This long enumeration shows what rude labors fall on the feeble sex in those savage regions of the African continent.

During this time the men smoke tobacco or hemp, chase the elephant or the buffalo, and hire themselves to the traders for the raids.  The harvest of maize or of slaves is always a harvest that takes place in fixed seasons.

Of those various occupations, Mrs. Weldon only saw in Alvez’s factory the part laid on the women.  Sometimes she stopped, looking at them, while the slaves, it must be said, only replied to her by ugly grimaces.  A race instinct led these unfortunates to hate a white woman, and they had no commiseration for her in their hearts.  Halima alone was an exception, and Mrs. Weldon, having learned certain words of the native language, was soon able to exchange a few sentences with the young slave.

Little Jack often accompanied his mother when she walked in the inclosure; but he wished very much to go outside.  There was, however, in an enormous baobab, marabout nests, formed of a few sticks, and “souimangas” nests, birds with scarlet breasts and throats, which resemble those of the tissirms; then “widows,” that strip the thatch for the benefit of their family; “calaos,” whose song was agreeable, bright gray parrots with red tails, which, in the Manyema, are called “rouss,” and give their name to the chiefs of the tribes; insectivorous “drougos,” similar to gray linnets, with large, red beaks.  Here and there also fluttered hundreds of butterflies of different species, especially in the neighborhood of the brooks that crossed the factory; but that was rather Cousin Benedict’s affair than little Jack’s, and the latter regretted greatly not being taller, so as to look over the walls.  Alas! where was his poor friend, Dick Sand—­he who had brought him so high up in the “Pilgrim’s” masts?  How he would have followed him on the branches of those trees, whose tops rose to more than a hundred feet!  What good times they would have had together!

Cousin Benedict always found himself very well where he was, provided insects were not lacking.  Happily, he had discovered in the factory—­and he studied as much as he could without magnifying glass or spectacles—­a small bee which forms its cells among the worm-holes of the wood, and a “sphex” that lays its eggs in cells that are not its own, as the cuckoo in the nests of other birds.  Mosquitoes were not lacking either, on the banks of the rivulets, and they tattooed him with bites to the extent of making him unrecognizable.  And when Mrs. Weldon reproached him with letting himself be thus devoured by those venomous insects:  “It is their instinct, Cousin Weldon,” he replied to her, scratching himself till the blood came; “it is their instinct, and we must not have a grudge against them!”

At last, one day—­it was the 17th of June—­Cousin Benedict was on the point of being the happiest of entomologists.  But this adventure, which had unexpected consequences, needs to be related with some minuteness.