CHAPTER X. DEATH IN AN AFRICAN VILLAGE.—LAMENTATIONS.—THE FUNERAL CEREMONIES.—AN AFRICAN CEMETERY. What a strange thing is an African funeral! In a town on the banks of the Rembo, called Conaco, where I had just arrived in my canoe, a man was very ill. These poor savages seemed to be very sorry for him, but did not know what to do. If I remember aright, the name of that man was Irende. He had been a great warrior and a great hunter, but disease had laid him prostrate, though he was still a young man. The next day a great many people came into the village with their tam-tams, or drums, and different sorts of musical instruments. They were to try if they could not drive the devil away. With a great deal of trouble a few guns had been obtained, and also some powder, in order to make more noise. [Sidenote: _DEATH IN A VILLAGE._] In the evening the people entered the hut of Irende and began to sing. The drummers had already gone inside and were beating their drums most furiously; a few broken brass kettles added their noise to that of the drums; some beat sticks on pieces of wood. In fact, every body tried to make all the noise he could. At last those who had the guns came and fired them close to the ears of the poor fellow, and also near his stomach, where the _abambo_ (the devil) was supposed to be. I could not stay more than five minutes in the hut, for the din was too great for me. They wanted to drive the abambo out of the poor sick man so that he might get well. But all the drumming they did, all the _mbuiti_ (idol) had said concerning his recovery, all the care his wives, sisters and his mother bestowed upon him, were of no avail. The poor fellow died the second day after my arrival, right in the midst of the drumming, just a few minutes after the guns had been fired near his ears and stomach. It was midnight when he died. I was in my hut, which was not far off, when suddenly there burst from one end of the village to the other a wail that told me the sad story. Irende was dead! What a wail it was! It went right to my heart, it was so piercing, so heart-rending; I could not help but feel sorry for these poor people. The wailing and the mourning-songs lasted all night; there was no sleep for me. In the morning I was led once more to the house where the body was laid. The room was crowded: women from all the villages round had come, and they were all seated on the floor. There must have been about three hundred of them, and they were singing mournful songs to doleful and monotonous airs. The tears were running down their cheeks. The wives of the poor fellow, ten in number, had shaven their hair, had taken off their garments and were almost naked, and they had rubbed their bodies with ashes. Their anklets and bracelets had been removed, and round their necks they wore a piece of native cord indicating that they were widows and in mourning.