THE DELIVERY OF THE MESSAGE.
On Friday, February 12th, we received two visits from the fat Adanejan.
He led me with great mystery into an inner room, and, tracing lines upon
the floor, asked many questions about Abeokuta, carefully cross-
examining me, till convinced that he was not deceived. The King’s
personal courtesy to me demanding some return, I drew the outline of the
Egba defences upon a sheet of paper and sent it back, advising him by no
means, till his forces were trebled, and even then not without howitzers
or field pieces, to cross the Ogun, a river so fatal to his father. “Ah!
but,” said the stout man, “the enemy will run when they see us.” I told
him that they would not, at least, as long as they were sheltered by
walls, and suggested fascines, and simple methods of getting at the
enemy, which were received with incredulous smiles, as things worthy of
the crafty white, but incompatible with the dignity of Dahoman
heroism.[250] Presently Adanejan departed, carrying with him, in token
of having seen me, a favourite bowie-knife, which it was impossible to
recover.
At 3 P.M. on the next day, February 13, when, almost in despair, we had
resolved to walk to the coast, using our hammock-men as porters, the
Buko-no’s messenger hurried us in full dress to the palace. The old man
thus deceived me again, and for the last time. He had heard of his
rival’s success in carrying off a favourite weapon, and he was resolved
to “pay me out.” Harpagon lay quietly in the cool verandah, with a stool
supporting his head, whilst we had the pleasure of sitting in a kind of
Samúm, with glare enough to dazzle an eagle, opposite the ragged palm-
leaf fence of the Jegbe House. It was anything but a dignified position,
this four hours’ _séance_ before the barbarous abode of a petty African
chief, whose pride has been swollen by mulatto slave-dealers into a
manner of mania. I resolved to speak plainly to the King upon the
subject of this unworthy treatment.
At 6 P.M., when the few ministers who were to be present at the
conference had entered the palace, we received a summons. Passing
through the two mat-fenced courts, we found the King sitting under an
ordinary shed, verandahed by umbrellas. As usual, there was a ring of
white sand before him; the nearest posts had been covered with calico,
and half-a-dozen “ladies” squatted behind their lord. Besides ourselves,
the only men present were the Adanejan, the Meu, and the Buko-no, who
acted ward. He had ignominiously rated and turned out John Mark, the
“governor,” who attempted to accompany Beecham, the recognized
interpreter. The prostrations before the King were perfunctory, and
there was little of the ceremoniousness displayed at the public levées.
After we had made _congés_, Gelele rose and shook hands with us.
Returning to his seat, a bamboo cot, covered with fine cloths and mats,
he perceived that there was something wrong, and told me that he had
heard of my complaining about him, after we had been the best of
friends, dancing and drinking together. I replied that there was no
grievance against the King, but that it had not been well to retard the
delivery of so important a message for two months. This was met by the
plea of occupation, and by reminding me that the substance of the
despatches had already been communicated. My next objection was, that
his minister had attempted to make us keep the house, like state
prisoners, for two moons: that we had been subject to other petty
annoyances at the hands of the Buko-no; that we had not been permitted
freely to see and to mix with the chiefs; and that we had been prevented
from visiting the Makhi Mountains for sport and recreation, as was
permitted to Messrs. Dickson and Duncan. To this he gave the usual
reply, that they were small men; and as this did not satisfy me, he
asked me point blank, after a whisper from the Meu, if there was
anything upon that subject in my instructions. I replied in the
negative, and was thereupon assured that, had my orders been such, I
should have been allowed to travel northward,—which, to use the mildest
terms, was not the case. I finally asked him if he was aware that we had
that very afternoon been kept for hours in the sun before his gate, a
custom unknown to all civilized peoples. As we expected, he had never
heard of it, and showed a surprise, which appeared natural, at this and
others of our tribulations. To change a disagreeable subject, he
bantered me about keeping the Buko-no’s unruly slaves in order with the
staff, to which I pleaded a _molliter imposuit_. At length, seeing my
brow cleared by the perfect good humour with which he discussed these
personal preliminaries, he directed me to read the “Message.”
I then began, and, after each sentence, the interpreter translated it.
He did so correctly, in fear of conviction. The reasons which prevented
Captain Wilmot’s return to Agbome were first duly stated; then came the
ticklish subjects of slave export and human sacrifice, forbidden themes
at the Court of Dahome. Touching the former, the King was informed that
Her Majesty’s Government is resolved to arrest the traffic, and that the
United States of America would no longer allow their vessels to carry
live cargo. With respect to human sacrifice, that the more its horrors
were mitigated, the better. In enlarging upon these last two paragraphs,
I felt a sense of hopelessness with which the reader of these pages
will, perhaps, sympathize; it was like talking to the winds. As regards
the King’s offer to repair the English Fort, Whydah, and to permit it to
be garrisoned by English troops,[251] I thanked him for such mark of
confidence, assuring him that the royal protection was all-sufficient,
but that before English merchants would settle at Whydah, there must be
the inducement of useful commerce. I assured him that in such case an
agent would be appointed to reside at Whydah, both as an organ of
communication with the King, and as an aid in carrying out all views of
licit trade.[252] The gift of a carriage and horses—here came the
rub—would entirely depend upon future relations between Her Majesty’
Government and the King, who must see the propriety of making some
concessions touching his Customs and slave hunts. Finally, that if any
of the coloured Christian prisoners taken at Ishagga were alive, it
would be considered an earnest of the King’s friendly feeling, and of
his desire to perform his promises, if these people were given up to us.
The message was heard, with few interruptions, from beginning to end.
When the reply was given, I perceived that the King and his visitors
could not, like many Africans, “pick up the words,” that is to say,
answer sentence by sentence. Gelele replied in a rambling style, which
requires ordering: That the slave-trade was an ancestral custom,
established by white men, to whom he would sell all they wanted: to the
English, who, after greatly encouraging the export, had lately turned
against it, palm oil and “tree wool”; to the Portuguese, slaves. That a
single article would not defray such expenses as those which I had
witnessed. Moreover, that the customs of his kingdom compelled him to
make war, and that unless he sold he must slay his captives, which
England, perhaps, would like even less.[253]
The English, he resumed, had ever been the best friends of his family.
One of his ancestors had sent a son amongst them, and thus all had
learned to love them.[254] In the days of Tegbwesun (Bossa Ahadi,
1727-1774), one Aján-gán—Mr. Goodson—had taught Dahome to use field
pieces, and thus they had been able to debel the Makhi country called
“Za.[255]” The road of amity had been closed to Gezo, and re-opened to
himself by his friend the Rev. Mr. Bernasko. The “King of England” and
he were now like one finger. But he directed me to write and declare
that, whereas men-of-war formerly never touched slavers, they now
captured them near his beach, which could not be permitted. Some of
these prizes had or might have on board orders from him, and this
rendered interference with them a personal offence.[256]
Here, again, was the work of the caboceers, and their master had learned
his lesson but too well. A counter-demand is the favourite African form
of refusing a request. I desired the King to hear me before such an
outrageous claim was put on paper, and he consented. He was informed
that Great Britain had paid large sums to many nations for the right of
searching their ships; that if he sent his own vessels to sea, he could
assert the same title to indemnity, but he could not interfere for those
of any European nations; moreover, that, even in war, a three miles’
offing annuls, according to the custom of civilized peoples, the
protection of a neutral shore. No one had prepared a reply to this
explanation; they contented themselves, by way of rejoinder, with
directing me to write down what the King had spoken. I could only
express my regret at being compelled to forward a message so unworthy
and so disappointing to the government and people of England.
Upon the second subject, human sacrifice, Gelele declared that he slew
only malefactors and war-captives, who, if they could, would do the same
to him; that his own subjects were never victims; that in the accounts
reported by “mutual” enemies there had been, as he had told Captain
Wilmot, a gross numerical exaggeration; in fact, he repeated the
statements of a hundred years’ standing, as the History shows, and his
assertions were partially true.
When asked for my reply, I submitted, in Jeremy Bentham’s words, that
the worst use to which he could put a man was to kill him; that Dahome
wanted not deaths but births, and that subjects followed the religion of
their prince. It was, therefore, incumbent upon him to reduce the number
of his sacrifices, and to spare his visitors the disgusting spectacle of
nude and mutilated corpses, hanging for two or three days in the sun;
moreover that, until such barbarity should be changed, I should advise
all Englishmen, who dislike “tickling of the liver,[257]” to avoid his
Court at Customs’ time. The King had never heard so much truth before in
his life: he did not accept my plain speaking without “stirring of the
mind[258];” nor could I expect it. The Rev. Mr. Bernasko thanked me
aloud, and all around understood the expression.
The King passed next to the subject of an English resident at Whydah,
and adroitly shifted the case into granting the permission and
privilege, instead of receiving it as a favour. He also stipulated that
the white must be a good man, who would write profitable things about
the country, cause no palavers, and prevent the captains of cruisers
capturing slaves off his coast. When I asked somewhat ironically, if
such agent would be liable to be summoned at pleasure to attend the
capital, compelled to be present at the Customs, condemned to live in
the Buko-no’s house, and be subject to be seated for hours in the sun,
enjoying the prospect of the palace wall?—he carelessly replied “No,” in
a tone which to me meant emphatically YES.
With respect to the Ishagga captives,[259] the King had, early after my
arrival, sent me word by the Buko-no that he had put all of them to
death, _not knowing them to be Christians_, a marked and emphatic non-
fact, which he had also protested to Captain Wilmot. Moreover, for
certain physiognomical reasons, I am induced to think that several of
the wretches are still alive, and are being reserved for future
sacrifice. There was, however, no proof positive, nor would any one,
especially of the missionary body, aid me in carrying out an
investigation.[260]
Ensued a desultory conversation. The King, apparently forgetting the
carriage and horses, recalled to mind the Tokpon tent, and adhered to
the subject _mordicus_, frequently asking me if Mr. Cruikshank had taken
the measurements, to which an affirmative reply was given. Thinking this
the most proper opportunity, I requested him that the boys of the
English town, Whydah, might attend the Wesleyan Missionary School,
reminding him of a half promise which he had made during the Commodore’s
visit. Now, however, being puffed up, he spoke another language; he
declared that when black men learn to read and write, and to “know
sense,[261]” like Beecham, they could not be taken to war. Upon my
objecting to this view, he directed me to “let it pass”; in other words
to change the subject. I then complained that the people of Godome, who,
last spring, had broken open my boxes, containing presents for the King,
had escaped punishment, whereby, emboldened, Posu-kpa, caboceer of that
time, aided and abetted by sundry of the pestilent De Souzas, had lately
seized, beaten, and imprisoned in a nude state, after robbing his watch
and seventeen dollars, Mr. Henry Bannerman, of Cape Coast Castle, an
unoffending English subject. The King replied, very naïvely, that he had
never heard of the outrage. The reply was, that had we not been present,
he certainly never would have known, but that his officers did
know—which was the case.[262] He added that inquiry should be made,
meaning that nothing would be done. Although no official directions had
reached me, and the coloured man Craft had behaved with notable
indecency by leaving his arrival entirely unannounced, I represented to
the King that this person was a bonâ fide _employé_, of the Company of
African merchants (limited), and that as he was treated so would his
employers withdraw from or enlarge their business in Dahome, Gelele was
profuse in professions, swearing that every one dealing with “Krafu”
(Mr. Craft) should pay beforehand. Nothing could be further from his
intentions.
I was disenchanted by this message scene. The personal courtesies of the
King compared badly with his stubborn resolve to ignore, even in the
smallest matters, the wishes of Her Majesty’s Government. Nothing
appeared uppermost in his mind but an ignoble greed of presents. Of
course, his hands were tied in the case of abolishing slave export and
human sacrifice, but he might have offered his minimum. The unexpected
civilities of the last official visitors to his Court have filled him
with an exaggerated idea of his own importance; whilst the astuteness
and suspiciousness of his caboceers cause them to see, in the short
interval between the two messages, a further aim, and one affecting
their interests. I did not at all join with the Commodore in thinking
Gelele’s observations “thoroughly just and honest[263];” they are mere
parrot-like repetitions of a lesson learned from the pro-slavery party
nearly a century ago. It presently became apparent that, even in the
smallest matters, he had as scant a regard for truth as his subjects
have. After a long and uninteresting dialogue, in which I told him that
my departure ought to take place that night, he swore, on the word of a
King, that I should leave Agbome next morning, and directed me to “drop
that,” when a little doubt was expressed touching the “morning.” I need
hardly say that at the time appointed nothing was ready. My last
question to the King was respecting the name which he wishes to bear in
England. He proposed, through the ministers, who whispered with great
awe, “Kini-kini-kini.” I objected to it, as far too long for the time-
saving Briton, and proposed “Gelele”; which was approved of.[264]
Eight P.M. had already sped, when the King declared the _séance_ over.
He told me, that if my mind was no longer stirred, we might drink
together. I again denied personal bad feeling towards him, regretting
that the same could not be said about certain of his _entourage_,[265]
and that he had not charged me with a more agreeable message for home.
We stood up and drank gin and liqueur. No noise was made on this
occasion, the ministers contenting themselves with kissing the ground.
The King then arose to conduct us outside the palace. The inner doorway
being too narrow for two abreast, I fell back a little, and he asked the
reason, through the interpreter. My answer was, with us crowned heads
always walk first; whereupon he shook hands cordially, told me that I
was “a good man, but,” rolling his head, “too angry.” At the distance of
200 yards, he stood, shook hands, snapped fingers, and bade us adieu,
exhorting a speedy return.
On the morning of the next day—Sunday, February 21st—we arose and looked
for porters, but in vain. The despairing Reverend visited the houses of
the Adanejan, who was bathing, and of the Buko-no, who was breakfasting.
These men have at this moment the game in their hands, and know it; all
we can do is to play at patience.
As sunset approached, the Buko-no and the Adanejan, accompanied by
sundry eunuchs and slaves, entered our compound, manifestly bearing the
wished-for “pass.” They squatted on mats in the open space before our
verandah, spread out the presents, and summoned us, in official tones
and phrases, to receive them. The speech began with the usual
formula,—that the King wished to send us home wealthy, and to supply us
with specimens of his fine umbrellas, sticks, and other valuables (!);
that he had not been made aware of our wish to depart (!!), and had
learned it only last night, when we spoke of it to him (!!!);
consequently, that nothing had been prepared, but that on our return to
Dahome we should find everything awaiting us (oh!).
The gifts were then distributed, a curious contrast with the
magniloquence that introduced them. The first batch, about which I was
ordered to be most careful, were for the Highest Personage in the
kingdom. It consisted of a poor “counterpane,” green and white, woven by
the fat hands of the Adanejan; a huge leathern pouch for the royal
tobacco, and a leathern bag to contain change of loincloth when
travelling. Besides which, two miserable boys, hideous and half-starved,
were sent as table attendants to the palace of St. James.
My fortunate self next received a “counterpane,” a tobacco bag, and a
sharp-looking boy, who, they warned me, and rightly also, would run
away. Mr. Cruikshank was “donated” with a cloth and no boy. To Captain
Wilmot were given a cloth and a boy, who were deposited at the English
Fort, Whydah. Mr. Bernasko and Tom were largessed with very inferior
“counterpanes,” in which they grinned with all the fervour of gratitude.
Finally, cowries for the road, barely enough to make us set out, and a
few bottles of rum, were distributed amongst those heathens of endless
bibacity, our hammals.
When the King’s bounty had run dry, the Buko-no proposed a private
“pass,” that is to say, presents from himself. To this I strongly
objected, but I was silenced by the unanimous assurance that my
predecessors had submitted to it. After giving one “counterpane” to all
the names above-mentioned, the Buko-no and the Adanejan called for a
private confabulation. I repeated, but even in stronger language, all
that had been said before the King, pointed out that not a shade of
concession had been made to the wishes of Her Majesty’s Government,
warned both confidants solemnly that by their fault friendship would not
endure, and particularly commented upon the puerile demand for the
immunity of slaves near the beach of Dahome. A specimen of their
argumentation—their style of “pieceing out the lion’s skin with the
fox’s tail”: “You said yesterday,” quoth the Buko-no, “that the English
will no longer allow the export of slaves, and that the Americans will
send their vessels no more.” I assented. “Then why,” resumed the old
man, “can you not promise that our ships shall not be molested during
the very short time which, according to you, they have still to run?” No
explanation would account for the impossibility of so doing, in face of
the fact that the King had made a great point of this absurd claim. I
fear we parted with this subject under a painful sense of one another’s
stupidity—_de part et d’autre_.
Finally, I was again officially requested to return after about ten
moons, when the Atto-ton-khwe, or Platform Year Sacrifices, will
commence, and, above all things, to bring with me, carriage, horses, and
pavilion. My reply was, that I should advise all Englishmen to absent
themselves from these vile “Customs” until beasts are substituted for
captives; and that as regards my return with or without presents, all
must depend upon orders sent out from home. Wishing to do away with any
little asperity, I took, during the last interview, a friendly leave of
the confidants, and sent them, in the course of the evening, handsome
presents of cloth.
From Commodore Wilmot’s report,[266] as well as from these pages, it
will be evident that the caboceers are perfectly successful in isolating
the King, from the evil influences of foreigners. We were permitted to
see him almost every day, but on no occasion to sit and converse with
him. After nearly two months, a single private interview was granted to
me, and two such visits were the most that could be expected. It is
manifestly useless to send Missions to Dahome whilst this state of
things endures. The only way to force improvement is to exact from the
King a promise of change, which he would readily give; and, upon the
strength of it, to demand hostages, about which he would demur. Finally,
as I have before said, the Customs’ time must be avoided; by far the
best season for visiting him, is when the King returns from war, in
April or in May.
[Footnote 250: The reader will presently see how important was the
advice.]
[Footnote 251: Ashanti has just now shown the unadvisability of
stationing Europeans on the west coast of Africa. Both Gelele and his
father have expressed an earnest desire to give up Whydah to the
English—but neither meant it. The latter is said to have refused the
cession to the Prince de Joinville.]
[Footnote 252: I need hardly add, that the commerce never will become
licit, except by force; and that until that time an agent is simply
impossible.]
[Footnote 253: So the great Central African King, Muata ya Nvo, or
Matiamvo, said, in 1847, to the Portuguese traveller, Graça: “It is
customary for us to sell as slaves those who commit murder or robbery,
and those who are guilty of adultery, insubordination, and sorcery; and
having a great number of slaves, what can I do with them but put them to
death if I cannot find purchasers for them?”]
[Footnote 254: This is explained by Dr. M‘Leod (pp. 102-106). About 1800
one of the kings forwarded two of his brothers for education to England,
on board a ship then trading to Whydah. The captain died, and they were
sold as slaves at Demarara. After sundry difficulties, they were
redeemed by the influence of Mr. Robertson, of Liverpool, and were sent
back under charge of a Captain Davidson. They were dressed like English
boys, and had scarcely touched their natal soil, than they resumed all
their old customs, falling on their knees to the caboceer who received
them, and next day they disrobed themselves of jacket and trowsers, not
having been “whitewashed,” _i.e._ made white men by their royal brother.
Two days afterwards they were conducted to Agbome. They did not complain
of being sold at Demarara, and probably they expected nothing else.]
[Footnote 255: It is now an unimportant place, distant a day’s march
N.E. of Agbome. The ruffian conqueror is said to have cut off the noses
of all his captives.]
[Footnote 256: King Gezo made the same request to Mr. Duncan (vol. ii.
p. 263).]
[Footnote 257: A native phrase, meaning nausea.]
[Footnote 258: A native phrase, meaning anger.]
[Footnote 259: See chapter xiv. Section E.]
[Footnote 260: When at Agbome, a boy put into my hands some strange
papers touching the Ishagga victims: at present it would be indiscreet
to reveal the secret.]
[Footnote 261: An old Anglo-African term for civilization, religion,
wearing small clothes, &c.]
[Footnote 262: We had scarcely retired home before the Buko-no confessed
it.]
[Footnote 263: See Appendix III.]
[Footnote 264: For other names, Tenge, &c., see Appendix IV. How secret
the King’s name is kept may be seen from the “Travels” of Dr. M‘Leod and
Captain Adams, who, though repeating a variety of tales about the
monarch, nowhere reveal his appellation.]
[Footnote 265: This kind of plain speaking is always well received by
African and often by Asiatic princes. They deem it honourable to defend
their ministers before an accuser; but in private, the former will
undergo, as a rule, a searching inquiry.]
[Footnote 266: Appendix III.]