Chapter XXIII: The Delivery of the Message

On Friday, February 12th, we received two visits from the fat Adanejan. He led me with great mystery into an inner room, and, tracing lines upon the floor, asked many questions about Abeokuta, carefully cross- examining me, till convinced that he was not deceived. The King’s personal courtesy to me demanding some return, I drew the outline of the Egba defences upon a sheet of paper and sent it back, advising him by no means, till his forces were trebled, and even then not without howitzers or field pieces, to cross the Ogun, a river so fatal to his father. “Ah! but,” said the stout man, “the enemy will run when they see us.” I told him that they would not, at least, as long as they were sheltered by walls, and suggested fascines, and simple methods of getting at the enemy, which were received with incredulous smiles, as things worthy of the crafty white, but incompatible with the dignity of Dahoman heroism.[250] Presently Adanejan departed, carrying with him, in token of having seen me, a favourite bowie-knife, which it was impossible to recover.

At 3 P.M. on the next day, February 13, when, almost in despair, we had resolved to walk to the coast, using our hammock-men as porters, the Buko-no’s messenger hurried us in full dress to the palace. The old man thus deceived me again, and for the last time. He had heard of his rival’s success in carrying off a favourite weapon, and he was resolved to “pay me out.” Harpagon lay quietly in the cool verandah, with a stool supporting his head, whilst we had the pleasure of sitting in a kind of Samúm, with glare enough to dazzle an eagle, opposite the ragged palm- leaf fence of the Jegbe House. It was anything but a dignified position, this four hours’ _séance_ before the barbarous abode of a petty African chief, whose pride has been swollen by mulatto slave-dealers into a manner of mania. I resolved to speak plainly to the King upon the subject of this unworthy treatment.

At 6 P.M., when the few ministers who were to be present at the conference had entered the palace, we received a summons. Passing through the two mat-fenced courts, we found the King sitting under an ordinary shed, verandahed by umbrellas. As usual, there was a ring of white sand before him; the nearest posts had been covered with calico, and half-a-dozen “ladies” squatted behind their lord. Besides ourselves, the only men present were the Adanejan, the Meu, and the Buko-no, who acted ward. He had ignominiously rated and turned out John Mark, the “governor,” who attempted to accompany Beecham, the recognized interpreter. The prostrations before the King were perfunctory, and there was little of the ceremoniousness displayed at the public levées.

After we had made _congés_, Gelele rose and shook hands with us. Returning to his seat, a bamboo cot, covered with fine cloths and mats, he perceived that there was something wrong, and told me that he had heard of my complaining about him, after we had been the best of friends, dancing and drinking together. I replied that there was no grievance against the King, but that it had not been well to retard the delivery of so important a message for two months. This was met by the plea of occupation, and by reminding me that the substance of the despatches had already been communicated. My next objection was, that his minister had attempted to make us keep the house, like state prisoners, for two moons: that we had been subject to other petty annoyances at the hands of the Buko-no; that we had not been permitted freely to see and to mix with the chiefs; and that we had been prevented from visiting the Makhi Mountains for sport and recreation, as was permitted to Messrs. Dickson and Duncan. To this he gave the usual reply, that they were small men; and as this did not satisfy me, he asked me point blank, after a whisper from the Meu, if there was anything upon that subject in my instructions. I replied in the negative, and was thereupon assured that, had my orders been such, I should have been allowed to travel northward,—which, to use the mildest terms, was not the case. I finally asked him if he was aware that we had that very afternoon been kept for hours in the sun before his gate, a custom unknown to all civilized peoples. As we expected, he had never heard of it, and showed a surprise, which appeared natural, at this and others of our tribulations. To change a disagreeable subject, he bantered me about keeping the Buko-no’s unruly slaves in order with the staff, to which I pleaded a _molliter imposuit_. At length, seeing my brow cleared by the perfect good humour with which he discussed these personal preliminaries, he directed me to read the “Message.”

I then began, and, after each sentence, the interpreter translated it. He did so correctly, in fear of conviction. The reasons which prevented Captain Wilmot’s return to Agbome were first duly stated; then came the ticklish subjects of slave export and human sacrifice, forbidden themes at the Court of Dahome. Touching the former, the King was informed that Her Majesty’s Government is resolved to arrest the traffic, and that the United States of America would no longer allow their vessels to carry live cargo. With respect to human sacrifice, that the more its horrors were mitigated, the better. In enlarging upon these last two paragraphs, I felt a sense of hopelessness with which the reader of these pages will, perhaps, sympathize; it was like talking to the winds. As regards the King’s offer to repair the English Fort, Whydah, and to permit it to be garrisoned by English troops,[251] I thanked him for such mark of confidence, assuring him that the royal protection was all-sufficient, but that before English merchants would settle at Whydah, there must be the inducement of useful commerce. I assured him that in such case an agent would be appointed to reside at Whydah, both as an organ of communication with the King, and as an aid in carrying out all views of licit trade.[252] The gift of a carriage and horses—here came the rub—would entirely depend upon future relations between Her Majesty’ Government and the King, who must see the propriety of making some concessions touching his Customs and slave hunts. Finally, that if any of the coloured Christian prisoners taken at Ishagga were alive, it would be considered an earnest of the King’s friendly feeling, and of his desire to perform his promises, if these people were given up to us.

The message was heard, with few interruptions, from beginning to end. When the reply was given, I perceived that the King and his visitors could not, like many Africans, “pick up the words,” that is to say, answer sentence by sentence. Gelele replied in a rambling style, which requires ordering: That the slave-trade was an ancestral custom, established by white men, to whom he would sell all they wanted: to the English, who, after greatly encouraging the export, had lately turned against it, palm oil and “tree wool”; to the Portuguese, slaves. That a single article would not defray such expenses as those which I had witnessed. Moreover, that the customs of his kingdom compelled him to make war, and that unless he sold he must slay his captives, which England, perhaps, would like even less.[253]

The English, he resumed, had ever been the best friends of his family. One of his ancestors had sent a son amongst them, and thus all had learned to love them.[254] In the days of Tegbwesun (Bossa Ahadi, 1727-1774), one Aján-gán—Mr. Goodson—had taught Dahome to use field pieces, and thus they had been able to debel the Makhi country called “Za.[255]” The road of amity had been closed to Gezo, and re-opened to himself by his friend the Rev. Mr. Bernasko. The “King of England” and he were now like one finger. But he directed me to write and declare that, whereas men-of-war formerly never touched slavers, they now captured them near his beach, which could not be permitted. Some of these prizes had or might have on board orders from him, and this rendered interference with them a personal offence.[256]

Here, again, was the work of the caboceers, and their master had learned his lesson but too well. A counter-demand is the favourite African form of refusing a request. I desired the King to hear me before such an outrageous claim was put on paper, and he consented. He was informed that Great Britain had paid large sums to many nations for the right of searching their ships; that if he sent his own vessels to sea, he could assert the same title to indemnity, but he could not interfere for those of any European nations; moreover, that, even in war, a three miles’ offing annuls, according to the custom of civilized peoples, the protection of a neutral shore. No one had prepared a reply to this explanation; they contented themselves, by way of rejoinder, with directing me to write down what the King had spoken. I could only express my regret at being compelled to forward a message so unworthy and so disappointing to the government and people of England.

Upon the second subject, human sacrifice, Gelele declared that he slew only malefactors and war-captives, who, if they could, would do the same to him; that his own subjects were never victims; that in the accounts reported by “mutual” enemies there had been, as he had told Captain Wilmot, a gross numerical exaggeration; in fact, he repeated the statements of a hundred years’ standing, as the History shows, and his assertions were partially true.

When asked for my reply, I submitted, in Jeremy Bentham’s words, that the worst use to which he could put a man was to kill him; that Dahome wanted not deaths but births, and that subjects followed the religion of their prince. It was, therefore, incumbent upon him to reduce the number of his sacrifices, and to spare his visitors the disgusting spectacle of nude and mutilated corpses, hanging for two or three days in the sun; moreover that, until such barbarity should be changed, I should advise all Englishmen, who dislike “tickling of the liver,[257]” to avoid his Court at Customs’ time. The King had never heard so much truth before in his life: he did not accept my plain speaking without “stirring of the mind[258];” nor could I expect it. The Rev. Mr. Bernasko thanked me aloud, and all around understood the expression.

The King passed next to the subject of an English resident at Whydah, and adroitly shifted the case into granting the permission and privilege, instead of receiving it as a favour. He also stipulated that the white must be a good man, who would write profitable things about the country, cause no palavers, and prevent the captains of cruisers capturing slaves off his coast. When I asked somewhat ironically, if such agent would be liable to be summoned at pleasure to attend the capital, compelled to be present at the Customs, condemned to live in the Buko-no’s house, and be subject to be seated for hours in the sun, enjoying the prospect of the palace wall?—he carelessly replied “No,” in a tone which to me meant emphatically YES.

With respect to the Ishagga captives,[259] the King had, early after my arrival, sent me word by the Buko-no that he had put all of them to death, _not knowing them to be Christians_, a marked and emphatic non- fact, which he had also protested to Captain Wilmot. Moreover, for certain physiognomical reasons, I am induced to think that several of the wretches are still alive, and are being reserved for future sacrifice. There was, however, no proof positive, nor would any one, especially of the missionary body, aid me in carrying out an investigation.[260]

Ensued a desultory conversation. The King, apparently forgetting the carriage and horses, recalled to mind the Tokpon tent, and adhered to the subject _mordicus_, frequently asking me if Mr. Cruikshank had taken the measurements, to which an affirmative reply was given. Thinking this the most proper opportunity, I requested him that the boys of the English town, Whydah, might attend the Wesleyan Missionary School, reminding him of a half promise which he had made during the Commodore’s visit. Now, however, being puffed up, he spoke another language; he declared that when black men learn to read and write, and to “know sense,[261]” like Beecham, they could not be taken to war. Upon my objecting to this view, he directed me to “let it pass”; in other words to change the subject. I then complained that the people of Godome, who, last spring, had broken open my boxes, containing presents for the King, had escaped punishment, whereby, emboldened, Posu-kpa, caboceer of that time, aided and abetted by sundry of the pestilent De Souzas, had lately seized, beaten, and imprisoned in a nude state, after robbing his watch and seventeen dollars, Mr. Henry Bannerman, of Cape Coast Castle, an unoffending English subject. The King replied, very naïvely, that he had never heard of the outrage. The reply was, that had we not been present, he certainly never would have known, but that his officers did know—which was the case.[262] He added that inquiry should be made, meaning that nothing would be done. Although no official directions had reached me, and the coloured man Craft had behaved with notable indecency by leaving his arrival entirely unannounced, I represented to the King that this person was a bonâ fide _employé_, of the Company of African merchants (limited), and that as he was treated so would his employers withdraw from or enlarge their business in Dahome, Gelele was profuse in professions, swearing that every one dealing with “Krafu” (Mr. Craft) should pay beforehand. Nothing could be further from his intentions.

I was disenchanted by this message scene. The personal courtesies of the King compared badly with his stubborn resolve to ignore, even in the smallest matters, the wishes of Her Majesty’s Government. Nothing appeared uppermost in his mind but an ignoble greed of presents. Of course, his hands were tied in the case of abolishing slave export and human sacrifice, but he might have offered his minimum. The unexpected civilities of the last official visitors to his Court have filled him with an exaggerated idea of his own importance; whilst the astuteness and suspiciousness of his caboceers cause them to see, in the short interval between the two messages, a further aim, and one affecting their interests. I did not at all join with the Commodore in thinking Gelele’s observations “thoroughly just and honest[263];” they are mere parrot-like repetitions of a lesson learned from the pro-slavery party nearly a century ago. It presently became apparent that, even in the smallest matters, he had as scant a regard for truth as his subjects have. After a long and uninteresting dialogue, in which I told him that my departure ought to take place that night, he swore, on the word of a King, that I should leave Agbome next morning, and directed me to “drop that,” when a little doubt was expressed touching the “morning.” I need hardly say that at the time appointed nothing was ready. My last question to the King was respecting the name which he wishes to bear in England. He proposed, through the ministers, who whispered with great awe, “Kini-kini-kini.” I objected to it, as far too long for the time- saving Briton, and proposed “Gelele”; which was approved of.[264]

Eight P.M. had already sped, when the King declared the _séance_ over. He told me, that if my mind was no longer stirred, we might drink together. I again denied personal bad feeling towards him, regretting that the same could not be said about certain of his _entourage_,[265] and that he had not charged me with a more agreeable message for home. We stood up and drank gin and liqueur. No noise was made on this occasion, the ministers contenting themselves with kissing the ground. The King then arose to conduct us outside the palace. The inner doorway being too narrow for two abreast, I fell back a little, and he asked the reason, through the interpreter. My answer was, with us crowned heads always walk first; whereupon he shook hands cordially, told me that I was “a good man, but,” rolling his head, “too angry.” At the distance of 200 yards, he stood, shook hands, snapped fingers, and bade us adieu, exhorting a speedy return.

On the morning of the next day—Sunday, February 21st—we arose and looked for porters, but in vain. The despairing Reverend visited the houses of the Adanejan, who was bathing, and of the Buko-no, who was breakfasting. These men have at this moment the game in their hands, and know it; all we can do is to play at patience.

As sunset approached, the Buko-no and the Adanejan, accompanied by sundry eunuchs and slaves, entered our compound, manifestly bearing the wished-for “pass.” They squatted on mats in the open space before our verandah, spread out the presents, and summoned us, in official tones and phrases, to receive them. The speech began with the usual formula,—that the King wished to send us home wealthy, and to supply us with specimens of his fine umbrellas, sticks, and other valuables (!); that he had not been made aware of our wish to depart (!!), and had learned it only last night, when we spoke of it to him (!!!); consequently, that nothing had been prepared, but that on our return to Dahome we should find everything awaiting us (oh!).

The gifts were then distributed, a curious contrast with the magniloquence that introduced them. The first batch, about which I was ordered to be most careful, were for the Highest Personage in the kingdom. It consisted of a poor “counterpane,” green and white, woven by the fat hands of the Adanejan; a huge leathern pouch for the royal tobacco, and a leathern bag to contain change of loincloth when travelling. Besides which, two miserable boys, hideous and half-starved, were sent as table attendants to the palace of St. James.

My fortunate self next received a “counterpane,” a tobacco bag, and a sharp-looking boy, who, they warned me, and rightly also, would run away. Mr. Cruikshank was “donated” with a cloth and no boy. To Captain Wilmot were given a cloth and a boy, who were deposited at the English Fort, Whydah. Mr. Bernasko and Tom were largessed with very inferior “counterpanes,” in which they grinned with all the fervour of gratitude. Finally, cowries for the road, barely enough to make us set out, and a few bottles of rum, were distributed amongst those heathens of endless bibacity, our hammals.

When the King’s bounty had run dry, the Buko-no proposed a private “pass,” that is to say, presents from himself. To this I strongly objected, but I was silenced by the unanimous assurance that my predecessors had submitted to it. After giving one “counterpane” to all the names above-mentioned, the Buko-no and the Adanejan called for a private confabulation. I repeated, but even in stronger language, all that had been said before the King, pointed out that not a shade of concession had been made to the wishes of Her Majesty’s Government, warned both confidants solemnly that by their fault friendship would not endure, and particularly commented upon the puerile demand for the immunity of slaves near the beach of Dahome. A specimen of their argumentation—their style of “pieceing out the lion’s skin with the fox’s tail”: “You said yesterday,” quoth the Buko-no, “that the English will no longer allow the export of slaves, and that the Americans will send their vessels no more.” I assented. “Then why,” resumed the old man, “can you not promise that our ships shall not be molested during the very short time which, according to you, they have still to run?” No explanation would account for the impossibility of so doing, in face of the fact that the King had made a great point of this absurd claim. I fear we parted with this subject under a painful sense of one another’s stupidity—_de part et d’autre_.

Finally, I was again officially requested to return after about ten moons, when the Atto-ton-khwe, or Platform Year Sacrifices, will commence, and, above all things, to bring with me, carriage, horses, and pavilion. My reply was, that I should advise all Englishmen to absent themselves from these vile “Customs” until beasts are substituted for captives; and that as regards my return with or without presents, all must depend upon orders sent out from home. Wishing to do away with any little asperity, I took, during the last interview, a friendly leave of the confidants, and sent them, in the course of the evening, handsome presents of cloth.

From Commodore Wilmot’s report,[266] as well as from these pages, it will be evident that the caboceers are perfectly successful in isolating the King, from the evil influences of foreigners. We were permitted to see him almost every day, but on no occasion to sit and converse with him. After nearly two months, a single private interview was granted to me, and two such visits were the most that could be expected. It is manifestly useless to send Missions to Dahome whilst this state of things endures. The only way to force improvement is to exact from the King a promise of change, which he would readily give; and, upon the strength of it, to demand hostages, about which he would demur. Finally, as I have before said, the Customs’ time must be avoided; by far the best season for visiting him, is when the King returns from war, in April or in May.

[Footnote 250: The reader will presently see how important was the advice.]

[Footnote 251: Ashanti has just now shown the unadvisability of stationing Europeans on the west coast of Africa. Both Gelele and his father have expressed an earnest desire to give up Whydah to the English—but neither meant it. The latter is said to have refused the cession to the Prince de Joinville.]

[Footnote 252: I need hardly add, that the commerce never will become licit, except by force; and that until that time an agent is simply impossible.]

[Footnote 253: So the great Central African King, Muata ya Nvo, or Matiamvo, said, in 1847, to the Portuguese traveller, Graça: “It is customary for us to sell as slaves those who commit murder or robbery, and those who are guilty of adultery, insubordination, and sorcery; and having a great number of slaves, what can I do with them but put them to death if I cannot find purchasers for them?”]

[Footnote 254: This is explained by Dr. M‘Leod (pp. 102-106). About 1800 one of the kings forwarded two of his brothers for education to England, on board a ship then trading to Whydah. The captain died, and they were sold as slaves at Demarara. After sundry difficulties, they were redeemed by the influence of Mr. Robertson, of Liverpool, and were sent back under charge of a Captain Davidson. They were dressed like English boys, and had scarcely touched their natal soil, than they resumed all their old customs, falling on their knees to the caboceer who received them, and next day they disrobed themselves of jacket and trowsers, not having been “whitewashed,” _i.e._ made white men by their royal brother. Two days afterwards they were conducted to Agbome. They did not complain of being sold at Demarara, and probably they expected nothing else.]

[Footnote 255: It is now an unimportant place, distant a day’s march N.E. of Agbome. The ruffian conqueror is said to have cut off the noses of all his captives.]

[Footnote 256: King Gezo made the same request to Mr. Duncan (vol. ii. p. 263).]

[Footnote 257: A native phrase, meaning nausea.]

[Footnote 258: A native phrase, meaning anger.]

[Footnote 259: See chapter xiv. Section E.]

[Footnote 260: When at Agbome, a boy put into my hands some strange papers touching the Ishagga victims: at present it would be indiscreet to reveal the secret.]

[Footnote 261: An old Anglo-African term for civilization, religion, wearing small clothes, &c.]

[Footnote 262: We had scarcely retired home before the Buko-no confessed it.]

[Footnote 263: See Appendix III.]

[Footnote 264: For other names, Tenge, &c., see Appendix IV. How secret the King’s name is kept may be seen from the “Travels” of Dr. M‘Leod and Captain Adams, who, though repeating a variety of tales about the monarch, nowhere reveal his appellation.]

[Footnote 265: This kind of plain speaking is always well received by African and often by Asiatic princes. They deem it honourable to defend their ministers before an accuser; but in private, the former will undergo, as a rule, a searching inquiry.]

[Footnote 266: Appendix III.]