He must be of a thankless spirit who does not long to substitute the great vision of future peace afforded by Christianity, in lieu of the ghastly satisfaction which cheered these men, when he sees by the light of this story the capacity that exists for realising a life beyond the grave.]
24th June, 1868.—Six men slaves were singing as if they did not feel the weight and degradation of the slave-sticks. I asked the cause of their mirth, and was told that they rejoiced at the idea “of coming back after death and haunting and killing those who had sold them.” Some of the words I had to inquire about; for instance, the meaning of the words “to haunt and kill by spirit power;” then it was, “Oh, you sent me off to Manga (sea-coast), but the yoke is off when I die, and back I shall come to haunt and to kill you.” Then all joined in the chorus, which was the name of each vendor. It told not of fun, but of the bitterness and tears of such as were oppressed, and on the side of the oppressors there was a power: there be higher than they!
Perembe was one of the culprits thus menaced. The slave-owner asked Kapika’s wife if she would return to kill Kapika. The others answered to the names of the different men with laughter. Her heart was evidently sore: for a lady to come so low down is to her grievous. She has lost her jaunty air, and is, with her head shaved, ugly; but she never forgets to address her captors with dignity, and they seem to fear her.
25th June, 1868.—We went over flat forest with patches of brown haematite cropping out; this is the usual iron ore, but I saw in a village pieces of specular iron-ore which had been brought for smelting. The Luongo flowed away somewhat to our right or west, and the villagers had selected their site where only well-water could be found: we went ten minutes towards the Luongo and got abundance.
[Illustration: A Forest Grave.]
The gardens had high hedges round to keep off wild beasts. We came to a grave in the forest; it was a little rounded mound as if the occupant sat in it in the usual native way: it was strewed over with flour, and a number of the large blue beads put on it: a little path showed that it had visitors. This is the sort of grave I should prefer: to lie in the still, still forest, and no hand ever disturb my bones. The graves at home always seemed to me to be miserable, especially those in the cold damp clay, and without elbow room; but I have nothing to do but wait till He who is over all decides where I have to lay me down and die. Poor Mary lies on Shupanga brae, “and beeks fornent the sun."[64]
Came to the Chando River, which is the boundary between Casembe and Chikumbi; but Casembe is over all.
27th June, 1868.—We crossed a flooded marsh with the water very cold, and then the Chando itself twelve feet broad and knee deep, then on to another strong brook Nsenga.