On the following morning the town of Kazonndé presented an aspect of unwonted desolation. Awe-struck at the event of the previous evening, the natives had all shut themselves up in their huts. That a monarch who was to be assumed as of divine origin should perish with one of his ministers by so horrible a death was a thing wholly unparalleled in their experience. Some of the elder part of the community remembered having taken part in certain cannibal preparations, and were aware that the cremation of a human body is no easy matter, yet here was a case in which two men had been all but utterly consumed without any extraneous application. Here was a mystery that baffled all their comprehension.

Old Alvez had also retired to the seclusion of his own residence; having been warned by Negoro that he would probably be held responsible for the occurrence, he deemed it prudent to keep in retirement. Meanwhile Negoro industriously circulated the report that the king’s death had been brought about by supernatural means reserved by the great Manitoo solely for his elect, and that it was sacred fire that had proceeded from his body. The superstitious natives readily received this version of the affair, and at once proceeded to honour Moené Loonga with funeral rites worthy of one thus conspicuously elevated to the rank of the gods. The ceremony (which entailed an expenditure of human blood incredible except that it is authenticated by Cameron and other African travellers) was just the opportunity that Negoro required for carrying out his designs against Dick, whom he intended to take a prominent part in it.

The natural successor to the king was the queen Moena. By inaugurating the funeral without delay and thus assuming the semblance of authority, she forestalled the king of Ukusu or any other rival who might venture to dispute her sovereignty; and moreover, by taking the reins of government into her hands she avoided the fate reserved for the other wives who, had they been allowed to live, might prove somewhat troublesome to the shrew. Accordingly, with the sound of coodoo horns and marimbas, she caused a proclamation to be made in the various quarters of the town, that the obsequies of the deceased monarch would be celebrated on the next evening with all due solemnity.

The announcement met with no opposition either from the officials about the court or from the public at large. Alvez and the traders generally were quite satisfied with Moena’s assumption of the supremacy, knowing that by a few presents and a little flattery they could make her sufficiently considerate for their own interests.

Preparations began at once. At the end of the chief thoroughfare flowed a deep and rapid brook, an affluent of the Coango, in the dry bed of which the royal grave was to be formed. Natives were immediately set to work to construct a dam by means of which the water should be diverted, until the burial was over, into a temporary channel across the plain; the last act in the ceremonial being to undam the stream and allow it to resume its proper course.

Negoro had formed the resolution that Dick Sands should be one of the victims to be sacrificed upon the king’s tomb. Thoroughly aware as he was that the indignation which had caused the death of Harris extended in at least an equal degree to himself, the cowardly rascal would not have ventured to approach Dick under similar circumstances at the risk of meeting a similar fate; but knowing him to be a prisoner bound hand and foot, from whom there could be nothing to fear, he resolved to go to him in his dungeon-*

Not only did he delight in torturing his victims, but he derived an especial gratification from witnessing the torture.

About the middle of the day, accordingly, he made his way to the cell where Dick was detained under the strict watch of a havildar. There, bound with fetters that penetrated his very flesh, lay the poor boy; for the last four and twenty hours he had not been allowed a morsel of food, and would gladly have faced the most painful death as a welcome relief to his miseries.

But at the sight of Negoro all his energy revived; instinctively he made an effort to burst his bonds, and to get a hold upon his persecutor; but the strength of a giant would have been utterly unavailing for such a design. Dick felt that the struggle he had to make was of another kind, and forcing himself to an apparent composure, he determined to look Negoro straight in the face, but to vouchsafe no reply to anything he might say.

“I felt bound,” Negoro began, “to come and pay my respects to my young captain, and to tell him how sorry I am that he has not the same authority here that he had on board the ‘Pilgrim.’ ”

Finding that Dick returned no answer, he continued,—

“You remember your old cook, captain: I have come to know what you would like to order for your breakfast.”

Here he paused to give a brutal kick at Dick’s foot, and went on,—

“I have also another question to ask you, captain; can you tell me how it was that you landed here in Angola instead of upon the coast of America?”

The way in which the question was put more than ever confirmed Dick’s impression that the “Pilgrim’s” course had been altered by Negoro, but he persevered in maintaining a contemptuous silence.

“It was a lucky thing for you, captain,” resumed the vindictive Portuguese, “that you had a good seaman on board, otherwise the ship would have run aground on some reef in the tempest, instead of coming ashore here in a friendly port.”

[Illustration: “Your life is in my hands!”]

Whilst he was speaking, Negoro had gradually drawn nearer to the prisoner, until their faces were almost in contact. Exasperated by Dick’s calmness, his countenance assumed an expression of the utmost ferocity, and at last he burst forth in a paroxysm of rage.

“It is my turn now! I am master now! I am captain here! You are in my power now! Your life is in my hands!”

“Take it, then,” said Dick quietly; “death has no terrors for me, and your wickedness will soon be avenged.”

“Avenged!” roared Negoro; “do you suppose there is a single soul to care about you? Avenged! who will concern himself with what befalls you? except Alvez and me, there is no one with a shadow of authority here; if you think you are going to get any help from old Tom or any of those niggers, let me tell you that they are every one of them sold and have been sent off to Zanzibar.”

“Hercules is free,” said Dick.

“Hercules!” sneered Negoro; “he has been food for lions and panthers long ago, I am only sorry that I did not get the chance of disposing of him myself.”

“And there is Dingo,” calmly persisted Dick; “sure as fate, he will find you out some day.”

“Dingo is dead!” retorted Negoro with malicious glee: “I shot the brute myself, and I should be glad if every survivor of the ‘Pilgrim’ had shared his fate.”

“But remember,” said Dick, “you have to follow them all yourself;” and he fixed a sharp gaze upon his persecutor’s eye.

The Portuguese villain was stung to the quick; he made a dash towards the youth, and would have strangled him upon the spot, but remembering that any such sudden action would be to liberate him from the torture he was determined he should undergo, he controlled his rage, and after giving strict orders to the havildar, who had been a passive spectator of the scene, to keep a careful watch upon his charge, he left the dungeon.

So far from depressing Dick’s spirits, the interview had altogether a contrary effect; his feelings had undergone a reaction, so that all his energies were restored. Possibly Negoro in his sudden assault had unintentionally loosened his fetters, for he certainly seemed to have greater play for his limbs, and fancied that by a slight effort he might succeed in disengaging his arms. Even that amount of freedom, however, he knew could be of no real avail to him; he was a closely-guarded prisoner, without hope of succour from without; and now he had no other wish than cheerfully to meet the death that should unite him to the friends who had gone before.

The hours passed on. The gleams of daylight that penetrated the thatched roof of the prison gradually faded into darkness; the few sounds on the chitoka, a great contrast to the hubbub of the day, became hushed into silence, and night fell upon the town of Kazonndé.

Dick Sands slept soundly for about a couple of hours, and woke up considerably refreshed. One of his arms, which was somewhat less swollen than the other, he was able to withdraw from its bonds; it was at any rate a relief to stretch it at his pleasure.

The havildar, grasping the neck of a brandy-bottle which he had just drained, had sunk into a heavy slumber, and Dick Sands was contemplating the possibility of getting posssession of his gaoler’s weapons when his attention was arrested by a scratching at the bottom of the door. By the help of his liberated arm he contrived to crawl noiselessly to the threshold, where the scratching increased in violence. For a moment he was in doubt whether the noise proceeded from the movements of a man or an animal. He gave a glance at the havildar, who was sound asleep, and placing his lips against the door murmured “Hercules!”

A low whining was the sole reply.

“It must be Dingo,” muttered Dick to himself; “Negoro may have told me a lie; perhaps, after all, the dog is not dead.”

As though in answer to his thoughts, a dog’s paw was pushed below the door. Dick seized it eagerly; he had no doubt it was Dingo’s; but if the dog brought a message, it was sure to be tied to his neck, and there seemed to be no

[Illustration: All his energies were restored.]

means of getting at it, except the hole underneath could be made large enough to admit the animal’s head. Dick determined to try and scrape away the soil at the threshold, and commenced digging with his nails. But he had scarcely set himself to his task when loud barkings, other than Dingo’s, were heard in the distance. The faithful creature had been scented out by the native dogs, and instinct dictated an immediate flight. Alarm had evidently been taken, as several gun-shots were fired; the havildar half roused himself from his slumber, and Dick was fain to roll himself once more into his corner, there to await the dawn of the day which was intended to be his last.

Throughout that day, the grave-digging was carried on with unremitted activity. A large number of the natives, under the superintendence of the queen’s prime minister, were set to work, and according to the decree of Moena, who seemed resolved to continue the rigorous sway of her departed husband, were bound, under penalty of mutilation, to accomplish their task within the proscribed time.

As soon as the stream had been diverted into its temporary channel, there was hollowed out in the dry river bed a pit, fifty feet long, ten feet wide, and ten feet deep. This, towards the close of the day, was lined throughout with living women, selected from Moené Loonga’s slaves; in ordinary cases it would have been their fate to be buried alive beside their master; but in recognition of his miraculous death it was ordained that they should be drowned beside his remains. [Footnote: The horrible hecatombs that commemorate the death of any powerful chief in Central Africa defy all description. Cameron relates that more than a hundred victims were sacrificed at the obsequies of the father of the King of Kassongo.]

Generally, the royal corpse is arrayed in its richest vestments before being consigned to the tomb, but in this case, when the remains consisted only of a few charred bones, another plan was adopted. An image of the king, perhaps rather flattering to the original, was made of wicker-work; inside this were placed the fragments of bones and skin, and the effigy itself was then arrayed in the robes of state, which, as already mentioned, were not of a very costly description.

Cousin Benedict’s spectacles were not forgotten, but were firmly affixed to the countenance of the image. The masquerade had its ludicrous as well as its terrible side.

When the evening arrived, a long procession was seen wending its way to the place of interment; the uproar was perfectly deafening; shouts, yells, the boisterous incantations of the musicians, the clang of musical instruments, and the reports of many old muskets, mingled in wild confusion.

The ceremony was to take place by torch-light, and the whole population of Kazonndé, native and otherwise, was bound to be present. Alvez, Coïmbra, Negoro, the Arab dealers and their havildars all helped to swell the numbers, the queen having given express orders that no one who had been at the lakoni should leave the town, and it was not deemed prudent to disobey her commands.

The remains of the king were carried in a palanquin in the rear of the cortége, surrounded by the wives of the second class, some of whom were doomed to follow their master beyond the tomb. Queen Moena, in state array, marched behind the catafalque.

Night was well advanced when the entire procession reached the banks of the brook, but the resin-torches, waved on high by their bearers, shed a ruddy glare upon the teeming crowd. The grave, with its lining of living women, bound to its side by chains, was plainly visible; fifty slaves, some resigned and mute, others uttering loud and piteous cries, were there awaiting the moment when the rushing torrent should be opened upon them.

The wives who were destined to perish had been selected by the queen herself and were all in holiday-attire. One of the victims, who bore the title of second wife, was forced down upon her hands and knees in the grave, in order to form a resting-place for the effigy, as she had been accustomed to do for the living sovereign; the third wife had to sustain the image in an upright position, and the fourth lay down at its feet to make a footstool.

In front of the effigy, at the end of the grave, a huge stake, painted red, was planted firmly in the earth. Bound to this stake, his body half naked, exhibiting marks of the

[Illustration: Friendless and hopeless.]

tortures which by Negoro’s orders he had already undergone, friendless and hopeless, was Dick Sands!

The time, however, for opening the flood-gate had not yet arrived. First of all, at a sign from the queen, the fourth wife, forming the royal footstool had her throat cut by an executioner, her blood streaming into the grave. This barbarous deed was the commencement of a most frightful butchery. One after another, fifty slaves fell beneath the slaughterous knife, until the river-bed was a very cataract of blood. For half an hour the shrieks of the victims mingled with the imprecations of their murderers, without evoking one single expression of horror or sympathy from the gazing crowd around.

At a second signal from the queen, the barrier, which retained the water above, was opened. By a refinement of cruelty the torrent was not admitted suddenly to the grave, but allowed to trickle gradually in.

The first to be drowned were the slaves that carpeted the bottom of the trench, their frightful struggles bearing witness to the slow death that was overpowering them. Dick was immersed to his knees, but he could be seen making what might seem one last frantic effort to burst his bonds.

Steadily rose the water; the stream resumed its proper course; the last head disappeared beneath its surface, and soon there remained nothing to indicate that in the depth below there was a tomb where a hundred victims had been sacrificed to the memory 0f the King of Kazonndé.

Painful as they are to describe, it is impossible to ignore the reality of such scenes. YdrdNC7WDQtjqERuHqEb+9nCH63Neo3+gSNSUZ14etaYE3dP+QOXjZfatdlVRYXG