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Black Ivory

<h2 class="title">"Black Ivory"</h2> <h2 class="author">R.M. Ballantyne</h2> <hr> <h3>Preface.</h3> In writing this book, my aim has been to give a true picture in outline of the Slave Trade as it exists at the present time on the east coast of Africa. In order to do this I have selected from the most trustworthy sources what I believe to be the most telling points of “the trade,” and have woven these together into a tale, the warp of which is composed of thick cords of fact; the woof of slight lines of fiction, just sufficient to hold the fabric together. Exaggeration has easily been avoided, because—as Dr Livingstone says in regard to the slave-trade—“exaggeration is impossible.” If the reader’s taste should be offended by finding the tragic and comic elements in too close proximity I trust that he will bear in remembrance that “such is life,” and that the writer who would be true to life must follow, not lead, nature. I have to acknowledge myself indebted to Dr Ryan, late Bishop of Mauritius; to the Rev. Charles New, interpreter to the Livingstone Search Expedition; to Edward Hutchinson, Esquire, Lay Secretary to the Church Missionary Society, and others, for kindly furnishing me with information in connexion with the slave trade. Besides examining the Parliamentary Blue-books which treat of this subject, I have read or consulted, among others, the various authoritative works to which reference is made in the foot-notes sprinkled throughout this book,—all of which works bear the strongest possible testimony to the fact that the horrible traffic in human beings is in all respects as bad at the present time on the east coast of Africa as it ever was on the west coast in the days of Wilberforce. I began my tale in the hope that I might produce something to interest the young (perchance, also, the old) in a most momentous cause,—the total abolition of the African slave-trade. I close it with the prayer that God may make it a tooth in the file which shall eventually cut the chains of slavery, and set the black man free. R.M. Ballantyne. 1873 <hr> <h3>Chapter One.</h3> <h4>Shows that a Good Beginning may Sometimes be Followed by a Bad Ending.</h4> “Six feet water in the hold, sir!” That would not have been a pleasant announcement to the captain of the ‘Aurora’ at any time, but its unpleasantness was vastly increased by the fact that it greeted him near the termination of what had been, up to that point of time, an exceedingly prosperous voyage. “Are you sure, Davis?” asked the captain; “try again.” He gave the order under the influence of that feeling which is styled “hoping against hope,” and himself accompanied the ship’s carpenter to see it obeyed. “Six feet two inches,” was the result of this investigation. The vessel, a large English brig, had sprung a leak, and was rolling heavily in a somewhat rough sea off the east coast of Africa. It was no consolation to her captain that the shores of the great continent were visible on his lee, because a tremendous surf roared along the whole line of coast, threatening destruction to any vessel that should venture to approach, and there was no harbour of refuge nigh. “She’s sinking fast, Mr Seadrift,” said the captain to a stout frank-looking youth of about twenty summers, who leant against the bulwarks and gazed wistfully at the land; “the carpenter cannot find the leak, and the rate at which the water is rising shows that she cannot float long.” “What then do you propose to do?” inquired young Seadrift, with a troubled expression of countenance. “Abandon her,” replied the captain. “Well, you may do so, captain, but I shall not forsake my father’s ship as long as she can float. Why not beach her somewhere on the coast? By so doing we might save part of the cargo, and, at all events, shall have done the utmost that lay in our power.” “Look at the coast,” returned the captain; “where would you beach her? No doubt there is smooth water inside the reef, but the channels through it, if there be any here, are so narrow that it would be almost certain death to make the attempt.” The youth turned away without replying. He was sorely perplexed. Just before leaving England his father had said to him, “Harold, my boy, here’s your chance for paying a visit to the land you’ve read and talked so much about, and wished so often to travel through. I have chartered a brig, and shall send her out to Zanzibar with a cargo of beads, cotton cloth, brass wire, and such like: what say you to go as supercargo? Of course you won’t be able to follow in the steps of Livingstone or Mungo Park, but while the brig is at Zanzibar you will have an opportunity of running across the channel, the island being only a few miles from the main, and having a short run up-country to see the niggers, and perchance have a slap at a hippopotamus. I’ll line your pockets, so that you won’t lack the sinews of war, without which travel either at home or abroad is but sorry work, and I shall only expect you to give a good account of ship and cargo on your return.—Come, is it fixed?” Need we say that Harold leaped joyfully at the proposal? And now, here he was, called on to abandon the ‘Aurora’ to her fate, as we have said, near the end of a prosperous voyage. No wonder that he was perplexed. The crew were fully aware of the state of matters. By the captain’s orders they stood ready to lower the two largest boats, into which they had put much of their worldly goods and provisions as they could hold with safety. “Port, port your helm,” said the captain to the man at the wheel. “Port it is, sir,” replied the man at the wheel, who was one of those broad-shouldered, big-chested, loose-garmented, wide-trousered, bare-necked, free-and-easy, off-hand jovial tars who have done so much, in years gone by, to increase the wealth and prosperity of the British Empire, and who, although confessedly scarce, are considerately allowed to perish in hundreds annually on our shores for want of a little reasonable legislation. But cheer up, ye jolly tars! There is a glimmer of sunrise on your political horizon. It really does seem as if, in regard to you, there were at last “a good time coming.” “Port, port,” repeated the captain, with a glance at the compass and the sky. “Port it is, sir,” again replied the jovial one. “Steady! Lower away the boat, lads.—Now, Mr Seadrift,” said the captain, turning with an air of decision to the young supercargo, “the time has come for you to make up your mind. The water is rising in the hold, and the ship is, as you see, settling fast down. I need not say to you that it is with the utmost regret I find it necessary to abandon her; but self-preservation and the duty I owe to my men render the step absolutely necessary. Do you intend to go with us?” “No, captain, I don’t,” replied Harold Seadrift firmly. “I do not blame you for consulting your own safety, and doing what you believe to be your duty, but I have already said that I shall stick by the ship as long as she can float.” “Well, sir, I regret it but you must do as you think best,” replied the captain, turning away— “Now, lads, jump in.” The men obeyed, but several of those who were last to quit the ship looked back and called to the free-and-easy man who still stood at the wheel— “Come along, Disco; we’ll have to shove off directly.” “Shove off w’en you please,” replied the man at the wheel, in a deep rich voice, whose tones were indicative of a sort of good-humoured contempt; “wot I means for to do is to stop where I am. It’ll never be said of Disco Lillihammer that he forsook the owner’s son in distress.” “But you’ll go to the bottom, man, if you don’t come.” “Well, wot if I do? I’d raither go to the bottom with a brave man, than remain at the top with a set o’ fine fellers like you!” Some of the men received this reply with a laugh, others frowned, and a few swore, while some of them looked regretfully at their self-willed shipmate; for it must not be supposed that all the tars who float upon the sea are of the bold, candid, open-handed type, though we really believe that a large proportion of them are so. Be this as it may, the boats left the brig, and were soon far astern. “Thank you, Lillihammer,” said Harold, going up and grasping the horny hand of the self-sacrificing sea-dog. “This is very kind of you, though I fear it may cost you your life. But it is too late to talk of that; we must fix on some plan, and act at once.” “The werry thing, sir,” said Disco quietly, “that wos runnin’ in my own mind, ’cos it’s werry clear that we hain’t got too many minits to spare in confabilation.” “Well, what do you suggest?” “Arter you, sir,” said Disco, pulling his forelock; “you are capting now, an’ ought to give orders.” “Then I think the best thing we can do,” rejoined Harold, “is to make straight for the shore, search for an opening in the reef, run through, and beach the vessel on the sand. What say you?” “As there’s nothin’ else left for us to do,” replied Disco, “that’s ’zactly wot I think too, an’ the sooner we does it the better.” “Down with the helm, then,” cried Harold, springing forward, “and I’ll ease off the sheets.” In a few minutes the ‘Aurora’ was surging before a stiff breeze towards the line of foam which indicated the outlying reef, and inside of which all was comparatively calm. “If we only manage to get inside,” said Harold, “we shall do well.” Disco made no reply. His whole attention was given to steering the brig, and running his eyes anxiously along the breakers, the sound of which increased to a thunderous roar as they drew near. “There seems something like a channel yonder,” said Harold, pointing anxiously to a particular spot in the reef. “I see it, sir,” was the curt reply. A few minutes more of suspense, and the brig drove into the supposed channel, and struck with such violence that the foremast snapped off near the deck, and went over the side. “God help us, we’re lost!” exclaimed Harold, as a towering wave lifted the vessel up and hurled her like a plaything on the rocks. “Stand by to jump, sir,” cried Disco. Another breaker came roaring in at the moment, overwhelmed the brig, rolled her over on her beam-ends, and swept the two men out of her. They struggled gallantly to free themselves from the wreck, and, succeeding with difficulty, swam across the sheltered water to the shore, on which they finally landed. Harold’s first exclamation was one of thankfulness for their deliverance, to which Disco replied with a hearty “Amen!” and then turning round and surveying the coast, while he slowly thrust his hands into his wet trouser-pockets, wondered whereabouts in the world they had got to. “To the east coast of Africa, to be sure,” observed the young supercargo, with a slight smile, as he wrung the water out of the foot of his trousers, “the place we were bound for, you know.” “Werry good; so here we are—come to an anchor! Well, I only wish,” he added, sitting down on a piece of driftwood, and rummaging in the pockets before referred to, as if in search of something—“I only wish I’d kep’ on my weskit, ’cause all my ’baccy’s there, and it would be a rael comfort to have a quid in the circumstances.” It was fortunate for the wrecked voyagers that the set of the current had carried portions of their vessel to the shore, at a considerable distance from the spot where they had landed, because a band of natives, armed with spears and bows and arrows, had watched the wreck from the neighbouring heights, and had hastened to that part of the coast on which they knew from experience the cargo would be likely to drift. The heads of the swimmers being but small specks in the distance, had escaped observation. Thus they had landed unseen. The spot was near the entrance to a small river or creek, which was partially concealed by the formation of the land and by mangrove trees. Harold was the first to observe that they had not been cast on an uninhabited shore. While gazing round him, and casting about in his mind what was best to be done, he heard shouts, and hastening to a rocky point that hid part of the coast from his view looked cautiously over it and saw the natives. He beckoned to Disco, who joined him. “They haven’t a friendly look about ’em,” observed the seaman, “and they’re summat scant in the matter of clothin’.” “Appearances are often deceptive,” returned his companion, “but I so far agree with you that I think our wisest course will be to retire into the woods, and there consult as to our future proceedings, for it is quite certain that as we cannot live on sand and salt water, neither can we safely sleep in wet clothes or on the bare ground in a climate like this.” Hastening towards the entrance to the creek, the unfortunate pair entered the bushes, through which they pushed with some difficulty, until they gained a spot sufficiently secluded for their purpose, when they observed that they had passed through a belt of underwood, beyond which there appeared to be an open space. A few steps further and they came out on a sort of natural basin formed by the creek, in which floated a large boat of a peculiar construction, with very piratical-looking lateen sails. Their astonishment at this unexpected sight was increased by the fact that on the opposite bank of the creek there stood several men armed with muskets, which latter were immediately pointed at their breasts. The first impulse of the shipwrecked friends was to spring back into the bushes—the second to advance and hold up their empty hands to show that they were unarmed. “Hold on,” exclaimed Disco, in a free and easy confidential tone; “we’re friends, we are; shipwrecked mariners we is, so ground arms, my lads, an’ make your minds easy.” One of the men made some remark to another, who, from his Oriental dress, was easily recognised by Harold as one of the Arab traders of the coast. His men appeared to be half-castes. The Arab nodded gravely, and said something which induced his men to lower their muskets. Then with a wave of his hand he invited the strangers to come over the creek to him. This was rendered possible by the breadth of the boat already mentioned being so great that, while one side touched the right bank of the creek, the other was within four or five feet of the left. Without hesitation Harold Seadrift bounded lightly from the bank to the half-deck of the boat, and, stepping ashore, walked up to the Arab, closely followed by his companion. “Do you speak English?” asked Harold. The Arab shook his head and said, “Arabic, Portuguese.” Harold therefore shook his head;—then, with a hopeful look, said “French?” interrogatively. The Arab repeated the shake of his head, but after a moments’ thought said, “I know littil Engleesh; speak, where comes you?” “We have been wrecked,” began Harold (the Arab glanced gravely at his dripping clothes, as if to say, I had guessed as much), “and this man and I are the only survivors of the crew of our ship—at least the only two who swam on shore, the others went off in a boat.” “Come you from man-of-war?” asked the Arab, with a keen glance at the candid countenance of the youth. “No, our vessel was a trader bound for Zanzibar. She now lies in fragments on the shore, and we have escaped with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Can you tell us whether there is a town or a village in the neighbourhood? for, as you see, we stand sadly in need of clothing, food, and shelter. We have no money, but we have good muscles and stout hearts, and could work our way well enough, I doubt not.” Young Seadrift said this modestly, but the remark was unnecessary, for it would have been quite obvious to a man of much less intelligence than the Arab that a youth who, although just entering on the age of manhood, was six feet high, deep-chested, broad-shouldered, and as lithe as a kitten, could not find any difficulty in working his way, while his companion, though a little older, was evidently quite as capable. “There be no town, no village, for fifty miles from where you stand,” replied the Arab. “Indeed!” exclaimed Harold in surprise, for he had always supposed the East African coast to be rather populous. “That’s a blue look-out anyhow,” observed Disco, “for it necessitates starvation, unless this good gentleman will hire us to work his craft. It ain’t very ship-shape to be sure, but anything of a seagoin’ craft comes more or less handy to an old salt.” The trader listened with the politeness and profound gravity that seems to be characteristic of Orientals, but by no sign or expression showed whether he understood what was said. “I go to Zanzibar,” said he, turning to Harold, “and will take you,—so you wish.” There was something sinister in the man’s manner which Harold did not like, but as he was destitute, besides being in the Arab’s power, and utterly ignorant of the country, he thought it best to put a good face on matters, and therefore thanked him for his kind offer, and assured him that on reaching Zanzibar he would be in a position to pay for his passage as well as that of his friend. “May I ask,” continued Harold, “what your occupation is?” “I am trader.” Harold thought he would venture another question:— “In what sort of goods do you trade?” “Ivory. Some be white, an’ some be what your contrymans do call black.” “Black!” exclaimed Harold, in surprise. “Yees, black,” replied the trader. “White ivory do come from the elephant—hims tusk; Black Ivory do come,”—he smiled slightly at this point—“from the land everywheres. It bees our chef artikil of trade.” “Indeed! I never heard of it before.” “No?” replied the trader; “you shall see it much here. But I go talk with my mans. Wait.” Saying this, in a tone which savoured somewhat unpleasantly of command, the Arab went towards a small hut near to which his men were standing, and entered into conversation with them. It was evident that they were ill pleased with what he said at first for there was a good deal of remonstrance in their tones, while they pointed frequently in a certain direction which seemed to indicate the coast-line; but by degrees their tones changed, and they laughed and chuckled a good deal, as if greatly tickled by the speech of the Arab, who, however, maintained a look of dignified gravity all the time. “I don’t like the looks o’ them fellers,” remarked Disco, after observing them in silence for some time. “They’re a cut-throat set, I’m quite sure, an’ if you’ll take my advice, Mister Seadrift, we’ll give ’em the slip, an’ try to hunt up one o’ the native villages. I shouldn’t wonder, now, if that chap was a slave-trader.” “The same idea has occurred to myself, Disco,” replied Harold, “and I would willingly leave him if I thought there was a town or village within twenty miles of us; but we are ignorant on that point and I have heard enough of the African climate to believe that it might cost us our lives if we were obliged to spend a night in the jungle without fire, food, or covering, and with nothing on but a wet flannel shirt and pair of canvas breeches. No, no, lad, we must not risk it. Besides, although some Arabs are slave-traders, it does not follow that all are. This fellow may turn out better than he looks.” Disco Lillihammer experienced some sensations of surprise on hearing his young friend’s remarks on the climate, for he knew nothing whatever about that of Africa, having sailed chiefly in the Arctic Seas as a whaler,—and laboured under the delusion that no climate under the sun could in any degree affect his hardy and well-seasoned frame. He was too respectful, however, to let his thoughts be known. Meanwhile the Arab returned. “I sail this night,” he said, “when moon go down. That not far before midnight. You mus keep by boat here—close. If you go this way or that the niggers kill you. They not come here; they know I is here. I go look after my goods and chattels—my Black Ivory.” “Mayn’t we go with ’ee, mister—what’s your name?” “My name?—Yoosoof,” replied the Arab, in a tone and with a look which were meant to command respect. “Well, Mister Yoosoof,” continued Disco, “if we may make bold to ax leave for to go with ’ee, we could lend ’ee a helpin’ hand, d’ye see, to carry yer goods an’ chattels down to the boat.” “There is no need,” said Yoosoof, waving his hand, and pointing to the hut before mentioned. “Go; you can rest till we sail. Sleep; you will need it. There is littil rice in hut—eat that, and make fire, dry youselfs.” So saying, the Arab left them by a path leading into the woods, along which his men, who were Portuguese half-castes, had preceded him. “Make fire indeed!” exclaimed Disco, as he walked with his companion to the hut; “one would think, from the free-and-easy way in which he tells us to make it, that he’s in the habit himself of striking it out o’ the point o’ his own nose, or some such convenient fashion.” “More likely to flash it out of his eyes, I should think,” said Harold; “but, see here, the fellow knew what he was talking about. There is fire among these embers on the hearth.” “That’s true,” replied Disco, going down on his knees, and blowing them carefully. In a few minutes a spark leaped into a flame, wood was heaped on, and the flame speedily became a rousing fire, before which they dried their garments, while a pot of rice was put on to boil. Scarcely had they proceeded thus far in their preparations, when two men, armed with muskets, were seen to approach, leading a negro girl between them. As they drew nearer, it was observable that the girl had a brass ring round her neck, to which a rope was attached. “A slave!” exclaimed Disco vehemently, while the blood rushed to his face; “let’s set her free!” The indignant seaman had half sprung to his legs before Harold seized and pulled him forcibly back. “Be quiet man,” said Harold quickly. “If we could free her by fighting, I would help you, but we can’t. Evidently we have got into a nest of slavers. Rashness will only bring about our own death. Be wise; bide your time, and we may live to do some good yet.” He stopped abruptly, for the new comers had reached the top of the winding path that led to the hut. A look of intense surprise overspread the faces of the two men when they entered and saw the Englishmen sitting comfortably by the fire, and both, as if by instinct threw forward the muzzles of their muskets. “Oh! come in, come in, make your minds easy,” cried Disco, in a half-savage tone, despite the warning he had received; “we’re all friends here—leastwise we can’t help ourselves.” Fortunately for our mariner the men did not understand him, and before they could make up their minds what to think of it, or how to act Harold rose, and, with a polite bow, invited them to enter. “Do you understand English?” he asked. A frown, and a decided shake of the head from both men, was the reply. The poor negro girl cowered behind her keepers, as if she feared that violence were about to ensue. Having tried French with a like result, Harold uttered the name, “Yoosoof,” and pointed in the direction in which the trader had entered the woods. The men looked intelligently at each other, and nodded. Then Harold said “Zanzibar,” and pointed in the direction in which he supposed that island lay. Again the men glanced at each other, and nodded. Harold next said “Boat—dhow,” and pointed towards the creek, which remark and sign were received as before. “Good,” he continued, slapping himself on the chest, and pointing to his companion, “I go to Zanzibar, he goes, she goes,” (pointing to the girl), “you go, and Yoosoof goes—all in the dhow together to Zanzibar—to-night—when moon goes down. D’ee understand? Now then, come along and have some rice.” He finished up by slapping one of the men on the shoulder, and lifting the kettle off the fire, for the rice had already been cooked and only wanted warming. The men looked once again at each other, nodded, laughed, and sat down on a log beside the fire, opposite to the Englishmen. They were evidently much perplexed by the situation, and, not knowing what to make of it, were disposed in the meantime to be friendly. While they were busy with the rice, Disco gazed in silent wonder, and with intense pity, at the slave-girl, who sat a little to one side of her guardians on a mat, her small hands folded together resting on one knee, her head drooping, and her eyes cast down. The enthusiastic tar found it very difficult to restrain his feelings. He had heard, of course, more or less about African slavery from shipmates, but he had never read about it, and had never seriously given his thoughts to it, although his native sense of freedom, justice, and fair-play had roused a feeling of indignation in his breast whenever the subject chanced to be discussed by him and his mates. But now, for the first time in his life, suddenly and unexpectedly, he was brought face to face with slavery. No wonder that he was deeply moved. “Why, Mister Seadrift,” he said, in the confidential tone of one who imparts a new discovery, “I do honestly confess to ’ee that I think that’s a pretty girl!” “I quite agree with you,” replied Harold, smiling. “Ay, but I mean really pretty, you know. I’ve always thought that all niggers had ugly flat noses an’ thick blubber lips. But look at that one: her lips are scarce a bit thicker than those of many a good-looking lass in England, and they don’t stick out at all, and her nose ain’t flat a bit. It’s quite as good as my Nancy’s nose, an’ that’s sayin’ a good deal, I tell ’ee. Moreover, she ain’t black—she’s brown.” It is but justice to Disco to say that he was right in his observations, and to explain that the various negro tribes in Africa differ very materially from each other; some of them, as we are told by Dr Livingstone, possessing little of what, in our eyes, seems the characteristic ugliness of the negro—such as thick lips, flat noses, protruding heels, etcetera,—but being in every sense handsome races of humanity. The slave-girl whom Disco admired and pitied so much belonged to one of these tribes, and, as was afterwards ascertained, had been brought from the far interior. She appeared to be very young, nevertheless there was a settled expression of meek sorrow and suffering on her face; and though handsomely formed, she was extremely thin, no doubt from prolonged hardships on the journey down to the coast. “Here, have somethin’ to eat,” exclaimed Disco, suddenly filling a tin plate with rice, and carrying it to the girl, who, however, shook her head without raising her eyes. “You’re not hungry, poor thing,” said the seaman, in a disappointed tone; “you look as if you should be. Come, try it,” he added, stooping, and patting her head. The poor child looked up as if frightened, and shrank from the seaman’s touch, but on glancing a second time in his honest face, she appeared to feel confidence in him. Nevertheless, she would not touch the rice until her guardians said something to her sternly, when she began to eat with an appetite that was eloquent. “Come, now, tell us what your name is, lass,” said Disco, when she had finished the rice. Of course the girl shook her head, but appeared to wish to understand the question, while the Portuguese laughed and seemed amused with the Englishman’s eccentricities. “Look here, now,” resumed the tar, slapping his own chest vigorously, “Disco, Disco, Disco, that’s me—Disco. And this man,” (patting his companion on the breast) “is Harold, Harold, that’s him—Harold. Now, then,” he added, pointing straight at the girl, “you—what’s you name, eh?” A gleam of intelligence shot from the girl’s expressive eyes, and she displayed a double row of beautiful teeth as in a low soft voice she said— “Azinté.” “Azinté? come, that’s not a bad name; why, it’s a capital one. Just suited to ’ee. Well, Azinté, my poor girl,” said Disco, with a fresh outburst of feeling, as he clenched his horny right hand and dashed it into the palm of his left, “if I only knew how to set you free just now, my dear, I’d do it—ay, if I was to be roasted alive for so doin’. I would!” “You’ll never set anybody free in this world,” said Harold Seadrift, with some severity, “if you go on talking and acting as you have done to-day. If these men had not, by good fortune, been ignorant of our language, it’s my opinion that they would have blown our brains out before this time. You should restrain yourself, man,” he continued, gradually dropping into a remonstrative and then into an earnestly confidential tone; “we are utterly helpless just now. If you did succeed in freeing that girl at this moment, it would only be to let her fall into the hands of some other slave-owner. Besides, that would not set free all the other slaves, male and female, who are being dragged from the interior of Africa. You and I may perhaps do some small matter in the way of helping to free slaves, if we keep quiet and watch our opportunity, but we shall accomplish nothing if you give way to useless bursts of anger.” Poor Lillihammer was subdued. “You’re right Mister Seadrift, you’re right, sir, and I’m a ass. I never could keep my feelings down. It’s all along of my havin’ bin made too much of by my mother, dear old woman, w’en I was a boy. But I’ll make a effort, sir; I’ll clap a stopper on ’em—bottle ’em up and screw ’em down tight, werry tight indeed.” Disco again sent his right fist into the palm of his left hand, with something like the sound of a pistol-shot to the no small surprise and alarm of the Portuguese, and, rising, went out to cool his heated brow in the open air. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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