The Albert N'Yanza, Great Basin of the Nile - Samuel White Baker (paper ebook reader .TXT) 📗
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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
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