WE ENTER WHYDAH IN STATE.
The necessity of sending on a messenger to the King, who was preparing
for his own Customs, and for my reception at Kana, detained H.M.S.
Antelope till December 8th, when a special invitation returned to
Whydah.
For some days the weather had been too dark to permit a fair view of a
country so much extolled by old travellers, and which Captain Thomas
Phillips[20] has described as the “pleasantest land in Guinea.” But even
under the clearest sky, with the present deadening influences, when the
hand of the destroyer has passed over its towns and villages and fields,
the traveller must not expect to find, like his brotherhood of the last
and even the present century, the “champaigns and small ascending hills
beautified with always green shady groves of lime, wild orange, and
other trees, and irrigated with divers broad fresh rivers.” And of the
multitude of little villages that belonged to Whydah in the days of her
independence, it may be said that their ruins have perished.[21]
We landed as ceremoniously as I had embarked. The Commodore had dwelt
long enough in Africa and amongst the Africans, properly to appreciate
the efficacy of “apparatus” in the case of the first Government mission.
Commander Ruxton, R.N., whose gun-vessel, the Pandora, still remained in
the roads when H.M.S. Antelope, after firing her salute, departed,
kindly accompanied us. After a rough and stormy night we landed, at 10
A.M., in a fine surf-boat belonging to Mr. Dawson, of Cape Coast Castle,
ex-missionary and actual merchant at Whydah; its strong knees and the
rising cusps of the stem and stern acting as weather-boards, are
required in these heavy seas that dash upon the ill-famed Slave-coast.
We remarked a little external bar, separated by a deep longitudinal
line, the home of sharks, from the steep sandy beach; it must act as a
breakwater when the surf is not over-heavy. We landed amid song and
shout, in the usual way; shunning great waves, we watched a “smooth,”
paddled in violently upon the back of some curling breaker, till the
boat’s nose was thrown high and dry upon the beach; were snatched out by
men, so as not to be washed back by the receding water, and gained
_terra firma_ without suspicion of a wetting. Such, however, was not the
case with our boxes; indeed baggage rarely has such luck. On the beach
we were met by the Rev. Peter W. Bernasko, native teacher, and Principal
of the Wesleyan Mission, Whydah, and taking refuge from the sun in a
hut-shed belonging to Mr. Dawson, the party waited half an hour, till
all had formed in marching order.
The Hu-ta,[22] _praya_, or sea-beach of the “Liverpool of Dahome,” is a
sand-bank rising some 20 feet above sea level, and bright with the usual
salsolaceous plants. There are no dwelling-houses, nor do the white
merchants of the upper town often sleep here. Seven several
establishments of mat roofs and mud walls (the French being incomparably
the best), serve for storing cargo, and for transacting business during
the day. There are usually three to four ships rolling in the roads, and
the more sanguine declare that the great slave port might, if she
pleased, export 10,000 tons of palm oil (£340,000) per annum.
The Whydah escort of twenty men having duly saluted us with muskets,
began the march towards their town, shouting and firing, singing and
dancing. Our party was headed by a Kruman from Commander Ruxton’s ship,
carrying the white and red-crossed flag of St. George, attached to a
boarding pike; followed five hammocks with an interpreter, and my crew
of six Krumen, armed, and brilliantly clad in “bargees’” red nightcaps,
and variegated pocket-handkerchiefs, scanty as the old _caleçon_ at once
happy Biarritz. We were exhorted to take and to keep patience, the task
before us being a foretaste of what would sorely try us at the capital.
A few yards of loose sand led out of the factory site to the Lagoon, a
river-like but semi-stagnant stream, dotted with little green aits,
running parallel with and close to the shore. Its breadth was 300 yards,
and it wetted the hips, being deeper in December of the “dries,” than I
had seen it in June. For this reason some have suspected that it comes
from the far North, where the rains which have now ended on the coast
are still heavy. It is a boon to the people, who, finding all their
wants in its quiet waters, are not driven to tempt the ravenous sharks
and the boisterous seas outside. The Lagoon fish is excellent; there is
a trout-like species with a very delicate flavour, and here, as on the
Gold Coast, many prefer the lighter lenten diet to meat. Its oysters are
good enough when cooked; before being eaten raw, their insipidity should
be corrected by keeping for some time in salt water,[23] and by feeding
with oatmeal. We saw piles of shells large enough for a thousand
“grottos,” and were told that this is the only lime and whitewash in the
land.
From the Lagoon we issued upon the De-nun,[24] or custom-house, also
called Je-sin-nun,—“Salt water side.” The dirty clump of ragged mat-huts
stands on a little sandy oasis, garnished with full and empty barrels,
with whole and broken canoes and fishing nets, with porters at work, and
with a few women sitting for sale before their little heaps of eatables,
in fact, with all the paraphernalia of an African fishing village,
including noise and “Billingsgate.”
The two direct miles of swamp and sand between the De-nun and the town
is a facsimile in miniature of the fifty miles between Whydah and
Agbome. It is a “duver,”—a false coast: not a pebble the size of a pea
is to be found, which fact suffices to prove the land to be the gift of
the sea, not a sweep from the northern rocky mountains by rivers, rain,
or gradual degradation. As in lower Yoruba generally, the sandy soil
would be very unproductive but for the violent rains. The surface is a
succession of “small downes,” dorses and gentle ridges running parallel
with the shore from East to West, not unlike the wrinkles or landwaves
behind S. Paul de Loanda. Each rise is bounded north and south by low
ground, almost on the Lagoon’s level, with deep water during the rains,
rarely quite dry, and at all times a fetid and malarious formation.
These features in the upper country are often of considerable size, and
three of them, as will be seen, were the natural frontiers of
independent principalities. After the last water, a steady but almost
imperceptible rise, like that from Kana to Agbome, leads to the town of
Whydah. The road is detestable, and absolutely requires hammock men; the
slave-dealers have persuaded the authorities that whilst it is in this
state, their town will be less liable to unfriendly visits.
Passing up a _marigot_, or branch channel, worn down by porters’ feet to
a deep wet ditch, we soon reached the half-way place, a second sandy
oasis, the site of the village of Zumgboji.[25] It is a poor place—an
enlarged edition of the De-nun—containing a few thatched mat-huts, with
“compounds,” or bartons, of the same material, and outlying fields of
grain and vegetables, where Fetish cords acted hedges. We all descended
from our hammocks, despite the heat, to greet the head Fetishman, a
dignitary fat and cosy as ever was the _frate_ or the parson of the good
old times. He stood with dignity under a white “Kwe-ho,” the tent-
umbrella, which here marks the caboceer; it was somewhat tattered,
because these spiritual men care not to make a show of splendour. He
snapped fingers with us, after “Country custom,” palm never being
applied to palm except by the Europeanised; as throughout Yoruba the
thumb and mid-index are sharply withdrawn on both sides after the mutual
clasp, and this is repeated twice to four times, the former being the
general number. After the greeting, he sat down upon what is called a
Gold-Coast stool, cut out of a single block of wood,[26] whilst two
young if not pretty wives handed to us drinking water in small wine-
glasses. This appears to be a thorough Dahoman peculiarity, which
extends even to the Court. When pure[27] the element is considered a
luxury, it serves to prepare the mouth for something more genial, and it
is a sign that treachery is not intended. We were then regaled with
rum—Brazilian Caxaça—too sour even for Ruxton’s Kruman, who regarded the
proceedings of the day with the _goguenard_ air of a Parisian
_diminutif_ at a rustic _Maire’s_ ball. Three toasts are demanded by
ceremony, and they must be drunk standing. You bow, you _choquez_ the
glasses in continental style, and you exclaim, “_Sin diyye!_”—“This is
water!”—when it is not—and your compotator responds “_Sin ko_[28]”—“(May
the) Water (cool your) throat!” In former days the spirits used to be
poured from one glass into all the others, showing that they did not
contain poison. The custom is now obsolete. Happily it is unnecessary to
swallow all the trade stuff to which hospitality is here reduced; you
touch it with the lips, and hand it to a neighbour, who is certain to
leave no heel-taps. If he be a common fellow, and you wish to be
peculiarly countrified, you sign to him to kneel: he opens his gape like
a fledgling to its parent, without touching the cup or glass, and you
toss the contents into his mouth, taking care that half of it should
deluge his beard, if he has any.[29]
After again snapping fingers, which, barbarous as it is, I infinitely
prefer, near the Line, to hand-shaking, we remounted hammocks, and
crossed the 400 yards of Zumgboji’s sandy islet. At the further end we
again alighted to receive the compliments of the village
captain[30]—here all are captains—a thin, and almost black old man, the
type of a Dahoman Caboceer. He presented us with kola nut (_Sterculia
acuminata_) and Malaguetta pepper (_Amomum granum paradisi_), which
eaten together greatly resemble the _Pan supari_ or areca nut and betel
leaf of the East Indians.[31] After a few minutes we were once more
allowed to advance. Another brownish-yellow water, with a black miry
sole which called loudly for quinine, formed the path: then we issued
upon a hot open sandy and grass-cleared road, fifteen feet broad, and
leading with gradual up-slope to the town. In the middle of it is a
dwarf ficus, called the “Captain’s Tree,” because here the first
reception ceremony of merchant skippers has been from days of old, and
is still performed. The place around is named Agonji—the “Gonnegee” of
the History—where enemies have so often encamped when attacking Whydah.
Under the friendly shade we saw a table spread with a bit of white
calico cloth, and around it the Mission boys had ranged chairs. Whilst
expecting the town caboceers we had an opportunity of glancing at Whydah
land.
The country now wears an unwholesome aspect, and the smell reminds me of
the Campagna di Roma, threatening fever and dysentery. The tall grass is
not yet ripe for burning; in two months it will disappear, rendering an
ambuscade impossible, and allowing a pretty view of Whydah. Not a tenth
of the land is cultivated; the fallow system is universal, and when a
man wants fresh ground he merely brings a little dash to the caboceer.
The cultivators will begin in February to fire the stubbles, and the
women will turn up the earth with hoes, and let the charred stalks and
roots decay into manure. The seed is sown by two sowers; one precedes,
and drills the ground with a bushman’s stick or a hoe handle; the second
puts in the grain and covers it with the heel, an operation left to a
third person if there be more than two. The seeds are not mixed. From
three to four grains of maize, six to ten of Guinea corn, and two of
beans, are deposited, against risk of loss, in the same hole. The first
harvest takes place in September. The people will then at once burn,
hoe, and sow again, getting in the second crop about December. In the
interior the winter yield often does not ripen till January or February,
and if the light showers of the season are deficient, it is burned by
the sun. The produce, though not counted, is said to be a hundredfold.
This should satisfy the agriculturist, however covetous. Truly it is
said that whilst the poor man in the North is the son of a pauper, the
poor man in the Tropics is the son of a prince.
We were not kept waiting long; at that time no great men lingered in
Whydah. As usual the junior ranks preceded. Each party, distinct like
our regiment, advanced under its own flag, closely followed by its band,
composed of four kinds of instruments, which can hardly be called
musical. The rattle is a bottle-shaped gourd covered with a netting of
fine twine, to which are attached snake’s vertebræ; it is held in the
right, with the neck downwards, and tapped against a thin strip of wood
in the other hand. There are also decanter-shaped rattles of woven
fibre, containing cowries, but these are not common. The drums are of
many varieties, and all of unequal sizes, to vary the sounds: that which
takes the lead is the hollowed log, described by all travellers from
Jamaica to Zanzibar, and to African ears it is full of meaning as a
telegram. The horn is a small scrivello with a large oblong hole near
the point, so as to act as a speaking-trumpet, and pierced at the top,
where the left thumb, by opening or closing it, converts it into a two-
noted bugle. Mungo Park commends it for its resemblance to the human
voice; an older traveller describes it as “making a grating bellowing
noise, like a company of bulls or ass-negros.” The panigan,[32] or
African cymbal, as it is unaptly called, is generally a single unbrazed
tongueless bell, about a foot long, including the handle, which is
either of solid iron or brass, and sometimes silver knobbed, or of
pierced metal-work; a thin bit of bamboo, some ten to eleven inches
long, causes the tube to give out a small dead sound. It is the Chingufu
of the South Coast, and my ears still tingle with its infliction on the
lake Tanganyika. Sometimes this “gong-gong” is double, a shorter
appendage being lashed or soldered to the larger instrument at the
apices by an angle of 45°, or a pair of similar-sized bells are
connected by an arched iron bar. The player strikes first the long, then
the short, tube, thus—ting! tang! or in double sets, one, two! one, two!
This renders the sound different (similar to our public clocks in
England when striking the quarters), and two notes become evident. Nor
is the band complete without the voice accompaniment of fierce shouting
and singing which would almost drown the organ of Haarlem.
After each band came a shabby white umbrella,[33] of which there were
five, denoting the number of colonels or soldier chiefs. They were
distinguished by a superior dress; one man wore a dwarf pair of polished
silver horns fastened to a lanyard fillet, and projecting above the
organ of “Causality.[34]” They were followed each by a highlander’s
“tail,” and the total may have amounted to 250 men. The greater number
wore the uniform of the English or Blue Company, here called “Brú,”
indigo-dyed tunics or kilts extending to the knee and loosely closed
over the breast, and cotton caps or white fillets, with sprawling
crocodiles of azure hue sewn on to them, one on each side of the head.
No two costumes were quite alike; some had bark strips in their hair,
round their waists, and fastened to their billy-cock hats; others wore
felts and straws; whilst all had their Fetishes or charms—birds’ claws
and small wooden dolls smeared red as though with blood. The “Ffon
Chokoto,” the Egban Shokoto, and the East Indian Janghirs, _femoralia_,
or short drawers, hardly reaching to the knee, must, by imperial order,
be worn under the war tunic by all the soldiery, male and female;
sometimes long calico tights, in Moslem fashion, are seen. Their arms
are tolerable muskets, kept in very good order, but of course invariably
flint; useless horse pistols, short swords, and African battle-axes with
blades three fingers broad and the tangs set in the hafts. Their
ammunition was supposed to be contained in home-made cartridge-boxes of
European pattern or in bandoleers, which acted for waist-belts, and
comprised about a dozen wooden cylinders, like needle-cases, containing
at least four times the amount of powder that would be used by us.
The style of parade is one throughout the kingdom. Each several party
advanced at a _pas de charge_, bending low, and simulating an attack.
This is here, as in Uganda, and amongst sundry tribes of Kafirs proper,
an acknowledgment of greatness. Then the chief of each _peloton_ came
forward, snapped fingers with us as we sat on our chairs under the tree,
our guards ranged on the right, a mob of gazers—women scratching and
boys pulling—on the left, and an open space in front. This personal
greeting over, he at once returned to his men. Afterwards forming a rude
close column, the only known manœuvre, the several parties perambulated
us three times from right to left, and ended by halting in front.[35]
There, with a hideous outcry, hopeless to describe, captain and men,
with outstretched right arms, raised their sticks, bill-hooks, or
muskets to an angle of forty-five degrees, the muzzle in the air, like a
band of conspirators on the English stage. This is the normal salute,
the “present arms” of Dahome.
Right soon, fatigued with these serious manœuvres, our warriors fell to
singing and dancing, a passion amongst these people; all are _fanatici
per la musica_ here. Ruxton, fresh from Canada, could not help remarking
what a contrast a pow-wow of redskins would have presented. The chorus
had a queer ballet appearance, and a civilised composer might have
borrowed a motive or two from the recitative. It became even more
theatrical when the largest corps advanced, singing, and upholding in
their left hands leafy branches, palm boughs, and long grasses, which
were afterwards thrown upon and trampled to the ground. An _énergumène_,
with a horse-tail, the symbol of a professional singer or drummer, first
shrieked extempore praises of the king and of his guests, pointing the
compliment by shaking the forefinger, as is done to naughty boys in
England, and then the whole rout joined in the response. At times a
chief or a warrior would plunge into the ring and perform a _pas seul_.
The principal dances were two. The bravery dance consisted in grounding
the musket, sword, or tomahawk, to show that the foe had fallen. The
performer, whose face must be blackened with gunpowder, like a musical
and itinerant Ethiopian, then took a billhook with a broad blade ending
in almost a circle, and with the tang let into the wood, a weapon more
for show than for use; or he preferred a crooked stick, like a short-cut
_houlette_, or the third of an East Indian “latti,” garnished with rows
of square-headed nails, or strengthened with a ring-like twist of iron.
Thus armed, he went through the process of decapitation. It was
conventional rather than an imitation of reality: the left hand was held
with the edge upwards, and parallel to the body, moving in concert with
the weaponed right, which made a number of short drawing cuts, about two
feet from the ground, whilst the legs and feet performed _écarts_, which
are here indescribable.
The other was the regular Dahoman dance. It is a tremendous display of
agility, Terpsichore becoming more terrible than Mars. One month of such
performance would make the European look forward to a campaign as to a
time of rest. The jig and the hornpipe are repose compared with it. It
is grotesque as the Danse Chinoise, in which the French dancing-master
of one’s youth, of course an _ancien militaire_, used gravely to
superintend the upturning of thumbs and toes. The arms are held in the
position preferred by the professional runner, the hands paddle like a
swimming dog’s paws, the feet shuffle or stamp as if treading water, the
elbows are jerked so as nearly to meet behind the back with a wonderful
“_jeu des omoplates_,” and the trunk joins in the play, the posteriors
moving forwards and backwards to the pedal beat-time. The body is not,
as in Asia, divided, as it were into two, the upper half steady, and the
lower taking violent exercise. Here, there is a general agitation of the
frame, jerked in extreme movement to front and rear. As all these
several actions, varied by wonderful shakings, joltings, grimaces, and
contortions, must be performed rapidly, simultaneously, and in perfect
measure to the music, it is not only a violent, it is also a very
difficult performance, exceeding even the Hindu Nautch, or the Egyptian
Alimeh’s feats. As a calisthenic exercise, it is invaluable. The
children begin as soon as they can toddle. It is, perhaps, the most
amusing thing in Dahome to see them apeing their elders.[36]
The dancing was relieved at times by a little firing. Ammunition did not
seem to superabound, and I detected several warmen privily borrowing
from their neighbours, which showed that the defaulters had been making
away with government stores. The parade ended with the normal drinking,
after which we were allowed to remount and proceed.
A few yards from the “Captain’s tree” led us to the southern extremity
of the town. It is entered by a trivia; the path to the right leads to
the Portuguese fort, to the left is the French factory; whilst we
pursued our way straight in front, through the Ajudo Akhi-men, or Whydah
market. Crowds were collected to see the king’s “new strangers,” who
were bringing tribute to Dahome. The men bared their shoulders, doffing
their caps and large umbrella hats, whilst the women waved a welcome,
and cried “Oku,” to which we replied “Oku de ’u[37]” and “Atyan,” the
normal salutations of the country. Followed by an ever-increasing train,
we passed a long gaunt structure, called the Brazilian Fort. In the open
space before it, on civilised chairs, clad in white turbands, in loose
blue dresses, and in snowy chemisettes, allowed to expose at least half
the walnut-coloured back, and emitting, with the jauntiest air, volumes
of cigar smoke, sat a number of “yaller” ladies. Conspicuous amongst
them by her chevelure, which looked like a closely-fitting cap of
Astrachan wool, ceasing abruptly without diminishing towards the neck or
temples,[38] was the Bride of Whydah, the fair Sabina, of whom many have
had cause to sing,—
Nec fidum fœmina nomen
Ah, pereat! didicit fallere siqua virum.
Arrived at the English Fort, we dismounted at the place where the
drawbridge has been, and, accompanied by the military chiefs, we
repaired to a shady arbour in the middle of the enceinte, a normal
feature in the European habitations of Whydah. There we found a table
thickly covered with bottles of water, sherry, gin, rum, and other
chief-like delicacies. We drank with the visitors, as the custom is, to
the health of Her Majesty of England, to the King of Dahome, and to our
own “bonally.” Half stifled with heat and with human atmosphere, we were
allowed, by ceremony, to retire at three P.M., five mortal hours spent
in accomplishing the work of forty-five minutes! The reception concluded
with a salute. The chief fired in our honour forty muskets, powder-
crammed to half way up the barrel, and we gave them seventeen cannonades
in return. The style of loading great guns quite satisfied me why so
many eyes and hands are missing at Whydah. The Sikhs, under Runjit
Singh, used to astonish the weak mind of the British artillerist by the
rapidity of their fire, sponging being dispensed with, and the powder
baled into the muzzle from an open tumbril near the carriage. But
Asiatic recklessness is not to be compared with that of the negro.
The landing rites concluded on the next day. About noon the troops
marched up in loose column to the cleared space before the English Fort,
and were formed, with abundant pushing, objurgation and retort, into the
half of a square. They repeated the scene of yesterday: single braves
advancing crouched to the combat, making violent _improvisé_ speeches,
pointing forefingers, tossing heads, and spitting out their words, so
that a stranger would suppose he was being by them grossly insulted.
There was the usual decapitation, singing and dancing, chorus and
ballet; even the small boys sprang into the arena, displaying admirable
activity, and stamping with the grace and vigour of young bears.
The preliminary concluded, all flocked into the compound, and the
civilian chiefs crowded the large room. The old Ka-wo,[39] whose
jurisdiction extends to the Ahwan-gan or war captains of all the
maritime regions, preferred, after salutation, to sit on his stool of
state, in a white night-cap, under an umbrella in the court-yard. The
Viceroy and the Chacha, or commercial chief, being absent at the
capital, their places were occupied by three dignitaries. The first
mandarin was the Ainadu,[40] acting-viceroy for Gelele, the present
king, a short, dark, pock-marked man, with very little clothing. The
second magistrate, who, if white-washed, might pass muster for a very
ugly European,[41] was Nyan-kpe (the Lesser), who represented the
acting-viceroy for Gezo, the last king. I must observe here, without
entering into details, that Dahoman officials, male and female, high and
low, are always in pairs,—a system, methinks, which might be adopted by
more civilized nations settled in Western Africa. Duplicates are
required by climate, and whilst the invalid is at home on sick leave the
convalescent might act for him. Here, however, the objects of the double
tenure are twofold; the new king does not wish hastily to degrade his
father’s old and unfaithful servants; knowing their misdeeds, he
neutralises their influence by appointing as their aids younger men, of
higher rank in the empire, and he ousts them when he reasonably can.
Meanwhile, he supposes the aspirant to represent his own as
distinguished from his sire’s rule. The other motive is to keep the
elder in check, and perhaps to give the younger, as candidate for the
better appointment, an opportunity of mastering the really complicated
details of office.
The third chief then and there present was the Atakpa-loto, alias
Podoji[42]: he is spy, or to use a more delicate term, “second in
command” and assistant to Prince Chyudaton, the sub-viceroy, of whom
more presently. He acts as assessor to the other dignitaries in
supervising the custom-takers and the royal store-keepers, and in
settling small causes, such as petty debts and the disobedience of wives
and slaves.
The chiefs at once took high ground, gruffly declaring that they brought
the King’s word, that is to say, a royal message, and directed us to
stand up. I refused so to do till the royal cane, the symbol of the
owner’s presence, was brought into the assembly, and was prostrated to
by all in the room. They then welcomed me, saying that the monarch had
sent as reception gift, a goat, a pig, a pair of fowls, and forty yams.
Of course the offering came from themselves, and required a suitable
return, that is to say, anything between twice and twenty times its
value. Having despatched them, we descended into the court, and
presented a case of gin (= five dollars) to the Ka-wo. After a long
speech he perorated by offering to fight for me. My reply was, that as a
commandant of Amazons, a dignity conferred upon me during my last visit,
I could fight for myself. Under the cover of loud applause excited by
this mildest of retorts, we made our escape and withdrew into the fort.
The same chiefs did not fail, after my return from Dahome, to call and
beg another present. I refused them peremptorily, thinking it
unadvisable to establish such a precedent. The African, like the Jew to
whom you have paid only twice too much, is miserable if he fancies that
you escape from him with a farthing.
The first night surprised me by the contrast of the din of voices inside
the house, and the dead silence beyond its walls. The streets are empty
at dusk, as in the days of the Norman curfew; few venture out after dark
without a lantern, though the use is not, as in Cairo and most parts of
Asia, imperative. The constabulary is admirable; two men squat in forms
like hares, and startle the stranger by suddenly rising and by flashing
their torches to scan his features: if he has lost his way they will
escort him with all the politeness of a policeman. At times the Ka-wo,
who is the local Sir R. Mayne, goes his rounds, and the stick falls
heavily upon those caught napping. Hence, even in this head-quarters of
the demoralising slave-trade, and where every man is a finished
rascal,[43] crimes of violence are, among the natives, exceedingly rare.
Murder at Whydah is unknown, except _en cachette_; housebreaking, save
after a fire, is almost impossible; and a man will leave with impunity
clothes hanging up in his courtyard,—he would not do it twice at Lagos.
Mr. Bernasko, who has lived here eight years, never hesitates to walk
out at night armed with nothing but a walking-stick. Theft is reduced to
petty larceny, which, however, is universal; there is nothing that these
people will not pilfer, and they will keep up the character given by all
travellers to their forefathers. In out-stations, like Godome, there is
of course much more of open crime, and the discipline of the subject is
exceedingly lax. Whydah is a “white man’s town,” and under the direct
supervision of the King, who rarely interferes with the administration;
hence the frequent small abuses. If any evil report reaches the capital,
a royal messenger comes down, and the authorities tremble.
[Footnote 20: Journal of a Voyage to Africa and Barbadoes. By Thos.
Phillips, Commander of the “Hannibal,” of London, 1693-94. It is a
quaint old log-book, and supplies a good account of independent Whydah.]
[Footnote 21: Mr. Duncan (vol. i. p. 185) found fine farms, six to seven
miles from Whydah, with clean and comfortable houses, chiefly the work
of Foolah and Eya (Oyo?) captives returned from the Brazils.
“This.”—says that traveller,—“would seem to prove that to this country
slavery is not without its good as well as bad effects.”]
[Footnote 22: Except when absolutely necessary for explanation, I shall
not use, in writing native vocables, accents or diacritical marks: these
serve only to puzzle the reader, without enabling him to reproduce the
sound of foreign words. In the future dictionaries, however, the words
must be distinguished by accents, not as in English, by spelling,
_e.g._, “boy” and “buoy,” “thy” and “thigh,” and so forth. Amongst the
kindred Egbas the native etymology of English words has run wild,
_e.g._, “Tamahana” for Thompson, “Wiremu,” as in New Zealand, for
Williams, and “Piripi” for Philip.]
[Footnote 23: The Lagoon is salt only when the sea flows into it at high
water. The people then wait till the tide has ebbed, and find on the
mud-surface an efflorescence of salt, like hoar-frost, the work of rapid
evaporation. It is scraped together, and packed in log huts for
importation inland: most people prefer it in its original dirty and
muddy state, others clean and whiten it by boiling.]
[Footnote 24: “De-nun,”—which Mr. Duncan (vol. i. p. 282) writes
“Dtheno,” and evidently thinks to be a proper name, _e.g._, “the small
kroom (a Gold Coast word) of Dtheno,”—is the “Bode” of the Egbas or
Akus. The word “De” means custom-house dues; “nun,” properly “mouth,” or
“side,” is a monosyllable of many significations. De-gan is the custom-
house “captain,” who, as well as his guards, is locally called Decimero,
from the Portuguese. The reader will observe that the terminal _n_ in
Dahoman words, is invariably a pure nasal, and sounds like the French
“raiso_n_.” In “Je-sin-nun,” the first word signifies “salt,” the second
“water,” and the nasal is so little defined, that an English ear would
distinguish only “see,” or “si.”]
[Footnote 25: The Ffon, or Dahoman, a dialect of the great Yoruba
family, has, like the Egba, or Abeokutan language, a G and a Gb, the
latter at first inaudible to our ears, and difficult to articulate
without long practice. On the other hand, it has a P (_e.g._, in Po-su),
as well as a Kp (for instance, kpakpa, a duck), whereas the Egba
possesses only the latter.]
[Footnote 26: When last in England, I saw sundry of these articles at
the Turkish Bath in Jermyn Street, and very much out of place they
looked.]
[Footnote 27: At Whydah the wells are about thirty feet deep, and the
water is bad: they want a lining of lime and charcoal at the bottom. In
the English fort, according to Mr. Duncan (vol. i. p. 120), after
digging twenty feet deep, the soil was the same as at the top; at twelve
feet they came upon a family sepulchre, decomposed human bones, and
rusty anklets and armlets.]
[Footnote 28: The o in this word, as in Po-su, is sounded much like aw
in the English “yawn.”]
[Footnote 29: Some of the waggish kings have made their servants lie
flat on the ground, and swallow, in that position, a bottle of rum at a
draught.]
[Footnote 30: The Dahoman word is “gan”: our caboceer is a corruption of
the Lusitano-African “caboceiro,” a head man.]
[Footnote 31: The Preface to the History of Dahome, written by some
unknown hand, and unworthy of the rest of the book, confuses them,
informing us that the kola grows on lofty trees, and seemed to Bosman to
be a species of the “areka or beetle.”—p. 9.]
[Footnote 32: The performer is called Pani-gan (gong-gong), ho (beat or
strike), and to (he who does).]
[Footnote 33: Throughout Africa, like Asia, it is a sign of dignity.
Here it is figuratively used for the dignitary himself. “Seven umbrellas
have fallen,” means as many commanding officers have been killed.]
[Footnote 34: M. Wallon, Lieutenant de Vaisseau, who twice visited
Agbonne, in 1856 and 1858, says that these horns are a sign of eunuchry,
but they are not so.—Le Royaume de Dahomey (Revue Maritime et Coloniale,
Août, 1861: a second part, containing that officer’s journey to Agbonne,
was promised, but has never, I believe, appeared).]
[Footnote 35: In this circumambulation they showed us the left shoulder,
and I afterwards observed that the right side is always presented to the
king. So Mr. Duncan (vol. i. p. 223) was told that on horseback he must
not form circle to the right, that being a royal privilege.]
[Footnote 36: Mr. Duncan (vol. i. p. 292) compares the shoulder motion
with the gymnastic exercise used to expand the chest of the British
soldier, but much quicker. The rest of the dance is a “rotatory movement
of the hips, changing to a backward and forward motion of a most
disgusting description.” The Lifeguardsman was marvellous “nice” and
“proper.”]
[Footnote 37: In the Egba tongue, Oku, or Aiku (hence the trivial name,
“Akoo people”), is a noun, “immortality,” and an adjective, “not able to
die, alive.” Oku de ’u is the normal Dahoman salutation, Oku being
understood to signify, “I compliment you,” or “thanks”; whilst de ’u is
explained by “still doing,” or “still making.” Various shortenings of
the word are exchanged, _e.g._, oku de ’u, de ’u, ’ú, ’u, till both
saluter and salutee have had enough. At an early hour they say, “Oku de
’u Afwan,” good morning; or “Afwan dagbwe á?” is it a good morning? In
the evening, “Oku de ’u baddan!” good evening! Atyan means “Are you
well?”]
[Footnote 38: In marking this as a characteristic difference between the
hair growth of the negro and of the white man, it must be remembered
that in these regions, as in Asia, all manner of pile is removed either
by the razor or by the tweezers.]
[Footnote 39: The word must not be confounded with “Gau,” the commander-
in-chief of the Dahoman army. The “Ka-wo” is the “Caukaow or General of
Whydah,” mentioned in the History, and spoken of as the “Cakawo amongst
the Dahomans.” The tradition is, that it was an honourable name given,
long before the days of Agaja, the conqueror of Whydah, to a brave
chief, who pursued the enemy over the Wo (pronounced Waw) River, which
divides Whydah from the Nago, or Agoni (_i.e._, Egbado, or lower Egba)
country. Etymologically, the word is explained by Ká (for ká-ká, _i.e._,
very much, or) long (_i.e._, following the foe till the) Wo (river). It
has, since the conquest, been continued by the Dahoman kings.]
[Footnote 40: This is the title of office; the personal name in Dahome
can hardly be said to exist; it changes with every rank of the holder.
The dignities seem to be interminable; except amongst the slaves and the
_canaille_, “handles” are the rule, not the exception, and most of them
are hereditary.]
[Footnote 41: I may as well state at once, that amongst the pure negroes
I have never seen the “purely Caucasian features” alluded to by young
African travellers: amongst the negroids, or noble race, sometimes, but
rarely.]
[Footnote 42: The words mean literally, Podo-ji (he who steps in), No-to
(the interior court of any royal house or palace-yard). The more common
expression is Légédé. It denotes a spy or reporter, with whom every
official in Dahome is provided. The “miching malecho” system is here
perfect: if a captain is sent to prison, he must be accompanied by his
Légédé, who prevents the wives sending food, and who is answerable for
the sentence being carried out in its strictness. Dr. M‘Leod (p. 86)
quotes a native saying, “The _swish_ walls can speak in this country.”]
[Footnote 43: Mr. Duncan (vol. i. p. 113) says, “The natives of Whydah
are the most depraved and unprincipled villains in all Africa, or
perhaps in the world. Were it not for M. de Suza and his friends,
indeed, there would be no safety for white men.”]