The scene was wild enough. Before the door a circle was formed by about twenty women, all in their best clothes, sitting on the ground, and swaying their bodies to and fro, while they sung in chorus the wild dirge already mentioned, the words of which I could not make out; in the centre of the circle sat four men playing on gumbies, or the long drum formerly described, while a fifth stood behind them, with a conch-shell, which he kept sounding at intervals. Other three negroes kept circling round the outer verge of the circle of women, naked all to their waist cloths, spinning about and about with their hands above their heads, like so many dancing dervishes. It was one of these three that from time to time took up the recitative, the female chorus breaking in after each line. Close to the drummers lay the body in an open coffin, supported on two low stools or trestles; a piece of flaming resinous wood was stuck in the ground at the head, and another at the feet; and a lump of kneaded clay, in which another torchlike splinter was fixed, rested on the breast. An old man, naked like the solo singer, was digging a grave close to where the body lay. The following was the chant:-- “I say, broder, you can’t go yet.” THEN THE CHORUS OF FEMALE VOICES “When de morning star rise, den we put you in a hole.” CHORUS AGAIN “Den you go in a Africa, you see Fetish dere.” CHORUS “You shall nyam goat dere, wid all your family.” CHORUS “Buccra can’t come dere; say, dam rascal, why you no work?” CHORUS “Buccra can’t catch Duppy, no, no.” CHORUS Three calabashes, or gourds, with pork, yams, and rum, were placed on a small bench that stood close to the head of the bier, and at right angles to it. In a little while, the women, singing-men, and drummers, suddenly gave a loud shout, or rather yell, clapped their hands three times, and then rushed into the surrounding cottages, leaving the old grave-digger alone with the body. He had completed the grave, and had squatted himself on his hams beside the coffin, swinging his body as the women had done, and uttering a low moaning sound, frequently ending in a loud pech, like that of a paviour when he brings down his rammer. I noticed he kept looking towards the east, watching, as I conjectured, the first appearance of the morning star, but it was yet too early. He lifted the gourd with the pork, and took a large mouthful. “How is dis? I can’t put dis meat in Quacco’s coffin, dere is salt in de pork; Duppy can’t bear salt,” another large mouthful--“Duppy hate salt too much,”--here he ate it all up, and placed the empty gourd in the coffin. He then took up the one with boiled yam in it, and tasted it also. “Salt here too--who de debil do such a ting?--must not let Duppy taste dat.” He discussed this also, placing the empty vessel in the coffin as he had done with the other. He then came to the calabash with the rum. There is no salt there, thought I.