Immediately on my arrival I received a visit from the Avogal, the King of Dahomey’s governor at Widah, a big healthy-looking negro, with whom the only conversation I had was of the most commonplace description.  He was accompanied by two other blacks, with intelligent faces and sharp eyes, who sat on each side of him without speaking a word, and departed equally silently.  “Those are the censors,” said M. Provencal.  “Each of the King’s officials is always attended in that fashion to report all he says and does.  If the King should be dissatisfied with him he has his head cut off.”  If this habit was universal there would be fewer office seekers.  This king ruled after the antique pattern.  He had kept all his seignorial rights.  If any of his subjects married a wife the lady had first to be presented to him, and if he liked her he kept her.  His authority was unlimited in fact; nevertheless, powerful though he might be, he was likely to find it hard to change his subjects from slave-hunters into oil growers.

After the Avogal’s visit I went to pay one in my turn to a strange individual, more of a king in Widah than the King of Dahomey himself, who could not do without him,—­for he supplied him with guns and gunpowder for his wars, and brandy wherewith to intoxicate his Amazons.  This personage, a Brazilian of the name of Don Francisco de Souza, but known invariably as Cha-Cha, had been settled at Widah for forty-three years.  He was a veteran slaver, from whom the British had captured thirty-four ships, two of them quite recently.  A little old man, with quick eyes and an expressive countenance, he was credited with having two thousand slaves in his barracoons, and with being the father of eighty male children—­the girls had never been thought worth reckoning up.  All his sons had been properly brought up.  I saw them walking about in all directions, uniformly dressed in white suits, and wearing Panama hats.  Most of them were very handsome mulattoes.

The state of the surf, which was impassable, prevented me from getting back on board, so it was settled that I should dine with Cha-Cha, and sleep at the French fort, where I installed myself in the former quarters of the governor, which I shared with M. Provencal.  Rather a comical adventure befell me there.  A very aged negro, formerly gatekeeper of the fort, when M. Dagneau commanded it for the King of France, had been to pay his respects to me in the morning, and I had caused him to be given a present for himself and his family in the shape of a demijohn of brandy, which they first danced round and then carried off, with great rejoicings.  Well, the enthusiasm increased in measure as the contents of the demijohn disappeared, and towards evening the courtyard within the fort was invaded, to a great beating of tomtoms and clucking of women’s tongues, by a huge crowd of Dahomeyan negroes, preceded by a sort of corps de ballet of young negresses, wriggling themselves about in every conceivable manner.  At their head marched the ci-devant porter in a great state of excitement.  He began a fresh harangue in negro French.