THE CAMMA, OR COMMI.
THE FERNAND VAZ, OR REMBO RIVER -- KING QUENGUEZA AND HIS DOMINIONS
-- APPEARANCE OF THE CAMMA -- CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE AS EXEMPLIFIED
BY THEIR KING -- THE “PALAVER” AND ITS DISCIPLINE -- HONESTY OF
THE CAMMA -- THE COURSE OF JUSTICE AND LAW OF REPRISAL -- CODE OF
ETIQUETTE -- CAMMA DIGNITY -- DANCING AMONG THE CAMMA -- THE GORILLA
DANCE -- SUPERSTITION, ITS USE AND ABUSE -- QUENGUEZA’S TEMPLES
-- HIS PERILOUS WALK -- GOOD AND EVIL SPIRITS -- THE OVENGUA, OR
VAMPIRE -- THE TERRORS OF SUPERSTITION -- INITIATION INTO THE SACRED
MYSTERIES -- EXORCISM -- THE SELF-DECEIVER -- THE GODDESS OF THE
SLAVES -- THE ORDEAL OF THE MBOUNDOU -- A TERRIBLE SCENE -- SICKNESS,
DEATH, AND BURIAL -- DISPOSITION OF THE DEAD -- BREAKING UP OF
MOURNING -- THE WATER CUSTOM.
If the reader will look on the west coast of Africa, just below the
Equator, he will see a large and important river called the Fernand
Vaz. This river skirts the coast for some distance, and is very wide,
but, when it turns eastward, it suddenly narrows its channel, and is
known by the name of Rembo. The whole of the district through which the
Rembo flows, as far as long. 10° E., is inhabited by the great Camma or
Commi tribe, which is evidently another band of the same family that
supplies all the tribes along the Rembo.
This tribe is broken up into a vast number of sub-tribes or clans, and
each of these clans is ruled by a chief, who acknowledges himself to be
a vassal of one great chief or king, named Quengueza. This man was fond
of calling himself King of the Rembo, by which we must understand, not
that he was king of all the tribes that inhabit its banks, but that he
had authority over the river, and could prevent or encourage traffic as
he chose. And, as the Rembo is the great highway into Central Africa,
his position was necessarily a very important one.
Still, although he was not absolutely the king of these tribes, several
of them acknowledged his superiority, and respected him, and respect,
as is well said in “Eöthen,” implies the right of the respected person
to take the property of those who respect him. Consequently Quengueza
had a right--and exercised it--to the wife of any Bakalai or Ashira,
and even the chiefs of those tribes thought themselves honored by
placing their wives at the disposal of so eminent a personage. And he
certainly claimed an authority over the river itself and its traffic.
The Bakalai had submitted themselves to him for the sake of alliance
with so powerful a chief, and found that he was by no means disposed
to content himself with the mere name of sovereignty. On one occasion,
when passing along the Rembo, he found that the Bakalai had quarrelled
with a neighboring tribe, and had built a fence across the river,
leaving only a small gap, which could easily be defended. On coming to
this obstacle, Quengueza became very angry, called for axes, and in a
minute or two the fence was demolished, and the passage of the river
freed. The Bakalai stood on the banks in great numbers, and, although
well armed, dared not interfere.
The mode of government which prevails through all these tribes may
be called the patriarchal. Each tribe is divided into a number of
sub-tribes or clans, each of which resides in a separate locality,
that is usually called after the name of the chief or patriarch. This
man is always reverenced, because he is sure to be old and rich, and
age and wealth are greatly venerated in this part of the world. Their
authority, however, is extremely limited, and they are rather the chief
advisers of their clan than autocrats. There is no real monarchy, such
as is found among the Kaffir tribes, although the most important chief
is sometimes greeted with the title of king. The honor, however, is an
empty one, as the other chiefs have no idea of submitting themselves to
one whom they consider to be but _primus inter pares_.
The Camma are a fine race of people, and, like the Ashira, are not
entirely black, but vary much in hue, some having a decided olive
or chocolate tint of skin. Neither are their features those of the
true negro, the face of the king Quengueza resembling that of a
North American Indian rather than that of an African. The character
of the Camma is well typified by that of their chief, Quengueza. He
exhibited a singular mixture of nobility, meanness, kindness, cruelty,
selfishness, and generosity, as is well shown by the visits of M. du
Chaillu and Mr. W. Reade--the former thinking much more highly of him
than the latter.
Like other savage chiefs, Quengueza could not bear his white visitors
to leave him. He openly thwarted Mr. Reade, and it is evident from M.
du Chaillu’s account that, while he was pretending to procure porters
for the journey to the Bakalai, he was in reality throwing every
obstacle in the way. The possession of a white man is far too valuable
to a black chief to be surrendered in a hurry, and Quengueza knew his
own interests too well to allow such profitable visitors to leave his
land as long as he could detain them in it.
Once Mr. Reade had succeeded in slipping off, in spite of the king’s
assertion that he would accompany his “dear friend” and his continual
procrastination. He had paddled to some distance, when “suddenly my men
stopped, and looked at each other with anxious faces. Lazily raising
myself, I looked back, and could see at a great distance a large black
spot, and something rising and falling like a streak of light in the
sunshine. The men put their hands to their ears: I listened, and could
hear now and then a faint note borne toward us on the wind.
“‘What’s that, Mafuk?’
“‘King, sir.’
“‘O, he is coming, is he?’ said I, laughing. ‘Well, he can easily catch
us, now he is so near. _Kabbi!_’ (_i. e._ Paddle!)
“My stewards gave an uneasy smile, and did not answer me.
“The men dipped their paddles into the water, and that was all. Every
man was listening with bent head, as if trying to detect the words, or
the tune. I looked round again. I could see that it was a large canoe,
manned by about twenty men, with a kind of thatched house in its stern.
The song still continued, and could now be heard plainly. My men flung
their paddles down, and began to talk to one another in an excited
manner.
“‘What is the matter?’ said I, pettishly.
“The sweat was running down Mafuk’s forehead. He knew what he had to
fear, if I did not.
“‘_It is the war song!_’
“On came the canoe, low and dark, black with men, the paddles tossing
the white water in the air. On it came, shot swiftly past us, arched
round, and came close alongside. Then arose a storm of angry voices,
Quengueza’s raised above the rest.
“‘What does he say, Mafuk?’
“‘Says we must go back.’”
And go back they were forced to do, for just at that moment another
war-boat came gliding along, and the whole party were taken prisoners,
Quengueza embracing his “dear friend,” and being quite lively and
jocular by reason of his success in recapturing him. Yet this man,
superstitious as he was, and dreading above all things the small-pox,
that scourge of savage nations, took into his own hut a favorite little
slave, who had been seized with small-pox, laid the boy on a mat close
to his own bed, and insisted on nursing him throughout the illness.
Afterward, when the small-pox had swept through the country, and
almost desolated it, the sorrow of Quengueza was great and unfeigned.
Wives, slaves, and relations had all been carried off by the dreaded
plague; the town of Goumbi, where he lived, was deserted; and the
poor old chief was obliged to collect the few survivors of his clan,
and establish a new settlement on the opposite side of the river.
His lamentations had all the sublimity of intense grief, and he sat
chanting his monody over the dead, just as Catlin describes a North
American chief when his tribe had perished by the same fearful disease.
No malady is so terrible to the savage as small-pox. Scarcely
susceptible of bodily pain, enduring the most frightful wounds with
quiet composure, and tenacious of life to an astonishing degree, he
succumbs instantly to sickness; and an ailment which a white man
resists and finally throws off, will in nine cases out of ten be fatal
to the black one. Yet for himself Quengueza had no fears, and his sole
lamentations were for his friends. “The Bakalai,” said he, “are all
gone; the Rembo people are all gone; my beloved Monbou (his head slave)
is gone; I am alone in the world.”
In spite of the many barbarous customs of the Camma tribes, they have
a code of minutely regulated etiquette. If, for example, the king
holds a council, he takes his seat on an elevated throne, and bears in
his hand a wooden staff. When he has had his say, he passes the staff
to the person who is to speak next, and he in turn to his successor.
In such meetings the utmost order is preserved, and no one thinks of
interrupting the speaker so long as he has possession of the staff.
It is not every one who has the right of speech in the council. This
is a privilege extended to a very few men called Councillors, or
Makagas, and only to them does the king hand the staff which gives the
permission to speak. They are exceedingly jealous of this honor, and
yet it has been conferred upon two white men, one being M. du Chaillu,
and the other a Captain Lawlin of New York. The latter individual
caused quite a revolution in his district, abolishing the many
impediments to trade, indicting severe penalties on quarrelsome chiefs
who made warlike aggressions on their neighbors, and establishing a
strict code of criminal laws.
Some such arrangements as the possession of the orator’s staff is
absolutely necessary for the due regulation of the innumerable
“palavers,” or native parliaments, that are continually being held on
all sorts of subjects. If one trader overreaches another, and can be
detected in time, a palaver is held; and a similar ceremony is gone
through if a trader pays for goods in advance and does not receive
them. Runaway wives are the most fertile source of palavers, and, if
the accused be proved guilty, the penalty is very severe. Generally the
offending wife has her nose and ears cut off, and a similar punishment
is inflicted on the man with whom she is found; but the latter has the
privilege of commuting this sentence for a fine--generally a slave.
Murder is a frequent cause of palavers, and it is a rather remarkable
fact that the natives draw no distinction between accidental homicide
and wilful murder. Death is not necessarily the punishment of homicide,
but, as a rule, a heavy fine is substituted for the capital penalty.
If the culprit cannot be captured, the injured husband has a singular
mode of procuring a palaver. He goes out and kills the first man he
meets, proclaiming that he has done so because some one has run away
with his wife. The course of justice then passes out of his hands. The
relatives of the murdered man are now bound to take up the quarrel,
which they do by killing, not the murderer, but some one of another
village. His friends retaliate upon a third village, and so the feud
passes from one village to another until the whole district is in arms.
The gates are barricaded, no one dares to go out alone, or unarmed, and
at last one unfortunate clan has a man murdered and can find no chance
of retaliation. The chief of the clan then holds a palaver, and puts
forward his claim against the man who ran away with the wife. The chief
of the delinquent’s clan then pays a fine, the affair is settled, and
peace is restored.
Too often, however, when a wife is, or appears to be, unfaithful, her
husband is in collusion with her, for the purpose of extorting money
out of some imprudent young man. She gets up a flirtation with the
susceptible victim, and appoints a meeting at a spot where the husband
has placed himself in concealment. As soon as the couple reach the
appointed place, out comes the husband, and threatens a palaver if a
fine be not paid at once. The young man knows well enough what the
result of the palaver will be to him, and accordingly makes the best
of the business and pays his fine. So completely established is this
system, that even the most powerful chiefs have been known to purchase
pretty wives for the express purpose of using them as traps wherewith
to ensnare the young men.
As time is not of the least consequence to the Camma, and they
are rather pleased than otherwise when they can find some sort of
amusement, a palaver will sometimes expend a week upon a trivial cause.
All these palavers are held in the simple buildings erected for the
purpose. These edifices are little more than sheds, composed of a roof
supported on poles, and open on all sides. The king sits in the middle
on an elevated throne made of grass, and covered with leopard skins as
emblems of his rank, while all the others are obliged either to stand
or to sit on the ground.
When palavers are of no avail, and nothing but war can be the result of
the quarrel, both parties try to frighten the enemy by the hideousness
of their appearance. They are perfectly aware that they could not
withstand a charge, and, knowing that the enemy is not more gifted
with courage than themselves, try to inspire terror by their menacing
aspect. They paint their faces white, this being the war color, and
sometimes add bars and stripes of red paint. The white paint, or chalk,
is prepared in their greegree or idol houses, and is thought to be a
very powerful charm. They also hang fetishes of various kinds upon
their bodies, and then set off in their canoes, yelling, shouting,
flourishing their weapons, and trying to intimidate their adversaries,
but taking very good care not to come within two hundred yards of the
enemy’s boats.
The Camma seem to be a better principled people than the Ashira. When
Du Chaillu was troubled with the strikes among his Ashira porters, his
Camma men stood by him, and would not consent to his plan of sending
them forward with part of the goods. They feared lest he should be
poisoned among the Ashira, and insisted on leaving some of their party
with their chief.
[Illustration: (1.) CAMMA DANCE. (See page 509.)]
[Illustration: (2.) QUENGUEZA’S WALK. (See page 511.)]
The reader may remember that the old chief Olenda was held in great
respect by his people. Among the tribes of Equatorial Africa much
reverence is paid to age, an old person being looked upon as nearly
akin to the spirits into whose land he is soon to enter. Contrary to
the usual custom of the South, the young never enter the presence of an
old man or woman without bending low, and making a genuine school-girl
courtesy. When they seat themselves, it is always at a respectful
distance; and if they are asked for a pipe, or for water, they present
it on one knee, addressing a man as “Father” and a woman as “Mother.”
It is, moreover, contrary to etiquette for a young man to tell bad news
to an old one. Even the dead bodies of the old are honored, and the
bones and skulls are laid up in little temples made expressly for them.
They are usually laid in chalk, which is therefore thought to possess
sundry virtues, and with that chalk the relations of the dead man
mark their bodies whenever they are about to engage in any important
undertaking. The skull is also put to practical uses. If a trader comes
to make purchases, the vender always entertains him hospitably, but
has a definite purpose in so doing. Before he prepares the banquet, he
goes to the fetish house, and scrapes a little powder from the skull.
This he mixes with the food, and thus administers it to his guest. The
spirit of the dead man is then supposed to enter into the body of the
person who has eaten a portion of his skull, and to impress him to make
good bargains with his host--in other words, to be cheated.
When a stranger first enters a Camma village, he is rather surprised at
the number of boxes which he sees. The fact is, that among the Camma
boxes are conventionally held to represent property, the neighbors
giving them the credit of being filled with valuables. Consequently it
is the ambition of every Camma man to collect as many chests as he can,
leaving the chance of filling them to a future opportunity. When his
white visitors gave Quengueza their presents, the old chief was quite
as much struck with the number of boxes as with their contents, and
expressed his gratitude accordingly.
The dances of the Camma have much in common with those of other
tribes, but they have one or two peculiarities of their own. A fat old
head-chief, or king, as their rulers are generally called--though, by
the way, the term “patriarch” would be much more appropriate--gave a
grand dinner in honor of his white visitor. Noise is one of the chief
elements in a negro’s enjoyment, as it is in the case of a child. The
negro, in fact, is the veriest child in many things, and always remains
a child. On this occasion the “band” distinguished themselves by making
a noise disproportionately loud for their numbers.
There was a row of drummers, each beating his noisy instrument
with such energy that a constant succession of drummers took the
instruments, the stoutest and strongest being worn out in less than an
hour. There were also a number of boys beating with sticks upon hollow
pieces of wood, and, as if the drummers and log-beaters did not make
sufficient noise, the musicians had hung a row of brass kettles on
poles, and were banging them with sticks as if they had been drums.
Add to this the shouts and screams of the excited dancers, and the
noise may be tolerably well appreciated. The artist has sketched this
singular dance on the previous page.
Great quantities of palm wine were drunk, and the consequence was, that
before very long the whole of the dancers and musicians, including the
king himself, were in various stages of intoxication. As to the king,
being rather more inebriated than his subjects, he must needs show
his own skill in the dance, and therefore jumped and leaped about the
ground with great agility for so heavy a man, while his wives bowed
down to his feet as he danced, clapped their hands in time to the
music, and treated him with the deepest veneration.
As to the dance itself, the less said about it the better. It is as
immodest as the unrestrained savage temperament can make it, inflamed
by strong drink and by the sound of the drum, which seems to excite the
people almost to madness. The songs with which they accompany the dance
are of a similar nature, and are worse than the worst specimens of
heathen vice as narrated by the classic satirists.
There is, however, one dance in which the immodest element does not
exist. It is called the Gorilla Dance, and is performed as a means of
propitiating the deities before starting on a gorilla hunt: for this
is part of the great gorilla country, in which alone is found that
huge and powerful ape which has lately attracted so much attention. An
account of a gorilla hunt will be given when we come to the Fan tribe,
but at present we will content ourselves with the gorilla dance, as
seen by Mr. W. Reade. He had made several unavailing attempts to kill a
gorilla, and had begun to despair of success, although the place was a
well-known haunt of these animals.
“One morning Etia, the chief hunter of the village, came and told me
that he had heard the cry of a njina (_i. e._ gorilla) close to one of
the neighboring plantations. He said that we should certainly be able
to kill him next day, and that during the night he and his friends
would celebrate the gorilla dance.
“This Etia was a Mchaga slave. His skin, to use Oshupia’s comparison,
was like that of an old alligator--all horny and wrinkled; his left
hand had been crippled by the teeth of a gorilla; his face was absurdly
hideous, and yet reminded me of something which I had seen before.
After puzzling myself for a long time, I at last remembered that it
was the mask which Mr. Ryder wore in the character of Caliban at the
Princess’ which Etia resembled so closely. That night I could have
imagined him less man than monster.
“In the house allotted to the slaves three old men, their faces
grotesquely chalked, played the drums, the sounding log, and the
one-stringed harp. To them danced Etia, imitating the uncouth movements
of the gorilla. Then the iron bell was rung, and Ombuiri, the evil
spirit, was summoned to attend, and a hoarse rattle mingled with the
other sounds. The dancers rushed yelling into the midst, and sprang
into the air. Then would be a pause, broken only by the faint slow
tinkling of the harp, then the drum would be beaten, and the sticks
thundered on the log.
“In another dance Caliban assumed the various attitudes peculiar to
the ape. Now he would be _seated_ on the ground, his legs apart, his
elbows resting on his knees, his head drooping, and in his face the
vacant expression of the brute; sometimes he folded his hands on his
forehead. Suddenly he would raise his head with prone ears and flaming
eyes, while a loud shout of applause would prove how natural it was. In
the chorus all the dancers assumed such postures as these, while Etia,
climbing ape-like up the pole which supported the roof, towered above
them all.
“In the third dance he imitated the gorilla attacked and being
killed. The man, who played the hunter inimitably, acted terror and
irresolution before he pulled the trigger of his imaginary gun.
Caliban, as gorilla, charged _upon all fours_, and fell dead at the
man’s feet, in the act of attempting to seize him with one hand.
“You may be sure that nothing short of seeing a gorilla in its wild
state could have afforded me so much interest or given me so good a
clue to the animal’s real habits. For here could be no imposture. It
was not an entertainment arranged for my benefit, but a religious
festival held on the eve of an enterprise.”
This dance brings us to the religion, or rather the superstition, of
the Camma people. Superstition has its estimable, its grotesque, and
its dark side, and there is scarcely any people among whom these three
phases are more strongly marked.
The estimable side is, of course, the value of superstition as a
substitute for true religion--a feeling of which the savage never
has the least idea, and which it is almost impossible to make him
comprehend. He often takes very kindly to his teacher, picks up with
wonderful readiness the phrases which he hears, regulates his external
life in accordance with the admonitions he has received; but it is
very, very seldom indeed that any real conviction has touched his
heart; and, as soon as the direct influence of his teacher is removed,
he reverts to his old mode of life. Mr. Reade relates a rather striking
example of this tendency. He met a negress on her way to church,
accompanied by a beautiful little girl.
Addressing the child, he asked whether she was the woman’s daughter.
The mother answered in the affirmative; and, in the same breath,
offered to sell her. This was the original negro nature. Just then the
bell stopped, and her education made itself apparent. “Hei-gh!” she
cried, “you no hear bell stop? Me go now. _After church_ we palaver,
give me plenty dash (_i. e._ presents), den we drink rum, den you take
him (_i. e._ the girl); palaver said.”
Superstition, therefore, takes the place of personal religion, and,
in spite of the dread excesses into which it leads the savages, it
does at all events keep before them the idea of a spiritual world, and
impresses upon them the fact that there exist beings higher and greater
than themselves. That their superstitions, debased and gross as they
are, have yet the power of impressing the native mind with a feeling
of veneration, is evident by the extreme unwillingness of these people
to utter the name by which they designate the Great Spirit. Of course
their idea of a God is very imperfect, but still it is sufficient
to impress them with such awe that they can scarcely be induced to
pronounce the sacred name. Only twice did Mr. Reade hear it. Once,
when they were in a dangerous storm, the men threw up their arms, and
ejaculated the holy name as if it were some great charm; and on another
occasion, when a man was asked suddenly what was the native name for
God, he pointed upward, and in a low voice uttered the word “Njambi.”
The ceremonies observed at the time of full moon have been several
times mentioned in the course of the present work. Du Chaillu gives an
account of one of these ceremonies as performed by the Camma, which is
useful in showing the precise object of the ceremony.
One day Quengueza sent word that he was ill, and that the people must
consult Ilogo, the spirit of the moon, and ask him whether he was
bewitched, and how he was to be cured. Accordingly, just before the
full moon, a crowd of women assembled in front of Quengueza’s house,
accompanied by the drums and the usual noisy appurtenances of a negro
festival. They formed themselves into a hollow circle, and sang songs
in honor of Ilogo, clapping their hands in unison with the beating of
the drums.
In the midst of the circle sat a woman steadfastly gazing at the moon,
and waiting for inspiration. Two women tried this post unsuccessfully,
but the third soon began to tremble, her limbs to work convulsively,
then to stiffen, and at last she fell insensible to the ground. Then
arose the chant to Ilogo with redoubled energy, the singers repeating
the same words over and over again for about half an hour, until
the prostrate form of the woman began to show signs of returning
sensibility. On being questioned, she said that she had seen Ilogo, and
that he had told her that the king was not bewitched, but that he could
be healed by a remedy prepared from a certain plant. She looked utterly
prostrated by the inspiration, and not only her hearers, but also
herself, thoroughly believed in the truth of her strange statement.
It will be seen that Quengueza was nearly as superstitious as his
subjects. He never stirred without his favorite fetish, which was
an ugly little wooden image, embellished with a row of four sacred
cowries stuck on its abdomen. These cowries are not indigenous to
Western Africa, and seem to have been brought from the eastern coast
of the continent. Whenever he ate or drank, the fetish always bore him
company, and before eating he saluted it by passing the four sacred
cowries over his lips. Before drinking he always poured a few drops
over the feet of the image by way of a libation.
When travelling, he liked to have with him one of his medicine men,
who could charm away rain by blowing with his magic horn. So sure was
the doctor of his powers, that on one occasion he would not allow the
party to repair a dilapidated hut in which they passed the night. As
it happened, a violent shower of rain fell in the middle of the night,
and drenched the whole party. The doctor, however, was not at all
disconcerted, but said that if he had not blown the horn the rain would
have been much heavier. Still his natural strength of mind sometimes
asserted itself, and on one remarkable occasion, when the small-pox
had destroyed so many people, and the survivors were crying out for
vengeance against the sorcerers who had brought the disease upon them,
Quengueza forbade any more slaughter. The small-pox, he said, was a
wind sent from Njambi (pronounced N’yamyé), who had killed enough
people already.
Like most native chiefs, Quengueza had a pet superstition of his own.
At his own town of Goumbi (or Ngumbi, as it is sometimes spelt),
there was a very convenient and dry path leading from the houses to
the river. Quengueza, however, never would use this path, but always
embarked or landed at an abominable mud bank, over which it was
necessary to run as fast as possible, in order to avoid sinking in the
river. The reason was, that when he came to the throne he had been
told that an enemy had placed an evil spirit in the path, and that
he would die if he went along it. So powerful was this spirit, that
several unavailing attempts had been made to drive it away, and at
last Quengueza was obliged to send for a renowned Bakalai wizard named
Aquilai. This was the same man who was mentioned in page 502 as the
father of the boy who was tried by the ordeal of the hot ring.
“The people gathered in great numbers under the immense _hangar_ or
covered space in which I had been received, and there lit fires, round
which they sat.... About ten o’clock, when it was pitch dark, the
doctor commenced operations by singing some boasting songs recounting
his power over witches. This was the signal for all the people to
gather into their houses, and about their fires under the hangar. Next,
all the fires were carefully extinguished, all the lights put out, and
in about an hour more not a light of any kind was in the whole town
except mine. I gave notice that white men were exempted from the rule
made in such cases, and this was allowed. The most pitchy darkness and
the most complete silence reigned everywhere. No voice could be heard,
even in a whisper, among the several thousand people gathered in the
gloom.
“At last the curious silence was broken by the doctor; who, standing
in the centre of the town, began some loud babbling of which I could
not make out the meaning. From time to time the people answered him in
chorus. This went on for an hour; and was really one of the strangest
scenes I ever took part in.... The hollow voice of the witch-doctor
resounded curiously through the silence, and when the answer of many
mingled voices came through the darkness, it really assumed the air of
a serious, old-fashioned incantation scene.
“At last, just at midnight, I heard the doctor approach. He had bells
girded about him, which he jingled as he walked. He went separately
to every family in the town, and asked if the witch which obstructed
the king’s highway belonged to them. Of course all answered ‘No.’ Then
he began to run up and down the bewitched street, calling out loudly
for the witch to go off. Presently he came back, and announced that
he could no longer see the _aniemba_, and that doubtless she had gone
never to come back. At this all the people rushed out and shouted, ‘Go
away! go away! and never come back to hurt our king.’ Then fires were
lit, and we all sat down to eat. This done, all the fires were again
extinguished, and all the people sang wild songs until four o’clock.
Then the fires were again lit. At sunrise the whole population gathered
to accompany their king down the dreaded street to the water.
“Quengueza, I knew, was brave as a hunter and as a warrior. He was
also intelligent in many things where his people were very stupid. But
the poor old king was now horribly afraid. He was assured that the
witch was gone, but he evidently thought himself walking to almost
certain death. He would have refused to go if it had been possible. He
hesitated, but at last determined to face his fate, and walked manfully
down to the river and back amid the plaudits of his loyal subjects.”
The artist has represented this victory over superstitious fear, on the
508th page.
Throughout the whole of this land are many of these prohibitory
superstitions. When, for example, a woman is about to become a mother,
both she and her husband are prohibited from seeing a gorilla, as all
the natives firmly believe that, in such a case, the expected child
would be a gorilla cub, and not a human baby. Drinking the water of the
Rembo is also prohibited, because the bodies of those who are executed
for witchcraft are chopped up and flung into it, and the natives
imagine that, if they were to drink of the water, they would become
sorcerers against their will. Yet, as if to show the inconsistency of
superstition, there is a rite, which will be presently mentioned, in
which tasting the water is the principal ceremony.
There is a certain island in the Rembo of which the natives have the
greatest dread. It is thickly covered with trees, and the people fully
believe that in the midst of this island there lives a huge crocodile
covered with brass scales. This crocodile is an enchanter, and by his
incantations every one who lands on the island either dies suddenly,
or goes mad and wanders about until he dies. Du Chaillu of course did
land, and traversed the island in different directions. The people were
stupefied with astonishment; but even the fact of his safe return made
no difference in their belief, because he was white, and the great
enchanter had no power over white men.
As to the fetishes, they are innumerable. Weather fetishes are
specially plentiful, but, unlike the charms of Southern Africa, they
are used to keep off the rain, not to produce it. One fetish gave our
traveller a vast amount of trouble. He had purchased, from a petty
chief named Rabolo, a small deserted village, and had built a new
house. The edifice was completed all but the veranda, when the builders
refused to work any longer, as they had come upon a great health fetish
that Rabolo had placed there when the village was first built. They
flatly refused to touch it until Rabolo came, and, even after his
permission had been gained, they were very nervous about the seeming
desecration.
The fetish was a good example of such articles. Buried in the sands
were two skulls, one of a man and another of a chimpanzee, this
combination having a high reputation among the Camma. These were
buried at the foot of the two posts that constituted the entrance to
the village. Then came a quantity of crockery and broken glass, and
then some more chimpanzee skulls, while a couple of wooden idols kept
company with the component parts of the charm. A sacred creeper was
also planted by the posts, which it had covered with its branches,
and the natives believe that as long as the creeper survives, so long
does the fetish retain its power. Rabolo was very proud of his health
fetish, as no one had died in the village since it had been set up.
But, as there had never been more than fifteen inhabitants, the low
death-rate is easily accounted for.
From their own accounts, the Camma must have a very unpleasant country.
It is overrun with spirits, but the evil far outnumber the good, and,
according to the usual custom of ignorant nations, the Camma pay their
chief reverence to the former, because they can do the most harm.
As specimens of these spirits, three will be mentioned. The first is a
good spirit called Mbuiri, who traverses the country, and occasionally
pays a visit to the villages. He has taken under his protection the
town of Aniambia, which also has the privilege of being guarded by an
evil spirit of equal power, so that the inhabitants enjoy a peace of
mind not often to be found in the Camma country. There is only one
drawback to the repose of the place, and that is the spirit of an
insane woman, who made her habitation outside the village when she
was alive, and continues to cultivate her plantation, though she is a
spirit. She retains her dislike to human beings, and, if she can catch
a man alone, she seizes him, and beats him to death.
The evil spirit which protects Aniambia is a very wicked and
mischievous being named Abambou, who lives chiefly in burial-places,
and makes his bed of skeletons. In order to propitiate Abambou,
offerings are made to him daily, consisting entirely of food. Sometimes
the Camma cook the food, and lay it in lonely places in the wood, where
Abambou would be sure to find it; and sometimes they propitiate him by
offerings of plantains, sugar-cane, and nuts. A prayer accompanies the
offering, and is generally couched in the universal form of asking the
protecting spirit to help the Camma and destroy inimical tribes. It is
rather curious that, when a free man makes an offering to Abambou, he
wraps it in leaves; but the slaves are obliged to lay it on the bare
ground.
Fetish houses are appropriated to Mbuiri and Abambou, and are placed
close to each other. They are little huts, about six feet high and six
wide. No image is placed in the huts, but only a fire, which is always
kept burning, and a chest, on the top of which are laid some sacred
chalk and red parrot’s feathers.
A bed is usually prepared in Abambou’s house, on which he may repose
when he is tired of walking up and down the country; and, as the
medicine-man takes care that no one but himself shall open the door
of the hut, the villagers pass by in awe-struck silence, none knowing
whether at that moment the dreadful Abambou may not be sleeping
within. Now and then he is addressed publicly, the gist of the speeches
being that everybody is quite well and perfectly happy, and hopes that
he will not hurt them.
The evil spirit, however, who is most feared by this tribe is the
Ovengua or Vampire. It is most surprising to find the Hungarian and
Servian superstition about the vampire existing among the savages of
Western Africa, and yet it flourishes in all its details along the
banks of the Rembo.
No worship is paid to the Ovengua, who is not thought to have any power
over diseases, nor to exercise any influence upon the tenor of a man’s
life. He is simply a destructive demon, capricious and cruel, murdering
without reason, and wandering ceaselessly through the forests in search
of victims. By day he hides in dark caverns, so that travellers need
not fear him, but at night he comes out, takes a human form, and beats
to death all whom he meets. Sometimes when an Ovengua comes across a
body of armed men, they resist him, and kill the body in which he has
taken up his residence.
When an Ovengua has been thus killed, the conquerors make a fire and
burn the body, taking particular care that not a bone shall be left, as
from the bones new Ovenguas are made. The natives have a curious idea
that, if a person dies from witchcraft, the body decays until the bones
are free from flesh. As soon as this is the case, they leave the grave
one by one, form themselves end to end into a single line, and then
gradually resolve themselves into a new Ovengua. Several places are
especially dreaded as being favorite resorts of this horrible demon,
and neither bribes, threats, nor persuasions, can induce a Camma to
venture near them after nightfall. It is very probable that cunning and
revengeful men may take advantage of the belief in the vampire, and,
when they have conceived an antipathy against any one, may waylay and
murder him treacherously, and then contrive to throw the blame on the
Ovengua.
The prevalence of this superstition may perhaps account for much of
the cruelty exercised upon those who are suspected of witchcraft, the
fear of sorcery being so overwhelming as to overcome all feelings of
humanity, and even to harden the heart of the parent against the child.
The slightest appearance of disbelief in such an accusation would at
once induce the terrified multitude to include both parties in the
accusation, and the consequence is that, when any one is suspected of
witchcraft, none are so loud and virulent in their execrations as those
who ought to be the natural protectors of the accused.
Mr. C. Reade, in his “Savage Africa,” gives an example of the cruelty
which is inspired by terror.
A petty chief had been ill for some time, and a woman had been
convicted, by her own confession, of having bewitched him. It is true
that the confession had been extorted by flogging, but this fact
made no difference in the minds of the natives, who had also forced
her to accuse her son, a boy only seven years old, of having been
an accomplice in the crime. This was done lest he should grow up to
manhood, and then avenge his mother’s death upon her murderers.
“On the ground in their midst crouched the child, the mark of a severe
wound visible on his arm, and his wrists bound together by a piece of
withy. I shall never forget that child’s face. It wore that expression
of dogged endurance which is one of the traditional characteristics of
the savage. While I was there, one of the men held an axe before his
eyes--it was the brute’s idea of humor. The child looked at it without
showing a spark of emotion. Some, equally fearless of death, would have
displayed contempt, anger, or acted curiosity; but he was the perfect
stoic. His eye flashed for a moment when his name was first mentioned,
but only for a moment. He showed the same indifference when he heard
his life being pleaded for, as when, a little while before, he had been
taunted with his death.”
Both were killed. The mother was sent to sea in a canoe, killed with an
axe, and then thrown overboard. The unfortunate boy was burnt alive,
and bags of gunpowder were tied to his legs, which, according to the
account of a spectator, “made him jump like a dog.” On being asked why
so cruel a death had been inflicted on the poor boy, while the mother
was subjected to the comparatively painless death by the axe, the man
was quite astounded that any one should draw so subtle a distinction.
Death was death in his opinion, however inflicted, and, as the writhing
of the tortured child amused the spectators, he could not see why they
should deprive themselves of the gratification.
“This explains well enough the cruelty of the negro: it is the cruelty
of the boy who spins a cockchafer on a pin; it is the cruelty of
ignorance. A twirling cockchafer and a boy who jumps like a dog are
ludicrous sights to those who do not possess the sense of sympathy. How
useless is it to address such people as these with the logic of reason,
religion, and humanity! Such superstitions can only be quelled by laws
as ruthless as themselves.”
Another curious example of this lack of feeling is given by the same
author. Sometimes a son, who really loves his mother after his own
fashion, thinks that she is getting very old, and becoming more infirm
and unable to help him. So he kills her, under the idea that she will
be more useful to him as a spirit than in bodily form, and, before
dismissing her into the next world, charges her with messages to his
friends and relatives who have died. The Camma do not think that when
they die they are cut off, even from tangible communication with their
friends. “The people who are dead,” said one of the men, “when they are
tired of staying in the bush (_i. e._ the burying-ground), then they
come for one of their people whom they like. And one ghost will say, ‘I
am tired of staying in the bush; please to build a little house for me
in the town close to your house.’ He tells the man to dance and sing
too; so the men call plenty of women by night to dance and sing.”
In accordance with his request, the people build a miniature hut for
the unquiet spirit, then go to the grave and make an idol. They then
take the bamboo frame on which the body was carried into the bush, and
which is always left on the spot, place on it some dust from the grave,
and carry it into the hut, the door of which is closed by a white cloth.
Among the Camma, as with many savage tribes, there is a ceremony of
initiation into certain mysteries, through which all have to pass
before they can be acknowledged as men and women. These ceremonies are
kept profoundly secret from the uninitiated, but Mr. Reade contrived to
gain from one of his men some information on the subject.
On the introduction of a novice, he is taken in a fetish house,
stripped, severely flogged, and then plastered with goat’s dung, the
ceremony being accompanied by music. Then he is taken to a screen,
from behind which issues a strange and uncouth sound, supposed to be
produced by a spirit named Ukuk. There seems, however, to be a tacit
understanding that the spirit is only supposed to be present in a
vicarious sense, as the black informant not only said that the noise
was made by the fetish man, but showed the instrument with which he
produced it. It was a kind of whistle, made of hollowed mangrove wood,
and closed at one end by a piece of bat’s wing.
During five days after initiation an apron is worn, made of dry palm
leaves. These ceremonies are not restricted to certain times of the
year, but seem to be held whenever a few candidates are ready for
initiation. Mr. Reade had several times seen lads wearing the mystic
apron, but had not known its signification until Mongilomba betrayed
the secrets of the lodge. The same man also gave some information
regarding the initiation of the females. He was, however, very reticent
on the subject, partly, perhaps, because the women kept their secret
close, and partly because he was afraid lest they might hear that he
had acted the spy upon them, and avenge their insulted rites by mobbing
and beating him.
Some of the ceremonies are not concealed very carefully, being
performed in the open air. The music is taken in hand by elderly women,
called Ngembi, who commence operations by going into the forest and
clearing a space. They then return to the village, and build a sacred
hut, into which no male is allowed to enter. The novice, or Igonji, is
now led to the cleared space--which, by the way, must be a spot which
she has never before visited--and there takes her place by a fire which
is carefully watched by the presiding Ngembi, and never suffered to go
out. For two days and nights a Ngembi sits beside the fire, feeding it
with sticks, and continually chanting, “The fire will never die out.”
On the third day the novice is rubbed with black, white, and red chalk,
and is taken into the sacred hut, where certain unknown ceremonies are
performed, the men surrounding it and beating drums, while the novice
within continually responds to them by the cry, “Okanda! yo! yo! yo!”
which, as Mr. Reade observes, reminds one of the “Evoe!” of the ancient
Bacchantes.
The spirit Ukuk only comes to light on such occasions. At other times
he lives deep below the surface of the earth in his dark cavern, which
is imitated as well as may be by the sacred hut, that is thickly
covered with leaves, so that not a ray of light may enter. When he
enters the hut, he blows the magic whistle, and on hearing the sound
all the initiated repair to the house. As these spirits are so much
feared, it is natural that the natives should try to drive them out of
every place where they have taken up an unwelcome residence.
With some spirits the favorite spot is the body of a man, who is
thereby made ill, and who will die if the spirit be not driven out
of him. Now the Camma believe that evil spirits cannot bear noise,
especially the beating of drums, and so, at the call of the fetish
man, they assemble round the sick man, beat drums and kettles close
to his head, sing, dance, and shout with all their might. This hubbub
goes on until either the patient dies, as might naturally be expected,
or manages to recover in spite of the noise. The people who assist
in the operation do so with the greatest vigor, for, by some strange
coincidence, it happens that the very things which disgust an evil
spirit, such as dancing, singing, drum-beating, and noise-making in
general, are just the things which please them best, and so their
duties and inclinations are happily found to coincide.
Sometimes the demon takes up his residence in a village, and then there
is a vast to-do before he can be induced to go out. A fetish man is
brought from a distance--the farther the better--and immediately set to
work. His first business is to paint and adorn himself, which he does
in such a manner as to look as demoniacal as possible. One of these
men, named Damagondai, seen by Du Chaillu, had made himself a horrible
object. The artist has pictured the weird-looking creature on the 517th
page. His face was whitened with chalk, a red circle was drawn on each
side of his mouth, a band of the same color surrounded each eye, and
another ran from the forehead to the tip of the nose. A white band was
drawn from the shoulders to the wrists, and one hand was completely
whitened. On his head was a tall plume of black feathers; strips of
leopard skin and a variety of charms were hung upon his body; and to
his neck was suspended a little box, in which he kept a number of
familiar spirits. A string of little bells encircled his waist.
This ghastly figure had seated himself on a stool before another box
full of charms, and on the box stood a magic mirror. Had the magician
been brought from the inland parts of the country, and away from the
river along which all traffic runs, he could not have possessed such an
article as a mirror, and would have used instead a bowl of water. By
the mirror lay the sacred horn full of the fetish powder, accompanied
by a rattle containing snake bones. His assistant stood near him,
belaboring a board with two sticks.
After the incantations had been continued for some time, the wizard
ordered that the names of all the inhabitants of the village should
be called out, and as each name was shouted he looked in the mirror.
However, he decided at last that the evil spirit did not live in any of
the inhabitants, but had taken up his residence in the village, which
he wanted for himself, and that he would be very angry if any one tried
to share it with him.
Du Chaillu saw that this was a sly attack on him, as he had just built
some comfortable houses in the village. Next morning the people began
to evacuate the place. They carried off their property, and tore
down the houses, and by nightfall not an inhabitant was left in the
village except the white man and two of his attendants, both of whom
were in great terror, and wanted to follow the others. Even the chief
was obliged to go, and, with many apologies to his guest, built a new
house outside the deserted village. Not wishing to give up the houses
that had cost so much time and trouble, Du Chaillu tried to induce the
natives to rebuild the huts; but not even tobacco could overcome their
fear of the evil spirit. However, at last some of the bolder men tried
the experiment, and by degrees a new village arose in the place of that
which had been destroyed.
The same magician who conducted the above-mentioned ceremony was an
unmitigated cheat, and seems to have succeeded in cheating himself
as well as his countrymen. He was absurdly afraid of darkness, and
as nightfall came on he always began to be frightened, wailing and
execrating all sorcerers, witches, and evil spirits, lamenting because
he knew that some one was trying to bewitch him, and at last working
himself up to such a pitch of excitement that the inhabitants of the
village had to turn out of their huts, and begin dancing and singing.
Perhaps this self-deception was involuntary, but Damagondai wilfully
cheated the people for his own purposes. In his double capacity as
chief and fetish man he had the charge of the village idols. He had
a very potent idol of his own, with copper eyes and a sword-shaped
protruding tongue. With the eyes she saw coming events, and with
the tongue she foretold the future and cut to pieces the enemies of
Damagondai’s people. M. du Chaillu wanted to purchase this idol, but
her owner refused to sell her. He hinted, however, that for a good
price the goddess of the slaves might be bought. Accordingly, a bargain
was struck, the idol in question was removed from the hut, packed up,
and carried away by the purchaser, while the slaves were away at their
work. Damagondai was rather perplexed as to the answer which he would
have to give the slaves when they came home and found their idol house
empty, but at last he decided to tell them that he had seen the goddess
leave her house, and walk away into the woods. The idol in question was
an absurd-looking object, something like a compromise between one of
the figures out of a “Noah’s Ark” and a Dutch wooden doll.
Various as are all these superstitions, there is one point at which
they all converge, namely, the dread Mboundou ordeal, by which all who
are accused of witchcraft are tested. The mboundou is a tree belonging
to the same group as that from which strychnine is made, and is allied
to the scarcely less celebrated “vine” from which the Macoushie Indians
prepare the wourali poison. From the root of the mboundou a drink is
prepared, which has an intoxicating as well as a poisonous quality, and
which is used for two purposes, the one being as an ordeal, and the
other as a means of divination.
The medicine men derive most of their importance from their capability
of drinking the mboundou without injury to their health; and while in
the intoxicated state they utter sentences more or less incoherent,
which are taken as revelations from the particular spirit who is
consulted. The mode of preparing the poisoned draught is as follows:--A
given quantity of the root is scraped and put into a bowl, together
with a pint of water. In a minute or so a slight fermentation takes
place, and the water is filled with little bubbles, like those of
champagne or other sparkling wines. When this has subsided, the water
becomes of a pale reddish tint, and the preparation is complete. Its
taste is very bitter.
The effects of the mboundou vary greatly in different individuals.
There was a hardened old sorcerer, named Olanga, who was greatly
respected among his people for his capability of drinking mboundou
in large quantities, and without any permanent effect. It is very
probable that he may have had some antidote, and prepared himself
beforehand, or that his constitution was exceptionally strong, and
that he could take with impunity a dose which would kill a weaker man.
Olanga was constantly drinking mboundou, using it chiefly as a means
of divination. If, for example, a man fell ill, his friends went off
to Olanga, and asked him to drink mboundou and find out whether the
man had been bewitched. The illustration No. 2, on the next page,
represents such a scene. As soon as he had drunk the poison, the men
sat round him, beating the ground with their sticks, and crying out the
formula--
“If he is a witch, let the mboundou kill him.
“If he is not, let the mboundou go out.”
In about five minutes symptoms of intoxication showed themselves.
The old man began to stagger, his speech grew thick, his eyes became
bloodshot, his limbs shook convulsively, and he began to talk
incoherently. Now was the time to ask him questions, and accordingly
several queries were propounded, some of which he answered: but he soon
became too much intoxicated to understand, much less to answer, the
questions that were put to him. Sleep then came on, and in less than
half an hour Olanga began to recover.
With most persons, however, it has a different and a deadly effect, and
M. du Chaillu mentions that he has seen persons fall dead within five
minutes of drinking the mboundou, the blood gushing from the mouth,
eyes, and nose.
It is very seldom that any one but a professional medicine man escapes
with life after drinking mboundou. Mostly there is an absence of the
peculiar symptoms which show that the poison is working itself out
of the system, and in such a case the spectators hasten the work of
death by their knives. Sometimes the drinkers rally from the effects
of the poison, but with constitutions permanently injured; and in a
few cases they escape altogether. Du Chaillu was a witness to such an
event. Three young men, who were accused of witchcraft, were adjudged,
as usual, to drink the mboundou. They drank it, and boldly stood their
ground, surrounded by a yelling multitude, armed with axes, spears,
and knives, ready to fall upon the unfortunate victims if they showed
symptoms that the draught would be fatal. However, they succeeded in
keeping their feet until the effects of the poison had passed off,
and were accordingly pronounced innocent. According to custom, the
medicine man who prepared the draught finished the ceremony by taking a
bowl himself, and while in the stage of intoxication he gladdened the
hearts of the people by saying that the wizards did not belong to their
village, but came from a distance.
It is evident that those who prepare the mboundou can make the draught
stronger or weaker, according to their own caprice, and indeed it is
said that, when any one who is personally disliked has to drink the
poison, it always proves fatal. The accused persons are not allowed
to see that it is prepared fairly, but they are permitted to send two
friends for that purpose.
A most terrible scene was once witnessed by Du Chaillu. A chief named
Mpomo had died, and the people were in a state of frenzy about it. They
could not believe that a young and strong man could be seized with
illness and die unless he were bewitched, and accordingly a powerful
doctor was brought from a distance, and set to work. For two days the
doctor went through a number of ceremonies, like those which have been
described at page 515, for the purpose of driving out the evil spirits,
and at last he announced that he was about to name the wizards. The
rest must be told in the narrator’s own words:--
“At last, on the third morning, when the excitement of the people was
at its height--when old and young, male and female, were frantic with
the desire for revenge on the sorcerers--the doctor assembled them
about him in the centre of the town, and began his final incantation,
which should disclose the names of the murderous sorcerers.
“Every man and boy was armed,--some with spears, some with swords,
some with guns and axes; and on every face was shown a determination
to wreak bloody revenge on those who should be pointed out as the
criminals. The whole town was wrapped in an indescribable fury and
horrid thirst for human blood. For the first time, I found my voice
without authority in Goumbi. I did not even get a hearing. What I said
was passed by as though no one had spoken. As a last threat, when I
saw proceedings begun, I said I would make Quengueza punish them for
the murders they had done in his absence. But, alas! here they had
outwitted me. On the day of Mpomos death they had sent secretly to
Quengueza to ask if they could kill the witches. He, poor man--sick
himself, and always afraid of the power of sorcerers, and without me to
advise him--at once sent word back to kill them all without mercy. So
they almost laughed in my face.
[Illustration: (1.) EJECTING A DEMON. (See page 515.)]
[Illustration: (2.) OLANGA DRINKING MBOUNDOU. (See page 516.)]
“Finding all my endeavors vain, and that the work of bloodshed was to
be carried through to its dreadful end, I determined, at least, to
see how all was conducted. At a motion from the doctor, the people
became at once quite still. This sudden silence lasted about a minute,
when the loud, harsh voice of the doctor was heard: ‘There is a very
black woman, who lives in a house’--describing it fully, with its
location--‘she bewitched Mpomo.’ Scarce had he ended when the crowd,
roaring and screaming like so many hideous beasts, rushed frantically
for the place indicated. They seized upon a poor girl named Okandaga,
the sister of my good friend and guide Adouma. Waving their weapons
over her head, they bore her away toward the water-side. Here she was
quickly bound with cords, and then all rushed away to the doctor again.
“As poor Okandaga passed in the hands of her murderers, she saw me,
though I thought I had concealed myself from view. I turned my head
away, and prayed she might not see me. I could not help her. But
presently I heard her cry out, ‘Chally, Chally, do not let me die!’
“It was a moment of terrible agony to me. For a minute I was minded
to rush into the crowd, and attempt to rescue the poor victim. But it
would have been of not the slightest use; the people were too frantic
and crazed to even notice my presence. I should only have sacrificed my
own life, without helping her. So I turned away into a corner behind
a tree, and--I may confess, I trust--shed bitter tears at my utter
powerlessness.
“Presently, silence again fell upon the crowd. Then the harsh voice of
the devilish doctor again rang over the town. It seemed to me like the
hoarse croak of some death-foretelling raven. ‘There is an old woman in
a house’--describing it--‘she also bewitched Mpomo.’
“Again the crowd rushed off. This time they seized a niece of King
Quengueza, a noble-hearted and rather majestic old woman. As they
crowded about her with flaming eyes and threats of death, she rose
proudly from the ground, looked them in the face unflinchingly, and,
motioning them to keep their hands off, said, ‘I will drink the
mboundou; but woe to my accusers if I do not die.’ Then she, too, was
escorted to the river, but without being bound. She submitted to all
without a tear, or a murmur for mercy.
“Again, a third time, the dreadful silence fell upon the town, and the
doctor’s voice was heard: ‘There is a woman with six children. She
lives on a plantation toward the rising sun. She too bewitched Mpomo.’
Again there was a furious shout, and in a few minutes they brought to
the river one of Quengueza’s slave-women--a good and much-respected
woman--whom also I knew.
“The doctor now approached with the crowd. In a loud voice he recited
the crime of which these women were accused. The first taken,
Okandaga, had--so he said--some weeks before asked Mpomo for some salt,
he being her relative. Salt was scarce, and he had refused her. She had
said unpleasant words to him then, and had by sorcery taken his life.
“Then Quengueza’s niece was accused. She was barren, and Mpomo had
children. She envied him. Therefore she had bewitched him.
“Quengueza’s slave had asked Mpomo for a looking-glass. He had refused
her. Therefore she had killed him with sorcery.
“As each accusation was recited the people broke out into curses. Even
the relatives of the poor victims were obliged to join in this. Every
one rivalled his neighbor in cursing, each fearful lest lukewarmness in
the ceremony should expose him to a like fate.
“Next the victims were put into a large canoe, with the executioners,
the doctor, and a number of other people all armed. Then the tam-tams
were beaten, and the proper persons prepared the mboundou. Quabi,
Mpomo’s eldest brother, held the poisoned cup. At sight of it poor
Okandaga began again to cry, and even Quengueza’s niece turned pale in
the face--for even the negro face has at such times a pallor, which is
quite perceptible. Three other canoes now surrounded that in which the
victims were. All were crowded with armed men. Then the mug of mboundou
was handed to the old slave-woman, next to the royal niece, and last to
Okandaga. As they drank, the multitude shouted: ‘If they are witches,
let the mboundou kill them; if they are innocent, let the mboundou go
out.’
“It was the most exciting scene of my life. Though horror almost froze
my blood, my eyes were riveted upon the spectacle. A dead silence now
occurred. Suddenly the slave fell down. She had not touched the boat’s
bottom ere her head was hacked off by a dozen rude swords.
“Next came Quengueza’s niece. In an instant her head was off, and
the blood was dyeing the waters of the river. Meantime poor Okandaga
staggered, and struggled, and cried, vainly resisting the working of
the poison in her system. Last of all she fell too, and in an instant
her head was hewn off. Then all became confused. An almost random
hacking ensued, and in an incredibly short space of time the bodies
were cut in small pieces, which were cast into the river.
“When this was done, the crowd dispersed to their houses, and for the
rest of the day the town was very silent. Some of these rude people
felt that their number, in their already almost extinguished tribe,
was becoming less, and the dread of death filled their hearts. In
the evening poor Adouma came secretly to my house, to unburden his
sorrowing heart to me. He, too, had been compelled to take part in the
dreadful scene. He dared not even refrain from joining in the curses
heaped upon his poor sister. He dared not mourn publicly for her who
was considered so great a criminal.”
The ceremonies which attend the death of members of the Camma tribe are
really remarkable. As soon as the end of a man is evidently near, his
relations begin to mourn for him, and his head wife, throwing herself
on the bed, and encircling the form of her dying husband with her
arms, pours out her wailing lamentations, accompanied by the tears and
cries of the villagers who assemble round the house. The other wives
take their turns in leading the lamentations, and after his death they
bewail him in the most pitiful fashion. These pitiful lamentations are
partly owing to real sorrow, but there is no doubt that they are also
due to the fear lest any one who did not join in the mourning might be
accused of having bewitched her husband to death.
For several days they sit on the ground, covered with ashes, their
heads shaved, and their clothing torn to rags; and when the body can
no longer be kept in the place, the relatives take it to the cemetery,
which is usually at some distance down the river. That, for example, of
Goumbi was situated at nearly fifty miles from the place. No grave is
dug, but the body is laid on the ground, and surrounded with different
valuables which belonged to the dead man in his lifetime. The corpses
of the chiefs or headmen are placed in rude boxes, but those of
ordinary men are not defended in any way whatever.
For at least a year the mourning continues, and, if the dead man has
held high rank, it is sometimes continued for two years, during which
time the whole tribe wear their worst clothes, and make a point of
being very dirty, while the widows retain the shaven head and ashes,
and remain in perfect seclusion. At the end of the appointed time,
a ceremony called Bola-ivoga is performed, by which the mourning is
broken up and the people return to their usual dress.
One of these ceremonies was seen by Du Chaillu. The deceased had been a
tolerably rich man, leaving seven wives, a house, a plantation, slaves,
and other property, all which was inherited, according to custom, by
his elder brother, on whom devolves the task of giving the feast. Great
preparations were made for some days previously, large quantities of
palm wine being brought to the village, several canoe loads of dried
fish prepared, all the best clothes in the village made ready, and
every drum, kettle, and anything that could make a noise when beaten
being mustered.
On the joyful morning, the widows begin the ceremony by eating a magic
porridge, composed by the medicine man, and are then released formally
from their widowhood. They then throw off their torn and soiled
garments, wash away the ashes with which their bodies had been so long
covered, and robe themselves in their best clothes, covering their
wrists and ankles with iron and copper jewelry.
While they are adorning their persons, the rest of the people arrange
themselves in little groups in front of the houses, and to each group
is given an enormous jar of palm wine. At a given signal the drinking
begins, and is continued without interruption for some twenty-four
hours, during which time dancing, singing, and drum-beating are carried
on with furious energy. Next morning comes the final ceremony. A large
crowd of men, armed with axes, surround the house formerly occupied by
the deceased, and, at a signal from the heir, they rush at once at it,
and in a few minutes nothing is left but a heap of fragments. These are
heaped up and burned; and when the flames die away, the ceremony is
over, and the heir is considered as having entered into possession of
the property.
There are one or two miscellaneous customs of the Camma people which
are deserving of a brief notice. They seem to be rather quarrelsome
among themselves, and when they get into a fight use a most formidable
club. This weapon is made of heavy and hard wood, and is nearly seven
feet long. The thick end is deeply notched, and a blow from the
“tongo,” as it is called, would smash the skull of an European. The
native African, however, sustains heavy blows without being much the
worse for it; and, although every tongo will be covered with blood and
woolly hair, the combatants do not seem to have sustained much injury.
As they fight, they heap on their adversaries every insulting epithet
they can think of: “Your chief has the leg of an elephant,” cries one;
“Ho! his eldest brother has the neck of a wild ox,” shouts a second;
“Ho! you have no food in your village,” bawls a third; and, according
to the narrator, the words really seem to do more damage than the blows.
When a canoe starts on a long journey, a curious ceremony is enacted.
Each man dips his paddle in the water, slaps it on the surface, raises
in the air, and allows one drop of the water to fall into his mouth.
After a good deal of singing, shouting, and antic-playing, they settle
down to their work, and paddle on steadily for hours. When a chief
parts from a guest, he takes his friend’s hands within his own, blows
into them, and solemnly invokes the spirits of his ancestors, calling
on them to take care of the departing guest.