There is something exceedingly pleasant in the act of watching--
ourselves unseen--the proceedings of some one whose aims and ends appear
to be very mysterious. There is such a wide field of speculation opened
up in which to expatiate, such a vast amount of curious, we had almost
said romantic, expectation created; all the more if the individual whom
we observe be a savage, clothed in an unfamiliar and very scanty garb,
and surrounded by scenery and circumstances which, albeit strange to us,
are evidently by no means new to him.
Let us--you and me, reader,--quitting for a time the sad subject of
slavery, and leaping, as we are privileged to do, far ahead of our
explorers Harold Seadrift and his company, into the region of Central
Africa; let you and me take up a position in a clump of trees by the
banks of yonder stream, and watch the proceedings of that negro--negro
chief let me say, for he looks like one,--who is engaged in some
mysterious enterprise under the shade of a huge baobab tree.
The chief is a fine, stately, well-developed specimen of African
manhood. He is clothed in black tights manufactured in nature's loom,
in addition to which he wears round his loins a small scrap of
artificial cotton cloth. If an enthusiastic member of the Royal Academy
were in search of a model which should combine the strength of Hercules
with the grace of Apollo, he could not find a better than the man before
us, for, you will observe, the more objectionable points about _our_
ideal of the negro are not very prominent in him. His lips are not
thicker than the lips of many a roast-beef-loving John Bull. His nose
is not flat, and his heels do not protrude unnecessarily. True, his
hair is woolly, but that is scarcely a blemish. It might almost be
regarded as the crisp and curly hair that surrounds a manly skull. His
skin is black--no doubt about that, but then it is _intensely_ black and
glossy, suggestive of black satin, and having no savour of that
dirtiness which is inseparably connected with whitey-brown. Tribes in
Africa differ materially in many respects, physically and mentally, just
as do the various tribes of Europe.
This chief, as we have hinted, is a "savage;" that is to say, he differs
in many habits and points from "civilised" people. Among other
peculiarities, he clothes himself and his family in the fashion that is
best suited to the warm climate in which he dwells. This display of
wisdom is, as you know, somewhat rare among civilised people, as any one
may perceive who observes how these over-clothe the upper parts of their
children, and leave their tender little lower limbs exposed to the
rigours of northern latitudes, while, as if to make up for this
inconsistency by an inconsistent counterpoise, they swathe their own
tough and mature limbs in thick flannel from head to foot.
It is however simple justice to civilised people to add here that a few
of them, such as a portion of the Scottish Highlanders, are consistent
inasmuch as the men clothe themselves similarly to the children.
Moreover, our chief, being a savage, takes daily a sufficient amount of
fresh air and exercise, which nine-tenths of civilised men refrain from
doing, on the economic and wise principle, apparently, that engrossing
and unnatural devotion to the acquisition of wealth, fame, or knowledge,
will enable them at last to spend a few paralytic years in the enjoyment
of their gains. No doubt civilised people have the trifling little
drawback of innumerable ills, to which they say (erroneously, we think)
that flesh is heir, and for the cure of which much of their wealth is
spent in supporting an army of doctors. Savages know nothing of
indigestion, and in Central Africa they have no medical men.
There is yet another difference which we may point out: savages have no
literature. They cannot read or write therefore, and have no permanent
records of the deeds of their forefathers. Neither have they any
religion worthy of the name. This is indeed a serious evil, one which
civilised people of course deplore, yet, strange to say, one which
consistency prevents some civilised people from remedying in the case of
African savages, for it would be absurdly inconsistent in Arab
Mohammedans to teach the negroes letters and the doctrines of their
faith with one hand, while with the other they lashed them to death or
dragged them into perpetual slavery; and it would be equally
inconsistent in Portuguese Christians to teach the negroes to read
"Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to
them," while "domestic slavery" is, in their so-called African
territories, claimed as a right and the traffic connected with it
sanctioned.
Yes, there are many points of difference between civilised people and
savages, and we think it right to point this out very clearly, good
reader, because the man at whom you and I are looking just now is a
savage.
Of course, being capable of reading this book, you are too old to
require to be told that there is nothing of our _nursery_ savage about
him. That peculiar abortion was born and bred in the nursery, and
dwells only there, and was never heard of beyond civilised lands--
although something not unlike him, alas! may be seen here and there
among the lanes and purlieus where our drunkards and profligates resort.
No; our savage chief does not roar, or glare, or chatter, or devour his
food in its blood like the giant of the famous Jack. He carries himself
like a man, and a remarkably handsome man too, with his body firm and
upright, and his head bent a little forward, with his eyes fixed on the
ground, as if in meditation, while he walks along.
But a truce to digressive explanation. Let us follow him.
Reaching the banks of the river, he stops, and, standing in an attitude
worthy of Apollo, though he is not aware that we are looking at him,
gazes first up the stream and then down. This done, he looks across,
after which he tries to penetrate the depths of the water with his eye.
As no visible result follows, he wisely gives up staring and wishing,
and apparently resolves to attain his ends by action. Felling a small
tree, about as thick as his thigh, with an iron hatchet he cuts off it a
length of about six feet. Into one end of this he drives a
sharp-pointed hard-wood spike, several inches long, and to the other end
attaches a stout rope made of the fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut. The
point of the spike he appears to anoint--probably a charm of some
kind,--and then suspends the curious instrument over a forked stick at a
considerable height from the ground, to which he fastens the other end
of the rope. This done, he walks quietly away with an air of as much
self-satisfaction as if he had just performed a generous deed.
Well, is that all? Nay, if that were all we should owe you a humble
apology. Our chief, "savage" though he be, is not insane. He _has_ an
object in view--which is more than can be said of everybody.
He has not been long gone, an hour or two, when the smooth surface of
the river is broken in several places, and out burst two or three heads
of hippopotami. Although, according to Disco Lillihammer, the
personification of ugliness, these creatures do not the less enjoy their
existence. They roll about in the stream like puncheons, dive under one
another playfully, sending huge waves to the banks on either side. They
gape hideously with their tremendous jaws, which look as though they had
been split much too far back in the head by a rude hatchet--the tops of
all the teeth having apparently been lopped off by the same clumsy blow.
They laugh too, with a demoniacal "Ha! ha! ha!" as if they rejoiced in
their excessive plainness, and knew that we--you and I, reader--are
regarding them with disgust, not unmingled with awe.
Presently one of the herd betakes himself to the land. He is tired of
play, and means to feed. Grass appears to be his only food, and to
procure this he must needs go back from the river a short way, his
enormous lips, like an animated mowing-machine, cutting a track of short
cropped grass as he waddles along.
The form of that part of the bank is such that he is at least inclined,
if not constrained, to pass directly under the suspended beam. Ha! we
understand the matter now. Most people do understand, when a thing
becomes obviously plain. The hippopotamus wants grass for supper; the
"savage" chief wants hippopotamus. Both set about arranging their plans
for their respective ends. The hippopotamus passes close to the forked
stick, and touches the cord which sustains it in air like the sword of
Damocles. Down comes the beam, driving the spike deep into his back. A
cry follows, something between a grunt, a squeak, and a yell, and the
wounded animal falls, rolls over, jumps up, with unexpected agility for
such a sluggish, unwieldy creature, and rumbles, rushes, rolls, and
stumbles back into the river, where his relatives take to flight in
mortal terror. The unfortunate beast might perhaps recover from the
wound, were it not that the spike has been tipped with poison. The
result is that he dies in about an hour. Not long afterwards the chief
returns with a band of his followers, who, being experts in the use of
the knife and hatchet, soon make mince-meat of their game--laden with
which they return in triumph to their homes.
Let us follow them thither.