“Why, his royal Highness,—you know him,—the little king of Dahomey.”
“I am he,” said the negro, quietly.
The other looked at him in amazement. A king! this servant, whom he had seen at work all day making fires, sweeping the corridors, waiting on the table, and rinsing glasses!
The negro spoke the truth, nevertheless. The expression of his face grew very sad, and his eyes were fixed as if he were looking into the past, or toward some dear, lost land. Was it the magical word of king that led Jack to examine this black boy, seated on the edge of his bed, his white shirt open, while on his dark breast shone the ivory amulet, with new interest?
“How did all this happen?” asked the child, timidly.
The black boy turned quickly to extinguish the lantern. “M. Moronval not like it if Mâdou lets it burn.” Then he pulled his couch close to that of Jack.
“You are not sleepy,” he said; “and I never wish to sleep if I can talk of Dahomey. Listen!”
And in the darkness, where the whites only of his eyes could be seen, the little negro began his dismal tale.
He was called Mâdou,—the name of his father, an illustrious warrior, one of the most powerful sovereigns in the land of gold and ivory: to whom France, Holland, and England sent presents and envoys. His father had cannon, and soldiers, troops of elephants with trappings for war, musicians and priests, four regiments of Amazons, and two hundred wives. His palace was immense, and ornamented by spears on which hung human heads after a battle or a sacrifice. Mâdou was born in this palace. His Aunt Kérika, general-in-chief of the Amazons, took him with her in all her expeditions. How beautiful she was, this Kérika! tall and large as a man,—in a blue tunic; her naked arms and legs loaded with bracelets and anklets; her bow slung over her shoulder, and the tail of a horse streaming below her waist. Upon her head, in her woolly locks, she wore two small antelope horns joining in a half-moon; as if these black warriors had preserved among themselves the tradition of Diana the white huntress! And what an eye she had, what deftness of hand! Why, she could cut off the head of an Ashantee at a single blow. But, however terrible Kérika might have been on the battlefield, to her nephew Mâdou she was always very gentle, bestowing on him gifts of all kinds: necklaces of coral and of amber, and all the shells he desired,—shells being the money in that part of the world. She even gave him a small but gorgeous musket, presented to herself by the Queen of England, and which Kérika found too light for her own use. Mâdou always carried it when he went to the forests to hunt with his aunt.
There the trees were so close together, and the foliage so thick, that the sun never penetrated to these green temples. Then Mâdou described with enthusiasm the flowers and the fruits, the butterflies, and birds with wonderful plumage, and Jack listened in delight and astonishment. There were serpents, too, but they were harmless; and black monkeys leaped from tree to tree; and large mysterious lakes, that had never reflected the skies in their brown depths, lay here and there in the forests.