“The superstitions of the Bonny People are very extraordinary. Whatever

animal or other thing they consider sacred they term a “jewjew,” and

most common and apparently the principal of these jewjews is the

guana, a reptile which in their country obtains a very large size.

Several which I saw exceeded three feet and a half in length, and in

their appearance were particularly disgusting, being of an unvaried

dirty tawny hue. Those which live in the towns are very tame, and

several as I passed through the narrow alleys approached and amused

themselves in licking the blacking from my shoes. The masses of filth

scraped and deposited in corners appeared to be their favourite

haunts when no pools were near. There they were observed watching the

flies carousing and darting at them their long slender tongues with

extraordinary quickness and dexterity. For these, as well as snakes,

which are likewise jewjews, small spaces are enclosed and diminutive

huts erected in various parts near the sea and in the interior of the

country. To kill either is considered by the natives as a capital

offence and punished with death; yet towards whites so offending they

do not resort to such a severe measure, but merely content themselves

by strongly censuring them for their profane conduct. When, however, a

very flagrant instance occurs, and the white man is not individually

known by those of the natives witnessing the act, it is likely that

in the first transport of their anger he may be made to atone for his

offence with his life; for though the whites themselves are termed

jewjews, this, in all probability, is merely a nominal title confered

as a compliment.”

The king of Bonny, though often invited, will never venture on board

a man-of-war, but sometimes visits the merchant vessels, proceeding

from the shore in a war canoe in great form, but as he approaches he

always keeps aloof till the compliment of a heavy salute is paid him.

He then goes close to the ship’s side and breaks a new-laid hen’s egg

against it, after which he ascends the deck fully persuaded that by the

performance of this ceremony he has fortified himself against any act

of treachery. For other reasons, or perhaps none that he can explain,

he likewise takes with him a number of feathers and his father’s arm

bone, which, on sitting down to dinner, he places on the table beside

his plate. He also has at the same time a young chicken dangling by one

leg (the other being cut off) from his neck.

The bar of the river Bonny has sometimes proved fatal to vessels

resorting thither, and being therefore injurious to the trade of the

place, the inhabitants, considering it as an evil deity, endeavour

to conciliate its good will by sacrificing at times a human victim

upon it. The last ceremony of this sort took place not a very long

time before our arrival. The handsomest and finest lad that could be

procured was chosen for the purpose, and for several months before the

period fixed for the close of his existence he was lodged with the

king, who on account of his mild demeanour and pleasing qualities soon

entertained a great affection for him, yet, swayed by superstitious

fanaticism, he made no attempt to save him, but on the contrary

regarded the fate to which the unfortunate lad was destined as the

greatest honour that could be conferred upon him. From the time that he

was chosen to propitiate by his death the forbearance of the bar he was

considered as a sacred person; whatever he touched, even while casually

passing along, was thenceforth his, and therefore when he appeared

abroad the inhabitants fled before him to save the apparel which they

had on or any articles which at the time they might be carrying.

Unconscious, as it was affirmed, of the fate intended for him, he

was conveyed in a large canoe to the bar and there persuaded to jump

overboard to bathe, while those who took him out immediately turned

their backs upon him and paddled away with the utmost haste, heedless

of the cries of the wretched victim, at whom, pursuant to their stern

superstition, not even a look was allowed to be cast back.

In Abo, says Mr. Bakie, every man and every woman of any consequence

keeps as “dju-dju,” or jewjew, the lower jaw of a pig, or, until they

can procure this, a piece of wood fashioned like one. This is preserved

in their huts, and produced only when worshipped or when sacrifices

are made to it, which are at certain times, at intervals of from ten

days to three weeks. The particular days are determined by the dju-dju,

with palm wine and touching it with a kola-nut; they speak to it and

ask it to be good and propitious towards them. It is named _Agba_,

meaning pig, or _Agba-Ezhi_, pig’s jaw; but when as dju-dju, it is

also termed _Ofum_, or “my image.” People also select particular

trees near their huts, or if there are none in the neighbourhood, they

transplant one; these they worship, and call _Tuhukum_, or “my

God.” They hang on these, bits of white baff (calico) as signs of a

dju-dju tree, and as offerings to the deity. No one ever touches these,

and if they rot off they are replaced. Little wooden images are also

used, and are styled _Ofo Tuhuku_, “talk and pray.” When a man is

suspected of falsehood, one of these is placed in his right hand, and

he is made to swear by it, and if he does so falsely, it is believed

that some evil will speedily befall him. Sacrifices, principally of

fowls, are made to these latter as to the former. At Abo one large

tree is held as dju-dju for the whole district; it is covered with

offerings, and there is an annual festival in honour of it, when

sacrifices of fowls, sheep, goats, and bullocks are made. When a man

goes to Aro to consult Tshuku he is received by some of the priests

outside of the town, near a small stream. Here he makes an offering;

after which a fowl is killed, and if it appears unpropitious, a

quantity of a red dye, probably camwood, is spilt into the water, which

the priest tells the people is blood, and on this the votary is hurried

off by the priests and is seen no more, it being given out that Tshuku

has been displeased, and has taken him. The result of this preliminary

ceremony is determined in general by the amount of the present given

to the priests; and those who are reported to have been carried off by

Tshuku are usually sold as slaves. Formerly they were commonly sent

by canoes to Old Kalabar, and disposed of there. One of Mr. Bakie’e

informants met upwards of twenty such unfortunates in Cuba, and another

had also fallen in with several at Sierra Leone. If, however, the omen

be pronounced to be favourable, the pilgrim is permitted to draw

near to the shrine, and after various rites have been gone through,

the question, whatever it may be, is propounded of course through the

priests, and by them also the reply is given. A yellow powder is given

to the devotee, who rubs it round his eyes. Little wooden images are

also issued as tokens of a person having actually consulted the sacred

oracle, and these are known as _Ofo Tshuku_, and are afterwards

kept as dju-dju. A person who has been at Aro, after returning to his

home is reckoned dju-dju, or sacred, for seven days, during which

period he must stay in his house, and people dread to approach him.

The shrine of _Tshuku_ is said to be situated nearly in the

centre of the town, and the inhabitants of Aro are often styled _Omo

Tshuku_, or “God’s children.”

_Mondzo_ is a bad or evil spirit in this country. The worst of

evil spirits is named Kamallo, possibly equivalent with Satan. His

name is frequently bestowed on children, and in some parts of Igbo,

especially in Isuama, Kamallo is worshipped. No images are made, but

a hut is set apart in which are kept bones, pieces of iron, etc., as

sacred. Persons make enquiries of this spirit, if they wish to commit

any wicked action, such as murder, when they bring presents of cowries

and cloth to propitiate this evil being and render him favourable

to their designs. If the individual intended as the victim suspects

anything, or gets a hint of his adversary’s proceedings, he also comes

to worship, bringing with him, if possible, more valuable offerings to

try to avert the impending danger, and this is called _Erise nao_,

or “I cut on both sides.” In Isuama, if a man is sick, the doctor often

tells the friends to consult an evil spirit called _Igwikalla_,

and he is also worshipped by persons wishing to injure others. His

supposed abode is generally in a bush, which has been well cleared all

round; but occasionally huts are dedicated to him, and priests execute

his decrees.

Among savages who have no conception of the existence of a Supreme

Being must be enumerated the “Sambos,” a race of Indians residing on

the shores of the Mosquito River. The only person who is dreaded as

a priestess, or “medicine-woman,” is the _Sukia_. This woman

possesses more power than the king or chiefs. Her orders, even though

of the most brutal and inhuman kind (as often they are), are never

disputed nor neglected. When Mr. Bard visited the Sambos he saw a

Sukia, whom he describes as a person hideous and disgusting in the

extreme. “Her hair was long and matted, and her shrivelled skin

appeared to adhere like that of a mummy to her bones; for she was

emaciated to the last degree. The nails of her fingers were long and

black, and caused her hands to look like the claws of some unclean

bird. Her eyes were bloodshot, but bright and intense, and were

constantly fixed upon me, like those of some wild beast of prey.” These

women, before they assume the office, wander away into the forest and

live for a considerable time, without arms or clothing of any kind as

a defence against the wild beasts and still wilder elements of the

tropics. It is during their residence in the woods that they become

initiated into the mysteries of nature, and doubtless obtain their

antidotes for serpent charming and other wonderful performances for

which they are so famous, such as standing in the midst of flames

uninjured. The author of “Waikna” gives a very interesting and amusing

account of one of these ceremonies as witnessed by him. “The Sukia made

her appearance alone, carrying a long thick wand of bamboo, and with no

dress except the _ule tourno_. She was only inferior to her sister

of Sandy Bay in ugliness, and stalked into the house like a spectre,

without uttering a word. He cut off a piece of calico and handed it

to her as her recompense. She received it in perfect silence, walked

into the yard, and folded it carefully on the ground. Meanwhile a fire

had been kindled of pine splints and branches, which was now blazing

high. Without any hesitation the Sukia walked up to it and stepped in

its very centre. The flames darted their forked tongues as high as

her waist; the coals beneath and around her naked feet blackened, and

seemed to expire; while the _tourno_ which she wore about her

loins cracked and shivered with the heat. There she stood, immovable

and apparently as insensible as a statue of iron, until the blaze

subsided, when she commenced to walk around the smouldering embers,

muttering rapidly to herself in an unintelligible manner. Suddenly

she stopped, and placing her foot on the bamboo staff, broke it in

the middle, shaking out, from the section in her hand, a full-grown

_tamagesa_ snake, which on the instant coiled itself up, flattened

its head, and darted out its tongue, in an attitude of defiance and

attack. The Sukia extended her hand, and it fastened on her wrist with

the quickness of light, where it hung dangling and writhing its body

in knots and coils, while she resumed her mumbling march around the

embers. After awhile, and with the same abruptness which had marked all

her previous movements, she shook off the serpent, crushed its head in

the ground with her heel, and taking up the cloth which had been given

to her, stalked away, without having exchanged a word with any one

present.”

Perhaps the secret of it lies in the non-existence of the sting, which

may be extracted, as is frequently done by the Arab serpent-charmer.

Anyhow, such powers are greatly dreaded by the simple and superstitious

savage, who regard the Sukia as a supernatural person.

The Tinguians of the Phillipine Islands are in an almost equally

benighted condition. They have no veneration for the stars; they

neither adore the sun, nor moon, nor the constellations; they believe

in the existence of a soul, and pretend that after death it quits the

body, and remains in the family of the defunct.

As to the god that they adore, it varies and changes form according

to chance and circumstances. And here is the reason: “When a Tinguian

chief has found in the country a rock, or a trunk of a tree, of a

strange shape--I mean to say, representing tolerably well either a

dog, cow, or buffalo--he informs the inhabitants of the village of his

discovery, and the rock, or trunk of a tree, is immediately considered

as a divinity--that is to say, as something superior to man. Then all

the Indians repair to the appointed spot, carrying with them provisions

and live hogs. When they have reached their destination they raise a

straw roof above the new idol, to cover it, and make a sacrifice by

roasting hogs; then, at the sound of instruments, they eat, drink, and

dance until they have no provisions left. When all is eaten and drank,

they set fire to the thatched roof, and the idol is forgotten, until

the chief, having discovered another one, commands a new ceremony.”

It has been already noticed in these pages, that the Malagaseys are

utterly without religion. Their future state is a matter that never

troubles them; indeed, they have no thought or hope beyond the grave,

and are content to rely on that absurd thing “sikidy” for happiness on

this side of it. Thanks, however, to Mr. Robert Drury (whom the reader

will recollect as the player of a neat trick on a certain Malagasey

Umossee), we are informed that a century or so back there prevailed in

this gloomy region a sort of religious rite known as the “Ceremony of

the Bull,” and which was performed as follows:

The infant son of a great man called Dean Mevarrow was to be presented

to the “lords of the four quarters of the earth,” and like many

other savage rite began and ended with an enormous consumption of

intoxicating liquor. In this case the prime beverage is called

_toak_, and, according to Mr. Drury, “these people are great

admirers of toak, and some of the vulgar sort are as errant as sots

and as lazy as any in England; for they will sell their Guinea corn,

carravances--nay, their very spades and shovels--and live upon what

the woods afford them. Their very lamber (a sort of petticoat) must

go for toak, and they will go about with any makeshift to cover their

nakedness.”

Now for the ceremony. “The toak was made for some weeks beforehand

by boiling the honey and combs together as we in England make mead.

They filled a great number of tubs, some as large as a butt and some

smaller; a shed being built for that purpose, which was thatched over,

to place them in. On the day appointed, messengers were despatched

all round the country to invite the relations and friends. Several

days before the actual celebration of the ceremony there were visible

signs of its approach. People went about blowing of horns and beating

of drums, both night and day, to whom some toak was given out of the

lesser vessels as a small compensation for their trouble. They who

came from a long distance took care to arrive a day or two before, and

were fed and entertained with toak to their heart’s content. On the

evening preceding the feast I went into the town and found it full of

people, some wallowing on the ground, and some staggering; scarcely

one individual sober, either man, woman, or child. And here one might

sensibly discern the sense of peace and security, the people abandoning

themselves without fear or reserve to drinking and all manner of

diversions. My wife” (Mr. Drury got so far reconciled to his state

as to marry a fellow slave) “I found had been among them indeed, but

had the prudence to withdraw in time, for she was fast asleep when I

returned home.

“On the morning of the ceremony I was ordered to fetch in two oxen and

a bull that had been set aside for the feast, to tie their legs, and

to throw them along upon the ground. A great crowd had by this time

collected around the spot where the child was, decked with beads, and

a skin of white cotton thread wound about his head. The richest of the

company brought presents for the child--beads, hatchets, iron shovels,

and the like, which, although of no immediate value to him, would

doubtless be saved from rusting by his parents. Every one was served

once with toak, and then the ceremony began.

“For some time the umossee had been, to all appearance, measuring his

shadow on the ground, and presently finding its length to his mind, he

gave the word. Instantly one of the child’s relatives caught him up

and ran with him to the prostrate bull, and putting the child’s right

hand on the bull’s right horn, repeated a form of words of which the

following is as nigh a translation as I can render: ‘Let the great

God above, the lords of the four quarters of the world, and the

demons, prosper this child and make him a great man. May he prove as

strong as this bull and overcome all his enemies.’ If the bull roars

while the boy’s hand is on his horn they look upon it as an ill omen

portending either sickness or some other misfortune in life. All the

business of the umossee is nothing more than that above related; for

as to the religious part of the ceremony he is in nowise concerned in

it, if there be any religion intended by it, which is somewhat to be

questioned.

[Illustration: Ceremony of Touching the Bull.]

“The ceremony being over the child is delivered to its mother, who

all this time is sitting on a mat, with the women round her; and now

the merriment began: the thatch was all pulled off the toak house,

and I was ordered to kill the bull and the oxen; but these not being

sufficient my master sent for three more which had been brought by his

friends, for there was abundance of mouths to feed. Before they began

to drink he took particular care to secure all their weapons, and no

man was permitted to have so much as a gun or a lance; and then they

indulged themselves in boiling, broiling and roasting of meat, drinking

of toak, singing, hollowing, blowing of shells, and drumming with all

their might and main; and so the revel continued through that night and

the next day.”

It is very curious, and were it not so serious a matter, could scarcely

fail to excite the risible faculties of the reader, to read the

outrageous notions entertained by African savages concerning religion

generally. Take the case of King Peppel, a potentate of “Western

Africa, and the descendant of a very long line of kings of that name

(originally “Pepper” or “Pepperal,” and so named on account of the

country’s chief trade being, in ancient times, nearly limited to

pepper). Thanks to the missionaries, King Peppel had been converted

from his heathen ways and brought to profess Christianity. As to

the quality of the monarch’s religious convictions, the following

conversation between him and a well-known Christian traveller may throw

a light:

“What have you been doing, King Peppel?”

“All the same as you do--I tank God.”

“For what?”

“Every good ting God sends me.”

“Have you seen God?”

“Chi! No; suppose man see God he must die one minute” (He would die in

a moment).

“When you die won’t you see God?”

With great warmth, “I know no savvy (I don’t know). How should I know?

Never mind, I no want to hear more for that palaver” (I want no more

talk on that subject).

“What way?” (Why?)

“It no be your business; you come here for trade palaver.”

I knew, says the missionary in question, it would be of no use pursuing

the subject at that time, so I was silent, and it dropped for the

moment.

In speaking of him dying I had touched a very tender and disagreeable

chord, for he looked very savage and sulky, and I saw by the rapid

changes in his countenance that he was the subject of some internal

emotion. At length he broke out using most violent gesticulations, and

exhibiting a most inhuman expression of countenance, “Suppose God was

here I must kill him, one minute.”

“You what? You kill God?” exclaimed I, quite taken aback and almost

breathless with the novel and diabolical notion, “You kill God? why you

talk all some fool (like a fool); you cannot kill God; and suppose it

possible that He could die, everything would cease to exist. He is the

Spirit of the Universe. But he can kill you.”

“I know I cannot kill him; but suppose I could kill him I would.”

“Where does God live?”

“For top.”

“How?” He pointed to the zenith.

“And suppose you could, why would you kill him?”

“Because he makes men to die.”

“Why, my friend,” in a conciliatory manner, “you would not wish to live

for ever, would you?”

“Yes; I want to stand” (remain for ever).

“But you will be old by-and-by, and if you live long enough will become

very infirm, like that old man,” pointing to a man very old for an

African, and thin, and lame, and almost blind, who had come into the

court during the foregoing conversation to ask some favour, “and like

him you will become lame, and deaf, and blind, and will be able to take

no pleasure; would it not be better, then, for you to die when this

takes place, and you are in pain and trouble, and so make room for your

son as your father did for you?”

“No, it would not. I want to stand all same I stand now.”

“But supposing you should go to a place of happiness after death,

and----”

“I no savvy nothing about that. I know that I now live and have too

many wives and niggers (slaves) and canoes” (he did not mean it when he

said he had too many wives, etc.; it is their way of expressing a great

number), “and that I am king, and plenty of ships come to my country. I

know no other ting, and I want to stand.”

I offered a reply, but he would hear no more, and so the conversation

on that subject ceased, and we proceeded to discuss one not much more

agreeable to him, the payment of a very considerable debt which he owed

me.

Getting round to the south of Africa we find but little improvement in

the matter of the religious belief of royalty, at least according to

what may be gleaned from another “conversation,” this time between the

missionary Moffat and an African monarch:

“Sitting down beside this great man, illustrious for war and conquest,

and amidst nobles and councillors, including rain-makers and others

of the same order, I stated to him that my object was to tell him my

news. His countenance lighted up, hoping to hear of feats of war,

destruction of tribes, and such-like subjects, so congenial to his

savage disposition. When he found my topics had solely a reference

to the Great Being, of whom the day before he had told me he knew

nothing, and of the Saviour’s mission to this world, whose name he

had never heard, he resumed his knife and jackal’s skin and hummed a

native air. One of his men sitting near me appeared struck with the

character of the Redeemer, which I was endeavouring to describe, and

particularly with his miracles. On hearing that he raised the dead he

very naturally exclaimed, ‘What an excellent doctor he must have been

to make dead men alive.’ This led me to describe his power and how the

power would be exercised at the last day in raising the dead. In the

course of my remarks the ear of the monarch caught the startling news

of a resurrection. ‘What,’ he exclaimed with astonishment, ‘what are

these words about; the dead, the dead arise?’ ‘Yes,’ was my reply,

‘all the dead shall arise.’ ‘Will my father arise?’ ‘Yes,’ I answered,

‘your father will arise.’ ‘Will all the slain in battle arise?’ ‘Yes.’

‘And will all that have been killed and devoured by lions, tigers,

hyænas, and crocodiles, again revive?’ ‘Yes, and come to judgment.’

‘And will those whose bodies have been left to waste and to wither on

the desert plains, and scattered to the winds, arise?’ he asked with

a kind of triumph, as if he had now fixed me. ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘not

one will be left behind.’ This I repeated with increased emphasis.

After looking at me for a few moments he turned to his people, to

whom he spoke with a stentorian voice: ‘Hark, ye wise men, whoever

is among you the wisest of past generations, did ever your ears hear

such strange and unheard-of news?’ and addressing himself to one whose

countenance and attire showed that he had seen many years and was a

personage of no common order, ‘Have you ever heard such strange news as

these?’ ‘No,’ was the sage’s answer; ‘I had supposed that I possessed

all the knowledge of the country, for I have heard the tales of many

generations. I am in the place of the ancients, but my knowledge is

confounded with the words of his mouth. Surely he must have lived

long before the period when we were born.’ Makaba then turning and

addressing himself to me, and laying his hand on my breast, said:

‘Father, I love you much. Your visit and your presence have made my

heart white as milk. The words of your mouth are sweet as honey, but

the words of a resurrection are too great to be heard. I do not wish

to hear again about the dead rising; the dead _cannot_ arise; the

dead _must_ not arise.’ ‘Why,’ I enquired, ‘can so great a man

refuse knowledge and turn away from wisdom? Tell me, my friend, why

I must not speak of a resurrection.’ Raising and uncovering his arm,

which had been strong in battle, and shaking his hand as if quivering a

spear, he replied, ‘I have slain my thousands, and shall they arise?’

Never before had the light of divine revelation dawned upon his savage

mind, and of course his conscience had never accused him; no, not for

one of the thousands of deeds of rapine and murder which had marked his

course through a long career.

“Addressing a Namaqua chief, I asked, ‘Did you ever hear of a God?’

‘Yes, we have heard that there is a God, but we do not know right.’

‘Who told you that there is a God?’ ‘We heard it from other people.’

‘Who made the sea?’ ‘A girl made it on her coming to maturity, when she

had several children at once. When she made it the sweet and bitter

waters were separated. One day she sent some of her children to fetch

sweet water whilst the others were in the field, but the children were

obstinate and would not fetch the water, upon which she got angry and

mixed the sweet and bitter waters together; from that day we are no

longer able to drink the water, and people have learned to swim and run

upon the water.’ ‘Did you ever see a ship?’ ‘Yes, we have seen them a

long time ago.’ ‘Did you ever hear who made the first one?’ ‘No, we

never heard it.’ ‘Did you never hear old people talk about it?’ ‘No, we

never heard it from them.’ ‘Who made the heavens?’ ‘We do not know what

man made them.’ ‘Who made the sun?’ ‘We always heard that those people

at the sea made it; when she goes down they cut her in pieces and fry

her in a pot and then put her together again and bring her out at the

other side. Sometimes the sun is over our head and at other times she

must give place to the moon to pass by.’ They said the moon had told

to mankind that we must die and not become alive again; that is the

reason that when the moon is dark we sometimes become ill. ‘Is there

any difference between man and beast?’ ‘We think man made the beasts.’

‘Did you ever see a man that made beasts?’ ‘No; I only heard so from

others.’ ‘Do you know you have a soul?’ ‘I do not know it.’ ‘How shall

it be with us after death?’ ‘When we are dead, we are dead; when we

have died we go over the sea-water at that side where the devil is.’

‘What do you mean by devil?’ ‘He is not good; all people who die run to

him.’ ‘How does the devil behave to them, well or ill?’ ‘You shall see;

all our people are there who have died (in the ships). Those people in

the ships are masters over them.’”

With such rulers it is not surprising to find the common people

woefully ignorant and superstitious. The crocodile figures prominently

in their religious belief. In the Bamangwato and Bakwain tribes, if a

man is either bitten, or even has had water splashed over him with a

reptile’s tail, he is expelled his tribe. “When on the Zouga,” says Dr.

Livingstone, “we saw one of the Bamangwato living among the Bayeye, who

had the misfortune to have been bitten, and driven out of his tribe

in consequence. Fearing that I would regard him with the same disgust

which his countrymen profess to feel, he would not tell me the cause

of his exile; but the Bayeye informed me of it; and the scars of the

teeth were visible on his thigh. If the Bakwains happened to go near

an alligator, they would spit on the ground and indicate his presence

by saying “Boles ki bo,” There is sin. They imagine the mere sight of

it would give inflammation of the eyes; and though they eat the zebra

without hesitation, yet if one bites a man he is expelled the tribe,

and is obliged to take his wife and family away to the Kalahari. These

curious relics of the animal worship of former times scarcely exist

among the Makololo. Sebituane acted on the principle, “Whatever is food

for men is food for me,” so no man is here considered unclean. The

Barotse appear inclined to pray to alligators, and eat them too, for

when I wounded a water antelope, called onochose, it took to the water.

When near the other side of the river, an alligator appeared at its

tail, and then both sank together. Mashauana, who was nearer to it than

I, told me that though he had called to it to let his meat alone, it

refused to listen.”

[Illustration: Divination Scene.]

The Southern African has most implicit belief in witch power. Whatever

is incomprehensible to him must be submitted to a “witch man,” and be

by him construed. While Mr. Casalis was a guest among the Basutos, he

had opportunity of witnessing several of these witch ceremonies. Let

the reader picture to himself a long procession of black men almost

in a state of nudity, driving an ox before them, advancing towards a

spot of rising ground, on which are a number of huts surrounded with

reeds. A fierce-looking man, his body plastered over with ochre, his

head shaded by long feathers, his left shoulder covered with a panther

skin, and having a javelin in his hand, springs forwards, seizes the

animal, and after shutting it up in a safe place, places himself

at the head of the troop, who still continue their march. He then

commences the song of divination, and every voice joins in the cry.

“Death, death, to the base sorcerer who has stolen into our midst like

a shadow. We will find him, and he shall pay with his head. Death,

death to the sorcerer.” The diviner then brandishes his javelin, and

strikes it into the ground as if he were already piercing his victim.

Then raising his head proudly, he executes a dance accompanied with

leaps of the most extraordinary kind, passing under his feet the handle

of his lance, which he holds with both hands. On reaching his abode,

he again disappears, and shuts himself up in a hut into which no one

dare enter. The consulters then stop and squat down side by side,

forming a complete circle. Each one has in his hand a short club. Loud

acclamations soon burst forth, the formidable diviner comes forth

from his sanctuary where he has been occupied in preparing the sacred

draught, of which he has just imbibed a dose sufficient to enable him

to discover the secrets of all hearts. He springs with one bound into

the midst of the assembly: all arms are raised at once, and the ground

trembles with the blows of the clubs. If this dismal noise does not

awake the infernal gods whom he calls to council, it serves at least to

strike terror into the souls of those wretches who are still harbouring

sinister designs. The diviner recites with great volubility some verses

in celebration of his own praise, and then proceeds to discover of what

the present consists, which he expects in addition to the ox he has

already received, and in whose hands this present will be found. This

first trial of his clairvoyance is designed to banish every doubt. One

quick glance at a few confederates dispersed throughout the assembly

apprises them of their duty.

“There are,” cries the black charlatan, “many objects which man may use

in the adornment of his person. Shall I speak of those perforated balls

of iron which we get from Barolong?”

The assembly strike the ground with their clubs, but the confederates

do it gently.

“Shall I speak of those little beads of various colours which the

whites as we are told pick up by the sea side?”

All strike with equal violence.

“I might have said rather that you had brought me one of those

brilliant rings of copper.”

The blows this time are unequal.

“But no, I see your present; I distinguish it perfectly well.... It is

the necklace of the white men.”

The whole assembly strike on the ground violently. The diviner is not

mistaken.

But he has disappeared; he is gone to drink a second dose of the

prepared beverage.

Now he comes again. During the first act the practised eye has not

failed to observe an individual who seemed to be more absorbed than

the rest, and who betrayed some curiosity and a considerable degree of

embarrassment. He knows therefore who is in possession of the present;

but in order to add a little interest to the proceedings, he amuses

himself for an instant, turns on his heel, advances now to one, now to

the other, and then with the certainty of a sudden inspiration, rushes

to the right one and lifts up his mantle.

Now he says, “Let us seek out the offender. Your community is composed

of men of various tribes. You have among you Bechuanas (unequal blows

on the ground), Batlokoas (blows still unequal), Basias (all strike

with equal violence), Bataungs (blows unequal). For my own part, I hate

none of those tribes. The inhabitants of the same country ought all to

love one another without any distinction of origin. Nevertheless, I

must speak. Strike, strike, the sorcerer belongs to the Basias.”

Violent and prolonged blows.

The diviner goes again to drink from the vessel containing his wisdom.

He has now only to occupy himself with a very small fraction of the

criminated population. On his return he carefully goes over the names

of the individuals belonging to this fraction. This is very easy in

a country where almost all the proper names are borrowed from one or

other of the kingdoms of nature. The different degrees of violence with

which the clubs fall upon the ground give him to understand in what

order he must proceed in his investigation, and the farce continues

thus till the name of the culprit is hit on, and the farce of trial is

brought to an end, and the tragedy of punishment begins.

The Damaras of South Africa have some curious notions about the colour

of oxen: some will not eat the flesh of those marked with red spots;

some with black, or white; or should a sheep have no horns, some will

not eat the flesh thereof. So, should one offer meat to a Damara, very

likely he will ask about the colour of the animal; whether it had

horns or no. And should it prove to be forbidden meat, he will refuse

it; sometimes actually dying of hunger rather than partake of it. To

such an extent is this religious custom carried out, that sometimes

they will not approach any of the vessels in which the meat is cooked;

and the smoke of the fire by which it is cooked is considered highly

injurious. For every wild animal slain by a young man, his father makes

four oblong incisions in front of his body; moreover, he is presented

with a sheep or cow, the young of which, should it have any, are

slaughtered and eaten; males only are allowed to partake of it. Should

a sportsman return from a successful hunt, he takes water in his mouth,

and ejects it three times over his feet, as also in the fire of his own

hearth. When cattle are required for food, they are suffocated; but

when for sacrifices, they are speared.

One of the most lucrative branches of a heathen priest’s profession

is the “manufacture” of rain; at the same time, and as may be easily

understood, the imposture is surrounded by dangers of no ordinary

nature. If the rain fall within a reasonable time, according to the

bargain, so delighted are the people, made as they are in droughty

regions contented and happy, whereas but yesterday they were withering

like winter stalks, that the rain maker is sure to come in for abundant

presents over and above the terms agreed on. But should the rain maker

fail in the terms of his contract, should he promise “rain within

three days,” and the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth, and the

seventh day arrive, and find the brilliant sky untarnished, and the

people parched and mad with thirst, what more horrible position can

be imagined than his whose fault it appears to be that the universal

thirst is not slaked? “There never was yet known a rain maker,” writes

a well-known missionary, “who died a natural death.” No wonder! The

following narrative of the experiments and perplexities of a rain maker

furnished by Mr. Moffat may be worth perusal.

Having for a number of years experienced severe drought, the Bechuanas

at Kuruman held a council as to the best measures for removing the

evil. After some debate a resolution was passed to send for a rain

maker of great renown, then staying among the Bahurutsi, two hundred

miles north-east of the station. Accordingly commissioners were

dispatched, with strict injunctions not to return without the man; but

it was with some misgiving as to the success of their mission that the

men started. However, by large promises, they succeeded beyond their

most sanguine expectations.

During the absence of the ambassadors the heavens had been as brass,

and scarcely a passing cloud obscured the sky, which blazed with the

dazzling rays of a vertical sun. But strange to relate the very day

that the approach of the rain maker was announced, the clouds began to

gather thickly, the lightning darted and the thunder rolled in awful

grandeur, accompanied by a few drops of rain. The deluded multitude

were wild with delight; they rent the sky with their acclamations of

joy, and the earth rang with their exulting and maddening shouts.

Previously to entering the town, the rain maker sent a peremptory order

to all the inhabitants to wash their feet. Scarcely was the message

delivered before every soul, young and old, noble and ignoble, flew to

the adjoining river to obey the command of the man whom they imagined

was now collecting in the heavens all his stores of rain.

The impostor proclaimed aloud that this year the women must cultivate

gardens on the hills and not in the valleys, for the latter would be

deluged. The natives in their enthusiasm saw already their corn-fields

floating in the breeze and their flocks and herds return lowing

homewards by noonday from the abundance of pasture. He told them how

in his wrath he had desolated the cities of the enemies of his people

by stretching forth his hand and commanding the clouds to burst upon

them; how he had arrested the progress of a powerful army by causing a

flood to descend, which formed a mighty river and stayed their course.

These and many other pretended displays of his power were received as

sober truths, and the chief and the nobles gazed on him with silent

amazement. The report of his fame spread like wildfire, and the rulers

of the neighbouring tribes came to pay him homage.

In order to carry on the fraud, he would, when clouds appeared, command

the women neither to plant nor sow, lest the seeds should be washed

away. He would also require them to go to the fields and gather certain

roots of herbs, with which he might light what appeared to the natives

mysterious fires. Elate with hope, they would go in crowds to the hills

and valleys, collect herbs, return to the town with songs, and lay

the gatherings at the magician’s feet. With these he would sometimes

proceed to certain hills and raise smoke; gladly would he have called

up the wind also, if he could have done so, well knowing that the

latter is frequently the precursor of rain. He would select the time of

new and full moon for his purpose, aware that at those seasons there

was frequently a change in the atmosphere. But the rain maker found

the clouds in these parts rather harder to manage than those of the

Bahurutsi country, whence he came.

One day as he was sound asleep a shower fell, on which one of the

principal men entered his house to congratulate him on the happy event;

but to his utter amazement he found the magician totally insensible to

what was transpiring. “Hela ka rare (halloo, by my father)! I thought

you were making rain,” said the intruder. Arising from his slumber, and

seeing his wife sitting on the floor shaking a milk sack in order to

obtain a little butter to anoint her hair, the wily rain maker adroitly

replied, “Do you not see my wife churning rain as fast as she can?”

This ready answer gave entire satisfaction, and it presently spread

through the town that the rain maker had churned the rain out of a milk

sack.

The moisture, however, caused by this shower soon dried up, and for

many a long week afterwards not a cloud appeared. The women had

cultivated extensive fields, but the seed was lying in the soil as

it had been thrown from the hand; the cattle were dying for want of

pasture, and hundreds of emaciated men were seen going to the fields in

quest of unwholesome roots and reptiles, while others were perishing

with hunger.

[Illustration: Making Rain.]

All these circumstances irritated the rain maker very much, and he

complained that secret rogues were disobeying his proclamations. When

urged to make repeated trials, he would reply, “You only give me sheep

and goats to kill, therefore I can only make goat rain; give me fat

slaughter oxen, and I shall let you see ox rain.”

One night a small cloud passed over, and a single flash of lightning,

from which a heavy peal of thunder burst, struck a tree in the town.

Next day the rain maker and a number of people assembled to perform

the usual ceremony on such an event. The stricken tree was ascended,

and roots and ropes of grass were bound round different parts of the

trunk. When these bandages were made, the conjuror deposited some of

his nostrums, and got quantities of water handed up, which he poured

with great solemnity on the wounded tree, while the assembled multitude

shouted. The tree was now hewn down, dragged out of the town and burned

to ashes. Soon after the rain maker got large bowls of water, with

which was mixed an infusion of bulbs. All the men of the town were then

made to pass before him, when he sprinkled each person with a zebra’s

tail dipped in water.

Finding that this did not produce the desired effect, the impostor

had recourse to another stratagem. He well knew that baboons were not

very easily caught amongst rocky glens and shelving precipices, and

therefore, in order to gain time, he informed the men that to make rain

he must have a baboon. Moreover, that not a hair on its body was to be

wanting; in short the animal should be free from blemish. After a long

and severe pursuit, and with bodies much lacerated, a band of chosen

runners succeeded in capturing a young baboon, which they brought back

triumphantly and exultingly. On seeing the animal, the rogue put on a

countenance exhibiting the most intense sorrow, exclaiming, “My heart

is rent in pieces! I am dumb with grief!” pointing at the same time to

the ear of the baboon that was slightly scratched, and the tail, which

had lost some hair. He added, “Did I not tell you I could not bring

rain if there was one hair wanting?”

He had often said that if they could procure him the heart of a lion

he would show them he could make rain so abundant, that a man might

think himself well off to be under shelter, as when it fell it might

sweep whole towns away. He had discovered that the clouds required

strong medicines, and that a lion’s heart would do the business. To

obtain this the rain maker well knew was no joke. One day it was

announced that a lion had attacked one of the cattle out-posts, not

far from the town, and a party set off for the twofold purpose of

getting a key to the clouds and disposing of a dangerous enemy. The

orders were imperative, whatever the consequences might be. Fortunately

the lion was shot dead by a man armed with a gun. Greatly elated by

their success, they forthwith returned with their prize, singing the

conqueror’s song in full chorus. The rain maker at once set about

preparing his medicines, kindled his fires, and, standing on the top of

a hill, he stretched forth his hands, beckoning to the clouds to draw

near, occasionally shaking his spear and threatening them with his ire,

should they disobey his commands. The populace believed all this and

wondered the rain would not fall.

Having discovered that a corpse which had been put into the ground some

weeks before had not received enough water at its burial, and knowing

the aversion of the Bechuanas to the dead body, he ordered the corpse

to be taken up, washed, and re-interred. Contrary to his expectation,

and horrible as the ceremony must have been, it was performed. Still

the heavens remained inexorable.

Having exhausted his skill and ingenuity, the impostor began to be

sorely puzzled to find something on which to lay the blame. Like all

of his profession, he was a subtle fellow, in the habit of studying

human nature, affable, acute, and exhibiting a dignity of mien, with an

ample share of self-complacency which he could not hide. Hitherto he

had studiously avoided giving the least offence to the missionaries,

whom he found were men of peace who would not quarrel. He frequently

condescended to visit them, and in the course of conversation would

often give a feeble assent to their opinions as to the sources of that

element over which he pretended to have sovereign control. However,

finding all his wiles unavailing to produce the desired result, and,

notwithstanding the many proofs of kindness he had received from the

missionaries, he began to hint that the reverend gentlemen were the

cause of the obstinacy of the clouds. One day it was discovered that

the rain had been prevented by Mr. Moffat bringing a bag of salt with

him from a journey that he had undertaken to Griqua town. But finding

on examination that the reported salt was only white clay or chalk, the

natives could not help laughing at their own credulity.

From insinuations he proceeded to open accusations. After having kept

himself secluded for a fortnight, he one day appeared in the public

fold and proclaimed that he had at last discovered the cause of the

drought. After keeping the audience in suspense for a short time, he

suddenly broke forth: “Do you not see,” he asked, “when the clouds

cover us, that Hamilton and Moffat look at them? Their white faces

scare them away, and you cannot expect rain so long as they are in the

country.” This was a home stroke. The people became impatient, and

poured forth their curses against the poor missionaries as the cause

of all their sorrows. The bell which was rung for public worship, they

said, frightened the vapours; the prayers even came in for a share of

the blame. “Don’t you,” said the chief one day rather fiercely to Mr.

Moffat, “bow down in your houses and pray, and talk to something bad in

the ground?”

But to shorten a long story, after exposing the missionaries to much

risk and danger by his insinuations and accusations, the tables were

turned in their favour. The rain-maker now was suspected, his gross

impositions were unveiled, and he was about to pay the penalty of

death,--the well-merited reward for his scandalous conduct, when

Mr. Moffat generously interfered, and through his presence of mind

and humanity succeeded in saving the life of one who had so often

threatened his own, and who would not have scrupled to take it could he

thereby have served his purpose. Death, however, soon overtook him, for

he was eventually murdered amongst the Bauangketsi nation.

There is scarcely a savage country on the face of the earth but has its

professional rain-makers; Figi has; and these, like other players of a

game of chance, occasionally win in a manner that seems surprising even

to an educated European.

During Mr. Seeman’s stay in Figi, one of the days was rainy, preventing

him from making an excursion. On expressing his regret to that effect,

a man was brought who may be called the clerk of the weather. He

professed to exercise a direct meteorological influence, and said that,

by burning certain leaves and offering prayers only known to himself,

he could make the sun shine or rain come down; and that he was willing

to exercise his influence on Mr. Seeman’s behalf if paid handsomely.

He was told that there was no objection to giving him a butcher’s

knife if he could make fine weather until the travellers returned to

the coast; but if he failed to do so, he must give something for the

disappointment. He was perfectly willing to risk the chance of getting

the knife, but would not hear of a forfeit in case of failure; however,

he left to catch eels. “When returning,” says Mr. Seeman, “the clouds

had dispersed, and the sun was shining brilliantly, and he did not fail

to inform me that he had ‘been and done it.’ I must farther do him

the justice to say, that I did not experience any bad weather until

I fairly reached the coast; and that no sooner had I set my foot in

Navua than rain came down in regular torrents. This man has probably

been a close observer of the weather, and discovered those delicate

local indications of a coming change with which people in all countries

living much in the open air are familiar; and he very likely does not

commence operations until he is pretty sure of success.”

This was not the only singular ceremony witnessed by the gentleman just

quoted, and who is the most recent of Figian travellers. While out one

day he and his friends met a company of natives, and were struck with

the fact that all the young lads were in a state of absolute nudity;

and, on inquiry, learned that preparations were being made to celebrate

the introduction of Kurudwadua’s eldest son into manhood; and that

until then neither the young chieftain nor his playmates could assume

the scanty clothing peculiar to the Figians. Suvana, a rebellious town,

consisting of about five hundred people, was destined to be sacrificed

on the occasion. When the preparations for the feast were concluded,

the day for the ceremony appointed, Kurudwadua and his warriors were to

make a rush upon the town and club the inhabitants indiscriminately.

The bodies were to be piled into one heap, and on the top of all a

living slave would lie on his back. The young chief would then mount

the horrid scaffold, and standing upright on the chest of the slave,

and holding in his uplifted hands an immense club or gun, the priests

would invoke their gods, and commit the future warrior to their

especial protection, praying he may kill all the enemies of the tribe,

and never be beaten in battle; a cheer and a shout from the assembled

multitude concluding the prayer. Two uncles of the boy were then to

ascend the human pile, and to invest him with the malo or girdle of

snow white _tapa_; the multitude again calling on the deities to

make him a great conqueror, and a terror to all who breathe enmity to

Navua. The _malo_ for the occasion would be, perhaps, two hundred

yards long, and six or eight inches wide. When wound round the body the

lad would hardly be perceivable, and no one but an uncle can divest him

of it.

“We proposed,” says Mr. Seeman, “to the chief that we should be allowed

to invest his son with the _malo_, which he at first refused,

but to which he consented after deliberation with his people. At the

appointed hour the multitude collected in the great strangers’ house or

_bure ni sa_. The lad stood upright in the midst of the assembly

guiltless of clothing, and holding a gun over his head. The consul

and I approached, and in due form wrapped him up in thirty yards of

Manchester print, the priest and people chanting songs and invoking the

protection of their gods. A short address from the consul succeeded,

stirring the lad to nobler efforts for his tribe than his ancestors had

known, and pointing to the path of fame that civilization opened to

him. The ceremony concluded by drinking kara, and chanting historical

reminiscences of the lad’s ancestors; and thus we saved the lives of

five hundred men. During the whole of this ceremony the old chief was

much affected, and a few tears might be seen stealing down his cheeks;

soon, however, cheering up, he gave us a full account of the time when

he came of age, and the number of people that were slain to celebrate

the occasion.”

To return, however, to the rain-making business. Lucky is it for

the dim-minded heathen that these false priests of his have not the

advantage of studying for their profession either in England or

America; if it were so, heaven only knows the awful extent to which

they would be bamboozled. Rain-makers especially would have a fine time

of it, at least, if they were all as clever as Mr. Petherick, who, in

his “Egypt and the Soudan,” unblushingly narrates how he “Barnumized”

the Africans as a rain-maker.

“The rainy season was now approaching, and still no tidings of my

men, and the natives daily continued to surround my encampment, and

attempted, sometimes by the report of the murder of my men, and

at others by night attacks upon ourselves when in the darkness we

could not see them, to induce us to return to our boats and abandon

our property. This they more strenuously insisted on, as they were

convinced that as long as we remained in the country the rain would

not fall, and both themselves and their cattle would be reduced to

starvation. This idea being seriously entertained, I one day plainly

stated to the chief and several of the principal men the absurdity of

their assertions, and endeavoured to explain that God alone,--who had

created heaven and earth,--could exercise any power over the elements.

The attention with which my discourse was received induced me to

prolong it, but to my discomfiture, at its close, it was treated as

a capital joke, and only convinced them the more that I endeavoured

to conceal from them my own powers. Finding no relief from their

increasing persecutions, I at length was reduced to a ruse; and after

a reference to an antiquated _Weekly Times_, I told them that the

Supreme Being whose it was to afford them the so much-required rains,

withheld them in consequence of their inhospitality towards myself;

this, although it had the effect of procuring increased temporary

supplies, could not induce them to furnish me with porters. Endless

were the straits and absurdities to which I had recourse in order to

obtain a respite, but the one creating the greatest amusement to myself

and my followers was the following. A deputation of several hundred

men, headed by a subchief, from their kraals some miles distant, in the

most peremptory manner demanded rain or my immediate departure; the

latter they were determined at whatever sacrifice to enforce. Placing

my men under arms in an enclosure, and with a pair of revolver pistols

at my waist, and a first-rate Dean and Adams’ revolver rifle in my

hand, I went into the midst of them, and seated myself in the centre

of them, opposite to the subchief, a man fully six feet six inches

high, and proportionably well made. I stated that no intimidation could

produce rain, and as to compelling me to withdraw, I defied them; that

if I liked, with one single discharge of my gun, I could destroy the

whole tribe and their cattle in an instant; but that with regard to

rain, I would consult my oracle, and invited them to appear before

me to-morrow, upon which, with as much dignity as I could command, I

withdrew. Various were the feelings of the savages. Some expressed a

wish to comply with my desire, whilst others showed an inclination to

fall upon me. Although I was convinced that the chief, Tschol, secretly

encouraged his men, he in the present instance made a demonstration in

my favour; he threatened them with a curse unless they dispersed. Some

device now became necessary to obtain a further respite for the desired

rains; and setting my wits to work, I hit upon an expedient which I

at once put in execution. Despatching some men to catch half-a-dozen

large flies, bearing some resemblance to a horse-fly, but much larger,

which infested a temporary shed where my donkey had been kept; the

men, confident in the success of anything I undertook, set about the

task with a will. In the course of the afternoon they were fortunately

obtained, and were consigned to an empty bottle. At the appointed time

my persecutors did not fail to appear, and shaking a little flower

over my flies, I sallied out amongst them, bottle in hand. Referring

to their wants, I treated them to a long harangue, touching the

depredations which I had learnt in conversation with the chief they had

committed upon the cattle of neighbouring tribes, and assassinations

of unoffending men who had fallen into their power; also to several

abstractions of girls from poor unprotected families of their own

tribe, without the payment of the customary dowry in cattle, and dwelt

upon the impossibility of their obtaining rain until restitution and

satisfaction were made. They unanimously denied the charges; when I

told them that it was nothing less than I had expected, but that I

was furnished with the means of satisfying myself of the veracity of

their assertions. The proof would consist in their restoring to me

the flies, which I intended to liberate from the bottle I held. In

the event of their succeeding, they should be rewarded with abundant

rain; but if one fly escaped, it was a sign of their guilt, and they

would be punished with a continuation of drought until restitution was

made; therefore it was in their own power to procure rain or otherwise.

Hundreds of clubs and lances were poised high in the air, amidst loud

shouts of ‘Let them go! let them go! let them go!’ With a prayer for

the safety of my flies, I held up the bottle, and smashing it against

the barrel of my rifle, I had the satisfaction of seeing the flies in

the enjoyment of their liberty. Man, woman, and child gave chase in

hot pursuit, and the delight of my men at the success of the stratagem

may be imagined. It was not until after the sun had set that the

crest-fallen stragglers returned, their success having been limited to

the capture of two of the flies, though several spurious ones, easily

detected by the absence of the distinctive flour badge, were produced.

A long consultation ensued, and in the firm belief of my oracle they

determined to adopt measures for the carrying out of its requirements,

but with a threat that if the promised rain did not follow, I should

incur their vengeance. Aware of the difficulties in store for them

from their unwillingness to part with cattle under any circumstances,

I promised myself a long cessation from their molestations. I was not

disappointed.”

Further still into the country, and still no sign of amendment; not

that it should be expected, as in this region--Equatorial Africa--the

Christian crusader never yet penetrated, unless indeed we so regard Mr.

Du Chaillu, who certainly appears to have done his best by example, at

least, to convince the barbarous people among whom he found himself

of the advantages of Christianity. Here is a sample of one of many

Sabbaths spent by the renowned gorilla hunter amongst the savages here

abiding.

“The next day was Sunday, and I remained quietly in my house reading

the Scriptures, and thankful to have a day of rest and reflection. My

hunters could scarcely be prevailed upon not to hunt; they declared

that Sunday might do for white people, but the blacks had nothing to do

with it. Indeed, when customs thus come in contact, the only answer the

negro has to make--and it applies to everything--is, that the God who

made the whites is not the God who made the blacks.

“Then the king and a good many of his people gathered about me, and we

astonished each other with our talk. I told them that their fetishes

and greegrees were of no use and had no power, and that it was absurd

to expect anything of a mere wooden idol that a man had made, and could

burn up. Also that there was no such a thing as witchcraft, and that it

was very wrong to kill people who were accused of it; that there was

only one God, whom the whites and blacks must alike love and depend on.

All this elicited only grunts of surprise and incredulity.

“Then the king took up the conversation, and remarked that we white

men were much favoured by our God, who was so kind as to send guns and

powder from heaven.

“Whereupon the king’s brother remarked that it must be very fine to

have rivers of alougou (rum) flowing through our country all the year

round, and that he would like to live on the banks of such a river.

“Hereupon I said that we made our own guns, which no one present seemed

to believe; and that there were no rivers of rum, which seemed a

disappointment to several.”

It would appear that our traveller betrayed at least as much curiosity

respecting the singular rites and superstitions of these Equatorial

African heathens as they evinced in the matter of Christianity.

“One day the women began their peculiar worship of Njambai, which it

seems is their good spirit: and it is remarkable that all the Bakalai

clans and all the females of tribes I have met during my journeys,

worship or venerate a spirit with this same name. Near the seashore it

is pronounced Njembai, but it is evidently the same.

“This worship of the women is a kind of mystery, no men being admitted

to the ceremonies, which are carried on in a house very carefully

closed. This house was covered with dry palm and banana leaves, and

had not even a door open to the street. To make all close, it was set

against two other houses, and the entrance was through one of these.

Quengueza and Mbango warned me not to go near this place, as not even

they were permitted so much as to take a look. All the women of the

village painted their faces and bodies, beat drums, marched about the

town, and from time to time entered the idol house, where they danced

all one night, and made a more outrageous noise than even the men had

made before. They also presented several antelopes to the goddess, and

on the 4th, all but a few went off into the woods to sing to Njambai.

“I noticed that half-a-dozen remained, and in the course of the morning

entered the Njambai house, where they stayed in great silence. Now my

curiosity, which had been greatly excited to know what took place in

this secret worship, finally overcame me. I determined to see. Walking

several times up and down the street past the house to allay suspicion,

I at last suddenly pushed aside some of the leaves, and stuck my head

through the wall. For a moment I could distinguish nothing in the

darkness. Then I beheld three perfectly naked old hags sitting on the

clay floor, with an immense bundle of greegrees before them, which they

seemed to be silently adoring.

[Illustration: Du Chaillu’s Peep into a Heathen Temple.]

“When they saw me they at once set up a hideous howl of rage, and

rushed out to call their companions from the bush; in a few minutes

these came hurrying in, crying and lamenting, rushing towards me with

gestures of anger, and threatening me for my offence. I quickly reached

my house, and seizing my gun in one hand and a revolver in the other,

told them I would shoot the first one that came inside my door. The

house was surrounded by above three hundred infuriated women, every one

shouting out curses at me, but the sight of my revolver kept them back.

They adjourned presently for the Njambai house, and from there sent a

deputation of the men, who were to inform me that I must pay for the

palaver I had made.

“This I peremptorily refused to do, telling Quengueza and Mbango that I

was there a stranger, and must be allowed to do as I pleased, as their

rules were nothing to me, who was a white man and did not believe in

their idols. In truth, if I had once paid for such a trangression as

this, there would have been an end of all travelling for me, as I often

broke through their absurd rules without knowing it, and my only course

was to declare myself irresponsible.

“However, the women would not give up, but threatened vengeance, not

only on me, but on all the men of the town; and as I positively refused

to pay anything, it was at last, to my great surprise, determined by

Mbango and his male subjects, that they would make up from their own

possessions such a sacrifice as the women demanded of me. Accordingly

Mbango contributed ten fathoms of native cloth, and the men came one by

one and put their offerings on the ground; some plates, some knives,

some mugs, some beads, some mats, and various other articles. Mbango

came again, and asked if I too would not contribute something, but I

refused. In fact, I dared not set such a precedent. So when all had

given what they could, the whole amount was taken to the ireful women,

to whom Mbango said that I was his and his men’s guest, and that they

could not ask me to pay in such a matter, therefore they paid the

demand themselves. With this the women were satisfied, and there the

quarrel ended. Of course I could not make any further investigations

into their mysteries. The Njambai feast lasts about two weeks. I could

learn very little about the spirit which they call by this name. Their

own ideas are quite vague. They know only that it protects the women

against their male enemies, avenges their wrongs, and serves them in

various ways, if they please it.”

Before Chaillu left Goumbi a grand effort was made by the people to

ascertain the cause of their king’s sufferings. Quengueza had sent word

to his people to consult Ilogo, a spirit said to live in the moon. The

rites were very curious. To consult Ilogo, the time must be near full

moon. Early in the evening the women of the town assembled in front

of Quengueza’s house and sang songs to and in praise of the moon.

Meantime a woman was seated in the centre of the circle of singers, who

sung with them and looked constantly towards the moon. She was to be

inspired by the spirit and to utter prophecies.

Two women made trial of this post without success. At last came a

third, a little woman, wiry and nervous. When she seated herself, the

singing was redoubled in fury--the excitement of the people had had

time to become intense; the drums beat, the outsiders shouted madly.

Presently the woman who, singing violently, had looked constantly

towards the moon, began to tremble. Her nerves twitched, her face was

contorted, her muscles swelled, and at last her limbs straightened out,

and she lay extended on the ground insensible.

The excitement was now intense and the noise horrible. The songs to

Ilogo were not for a moment discontinued. The words were little varied,

and were to this purport:

“Ilogo, we ask thee,

Tell who has bewitched the king!

Ilogo, we ask thee,

What shall we do to cure the king?

The forests are thine, Ilogo!

The rivers are thine, Ilogo!

The moon is thine.

O moon! O moon! O moon!

Thou art the house of Ilogo.

Shall the king die, O Ilogo?

O Ilogo! O moon! O moon!”

These words were repeated again and again with little variation. The

woman who lay for some time as she had fallen was then supposed to be

able to see things in the world of Ilogo, and was brought to after

half an hour’s insensibility; she looked very much prostrated. She

averred that she had seen Ilogo, that he had told her Quengueza was not

bewitched.

Chaillu heard one day by accident that a man had been apprehended on a

charge of causing the death of one of the chief men of the village, and

went to Dayoko, the king, and asked about it. He said yes, the man was

to be killed; that he was a notorious wizard, and had done much harm.

Chaillu begged to see this terrible being, and was taken to a rough

hut, within which sat an old, old man, with wool white as snow,

wrinkled face, bowed form, and shrunken limbs. His hands were tied

behind him, and his feet were placed in a rude kind of stocks. This

was the great wizard. Several lazy negroes stood guard over him, and

from time to time insulted him with opprobrious epithets and blows, to

which the poor old wretch submitted in silence. He was evidently in his

dotage.

When asked if he had no friends, no relatives, no son or daughter or

wife to take care of him, he said sadly, “No one.”

Now here was the secret of this persecution. They were tired of taking

care of the helpless old man, who had lived too long, and a charge of

witchcraft by the greegree man was a convenient pretext for putting him

out of the way.

[Illustration: The Wizard in the Stocks.]

Chaillu went, however, to Dayoko, and argued the case with him, and

tried to explain the absurdity of charging a harmless old man with

supernatural powers; told him that God did not permit witches to exist,

and dually made an offer to buy the old wretch, offering to give some

pounds of tobacco, one or two coats, and some looking-glasses for him,

goods which would have bought an able-bodied slave.

Dayoko replied that for his part he would be glad to save him, but that

the people must decide; that they were much excited against him, but

that he would, to please Chaillu, try to save his life.

During the night following our travellers heard singing all over the

town all night, and a great uproar. Evidently they were preparing

themselves for the murder. Even these savages cannot kill in cold

blood, but work themselves into a frenzy of excitement first, and then

rush off to do the bloody deed.

Early in the morning the people gathered together with the fetish man,

the rascal who was at the bottom of the murder, in their midst. His

bloodshot eyes glared in savage excitement as he went round from man to

man getting the votes to decide whether the old man should die.

In his hands he held a bundle of herbs, with which he sprinkled three

times those to whom he spoke. Meantime a man was stationed on the top

of a high tree, whence he shouted from time to time in a loud voice,

“Jocoo! Jocoo!” at the same time shaking the tree strongly.

Jocoo is devil among the Mbousha, and the business of this man was to

keep away the evil spirit, and to give notice to the fetish-man of his

approach.

At last the sad vote was taken. It was declared that the old man was a

most malignant wizard, that he had already killed a number of people,

that he was minded to kill many more, and that he must die. No one

would tell Chaillu how he was to be killed, and they proposed to defer

the execution till his departure. The whole scene had considerably

agitated Chaillu, and he was willing to be spared the end. Tired and

sick at heart, Chaillu lay down on his bed about noon to rest and

compose his spirits a little. After a while he saw a man pass his

window, almost like a flash, and after him a horde of silent but

infuriated men. They ran towards the river. Then in a little while was

heard a couple of sharp piercing cries, as of a man in great agony, and

then all was still as death. Chaillu got up, guessing the rascals had

killed the poor old man, and turning his steps toward the river, was

met by the crowd returning, every man armed with axe, knife, cutlass,

or spear, and these weapons and their own hands and arms and bodies all

sprinkled with the blood of their victim. In their frenzy they had tied

the poor wizard to a log near the river bank, and then deliberately

hacked him into many pieces. They finished by splitting open his skull

and scattering the brains in the water. Then they returned; and to see

their behaviour, it would have seemed as though the country had just

been delivered from a great curse.

By night the men, whose faces for two days had filled Chaillu with

loathing and horror, so bloodthirsty and malignant were they, were

again as mild as lambs, and as cheerful as though they had never heard

of a witch tragedy.

The following is a fair sample of “witch-test,” as practised in this

region. A Gaboon black trader in the employment of a white supercargo,

died suddenly. His family thinking that the death had resulted from

witchcraft, two of his sisters were authorised to go to his grave

and bring his head away in order that they might test the fact. This

testing is effected in the following manner: An iron pot with fresh

water is placed on the floor; at one side of it is the head of the

dead man, at the other side is seated a fetish doctor. The latter

functionary then puts in his mouth a piece of herb, supposed to impart

divining powers, chews it, and forms a magic circle by spitting round

the pot, the head, and himself. The face of the murderer, after a few

incantations, is supposed to be reflected on the water contained in the

pot. The fetish man then states he sees the murderer, and orders the

head to be again put back to its proper grave, some days being then

given to him for deliberation. In the mean time he may fix on a man

who is rich enough to pay him a sufficient bribe to be excused of the

charge, and if so he confesses that the fetish has failed.

In the central regions of Eastern Africa all that is sacerdotal is

embodied in individuals called Mganga or Mfumbo. They swarm throughout

the land; are of both sexes: the women, however, generally confine

themselves to the medical part of the profession. The profession is

hereditary; the eldest or the cleverest son begins his education at

an early age, and succeeds to his father’s functions. There is little

mystery, says Burton, in the craft, and the magicians of Unyamwezi have

not refused to initiate some of the Arabs. The power of the Mganga is

great; he is treated as a sultan, whose word is law, and as a giver of

life and death. He is addressed by a kingly title, and is permitted to

wear the chieftain’s badge, made of the base of a conical shell. He is

also known by a number of small greasy and blackened gourds filled with

physic and magic hanging round his waist, and by a little more of the

usual grime, sanctity and dirt being closely connected in Africa. These

men are sent for from village to village, and receive as spiritual fees

sheep and goats, cattle and provisions. Their persons, however, are not

sacred, and for criminal acts they are punished like other malefactors.

The greatest danger to them is an excess of fame. A celebrated magician

rarely, if ever, dies a natural death; too much is expected from him,

and a severe disappointment leads to consequences more violent than

usual.

The African phrase for a man possessed is _ana’p’hepo_, he has a

devil. The Mganga is expected to heal the patient by expelling the

possession. Like the evil spirit in the days of Saul, the unwelcome

visitant must be charmed away by sweet music; the drums cause

excitement, the violent exercise expels the ghost. The principal

remedies are drumming, dancing, and drinking till the auspicious moment

arrives. The ghost is then enticed from the body of the possessed into

some inanimate article which he will condescend to inhabit. This,

technically called a _Keti_ or stool, may be a certain kind of

bead, two or more bits of wood bound together by a strip of snake’s

skin, a lion’s or a leopard’s claw, and other similar articles worn

round the head, the arm, the wrist, or the ankle. Paper is still

considered great medicine by the Wasukuma and other tribes, who

will barter valuable goods for a little bit: the great desideratum

of the charm in fact appears to be its rarity, or the difficulty of

obtaining it. Hence also the habit of driving nails into and hanging

rags upon trees. The vegetable itself is not worshipped, as some

Europeans, who call it the devil’s tree, have supposed; it is merely

the place for the laying of ghosts, where by appending the keti most

acceptable to the spirit, he will be bound over to keep the peace

with man. Several accidents in the town of Zanzibar have confirmed

even the higher orders in their lurking superstition. Mr. Peters,

an English merchant, annoyed by the slaves, who came in numbers to

hammer nails and to hang iron hoops and rags upon a devil’s tree in

his court-yard, ordered it to be cut down, to the horror of all the

black beholders. Within six months five persons died in that house--Mr.

Peters, his two clerks, his cooper, and his ship’s carpenter. Salim

bin Raschid, a half caste merchant, well known at Zanzibar, avers,

and his companions bear witness to his words, that on one occasion,

when travelling northwards from Unyamzembe, the possession occurred to

himself. During the night two female slaves, his companions, of whom

one was a child, fell without apparent cause into the fits which denote

the approach of a spirit. Simultaneously the master became as one

intoxicated; a dark mass--material, not spiritual--entered the tent,

threw it down, and presently vanished, and Salim bin Raschid was found

in a state of stupor, from which he did not recover till the morning.

The same merchant circumstantially related, and called witnesses to

prove, that a small slave boy, who was produced on the occasion, had

been frequently carried off by possession, even when confined in a

windowless room, with a heavy door carefully bolted and padlocked.

Next morning the victim was not found although the chamber remained

closed. A few days afterwards he was met in the jungle, wandering

absently, like an idiot, and with speech too incoherent to explain

what had happened to him. The Arabs of Iman who subscribe readily to

transformation, deride these tales; those of African blood, believe

them. The transformation belief, still so common in many countries, and

anciently an almost universal superstition, is, curious to say, unknown

amongst these East African tribes.

The Mganga, Mr. Burton further informs us, is also a soothsayer. He

foretels the success, or failure of commercial undertakings, of wars,

and of kidnapping; he foresees famine and pestilence, and he suggests

the means of averting calamities. He fixes also before the commencement

of any serious affair fortunate conjunctions, without which, a good

issue cannot be expected. He directs, expedites, or delays the march

of a caravan; and in his quality of augur, he considers the flight of

birds, and the cries of beasts like his prototype of the same class, in

ancient Europe, and in modern Asia.

The principal instrument of the Mganga’s craft is one of the dirty

little buyou, or gourds, which he wears in a bunch round his waist,

and the following is the usual programme when the oracle is to be

consulted. The magician brings his implements in a bag of matting; his

demeanour is serious as the occasion, he is carefully greased, and his

head is adorned with the diminutive antelope horns, fastened by a thong

of leather above the forehead. He sits like a sultan, upon a dwarf

stool in front of the querist, and begins by exhorting the highest

possible offertory. No pay no predict. The Mganga has many implements

of his craft. Some prophesy by the motion of berries swimming in a cup

full of water, which is placed upon a low stool, surrounded by four

tails of the zebra, or the buffalo, lashed to stakes planted upright

in the ground. The Kasanda is a system of folding triangles, not

unlike those upon which plaything soldiers are mounted. Held in the

right hand, it is thrown out, and the direction of the end points to

the safe and auspicious route; this is probably the rudest appliance

of prestidigitation. The shero is a bit of wood, about the size of a

man’s hand, and not unlike a pair of bellows, with a dwarf handle, a

projection like a muzzle, and in a circular centre a little hollow.

This is filled with water, and a grain, or fragment of wood placed to

float, gives an evil omen if it tends towards the sides, and favourable

if it veers towards the handle or the nozzle. The Mganga generally

carries about with him, to announce his approach, a kind of rattle.

This is a hollow gourd of pine-apple, pierced with various holes

prettily carved, and half filled with maize grains, and pebbles; the

handle is a stick passed through its length, and secured by cross-pins.

The Mganga has many minor duties. In elephant hunts he must throw the

first spear, and endure the blame if the beast escapes. He marks ivory

with spots disposed in lines and other figures, and thus enables it to

reach the coast, without let or hindrance. He loads the kirangoze, or

guide, with charms to defend him from the malice which is ever directed

at a leading man, and sedulously forbids him to allow precedence even

to the Mtongi, the commander and proprietor of the caravan. He aids

his tribe by magical arts, in wars by catching a bee, reciting over it

certain incantations, and loosing it in the direction of the foe, when

the insect will instantly summon an army of its fellows and disperse a

host however numerous. This belief well illustrates the easy passage of

the natural into the supernatural. The land being full of swarms, and

man’s body being wholly exposed, many a caravan has been dispersed like

chaff before the wind by a bevy of swarming bees. Similarly in South

Africa the magician kicks an ant-hill, and starts wasps which put the

enemy to flight.

Here is an account of a queer dance witnessed in this land of Mgangas

and Mfumbos and fetishes, furnished by the celebrated explorer

Bakie:--“A little before noon Captain Vidal took leave of King Passol,

in order to prosecute his observations. I remained, but shortly

afterwards prepared to leave also. Passol, however, as soon as he

perceived my intention, jumped up, and in a good-humoured way detaining

me by the arm, exclaimed, ‘No go, no go yet; ‘top a little; bye-bye

you look im fetish dance; me mak you too much laugh!’ It appeared

that the old man had heard me some time before, on listening to the

distant tattoo of a native drum, express a determination to the

young midshipman who was with me to go presently to see the dance,

with which I had little doubt that it was accompanied. The noise of

the drum, almost drowned by the singing, whooping, and clamour of a

multitude of the natives, was soon heard approaching. When close to us

the procession stopped, and the dancers, all of whom were men, ranged

themselves in parallel lines from the front of an adjoining house,

and commenced their exhibition. They were specially dressed for the

purpose, having suspended from their hips a complete kilt formed of

threads of grass-cloth, manufactured by the natives of the interior,

and likewise an appendage of the same kind to one or both arms, just

above the elbow. Some had their faces and others their breasts marked

with white balls, given to them by the fetish as a cure or safeguard

against some disease which they either had or dreaded. The dancing,

although not elegant, was free from that wriggling and contortion

of body so common on the east coast. It consisted principally in

alternately advancing and drawing back the feet and arms, together

with a corresponding inclination of the body, and, at stated times,

the simultaneous clapping of hands, and a loud sharp ejaculation of

‘Heigh!’ Although I have remarked that it was not elegant, yet it

was pleasing, from the regularity with which it was accompanied.

There were two men who did not dance in the line among the rest, but

shuffled around, and at times threaded the needle among them: one was

termed the master fetish, and the other appeared to be his attendant;

neither wore the fancy dress, but they were both encircled by the usual

wrapper round the loins. The former had on a French glazed hat, held

in great request by the natives, and the other, chewing some root of

a red colour, carried a small ornamented stick, surmounted at the end

like a brush with a bunch of long and handsome feathers. At times one

of these men would stop opposite a particular individual among the

dancers, and entice him by gestures to leave the line and accompany

him in his evolutions, which finally always ended where they began,

the pressed man returning to his former place. For some time I had

observed the master fetish dancing opposite to the house, and with many

gesticulations apparently addressing it in a half threatening half

beseeching tone. Old Passol, who was standing close by me, suddenly

exclaimed, ‘Now you laugh too much; fetish he come!’

“Sure enough, forthwith rushed from the house among the dancers a most

extraordinary figure. It was a man mounted on stilts at least six feet

above the ground, of which from practice he had acquired so great a

command that he certainly was as nimble in his evolutions as the most

active among the dancers. He was sometimes so quick that one stilt

could hardly be seen to touch the earth before it was relieved by the

other. Even when standing still he often balanced himself so well as

not to move either stilt for the space of two or three minutes. He

wore a white mask with a large red ball on each cheek, the same on his

chin, and his eyebrows and the lower part of his nose were painted with

the same colour. Over his forehead was a sort of vizor of a yellow

colour, having across it a line of small brass bells; it was armed in

front by long alligator’s teeth, and terminated in a confused display

of feathers, blades of grass, and the stiff hairs of elephants and

other large animals. From the top of his head the skin of a monkey

hung pendant behind, having affixed to its tail a wire and a single

elephant’s hair with a large sheep’s bell attached to the end. The

skin was of a beautiful light green, with the head and neck of a rich

vermilion. From his shoulders a fathom of blue dungaree with a striped

white border hung down behind; and his body and legs and arms were

completely enshrouded in a number of folds of the native grass-cloth,

through which he grasped in each hand a quantity of alligator’s teeth,

lizard’s skins, fowl’s bones, feathers, and stiff hairs, reminding

me strongly of the well-known attributes of Obi, the dread of the

slave-owners of Jamaica.

“The fetish never spoke. When standing still he held his arms erect,

and shook and nodded his head with a quick repetition; but when

advancing he extended them to their full length before him. In the

former case he appeared as if pointing to heaven, and demanding its

vengeance on the dancers and the numerous bystanders around; and in

the latter as one who, finding his exhortations of no avail, was

resolved to exterminate, in the might of his gigantic stature and

superior strength, the refractory set. The master fetish was his

constant attendant, always following, doubling, and facing him, with

exhortations uttered at one minute in the most beseeching tone,

accompanied hat in hand by obsequious bows, and in the next threatening

gestures, and violent, passionate exclamations. The attendant on

the master fetish was likewise constantly at hand, with his stick

applied to his mouth, and in one or two instances when the masquerader

approached, he crouched close under him, and squirted the red juice of

the root he was chewing into his face. For upwards of an hour I watched

the dance, yet the fetish appeared untired; and I afterwards heard

that the same ceremony was performed every day, and sometimes lasted

three or four hours. I at first thought that it was merely got up for

our amusement, but was soon undeceived; and when, under the first

impression, I inquired of a bystander what man it was who performed the

character, he answered, with a mixture of pique at the question and

astonishment of my ignorance, ‘He no man; no man do same as him; he be

de diable! he be de debil!’ Still I was a little sceptic as to their

really holding this belief themselves, though they insisted on the fact

as they represented it to me; and therefore, after I had received the

same answer from all, I used to add in a careless way to try their

sincerity, ‘In what house does he dwell?’ ‘What! fetish! I tell you he

de debil; he no catch house; he lib (live) in dat wood,’ pointing to a

gloomy-looking grove skirting the back of the village. It was in vain

that I attempted to unravel the origin or meaning of this superstition;

to all my questions the only answer I could obtain was that such was

the fashion of the country--a reason which they always had at hand when

puzzled, as they always were when the subject related to any of their

numerous superstitions. The fact is, that these practices still remain,

though their origin has long since been buried in oblivion.”

As with us, “to astonish the natives” is an almost universal weakness,

so is it the sable savage’s delight and ambition to “astonish the white

man;” and should he succeed, and the odds are manifestly against him,

there are no bounds to his satisfaction. The traveller Laing, while

travelling through Timmanee, a country not very far from that over

which old King Passol held sway, experienced an instance of this. He

was invited by the chief to be present at an entertainment resembling

what we recognize as a “bal masqué,” as it embraced music and dancing.

The music, however, was of rather a meagre character, consisting of a

single instrument made of a calabash and a little resembling a guitar.

The player evidently expected applause of the white man, and the white

man generously accorded it. The musician then declared that what our

countrymen had as yet witnessed of his performance was as nothing

compared with what he had yet to show him. Holding up his guitar, he

declared that with that potent instrument, the like of which was not to

be found throughout the length and breadth of Timmanee, he could cure

diseases of every sort, tame wild beasts, and render snakes so docile

that they would come out of their holes and dance as long as the music

lasted. Mr. Laing begged the enchanter to favour him with a specimen

of his skill. The enchanter was quite willing. Did anything ail the

traveller? Was any one of his party afflicted with disease? no matter

how inveterate or of how long standing, let him step forward, and by

a few twangs on the guitar he should be cured. Mr. Laing, however,

wishing perhaps to let the juggler off as lightly as possible, pressed

for a sight of the dancing snakes, on the distinct understanding

that they should be perfectly wild snakes, and such as had never

yet been taken in hand by mortal. The musician cheerfully assented,

and, to quote the words of the “eye-witness,” “changed the air he

had been strumming for one more lively, and immediately there crept

from beneath the stockading that surrounded the space where we were

assembled a snake of very large size. From the reptile’s movements,

it seemed that the music had only disturbed its repose, and that its

only desire was to seek fresh quarters, for without noticing any

one it glided rapidly across the yard towards the further side. The

musician, however, once more changed the tune, playing a slow measure,

and singing to it. The snake at once betrayed considerable uneasiness,

and decreased its speed. ‘Stop snake,’ sung the musician, adapting the

words to the tune he was playing, ‘you go a deal too fast; stop at my

command and show the white man how well you can dance; obey my command

at once, oh snake, and give the white man service.’ Snake stopped.

‘Dance, oh snake!’ continued the musician, growing excited, for a white

man has come to Falaba to see you! dance, oh snake, for indeed this is

a happy day!’ The snake twisted itself about, raised its head, curled,

leaped, and performed various feats, of which I should not have thought

a snake capable. At the conclusion the musician walked out of the yard

followed by the reptile, leaving me in no small degree astonished, and

the rest of the company not a little delighted that a black man had

been able to excite the surprise of a white one.”

In no part of Africa do we find a greater amount of religious

fanaticism than in Old Kalabar. The idea of God entertained by the

Kalabarese is confined to their incomprehensibility of natural causes,

which they attribute to Abasi-Ibun, the Efick term for Almighty God;

hence they believe he is too high and too great to listen to their

prayers and petitions. Idem-Efick is the name of the god who is

supposed to preside over the affairs of Kalabar, and who is connected

mysteriously with the great Abasi, sometimes represented by a tree,

and sometimes by a large snake, in which form he is only seen by his

high priest or vice-regent on earth--old King Kalabar. Mr. Hutchinson,

who resided in an official capacity in this queer heathen country,

once enjoyed the honour of an acquaintance with a representative of

Abasi-Ibun. “He was a lean, spare, withered old man, about sixty years

of age, a little above five feet in height, grey-headed, and toothless.

He wore generally a dressing-gown, with a red cap, bands of bamboo

rope round his neck, wrists, and ankles, with tassels dangling at

the end. In case of any special crime committed, for the punishment

of which there is no provision by Egbo law, the question was at once

referred to King Kalabar’s judgment, whose decision of life or death

was final. King Ergo and all the gentlemen saluted him by a word of

greeting peculiar to himself, ‘Etia,’ meaning in English, you sit

there, which, amongst persons of the slave order, must be joined with

placing the side of the index fingers in juxtaposition, and bowing

humbly, as evidence of obeisance. He offered up a weekly sacrifice to

Idem of goats, fowls, and tortoise, usually dressed with a little rum.

When famine was impending, or a dearth of ships existed at old Kalabar,

the king sent round to the gentlemen of the town an intimation of the

necessity of making an offering to the deity, and that Idem-Efick was

in want of coppers, which of course must be forwarded through the old

king. He had a privilege that every hippopotamus taken, or leopard

shot, must be brought to his house, that he may have the lion’s share

of the spoil. Since my first visit to Kalabar this old man has died,

and has yet had no successor, as the head men and people pretend to

believe ‘twelve moons (two years) must pass by before he be dead for

thrice.’ Besides this idea of worship, they have a deity named Obu,

made of calabash, to which the children are taught to offer up prayer

every morning, to keep them from harm. Idem-Nyanga is the name of the

tree which they hold as the impersonation of Idem-Efick; and a great

reverence is entertained for a shrub, whose pods when pressed by the

finger explode like a pistol. In all their meals they perform ablution

of the hands before and after it; and in drinking, spill a teaspoonful

or so out as a libation to their deity before imbibing. When they kill

a fowl or a goat as a sacrifice, they do not forget to remind their

god of what ‘fine things’ they do for him, and that ‘they expect a

like fine thing in return.’ Ekponyong is the title given to a piece of

stick, with a cloth tied round it at the top, and a skull placed above

the cloth, which is kept in many of their yards as a sort of guardian

spirit. In nearly all their courts there is a ju-ju tree growing in

the centre, with a parasitic plant attached to it, and an enclosure

of from two to four feet in circumference at the bottom of the stem,

within which skulls are always placed, and calabashes of blood at times

of sacrifice. At many of the gentlemen’s thresholds a human skull is

fastened in the ground, whose white glistening crown is trodden upon by

every one who enters.

“A strange biennial custom exists at old Kalabar, that of purifying

the town from all devils and evil spirits, who, in the opinion of

the authorities, have during the past two years taken possession of

it. They call it judok. And a similar ceremony is performed annually

on the gold coast. At a certain time a number of figures, styled

Nabikems, are fabricated and fixed indiscriminately through the town.

These figures are made of sticks and bamboo matting, being moulded

into different shapes. Some of them have an attempt at body, with legs

and arms to resemble the human form. Imaginative artists sometimes

furnish these specimens with an old straw hat, a pipe in the mouth,

and a stick fastened to the end of the arm, as if they were prepared

to undertake a journey. Many of the figures are supposed to resemble

four-footed animals, some crocodiles, and others birds. The evil

spirits are expected, after three weeks or a month, to take up their

residence in them, showing, to my thinking, a very great want of taste

on the part of the spirit vagrant. When the night arrives for their

general expulsion, one would imagine the whole town had gone mad. The

population feast and drink, and sally out in parties, beating at empty

covers, as if they contained tangible objects to hunt, and hallooing

with all their might and main. Shots are fired, the Nabikems are torn

up with violence, set in flames, and thrown into the river. The orgies

continue until daylight dawns, and the town is considered clear of evil

influence for two years more. Strange inconsistency with ideas of the

provision necessary to be made for the dead in their passage to another

world. But heathenism is full of these follies, and few of them can be

more absurd than their belief that if a man is killed by a crocodile

or a leopard, he is supposed to have been the victim of some malicious

enemy, who, at his death, turned himself into either of these animals,

to have vengeance on the person that has just been devoured. Any man

who kills a monkey or a crocodile is supposed to be turned into one or

the other when he dies himself. On my endeavouring to convince two very

intelligent traders of Duketown of the folly of this, and of my belief

that men had no more power to turn themselves into beasts than they had

to make rain fall or grass grow, I was met with the usual cool reply to

all a European’s arguments for civilization, ‘It be Kalabar fash(ion),

and white men no saby any ting about it.’ The same answer, ‘white men

no saby any ting about it,’ was given to me by our Yoruba interpreter

when up the Tshadda, on my doubting two supposed facts, which he thus

recorded to me. The first was, that the Houessa people believe in the

existence of the unicorn, but his precise location cannot be pointed

out. He is accredited to be the champion of the unprotected goat and

sheep from the ravages of the leopard; that when he meets a leopard he

enters amicably into conversation with him, descants upon his cruelty,

and winds up, like a true member of the humane society, by depriving

the leopard of his claws. On my asking if a clawless leopard had ever

been discovered, or if the unicorn had proposed any other species of

food as a substitute, observing me smile with incredulity, he gave

me an answer similar to that of the Kalabar men, in the instance

mentioned. The second, to the effect that a chameleon always went along

at the same pace, not quickening his steps for rain or wind, but going

steadily in all phases of temperature, changing his hue in compliment

to everything he met, turning black for black men, white for white,

blue, red, or green, for any cloth or flowers, or vegetables that fall

in his way; and the only reason he gives for it when questioned on the

subject is, that his father did the same before him, and he does not

think it right to deviate from the old path, because ‘same ting do for

my fader, same ting do for me.’”

Quite by accident it happens that this answer of the Yoruba man to Mr.

Hutchinson’s arguments forms the concluding line of the many examples

of Savage Rites and Superstitions quoted. It is, however, singularly

apropos. In this single line is epitomised the guiding principle of the

savage’s existence--“Same ting do for my fader, same ting do for me.”

This it is that fetters and tethers him. He is born to it, lives by it,

and he dies by it.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Burying Alive in Figi.]

PART XII.

SAVAGE DEATH AND BURIAL.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Killing to cheat death--Preparing the king’s “grave grass”--The

tomb and its living tenant--Figian mourning symbols--Murder

of sick Figians--“Pray don’t bury me!”--The ominous cat

clawing--The sacrifice of fingers--The token of the bloody

apron--The art of embalming--The sin-hole--Ceremonies at King

Finow’s funeral--Heroic appeals to the departed king--The scene

at the sepulchre--The journey of the sand bearers--The Mée too

Buggi--Devotion of Finow’s fishermen--The Sandwich Islanders’

badge of mourning--Putting the tongue in black--A melancholy

procession--The house of Keave--The pahio tabu.

It by no means follows that a disrespect for human life is synonomous

with a personal indifference to death. To whatever savage land we

turn--to the banks of the Mosquito, where lives the barbarous Sambo

Indian; to the deserts of Africa, the abode of the Griqua and Damara;

to the shores of solitary lakes far away in Northern America--we find

a horror of death, or rather of the work of death’s hands, singularly

incompatible with the recklessness of life observable in the countries

named.

No country on the face of the earth, however, can vie in the matter of

death and burial ceremonials with Figi. Here it would seem at first

sight that fear of death was unknown, so much so that parents will

consent to be clubbed to death by their children, and mothers murder

and with their own hands bury their children--where even the grave has

so few terrors that people will go down alive into it. It may, however,

be worth considering whether this apparent trifling with life may not

have for its source dread of the grim reaper in such blind and ignorant

excess as to lead to _killing_ to save from _dying_--to cheat death

in fact, and enable the cunning cannibal to slink out of the world

unmissed and unquestioned as to the errors of his life. This may seem

the wildest theory; but it should be borne in mind that in Figi, as in

many other barbarous countries, it is believed that all that is evil of

a man lives after him, and unless necessary precautions are adopted,

remains to torment his relations; it is not improbable, therefore,

that these latter, if not the ailing one himself, may favour this

death-cheating system.

As regards burying alive, this at least may be said in favour of the

Figians: they are no respecters of persons. The grey hairs of the

monarch are no more respected than those of the poorest beggar in his

realm. Indeed, according to the testimony of an eye-witness--Mr. Thomas

Williams--the king is more likely to be sent quick to the grave than

any one else. Here is an instance:--

“On my first going to Somosomo, I entertained a hope that the old king

would be allowed to die a natural death, although such an event would

be without precedent. The usage of the land had been to intimate that

the king’s death was near by cleaning round about the house, after

which, his eldest son when bathing with his father took a favourable

opportunity, and dispatched him with his club.

“I visited him on the 21st, and was surprised to find him much better

than he had been two days before. On being told, therefore, on the

24th that the king was dead, and that preparations were being made

for his interment, I could scarcely credit the report. The ominous

word _preparing_ urged me to hasten without delay to the scene of

action, but my utmost speed failed to bring me to Nasima--the king’s

house--in time. The moment I entered it was evident that as far as

concerned two of the women I was too late to save their lives. The

effect of that scene was overwhelming. Scores of deliberate murderers

in the very act surrounded me: yet there was no confusion, and, except

a word from him who presided, no voice--only an unearthly, horrid

stillness. Nature seemed to lend her aid and to deepen the dread

effect; there was not a breath stirring in the air, and the half

subdued light in that hall of death showed every object with unusual

distinctness.

“All sat on the floor; the middle figure of each group being held in

a sitting posture by several females, and hidden by a large veil. On

either side of each veiled figure was a company of eight or ten strong

men, one company hauling against the other on a white cord which was

passed twice round the neck of the doomed one, who thus in a few

minutes ceased to live. As my self command was returning to me the

group furthest from me began to move; the men slackened their hold and

the attendant women removed the large covering, making it into a couch

for the victim.... One of the victims was a stout woman and some of the

executioners jocosely invited those who sat near to have pity and help

them. At length the women said ‘she is cold.’ The fatal cord fell and

as the covering was raised I saw dead the oldest wife and unwearied

attendant of the old king.”

These victims are used to _pave the king’s grave_. They are called

_grass_, and when they are arranged in a row at the bottom of the

sepulchre the king’s corpse is couched on them. It is only, however,

great chiefs who demand so extensive a human couch; a dignitary of

minor importance is content with two bodies as his grave floor:

sometimes a man and a woman, sometimes two women. If an important

personage dies it is considered intolerable if his confidential

man--his bosom friend and adviser--should object to accompany his

master as _grass_. It is very common, too, when a great man dies

in Figi to strangle and bury with him an able bodied man, who takes

with him his club to protect the exalted one from the malicious attacks

of his enemies in the land of spirits. For the same purpose a bran new

and well oiled club is placed in the dead hand of the chief himself.

To return, however, to the dead king of Somosomo and Mr. Williams’

narrative:

“Leaving the women to adjust the hair of the victims, to oil their

bodies, cover their faces with vermilion, and adorn them with

flowers, I passed on to see the remains of the deceased Tnithaken.

To my astonishment I found him _alive_. He was weak but quite

conscious, and whenever he coughed placed his hand on his side as

though in pain. Yet his chief wife and a male attendant were covering

him with a thick coat of black powder, and tying round his arms and

legs a number of white scarfs, fastened in rosettes with the long ends

hanging down his sides. His head was turbaned in a scarlet handkerchief

secured by a chaplet of small white cowries, and he wore armlets of the

same shells. On his neck was the ivory necklace formed in long curved

points. To complete his royal attire according to the Figian idea,

he had on a very large new _masi_, the train being wrapped in a

number of loose folds at his feet. No one seemed to display real grief,

which gave way to show and ceremonies. The whole tragedy had an air of

cruel mockery. It was a masquerading of grim death--a decking as for a

dance bodies which were meant for the grave.

“I approached the young king whom I could not regard without

abhorrence. He seemed greatly moved and embraced me before I could

speak. ‘See,’ said he, ‘the father of us two is dead! His spirit is

gone. You see his body move, but that it does unconsciously.’” Knowing

that it would be useless to argue the point the missionary ceased

to care about the father, but begged of the young king that no more

victims might be sacrificed, and after some little show of obstinacy

gained his point.

Preparations were then made for conveying the still living man to the

grave. The bodies of the women--the grave _grass_--were fastened

to mats and carried on biers; they were carried behind the king, whose

stirring body was not brought out at the door of the house, but the

wall being knocked down he was carried through that way (Mr. Williams

is unable to account for this singular proceeding). The funeral

procession moved down to the sea-side and embarked in a canoe which was

silently paddled to the sepulchre of Figian royalty. Here arrived, the

grave was found ready dug, the murdered _grass_ was packed at the

bottom, and after the king’s ornaments were taken off him he too was

lowered into the hole, covered with cloth and mats and then with earth,

and “was heard to cough after a considerable quantity of soil had been

thrown into the grave.”

Although this is an end to the body, many other ceremonies remain for

performance. The most ordinary way to express sorrow for the dead in

Figi is to _shave_--the process being regulated according to the

affinity of the mourner to deceased. Fathers and sons will shave their

heads and cheeks as bare as pumpkins; nephews and cousins shave merely

the summit of the cranium. Among the women, however, the mourning

customs are much more horrible and lasting in effect. Some burn

fantastic devices on their bodies with hot irons, while others submit

to have their fingers chopped off. On the occasion of the royal death

and burial above narrated, “orders were issued that one hundred fingers

should be cut off; but only sixty were amputated, one woman losing her

life in consequence. The fingers being each inserted in a slit reed

were stuck along the eaves of the king’s house.”

[Illustration: “Mourning Suit of Leaves.”]

Among the various modes of expressing grief among the Figians, Mr.

Williams records that of lying out night after night along the grave of

a friend; allowing the great mop of hair to go untouched for months;

abstinence from oiling the body (a tremendous mortification); and the

wearing garments of leaves instead of cloth. These practices, however,

are optional; others there are that are imperative, and among them one

almost unmentionable from its loathsome character. The ceremony is

called _Vathavidiulo_, or “jumping of worms,” and consists of the

relatives of deceased assembling the fourth day after the burial, and

minutely discussing the present condition of the body of the departed.

The next night, however, is not passed in so doleful a manner; for

then takes place the _Vakadredre_, or “causing to laugh,” when

the most uproarious fun is indulged in for the purpose of enabling the

mourners to forget their grief. On the death of a man high in station,

a ludicrous custom is observed, says Williams:--“About the tenth day,

or earlier, the women arm themselves with cords, switches, and whips,

and fall upon any men below the highest chiefs, plying their whips

unsparingly. I have seen grave personages, not accustomed to move

quickly, flying with all possible speed before a company of such women.

Sometimes the men retaliate by bespattering their assailants with mud;

but they use no violence, as it seems to be a day on which they are

bound to succumb.”

It will be easily understood that since so little respect is paid

to the lives of kings and great warriors, bloodshed and barbarous

murder are rife enough among the poorer classes. And there can be no

doubt that, although the various frightful customs peculiar to the

Figians have their foundation, and are still upheld as a rule in a

purely religious spirit, extensive advantage is taken of the same in

furthering mercenary and spiteful ends. The brother of a dead Figian of

considerable means, might, for instance, find it convenient to persuade

the widows--the heirs to the property--to show their devotedness by

consenting to be strangled and buried with their husband, that he may,

as next of kin, take immediate possession of the goods and chattels,

etc. Where the dead man was poor, his relatives would probably rather

be at the pains to convince the widow of her duty than at the expense

of maintaining her.

The murder of the sick among the Figians is regarded as a simple and

proper course, and one that need not be observed with anything like

secrecy. A fellow missionary of the Rev. Mr. Williams found a woman

in Somosomo who was in a very abject state through the protracted

absence of her husband. For five weeks, although two women lived in the

same house, she lay uncared for, and was reduced to a mere skeleton,

but being provided with food and medicine from the mission-house,

began to get well. One morning, as an attendant was carrying the sick

woman’s breakfast, he was met and told by her relations that he could

take the food back--the woman was buried. The man then related to the

missionaries that while he was at the sick house the previous day, an

old woman came in, and addressing the patient, said, “I came to see my

friend, and inquire whether she was ready to be strangled yet; but as

she is strong we will let her he a while.” It would seem, however, that

in the course of an hour or so the woman’s barbarous nurses saw fit to

alter their plans.

This is not the only instance of the kind quoted by travellers familiar

with the manners and customs of the Figians. Take the following:--“Ratu

Varam (a chief) spoke of one among many whom he had caused to be

buried alive. She had been weakly for a long time, and the chief,

thinking she was likely to remain so, had a grave dug. The curiosity

of the poor girl was excited by loud exclamations, as though something

extraordinary had happened, and on stepping out of the house she was

seized and thrown into the grave. In vain she shrieked with horror, and

cried out, ‘Do not bury me! I am quite well now!’ Two men kept her down

by standing on her, while others threw the earth in upon her until she

was heard no more.”

If a Figian ceases to exist, towards the evening a sort of wake is

observed. Parties of young men sit and “watch” the body, at the same

time chaunting the most melancholy dirges. Early the next morning

the preparations for the funeral and the funeral feast commence. Two

go to dig the grave, others paint and dress the body, while others

prepare the oven, and attend to culinary matters. The two grave diggers

seated opposite each other make three feints with their digging

sticks, which are then stuck into the earth, and a grave rarely more

than three feet deep is prepared. Either the grave-diggers or some

one near repeat twice the words “Figi Tonga.” The earth first thrown

up is laid apart from the rest. When the grave is finished mats are

laid at the bottom, and the body or bodies, wrapped in other mats or

native cloths, are placed thereon, the edges of the mats folding over

all; the earth is then thrown in. Many yards of the man’s _masi_

are often left out of the grave and carried in festoons over the

branches of a neighbouring tree. The sextons go away forthwith and

wash themselves, using during their ablution the leaves of certain

shrubs for purification, after which they return and share the food

which has been prepared for them. Mr. Williams further relates that a

respectable burial is invariably provided for the very poorest of the

community, and that he has repeatedly seen poor wretches unable to

procure a decent mat to lie on while alive, provided with five or six

new ones to lie on in the grave. Moreover, the fact of a person dying

far out at sea, or even being killed in battle with a distant tribe,

whose horrid maws have provided him a sepulchre, does not diminish

the responsibility of his relations in the matter of his funeral

obsequies. The _koloku_, as the after-death ceremonies are named,

takes place just as if the man had died at home, and the desire to make

sacrifice is even more imperative. For instance, a bold and handsome

Figian chief, named Ra Nibittu, was drowned at sea. As soon as the

doleful news reached the land, seventeen of his wives were straightway

strangled, and their bodies used as grass in a grave dedicated to the

dead Ra Nibittu. Again, after the news of the massacre of the Namena

people at Vicca in 1839, eighty women were strangled to accompany the

spirits of their murdered husbands.

In Figi, as in England, the popular superstition concerning the

midnight howling of a dog is prevalent, and thought to betoken death.

A cat purring and rubbing against the legs of a Figian is regarded

just as ominously. If, where a woman is buried, the marks of cat

scratchings are found on the soil, it is thought certain evidence that

while in life the woman was unchaste. Should a warrior fail after

repeated efforts to bring his complexion by aid of various pigments to

the orthodox standard of jetty blackness, he regards himself, and is

regarded by others, as a doomed man, and of course the more he frets

and fumes about the matter, the more he perspires, and the less chance

he has of making the paint stick.

A proper winding up of this string of curious horrors connected with

Figian death and burial, will be the Figian doctrine of the universal

spread of death, as furnished to Mr. Williams, from whom it is only

justice once more to remark these particulars are chiefly derived.

“When the first man, the father of the human race was being buried, a

god passed by this first grave and enquired what it meant. On being

informed by those standing by that they had just buried their father,

he said, ‘Do not inter him; dig the body up again.’--‘No,’ was the

reply, ‘we cannot do that; he has been dead four days, and is unfit to

be seen.’--‘Not so,’ said the god, ‘disinter him, and I promise you

he shall live again.’ Heedless, however, of the promise of the god,

these original sextons persisted in leaving their father’s remains in

the earth. Perceiving their perverseness, the god said, ‘By refusing

compliance with my demands, you have sealed your own destinies. Had you

dug up your ancestor, you would have found him alive, and yourselves

also as you passed from this world, should have been buried, as

bananas are, for the space of four days, after which you should have

been dug up, not rotten, but ripe. But now, as a punishment for your

disobedience, you shall die and rot.’--‘Ah!’ say the Figians, after

tearing this legend recounted, ‘Ah! if those children had dug up that

body!’”

On this and many adjacent islands, cutting off a portion of the little

finger as a sacrifice to the gods for the recovery of a superior sick

relation is very commonly done; indeed there is scarcely a person

living at Tonga but who has lost one or both or a considerable portion

of both little fingers. Those who can have but few superior relations,

such as those near akin to Tooitonga, or the king, or Veachi, have some

chance of escaping, if their relations are tolerably healthy. It does

not appear that the operation is painful. Mr. Mariner records that he

has witnessed more than once little children quarrelling for the honour

(or rather out of bravado) of having it done. The finger is laid flat

upon a block of wood, a knife, axe, or sharp stone is placed with the

edge upon the line of the proposed separation, and a powerful blow

given with a mallet or large stone, the operation is finished. From the

nature and violence of the action the wound seldom bleeds much. The

stump is then held in the smoke and steam arising from the combustion

of fresh plucked grass; this stops any flow of blood. The wound is not

washed for two days; afterwards it is kept clean, and heals in about

two or three weeks without any application whatever. One joint is

generally taken off, but some will have a smaller portion, to admit of

the operation being performed several times on the same finger, in case

a man has many superior relations.