care they take of him, to let them alone. I was present once at a meeting where Abambou was being addressed in public. They cried continually, "Now we are well! Now we are satisfied! Now be our friend, Abambou, and do not hurt us!"

The offerings of plantain, bananas, sugar-cane, groundnuts, etc., etc., are wrapped in leaves by the freemen, but the slaves lay them on the bare ground. Sometimes Abambou is entreated to kill the enemies of him who is making the offering. A bed is made in Abambou's house, and there he is believed to rest himself sometimes when he is tired going up and down the coast in the forest.

Mbiuri, whose house I next visited, is lodged and kept much in the same way as his rival. He is a good spirit, but his powers are like those of Abambou, as far as I could make out. Not being wicked, he is less zealously worshiped.

These Commi people are full of superstition. They believe in a third and much-dreaded spirit called Ovengua. This is the terrible catcher and eater of men. He is not worshiped, and has no power over disease; but he wanders unceasingly through the forests, and catches and destroys luckless travelers who cross his path. By day he lives in dark caverns, but at night he roams freely, and even sometimes gets into the body of a man, and beats and kills all who come out in the dark. Sometimes, they relate, such a spirit is met and resisted by a body of men, who wound him with spears, and even kill him. In this case the body must be burned, and not even the smallest bone left, lest a new Ovengua should arise from it. There are many places where no object in the

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world would induce a Commi negro to go by night, for fear of this dreadful monster.

They have a singular belief that when a person dies who has been bewitched, the bones of his body leave the grave one by one, and form in a single line united to each other, which line of bones gradually becomes an Ovengua.

It is not an easy matter to get at the religious notions of these people. They themselves have no well-defined ideas of them, and on many points they are not very communicative.

I suppose they think that sometimes the Ovengua is in a man; hence they kill him, and burn his body.

Of course the Commi people, like all other negroes, are firm believers in witchcraft.

Not very far from Aniambia there is a place in the forest which is supposed to be haunted by the spirit of a crazy woman, who, some hundreds of years ago, left her home. They believe that she cultivates her plantation in some hidden recess of the forest, and that she often lies in wait for travelers, whom she beats and kills out of pure malice.

While at Aniambia I had a great adventure with a bos brachicheros, which might have ended in a terrible way. I started out early one day to try and get a shot at some buffaloes which were said to be in the prairie at the back of the town. I had been an hour on the plains with Ifouta, a hunter, when we came upon a bull feeding in the midst of a little prairie surrounded by woods, which made an approach easy. I remember well how beautiful the animal looked. Ifouta walked round through the jungle opposite to where I lay in wait; for, if the

animal should take fright at him, it might fly toward me. When he reached the right position, Ifouta began to crawl, in the hunter's fashion, through the grass toward his prey. All went well till he came near enough for a shot. Just then, unluckily, the bull saw him. Ifouta immediately fired. It was a long shot, and he only wounded the beast, which, quite infuriated, immediately rushed upon him. It was now that poor Ifouta lost his presence of mind. In such cases, which are continually happening to those who hunt the bos brachicheros, the proper course for the hunter is to remain perfectly quiet till the beast is within a jump of him, then to step nimbly to one side, and let him rush past. But Ifouta got up and ran.

The bull ran faster than he, and in a moment had him on his horns. He tossed him high into the air, once, twice, thrice, before I could come up; for, as soon as I saw what had happened, I ran as fast as I could to the rescue, and my shouts drew the bull's fury upon myself. He left Ifouta, and came rushing at me, thinking that he would serve me as he had just served Ifouta. Master Bull was sadly mistaken. I took a good aim, and down came the bull, to rise no more.

Ifouta proved to be considerably bruised; but, on the whole, he was more scared than hurt. It was fortunate for him that the horns of these buffaloes slant backward a good deal, and are curved.

66

CAPTURE OF A YOUNG GORILLA. -I CALL HIM FIGHTING

AGAIN. UNPLEASANT TO HANDLE.-DEATH OF FIGHTING

JOE.

I REMEMBER Well the day when I first possessed a live gorilla. Yes, a gorilla that could roar; a young gorilla alive! He was captured not far from Cape St. Catharine, and dragged into Washington.

My hunters were five in number, and were walking very silently through the forest, when suddenly the silence was broken by the cry of a young gorilla for its mother. Every thing was still. It was about noon, and they immediately determined to follow the cry.

Soon they heard the cry again. Gun in hand, the

I

brave fellows crept noiselessly toward a clump of wood, where the baby gorilla evidently was. They knew the mother would be near; and there was a likelihood that they might encounter the male also, which they dread more than they do the mother. But they determined to risk every thing, and, if possible, to take the young one alive, knowing how pleased I should be, for I had been long trying to capture a young gorilla.

Presently they perceived the bush moving; and crawling a little farther on, in dead silence, scarcely breathing with excitement, they beheld what had seldom been seen even by negroes. A young gorilla was seated on the ground, as the picture shows you, eating some berries, which grew close to the earth. A few feet farther on sat the mother, also eating some of the fruit.

Instantly they made ready to fire; and none too soon, for the old female saw them as they raised their guns, and they had to pull triggers without delay. Happily, they wounded her mortally.

She fell on her face, the blood gushing from the wounds. The young one, hearing the noise of the guns, ran to his mother and clung to her, hiding his face and embracing her body. The hunters immediately rushed toward the two, hallooing with joy. How much I wished that I had been with them, and been so fortunate as to assist in the capture of a live gorilla!

Their shouts roused the little one, who, by this time, was covered with blood coming from his mother's wounds. He instantly let go of his mother and ran to a small tree, which he climbed with great agility. There he sat, and roared at them savagely. They were now perplexed how to get at him. What was to be done? No one