The Bateke chief had seen many mugs and cups like the one in question now, but he had never before seen a white man; and my owners, though they were very proud of possessing a white slave, were still more eager to possess this mug, which they thought, from the emotion it had caused in me, must be a most powerful fetich. As I afterwards found out, they argued that it might be dangerous for them to have both it and me, lest in some unguarded moment the precious object might fall into my possession, and I might, with its aid, revenge upon them all the miseries and insults they had lavished on me. At last they consented to exchange me for this mug, which possibly might have been worth fourpence.

No sooner was the bargain concluded than I was untied from the post and turned over to my new master. He put me in his canoe and took me to his village, which was about four miles below the place where my late owners had camped, and there he gave me in charge of his mother, an old and wrinkled woman of at least seventy, who ruled over his numerous wives and slaves with an iron hand.

In Savage Africa — Part 90

I soon found that this old dame had not much superstitious reverence for me as a white man. I had to go and work on her plantations and collect firewood like any ordinary slave--the only difference between me and others being that I was more jealously guarded, though, as being more valuable, having slightly better food and shelter.

In Savage Africa — Part 90

My old masters left for their own country soon after I had passed from their hands. Before long I found there seemed to be little chance of my getting away from the Bateke and making my way to the sea-coast. Nevertheless, after some time the guard over me became less severe. The old hag who had charge of me becoming more blind and feeble, and not being able to keep so strict a watch over her son’s belongings as she had hitherto done, I found opportunities of conversing with some of my fellow-slaves, and struck up a kind of friendship with one called Duma, a fellow a year or two older than myself.

In Savage Africa — Part 90

Duma told me he belonged to a tribe that lived some distance down the river, below some vast and fearful cataracts; and if it were not that he was afraid of passing these he would long ago have stolen a canoe and made his way by the river to his own people and his own home.