As soon as the chant came to an end in a prolonged groan, there was a renewed outcry for the dancing, and an orchestra of instrumentalists proceeded to take up a position on the trunks of fallen trees, or any slight vantage ground that was at hand. One performer blew with all the force of his lungs into a gigantic wooden trumpet, decorated with carvings representing in nearly every case a human head; another hammered with his hands and feet at an enormous mass of wood, hollowed out of the thickest part of a tree and covered with bullock hide, whilst a third had in front of him the oupaton, or tom-tom, a piece of brass on which he banged at intervals with a kind of rude drum stick. The, to us, familiar Chinese bells, or handbells, were represented by large gourds filled with pebbles, which were rattled, without intermission, by the women and children.
Then the mob, men, women, and children, gave themselves up to a frightful hurly-burly, a series of contortions, bounding, leaping, throwing their arms and legs in all directions, after a fashion at first sight positively bewildering, but in reality quite regular, and carried out in concert. It was simply a delirium, an indescribable frenzy.
Suddenly the orchestra ceased, every sound was hushed, and each one remained where he was. To confusion succeeded utter silence and complete repose.
Scarcely a moment elapsed before the drummers gave the signal again, and the dance recommenced more wildly than ever. This goes on sometimes for hours, even until morning and the feet of these maniacs refuse their office. But we did not stop for the end, and towards 3.0 a.m. we made the best of our way towards our camp, feeling rather anxious as to whether our caravan, which had taken part in the orgie, would be in a fit state to start later on. The departure was, as it turned out, a matter of some difficulty, for it was not until the afternoon that we could move, and then only by dint of mingled threats, promises, and a distribution of rewards and punishments combined.
April 11th. To-day we met a caravan coming from the south. The drums beat, standards were unfurled, and a regular feu de joie was fired in honour of the occasion. We contrived, nevertheless, to prevent our escort from fraternising with the new comers, and compelled them to content themselves with shaking hands and embracing. The leader of the caravan, a rather disreputable looking Turk, saluted us as he passed, a piece of politeness which we solemnly returned.
Notwithstanding our coolness towards the Turk and his people, the meeting was a relief from the monotony of the route. It was like being out at sea, on a long voyage, and coming across a vessel appearing in the horizon, growing larger and larger by degrees, passing, hoisting her flag, growing smaller again, and, finally, disappearing from view.
April 13th. After passing, yesterday, through a district where game, both large and small, was plentiful, we have, to-day, left the low country and have gone up hill to about five hundred feet above our former level. On our way Nassar came up to us, and, pointing to the summit of a mountain lying to the south-west, said—
"That is the Mbala-Nguia, which separates the Bongo territory from that of the Niam-Niam. To-morrow you will set foot on the soil of that new tribe, and you will very soon be in a position to judge of the correctness of the information I have given you about the man of whom you are in search."
At last, then, we are on the point of entering the country visited by so few Europeans. At length we are in the midst of the famous race, supposititiously endowed with tails, about whom so many lies have been told, and amongst the man-eaters, who have been described to us as being so terrible.