Into this hole her body has been dropped,
uncoffined, in a sitting position. Beside the body is placed some
food and a few paltry trinkets, and the people stand around with that
disconsolate look which is only seen upon the faces of those who know
not the Father. As they thus linger, the witch-doctor asks, "Is the
dog killed?" Someone replies, "Yes, the dog is killed." "Is the head
cut off?" is then asked. "Yes, the head is off," is the reply. "Put
it in the grave, then," says the medicine man; and then the dog's
head is dropped at the girl's feet.
Why do they do this? you ask. Question their wise man, and he will
say: "A dog is a very clever animal. He can always find his way. A
girl gets lost when alone. For that reason we place a dog's head with
her, that it may guide her in the spirit life." I ask again, "Do they
need missionaries?"
My stay with the sun-worshippers, though interesting, was painful.
Excepting when we cooked our own food, I almost starved. Their habits
are extremely filthy, indeed more loathsome and disgusting than I
dare relate.
My horses were by now refreshed with their rest, and appeared able
for the return journey, so I determined to start back to
civilization. The priest heard of my decision with unfeigned joy, but
the king and queen were sorrowful.
