Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 67, No. 411, January 1850Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 67, No. 411, January 1850
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
Suddenly we heard the splash of paddles in the water, with a hail in
some foreign tongue or other, and hurried on deck in a body; where
we found the ship tiding it slowly up, under jibs and foretopsail,
and beginning to open a longer reach where the river seemed to
narrow in. A black-eyed, black-bearded fellow, with a tallowy,
yellow, sweaty sort of complexion, in a dirty jacket, drawers, and
short boots, and an immense grass hat, shouting Portuguese louder
and louder into the first-mate's ear, till he actually put both
hands together and roared through them,--pointing to himself now and
then, as if surprised he wasn't known. All at once, evidently quite
disgusted, he turned and looked over the side, saying something to
one of the ugliest and most ill-looking mulattoes I ever saw, who
sat in the stern of a long rough canoe, hollowed out of some tree,
with two naked black rowers, less of the real nigger than himself,
as they leant grinning up at the bulwarks with their sharp teeth,
that appeared as if they'd been filed to a point. The mulatto
gloomed, but he gave no answer, and as one of the cadets and I knew
a little Portuguese, we managed together to get something out of
the fellow on deck; though at noticing me for the first time that
morning, I saw Finch turn red with surprise. We understood the man
to ask if we wanted nothing particular in the river, the meaning
of which I saw better on bethinking me of the fire along the bush
inside the headland, that had let me see the marks of it--no doubt
a signal to some craft they had taken us for. However, so soon as
he heard we needed no more than water and spars, after musing a
minute, and speaking again to Rodriguez, as he called the mulatto,
he said he would pilot us to a convenient berth himself, for two or
three dollars; notwithstanding his title was, as he said, Don José
Jeronimo Santa somebody, commandant of the Portuguese fort something
else. The river, we found, was the Nouries or the Cuanené, where
they had a settlement called Caconda, a good way up; a remarkably
bad country, he gave us to know, and not worth staying in, from
the number of flies, and the elephants having got into a cursed
way of burying their tusks,--except, he hinted, for the plenty of
blacks, all anxious to be sold and to see foreign countries; but
the trade was nothing yet, absolutely nothing, said he, blowing
his nose without a pocket handkerchief, and suiting the act to the
word, as he mentioned his notion of throwing it up and going farther
north-west. By this time we had stood over to the lowest shore, till
you could see the thick coffee-coloured mud in among the roots and
suckers of the dark-green mangroves, with their red pods bursting
under their rank-looking leaves,--and over them, through the tall
coarse guinea-grass, to the knots of feathery cocoas behind,
swarming with insects: when he gave the sign to go about, one of his
blacks heaving a lead, and grunting out the depth of water, as the
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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