Forbes’s Reception by the King of Dahomey.
PART VII.
SAVAGE KINGS AND COURTS.
CHAPTER XVII.
The Savage considered as a child of nature—A saltatory welcome—Gezo, King of Kings—Items of Dahoman royal treasure—Distribution of the presents—Kings and Ambassadors joining in the scramble—The human sacrifices—A “Grand Custom” of the year 1862—The King of Abó—The terrible Neam Nam—Browowdi, King of Issapoo—A King of Old Kalabar—King Eyo Honesty—The order of Egbo—The Mambo of Lunda—The Jaga.
At first sight it would seem hard to show a greater anomaly than an unthinking instinct-obeying nation of savages consenting to be controlled and governed by a fellow barbarian, equally unthinking, and morally powerless; and the said anomaly is the more striking when the savage is viewed as the vulgar view him,—as a free-born “child of nature,” intolerant of rule, and guided in all his behaviour by certain instinctive high-souled sentiments, and vast powers of mind, that require only cultivation to fit their possessor for the achievement of all that ever was yet successfully attempted by man. This, however, is very far from the fact. Without doubt, and as we have only to refer back to our own ancient barbarism to be convinced, the germ of perfect manhood lies in every savage, but like the ore of gold and iron, the true metal lies deep, and to free it from dross and make its lustre apparent is a process neither easy nor rapid. Again, like golden ore, in which the precious deposit shows here and there with a sheen that undoubtedly reveals its presence, does the savage’s mind manifest its existence in fitful flashes and glimmerings, that, alas! only reveal to him what a helpless wretch he is, and what a terribly responsible thing is life, with children and wife, and all its other precious belongings, and which, in an instant, may be spilt and vanish like a capsized gourd of water.
This—the end of life—is the end of everything with our brother the savage; life to him is only good according to the ease it enables him to get in the land he lives in. The first business of his life is to make himself comfortable; the second is how to hold such appurtenances to his comfort as he has gained. If he is a little man, any man a trifle bigger coming his way may strip him, seize his wife and children as slaves, knock him on the head, and appropriate his hut; if he is a big man any two big men who choose to conspire may serve him in the same cruel way: what then remains to be done, but to combine for the good of the common weal? which may be aptly likened to a common wheel—the chief being the stock, the various headmen, or councillors, the spokes, or spokesmen, and the fellowes, just as many savage fellows as the tribe, or band, or tire embraces.
Still, who is to be “king,” or “chief,” or “Jaga,” or “Mambo,” or whatever else you please, as representing the stock or common centre of the said wheel? About this question, however, we need not trouble ourselves, and simply because, just as the queen bee is born in a hive, so are men born commanders of men; that is, originally; the fact of their descendants degenerating, and being totally unfit to wield a sceptre is nothing to the purpose. Custom and Fashion then step in, and these two of themselves are monarchs potent enough to settle the gravest question that could possibly arise, even in the most civilized countries in the world. Wherever a leader is wanted, a leader will be found; he may be a wrong-headed leader, or conceited, or cruel, or arbitrary; but so sure as he remains at the helm, for the short space only of a year, you may depend that he is no make-believe; and the very worst you can say of such an one is, that it is a pity that a king should possess so many bad qualities; that he deserves to die for them, if you please; nay, go as far as killing him, and how different are your feelings than though you had killed a merely contemptible upstart.
Of course I talk of “killing” as a figure of speech, in its extremest sense. There, however, is one king now existing whom, if with his life would end the hideous work of blood and carnage prevailing in his nation, might well be wished dead. I allude to the King of Dahomey, who, as a trafficker in human beings, dead and alive, is an ulcer on the face of the world; a man whose guilt is so black that it may never be washed away, though they laved him in rivers of water as deep as those of tears and blood that he has caused to flow.