SUEMA, OR THE LITTLE AFRICAN SLAVE WHO WAS BURIED ALIVE.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 110, 5 June 1875, Page 4

SUEMA, OR THE LITTLE AFRICAN SLAVE WHO WAS BURIED ALIVE.

Chapter IV. — Continued. Wb passed several" days at Quiloa, days which gave me some respite from my sufferings. There, at least, no one ill-used me. I used to lie down all day in the darkest corner of the hut, and I had plenty of water quite close to me, which enabled me to quench the burning thirst brought on by fever and grief, and which probably brought me back to life. I had, however, no wish whatever to live ; everything became indifferent to me. I hardly understood where I was for a time, and retained only a vague remembrance of my terrible sufferings. All the weeks -which had elapsed since my separation from my mother seemed to me like a horrible dream which was to come to an end after a time ; and then I fancied that everything around me would disappear, and that I should wake up some day by the side of my darling mother, in the little hut where we had been sad, it was true, "but where we had been so happy in comparison with our actual position. Alas, from this dream there was no awaking but to a reality which was more terrible still. One morning while I was indulging in these illusions, without exactly realising whore I was or what I was doing, a slave came into the hut where I was lying, and without speaking took me up in his arms and carried me on board a little coasting vessel bound for Zanzibar. All the slaves who, like me, had been embarked in this manner were filled with fear, and trembled violently. 'Ah,' they exclaimed in the midst of their lamentations, 'we are lost. "We are going to Zanzibar, where the white men eat tho blacks.' Although I had become, as I said before, almost indifferent to everything that went on around me, I could not remain where I was ; but the hope of a speedy death gave me courage. On this ship (or boutre, as it was called) our sufferings were

redoubled. "We were so jammed together, that not only we could nob turn, or move, or lie down, but we could scarcely breathe. The heat, coupled with a burning thirst, became insupportable, and a strong breeze from the sea brought our misery to a climax. At night; the cold wind froze us and covered us with sea spray. The next morning every one was given a small ration of water and. a bit of manioc root, and thus we passed six long days and Bix nights which seemed longer still. Hunger, thirst, sea-sickness, the sudden transition from intense heat to icy cold, the impossibility of resting one's head for a moment from want of room, in a word, all imaginable Biifferings and horrors being concentrated upon us during that time, made me regret at last even the terrible journey across the desert. But still we lived on ; and at last hope revived in our hearts, for we were in sight of the island of Zanzibar, and some change must come in our miserable existence. The wind swelled our triangular sail, and very soon we found ourselves in front of a large town. A salute of two guns made the little vessel quiver from one end to the other, the sail was taken in, and we cast anchor in the bay, and were still. I heard my companions in misfortune admiring the walled town with its white houses, and alternately expressing fear and hope. As for me, I was too weak to look at anything. A kind of mist seemed to be before my eyes, and the only thing which kept me alive was the thought that when we landed, they -would perhaps give me a little water. O, what a terrible torment it is to suffer so much from thirst! I do not remember in Avhat way we were carried on shore, or how long we were detained at the custom-house. The sight of the great crowd of negro porters, all carrying heavy weights and uttering a peculiar cry to keep step with one another, added to mj excessive weakness, so be vvildered me, that I really was unable to realise the thousand and one new objects which passed.before me, and moreover it .was getting dusk when we landed. When we arrived at the dep6t of slaves, which is~a great stone house, it was completely dark. There I saw that the conductor of thecaravan, whom I had considered the most powerful man on earth, was cringing in .the most servile manner before another Arab, who ,was evidently his superior, and seemed to be loading him with reproaches, but in a language which I could not nnderstaud. I fancied lie was scolding him on my account, for I saw him very often pointing at me with his finger. At last, turning to me in a familar tongue, he told me to get up. I made almost superhuman "efforts to obey him ; but could not succeed. ' This slave is lost,' said this new and important personage ; 'it is a great pity, and very annoying. Six yards of cloth, the transport by land and sea, and the custom-house dues — at least five piastres gone for nothing ' (twenty-five francs) . ' Conductor, be so good as not to be guilty of such stupidities in future.' Then turning towards two great negroes Avho were standing by, he added : ' Here, Khamis and Marzouc, put this carcass in a bit of matting, and carry it to the cemetery. It, is quite useless to go to the expense of feeding her any longer, for one can't save her.' No sooner said than done. The two slaves seized me and wrapped me up in. an old matting, which they took care to bind carefully with cocoa cords. Then they hung me up in this soi't of bundle on a long stick, placed me on their Bhoulders, and carried me off far from the dep6t. I was so effectually wrapped up in the matting that, though I could breathe, I could see absolutely nothing. The noise of the crowd made me understand that I was being carried through the streets of the town. To this sound succeeded that of rubbing against boughs and brunches, which warned me that we were passing through a wood. At last they came to a standstill, and I was thrown on the ground. I heard them digging in the sand,>nd I then understood fully k that I was going to be buried alive. The bed of sand which had been thrown over me was so light, that I heard the receding steps of the porters returning in haste to the town. Very soon a profound, silence settled round me, and a horrible fear took possession of my whole being. It was true that I had suffered terribly of late. Except during] my childhood, which I have already described, my life had been one prolonged martyrdom. But the thought of dying under such horrible circumstances caused me an inexpressible terror. I made the most extraordinary efforts to get clear of the cords which bound my matting ; but I had not strength to- do it. Only, with immense trouble, I mauaged at last to wriggle the tipper part of my body out of the sand, so as not to be quite stifled. At the same time, I set to work to cry out with all my might ; but my weak voice was lost in the silence, of the night. Once or twice I thought I heard the footsteps of people who were passing near me. Then I called out still louder. But nay cries, instead of bringing help, only frightened these nocturnal visitors, whom I heard running away as fast as they could. Again around me there was a silence which could be felt — a silence as of death. Then suddenly the bushes near me began to be moved by some one or something, and I had a glimmer of hope. But, O horror of horrors ! in an instant a whole troop of howling jackals surrounded me. I knew the way they haunt the cemeteries, when once they have tasted human flesh, and the very blood froze in my veins with terror. My cries and despairing efforts to escape kept them ab bay for a little while ; but by and by, encouraged by my forced immobility, I heard them barking nearer and nearer. Presently they began scratching close to my body, and very soon uncovered the lower part of it, and began biting my feet. I gave one great cry, and lost all consciousness. When I came to myself, I found that I vras in'a room with white hangings, such as I had never seen before in my life. I was lying in a comfortable bed, and covered with a white sheet. Two white-faced persons, whom I did not know, were standing at the head of my bed, and carefully watching my movements. They were dressed in white and black ; and seeing this, I imagined I was dead, and that I was in the land of spirits (Peponi). My first thought was for my mother.

' Where is my mother ? ' I exclaimed again and again to the Sisters, whom, as I said before, I took for spirits. ' Stay still, dear child,' replied one of them ; ' your mother will come by and by.' They then gave me a delicious drink of some sort, which I thought the best thing I had ever tasted. I drank a great deal of it, and then 6lept profoundly. Now I am going to relate what happened when I lost all consciousness, in my grave amidst the jackals, who were beginning to devour me. You will see the wonderful way in which Providence intervened to save my life. Mr. W., a young Creole from the Island of Bourbon, nofc being able to sleep that night, took it into his head, luckily for me, to go out and hunt jackals. Loading his gun, he bent his steps towards the cemetery, in the direction where he heard the animals barking. Instead of taking to flight, like the other passers-by, when he came near me he courageously attacked the jackals, who were biting my feet, and made them take to flight. Seeing the bimdle which they had been disinterring, and perceiving that it moved a little, as if it had some life in it, the young man was curious to know what it could contain. He therefore stooped down and cut the cords of the matting, when, .to his surprise and horror, he perceived that it was a human body, which still breathed, and had evidently beeu buried alive. He took me up in his arms, and bore me to the mission-house of the Catholic Sisters, who received him with joyful eagerness. My young preserver Avas warmly congratulated on his act of charity, and every attention and caro were bestowed upon me to recall me to life. It was you, my dear and tender mothers — you, true • Children of Mary' — who then took charge of me ; and from that moment I have been happy and at peace. We cannot but pause for a moment here to marvel at the merciful designs of Providence on this child of the desert, preserved in the midst of so many mortal perils, and guided by so painful and circuitous a route to the haven of rest_in the bosom of the Church of God. CHAPTER V. When Suema had finished this narrative of her personal history, the Superior asked her to tell the children some farther details of the struggle which had preceded her conversion. She made this little confession with the simplicity and candour which were habitual to her. I might have made my story end with the end of my misfortunes, dear little sisters (said Suema calmly). But as our Superior wishes me to tell you something more, I am going to reveal to you a fact which is intimately connected with my past sad history, and which had the most important influence on my future life. You know that we all are instructed here in the consoling truths of religion, and in tho duties that it imposes upon us. Each of our Saviour's words puts things before us in a new light. As orphans, we have found tender mothers, who have taught us that we have a Father in heaven, eren God. We have been despised, persecuted, and illtreated in our childhood. Well, we have learnt how to accept all this ill-usage, and even to feel as if it were something of great price. We believe now that our bitter tears in past days brought upon us the blessing of our clear Lord Jesus Christ, and that He will reward us with great glory, if we will only love Him, and strive to be henceforth good and faithful Christians. Without homes or families, we have once more found both in this dear mission-house, which has filled up the aching void in our hearts by showing us the way to our true country, where there is no more suffering, or sorrow, or pain. But to come back to myself. All the truths of Christianity were to me a source of ineffable consolation. My soxil drank them in, as formerly I drank eagerly a glass of fresh water, when parched with thirst in crossing the burning desert. But when the Mother who was teaching mo the Catechism came to explain our Lord's Prayer, and she repeated to me the fifth petition — ' Forgive us oiu 1 trespasses, as we forgive them that have trespassed against us ' — I felt a sudden revolt in my heart. ' All the rest is well enough,' I said tojtnyself ; ' but this is impossible — unbearable.' I could not conceal my inward feelings of rebellion, which were mingled with such bitterness and pain, at the thought of the past ; and so, going to seek the Mother Superior, I exclaimed, ' What ! lam to forgive the Arab who struck my dying mother ? Ojno, never, never will I forgive her murderer 1 ' ftt> * |£y child,' replied our Mother very tenderly, 'our Lord, although He was God, suffered the worst of outrages, yet He forgave all. He even prayed for his executioners.' ' But, Mother,' I replied, ' such a thing is impossible to me. If I were to say "yes" with my lips, my heart would cry out, " Your forgiveness is not real." ' Our Mother Mssed me, and said, ' I am very sorry for you, my poor little Suema, on account of the long and cruel sufferings you have endured, and still more for the etumbling-block you put yourself in the way of your baptism, which would have crowned all your wishes. It is a great pity, my child. You have learned your Catechism so well and so diligently, and now you won't give up this dreadful hatred, which you must renounce with Satan and all his works. With this bitter hatred in your heart no baptism would be possible. But pray, my child, pray hard, and I will pray with you, and for you ; and with the help of God your dispositions will change.' Well, I began to pray as well as I could, and in the midst of my prayers I sometimes felt happy and sometimes miserable. During the day, I now and thea felt as if I could say in all sincerity, ' Yes, I forgive from my heart that cruel monster.' But then the night came, and I used to dream over again that horrible scene, and the last sight of my poor mother in that burning plain. One night I dreamt that I was changed into one of those dreadful black crows ; that the Arab was lying bleeding in the middle of the desert, and that, fiercely flapping my wings, I was tearing him savagely with my beak. I told our Mother of my dream, which made the tears come into her eyes ; but she merely said gently, 'Go on praying, dear child, and om* good God will have pity upon you.'

In the mean time they fixed on a day for my baptism, which. I earnestly desired. But when the morning came, they were obliged to put it off, and to defer the sacrament which was to make me one of Christ's fold ; for I could not say that my feelings were changed, or that my hatred was much modified. This refusal made me more miserable than ever ; but that Providence which had watched oTer me in so many perils would not allow me to be shipwrecked at the very port of salvation. In one wing of the mission-house, as you know, is a large ward, where the Sisters receive gratuitously the sick and wounded of every race and faith, and nurse them with the tenderest care. "Well, one morning a Sister came to toll the Mother Superior that they had brought in a number of Arabs who had been very badly wounded in a fight with an English cruiser. It was my turn that day to help the Sisters in the dispensary. I hastened to prepare everything necessary for tho occasion ; warm water, basins, sponges, lint, and bandages, were all ready in a few moments. Carrying all these things, and pleased to be , of use, I went into the ward, eagerly following the Mother and the Sister Infirmarian. What was my suprise and horror when the first person my eyes fell upon was the conductor of the caravan, tho cruel monster who had struck my dying mother ! I nearly dropped all I had in my hands with terror. The poor wretch was in a horrible slate ; his head was nearly severed from his body by a sabre cut, his chest was all bleeding and pierced with bayonet wounds, and the whole scene made such an impression upon me that I very nearly fainted away. In a stifled . voice I gasped out : 'O, my God, it is that Arab ! ' The Mother Superior turned round to me, and said in a voice in which authority and tenderness were mingled: 'Suema, my child, your sorrows deserve a reward. And now our Lord, in His tender mercy and loving-kindness, has given you the occasion to do Him a service of inestimable price. Happy are those who have tho generosity to render good for evil ; God will reward them for it sevenfold. Take courage, my child, and this victory will be yours. Be it your care to dress the wounds of this man.' I looked our Mother full in the face, and her eyes met mine. . There was something in them which I could .not resist. Although trembling all over, I obeyed the order she had given me ; and taking the sponge and the lint, I began to dress his wound. At the first moment I cannot tell yo\i what it cost me. Besides the loathing with which he inspired me, my heart felt inclined to curse my enemy as he lay, and I could scarcely help rejoicing in his sufferings. But by degrees, with the help of God, I conquered my 1 epugnance ; and as I went on, these bad and bitter feelings were changed into a sentiment of deep pity. I was myself quite surprised at the change which had been wrought in me, and for the first time I tasted the sweetness of true Christian charity. At last my task was done ; and being free, I ran secretly to the Sisters' oratory ; and there, kneeling before the altar of the Blessed Virgin, I cried out loiid in the midst of my sobs and tears : 'O, Mary ! O, my Mother! take pity on this poor unhappy wretch, whom I now feel I can pardon with all my heart. Yes, I feel now I can forgive him completely.' As I uttered these words, I felt some warm drops falling on my forehead. It was the good Mother who had taught me my Catechism, and who had just heard me pronounce those words of i'orgivenessa., ">. She wept for joy and tenderness while thanking and blessing God and His Blessed Mother for the grace of my conversion. That day was Sunday. Towards evening they dressed me in a beautiful white robe, and half an hour before Benediction the flock of the Great Shepherd had a new little lamb, and the Church a fresh child. At my baptism they gave me the name of Magdalen, which is infinitely dearer to me than that of Suema. I spent the rest of the day in thanking God, who by such inscrutable but admirable ways had brought me to the light of His glorious Gospel. I said to myself every moment, ' What have I done to be chosen like this above so many millions of pagans who will never have the same happiness ? ' Full of this thought, I wished to show my gratitude to our Divine Master in some special manner, and I was very much puzzled to know what I could do which wovild' be most agreeable . to His Sacred Heart. I then seemed to hear a voice which said to me : ' Magdalen, live as a good Christian should do, and devote all your efforts to bring about the conversion of your poor fellow countrywomen.' ' Yes, yes, my God ! ' I exclaimed, ' I take this solemn resolve before Thee. All my life shall be devoted to this object. I will pray every day with my whole heart to obtain, through Thine infinite mercy, the salvation of the pagans in the east of Africa 5 and that missionaries may be sent to them who will show them the way to , heaven.' Magdalen kept her promise. Such is the short but authentic history of little Suema. Taken down word by word from her own mouth and translated into French, this account was recently sent home from Zanzibar by the Bey. P. Homer, Vicar Apostolic of the Congregation of the Holy Ghost and of the Sacred Heart of Mary, and Superior of the mission at Zanzibar. CHAPTER VI. At the end of this touching history the venerable Superior writes J ' Would that it were permitted to you, Monseigneur, to see with your own eyes the poor children, who have been rescued by your charity, and that of others whom you have inspired with a like Christian spirit ! You would indeed be touched with the gratitude of these littlo tilings, who cannot yet speak much French, but who do not foil every day to say their Rosary in the Souahili tongue (known to our good God, it not to men), on behalf of the benefactors who have redeemed them from so horrible a slavery. They pray for them on I earth, and will be their crown in eternity.' i Then he goes on to say : ' You cannot think how heart-breaking it is to the missioner not i >.to be able to help s j many other souls, for whom, only by paying a • trifling sum, the doors of heaven would be opened. Is it not a sad thought that for fifty francs ono can redeem a child of six or seven

years' old from slavery, and that one lias not got that -wretchedly small sum ; while half the world is spending money recklessly on useless or frivolous objects, even if not dangerous ones? What enormous good niight one not do, if one had only a portion of what is thus squandered ! ' Young Christians, to whom we have specially addressed this story, let your hearts speak ; and we are quite sure' that there is not one among you who would not, according to your means, strive to comfort our venerable missionaries, and associate yourselves to otir good Magdalen, so as to rescue and bring about the conversion of so many millions of these poor blacks, the most deserted creatures on the face of the earth. They stretch out their hands entreatingly towards you, and exclaim, like their countryman, a young slave exposed in the slave market of Zanzibar, to one of our missioners : ' White man, buy me, and I shall be happy !' And you also, dear children, you will thereby be happy — happy in the present, at the thought of the good you will have done ; happy in the future, from the certainty of the reward promised to you by Him who has said : 'As long as you did it to one of these My least brethren, you did it unto Me.' After having read the history of Suema, if any persons, old or young, wish to do good to Uieir oivn souls, they may like to know that, in the slave market of Zanzibar, a little boy or girl, of seven or eight years old, costs generally fifty francs. This small sum, if raised either by one person or by many, will be received with the greatest gratitude by the R. P- Procurator-General of the Congregation of the Holy Ghost and of the Sacred Heart of Mary, who have charge of the Zanzibar mission, 30 Hue Lhoniond, at Paris j or by Mouse igneur Gautne. 16 Kue de Sevres, Paris.