Their women wear a ring of copper about their necks, which weigheth fifteen pound at the least; about their arms little rings of copper, that reach to their elbows: about their middle a cloth of the bark of the nsanda tree, a kind of wild fig of many slender trunks; on their legs rings of copper that reach to the calves of their legs.
From these folk we bought great store of cows, and sheep—bigger than our English sheep—and very fine copper. Also, we bought a kind of sweet gray wood which the Portugals esteem much for its perfume, and great store of Guinea wheat and beans. And having laded our bark we sent her home; but fifty of us stayed on shore, and made a little fort with rafters of wood, because the people of this place are treacherous, and those that trade with them must stand upon their own guard. In seventeen days we had five hundred head of good brown cattle, which we bought for blue glass beads of an inch long, paying fifteen beads for one cow. The governor sent us three ships, on which we shipped these cattle to São Paulo de Loanda, and then we departed for the town of Benguela.
This is a small outpost that I think will grow important in later years. It lies behind a morro, or great cliff, that rises straight from the sea and is covered by the thick fleshy thorny little trees without leaves that are so common in these dry regions. The bay of the town has good anchoring ground, and on the north side of it stands the fort of Benguela, built square, with palisados and trenches, and surrounded with houses shaded by banana, orange, lemon, and pomegranate trees; and behind the fort is a pond of fresh water. About it are seven villages, which pay the tenth part of all they have, in tribute to the Portugals of Benguela.
The air of Benguela is very bad, and the Portugals who live there look more like ghosts than men. In command of the small garrison was Manoel de Andrade, that had been my companion on several voyages long ago up the coast: he had aged much, and was feeble and loose-jointed. I learned from him that he had committed some grave infraction, that he would not name, and had been sent to Benguela by way of punishment. This was true also of all the other Portugals there.
There was little trading for us at Benguela, the Portugals of the place having been too indolent or too sickly lately to carry on any business. We therefore did not stay long. While we were there Andrade took us to a native town, where I saw a marketplace for dog-flesh.
“In some parts of Angola the people do love dogs’ flesh better than any other meat,” he said, “and for that purpose they feed and fatten them, and then kill them and sell them in an open market of meat.”
In that shambles or market Andrade showed us the different sorts of meat, squeezing and handling them in an expert way, while the vendors did cry out to us in their own language, praising the qualities of their product.
To me Andrade did remark, “They breed their beasts for flavor. Last year a fine sire was sold by exchange for two-and-twenty slaves. Which is to say, at ten ducats the slave, a fortune paid for a single dog!”
“Ah, the meat must be much delectable,” I replied.
Andrade, with a laugh, said, “I would not know. I am no eater of dogs. But you are a man who craves adventure, eh, Piloto? Here, will you sample this meat at your dinner this night?”
“Nay,” I said, “it does not overly tempt me. I think I will live my life without the eating of dog-flesh.”
And I turned away, shuddering a little. Yet dog-eaters would soon seem mild and innocent to me, by comparison with what awaited me just down the coast.
For we did move a short distance beyond Benguela and saw a mighty camp pitched on the south side of the River Kuvu. Being desirous to know what those men were, our commander, one Diogo Pinto Dourado, chose a party to go on shore with our boat, and I was among that party, owing to my skill with the native languages. When we came within close range of the beach I peered forward, and what I saw did make my blood run chilly, for these were naked men, painted here and there in white and well armed, many of them of tall stature and powerful form: I knew them to be Jaqqas.
Catching the wrist of our boatswain, I said, “Let us turn back, for we are traveling to our deaths. Those are the man-eaters!”
“Are you certain of that?”
“As I am a Christian!”
This boatswain, Fernão Coelho by name, was a dark-complected man, but he grew pale as a sheet, and at once signalled for the boat to be swung about, we being a dozen and they on shore at least five hundred. Yet as we rowed back to the frigate, Captain Pinto Dourado appeared on the deck and shouted to us, demanding to know why we had not landed, and when we told him the shore was held by Jaqqas, he said with violent gestures that we must go to them anyway.
“Nay,” said I under my breath, “they will have us boiled in a trice!”
The boatswain had some similar idea, for he continued leading us back toward our frigate; but Pinto Dourado caused muskets to be aimed at us, and, under point of gun, we had no choice but to head once more toward the beach. Silent as ghosts did we take our way thither, and the Portugals crossed themselves often. Yet I did find courage, remembering the Jaqqas who had led me to safety when that I was lost in the desert after the massacre of Kafuche Kambara, and I told myself that these might be merciful. For all that, yet I was in no cheerful frame of mind, what with muskets primed behind me and man-eaters waiting to the fore.
We came onto the shore and a troop of hundreds of men met us at the waterside. We were armed, but we kept our weapons down to provoke no attack. Fernão Coelho looked to me and I said, “Aye, Jaqqas indeed.”
With a curse, Coelho said, “Then Pinto Dourado has sent us to our doom! Be ye sure?”
“They have the Jaqqa traits. They knock out four of their teeth, as a mark of handsomeness, and they paint their bodies here and there in white patterns, and they carry clusters of weapons by their belts.”
The Jaqqas now circled round us, saying nothing, only staring hard, as if we were men down from the moon for a visit.
Coelho said to me, “Can you speak their language?”
“Nary a word. But I speak other languages, which perhaps they know also. I will essay it.”
I tell you that I fully expected to die that day, perhaps within the hour. Yet was I strangely calm, as I think men often are when they are in the presence of the certainty of death. I looked about me and found the tallest and most awesome of the Jaqqas, and spoke to him in the Kikongo tongue, saying we came in peace, as traders, and were emissaries from the great ship that did lie off shore.
The Jaqqa said nothing, but only looked intently upon me.
Coelho said, “Let us return to the ship, since they will not talk with us.”
“Peace, boatswain. We cannot leave so soon.”
“Why not? We were sent to learn who they were, and now we are certain, and therefore—”
I bade him hush. The tall Jaqqa spoke, most deep and solemnly, in words I did not understand, and then, haltingly, in Kikongo. And what he said was, “What world come you from? Are you spirits?”
“We are men,” said I, “from a land far across the sea.”
The Jaqqa did make a long oration to his fellows in their own tongue, and several of them broke away and ran up the beach to the main camp, as messengers. To me he said, “Are you Portugals?”