Presently her voice ceased and we heard from beside her a most peculiar whistling sort of voice, to which she responded, evidently interrogating.

Again the whistling voice from further away.

Bootha then told me she had asked a dead black fellow, Big Joe, to tell her what she wanted to know; but he could not, so now she was going to ask her dead granddaughter.

Again she said a sort of incantation, and again, after a while, came the whistling voice reply--this time from another direction, not quite so loud.

The same sort of thing was gone through with the same result.
Then Bootha said she would ask Guadgee, a black girl who had been one of my first favourites in the camp, and who had died a few years previously.
The whistling voice came from a third direction, though all the time I could see Bootha's lips moving.
Guadgee answered all she was asked.