The Albert N'Yanza, Great Basin of the Nile, Samuel White Baker [inspirational novels .TXT] 📗

sad he

frequently came to visit us. On one occasion I gave him the portraits of

Speke and Grant: the latter he recognised immediately; he could not

understand the pictures in Punch, declaring that he (Punch) was not an

Englishman, as he neither resembled me nor Speke; but he was exceedingly

pleased with the Paris fashions in the Illustrated London News, which we

cut out with a pair of scissors, and gave him as specimens of English

ladies in full dress.

 

The war being concluded by the total discomfiture of his enemies,

Kamrasi was determined to destroy all those inhabitants of Foweera who

had in any way connived as the attack of the M’was. Daily executions

took place in the summary manner already described, the victims being

captured, led before the king, and butchered in his presence without a

trial.

 

Among others suspected as favourable to revolution was Kalloe, the chief

of Foweera; next to Kamrasi and M’Gambi he was the principal man in the

kingdom; he was much beloved by the entire population of Chopi and

Foweera, and I had always found him most intelligent and friendly. One

night, at about eight o’clock, Ibrahim came to my hut looking very

mysterious, and after assuring himself that no one was present, he

confided to me that he had received orders from Kamrasi to attack

Kalloe’s village before daybreak on the following morning, to surround

his dwelling, and to shoot him as he attempted to escape; Ibrahim was

further instructed to capture the women and children of the village as

his perquisites. At the very moment that thus treacherous compact had

been entered into with Ibrahim, Kamrasi had pretended to be upon the

most friendly terms with Kalloe, who was then in his camp; but he did

not lay violent hands upon him, as, many of the natives being in his

favour, the consequences might have been disagreeable: thus he had

secretly ordered his destruction. I at once desired Ibrahim at all

hazards to renounce so horrible a design. Never did I feel so full of

revolution as at that moment; my first impulse was to assist Kalloe to

dethrone Kamrasi, and to usurp the kingdom. Ibrahim had an eye to

business; he knew, that should he offend Kamrasi there would be an end

to the ivory trade for the present. The country was so rich in ivory

that it was a perfect bank upon which he could draw without limit,

provided that he remained an ally of the king; but no trade could be

carried on with the natives, all business being prohibited by Kamrasi,

who himself monopolised the profits. In the event of war, not a tusk

would be obtained, as the ivory in possession of the natives was never

stored in their huts, but was concealed in the earth. The Turks were now

mercenaries employed by the king to do any bloody work that he might

require.

 

Ibrahim was in a dilemma. I offered to take the entire onus upon myself.

That Kalloe should not be murdered I was determined; the old man had on

several occasions been very obliging to me and to my people, and I

resolved to save him at any risk. His son, perfectly unsuspicious of

evil, was at that moment in our camp, having fraternized with some of my

men. I sent for him immediately and explained the entire plot,

concluding by telling him to run that instant at full speed to his

father (about two miles distant), and to send away all the women and

children from the village, but to bring Kalloe to my hut; that I would

hoist the British flag, as I had done at Kisoona, and this should

protect him from the bloodthirsty Kamrasi, who would not dare to seize

him. Should he refuse to trust me, he must fly immediately, as the Turks

would attack the village before daybreak. Away started the astonished

son in the dark night at full speed along the well-known path, to give

the warning.

 

I now arranged with Ibrahim that to avoid offending Kamrasi he should

make a false attack upon the village at the time appointed; he would

find it deserted, and there would be an end of the matter should Kalloe

prefer flight to trusting in my protection, which I felt sure he would.

Midnight arrived, and no signs of Kalloe had appeared; I went to sleep,

satisfied that he was safe. Before daybreak eighty men of the Turks’

party started upon their feigned expedition; in about two hours they

returned, having found the village deserted;—the bird had flown. I was

delighted at the success of this ruse, but I should have been more

satisfied had Kalloe placed himself in my hands: this I had felt sure he

would decline, as the character of the natives is generally so false and

mistrustful that he would suspect a snare.

 

At about noon we heard yells; drums were beating and horns blowing in

all directions. For the moment I thought that Kalloe had raised the

country against Kamrasi, as I observed many hundred men dressed for war,

scouring the beautiful open park, like hounds upon a scent. The Turks

beat their drum and called their men under arms beneath the ensign

planted outside the village,—not knowing the intention of the unusual

gathering. It shortly transpired that Kamrasi had heard of the escape of

Kalloe, and, enraged at the loss of his prey, he had immediately started

about a thousand men in pursuit.

 

In the evening I heard that he had been captured. I sent to Kamrasi

directly, to beg him to postpone his execution, as I wished to speak

with him on the following morning.

 

At sunrise I started, and found the king sitting in his but, while

Kalloe was lying under a plantain tree perfectly resigned, with his leg

in the Kamrasi shoe—a block of wood of about four feet long and ten

inches thick (the rough trunk of a tree); his left foot had been thrust

through a small hole in the log, while a peg driven through at right

angles just above the instep effectually secured the prisoner. This was

a favourite punishment of the king; the prisoner might thus languish

until released by death; it was impossible to sit up, and difficult to

lie down, the log having to be adjusted by an attendant according to the

movement of the body. I told Kamrasi that as I had saved him from the

attack of the Turks at Kisoona he must grant me a favour, and spare

Kalloe’s life: this request, to my astonishment, he at once granted,

[A few days afterwards he shot Kalloe with his own hands.] and

added, that he should only keep him in the “shoe” for a few days, until

his people should bring him a hundred cows as a fine, in which case he

should release him. I had no faith in his promise, as I had before heard

that it was his practice to put the shoe upon any rich man in order to

extract a fine, upon the payment of which the unfortunate prisoner was

on some occasions killed instead of liberated. However, I had done all

in my power; and had Kalloe been a man of determination, he could have

saved himself by trusting implicitly to me. As I returned to the camp, I

could not help reflecting on the ingratitude I had experienced among all

the natives; on many occasions I had exerted myself to benefit others in

whom I had no personal interest, but in no single instance had I ever

received even a look of gratitude.

 

Two days after this occurrence I ordered the boy Saat to go as usual in

search of supplies to the neighbouring villages; but as he was starting,

Ibrahim advised him to wait a little, as something was wrong, and it

would be dangerous to go alone. A few minutes later, I heard three shots

fired in rapid succession at about three-quarters of a mile distant. The

Turks and my men immediately thronged outside the village, which

position being on a hill, we had a panoramic view of the surrounding

country.

 

We shortly perceived a number of men, including a few of the Turks’

party, approaching from an opposite hill, carrying something heavy in

their arms. With the telescope I distinguished a mat on which some

object of weight was laboriously supported, the bearers grasping the

corners in their hands. “One of our people is killed!” murmured one

Turk. “Perhaps it’s only a native,” said another. “Who would trouble

himself to carry a black fellow home!” exclaimed a third. The mystery

was soon cleared by the arrival of the party with the dead body of one

of Kamrasi’s headmen; one ball had struck him through the chest, another

through the right arm, and the third had passed through the body from

side to side. He had been shot by some Bari slaves who acted as soldiers

belonging to the Turks’ party. It appeared that the deceased had

formerly sent seventy elephants’ tusks to the people of Mahommed

Wat-el-Mek against the orders of Kamrasi, who had prohibited the export

of ivory from his kingdom, as he had agreed to deal exclusively with

Ibrahim. The culprit was therefore condemned to death, but having some

powerful adherents in his village, Kamrasi had thought it advisable to

employ the Turks to shoot him; this task they gladly accepted, as they

were minus seventy tusks through his conduct. Without my knowledge, a

small party had started in open daylight to his village close to our

camp, and on attempting to enter the fence, several lances were thrown

at the Turks; the deceased rushed from the hut attempting to escape, and

was immediately shot dead by three of the Bari soldiers. The hands were

then (as usual in all these countries) amputated at the wrists, in order

to detach the copper bracelets; the body being dragged about two hundred

paces from the village, was suspended by the neck to a branch of the

tamarind tree. All the slave women (about seventy) and children were

then driven down to the spot by the Turks to view the body as it swung

from the branch; when thoroughly horrified by the sight, they were

threatened to be served precisely in a similar manner should they ever

attempt to escape.

 

Superlatively brutal as this appeared, I could not help reflecting that

our public executions in England convey a similar moral; the only

difference being in the conduct of the women; the savages having to be

DRIVEN to the sight as witnesses, while European females throng

curiously to such disgusting exhibitions. A few minutes after the

departure of the crowd, the tree was covered with vultures, all watching

the prospective feast. [The woman Bacheeta ran away, and we never saw

her again. Some time after, we heard that she had escaped to Fowooka’s

people, fearing to be left by us, as we had promised, in Chopi.]

 

In the evening Kamrasi sent a number of women and children as presents

to Ibrahim: altogether he had given him seventy-two slaves in addition

to those captured in the various wars. There never was a more supreme

despot than the king Kamrasi—not only the property, but the families

of his subjects were at his disposal; he boasted that “all belonged to

him.” Thus, when disposed to be liberal, he took from others and

bestowed upon his favourites; should any sufferer complain, there were

no lawyer’s costs, but the “shoe,” or death. His power depended upon a

perfect system of espionage, by which he obtained a knowledge of all

that passed throughout his kingdom; that being divided into numerous

small districts, each governed by a chief, who was responsible for the

acts committed within his jurisdiction, the government was wonderfully

simplified. Should a complaint be made against