The women are not handsome. Their heads are shaved, and around their bald pates they wear a band of beads or shells. Living peaceably and not even fishing, they devote all their time to the cultivation of maize and other kinds of vegetable food. They make excellent butter and drink great quantities of milk. At the time we make their acquaintance they are greatly disturbed. The chief has called together all the tribe, and a strange-looking gathering it is. The men stood round the chief in a circle, the women taking positions outside. The chief called for silence, and instantly every man shouted: “_Mkrasi! mkrasi!_” which being interpreted means: “We obey, we obey.” The chief, looking very wrinkled with his innumerable tattoo marks, adopted the catechetical method of addressing his people. “Where does the river come from?” he asked, and a deputy chief answered: “From the innermost parts of the earth.” “Good! And hath man ever been to the place where the gods make the springs of water to flow?” “No; man could not live.” “Why?” “The water comes from the fire god, who burns all who approach.” “Then what shall be done with those who have come from the fire?” “They shall be exalted.” “_Mkrasi! mkrasi_!” shouted all the members of the tribe. The conversation, or rather public discussion, which we have recorded occupied considerable time, for the language of this tribe of Gondos was very diffuse, abounding in metaphor, and making the repeating of whole sentences necessary where emphasis was required. The chief stepped down from the platform in front of his house, and calling on ten of his deputies headed the procession across the great square, round which the houses were placed. While the chief was away, the utmost decorum was observed. Not one spoke a word. Even the women were silent. Soon a great noise was heard. Drums were beating and rude cymbals were being played. The drums were original in their make. A piece of wood had been hollowed out, and over the top a sheepskin had been tightly stretched. Into the square the procession moved. First came ten young girls, playing very rudely constructed cymbals. Following them were five older girls, keeping time by striking shells together. Then came the drummers, boys whose strength seemed almost too frail for the big, heavy drums they carried. After them was a drummer who made a most ear-splitting noise by beating an old tin pan--which had been found in a deserted camp, and which the Gondos verily believed must have been the white man’s musical instrument. What meant all this pageantry and display? The chief emerged from his yard, and, with head bowed down, led the way to where the people were standing. Immediately behind him were the ten deputies, carrying a strange-looking log of wood shoulder high. With measured tread these natives walked under their heavy burden. When the center of the tribe’s gathering had been reached, the chief ordered the men to set down their load.