Tupi Guaranis, the Jivaros, and other South Americans.  Suffice it to remark of this weapon, with which, by the by, I never saw a decent shot made, that the detente is simple and ingenious, and that the “Ebe” or dwarf bolt is always poisoned with the boiled root of a wild shrub.  It is believed that a graze is fatal, and that the death is exceedingly painful:  I doubt both assertions.  Most men also carry a pliable basket full of bamboo caltrops, thin splints, pointed and poisoned.  Placed upon the path of a bare-footed enemy, this rude contrivance, combined with the scratching of the thorns, and the gashing cuts of the grass, must somewhat discourage pursuit.  The shields of elephant hide are large, square, and ponderous.  The “terrible war-axe” is the usual poor little tomahawk, more like a toy than a tool.

After a bathe in the muddy Mbokwe, I returned to the village, and found it in a state of ferment.  The Fan, like all inner African tribes, with whom fighting is our fox-hunting, live in a chronic state of ten days’ war, and can never hold themselves safe; this is the case especially where the slave trade has never been heard of.  Similarly the Ghazwah ("Razzia”) of the Bedawin is for plunder, not for captives.  Surprises are rare, because they will not march in the dark.  Battles are not bloody; after two or three warriors have fallen their corpses are dragged away to be devoured, their friends save themselves by flight, and the weaker side secures peace by paying sheep and goats.  On this occasion the sister of a young “brave” had just now been killed and “chopped” by the king of Sankwi, a neighbouring settlement of Oshebas, and the bereaved brother was urging his comrades with vociferous speeches to “up and arm.”  Usually when a man wants “war,” he rushes naked through his own village, cursing it as he goes.  Moreover, during the last war Mayyan lost five men to three of the enemy; which is not fair, said the women, who appeared most eager for the fray.  All the youths seized their weapons; the huge war-drums, the hollowed bole of a tree fringed with Nyare hide, was set up in the middle of the street; preparations for the week of singing and dancing which precedes a campaign were already in hand, and one war-man gave earnest of blood-shed by spearing a goat the property of Mr. Tippet.  It being our interest that the peace should be kept till after my proposed trip into the interior, I repaired to the palaver-house and lent weight to the advice of my host, who urged the heroes to collect ivory, ebony, and rubber, and not to fight till his stores were filled.  We concluded by carrying off the goat.  After great excitement the warriors subsided to a calm; it was broken, however, two days afterwards by the murder of a villager, the suspected lover of a woman whose house was higher up the Mbokwe River; he went to visit her, and was incontinently speared in the breast by the “injured husband.”  If he die and no fine be paid, there will be another “war.”