HARTLY'S STORY.
"When night fell, I came out of the lonely forest to gaze upon the
moonlit sea--not that the forest was very _lonely_, after all, as
there seemed to be at least fifty thousand baboons, monkeys, and
squirrels, which jabbered and leaped as if they had all gone mad, the
whole night, from tree to tree, and more than once the roar of a lion
came hollowly from a distance, under the lower branches of the pines.
"I sat upon a piece of detached rock, and, to seek for food, dropped
my fishing-line into the water. There I soon caught a fish, on which
I breakfasted next day, after spreading it, split open, on the rocks,
where it was half cooked by the burning sun. As for salt, there was
plenty of that to be found among the crevices, where the heat had
burned up the spray of the sea.
"For three nights I fished there with success and safety. On the
third, I found at my line a fish of strange aspect, and, sailor-like,
had some doubts about breakfasting on it, but hunger soon ends all
niceties. When morning came, I sought a secluded part of the wood,
and thought of lighting a little fire by rubbing dried branches
together that I might broil my fish.
"Now, unless I could produce ocular proof of what I am about to say,
you would laugh at me for telling you a forecastle yarn, but the
proof shall not be wanting.
"While opening and cleaning the fish at a spring, previous to
broiling it (an almost epicurean process to me), I found in its
entrails--what? MY RING--the ring given me by old Mother
Jensdochter, in Iceland, and which, as you remember, I lost a few
days after we left Sermersoak, when lending a hand to haul the
main-tack on board the _Leda_."
"Your ring!" I exclaimed; "this is like a bit of a fairy tale."
"My ring," he continued; "and here it is, hid among my hair to
conceal it from these greedy negroes, who would at once deprive me of
it, and keep it as an ornament or amulet."
"This is most singular!"
"Singular indeed, but on beholding it a new glow of hope filled my
breast. I resolved to persevere in my efforts to escape, and so
became too bold, for, venturing upon the open beach next day, I was
seen by some savages belonging to the King of Biafra, who pursued and
soon made me their prisoner. The rest of my story is nearly the same
as your own, as my captors were with a caravan on their way to Benin,
to attend the funeral of King Zabadie.
"I was severely treated by them. Under a burning and vertical sun,
they employed me constantly in loading and unloading their
dromedaries, or in pulling up esculent roots for them, and this was a
serious task even to a hard-handed sailor, as these roots lay among
thorny leaves and serrated grass, the blades of which were like
newly-sharpened saws.
"In the desert, the sand was so hot that it baked or roasted the eggs
I stole or found at times, and was fain to eat in secret. When my
work was over, I was always malevolently treated by the women, and
more especially by those little black imps, the children of the
caravan. Their chief occupation was spitting at me, reviling and
pelting me with stones, bones, rotten gourds, and every missile that
came to hand.
"The women had a particular animosity to my beard, and the men
hereabouts, like other darkies, not being troubled with much of that
commodity, joined them in the general desire for having it uprooted,
but I contrived to weather them by singeing it off.
"Every way I endured great misery. I was not even permitted to drink
of spring water, save from a calabash, which some of their dogs had
used; and to tell the truth, I preferred to drink after the poor
doggies rather than after their beastly masters.
"Well, it would seem that His High Mightiness, the King of Biafra, is
a vassal of that more illustrious nigger the King of Benin; so, five
days ago, I was sent here, with many other miserable wretches, to
be--to be----"
"What?"
"Immolated on the grave of the late king, or buried within it."
"Is such the custom?" I asked, with indescribable dismay.
"Benin borders on the kingdom of Dahomey, and all the world knows how
the people there celebrate the obsequies of their kings."
"How?"
"Frequently by the massacre of thousands."
"Hartly! Hartly--we seem to go from bad to worse!"
"I have been in the Pongo Isles, along the coast of Guinea, and in
the Bight of Benin before, and know all about the fiendish ways of
their inhabitants. Jack, did you observe a great hole in the
courtyard without?"
"Yes; and I can hear the shovels of the workers among the earth even
now."
"When a king dies here, his body is laid in a kind of great hall,
which, like that at Dahomey, has a ceiling ornamented by the jawbones
of his enemies. There the very sleeping chambers of royalty are
paved with human skulls, and have cornices entirely composed of them!
Zabadie, the King of Benin, is just dead, and his son proposes to
inter him with unusual splendour."
"In that hole?"
"Yes."
"But what is all this to us?"
"Oh," groaned Hartly, "do you not understand--have I not told you?
When a king dies here, a great grave is dug somewhere near the
palace, and it must be hollowed so deep, that the diggers are drowned
by the water which bursts in upon them, and there they lie, after
concluding their work. In this great hole the fiadoors place the
royal corpse, dressed in all its barbaric finery, with a lance,
sword, bow and arrows. With the dead king are placed all his
favourites and servants, who are supposed to follow him to the other
world, and serve him there; and so proud are they of this
distinction, that it occasions the most violent disputes as to who
shall have the honour of entombment, so blind and idolatrous is the
veneration of these creatures for their dingy monarchs. When the
last man has descended into the hole, an immense stone is placed over
it; this is removed a few days after, and one of the great fiadoors
inquires what are the tidings from beneath, adding,--
"'Who has gone to serve the king?'
"Then the poor wretches who are expiring below reply according to
circumstances.
"Day after day the stone is removed, and the same questions are
asked, until all in that horrid pit have 'gone to serve the king,'
and are dead of starvation and the noxious miasma of the vault. When
no voice responds to the inquiry of the fiadoor, the great stone is
securely built over, a mighty fire is made upon it, a great festival
is held, and the flesh of an elephant is roasted and given to the
multitude."
"And we--we----"
"Are to be placed there among the slaves of the dead Zabadie."
I remained silent, oppressed by the horror of what was before us; but
Hartly spoke again:--
"When a year has passed and gone, these wretches, in honour of their
dead king and his dead followers, make a dreadful sacrifice of men
and animals, till about five hundred are destroyed. Most of the
human victims are malefactors, or slaves taken in war. If enough of
either are not to be had, the king sends his female guards into the
streets at night to decoy and seize men till the number is made up."
This was a cheerful account of the state of society in the realm of
Benin, and it afforded ample food for thrilling reflection and
fruitless surmises.