We were tired and worn out, but at last we reached a deserted village which we had found before our hunting and where we had our camp. Judge of our astonishment when I found the place in possession of a division of travelling Bakalais! The village was full of them: men, women, children and babies were there; they had quantities of food; all their baggage, composed of old baskets, cooking-pots, calabashes, mats; and all their farming implements. The men were all armed. My apparition among them threw them into the utmost confusion, and if I had not been followed by Miengai, who shouted to them to keep still, they would have fled; but after a while we were great friends, especially after I had distributed a few beads among the women. They had been living on the banks of a river called Noya, and were moving far from that place toward another village where the old chief had two or three sons-in-law and the same number of fathers-in-law. These people seemed to be in dread of something. They seemed to be in retreat, as though they had fled from their former place of abode. I learned that, a few days before, one of their men while bathing in the river had been killed by some unknown enemy. Hereupon they were seized with a panic, believed their village attacked by witches, that the Aniemba witchcraft was among them, and they must abandon it and settle elsewhere or they would all die one after the other. Just a little before sunset I saw every one of them retire within doors; the children ceased to play, and all became very quiet in the camp, where just before there was so much noise and bustle. Then suddenly arose on the air one of those mournful, heart-piercing chants which you hear among all the tribes of this land. It was a chant for one of their departed friends. As they sang, tears rolled down the cheeks of the women, fright distorted their faces and cowed their spirits. I listened and tried to gather the words of their chants. There was a very monotonous repetition of one idea—that of sorrow at the departure from among them of one of their friends and fellow-villagers. Thus they sang: _We chi noli lubella pe na beshe_ “Oh, you will never speak to us any more, We can not see your face any more; You will never walk with us again, You will never settle our palavers for us.” And so on. They sang until the sun had disappeared below the horizon, till the orb that gives gladness to the heart and life to the world had gone from sight, and they chose the time of its disappearance to pour out their mourning-songs. I thought there was something very poetical in the relationship of the time to the subject. For what should we do without the sun? It is the very heart of life! [Illustration: [Fleuron]] CHAPTER VII. AN AFRICAN FIRESIDE.—A CAMP BY THE SEA-SHORE.—THE FIRST GORILLA HUNTER.—NEGRO BLARNEY.