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Updated: June 28, 2025
[Footnote A: Respondeo. 1. Contrarium testari Mercatorum Relationem apud Ananiam supra Cap. 4. 2. Et licet non inventi essent vivi
"And he went like a warrior into his rest With the Union Jack around him." That was the paraphrasing epitaph the Correspondent wrote for him in the pretty Bay of Vivi, and when he read it, we all drank in silence to the memory of "a Chinkie." We found the mother and the child on the other side of the island ere a week had passed, and bore them away in safety.
There was no house and there was no flag above the Bay of Vivi. Ten minutes afterwards we stood beside the flag-staff, and at our feet lay a moaning, mangled figure. It was the Chinaman, and over his gashed misery were drawn the folds of the flag that had flown on the staff. What horror we feared for those who were not to be seen needs no telling here.
I could not find out if the Congoese still practise the vivi- sepulture so common on the Western Coast the "infernal sacrifices of man's flesh to the memory of relatives and ancestors," as the old missioners energetically expressed themselves.
In Dusseldorf eighteen men and boys, surprised at their singing of Prime in the church of Saint Laurence, had been cast down one by one into the city-sewer, each chanting as he vanished: "Christi Fili Dei vivi miserere nobis," and from the darkness had come up the same broken song till it was silenced with stones. Meanwhile, the German prisons were thronged with the first batches of recusants.
A day and a night we lingered in the little Bay of Vivi, and then we left it behind; each of us, however, watching till we could see the house on the hillside and the flag no longer, and one at least wondering if that secret passage into the hills from the palm-thatched home would ever be used as the white dwellers fled for their lives.
A day and a night we lingered in the little Bay of Vivi, and then we left it behind; each of us, however, watching till we could see the house on the hillside and the flag no longer, and one at least wondering if that secret passage into the hills from the palm-thatched home would ever be used as the white dwellers fled for their lives.
After threading for half an hour lanes of grass, we were received in a little village of the Banza Vivi district by Nessala, linguistere to King Luvungungwete. The guest room was furnished with every luxury; hides of a fine antelope described as the Kudu; cruets, basins, bottles, and other vases; "lustre mugs," John Andersons and Toby Philpots. A good calabash, full of
Presently we reached the dividing ridge, 1,394 feet high, between Banza Vivi and Nkulu, whose palm-trees, thrown out against the sky, bore 82deg. The actual foreground, a hollow between two land-waves, could not conceal the "Crocodile's Head:" the latter, five miles off and bearing 65deg.
"By the way," I said presently, "you remember you once mentioned that you knew Vivi Finlay in the old days in town. I met her in Palermo in the winter." He started from his chair, and leaning towards me, echoed "You met her! you? Tell me about her. How did she look? What is she doing?" he asked, with an earnest eagerness that surprised me.
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