Stirring scenes in savage lands

by James Greenwood

CHAPTER XXVI.

The mysterious “still small voice”—Samoan mythology—The man who pushed the Heavens up—The child of the Sun—A Figian version of the “Flood”—The Paradise of the Figian—Lying Ghosts—Singular case of abduction—The disobedient Naiogabui—All fair in love and war—The fate of poor Rokoua—The Samoan hades—Miscellaneous gods of the Samoans—A god for every village—The cup of truth—Mourning the destruction of a god’s image—The most fashionable god in Polynesia—Families marked for human sacrifice—“Tapu” or “tabu”—Its antiquity and wide-spread influence—Muzzled pigs and blindfolded chickens—Ceremony of releasing the porkers—Tremendous feast of baked pig—The tapu in New Zealand—A terrible tinder box—The sacred pole and the missionaries—The chief’s backbone—The Pakeka and the iron pot—One of the best uses of tapu—Its general advantages and disadvantages—Tapu among the Samoans—Witchcraft in New Zealand—Visit of a European to a “retired” witch—The religion of the Dayak—“Tapa,” “Tenahi,” “Iang,” and “Jirong”—Warriors’ ghosts—Religious rites and superstitions of the Sea Dayaks—The great god Singallong Burong—Belief in dreams among the Sea Dayaks—Story of the stone bull—Of the painted dog.

Religion, as signifying reverence of God and a belief in future rewards and punishments, may be said to have no existence among people who are absolutely savage. Belief in life hereafter is incompatible with non-belief in the existence of the soul, and difficult indeed would it be to show a thorough barbarian who did not repudiate that grand and awful trust. He is too much afraid of the mysterious thing to confess to being its custodian. Undoubtedly he is quite conscious of a power within him immensely superior to that which gives motion to his arms and legs, and invites him to eat when he is hungry. He “has ears and hears,” and “the still small voice” that speaks all languages and fits its admonitions to the meanest understanding bears the savage no less than the citizen company all the day long, noting all his acts and whispering its approvals and its censures of them; and when the savage reclines at night on his mat of rushes, the still small voice is still vigilant, and reveals for his secret contemplation such vivid pictures of the day’s misdoing, that his hands ache with so fervently clasping his wooden greegree, and he is rocked to sleep and horrid dreams with trembling and quaking fear.

But the savage, while he acknowledges the mysterious influence, has not the least notion as to its origin. To his hazy mind the word “incomprehensible” is synonymous with “evil,” and the most incomprehensible thing to him, and consequently the most evil, is death. With us it is anxiety as to hereafter that makes death terrible; with the savage death is detestable only as a gravedigger, a malicious spirit who snatches him away from the world—where his children and his wives are, and where tobacco grows, and palm-trees yield good wine,—who snatches him away from all these good things and every other, and shuts him in the dark damp earth to decay like a rotten branch.

Death therefore is, in his eyes, the king of evil, and all minor evils agents of the king, and working with but one aim though with seeming indirectness. This it is that makes the savage a miserable wretch—despite nature’s great bounty in supplying him with food without reaping or sowing, and so “tempering the wind” that the shelter of the boughs makes him a house that is warm enough, and the leaves of the trees such raiment as he requires. Through his constant suspicion he is like a man with a hundred jars of honey, of the same pattern and filled the same, but one—he knows not which—is poisoned. Taste he must or perish of hunger, but taste he may and perish of poison; and so, quaking all the time, he picks a little and a little, suspecting this jar because it is so very sweet, and that because it has a twang of acid, and so goes on diminishing his ninety-nine chances of appeasing his hunger and living, to level odds, that he will escape both hunger and poison and die of fright. Death is the savage’s poisoned honey-pot. He may meet it in the wind, in the rain; it may even (why not? he has known such cases) come to him in a sunray. It may meet him in the forest where he hunts for his daily bread! That bird that just now flitted by so suddenly and with such a curious cry may be an emissary of the king of evil, and now hastening to tell the king that there is he—the victim—all alone and unprotected in the forest, easy prey for the king if he comes at once! No more hunting for that day though half-a-dozen empty bellies be the consequence; away with spear and blow-gun, and welcome charms and fetiches to be counted and kissed and caressed all the way home—aye, and for a long time afterwards, for that very bird may still be perched a-top of the hut, peeping in at a chink, and only waiting for the victim to close his eyes to summon the grim king once more. In his tribulation he confides the secret of his uneasiness to his wife, who with affectionate zeal runs for the gree-gree-man, who, on hearing the case, shakes his head so ominously, that though even the very leopard-skin that hangs before the doorway be the price demanded for it, the most powerful charm the gree-gree-man has to dispose of must be obtained.

It is only, however, to the perfect savage—the Fan and Ougbi of Central Africa, the Andamaner of Polynesia, and some others—that the above remarks apply. If we take belief in the soul and its immortality as the test, we shall find the number of absolute barbarians somewhat less than at first sight appears; indeed, the mythological traditions of many savage people, wrapped as they invariably are in absurdity, will frequently exhibit in the main such close resemblance to certain portions of our Scripture history as to fill us with surprise and wonder. Take, for instance, the following examples occurring in Samoa, furnished by the Rev. George Turner:

“The earliest traditions of the Samoans describe a time when the heavens alone were inhabited and the earth covered over with water. Tangaloa, the great Polynesian Jupiter, then sent down his daughter in the form of a bird called the Turi (a snipe), to search for a resting-place. After flying about for a long time she found a rock partially above the surface of the water. (This looks like the Mosaic account of the deluge; but the story goes on the origin of the human race.) Turi went up and told her father that she had found but one spot on which she could rest. Tangaloa sent her down again to visit the place. She went to and fro repeatedly, and, every time she went up, reported that the dry surface was extending on all sides. He then sent her down with some earth, and a creeping plant, as all was barren rock. She continued to visit the earth and return to the skies. Next visit, the plant was spreading. Next time it was withered and decomposing. Next visit it swarmed with worms. And the next time had become men and women! A strange account of man’s origin. But how affectingly it reminds one of his end: ‘They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the worms shall cover them.’

“They have no consecutive tales of these early times; but we give the disjointed fragments as we find them. They say that of old the heavens fell down, and that people had to crawl about like the lower animals. After a time, the arrow-root and another similar plant pushed up the heavens. The place where these plants grew is still pointed out, and called the Te’engga-langi, or heaven-pushing place. But the heads of the people continued to knock on the skies. One day, a woman was passing along who had been drawing water. A man came up to her and said that he would push up the heavens, if she would give him some water to drink. ‘Push them up first,’ she replied. He pushed them up. ‘Will that do?’ said he. ‘No, a little further.’ He sent them up higher still, and then she handed him her cocoa-nut-shell water bottle. Another account says, that a person named Tütü pushed up the heavens; and the hollow places in a rock, nearly six feet long, are pointed out as his footprints. They tell about a man called Losi, who went up on a visit to the heavens. He found land and sea there, people, houses, and plantations. The people were kind to him and supplied him with plenty of food. This was the first time he had seen or tasted taro. He sought for some in the plantations and brought it down to the earth; and hence they say the origin of taro. They do not say how he got up and down. When the taro tree fell, they say its trunk and branches extended a distance of nearly sixty miles. In this and the following tale we are reminded of Jacob’s ladder.

“Two young men, named Punifanga and Tafalin, determined one afternoon to pay a visit to the moon. Punifanga said he knew a tree by which they could go up. Tafalin was afraid it might not reach high enough, and said he would try another plan. Punifanga went to his tree, but Tafalin kindled a fire, and heaped on cocoa-nut shells and other fuel so as to raise a great smoke. The smoke rose in a dense straight column, like a cocoa-nut tree towering away into the heavens. Tafalin then jumped on to the column of smoke, and went up and reached the moon long before Punifanga. One wishes to know what they did next, but here the tale abruptly ends, with the chagrin of Punifanga when he got up and saw Tafalin there before him, sitting laughing at him for having been so long on the way.

“In another story we are told, that the man came down one evening and picked up a woman, called Sina, and her child. It was during a time of famine. She was working in the evening twilight, beating out some bark with which to make native cloth. The moon was just rising, and it reminded her of great bread-fruit. Looking up to it she said, ‘Why cannot you come down and let my child have a bit of you?’ The moon was indignant at the idea of being eaten, came forthwith, and took up her child, board, mallet, and all. The popular superstition of ‘the man in the moon, who gathered sticks on the Sabbath-day,’ is not yet forgotten in England, and in Samoa, of the woman in the moon. ‘Yonder is Sina,’ they say, ‘and her child, and mallet and board.’

“We have a fragment or two, also, about the sun. A woman called Manquamanqui became pregnant by looking at the rising sun. Her son grew, and was named ‘Child of the Sun.’ At his marriage he asked his mother for a dowry. She sent him to his father the Sun, to beg from him, and told him how to go. Following her directions, he went one morning, with a long vine from the bush, which is the convenient substitute for a rope, climbed a tree, threw his rope, with a noose at the end of it, and caught the Sun. He made his message known and (Pandora like) got a present for his bride. The Sun first asked him what was his choice, blessings or calamities? He chose, of course, the former, and came down with his store of blessings done up in a basket. There is another tale about this Samoan Phaeton, similar to what is related of the Hawaiian Mani. They say that he and his mother were annoyed at the rapidity of the sun’s course in those days—that it rose, reached the meridian, and set ‘before they could get their mats dried.’ He determined to make it go slower. He climbed a tree one morning early, and with a rope and noose all ready, watched for the appearance of the sun. Just as it emerged from the horizon, he threw, and caught it; the sun struggled to get clear, but in vain. Then fearing lest it should be strangled, it called out in distress, ‘Oh! have mercy on me, and spare my life. What do you want?’ ‘We wish you to go slower, we can get no work done.’ ‘Very well,’ replied the Sun; ‘let me go, and for the future I will walk slowly, and never go quick again.’ He let go the rope, and ever since the sun has gone slowly, and given us longer days. Ludicrous and puerile as this is, one cannot help seeing in it the wreck of that sublime description in the book of Joshua, of the day when that man of God stood in the sight of Israel, and said: ‘Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon. And the Sun stood still, and the Moon stayed until the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies.’

“There are but few tales in Samoa in which we can trace the deluge; nor are these circumstantial as those which obtain in some other parts of the Pacific. It is the universal belief, however, ‘that of old, the fish swam where the land now is;’ and tradition now adds, when the waters abated, many of the fish of the sea were left on the land, and afterwards were changed into stones. Hence, they say, there are stones in abundance in the bush and among the mountains which were once sharks and other inhabitants of the deep.”

The Figians, islanders of the same group, have an advantage over the Samoans in this last mythological matter of the deluge. They have at least half-a-dozen versions of the great flood, of which the two following, furnished by Ellis and Williams, will serve:

“They speak of a deluge which, according to some of their accounts, was partial, but in others is stated to have been universal. The cause of the great flood was the killing of Turukana—a favourite bird belonging to Udengei—by two mischievous lads, the grandsons of the god. These, instead of apologizing for their offence, added insolent language to the outrage, and fortifying, with the assistance of their friends, the town in which they lived, defied Udengei to do his worst. It is said, that although it took the angry god three months to collect his forces, he was unable to subdue the rebels, and, disbanding his army, resolved on more efficient revenge. At his command the dark clouds gathered and burst, pouring streams on the devoted earth. Towns, hills, and mountains were successively submerged; but the rebels, secure in the superior height of their own dwelling-place, looked on without concern. But when at last the terrible surges invaded their fortress, they cried for direction to a god, who, according to various accounts, sent them a shaddock punt, or two canoes, or taught them to build a canoe themselves. However, all agree the remnant of the human race was saved: the number was eighty.”

So says Mr. Williams. Now for a literal translation, furnished by Mr. Osmond to Mr. Ellis:

“Destroyed was Otaheite by the sea; no man, nor dog, nor fowl remained. The groves of trees and the stones were carried away by the wind. They were destroyed, and the deep was over the land. But these two persons, the husband and the wife (when it came in), he took up his young pig, she took up her young chickens; he took up the young dog, and she the young kitten. They were going forth, and looking at Orofena (the highest hill in the island), the husband said, ‘Up both of us to yonder mountain high.’ The wife replied, ‘No, let us not go thither.’ The husband said, ‘It is a high rock and will not be reached by the sea;’ but the wife replied, ‘Reached it will be by the sea yonder: let us ascend Opitohito, round as a breast; it will not be reached by the sea.’ They two arrived there. Orofena was overwhelmed by the waves: Opitohito alone remained and was their abode. There they watched ten nights; the sea ebbed, and they saw the two little heads of the mountains in their elevation. When the waters retired, the land remained without produce, without man, and the fish were putrid in the holes of the rocks. The earth remained, but the shrubs were destroyed. They descended and gazed with astonishment: there were no houses, nor cocoa-nuts, nor palm-trees, nor bread-fruit, nor grass; all was destroyed by the sea. They two dwelt together; and the woman brought forth two children, a son and a daughter. In those days covered was the land with food; and from two persons the earth was repeopled.”

The Figian believes in a future state of perpetual bliss, but not that the soul, as soon as it leaves the body, is absolved of all care. Indeed, according to popular belief, the journey of the soul from earth to heaven is a very formidable business.

“On the road to Nai Thombothombo, and about five miles from it, is a solitary hill of hard reddish clay spotted with black boulders, having on its right a pretty grove, and on the left cheerless hills. Its name is Takiveleyaiva. When near this spot the disembodied spirit throws the whale’s tooth, which is placed in the hand of the corpse at burial, at a spiritual pandanus; having succeeded in hitting this, he ascends the hill and there waits until joined by the spirits of his strangled wife or wives. Should he miss the mark he is still supposed to remain in this solitary resting-place, bemoaning the want of affection on the part of his wife and friends, who are depriving him of his expected companions. And this is the lone spirit’s lament: ‘How is this? For a long time I planted food for my wife, and was also of great use to her friends. Why, then, is she not allowed to follow me? Do my friends love me no better than this after so many years of toil? Will no one in love to me strangle my wife?’

“Blessed at last with the company of his wife or wives, who bear his train, or sad because of their absence, the husband advances towards Nai Thombothombo, and, club in hand, boards the canoe which carries spirits to meet their examiner. Notice of his approach is given by a paroquet which cries once, twice, and so on, according to the number of spirits in the canoe, announcing a great number by chattering. The highway to Mbulu lies through Nambanggatai, which, it seems, is at once a real and unreal town, the visible part being occupied by ordinary mortals, while in the unseen portion dwells the family who hold inquest on departed spirits. Thus the cry of the bird answers a twofold purpose, warning the people to set open the doors that the spirit may have a free course, and preventing the ghostly inquisitors from being taken by surprise. The houses in the town are built with reference to a peculiarity in the locomotion of spirits, who are supposed at this stage to pass straight forward: hence all the doorways are opposite to each other, so that the shade may pass through without interruption. The inhabitants speak in low tones, and if separated by a little distance communicate their thoughts by signs.

“Bygone generations had to meet Samu or Ravuyalo; but as he died in 1847 by a curious misfortune, his duties now devolve upon his sons, who, having been long in partnership with their illustrious father, are quite competent to carry on his office. As it is probable that the elder son will shortly receive the paternal title, or an equivalent, we will speak of him as Samuyalo the Killer of Souls. On hearing the paroquet, Samu and his brothers hide themselves in some spiritual mangrove bushes just beyond the town and alongside of the path in which they stick a reed as a prohibition to the spirit to pass that way. Should the comer be courageous, he raises his club in defiance of the tabu and those who place it there, whereupon Samu appears to give him battle, first asking, ‘Who are you, and whence do you come?’ As many carry their inveterate habit of lying into another world, they make themselves out to be of vast importance, and to such Samu gives the lie and fells them to the ground. Should the ghost conquer in the combat, he passes on to the judgment seat of Ndengei; he is disqualified for appearing there and is doomed to wander among the mountains. If he be killed in the encounter, he is cooked and eaten by Samu and his brethren.

“Some traditions put the examination questions into the mouth of Samu, and judge the spirit at this stage; but the greater number refer the inquisition to Ndengei.

“Those who escape the club of the soul-destroyer walk on to Naindelinde, one of the highest peaks of the Kauvandra mountains. Here the path of the Mbulu ends abruptly at the brink of a precipice, the base of which is said to be washed by a deep lake. Beyond this precipice projects a large steer-oar, which one tradition puts in the charge of Ndengei himself, but another more consistently in the keeping of an old man and his son, who act under the direction of the god. These accost the coming spirit thus: ‘Under what circumstances do you come to us? How did you conduct yourself in the other world?’ If the ghost should be one of rank, he answers: ‘I am a great chief; I lived as a chief, and my conduct was that of a chief. I had great wealth, many wives, and ruled over a powerful people. I have destroyed many towns, and slain many in war.’ To this the reply is, ‘Good, good. Take a seat on the broad part of this oar, and refresh yourself in the cool breeze.’ No sooner is he seated than they lift the handle of the oar, which lies inland, and he is thus thrown down headlong into the deep waters below, through which he passes to Murimuria. Such as have gained the special favour of Ndengei are warned not to go out on the oar, but to sit near those who hold it, and after a short repose are sent back to the place whence they came to be deified.”

The gods of the Figians would, however, seem to cling with considerable tenacity to the weaknesses that distinguish the most ordinary mortals. They quarrel, they fight, and worse still, descend to act the part of lady-stealers, and this even when the booty is the daughter of a neighbouring god. The last “pretty scandal” of this character is related by Mr. Seeman in his recently published work on Figi:

“Once upon a time there dwelt at Rewa a powerful god, whose name was Ravovonicakaugawa, and along with him his friend the god of the winds, from Wairna. Ravovonicakaugawa was leading a solitary life, and had long been thinking of taking a wife to himself. At last his mind seemed to be made up. ‘Put mast and sail into the canoe,’ he said, ‘and let us take some women from Rokoua, the god of Naicobocobo.’ ‘When do you think of starting?’ inquired his friends. ‘I shall go in broad daylight,’ was the reply; ‘or do you think I am a coward to choose the night for my work?’ All things being ready, the two friends set sail and anchored towards sunset off Naicobocobo. There they waited, contrary to Figian customs, one, two, three days without any friendly communication from the shore reaching them, for Rokoua, probably guessing their intention, had strictly forbidden his people to take any food to the canoe. Rokoua’s repugnance, however, was not shared by his household. His daughter, the lovely Naiogabui, who diffused so sweet and powerful a perfume, that if the wind blew from the east the perfume could be perceived in the west, and if it blew from the west it could be perceived in the east, in consequence of which, and on account of her great personal beauty, all the young men fell in love with her—Naiogabui ordered one of her female slaves to cook a yam and take it to the foreign canoe, and at the same time inform its owner that she would be with him at the first opportunity. To give a further proof of her affection she ordered all the women in Naicobocobo to have a day’s fishing. This order having been promptly executed, and the fish cooked, Naiogabui herself swam off with it during the night and presented it to the Rewa god.

“Ravovonicakaugawa was charmed with the princess and ready to start with her at once. She, however, begged him to wait another night to enable Naimilamila, one of Rokoua’s young wives, to accompany them. Naimilamila was a native of Naicobocobo, and, against her will, united to Rokoua, who had no affection whatever for her, and kept her exclusively to scratch his head or play with his locks—hence her name. Dissatisfied with her sad lot, she had concocted with her stepdaughter a plan for escape, and was making active preparations to carry it into execution. On the night agreed upon, Naimilamila was true to her engagement. ‘Who are you?’ asked the god as she stepped on the deck. ‘I am Rokoua’s wife,’ she rejoined. ‘Get your canoe under weigh; my lord may follow closely on my heels; and Naiogabui will be with us immediately.’ Almost directly afterwards a splash in the water was heard. ‘There she comes,’ cried Naimilamila, ‘make sail;’ and instantly the canoe, with Ravovonicakaugawa, his friend, and the two women, departed for Rewa.

“Next morning, when Rokoua discovered the elopement, he determined to pursue the fugitives, and for that purpose embarked in the ‘Vatateilali,’ a canoe deriving its name from his large drum, the sound of which was so powerful that it could he heard all over Figi. His club and spear were put on board, both of which were of such gigantic dimensions and weight that it took ten men to lift either of them. Rokoua soon reached Nukuilailai, where he took the spear out, and making a kind of bridge of it walked over it on shore. Taking spear and club in his hand, he musingly walked along. ‘It will never do to be at once discovered,’ he said to himself. ‘I must disguise myself. But what shape shall I assume? that of a hog or a dog? As a hog I should not be allowed to come near the door; and as a dog I should have to pick the bones thrown outside. Neither will answer my purpose; I shall therefore assume the shape of a woman.’ Continuing his walk along the beach he met an old woman carrying a basket of taro and puddings ready cooked, and without letting her be at all aware of it, he exchanged figures with her. He then enquired whither she was going, and being informed to the house of the god of Rewa, he took the basket from her, and leaving club and spear on the beach, proceeded to his destination. His disguise was so complete that even his own daughter did not recognize him. ‘Who is that?’ she asked as he was about to enter. ‘It is I,’ replied Rokoua in a feigned voice; ‘I have come from Monisa with food.’ ‘Come in, old lady,’ said Naiogabui, ‘and sit down.’ Rokoua accordingly entered and took care to sit like a Figian woman would do, so that his disguise might not be discovered. ‘Are you going back to-night?’ he was asked. ‘No,’ the disguised god replied, ‘there is no occasion for that.’ Finding it very close in the house, Rokoua proposed a walk and a bath, to which both Naiogabui and Naimilamila agreed. When getting the women to that spot of the beach where club and spear had been left, he threw off his disguise and exclaimed, ‘You little knew who I was; I am Rokoua, your lord and master;’ and at the same time taking hold of their hands, he dragged the runaways to the canoe and departed homewards.

“When the Rewa god found his women gone he again started for Naicobocobo, where, as he wore no disguise, he was instantly recognised, his canoe taken and dragged on shore by Rokoua’s men, while he himself and his faithful friend, who again accompanied him, were seized and made pig drivers. They were kept in this degrading position a long time until a great festival took place in Vanua Levu which Rokoua and his party attended. Arrived at the destination the Rewa god and his friends were left in charge of the two canoes that had carried the party thither, whilst all the others went on shore to enjoy themselves; but as both friends were liked by all the women they were kept amply supplied with food and other good things during the festival. Nevertheless Ravovonicakaugawa was very much cast down, and taking a kava root he offered it as a sacrifice, and despairingly exclaimed, ‘Have none of the mighty gods of Rewa pity on my misfortune?’ His friend’s body became instantly possessed by a god, and began to tremble violently. ‘What do you want?’ asked the god within. ‘A gale to frighten my oppressors out of their wits.’ ‘It shall be granted,’ replied the god, and departed.

“The festival being over, Rokoua’s party embarked for Naicobocobo; but it had hardly set sail when a strong northerly gale sprung up, which nearly destroyed the canoes and terribly frightened those on board. Still they reached Naicobocobo, where the Rewa god prayed for an easterly wind to carry him home. All Rokoua’s men having landed and left the women behind to carry the goods and luggage on shore, the desired wind sprang up, and the two canoes, with sails set, started for Rewa, where they safely arrived, and the goats and other property were landed and distributed as presents among the people. But Rokoua was not to be beaten thus. Although his two canoes had been taken there was still the one taken from Ravovonicakaugawa on his second visit to Naicobocobo: that was launched without delay and the fugitives pursued. Arriving at Nukuilailai, Rokoua laid his spear on the deck of the canoe and walked on shore, as he had done on a previous occasion. Landed, he dropped his heavy club, thereby causing so loud a noise that it woke all the people in Viti Levu. This noise did not escape the quick ear of Naimilamila. ‘Be on your guard,’ she said to her new lord; ‘Rokoua is coming; I heard his club fall; he can assume any shape he pleases, be a dog, or a pig, or a woman; he can command even solid rocks to split open and admit him; so be on your guard.’ Rokoua, meanwhile, met a young girl from Nadoo on the road, carrying shrimps, landcrabs, and taro to the house of the god of Rewa, and without hesitation he assumed her shape, and she took his without being herself aware of it. Arriving with his basket at his destination, Naiogabui asked, ‘Who is there?’ To which Rokoua replied, ‘It is me; I am from Nadoo, bringing food for your husband.’ The supposed messenger was asked into the house, and sitting down he imprudently assumed a position not proper to Figian women; this and the shape of his limbs was noticed by Naiogabui, who whispered the discovery made into her husband’s ear. Ravovonicakaugawa stole out of the house, assembled his people, recalled to their minds the indignities heaped upon him by Rokoua, and having worked them up to a high pitch of excitement, he informed them that the offender was now in their power. All rushed to arms, and entering the house they demanded the young girl from Nadoo. ‘There she sits,’ replied Naiogabui, pointing to her father; and no sooner had the words been spoken than a heavy blow with a club felled Rokoua to the ground. A general onset followed in which the head of the victim was beaten to atoms. This was the end of Rokoua.”

According to the evidence of Turner and other reliable Polynesian travellers, the entrance to the Hades of the Samoans was supposed to be a circular basin among the rocks at the west end of Savaii. Savaii is the most westerly island of the group. When a person was near death, it was thought that the house was surrounded by a host of spirits, all waiting to take the soul away to their subterranean home at the place referred to; if at night the people of the family were afraid to go out of doors, lest they should be snatched away by some of these invisible powers. As soon as the spirit left the body, it was supposed to go in company with this band of spirits direct to the west end of Savaii. If it was a person residing on one of the more easterly islands of the group—on Upolu, for example—they travelled on by land to the west end of the island, not to a Charon, but to a great stone called “the stone to leap from.” It was thought that the spirits here leaped into the sea, swam to the island of Monono, crossed the land to the west point of that island, again leaped from another stone there, swam to Savaii, crossed fifty miles of country there again, and, at length, reached the Hafa, or entrance to their imaginary world of spirits. There was a cocoa-nut tree near this spot, and it was supposed that if the spirit happened to come in contact with the tree it returned, and the person who seemed to be dead revived and recovered. If, however, the spirit did not strike against the tree, it went down the Hafa at once. At this place, on Savaii, there are two circular basins, not many feet deep, still pointed out as the place where the spirits went down. One, which is the larger of the two, was supposed to be for chiefs, the other for common people. These lower regions were reported to have a heaven, an earth, and a sea, and people with real bodies, planting, fishing, cooking, and otherwise employed, just as in the present life. At night their bodies were supposed to change their form, and become like a confused collection of sparks of fire. In this state, and during the hours of darkness, they were said to ascend and revisit their former places of abode, retiring at early dawn, either to the bush or back to the lower regions. It was supposed these spirits had power to return and cause disease and death in other members of the family. Hence all were anxious as a person drew near the close of life to part on good terms with him, feeling assured that, if he died with angry feelings towards any one, he would certainly return and bring some calamity upon that very person, or some one closely allied to him. This was considered a frequent source of disease and death, viz., the spirit of a departed member of the family returning, and taking up his abode in the head, or chest, or stomach of the party, and so causing sickness and death. The spirits of the departed were also supposed to come and talk through a certain member of the family, prophesying various events, or giving directions as to certain family affairs. If a man died suddenly, it was thought that he was eaten by the spirits that took him. His soul was said to go to the common residence of the departed; only it was thought that such persons had not the power of speech, and could only, in reply to a question, beat their breasts. The chiefs were supposed to have a separate place allotted them, and to have plenty of the best food and other indulgences. Saveasuileo was the great king, or Pluto, of these subterranean regions, and to him all yielded the profoundest homage. He was supposed to have the head of a man, and the upper part of his body reclining in a great house in company with the spirits of departed chiefs. The extremity of his body was said to stretch away into the sea, in the shape of an eel or serpent. He ruled the destinies of war, and other affairs. His great house or temple was supported, not by pillars of wood or stone, but by columns of living men.

Samoan Idol Worship.

At his birth every Samoan was supposed to be taken under the care of some tutelary or protecting god, or aitu, as it was called. The help of perhaps half a dozen different gods was invoked in succession on the occasion; but the one who happened to be addressed just as the child was born, was marked, and declared to be the child’s god for life. The gods were supposed to appear in some visible incarnation, and the particular thing in which his god was in the habit of appearing was to the Samoan an object of veneration. It was in fact his idol, and he was careful never to injure it or treat it with contempt. One, for instance, saw his god in the eel, another in the shark, another in the turtle, another in the dog, another in the owl, another in the lizard, and so on throughout all the fish of the sea, and birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things. In some of the shell fish even gods were supposed to be present. A man would eat freely of what was regarded as the incarnation of the god of another man, but the incarnation of his own particular god he would consider it death to injure or to eat. The god was supposed to avenge the insult by taking up his abode in that person’s body, and causing to generate there the very thing which he had eaten, until it produced death. This class of genii, or tutelary deities, they call aitu-fule, or god of the house. The father of the family was the high priest, and usually offered a short prayer at the evening meal, that they might all be kept from sickness, war, and death. Occasionally, too, he would direct that they have a family feast in honour of their household gods; and on these occasions a cup of their intoxicating ava-draught was poured out as a drink-offering. They did this in their family house, where they all assembled, supposing that their gods had a spiritual presence there, as well as in the material objects to which we have referred. Often it was supposed that the god came among them, and spoke through the father or some other member of the family, telling them what to do in order to remove a present evil, or avert a threatened one. Sometimes it would be that the family should get a canoe built, and keep it sacred to the god. They might travel in it and use it themselves, but it was death to sell or part with a canoe which had been built specially for the god. Another class of Samoan deities may be called gods of the town or village. Every village had its god, and every one born in that village was regarded as the property of that god. “I have got a child for so and so,” a woman would say on the birth of her child, and name the village god. There was a small house or temple also consecrated to the deity of the place. Where there was no formal temple, the great house of the village where the chiefs were in the habit of assembling was the temple for the time being, as occasion required.

In their temples they had generally something for the eye to rest upon with superstitious veneration. In one might be seen a conch shell suspended from the roof in a basket made of sinnet network, and this the god was supposed to blow when he wished the people to rise to war. In another, two stones were kept. In another, something resembling the head of a man, with white streamers flying, was raised on a pole at the door of the temple, on the usual day of worship. In another, a cocoa-nut shell drinking cup was suspended from the roof, and before it prayers were addressed and offerings presented. This cup was also used in oaths. If they wished to find out a thief, the suspected parties were assembled before the chiefs, the cup sent for, and each would approach, lay his hand on it and say, “With my hand on this cup, may the god look upon me and send swift destruction if I took the thing which has been stolen.” They firmly believed that it would be death to touch the cup and tell a lie. The priests in some cases were the chiefs of the place; but in general some one in a particular family claimed the privilege, and professed to declare the will of the god. His office was hereditary. He fixed the days for the annual feasts in honour of the deity, received the offerings, and thanked the people for them. He decided also whether or not the people might go to war. The offerings were principally cooked food. The first cup was in honour of the god. It was either poured out on the ground or waved towards the heavens. The chiefs all drank a portion out of the same cup, according to rank; and after that, the food brought as an offering was divided and eaten, “there before the Lord.” This feast was annual, and frequently about the month of May. In some places it passed off quietly, in others it was associated with games, sham fights, night dances, etc., and lasted for days. In time of war special feasts were ordered by the priests. Of the offerings on war occasions, women and children were forbidden to partake, as it was not their province to go to battle. They supposed it would bring sickness and death on the party eating who did not go to the war, and hence were careful to bury or throw into the sea whatever food was over after the festival. In some places the feasts, in honour of the god, were regulated by the appearance in the settlement of the bird which was thought to be the incarnation of the god. Whenever the bird was seen, the priest would say that the god had come, and fixed upon a day for this entertainment. The village gods, like those of the household, had all some particular incarnation; one was supposed to appear as a bat, another as a heron, another as an owl. If a man found a dead owl by the roadside, and if that happened to be the incarnation of his village god, he would sit down and weep over it, and beat his forehead with stones till the blood flowed. This was thought pleasing to the deity. Then the bird would be wrapped up, and buried with care and ceremony, as if it were a human body. This, however, was not the death of the god. He was supposed to be yet alive and incarnate in all the owls in existence. The flight of these birds was observed in the time of war. If the bird flew before them it was a signal to go on; but if it crossed the path, it was a bad omen, and a sign to retreat. Others saw their village god in the rainbow, others saw him in the shooting star; and in time of war the position of a rainbow and the direction of a shooting star were always ominous.

Throughout Polynesia the ordinary medium of communicating or extending supernatural powers was the red feather of a small bird found in many of the islands and the beautiful long tail-feathers of the tropic or man-of-war-bird. For these feathers the gods were supposed to have a strong predilection: they were the most valuable offerings that could be presented to them; the power or influence of the god was imparted, and through them transferred to the objects to which they might be attached. Among the numerous ceremonies observed, the palatua was one of the most conspicuous. On these occasions the gods were all brought out of the temple, the sacred coverings removed, scented oils were applied to the images, and they were exposed to the sun. At these seasons the parties who wished their emblems of deity to be impregnated with the essence of the gods, repaired to the ceremony with a number of red feathers which they delivered to the officiating priest.

Polynesian Idol.

The wooden idols being generally hollow, the feathers were deposited in the inside of the image, which was filled with them. Many idols, however, were solid pieces of wood bound or covered with finely braided cinnet of the fibres of the cocoa-nut husk; to these the feathers were attached on the outside by small fibrous bands. In return for the feathers thus united to the god, the parties received two or three of the same kind, which had been deposited on a former festival in the inside of a wooden or inner fold of a cinnet idol. These feathers were thought to possess all the properties of the images to which they had been attached, and a supernatural influence was supposed to be infused into them. They were carefully wound round with very fine cinnet, the extremities alone remaining visible. When this was done, the new made gods were placed before the larger images, from which they had been taken, and, lest their detachment should induce the god to withhold his power, the priest addresses a prayer to the principal deities, requesting them to abide in the red feathers before them. At the close of his ubu, or invocation, he declared that they were dwelt in or inhabited (by the god), and delivered them to the parties who had brought the red feathers. The feathers taken home were deposited in small bamboo canes, excepting when addressed in prayer. If prosperity attended their owner, it was attributed to their influence, and they were usually honoured with an image, into which they were enwrought, and subsequently perhaps an altar and a rude temple were erected for them. In the event, however, of their being attached to an image, this must be taken to the large temple, that the supreme idols might sanction the transfer of their influence.

Animals, fruits, etc., were not the only articles presented to the idols: the most affecting part of their sacrificing was the frequent immolation of human victims. These sacrifices, in the technical language of the priests, were called fish. They were offered in seasons of war, at great national festivals, during the illness of their rulers, and on the erection of their temples. Travellers have been informed by the inhabitants of the town of Maeva, that the foundation of some of the buildings for the abode of their gods was actually laid in human sacrifices, that every pillar supporting the roof of one of the sacred houses at Maeva was planted upon the body of a man who had been offered as a victim to the sanguinary deity about to be deposited there. The unhappy wretches selected, were either captives taken in war or individuals who had rendered themselves obnoxious to the chiefs or the priests. When they were wanted, a stone was, at the request of the priest, sent by the king to the chief of the district from which the victims were required. If the stone was received, it was an indication of an intention to comply with the requisition. It is a singular fact that the cruelty of the practice extended, not only to individuals, but to families and districts. When an individual has been taken as a sacrifice, the family to which he belonged was regarded as tabu, or devoted; and when another was required, it was more frequently taken from that family than any other; and a district from which sacrifices had been taken was in the same way considered as devoted, and hence, when it was known that any ceremonies were near on which human sacrifices were usually offered, the members of tabu families or others who had reason to fear they were selected, fled to the mountains and hid themselves in the dens and caverns till the ceremony was over.

In general the victim was unconscious of his doom until suddenly struck down by a blow from a club or a stone, sometimes from the hand of the very chief on whom he was depending as a guest for the rights of hospitality. He was usually murdered on the spot, his body placed in a long basket of cocoa-nut leaves, and carried to the temple. Here it was offered, not by consuming it with fire, but by placing it before the idol. The priest in dedicating it, took out one of the eyes, placed it on a plantain leaf, and handed it to the king, who raised it to his mouth as if desirous to eat it, but passed it to one of the priests or attendants stationed near him for the purpose of receiving it. At intervals, during the prayers, some of the hair was plucked off and placed before the god, and when the ceremony was over, the body was wrapped in the basket of cocoa-nut leaves, and frequently deposited on the branches of an adjacent tree. After remaining a considerable time it was taken down, and the bones buried beneath the rude pavement of the marae or temple. These horrid rites were not unfrequent, and the number offered at their great festivals was truly appalling.

The most remarkable institution prevailing among the inhabitants of the islands of the southern seas is that known as tabu or tapu. Although it could only be imposed by a priest, and a religious motive was invariably assigned for its imposition, there can be little doubt that its chief use was civil; and though, as in all state engines, the component parts of which are multitudinous and of as diverse a character as selfish interest can make them, abuse and depravity will appear, still there can be no question that in its working the tabu is an institution not to be hastily thrown aside or abolished. To quote the words of Ellis, “the tabu forms an important and essential part of a cruel system of idolatry, and is one of the strongest means of its support.” This may be so far true, but at the same time, inasmuch as it affects the proper government, the tranquillity, the very daily bread of an idolatrous country, it is a thing to meet with tender consideration, unless, indeed, because a nation is idolatrous, it is to be straight stirred to rebellion, and driven to famine and death. It is fair to regard tabu, not as a purely religious institution, but as a political institution, propped and upheld by the most influential men in the country, the priests, who, in their turn, are backed by the kiaimoku (island keepers), a kind of police officers, who are appointed by the king, and empowered to carry out the commands of the priest, though the lives of offenders be blotted out at the same time. Thus blended, does “Church and State” form a quickset hedge, pleasant to the sight,—for the profusion of the “rewards” to come, promised by the holy men to the faithful, cover it as it were with green leaves, hidden among which are the thorns—the spears of the king’s servants, not insolently thrust out, but modestly retiring and challenging a brush with no man; altogether, however, it is a hedge that no savage may break, and which, for heaven knows how many hundreds of years, myriads of savages have been content to regard harmlessly, passing their lives in the shadow of it.

In most of the Polynesian dialects the usual meaning of the word tabu is sacred. “It does not, however,” says Ellis, “imply any moral quality, but expresses a connection with the gods or a separation from ordinary purposes and exclusive appropriation to persons or things considered sacred.” Those chiefs who trace their genealogy to the gods are called arii tabu chiefs, sacred from their supposed connection with the gods. It is a distinct word from rahui, to prohibit, and is opposed to the word, noa, which means general or common. Hence the system which prohibited the females from eating with the men, and from eating, except on special occasions, any part of animals ever offered in sacrifice to the gods, while it allowed the men to partake of them, was called the ai tabu, eating sacred.

This appears to be the legitimate meaning of the word tabu, though the natives when talking with foreigners use it more extensively, and apply it to everything prohibited or improper. This, however, is only to accommodate the latter, as they use kaukau (a word of Chinese origin) instead of the native word for eat, and picaninny for small, supposing they are better understood.

The antiquity of tabu was equal to the other branches of that superstition, of which it formed so component a part, and its application was both general and particular, occasional and permanent. Speaking of the custom as observed in Figi, Mr. Williams says, “It is the secret of power and the strength of despotic rule. It affects things both great and small. Here it is seen tending a brood of chickens, and there it directs the energies of a kingdom. Its influence is wondrously diffused. Coasts, lands, rivers, and seas; animals, fruits, fish, and vegetables; houses, beds, pots, cups, and dishes; canoes, and with all that belong to them, with their management, dress, ornaments, and arms; things to eat, and things to drink; the members of the body, manners and customs; language, names, temper, and even the gods also; all come under the influence of the tabu. It is put into operation by religious, political, or selfish motives, and idleness lounges for months beneath its sanction. Many are thus forbidden to raise their hands or extend their arms in any useful employment for a long time. In this district it is tabu to build canoes; on that island it is tabu to erect good houses. The custom is much in favour with chiefs, who adjust it so that it sits easily on themselves, while they use it to gain influence over those who are nearly their equals: by it they supply many of their wants, and command at will all who are beneath them. In imposing a tabu, a chief need only be checked by a care that he is countenanced by ancient precedents. Persons of small importance borrow the shade of the system, and endeavour by its aid to place their yam beds and plantain plots within a sacred prohibition.”

Ellis continues in the same tone of banter. “The tabu seasons were either common or strict. During a common tabu the men were only required to abstain from their usual avocations and attend at the temple, when the prayers were offered every morning and evening; but during the season of strict tabu, every fire and light on the island must be extinguished, no canoe must be launched on the water, no person must bathe; and except those whose attendance was required at the temple, no individual must be seen out of doors; no dog must bark, no pig must grunt, no cock must crow, or the tabu would be broken and fail to accomplish the object designed. On these occasions they tied up the mouths of the dogs and pigs, and put the fowls under a calabash or fastened a piece of cloth over their eyes. All the common people prostrated themselves with their faces touching the ground before the sacred chiefs when they walked out, particularly during tabu; and neither the king nor the priests were allowed to touch anything; even their food was put into their mouths by another person. The tabu was imposed either by proclamation, when the crier or herald of the priests went round, generally in the evening, requiring every light to be extinguished, the path by the sea to be left for the king, the paths inland to be left for the gods, etc. The people, however, were generally prepared, having had previous warning, though this was not always the case. Sometimes it was laid on by fixing certain marks, called unu unu, the purport of which was well understood, on things tabued. When the fish of a certain part are tabued, a small pole is fixed in the rocks on the coast in the centre of the place, to which is tied a bunch of bamboo leaves on a piece of white cloth. A cocoa-nut leaf is tied to the stem of the tree when the fruit is tabued. The hogs which were tabued, having been devoted to the gods, had a piece of cinnet woven through a perforation in one of their ears. The females in particular must have felt the degrading and humiliating effects of the tabu in its full force. From its birth the child, if a female, was not allowed a particle of food that had been kept in the father’s dish or cooked at his fire; and the little boy, after being weaned, was fed with his father’s food, and as soon as he was able sat down to meals with his father, while his mother was not only obliged to take her meals in the outhouse, but was interdicted from tasting the kind of which he ate.”

At the time when Mariner was traversing Polynesia and became a guest of King Finow’s, he happened to witness the ceremony of removing a tapu, which for certain reasons had been laid on hogs. The places appropriated for this ceremony were two marleys and the grave of Tooitonga. For distinction’s sake, we shall call the first marley Tooitonga’s, and the second Finow’s. Tooitonga’s marley is near Finow’s residence, and on this were erected four columns of yams in the following manner:—Four poles about eighteen feet long were fixed upright in the ground, to the depth of a few feet, at about four feet distance from each other, in a quadrangular form, the spaces between them all the way to the top being crossed by smaller poles about six inches distant from each other, and lashed on by the bark of the fow (species of the Hibiscus), the interior of this erection being filled up as they went with yams; and afterwards other upright poles were lashed on to the top, with cross pieces in like manner, still piling up the yams; then a third set of poles, etc., till the column of yams was about fifty or sixty feet high, when on the top of all was placed a cold baked pig. Four such columns were erected, one at each corner of the marley, the day before the ceremony, and three or four hundred hogs were killed and about half baked. The following day the hogs were carried to the king’s marley, about a quarter of a mile off, and placed upon the ground before the house, as well as four or five wooden cars or sledges full of yams, each holding about five hundred. While this was doing, the people assembling from all quarters, those who were already arrived sat themselves down round the king’s marley. Occasionally some of them got up to amuse themselves, and the rest of the company, by wrestling with one another. The king and his chiefs, all dressed in plaited gnatoo, were already seated in the house, viewing what was going forward. The company being at length all arrived, and having seated themselves, the king gave notice that the ceremony was to begin. The young chiefs and warriors, and those who prided themselves in their strength, then got up singly and endeavoured in turns to carry off the largest hog. When one failed, another tried, then a third, and so on till every one that chose had made a trial of his strength. To carry one of the largest hogs is not a thing easy to be done, on account of its greasiness as well as its weight, but it affords a considerable share of diversion to see a man embracing a large fat, baked hog, and endeavouring to raise it on his shoulder. As the hog was found too heavy for one man’s strength, it was carried away by two, whilst a third followed with its liver. They were deposited on the ground near Tooitonga’s marley, where the men waited till the other hogs were brought. In the mean time the trial was going on with the second hog, which being found also too heavy for one man, was carried away by two in like manner, and so on with the third, fourth, etc., the largest being carried away first and the least last. The second, third, fourth, etc., afforded more sport than the first, as being a nearer counterbalance with a man’s strength. Sometimes he had got it nearly upon his shoulder, when his greasy burden slipped through his arms, and his endeavour to save it brought him down after it. It is an honour to attempt these things, and even the king sometimes put his hand to it. The small hogs and pigs afforded no diversion, as they were easily lifted and carried away, each by one man, and deposited, not at the outside of Tooitonga’s marley along with the largest hogs, but carried at once into it, where the cars of yams were also dragged, one at a time. When everything was thus cleared from the king’s marley, the company got up and proceeded to the other marley, where they again seated themselves, whilst Tooitonga presided, and the king and his chiefs, out of respect, sat on the outside of the ring among the great body of the people. The large hogs which had been deposited in the neighbourhood of the marley were now to be brought in each by one man, and as it had been found that one man’s strength was not sufficient to raise any of them upon his shoulders, two others were allowed to lift the hog and place it upon his shoulders for him, and then he tottered in with his load, followed by another man with the liver; and in this manner all the hogs and their livers were carried in and deposited in two or three rows before Tooitonga. Their number was then counted by the head cooks of Tooitonga and Finow, and announced aloud to Tooitonga by his own head cook; the number of cars and piles of yams was also announced at the same time.

This being done, about twenty of the largest hogs were carried to Tooitonga’s burying-place, nearly a hundred yards distant; those which were too heavy for one man to lift being put upon his shoulders by two others, etc., as before, and deposited near the grave; one car of yams was also taken and left in like manner. This portion of pork and yam being disposed of, the remainder was shared in the following manner: one column of yams was allotted to the king, to be removed in the afternoon, and to be disposed of as he pleased (he always shares it among his chiefs and fighting men); another column was allotted to Veachi and two or three other chiefs; the third was given to the gods (the priests always take care of this portion); and the fourth Tooitonga claimed for his own share. As to the cars of yams, they were never inquired after. Tooitonga generally takes care of them, and appropriates them to his own use and that of his numerous household, not that he has any legal right to them beyond custom and silent consent. The hogs were disposed of in like manner; the greatest quantity to the greatest chiefs, who share them out to the chiefs immediately below them in rank, and these again to their dependants, till every man in the island gets at least a mouthful of pork and yam. The ceremony now concluded with dancing, wrestling, etc.; after which every person present having secured his portion retired to his home to share it with his family. From this moment the tabu, or prohibition upon hogs, fowls, and cocoa-nuts, was null and void.

In New Zealand, although the principle of the institution of tapu is much the same as in other islands of the Polynesian group, its application differs in so many and such essential particulars as to make it worth while to devote a few pages, chiefly supplied from Taylor, Thompson, and other New Zealand missionaries and travellers of distinction.

During the time of tapu a man could not be touched by any one, or even put his own hand to his head himself; but he was either fed by another who was appointed for the purpose, or took up his food with his mouth from a small stage, with his hands behind him, or by a fern stalk, and thus conveyed it to his mouth. In drinking, the water was poured in a very expert manner from a calabash into his mouth, or on his hands when he needed it for washing, so that he should not touch the vessel, which otherwise could not have been used again for ordinary purposes. Places were tapued for certain periods—rivers until the fishing was ended, cultivation until the planting or reaping was completed, districts until either the hunting of the rat or catching of birds was done, woods until the fruit of the kie-kie was gathered.

A person became tapu by touching a dead body or by being very ill; in this respect it appears to bear a very close resemblance to the Mosaic law relating to uncleanness.

The garments of an ariki, or high chief, were tapu, as well as everything relating to him; they could not be worn by any one else lest they should kill him. “An old chief in my company,” says Mr. Williams, “threw away a very good mat because it was too heavy to carry; he cast it down a precipice. When I inquired why he did not leave it suspended on a tree, that any future traveller wanting a garment might take it, he gravely told me that it was the fear of its being worn by another which had caused him to throw it where he did, for if it were worn by another his tapu would kill the person. In the same way the tinder-box of a great chief killed several persons who were so unfortunate as to find it, and light their pipes from it without knowing it belonged to so sacred an owner; they actually died from fright. If the blood of a high chief flows (though it be a single drop) on anything, it renders that tapu. A party of natives came to see Te Hewhew, the great chief of Taupo, in a fine large new canoe. Te Hewhew got into it to go a short distance; in doing so he struck a splinter into his foot, the blood flowed from the wound into the canoe, which at once tapued it to him. The owner immediately jumped out and dragged it on shore opposite the chief’s house, and there left it. A gentleman entering my house, struck his head against the beam and made the blood flow; the natives present said that in former times the house would have belonged to that individual. To draw blood, even from a scratch, was a very serious matter, and often was attended with fatal consequence.”

A chief’s house was tapu; no person could eat therein, or even light his pipe from the fire, and until a certain service had been gone through, even a woman could not enter. The chief being sacred had his food to himself, generally in his verandah, or apart from the rest. No chief could carry food, lest it should occasion his death by destroying his tapu, or lest a slave should eat of it, and so cause him to die. A chief would not pass under a stage or wata (a food store). The head of the chief was the most sacred part; if he only touched it with his fingers, he was obliged immediately to apply them to his nose, and snuff up the sanctity which they had acquired by the touch, and thus restore it to the part from whence it was taken. For the same reason a chief could not blow the fire with his mouth, for the breath being sacred communicated his sanctity with the fire, and a brand might be taken from it by a slave, or a man of another tribe, or the fire might be used for other purposes, such as cooking, and so cause his death. The chief power, however, of this institution was principally seen in its effects on the multitude.

In former times, life in a great measure depended upon the produce of their cultivations; therefore it was of the utmost importance that their kumara and taro should be planted at the proper season, and that every other occupation should be laid aside until that necessary work was accomplished. All, therefore, who were thus employed were made tapu, so that they could not leave the place, or undertake any other work, until that was finished. So also in fishing and hunting; and this applied not only to those thus employed, but to others. The kumara grounds were tapu; no strange natives could approach them. Even the people of the place, if not engaged in the work, were obliged to stand at a distance from the ground thus rendered sacred by solemn karikia. Doubtless this was a wise precaution to avoid interruptions, and to keep them from stealing. No one but the priest could pass in front of the party engaged in gathering in the kumara; those who presumed to do so would be either killed or stripped for their temerity. The woods in which they hunted the rat were tapu until the sport was over, and so were the rivers; no canoe could pass by till the rabue (generally a pole with an old garment tied to it) was taken down. In the early days of the mission, this was a great annoyance; the members of the mission were often unable to communicate with each other until the dreaded pole was removed; but at last they determined to observe the tapu no longer: the boat was manned, and they rowed along in defiance of the sacred prohibition. They had not gone far, however, before they were pursued, the boat was taken ashore, and all the articles in it were seized, amongst which were some bottles of medicine and pots of preserves. These were immediately eaten, and great wrath and indignation expressed; but by preserving a firm deportment, the natives were conquered; the medicine perhaps had its share in obtaining the victory, as they found they could not meddle with the Europeans with impunity. They held a meeting, and it was then resolved that, for the future, as Europeans were a foreign race and subject to a different religion, the tapu should not apply to them; and afterwards, as their converts increased, the permission was enlarged to take them in as well.

Those who were tapued for any work could not mix again in society until it was taken off, or they were waka noa, that is, made common or deprived of the sanctity with which they had been invested. This was done by the priest, who repeated a long karakia and performed certain rites over them.

If any one wished to preserve his crop, his house, his garments, or anything else, he made it tapu: a tree which had been selected in the forest for a canoe, a patch of flax or raupo in a swamp which an individual might wish to appropriate to himself, and which he could not then do, he rendered tapu by tying a band round the former, with a little grass in it, or by sticking up a pole in the swamp with a similar bunch attached. If a person had been taken prisoner in war, and a feeling of pity arose in the breast of one of his captors, though it may have been the general determination to put him to death, the desire of the merciful individual would prevail, by throwing his garment over him; he who then touched the prisoner with a hostile intention, touched also his preserver. An instance of this kind occurred during the late war at Wanganui. One of the inhabitants was captured by the hostile natives; he was on the point of being put to death, when an old chief rushed forward and threw his blanket over him. The man was spared, and afterwards was treated with great kindness, as though he were one of the tribe.

Formerly every woman was noa, or common, and could select as many companions as she liked, without being thought guilty of any impropriety, until given away by her friends to some one as her future master; she then became tapu to him, and was liable to be put to death if found unfaithful. The power of the tapu, however, mainly depended on the influence of the individual who imposed it. If it were put on by a great chief, it would not be broken; but a powerful man often broke through the tapu of an inferior. A chief would frequently lay it on a road or river, so that no one could go by either, unless he felt himself strong enough to set the other at defiance.

The duration of the tapu was arbitrary, and depended on the will of the person who imposed it, also the extent to which it applied. Sometimes it was limited to a particular object, at other times it embraced many; some persons and places were always tapu, as an ariki or tohunga and their houses, so much so that even their very owners could not eat in them, therefore all their meals were taken in the open air. The males could not eat with their wives, nor their wives with the male children, lest their tapu or sanctity should kill them. If a chief took a fancy for anything belonging to another who was inferior, he made it tapu for himself by calling it his backbone, and thus put as it were his broad arrow upon it. A chief anxious to obtain a fine large canoe belonging to an inferior who had offended him, merely called it by his own name, and then his people went and took it.

If a chief wished to hinder any one from going to a particular place or by a particular road, he made it tapu. During the disturbances between the Government and the natives, they tapued the sea coast, and would not permit any Europeans to travel that way, and so compelled some of the highest functionaries to retrace their steps.

Some years ago a German missionary located himself at Motu Karamu, a pa up the Mokan: the greater part of the natives there, with their head chief, Te Kuri, were members of the Church of Rome, but his head wife, however, became his warm patron. When the priest arrived there on his way down the river, he scolded Te Kuri for suffering an heretical missionary to become located in his district, and applied many opprobrious epithets to the intruder. This very much incensed the chief’s lady. She said her teacher should not be abused, and therefore, next morning, when his reverence was preparing to continue his journey, she made the river tapu, and to his annoyance there was not a canoe to be found which dare break it. After storming for some time, he was obliged to return by the way he came, the lady saying it would teach him to use better language another time, and not insult her minister.

To render a place tapu, a chief tied one of his old garments to a pole, and stuck it up on the spot he intended to be sacred. This he either called by his own name, saying it was some part of his body, as Te Hewhew made the mountain Tongariro sacred by speaking of it as his backbone, or he gave it the name of one of his tupuna, or ancestors; then all descended from that individual were bound to see the tapu maintained, and the further back the ancestors went the greater number of persons were interested in keeping up the tapu, as the credit and influence of the family was at stake, and all were bound to avenge any wanton infringement of it.

Another kind of tapu was that which was acquired by accidental circumstances, thus: An iron pot which was used for cooking purposes was lent to a Pakeka; he very innocently placed it under the eaves of his house to catch water in; the rain coming from a sacred dwelling rendered the utensil so likewise. It was afterwards removed by a person to cook with, without her knowing what had been done. When she was told it was sacred, as it had caught the water from the roof, she exclaimed, “We shall die before night.” They went, however, to the tohunga, who made it noa again by uttering the tupeke over it.

Sickness also made the persons tapu. All diseases were supposed to be occasioned by atuas, or spirits, ngarara or lizards entering into the body of the afflicted; these therefore rendered the person sacred. The sick were removed from their own houses, and had sheds built for them in the bush at a considerable distance from the pa, where they lived apart. If any remained in their houses and died there, the dwelling became tapu, was painted over with red ochre, and could not again be used, which often put a tribe to great inconvenience, as some houses were the abode of perhaps thirty or forty different people.

The wife of a chief falling ill, the missionaries took her into their hospital, where she laid for several days. At last her husband came and carried her away, saying, he was afraid of her dying there, lest the house should be made tapu, and thus hinder the missionaries from using it again.

During the war, Maketu, a principal chief of the hostile natives, was shot in the house belonging to a settler, which he was then plundering; from that time it became tapu, and no heathen would enter it for years.

The resting-places of great chiefs on a journey became tapu; if they were in the forest, the spots were cleared and surrounded with a fence of basket work, and names were given to them. This custom particularly applied to remarkable rocks or trees, to which karakia was made, and a little bundle of rushes was thrown as an offering to the spirit who was supposed to reside there, and the sacred object was smeared over with red ochre. A similar custom prevailed when corpses were carried to their final places of interment. The friends of the dead either carved an image, which they frequently clothed with their best garments, or tied some of the clothes of the dead to a neighbouring tree or to a pole; or else they painted some adjacent rock or stone with red ochre, to which they gave the name of the dead, and whenever they passed by addressed it as though their friend were alive and present, using the most endearing expressions, and casting some fresh garments on the figure as a token of their love. These were a kind of memorial similar to the painted windows in churches.

An inferior kind of tapu exists, which any one may use. A person who finds a piece of drift timber secures it for himself by tying something round it or giving it a chop with his axe. In a similar way he can appropriate to his own use whatever is naturally common to all. A person may thus stop up a road through his ground, and often leaves his property in exposed places with merely this simple sign to show it is private and generally it is allowed to remain untouched, however many may pass that way; so with a simple bit of flax, the door of a man’s house, containing all his valuables, is left, or his food store; they are thus rendered inviolable, and no one will meddle with them. The owner of a wood abounding with kie-kie, a much prized fruit, is accustomed to set up a pole to preserve it until the fruit be fully ripe; when it is thought to be sufficiently so, he sends a young man to see if the report be favourable. The rahue is then pulled down; this removes the tapu, and the entire population go to trample the wood. All have liberty to gather the fruit, but it is customary to present some of the finest to the chief owner.

“When,” says a missionary, “Te Hewhew and nearly sixty of his tribe were overwhelmed by a landslip, in the village of Te Rapa, where they resided, the spot was for a long time kept strictly tapu, and no one was allowed to set foot on it. I was determined to make the effort, and as several who were Christians had lost their lives in the general destruction, I told the natives I should go and read the burial service over them. Viewing me as a tohunga (or priest), they did not dare to offer any opposition. I went on the sacred spot, under which the entire population of a village lay entombed, and there I read the burial service, the neighbouring natives standing on the verge of the ruins and on the surrounding heights.”

It is evident therefore that the tapu arises from the will of the chief; that by it he laid a ban upon whatever he felt disposed. It was a great power which could at all times be exercised for his own advantage, and the maintenance of his power, frequently making some trifling circumstance the reason for putting the whole community to great inconvenience, rendering a road to the pa, perhaps the most direct and frequented, or a grove, or a fountain, or anything else tapu by his arbitrary will. Without the tapu he was only a common man, and this is what long deterred many high chiefs from embracing Christianity, lest they should lose this main support of their power. Few but ariki, or great tohungas, claimed the power of the tapu; inferior ones indeed occasionally used it, but the observance of it was chiefly confined to his own retainers, and was often violated with impunity, or by giving a small payment. But he who presumed to violate the tapu of an ariki, did it at the risk of his life and property.

The tapu in many instances was beneficial, considering the state of society, the absence of law, and the fierce character of the people; it formed no bad substitute for a dictatorial form of government, and made the nearest approach to an organised state of society, or rather it may be regarded as the last remaining trace of a more civilised polity possessed by their remote ancestors. In it we discern somewhat of the ancient dignity and power of the high chief, or ariki, and a remnant of the sovereign authority they once possessed, with the remarkable union of the kingly and sacerdotal character in their persons. It rendered them a distinct race, more nearly allied to gods than men, their persons, garments, houses, and everything belonging to them being so sacred, that to touch or meddle with them was alone sufficient to occasion death.

Their gods being no more than deceased chiefs, they were regarded as living ones, and thus were not to be killed by inferior men, but only by those who had more powerful atuas in them. The victorious chief who had slain numbers, and had swallowed their eyes and drank their blood, was supposed, to have added the spirits of his victims to his own, and thus increased the power of his spirit. To keep up this idea and hinder the lower orders from trying whether it were possible to kill such corporeal and living gods, was the grand work of the tapu, and it did succeed in doing so. During bygone ages it has had a wide-spread sway, and exercised a fearful power over benighted races of men; until the “stone cut without hands” smote this mighty image of cruelty on its feet, caused it to fall, and, like the chaff of the summer’s thrashing floor, the wind of God’s word has swept it away.

Among the Samoans tangible shapes are given to the mysterious things. There is the snake-tapu, the shark-tapu, the thunder-tapu, and very many others. If I am a Samoan, therefore, and have yams, or chickens, or plantains to preserve, I make a tapu according to my fancy—if thunder, I make a small mat and tack to it streamers of coloured cloth; if a shark, I plait cocoa-leaves to as close a resemblance to the terrible fish as my ingenuity is capable—and hang it to a tree where my chickens roost, or where my plantains grow. Nobody misunderstands my meaning. There is my shark-tapu, and sure as ever you pilfer the goods that lie in the shadow of it, the very next time you go out to fish a shark will devour you. There is my thunder-tapu; despise its protective influence, and before you reach home with your plunder the lightning will overtake you and strike you dead. No one can remove a tapu but he who imposes it.

To this extent there can be no doubt that the tapu is a wholesome institution—indeed, only such a one could at all control the savage or bring him to distinguish between “mine and thine.” This, however, is but the simplest form of tapu. It is where at the caprice of a brutal chief or king, or an ignorant and malicious priest, the tapu is applied to individuals or communities, that its pernicious influence is at once evident. During the time that an individual is tapu, he is not allowed to touch anything, or even himself, but is fed by another, or takes food from off a stage with his mouth. When he drinks, the vessel is placed at his lips and tilted as he gulps; and if the tapu is lasting and the banned wretch grows dirty, nobody must wash him, and he must not wash himself—water is dashed over him, and where the water falls the ground is tapu, and no one dare tread on it. Whatever he touches, whatever he wears is immediately destroyed, for fear that by merely handling it death in some horrible shape should be the result.

The institution, although still acknowledged among the Polynesians, is not carried the length it was in former times. A century ago certain men were supposed to be born tapu, and so to remain through their entire lives. Such individuals must have had a wearisome time of it. No one dare sit in their company, or eat with them, or talk with them. When such a one walked abroad, people slunk tremblingly to the wall, or took to their heels and run, for fear the merest hem of their garments might come in contact with the dress of the sacred one, and the awful strength of the tapu might kill them. The vessels in which the born tapu’s food was cooked and served, were never used but once. A man who lit his pipe at such a tapu’s fire would be regarded as one certainly doomed to death, or, if he did not die, as one possessed of a devil, and only fit to be clubbed or strangled; nay, if a born tapu but blew into a fire, it was straightway a tapu fire, and any one but the tapu himself partaking of food cooked thereat would surely die.

In common with all other savage countries, New Zealand recognises witchcraft as indispensable, and places the most perfect reliance on witch trials and verdicts.

A gentleman who resided several years amongst the natives, had once an opportunity of seeing this pretended power exercised. He was in company with two young natives, one an heathen chief of some rank, who expressed his firm belief, not only in the existence of their gods, but likewise in their willingness to appear to their own relatives when asked to do so. He was told by the European that he could not believe such to be possible; but if he actually saw one of their gods, then he should cease to doubt their existence. The young chief immediately offered to give the proof demanded; he invited the unbelieving European to accompany him to an old lady who formerly had exercised this power. It was in the evening when the conversation took place: they went directly to her abode. She was then living in a little cultivation at some distance from the village. They found her sitting in a long shed by the side of the fire.

After some general conversation, the young chief made her acquainted with the object of their visit, telling her that their companion, the European, did not believe in the existence of native gods, or that they could hold intercourse with men, and therefore he wished her to show him that such was really the case, by giving him an actual proof. For some time she hesitated, stating that she had given up such things and had become a praying woman; at last, however, after much entreaty, she consented, and bid one of the party take away some of the brands from the fire and throw them outside, as “the gods did not like too much light.” This was accordingly done. The old woman sat crouched down by the fire with her head concealed in her blanket, swaying her body to and fro. The young chief laid himself full length on the ground with his face downwards; he began by calling on the different gods by name who were considered to be his relatives, addressing them as though present; his being the eldest son of the eldest branch of his family was supposed to confer this privilege upon him. At first they appeared to pay no attention to their relative; he thereupon spoke to them in a louder tone, but still without success; at last he called to them in an angry tone, telling them if they did not speak, the European would go away and disbelieve in their existence. The old woman sat still and appeared to take no notice of anything. The European kept his eye steadily fixed upon her and went and sat by her side; suddenly he heard a scratching as of a rat running up the wall and along the roof of the house, until the sound seemed to come from the spot exactly over their heads; he thought it was done by some accomplice outside, but he was not aware of any one being there besides the party in the house; he detected no movement of the old woman beyond that of rocking her body to and fro. Then he heard a low whistle, and could distinguish the enquiry, “what did they want with him?” The Maori gods always speak in a whistling tone. The young chief replied, that they wanted him to come and show himself to the European. He said he should kill him if he came. The chief insisted that he should render himself visible; the god held back, but the chief would not allow his divine relative to escape; at last he consented to assume the form of a spider, and alight on his head. The European said if he descended straight on his head he would believe he was actually present; but if he only saw a spider on his side or legs he should not be satisfied. The old woman then got up and went to the other side of the hut, and fumbled about in the thatch of the house as though she was searching for a spider to act the god; but her search was vain, she only found a little beetle which consumes the raupo. She then came and sat by his side; but he narrowly watched her. The chief reproached the god for not descending at once upon his head. The god replied, it was from an unwillingness to injure the European. He demanded a blanket for having spoken to him, and said he had seen him before in the Bay of Islands; which was false, as he had never been there; but he at once assented to see whether the god might not tell some further lies, when he found that the first was agreed to. The make-believe god then imitated the Naga-puhi dialect and said he had seen such and such chiefs with him and several other things equally untrue, again repeating his request for a present; but though urged to render himself visible, he obstinately refused, to the great mortification of the chief, who still believed he actually heard a god speak, when the interview terminated.

The religion of the savage Land Dayaks of Borneo, says Mr. St. John, consists solely of a number of superstitious observances; they are given up to the fear of ghosts, and in the propitiation of these by small offerings and certain ceremonies, consist the principal part of their worship. Nevertheless, they seem to have a firm, though not particularly clear, belief in the existence of one Supreme Being above all and over all. This supreme being is among the Land Dayaks, called “Tapa;” among the Silakan and Saras, “Tewata;” and among the Sibuyans, “Batara.”

In common with many other barbarous tribes, their religious system relates principally to this life. They are like the rest of mankind, continually liable to physical evils, poverty, misfortune, and sickness, and these they try to avert from themselves by the practice of ancient customs which are supposed to be effectual for the purpose. This system may be classed as follows:—

The killing of pigs and fowls, the flesh of which is eaten, small portions being set aside with rice for the spiritual powers; and from the blood being mixed with spittle, turmeric, and cocoa-nut water, a filthy mess is concocted and called physic, with which the people attending the feast are anointed on the head and face. Dancing by the elders and the priestesses round a kind of bamboo altar, erected on these occasions either in the long room or on the exterior platform of one of the houses round which the offerings are placed, always accompanied by the beating of all the gongs and drums of the tribe by the young lads, and singing, or rather chanting, by the priestesses. The “Parneli” or tabu of an apartment, house, or village for one, two, four, eight, and even sixteen days, during which, in the case of a village, no stranger can enter it; in the case of a house, no one beside the family residing therein; and in the case of an apartment, no one out of the family.

The Dayaks acknowledge four chief spirits: “Tapa,” who created men and women, and preserves them in life; “Tenahi,” who made the earth and, except the human race, all things therein, and still causes it to flourish; “Iang,” or “Iing,” who first instructed the Dayaks in the mysteries of their religion, and who superintends its performance; “Jirong,” who looks after the propagation of the human species, and causes them to die of sickness or accident. They believe that when Tapa first made the world, he created Iang, then the spirits “Triee” and “Komang,” and then man. That man and the spirits were at first equal and fought on fair terms, but that on one woeful occasion the spirits got the better of man, and rubbed charcoal in his eyes, which rendered him unable any longer to see his spirit foes, except in the case of some gifted persons, as the priests, and so placed him at their mercy.

With respect to a future state, the common Dayak belief is, that when a man dies, he becomes a spirit and lives in the jungle, or (this Mr. Chalmers heard from one of the body-burning tribes) that as the smoke of the funeral pyre of a good man rises, the soul ascends with it to the sky, and that the smoke from the pyre of a wicked man descends, and his soul with it is borne to the earth, and through it to the regions below. Another version is, that when a man dies a natural death, his soul, on leaving the body, becomes a spirit, and haunts the place of burial or burning. When a spirit dies—for spirits too, it would seem, are subject unto death—it enters the hole of Hades, and coming out thence again becomes a “Bejawi.” In course of time the Bejawi dies, and lives once more as a “Begutur;” but when a Begutur dies, the spiritual essence of which it consists enters the trunks of trees, and may be seen there damp and blood-like in appearance, and has a personal and sentient existence no longer.

The Land Dayaks point to the highest mountains in sight as the abode of their departed friends. The spirits they divide into two classes—“Umot,” spirits by nature, and “Mino,” ghosts of departed men. The former are said to live amid the forests that cap the hills. They delight in war and bloodshed, and always come down to be present at the Dayak “head-feast.” They are described as of a fierce and wild appearance, and covered with hair like an ourang-outang. The Umot spirits are divided into classes. There is the “Umot Sisi,” a harmless kind of spirit which follows the Dayak to look for the fragments of food which have fallen through the open flooring of their houses, and who is heard at night munching away below; “Umot Perubak,” who causes scarcity among the Dayaks by coming invisibly and eating the rice from the pot at meal time; and “Umot Perusong,” who comes slily and devours the rice which is stored within a receptacle made of the bark of some gigantic tree, and is in the form of a vat. It is kept in the garrets of the houses, and a large one will contain a hundred and fifty bushels, and the family live in constant fear that these voracious spirits will visit their store and entirely consume it.

Spectre of Headless Dog and Dayak.

“Mino Buau” are the ghosts of those who have been killed in war. These are very vicious and inimical to the living; they live in the jungle, and have the power of assuming the form of headless beasts and men. A Quop Dayak once met with one. He was walking through the jungle and saw what he thought was a squirrel sitting on the large roots of a tree which overhung a small stream. He had a spear in his hand. This he threw at the squirrel, and thought he had struck it: he ran towards the spot where it had apparently fallen, when, to his horror, it faced him, rose up, and was transformed into a dog. The dog walked on a few paces, and then turning into a human shape, sat down on the trunk of a tree—head there was none. The spectre body was parti-coloured, and at the top drawn up to a point. The Dayak was smitten with great fear and away he rushed home and fell into a violent fever; the priest was called, and he pronounced that the patient’s soul had been summoned away from its corporeal abiding-place by the spirit, so he went to seek it, armed with his magic charms. Midway between the village and the place where the Buau had appeared, the fugitive soul was overtaken, and induced to pause, and, having been captured by the priest, was brought back to its body and poked into its place through an invisible hole in the head. The next day the fever was gone.

To propitiate the superior spirits the Dayaks shut themselves in their houses a certain number of days, and by that, among other means, hope to avert sickness, to cure a favorite child, or to restore their own health. They also have recourse to it when the cry of the gazelle is heard behind them, or when their omen-birds utter unfavorable warnings. They likewise place themselves under this interdict at the planting of rice, at harvest-home, and upon many other occasions. During this time they appear to remain in their houses in order to eat, drink, and sleep; but their eating must be moderate, and often consists of nothing but rice and salt. These interdicts are of different durations and importance. Sometimes, as at the harvest-home, the whole tribe is compelled to observe it, and then no one must leave the village; at other times it only extends to a family or a single individual. It is also considered important that no stranger should break the tabu by entering the village, the house, or apartment placed under interdict. If any one should do so intentionally, he is liable to a fine. People under interdict may not bathe, touch fire, or employ themselves about their ordinary avocations. The religion of the Dayak prohibits the eating of the flesh of horned animals, as cattle and goats, and many tribes extend the prohibition to wild deer. In some tribes none but the elders and the women and children may partake of eggs; in others, they, and no one else, may dine off venison: the young men and the warriors abstaining from it lest it should render them timid as the animal that supplies the last-mentioned meat. It is also strictly commanded to all those intending to engage in a pig hunt to abstain from meddling with oil; but whether for any more important reason than that the game may not slip through their fingers is not exactly known.

A singular custom of a religious character prevails among certain Dayak tribes, and which is known as making brothers. The offer to become the “brother” of one of these savages was made, and what is more accepted, to the gentleman who furnishes the foregoing account of the Dayak religion, as well as the following:

“Singauding sent on board to request me to become his brother by going through the sacred custom of imbibing each other’s blood. I say imbibing, because it is either mixed with water and drunk, or else it is placed within a native cigar and drawn in with the smoke. I agreed to do so, and the following day was fixed for the ceremony. It is called Berbiang by the Kayans; Bersabibah by the Borneans. I landed with our party of Malays, and after a preliminary talk to give time for the population to assemble, the affair commenced. We sat in the broad verandah of a long house, surrounded by hundreds of men, women, and children, all looking eagerly at the white stranger who was about to enter their tribe. Stripping my left arm, Kum Lia took a small piece of wood, shaped like a knife-blade, and slightly piercing the skin brought blood to the surface; this he carefully scraped off; then one of my Malays drew blood in the same way from Singauding; and a small cigarette being produced, the blood on the wooden blades was spread on the tobacco. A chief then arose, and walking to an open place, looked forth upon the river and invoked their god and all the spirits of good and evil to be witness of this tie of brotherhood. The cigarette was then lighted and each of us took several puffs, and the ceremony was concluded. I was glad to find that they had chosen the form of inhaling the blood in smoke, as to have swallowed even a drop would have been unpleasant, though the disgust would only arise from the imagination. They sometimes vary the custom, though the variation may be confined to the Kiniahs who live farther up the river, and are intermarried with the Kayans. There a pig is brought and placed between the two who are to be joined in brotherhood. A chief offers an invocation to the gods, and marks with a lighted brand the pig’s shoulder. The beast is then killed, and after an exchange of jackets, a sword is thrust into the wound and the two are marked with the blood of the pig.”

Making Brothers.

This curious ceremony of “making brothers” is not confined to Borneo; it is practised in Western and Eastern Africa. In the latter region the ceremony is invested with much importance, especially when the individuals concerned are two chiefs who have long been at variance. Squatting before each other in the presence of the chiefs and elders with their implements of war on their laps, and having each in his hands a sharp knife and a small cup, the would-be brothers make a slight gash in each other’s breast and, catching the blood in the cup, drink it to their eternal friendship, the oldest man of the tribe standing over them to witness the reconciliation and waving his sword over them.

The Sea Dayaks, whose customs differ widely in many respects from those of the Land Dayaks, have a clear idea of one omnipotent being who created and now rules over the world. They call him Batara. Beneath him are many good and innumerable bad spirits, and the fear of the latter causes them to make greater and more frequent offerings to them than to the good spirits. The awe with which many of them are named has induced a few, among others Mr. Chambers, to imagine that their religion is a species of polytheism. But this, according to Mr. St. John’s way of thinking, is a mistake; and Mr. Johnson and Mr. Gomez, who have much knowledge of the Sea Dayaks, agree with the gentleman formerly mentioned.

The Sea Dayaks pay homage to evil spirits of various kinds, who reside in the jungles, in the mountains, and in the earth; all sicknesses, misfortunes, or death, proceed from them; while to Batara is attributed every blessing. When they make offerings, however, both are propitiated and, as usual, the wicked ones have the larger share. The priests offer a long prayer and supplicate them to depart from the afflicted house or from the sick man. Of the seven platesful of food, four are given to the evil spirits and cast forth or exposed in the forest, while the others are offered to the good spirits, who are implored to protect and bless them. The food offered to the latter is not considered to be interdicted, but may be, and always is eaten.

The Lingga Dayaks, besides Batara, have various good spirits—as Stampandei, who superintends the propagation of mankind; Pulang Ganah, who inhabits the earth and gives fertility to it, and to him are addressed the offerings at the feasts given whilst preparing the rice for cultivation: Singallong Burong, the god of war, excites their utmost reverence, and to him are offered the Head feasts. On these occasions he comes down and hovers in the form of a kite over the house, and guns are fired and gongs beaten in his honour. His brave followers married to his daughters appear in the form of his omen birds. No wonder he is honoured; he gives success in war and delights in their acquisitions of the heads of their enemies. Nattiang inhabits the summits of the hills and is one of their demigods. The Linggas tell many stories of his exploits. The most famous was his expedition to the skies to recover his wife who had been caught in a noose and hoisted up there by an old enemy of his. To dream of him is to receive the gift of bravery.

When the small-pox was committing dreadful havoc among the Sakarangs the villagers would not allow themselves to be innoculated; they ran into the jungle in every direction, caring for no one but themselves, leaving their houses empty and dwelling far away in the most silent spots in parties of two and three and sheltered only by a few leaves. When these calamities come upon them they utterly lose all command over themselves and become as timid as children. When the fugitives become short of provisions a few of the old men who have already had the complaint creep back to the houses at night and take a supply of rice. In the daytime they do not dare to stir or speak above a whisper for fear the spirits should see or hear them. They do not call the small-pox by its name, but are in the habit of saying, “Has he left you?” at other times they call it jungle-leaves or fruit; at other places the Datu or chief.

Their priests frequently use the names of invisible spirits, and are supposed to be able to interpret their language as well as to hold communion with them; and in ordinary times they pretend to work the cure of the sick by means of incantations, and after blinding the patient’s eyes pretend, by the aid of the spirits, to draw the bones of fish or fowl out of their flesh. When the Dayaks are questioned as to their belief in these easily-exposed deceits, they say, No; but the custom has descended to them from their ancestors, and they still pay their priests heavy sums to perform the ancient rites.

They believe in a future state—considering that the Simaūgat or spiritual part of man lives for ever; that they awake shortly after death in the Sabayan or future abode, and that there they find those of their relatives and friends who have departed before them. Some tribes divide their Sabayan into seven distinct stories which are occupied by the souls of the departed according to their rank and position in life. The really wicked occupy the lowest, but whether happy or miserable they acknowledge ignorance.

The Kayans of Baram have some singular ideas concerning a future state. The name of their god is Totadungan and he reigns over all; they say he has a wife but no children, and beneath him are many gods of inferior power. They believe in a future state with separate places for the souls of the good and the bad, and that both heaven and hell are divided into many distinct residences—that those who die from wounds, or sickness, or drowning, go to separate places. If a woman dies before her husband they hold that she goes to heaven and marries again; but that if when her earthly husband dies he goes to heaven the celestial match is broken off and the old husband claims his partner.

Among both Land and Sea Dayaks dreams are regarded as actual occurrences. They think that in sleep the soul sometimes remains in the body and sometimes leaves it and travels far away, and that both when in and out of the body it sees and hears and talks and altogether has a presence given it which when the body is in a natural state it does not enjoy. Fainting fits or a state of coma are thought to be caused by the departure of the soul on some expedition of its own. Elders and priestesses often assert that in their dreams they have visited the mansion of the blessed and seen the Creator dwelling in a house like that of a Malay, the interior of which was adorned with guns and gongs and jars innumerable, Himself being clothed like a Dayak.

A dream of sickness to any member of a family always ensures a ceremony; and no one presumes to enter the priesthood, or to learn the art of a blacksmith, without being or pretending to be warned in a dream that he should undertake to learn it. A man has been known to give one of his two children to another who has no children because he dreamed that unless he did so the child would die.

In dreams also, “Tapa” and the spirits bestow gifts on men in the shape of magic stones, which being washed in cocoa milk the water forms one of the ingredients in the mass of blood and tumeric which is considered sacred and is used to anoint the people at the harvest-feasts. They are ordinary black pebbles, and there is nothing in their appearance to give a notion of their magic power and value.

On the banks of one of the rivers Mr. St. John discovered the effigy of a bull cut in a sort of stone said to be unknown in the country; its legs and part of its head had been knocked off. Its history is as follows:—Many years ago on being discovered in the jungle the Malays and Dayaks removed it to the banks of the river preparatory to its being conveyed to the town, but before it could be put into a prahu they say a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning, wind and rain, arose, which lasted thirty days. Fearing that the bull was angry at being disturbed in his forest home they left him in the mud, and there Sir James Brooke found it and had it removed to his own house. Several of the Dayak tribes sent deputations to him to express their fears of the evil consequences that would be sure to ensue—everything would go wrong, storms would arise, their crops would be blighted, and famine would desolate the land. Humouring their prejudices, he answered that they were mistaken, that the bull on the contrary would be pleased to be removed from the dirty place in which the Malays had left him, and that now he was kept dry and comfortable there would be no show of his anger. This reply satisfied them. Occasionally the Dayaks would come and wash the stone bull, taking away the precious water to fertilize their fields.

Amongst some of the Bornean aborigines there is a superstition that they must not laugh at a dog or a snake crossing their path. Should they do so they would become stones. These Dayaks always refer with respect and awe to some rocks scattered over the summit of a hill in Sadong, saying that they were originally men. The place was a very likely one to be haunted—a noble old forest but seldom visited. Many years ago they say a great chief gave a feast there, in the midst of which his lovely daughter came in; she was a spoilt child who did nothing but annoy the guests. They at first tried to get rid of her by mixing dirt with her food: finding she still teazed them, they gave her poison. Her father in his anger went back to his house, shaved his dog and painted him with alternate streaks of black and white. Then giving him some intoxicating drink he carried him in his arms into the midst of the assembly and set him on the ground. The dog began to caper about in the most ludicrous manner which set them all off laughing, the host as well as the guests, and they were immediately turned into stone.

With one giant stride of our any-number-of-league boots we step from Borneo into North America and among the many semi-savage tribes that there reside. As a rule the North-American savage believes in one Supreme Being whom he knows as the Great Spirit, and whose abode is Paradise, or the “happy hunting ground.” This Supreme Being, however, they regard as much too exalted to trouble himself about the petty businesses of the world, and therefore governs by deputy. There are, according to Indian belief, numerous subordinate deities, the business of each of whom it is to govern and control the earth, the forests and the game there abounding, the winds, the air, and the water, together with its finny denizens. Besides those—at least in the case of the Ojibbeway, who may fairly be taken as the type of the North-American Indian—they have a host of evil spirits or munedoos, or manitou, headed by one arch Matchi-munedoo, and who, it is to be feared on account of their predilection for mischief, occupy a greater portion of the Indian’s time and attention in the way of propitiation and friendly peace-offering, than ever is devoted to Kitchi-manitou, the Great Spirit to whom, if the Indian’s religion is worth a straw, it should be sufficient to obey to render one self-defiant of Matchi-munedoo and all his works.

As might be expected the Indian language is rich in mythological lore, and is often found to be a curious tangle of what we acknowledge as Biblical truth, and nonsense, remarkable chiefly for its quaint grotesqueness. Take the following narrative of the Deluge:

“Before the general deluge there lived two enormous creatures, each possessed of vast power. One was an animal with a great horn on his head; the other was a huge toad. The latter had the whole management of the waters, keeping them secure in its own body, and emitting only a certain quantity for the watering of the earth. Between these two creatures there arose a quarrel, which terminated in a fight. The toad in vain tried to swallow its antagonist, but the latter rushed upon it, and with his horn pierced a hole in its side, out of which the water gushed in floods, and soon overflowed the face of the earth. At this time Nanahbozhoo was living on the earth, and observing the water rising higher and higher, he fled to the loftiest mountain for refuge. Perceiving that even this retreat would be soon inundated, he selected a large cedar tree which he purposed to ascend, should the waters come up to him. Before they reached him he caught a number of animals and fowls, and put them into his bosom. At length the water covered the mountain. Nanahbozhoo then ascended the cedar tree, and as he went up he plucked its branches and stuck them in the belt which girdled his waist. When he reached the top of the tree he sang, and beat the tune with his arrow upon his bow, and as he sang the tree grew and kept pace with the water for a long time. At length he abandoned the idea of remaining any longer on the tree, and took the branches he had plucked, and with them constructed a raft, on which he placed himself with the animals and fowls. On this raft he floated about for a long time, till all the mountains were covered, and all the beasts of the earth and fowls of the air, except those he had with him, perished.

“At length Nanahbozhoo thought of forming a new world, but how to accomplish it without any materials he knew not, till the idea occurred to him that if he could only obtain a little of the earth, which was then under water, he might succeed in making a new world out of the old one. He accordingly employed the different animals he had with him that were accustomed to diving. First, he sent the loon, a water fowl of the penguin species, down into the water in order to bring up some of the old earth; but it was not able to reach the bottom, and after remaining in the water some time, came up dead. Nanahbozhoo then took it, blew upon it, and it came to life again. He next sent the otter, which also failing to reach the bottom, came up dead, and was restored to life in the same manner as the loon. He then tried the skill of the heaver, but without success. Having failed with all these diving animals, he last of all took the musk-rat; on account of the distance it had to go to reach the bottom, it was gone a long time, and came up dead. On taking it up, Nanahbozhoo found, to his great joy, that it had reached the earth, and had retained some of the soil in each of its paws and mouth. He then blew upon it, and brought it to life again, at the same time pronouncing many blessings on it, saying, that as long as the world he was about to make should endure, the musk-rat should never become extinct. This prediction of Nanahbozhoo is still spoken of by the Indians when referring to the rapid increase of the musk-rat. Nanahbozhoo then took the earth which he found in the musk-rat’s paws and mouth, and having rubbed it with his hands to fine dust, he placed it on the waters and blew upon it; then it began to grow larger and larger, until it was beyond the reach of his eye. In order to ascertain the size of the world, and the progress of its growth and expansion, he sent a wolf to run to the end of it, measuring its extent by the time consumed in his journey. The first journey he performed in one day, the second took him five days, the third ten, the fourth a month, then a year, five years, and so on, until the world was so large that Nanahbozhoo sent a young wolf that could just run, which died of old age before he could accomplish the journey. Nanahbozhoo then said the world was large enough, and commanded it to cease from growing. After this Nanahbozhoo took a journey to view the new world he had made, and as he travelled he created various tribes of Indians, and placed them in different parts of the earth; he then gave them various religions, customs, and manners.

“This Nanahbozhoo now sits at the North Pole, overlooking all the transactions and affairs of the people he has placed on the earth. The Northern tribes say that Nanahbozhoo always sleeps during the winter; but, previous to his falling asleep, fills his great pipe, and smokes for several days, and that it is the smoke arising from the mouth and pipe of Nanahbozhoo which produces what is called ‘Indian summer.’”

They have, however, legends that relate to times anterior to the flood, even to the beginning of Time itself and the days of Adam and Eve. Mr. Kohl, of “Lake Superior” celebrity, contributes the following:

“On Torch Lake it is said, that Kitchi-Manitou (the Good Spirit) first made the coast of our lake. He strewed the sand and formed a fine flat dry beach or road round the lake. He found that it was splendid walking upon it, and often wandered along the beach. One day he saw something lying on the white sand. He picked it up. It was a very little root. He wondered whether it would grow if planted in the ground, and made the trial. He planted it close to the edge of the water in the sand, and when he came again, the next day, a thick and large reed-bed had grown out of it through which the wind rustled. This pleased him, and he sought for and collected more little roots and other seeds from the sand and spread them around so that they soon covered the rocks and land with grass and fine forests, in which the birds and other animals came to live. Every day he added something new to the creation, and did not forget to place fish and other creatures in the water.

“One day when Kitchi-Manitou was again walking along the sand, he saw something moving in the reeds, and noticed a being coming out of the water entirely covered with silver-glistening scales like a fish, but otherwise formed like a man. Kitchi-Manitou was curious to see on what the being lived and whether it ate herbs, especially as he saw it constantly stooping and plucking herbs which it swallowed. The man could not speak, but at times when he stooped he sighed and groaned.

“The sight moved Kitchi-Manitou with compassion in the highest degree, and as a good thought occurred to him, he immediately stepped into his canoe and paddled across to the island, which still lies in the centre of the lake. Here he set to work providing the man the company of a squaw. He formed her nearly like what he had seen the man to be, and also covered her body with silver-glistening scales. Then he breathed life into her, and carried her across in his canoe to the other bank of the lake, telling her that if she wandered busily along the lake and looked about her, she would perhaps find something to please her. For days the squaw wandered about one shore of the lake, while the man was seeking herbs for food on the other. One day the latter went a little further, and, to his great surprise, saw footsteps in the sand much like those he himself made. At once he gave up seeking herbs and followed these footsteps, as he hoped there were other beings like himself on the lake. The squaw during her long search had left so many footsteps that the man at first feared they might belong to a number of Indians, and they might perhaps be hostile. Hence he crept along carefully in the bush, but always kept an eye on the trail in the sand.

“At last he found the being he sought sitting on a log near the shore. Through great fatigue she had fallen asleep. He looked around to the right and left but she was quite alone. At length he ventured to come out of the bushes; he approached her with uncertain and hesitating steps; he seized her and she opened her eyes.

“‘Who art thou?’ he said, for he could now suddenly speak, ‘Who art thou, what is thy name, and whither dost thou come?’

“‘My name is Mami,’ she replied, ‘and Kitchi-Manitou brought me here from that island, and told me I should find something here I liked. I think that thou art the promised one.’

“‘On what dost thou live?’ the man asked the woman.

“‘Up to this time I have eaten nothing, for I was looking for thee. But now I feel very hungry; hast thou anything to eat?’

“Straightway the man ran into the bushes, and collected some roots and herbs he had found good to eat, and brought them to the squaw, who greedily devoured them.

“The sight of this moved Kitchi-Manitou, who had watched the whole scene from his lodge. He immediately came over in his canoe, and invited the couple to his island. Here they found a handsome large house prepared for them, and a splendid garden round it. In the house were glass windows, and in the rooms tables and chairs and beds and conveniences of every description. In the garden grew every possible sort of useful and nourishing fruits, potatoes, strawberries, apple-trees, cherry and plum trees; and close by were large fine fields planted with Indian corn and beans.

“They ate and lived there for days and years in pleasure and happiness; and Kitchi-Manitou often came to them and conversed with them. ‘One thing,’ he said, ‘I must warn you against. Come hither; see, this tree in the middle of the garden is not good. I did not plant it, but Matchi-Manitou planted it. In a short time this tree will blossom and bear fruits which look very fine and taste very sweet; but do not eat of them, for if ye do so ye will die.’ They paid attention to this, and kept the command a long time, even when the tree had blossomed and the fruit had set. One day, however, when Mami went walking in the garden, she heard a very friendly and sweet voice say to her, ‘Mami, Mami, why dost thou not eat of this beautiful fruit? it tastes splendidly.’ She saw no one, but she was certain the voice did not come either from Kitchi-Manitou or her husband. She was afraid and went into the house. The next day though, she again went into the garden, and was rather curious whether the same pleasant voice would speak to her again. She had hardly approached the forbidden tree, when the voice was heard once more, ‘Mami, Mami, why dost thou not taste this splendid fruit? it will make thy heart glad.’ And with these words a young handsome Indian came out of the bushes, plucked a fruit, and placed it in her hand. ‘Thou canst make famous preserves of it for thy household,’ the friendly Indian added.

“The fruit smelled pleasantly, and Mami licked it a little. At length she swallowed it entirely, and felt as if drunk. When her husband came to her soon after she persuaded him also to eat of it; he did so, and also felt as if drunk. But this had scarce happened ere the silver scales with which their bodies had been covered, fell off; only twenty of these scales remained on, but they had lost their brilliancy,—ten on the fingers and ten on the toes. They saw themselves to be quite uncovered, and began to be ashamed, and withdrew timidly into the bushes of the garden.

“The young Indian had disappeared, but the angry Kitchi-Manitou soon came to them, and said ‘It is done; ye have eaten of Matchi-Manitou’s fruit, and must now die. Hence it is necessary that I should marry you, lest the whole human race might die out with you. Ye must perish, but shall live on in your children and children’s children.’ Kitchi-Manitou banished them also from the happy isle, which immediately grew wild, and bore them in his canoe to the shores of the lake. But he had mercy on them still. He gave the man a bow and arrow, and told him he would find animals which were called deer. These he was to shoot, and Mami would get ready the meat for him, and make mocassins and clothing of the hide.

“When they reached the other shore, Mami’s husband tried first of all this bow and the arrows. He shot into the sand, and the arrows went three inches deep into the ground.

“Mami’s husband then went for the first time to hunt, and saw in the reeds on the lake an animal moving, which he recognised for a deer, as Kitchi-Manitou had described it to him. He shot his arrow, and the animal straightway leaped from the water on shore, sank on its knees, and died. He ran up and drew his arrow from the wound, examined it, found that it was quite uninjured, and placed it again in his quiver, as he thought he could use it again. When he brought the deer to his squaw, she cut it into pieces, washed it, and laid the hide aside for shoes and clothing; but soon saw that they, as Indians, could not possibly eat the meat raw, as the barbarous Eskimos in the north do: she must cook it, and for that purpose have fire.

“This demand embarrassed the man for a moment, as he had never yet seen any meat boiling or roasting before the fire. But he soon knew how to help himself. He took two different descriptions of wood, rubbed them against each other, and soon made a bright fire for his squaw. The squaw in the meanwhile had prepared a piece of wood as a spit, placed a lump of meat on it, and held it in the fire. They both tasted it, and found it excellent. ‘As this is so good, the rest will be famous,’ she said, and cut it all up and put it in the kettle, and then they ate nearly all the deer that same evening. This gave Mami’s husband strength and courage, and he went out hunting again the next morning, and shot a deer; and so he did every day, while his squaw built a lodge for him, and sewed clothes and mocassins.

“One day when he went a-hunting again, the man found a book lying under a tree. He stopped and looked at it. The book began speaking to him, and told him what he was to do, and what to leave undone. It gave him a whole series of orders and prohibitions. He found this curious, and did not much like it; but he took it home to his squaw.

“‘I found this book under a tree,’ he said to her, ‘which tells me to do all sorts of things, and forbids me doing others; I find this hard, and I will carry it back to where I found it.’ And this he did too, although his squaw begged him to keep it. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it is too thick; how could I drag it about with me in my medicine bag?’ And he laid the book again, the next day, under the tree, where he had taken it up; and so soon as he laid it down, it disappeared. The earth swallowed it up.

“Instead of it, however, another book appeared in the grass. That was easy and light, and only written on a couple of pieces of birch bark. It also spoke to him in the clear and pure Ojibbeway language; forbade him nothing, and ordered him nothing; and only taught him the use and advantages of the plants in the forest and on the prairie. This pleased him much, and he put the book at once in his hunting bag, and went into the forest, and collected all the plants, roots, flowers, and herbs which it pointed out to him.

“Quite loaded with herbs of fifty different sorts, he returned to his squaw Mami. He sorted them out, and found they were all medicine, good in every accident of life. As he had in this way become a great medicine man, as well as a mighty hunter, he wanted but little more to satisfy his earthly wants. The children his wife bore him he brought up as good hunters; taught them the use of the bow; explained to them the medicine book; and told them, shortly before his and Mami’s death, the history of their creation and their former mode of life on the Torch Lake island with Kitchi-Manitou, who now, after so much suffering and sorrow, was graciously pleased to receive them again.”

The following story was communicated to Mr. Jones, a native minister, by an Ojibbeway Indian named Netahgawineneh, and will serve to illustrate the source whence they derive their ideas of a future state:—

“In the Indian country far west an Indian once fell into a trance, and when he came to life again, he gave the following account of his journey to the world of spirits.

“I started, said he, my soul or spirit in company with a number of Indians who were travelling to the same spirit land. We directed our footsteps towards the sun-setting. On our journey we passed through a beautiful country, and on each side of our trail saw strawberries as large as a man’s head. We ate some of them, and found them very sweet; but one of our party who kept loitering behind, came up to us and demanded, ‘Why were we eating a ball of fire?’ We tried to persuade him to the contrary, but the foolish fellow would not listen to our words, and so went on his way hungry. We travelled on until we came to a dark, swollen and rapid river, over which was laid a log vibrating in a constant wavering motion. On this log we ventured to cross, and having arrived at the further end of it, we found that it did not reach the shore; this obliged us to spring with all our might to the land. As soon as we had done this, we perceived that the supposed log on which we had crossed was a large serpent, waving and playing with his huge body over the river. The foolish man behind was tossed about until he fell off, but he at length succeeded in swimming to shore. No sooner was he on land than a fierce and famished pack of wolves fell on him and began to tear him to pieces, and we saw him no more. We journeyed on, and by and by came within sight of the town of spirits. As soon as we made our appearance there was a great shout heard, and all our relatives ran to meet us and to welcome us to their happy country. My mother made a feast for me, and prepared everything that was pleasant to eat and to look upon; here we saw all our forefathers; and game and corn in abundance; all were happy and contented.

“After staying a short time, the Great Spirit of the place told me that I must go back to the country I had left, as the time had not yet arrived for me to dwell there. I accordingly made ready to return; and as I was leaving, my mother reproached me by all manner of foolish names for wishing to leave so lovely and beautiful a place. I took my departure, and soon found myself in the body and in the world I had left.”

The allegorical traditions of the North American Indians regarding the introduction into the world of the art of medicine and of religious mysteries are still more extravagant than their theogony. We will cite from Dominech the principal among them, to give an idea of all the others of the same kind.

“A great Manitou of heaven came once on earth and married a woman, who died, after giving birth to four children. The first was called Manabozho, and was the protector and friend of men; the second Chibiabos, took care of the dead and ruled over the empire of shadows, that is to say, of souls; the third, called Onabasso, fled towards the north as soon as he saw the day, and was metamorphosed into a white rabbit without ceasing to be a Manitou; the last of the four brothers was called Chokanipok, that is to say, the man of the fire-stone.

“When Manabozho grew up, he declared war against Chokanipok, whom he accused of being the cause of their mother’s death. The struggle was long and terrible. The surface of the earth still preserves traces of the battles which were fought between them. Chokanipok was conquered by his brother, his entrails were taken out, and changed into vines, and the fragments of his body became fire-stones, which were scattered all over the globe, and supplied man with the principle of fire. Manabozho it was who taught the Red Indians the mode of manufacturing axe blades, arrow points, traps, nets, how to turn stones and bones to use to capture wild animals, fish, and birds. He was very much attached to Chibiabos, with whom he lived in the desert, where they conferred together for the good of humanity. The material power and the extraordinary intelligence of these two superior beings excited the jealousy of the Manitous, who lived in the air, on earth, and in the water. This jealousy gave rise to a conspiracy against the life of Chibiabos. Manabozho warned him to be on his guard against the machinations of the Manitous, and never to quit him. But one day Chibiabos ventured alone during the winter on one of the great frozen lakes; when he arrived in the middle of the lake the Manitous broke the ice, and Chibiabos sank to the bottom of the water, where his body remained buried.

“Manabozho wandered for a long time on the banks of the lake, calling his beloved brother; his voice trembling with fear and hope, was heard from afar. When he had no longer any doubt of the misfortune which had befallen him, his fury knew no bounds; he declared war against the wicked Manitous, killed a great number of them, and his rage no less than his despair spread consternation through the whole desert. After the first moments devoted to revenge, he painted his face black, covered his head with a veil of the same colour, then sat down on the shore of the lake and mourned the deceased for six years, making the neighbouring echoes incessantly ring with the cherished name of Chibiabos. The Manitous deeply moved by his profound grief, assembled to consult on the means they should take to console the unhappy mourner. The oldest and wisest of them all, who had not been concerned in the death of Chibiabos, took the task of reconciliation on himself. Aided by the other spirits, he built a sacred lodge near that of Manabozho, and prepared a great feast. He procured the best tobacco imaginable, and put it in a beautiful calumet; then placing himself at the head of the Manitous, who walked in procession, each carrying under his arm a bag made of the skins of various animals, and filled with precious medicine, he went to invite Manabozho to the festival. Manabozho uncovered his head, washed his face, and followed the Manitous to the sacred lodge. On his entrance he was offered a drink composed of the most exquisite medicines, a rite initiatory to propitiation. Manabozho drank it in a single draught, and immediately felt the grief and sadness lifted from his soul. The Manitous then began their dances and songs, which were succeeded by several ceremonies and by feats of address and magic, performed with the intention of restoring serenity of mind to the unconsolable protector and friend of the human race. It was thus the mysteries of the dance and of medicine were introduced on the earth.

“The Manitous then united all their powers to recall Chibiabos to life, which they did without difficulty. He was, however, forbidden to enter the sacred lodge; but receiving a flaming brand, he was sent to preside over the empire of the dead. Manabozho, quite consoled, ate, drank, danced, and smoked the sacred pipe, went away to the Great Spirit, and returned to earth to instruct men in the useful arts, in the mysteries of dancing and medicine, and in the curative properties of plants. It is he who causes the medicinal plants to grow which cure sickness and wounds; it is he who killed all the monsters with which the desert was peopled. He placed spirits at the four cardinal points to protect the human race: that of the north sends snow and ice to facilitate the chase in winter; that of the south causes the maize to grow, as well as all kinds of fruit and tobacco; that of the west gives rain; and that of the east brings light, by commanding the sun to move round the globe. Thunder is the voice of these four spirits, to whom tobacco is offered in thanksgiving for the various blessings which they confer on the inhabitants of the earth.”

Among the more ignorant tribes of North American Indians the god of thunder is believed to be the eagle. The Rev. Peter Jones asserts this to be the belief of the Ojibbeways. When a thunderbolt strikes a tree or the ground, they fancy that the thunder has shot his fiery arrow at a serpent and caught it away in the twinkling of an eye. Some Indians affirm that they have seen the serpent taken up by the thunder into the clouds. They believe that the thunder has its abode on the top of a high mountain in the west, where it lays its eggs and hatches its young, like an eagle, and whence it takes its flight into different parts of the earth in search of serpents.

The following is a story related by an Indian who is said to have ventured, at the risk of his life, to visit the abode of the thunders: “After fasting, and offering my devotions to the thunder, I with much difficulty ascended the mountain, the top of which reached to the clouds. To my great astonishment, as I looked I saw the thunder’s nest, where a brood of young thunders had been hatched and reared. I saw all sorts of curious bones of serpents, on the flesh of which the old thunders had been feeding their young; and the bark of the young cedar trees peeled and stripped, on which the young thunders had been trying their skill in shooting their arrows before going abroad to hunt serpents.”

Another thunder tradition says: “That a party of Indians were once travelling on an extensive plain, when they came upon two young thunders lying in their nest in their downy feathers, the old thunders being absent at the time. Some of the party took their arrows, and with the point touched the eyes of the young thunders. The moment they did so their arrows were shivered to pieces, as if a young thunder arrow had struck them. One of the party, more wise than his companions, entreated them not to meddle with them, warning them that if they did they would pay dearly for their folly. The foolish young men would not listen, but continued to teaze and finally killed them. As soon as they had done this a black cloud appeared, advancing towards them with great fury. Presently the thunder began to roar and send forth volumes of its fiery indignation. It was too evident that the old thunders were enraged on account of the destruction of their young—soon, with a tremendous crash, the arrows of the mighty thunder-god fell on the foolish men and destroyed them, but the wise and good Indian escaped unhurt.”

In proof of the American Indian’s suspicious nature, especially as regards matters connected with a religion differing from his own, Dr. Franklin furnishes the following little story:—

“Conrad Weiser, the Indian interpreter, who had gone to Ouondago with a message from Government, demanded hospitality of one of his old friends, the famous Canastatego, one of the chiefs of the six nations. Happy to meet after a long separation, the two friends were joyous and chatty. Conrad was soon seated on furs spread on the ground, with a meal of boiled vegetables, venison, and rum and water before him. After dinner Canastatego asked how the years since they had parted had passed with his friend, whence he came, where going, and what the aim of his journey. When all these questions were answered, the old Indian said, ‘Conrad, you have lived a great deal among white people, and know their customs. I have myself been several times to Albany, and have observed that once every seven days they shut up their shops and assemble in a large house; tell me wherefore, and what they do there?’—‘They assemble to hear and learn good things,’ replied Conrad.—‘I have no doubt,’ said the Indian, ‘that they have told you that; but I do not much believe in their words, and I will tell you why. Some time ago I went to Albany to sell furs and to buy blankets, powder, and knives. You know I am in the habit of dealing with Hans Hanson, but on that day I had a mind to try another merchant, but first went to Hans Hanson and asked what he would give for beaver skins. He answered that he could not pay a higher price than four shillings a pound. “But,” added he, “I cannot talk of such affairs to-day; it is the day of our meeting to hear good things, and I am going to the assembly.” I then reflected that as there was no possibility of my transacting business on that day, I too might as well go to the great house and hear good things.

“‘There was a man in black who seemed in a great passion while speaking to the people. I did not understand what he said, but perceiving that he looked a good deal at me, I thought that perhaps he was angry at seeing me in the house. I therefore hastened to leave it, and went and seated myself outside on the ground against the wall, and began to smoke till the end of the ceremony. I fancied that the man in black had spoken about beavers, and I suspected that that was the motive of the meeting, so that as the crowd was coming out, I stopped my merchant, and said to him, “Well, Hans Hanson, I hope you will give me more than four shillings a pound.”—“No,” answered he, “I can only give you three shillings and a half.”

“‘I then spoke to other merchants, but all were unanimous in the price. This proved clearly that I was right in my suspicions, and that the pretended intention of meeting to hear good things was only given out to mislead opinions, and that the real aim of the meeting was to come to an understanding to cheat the Indians as to the price of their goods. Reflect, Conrad, and you will see that I have guessed the truth; for if white people meet so often to hear good things, they would have finished by knowing some long since, but on that head they are still very ignorant. You know our ways when white men travel over our lands and enter our colonies: we treat them as I treat you; when wet we dry them, we warm them when they are cold, we give them food and drink, and spread our best furs for them to repose on, asking for nothing in return. But if I go to a white man and ask for eat and drink, he answers me, “Begone, Indian dog!” You thus see that they have as yet learned very few good things, which we know, because our mothers taught them to us when we were little children, and that the subject of all these assemblies is to cheat us in the price of our beavers.’”

Here is a strange story of North American Indian “second sight” and not the less remarkable as it is recorded by a highly respectable Wesleyan Missionary who had it from a Government Indian Agent in Upper Canada.

“In the year 1804, wintering with the Winebagos on the Rock river, I had occasion to send three of my men to another wintering house, for some flour which I had left there in the fall on my way up the river. The distance being about one and a half day’s journey from where I lived, they were expected to return in about three days. On the sixth day after their absence I was about sending in quest of them, when some Indians, arriving from the spot, said that they had seen nothing of them. I could now use no means to ascertain where they were: the plains were extensive, the paths numerous, and the tracks they had made were the next moment covered by the drift snow. Patience was my only resource; and at length I gave them up for lost.

“On the fourteenth night after their departure, as several Indians were smoking their pipes, and telling stories of their war parties, huntings, etc., an old fellow, who was a daily visitor, came in. My interpreter, a Canadian named Felix, pressed me, as he had frequently done before, to employ this conjuror, as he could inform me about the men in question. The dread of being laughed at had hitherto prevented my acceding to his importunities; but now, excited by curiosity, I gave the old man a quarter-pound of tobacco and two yards of ribbon, telling him that if he gave me a true account of the missing ones, I would, when I ascertained the fact, give him a bottle of rum. The night was exceedingly dark and the house situated on a point of land in a thick wood. The old fellow withdrew, and the other Indians retired to their lodges.

“A few minutes after, I heard Wahwun (an egg) begin a lamentable song, his voice increasing to such a degree that I really thought he would have injured himself. The whole forest appeared to be in agitation, as if the trees were knocking against each other; then all would be silent for a few seconds; again the old fellow would scream and yell, as if he were in great distress. A chill seized me, and my hair stood on end; the interpreter and I stared at each other without power to express our feelings. After remaining in this situation a few minutes the noise ceased, and we distinctly heard the old chap singing a lively air. We expected him in, but he did not come. After waiting some time, and all appearing tranquil in the woods, we went to bed. The next morning I sent for my friend Wahwun to inform me of his jaunt to see the men.

“‘I went,’ said he, ‘to smoke the pipe with your men last night, and found them cooking some elk meat, which they got from an Ottawa Indian. On leaving this place they took the wrong road on the top of the hill; they travelled hard on, and did not know for two days that they were lost. When they discovered their situation they were much alarmed, and, having nothing more to eat, were afraid they would starve to death. They walked on without knowing which way they were going until the seventh day, when they were met near the Illinois river by the Ottawa before named, who was out hunting. He took them to his lodge, fed them well, and wanted to detain them some days until they had recovered their strength; but they would not stay. He then gave them some elk meat for their journey home, and sent his son to put them into the right road. They will go to Lagothenes for the flour you sent them, and will be at home in three days.’ I then asked him what kind of place they were encamped in when he was there? He said, ‘they had made a shelter by the side of a large oak tree that had been torn up by the roots, and which had fallen with the head towards the rising sun.’

“All this I noted down, and from the circumstantial manner in which he related every particular, though he could not possibly have had any personal communication with or from them by any other Indians, I began to hope my men were safe, and that I should again see them. On the appointed day the interpreter and myself watched most anxiously, but without effect. We got our suppers, gave up all hopes, and heartily abused Wahwun for deceiving us. Just as we were preparing for bed, to my great joy the men rapped at the door, and in they came with the flour on their backs. My first business was to enquire of their travels. They told me the whole exactly as the old Indian had before stated, not omitting the tree or any other occurrence; and I could have no doubt but that the old fellow had got his information from some evil or familiar spirit.”

As has already been mentioned in this book, belief in dreams is very intimately associated with North-American Indian religious belief; and when an Indian dreams anything that seems to him important, he does not fail to enter in his birch bark “note book” the most salient points of it. Being, as a rule, however, incapable of giving his thoughts a tangible appearance by the ordinary caligraphic process, he draws the pictures just as he sees them in his vision. From the birch bark of a brave, by name the “Little Wasp,” Mr. Kohl copied the picture which appears on the next page: and this is the explanation of it:—

“The dreamer lying on his bed of moss and grass is dreaming the dream of a true hunter, and there are the heads of the birds and beasts which his guardian spirit promises that he shall not chase in vain. The man wearing the hat is a Frenchman, which the Little Wasp also dreams about.

“The Indians picture themselves without a hat because they usually have no other head gear than their matted hair, or, at most, a cloth wound turban-wise round the head. The hat, however, appears to them such a material part of a European—as much a part of their heads as the horse to the Centaur—that a hat in a picture-writing always indicates a European.

“It was not at all stupid of Little Wasp to dream of a Frenchman, for of what use would a sky full of animals prove to him unless he had a good honest French traiteur to whom he could sell the skins and receive in exchange fine European wares? The vault of the sky is represented by several semi-circular lines in the same way as it is usually drawn on their gravestones. On some occasions I saw the strata or lines variously coloured—blue, red, and yellow, like the hues of the rainbow. Perhaps, too, they may wish to represent that phenomenon as well. But that the whole is intended for the sky is proved by the fact that the ordinary colour is a plain blue or grey. The bird soaring in the heavens was meant for the kimou which so often appears in the dreams of these warlike hunters.

“When I asked the dreamer what he meant by the strokes and figures at the foot of the drawing, he said: ‘It is a notice that I fasted nine days on account of this dream. The nine strokes indicate the number nine, and a small figure of the sun over them means days.’

“His own self he indicated by the human figure. It has no head but an enormous heart in the centre of the breast.

“Though the head is frequently missing, the heart is never omitted in Indian figures, because they have as a general rule, more heart than brains, more courage than sense. ‘I purposely made the heart rather large,’ the author of the picture remarked, ‘in order to show that I had so much courage as to endure a nine days’ fast.’ He omitted the head, probably because he felt that sense was but little mixed up with such nonsensical fasting.

“‘But why hast thou painted the sun once more, and with so much care over it?’ asked I. ‘Because,’ replied he, ‘the very next morning after my fast was at an end, the sun rose with extraordinary splendour, which I shall never forget, for a fine sunrise after a dream is the best sign that it will come to pass.’”

The superstitions, in fact, of all Indians, are singularly wild, poetic, and primitive. Catlin, in his “Descriptive Catalogue,” gives some strange and interesting particulars. He says, for instance, the Sioux have a superstitious belief that they will conquer their enemy if they go through the following ceremony:—A dog’s liver and heart are taken raw and bleeding and placed upon a sort of platform, and, being cut into slips, each man dances upon it, bites off and swallows a piece of it, in the certain belief that he has thus swallowed a piece of the heart of his enemy whom he has slain in battle. Again, it is supposed that he most is in the favour of the Great Spirit who can throw most arrows from an Indian bow before the first cast reaches the ground, and Catlin says: “So eager are the Indians for this supremacy that I have known men who could get eight arrows in the air, all moving at the same time.” Another superstition takes the shape of a belief in dancing compelling a flock of buffaloes to turn upon the path of the dancers. This superstitious gyration is only resorted to when a tribe is absolutely starving, and it is accompanied by a song to the Great Spirit, imploring Him to help them, promising, at the same time, a burnt sacrifice, or, as they themselves generally put it, that the Great Spirit shall have the best of the meat cooked for himself.

A far more charming use of the superstitious, or rather religious, dances is that of the warriors upon their return from battle, when, if they can exhibit scalps, they are justified in dancing and wailing in front of the wigwams of the widows of their companions who have been killed. If the widow is one of a man of any importance in the tribe, especially if he has been a medicine man, they cast presents upon the ground for the use of the widowed woman.

Another strange superstition is the green corn dance—the sacrifice of the first kettle to the Great Spirit. Four medicine men, whose bodies are painted with white clay, dance around the kettle until the corn is well boiled, and they then burn it to cinders as an offering to the Great Spirit. The fire is then destroyed, and new fire created by rubbing two sticks together, with which the corn for their own feast is cooked.

Again, there is a snow-shoe dance, performed at the first fall of snow, and which is as solemn a rite as any in the Indian faith.

Another strange superstition is that by which an Indian becomes a medicine or mystery man. Splints of wood are thrust through his flesh and by these he hangs from a pole, and gazes, medicine bag in hand, at the sun, from its rising to its setting. This voluntary torture entitles him to great respect for the remainder of his life as a medicine or mystery man—in another word, an astrologer. The history of Indian superstition has yet to be written.

The North American is no less adept at picture “talking” than at picture writing. Burton, while sojourning among the Prairie Indians, devoted considerable attention to this art as practised among them. He describes it as a system of signs, some conventional, others instinctive or imitative, which enables tribes who have no acquaintance with each other’s customs and tongues to hold limited but sufficient communication, An interpreter who knows all the signs, which, however, are so numerous and complicated that to acquire them is the labour of years, is preferred by the whites even to a good speaker. The sign system doubtless arose from the necessity of a communicating medium between races speaking many different dialects and debarred by circumstances from social intercourse.

The first lesson is to distinguish the signs of the different tribes, and it will be observed that the French voyageurs and traders have often named the Indian nations from their totemic or masonic gestures.

The Pawnees imitate a wolf’s ears with the two forefingers—the right hand is always understood unless otherwise specified—extended together, upright, on the left side of the head.

The Araphos, or Dirty Noses, rub the right side of that organ with the forefingers; some call this bad tribe the Smellers, and make their sign to consist of seizing the nose with the thumb and forefinger.

The Comanches imitate by the waving of the hand or forefinger the forward crawling motion of a snake.

The Cheyennes, Piakanoves, or Cut Wrists, draw the lower edge of the hand across the left arm, as if gashing it with a knife.

The Sioux, by drawing the lower edge of the hand across the throat; it is a gesture not unknown to us, but forms a truly ominous salutation, considering those by whom it is practised; hence the Sioux are called by the Yutas Hand-cutters.

The Hapsaroke, by imitating the flapping of the bird’s wings with the two hands, palms downwards, brought close to the shoulders.

The Kiowas, or Prairie-men, make the signs of the prairie, and of drinking water.

The Yutas, they who live on mountains, have a complicated sign which denotes “living in mountains.”

The Black-feet, called by the Yutas Paike or Goers, pass the right hand, bent spoon-fashion, from the heel to the little toe of the right foot.

The following are a few preliminaries indispensable to the prairie traveller:

Halt! Raise the hand, with the palm in front, and push it backward and forward several times, a gesture well known in the East.

I don’t know you. Move the raised hand, with the palm in front, slowly to the right and left.

I am angry. Close the fist, place it against the forehead, and turn it to and fro in that position.

Are you friendly? Raise both hands, grasped as if in the act of shaking hands, or lock the two forefingers together, while the hands are raised.

See. Strike out the two forefingers forward from the eyes.

Smell. Touch the nose-tip. A bad smell is expressed by the same sign, ejaculating at the same time, “pooh,” and making the sign of bad.

Taste. Touch the tongue-tip.

Eat. Imitate the actions of conveying food with the fingers to the mouth.

Drink. Scoop up with the hand imaginary water into the mouth.

Smoke. With the crooked index describe a pipe in the air, beginning at the lips, then wave the open hand from the mouth to imitate curls of smoke.

Speak. Extend the open hand from the chin.

Fight. Make a motion with both fists to and fro like a pugilist of the eighteenth century who preferred a high guard.

Kill. Smite the sinister palm earthwards, with the dexter fist sharply, the sign of going down, or strike out with the dexter fist towards the ground, meaning to “shut down,” or pass the dexter index under the left forefinger, meaning to “go under.”

Some of the symbols of relationship are highly appropriate and not ungraceful or unpicturesque. Man is denoted by a sign which will not admit of description; woman by passing the hand down both sides of the head, as if smoothing or stroking the long hair. For a child, a bit of the index held between the antagonised thumb and medius is shown. The same sign expresses both parents, with additional explanations. To say, for instance, my mother, you would first pantomime “I,” or, which is the same thing, my, then woman, and finally, the symbol of parentage. My grandmother would be conveyed in the same way, adding to the end, clasped hands, closed eyes, and like an old woman’s bent back. The sign for brother and sister is perhaps the prettiest; the two first finger-tips are put into the mouth, denoting that they fed from the same breast. For the wife—squaw is now becoming a word of reproach amongst the Indians—the dexter forefinger is passed between the extended thumb and index of the left.

Of course there is a sign for every weapon. The knife—scalp or other—is shown by cutting the sinister palm with the dexter ferient downward and towards oneself: if the cuts be made upward with the palm downwards, meat is understood. The tomahawk, hatchet, or axe, is denoted by chopping the left hand with the right; the sword by the motion of drawing it: the bow by the movement of bending it, and a spear or lance by an imitation of darting it. For the gun the dexter thumb or fingers are flashed or scattered, i.e. thrown outwards and upwards, to denote fire. The same movement made lower down expresses a pistol. The arrow is expressed by knocking it upon an imaginary bow, and by snapping with the index and medius. The shield is shown by pointing with the index over the left shoulder where it is slung ready to be brought over the breast when required.

The pantomime, as may be seen, is capable of expressing detailed narratives. For instance, supposing an Indian would tell the following tale:—“Early this morning I mounted my horse, rode off at a gallop, traversed a ravine, then over a mountain to a plain where there was no water, sighted bisons, followed them, killed three of them, skinned them, packed the flesh upon my pony, remounted, and returned home,”—he would symbolize it thus:

Touches nose—“I.”

Opens out the palms of his hand—“this morning.”

Points to east—“early.”

Places two dexter forefingers astraddle over sinister index—“mounted my horse.”

Moves both hands upwards and rocking-horse fashion towards the left—“galloped.”

Passes the dexter hand right through thumb and forefinger of the sinister, which are widely extended—“traversed a ravine.”

Closes the finger-tips high over the head and waves both palms outwards—“over a mountain to a plain.”

Scoops up with the hand imaginary water into the mouth, and waves the hand from the face to denote no—“where there was no water.”

Touches eye—“sighted.”

Raises the forefingers crooked inwards on both sides of the head—“bison.”

Smites the sinister palm downwards with the dexter first—“killed.”

Shows three fingers—“three of them.”

Scrapes the left palm with the edge of the right hand—“skinned them.”

Places the dexter on the sinister palm and then the dexter palm on the sinister dorsum—“packed the flesh upon my pony.”

Straddles the two forefingers on the index of the left—“remounted.”

Finally, beckons towards self—“returned home.”

“While on the subject of savage modes of correspondence, it may not be out of place to quote an amusing incident furnished by the Western African traveller Hutchinson. There was, it seems, a newspaper established in the region in question for the benefit of the civilized inhabitants, and an old native lady having a grievance, “writes to the editor.” Let us give her epistle, and afterwards Mr. Hutchinson’s explanation of it:

“To Daddy Nah, Tampin Office.

“Ha Daddy,—Do yah nah beg you tell dem people for me make dem Sally own pussin know—Do yah. Berrah well. Ah lib nah Pademba Road—one buoy lib dah ober side lakah dem two docta lib overside you Tampin office. Berrah well. Dah buoy head big too much—he say nah Militie Ban—he got one long long ting—so so brass someting lib da dah go flip flap dem call am key. Berry well. Had dah buoy kin blow she—ah na marnin, oh na sun time, oh na evenin, oh nah middle night oh—all same—no make pussin sleep. Not ebry bit dat more lib dah One Boney buoy lib overside nah he like blow bugle. When dem two woh woh buoy blow dem ting de nize too much to much. When white man blow dat ting and pussin sleep he kin tap wah make dem buoy carn do so. Dem buoy kin blow ebry day, eben Sunday dem kin blow. When ah yerry dem blow Sunday ah wish dah bugle kin blow dem head bone inside. Do nah beg you yah tell all dem people bout dah ting, wah dem to buoy dah blow. Tell am Amstrang Boboh hab feber bad. Tell am Titty carn sleep nah night. Dah nize go kill me two picken oh. Plabba done—Good by, Daddy.

“Crashey Jane.”

“For the information of those not accustomed to the Anglo-African style of writing or speaking, I deem a commentary necessary in order to make this epistle intelligible. The whole gist of Crashey Jane’s complaint is against two black boys who are torturing her morning, noon, and night—Sunday as well as every day in the week—by blowing into some ‘long, long brass ting,’ as well as a bugle. Though there might appear to some unbelievers a doubt as to the possibility of the boys furnishing wind for such a lengthened performance, still the complaint is not more extravagant than those made by many scribbling grievance-mongers amongst ourselves about the organ nuisance.

“The appellative Daddy is used by the Africans as expressive of their respect as well as confidence. ‘To Daddy in the stamping (alias printing) office,’ which is the literal rendering of the foregoing address, contains a much more respectful appeal than ‘To the Editor’ would convey, and the words ‘Berrah well’ at the end of the first sentence are ludicrously expressive of the writer’s having opened the subject of complaint to her own satisfaction and of being prepared to go on with what follows without any dread of failure.

“The epithet ‘woh-woh’ applied to the censured boys means to entitle them very bad; and I understand this term, which is general over the coast, is derived from the belief that those persons to whom it is applied have a capacity to bring double woe on all who have dealings with them. ‘Amstrang Boboh,’ who has the fever bad, is Robert Armstrong, the stipendiary magistrate of Sierra Leone, and the inversion of his name in this manner is as expressive of negro classicality as was the title of Jupiter Tonans to the dwellers on Mount Olympus.”

It is probable that to his passion for “picture making” Mr. Catlin is indebted for his great success among North-American children of the wilderness. A glance through the two big volumes published by that gentleman shows at once that he could have little time either for eating, drinking, or sleeping; his pencil was all in all to him. No one would suppose it by the specimens Mr. Catlin has presented to the public, but we have his word for it, that some of the likenesses he painted of the chiefs were marvels of perfection—so much so, indeed, that he was almost tomahawked as a witch in consequence. He says:

“I had trouble brewing from another source; one of the medicines commenced howling and haranguing around my domicile amongst the throng that was outside, proclaiming that all who were inside and being painted were fools and would soon die, and very naturally affecting thereby my popularity. I, however, sent for him, and called him in the next morning when I was alone, having only the interpreter with me, telling him that I had had my eye upon him for several days and had been so well pleased with his looks that I had taken great pains to find out his history, which had been explained by all as one of a most extraordinary kind, and his character and standing in his tribe as worthy of my particular notice; and that I had several days since resolved, that as soon as I had practised my hand long enough upon the others to get the stiffness out of it (after paddling my canoe so far as I had) and make it to work easily and succesfully, I would begin on his portrait, which I was then prepared to commence on that day, and that I felt as if I could do him justice. He shook me by the hand, giving me the Doctor’s grip, and beckoned me to sit down, which I did, and we smoked a pipe together. After this was over he told me that he had no inimical feelings towards me, although he had been telling the chiefs that they were all fools and all would die who had their portraits painted; that although he had set the old women and children all crying, and even made some of the young warriors tremble, yet he had no unfriendly feelings towards me, nor any fear or dread of my art. ‘I know you are a good man (said he), I know you will do no harm to any one; your medicine is great, and you are a great medicine-man. I would like to see myself very well, and so would all of the chiefs; but they have all been many days in this medicine-house, and they all know me well, and they have not asked me to come in and be made alive with paints. My friend, I am glad that my people have told you who I am; my heart is glad; I will go to my wigwam and eat, and in a little while I will come and you may go to work.’ Another pipe was lit and smoked, and he got up and went off. I prepared my canvass and palette, and whistled away the time until twelve o’clock, before he made his appearance, having employed the whole forepart of the day at his toilette, arranging his dress and ornamenting his body for his picture.

“At that hour then, bedaubed and streaked with paints of various colours, with bear’s-grease and charcoal, with medicine-pipes in his hands, and foxes’ tails attached to his heels, entered Mah-to-he-bah (the old bear) with a train of his profession, who seated themselves around him, and also a number of boys whom it was requested should remain with him, and whom I supposed it possible might have been his pupils whom he was instructing in the mysteries of his art. He took his position in the middle of the room, waving his evil calumets in each hand and singing the medicine song which he sings over his dying patient, looking me full in the face until I completed his picture at full length. His vanity has been completely gratified in the operation; he lies for hours together day after day in my room in front of his picture gazing intently upon it, lights my pipe for me while I am painting, shakes hands with me a dozen times each day, and talks of me and enlarges upon my medicine virtues and my talents wherever he goes, so that this new difficulty is now removed, and instead of preaching against me he is one of my strongest and most enthusiastic friends and aids in the country.

“Perhaps nothing ever more completely astonished these people than the operations of my brush. The art of portrait painting was a subject entirely new to them and of course unthought of, and my appearance here has commenced a new era in the arcana of medicine or mystery. Soon after arriving here I commenced and finished the portraits of the two principal chiefs. This was done without having awakened the curiosity of the villagers, as they had heard nothing of what was going on, and even the chiefs themselves seemed to be ignorant of my designs until the pictures were completed. No one else was admitted into my lodge during the operation, and when finished it was exceedingly amusing to see them mutually recognizing each other’s likeness and assuring each other of the striking resemblance which they bore to the originals. Both of these pressed their hand over their mouths awhile in dead silence (a custom amongst most tribes when anything surprises them very much); looking attentively upon the portraits and myself and upon the palette and colours with which these unaccountable effects had been produced.

“Then they walked up to me in the most gentle manner, taking me in turn by the hand with a firm grip, and, with head and eyes inclined downwards, in a tone of a little above a whisper, pronounced the words te-ho-pe-nee Wash-ee, and walked off.

“Readers, at that moment I was christened with a new and a great name, one by which I am now familiarly hailed and talked of in this village, and no doubt will be as long as traditions last in this strange community.

“That moment conferred an honour on me which you, as yet, do not understand. I took the degree (not of Doctor of Law, nor Bachelor of Arts) of Master of Arts—of mysteries, of magic, and of hocus pocus. I was recognized in that short sentence as a great medicine white man, and since that time have been regularly installed medicine, or mystery,—which is the most honourable degree that could be conferred upon me here, and I now hold a place amongst the most eminent and envied personages, the doctors and conjurati of this titled community.

“Te-ho-pe-nee Wash-ee—pronounced ‘tup’penny’—is the name I now go by, and it will prove to me no doubt of more value than gold, for I have been called upon and feasted by the doctors, who are all mystery-men, and it has been an easy and successful passport already to many strange and mysterious places, and has put me in possession of a vast deal of curious and interesting information which I am sure I never should have otherwise learned. I am daily growing in the estimation of the medicine-men and the chiefs, and by assuming all the gravity and circumspection due from so high a dignity (and even considerably more), and endeavouring to perform now and then some art or trick that is unfathomable, I am in hopes of supporting my standing until the great annual ceremony commences, on which occasion I may possibly be allowed a seat in the medicine lodge by the doctors, who are the sole conductors of this great source and fountain of all priestcraft and conjuration in this country. After I had finished the portraits of the two chiefs and they had returned to their wigwams and deliberately seated themselves by their respective firesides and silently smoked a pipe or two (according to an universal custom), they gradually began to tell what had taken place; and at length crowds of gaping listeners, with mouths wide open, thronged their lodges, and a throng of women and girls were about my house, and through every crack and crevice I could see their glistening eyes which were piercing my hut in a hundred places, from a natural and restless propensity—a curiosity to see what was going on within. An hour or more passed in this way and the soft and silken throng continually increased until some hundreds of them were clung and piled about my wigwam like a swarm of bees hanging on the front and sides of their hive. During this time not a man made his appearance about the premises; after awhile, however, they could be seen folded in their robes gradually sidling up towards the lodge with a silly look upon their faces, which confessed at once that curiosity was leading them reluctantly where their pride checked and forbade them to go. The rush soon after became general, and the chiefs and medicine-men took possession of my room, placing soldiers (braves, with spears in their hands) at the door, admitting no one but such as were allowed by the chiefs to come in. The likenesses were instantly recognized, and many of the gaping multitude commenced yelping; some were stamping off in the jarring dance, others were singing, and others again were crying; hundreds covered their mouth with their hands and were mute; others, indignant, drove their spears frightfully into the ground, and some threw a reddened arrow at the sun and went home to their wigwams.

“The pictures seen, the next curiosity was to see the man who made them, and I was called forth. Readers, if you have any imagination, save me the trouble of painting this scene. I stepped forth and was instantly hemmed in in the throng. Women were gazing, and warriors and braves were offering me their hands, whilst little boys and girls by dozens were struggling through the crowd to touch me with the ends of their fingers, and while I was engaged from the waist upwards in fending off the throng and shaking hands my legs were assailed (not unlike the nibbling of little fish when I have been standing in deep water) by children who were creeping between the legs of the bystanders for the curiosity or honour of touching me with the end of their finger. The eager curiosity and expression of astonishment with which they gazed upon me plainly showed that they looked upon me as some strange and unaccountable being. They pronounced me the greatest medicine-man in the world, for they said I had made a living being; they said they could see their chief alive in two places—those that I had made were a little alive; they could see their eyes move, could see them smile and laugh; they could certainly speak if they should try, and they must therefore have some life in them.

“The squaws generally agreed that they had discovered life enough in them to render my medicine too great for the Mandans, saying that such an operation could not be performed without taking away from the original something of his existence, which I put in the picture, and they could see it move, see it stir.

“This curtailing of the natural existence for the purpose of instilling life into the secondary one they decided to be an useless and destructive operation, and one which was calculated to do great mischief in their happy community, and they commenced a mournful and doleful chant against me, crying and weeping bitterly through the village, proclaiming me a most dangerous man, one who could make living persons by looking at them, and at the same time could, as a matter of course, destroy life in the same way, if I chose; that my medicine was dangerous to their lives and that I must leave the village immediately; that bad luck would happen to those whom I painted, and that when they died they would never sleep quiet in their graves.

“In this way the women and some old quack medicine-men together had succeeded in raising an opposition against me, and the reasons they assigned were so plausible and so exactly suited for their superstitious feelings, that they completely succeeded in exciting fears and a general panic in the minds of a number of chiefs who had agreed to sit for their portraits, and my operations were of course for several days completely at a stand. A grave council was held on the subject from day to day, and there seemed great difficulty in deciding what was to be done with me and the dangerous art which I was practising and which had far exceeded their original expectations. I finally got admitted to their sacred conclave and assured them that I was but a man like themselves, that my art had no medicine or mystery about it, but could be learned by any of them, if they would practice it as long as I had; that my intentions towards them were of the most friendly kind, and that in the country where I lived brave men never allowed their squaws to frighten them with their foolish whims and stories. They all immediately arose, shook me by the hand, and dressed themselves for their pictures. After this there was no further difficulty about sitting, all were ready to be painted; the squaws were silent, and my painting-room was a continual resort for the chiefs and braves and medicine-men, where they waited with impatience for the completion of each one’s picture, that they could decide as to the likeness as it came from under the brush, that they could laugh and yell and sing a new song, and smoke a fresh pipe to the health and success of him who had just been safely delivered from the hands and the mystic operation of the white medicine.”

The Mandans celebrate the anniversary of the feast of the deluge with great pomp. During the first four days of this religious ceremony they perform the buffalo dances four times the first day, eight the second, twelve the third, and sixteen the fourth day, around the great canoe placed in the centre of the village. This canoe represents the ark which saved the human race from the flood, and the total-number of the dances executed is forty, in commemoration of the forty nights during which the rain did not cease to fall upon the earth. The dancers chosen for this occasion are eight in number and divided into four pairs corresponding to the four cardinal points. They are naked and painted various colours; round their ankles they wear tufts of buffalo hair; a skin of the same animal with the head and horns is thrown over their shoulders; the head serves as a mask to the dancers. In one of their hands they hold a racket, in the other a lance, or rather a long inoffensive stick. On their shoulders is bound a bundle of branches. In dancing they stoop down towards the ground and imitate the movements and the bellowing of buffaloes.

Alternating with these pairs is a single dancer, also naked and painted, and wearing no other garments than a beautiful girdle and a head-dress of eagles’ feathers mingled with the fur of the ermine. These four dancers also carry each a racket and a stick in their hands; in dancing they turn their backs to the great canoe. Two of them are painted black with white spots all over their bodies to represent the sky and stars. The two others are painted red to represent the day, with white marks to signify the spirits chased away by the first rays of the sun. None but these twelve individuals dance in this ceremony of solemnity. During the dance the master of the ceremonies stands by the great canoe and smokes in honour of each of the cardinal points. Four old men also approach the great canoe, and during the whole dance, which continues a quarter of an hour, the actors sing and make all the noise possible with their instruments, but always preserving the measure.

Besides the dancers and musicians there are other actors who represent symbolical characters and have a peculiar dress during this festival. Near the great canoe are two men dressed like bears who growl continually and try to interrupt the actors. In order to appease them women continually bring them plates of food, which two other Indians disguised as eagles often seize and carry off into the prairie. The bears are then chased by troops of children, naked and painted like fawns and representing antelopes, which eagerly devour the food that is served. This is an allegory, signifying that in the end Providence always causes the innocent to triumph over the wicked.

All at once on the fourth day the women begin to weep and lament, the children cry out, the dogs bark, the men are overwhelmed with profound despair. This is the cause: A naked man painted of a brilliant black like the plumage of a raven and marked with white lines, having a bear’s tusk painted at each side of his mouth, and holding a long wand in his hand, appears on the prairie running in a zigzag direction, but still advancing rapidly towards the village and uttering the most terrific cries. Arriving at the place where the dance is performing he strikes right and left at men, women, and children, and dogs, who fly in all directions to avoid the blows of this singular being, who is a symbol of the evil spirit.

The master of the ceremonies on perceiving the disorder quits his post near the great canoe and goes toward the enemy with his medicine-pipe, and the evil spirit, charmed by the magic calumet, becomes as gentle as a child and as ashamed as a fox caught stealing a fowl. At this sudden change the terror of the crowd changes to laughter, and the women cease to tremble at the evil spirit and take to pelting him with mud; he is overtaken and deprived of his wand and is glad to take to his heels and escape from the village as quickly as he can.

It is to be hoped that the North-American Indian when communicating with Kitchi-Manitou does not forget to pray to be cured of his intolerable vice of covetousness. He can let nothing odd or valuable pass him without yearning for it, or so says every traveller whose lot it has been to sojourn among Red men. So says Mr. Murray, and quotes a rather ludicrous case in support of the assertion:

“While I was sitting near my packs of goods, like an Israelite in Monmouth Street, an elderly chief approached and signified his wish to trade. Our squaws placed some meat before him, after which I gave him the pipe, and in the meantime had desired my servant to search my saddle bags, and to add to the heap of saleable articles everything of every kind beyond what was absolutely necessary for my covering on my return. A spare shirt, a handkerchief, and a waistcoat were thus drafted, and among other things was a kind of elastic flannel waistcoat made for wearing next to the skin and to be drawn over the head as it was without buttons or any opening in front. It was too small for me and altogether so tight and uncomfortable, although elastic, that I determined to part with it.

The Covetous Pawnee.

“To this last article my new customer took a great fancy and he made me describe to him the method of putting it on and the warmth and comfort of it when on. Be it remembered that he was a very large corpulent man, probably weighing sixteen stone. I knew him to be very good-natured, as I had hunted once with his son and on returning to the lodge the father had feasted me, chatted by signs, and taught me some of the most extraordinary Indian methods of communication. He said he should like to try on the jacket, and as he threw the buffalo robe off his huge shoulders I could scarcely keep my gravity when I compared their dimensions with the garment into which we were about to attempt their introduction. At last by dint of great industry and care, we contrived to get him into it. In the body it was a foot too short, and fitted him so close that every thread was stretched to the uttermost; the sleeves reached a very little way above his elbow. However, he looked upon his arms and person with great complacency and elicited many smiles from the squaws at the drollery of his attire; but as the weather was very hot he soon began to find himself too warm and confined, and he wished to take it off again. He moved his arms, he pulled his sleeves, he twisted and turned himself in every direction, but in vain. The old man exerted himself till the drops of perspiration fell from his forehead, but had I not been there he must either have made some person cut it up or have sat in it till this minute.

“For some time I enjoyed this scene with malicious and demure gravity, and then I showed him that he must try and pull it off over his head. A lad who stood by then drew it till it enveloped his nose, eyes, mouth, and ears; his arms were raised above his head, and for some minutes he remained in that melancholy plight, blinded, choked, and smothered, with his hands rendered useless for the time. He rolled about, sneezing, sputtering, and struggling, until all around him were convulsed with laughter and our squaws shrieked in their ungovernable mirth in a manner that I had never before witnessed. At length I slit a piece of the edge and released the old fellow from his straight-waistcoat confinement; he turned it round often in his hands and made a kind of comic-grave address to it, of which I could only gather a few words: I believe the import of them was that it would be ‘a good creature’ in the ice-month of the village. I was so pleased with his good humour that I gave it to him to warm his squaw in the ‘ice-month.’”

As this will probably be the last occasion of discussing in this volume the physical and moral characteristics of the North American Indian, it may not be out of place here to give a brief descriptive sketch of the chief tribes with an account of their strength and power in bygone times and their present condition. The names of Murray, Dominech, Catlin, etc., afford sufficient guarantee of the accuracy of the information here supplied.

The Ojibbeway nation occupies a large amount of territory, partly within the United States, and partly within British America. They are the largest community of savages in North America: the entire population, in 1842, amounted to thirty thousand. That part of the tribe occupying territory within the United States inhabit all the northern part of Michigan, the whole northern portion of Wisconsin Territory, all the south shore of Lake Superior, for eight hundred miles, the upper part of the Mississippi, and Sandy, Leech, and Red Lakes. Those of the nation living within the British dominions occupy all Western Canada, the north of Lake Huron, the north of Lake Superior, the north of Lake Winnibeg, and the north of Red River Lake, about one hundred miles. The whole extent of territory occupied by this single nation, extends one thousand nine hundred miles east and west, and from two to three hundred miles north and south. There are about five thousand in British America, and twenty-five thousand in the United States. Of their past history nothing is known, except what may be gathered from their traditions. All the chiefs and elder men of the tribe agree that they originally migrated from the west. A great number of their traditions are doubtless unworthy of credence, but a few that relate to the foundation of the world, the subsequent disobedience of the people,—which, the Ojibbeways say, was brought about by climbing of a vine that connected the world of spirits with the human race, which was strictly forbidden the mortals below, and how they were punished by the introduction of disease and death, which before they knew not;—all this and much more of the same nature, is a subject of more than ordinary interest to the contemplative mind.

Their first intercourse with Europeans was in 1609, when they, as well as many of the other tribes belonging to the Algonquin stock, met Champlain, the adventurous French trader. They were described by him as the most polished in manners of the northern tribes; but depended for subsistence entirely on the chase, disdaining altogether the more effeminate occupation of the cultivation of the soil. From that time they eagerly sought and very soon obtained the friendship of the French. The more so that their ancient and inveterate foes, the Iroquois, were extremely jealous of the intrusive white men. With the help of the French they gained many bloody and decisive battles over the Iroquois, and considerably extended their territories. The history of the nation from this time is not very interesting. From the ravages of war and disease the tribe, as may be perceived from a comparison with many others, has escaped with more than ordinary success; partly owing to the simplicity and general intelligence of the tribe in guarding against these evils.

Their religion is very simple, the fundamental points of which are nearly the same as all the North American Indians. They believe in one Ruler or Great Spirit—He-sha-mon-e-doo, “Benevolent Spirit,” or He-ehe-mon-edoo, ”“Great Spirit.” This spirit is over the universe at the same time, but under different names, as the “God of man,” the “God of fish,” and many others. It is supposed by many travellers that sun-worship was a part of their mythology, from the extreme respect which they were observed to pay to that luminary. But we find the reason of this supposed homage is, that the Indian regards the sun as the wigwam of the Great Spirit, and is naturally an object of great veneration. In this particular, perhaps, they are not greater idolaters than civilized people, who have every advantage that art and nature can bestow. The Indian, because the sun doesn’t shine to-day, won’t transfer his adoration to the moon to-morrow; and in this respect at least is superior to many a wise and educated “pale face.”

In addition to the good spirit they have a bad spirit, whom, however, they believe to be inferior to the good spirit. He is supposed to have the power of inflicting all manner of evils, and, moreover, to take a delight in doing so. This spirit was sent to them as a punishment for their original disobediences. They have, besides these, spirits innumerable. In their idea every little flower of the field, every beast of the land, and every fish in the water, possesses one.

Pawnees.—This tribe, which is scattered between Kansas and Nebraska, was at one time very numerous and powerful, but at the present time numbers no more than about ten thousand. They have an established reputation for daring, cunning, and dishonesty. In the year 1832 small-pox made its appearance among the Pawnees, and in the course of a few months destroyed fully half their numbers. They shave the head, all but the scalp lock. They cultivate a little Indian corn, but are passionately fond of hunting and adventure. The use of the Indian corn is confined to the women and old men. The warriors feed on the game they kill on the great prairies, or on animals they steal from those who cross their territory. The Pawnees are divided into four bands, with each a chief. Above these four chiefs is a single one, whom the whole nation obey. This tribe has four villages, situated near the Nebraska. It is allied with the neighbouring tribe of the Omahas and Ottoes. It was till recently the custom of these people to torture their prisoners, but it is now discontinued, owing to the fact of a squaw of the hostile tribe being snatched from the stake by a white man. The circumstance was regarded as a direct interposition of the Great Spirit, and as an expression of his will that torture should he discontinued. They do not appear to possess any historical traditions, but on certain other subjects preserve some curious legends. The “sign” of the Pawnees is the two forefingers held at the sides of the head in imitation of a wolf’s ears.

The Delawares.—This ancient people, once the most renowned and powerful among American Indians, has of late years so dwindled that were the entire nation to be gathered, it would scarcely count one thousand souls. They are now settled in the Valley of the Canadian river, and their pursuits are almost strictly agricultural. According to their traditions, several centuries ago they inhabited the western part of the American continent, but afterwards emigrated in a body to the banks of the Mississippi, where they met the Iroquois, who, like themselves, had abandoned the far west and settled near the same river. In a short time, however, the new comers and the previous holders of the land, the Allegavis, ceased to be on friendly terms, and the combined Delawares and Iroquois declared war against them to settle the question. The combined forces were victorious, and divided the land of the Allegavis between them. After living peaceably for two hundred years, another migration was resolved upon, and, according to some accounts, the whole of both nations, and according to others, but part of them, settled on the shores of the four great rivers, the Delaware, the Hudson, the Susquehanna, and the Potomac. Up to this time the Delawares remained, as they had ever been, superior to the Iroquois, and by-and-by the latter grew jealous of their powerful neighbours, and by way of thinning their numbers sought to breed a deadly feud between the Delawares and certain other near-living tribes, amongst which were the warlike Cherokees. This was an easy matter. The arms of every tribe are more or less peculiar and may be safely sworn to by any other. Stealing a Delaware axe, an Iroquois lay wait for a Cherokee, and having brained him with the weapon laid it by the side of the scalpless body. The bait took, and speedily the Delawares and the Cherokees were plunged into deadly strife.

An Iroquois Warrior.

The Iroquois, however, were not destined to escape scot free for their diabolical trick. The Delawares discovered it, and swore in council to exterminate their malicious neighbours. But the latter were much too wise to attempt a single-handed struggle with their justly incensed foes, so soliciting the attention of the other tribes they set out their grievances in so artful a manner that the others resolved to help them, and there was straightway formed against the unoffending Delawares a confederation called the Six Nations. “This,” says the Abbé Dominech, “was about the end of the fifteenth and beginning of the sixteenth century, and from this period dates the commencement of the most bloody battles the New World has witnessed. The Delawares were generally victorious. It was during this war that the French landed in Canada, and the Iroquois not wishing them to settle in the country took arms against them; but finding themselves thus placed between two fires, and despairing of subduing the Delawares by force of arms, they had recourse to a stratagem in order to make peace with the latter, and induce them to join the war against the French. Their plan was to destroy the Delawares’ fame for military bravery, and to make them (to use an Indian expression) into old women. To make the plan of the Iroquois understood, we must mention that most of the wars between these tribes are brought to an end only by the intervention of the women. They adjure the warriors by all they hold dear to take pity on their poor wives and on the children who weep for their fathers, to lay aside their arms and to smoke the calumet of peace with their enemies. These discourses rarely fail in their effect and the women place themselves in an advantageous position as peace-makers. The Iroquois persuaded the Delawares that it would be no disgrace to become “women,” but that on the contrary, it would be an honour to a nation so powerful, and which could not be suspected of deficiency in courage or strength, to be the means of bringing about a general peace and of preserving the Indian race from further extermination. These representations determined the Delawares to become “women” by asking for peace. So they came to be contemptuously known by other tribes as “Iroquois Squaws,” and losing heart, from that time grew more few.

Shawnees.—The ancient “hunting grounds” of this important tribe were Pennsylvania and New Jersey; but they are now found in the Valley of the Canadian. “Some authors are of opinion,” says the author of “The Deserts of North America,” “that these Indians come from Eastern Florida, because there is in that country a river called Su-wa-nee, whence the word Shawanas, which is also used to design the Shawnees, might be derived. It is certain, however, that they were known on the coast of the Atlantic, near Delaware and Chesapeak, subsequent to the historical era: that is to say, after the arrival of the Anglo-Saxons in the land. The Shawnees, as well as the Aborigines of whom they formed part, held a tradition of their transatlantic origin. It is but a few years ago that they ceased to offer animal sacrifices to render thanks to the Great Spirit for their happy arrival in America. The Shawnees and their neighbours the Delawares were alternately friends and enemies. They frequently made war on each other, and retreated to the west in consequence of the invasion of the whites. The present Shawnees are as much civilized as the Chactas; they are perhaps less rudely attired; with the exception of rings, earrings, and brooches of their own manufacturing, they care little for the ornaments by which other Indians set so much store. Their features are peculiar; their nose has a Grecian cut not devoid of beauty; their hair is short to the neck and parted in the front; the men wear moustaches; the women are rather good looking, and notwithstanding the dark colour of their complexion their cheeks show signs of robust health. Some of the most renowned of American chiefs are found among the Shawnees. The present actual population is 1,500.”

And now, having so long endured the trying climate of North America, let us turn to a warmer country—to one of the warmest and quaintest—to Abyssinia. Not the least quaint of its features is the fact that there are more churches there than in any other country; and, though it is very mountainous, and consequently the view much obstructed, it is very seldom you see less than five or six; and, if you are on a commanding ground, five times that number. Every Abyssinian that dies thinks he has atoned for all his wickedness, if he leaves a fund to build a church, or has built one in his lifetime. The king builds many. Wherever a victory is gained, there a church is erected in the very field—and that before the bodies of the slain are buried. Formerly this was only the case when the enemy was Pagan or Infidel; now the same is observable when the victories are over Christians. The situation of a church is always chosen near running water, for the convenience of their purifications and ablutions, in which they strictly observe the Levitical law. They are always placed on the top of some beautiful round hill, which is surrounded entirely with rows of the oxycedrus, or Virgin cedar, which grows here in great beauty and perfection, and is called Arz. Nothing adds so much to the beauty of the country as these churches, and the plantations about them. In the middle of this plantation of cedars is interspersed, at proper distances, a number of those beautiful trees called Cuffo, which grow very high, and are all extremely picturesque.

The churches are all round, with thatched roofs; their summits are perfect cones; the outside is surrounded by a number of wooden pillars, which are nothing else than the trunks of the cedar-tree, and are placed to support the edifice, about eight feet of the roof projecting beyond the wall of the church, which forms an agreeable walk or colonnade around it in hot weather or in rain. The inside of the church is in several divisions, according as is prescribed by the law of Moses. The first is a circle somewhat wider than the inner one; here the congregation sit and pray. Within this is a square, and that square is divided by a veil or curtain, in which is another very small division answering to the holy of holies. This is so narrow, that none but the priests can go into it. You are barefooted, whenever you enter the church, and, if barefooted, you may go through every part of it, if you have any such curiosity, provided you are pure, that is, have not had connexion with woman for twenty-four hours before, or touched carrion or dead bodies (a curious assemblage of ideas), for in that case you are not to go within the precincts, or outer circumference, of the church, but stand and say your prayers at an awful distance among the cedars.

Every person, of both sexes, under Jewish disqualifications, is obliged to observe this distance; and this is always a place belonging to the church, where, except in Lent, you see the greatest part of the congregation; but this is left to your own conscience; and, if there was either great inconvenience in the one situation, or great satisfaction in the other, the case would be otherwise.

On your first entering the church, you put off your shoes: but you must leave a servant there with them, or else they will be stolen, if good for anything, by the priests and monks, before you come out of the church. At entering you kiss the threshold and the two door-posts, go in and say what prayer you please; that finished you come out again, and your duty is over. The churches are full of pictures, painted on parchment, and nailed upon the walls a little less slovenly than you see paltry prints in beggarly country ale-houses. There has been always a sort of painting known among the scribes, a daubing much inferior to the worst of our sign-painters. Sometimes, for a particular church, they get a number of pictures of saints, on skins of parchment, ready finished from Cairo, in a style very little superior to these performances of their own. They are placed like a frieze, and hung in the upper part of the wall. St. George is generally there with his dragon, and St. Demetrius fighting a lion. There is no choice in their saints; they are both of the Old and New Testament, and those that might be dispensed with from both. There is St. Pontius Pilate and his wife; there is St. Balaam and his ass; Samson and his jawbone; and so of the rest. But the thing that surprised Mr. Bruce most was a kind of square miniature upon the head-piece or mitre of the priest, administering the sacrament at Adowa, representing Pharaoh on a white horse plunging in the Red Sea, with many guns and pistols swimming upon the surface of it around him.

Nothing embossed, or in relief, ever appears in any of their churches; all this would be reckoned idolatry, so much so that they do not wear a cross, as has been represented, on the top of the ball of the sendick or standard, because it casts a shade; but there is no doubt that pictures have been used in their churches from the very earliest ages of Christianity.

The primate or patriarch of the Abyssinian Church is styled Abuna. The first of these prelates mentioned in history is Tecla Haimanout, who distinguished himself by the restoration of the royal family, and the regulations which he made both in church and state. A wise ordinance was then enacted that the Abyssinians should not have it in their power to raise one of their own countrymen to the dignity of Abuna. As this dignitary of the church very seldom understands the language of the country, he has no share in the government. His chief employment is in ordinations, which ceremony is thus performed:—A number of men and children present themselves at a distance, and there stand from humility, not daring to approach him. He then asks who these are, and they tell him that they wish to be deacons. On this he makes two or three signs with a small cross in his hand, and blows with his mouth twice or thrice upon them, saying, “Let them be deacons.” Mr. Bruce once saw the whole army of Begemder, when just returned from shedding the blood of 10,000 men, made deacons by the Abuna, who stood about a quarter of a mile distant from them.

The Abyssinians neither eat nor drink with strangers, though they have no reason for this; and it is now a mere prejudice, because the old occasion for this regulation is lost. They break, or purify, however, every vessel a stranger of any kind shall have eaten or drunk out of. The custom, then, is copied from the Egyptians; and they have preserved it, though the Egyptian reason does no longer hold.

The Egyptians made no account of the mother what her state was; if the father was free, the child followed the condition of the father. This is strictly so in Abyssinia. The king’s child by a negro-slave, bought with money, or taken in war, is as near in succeeding to the crown as any one of twenty children that he has older than that one, and born of the noblest women of the country.

In Abyssinia, once every year they baptize all grown people, or adults. Mr. Bruce here relates what he himself saw on the spot, and what is nothing more than the celebration of our Saviour’s baptism:—“The small river, running between the town of Adowa and the church, had been dammed up for several days; the stream was scanty, so that it scarcely overflowed. It was in places three feet deep, in some perhaps four, or little more. Three large tents were pitched the morning before the feast of the Epiphany; one on the north for the priests to repose in during the intervals of the service, and, besides this, one to communicate in: on the south there was a third tent for the monks and priests of another church to rest themselves in their turn. About twelve o’clock at night the monks and priests met together, and began their prayers and psalms at the water-side, one party relieving each other. At dawn of day, the governor, Welleta Michael, came thither, with some soldiers, to raise men for Ras Michael, then on his march against Waragna Fasil, and sat down on a small hill by the water-side, the troops all skirmishing on foot and on horseback around them.

“As soon as the sun began to appear, three large crosses of wood were carried by three priests dressed in their sacerdotal vestments, and who, coming to the side of the river, dipped the cross into the water, and all this time the firing, skirmishing, and praying, went on together. The priests with their crosses returned, one of their number before them carrying something less than an English quart of water in a silver cup or chalice; when they were about fifty yards from Welleta Michael, that general stood up, and the priest took as much water as he could hold in his hands, and sprinkled it upon his head holding the cup at the same time to Welleta Michael’s mouth to taste; after which the priest received it back again, saying at the same time, “Gzier y’barak,” which is simply, “May God bless you.” Each of the three crosses was then brought forward to Welleta Michael, and he kissed them. The ceremony of sprinkling the water was then repeated to all the great men in the tent, all cleanly dressed as in gala. Some of them, not contented with aspersion, received it in the palms of their hands joined, and drank it there; more water was brought for those that had not partaken of the first; and after the whole of the governor’s company was sprinkled, the crosses returned to the river, their bearers singing hallelujahs, and the skirmishing and firing continuing.”

Mr. Bruce observed, that, a very little time after the governor had been sprinkled, two horses and two mules, belonging to Ras Michael and Ozoro Esther, came and were washed. Afterwards the soldiers went in and bathed their horses and guns; those who had wounds bathed them also. Heaps of platters and pots, that had been used by Mahometans or Jews, were brought thither likewise to be purified; and thus the whole ended.

The men in Egypt neither bought nor sold; the same is the case in Abyssinia to this day. It is infamy for a man to go to market to buy any thing. He cannot carry water or bake bread; but he must wash the clothes belonging to both sexes; and, in this function, the women cannot help him. In Abyssinia the men carried their burdens on their heads, the women on their shoulders: and this difference, we are told, obtained in Egypt. It is plain that this buying in the public market by women must have ended whenever jealousy or sequestration of that sex began. For this reason it ended early in Egypt; but, for the opposite reason, it subsists in Abyssinia to this day. It was a sort of impiety in Egypt to eat a calf; and the reason was plain, they worshipped the cow. In Abyssinia, to this day, no man eats veal, although every one very willingly eats beef. The Egyptian reason no longer subsists, as in the former case, but the prejudice remains, though they have forgotten their reason.

The Abyssinians eat no wild or water-fowl, not even the goose, which was a great delicacy in Egypt. The reason of this is, that, upon their conversion to Judaism, they were forced to relinquish their ancient municipal customs, as far as they were contrary to the Mosaical law, and the animals in their country not corresponding in form, kind, or name with those mentioned in the Septuagint, or original Hebrew, it has followed that there are many of each class that know not whether they are clean or not, and a wonderful confusion and uncertainty has followed through ignorance or mistake, being unwilling to violate the law in any one instance, though not understanding it.

Among the Gallas of Abyssinia, the Kalijas (magicians) and the Lubas (priests) reign supreme. It is the business of the latter to determine whether any impending war will be successful, and for this purpose the entrails of a goat are consulted. With his long hair streaming wildly, a bright copper circlet decorating his brow, and with a sonorous bell, which he beats to enjoin the silence and attention of the assembled multitude, he plunges his naked arm into the bowels of the freshly-slaughtered animal, and withdrawing part of the intestines, according to their colour declares the prospects of the savage army. In such matters, however, the Kalijas never interferes. His business is to cast out from sick men the evil spirits that torment them. There are eighty-eight evil spirits, say the Kalijas, divided into two bands of forty-three each and ruled and directed by a chief. The Kalijas is untiring in his efforts to hunt out this formidable army of eighty-eight. He goes about with a bell in one hand and a whip in the other, and with a festoon of dried goat’s entrails about his neck. Sent for by a patient he rubs him well with grease, smokes him with aromatic herbs, cries out at the top of his voice, rings his bell with a deafening din, and then lays into the sick person with the whipthong. If all these powerful remedies fail to drive out the Sao or evil spirit, why, the Kalijas resignedly takes his fee and goes away, leaving the victory to the doughty soldier of the eighty six.

In debating on the ills the Abyssinian is heir to the Bouda and Zar must not be forgotten, since they occupy a most prominent place in the catalogue of evils which torture the brown-skinned children of the sun. Of the two the Bouda, or sorcerer, as the word signifies, is the most dreaded. His powers in the black art are reported to be of a most varied character. At one time he will enslave the objects of his malice, at another he will subject them to nameless tortures, and not unfrequently his vengeance will even compass their death. Like the genii and egrets of the Arabian Nights the Bouda invariably selects those possessed of youth and talent, beauty and wit, on whom to work his evil deeds.

A variety of charms have been invented to counteract the Bouda’s power, but the most potent are the amulets written by the pious deleteras and worn round the neck. The dread of the sorcerer has introduced a whole tribe of exorcists who pretend both to be able to conjure the evil spirit and also to detect his whereabout; and these are accordingly held in great awe by the people. Their traffic resembles that of the highwayman; with this difference only—that the one in bold and unblushing language calls on his victim to stand and deliver, the other stealthily creeps into the midst of a troop of soldiers, or amongst a convivial party of friends, and pronounces the mystical word Bouda. The uncouth appearance and sepulchral voice of the exorcist everywhere produce the deepest sensation, and young and old, men and women, gladly part with some article to get rid of his hated and feared presence. If, as sometimes happens, one or two less superstitious individuals object to these wicked exactions, the exorcist has a right to compel every one present to smell an abominable concoction of foul herbs and decayed bones which he carries in his pouch; those who unflinchingly inhale the offensive scent are declared innocent, but those who have not such strong olfactory nerves are declared Boudas and shunned as allies of the evil one.

“During the rainy season,” says Mr. Stern, the most recent of Abyssinian travellers, “when the weather, like the mind, is cheerless and dull, the Boudas, as if in mockery of the universal gloom, celebrate their saturnalia. In our small settlement at Gaffat the monotony of our existence was constantly diversified by a Bouda scene. Towards the close of August, when every tree and shrub began to sprout and blossom, the disease degenerated into a regular epidemic; and in the course of an evening two, three, and not unfrequently every hut occupied by the natives would ring with that familiar household cry. A heavy thunderstorm by some mysterious process seemed invariably to predispose the people to the Bouda’s torturing influence.

“I remember one day about the end of August we had a most tremendous tempest: it commenced a little after mid-day and lasted till nearly five o’clock. During its continuance the air was completely darkened, except when the lightning’s blaze flashed athwart the sky and relieved for a few seconds the almost midnight gloom. No human voice could be heard amidst the thunder’s deafening crash and the torrent’s impetuous rage.

“The noise and tumult of the striving elements had scarcely subsided when one of the servants, a stout, robust, and masculine woman, began to exhibit the Bouda symptoms. She had been complaining the whole noon of langour, faintness, and utter incapacity for all physical exertion. About sunset her lethargy increased, and she gradually sank into a state of apparent unconsciousness. Her fellow servants who were familiar with the cause of her complaint at once pronounced her to be possessed. To outwit the conjuror I thought it advisable to try the effect of strong liquid ammonia on the nerves of the evil one. The place being dark, faggots were ignited; and in their bright flickering light we beheld a mass of dark figures squatted on the wet floor around a rigid and apparently dead woman. I instantly applied my bottle to her nose; but although the potent smell made all near raise a cry of terror, it produced no more effect on the passive and insensible patient than if it had been clear water.

“The owner of Gaffat, an amateur exorcist, almost by instinct, as if anticipating something wrong in that part of his dominion occupied by the Franks, made his appearance in the very nick of time, and no sooner had the bloated and hideous fellow hobbled into the hut, than the possessed woman, as if struck by a magnetic wire, burst into loud fits of laughter and the paroxysms of a maniac.

“Half-a-dozen stalwart fellows caught hold of her, but frenzy imparted vigour to her frame which even the united strength of these athletics was barely sufficient to keep under control. She tried to bite, kick, and tear every one within reach; and when she found herself foiled in all these mischievous attempts she convulsively grasped the unpaved wet floor and, in imitation of the hyæna, gave forth the most discordant sounds. Manacled and shackled with leather thongs, she was now partly dragged, and partly carried, to an open grassy spot; and there in the presence of a considerable number of people the conjuror, in a business-like manner, began his exorcising art.

A Woman under the Influence of Bouda.

“The poor sufferer, as if conscious of the dreaded old man’s presence struggled frantically to escape his performance; but the latter disregarding her entreaties and lamentations, her fits of unnatural gaiety and bursts of thrilling anguish, with one hand laid an amulet on her heaving bosom, whilst with the other he made her smell a rag in which the root of a strong-scented plant, a bone of a hyæna, and some other abominable unguents, were bound up. The mad rage of the possessed woman being instantly hushed by this operation, the conjuror addressed himself to the Bouda, and in language unfit for polite ears, requested him to give him his name. The Bouda, speaking through the medium of the possessed, replied:

“‘Hailu Miriam.’

“‘Where do you reside?’

“‘In Damot.’

“‘What is the name of your father and confessor?’

“‘My father’s name is Negouseye, and my Abadre’s, Oubie.’

“‘Why did you come to this district?’

“‘I took possession of this person on the plain of Wadela, where I met her on the road from Magdala.’

“‘How many persons have you already killed?

“‘Six.’

“‘I command thee, in the name of the blessed Trinity, the twelve apostles, and the three hundred and eighteen bishops at the council of Nicæa, to leave this woman and never more to molest her.’

“The Bouda did not feel disposed to obey the conjuror; but on being threatened with a repast of glowing coals, he became docile, and in a sulky voice promised to obey the request.

“Still anxious, however, to delay his exit, he demanded something to eat; and to my utter disgust his taste was as coarse as the torments inflicted on the young woman were ungallant. Filth and dirt of the most revolting description, together with an admixture of water, were the choice delicacies he selected for his supper. This strange fare, which the most niggardly hospitality could not refuse, several persons hastened to prepare; and when all was ready, and the earthen dish had been hidden in the centre of a leafy shrub, the conjuror called to the Bouda, ‘As thy father did, so do thou.’ These words had scarcely escaped the lips of the exorcist when the possessed person leapt up and, crawling on all fours, sought the dainty repast, which she lapped up with a sickening avidity and greediness. She now laid hold of a stone which three strong men could scarcely lift, and raising it aloft in the air, whirled it round her head, and then fell senseless to the ground. In half an hour she recovered, but was quite unconscious of what had transpired.

“Next in importance to the Bouda is the Zar. This malady is exclusively confined to unmarried women, and has the peculiar feature, that during the violence of the paroxysm it prompts the patient to imitate the sharp discordant growl of the leopard. I recollect that the first time I saw a case of this description it gave me a shock that made my blood run cold. The sufferer was a handsome, gay and lively girl of fifteen. In the morning she was engaged, as usual, with her work, when a quarrel ensued between her and the other domestics. The fierce dispute, though of a trifling character, roused the passions of the fiery Ethiopian to such a pitch that it brought on an hysterical affection. Her companions cried out, ‘She is possessed;’ and certainly her ghastly smile, nervous tremor, wild stare, and unnatural howl, justified the notion. To expel the Zar, a conjuror, as in the Bouda complaint, was formerly considered indispensable; but, by dint of perseverance, the medical faculty of the country, to their infinite satisfaction, have at length made the discovery that a sound application of the whip is quite as potent an antidote against this evil as the necromancer’s spell.”

Turning from Abyssinia to Dahomey we find, as might be expected from all that one hears of that most sanguinary spot on earth, that religion is at a very low ebb. Leopards and snakes are the chief gods worshipped by the Dahomans, and surely the mantle of these deities must have descended to their worshippers, who possess all the cunning of the one and the bloodthirstiness of the other. Besides these, the Dahoman worships thunder and lightning, and sundry meaningless wooden images. The sacrifices are various. If of a bullock it is thus performed: the priests and priestesses (the highest of the land, for the Dahoman proverb has it that the poor are never priests) assemble within a ring in a public square, a band of discordant music attends, and, after arranging the emblems of their religion and the articles carried in religious processions, such as banners, spears, tripods, and vessels holding bones, skulls, congealed blood, and other barbarous trophies, they dance, sing, and drink until sufficiently excited. The animals are next produced and decapitated by the male priests with large chopper knives. The altars are washed with the blood caught in basins; the rest is taken round by the priests and priestesses, who strike the lintel and two side posts of all the houses of the devotees with the blood that is in the basin. The turkey buzzards swarm in the neighbourhood, and with the familiarity of their nature gorge on the mangled carcass as it is cut in pieces. The meat is next cooked and distributed among the priests, portions being set aside to feed the spirits of the departed and the fetishes. After the sacrifice the priesthood again commence dancing, singing, and drinking, men, women, and children grovelling in the dirt, every now and then receiving the touch and blessing of these enthusiasts. Among the priesthood are members of the royal family, wives and children. The mysteries are secret, and the revelation of them is punished with death. Although different fetishes are as common as the changes of language in Central Africa, there is a perfect understanding between all fetish people. The priests of the worship of the leopard, the snake, and the shark, are initiated into the same obscure forms. Private sacrifices of fowls, ducks, and even goats, are very common, and performed in a similar manner: the heads are taken off by the priests, and the altars washed with the blood, and the lintels and sides of the door posts are sprinkled; the body of the animal or bird is eaten or exposed for the sacred turkey buzzards to devour. The temples are extremely numerous, each having one altar of clay. There is no worship within these temples, but small offerings are daily given by devotees and removed by the priests.

Sickness is prevalent among the blacks, small-pox and fever being unattended, except by bad practitioners in medicine. And here let me remark that, after teachers of the Gospel and promoters of education, there is no study that would so well ensure a good reception in Africa as that of medicine. The doctor is always welcome, and, as in most barbarous countries, all white men were supposed to be doctors. If an African sickens, he makes a sacrifice first, a small one of some palm oil food. Dozens of plates of this mixture are to be seen outside the town, and the turkey buzzards horribly gorged, scarcely able to fly from them. If the gods are not propitiated, owls, ducks, goats, and bullocks are sacrificed; and if the invalid be a man of rank, he prays the king to permit him to sacrifice one or more slaves, paying a fee for each. Should he recover, he in his grateful joy liberates one or more slaves, bullocks, goats, fowls, etc., giving them for ever, to the fetish, and henceforward they are fed by the fetish-men. But should he die, he invites with his last breath his principal wives to join him in the next world, and according to his rank, his majesty permits a portion of his slaves to be sacrificed on the tomb.

Should any one by design or accident—the former is scarcely likely—hurt either a leopard or snake fetish, he is a ruined man. But a very few years ago a cruel and lingering death was the penalty; but Dahoman princes of modern times are more tender-hearted than their predecessors, and are content with visiting the culprit with a thorough scorching. Mr. Duncan instances such a case:

Punishment for Killing Fetish Snakes.

“May 1st.—Punishment was inflicted for accidentally killing two fetish snakes, while clearing some rubbish in the French fort. This is one of the most absurd as well as savage customs I ever witnessed or heard of. Still it is not so bad as it was in the reign of the preceding King of Dahomey, when the law declared the head of the unfortunate individual forfeited for killing one of these reptiles, even by accident. The present king has reduced the capital punishment to that about to be described. On this occasion three individuals were sentenced as guilty of the murder of the fetish snakes. A small house is thereupon made for each individual, composed of dry faggots for walls, and it is thatched with dry grass. The fetish-men then assemble, and fully describe the enormity of the crime committed. Each individual is then smeared over, or rather has a quantity of palm-oil and yeast poured over him, and then a bushel basket is placed on each of their heads. In this basket are placed small calabashes, filled to the brim, so that the slightest motion of the body spills both the oil and the yeast, which runs through the bottom of the basket on to the head. Each individual carries a dog and a kid, as well as two fowls, all fastened together, across his shoulders. The culprits were then marched slowly round their newly-prepared houses, the fetish-men haranguing them all the time. Each individual is then brought to the door of his house, which is not more than four feet high. He is then freed from his burthen, and compelled to crawl into his house on his belly, for the door is only eighteen inches high. He is then shut into this small space with the dog, kid, and two fowls. The house is then fired, and the poor wretch is allowed to make his escape through the flames to the nearest running water. During his journey there he is pelted with sticks and clods by the assembled mob; but if the culprit has any friends, they generally contrive to get nearest to him during his race to the water, and assist him, as well as hinder the mob in their endeavours to injure him. When they reach the water they plunge themselves headlong into it, and are then considered to be cleansed of all the sin or crime of the snake-murder. After the lapse of thirteen days, “custom” or holiday is held here for the deceased snakes.

“The superstitions of the Bonny People are very extraordinary. Whatever animal or other thing they consider sacred they term a “jewjew,” and most common and apparently the principal of these jewjews is the guana, a reptile which in their country obtains a very large size. Several which I saw exceeded three feet and a half in length, and in their appearance were particularly disgusting, being of an unvaried dirty tawny hue. Those which live in the towns are very tame, and several as I passed through the narrow alleys approached and amused themselves in licking the blacking from my shoes. The masses of filth scraped and deposited in corners appeared to be their favourite haunts when no pools were near. There they were observed watching the flies carousing and darting at them their long slender tongues with extraordinary quickness and dexterity. For these, as well as snakes, which are likewise jewjews, small spaces are enclosed and diminutive huts erected in various parts near the sea and in the interior of the country. To kill either is considered by the natives as a capital offence and punished with death; yet towards whites so offending they do not resort to such a severe measure, but merely content themselves by strongly censuring them for their profane conduct. When, however, a very flagrant instance occurs, and the white man is not individually known by those of the natives witnessing the act, it is likely that in the first transport of their anger he may be made to atone for his offence with his life; for though the whites themselves are termed jewjews, this, in all probability, is merely a nominal title confered as a compliment.”

The king of Bonny, though often invited, will never venture on board a man-of-war, but sometimes visits the merchant vessels, proceeding from the shore in a war canoe in great form, but as he approaches he always keeps aloof till the compliment of a heavy salute is paid him. He then goes close to the ship’s side and breaks a new-laid hen’s egg against it, after which he ascends the deck fully persuaded that by the performance of this ceremony he has fortified himself against any act of treachery. For other reasons, or perhaps none that he can explain, he likewise takes with him a number of feathers and his father’s arm bone, which, on sitting down to dinner, he places on the table beside his plate. He also has at the same time a young chicken dangling by one leg (the other being cut off) from his neck.

The bar of the river Bonny has sometimes proved fatal to vessels resorting thither, and being therefore injurious to the trade of the place, the inhabitants, considering it as an evil deity, endeavour to conciliate its good will by sacrificing at times a human victim upon it. The last ceremony of this sort took place not a very long time before our arrival. The handsomest and finest lad that could be procured was chosen for the purpose, and for several months before the period fixed for the close of his existence he was lodged with the king, who on account of his mild demeanour and pleasing qualities soon entertained a great affection for him, yet, swayed by superstitious fanaticism, he made no attempt to save him, but on the contrary regarded the fate to which the unfortunate lad was destined as the greatest honour that could be conferred upon him. From the time that he was chosen to propitiate by his death the forbearance of the bar he was considered as a sacred person; whatever he touched, even while casually passing along, was thenceforth his, and therefore when he appeared abroad the inhabitants fled before him to save the apparel which they had on or any articles which at the time they might be carrying. Unconscious, as it was affirmed, of the fate intended for him, he was conveyed in a large canoe to the bar and there persuaded to jump overboard to bathe, while those who took him out immediately turned their backs upon him and paddled away with the utmost haste, heedless of the cries of the wretched victim, at whom, pursuant to their stern superstition, not even a look was allowed to be cast back.

In Abo, says Mr. Bakie, every man and every woman of any consequence keeps as “dju-dju,” or jewjew, the lower jaw of a pig, or, until they can procure this, a piece of wood fashioned like one. This is preserved in their huts, and produced only when worshipped or when sacrifices are made to it, which are at certain times, at intervals of from ten days to three weeks. The particular days are determined by the dju-dju, with palm wine and touching it with a kola-nut; they speak to it and ask it to be good and propitious towards them. It is named Agba, meaning pig, or Agba-Ezhi, pig’s jaw; but when as dju-dju, it is also termed Ofum, or “my image.” People also select particular trees near their huts, or if there are none in the neighbourhood, they transplant one; these they worship, and call Tuhukum, or “my God.” They hang on these, bits of white baff (calico) as signs of a dju-dju tree, and as offerings to the deity. No one ever touches these, and if they rot off they are replaced. Little wooden images are also used, and are styled Ofo Tuhuku, “talk and pray.” When a man is suspected of falsehood, one of these is placed in his right hand, and he is made to swear by it, and if he does so falsely, it is believed that some evil will speedily befall him. Sacrifices, principally of fowls, are made to these latter as to the former. At Abo one large tree is held as dju-dju for the whole district; it is covered with offerings, and there is an annual festival in honour of it, when sacrifices of fowls, sheep, goats, and bullocks are made. When a man goes to Aro to consult Tshuku he is received by some of the priests outside of the town, near a small stream. Here he makes an offering; after which a fowl is killed, and if it appears unpropitious, a quantity of a red dye, probably camwood, is spilt into the water, which the priest tells the people is blood, and on this the votary is hurried off by the priests and is seen no more, it being given out that Tshuku has been displeased, and has taken him. The result of this preliminary ceremony is determined in general by the amount of the present given to the priests; and those who are reported to have been carried off by Tshuku are usually sold as slaves. Formerly they were commonly sent by canoes to Old Kalabar, and disposed of there. One of Mr. Bakie’e informants met upwards of twenty such unfortunates in Cuba, and another had also fallen in with several at Sierra Leone. If, however, the omen be pronounced to be favourable, the pilgrim is permitted to draw near to the shrine, and after various rites have been gone through, the question, whatever it may be, is propounded of course through the priests, and by them also the reply is given. A yellow powder is given to the devotee, who rubs it round his eyes. Little wooden images are also issued as tokens of a person having actually consulted the sacred oracle, and these are known as Ofo Tshuku, and are afterwards kept as dju-dju. A person who has been at Aro, after returning to his home is reckoned dju-dju, or sacred, for seven days, during which period he must stay in his house, and people dread to approach him. The shrine of Tshuku is said to be situated nearly in the centre of the town, and the inhabitants of Aro are often styled Omo Tshuku, or “God’s children.”

Mondzo is a bad or evil spirit in this country. The worst of evil spirits is named Kamallo, possibly equivalent with Satan. His name is frequently bestowed on children, and in some parts of Igbo, especially in Isuama, Kamallo is worshipped. No images are made, but a hut is set apart in which are kept bones, pieces of iron, etc., as sacred. Persons make enquiries of this spirit, if they wish to commit any wicked action, such as murder, when they bring presents of cowries and cloth to propitiate this evil being and render him favourable to their designs. If the individual intended as the victim suspects anything, or gets a hint of his adversary’s proceedings, he also comes to worship, bringing with him, if possible, more valuable offerings to try to avert the impending danger, and this is called Erise nao, or “I cut on both sides.” In Isuama, if a man is sick, the doctor often tells the friends to consult an evil spirit called Igwikalla, and he is also worshipped by persons wishing to injure others. His supposed abode is generally in a bush, which has been well cleared all round; but occasionally huts are dedicated to him, and priests execute his decrees.

Among savages who have no conception of the existence of a Supreme Being must be enumerated the “Sambos,” a race of Indians residing on the shores of the Mosquito River. The only person who is dreaded as a priestess, or “medicine-woman,” is the Sukia. This woman possesses more power than the king or chiefs. Her orders, even though of the most brutal and inhuman kind (as often they are), are never disputed nor neglected. When Mr. Bard visited the Sambos he saw a Sukia, whom he describes as a person hideous and disgusting in the extreme. “Her hair was long and matted, and her shrivelled skin appeared to adhere like that of a mummy to her bones; for she was emaciated to the last degree. The nails of her fingers were long and black, and caused her hands to look like the claws of some unclean bird. Her eyes were bloodshot, but bright and intense, and were constantly fixed upon me, like those of some wild beast of prey.” These women, before they assume the office, wander away into the forest and live for a considerable time, without arms or clothing of any kind as a defence against the wild beasts and still wilder elements of the tropics. It is during their residence in the woods that they become initiated into the mysteries of nature, and doubtless obtain their antidotes for serpent charming and other wonderful performances for which they are so famous, such as standing in the midst of flames uninjured. The author of “Waikna” gives a very interesting and amusing account of one of these ceremonies as witnessed by him. “The Sukia made her appearance alone, carrying a long thick wand of bamboo, and with no dress except the ule tourno. She was only inferior to her sister of Sandy Bay in ugliness, and stalked into the house like a spectre, without uttering a word. He cut off a piece of calico and handed it to her as her recompense. She received it in perfect silence, walked into the yard, and folded it carefully on the ground. Meanwhile a fire had been kindled of pine splints and branches, which was now blazing high. Without any hesitation the Sukia walked up to it and stepped in its very centre. The flames darted their forked tongues as high as her waist; the coals beneath and around her naked feet blackened, and seemed to expire; while the tourno which she wore about her loins cracked and shivered with the heat. There she stood, immovable and apparently as insensible as a statue of iron, until the blaze subsided, when she commenced to walk around the smouldering embers, muttering rapidly to herself in an unintelligible manner. Suddenly she stopped, and placing her foot on the bamboo staff, broke it in the middle, shaking out, from the section in her hand, a full-grown tamagesa snake, which on the instant coiled itself up, flattened its head, and darted out its tongue, in an attitude of defiance and attack. The Sukia extended her hand, and it fastened on her wrist with the quickness of light, where it hung dangling and writhing its body in knots and coils, while she resumed her mumbling march around the embers. After awhile, and with the same abruptness which had marked all her previous movements, she shook off the serpent, crushed its head in the ground with her heel, and taking up the cloth which had been given to her, stalked away, without having exchanged a word with any one present.”

Perhaps the secret of it lies in the non-existence of the sting, which may be extracted, as is frequently done by the Arab serpent-charmer. Anyhow, such powers are greatly dreaded by the simple and superstitious savage, who regard the Sukia as a supernatural person.

The Tinguians of the Phillipine Islands are in an almost equally benighted condition. They have no veneration for the stars; they neither adore the sun, nor moon, nor the constellations; they believe in the existence of a soul, and pretend that after death it quits the body, and remains in the family of the defunct.

As to the god that they adore, it varies and changes form according to chance and circumstances. And here is the reason: “When a Tinguian chief has found in the country a rock, or a trunk of a tree, of a strange shape—I mean to say, representing tolerably well either a dog, cow, or buffalo—he informs the inhabitants of the village of his discovery, and the rock, or trunk of a tree, is immediately considered as a divinity—that is to say, as something superior to man. Then all the Indians repair to the appointed spot, carrying with them provisions and live hogs. When they have reached their destination they raise a straw roof above the new idol, to cover it, and make a sacrifice by roasting hogs; then, at the sound of instruments, they eat, drink, and dance until they have no provisions left. When all is eaten and drank, they set fire to the thatched roof, and the idol is forgotten, until the chief, having discovered another one, commands a new ceremony.”

It has been already noticed in these pages, that the Malagaseys are utterly without religion. Their future state is a matter that never troubles them; indeed, they have no thought or hope beyond the grave, and are content to rely on that absurd thing “sikidy” for happiness on this side of it. Thanks, however, to Mr. Robert Drury (whom the reader will recollect as the player of a neat trick on a certain Malagasey Umossee), we are informed that a century or so back there prevailed in this gloomy region a sort of religious rite known as the “Ceremony of the Bull,” and which was performed as follows:

The infant son of a great man called Dean Mevarrow was to be presented to the “lords of the four quarters of the earth,” and like many other savage rite began and ended with an enormous consumption of intoxicating liquor. In this case the prime beverage is called toak, and, according to Mr. Drury, “these people are great admirers of toak, and some of the vulgar sort are as errant as sots and as lazy as any in England; for they will sell their Guinea corn, carravances—nay, their very spades and shovels—and live upon what the woods afford them. Their very lamber (a sort of petticoat) must go for toak, and they will go about with any makeshift to cover their nakedness.”

Now for the ceremony. “The toak was made for some weeks beforehand by boiling the honey and combs together as we in England make mead. They filled a great number of tubs, some as large as a butt and some smaller; a shed being built for that purpose, which was thatched over, to place them in. On the day appointed, messengers were despatched all round the country to invite the relations and friends. Several days before the actual celebration of the ceremony there were visible signs of its approach. People went about blowing of horns and beating of drums, both night and day, to whom some toak was given out of the lesser vessels as a small compensation for their trouble. They who came from a long distance took care to arrive a day or two before, and were fed and entertained with toak to their heart’s content. On the evening preceding the feast I went into the town and found it full of people, some wallowing on the ground, and some staggering; scarcely one individual sober, either man, woman, or child. And here one might sensibly discern the sense of peace and security, the people abandoning themselves without fear or reserve to drinking and all manner of diversions. My wife” (Mr. Drury got so far reconciled to his state as to marry a fellow slave) “I found had been among them indeed, but had the prudence to withdraw in time, for she was fast asleep when I returned home.

“On the morning of the ceremony I was ordered to fetch in two oxen and a bull that had been set aside for the feast, to tie their legs, and to throw them along upon the ground. A great crowd had by this time collected around the spot where the child was, decked with beads, and a skin of white cotton thread wound about his head. The richest of the company brought presents for the child—beads, hatchets, iron shovels, and the like, which, although of no immediate value to him, would doubtless be saved from rusting by his parents. Every one was served once with toak, and then the ceremony began.

“For some time the umossee had been, to all appearance, measuring his shadow on the ground, and presently finding its length to his mind, he gave the word. Instantly one of the child’s relatives caught him up and ran with him to the prostrate bull, and putting the child’s right hand on the bull’s right horn, repeated a form of words of which the following is as nigh a translation as I can render: ‘Let the great God above, the lords of the four quarters of the world, and the demons, prosper this child and make him a great man. May he prove as strong as this bull and overcome all his enemies.’ If the bull roars while the boy’s hand is on his horn they look upon it as an ill omen portending either sickness or some other misfortune in life. All the business of the umossee is nothing more than that above related; for as to the religious part of the ceremony he is in nowise concerned in it, if there be any religion intended by it, which is somewhat to be questioned.

Ceremony of Touching the Bull.

“The ceremony being over the child is delivered to its mother, who all this time is sitting on a mat, with the women round her; and now the merriment began: the thatch was all pulled off the toak house, and I was ordered to kill the bull and the oxen; but these not being sufficient my master sent for three more which had been brought by his friends, for there was abundance of mouths to feed. Before they began to drink he took particular care to secure all their weapons, and no man was permitted to have so much as a gun or a lance; and then they indulged themselves in boiling, broiling and roasting of meat, drinking of toak, singing, hollowing, blowing of shells, and drumming with all their might and main; and so the revel continued through that night and the next day.”

It is very curious, and were it not so serious a matter, could scarcely fail to excite the risible faculties of the reader, to read the outrageous notions entertained by African savages concerning religion generally. Take the case of King Peppel, a potentate of “Western Africa, and the descendant of a very long line of kings of that name (originally “Pepper” or “Pepperal,” and so named on account of the country’s chief trade being, in ancient times, nearly limited to pepper). Thanks to the missionaries, King Peppel had been converted from his heathen ways and brought to profess Christianity. As to the quality of the monarch’s religious convictions, the following conversation between him and a well-known Christian traveller may throw a light:

“What have you been doing, King Peppel?”

“All the same as you do—I tank God.”

“For what?”

“Every good ting God sends me.”

“Have you seen God?”

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

“When you die won’t you see God?”

With great warmth, “I know no savvy (I don’t know). How should I know? Never mind, I no want to hear more for that palaver” (I want no more talk on that subject).

“What way?” (Why?)

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

I knew, says the missionary in question, it would be of no use pursuing the subject at that time, so I was silent, and it dropped for the moment.

In speaking of him dying I had touched a very tender and disagreeable chord, for he looked very savage and sulky, and I saw by the rapid changes in his countenance that he was the subject of some internal emotion. At length he broke out using most violent gesticulations, and exhibiting a most inhuman expression of countenance, “Suppose God was here I must kill him, one minute.”

“You what? You kill God?” exclaimed I, quite taken aback and almost breathless with the novel and diabolical notion, “You kill God? why you talk all some fool (like a fool); you cannot kill God; and suppose it possible that He could die, everything would cease to exist. He is the Spirit of the Universe. But he can kill you.”

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

“Where does God live?”

“For top.”

“How?” He pointed to the zenith.

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

“Because he makes men to die.”

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

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

“But you will be old by-and-by, and if you live long enough will become very infirm, like that old man,” pointing to a man very old for an African, and thin, and lame, and almost blind, who had come into the court during the foregoing conversation to ask some favour, “and like him you will become lame, and deaf, and blind, and will be able to take no pleasure; would it not be better, then, for you to die when this takes place, and you are in pain and trouble, and so make room for your son as your father did for you?”

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

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

“I no savvy nothing about that. I know that I now live and have too many wives and niggers (slaves) and canoes” (he did not mean it when he said he had too many wives, etc.; it is their way of expressing a great number), “and that I am king, and plenty of ships come to my country. I know no other ting, and I want to stand.”

I offered a reply, but he would hear no more, and so the conversation on that subject ceased, and we proceeded to discuss one not much more agreeable to him, the payment of a very considerable debt which he owed me.

Getting round to the south of Africa we find but little improvement in the matter of the religious belief of royalty, at least according to what may be gleaned from another “conversation,” this time between the missionary Moffat and an African monarch:

“Sitting down beside this great man, illustrious for war and conquest, and amidst nobles and councillors, including rain-makers and others of the same order, I stated to him that my object was to tell him my news. His countenance lighted up, hoping to hear of feats of war, destruction of tribes, and such-like subjects, so congenial to his savage disposition. When he found my topics had solely a reference to the Great Being, of whom the day before he had told me he knew nothing, and of the Saviour’s mission to this world, whose name he had never heard, he resumed his knife and jackal’s skin and hummed a native air. One of his men sitting near me appeared struck with the character of the Redeemer, which I was endeavouring to describe, and particularly with his miracles. On hearing that he raised the dead he very naturally exclaimed, ‘What an excellent doctor he must have been to make dead men alive.’ This led me to describe his power and how the power would be exercised at the last day in raising the dead. In the course of my remarks the ear of the monarch caught the startling news of a resurrection. ‘What,’ he exclaimed with astonishment, ‘what are these words about; the dead, the dead arise?’ ‘Yes,’ was my reply, ‘all the dead shall arise.’ ‘Will my father arise?’ ‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘your father will arise.’ ‘Will all the slain in battle arise?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And will all that have been killed and devoured by lions, tigers, hyænas, and crocodiles, again revive?’ ‘Yes, and come to judgment.’ ‘And will those whose bodies have been left to waste and to wither on the desert plains, and scattered to the winds, arise?’ he asked with a kind of triumph, as if he had now fixed me. ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘not one will be left behind.’ This I repeated with increased emphasis. After looking at me for a few moments he turned to his people, to whom he spoke with a stentorian voice: ‘Hark, ye wise men, whoever is among you the wisest of past generations, did ever your ears hear such strange and unheard-of news?’ and addressing himself to one whose countenance and attire showed that he had seen many years and was a personage of no common order, ‘Have you ever heard such strange news as these?’ ‘No,’ was the sage’s answer; ‘I had supposed that I possessed all the knowledge of the country, for I have heard the tales of many generations. I am in the place of the ancients, but my knowledge is confounded with the words of his mouth. Surely he must have lived long before the period when we were born.’ Makaba then turning and addressing himself to me, and laying his hand on my breast, said: ‘Father, I love you much. Your visit and your presence have made my heart white as milk. The words of your mouth are sweet as honey, but the words of a resurrection are too great to be heard. I do not wish to hear again about the dead rising; the dead cannot arise; the dead must not arise.’ ‘Why,’ I enquired, ‘can so great a man refuse knowledge and turn away from wisdom? Tell me, my friend, why I must not speak of a resurrection.’ Raising and uncovering his arm, which had been strong in battle, and shaking his hand as if quivering a spear, he replied, ‘I have slain my thousands, and shall they arise?’ Never before had the light of divine revelation dawned upon his savage mind, and of course his conscience had never accused him; no, not for one of the thousands of deeds of rapine and murder which had marked his course through a long career.

“Addressing a Namaqua chief, I asked, ‘Did you ever hear of a God?’ ‘Yes, we have heard that there is a God, but we do not know right.’ ‘Who told you that there is a God?’ ‘We heard it from other people.’ ‘Who made the sea?’ ‘A girl made it on her coming to maturity, when she had several children at once. When she made it the sweet and bitter waters were separated. One day she sent some of her children to fetch sweet water whilst the others were in the field, but the children were obstinate and would not fetch the water, upon which she got angry and mixed the sweet and bitter waters together; from that day we are no longer able to drink the water, and people have learned to swim and run upon the water.’ ‘Did you ever see a ship?’ ‘Yes, we have seen them a long time ago.’ ‘Did you ever hear who made the first one?’ ‘No, we never heard it.’ ‘Did you never hear old people talk about it?’ ‘No, we never heard it from them.’ ‘Who made the heavens?’ ‘We do not know what man made them.’ ‘Who made the sun?’ ‘We always heard that those people at the sea made it; when she goes down they cut her in pieces and fry her in a pot and then put her together again and bring her out at the other side. Sometimes the sun is over our head and at other times she must give place to the moon to pass by.’ They said the moon had told to mankind that we must die and not become alive again; that is the reason that when the moon is dark we sometimes become ill. ‘Is there any difference between man and beast?’ ‘We think man made the beasts.’ ‘Did you ever see a man that made beasts?’ ‘No; I only heard so from others.’ ‘Do you know you have a soul?’ ‘I do not know it.’ ‘How shall it be with us after death?’ ‘When we are dead, we are dead; when we have died we go over the sea-water at that side where the devil is.’ ‘What do you mean by devil?’ ‘He is not good; all people who die run to him.’ ‘How does the devil behave to them, well or ill?’ ‘You shall see; all our people are there who have died (in the ships). Those people in the ships are masters over them.’”

With such rulers it is not surprising to find the common people woefully ignorant and superstitious. The crocodile figures prominently in their religious belief. In the Bamangwato and Bakwain tribes, if a man is either bitten, or even has had water splashed over him with a reptile’s tail, he is expelled his tribe. “When on the Zouga,” says Dr. Livingstone, “we saw one of the Bamangwato living among the Bayeye, who had the misfortune to have been bitten, and driven out of his tribe in consequence. Fearing that I would regard him with the same disgust which his countrymen profess to feel, he would not tell me the cause of his exile; but the Bayeye informed me of it; and the scars of the teeth were visible on his thigh. If the Bakwains happened to go near an alligator, they would spit on the ground and indicate his presence by saying “Boles ki bo,” There is sin. They imagine the mere sight of it would give inflammation of the eyes; and though they eat the zebra without hesitation, yet if one bites a man he is expelled the tribe, and is obliged to take his wife and family away to the Kalahari. These curious relics of the animal worship of former times scarcely exist among the Makololo. Sebituane acted on the principle, “Whatever is food for men is food for me,” so no man is here considered unclean. The Barotse appear inclined to pray to alligators, and eat them too, for when I wounded a water antelope, called onochose, it took to the water. When near the other side of the river, an alligator appeared at its tail, and then both sank together. Mashauana, who was nearer to it than I, told me that though he had called to it to let his meat alone, it refused to listen.”

Divination Scene.

The Southern African has most implicit belief in witch power. Whatever is incomprehensible to him must be submitted to a “witch man,” and be by him construed. While Mr. Casalis was a guest among the Basutos, he had opportunity of witnessing several of these witch ceremonies. Let the reader picture to himself a long procession of black men almost in a state of nudity, driving an ox before them, advancing towards a spot of rising ground, on which are a number of huts surrounded with reeds. A fierce-looking man, his body plastered over with ochre, his head shaded by long feathers, his left shoulder covered with a panther skin, and having a javelin in his hand, springs forwards, seizes the animal, and after shutting it up in a safe place, places himself at the head of the troop, who still continue their march. He then commences the song of divination, and every voice joins in the cry. “Death, death, to the base sorcerer who has stolen into our midst like a shadow. We will find him, and he shall pay with his head. Death, death to the sorcerer.” The diviner then brandishes his javelin, and strikes it into the ground as if he were already piercing his victim. Then raising his head proudly, he executes a dance accompanied with leaps of the most extraordinary kind, passing under his feet the handle of his lance, which he holds with both hands. On reaching his abode, he again disappears, and shuts himself up in a hut into which no one dare enter. The consulters then stop and squat down side by side, forming a complete circle. Each one has in his hand a short club. Loud acclamations soon burst forth, the formidable diviner comes forth from his sanctuary where he has been occupied in preparing the sacred draught, of which he has just imbibed a dose sufficient to enable him to discover the secrets of all hearts. He springs with one bound into the midst of the assembly: all arms are raised at once, and the ground trembles with the blows of the clubs. If this dismal noise does not awake the infernal gods whom he calls to council, it serves at least to strike terror into the souls of those wretches who are still harbouring sinister designs. The diviner recites with great volubility some verses in celebration of his own praise, and then proceeds to discover of what the present consists, which he expects in addition to the ox he has already received, and in whose hands this present will be found. This first trial of his clairvoyance is designed to banish every doubt. One quick glance at a few confederates dispersed throughout the assembly apprises them of their duty.

“There are,” cries the black charlatan, “many objects which man may use in the adornment of his person. Shall I speak of those perforated balls of iron which we get from Barolong?”

The assembly strike the ground with their clubs, but the confederates do it gently.

“Shall I speak of those little beads of various colours which the whites as we are told pick up by the sea side?”

All strike with equal violence.

“I might have said rather that you had brought me one of those brilliant rings of copper.”

The blows this time are unequal.

“But no, I see your present; I distinguish it perfectly well.... It is the necklace of the white men.”

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

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

Now he comes again. During the first act the practised eye has not failed to observe an individual who seemed to be more absorbed than the rest, and who betrayed some curiosity and a considerable degree of embarrassment. He knows therefore who is in possession of the present; but in order to add a little interest to the proceedings, he amuses himself for an instant, turns on his heel, advances now to one, now to the other, and then with the certainty of a sudden inspiration, rushes to the right one and lifts up his mantle.

Now he says, “Let us seek out the offender. Your community is composed of men of various tribes. You have among you Bechuanas (unequal blows on the ground), Batlokoas (blows still unequal), Basias (all strike with equal violence), Bataungs (blows unequal). For my own part, I hate none of those tribes. The inhabitants of the same country ought all to love one another without any distinction of origin. Nevertheless, I must speak. Strike, strike, the sorcerer belongs to the Basias.”

Violent and prolonged blows.

The diviner goes again to drink from the vessel containing his wisdom. He has now only to occupy himself with a very small fraction of the criminated population. On his return he carefully goes over the names of the individuals belonging to this fraction. This is very easy in a country where almost all the proper names are borrowed from one or other of the kingdoms of nature. The different degrees of violence with which the clubs fall upon the ground give him to understand in what order he must proceed in his investigation, and the farce continues thus till the name of the culprit is hit on, and the farce of trial is brought to an end, and the tragedy of punishment begins.

The Damaras of South Africa have some curious notions about the colour of oxen: some will not eat the flesh of those marked with red spots; some with black, or white; or should a sheep have no horns, some will not eat the flesh thereof. So, should one offer meat to a Damara, very likely he will ask about the colour of the animal; whether it had horns or no. And should it prove to be forbidden meat, he will refuse it; sometimes actually dying of hunger rather than partake of it. To such an extent is this religious custom carried out, that sometimes they will not approach any of the vessels in which the meat is cooked; and the smoke of the fire by which it is cooked is considered highly injurious. For every wild animal slain by a young man, his father makes four oblong incisions in front of his body; moreover, he is presented with a sheep or cow, the young of which, should it have any, are slaughtered and eaten; males only are allowed to partake of it. Should a sportsman return from a successful hunt, he takes water in his mouth, and ejects it three times over his feet, as also in the fire of his own hearth. When cattle are required for food, they are suffocated; but when for sacrifices, they are speared.

One of the most lucrative branches of a heathen priest’s profession is the “manufacture” of rain; at the same time, and as may be easily understood, the imposture is surrounded by dangers of no ordinary nature. If the rain fall within a reasonable time, according to the bargain, so delighted are the people, made as they are in droughty regions contented and happy, whereas but yesterday they were withering like winter stalks, that the rain maker is sure to come in for abundant presents over and above the terms agreed on. But should the rain maker fail in the terms of his contract, should he promise “rain within three days,” and the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth, and the seventh day arrive, and find the brilliant sky untarnished, and the people parched and mad with thirst, what more horrible position can be imagined than his whose fault it appears to be that the universal thirst is not slaked? “There never was yet known a rain maker,” writes a well-known missionary, “who died a natural death.” No wonder! The following narrative of the experiments and perplexities of a rain maker furnished by Mr. Moffat may be worth perusal.

Having for a number of years experienced severe drought, the Bechuanas at Kuruman held a council as to the best measures for removing the evil. After some debate a resolution was passed to send for a rain maker of great renown, then staying among the Bahurutsi, two hundred miles north-east of the station. Accordingly commissioners were dispatched, with strict injunctions not to return without the man; but it was with some misgiving as to the success of their mission that the men started. However, by large promises, they succeeded beyond their most sanguine expectations.

During the absence of the ambassadors the heavens had been as brass, and scarcely a passing cloud obscured the sky, which blazed with the dazzling rays of a vertical sun. But strange to relate the very day that the approach of the rain maker was announced, the clouds began to gather thickly, the lightning darted and the thunder rolled in awful grandeur, accompanied by a few drops of rain. The deluded multitude were wild with delight; they rent the sky with their acclamations of joy, and the earth rang with their exulting and maddening shouts. Previously to entering the town, the rain maker sent a peremptory order to all the inhabitants to wash their feet. Scarcely was the message delivered before every soul, young and old, noble and ignoble, flew to the adjoining river to obey the command of the man whom they imagined was now collecting in the heavens all his stores of rain.

The impostor proclaimed aloud that this year the women must cultivate gardens on the hills and not in the valleys, for the latter would be deluged. The natives in their enthusiasm saw already their corn-fields floating in the breeze and their flocks and herds return lowing homewards by noonday from the abundance of pasture. He told them how in his wrath he had desolated the cities of the enemies of his people by stretching forth his hand and commanding the clouds to burst upon them; how he had arrested the progress of a powerful army by causing a flood to descend, which formed a mighty river and stayed their course. These and many other pretended displays of his power were received as sober truths, and the chief and the nobles gazed on him with silent amazement. The report of his fame spread like wildfire, and the rulers of the neighbouring tribes came to pay him homage.

In order to carry on the fraud, he would, when clouds appeared, command the women neither to plant nor sow, lest the seeds should be washed away. He would also require them to go to the fields and gather certain roots of herbs, with which he might light what appeared to the natives mysterious fires. Elate with hope, they would go in crowds to the hills and valleys, collect herbs, return to the town with songs, and lay the gatherings at the magician’s feet. With these he would sometimes proceed to certain hills and raise smoke; gladly would he have called up the wind also, if he could have done so, well knowing that the latter is frequently the precursor of rain. He would select the time of new and full moon for his purpose, aware that at those seasons there was frequently a change in the atmosphere. But the rain maker found the clouds in these parts rather harder to manage than those of the Bahurutsi country, whence he came.

One day as he was sound asleep a shower fell, on which one of the principal men entered his house to congratulate him on the happy event; but to his utter amazement he found the magician totally insensible to what was transpiring. “Hela ka rare (halloo, by my father)! I thought you were making rain,” said the intruder. Arising from his slumber, and seeing his wife sitting on the floor shaking a milk sack in order to obtain a little butter to anoint her hair, the wily rain maker adroitly replied, “Do you not see my wife churning rain as fast as she can?” This ready answer gave entire satisfaction, and it presently spread through the town that the rain maker had churned the rain out of a milk sack.

The moisture, however, caused by this shower soon dried up, and for many a long week afterwards not a cloud appeared. The women had cultivated extensive fields, but the seed was lying in the soil as it had been thrown from the hand; the cattle were dying for want of pasture, and hundreds of emaciated men were seen going to the fields in quest of unwholesome roots and reptiles, while others were perishing with hunger.

Making Rain.

All these circumstances irritated the rain maker very much, and he complained that secret rogues were disobeying his proclamations. When urged to make repeated trials, he would reply, “You only give me sheep and goats to kill, therefore I can only make goat rain; give me fat slaughter oxen, and I shall let you see ox rain.”

One night a small cloud passed over, and a single flash of lightning, from which a heavy peal of thunder burst, struck a tree in the town. Next day the rain maker and a number of people assembled to perform the usual ceremony on such an event. The stricken tree was ascended, and roots and ropes of grass were bound round different parts of the trunk. When these bandages were made, the conjuror deposited some of his nostrums, and got quantities of water handed up, which he poured with great solemnity on the wounded tree, while the assembled multitude shouted. The tree was now hewn down, dragged out of the town and burned to ashes. Soon after the rain maker got large bowls of water, with which was mixed an infusion of bulbs. All the men of the town were then made to pass before him, when he sprinkled each person with a zebra’s tail dipped in water.

Finding that this did not produce the desired effect, the impostor had recourse to another stratagem. He well knew that baboons were not very easily caught amongst rocky glens and shelving precipices, and therefore, in order to gain time, he informed the men that to make rain he must have a baboon. Moreover, that not a hair on its body was to be wanting; in short the animal should be free from blemish. After a long and severe pursuit, and with bodies much lacerated, a band of chosen runners succeeded in capturing a young baboon, which they brought back triumphantly and exultingly. On seeing the animal, the rogue put on a countenance exhibiting the most intense sorrow, exclaiming, “My heart is rent in pieces! I am dumb with grief!” pointing at the same time to the ear of the baboon that was slightly scratched, and the tail, which had lost some hair. He added, “Did I not tell you I could not bring rain if there was one hair wanting?”

He had often said that if they could procure him the heart of a lion he would show them he could make rain so abundant, that a man might think himself well off to be under shelter, as when it fell it might sweep whole towns away. He had discovered that the clouds required strong medicines, and that a lion’s heart would do the business. To obtain this the rain maker well knew was no joke. One day it was announced that a lion had attacked one of the cattle out-posts, not far from the town, and a party set off for the twofold purpose of getting a key to the clouds and disposing of a dangerous enemy. The orders were imperative, whatever the consequences might be. Fortunately the lion was shot dead by a man armed with a gun. Greatly elated by their success, they forthwith returned with their prize, singing the conqueror’s song in full chorus. The rain maker at once set about preparing his medicines, kindled his fires, and, standing on the top of a hill, he stretched forth his hands, beckoning to the clouds to draw near, occasionally shaking his spear and threatening them with his ire, should they disobey his commands. The populace believed all this and wondered the rain would not fall.

Having discovered that a corpse which had been put into the ground some weeks before had not received enough water at its burial, and knowing the aversion of the Bechuanas to the dead body, he ordered the corpse to be taken up, washed, and re-interred. Contrary to his expectation, and horrible as the ceremony must have been, it was performed. Still the heavens remained inexorable.

Having exhausted his skill and ingenuity, the impostor began to be sorely puzzled to find something on which to lay the blame. Like all of his profession, he was a subtle fellow, in the habit of studying human nature, affable, acute, and exhibiting a dignity of mien, with an ample share of self-complacency which he could not hide. Hitherto he had studiously avoided giving the least offence to the missionaries, whom he found were men of peace who would not quarrel. He frequently condescended to visit them, and in the course of conversation would often give a feeble assent to their opinions as to the sources of that element over which he pretended to have sovereign control. However, finding all his wiles unavailing to produce the desired result, and, notwithstanding the many proofs of kindness he had received from the missionaries, he began to hint that the reverend gentlemen were the cause of the obstinacy of the clouds. One day it was discovered that the rain had been prevented by Mr. Moffat bringing a bag of salt with him from a journey that he had undertaken to Griqua town. But finding on examination that the reported salt was only white clay or chalk, the natives could not help laughing at their own credulity.

From insinuations he proceeded to open accusations. After having kept himself secluded for a fortnight, he one day appeared in the public fold and proclaimed that he had at last discovered the cause of the drought. After keeping the audience in suspense for a short time, he suddenly broke forth: “Do you not see,” he asked, “when the clouds cover us, that Hamilton and Moffat look at them? Their white faces scare them away, and you cannot expect rain so long as they are in the country.” This was a home stroke. The people became impatient, and poured forth their curses against the poor missionaries as the cause of all their sorrows. The bell which was rung for public worship, they said, frightened the vapours; the prayers even came in for a share of the blame. “Don’t you,” said the chief one day rather fiercely to Mr. Moffat, “bow down in your houses and pray, and talk to something bad in the ground?”

But to shorten a long story, after exposing the missionaries to much risk and danger by his insinuations and accusations, the tables were turned in their favour. The rain-maker now was suspected, his gross impositions were unveiled, and he was about to pay the penalty of death,—the well-merited reward for his scandalous conduct, when Mr. Moffat generously interfered, and through his presence of mind and humanity succeeded in saving the life of one who had so often threatened his own, and who would not have scrupled to take it could he thereby have served his purpose. Death, however, soon overtook him, for he was eventually murdered amongst the Bauangketsi nation.

There is scarcely a savage country on the face of the earth but has its professional rain-makers; Figi has; and these, like other players of a game of chance, occasionally win in a manner that seems surprising even to an educated European.

During Mr. Seeman’s stay in Figi, one of the days was rainy, preventing him from making an excursion. On expressing his regret to that effect, a man was brought who may be called the clerk of the weather. He professed to exercise a direct meteorological influence, and said that, by burning certain leaves and offering prayers only known to himself, he could make the sun shine or rain come down; and that he was willing to exercise his influence on Mr. Seeman’s behalf if paid handsomely. He was told that there was no objection to giving him a butcher’s knife if he could make fine weather until the travellers returned to the coast; but if he failed to do so, he must give something for the disappointment. He was perfectly willing to risk the chance of getting the knife, but would not hear of a forfeit in case of failure; however, he left to catch eels. “When returning,” says Mr. Seeman, “the clouds had dispersed, and the sun was shining brilliantly, and he did not fail to inform me that he had ‘been and done it.’ I must farther do him the justice to say, that I did not experience any bad weather until I fairly reached the coast; and that no sooner had I set my foot in Navua than rain came down in regular torrents. This man has probably been a close observer of the weather, and discovered those delicate local indications of a coming change with which people in all countries living much in the open air are familiar; and he very likely does not commence operations until he is pretty sure of success.”

This was not the only singular ceremony witnessed by the gentleman just quoted, and who is the most recent of Figian travellers. While out one day he and his friends met a company of natives, and were struck with the fact that all the young lads were in a state of absolute nudity; and, on inquiry, learned that preparations were being made to celebrate the introduction of Kurudwadua’s eldest son into manhood; and that until then neither the young chieftain nor his playmates could assume the scanty clothing peculiar to the Figians. Suvana, a rebellious town, consisting of about five hundred people, was destined to be sacrificed on the occasion. When the preparations for the feast were concluded, the day for the ceremony appointed, Kurudwadua and his warriors were to make a rush upon the town and club the inhabitants indiscriminately. The bodies were to be piled into one heap, and on the top of all a living slave would lie on his back. The young chief would then mount the horrid scaffold, and standing upright on the chest of the slave, and holding in his uplifted hands an immense club or gun, the priests would invoke their gods, and commit the future warrior to their especial protection, praying he may kill all the enemies of the tribe, and never be beaten in battle; a cheer and a shout from the assembled multitude concluding the prayer. Two uncles of the boy were then to ascend the human pile, and to invest him with the malo or girdle of snow white tapa; the multitude again calling on the deities to make him a great conqueror, and a terror to all who breathe enmity to Navua. The malo for the occasion would be, perhaps, two hundred yards long, and six or eight inches wide. When wound round the body the lad would hardly be perceivable, and no one but an uncle can divest him of it.

“We proposed,” says Mr. Seeman, “to the chief that we should be allowed to invest his son with the malo, which he at first refused, but to which he consented after deliberation with his people. At the appointed hour the multitude collected in the great strangers’ house or bure ni sa. The lad stood upright in the midst of the assembly guiltless of clothing, and holding a gun over his head. The consul and I approached, and in due form wrapped him up in thirty yards of Manchester print, the priest and people chanting songs and invoking the protection of their gods. A short address from the consul succeeded, stirring the lad to nobler efforts for his tribe than his ancestors had known, and pointing to the path of fame that civilization opened to him. The ceremony concluded by drinking kara, and chanting historical reminiscences of the lad’s ancestors; and thus we saved the lives of five hundred men. During the whole of this ceremony the old chief was much affected, and a few tears might be seen stealing down his cheeks; soon, however, cheering up, he gave us a full account of the time when he came of age, and the number of people that were slain to celebrate the occasion.”

To return, however, to the rain-making business. Lucky is it for the dim-minded heathen that these false priests of his have not the advantage of studying for their profession either in England or America; if it were so, heaven only knows the awful extent to which they would be bamboozled. Rain-makers especially would have a fine time of it, at least, if they were all as clever as Mr. Petherick, who, in his “Egypt and the Soudan,” unblushingly narrates how he “Barnumized” the Africans as a rain-maker.

“The rainy season was now approaching, and still no tidings of my men, and the natives daily continued to surround my encampment, and attempted, sometimes by the report of the murder of my men, and at others by night attacks upon ourselves when in the darkness we could not see them, to induce us to return to our boats and abandon our property. This they more strenuously insisted on, as they were convinced that as long as we remained in the country the rain would not fall, and both themselves and their cattle would be reduced to starvation. This idea being seriously entertained, I one day plainly stated to the chief and several of the principal men the absurdity of their assertions, and endeavoured to explain that God alone,—who had created heaven and earth,—could exercise any power over the elements. The attention with which my discourse was received induced me to prolong it, but to my discomfiture, at its close, it was treated as a capital joke, and only convinced them the more that I endeavoured to conceal from them my own powers. Finding no relief from their increasing persecutions, I at length was reduced to a ruse; and after a reference to an antiquated Weekly Times, I told them that the Supreme Being whose it was to afford them the so much-required rains, withheld them in consequence of their inhospitality towards myself; this, although it had the effect of procuring increased temporary supplies, could not induce them to furnish me with porters. Endless were the straits and absurdities to which I had recourse in order to obtain a respite, but the one creating the greatest amusement to myself and my followers was the following. A deputation of several hundred men, headed by a subchief, from their kraals some miles distant, in the most peremptory manner demanded rain or my immediate departure; the latter they were determined at whatever sacrifice to enforce. Placing my men under arms in an enclosure, and with a pair of revolver pistols at my waist, and a first-rate Dean and Adams’ revolver rifle in my hand, I went into the midst of them, and seated myself in the centre of them, opposite to the subchief, a man fully six feet six inches high, and proportionably well made. I stated that no intimidation could produce rain, and as to compelling me to withdraw, I defied them; that if I liked, with one single discharge of my gun, I could destroy the whole tribe and their cattle in an instant; but that with regard to rain, I would consult my oracle, and invited them to appear before me to-morrow, upon which, with as much dignity as I could command, I withdrew. Various were the feelings of the savages. Some expressed a wish to comply with my desire, whilst others showed an inclination to fall upon me. Although I was convinced that the chief, Tschol, secretly encouraged his men, he in the present instance made a demonstration in my favour; he threatened them with a curse unless they dispersed. Some device now became necessary to obtain a further respite for the desired rains; and setting my wits to work, I hit upon an expedient which I at once put in execution. Despatching some men to catch half-a-dozen large flies, bearing some resemblance to a horse-fly, but much larger, which infested a temporary shed where my donkey had been kept; the men, confident in the success of anything I undertook, set about the task with a will. In the course of the afternoon they were fortunately obtained, and were consigned to an empty bottle. At the appointed time my persecutors did not fail to appear, and shaking a little flower over my flies, I sallied out amongst them, bottle in hand. Referring to their wants, I treated them to a long harangue, touching the depredations which I had learnt in conversation with the chief they had committed upon the cattle of neighbouring tribes, and assassinations of unoffending men who had fallen into their power; also to several abstractions of girls from poor unprotected families of their own tribe, without the payment of the customary dowry in cattle, and dwelt upon the impossibility of their obtaining rain until restitution and satisfaction were made. They unanimously denied the charges; when I told them that it was nothing less than I had expected, but that I was furnished with the means of satisfying myself of the veracity of their assertions. The proof would consist in their restoring to me the flies, which I intended to liberate from the bottle I held. In the event of their succeeding, they should be rewarded with abundant rain; but if one fly escaped, it was a sign of their guilt, and they would be punished with a continuation of drought until restitution was made; therefore it was in their own power to procure rain or otherwise. Hundreds of clubs and lances were poised high in the air, amidst loud shouts of ‘Let them go! let them go! let them go!’ With a prayer for the safety of my flies, I held up the bottle, and smashing it against the barrel of my rifle, I had the satisfaction of seeing the flies in the enjoyment of their liberty. Man, woman, and child gave chase in hot pursuit, and the delight of my men at the success of the stratagem may be imagined. It was not until after the sun had set that the crest-fallen stragglers returned, their success having been limited to the capture of two of the flies, though several spurious ones, easily detected by the absence of the distinctive flour badge, were produced. A long consultation ensued, and in the firm belief of my oracle they determined to adopt measures for the carrying out of its requirements, but with a threat that if the promised rain did not follow, I should incur their vengeance. Aware of the difficulties in store for them from their unwillingness to part with cattle under any circumstances, I promised myself a long cessation from their molestations. I was not disappointed.”

Further still into the country, and still no sign of amendment; not that it should be expected, as in this region—Equatorial Africa—the Christian crusader never yet penetrated, unless indeed we so regard Mr. Du Chaillu, who certainly appears to have done his best by example, at least, to convince the barbarous people among whom he found himself of the advantages of Christianity. Here is a sample of one of many Sabbaths spent by the renowned gorilla hunter amongst the savages here abiding.

“The next day was Sunday, and I remained quietly in my house reading the Scriptures, and thankful to have a day of rest and reflection. My hunters could scarcely be prevailed upon not to hunt; they declared that Sunday might do for white people, but the blacks had nothing to do with it. Indeed, when customs thus come in contact, the only answer the negro has to make—and it applies to everything—is, that the God who made the whites is not the God who made the blacks.

“Then the king and a good many of his people gathered about me, and we astonished each other with our talk. I told them that their fetishes and greegrees were of no use and had no power, and that it was absurd to expect anything of a mere wooden idol that a man had made, and could burn up. Also that there was no such a thing as witchcraft, and that it was very wrong to kill people who were accused of it; that there was only one God, whom the whites and blacks must alike love and depend on. All this elicited only grunts of surprise and incredulity.

“Then the king took up the conversation, and remarked that we white men were much favoured by our God, who was so kind as to send guns and powder from heaven.

“Whereupon the king’s brother remarked that it must be very fine to have rivers of alougou (rum) flowing through our country all the year round, and that he would like to live on the banks of such a river.

“Hereupon I said that we made our own guns, which no one present seemed to believe; and that there were no rivers of rum, which seemed a disappointment to several.”

It would appear that our traveller betrayed at least as much curiosity respecting the singular rites and superstitions of these Equatorial African heathens as they evinced in the matter of Christianity.

“One day the women began their peculiar worship of Njambai, which it seems is their good spirit: and it is remarkable that all the Bakalai clans and all the females of tribes I have met during my journeys, worship or venerate a spirit with this same name. Near the seashore it is pronounced Njembai, but it is evidently the same.

“This worship of the women is a kind of mystery, no men being admitted to the ceremonies, which are carried on in a house very carefully closed. This house was covered with dry palm and banana leaves, and had not even a door open to the street. To make all close, it was set against two other houses, and the entrance was through one of these. Quengueza and Mbango warned me not to go near this place, as not even they were permitted so much as to take a look. All the women of the village painted their faces and bodies, beat drums, marched about the town, and from time to time entered the idol house, where they danced all one night, and made a more outrageous noise than even the men had made before. They also presented several antelopes to the goddess, and on the 4th, all but a few went off into the woods to sing to Njambai.

“I noticed that half-a-dozen remained, and in the course of the morning entered the Njambai house, where they stayed in great silence. Now my curiosity, which had been greatly excited to know what took place in this secret worship, finally overcame me. I determined to see. Walking several times up and down the street past the house to allay suspicion, I at last suddenly pushed aside some of the leaves, and stuck my head through the wall. For a moment I could distinguish nothing in the darkness. Then I beheld three perfectly naked old hags sitting on the clay floor, with an immense bundle of greegrees before them, which they seemed to be silently adoring.

Du Chaillu’s Peep into a Heathen Temple.

“When they saw me they at once set up a hideous howl of rage, and rushed out to call their companions from the bush; in a few minutes these came hurrying in, crying and lamenting, rushing towards me with gestures of anger, and threatening me for my offence. I quickly reached my house, and seizing my gun in one hand and a revolver in the other, told them I would shoot the first one that came inside my door. The house was surrounded by above three hundred infuriated women, every one shouting out curses at me, but the sight of my revolver kept them back. They adjourned presently for the Njambai house, and from there sent a deputation of the men, who were to inform me that I must pay for the palaver I had made.

“This I peremptorily refused to do, telling Quengueza and Mbango that I was there a stranger, and must be allowed to do as I pleased, as their rules were nothing to me, who was a white man and did not believe in their idols. In truth, if I had once paid for such a trangression as this, there would have been an end of all travelling for me, as I often broke through their absurd rules without knowing it, and my only course was to declare myself irresponsible.

“However, the women would not give up, but threatened vengeance, not only on me, but on all the men of the town; and as I positively refused to pay anything, it was at last, to my great surprise, determined by Mbango and his male subjects, that they would make up from their own possessions such a sacrifice as the women demanded of me. Accordingly Mbango contributed ten fathoms of native cloth, and the men came one by one and put their offerings on the ground; some plates, some knives, some mugs, some beads, some mats, and various other articles. Mbango came again, and asked if I too would not contribute something, but I refused. In fact, I dared not set such a precedent. So when all had given what they could, the whole amount was taken to the ireful women, to whom Mbango said that I was his and his men’s guest, and that they could not ask me to pay in such a matter, therefore they paid the demand themselves. With this the women were satisfied, and there the quarrel ended. Of course I could not make any further investigations into their mysteries. The Njambai feast lasts about two weeks. I could learn very little about the spirit which they call by this name. Their own ideas are quite vague. They know only that it protects the women against their male enemies, avenges their wrongs, and serves them in various ways, if they please it.”

Before Chaillu left Goumbi a grand effort was made by the people to ascertain the cause of their king’s sufferings. Quengueza had sent word to his people to consult Ilogo, a spirit said to live in the moon. The rites were very curious. To consult Ilogo, the time must be near full moon. Early in the evening the women of the town assembled in front of Quengueza’s house and sang songs to and in praise of the moon. Meantime a woman was seated in the centre of the circle of singers, who sung with them and looked constantly towards the moon. She was to be inspired by the spirit and to utter prophecies.

Two women made trial of this post without success. At last came a third, a little woman, wiry and nervous. When she seated herself, the singing was redoubled in fury—the excitement of the people had had time to become intense; the drums beat, the outsiders shouted madly. Presently the woman who, singing violently, had looked constantly towards the moon, began to tremble. Her nerves twitched, her face was contorted, her muscles swelled, and at last her limbs straightened out, and she lay extended on the ground insensible.

The excitement was now intense and the noise horrible. The songs to Ilogo were not for a moment discontinued. The words were little varied, and were to this purport:

“Ilogo, we ask thee,

Tell who has bewitched the king!

Ilogo, we ask thee,

What shall we do to cure the king?

The forests are thine, Ilogo!

The rivers are thine, Ilogo!

The moon is thine.

O moon! O moon! O moon!

Thou art the house of Ilogo.

Shall the king die, O Ilogo?

O Ilogo! O moon! O moon!”

These words were repeated again and again with little variation. The woman who lay for some time as she had fallen was then supposed to be able to see things in the world of Ilogo, and was brought to after half an hour’s insensibility; she looked very much prostrated. She averred that she had seen Ilogo, that he had told her Quengueza was not bewitched.

Chaillu heard one day by accident that a man had been apprehended on a charge of causing the death of one of the chief men of the village, and went to Dayoko, the king, and asked about it. He said yes, the man was to be killed; that he was a notorious wizard, and had done much harm.

Chaillu begged to see this terrible being, and was taken to a rough hut, within which sat an old, old man, with wool white as snow, wrinkled face, bowed form, and shrunken limbs. His hands were tied behind him, and his feet were placed in a rude kind of stocks. This was the great wizard. Several lazy negroes stood guard over him, and from time to time insulted him with opprobrious epithets and blows, to which the poor old wretch submitted in silence. He was evidently in his dotage.

When asked if he had no friends, no relatives, no son or daughter or wife to take care of him, he said sadly, “No one.”

Now here was the secret of this persecution. They were tired of taking care of the helpless old man, who had lived too long, and a charge of witchcraft by the greegree man was a convenient pretext for putting him out of the way.

The Wizard in the Stocks.

Chaillu went, however, to Dayoko, and argued the case with him, and tried to explain the absurdity of charging a harmless old man with supernatural powers; told him that God did not permit witches to exist, and dually made an offer to buy the old wretch, offering to give some pounds of tobacco, one or two coats, and some looking-glasses for him, goods which would have bought an able-bodied slave.

Dayoko replied that for his part he would be glad to save him, but that the people must decide; that they were much excited against him, but that he would, to please Chaillu, try to save his life.

During the night following our travellers heard singing all over the town all night, and a great uproar. Evidently they were preparing themselves for the murder. Even these savages cannot kill in cold blood, but work themselves into a frenzy of excitement first, and then rush off to do the bloody deed.

Early in the morning the people gathered together with the fetish man, the rascal who was at the bottom of the murder, in their midst. His bloodshot eyes glared in savage excitement as he went round from man to man getting the votes to decide whether the old man should die.

In his hands he held a bundle of herbs, with which he sprinkled three times those to whom he spoke. Meantime a man was stationed on the top of a high tree, whence he shouted from time to time in a loud voice, “Jocoo! Jocoo!” at the same time shaking the tree strongly.

Jocoo is devil among the Mbousha, and the business of this man was to keep away the evil spirit, and to give notice to the fetish-man of his approach.

At last the sad vote was taken. It was declared that the old man was a most malignant wizard, that he had already killed a number of people, that he was minded to kill many more, and that he must die. No one would tell Chaillu how he was to be killed, and they proposed to defer the execution till his departure. The whole scene had considerably agitated Chaillu, and he was willing to be spared the end. Tired and sick at heart, Chaillu lay down on his bed about noon to rest and compose his spirits a little. After a while he saw a man pass his window, almost like a flash, and after him a horde of silent but infuriated men. They ran towards the river. Then in a little while was heard a couple of sharp piercing cries, as of a man in great agony, and then all was still as death. Chaillu got up, guessing the rascals had killed the poor old man, and turning his steps toward the river, was met by the crowd returning, every man armed with axe, knife, cutlass, or spear, and these weapons and their own hands and arms and bodies all sprinkled with the blood of their victim. In their frenzy they had tied the poor wizard to a log near the river bank, and then deliberately hacked him into many pieces. They finished by splitting open his skull and scattering the brains in the water. Then they returned; and to see their behaviour, it would have seemed as though the country had just been delivered from a great curse.

By night the men, whose faces for two days had filled Chaillu with loathing and horror, so bloodthirsty and malignant were they, were again as mild as lambs, and as cheerful as though they had never heard of a witch tragedy.

The following is a fair sample of “witch-test,” as practised in this region. A Gaboon black trader in the employment of a white supercargo, died suddenly. His family thinking that the death had resulted from witchcraft, two of his sisters were authorised to go to his grave and bring his head away in order that they might test the fact. This testing is effected in the following manner: An iron pot with fresh water is placed on the floor; at one side of it is the head of the dead man, at the other side is seated a fetish doctor. The latter functionary then puts in his mouth a piece of herb, supposed to impart divining powers, chews it, and forms a magic circle by spitting round the pot, the head, and himself. The face of the murderer, after a few incantations, is supposed to be reflected on the water contained in the pot. The fetish man then states he sees the murderer, and orders the head to be again put back to its proper grave, some days being then given to him for deliberation. In the mean time he may fix on a man who is rich enough to pay him a sufficient bribe to be excused of the charge, and if so he confesses that the fetish has failed.

In the central regions of Eastern Africa all that is sacerdotal is embodied in individuals called Mganga or Mfumbo. They swarm throughout the land; are of both sexes: the women, however, generally confine themselves to the medical part of the profession. The profession is hereditary; the eldest or the cleverest son begins his education at an early age, and succeeds to his father’s functions. There is little mystery, says Burton, in the craft, and the magicians of Unyamwezi have not refused to initiate some of the Arabs. The power of the Mganga is great; he is treated as a sultan, whose word is law, and as a giver of life and death. He is addressed by a kingly title, and is permitted to wear the chieftain’s badge, made of the base of a conical shell. He is also known by a number of small greasy and blackened gourds filled with physic and magic hanging round his waist, and by a little more of the usual grime, sanctity and dirt being closely connected in Africa. These men are sent for from village to village, and receive as spiritual fees sheep and goats, cattle and provisions. Their persons, however, are not sacred, and for criminal acts they are punished like other malefactors. The greatest danger to them is an excess of fame. A celebrated magician rarely, if ever, dies a natural death; too much is expected from him, and a severe disappointment leads to consequences more violent than usual.

The African phrase for a man possessed is ana’p’hepo, he has a devil. The Mganga is expected to heal the patient by expelling the possession. Like the evil spirit in the days of Saul, the unwelcome visitant must be charmed away by sweet music; the drums cause excitement, the violent exercise expels the ghost. The principal remedies are drumming, dancing, and drinking till the auspicious moment arrives. The ghost is then enticed from the body of the possessed into some inanimate article which he will condescend to inhabit. This, technically called a Keti or stool, may be a certain kind of bead, two or more bits of wood bound together by a strip of snake’s skin, a lion’s or a leopard’s claw, and other similar articles worn round the head, the arm, the wrist, or the ankle. Paper is still considered great medicine by the Wasukuma and other tribes, who will barter valuable goods for a little bit: the great desideratum of the charm in fact appears to be its rarity, or the difficulty of obtaining it. Hence also the habit of driving nails into and hanging rags upon trees. The vegetable itself is not worshipped, as some Europeans, who call it the devil’s tree, have supposed; it is merely the place for the laying of ghosts, where by appending the keti most acceptable to the spirit, he will be bound over to keep the peace with man. Several accidents in the town of Zanzibar have confirmed even the higher orders in their lurking superstition. Mr. Peters, an English merchant, annoyed by the slaves, who came in numbers to hammer nails and to hang iron hoops and rags upon a devil’s tree in his court-yard, ordered it to be cut down, to the horror of all the black beholders. Within six months five persons died in that house—Mr. Peters, his two clerks, his cooper, and his ship’s carpenter. Salim bin Raschid, a half caste merchant, well known at Zanzibar, avers, and his companions bear witness to his words, that on one occasion, when travelling northwards from Unyamzembe, the possession occurred to himself. During the night two female slaves, his companions, of whom one was a child, fell without apparent cause into the fits which denote the approach of a spirit. Simultaneously the master became as one intoxicated; a dark mass—material, not spiritual—entered the tent, threw it down, and presently vanished, and Salim bin Raschid was found in a state of stupor, from which he did not recover till the morning. The same merchant circumstantially related, and called witnesses to prove, that a small slave boy, who was produced on the occasion, had been frequently carried off by possession, even when confined in a windowless room, with a heavy door carefully bolted and padlocked. Next morning the victim was not found although the chamber remained closed. A few days afterwards he was met in the jungle, wandering absently, like an idiot, and with speech too incoherent to explain what had happened to him. The Arabs of Iman who subscribe readily to transformation, deride these tales; those of African blood, believe them. The transformation belief, still so common in many countries, and anciently an almost universal superstition, is, curious to say, unknown amongst these East African tribes.

The Mganga, Mr. Burton further informs us, is also a soothsayer. He foretels the success, or failure of commercial undertakings, of wars, and of kidnapping; he foresees famine and pestilence, and he suggests the means of averting calamities. He fixes also before the commencement of any serious affair fortunate conjunctions, without which, a good issue cannot be expected. He directs, expedites, or delays the march of a caravan; and in his quality of augur, he considers the flight of birds, and the cries of beasts like his prototype of the same class, in ancient Europe, and in modern Asia.

The principal instrument of the Mganga’s craft is one of the dirty little buyou, or gourds, which he wears in a bunch round his waist, and the following is the usual programme when the oracle is to be consulted. The magician brings his implements in a bag of matting; his demeanour is serious as the occasion, he is carefully greased, and his head is adorned with the diminutive antelope horns, fastened by a thong of leather above the forehead. He sits like a sultan, upon a dwarf stool in front of the querist, and begins by exhorting the highest possible offertory. No pay no predict. The Mganga has many implements of his craft. Some prophesy by the motion of berries swimming in a cup full of water, which is placed upon a low stool, surrounded by four tails of the zebra, or the buffalo, lashed to stakes planted upright in the ground. The Kasanda is a system of folding triangles, not unlike those upon which plaything soldiers are mounted. Held in the right hand, it is thrown out, and the direction of the end points to the safe and auspicious route; this is probably the rudest appliance of prestidigitation. The shero is a bit of wood, about the size of a man’s hand, and not unlike a pair of bellows, with a dwarf handle, a projection like a muzzle, and in a circular centre a little hollow. This is filled with water, and a grain, or fragment of wood placed to float, gives an evil omen if it tends towards the sides, and favourable if it veers towards the handle or the nozzle. The Mganga generally carries about with him, to announce his approach, a kind of rattle. This is a hollow gourd of pine-apple, pierced with various holes prettily carved, and half filled with maize grains, and pebbles; the handle is a stick passed through its length, and secured by cross-pins.

The Mganga has many minor duties. In elephant hunts he must throw the first spear, and endure the blame if the beast escapes. He marks ivory with spots disposed in lines and other figures, and thus enables it to reach the coast, without let or hindrance. He loads the kirangoze, or guide, with charms to defend him from the malice which is ever directed at a leading man, and sedulously forbids him to allow precedence even to the Mtongi, the commander and proprietor of the caravan. He aids his tribe by magical arts, in wars by catching a bee, reciting over it certain incantations, and loosing it in the direction of the foe, when the insect will instantly summon an army of its fellows and disperse a host however numerous. This belief well illustrates the easy passage of the natural into the supernatural. The land being full of swarms, and man’s body being wholly exposed, many a caravan has been dispersed like chaff before the wind by a bevy of swarming bees. Similarly in South Africa the magician kicks an ant-hill, and starts wasps which put the enemy to flight.

Here is an account of a queer dance witnessed in this land of Mgangas and Mfumbos and fetishes, furnished by the celebrated explorer Bakie:—“A little before noon Captain Vidal took leave of King Passol, in order to prosecute his observations. I remained, but shortly afterwards prepared to leave also. Passol, however, as soon as he perceived my intention, jumped up, and in a good-humoured way detaining me by the arm, exclaimed, ‘No go, no go yet; ‘top a little; bye-bye you look im fetish dance; me mak you too much laugh!’ It appeared that the old man had heard me some time before, on listening to the distant tattoo of a native drum, express a determination to the young midshipman who was with me to go presently to see the dance, with which I had little doubt that it was accompanied. The noise of the drum, almost drowned by the singing, whooping, and clamour of a multitude of the natives, was soon heard approaching. When close to us the procession stopped, and the dancers, all of whom were men, ranged themselves in parallel lines from the front of an adjoining house, and commenced their exhibition. They were specially dressed for the purpose, having suspended from their hips a complete kilt formed of threads of grass-cloth, manufactured by the natives of the interior, and likewise an appendage of the same kind to one or both arms, just above the elbow. Some had their faces and others their breasts marked with white balls, given to them by the fetish as a cure or safeguard against some disease which they either had or dreaded. The dancing, although not elegant, was free from that wriggling and contortion of body so common on the east coast. It consisted principally in alternately advancing and drawing back the feet and arms, together with a corresponding inclination of the body, and, at stated times, the simultaneous clapping of hands, and a loud sharp ejaculation of ‘Heigh!’ Although I have remarked that it was not elegant, yet it was pleasing, from the regularity with which it was accompanied. There were two men who did not dance in the line among the rest, but shuffled around, and at times threaded the needle among them: one was termed the master fetish, and the other appeared to be his attendant; neither wore the fancy dress, but they were both encircled by the usual wrapper round the loins. The former had on a French glazed hat, held in great request by the natives, and the other, chewing some root of a red colour, carried a small ornamented stick, surmounted at the end like a brush with a bunch of long and handsome feathers. At times one of these men would stop opposite a particular individual among the dancers, and entice him by gestures to leave the line and accompany him in his evolutions, which finally always ended where they began, the pressed man returning to his former place. For some time I had observed the master fetish dancing opposite to the house, and with many gesticulations apparently addressing it in a half threatening half beseeching tone. Old Passol, who was standing close by me, suddenly exclaimed, ‘Now you laugh too much; fetish he come!’

“Sure enough, forthwith rushed from the house among the dancers a most extraordinary figure. It was a man mounted on stilts at least six feet above the ground, of which from practice he had acquired so great a command that he certainly was as nimble in his evolutions as the most active among the dancers. He was sometimes so quick that one stilt could hardly be seen to touch the earth before it was relieved by the other. Even when standing still he often balanced himself so well as not to move either stilt for the space of two or three minutes. He wore a white mask with a large red ball on each cheek, the same on his chin, and his eyebrows and the lower part of his nose were painted with the same colour. Over his forehead was a sort of vizor of a yellow colour, having across it a line of small brass bells; it was armed in front by long alligator’s teeth, and terminated in a confused display of feathers, blades of grass, and the stiff hairs of elephants and other large animals. From the top of his head the skin of a monkey hung pendant behind, having affixed to its tail a wire and a single elephant’s hair with a large sheep’s bell attached to the end. The skin was of a beautiful light green, with the head and neck of a rich vermilion. From his shoulders a fathom of blue dungaree with a striped white border hung down behind; and his body and legs and arms were completely enshrouded in a number of folds of the native grass-cloth, through which he grasped in each hand a quantity of alligator’s teeth, lizard’s skins, fowl’s bones, feathers, and stiff hairs, reminding me strongly of the well-known attributes of Obi, the dread of the slave-owners of Jamaica.

“The fetish never spoke. When standing still he held his arms erect, and shook and nodded his head with a quick repetition; but when advancing he extended them to their full length before him. In the former case he appeared as if pointing to heaven, and demanding its vengeance on the dancers and the numerous bystanders around; and in the latter as one who, finding his exhortations of no avail, was resolved to exterminate, in the might of his gigantic stature and superior strength, the refractory set. The master fetish was his constant attendant, always following, doubling, and facing him, with exhortations uttered at one minute in the most beseeching tone, accompanied hat in hand by obsequious bows, and in the next threatening gestures, and violent, passionate exclamations. The attendant on the master fetish was likewise constantly at hand, with his stick applied to his mouth, and in one or two instances when the masquerader approached, he crouched close under him, and squirted the red juice of the root he was chewing into his face. For upwards of an hour I watched the dance, yet the fetish appeared untired; and I afterwards heard that the same ceremony was performed every day, and sometimes lasted three or four hours. I at first thought that it was merely got up for our amusement, but was soon undeceived; and when, under the first impression, I inquired of a bystander what man it was who performed the character, he answered, with a mixture of pique at the question and astonishment of my ignorance, ‘He no man; no man do same as him; he be de diable! he be de debil!’ Still I was a little sceptic as to their really holding this belief themselves, though they insisted on the fact as they represented it to me; and therefore, after I had received the same answer from all, I used to add in a careless way to try their sincerity, ‘In what house does he dwell?’ ‘What! fetish! I tell you he de debil; he no catch house; he lib (live) in dat wood,’ pointing to a gloomy-looking grove skirting the back of the village. It was in vain that I attempted to unravel the origin or meaning of this superstition; to all my questions the only answer I could obtain was that such was the fashion of the country—a reason which they always had at hand when puzzled, as they always were when the subject related to any of their numerous superstitions. The fact is, that these practices still remain, though their origin has long since been buried in oblivion.”

As with us, “to astonish the natives” is an almost universal weakness, so is it the sable savage’s delight and ambition to “astonish the white man;” and should he succeed, and the odds are manifestly against him, there are no bounds to his satisfaction. The traveller Laing, while travelling through Timmanee, a country not very far from that over which old King Passol held sway, experienced an instance of this. He was invited by the chief to be present at an entertainment resembling what we recognize as a “bal masqué,” as it embraced music and dancing. The music, however, was of rather a meagre character, consisting of a single instrument made of a calabash and a little resembling a guitar. The player evidently expected applause of the white man, and the white man generously accorded it. The musician then declared that what our countrymen had as yet witnessed of his performance was as nothing compared with what he had yet to show him. Holding up his guitar, he declared that with that potent instrument, the like of which was not to be found throughout the length and breadth of Timmanee, he could cure diseases of every sort, tame wild beasts, and render snakes so docile that they would come out of their holes and dance as long as the music lasted. Mr. Laing begged the enchanter to favour him with a specimen of his skill. The enchanter was quite willing. Did anything ail the traveller? Was any one of his party afflicted with disease? no matter how inveterate or of how long standing, let him step forward, and by a few twangs on the guitar he should be cured. Mr. Laing, however, wishing perhaps to let the juggler off as lightly as possible, pressed for a sight of the dancing snakes, on the distinct understanding that they should be perfectly wild snakes, and such as had never yet been taken in hand by mortal. The musician cheerfully assented, and, to quote the words of the “eye-witness,” “changed the air he had been strumming for one more lively, and immediately there crept from beneath the stockading that surrounded the space where we were assembled a snake of very large size. From the reptile’s movements, it seemed that the music had only disturbed its repose, and that its only desire was to seek fresh quarters, for without noticing any one it glided rapidly across the yard towards the further side. The musician, however, once more changed the tune, playing a slow measure, and singing to it. The snake at once betrayed considerable uneasiness, and decreased its speed. ‘Stop snake,’ sung the musician, adapting the words to the tune he was playing, ‘you go a deal too fast; stop at my command and show the white man how well you can dance; obey my command at once, oh snake, and give the white man service.’ Snake stopped. ‘Dance, oh snake!’ continued the musician, growing excited, for a white man has come to Falaba to see you! dance, oh snake, for indeed this is a happy day!’ The snake twisted itself about, raised its head, curled, leaped, and performed various feats, of which I should not have thought a snake capable. At the conclusion the musician walked out of the yard followed by the reptile, leaving me in no small degree astonished, and the rest of the company not a little delighted that a black man had been able to excite the surprise of a white one.”

In no part of Africa do we find a greater amount of religious fanaticism than in Old Kalabar. The idea of God entertained by the Kalabarese is confined to their incomprehensibility of natural causes, which they attribute to Abasi-Ibun, the Efick term for Almighty God; hence they believe he is too high and too great to listen to their prayers and petitions. Idem-Efick is the name of the god who is supposed to preside over the affairs of Kalabar, and who is connected mysteriously with the great Abasi, sometimes represented by a tree, and sometimes by a large snake, in which form he is only seen by his high priest or vice-regent on earth—old King Kalabar. Mr. Hutchinson, who resided in an official capacity in this queer heathen country, once enjoyed the honour of an acquaintance with a representative of Abasi-Ibun. “He was a lean, spare, withered old man, about sixty years of age, a little above five feet in height, grey-headed, and toothless. He wore generally a dressing-gown, with a red cap, bands of bamboo rope round his neck, wrists, and ankles, with tassels dangling at the end. In case of any special crime committed, for the punishment of which there is no provision by Egbo law, the question was at once referred to King Kalabar’s judgment, whose decision of life or death was final. King Ergo and all the gentlemen saluted him by a word of greeting peculiar to himself, ‘Etia,’ meaning in English, you sit there, which, amongst persons of the slave order, must be joined with placing the side of the index fingers in juxtaposition, and bowing humbly, as evidence of obeisance. He offered up a weekly sacrifice to Idem of goats, fowls, and tortoise, usually dressed with a little rum. When famine was impending, or a dearth of ships existed at old Kalabar, the king sent round to the gentlemen of the town an intimation of the necessity of making an offering to the deity, and that Idem-Efick was in want of coppers, which of course must be forwarded through the old king. He had a privilege that every hippopotamus taken, or leopard shot, must be brought to his house, that he may have the lion’s share of the spoil. Since my first visit to Kalabar this old man has died, and has yet had no successor, as the head men and people pretend to believe ‘twelve moons (two years) must pass by before he be dead for thrice.’ Besides this idea of worship, they have a deity named Obu, made of calabash, to which the children are taught to offer up prayer every morning, to keep them from harm. Idem-Nyanga is the name of the tree which they hold as the impersonation of Idem-Efick; and a great reverence is entertained for a shrub, whose pods when pressed by the finger explode like a pistol. In all their meals they perform ablution of the hands before and after it; and in drinking, spill a teaspoonful or so out as a libation to their deity before imbibing. When they kill a fowl or a goat as a sacrifice, they do not forget to remind their god of what ‘fine things’ they do for him, and that ‘they expect a like fine thing in return.’ Ekponyong is the title given to a piece of stick, with a cloth tied round it at the top, and a skull placed above the cloth, which is kept in many of their yards as a sort of guardian spirit. In nearly all their courts there is a ju-ju tree growing in the centre, with a parasitic plant attached to it, and an enclosure of from two to four feet in circumference at the bottom of the stem, within which skulls are always placed, and calabashes of blood at times of sacrifice. At many of the gentlemen’s thresholds a human skull is fastened in the ground, whose white glistening crown is trodden upon by every one who enters.

“A strange biennial custom exists at old Kalabar, that of purifying the town from all devils and evil spirits, who, in the opinion of the authorities, have during the past two years taken possession of it. They call it judok. And a similar ceremony is performed annually on the gold coast. At a certain time a number of figures, styled Nabikems, are fabricated and fixed indiscriminately through the town. These figures are made of sticks and bamboo matting, being moulded into different shapes. Some of them have an attempt at body, with legs and arms to resemble the human form. Imaginative artists sometimes furnish these specimens with an old straw hat, a pipe in the mouth, and a stick fastened to the end of the arm, as if they were prepared to undertake a journey. Many of the figures are supposed to resemble four-footed animals, some crocodiles, and others birds. The evil spirits are expected, after three weeks or a month, to take up their residence in them, showing, to my thinking, a very great want of taste on the part of the spirit vagrant. When the night arrives for their general expulsion, one would imagine the whole town had gone mad. The population feast and drink, and sally out in parties, beating at empty covers, as if they contained tangible objects to hunt, and hallooing with all their might and main. Shots are fired, the Nabikems are torn up with violence, set in flames, and thrown into the river. The orgies continue until daylight dawns, and the town is considered clear of evil influence for two years more. Strange inconsistency with ideas of the provision necessary to be made for the dead in their passage to another world. But heathenism is full of these follies, and few of them can be more absurd than their belief that if a man is killed by a crocodile or a leopard, he is supposed to have been the victim of some malicious enemy, who, at his death, turned himself into either of these animals, to have vengeance on the person that has just been devoured. Any man who kills a monkey or a crocodile is supposed to be turned into one or the other when he dies himself. On my endeavouring to convince two very intelligent traders of Duketown of the folly of this, and of my belief that men had no more power to turn themselves into beasts than they had to make rain fall or grass grow, I was met with the usual cool reply to all a European’s arguments for civilization, ‘It be Kalabar fash(ion), and white men no saby any ting about it.’ The same answer, ‘white men no saby any ting about it,’ was given to me by our Yoruba interpreter when up the Tshadda, on my doubting two supposed facts, which he thus recorded to me. The first was, that the Houessa people believe in the existence of the unicorn, but his precise location cannot be pointed out. He is accredited to be the champion of the unprotected goat and sheep from the ravages of the leopard; that when he meets a leopard he enters amicably into conversation with him, descants upon his cruelty, and winds up, like a true member of the humane society, by depriving the leopard of his claws. On my asking if a clawless leopard had ever been discovered, or if the unicorn had proposed any other species of food as a substitute, observing me smile with incredulity, he gave me an answer similar to that of the Kalabar men, in the instance mentioned. The second, to the effect that a chameleon always went along at the same pace, not quickening his steps for rain or wind, but going steadily in all phases of temperature, changing his hue in compliment to everything he met, turning black for black men, white for white, blue, red, or green, for any cloth or flowers, or vegetables that fall in his way; and the only reason he gives for it when questioned on the subject is, that his father did the same before him, and he does not think it right to deviate from the old path, because ‘same ting do for my fader, same ting do for me.’”

Quite by accident it happens that this answer of the Yoruba man to Mr. Hutchinson’s arguments forms the concluding line of the many examples of Savage Rites and Superstitions quoted. It is, however, singularly apropos. In this single line is epitomised the guiding principle of the savage’s existence—“Same ting do for my fader, same ting do for me.” This it is that fetters and tethers him. He is born to it, lives by it, and he dies by it.

Burying Alive in Figi.

PART XII.
SAVAGE DEATH AND BURIAL.