Chapter III · (continued 2)

I sounded my bugle, at which the natives were astonished and pleased; but a black trumpeter, jealous of the performance, challenged a contest for the superiority of the respective instruments, which terminated in the entire defeat of the African, who was hooted and laughed at by his companions for his presumption, and gave up the trial in despair. I have read somewhere, that in ancient time there was a contest between a nightingale, and a famous musician, whose name I have forgot; and that the melodious bird, despairing to equal the divine strains which were produced by the minstrel, acknowledged his superiority by falling dead at his feet. Now, the disconcerted African did not certainly expire at the moment, but he hung down his head, remained silent, looked extremely silly, and did not venture to put his horn to his mouth again, till he imagined his companions had either overlooked or in some measure forgotten his defeat. Among the instruments used on this memorable occasion, was a piece of iron, in shape exactly resembling the bottom of a parlour fire-shovel. It was played on by a thick piece of wood, and produced sounds infinitely less harmonious than ‘marrow-bones and cleavers.’

The leader of our escort was a strange-looking, powerful fellow, and might very well serve the writer of a romance as the hero of his tale, in the character of keeper of an enchanted castle, when fierce, scowling looks, terrific frowns, and a peculiarly wild expression of countenance, are intended to be naturally described, for the man’s stature was gigantic, his eyes large, keen, piercing, and ever in motion, his broad nose squatted over both cheeks—his lips immensely large, exposing a fine set of teeth; the beard was black, thick, and gristly, and, covering all the lower part of his face, reached to his bosom; the famous Blue Beard was nothing to him; and in gazing on his features one would almost be inclined to believe, that all the most iniquitous and depraved passions of human nature were centered in his heart. Yet with so unlovely and forbidding an appearance, the man is in reality as innocent and docile as a lamb. He wore on his head a small rush hat, in shape like a common earthenware pan inverted, or like the hats which are worn by the lower class of Chinese. His breast was enveloped in a coarse piece of blue cloth; from his left shoulder hung a large quiver of arrows; and in his right hand he held a bow, which he brandished like a lance; a short pair of trousers covered his thighs, and fantastically-made leathern boots incased his feet and legs. His skin was of jetty blackness, his forehead high; but his tremendous beard, which was slightly tinged with grey, contributed, perhaps more than anything else, to impart that wildness and fierceness to his looks which at first inspired us with a kind of dread of our leader.

Thus escorted, we travelled onwards; and after a hasty ride of six hours from Eetchó, beheld from a little eminence those black, naked hills of granite, at whose base lies the metropolis of Yarriba. About an hour afterwards we entered the gates of that extensive city. As is the custom, we stayed under a tree, just inside the walls, till the king and his eunuchs were informed of our arrival, which having been done, after a wearisome delay, we rode to the residence of Ebo, the chief eunuch, who, next to the king, is the most influential man in the place. We found this personage, a ‘great, fat, round, oily man,’ airing himself under the verandah of his dwelling. Other eunuchs of similar appearance were sitting on the ground with him, and joined him in welcoming both of us (but myself more especially) to Katunga, with every appearance of sincerity, heartiness, and goodwill. A conversation not sufficiently interesting or important to relate, here took place,—it lasted a long time; and we then walked all together to the king’s house, which is at the distance of half a mile from that of Ebo.