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.

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.