SOME ARE MORE HUMAN THAN OTHERS
Like all men who are driven to roam the oceans, I had heard tales of the Gray Continent throughout my seafaring life.
Europa—the name tripped off the lips of every seaman, adventurer and merchant who dreamed of accumulating riches through the trade in slaves. Yet only the bravest and hardiest dared venture to its stormy coasts, because if the wheezes, coughs and sneezes of the deadly influenza did not catch you, the wild savages surely would.
Yes, Dear Reader, the natives of those lands are just now emerging from the abominable depths of savagery, which we civilized nations left behind in prehistoric times.
With my trip to Europa in sight, I embarked upon a period of study.
THE MORE ENLIGHTENED among you will already be aware that there are three stages or, if you like, classifications of humanity according to the exact science of Craniofaecia Anthropometry, a tried and tested science that measures skull sizes within the rigorous and most esteemed field of Physical Anthropology.
These classifications are:
No. 1—The Negro, who is indigenous to the Aphrikan continent.
No. 2—The Mongolo, who is indigenous to the Asian territories.
No. 3—The Caucasoi, who is indigenous to the hellhole known as Europa.
We all recognize that the Negroid head has a wide, prominent forehead, the back of which is spacious and rounded, and that it has what is termed a prognathous (or protruding) jaw. Over millennia, the capacious skull of the Negroid has been able to accommodate the growth of a very large brain within its structure. This has enabled a highly sophisticated intelligence to evolve.
Additionally, the prognathous jaw itself denotes determination of character and a strong sense of direction. The Negroid skull has, therefore, produced the following traits: ambition, self-motivation, resourcefulness, self-discipline, courage, moral integrity, spiritual enlightenment and community responsibility.
It is also worth noting that due to its position on the evolutionary scale, the Negro is also very Sensitive and capable of Great Depth of Feeling.
Needless to say, Craniofaecia Anthropometry proves that the Negro is biologically superior to the other two types. Indeed, while the Negro belongs to the genus known as Mankind, the Mongolo and the Caucasoi belong to a broader definition of Humankind, which ranges from the fully evolved species Mankind to the lesser evolved species classified as Neo-Primate.
The Caucasoinid skull, on the other hand, is, unfortunately, consigned to the bottom end of the scale of Humankind. It is long, narrow and somewhat square at the back, with an orthognathous (less prominent) jaw. This skull type contains a far smaller brain because it has been unable to expand beyond the limits of its small cranial structure. Furthermore, the narrowness of the skull denotes a brain that is a bit, as we laymen would say, squashed up.
The orthognathous jaw itself denotes weakness of character, limited imagination and restricted intellect. The general consensus is that these cranio-structural defects also produce the traits of infantilism, aimlessness, laziness, cowardice, poor coordination, moral degradation and a nonsensical language or languages; so unintelligible, in fact, that it has not yet been verified by linguistic experts whether Europa possesses one language, classified as Mumble-Jumble, several languages, or merely one language with several dialects.
Furthermore, the Caucasoi is unable to calculate mental arithmetic beyond what they call their “ten times table.”
Because the Caucasoinid brain is so stunted, it has also naturally led to somewhat blunted emotions. Along with the beasts of burden who work the fields, the Caucasoi is incapable of acute emotionality because, due to its Neo-Primate state, it is but a few steps up from the animal kingdom with its primary preoccupations of Perambulate, Agitate, Capitulate, Somnambulate, Ejaculate, Procreate, Masticate, Procrastinate and Hibernate.
Nor, when the Caucasoi receives physical “pain,” does he suffer in the same way as you and I. Beating the hide of a Caucasoi is more akin to beating the hide of a camel to make it go faster. Be not hoodwinked into thinking that the blood shed and the skin torn of the Caucasoi is a crime against humanity, no matter how much they shed crocodile tears to convince the gullible among you otherwise.
Surely even you diehard liberals are by now doubting your old verities?
Should any vestige of doubt remain, however, please rest assured that these categories and conclusions are derived from precise and systematic measurements of the bones of the human skull by leading doctors who carried out empirical research over many months on one hundred skulls before arriving at their conclusions.
To put it in simple terms, the Caucasoinid breed is not of our kind.
On the other hand the piggy-in-the-middle, Mongolo, is exceedingly desirous to align himself with the Negroidian type. Yet the truth is that he possesses a mere thirty-five percent of our admirable qualities.
Or, to present the facts another way:
Imagine a brain operating at full capacity with 100 billion neurons (Negroid).
Then a brain with 35 billion neurons (Mongoloid).
And finally a brain with 20 billion neurons (Caucasoinid).
To go one step further—it also appears, then, that the removal of certain specimens of the Caucasoinid genus from Europa to Aphrika and its dominions is, in fact, an Act of Mercy.
Consider for a moment, oh you men of cynicism and misinformation, that the Trade is a chance for those poor souls to escape the barbarism prevalent on the Gray Continent where unspeakable horrors take place as a normal way of life.
Some of these I have witnessed myself firsthand, and as my narrative unfolds you will hear tell of them.
As you will soon discover, the Europane slaves have been saved from the most horrendous deaths, punishments, morally reprehensible indulgences and serfdom, while being given the opportunity to adopt the manners and customs of civilized men.
Furthermore, the Europane tribes enslave each other. It is a most natural state of affairs for them.
As soon as I myself had grasped the facts, I must confess that it was with great excitement that I embarked on my journey to Europa, and with great relief too. Not only would my moral fiber remain intact, but it would be strengthened.
Indeed, I now realized my trip was, additionally, a Mission of Liberation—the Saving of Souls.
NEVERTHELESS, WITH THE terrible accounts of the Gray Continent ringing in my ears, there was also much trepidation in my heart, at the barbarism I would encounter on those shores.
CAPTAIN KATAMBA I WILL spare the Reader the run-of the-mill details of my first voyage to Europa; suffice to say that the seas were, as usual, vicissitudinous.
The worst came upon us on our seventy-fifth day out when a nighttime nor’ wester rapidly ripened into a tempest so powerful that if we continued skudding we ran the risk of running the Hope & Glory under.
Alas! I awoke to discover it was too late to bring her to the wind. We could not reach the foresail to cut it away nor the reef points to do the same. The forward deck was quickly attacked by the infamous Atlantic rollers, which swept over us, and the crew could do no more than huddle together while the helmsman struggled to keep us upright. It would be only a matter of time before the keel rolled over, showing its wooden underside to the tumultuous skies with my crew and myself, good men and true, flailing about beneath it.
I prayed to Yemonja with more fervor than ever before. I was a young man. I had a fortune to make and a family to create that would one day carry on the name of the Katamba Clan.
As if in a miracle, Yemonja heard my cries and the storm broke. The rains abated as swiftly as they had arrived. The swell of the waves subsided so that the sea soon resembled a tranquil pond again, and the skies cleared and poured forth sunlight and warmth.
I then understood that Yemonja was smiling on my mission.
From then on in we plowed the waters peacefully until we approached the coast of Europa.
THE GRAY CONTINENT—it see
med harmless enough, at first sight: a deserted, somewhat featureless beach viewed from a distance, snaking as far as the naked eye could see beneath an insipid sky through which the sun could not penetrate. The trees that encroached upon it looked quite normal from the distance of our ship—perhaps sun-dappled woods or even a majestic, ancient forest? But as we rode the breakers in our yawls, I became aware that it was the dreaded jungle.
Suddenly such a wind began to gather behind us that we had no need to row as waves pushed us helplessly toward the coast with the force of it, and before we could catch breath we were thrust up onto a beach made up of pebbles and sharp shards of rock that glinted like the blades of knives.
The underside of the yawls skidded and scratched on the shingle, and it was with great foreboding that I hauled my yawl farther up the beach and secured it there.
The wind had seemingly arisen out of nowhere as if to whip us with evil spirits. Brooding clouds had amassed in the skies with a deathly quiet, making the shore overcast and ominous, and as I surveyed the forlorn beach, it sunk home that we had arrived on terra firma most sinister.
The country called Europa.
The region called the Cabbage Coast.
Indeed, it will be readily understood that I felt most imperiled.
I DECIDED TO TARRY no longer than was necessary. Our business contact, the renowned yet notorious Ambossan factor Byakatonda, who had lived on that continent longer than most sane men could withstand and apparently gone native (spawning such a proliferation of mulatto children bearing his features he could form his own tribe), should have been waiting for us with hundreds of slaves in barracoons for our selection—but he was nowhere in sight.
I turned seaward, toward the merry wooden belly of the Hope & Glory bobbing innocently far away in the waters, and weighed up the possibility that it was not too late to abandon this mission altogether.
However, as you may by now be aware, Captain Katamba was not a quitter.
No sooner had I ordered my men to branch out along the perilously slippery beach to explore this bleak landscape than I noticed savages beginning to emerge from inside the jungle.
First one head appeared nervously around a tree, then another and another until dozens of the wretches began creeping out with all the stealth of burglars who will rob your property with one hand and slit your neck with the other.
These creatures brandished a farcical yet nonetheless disturbing assortment of weapons: saucepans, wooden spoons, hammers, pitchforks, spades, penknives, rocks, hoes, truncheons, spears, screwdrivers, swords, fishing rods, spanners, saws and whatever other implements they could lay their measly hands on.
As they crept in a cowardly way toward us, I heard them whispering rapidly in their nonsensical “language.” This too was farcical. A language without the clicks, clucks, clacks and !tsks of normal speech sounded dreary beyond belief, more akin to the low monotonous moan of cattle than the exuberant sounds of human communication.
Did they come bearing gifts as a gesture of hospitality? Were they greeting us with smiles to welcome the newcomers onto their soil? Not a bit of it.
I asked the question: What crime had we seamen committed to elicit such unprovoked hostility? What had we done except to pull up on a beach and wander about while we awaited our business partner?
As they drew closer, I registered contempt on the faces of each and every one of them; although, in fairness, to suggest that I could distinguish one from the other is somewhat an exaggeration as it was quite evident that their ghostlike pallor rendered them all looking, quite frankly, the same.
I suspected they might be males of the genus, but I could not be sure.
We barely exhaled, my men and I, shivering as we were faced with two evils: the cold weather that pricked my naked skin (but for my loincloth) like needles, and the threatening approach of the savages.
I purposefully hesitated as I surveyed their shifty progress.
What, precisely, was a young man with no military experience to do?
In those moments of indecision, I wondered if I should try and reason with the enemy, persuade them to lay down their arms. Would they understand or rather, like their four-legged compatriots in the animal kingdom, would they charge in ruthlessly—teeth gnashing, claws ripping, spears shaking—for the kill?
Paralyzed, I watched.
Naturally the savages were overdressed, as I had been told they would be. They wore grimy layers of cloths and matted wools that were colored in browns and greens so dingy they could blend into the filth of the earth without need of camouflage.
Their cloths were cut, quite comically, into the shapes of the human body. It was as if without arm sections and neck sections and leg sections these simpletons would not know how to dress themselves.
Upon their heads they wore strange objects that I was later to learn were called hats.
Their feet were clad too, in objects called boots that were made of animal hide. They rode tightly up the leg to the knee, for some unfathomable reason.
Some, though, wore the foot objects called shoes, made of either animal hide or even stranger—wood. What crazed mind conjured up that idea?
Would you believe that these beings were also hirsute beyond decency?
Wherever flesh showed it was covered in hideous hair like that of a monkey or gorilla, especially upon their heads and sprouting from their chins, like dirty woolen thread.
THE ENEMY BEGAN to gather speed, emboldened by our apparent inaction, which they stupidly mistook for defenselessness.
I came to my senses, resolute that there was no way I was going to die there—not then, not like that.
“Stop! Come no farther, my friends!” I called out, raising a flat palm to them with as much authority as I could muster.
“Stop! At once!” I repeated.
They were now so near we could almost smell them, and I could see their alien eyes, which were of the colors that should never be seen on a human face. It was quite creepy to look into them and see a gray sky staring back. Or to catch the stare of another and be plunged into a bottomless aquamarine ocean.
I issued another warning, ordering them to drop their weapons.
But then a saucepan seemed to shake in the air.
A wooden spoon was raised like a dagger about to plunge. A fishing rod became a javelin in the wrong hands.
A rock was thrown very aggressively out to sea.
I finally allowed my temper to rise to the surface and called my men to arms.
And make sure you don’t miss!
Muskets were hoisted atop shoulders, and fired.
I admit that I may have been a tad rash in this respect, but I had to act decisively, did I not?
Approximately ten were felled in the first volley, twice that number in the second. The others fled back into the jungle, caterwauling, and those who remained squirming on the beach were finished off.
When they were all gone, an eerie quiet once more descended upon that pitiful shoreline.
The soundless air was chilly as the heart of a poisoner.
The sea sucked up the shore with a viper’s hiss.
The trees were malevolent assassins spying on us.
Before us lay the bloody carnage of warfare.
As I surveyed the gut-wrenching vision, a terrible swelling rose in my stomach. I struggled to subdue it, but, alas, I could not.
Captain Katamba, Leader of Men, rushed into the sea, and well, yes, he threw up.
Oh, I could have flung myself onto the water and drowned in it. Yes, I could!
However, just as swiftly I was rescued from the abyss of self-destruction by Shangira, God of War, who had a word in my ear.
Firstly, I was victorious, which was to be celebrated; and secondly, it was not I who was a murderer, after all. I, who was possessed of the most benevolent of intentions, had never personally killed a man (we can include “living soul” here) in my life, and my record remained intact.
I had not fired a single shot�
�my men, or rather the crew, had.
As I WADED THROUGH the sea back to the beach, having thrown up all that was inside my stomach, I saw an Aphrikan chap marching across the pebbles, followed by a veritable legion of savages, all armed, this time with muskets.
It was Byakatonda, of course, accompanied by what appeared to be his own personal guard.
Tall, thin and, in concordance with rumor, he had gone quite native: a hat upon his head, wooden shoes, woolens with arm sections draped over his upper half, and sackcloth material with leg sections on his lower half.
All shit-colored.
It was unwise to remonstrate with him for his tardiness, however, considering we had business to undertake and his men outnumbered ours. Yet I wanted to inform him that he was to blame for this fiasco. It was he who had left us unprotected and at the mercy of savages in the wild.
He beat me to it.
“Captain Katamba!” he called out angrily. “What the blazes has been going on here?”
HEART OF GRAYNESS
Dear Reader,
Byakatonda had sojourned some nineteen seasons on the Cabbage Coast, and it showed. He had lost the loose-limbed lope of the men of the Aphrikas and walked as if a rod had been rammed up his fundament.
As I waded back through the shallows toward him, his nose streamed, yet he did not send it hygienically to the wind with his thumb but pulled out a dirty, viscous rag and blew into it, thus multiplying the germs and prolonging the disease!
He then proceeded to blast me in a grating, nasal voice about “a massacre on the shores of Europa!”
Apparently the enemy, who had surprised us, were actually close allies of Byakatonda himself. Good fellows, if you will. They were merely being curious and, by necessity, cautious.
What an impetuous fool I was, he ranted, spittle landing on my cheek. My rash behavior could ruin his hard-won rapport with the locals. Had I considered that?
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