THE extraordinary change made by the Gospel when received by a people who were sunk in the degradation of heathenism can scarcely be realised except when the two states are brought into striking contrast. The following account of happenings at the death of a chief so gruesome in its realism is enough to produce a feeling of horror. It is taken from Dan Crawford’s Back to the Long Grass and is the description of an eye-witness of the horrible scene. “The air,” says the witness, “was filled with dust tainted with the smell of heated African bodies and a sickly odour from the log fires. The evening breeze occasionally wafted the columns of smoke across the wild revellers, momentarily hiding them from view. By the lurid glow of the huge log fires, despite the almost fiendish appearance of the savages, I was deeply impressed with the vivid effect of the scene, with its action, and with its striking contrasts. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the surroundings I observed many natives dancing at the edge of a deep hole which had been recently dug in the ground. Whilst leaning forward to obtain a clearer view, and conjecturing upon the object of the wild proceedings, I was startled by a mighty shout uttered from hundreds of hoarse throats. Turning, I saw several men forcing their way through the multitude in the direction of the dark abyss. A jingling sound of bells heralded a procession of dancing figures, whose forms stood forth in bold relief as they passed in front of the blazing fires. A space was cleared in front of the hole and in a few moments there bounded forward the great charm-doctor, painted and bedecked with leopard skins and rattling charms, outward tokens of the absolute ruler of the destinies of heathen African savages. This hideous looking creature, with whitened eyelids and body smeared with fowls’ brains and blood, commenced the dance of Death. With sinuous movements of the body he pranced around the clear space, kicking up a perfect cloud of dust, and chanting a quaint savage song. Round and round, each time faster, whirled the uncanny figure. At length he stopped, bathed in perspiration, dusty and bedraggled, and seated himself at the edge of the hole. Another hideous shout rent the air. Ten women, the former wives of the deceased chief, with hands and feet bound, were dragged forward and placed upon the ground in front of the charm-doctor. Shortly afterwards a number of young men, formerly slaves of the chief, were also brought forward to the brink of the hole. Then amidst a scene of wild confusion the corpse of the great chief, now swathed in yards of cotton and grass cloth, was borne forward. Above the heads of the swaying crowd I caught sight of dark bodies being hurled into the hole. I could just distinguish the agonised shrieks of women, the unfortunate wives who were being sacrificed. The body of the chief was next placed in the hole. The crowd surged, swayed, and shouted even more vociferously than ever when a hundred hands commenced to heave the earth into the living tomb of the chief’s wives, who were thus buried alive. Hemmed in by the crowd, I found myself unable to retire from the horrible scene. The hole was soon filled in, and crowds of natives then danced upon the spot. The first of the slaves was now brought forward. His head was fixed in a framework, suspended to an overhanging branch. A bright gleam of the executioner’s knife, followed by a frantic yell from the multitude, denoted that the first of the numerous band of the late chief’s slaves had been decapitated.” O Africa, when shall the agonizing cry of thy daughters cease and the blessed light of the Gospel of God’s dear Son, dispel the cruelties and darkness of centuries!