By Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War by G. A. Henty (book club recommendations .txt) 📖

On arriving at a large village one day, they were struck as they approached by the far greater appearance of comfort and neatness than generally distinguish African villages. The plots of plantations were neatly fenced, the street was clean and well kept. As they entered the village they were met by the principal people, headed by an old white haired negro.

“Me berry glad to see you, white men,” he said. “Long time me no see white men.”

“And it is a long time,” said Mr. Goodenough, shaking hands with him, “since I have heard the sound of my own tongue outside my party.”

“Me berry glad to see you,” repeated the negro. “Me chief of dis village. Make you berry comfortable, sar. Great honor for dis village dat you come here. Plenty eberyting for you, fowl, and eggs, and plantain, and sometime a sheep.”

“We have, indeed, fallen into the lap of luxury,” Mr. Goodenough said to Frank; and they followed the negro to his hut. “I suppose the old man has been employed in one of the factories upon the coast.”

The interior of the hut was comfortably furnished and very clean. A sort of divan covered with neatly woven mats extended round three sides. In the center was an attempt at a table. A doubled barreled gun and a rifle hung over the hearth. A small looking glass and several colored prints in cheap frames were suspended from the walls. A great chest stood at one end of the room, while on a shelf were a number of plates and dishes of English manufacture.

The negro begged his guests to be seated, and presently a girl entered, bringing in a large calabash full of water for them to wash their hands and faces. In the meantime the old negro had gone to his chest, and, to the immense surprise of the travelers, brought out a snow white tablecloth, which he proceeded to lay on the table, and then to place knives, forks, and plates upon it.

“You must 'scuse deficiencies, sar,” he said. “We berry long way from coast, and dese stupid niggers dey break tings most ebery day.”

“Don't talk about deficiencies,” Mr. Goodenough answered smiling. “All this is, indeed, astonishing to us here.”

“You berry good to say dat, sar, but dis chile know how tings ought to be done. Me libed in good Melican family. He know berry well how tings ought to be done.”

“Ah, you have traveled a good deal!” Mr. Goodenough said.

“Yes, sar, me trabel great deal. Me lib in Cuba long time. Den me lib slave states, what you call Confederate. Den me lib Northern state, also Canada under Queen Victoria. Me trabel bery much. Now, sar, dinner come. Time to eat not to talk. After dinner white gentlemen tell me what they came here for. Me tell dem if they like about my trabels, but dat berry long story.”

The dinner consisted of two fowls cut in half and grilled over a fire, fried plantains, and, to the astonishment of the travelers, green peas, followed by cold boiled rice over which honey had been poured. Their host had placed plates only for two, but they would not sit down until he had consented to join them.

Two girls waited, both neatly dressed in cotton, in a fashion which was a compromise between European and negro notions.

After dinner the negro presented them with two large and excellent cigars, made, as he said, from tobacco grown in his own garden, and the astonishment of the travelers was heightened by the reappearance of one of the girls bearing a tray with three small cups of excellent black coffee.

Their host now asked them for the story of their journey from the coast, and the object with which they had penetrated Africa. Mr. Goodenough related their adventures, and said that they were naturalists in search of objects of natural history. When he had finished Ostik, in obedience to a whisper from him, brought in a bottle of brandy, at the sight of which the negro broke into a chuckle.

“Me tree months widout taste dat. Once ebery year me send down to coast, get coffee, tea, sugar, calico, beads, and rum. Dis time de rum am finish too soon. One of de cases get broke and half de bottles smash. Dat berry bad job. Dis chile calculate dat six dozen last for a year, dat give him one bottle each week and twenty bottles for presents to oder chiefs. Eighteen bottles go smash, and as de oder chiefs expec' deir present all de same, Sam hab ta go widout. De men start three weeks ago for coast. Me hope dey come back in six weeks more.”

“Well,” Mr. Goodenough said, “you need not go without it till they come back, for I can give you eight bottles which will last you for two months. I have got a good supply, and as I never use it for trade unless a chief particularly wants it, I can very well spare it.”

The old negro was greatly pleased, and when he had drank his glass of brandy and water he responded to Mr. Goodenough's request, and, lighting a fresh cigar, he began the story of his adventures.

“I was born in dis berry village somewhere about seventy years ago. I not know for sure widin two or three year, for when I young man I no keep account. My fader was de chief of dis village, just as I am now, but de village was not like dis. It was not so big, and was berry dirty and berry poor, just like the oder nigger villages. Well, sar, dere am nothing perticlar to tell about de first years of my life. I jus' dirty little naked nigger like de rest. Dose were berry bad times. Ebery one fight against ebery one else. Ebery one take slabes and send dem down de river, and sell to white men dere to carry ober sea. When I grow up to seventeen, I s'pose, I take spear and go out wid de people of dis village and de oder villages of dis part ob country under king, and fight against oder villages and carry the people away as slabes. All berry bad business dat. But Sam he tink nothing, and just do the same as oder people. Sometimes oder tribes come and fight against our villages and carry our people away. So it happened to Sam.

“Jus' when he about twenty years old we had come back from a long 'spedition. Dis village got its share ob slabes, and we drink and sing and make merry wid de palm tree wine and tink ourselves berry grand fellows. Well, sar, dat night great hullyballoo in de village. De dogs bark, de men shout and seize deir arms and run out to fight, but it no good. Anoder tribe fall on us ten times as many as we. We fight hard but no use. All de ole men and de ole women and de little babies dat no good to sell dey killed, and de rest of us, de men and de women and de boys and girls, we tied together and march away wid de people dat had taken us.

“Berry