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 wickerwork; 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 torchlight, 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 cortege, 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 tortures which by Negoro’s orders he had already undergone, friendless and hopeless, was Dick Sands!
The time, however, for opening the floodgate 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 riverbed 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 of the King of Kazonndé.
Painful as they are to describe, it is impossible to ignore the reality of such scenes.
XIII
In Captivity
So far from Mrs. Weldon and Jack having succumbed to the hardships to which they had been exposed, they were both alive, and together with Cousin Benedict were now in Kazonndé. After the assault upon the anthill they had all three been conveyed beyond the encampment to a spot where a rude palanquin was in readiness for Mrs. Weldon and her son. The journey hence to Kazonndé was consequently accomplished without much difficulty; Cousin Benedict, who performed it on foot, was allowed to entomologize as much as he pleased upon the road, so that to him the distance was a matter of no concern. The party reached their destination a week sooner than Ibn Hamish’s caravan, and the prisoners were lodged in Alvez’ quarters.
Jack was much better. After leaving the marshy districts he had no return of fever, and as a certain amount of indulgence had been allowed them on their journey, both he and his mother, as far as their health was concerned, might be said to be in a satisfactory condition.
Of the rest of her former companions Mrs. Weldon could hear nothing. She had herself been a witness of the escape of Hercules, but of course knew nothing further of his fate; as for Dick Sands, she entertained a sanguine hope that his white skin would protect him from any severe treatment; but for Nan and the other poor negroes, here upon African soil, she feared the very worst.
Being entirely shut off from communication with the outer world, she was quite unaware of the arrival of the caravan; even if
