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of the “dry season,” the privileged chieftain departs with power of life and death over his followers, and “squats” in one of the most frequented “paths” to the sea, while he dispatches small bands of daring retainers to other trails throughout the neighborhood, to blockade every passage to the beach. The siege of the highways is kept up with vigor for a month or more, by these black Rob Roys and Robin Hoods, until a sufficient number of traders may be trapped to constitute a valuable caravan, and give importance to its leader. While this is the main purpose of the forest adventure, the occasion is taken advantage of to collect a local tribute, due by small tribes to the Ali, which could not be obtained otherwise. The despotic officer, moreover, avails himself of the blockade to stop malefactors and absconding debtors. Goods that are seized in the possession of the latter may be sequestrated to pay his creditors; but if their value is not equal to the debt, the delinquent, if a pagan, is sold as a slave, but is let off with a bastinado, if he proves to be “one of the faithful.”

       It is natural to suppose that every effort is made by the small traders of the interior to avoid these savage press-gangs. The poor wretches are not only subjected to annoying vassalage by ruffian princes, but the blockade of the forest often diverts them from the point they originally designed to reach—forces them to towns or factories they had no intention of visiting—and, by extreme delay, wastes their provisions and diminishes their frugal profits. It is surprising to see how admirably even savages understand and exercise the powers of sovereignty and the rights of transit!

      While Ahmah-de-Bellah tarried at Bangalang, it was my habit to visit him every night to hear his interesting chat, as it was translated by an interpreter. Sometimes, in return, I would recount the adventures of my sea-faring life, which seemed to have a peculiar flavor for this child of the wilderness, who now gazed for the first time on the ocean. Among other things, I strove to convince him of the world’s rotundity; but, to the last, he smiled incredulously at my daring assertion, and closed the argument by asking me to prove it from the Koran? He allowed me the honors due a traveller and “book-man;” but a mind that had swallowed, digested, and remembered every text of Mahomet’s volume, was not to be deceived by such idle fantasies. He kindly undertook to conquer my ignorance of his creed by a careful exposition of its mysteries in several long-winded lectures, and I was so patient a listener, that I believe Ahmah was entirely satisfied of my conversion.

      My seeming acquiescence was well repaid by the Fullah’s confidence. He returned my nightly calls with interest; and, visiting me in the warehouse during hours of business, became so fervently wrapped up in my spiritual salvation, that he would spout Mahometanism for hours through an interpreter. To get rid of him, one day, I promised to follow the Prophet with pleasure if he consented to receive me; but I insisted on entering the “fold of the faithful” without submitting to the peculiar rite of Mussulman baptism!

      Ahmah-de-Bellah took the jest kindly, laughing like a good fellow, and from that day forward, we were sworn cronies. The Fullah at once wrote down a favorite prayer in Arabic, requiring as my spiritual guide, that I should commit it to memory for constant and ready use. After a day or two, he examined me in the ritual; but, finding I was at fault after the first sentence, reproached me pathetically upon my negligence and exhorted me to repentance—much to the edification of our interpreter, who was neither Jew, Christian, nor Mussulman.

      But the visit of the young chieftain, which began in trade and tapered off in piety, drew to a close. Ahmah-de-Bellah began to prepare for his journey homeward. As the day of departure approached, I saw that my joke had been taken seriously by the Fullah, and that he relied upon my apostasy. At the last moment, Ahmah tried to put me to a severe test, by suddenly producing the holy book, and requiring me to seal our friendship by an oath that I would never abandon Islamism. I contrived, however, adroitly to evade the affirmation by feigning an excessive anxiety to acquire more profound knowledge of the Koran, before I made so solemn a pledge.

      It came to pass that, out of the forty slaves brought in the caravan, the Mongo rejected eight. After some altercation, Ahmah-de-Bellah consented to discard seven; but he insisted that the remaining veteran should be shipped, as he could neither kill nor send him back to Footha-Yallon.

      I was somewhat curious to know the crime this culprit had committed, which was so heinous as to demand his perpetual exile, though it spared his life. The chief informed me that the wretch had slain his son; and, as there was no punishment for such an offence assigned by the Koran, the judges of his country condemned him to be sold a slave to Christians—a penalty they considered worse than death.

      Another curious feature of African law was developed in the sale of this caravan. I noticed a couple of women drawn along with ropes around their necks, while others of their sex and class were suffered to wander about without bonds. These females, the chief apprised us, would have been burnt in his father’s domains for witchcraft, had not his venerable ancestor been so much distressed for powder that he thought their lives would be more valuable to his treasury than their carcasses to outraged law.

      It was a general complaint among the companions of Ahmah-de-Bellah that the caravan was scant of slaves in consequence of this unfortunate lack of powder. The young chieftain promised better things in future. Next year, the Mongo’s barracoons should teem with his conquests. When the “rainy season” approached, the Ali-Mami, his father, meant to carry on a “great war” against a variety of small tribes, whose captives would replenish the herds, that, two years before, had been carried off by a sudden blight.

      I learned from my intelligent Fullah, that while the Mahometan courts of his country rescued by law the people of their own faith from slavery, they omitted no occasion to inflict it, as a penalty, upon the African “unbelievers” who fell within their jurisdiction. Among these unfortunates, the smallest crime is considered capital, and a “capital crime” merits the profitable punishment of slavery. Nor was it difficult, he told me, for a country of “true believers” to acquire a multitude of bondsmen. They detested the institution, it is true, among themselves, and among their own caste, but it was both right and reputable among the unorthodox. The Koran commanded the “subjugation of the tribes to the true faith,” so that, to enforce the Prophet’s order against infidels, they resorted to the white man’s cupidity, which authorized its votaries to enslave the negro! My inquisitiveness prompted me to demand whether these holy wars spoken of in the Koran were not somewhat stimulated, in our time, at least, by the profits that ensued; and I even ventured to hint that it was questionable whether the mighty chief of Footha-Yallon would willingly storm a Kaffir fortification, were he not prompted by the booty of slaves!

      Ahmah-de-Bellah was silent for a minute, when his solemn face gradually relaxed into a quizzical smile, as he replied that, in truth, Mahometans were no worse than Christians, so that it was quite likely—if the white elect of heaven, who knew how to make powder and guns, did not tempt the black man with their weapons—the commands of Allah would be followed with less zeal, and implements not quite so dangerous!

      I could not help thinking that there was a good deal of quiet satire in the gossip of this negro prince. According to the custom of his country, we “exchanged names” at parting; and, while he put in my pocket the gift of a well-thumbed Koran, I slung over his shoulder a double-barrelled gun. We walked side by side for some miles into the forest, as he went forth from Bangalang; and as we “cracked fingers” for farewell, I promised, with my hand on my heart, that the “next dry season” I would visit his father, the venerable Ali-Mami, in his realm of Footha-Yallon.

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