THE SLAVE ROAD
The twenty bearers having arrived, in charge of five or six Arabs armed
with guns, we went to inspect them, taking Hassan with us, also
the hunters. They were a likely lot of men, though rather thin and
scared-looking, and evidently, as I could see from their physical
appearance and varying methods of dressing the hair, members of
different tribes. Having delivered them, the Arabs, or rather one of
them, entered into excited conversation with Hassan. As Sammy was not
at hand I do not know what was said, although I gathered that they were
contemplating his rescue. If so, they gave up the idea and began to run
away as their companions had done. One of them, however, a bolder fellow
than the rest, turned and fired at me. He missed by some yards, as I
could tell from the sing of the bullet, for these Arabs are execrable
shots. Still his attempt at murder irritated me so much that I
determined he should not go scot-free. I was carrying the little rifle
called “Intombi,” that with which, as Hans had reminded me, I shot the
vultures at Dingaan’s kraal many years before. Of course, I could have
killed the man, but this I did not wish to do. Or I could have shot him
through the leg, but then we should have had to nurse him or leave him
to die! So I selected his right arm, which was outstretched as he fled,
and at about fifty paces put a bullet through it just above the elbow.
“There,” I said to the Zulus as I saw it double up, “that low fellow
will never shoot at anyone again.”
“Pretty, Macumazana, very pretty!” said Mavovo, “but as you can aim so
well, why not have chosen his head? That bullet is half-wasted.”
Next I set to work to get into communication with the bearers, who
thought, poor devils, that they had been but sold to a new master. Here
I may explain that they were slaves not meant for exportation, but men
kept to cultivate Hassan’s gardens. Fortunately I found that two of them
belonged to the Mazitu people, who it may be remembered are of the
same blood as the Zulus, although they separated from the parent stock
generations ago. These men talked a dialect that I could understand,
though at first not very easily. The foundation of it was Zulu, but it
had become much mixed with the languages of other tribes whose women the
Mazitu had taken to wife.
Also there was a man who could speak some bastard Arabic, sufficiently
well for Sammy to converse with him.
I asked the Mazitus if they knew the way back to their country. They
answered yes, but it was far off, a full month’s journey. I told them
that if they would guide us thither, they should receive their freedom
and good pay, adding that if the other men served us well, they also
should be set free when we had done with them. On receiving this
information the poor wretches smiled in a sickly fashion and looked at
Hassan-ben-Mohammed, who glowered at them and us from the box on which
he was seated in charge of Mavovo.
How can we be free while that man lives, their look seemed to say. As
though to confirm their doubts Hassan, who understood or guessed what
was passing, asked by what right we were promising freedom to his
slaves.
“By right of that,” I answered, pointing to the Union Jack which Stephen
still had in his hand. “Also we will pay you for them when we return,
according as they have served us.”
“Yes,” he muttered, “you will pay me for them when you return, or
perhaps before that, Englishman.”
It was three o’clock in the afternoon before we were able to make a
start. There was so much to be arranged that it might have been wiser
to wait till the morrow, had we not determined that if we could help it
nothing would induce us to spend another night in that place. Blankets
were served out to each of the bearers who, poor naked creatures, seemed
quite touched at the gift of them; the loads were apportioned, having
already been packed at Durban in cases such as one man could carry. The
pack saddles were put upon the four donkeys which proved to be none the
worse for their journey, and burdens to a weight of about 100 lbs. each
fixed on them in waterproof hide bags, besides cooking calabashes and
sleeping mats which Hans produced from somewhere. Probably he stole them
out of the deserted village, but as they were necessary to us I confess
I asked no questions. Lastly, six or eight goats which were wandering
about were captured to take with us for food till we could find game.
For these I offered to pay Hassan, but when I handed him the money he
threw it down in a rage, so I picked it up and put it in my pocket again
with a clear conscience.
At length everything was more or less ready, and the question arose as
to what was to be done with Hassan. The Zulus, like Hans, wished to kill
him, as Sammy explained to him in his best Arabic. Then this murderous
fellow showed what a coward he was at heart. He flung himself upon his
knees, he wept, he invoked us in the name of the Compassionate Allah
who, he explained, was after all the same God that we worshipped, till
Mavovo, growing impatient of the noise, threatened him with his kerry,
whereon he became silent. The easy-natured Stephen was for letting him
go, a plan that seemed to have advantages, for then at least we should
be rid of his abominable company. After reflection, however, I decided
that we had better take him along with us, at any rate for a day or so,
to hold as a hostage in case the Arabs should follow and attack us. At
first he refused to stir, but the assegai of one of the Zulu hunters
pressed gently against what remained of his robe, furnished an argument
that he could not resist.
At length we were off. I with the two guides went ahead. Then came the
bearers, then half of the hunters, then the four donkeys in charge of
Hans and Sammy, then Hassan and the rest of the hunters, except Mavovo,
who brought up the rear with Stephen. Needless to say, all our rifles
were loaded, and generally we were prepared for any emergency. The only
path, that which the guides said we must follow, ran by the seashore
for a few hundred yards and then turned inland through Hassan’s village
where he lived, for it seemed that the old mission house was not used by
him. As we marched along a little rocky cliff--it was not more than ten
feet high--where a deep-water channel perhaps fifty yards in breadth
separated the mainland from the island whence the slaves had been loaded
on to the _Maria_, some difficulty arose about the donkeys. One of these
slipped its load and another began to buck and evinced an inclination to
leap into the sea with its precious burden. The rearguard of hunters ran
to get hold of it, when suddenly there was a splash.
The brute’s in! I thought to myself, till a shout told me that not
the ass, but Hassan had departed over the cliff’s edge. Watching his
opportunity and being, it was clear, a first-rate swimmer, he had flung
himself backwards in the midst of the confusion and falling into deep
water, promptly dived. About twenty yards from the shore he came up for
a moment, then dived again heading for the island. I dare say I could
have potted him through the head with a snap shot, but somehow I did
not like to kill a man swimming for his life as though he were a
hippopotamus or a crocodile. Moreover, the boldness of the manoeuvre
appealed to me. So I refrained from firing and called to the others to
do likewise.
As our late host approached the shore of the island I saw Arabs running
down the rocks to help him out of the water. Either they had not left
the place, or had re-occupied it as soon as H.M.S. _Crocodile_ had
vanished with her prize. As it was clear that to recapture Hassan would
involve an attack upon the garrison of the island which we were in no
position to carry out, I gave orders for the march to be resumed. These,
the difficulty with the donkey having been overcome, were obeyed at
once.
It was fortunate that we did not delay, for scarcely had the caravan got
into motion when the Arabs on the island began to fire at us. Luckily no
one was hit, and we were soon round a point and under cover; also their
shooting was as bad as usual. One missile, however, it was a pot-leg,
struck a donkey-load and smashed a bottle of good brandy and a tin of
preserved butter. This made me angry, so motioning to the others to
proceed I took shelter behind a tree and waited till a torn and dirty
turban, which I recognised as that of Hassan, poked up above a rock.
Well, I put a bullet through that turban, for I saw the thing fly, but
unfortunately, not through the head beneath it. Having left this P.P.C.
card on our host, I bolted from the rock and caught up the others.
Presently we passed round the village; through it I would not go for
fear of an ambuscade. It was quite a big place, enclosed with a strong
fence, but hidden from the sea by a rise in the intervening land. In the
centre was a large eastern-looking house, where doubtless Hassan
dwelt with his harem. After we had gone a little way further, to my
astonishment I saw flames breaking out from the palm-leaf roof of this
house. At the time I could not imagine how this happened, but when,
a day or two later, I observed Hans wearing a pair of large and very
handsome gold pendants in his ears and a gold bracelet on his wrist, and
found that he and one of the hunters were extremely well set up in the
matter of British sovereigns--well, I had my doubts. In due course
the truth came out. He and the hunter, an adventurous spirit, slipped
through a gate in the fence without being observed, ran across the
deserted village to the house, stole the ornaments and money from the
women’s apartments and as they departed, fired the place “in exchange
for the bottle of good brandy,” as Hans explained.
I was inclined to be angry, but after all, as we had been fired on,
Hans’s exploit became an act of war rather than a theft. So I made him
and his companion divide the gold equally with the rest of the hunters,
who no doubt had kept their eyes conveniently shut, not forgetting
Sammy, and said no more. They netted £8 apiece, which pleased them very
much. In addition to this I gave £1 each, or rather goods to that value,
to the bearers as their share of the loot.
Hassan, I remarked, was evidently a great agriculturist, for the gardens
which he worked by slave labour were beautiful, and must have brought
him in a large revenue.
Passing through these gardens we came to sloping land covered with bush.
Here the track was not too good, for the creepers hampered our progress.
Indeed, I was very glad when towards sunset we reached the crest of a
hill and emerged upon a tableland which was almost clear of trees and
rose gradually till it met the horizon. In that bush we might easily
have been attacked, but in this open country I was not so much afraid,
since the loss to the Arabs would have been great before we were
overpowered. As a matter of fact, although spies dogged us for days no
assault was ever attempted.
Finding a convenient place by a stream we camped for the night, but as
it was so fine, did not pitch the tents. Afterwards I was sorry that
we had not gone further from the water, since the mosquitoes bred by
millions in the marshes bordering the stream gave us a dreadful time. On
poor Stephen, fresh from England, they fell with peculiar ferocity, with
the result that in the morning what between the bruises left by Hassan
and their bites, he was a spectacle for men and angels. Another thing
that broke our rest was the necessity of keeping a strict watch in case
the slave-traders should elect to attack us in the hours of darkness;
also to guard against the possibility of our bearers running away and
perhaps stealing the goods. It is true that before they went to sleep I
explained to them very clearly that any of them who attempted to give us
the slip would certainly be seen and shot, whereas if they remained with
us they would be treated with every kindness. They answered through the
two Mazitu that they had nowhere to go, and did not wish to fall again
into the power of Hassan, of whom they spoke literally with shudders,
pointing the while to their scarred backs and the marks of the slave
yokes upon their necks. Their protestations seemed and indeed proved to
be sincere, but of this of course we could not then be sure.
As I was engaged at sunrise in making certain that the donkeys had not
strayed and generally that all was well, I noted through the thin mist
a little white object, which at first I thought was a small bird sitting
on an upright stick about fifty yards from the camp. I went towards it
and discovered that it was not a bird but a folded piece of paper stuck
in a cleft wand, such as natives often use for the carrying of letters.
I opened the paper and with great difficulty, for the writing within was
bad Portuguese, read as follows:
“English Devils.--Do not think that you have escaped me. I know
where you are going, and if you live through the journey it will
be but to die at my hands after all. I tell you that I have at my
command three hundred brave men armed with guns who worship Allah
and thirst for the blood of Christian dogs. With these I will
follow, and if you fall into my hands alive, you shall learn what
it is to die by fire or pinned over ant-heaps in the sun. Let us
see if your English man-of-war will help you then, or your false
God either. Misfortune go with you, white-skinned robbers of
honest men!”
This pleasing epistle was unsigned, but its anonymous author was not
hard to identify. I showed it to Stephen who was so infuriated at its
contents that he managed to dab some ammonia with which he was treating
his mosquito bites into his eye. When at length the pain was soothed by
bathing, we concocted this answer:
“Murderer, known among men as Hassan-ben-Mohammed--Truly we sinned
in not hanging you when you were in our power. Oh! wolf who grows
fat upon the blood of the innocent, this is a fault that we shall
not commit again. Your death is near to you and we believe at our
hands. Come with all your villains whenever you will. The more
there are of them the better we shall be pleased, who would rather
rid the world of many fiends than of a few,
“Till we meet again, Allan Quatermain,
Stephen Somers.”
“Neat, if not Christian,” I said when I had read the letter over.
“Yes,” replied Stephen, “but perhaps just a little bombastic in tone. If
that gentleman did arrive with three hundred armed men--eh?”
“Then, my boy,” I answered, “in this way or in that we shall thrash him.
I don’t often have an inspiration, but I’ve got one now, and it is to
the effect that Mr. Hassan has not very long to live and that we shall
be intimately connected with his end. Wait till you have seen a slave
caravan and you will understand my feelings. Also I know these gentry.
That little prophecy of ours will get upon his nerves and give him a
foretaste of things. Hans, go and set this letter in that cleft stick.
The postman will call for it before long.”
As it happened, within a few days we did see a slave caravan, some of
the merchandise of the estimable Hassan.
We had been making good progress through a beautiful and healthy
country, steering almost due west, or rather a little to the north of
west. The land was undulating and rich, well-watered and only bush-clad
in the neighbourhood of the streams, the higher ground being open, of
a park-like character, and dotted here and there with trees. It was
evident that once, and not very long ago, the population had been dense,
for we came to the remains of many villages, or rather towns with large
market-places. Now, however, these were burned with fire, or deserted,
or occupied only by a few old bodies who got a living from the overgrown
gardens. These poor people, who sat desolate and crooning in the sun, or
perhaps worked feebly at the once fertile fields, would fly screaming
at our approach, for to them men armed with guns must of necessity be
slave-traders.
Still from time to time we contrived to catch some of them, and through
one member of our party or the other to get at their stories. Really it
was all one story. The slaving Arabs, on this pretext or on that, had
set tribe against tribe. Then they sided with the stronger and conquered
the weaker by aid of their terrible guns, killing out the old folk and
taking the young men, women and children (except the infants whom they
butchered) to be sold as slaves. It seemed that the business had begun
about twenty years before, when Hassan-ben-Mohammed and his companions
arrived at Kilwa and drove away the missionary who had built a station
there.
At first this trade was extremely easy and profitable, since the
raw material lay near at hand in plenty. By degrees, however, the
neighbouring communities had been worked out. Countless numbers of them
were killed, while the pick of the population passed under the slave
yoke, and those of them who survived, vanished in ships to unknown
lands. Thus it came about that the slavers were obliged to go further
afield and even to conduct their raids upon the borders of the territory
of the great Mazitu people, the inland race of Zulu origin of whom I
have spoken. According to our informants, it was even rumoured that they
proposed shortly to attack these Mazitus in force, relying on their guns
to give them the victory and open to them a new and almost inexhaustible
store of splendid human merchandise. Meanwhile they were cleaning out
certain small tribes which hitherto had escaped them, owing to the fact
that they had their residence in bush or among difficult hills.
The track we followed was the recognised slave road. Of this we soon
became aware by the numbers of skeletons which we found lying in the
tall grass at its side, some of them with heavy slave-sticks still upon
their wrists. These, I suppose, had died from exhaustion, but others, as
their split skulls showed had been disposed of by their captors.
On the eighth day of our march we struck the track of a slave caravan.
It had been travelling towards the coast, but for some reason or other
had turned back. This may have been because its leaders had been warned
of the approach of our party. Or perhaps they had heard that another
caravan, which was at work in a different district, was drawing near,
bringing its slaves with it, and wished to wait for its arrival in order
that they might join forces.
The spoor of these people was easy to follow. First we found the body
of a boy of about ten. Then vultures revealed to us the remains of two
young men, one of whom had been shot and the other killed by a blow from
an axe. Their corpses were roughly hidden beneath some grass, I know not
why. A mile or two further on we heard a child wailing and found it by
following its cries. It was a little girl of about four who had been
pretty, though now she was but a living skeleton. When she saw us she
scrambled away on all fours like a monkey. Stephen followed her, while
I, sick at heart, went to get a tin of preserved milk from our
stores. Presently I heard him call to me in a horrified voice. Rather
reluctantly, for I knew that he must have found something dreadful,
I pushed my way through the bush to where he was. There, bound to the
trunk of a tree, sat a young woman, evidently the mother of the child,
for it clung to her leg.
Thank God she was still living, though she must have died before another
day dawned. We cut her loose, and the Zulu hunters, who are kind folk
enough when they are not at war, carried her to camp. In the end with
much trouble we saved the lives of that mother and child. I sent for the
two Mazitus, with whom I could by now talk fairly well, and asked them
why the slavers did these things.
They shrugged their shoulders and one of them answered with a rather
dreadful laugh:
“Because, Chief, these Arabs, being black-hearted, kill those who can
walk no more, or tie them up to die. If they let them go they might
recover and escape, and it makes the Arabs sad that those who have been
their slaves should live to be free and happy.”
“Does it? Does it indeed?” exclaimed Stephen with a snort of rage that
reminded me of his father. “Well, if ever I get a chance I’ll make them
sad with a vengeance.”
Stephen was a tender-hearted young man, and for all his soft and
indolent ways, an awkward customer when roused.
Within forty-eight hours he got his chance, thus: That day we camped
early for two reasons. The first was that the woman and child we had
rescued were so weak they could not walk without rest, and we had no men
to spare to carry them; the second that we came to an ideal spot to
pass the night. It was, as usual, a deserted village through which ran a
beautiful stream of water. Here we took possession of some outlying huts
with a fence round them, and as Mavovo had managed to shoot a fat eland
cow and her half-grown calf, we prepared to have a regular feast. Whilst
Sammy was making some broth for the rescued woman, and Stephen and I
smoked our pipes and watched him, Hans slipped through the broken gate
of the thorn fence, or _boma_, and announced that Arabs were coming, two
lots of them with many slaves.
We ran out to look and saw that, as he had said, two caravans were
approaching, or rather had reached the village, but at some distance
from us, and were now camping on what had once been the market-place.
One of these was that whose track we had followed, although during the
last few hours of our march we had struck away from it, chiefly because
we could not bear such sights as I have described. It seemed to comprise
about two hundred and fifty slaves and over forty guards, all black men
carrying guns, and most of them by their dress Arabs, or bastard Arabs.
In the second caravan, which approached from another direction, were not
more than one hundred slaves and about twenty or thirty captors.
“Now,” I said, “let us eat our dinner and then, if you like, we will
go to call upon those gentlemen, just to show that we are not afraid
of them. Hans, get the flag and tie it to the top of that tree; it will
show them to what country we belong.”
Up went the Union Jack duly, and presently through our glasses we saw
the slavers running about in a state of excitement; also we saw the poor
slaves turn and stare at the bit of flapping bunting and then begin to
talk to each other. It struck me as possible that someone among their
number had seen a Union Jack in the hands of an English traveller, or
had heard of it as flying upon ships or at points on the coast, and what
it meant to slaves. Or they may have understood some of the remarks of
the Arabs, which no doubt were pointed and explanatory. At any rate,
they turned and stared till the Arabs ran among them with sjambocks,
that is, whips of hippopotamus hide, and suppressed their animated
conversation with many blows.
At first I thought that they would break camp and march away; indeed,
they began to make preparations to do this, then abandoned the idea,
probably because the slaves were exhausted and there was no other water
they could reach before nightfall. In the end they settled down and lit
cooking fires. Also, as I observed, they took precautions against attack
by stationing sentries and forcing the slaves to construct a _boma_ of
thorns about their camp.
“Well,” said Stephen, when we had finished our dinner, “are you ready
for that call?”
“No!” I answered, “I do not think that I am. I have been considering
things, and concluded that we had better leave well alone. By this time
those Arabs will know all the story of our dealings with their worthy
master, Hassan, for no doubt he has sent messengers to them. Therefore,
if we go to their camp, they may shoot us at sight. Or, if they receive
us well, they may offer hospitality and poison us, or cut our throats
suddenly. Our position might be better, still it is one that I believe
they would find difficult to take. So, in my opinion, we had better stop
still and await developments.”
Stephen grumbled something about my being over-cautious, but I took no
heed of him. One thing I did do, however. Sending for Hans, I told him
to take one of the Mazitu--I dared not risk them both for they were our
guides--and another of the natives whom we had borrowed from Hassan,
a bold fellow who knew all the local languages, and creep down to the
slavers’ camp as soon as it was quite dark. There I ordered him to find
out what he could, and if possible to mix with the slaves and explain
that we were their friends. Hans nodded, for this was exactly the kind
of task that appealed to him, and went off to make his preparations.
Stephen and I also made some preparations in the way of strengthening
our defences, building large watch-fires and setting sentries.
The night fell, and Hans with his companions departed stealthily as
snakes. The silence was intense, save for the occasional wailings of
the slaves, which now and again broke out in bursts of melancholy sound,
“_La-lu-La-lua!_” and then died away, to be followed by horrid screams
as the Arabs laid their lashes upon some poor wretch. Once too, a shot
was fired.
“They have seen Hans,” said Stephen.
“I think not,” I answered, “for if so there would have been more than
one shot. Either it was an accident or they were murdering a slave.”
After this nothing more happened for a long while, till at length Hans
seemed to rise out of the ground in front of me, and behind him I saw
the figures of the Mazitu and the other man.
“Tell your story,” I said.
“Baas, it is this. Between us we have learned everything. The Arabs know
all about you and what men you have. Hassan has sent them orders to kill
you. It is well that you did not go to visit them, for certainly you
would have been murdered. We crept near and overheard their talk. They
purpose to attack us at dawn to-morrow morning unless we leave this
place before, which they will know of as we are being watched.”
“And if so, what then?” I asked.
“Then, Baas, they will attack as we are making up the caravan, or
immediately afterwards as we begin to march.”
“Indeed. Anything more, Hans?”
“Yes, Baas. These two men crept among the slaves and spoke with
them. They are very sad, those slaves, and many of them have died of
heart-pain because they have been taken from their homes and do not know
where they are going. I saw one die just now; a young woman. She
was talking to another woman and seemed quite well, only tired, till
suddenly she said in a loud voice, ‘I am going to die, that I may come
back as a spirit and bewitch these devils till they are spirits too.’
Then she called upon the fetish of her tribe, put her hands to her
breast and fell down dead. At least,” added Hans, spitting reflectively,
“she did not fall quite down because the slave-stick held her head off
the ground. The Arabs were very angry, both because she had cursed them
and was dead. One of them came and kicked her body and afterwards shot
her little boy who was sick, because the mother had cursed them. But
fortunately he did not see us, because we were in the dark far from the
fire.”
“Anything more, Hans?”
“One thing, Baas. These two men lent the knives you gave them to two
of the boldest among the slaves that they might cut the cords of the
slave-sticks and the other cords with which they were tied, and then
pass them down the lines, that their brothers might do the same. But
perhaps the Arabs will find it out, and then the Mazitu and the other
must lose their knives. That is all. Has the Baas a little tobacco?”
“Now, Stephen,” I said when Hans had gone and I had explained
everything, “there are two courses open to us. Either we can try to give
these gentlemen the slip at once, in which case we must leave the woman
and child to their fate, or we can stop where we are and wait to be
attacked.”
“I won’t run,” said Stephen sullenly; “it would be cowardly to desert
that poor creature. Also we should have a worse chance marching.
Remember Hans said that they are watching us.”
“Then you would wait to be attacked?”
“Isn’t there a third alternative, Quatermain? To attack them?”
“That’s the idea,” I said. “Let us send for Mavovo.”
Presently he came and sat down in front of us, while I set out the case
to him.
“It is the fashion of my people to attack rather than to be attacked,
and yet, my father, in this case my heart is against it. Hans” (he
called him _Inblatu_, a Zulu word which means Spotted Snake, that was
the Hottentot’s Kaffir name) “says that there are quite sixty of the
yellow dogs, all armed with guns, whereas we have not more than fifteen,
for we cannot trust the slave men. Also he says that they are within a
strong fence and awake, with spies out, so that it will be difficult to
surprise them. But here, father, we are in a strong fence and cannot be
surprised. Also men who torture and kill women and children, except in
war must, I think, be cowards, and will come on faintly against good
shooting, if indeed they come at all. Therefore, I say, ‘Wait till
the buffalo shall either charge or run.’ But the word is with you,
Macumazana, wise Watcher-by-Night, not with me, your hunter. Speak, you
who are old in war, and I will obey.”
“You argue well,” I answered; “also another reason comes to my mind.
Those Arab brutes may get behind the slaves, of whom we should butcher
a lot without hurting them. Stephen, I think we had better see the thing
through here.”
“All right, Quatermain. Only I hope that Mavovo is wrong in thinking
that those blackguards may change their minds and run away.”
“Really, young man, you are becoming very blood-thirsty--for an orchid
grower,” I remarked, looking at him. “Now, for my part, I devoutly hope
that Mavovo is right, for let me tell you, if he isn’t it may be a nasty
job.”
“I’ve always been peaceful enough up to the present,” replied Stephen.
“But the sight of those unhappy wretches of slaves with their heads cut
open, and of the woman tied to a tree to starve----”
“Make you wish to usurp the functions of God Almighty,” I said. “Well,
it is a natural impulse and perhaps, in the circumstances, one that will
not displease Him. And now, as we have made up our minds what we are
going to do, let’s get to business so that these Arab gentlemen may find
their breakfast ready when they come to call.”