“Again, a third time, the dreadful silence fell upon the town, and the doctor’s voice was heard: ‘There is a woman with six children. She lives on a plantation toward the rising sun. She too bewitched Mpomo.’ Again there was a furious shout, and in a few minutes they brought to the river one of Quengueza’s slave-women—a good and much-respected woman—whom also I knew.
“The doctor now approached with the crowd. In a loud voice he recited the crime of which these women were accused. The first taken, Okandaga, had—so he said—some weeks before asked Mpomo for some salt, he being her relative. Salt was scarce, and he had refused her. She had said unpleasant words to him then, and had by sorcery taken his life.
“Then Quengueza’s niece was accused. She was barren, and Mpomo had children. She envied him. Therefore she had bewitched him.
“Quengueza’s slave had asked Mpomo for a looking-glass. He had refused her. Therefore she had killed him with sorcery.
“As each accusation was recited the people broke out into curses. Even the relatives of the poor victims were obliged to join in this. Every one rivalled his neighbor in cursing, each fearful lest lukewarmness in the ceremony should expose him to a like fate.
“Next the victims were put into a large canoe, with the executioners, the doctor, and a number of other people all armed. Then the tam-tams were beaten, and the proper persons prepared the mboundou. Quabi, Mpomo’s eldest brother, held the poisoned cup. At sight of it poor Okandaga began again to cry, and even Quengueza’s niece turned pale in the face—for even the negro face has at such times a pallor, which is quite perceptible. Three other canoes now surrounded that in which the victims were. All were crowded with armed men. Then the mug of mboundou was handed to the old slave-woman, next to the royal niece, and last to Okandaga. As they drank, the multitude shouted: ‘If they are witches, let the mboundou kill them; if they are innocent, let the mboundou go out.’
“It was the most exciting scene of my life. Though horror almost froze my blood, my eyes were riveted upon the spectacle. A dead silence now occurred. Suddenly the slave fell down. She had not touched the boat’s bottom ere her head was hacked off by a dozen rude swords.
“Next came Quengueza’s niece. In an instant her head was off, and the blood was dyeing the waters of the river. Meantime poor Okandaga staggered, and struggled, and cried, vainly resisting the working of the poison in her system. Last of all she fell too, and in an instant her head was hewn off. Then all became confused. An almost random hacking ensued, and in an incredibly short space of time the bodies were cut in small pieces, which were cast into the river.
“When this was done, the crowd dispersed to their houses, and for the rest of the day the town was very silent. Some of these rude people felt that their number, in their already almost extinguished tribe, was becoming less, and the dread of death filled their hearts. In the evening poor Adouma came secretly to my house, to unburden his sorrowing heart to me. He, too, had been compelled to take part in the dreadful scene. He dared not even refrain from joining in the curses heaped upon his poor sister. He dared not mourn publicly for her who was considered so great a criminal.”
The ceremonies which attend the death of members of the Camma tribe are really remarkable. As soon as the end of a man is evidently near, his relations begin to mourn for him, and his head wife, throwing herself on the bed, and encircling the form of her dying husband with her arms, pours out her wailing lamentations, accompanied by the tears and cries of the villagers who assemble round the house. The other wives take their turns in leading the lamentations, and after his death they bewail him in the most pitiful fashion. These pitiful lamentations are partly owing to real sorrow, but there is no doubt that they are also due to the fear lest any one who did not join in the mourning might be accused of having bewitched her husband to death.