Stirring scenes in savage lands

by James Greenwood

“In the midst of the procession came the catafalque, borne by more than thirty men. Like the costumes at the court ball, so this catafalque had been copied from some engraving, for its ornamentation was quite European in character, with this one difference, that the machine was hung with red and variegated silk stuffs instead of the customary black cloth. The prince’s hat and other insignia of rank and honour were placed on it, and on both sides marched slaves with clappers to scare away the flies from the catafalque.

“The corpse was conveyed to the estate of the deceased, thirty miles away, to be buried there. The greater number of officers and nobles only escorted it for the first few miles, but many carried their politeness so far as to go the whole distance. In all Madagascar there is no place exclusively set apart for the burial of the dead. Those who possess land are buried on their own estates. The poor are carried to some place that belongs to nobody, and are there frequently thrown under a bush or put into a hollow, no one taking the trouble even to throw a little earth over them.”

“Among the aborigines of Australia,” says a modern traveller, “when an individual dies they carefully avoid mentioning his name; but if compelled to do so they pronounce it in a very low whisper, so faint that they imagine the spirit cannot hear their voice. The body is never buried with the head on, the skulls of the dead being taken away and used as drinking-vessels by the relations of the deceased. Mooloo, the native whom I met near the junction of the lake, parted with his mother’s skull for a small piece of tobacco. Favourite children are put into bags after death, and placed on elevated scaffolds, two or three being frequently enclosed beneath one covering. The bodies of aged women are dragged out by the legs, and either pushed into a hole in the earth or placed in the forked branches of a tree, no attention whatever being paid to their remains. Those of old men are placed upon the elevated tombs and left to rot until the structure falls to pieces; the bones are then gathered up and buried in the nearest patch of soft earth. When a young man dies, or a warrior is slain in battle, his corpse is set up cross-legged upon a platform with his face towards the rising of the sun; the arms are extended by means of sticks, the head is fastened back, and all the apertures of the body are sewn up; the hair is plucked, and the fat of the corpse, which had previously been taken out, is now mixed with red ochre and rubbed all over the body. Fires are then kindled underneath the platform, and the friends and mourners take up their position around it, where they remain about ten days, during the whole of which time the mourners are not allowed to speak; a native is placed on each side of the corpse, whose duty it is to keep off the flies with bunches of emu feathers or small branches of trees. If the body thus operated upon should happen to belong to a warrior slain in fight his weapons are laid across his lap and his limbs are painted in stripes of red and white and yellow. After the body has remained for several weeks on the platform it is taken down and buried, the skull becoming the drinking-cup of the nearest relation. Bodies thus preserved have the appearance of mummies; there is no sign of decay, and the wild dogs will not meddle with them, though they devour all manner of carrion.

“When a friend or an individual belonging to the same tribe sees for the first time one of these bodies thus set up, he approaches it, and commences by abusing the deceased for dying, saying there is plenty of food and that he should have been contented to remain; then after looking at the body intently for some time, he throws his spear and his wirri at it, exclaiming—‘Why did you die?’ or ‘Take that for dying!’”

Mr. Parkyns, the Abyssinian traveller, thus relates his observation of the death and burial custom prevailing in this part of the world.

“A plaintive and melancholy wail which suddenly broke on my ear induced me to return to the square to witness the funeral ceremonies of a young woman who had died on the previous night. The priests and deacons had mustered in strong force, and came fully robed, and their flaring and tawdry ceremonials ill accorded with the mournful ceremony they were about to perform. Some of the priests went into the house where the deceased lay to comfort the bereaved relatives, but the greater number continued outside waving incense and chanting. The corpse, which meantime had been washed and dressed, was brought out on its bier, and the procession formed. On seeing this, the relatives and friends gave vent to their uncontrollable griefs in the most violent and agonizing lamentations. Some frantically grasped the bier, as if they would still retain the beloved object; others gave utterance to the heart’s intense despair by sobs and sighs, by tearing their hair, rending their clothes, and even by dashing their nails into their neck and face till the blood trickled down in copious streams. The most affecting and touching sight was the mother, the old grandmother, and two sisters, who each with some trifling memento of the departed in their hands, ran distractedly about the court, telling every one some story or incident connected with those precious relics of an undying love, which they continually pressed to their lips.

“The prayers being ended, the bier was lifted on the shoulders of the bearers, and preceded by the priests moved towards the grave-yard. Here arrived, after a psalm had been chanted, the fees paid to the priests, and the deceased formally absolved, the friends and relatives are allowed to gaze for the last time on the face of the dead, which is coffined or not, according to the means of the surviving friends. Then another psalm is chanted and the body lowered into the grave.

“The mourners now retire to the house of the deceased, where every morning for a whole week the lesko or waking ceremony is repeated. During this period no fire may be kindled in the house, nor any food prepared; but all the wants of the bereaved must be provided for by the friends and neighbours, who willingly do this, as it is considered a good and meritorious work.”

We have already presented the reader with a coloured picture of the manner in which the Sambo Indian of the Mosquito shore is carried, or rather dragged, to his final resting-place. We will now, with the permission of Mr. Bard, who was an eye-witness of the curious scene, give the details:—

“My friend Hodgson informed me that a funeral was to take place at a settlement a few miles up the river, and volunteered to escort me thither in the pitpan, if Antonio would undertake the business of paddling. The suggestion was very acceptable, and after dinner we set out.