together, the cowardly reptiles are not likely to attack. In this way the idea has come about that real crocodiles will not eat men; but if such a thing occurs it is proof positive that either a witch has transformed himself into a crocodile to obtain his victim, or induced the reptile to do it for him. If you ask how, ‘I do not know; I am not a witch.’ At Lukunga, Mr. Ingham, of the Livingstone Mission, shot a huge crocodile which came out at night after his pigs. In the stomach of the reptile were the anklets of a woman, which were at once recognised by the townsfolk. Yet they told me that the crocodile cannot have eaten the woman.
‘But how about those anklets?’
‘Very likely crocodiles have a fancy for such things. You see what a lot of stones he had in his stomach. Perhaps he took off those anklets when he had done as he was told to do.’
This was no ghastly joke. I discussed the matter further, and asked a more intelligent companion whether he could really believe as he asserted. He replied that the man was not joking.
A lad, who was for some time a scholar at our school at Underhill Station, died in his own town a month or two after leaving us. The people said that our Mr. Hughes had stolen the boy’s soul, and sent it away to the white man’s land to be converted into Krooboys to work for us.
The Ngombe people told us that once on the market near their town, some travellers halted to buy palm wine, and all the people heard a hoarse voice proceed from a tusk of ivory, ‘Give me a drink of wine, I am fearfully thirsty.’ Some wine was poured into the tusk, there was a sound of drinking, and after rest the travellers passed on. Everyone believed the story, but I could never see any one who was present. It was of course a spirit in transit to the coast.