The day after our arrival within the
realm of this great spider, who, throned
in the centre of his mesh, was able to catch almost
every fly that flew athwart the web, I
landed at one of the minor factories, and sold a thousand
quarter-kegs of powder to Don Jose Ramon. But,
next day, when I proceeded in my capacity of interpreter
to the establishment of Don Pedro, I found his Castilian
plumage ruffled, and, though we were received with
formal politeness, he declined to purchase, because
we had failed to address him in advance of any
other factor on the river.
The folks at Sierra Leone dwelt so
tenderly on the generous side of Blanco’s character,
that I was still not without hope that I might induce
him to purchase a good deal of our rum and tobacco,
which would be drugs on our hands unless he consented
to relieve us. I did not think it altogether
wrong, therefore, to concoct a little ruse
whereby I hoped to touch the pocket through the breast
of the Don. In fact, I addressed him a note,
in which I truly related my recent mishaps, adventures,
and imprisonments; but I concluded the narrative with
a hope that he would succor one so destitute and unhappy,
by allowing him to win an honest commission
allowed by the American captain on any sales I could
effect. The bait took; a prompt, laconic answer
returned; I was bidden to come ashore with the invoice
of our cargo; and, for my sake, Don Pedro purchased
from the Yankee brig $5000 worth of rum and tobacco,
all of which was paid by drafts on London, of which
slaves were, of course, the original basis!
My imaginary commissions, however, remained in the
purse of the owners.
An accident occurred in landing our
merchandise, which will serve to illustrate the character
of Blanco. While the hogsheads of tobacco were
discharging, our second mate, who suffered from strabismus
more painfully than almost any cross-eyed man I ever
saw, became excessively provoked with one of the native
boatmen who had been employed in the service.
It is probable that the negro was insolent, which
the mate thought proper to chastise by throwing staves
at the Krooman’s head. The negro fled,
seeking refuge on the other side of his canoe; but
the enraged officer continued the pursuit, and, in
his double-sighted blundering, ran against an oar
which the persecuted black suddenly lifted in self-defence.
I know not whether it was rage or blindness, or both
combined, that prevented the American from seeing
the blade, but on he dashed, rushing impetuously against
the implement, severing his lip with a frightful gash,
and knocking four teeth from his upper jaw.
Of course, the luckless negro instantly
fled to “the bush;” and, that night, in
the agony of delirium, caused by fever and dreaded
deformity, the mate terminated his existence by laudanum.
The African law condemns the man who
draws blood to a severe fine in slaves, proportioned
to the harm that may have been inflicted. Accordingly,
the culprit Krooman, innocent as he was of premeditated
evil, now lay heavily loaded with irons in Don Pedro’s
barracoon, awaiting the sentence which the whites
in his service already declared should be death.
“He struck a white!” they said, and the
wound he inflicted was reported to have caused that
white man’s ruin. But, luckily, before
the sentence was executed, I came ashore, and,
as the transaction occurred in my presence, I ventured
to appeal from the verdict of public opinion to Don
Pedro, with the hope that I might exculpate the Krooman.
My simple and truthful story was sufficient.
An order was instantly given for the black’s
release, and, in spite of native chiefs and grumbling
whites, who were savagely greedy for the fellow’s
blood, Don Pedro persisted in his judgment and sent
him back on board the “Reaper.”
The character manifested by Blanco
on this occasion, and the admirable management of
his factory, induced me to seize a favorable moment
to offer my services to the mighty trader. They
were promptly accepted, and in a short time I was
employed as principal in one of Don Pedro’s
branches.
The Vey natives on this river and
its neighborhood were not numerous before the establishment
of Spanish factories, but since 1813, the epoch of
the arrival of several Cuban vessels with rich, merchandise,
the neighboring tribes flocked to the swampy flats,
and as there was much similarity in the language and
habits of the natives and emigrants, they soon intermarried
and mingled in ownership of the soil.
In proportion as these upstarts were
educated in slave-trade under the influence of opulent
factors, they greedily acquired the habit of hunting
their own kind and abandoned all other occupations
but war and kidnapping. As the country was prolific
and the trade profitable, the thousands and tens of
thousands annually sent abroad from Gallinas, soon
began to exhaust the neighborhood; but the appetite
for plunder was neither satiated nor stopped by distance,
when it became necessary for the neighboring natives
to extend their forays and hunts far into the interior.
In a few years war raged wherever the influence of
this river extended. The slave factories supplied
the huntsmen with powder, weapons, and enticing merchandise,
so that they fearlessly advanced against ignorant
multitudes, who, too silly to comprehend the benefit
of alliance, fought the aggressors singly, and, of
course, became their prey.
Still, however, the demand increased.
Don Pedro and his satellites had struck a vein richer
than the gold coast. His flush barracoons became
proverbial throughout the Spanish and Portuguese colonies,
and his look-outs were ceaseless in their signals
of approaching vessels. New factories were established,
as branches, north and south of the parent den.
Mana Rock, Sherbro, Sugarei, Cape Mount, Little Cape
Mount, and even Digby, at the door of Monrovia, all
had depots and barracoons of slaves belonging to the
whites of Gallinas.
But this prosperity did not endure.
The torch of discord, in a civil war which was designed
for revengeful murder rather than slavery, was kindled
by a black Paris, who had deprived his uncle of an
Ethiopian Helen. Every bush and hamlet contained
its Achilles and Ulysses, and every town rose to the
dignity of a Troy.
The geographical configuration of
the country, as I have described it, isolated almost
every family of note on various branches of the river,
so that nearly all were enabled to fortify themselves
within their islands or marshy flats. The principal
parties in this family feud were the Amarars and Shiakars.
Amarar was a native of Shebar, and, through several
generations, had Mandingo blood in his veins; Shiakar,
born on the river, considered himself a noble of the
land, and being aggressor in this conflict, disputed
his prize with the wildest ferocity of a savage.
The whites, who are ever on the watch for native quarrels,
wisely refrained from partisanship with either of
the combatants, but continued to purchase the prisoners
brought to their factories by both parties. Many
a vessel bore across the Atlantic two inveterate enemies
shackled to the same bolt, while others met on the
same deck a long-lost child or brother who had been
captured in the civil war.
I might fill a volume with the narrative
of this horrid conflict before it was terminated by
the death of Amarar. For several months this
savage had been blockaded in his stockade by Shiakar’s
warriors. At length a sortie became indispensable
to obtain provisions, but the enemy were too numerous
to justify the risk. Upon this, Amarar called
his soothsayer, and required him to name a propitious
moment for the sally. The oracle retired to his
den, and, after suitable incantations, declared that
the effort should be made as soon as the hands of
Amarar were stained in the blood of his own son.
It is said that the prophet intended the victim to
be a youthful son of Amarar, who had joined his mother’s
family, and was then distant; but the impatient and
superstitious savage, seeing a child of his own, two
years old, at hand, when the oracle announced the decree,
snatched the infant from his mother’s arms,
threw it into a rice mortar, and, with a pestle, mashed
it to death!
The sacrifice over, a sortie was ordered.
The infuriate and starving savages, roused by the
oracle and inflamed by the bloody scene, rushed forth
tumultuously. Amarar, armed with the pestle, still
warm and reeking with his infant’s blood, was
foremost in the onset. The besiegers gave way
and fled; the town was re-provisioned; the fortifications
of the enemy demolished, and the soothsayer rewarded
with a slave for his barbarous prediction!
At another time, Amarar was on the
point of attacking a strongly fortified town, when
doubts were intimated of success. Again the wizard
was consulted, when the mysterious oracle declared
that the chief “could not conquer till he
returned once more to his mother’s womb!”
That night Amarar committed the blackest of incests;
but his party was repulsed, and the false prophet
stoned to death!
These are faint incidents of a savage
drama which lasted several years, until Amarar, in
his native town, became the prisoner of Shiakar’s
soldiery. Mana, his captor, caused him to be decapitated;
and while the blood still streamed from the severed
neck, the monster’s head was thrust into the
fresh-torn bowels of his mother!