the village; he was welcomed everywhere, as a smile
for ever played upon his lips. By moonlight he would
stand singing for two hours at a time with a crowd of
a hundred people, men and women, the sultan amidst
them, all round him, joining in a chorus of almost
devotional music. He had the power, by placing his
hand to his mouth, of sending the deep, pleasing tones
of his voice away to a distance, which gave delight to
every one, the women in particular showing approval
by a shrill peculiar falsetto noise, which they make
by tapping the cheek or shaking the lower lip with
the forefinger and thumb. Another blind man, deeply
marked with smallpox, gathered the village boys around
him and taught the songs of their country, while he
beat time with his foot. They have several fine national
airs.
Their funeral ceremonies are simple enough. Chiefs,
and most of the respectable classes, are buried under
the floors of their dwellings, or more commonly in
cattle-sheds; while witches and slaves are thrown into
the jungle without interment. I observed one of the
latter lying, tied with his face to a pole, in long grass,
with some rags round the waist; the limbs were
trussed up much in the same way as an infant lies
asleep.
Though residing in the verandah of the chief house
of the M’teme or sultan, or in the most central part of
the village, I rarely saw any men at their meals, unless
when assembled round pombd They seemed to take
pot-luck at any hour of the day, and at any house
where the signs of eating were going on—getting a
boiled sweet potato here, a drink of pombe there, or a
snack of beef as a rarity. Women were more regular
in their living. The lady of my house, seated on a
wooden stool in the open yard, had always some guests
to dine with her, generally women of her own age and
some little children, and never by any chance did her
husband, the sultan, eat with her on these occasions.
The food —some boiled sweet potatoes—would be
brought on a wooden tray, and placed on the ground
by a servant-maid, who knelt on one knee, or a bowl
full of pombe would be presented in the same way.
The sultan had seven wives. Each had her own
separate house and establishment, which he visited
daily, though at night he always slept in a place not
much larger than himself, surrounded by charms and
lions’ paws. He lived almost entirely upon pombd,
drinking it three or four times during the day, commencing
as early as seven o’clock, and ending the day,
if he was not already stupefied, by having it at suppertime.
He was a very hale, healthy-looking old man,
apparently about seventy, and most active in his habits.
Different houses in his village held daily “ receptions ”
for him, when he presided, and he was the first to
taste the bowl of beer. The female population drank
separately, and were presided over by the sultana.
The liquor took five days of preparation: the grain
(sorghum) had to be cleaned, ground, soaked, boiled,
generally with cow-dung as firewood, allowed to cool,
and was drunk, without filtration, in a fermenting
state, out of bowls neatly made of grass by the women.
With honey added it was tolerable, but without it the
beverage was coarse and heady to a stranger. Our
men were constantly tipsy; but the natives who fed
upon it had a healthy appearance, and rarely became
drunk. Their active early habits conduced to this result,