SUEMA, OR THE LITTLE AFRICAN SLAVE WHO WAS BURIED ALIVE.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 109, 29 May 1875, Page 6

SUEMA, OR THE LITTLE AFRICAN SLAVE WHO WAS BURIED ALIVE.

Chapter IV. — Continued. The first two or three days of our journey passed veiy pleasantly. The change of air and scene sharpened my appetite, and I found more means of satisfying it than I had lately done at home. I liked walking naturally ; and happily, what I had to carry was not at all heavy. But it was otherwise with my poor mother. The first day, carrying the elephant's tusk, she marched at the head of the column; when the second day came, she was second ; but on the third she could only follow at the tail of the caravan, and that with the utmost difficulty. At every pause she laid down her heavy burden ; while her struggles for breath betrayed her intense fatigue, and each step showed the superhuman efforts she had to make to keep up at all. All these sufferings, which I saw, but could not relieve, were so many stabs in my poor childish heart. The following days the caravan, by some mistake, left the bed of the river, which we had followed until then, and in consequence we all suffered the torments of insupportable thirst. My poor mother, exhausted with fatigue, and sinking under the -weight of her load, fell several times. At last, the head of the caravan, seeing that she was really incap-

able of carrying her heavy burden any longer, desired a slave to take the elephant's tusk in her place. I was consoled and even surprised at seeing an Arab showing such sentiments of humanity. But, O cruel deception ! what was my agony when, on arriving in the evening at our camping-ground, I heard the following barbarous order given to the slave to whom the distribution of the meals of the prisoners was intrusted : ' Suema's mother is useless; she must ha>ve no farther rations!' What words were these to a child passionately desoted to her mother ! 3|l managed, however, by dissimulating as well as I could, to share my own portion of food with my poor mother. But, ■unhappily, the Arab monster, who was watching me, saw my little device, and had me flogged for it till the blood came. A fresh order was instantly issued that my ration was only to be given to me in presence of the master, and that I was to be put under strict surveillance. So the whole of the next day my good and patient mother had nothing to eat but a few grasshoppers, some leaves of the mtaina, and a little red earth. Think what this was to me, her child ! When night came, I could not eat. The food seemed to choke me, and I was ashamed to touch the good and wholesome meal put before me. , How was it possible for a child with any kind of affection to see her mother dying of hunger, and yet Lave the courage to eat herself ? However, this natural feeling of filial tenderness was so misunderstood by my cruel master, that he ordered me to be again severely beaien'; and finally I was compelled to swallow the food wet with my tears, without having the consolation of being able to share a crumb of it with my poor mother. The rext day, to make matters worse, the caravan came upon a vast tract of country which, had been set on fire, and to such an extent that nothing was to be seen for miles but blackened sand ; not a blade of grass, not an insect, not a bird remained on that vast plain ; nothing but earth carbonised by the conflagration. It was, therefore, impossible for my poor mother to obtain any kind of food. There was not even the red earth with which she might cheat her hunger. Several times during that terrible day I saw her fall to the ground, entirely exhausted; and it was only by incredible effortsgthat she at last reached our evening encampment. When the honr came for the distribution of the rations, the brutal voice of my master again fell on my ear, with these horrible words : ' Drive that old woman away from the canip, and see that no one gives her anything to eat. Whoever disobeys this order shall be most severely punished.' In a few minutes he added, ' To-morrow, if Allah pleases, we shall be quit of her. This is her last march, I hope, for she is quite done for.' A brutal laugh accompanied these words, and gave them a significance which I but too well understood. How can I express to you the impotent fury which I felt at the monster who had thus signed the death-warrant of the only person I loved passionately on carth — my dear good mother, who loved me with such tenderness as to have sacrificed all rather than separate herself from me? I cannot describe what passed through my mind at that moment ; rage, sorrow, torture, despair, are strong words, and yet they but feebly express what I suffered. Even the recollection of them at this hour makes me shudder. That night we camped out in the open air. The fire in the savannah had destroyed all the bushes as well as all the fodder ; but I toot advantage of this lucky accident to try and rejoin my poor mother. When I thought ever one was fast asleep, I crept like a snake out of the camp. The darkness of the night and of the plain, and the - colour of my own skin, favoured my flight, I must own, however, that when I found myself about a hundred yards from the camp, I was seized with a nameless terror. I was not used to walking alone on a pitch-dark night, and my feet seemed rooted to the ground with fright. But my strong love for my mother overcame my fears, and I cried out, ' What cannot a child do for a much-loved parent ? Would it not be better for me to die with her than to survive her ?' These thoughts gave me courage, and I began walking back as fast as I could in the direction which the caravan had taken the day before. I held my breath, listening with, all my ears, so that not a sound should escape me. Very soon I heard a low groan in my poor mother's voice, which pointed out to me the place where she lay. I began to run as fast as I could, and cried out from as far off as possible, ' Mamma, mamma, be comforted ! Your child is coming to help you !' She heard these words, and gave vent to sighs of love and tenderness. When at last I reached her, she threw her poor wasted arms round me, clasped me to her heart, and letting my head rest on her breast, I felt her hot tears raining down on my face and hair. She nursed me in this way for a long time, as she used to nurse my little brother, sobbing and singing in a low voice, as at a funeral, the following touching words : ' SuSma, my darling, why did you not die with your little sisters ? Then, at least, I should have had your graye — a consolation which no one could rob me of. Happy is the mother who can die weeping over the tombs of her children ! The graves of your brothers and sisters are far away, and you are about to be separated from me for ever. While I, miserable woman that lam ! I have neither the strength to follow you, nor that of being able to return to the dear remains of those I have loved and lost in our old home. And you, my poor unhappy child, where are you going to ? Alas, death is less bitter than slavery ! Who, henceforth, will comb and dress your beautiful hair ? Who will wash and care for you ? The cold dew of the morning and the rains of the bad season moisten the sad face of the orphan j but tears alone are the heritage of the slave. The damp earth is her mother, and her only home is the grave, the sole spot where her bruised and wounded body can find rest.' Thus sang and sobbed my poor mother, according to the custom of our country at funerals. And I — you can fancy how full my heart was — I did not cry, because I felt, as it were, choked with sorrow. My head and my throat burned like coals of fire, and, at

times I clung convulsively to my mother, feeling as if my very heart would break. By degrees, however, the fatigue of the long march and the gentle lullaby of my mother's soft sad voice soothed me to sleep — for how long I do not know ; but just about dawn I felt her arms tighten suddenly round me. I woke up with a start, and heard the steps of men who were searching for me. Unhappily, there was not a tree or a bush which could shelter us. They came nearer and nearer, and at last we were discovered and surrounded. The Arab, rolling his eyes with fury, seized hold of me, and tried to drag me away by main force. My mother kissed me and held me so tight clasped to her breast, that his brutal efforts could not succeed at first in separating us j so that we were dragged together along the earth. * Strike that old crone and beat her to death ! ' he shrieked, in a voice hoarse with rage. A hail-storm of blows fell on the body of my unhappy mother, but she seemed insensible to her sufferings. She would not unclasp her arms, and kept me still pressed to her heart. ' Strike as much, as you please,' she exclaimed, in a -weak and dying voice j ' strike, so that I may die before I am separated from my last and only child ! ' Our barbarous master heard these words, and his cruel soul would not even grant her that last comfort. ' Beat the little one/ he roared ; ' beat her hard !' The pain of the lash was more than I could bear ; in spite ox myself I broke out into piercing cries. At last my mother's strength gave way ; she let her arms fall. I fell forward, and the men seized and carried me off. Making a last effort, my poor mother knelt down, stretching out her hands towards me in an agony too deep for words. A moment after, I saw her sink down and faint away from excess of pain and grief. ' I struggled with all my might to escape from the arms of the slave who was carrying- me away, and kept jtny eyes incessantly fixed on my poor mother. Very soon he got tired of carrying me, and putting me down on the ground tried to make me walk by beating me on before him. Every moment I turned round and tried to go back to her ; only to be Tbeaten more violently and to fall down again and again, overcome by blows and pain. Tired out with my. resistance, the master ordered the slave to take me up again and carry me to the camp. He obeyed ; and the moment we arrived the caravan began its march. Very soon ■we came to the top of a hill. I looked back, and in the midst of the burning plain I perceived, for the last time, my poor mother, her arms stretched out towards me, while a quantity of vultures and large black crows were hovering over her head, only waiting for the moment of her being too weak to defend herself, to pick out her eyes and devour her. No one will ever know what I suffered at that moment. More dead than alive, I was still flompelled to march on. If I lagged behind, I was most cruelly whipped. A dull sort of despair came over me. I have nothing to tell of our journey from the time I was forced to abandon my poor mother until we reached Quiloa, a town situated oh the sea-coast. All I remember is that I cried so incessantly the whole way that my eyes were swelled out of my head, and I thought 1 should have gone blind. In spite of the way I was fiogged°on day by day, my strength was so entirely exhausted by sorrow, that I was not capable of walking any longer. 'Master/ said the slave who carried me one day to the head of the caravan, * what is the use of dragging this little girl along any farther ? You see very well that she is a perfect skeleton, and only fit to be eaten by the crows/ 'I cannot leave her behind/ he replied, ' because I bought her _on account for my patron. If I abandon her, I shall lose a piastre' (five francs), 'which he gives me per head for every slave I brin» him/ This man who had to carry me was furious, and did everything he could to be rid of his burden. Every time we came to the end of a stage, he threw me as roughly as he could on to the ground, as if I were a bundle of sticks. If we passed through a wood or by any bushes, he always tried to scratch my back with the thorns, so that I was often all over blood. And what was worse was, that this inhuman conduct to a little child only excited the amusement and won the applause of my companions in captivity; in fact, no human being had the smallest pity for aie.