The evening times. [volume] (Grand Forks, N.D.) 1906-1914, 1912-05-08
WHEN \. KING DIES.

".'
The book of his twenty-threc years
experience in Central Africa, which
II. Crawford, the Scottish missionary,
is now Writing. promises to he as on
tranring as amy ever pcnned by traN-
el"r in the dark continent. Mr.. Craw-
ford has been so long accustomed to
using the Rantu language that it has
become almost more natural Ia him
than his mother tongue. He has a
great admiration for the IIaban peo-
Pile, among whom he has spent so
many Years.
The streams of blood that flow at
a kings death in tho far interior of
Africa are in q sad. sinister sense. real
red sunsets" he told on" of our rep
rcsentatiVcs. ut is quite certain that.
apart from spccialities in the article
uf death every African chicflet de-
mands his legal right 10 drag down
with him I" tho neither world at least
n ar two specimens of the human
kind. MpHki is the dread technical
term for this institution. These are
mostly women folk. and the demand is
that the" living sacrifice must have no
hlenish. No wonder when an African
hears that line of the bible. The rich
man died and was buried. he shud-
derS. lnstinc1iNcly he thinks of a sac
ri!ice with its streams of blood. In
thcs" ceremonial murders VIC have
authentic history. Two of the pref
TEST wives arc cloriously dressed and
annointed with oil to the
corpse TO the West Coast of Africa
that Is. the spirit world. kumbonshi
and they never come back again.
They always say that these go to
their ~ death with alacrity, and
when | protested they reminded me of
a case known to me 10y a personal link.
That was the Bogo senior incident
down in the Sera plain. At the Mpaki
ceremony. and against all "ntreaty to
the contrary. tn" intirm old wife of
his youth insisted upon accompanying
her " conSort into the tomb of suf-
location. She brushed aside tho
oungc folk and ordered the catching
and cooking of the best barnyard fowl
tor her OWN last supper. She assisted
at her w last death toilet: her own
cleansing and amounting unto her own
burial. Who should go With my lord
but me? she said in response to the
waiiinG of the mourning women. And
e when tn" first sough of the night
wind passed over the great fen bog.
this old living sacrifice hobbled along.
with her sourd tobacco pipe in its liz
tie basket, to attend her own funeral
There was not even a vail from her.
is his kind of thing really anthem
tic: The answer is the genuine proof
! stumbled over in the grass. Down in
that. very Sera plain ! put up for the
night in a random hamlet on the edge
of a bu!rush bog. At sunset had q
crowd of little children round me. one
of them being more strikingly dressed
than the others. ] naturally presum-
ed she was the local magnate's daugh-
ter. Then | quizzed her about her nice
beads. calico and fantastic hair coiffure
but it soon began to dawn upon me
that this was embarrassing to her.
Then a dozen little chatterers told me
the tale raphically: that she was no
chiefs daughter. and hat she had
only been paid so much hush none
for her mothers death in blue beads
and fancy calico. Her mother had
gone or the long journey with the
chief. and the orphan child had re-
ceived solatium and damages for her
mothers sacrifcial death. She her-
self would grow up only to be one day
fuel for the same fire.