Chapter VIII: Section C: The Second day of Addo-kpon, the Bush King’s So-sin Customs

We deferred our exit till 3 P.M. of January 5th, for the sun was terribly hot. On reaching the old place, we found three jesters professionally at work before the King: as might be expected, two of them were beating the third, who was pretending to cry. The Meu then gave a pair of bead necklaces to each of the chief ministers, who, after acknowledging the present, knelt before and solemnly saluted a large basketful of “Wo” pudding.

Presently began the drum-beat, known as “Gblo.” At the further end of the square appeared about twenty men, three of whom had tails of some undistinguishable material ringed with black and yellow; these appendages were fastened to small square pads of red cloth, adorned with cowries, and the pincushion was girt round the waist over the loin- wrapper. They pranced up to us with the left leg forwards, bending slightly as they touched the ground, and a peculiar movement of the glutei made the tail which out-topped their heads revolve like a Catherine’s wheel. They were loudly greeted by the people, and were presently joined by a volunteer with an irregular “fixing” of blue cloth; he elicited equal applause. After saluting the King, they disappeared. As has been shown, there is a similar female institution within the palace.[88]

There had been some question amongst us touching the proper signification of “Addo-kpon,” which the Buko-no professed inability to explain. A message was sent by a Dakro woman to the King, who at once honoured me with a full account of it. I acknowledged this philological civility by returning “compliments.”

We were then summoned before the throne. The old man Meu, who required perpetual prompting, addressed me with his childish treble in the usual loud and would-be startling tone, “Mashna,” _i.e._, Commissioner. To this the official response is an equally vehement “Wé!—adsum.[89]” He then presented me with a singer’s Kpo-ga, or staff, and Mr. Cruikshank with another, somewhat less silvered. We bowed and retired, the weight of new honours pressing heavy on our shoulders. After sitting down, we were again summoned by the old Meu, who informed me that the King had been pleased to put me in the place of his Min-gan, or chief executioner, whilst my companion was to perform before him as his Meu, or master of ceremonies. I was then invested with a Bonu-gan-jei, or “caboceer beads.” This was a double necklace of 240 greenish beads, with eight cylinders of red coral; behind it hung a pigtail of sixteen cotton strings, the thread being spun by a woman on the right of the throne. The coral was sham, and the beads were poor imitation of the Popo article called “Ketu.” Mr. Cruikshank and the Reverend were also presented with similar symbols of high dignity and African parsimoniousness.

The King had repeatedly fixed a day for me to dance before him, and had deferred the operation probably with the delicate motive of allowing me time to prepare myself for so great an event. Now, however, the hour had come. I collected my party in front of the semicircle of caboceers, gave time to the band, and performed a Hindustani _pas seul_, which elicited violent applause, especially from the King. My companion then danced a Dahoman dance with Governor Mark as fugleman, and his _disinvoltura_ charmed the people. It was then the Reverend’s turn to perform. He posted himself opposite the throne, placed upon another stool his instrument, a large flutina or concertina, and having preliminarily explained the “God-palaver.[90]” bravely intoned his favourite hymns. They were, Matthias (words by the excellent Dr. Watts, and singularly out of place in Agbome), Arnold’s Job, with a refrain (making _more_ rhyme to _endure_), and Martin Luther’s “Old Hundreth” (opening with “All people that on earth _do_ dwell.”) How is that the Wesleyan mind cannot forego its fondness for this Ennian literature? The people stared and chuckled a little, but—

Omnibus hoc vitium est cantoribus, inter amicos,

Ut nunquam inducant animum cantare rogati,

Injussi nunquam desistant.

The Reverend being in his pulpit, so to speak, gave his listeners a good half hour of edification.

When the instrument was mute, the King proposed a modification. The Reverend was to play and sing, whilst Mr. Cruikshank and I must dance as before on both sides.[91] It was almost too ridiculous, but we complied for a short time. My second _pas seul_, which ended the affair, was greeted with firing guns and presenting arms by all my company, men and women, especially the latter, to whom the salutation had been especially directed. It required some strength of mind to prevent holding oneself a manner of prodigy; the people evidently thought the power of dancing, of using a sword, of learning enough to understand them in a month, of writing down everything seen so as to recall it to their memories, and of sketching objects so that even they could recognize them, to be an avatar of intellect.

We then retired to a little distance, and sat aligned fronting the King, whilst all the caboceers, in tumultuous throng, danced around us with loud songs and cries of praise and congratulation. The parson then intoned in “quick metre,” despite the singing master,[92]

“O, let us be joyful, joyful, joyful,

When we meet to part no more”

—an injunction involving consequences possibly even more lugubrious than that truly abominable (to the African traveller at least) description of future bliss in a land where there is

“No veiled sun, no clouded sky,

But sacred, high, eternal noon.”

Thus the Reverend acquired the title of “Missionary Governor.[93]” We then withdrew our chairs to the south-eastern corner of the square, and sat there till dark, watching the circumambulation of the King’s women. It was the same scene as on New Year’s Day, and it ended our immediate labours in the presence. Again the vultures spotted the large tree before the palace gate. Surely they must have a sense of “time,” telling them when to expect a feast. For to-night is a second Zan Nyanyana, a Nox Iræ, when Gelele, as Addo-kpon, will slay the remainder of his criminals and victims.

Our dancing had so excited the multitude, that we had hardly dined before an irruption of friends by the score, all wishing to learn “white man’s fashion,” crowded the house; and to increase confusion, arrived the outward-bound mail-bag, bringing its usual amount of care and excitement—such a contrast with the ataraxy and the _comme il faut_ calm that characterize the more refined Anglo-Tropical mind. I thanked my star for sending me to Dahome, and did not “endorse” the sentiment—

“Oh! la belle chose que la poste.”