Rend and destroy
those who a second before were nearest and dearest to them.
Terrible is the fear that falls like a spell upon a village when a
big man, or big woman is just known to be dead. The very men catch
their breaths, and grow grey round the lips, and then every one,
particularly those belonging to the household of the deceased, goes
in for the most demonstrative exhibition of grief. Long, low howls
creep up out of the first silence - those blood-curdling, infinitely
melancholy, wailing howls - once heard, never to be forgotten.
The men tear off their clothes and wear only the most filthy rags;
women, particularly the widows, take off ornaments and almost all
dress; their faces are painted white with chalk, their heads are
shaven, and they sit crouched on the earth in the house, in the
attitude of abasement, the hands resting on the shoulders, palm
downwards, not crossed across the breast, unless they are going into
the street.
Meanwhile the witch-doctor has been sent for, if he is not already
present, and he sets to work in different ways to find out who are
the persons guilty of causing the death.
Whether the methods vary with the tribe, or with the individual
witch-doctor, I cannot absolutely say, but I think largely with the
latter.
