To all intents and purposes Alvez was the real sovereign of the district, having fostered the vices of the brutalized king till he had him completely in his power. He was a man considerably advanced in years; he was not (as his name might imply) a white man, but had merely assumed his Portuguese title for purposes of business; his true name was Kendélé, and he was a pure negro by birth, being a native of Dondo on the Cuanza. He had commenced life as a slave-dealer’s agent, and was now on his way towards becoming a first-class trader; that is to say, he was a consummate rascal under the guise of an honest man. He it was whom Cameron met at the end of 1874 at Kilemba, the capital of Urua, of which Kasongo is chief, and with whose caravan he travelled to Bihé, a distance of seven hundred miles.
It was midday when the caravan entered Kazonndé. The journey from the Cuanza had lasted thirty-eight days, more than five weeks of misery as great as was within human power to endure. Amidst the noise of drums and koodoo-horns the slaves were conducted to the marketplace. The soldiers of the caravan discharged their guns into the air, and old Alvez’ resident retinue responded with a similar salute. The bandits, than which the soldiers were nothing better, were delighted to meet again, and would celebrate their return by a season of riot and excess.
The slaves, reduced to a total of about two hundred and fifty, were many of them almost dead from exhaustion; the forks were removed from their necks, though the chains were still retained, and the whole of them were driven into barracks that were unfit even for cattle, to await (in company with 1,200 to 1,500 other captives already there) the great market which would be held two days hence.
The pagazis, after delivering their loads of ivory, would only stay to receive their payment of a few yards of calico or other stuff, and would then depart at once to join some other caravan.
On being relieved from the forks which they had carried for so many weary days, Tom and his companions heartily wrung each other’s hands, but they could not venture to utter one word of mutual encouragement. The three younger men, more full of life and vigour, had resisted the effects of the fatigue, but poor old Tom was nearly exhausted, and had the march been protracted for a few more days he must have shared Nan’s fate and been left behind, a prey to the wild beasts.
Upon their arrival all four were packed into a narrow cell, where some food was provided, and the door was immediately locked upon them.
The chitoka was now almost deserted, and Dick Sands was left there under the special charge of a havildar: he lost no opportunity of peering into every hut in the hope of catching a glimpse of Mrs. Weldon, who, if Hercules had not misinformed him, had come on hither just in front.
But he was very much perplexed. He could well understand that Mrs. Weldon, if still a prisoner, would be kept out of sight, but why Negoro and Harris did not appear to triumph over him in his humiliation was quite a mystery to him. It was likely enough that the presence of either one or the other of them would be the signal for himself to be exposed to fresh indignity, or even to torture, but Dick would have welcomed the sight of them at Kazonndé, were it only as an indication that Mrs. Weldon and Jack were there also.
It disappointed him, too, that Dingo did not come back. Ever since the dog had brought him the first note, he had kept an answer written ready to send to Hercules, imploring him to look after Mrs. Weldon, and to keep him informed of everything. He began to fear that the faithful creature must be dead, perhaps perished in some attempt to reach himself; it was, however, quite possible that Hercules had taken the dog in some other direction, hoping to gain some depot in the interior.
But so thoroughly had Dick persuaded himself that Mrs. Weldon had preceded him to Kazonndé that his disappointment became more and more keen when he failed to discover her. For a while he seemed to yield to despair, and sat down sorrowful and sick at heart.
Suddenly a chorus of voices and trumpets broke upon his ear; he was startled into taking a new interest in what was going on.
“Alvez! Alvez!” was the cry again and again repeated by the crowd.
Here, then, was the great man himself about to appear. Was it not likely that Harris or Negoro might be with him?
Dick stood erect and resolute, his eye vivid with expectation; he felt all eagerness to stand face to face with his betrayers; boy as he was, he was equal to cope with them both.
The kitanda, which came in sight at the end of the street, was nothing more than a kind of hammock covered by a faded and ragged curtain. An old negro stepped out of it. His attendants greeted him with noisy acclamations.
This, then, was the great trader, José Antonio Alvez.
Immediately following him was his friend Coïmbra, son of the chief Coïmbra of Bihé, and, according to Cameron, the greatest blackguard in the province. This sworn ally of Alvez, this organizer of his slave-raids, this commander, worthy of his own horde of bandits, was utterly loathsome in his appearance, his flesh was filthily dirty, his eyes were bloodshot, his skin yellow, and his long hair all dishevelled. He had no other attire than a tattered shirt, a tunic made of grass, and a battered straw
