opening phrases were scarcely audible; but as the orator warmed, his
voice rose high and sonorous, and a fluency so remarkable succeeded
hesitation that the latter seemed to have been a work of art. The
gestures were easy and rounded, except one of raising and shaking the
forefinger, which struck me as threatening and bullying. The address
was long. Mormonism was a great fact. Religion had made him, Brigham
Young, the happiest of men. He was ready to dance like a Shaker. At
this the Prophet, who was a good mimic and had much of humour, raised
his right arm, and gave, to the amusement of the congregation, a droll
imitation of the Shakers. A great deal of what followed contained
topical allusions. The Saints had a glorious destiny before them, and
their morality was remarkable as the beauty of the Promised Land. The
soft breeze blowing over the Bowery, and the glorious sunshine
outside, made the allusion highly appropriate. After a somewhat
lengthy string of sentences concerning the great tribulation coming on
earth――it had been coming for the last eighteen hundred years――he
concluded with good wishes to visitors and Gentiles generally, with a
solemn blessing upon the President of the United States, the
territorial Governor, and all that be in authority over us, and with
an “Amen” which was loudly re-echoed by all around, he restored his
hat and resumed his seat.
Then arose Mr. Heber C. Kimball, the second President. He was the
model of a Methodist, a tall, powerful man, with dark, piercing eyes
and clean-shaven, blue face. He affected the Boanerges style, from a
certain dislike to the Nonconformist rant and whine, and his manner of
speech savoured rather of familiarity than of reverence. Several of
his remarks were loudly laughed at by the congregation. His style of
oratory was certainly startling; he reminded me of Luther’s
description of Tetzel’s sermon, in which he used to shout the words
“Bring! bring! bring!” with such a horrible bellowing that one would
have said it was a mad bull rushing on the people and goring them with
its horns.
After this worthy’s address, a list of names for whom letters were
lying unclaimed was called from the platform. A missionary adjourned
the meeting till two o’clock, delivered the prayer of dismissal,
during which all stood up, and ended with the Benediction and “Amen.”
The Sacrament was not administered on this occasion. It was often
given, and reduced to the very elements of a ceremony; even water was
used instead of wine, because the latter is of Gentile manufacture.
Two elders walked up and down the rows, one carrying a pitcher, the
other a plate of broken bread, and each Saint partook of both.
That same evening when dining out, I had a lesson in Mormon modesty.
The mistress of the house, a Gentile but not an anti-Mormon, was
requested by a saintly visitor, who was also a widow, to instruct me
that on no account I must propose to see her home. “Mormon ladies,”
said my kind informant, “are very strict”; “Unnecessarily so on this
occasion,” I could not help adding. Something similar occurred on
another occasion: a very old lady, wishing to return home,
surreptitiously left the room and sidled out of the garden gate, and
my companion, an officer from Camp Floyd, at once recognised the
object of the retreat――_viz._ to avoid our possible escort. I
afterwards learned at dinner and elsewhere amongst the Mormons to
abjure the Gentile practice of giving precedence to the fair sex. The
lesson, however, was not new; I had been taught the same, in times
past, amongst certain German missionaries, who assumed precedence over
their wives upon a principle borrowed from St. Paul.
There was a certain monotony of life in Great Salt Lake City, a
sameness from day to day, which does not render the subject favourable
for a lively description; moreover, the Moslem gloom, the result of
austere morals and manner, of the semi-seclusion of the sexes, and, in
my case, the reserve arising towards a stranger who appeared in the
train of Federal officials, hung over society. We rose early, and
breakfasted at any hour between 6 and 9 a.m. Then ensued “business,”
which seemed to consist principally of correcting one’s teeth and a
walk about the town, with an occasional liquor up. Dinner was at 1
p.m., announced not by the normal gong of Eastern States, but by a
most discordant hand-bell. Jostling into the long room of the
ordinary, we took our seats, and, seizing our forks, proceeded at once
to action. Nothing but water was drunk at dinner, except when a
gentleman preferred to wash down roast pork with a tumbler of milk.
Wine in this part of the world was dear and bad, and even if the
Saints made their own, it could scarcely be cheap, on account of the
price of labour. The feeding ended with a glass of liquor, not at the
bar, because there was none, but in the privacy of one’s own chamber,
which takes from drinking half its charms. Most of the well-to-do men
found time for a siesta in the afternoon. There was supper at 6 p.m.,
and the evening was quietly spent with a friend.
To describe Great Salt Lake City in those days without some account of
polygamy would be like seeing _Hamlet_ with the part of the Prince of
Denmark omitted. It is, I suppose, therefore necessary to supply a
popular view of the peculiar institution which at once was the bane
and the blessing of Mormonism――plurality. I approach the subject with
a feeling of despair, so conflicting are opinions concerning it, and
so difficult is it to naturalise in Europe the customs of Asia,
Africa, and America, and reconcile the habits of the nineteenth
century A.D. with those of 1900 B.C. A return to the patriarchal ages
must necessarily have its disadvantages.
I found that the marriage ceremony was performed in the Temple, or, if
that was impossible, in Mr. Brigham Young’s office, properly speaking,
by the Prophet, who, however, could depute any follower to act for
him. When mutual consent was given, the parties were pronounced man
and wife in the name of Jesus Christ; prayers followed, and there was
a patriarchal feast of joy in the evening.
The first wife, as amongst polygamists generally, was _the_ wife, and
assumed the husband’s name and title. Her plurality partners were
called sisters, such as Sister Anne, or Sister Maria, and were the
“aunts” of her children. The first wife was married for time, the
others were sealed for eternity. Girls rarely remained single past
sixteen (in England the average marrying age is thirty), and they
would have been the pity of the community if they had been doomed to a
waste of youth so unnatural.
Divorce was rarely obtained by the man, who was ashamed to own that he
could not keep his house in order. Some, such as the President, would
grant it only in the case of adultery; and here I may say the two
mortal sins in Mormonism are (1) adultery, and (2) shedding innocent
blood. Wives, however, were allowed to claim it for cruelty,
desertion, or neglect. Mormon women married to Gentiles were cut off
from the society of the Saints, and without uncharitableness men
suspected a sound previous reason. The widows of the Prophet were
married to his successor, as David took unto himself the wives of
Saul; being generally aged, they occupied the position of matron
rather than wife, and the same was the case where a man espoused a
mother and her daughter.
There were rules and regulations of Mormonism. All sensuality in the
married state was strictly forbidden beyond that necessary to procure
progeny――the practice, in fact, of Adam and Abraham.
It is not necessary to go into the arguments which are adduced by the
Mormons in favour of polygamy, nor to recount the arguments on the
other side. I content myself here with stating facts as I saw them. It
will be asked, What view did the softer sex take of this state of
affairs? A few, mostly from the Old Country, lamented that Mr. Joseph
Smith ever asked of the Creator that question which was answered in
the affirmative. A very few, like the Curia Electa, Emma, the first
wife of Mr. Joseph Smith――who said of her, by-the-bye, that she could
not be contented in Heaven without rule――apostatised, and became Mrs.
Brideman. But most of the women were even more in favour of polygamy
than the men. For this attachment of the women of the Saints to the
doctrine of plurality I found two reasons. The Mormon prophets
expended all their arts upon this end, well knowing that without the
hearty co-operation of mothers and wives, sisters and daughters, their
institution could not exist long. They bribed them with promises of
Paradise, they subjugated them with threats of annihilation. With
them, once a Mormon always a Mormon. The apostate Mormon was looked
upon by other people as a scamp and a knave, and as regards a woman,
she was looked upon as worse than a prostitute. The Mormon household
has been described by its enemies as a hell of hatred, envy, and
malice; the same has been said of the Moslem harem; both, I believe,
suffer from the assertions of prejudice or ignorance.
Another curious effect may be noticed. When a man had four or five
wives, with reasonable families by each, he was fixed for life; his
interests, if not his affections, bound him irrevocably to his New
Faith. But the bachelor, as well as the monogamic youth, was prone to
backsliding and apostacy. This, when I was at Great Salt Lake City,
was apparently so common that many of the new Saints formed a mere
floating population. But without expressing any further opinions
(those I have given so far are merely the opinions of others), I may
say that the result of my investigations was to prove that Great Salt
Lake City had been wonderfully successful in its colonisation.
Physically speaking, there was no comparison between the Saints and
the class from which they were mostly taken, and, in point of view of
mere morality, the Mormon community was perhaps purer than any other
of equal numbers.
About the middle of September the time for my departure drew nigh. I
prepared for difficulties by having my hair “shingled off,” till my
head somewhat resembled a pointer’s dorsum, and deeply regretted
having left all my wigs behind me. We laid in a good store of
provisions, not forgetting an allowance of whiskey and schnapps.
My last evening was spent in the genial company of a few friends. I
thanked Governor Cumming for his generous hospitality, and made my
acknowledgments to the courtesy of his amiable wife. My adieux were on
an extensive scale, and the next day, September 19th, in the morning,
I left Great Salt Lake City, _en route_ for the South.
The day was fine and wondrous clear, affording a splendid back view of
the Happy Valley before it was finally shut out from sight, and the
Utah Lake looked a very gem of beauty, a diamond in its setting of
steelly blue mountains. It was with a feeling of real regret that I
bade adieu to the City of the Saints.
_A MISSION TO DAHOMÉ_
1863
_A MISSION TO DAHOMÉ_
1863
It is a long stride from Salt Lake City to Dahomé, from the Mormons to
the Amazons, but I take my visit to the King of Dahomé as next in
date. Before, however, beginning my journey to Dahomé let me touch
briefly on that much-vexed and little-understood subject――the negro.
Central Intertropical Africa, lying between north latitude 10° and
south latitude 20°, at that time contained eight considerable negro
circles, which may be called kingdoms. Of these there were three on
the west coast north of the Equator, namely:
1st. Ashanti, the land which exports the “Minas” negroes. This
despotism has been well known to us since the beginning of the present
century. The capital is Kumasi, nearly 133 direct miles from the
coast. This empire may be said to rest on two pillars, blood and gold.
Human sacrifice was excessive, and the “customs” mean the slaughter of
fellow-creatures.
2nd. Benin, a kingdom well known to old travellers, and the place
where Belzoni of the Pyramids died. I visited it in August, 1862, and
my reception was the crucifixion of a negro. On the night after my
arrival a second slave was slain and placed before my doorway. My
lodgings commanded a view of the principal square, which was strewn
with human bones, _green_ and _white_.
3rd. Dahomé. From the plain and unvarnished account of this tyranny,
which I am about to relate, may be estimated the amount of hopeless
misery which awaited the African in Africa. And as it is
unsatisfactory to point out a disease without suggesting a remedy, I
will propose my panacea at the end of this essay.
We now cross the Equator and find ourselves among the great South
African family. Their common origin is proved by their speech. Briefly
to characterise their language, the place of our genders are taken by
personal and impersonal forms, and all changes of words are made at
the beginning, not, as with us, at the end. The Kaffir (Caffre race in
South-east Africa) is evidently a mixed breed, and it has nearly
annihilated the Bushmen and the Hottentots――the original lords of the
land. There is a curious resemblance between the Coptic, or Old
Egyptian, and the Hottentot tongues, which suggests that in the
prehistoric ages one language extended from the Nile Valley to the
Cape of Good Hope. The true negroes, distinguished by their long,
ape-like head and projecting jaws, bowed shins and elongated heels and
forearms, are all the tribes of Intertropical Africa whose blood is
unmixed. This is my definition; but of this point opinions differ.
And here we may stand to view the gleam of light which the future
casts across the Dark Continent. Slowly but surely the wave of Moslem
conquest rolls down towards the line. Every Moslem is a propagandist,
and their traders, unlike ours, carry conversion with them. This fact
European missionaries deny, because they do not like it: they would
rather preach to heathens than to Moslems, whom Locke describes as
unorthodox Christians. They even deny the superiority of El Islam,
which forbids the pagan abominations of child-murder, human sacrifice,
witch-burning, ordeal-poisons, and horrors innumerable. But we, who
look forward to the advent of a higher law, of a nobler humanity, hail
with infinite pleasure every sign of progress.
Philanthropists, whose heads are sometimes softer than their hearts,
have summed up their opinion of slavery as the “sum of all
villainies.” I look upon it as an evil, to the slaveholder even more
than to the slave, but a necessary evil, or, rather, a condition of
things essentially connected, like polygamy, with the progress of
human society, especially in the tropics. The savage hunting tribes
slave for themselves; they are at the bottom of the ladder. Advancing
to agricultural and settled life, man must have assistants, hands,
slaves. As population increases, commerce develops itself and free
labour fills the markets; the slave and the serf are emancipated: they
have done their task; they disappear from the community, never more to
return. Hence every nation, Hindu and Hebrew, English and French, have
had slaves; all rose to their present state of civilisation by the
“sum of all villainies.” And here, when owning slavery to be an evil,
I must guard against being misunderstood. It is an evil to the white
man: it is often an incalculable boon to the black. In the case of the
negro it is life, it is comfort, it is civilisation; in the case of
the white it has done evil by retarding progress, by demoralising
society, and by giving rise to a mixed race.
And there is yet another point to be settled when speaking of the
negro. In the United States every black man is a negro, or, to speak
politely, a “cullard pussun.” Thus the noble races of Northern Africa
and the half-Arab Moors, the Nubians and Abyssinians, and the fine
Kaffir (Caffre) type of South-eastern Africa are confounded with the
anthropoid of Sierra Leone, of the Guinea and of the Congo regions.
The families first mentioned differ more from the true negro than they
do from the white man.
My first visit to Gelele, then King of Dahomé, was in May and June,
1863. Already in 1861 I had proposed to restore those amicable
relations which we had with his father Gezo; but my application was
not accepted by the Government. On my return to the West African coast
after a six weeks’ visit to England, the journey was made on my own
responsibility, and it was not pleasant. I was alone――in such matters
negroes do not count as men――and four mortal days upon the Slave Coast
lagoons, salt, miry rivers, rich only in mud, miasma, and mosquitoes,
with drenching rains and burning suns playing upon a cramping canoe
without awning, are unsatisfactory even to remember. Having reached
Whydah, the seaport and slave-market of Dahomé, I procured a hammock,
and in three days I arrived at Kana, a summer residency for the Court,
distant 7,500 miles from Agbomé, the capital.
The human sacrifices called the “nago customs” had lately ended.
Twelve men had lost their lives, and, dressed in various attire like
reapers, dancers, and musicians, had been exposed on tall scaffolds of
strong scantling. “_C’est se moquer de l’humanité_,” remarked to me
the Principal of the French Mission at Whydah. But the corpses had
been removed, and during my flying visit of five days nothing
offensive was witnessed.
At Kana I met M. Jules Gerard, first “_le chasseur_,” then “_le tueur
des lions_”: we had sailed together from Europe to Madeira, and he had
been sea-sick during the whole voyage. Men who have spent their youth
in the excitement of dangerous sport often lose their nerve in middle
age. This was the case with the unfortunate lion-hunter; the sight of
the “customs” threw him into a fever. Disappointment also weighed upon
his spirits. He came to West Africa in the hope that his fame as a
killer of lions had preceded him; but the only lion that can exist in
that mouldy climate is the British lion, and even he is not a terrible
beast to bring amongst the ladies. He expected to find Dahomé a kind
of Algiers, and he exchanged a good for a very bad country. He had set
his mind upon crossing the northern frontier; but the king at once put
an end to that plan, and afterwards played me the same trick. He had
also based his hopes upon his good shooting and upon an explosive
bullet calculated to do great execution; but many of the king’s women
guards could use their guns better than he did, and when the said
shell was produced, Gelele sent to his stores and brought out a
box-full.
M. Gerard proposed to himself a journey which would have severely
tried the health of the strongest man in Europe. He resolved to make
his way from the Gulf of Guinea through dangerous Timbuktu (Timbuctos)
and the terrible Sahara to Algiers. I advised him to retire to
Teneriffe or Madeira and recruit his energies. But he was game to the
last. He made another departure through the malarious Sherbro country,
south of pestilential Sierra Leone. The next thing we heard of him was
when crossing the Jong River he had been drowned by the upsetting of a
canoe. Somewhat later came the report that he had been foully
murdered. I was rejoiced to hear that a subscription had been raised
for his aged and bereaved mother.
Having reported that Dahomé was, under normal circumstances, as safe
as most parts of Africa, I received in August, 1863, orders to visit
it as Commissioner. My “mission” was to make certain presents to the
king, and to preach up cotton and palm oil versus war and human
sacrifices. I may begin by saying I lectured hard and talked to the
wind.
H.M.’s cruiser _Antelope_ landed me at Whydah in December, the dry
season, and the surf was not particularly dangerous. The beach is
open; between it and Brazil rolls the broad Atlantic; and near the
shore are an outer and inner sandbar with an interval forming a fine
breeding-ground for sharks. A girl is occasionally thrown in as an
offering to “Hu,” the sea-dog, and this does not diminish the evil.
We entered Whydah in state, paraded and surrounded by chiefs and
soldiery in war dress, kilts and silver horns like the giraffe’s:
their arms were long guns and short swords for decapitating the
wounded. Each troop had its flag, its umbrella, its band of drums and
tom-toms, its horns and cymbals. I especially remarked a gourd bottle
full of, and covered with, cowries, or pebbles――in fact the celebrated
“maraca” of Brazil, which, it has been conjectured, contributed
towards the formation of the word America. Every five minutes the
warriors halted to drink and dance. The drink is easily described――tafia
or bad caxaca. But the dance! I defy mortal man to paint it in words.
Let me briefly say that the arms are held up as though the owner were
running, the elbows being jerked so as nearly to meet behind the back;
the hands paddle like the paws of a swimming dog; the feet shuffle and
stamp as though treading water; the body-trunk joins in the play, and
the hips move backwards and forwards to the beating time. The jig and
the hornpipe are repose compared with this performance. There is also
a decapitation dance over an ideal dead enemy, whose head is duly sawn
off with the edge of the hand.
At Whydah I lodged at the English fort, a large double-storied
building of “taipa,” tenanted by Wesleyan missionaries. It was once a
strong place, as the ruined towers and burst guns show.
There were three other forts in the town. The Brazilian, which was
nearest the sea, was held by Chico de Souza, the son of the late
Francisco Fellis de Souza. This was a remarkable man. Born at
Cachoeira, near Bahia, he emigrated to Africa, where by courage and
conduct he became the Chacha, or Governor, of the Guild of Merchants,
a kind of Board of Trade. He made an enormous fortune, and by his many
wives he left about a hundred olive branches. Though a slave-dealer,
he was a man of honour and honesty. The English had done him many an
injury, yet he was invariably courteous and hospitable to every
English traveller. He strongly opposed human sacrifice, and he saved
many lives by curious contrivances. Of the same stamp was M. Domingos
Martins of Bahia, once celebrated for enormous wealth. He died in the
interval between my first and second visits. I regretted his death,
for he had been most kind and attentive to me.
The Portuguese fort had also been repaired, and was inhabited by six
members of the Lyons Mission, “_Le Vicariate Apostolique de Dahomé_.”
They kept a school, and they were apparently convinced that it was
hopeless to attempt the conversion of adults. The superior, Father
François Borghero, had several times been ill-treated by the
barbarians, and his hatred of idolatry had exposed him to not a little
danger. It is rare in those lands to find a highly educated and
thoroughly gentlemanly man; and, looking back, I am not surprised that
all my time not occupied by study or observation was spent in the
Portuguese fort.
Lastly, there was the French fort, in far better condition than the
others. It was held in my time by M. Marius Daumas, agent to M. Regis
(_aîné_) of Marseilles, and _faute de mieux_ he was buying and
shipping palm oil.
Whydah was easily seen. The houses were red “taipa” with thick thatch,
and each had its large and slovenly courtyard. The market-place was a
long street of small booths open to the front, where everything from a
needle to a moleque (small slave-boy) could be bought. The
thoroughfares were studded with small round roofs of grass, which
sheltered a hideous deity called Legba. He was made of muddy clay,
with holes for eyes and cowries for teeth, and he squatted before a
pot in which the faithful placed provisions, which were devoured by
the urubu (vulture). The chief temple was dedicated to the danh, or
snake, which here was the principal “fetish.” It was a circular hut
with two doorless entrances, and the venerated boas curled themselves
comfortably on the thickness of the walls. The largest was about six
feet long, and it was dangerous only to rats, of which it was very
fond. Several foreigners had been killed for injuring these reptiles,
and Whydah, once an independent kingdom, lost her liberty through the
snakes. When attacked by Dahomé in 1729, her chief defence was to
place a serpent on the invaders’ path. The Dahomans killed the
guardian genius and slaughtered the Whydahs till the streets ran
blood. But, when the conquerors had reduced their neighbour, they gave
her leave to adore the snake, and Whydah felt consoled, even happy. It
sounds like a traveller’s tale. I am writing history.
At Whydah we complied with the custom of sending up a messenger to
report our arrival. After three days came three officials from the
palace, who presented their sticks and delivered to me a verbal
invitation from their master. The sticks were white sticks, two feet
long, adorned with plates of silver, cut into the shapes of lions,
sharks, crocodiles, and other savage beasts. These batons served as
visiting cards, and were signs of dignity. When the king made me
honorary commandant of a corps of life-guardswomen, he sent me two
sticks by way of commission or diploma.