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- CHAPTER LVIII.
They Visit The Extreme South Of Vivenza
We penetrated further and further into the valleys around; but, though,
as elsewhere, at times we heard whisperings that promised an end to our
wanderings;—we still wandered on; and once again, even Yoomy abated his
sanguine hopes.
And now, we prepared to embark for the extreme south of the land.
But we were warned by the people, that in that portion of Vivenza,
whither we were going, much would be seen repulsive to strangers. Such
things, however, indulgent visitors overlooked. For themselves, they
were well aware of those evils. Northern Vivenza had done all it could
to assuage them; but in vain; the inhabitants of those southern valleys
were a fiery, and intractable race; heeding neither expostulations, nor
entreaties. They were wedded to their ways. Nay, they swore, that if
the northern tribes persisted in intermeddlings, they would dissolve
the common alliance, and establish a distinct confederacy among
themselves.
Our coasting voyage at an end, our keels grated the beach among many
prostrate palms, decaying, and washed by the billows. Though part and
parcel of the shore we had left, this region seemed another land. Fewer
thriving thingswere seen; fewer cheerful sounds were heard.
“Here labor has lost his laugh!” cried Yoomy.
It was a great plain where we landed; and there, under a burning sun,
hundreds of collared men were toiling in trenches, filled with the taro
plant; a root most flourishing in that soil. Standing grimly over
these, were men unlike them; armed with long thongs, which descended
upon the toilers, and made wounds. Blood and sweat mixed; and in great
drops, fell.
“Who eat these plants thus nourished?” cried Yoomy. “Are these men?”
asked Babbalanja.
“Which mean you?” said Mohi.
Heeding him not, Babbalanja advanced toward the fore-most of those with
the thongs,—one Nulli: a cadaverous, ghost-like man; with a low ridge
of forehead; hair, steel-gray; and wondrous eyes;—bright, nimble, as
the twin Corposant balls, playing about the ends of ships’ royal-yards
in gales.
The sun passed under a cloud; and Nulli, darting at Babbalanja those
wondrous eyes, there fell upon him a baleful glare.
“Have they souls?” he asked, pointing to the serfs.
“No,” said Nulli, “their ancestors may have had; but their souls have
been bred out of their descendants; as the instinct of scent is killed
in pointers.”
Approaching one of the serfs, Media took him by the hand, and felt of
it long; and looked into his eyes; and placed his ear to his side; and
exclaimed, “Surely this being has flesh that is warm; he has Oro in his
eye; and a heart in him that beats. I swear he is a man.”
“Is this our lord the king?” cried Mohi, starting.
“What art thou,” said Babbalanja to the serf. “Dost ever feel in thee a
sense of right and wrong? Art ever glad or sad?—They tell us thou art
not a man:—speak, then, for thyself; say, whether thou beliest thy
Maker.”
“Speak not of my Maker to me. Under the lash, I believe my masters, and
account myself a brute; but in my dreams, bethink myself an angel. But
I am bond; and my little ones;—their mother’s milk is gall.”
“Just Oro!” cried Yoomy, “do no thunders roll,—no lightnings flash in
this accursed land!”
“Asylum for all Mardi’s thralls!” cried Media.
“Incendiaries!” cried he with the wondrous eyes, “come ye, firebrands,
to light the flame of revolt? Know ye not, that here are many serfs,
who, incited to obtain their liberty, might wreak some dreadful
vengeance? Avaunt, thou king! _thou_ horrified at this? Go back to Odo,
and right her wrongs! These serfs are happier than thine; though thine,
no collars wear; more happy as they are, than if free. Are they not
fed, clothed, and cared for? Thy serfs pine for food: never yet did
these; who have no thoughts, no cares.”
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