Necessity has never taught the pigmies to make fires. They are dependent on wood ashes from the Bambuba folk, which they carry about tied up in leaves, in which the fire smoulders for hours and is kindled into flame with a little gentle blowing. The Bambuba have learned to produce fire by means of igniting two little bits of stick by friction. They also make tiny torches of three or four thin twigs tied together by fibre; these are dipped into rubber juice freshly drawn away from the plant; then on the point of the torch is placed resin, which moderates the rate of combustion. One of these torches will keep burning for two to three hours. The pigmies do not cultivate the ground; they are exclusively a tribe of huntsmen who travel about in search of their prey. Their remarkable agility enables them to spring from branch to branch when watching the track of an animal. Often they are obliged to follow an elephant for hours before this forest monarch succumbs to the poisoned dart that has lodged itself in its tough skin; then as the huge animal rolls over like a thunderbolt falling, the little pigmies jump down from the trees, stand on the carcase, and draw out of a crude leather sheath their knives which have handles made of animals’ bones; they then commence cutting up the joints. Some of these will be carried off to the agricultural Bambuba tribe, who give potatoes, Indian corn, knives, or arrows for the meat. The rest is taken up into the trees and dried, after which it is either roasted or eaten raw. Although all their meat is poisoned they do not attempt to purify it, and the blood is regarded as a special delicacy. They do not, however, suffer any ill-effects, for the poison is said to have lost its power when once it has acted. The pigmies are regarded by the neighbouring tribes in very much the same way as the wild pigs, inevitable plunderers. At night they creep up to the potato patches, under cover of the long grass, and carry off their booty into the copse. No one dares to venture on revenge; indeed the surrounding tribes stand in terror of the little people because of their wonderful powers of self-concealment and deftness with their bows. A pigmy rarely possesses more than one wife, and never more than two. A man purchases her with poison or fowls—a woman is valued at eighty to one hundred chickens. The wives are treated kindly and with consideration; only when a husband is provoked by abuse does he attempt to subdue his fractious helpmate by a sound beating. A pigmy baby is the funniest little atom imaginable. A woman once brought to me her infant of three months; it was her first, and she evidently regarded it as an exceptional beauty. It was about the size of a sixpenny doll. I did not venture to touch it for fear of hurting it.