To compel them to do
so, they plucked leaves of all the different trees that grow
in that country, and boiled them over a slow fire, while,
at the same time, a sheep was killed by thrusting a long
needle into its heart. But, in spite of all their ceremonies,
the sky remained clear and beautiful, and they profited
nothing by their slaughtered sheep and their ugly grimaces.
The blacks then abandoned themselves to the most
furious orgies, and got fearfully drunk on "tembo," a
kind of ardent spirits drawn from the cocoa-nut tree, and
an extremely heady sort of beer called "togwa." Their
chants, which were destitute of all melody, but were sung
in excellent time, continued until far into the night.
About six o'clock in the evening, the captain assembled
the travellers and the officers of the ship at a farewell
repast in his cabin. Kennedy, whom nobody ventured to
question now, sat with his eyes riveted on Dr. Ferguson,
murmuring indistinguishable words. In other respects,
the dinner was a gloomy one. The approach of the final
moment filled everybody with the most serious reflections.
What had fate in store for these daring adventurers?
Should they ever again find themselves in the midst of
their friends, or seated at the domestic hearth? Were
their travelling apparatus to fail, what would become of
them, among those ferocious savage tribes, in regions that
had never been explored, and in the midst of boundless
deserts?
Such thoughts as these, which had been dim and vague
until then, or but slightly regarded when they came up,
returned upon their excited fancies with intense force at
this parting moment.
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