Moosa,” said Yoosoof, quietly; ”more than once you have allowed your pa.s.sion to rob me of a valuable piece of goods. This man will fetch a good price in Persia, and so will his son. I know that the child is his son, though the fool thinks no one knows that but himself, and rather prides himself on the clever way in which he has continued to keep his whelp beside him on the journey down. Bah! what can one expect from such cattle? Don't separate them, Moosa. They will thrive better together. If we only get them to market in good condition, then we can sell them in separate lots without risking loss of value from pining.”
In a somewhat sulky tone, for he was not pleased to be found fault with by his chief, the slave-driver ordered out the boy, who was little more than five years old, though the careworn expression of his thin face seemed to indicate a much more advanced age.
Trembling with alarm, for he expected a repet.i.tion of the punishment, yet not daring to disobey, the child came slowly out from the midst of his hapless companions, and advanced. The man who had partly recovered rose to a sitting position, and regarded Moosa and the Arab with a look of hatred so intense that it is quite certain he would have sprung at them, if the heavy slave-stick had not rendered such an act impossible.
”Go, you little whelp,” said Moosa, pointing to the fallen chief, and at the same time giving the child a cut with the whip.
With a cry of mingled pain and delight poor Obo, for it was he, rushed into his father's open arms, and laid his sobbing head on his breast.
He could not nestle into his neck as, in the days of old, he had been wont to do,--the rough goree effectually prevented that.
Kambira bent his head over the child and remained perfectly still. He did not dare to move, lest any action, however inoffensive, might induce Moosa to change his mind and separate them again.
Poor Kambira! How different from the hearty, bold, kindly chief to whom we introduced the reader in his own wilderness home! His colossal frame was now gaunt in the extreme, and so thin that every rib stood out as though it would burst the skin, and every joint seemed hideously large, while from head to foot his skin was crossed and recrossed with terrible weals, and scarred with open sores, telling of the horrible cruelties to which he had been subjected in the vain attempt to tame his untameable spirit. There can be no question that, if he had been left to the tender mercies of such Portuguese half-caste scoundrels as Moosa or Marizano, he would have been brained with an axe or whipped to death long ago. But Yoosoof was more cool and calculating in his cruelty; he had more respect for his pocket than for the gratification of his angry feelings. Therefore Kambira had reached the coast alive.