AN AFRICAN FUNERAL: 85 
of his feet, which is the most supplicating manner of ad- 
dress in Africa; she looked in his face and said in a very 
plaintive voice—“ My son, you have not spoken to your 
wives, but I know you will speak to your mother. 
You will say to her that you are not dead.” 
The same silence ensued. 
They all waited in vain for an answer for a few 
minutes; then the poor mother rolled herself on the 
ground at her son’s feet, shrieked and cried, and said— 
“Trende, why do you not speak to your mother?” ‘The 
poor mother’s shrieks were so long, so piercing, and she 
uttered such a wail of grief, that the tears came into my 
eyes. The poor African mother had a heart! 
As I left the hut, thinking how strangely the mind of 
man is constituted, the wailing continued, and was to be 
kept up until the burial of the corpse. 
The day of the funeral came, and we went to the bu- - 
rial-ground. As the body left the village and was put 
into a canoe, the wailing was tremendous. The men 
that were to paddle were all painted, almost naked, and 
covered with fetiches. The drum beat as we descendgd 
the stream. is 
As we approached the burial-ground (for these Com- 
mi have a sort of cemetery) all became silent. Not a 
word was said; they prayed Ovengua not to get hold of — 
them, and the corpse was left on the sand, a certain 
amount of which was thrown over it. His wombi was 
laid by his side, his gun and his spear were placed in his 
hand, and necklaces and ornaments were left with him. 
A cooked dish of plantain and a jar of water were placed 
beside him, so that he might drink and eat if he chose, 
then all was over and we came away. ; 
