DAHOMEY.

This nation is flanked by Ashantee on the west, and Yoruba on the east; running from the seacoast on the south to the Kong mountains on the north.  It is one hundred and eighty miles in width, by two hundred in breadth.  Whydah is the principal town on the seacoast.  The story runs, that, about two hundred and seventy-five years ago, Tacudons, chief of the Foys, carried a siege against the city of Abomey.  He made a solemn vow to the gods, that, if they aided him in pushing the city to capitulate, he would build a palace in honor of the victory.  He succeeded.  He laid the foundations of his palace, and then upon them ripped open the bowels of Da.  He called the building Da-Omi, which meant Da’s belly.  He took the title of King of Dahomey, which has remained until the present time.  The neighboring tribes, proud and ambitious, overran the country, and swept Whydah and adjacent places with the torch and spear.  Many whites fell into their hands as prisoners; all of whom were treated with great consideration, save the English governor of the above-named town.  They put him to death, because, as they charged, he had incited and excited the people of Dahomey to resist their king.

This is a remarkable people.  They are as cruel as they are cunning.  The entire population is converted into an army:  even women are soldiers.  Whole regiments of women are to be found in the army of the king of Dahomey, and they are the best foot-regiments in the kingdom.  They are drilled at stated periods, are officered, and well disciplined.  The army is so large, and is so constantly employed in predatory raids upon neighboring tribes, that the consuming element is greater than the producing.  The object of these raids was threefold:  to get slaves for human sacrifices, to pour the blood of the victims on the graves of their ancestors yearly, and to secure human skulls to pave the court of the king and to ornament the walls about the palace!  After a successful war, the captives are brought to the capital of the kingdom.  A large platform is erected in the great market space, encircled by a parapet about three feet high.  The platform blazes with rich clothes, elaborate umbrellas, and all the evidences of kingly wealth and splendor, as well as the spoils taken in battle.  The king occupies a seat in the centre of the platform, attended by his imperturbable wives.  The captives, rum, tobacco, and cowries are now ready to be thrown to the surging mob below.  They have fought gallantly, and now clamor for their reward.  “Feed us, king!” they cry, “feed us, king! for we are hungry!” and as the poor captives are tossed to the mob they are despatched without ceremony!