Jules Verne For Children: 16 Incredible Tales of Mystery, Courage & Adventure (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
idea—to return to Angola and take up my trade of slave-trader again.”
“Yes,” replied Harris, “one loves his trade—from habit.”
“For eighteen months—”
Having pronounced those last words, Negoro stopped suddenly. He seized his companion’s arm, and listened.
“Harris,” said he, lowering his voice, “was there not a trembling in that papyrus bush?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Harris, seizing his gun, always ready to fire.
Negoro and he stood up, looked around them, and listened with the greatest attention.
“There is nothing there,” said Harris. “It is this brook, swelled by the storm, which runs more noisily. For two years, comrade, you have been unaccustomed to the noises of the forest, but you will get used to them again. Continue, then, the narration of your adventures. When I understand the past, we shall talk of the future.”
Negoro and Harris sat down again at the foot of the banyan. The Portuguese continued, in these terms:
“For eighteen months I vegetated in Auckland. When the steamer arrived there I was able to leave it without being seen; but not a piastre, not a dollar in my pocket! In order to live I had to follow all trades—”
“Even the trade of an honest man, Negoro?”
“As you say, Harris.”
“Poor boy!”
“Now, I was always waiting for an opportunity, which was long coming, when the Pilgrim, a whaler, arrived at the port of Auckland.”
“That vessel which went ashore on the coast of Angola?”
“Even the same, Harris, and on which Mrs. Weldon, her child, and her cousin were going to take passage. Now, as an old sailor, having even been second on board a slave ship, I was not out of my element in taking service on a ship. I then presented myself to the Pilgrims’ captain, but the crew was made up. Very fortunately for me, the schooner’s cook had deserted. Now, he is no sailor who does not know how to cook. I offered myself as head cook. For want of a better, I was accepted. A few days after, the Pilgrim had lost sight of the land of New Zealand.”
“But,” asked Harris, “according to what my young friend has told me, the Pilgrim did not set sail at all for the coast of Africa. How then has she arrived here?”
“Dick Sand ought not to be able to understand it yet, and perhaps he will never understand it,” replied Negoro; “but I am going to explain to you what has passed, Harris, and you will be able to tell it again to your young friend, if it pleases you to do so.”
“How, then?” replied Harris. “Speak, comrade, speak!”
“The Pilgrim,” continued Negoro, “as on the way to Valparaiso. When I went on board, I only intended to go to Chili. It was always a good half of the way between New Zealand and Angola, and I was drawing nearer Africa’s coast by several thousand miles. But it so happened that only three weeks after leaving Auckland, Captain Hull, who commanded the Pilgrim, disappeared with all his crew, while chasing a whale. On that day, then, only two sailors remained on board—the novice and the cook, Negoro.”
“And you took command of the ship?” asked Harris.
“I had that idea at first, but I saw that they distrusted me. There were live strong blacks on board, free men. I would not have been the master, and, on reflection, I remained what I was at the departure—the Pilgrims’ cook.”
“Then it was chance that led this ship to the coast of Africa?”
“No, Harris,” replied Negoro; “there has been no chance in all this adventure except meeting you, in one of your journeys, just on that part of the coast where the Pilgrim was wrecked. But as to coming in sight of Angola, it was by my will, my secret will, that that was done. Your young friend, still much of a novice in navigation, could only tell his position by means of the log and the compass. Well, one day, the log went to the bottom. One night the compass was made false, and the Pilgrim, driven by a violent tempest, took the wrong route. The length of the voyage, inexplicable to Dick Sand, would be the same to the most experienced seaman. Without the novice knowing or even suspecting it, Cape Horn was doubled, but I, Harris, I recognized it in the midst of the fogs. Then, thanks to me, the needle in the compass took its true direction again, and the ship, blown to the northeast by that frightful hurricane, has just been cast on the coast of Africa, just on this land of Angola which I wished to reach.”
“And even at that moment, Negoro,” replied Harris, “chance had led me there to receive you, and guide those honest people to the interior. They believed themselves—they could only believe themselves in America. It was easy for me to make them take this province for lower Bolivia, to which it has really some resemblance.”
“Yes, they believed it, as your young friend believed they had made the Isle of Paques, when they passed in sight of Tristan d’Acunha.”
“Anybody would be deceived by it, Negoro.”
“I know it, Harris, and I even counted on profiting by that error. Finally, behold Mrs. Weldon and her companions one hundred miles in the interior of this Africa, where I wanted to bring them!”
“But,” replied Harris, “they know now where they are.”
“Ah! what matter at present!” cried Negoro.
“And what will you do with them?” asked Harris.
“What will I do with them?” replied Negoro. “Before telling you, Harris, give me news of our master, the slave-trader, Alvez, whom I have not seen for two years.”
“Oh, the old rascal is remarkably well,” replied Harris, “and he will be enchanted to see you again.”
“Is he at the Bihe market?” asked Negoro.
“No, comrade, he has been at his establishment at Kazounde for a year.”
“And business is lively?”
“Yes, a thousand devils!” exclaimed Harris, “although the slave trade becomes more and more difficult, at least on this coast. The Portuguese authorities on one side, and the English cruisers on the other, limit exportations. There are few places, except in the environs of Mossamedes, to the south of Angola, that the shipping of blacks can now be made with any chance of success. So, at this time, the pens are filled with slaves, waiting for the ships which ought to carry them to Spanish colonies. As to passing them by Benguela, or St. Paul de Loanda, that is not possible. The governors no longer understand reason, no more do the chiefs (title given to the Portuguese governors of secondary establishments). We must, then, return to the factories of the interior. This is what old Alvez intends to do. He will go from the Nyangwe and Tanganyika side to change his stuffs for ivory and slaves. Business is always profitable with upper Egypt and the Mozambique coast, which furnishes all Madagascar. But I fear the time will come when the trade can be no longer carried on. The English are making great progress in the interior of Africa. The missionaries advance and work against us. That Livingstone, curse him, after exploring the lake region, is going, they say, to travel toward Angola. Then they speak of a Lieutenant Cameron, who proposes to cross the continent from east to west. They also fear that the American, Stanley, wishes to do as much. All these visits will end by damaging our operations, Negoro, and if we care for our own interests, not one of those visitors will return to relate in Europe what he has had the indiscretion to come to see in Africa.”
Would not one say, to hear them, the rascals, that they were speaking like honest merchants whose affairs were momentarily cramped by a commercial crisis? Who would believe that, instead of sacks of coffee or casks of sugar, they were talking of human beings to export like merchandise? These traders have no other idea of right or wrong. The moral sense is entirely lacking in them, and if they had any, how quickly they would lose it among the frightful