 CHAPTER XIV. THE KALUBI'S OTH. Be silent, I whispered, and all understood my tone if they did not catch the words. Then steadying myself with an effort for this hideous vision, which might have been a picture from hell made me feel faint. I glanced at Comba, who was a pace or two in front of us. Evidently he was much disturbed. The motions of his back told me this, by the sense of some terrible mistake that he had made. For a moment he stood still, then wheeled around, and asked me if we had seen anything. Yes, I answered indifferently, we saw a number of men gathered round a fire, nothing more. He tried to search our faces, but luckily the great moon, now almost at her full, was hidden behind a thick cloud, so that he could not read them well. I heard his sigh and relief as he said. The kalubi and the headmen are cooking a sheep. It is their custom to feast together on those nights when the moon is about to change. Follow me, white lords. Then he led us round the end of the long shed, at which we did not even look, and through the garden on its farther side to the two fine huts I have mentioned. Here he clapped his hands, and a woman appeared. I know not whence. Through her he whispered something. She went away and presently returned with four or five other women who carried clay lamps filled with oil in which floated a wick of palm fibre. These lamps were set down on the huts that proved to be very clean and comfortable places, furnished after fashion with wooden stools and a kind of low table, of which the legs were carved to the shape of antelopes feet. Also there was a wooden platform at the end of the hut, whereon lay beds covered with mats and stuffed with some soft fibre. Here you may rest safe, he said. For white lords, are you not the honoured guests of the Pongo people? Presently food, I shuddered at the word, will be brought to you, and after you have eaten well, if it is your pleasure the Kaluobi and his counsellors will receive you in Yonder Feast House, and you can talk with them before you sleep. If you need ought, strike upon that jar with a stick. And he pointed to what looked like a copper cauldron that stood in the garden of the hut near the place where the women were already lighting a fire, and some will wait on you. Look, here are your goods, none are missing, and here comes water in which you may wash. Now I must go to make report to the Kaluobi, and with a courteous bow he departed. So after a while did the silent handsome women to fetch our meal I understood one of them to say, and at length we were alone. My aunt, said Stephen, fanning himself with his pocket handkerchief, did you see that lady toasting? I have often heard of cannibals, those slaves, for instance, but the actual business. Oh, my aunt! It's no use addressing your absent aunt if you've got one. What did you expect if you would insist on coming to a hell like this? I asked gloomily. Can't say, old fellow, don't trouble myself much with expectations as a rule. That's why I, my poor old father, never could get on. I always quoted the text, sufficient to the day is the evil thereof to him, and at length he sent for the family Bible and ruled it out with red ink and a rage. But I say, do you think that we will be called upon to understudy St. Lawrence on that grid? Certainly I do, I replied, and as Old Babemba warned you, you can't complain. Oh! But I will, and I can, and so will you, won't you, Brother John? Brother John woke up from a reverie and stroked his long beard. Since you ask me, Mr. Summers, he said reflectively, if it were a case of modidum for the faith, like that of the saint to whom you have eluded, I should not object, at any rate in theory. But I confess that speaking from a secular point of view I have the strongest dislike to being cooked and eaten by these very disagreeable savages. Still, I see no reason to suppose that we shall fall victim to their domestic customs. I, being in a depressed mood, was about to argue to the contrary, when a hans poked his head into the hut and said, Dinner coming, boss, very fine dinner. So we went out into the garden where the tall impassive ladies were arranging many wooden dishes on the ground. Now the moon was clear of clouds, and to buy its brilliant light we examined their contents. Some were cooked meat covered with a kind of sauce that made its nature indistinguishable. As a matter of fact, I believe it was mutton, but who can say? Others were evidently of a vegetable nature. For instance, there was a whole platterful of roasted mealy cobs, and a great boiled pumpkin, to say nothing of some bowls of curdled milk. Regarding this feast, I became aware of a sudden and complete conversion to those principles of vegetarianism which Brother John was always preaching to me. I am sure you are quite right, I said to him nervously, and holding that vegetables are the best diet in a hot climate. At any rate I have made up my mind to try the experiment for a few days, and throwing manners to the winds I grabbed four of the upper mealy cobs and the top of the pumpkin which I cut off with a knife. Somehow I did not seem to fancy that portion of it which touched the platter, for who knew what those dishes might have contained and how often they were washed. Stephen also appeared to have found salvation on this point, for he too patronised the mealy cobs and the pumpkin, so did Movovo, and so did even that inveterate meat-eater Hans. Finally the simple Jerry tackled the flesh-pots of Egypt, or other pongo land with appetite, and declared that they were good. I think that he, being the last of us through the gateway, had not realised what it was that lay upon the grid. At length we finished our simple meal, when you are very hungry it takes a long time to fill oneself with squashy pumpkin, which is why I suppose ruminants and other grazing animals always seem to be eating, and washed it down with water in preference to the sticky-looking milk which we left to the natives. Alan, said Brother John to me in a low voice as we lit our pipes, that man who stood with his back to us in front of the gridiron was the Colubi. Against the fire-light I saw the gap in his hand where I cut away the finger. Well, if we want to get any further you must cultivate him, I answered. The question is, shall we get further than that grid? I believe we have been trapped here to be eaten. Before Brother John could reply, Comba arrived, and after inquiring whether our appetites had been good, intimated that the Colubi and the headmen were ready to receive us. So off we went with the exception of Jerry whom we left to watch our things, taking with us the presents we had prepared. Comba led us to the feast-house, where the fire-pit was out or had been covered over, and the grid and its horrible burden had disappeared. Also now all the mats were rolled up so that the clear moonlight flowed into and illuminated the place. Seated in a semi-circle on wooden stools with their faces towards the gateway, with a Colubi who occupied the centre, and eight counsellors, all of them grey-haired men. This Colubi was a tall, thin individual of middle age, with, I think, the most nervous countenance that I ever saw. His features twitched continually, and his hands were never still. The eyes too, as far as I could see them in that light, were full of terrors. He rose and bowed, but the counsellors remained seated, greeting us with a long continued and soft clapping of the hands, which, it seemed, was the pongo method of salute. We bowed in answer, then seated ourselves on three stools that had been placed for us, Brother John occupying the middle-stool, Movovo and Hans stood behind us, the latter supporting himself with his large bamboo stick. As soon as these preliminaries were over, the Colubi called upon Comba, whom he addressed in formal language as, You who have passed the God, and You the Colubi to be, I thought I saw him wince, as he said these words, to give an account of his mission, and of how it came that they had the honour of seeing the white lords there. Comba obeyed, after addressing the Colubi with every possible title of honour, such as Absolute Monarch, Master whose feet I kiss, he whose eyes are fire, and whose tongue is a sword, he at whose nod people die, Lord of the sacrifice, first taster of the secret meat, beloved of the gods, here the Colubi shrank as though he had been pricked with a spear, second to none on earth save the Mutombo the most holy, the most ancient, who comes from heaven and speaks with the voice of heaven, etc. He gave a clear but brief account of all that had happened in the course of his mission to be the town. Especially did he narrate how, in obedience to a message which he had received from the Mutombo, he had invited the white lords to Pongoland, and even accepted them as envoys from the Mzitu, when none would respond to King Bausi's invitation to fill that office. Only he had stipulated that they should bring with them none of their magic weapons which vomited out smoke and death, as the Mutombo had commanded. At this information the expressive countenance of the Colubi once more betrayed mental disturbance that I think Combo noted as much as we did. However, he said nothing, and after a pause Combo went on to explain that no such weapons had been brought, since, not satisfied with our word that this was so, he and his companions had searched our baggage before we left Mzitu land. Therefore, he added, there was no cause to fear that we should bring about the fulfillment of the old prophecy, that when a gun was fired among the Pongo, the gods would desert the land, and the people ceased to be a people. Having finished his speech, he sat down in a humble place behind us. Then the Colubi, after formally accepting us as ambassadors from Bausi, King of the Mzitu, discoursed at length upon the advantages which would result to both peoples from a lasting peace between them. Finally, he propounded the articles of such a peace. As it was clear, had been carefully prepared, but to set them out would be useless, since they never came to anything, and I doubt whether it was intended that they should. Suffice it to say that they provided for intermarriage, free trade between the countries, blood, brotherhood, and other things that I have forgotten, all of which was to be ratified by Bausi, taking a daughter of the Colubi to wife, and the Colubi taking a daughter of Bausi. We listened in silence, and when he had finished, after pretending consultation between us, I spoke as the mouth of Brother John, who I explained was too grand a person to talk himself, saying that the proposal seemed fair and reasonable, and that we should be happy to submit them to Bausi and his council on our return. The Colubi expressed great satisfaction at this statement, but remarked incidentally that first of all the whole matter must be laid before the matombo for his opinion, without which no state transaction had legal weight among the pongo. He added that with our approval he proposed that we should visit his holiness on the morrow, starting when the sun was three hours old as he lived at a distance of a day's journey from Rika. After further consultation we replied that although we had little time to spare, as we understood that the matombo was old and could not visit us, we, the white lords, would stretch a point and call on him. Meanwhile we were tired and wished to go to bed. Then we presented our gifts, which were gracefully accepted, with an intimation that return presence would be made to us before we left pongo land. After this the Colubi took a little stick and broke it to intimate that the conference was at an end, and having bade him and his councillors good night we retired to our huts. I should add, because it has bearing on subsequent events, that on this occasion we were escorted, not by Comba, but by two of the councillors. Comba, as I noted for the first time when we rose to say good-bye, was no longer present at the council. When he left it I cannot say, since it will be remembered that his seat was behind us in the shadow, and none of us saw him go. What do you make of all that? I asked the others when the door was shut. Brother John merely shook his head and said nothing, for in those days he seemed to be living in a kind of dreamland. Stephen answered, Bosh, tommy-rot, all my eye and my elbow. Those man-eating Johnny's have some game up their wide sleeves, and whatever it may be it isn't peace for them as they do. I agree, I said, if the real object were peace they would have haggled more, stood out for better terms or hostages or something. Also, they would have got the consent of this matombo beforehand. Clearly, he is the master of the situation, not the Colubi, who was only his tool. If business were meant he should have spoken first, or supposing that he exists and isn't a myth. However, if we live we shall learn, and if we don't it doesn't matter. Though personally I think we should be wise to leave matombo alone and clear out to Masituland by the first canoe tommorow morning. I intend to visit this matombo, broken brother John with decision. Ditto! Ditto! exclaimed Stephen, but it's no use arguing that all over again. No, I replied with irritation. It is, as you remark, of no use arguing with lunatics. So let's go to bed, as it will probably be our last to have a good night's sleep. Here, here, said Stephen, taking off his coat and placing it doubled up on the bed to serve as a pillar. I say, he added, stand clear a minute while I shake this blanket. It's covered with bits of something, and he suited the action to the word. Bits of something, I said suspiciously. Why didn't you wait a minute to let me see them? I didn't notice any bits before. Rats running about the roof, I expect, said Stephen carelessly. Not being satisfied I began to examine this roof and the clay walls, which I forgot to mention were painted over in a kind of pattern with whirls in it by the feeble light of the primitive lamps. While I was thus engaged there was a knock on the door, forgetting all about the dust I opened it and Hans appeared. One of these money-eating devils wants to speak, do you, boss? Movovo keeps him without. Let him in, I said, since in this place fearlessness seemed our best game, but watch well while he is with us. Hans whispered a word over his shoulder, and next moment a tall man rapped from head to foot in white cloth, so that he looked like a ghost, came or rather shot into the hut, and closed the door behind him. Who are you? I asked. By way of answer he lifted or unwrapped the cloth from his face. I saw that the kalubi himself stood before us. I wished to speak alone with the white Lord Doghita. He said, in a hoarse voice, and it must be now, since afterwards it would be impossible. Brother John rose and looked at him. How are you, kalubi, my friend? He asked. I see that your wound has healed well. Yes, yes, but I would speak with you alone. Not so, replied Brother John. If you have anything to say you must say it to all of us, or leave it unsaid, since these lords and I are one, and that which I hear, they hear. Can I trust them? muttered the kalubi. As you can trust me, therefore speak or go. Yet first, can we be overheard in this hut? No, Doghita, the wolves are thick. There is no one on the roof for I have looked all round, and if any strove to climb there we should hear. Also your men who watch the door would see them. None can hear us save perhaps the gods. Then we will risk the gods, kalubi, go on, my brother's know your story. My lords, he began, rolling his eyes about him like a hunted creature. I am in a terrible pass. Once since I saw you, Doghita, I should have visited the white god that dwells in the forest on the mountain yonder to scatter the sacred seed, but I feigned to be sick, and to combo the kalubi to be, who has passed the god, went in my place and returned unharmed. Now tomorrow, the night of the full moon, as kalubi, I must visit the god again, and once more scatter the seed, and Doghita, he will kill me whom he has once bitten. He will certainly kill me unless I can kill him. Then Gombo will rule as kalubi in my stead, and he will kill you in a way you can guess by the hot death as a sacrifice to the gods that the women of the bongo may once more become the mothers of many children. Yes, yes, unless we can kill the god who dwells in the forest, we must all die. And he paused, trembling, while the sweat dropped from him to the floor. That's pleasant, said brother John, but supposing that we kill the god, how would that help us, or you, to escape from the matambo and those murdering people of yours? Surely they would slay us for the sacrilege. Not so Doghita, if the god dies, the matambo dies, it is known from of old, and therefore the matambo watches over the god as a mother-overhood child. Then until a new god is found, the mother of the holy flower rules, she who is merciful and will harm none, and I rule under her, and will certainly put my enemies to death, especially that wizard Gomba. Here I thought I heard a faint sound in the air like the hiss of a snake, but as it was not repeated and I could see nothing concluded that I was mistaken. Moreover, he went on, I will load you with gold dust and any gifts you may desire and set you safe across the water among your friends the mazito. Here I broke in, let us understand matters clearly, and John, do you translate to Stephen? Now, friend Coluby, first of all, who and what is this god you talk of? Lord Makumazahan, he is a huge ape white with age, or bone-white I know not which. He is twice as big as any man, and stronger than twenty men, whom he can break in his hands as I break a reed, or whose heads he can bite off in his mouth as he bit off my finger for a warning. For that is how he treats the Colubys when he worries of them. First he bites off a finger and lets them go, and next he breaks them like a reed, as also he breaks those who are doomed to sacrifice before the fire. Ah, I said a great ape, I thought as much. Well, and how long has this brute been a god among you? I do not know how long, from the beginning. He was always there, as the matombo was always there, for they are one. That's a lie anyway, I said in English. Then went on. And who is this mother of the holy flower? Is she also there, and does she live in the same place as the ape god? Not so, Lord Makumazahan. She dies like other mortals, and is succeeded by one who takes her place. Thus the present mother is a white woman of your race, now of middle age. When she dies she will be succeeded by her daughter, who is also a white woman and very beautiful. After she dies, another who is white will be found, perhaps one who is of black parents but born white. How old is this daughter, interrupted Brother John in a curiously intent voice, and who is her father? The daughter was born over twenty years ago, Dogita, after the mother of the flower was captured and brought ear. She says that the father was a white man to whom she was married, but who is dead? Brother John's head dropped upon his chest, and his eyes shut as though he had gone to sleep. As for where the mother lives, went on the kalubi. It is on the island in the lake at the top of the mountain that is surrounded by water. She has nothing to do with the white god, but those women who serve her go across the lake at times to tend the fields, where grows the seed that the kalubi sows, of which the corn is the white god's food. Good, I said, now we understand not much but a little. Tell us next what is your plan? How are we to come into the place where this great ape lives? And if we come there, how are we to kill the beast, seeing that your successor Comba is careful to prevent us from bringing our firearms to your land? Aye, Lord Makumazahan, may the teeth of the god meet in his brain for that trick. Yes, he may die as I know how to make him die. That prophecy of which he told you is no prophecy from of old. It arose in the land within the last moon only. Though whether it came from Comba or from the Mutombo, I know not. Nuns, if myself or at least very few here had heard of the iron tubes that throw out death, so how should there be a prophecy concerning them? I am sure I don't know kalubi but answer the rest of the question. As do you're coming into the forest, for the white god lives in a forest on the slopes of the mountain lords. That will be easy, since the Mutombo and the people will believe that I am trapping you there to be a sacrifice, such as they desire for sundry reasons. And he looked at the plump steven in a very suggestive way. As to how you are to kill the god without your tubes of iron, I do not know. But you are very brave and great magicians. Surely you can find a way. Here, Brother John seemed to wake up again. Yes, he said. We shall find a way. Have no fear of that, O kalubi. We are not afraid of the big ape whom you call a god. Yet it must be at a price. We will not kill this beast and try to save your life. Save at a price. What price? asked the kalubi nervously. There are wives and cattle. No, you do not want the wives and the cattle cannot be taken across the lake. There are gold dust and ivory. I have already promised these and there is nothing more that I can give. The price is, O kalubi, that you hand over to us to be taken away the white woman who was called the mother of the holy flower with her daughter. And, interrupted steven, to whom I had been interpreting, the holy flower itself, all of it dug up by the roots. When he heard these modest requests, the poor kalubi became like one upon the verge of madness. Do you understand, he gasped, do you understand that you are asking for the gods of my country? Quite, replied Brother John with calmness, for the gods of your country, nothing more nor less. The kalubi made as though he would fly from the hut, but I caught him by the arm and said, See, friends, things are thus, you ask us, at great danger to ourselves, to kill one of the gods of your country, the highest of them, in order to save your life. Well, in payment we ask you to make a present of the remaining gods of your country, and to see us and them safe across the lake. Do you accept or refuse? No, refuse, answered the kalubi sullenly. To accept would mean the last curse upon my spirit. That is too horrible to tell. And to refuse means the first curse upon your body, namely, that in a few hours it must be broken and chewed by a great monkey which you call a god. Yes, broken and chewed, and afterwards, I think, cooked and eaten as a sacrifice. Is it not so? The kalubi nodded his head and groaned. Yet, I went on, for our part, we are glad that you have refused, since now we should be rid of a troublesome and dangerous business and return safely to Mizitu land. How will you return in safety, O Lord Makumazahan, you who are doomed to the hot death if you escape the fangs of the god? Very easily, O Kalubi, by telling Comba the kalubi to be of your plots against this god of yours, and how we have refused to listen to your wickedness. In fact, I think this may be done at once while you are here with us, O Kalubi, but perhaps you do not expect to be found. I will go strike upon the pot without the door, doubtless though it is late, some will hear. Nay, man, stand you still, we have knives and our servants have spears, and I made as though to pass him. Lord, he said, I will give you the mother of the holy flower and her daughter, I and the holy flower itself dug up by the roots, and I swear that if I can, I will set you and them safe across the lake, only asking that I may come with you, since here I dare not stay. Yet the curse will come too, but if so it is better to die of a curse in a day to be than to morrow at the fangs of the god. Oh, why was I born? Why was I born? And he began to weep. That is a question many have asked, and none have been able to answer, O friend Kalubi. Though may have there is an answer somewhere, I replied in a kind voice. For my heart was stirred with pity of this poor wretch, mazed and lost in his hell of superstition, this potentate who could not escape from the trappings of a hateful power saved by the door of a death too horrible to contemplate, this priest whose doom it was to be slain by the very hands of his god, as those who went before him had been slain, and those who came after him would be slain. Yet, I went on, I think you have chosen wisely, and we hold you to your word. While you are faithful to us, we will say nothing, but of this be sure, that if you attempt to betray us, we who are not so helpless as we seem, will betray you, and it shall be you who die, not us. Is it a bargain? It is a bargain, white lord, though blame me not if things go wrong since the gods know all, and they are devils who delight in human woe and mock at bargains and torment those who would injure them. Yet, come what will, I swear to keep faith with you thus by the oath that may not be broken, and, drawing a knife from his girdle, he thrust out the tip of his tongue and pricked it, from the puncture a drop of blood fell to the floor. If I break my oath, he said, may my flesh grow gold as that blood grows gold, and may it rot as that blood rots. Aye, and may my spirit waste, and be lost in the world of ghosts as that blood wastes into the air, and is lost in the dust of the world. It was a horrible scene and one that impressed me very much, especially as even then there fell upon me a conviction that this unfortunate man was doomed, that a fate which he could not escape was upon him. We said nothing, and in another moment he had thrown his white wrappings over his face and slipped through the door. I'm afraid we were playing it rather low down on that jumpy old boy, said Stephen remorsefully. The white woman, the white woman and her daughter, muttered brother John. Yes, reflected Stephen aloud, one is justified in doing anything to get two white women out of this hell if they exist, so one may as well have the orchard also, for they'd be lonely without it poor things, wouldn't they? Glad I thought of that, it's soothing to the conscience. I hope you'll find it so when we're all on that iron grid, which I notice is wide enough for three, I remarked sarcastically, now be quiet, I want to go to sleep. I am sorry to have to add that for the most of that night want remained my master, but if I couldn't sleep I could or rather was obliged to think, and I thought very hard indeed. First I reflected on the pongo and their gods. What were these and why did they worship them? Soon I gave it up. Remembering that the problem was one which applied equally to dozens of the dark religions of this vast African continent, to which none could give an answer, and least of all their votaries. That answer indeed must be sought in the horrible fears of the unenlightened human heart, which sees death and terror and evil around it everywhere, and, in this grotesque form or in that, personifies them in gods, or rather in devils who must be appropriated. For always the fetish or the beast or whatever it might be is not the real object of worship. It is only the thing or creature which is inhabited by the spirit of the god or devil, the temple as it were, that furnishes it with a home, which temple is therefore holy. And these spirits are diverse, representing sundry attributes or qualities. Thus the great ape might be Satan, a prince of evil and blood. The holy flower might symbolize fertility and the growth of the food of man from the bosom of the earth. The mother of the flower might represent mercy and goodness, for which reason it was necessary that she should be white in color and dwell, not in the shadowed forest, but on a soaring mountain, a figure of light, in short, as opposed to darkness. Or she might be a kind of African series, a goddess of the corn and harvests which were symbolized in the beauteous bloom she tended, who could tell, not I, either then or afterwards, for I never found out. As for the pongo themselves, their case was obvious. They were a dying tribe, the last descendants of some higher race grown barren from into marriage. Probably too they were at first only cannibals occasionally and from religious reasons. Then in some time of dearth they became very religious in that respect, and the habit overpowered them. Among cannibals at any rate in Africa, as I knew, this dreadful food is much preferred to any other meat. I had not the slightest doubt that although the Colubi himself had brought us here in the wild hope that we might save him from a terrible death at the hands of the Beelzebub he served, combat and the counsellors, inspired there too by the prophet called Batombo, designed that we should be murdered and eaten as an offering to the gods. How were we to escape this fate, being unarmed I could not imagine, unless some special protection were vouchsafed to us. Meanwhile we must go on to the end whatever it might be. Brother John, or to give him his right name the reverend John Eversley, was convinced that the white woman imprisoned on the mountain was none other than the lost wife for whom he had searched for twenty weary years, and that the second white woman of whom he had heard that night was, strange as it might seem, her daughter and his own. Perhaps he was right and perhaps he was wrong, but even in the latter case if two white persons were really languishing in this dreadful land our path was clear, we must go on in faith, until we saved them, or until we died. Our life is granted not in pleasures round, or even love's sweet dream to lapse content. Duty and faith are words of solemn sound, and to their echoes must the soul be bent. As someone or other once wrote, very nobly I think, well, there was but little of pleasures round about the present entertainment, and any hope of love's sweet dreams seem to be limited to Brother John. Here I was quite mistaken, as I so often am. Perhaps the echoes would be my share, indeed I already seemed to hear their ominous thunder. At last I did go to sleep and dreamed a very curious dream. It seemed to me that I was disembodied, although I retained all my powers of thought and observation. In fact, dead and yet alive. In this state I hovered over the people of the pongo who were gathered together on a great plain under an inky sky. They were going about their business as usual, and very unpleasant business it often was. Some of them were worshiping a dim form that I knew was the devil. Some were committing murders. Some were feasting. At that on which they feasted I would not look. Some were laboring or engaged in barter. Some were thinking. But I, who had the power of looking into them, saw that within the breast of each a tiny likeness of the man or woman or child as it might be, humbly bent upon its knees with hands together in an attitude of prayer, and with imploring, tear-stained face looking upwards to the black heaven. Then in that heaven there appeared a single star of light, and from this star-flowed lines of gentle fire that spread and widened till all the immense arc was one flame of glory, and now from the pulsing heart of the glory, which somehow reminded me of moving lips, fell countless flakes of snow, each of which followed an appointed path till it lit upon the forehead of one of the tiny imploring figures hidden within those savage breasts, and made it white and clean. Then the glory shrank and faded till the remained of it only the similitude of two transparent hands stretched out as though in blessing, and I woke up wondering how on earth I found the fancy to invent such a vision, and wonder whether it meant anything or nothing. Afterwards I repeated it to Brother John, who was a very spiritually minded as well as good man, the two things are often quite different, and asked him to be kind enough to explain. At the time he shook his head, but some days later he said to me, I think I have read your riddle, Alan. The answer came to me quite of a sudden. In all those sin-stained hearts there is a seed of good, and an aspiration towards the right. For every one of them also there is a last mercy and forgiveness, since how could they learn who never had a teacher? Your dream, Alan, was one of the ultimate redemption of even the most evil of mankind, by gift of the grace that shall one day glow through the blackness of the night in which they wander. That is what he said, and I only hope that he was right, since at present there is something very wrong with the world, especially in Africa. Also we blame the blind savage for many things, but on the balance are we so much better considering our light and opportunities? Oh, the truth is that the devil, a very convenient word that, is a good fisherman. He has a large book full of flies of different sizes and colours, and well he knows how to suit them to each particular fish. But white or black every fish takes one fly or the other, and then comes to the question, is the fish that has swallowed the big gaudy lure so much worse or more foolish than that which has fallen to the delicate white moth with the same sharp bar in its tail? In short are we not all miserable sinners, as the prayer-book says, and in the eyes of any judge who can average up the elemental differences of those waters wherein we are bred and called upon to swim, is there so much to choose between us? Do we not all need those outstretched hands of mercy which I saw in my dream? But there, there, what right has a poor old hunter to discuss things that are too high for him? End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15. The Motombo. After my dream I went to sleep again, till I was finally aroused by a strong ray of light hitting me straight in the eye. Where the dickens does that come from, I thought to myself, for these huts had no windows. Then I followed the ray to its source, which I perceived was a small hole in the mud wall, some thigh-feet above the floor. I rose and examined the said hole, and noted that it appeared to have been freshly made, for the clay at the sides of it was in no way discoloured. I reflected that if anyone wanted to eavesdrop such an aperture would be convenient, and went outside the hut to pursue my investigations. Its wall, I found, was situated about four feet from the eastern part of the encircling reed fence, which showed no signs of disturbance, although there in the outer face of the wall was the hole, and beneath it on the lime flooring lay some broken fragments of plaster. I called Hans and asked him if he had kept watch round the hut when the wrapped-up man visited us during the night. He answered yes, and that he could swear that no one had come near it, since several times he had walked to the back and looked. Somewhat comforted, but not satisfied, I went in to wake up the others, to whom I said nothing of this matter, since it seemed foolish to alarm them for no good purpose. A few minutes later the tall silent women arrived with our hot water. It seemed curious to have hot water brought to us in such a place by these very queer kind of housemaids, but so it was. The pongo, I may add, were like the Zulus, very clean in their persons, though whether they all used hot water I cannot say. At any rate it was provided for us. Half an hour later they returned with breakfast, consisting chiefly of a roasted kid, of which, as it was whole, and therefore unmistakable, we partook thankfully. A little later the majestic comber arrived. After many compliments and inquiries as to our general health, he asked whether we were ready to start on our visit to the Mutombo, who, he added, was expecting us with much eagerness. I inquired how he knew that, since we had only arranged to call on him late on the previous night, and I understood that he lived a day's journey away. But comber put the matter by with a smile and a wave of his hand. So in due course off we went, taking with us all our baggage, which now that it had been lightened by the delivery of the presents, was of no great weight. Five minutes walk along the wide main street led us to the northern gate of Rika town. Here we found the kalubi himself with an escort of 30 men armed with spears. I noted that unlike the Mizitu they had no bows and arrows. He announced in a loud voice that he proposed to do us the special honor of conducting us to the sanctuary of the Holy One, by which we understood him to mean the Mutombo. When we politely begged him not to trouble, being in an irritable mood or assuming it, he told us rudely to mind our own business. Indeed, I think this irritability was real enough, which in the circumstances known to the reader was not strange. At any rate an hour or so later it declared itself in an act of great cruelty which showed us how absolute was this man's power in all temporal matters. Passing through a little clump of bush, we came to some gardens surrounded by light fence, through which a number of cattle of a small and delicate breed, they were not unlike jerseys in appearance, had broken to enjoy themselves by devouring the crops. This garden it appeared belonged to the kalubi for the time being, who was furious at the destruction of its produce by the cattle, which also belonged to him. Where is the herd? he shouted. A hunt began, and presently the poor fellow he was no more than a lad was discovered asleep behind a bush. When he was dragged before him the kalubi pointed, first to the cattle, then to the broken fence and the devastated garden. The lad began to mutter excuses and pray for mercy. Kill him! said the kalubi, whereon the herd flung himself to the ground and clutching him by the ankles began to kiss his feet, crying out that he was afraid to die. The kalubi tried to kick himself free and, failing in this, lifted his big spear and made an end of the poor boy's prayers and life at a single stroke. The escort clapped their hands in salute or approval, after which four of them at a sign took up the body and started with it at a trot for rica town, where probably that night it appeared upon the grid. Brother John saw and his big white beard bristled with indignation, like the hair on the back of an angry cat, while Stephen sputtered something beginning with, You brute! and lifted his fist as though to knock the kalubi down. This had I not caught hold of him, I have no doubt he would have done. O kalubi! gasped brother John, do you not know that blood calls for blood in the hour of your own death? Remember this death. Would you bewitch me, white man? Said the kalubi, glaring at him angrily, if so. And once more he lifted the spear, but as John never stirred held it poised irresolutely. Comba himself thrust between them crying, back dogita, who dare to meddle without customs. Is not the kalubi lord of life and death? Brother John was about to answer, but I called to him in English, for heaven's sake be silent unless you want to follow the boy. We are in these men's power. Then he remembered and walked away, and presently we marched forward as though nothing had happened. Only from that moment I do not think that any of us worried ourselves about the kalubi and what might befall him. Still, looking back on the thing, I think that there was this excuse to be made for the man. He was mad with the fear of death, and knew not what he did. All that day we travelled on through rich, flat country that as we could tell from various indications had once been widely cultivated. Now the fields were few and far between, and bush, for the most part a kind of bamboo scrub, was reoccupying the land. About midday we halted by a water-pool to eat and rest, for the sun was hot, and here the four men who had carried off the boy's body rejoined us, and made some report. Then we went forward once more towards what seemed to be a curious and precipitous war of black cliff, beyond which the volcanic-looking mountain towered in stately grandeur. By three o'clock we were near enough to this cliff which ran east and west as far as the eye could reach to see a hole in it, apparently where the road terminated that appeared to be the mouth of a cave. The kalubi came up to us, and in a shy kind of way tried to make a conversation. I think that the sight of this mountain drawing ever nearer vividly recalled his terrors, and caused him to desire to have faced the bad impression he knew he had made on us, to whom he looked for safety. Among other things he told us that the hole we saw was the door of the house of the motombo. I nodded my head, but did not answer, for the presence of this murderous king made me feel sick. So he went away again, looking at us in a humble and deprecatory manner. Nothing further happened until we reached of the remarkable wall of rock that I have mentioned, which I suppose is composed of some very hard stone that remained when the softer rock in which it lay was disintegrated by millions of years of weather or washings by the water of the lake, or perhaps its substance was thrown out of the bowels of the volcano when this was active. I am no geologist, and cannot say, especially as I lacked time to examine the place. At any rate, there it was, and there in it appeared the mouth of a great cave that I presume was natural, having once formed a kind of drain through which the lake overflowed when Pongoland was under water. We halted, staring dubiously at this darksome hole, which no doubt was the same that the Bemba had explored in his youth. Then the Kalubi gave an order, and some of the soldiers went to huts that were built near the mouth of the cave, where I suppose guardians or attendants lived, though of these we saw nothing. Presently they returned with a number of lighted torches that were distributed among us. This done we plunged, shivering, at least I shivered, into the gloomy recesses of that great cavern, the Kalubi going before us with half our escort, and Comba following behind us with the remainder. The floor of the place was made quite smooth, doubtless by the action of water as were the walls and roof, so far as we could see them, for it was very wide and lofty. It did not run straight, but curved about in the thickness of the cliff. At the first turn the Pongo soldiers set up a low and eerie chant which they continued during its whole length that according to my pacing was something over 300 yards. On we wound, the torches making stars of light in the intense blackness, till at length we rounded a last corner where a great curtain of woven grass, now drawn, was stretched across the cave. Here we saw a very strange sight. On either side of it, near to the walls burned a large wood fire that gave light to the place. Also more light flowed into it from its further mouth that was not more than twenty paces from the fires. Beyond the mouth was water which seemed to be about two hundred yards wide, and beyond the water rose the slopes of the mountain that was covered with huge trees. Moreover a little bay penetrated into the cavern, the point of which bay ended between the two fires. Here the water which was not more than six or eight feet wide and shallow formed the birthing place of a good-sized canoe that lay there. The walls of the cavern from the turn to the point of the tongue of water were pierced with four doorways, two on either side, which led I presume to chambers hewn in the rock. At each of these doorways stood a tall woman clothed in white, who held in her hand a burning torch. I concluded that these were attendants set there to guide and welcome us, for after we had passed they vanished into the chambers. But this was not all. Set across the little bay of water just above the canoe that floated there was a wooden platform, eight feet or so square, on either side of which stood an enormous elephant's tusk, bigger indeed than any I have seen in all my experience, which tusks seem to be black with age. Between the tusks squatted upon rugs of some kind of rich fur, was what from its shape and attitude I at first took to be a huge toad. In truth it had all the appearance of a very bloated toad. There was the rough corrugated skin, there the prominent backbone, for its back was towards us, and there were the thin splayed-out legs. We stared at this strange object for quite a long while, unable to make it out in that uncertain light, for so long indeed that I grew nervous and was about to ask the colubi what it might be. As my lips opened, however, it stirred, and with a slow groping circular movement turned itself towards us very slowly. At length it was round, and as the head came in view all wupongo from the colubi down ceased to their low weird chant, and flung themselves upon their faces, those who had torches still holding them up in their right hands. Oh! what a thing appeared! It was not a toad, but a man that moved upon all fours. The large bald head was sunk deep between the shoulders, either through deformity or from age, for this creature was undoubtedly very old. Looking at it I wondered how old, but could form no answer in my mind. The great broad face was sunken and withered, like too leather-dried in the sun. The lower lip hung pendulously upon the prominent and bony jaw. Two yellow tusk-like teeth projected one at each side of the great mouth. All the rest were gone, and from time to time it licked the white gums with a red-pointed tongue as a snake might do. But the chief wonder of the thing lay in its eyes that were large and round, perhaps because the flesh had shrunk away from them, which gave them the appearance of being set in the hollow orbits of the skull. These eyes literally shone like fire, indeed at times they seemed positively to blaze, as I have seen a lion's eyes do in the dark. I confess that the aspect of the creature terrified, and for a while paralyzed me, to think that it was human, was awful. I glanced at the others and saw that they too were frightened. Stephen turned very white. I thought that he was going to be sick again, as he was after he drank the coffee out of the wrong bowl on the day we entered Mozituland. Brother John stroked his white beard and muttered some invocation to heaven to protect him. Hans explained in his abominable Dutch, Oh, kick, bus! DUS IS GELLICKER OUT DEAL! Oh, look, bus! There is the ugly old devil himself. Jerry went flat on his face among the pongo, muttering that he saw death before him. Only Movovo stood firm, perhaps because, as a witch doctor of repute, he felt that it did not become him to show the white feather in the presence of an evil spirit. The toad-like creature on the platform swayed its great head slowly as a tortoise does, and contemplated us with its flaming eyes. At length it spoke in a thick, guttural voice, using the tongue that seemed to be common in this part of Africa, and indeed to that branch of the Bantu people to which the Zulus belong, but as I thought with a foreign accent. So you are the white man come back, it said slowly. Let me count. And lifting one skinny hand from the ground, it pointed with the forefinger and counted. One tall with a white beard. Yes, that is right. Two short nimble like a monkey, with hair that wants no comb. Clever two like a father of monkeys. Yes, that is right. Three smooth-faced, young and stupid, like a fat baby that laughs at the sky because he is full of milk, and thinks that the sky is laughing at him. Yes, that is right. All three of you are just the same as you used to be. Do you remember white beard? How, while we killed you, you said prayers to one who sits above the world, and held up a cross of bone to which a man was tied who wore a cap of thorns? Do you remember how you kissed the man with a cap of thorns as the spear went into you? You shake your head. Oh, you are a clever liar, but I will show you that you are a liar, for I have the thing yet. And snatching up the horn that lay on the cross beneath him, he blew. As the peculiar wailing note that the horn may died away, a woman dashed out of one of the doorways that I have described, and flung herself on her knees before him. He muttered something to her, and she dashed back again to reappear in an instant, holding in her hand a yellow ivory crucifix. Here it is. Here it is. He said, take it, white beard, and kiss it once more, perhaps for the last time. And he threw the crucifix to brother John, who caught it and stared at it amazed. And do you remember Fat Baby, how we caught you? You fought well, very well, but we killed you at last, and you were good, very good, we got much strength from you. And do you remember, father of monkeys, how you escaped from us with your cleverness? I wonder where you went to and how you died, as you'll not forget you, for you gave me this. And he pointed to a big white scar upon his shoulder. You would have killed me, but the stuff in that iron tube of yours burned slowly when you held the fire to it, so that I had time to jump aside, and the iron ball did not strike me in the heart as you meant that it should. Yes, it is still here, oh yes, I carry it with me to this day, and now that I have grown thin, I can feel it with my finger. I listened astonished to this harangue, which if it meant anything, met that we had all met before, in Africa at some time when men used matchlocks that were fired with a fuse, that is to say, about the year 1700 or earlier. Reflection, however, showed me the interpretation of this nonsense. Obviously this old priest's forefather, or if one put him at 120 years of age, and I am sure that he was not a day less, perhaps his father as a young man was mixed up with some of the first Europeans who penetrated to the interior of Africa. Probably these were Portuguese of whom one may have been a priest, and the other to an elderly man and his son, or young brother, or companion. The manner of the deaths of these people, and of what happened to them generally, would of course be remembered by the descendants of the chief, or head medicine man, of the tribe. Where did we meet, and when, oh Matombo, I asked. Not in this land, not in this land. Father of monkeys, he replied in his low rumbling voice, but far, far away towards the west where the sun sinks in the water, and not in this day, but long, long ago. Twenty Calubis have ruled the Pongo since that day. Some have ruled for many years, and some have ruled for a few years. That depends upon the will of my brother, the God Yonder. And he chuckled horribly and jerked his thumb backward over his shoulder towards the forest on the mountain. Yes, twenty have ruled, some for thirty years, and none for less than four. Well, you are a large old liar, I thought to myself, for taking the average rule of the Calubis at ten years, this would mean that we met him two centuries ago at least. You were clothed otherwise then, he went on, and do of you wore hats of iron on the head, but that of white beard was shaven. I caused a picture of you to be beaten by the master smith upon a plate of copper. I have it yet. Again he blew upon his horn, again a woman darted out to whom he whispered, again she went to one of the chambers and returned bearing an object which he cast to us. We looked at it. It was a copper or bronze plaque, black, apparently with age, which once had been nailed on something, for there were the holes. It represented a tall man with a long beard and a tonsured head who held a cross in his hand, and two other men, both short who wore round metal caps, and were dressed in queer-looking garments and boots with square toes. These men carried big and heavy match-locks, and in the hand of one of them was a smoking fuse. That was all we could make out of the thing. Why did you leave the far country and come to this land, O Matombo? I asked. Because we were afraid that other white men would follow on your steps and avenge you. The kalubi of that day ordered it, though I said no. Who knew that none could escape by flight from what must come when it must come? So we travelled and travelled till we found this place, and here we have dwelt from generation to generation. The gods came with us also. My brother that dwells in the forest came, though we never saw him on the journey, yet he was here before us. The holy flower came too, and the white mother of the flower. She was the wife of one of you. I know not which. Your brother, the god, I said. If the god is an ape, as we have heard, how can he be the brother of a man? Oh, you white men do not understand, but we black people understand. In the beginning the ape killed my brother, who was kalubi, and his spirit entered into the ape, making him as a god. So he kills every other kalubi, and their spirits enter also into the forest. They enter also into him. Is it not so, or kalubi of today, you without a finger? And he laughed mockingly. The kalubi who was lying on his stomach groaned and trembled, but made no other answer. So all has come about as I foresaw, went on the toad-like creature. You have returned as I knew you would, and now we shall learn whether whitebeard yonder spoke true words, when he said that his god would be avenged upon our god. You shall go to be avenged on him, if you can, and then we shall learn. But this time you have none of your iron tubes, which alone we fear. For did not the god declare to us through me, that when the white men came back with an iron tube, then he the god would die, and I the matombo the god's mouth would die, and the holy flower would be torn up, and the mother of the flower would pass away, and the people of the pongo would be dispersed, and become wanderers, and slaves. And did he not declare, that if the white men came back without their iron tubes, then certain secret things would happen, or ask them not, in time they shall be known to you, and the people of the pongo, who would dwindling would again become fruitful, and very great? And that is why we welcome you white men, who arise again from the land of ghosts, because through you we, the pongo, shall become fruitful, and very great. Of a sudden he ceased his rumbling talk, his head sank back between his shoulders, and he sat silent for a long while, his fierce sparkling eyes playing on us, as though he would read our very thoughts. If he succeeded, I hope that mine pleased him. To tell the truth I was filled with mixed fear, fury, and loathing, although of course I did not believe a word of all the rubbish he had been saying, which was akin to much that has evolved by these black-hearted African wizards. I hated the creature whom I felt to be only half human, my whole nature sickened at his aspect and talk, and yet I was dreadfully afraid of him. I felt as a man might who wakes up to find himself alone with some peculiarly disgusting Christmas story kind of ghost. Moreover I was quite sure that he meant us ill, fearful and imminent ill. Suddenly he spoke again, Who is that little yellow one, he said, that old one with a face like a skull, and he pointed to Hans who had kept as much out of sight as possible behind Movovo, that wizened, snub-nosed one, who might be a child of my brother the God, if ever he had a child? And why, being so small, does he need so large a staff? Here he pointed again to Hans's big bamboo stick. I think he is as full of guile as a new filled gourd with water. The big black one, and he looked at Movovo, I do not fear for his magic is less than my magic. He seemed to recognize a brother doctor in Movovo, but the little one with a big stick and the pack upon his back, I fear him. I think he should be killed. He paused and we trembled, for if he chose to kill the poor hot-and-tot, how could we prevent him? That Hans, who saw the great danger, called his cunning to his aid. Oh, Motombo, he squeaked, you must not kill me, for I am a servant of an ambassador. You know well that all the gods of every land hate and will be revenged upon those who touch ambassadors or their servants, whom they, the gods alone, may harm. If you kill me, I shall haunt you. Yes, I shall sit on your shoulder at night and jibber into your ear, so that you cannot sleep until you die. For though you are old, you must die at last, Motombo. It is true, said the Motombo. Did I not tell you that he was full of cunning? All the gods will be avenged upon those who kill ambassadors or their servants. That, here he laughed again in his dreadful way, is the rites of the gods alone. Let the gods of the Pongos settle it. I uttered a sigh of relief, and he went on in a new voice, a dull business-like voice, if I may so describe it. Say, O Calubi, on what matter have you brought these white men to speak with me, the mouth of the god? Did I dream that it was a matter of a treaty with the king of the Masito? Rise and speak. So the Calubi rose, and with a humble air, set out briefly and clearly the reason of our visit to Pongoland as the envoys of Bausi and the heads of the treaty that had been arranged subject to the approval of the Motombo and Bausi. We noted that the affair did not seem to interest the Motombo at all. Indeed, he appeared to go to sleep while the speech was being delivered, perhaps because he was exhausted with the invention of his outrageous falsehoods, or perhaps for other reasons. When it was finished, he opened his eyes and pointed to Combo, saying, Arise, Calubi, that is to be. So Combo rose, and in his cold, precise voice narrated his share in the transaction, telling how he had visited Bausi and all that had happened in connection with the embassy. Again the Motombo appeared to go to sleep, only opening his eyes once as Combo described how he had been searched for firearms, wherein he nodded his great head in approval and licked his lips with his thin red tongue. When Combo had done, he said, The gods tell me that the plan is wise and good, since without new blood the people of the Pongo will die. But of the end of the matter the god knows alone, if even he can read the future. He paused, then asked sharply, Have you anything more to say, or Calubi, that is to be? Now of a sudden the god puts it into my mouth to ask if you have anything more to say. Something, or Motombo, many moons ago the god bit off the finger of our High Lord, the Calubi. The Calubi, having heard that a white man skilled in medicine who could cut off limbs with knives, was in the country of the Masito, and camped on the borders of the Great Lake, took a canoe and rode to where the white man was camped. He with the beard, who is named Ogita, and who stands before you. I followed him in another canoe, because I wished to know what he was doing, also to see a white man. I hid my canoe, and those who went with me in the reeds far from the Calubi's canoe. I waded through the shallow water and concealed myself in some thick reeds quite near to the white man's linen house. I saw the white man cut off the Calubi's finger, and I heard the Calubi pray the white man to come to our country with the iron tubes that smoke, and to kill the god of whom he was afraid. Now from all the company went up a great gasp, and the Calubi fell down upon his face again and lay still. Only the Motombo seemed to show no surprise, perhaps because he already knew the story. Is that all? he asked. No, all mouth of the god. Last night after the council of which you have heard, the Calubi wrapped himself up like a corpse, and visited the white man in their hut. I thought that he would do so, and had made ready. With a sharp spear I bored a hole in the wall of the hut, working from outside the fence. Then I thrust a reed through from the fence across the passage between the fence and the wall, and through the hole in the hut, and setting my ear to the end of the reed, I listened. Oh, clever, clever, muttered Hans in involuntary admiration, and do think that I looked and looked too low beneath the reed. O Hans, though you are old, you have much to learn. Among much else I heard this, went on Comba in sentences so clear and cold, that they reminded me of the tinkle of falling ice, which I think is enough, though I can tell you the rest if you wish your mouth. I heard, he said in the midst of a silence that was positively awful. Our Lord the Calubi, whose name is child of the God, agree with the white man that they should kill the God. How I do not know, for it was not said, and that in return they should receive the persons of the mother of the holy flower, and of her daughter, the mother that is to be, and should dig up the holy flower itself by the roots, and take it away across the water, together with the mother and the mother that is to be. That is all, O Mutombo. Still in the midst of an intense silence, the Mutombo glared at the prostrate figure of the Calubi. For a long while he glared, then the silence was broken, for the wretched Calubi sprang from the floor, seized a spear, and tried to kill himself. Before the blade touched him it was snatched from his hand, so that he remained standing, but weaponless. Again there was silence, and again it was broken. This time by the Mutombo who rose from his seat before which he stood, a huge bloated object, and roared aloud in his rage. Yes, he roared like a wounded buffalo. Never would I have believed that such a vast volume of sound could have proceeded from the lungs of a single aged man. For fully a minute his furious bellowings echoed down that great cave, while all the pongo soldiers rising from their recumbent position pointed their hands, in some of which torches still burned, at the miserable Calubi on whom their wrath seemed to be concentrated, rather than on us, and hissed like snakes. Really it might have been a scene in hell with the Mutombo playing the part of Satan. Indeed his swollen diabolical figure supported on the thin toed-like legs, the great fires burning on either side, the lurid lights of evening reflected from the still water beyond, and glowering among the treetops of the mountains, the white-robed forms of the tall pongo bending every one of them, towards the wretched culprit and hissing like so many fierce serpents, all suggested some uttermost deep in the infernal regions as one might conceive them in a nightmare. It went on for some time, I don't know how long, till at length the Mutombo picked up his fantastically shaped horn and blue. Thereon the women darted from the various doorways, but seeing that they were not wanted checked themselves in their stride and remained standing so, in the very attitude of runners about to start a race. As the blast of the horn died away, the turmoil was suddenly succeeded by an utter stillness, broken only by the crackling of the fires whose flames, of all the living things in that place, alone seemed heedless of the tragedy which was being played. All up now, old fellow, whispered Stephen to me in a shaky voice. Yes, I answered, all up high as heaven. Well, I hope we are going. Now, back to back, and let's make the best fight we can, we've got the spears. While we were closing in, the Mutombo began to speak. So you plotted to kill the god Calubi who was, he screamed, with these white ones whom you would pay with the holy flower and her who guards it. Good, you shall go all of you and talk with the god, and I, watching here, will learn who dies, you or the god, away with them. With a roar, the pongo soldiers let on us. I think that Movovo managed to get his spear up and kill a man, for I saw one of them fall backwards and lie still, but they were too quick for the rest of us. In half a minute we were seized. The spears were wrenched from our hands, and we were thrown headlong into the canoe, all six of us, or rather seven including the Calubi. A number of the soldiers, including Comba, who act as a steersman, also sprang into the canoe that was instantly pushed out from beneath the bridge or platform, on which the Mutombo sat, and down the little creek into the still river of the canal or estuary, or whatever it may be, that separates the wall of rock which the cave pierces from the base of the mountain. As we floated out of the mouth of the cave, the toad-like Mutombo, who had wheeled round upon his stool, shouted an order to Comba, O Calubi, he said, set the Calubi who was, and the three white men and their three servants, on the borders of the forest that is named House of the God, and leave them there. Then return and depart, for here I would watch alone. When all is finished I will summon you. Comba bowed his handsome head, and at a sign two of the men got out paddles, for more were not needed, and with slow and gentle strokes rode us across the water. The first thing I noted about this water at the time was that its blackness was inky, owing I suppose to its depth, and the shadows of the towering cliff on one side, and of the tall trees on the other. Also I observed, for in this emergency, or perhaps because of it, I managed to keep my wits about me, that its banks on either side were the home of a great number of crocodiles that lay there like logs. I saw further that on a little lower down where the water seemed to narrow, jagged boughs projected from its surface, as though great trees had fallen or been thrown into it. I recalled in a numb sort of way that all the Bemba had told us that when he was a boy, he had escaped in a canoe down this estuary, and reflected that it would not be possible for him to do so now because of those snags, unless indeed he had floated over them in a time of great flood. A couple of minutes or so of paddling brought us to the further shore which, as I think I have said, was only about two hundred yards from the mouth of the cave. The bow of the canoe grated on the bank, disturbing a huge crocodile that vanished into the depths with an angry plunge. Land, white lords, land, said Comba, with the utmost politeness, and go, visit the God who is doubtless waiting for you, and now as we shall meet no more, farewell. You are wise, and I am foolish, yet hearken to my counsel. If ever you should return to the earth again, be advised by me. Cling to your own God if you have one, and do not meddle with those of other peoples. Again, farewell. The advice was excellent, but at that moment I felt a hate for Comba which was really superhuman. To me even the motombo seemed an angel of light as compared with him. If wishes could have killed, our farewell indeed would have been complete. Then, admonished by the spear-points of the pongo, we landed in the slimy mud. Brother John went first with a smile upon his handsome countenance, that I thought idiotic under the circumstances, though doubtless he knew best when he ought to smile, and the wretched Colubi came last. Indeed, so great was his shrinking from that ominous shore that I believe he was ultimately propelled from the boat by his successor in power, Comba. Once he had trodden it, however, a spark of spirit returned to him, for he wheeled round and said to Comba, Remember, O Colubi, that my fate to-day will be yours also in a day to come. The God wearies of his priests. This year, next year, or the year after, he always wearies of his priests. Then, O Colubi, that was, answered Comba in a mocking voice as the canoe was pushed off. Pray to the God for me, that it may be the year after. Pray it as your bones break in his embrace. While we watched that craft depart, there came into my mind the memory of a picture in an old Latin book of my fathers, which represented the souls of the dead being paddled by a person named Charon across a river called the Styx. The scene before us bore a great resemblance to that picture. There was Charon's boat floating on the dreadful Styx. Yonder glowed the lights of the world. Here was the gloomy, unknown shore. And we, we were the souls of the dead awaiting the last destruction at the teeth and claws of some unknown monster, such as that which haunts the recesses of the Egyptian hell. Oh, the parallel was painfully exact. And yet, what do you think was the remark of that irrepressible young man, Stephen? Here we are at last, Alan, my boy, he said, and after all, without any trouble on our own part, I call it downright providential. Oh, isn't it jolly, hip hip hooray? Yes, he danced about in that filthy mud, through up his cap and cheered. I withered, or rather tried to wither him with a look, muttering the single word lunatic. Providential. Jolly. It's fortunate that some people's madness takes a cheerful turn. Then I asked the Kulubi where the God was. Everywhere, he replied, waving his trembling hand at the illimitable forest. Perhaps behind this tree. Perhaps behind that. Perhaps a long way off. Before morning we shall know. What are you going to do, I inquired savagely? Die, he answered. Look here, fool. I exclaimed, shaking him. You can die if you like, but we don't mean to. Take us to someplace where we should be safe from this God. One is never safe from the God-Lord, especially in his own house. And he shook his silly head and went on. How can we be safe when there is nowhere to go and even the trees are too big to climb? I looked at them. It was true. They were huge and ran up for fifty or sixty feet without a bow. Moreover, it was probable that the God climbed better than we could. The Kulubi began to move inland in an indeterminate fashion. And I asked him where he was going. To the burying place, he answered. There are spears yonder with the bones. I pricked up my ears at this, for when one has nothing but some clasp knives, spears are not to be despised, and ordered him to lead on. In another minute we were walking uphill through the awful wood where the gloom at this hour of approaching night was that of an English fog. Three or four hundred paces brought us to a kind of clearing, where I suppose some of the monster trees had fallen down in past years, and never been allowed to grow up again. Here, placed upon the ground, were a number of boxes made of imperishable iron wood, and on the top of each box sat, or rather lay, a mouldering and broken skull. Kulubi, that were! murmured our guide in explanation. Look! Gomber has made my box already! And he pointed to a new case with the lid off. How thoughtful of him, I said, but show us the spears before it gets quite dark. He went to one of the newer coffins, and intimated that we should lift off the lid as he was afraid to do so. I shoved it aside. There within lay the bones, each of them separate, and wrapped up in something except, of course, the skull. With these were some pots filled apparently with gold dust, and alongside of the pots, two good spears that, being made of copper, had not rusted much. We went on to other coffins, and extracted from them more of these weapons that were laid there for the dead men to use upon his journey through the shades, until we had enough. The shafts of most of them were somewhat rocked in from the damp, but luckily they were furnished with copper sockets from two and a half to three feet long, into which the wood of the shaft fitted, so that they were still serviceable. Poor things these to fight a devil with, I said. Yes, boss, said Hans in a cheerful voice, but he bore, it is lucky that I have got better. I stared at him. We all stared at him. What do you mean, spotted snake? asked Movovo. What do you mean, child of a hundred idiots? Is this a time to jest? Is not one joker enough among us? I asked and looked at Stephen. Mean, boss? Don't you know that I have a little rifle with me, that which is called in tombé, that with which you shot the vultures at Dingan's Kral? I never told you because I was sure you knew. Also, because if you didn't know, it was better that you should not know, for if you had known those pongo-skellums, that is, vicious ones, might have come to know also, and if they had known— Mad? interrupted brother John, tapping his forehead. Quite mad, poor fellow, while in these depressing circumstances it is not wonderful. I inspected Hans again, for I agreed with John. Yet he did not look mad, only rather more cunning than usual. Hans, I said, tell us where this rifle is, or I will knock you down and Movovo shall flog you. Where, boss? Why can not see it when it is before your eyes? You are right, John, I said he is off it. But Stephen sprang at Hans and began to shake him. Leave go, boss, he said, or you may hurt the rifle. Stephen obeyed in sheer astonishment. Then— Oh! Then Hans did something to the end of his great bamboo stick, turned it gently upside down, and out of it slid the barrel of a rifle neatly tied round with greased cloth, and stopped at the muzzle with a piece of towel. I could have kissed him. Yes, such was my joy that I could have kissed that hideous, smelly old hot-and-tot. The stock, I panted. The barrel isn't any use without the stock, Hans. Oh, boss! he added, grinning. Do you think that I have shot with you all these years without knowing that a rifle must have a stock to hold it by? Then he slipped off the bundle from his back, undid the lashings of the blanket, revealing the great yellow head of tobacco that had excited my own and Comber's interest on the shores of the lake. This head he tore apart and produced the stock of the rifle nicely cleaned, a cap set ready on the nipple onto which the hammer was let down with a little piece of wad between to prevent the cap from being fired by any sudden jar. Hans, I exclaimed. Hans, you are a hero and worth your weight in gold. Yes, boss, though you have never told me so before. Oh, I made up my mind that I wouldn't go to sleep in the face of the old man, death. Oh, which of you ought to sleep now upon that bed that Bausi sent me? He asked as he put the gun together. You, I think, you great stupid Movovo, you never brought a gun. If you were a wizard with the name you would have sent the rifles on and had them ready to meet us here. Oh, you laugh at me no more, you thick head of Ozulu? No, answered Movovo candidly, I will give you Sibonga. Yes, I will make for you titles of praise, oh, clever spotted snake. And yet, went on Hans, I am not all a hero. I am worth but half my weight in gold. For, boss, although I have plenty of powder and bullets in my pocket, I lost the caps out of a hole in my waistcoat. You remember, boss, I told you it was charms I lost, but three remain. No, four, for there is one on the nipple. There, boss, there is in tombay already and loaded, and now when the white devil comes you can shoot him in the eye, as you know how to do up to a hundred yards and send him to the other devils down in El. Oh, won't your holy father the predicate be glad to see him there? Then with a self-satisfied smirk he half cocked the rifle and handed it to me ready for action. I thank God, said Brother John solemnly, who has taught this poor hot-and-tot how to save us. No, boss John, God never taught me I taught myself. But see it grows dark. Had we not been a light of fire, and forgetting the rifle he began to look about, for wood. Hans, called Stephen after him, if ever we get out of this I will give you five hundred pounds, or at least my father will, which is the same thing. Thank you, boss, thank you, though just now I'd rather have a drop of brandy and I don't see any wood. He was right. Outside of the graveyard clearing lay it is true some huge fallen boughs, but these were too big for us to move or cut. Moreover, they were so soaked with damp like everything else in this forest, that it would be impossible to fire them. The darkness closed in. It was not absolute blackness, because presently the moon rose, that the sky was rainy and obscured it. Moreover, the huge trees all about seemed to suck up whatever light there was. We crouched ourselves upon the ground, back to back, as near as possible to the centre of the place. Unrolled such blankets as we had to protect us from the damp and cold, and ate some build-hong or dried game-flesh, and parched corn, of which fortunately the boy Jerry carried a bagful that had remained upon his shoulders when he was thrown into the canoe. Luckily I had thought of bringing this food with us, also a flask of spirits. Then it was the first thing happened. Far away in the forest resounded a most awful roar, followed by a drumming noise, such a roar as none of us had ever heard before, for it was quite unlike that of a lion or any other beast. What is that, I asked. The god, groaned Coluby, the god praying to the moon with which he always rises. I said nothing, for I was reflecting that four shots which was all we had was not many, and that nothing should tempt me to waste one of them. Why had Hans put on that rotten old waistcoat instead of the new one I gave him in Durban? Since we had no more roars, Brother John began to question the Coluby as to where the mother of the flower lived. Lord answered the man in a distracted way there towards the east. You walk for a quarter of the sun's journey up the hill, following a path that is marked by notches cut upon the trees, to be on the garden of the god at the top of the mountain, more water is found surrounding an island. There on the banks of the water a canoe is hidden in the bushes, by which the water may be crossed to the island, where dwells the mother of the holy flower. Brother John did not seem to be quite satisfied with the information, and remarked that he, the Coluby, would be able to show us the road on the morrow. I do not think that I shall ever show you the road, groaned the shivering wretch. At that moment the god roared again much nearer. Now the Coluby's nerve gave out altogether, and quickened by some presentment he began to question Brother John, whom he had learned was a priest of an unknown sort, as to the possibility of another life after death. Brother John, who, be it remembered, was a very earnest missionary by calling, proceeded to administer some compressed religious consolations, when, quite near to us, the god began to beat upon some kind of very large and deep drum. He did not roar this time. He only worked away at a mast-band military drum. At least that is what it sounded like, and very unpleasant it was to hear in that awful forest with skulls arranged on boxes all round us. I can assure you, my reader. The drumming ceased, and, pulling himself together, Brother John continued his pious demonstrations. Also, just at that time, a thick rain cloud quite obscured the moon, so that the darkness grew dense. I heard John explaining to the Coluby that he was not really a Coluby, but an immortal soul. I wonder whether he understood him. Then I became aware of a horrible shadow. I cannot describe it in any other way. That was blacker than the blackness, which advanced towards us at extraordinary speed from the edge of the clearing. Next to second there was a kind of scuffle a few feet from me, followed by a stifled yell, and I saw the shadow retreating in the direction from which it had come. What's the matter? I asked. Strike a match, answered Brother John. I think something has happened. I struck a match, which burned up very well for the air was quite still. In the light of it I saw the first anxious faces of our party. How ghastly they looked. And next the Coluby who had risen and was waving his right arm in the air, a right arm that was bloody, and lacked the hand. The God has visited me and taken away my hand. He moaned in a wailing voice. I don't think anybody spoke. The thing was beyond words, but we tried to bind the poor fellow's arm up by the light of matches. Then we sat down again and watched. The darkness grew still denser as the thick of the cloud passed over the moon, and for a while the silence, that utter silence of the tropical forest at night, was broken only by the sound of our breathing, the buzz of a few mosquitoes, the distant splash of a plunging crocodile, and the stifled groans of the mutilated man. Again I saw, or thought I saw, this may have been half an hour later, that black shadow dart towards us as a pike darts at a fish in a pond. There was another scuffle just to my left. Han sat between me and the Coluby, followed by a single prolonged wail. The king man has gone, whispered Hans. I felt him go as though a wind had blown him away. Where he was there is nothing but a hole. Of a sudden the moon shone out from behind the clouds, in its sickly light about half way between us and the edge of the clearing, say thirty yards off I saw. Oh, what did I see? The devil destroying a lost soul. At least that is what it looked like. A huge grey black creature, grotesquely human in its shape, had the thin Coluby in its grip. The Coluby's head had vanished in its moor, and its vast black arm seemed to be employed in breaking him to pieces. Apparently he was already dead, though his feet that were lifted off the ground, still moved feebly. I sprang up and covered the beast with a rifle which was cocked, getting full onto its head which showed the clearest, though this was rather guesswork since I could not see distinctly the foresight. I pulled, but either the cap with the powder had got a little damp on the journey and hung fire for a fraction of a second. In that infinitesimal time the devil, which is the best name I can give the thing, saw me, or perhaps it only saw the light gleaning on the barrel. At any rate it dropped the Coluby as though some intelligence warned it what to expect. Through up its massive right arm I remember how extraordinarily long the limbs seemed, and that it looked thick as a man's thigh, in such a fashion as to cover its head. Then the rifle exploded and I heard the bullet strike. By the light of the flash I saw the great arm tumble down in a dead, helpless kind of way, and next instant the whole forest began to echo with peel upon peel of those awful roaring's that I have described, each of which ended with a dog-like yelp of pain. You have hit him thus, said Hans, and he isn't a ghost, for he doesn't like it, but he's still very lively. Close up, I answered, and hold out the spears while I reload. My fear was that the brute would rush on us, but it did not, for all that dreadful night we saw or heard it no more. Indeed, I began to hope that after all the bullet had reached some mortal part and that the great ape was dead. At length it seemed to be weeks afterwards the dawn broke and revealed a sitting white and shivering and the grey mist, that is, all except Stephen, who had gone comfortably to sleep with his head resting on the vovo's shoulder. He is a man so equably minded and so devoid of nerves that I feel sure he will be one of the last to be disturbed by the trump of the archangel. At least I told him so indignantly when at length we roused him from his indecent slumbers. You should judge things by results, Alan, he said with a yawn. I was fresh as a pippin, while you all look as though you've been to a ball with twelve extras. Have you retrieved the kalubi yet? Shortly afterwards, when the mist lifted a little, we went out in a line to retrieve the kalubi and found, while I won't describe what we found, he was a cruel wretch as the incident of the herd boy had told us, but I felt sorry for him. Still, his terrors were over, or at least I hope so. We deposited him in the box that Comba had kindly provided in preparation for this inevitable event, and Brother John said a prayer over his miscellaneous remains. Then, after consultation and in the very worst of spirits, we set out to seek the way to the home of the mother of the flower. The start was easy enough for a distinct, the very faint path led from the clearing up the slope of the hill. Afterwards it became more difficult for the denser forest to begin. Fortunately, very few creepers grew in this forest, but the flat tops of the huge trees meeting high above entirely shut out the sky, so that the gloom was great in places almost that of night. It was a melancholy journey as, filled with fears we stole, a pallid throng from trunk to trunk, searching them for the notches that indicated our road, and speaking only in whispers, lest the sound of our voices should attract the notice of the dreadful god. After a mile or two of this we became aware that its notice was attracted despite our precautions, for at times we caught glimpses of some huge gray thing slipping along parallel to us between the bulls of the trees. Hans wanted me to try a shot, but I would not, knowing that the chances of hitting it were small indeed. With only three charges or rather three caps left, it was necessary to be saving. We halted and held a consultation, as a result of which we decided that there was no more danger in going on than in standing still or attempting to return, so we went on, keeping close together. To me, as I was the only one with a rifle, was accorded what I did not at all appreciate, the honour of heading the procession. Another half-mile, and again we heard that strange rolling sound which was produced, I believe, by the great brute beating upon its breast, but noted that it was not so continuous as on the previous night. Ah! said Hans, he can only strike his drum with one stick now, your bullet broke the other bus. A little farther, and the god roared quite close, so loudly that the air seemed to tremble. The drum is all right, whatever may have happened to the sticks, I said. A hundred yards or so more, and the catastrophe occurred. We had reached a spot in the forest where one of the great trees had fallen down, letting in a little light. I can see it to this hour. There lay the enormous tree, its bark covered with grey mosses and clumps of a giant species of maiden hair fern. On our side of it was the open space which may have measured forty feet across, where the light fell in a perpendicular ray as it does through the smoke-hole of a hut. Looking at this prostrate trunk, I saw first two lurid and fiery eyes that glowed red in the shadow, and then, almost in the same instant, made out what looked like the head of a fiend enclosed in a wreath of delicate green ferns. I can't describe it. I can only repeat that it looked like the head of a very large fiend with a pallid face, huge overhanging eyebrows, and great yellow tushes on either side of the mouth. Before I had even time to get the rifle up, with one terrific roar the brute was on us. I saw its enormous grey shape on the top of the trunk. I saw it pass me like a flash running upright as a man does, but with the head held forward, and noted that the arm nearest to me was swinging as though broken. Then, as I turned, I heard a scream of terror, and perceived that it had gripped the poor Masito Jerry, who walked last but one of our line which was ended by Movovo. Yes, it had gripped him and was carrying him off, clasped to its breast with its sound arm. When I say that Jerry, although a full grown man and rather inclined to stoutness, looked like a child in that fell embrace, it will give some idea of the creature's size. Movovo, who had the courage of a buffalo charged at it and drove the copper spear he carried into its side. They all charged like berserkers except myself for even then, thank heaven, I knew a trick worth two of that. In three seconds there was a struggling mass in the centre of the clearing. Brother John, Stephen, Movovo and Hans were all stabbing at the enormous gorilla, for it was a gorilla, although their blows seemed to do it no more harm than pinpricks. Fortunately for them, for its part, the beast would not let go of Jerry, and having only one sound arm could but snap at its assailants, for if it had lifted a foot to rend them its top heavy bulk would have caused it to tumble over. At length it seemed to realise this and hurled Jerry away, knocking down brother John and Hans with his body. Then it leapt on Movovo, who, seeing it come, placed the copper socket of the spear against his own breast, with the result that when the gorilla tried to crush him the point of the spear was driven into its carcass. Feeling the pain, it unwound its arm from about Movovo, knocking Stephen over with a backward sweep. Then it raised its great hand to crush Movovo with a blow, as I believe gorillas all want to do. This was the chance for which I was waiting. Up till that moment I had not dared to fire, fearing lest I should kill one of my companions. Now for an instant it was clear of them, and, steadying myself, I aimed at the huge head and let drive. The smoke thinned, and through it I saw the gigantic ape standing quite still, like a creature lost in meditation. Then it threw up its sound arm, turned its fierce eyes to the sky, and uttering one pitiful and hideous howl sank down dead. The bullet had entered just behind the ear and buried itself in the brain. The great silence of the forest flowed in over us, as it were, for quite a while no one did or said anything. Then from somewhere down amidst the mosses I heard a thin voice, the sound of which reminded me of air being squeezed out of an India rubber cushion. Very good shot, boss! it piped up, as good as that which killed the king vulture Dingan's growl and more difficult. But if the boss could pull the god off me, I should say, thank you. The thank you was almost inaudible, and no wonder for poor Hans had fainted. There he lay under the huge bulk of the gorilla, just his nose and mouth appearing between the brute's body and its arm. Had it not been for the soft cushion of wet moss in which he reclined, I think that he would have been crushed flat. We rolled the creature off him somehow and poured a little brandy down his throat, which had a wonderful effect, for in less than a minute he sat up, gasping like a dying fish, and asked for more. Leaving Brother John to examine Hans to see if he was really injured, I bethought me of poor Jerry and went to look at him. One glance was enough. He was quite dead. Indeed he seemed to be crushed out of shape like a buck that has been enveloped in the coils of a boa constrictor. Brother John told me afterwards that both his arms and nearly all his ribs had been broken in that terrible embrace. Even his spine was dislocated. I have often wondered why the gorilla ran down the line without touching me or the others to vent his rage upon Jerry. I can only suggest that it was because the unlucky Mazzito had sat next to the Colubi on the previous night, which may have caused the brute to identify him by smell with the priest whom he had learned to hate and killed. It is true that Hans had sat on the other side of the Colubi, but perhaps the odor of the pongo had not clung to him so much, or perhaps it meant to deal with him after it had done with Jerry. When we knew that the Mazzito was past human help and had discovered to our joy that, say for a few bruises, no one else was really hurt, although Stephen's clothes were half torn off him, we made an examination of the dead god. Truly it was a fearful creature. What its exact weight or size may have been we had no means of ascertaining, but I never saw or heard of such an enormous ape. If a gorilla is really an ape, it needed the united strength of the five of us to lift the carcass with a great effort off the fainting hands, and even to roll it from side to side when subsequently we removed the skin. I would never have believed that so ancient an animal of its stature, which could not have been more than seven feet when it stood erect, could have been so heavy. For ancient undoubtedly it was. The long yellow canine tusks were worn half away with use. The eyes were sunken far into the skull. The hair of the head, which I am told is generally red or brown, was quite white, and even the bare breast, which should be black, was gray in hue. Of course it was impossible to say, but one might easily have imagined that this creature was two hundred years or more old, as the Mutombo declared it to be. Stephen suggested that it should be skinned, and although I saw a little prospect of our being able to carry away the hide, I assented and helped in the operation, on the mere chance of saving so great a curiosity. Also, although Brother John was restless and murmured something about wasting time, I thought it necessary that we should have a rest after our fearful anxieties, and still more fearful encounter with his consecrated monster. So we went to work, and as a result of more than an hour's toil dragged off the hide, which was so tough and thick that, as we found, the copper spears had scarcely penetrated to the flesh. The bullet that I had put into it on the previous night struck, we discovered, upon the bone of the upper arm which it shattered sufficiently to render that limb useless, if it did not break it altogether. This indeed was fortunate for us, for had the creature retained both its arms uninjured, it would certainly have killed more of us in its attack. We were saved only by the fact that when it was hugging Jerry, it had no limb left with it with which it could strike, and luckily did not succeed in its attempts to get hold with its tremendous jaws that had nipped off the Colubi's hand as easily as a pair of scissors severs the stalk of a flower. When the skin was removed except that of the hands which we did not attempt to touch, we pegged it out, raw side uppermost to dry in the centre of the open place where the sun struck. Then, having buried poor Jerry in the hollow trunk of the great fallen tree, we washed ourselves with wet mosses and ate some of the food that remained to us. After this we started forward again in much better spirits. Jerry, it was true, was dead, but so was the God, leaving us happily still alive and practically untouched. Nevermore would the Colubi's of Pongoland shiver out their lives at the feet of this dreadful divinity who soon or late must become their executioner, for I believe with the exception of two who committed suicide through fear that no Colubi was ever known to have died except by the hand or teeth of the God. What would I not give to know that brute's history? Could it possibly, as the Motombo said, have accompanied the Pongo people from their home in western or central Africa, or perhaps have been brought here by them in a state of captivity? I am unable to answer the question, but it should be noted that none of the mozito or other natives had ever heard of the existence of more true gorillas in this part of Africa. The creature, if it had its origin in the locality, must either have been solitary in its habits or driven away from its fellows, as sometimes happens to old elephants, which then, like this gorilla, become fearfully ferocious. That is all I can say about the brute, though of course the Pongo had their own story. According to them it was an evil spirit in the shape of an ape, which evil spirit had once inhabited the body of an early Colubi, and had been annexed by the ape when it killed the said Colubi. Also, they declared the reason that the creature put all the Colubi's to death, as well as a number of other people who were offered up to it, was that it needed to refresh itself with the spirits of men, by which means it was unable to avoid the effects of age. It will be remembered that the Matomba referred to this belief, of which afterwards I heard in more details from Babamba. But if this god had anything supernatural about it, at least its magic was no shield against a bullet from a pretty rifle. Only a little way from the fallen tree we came suddenly upon a large clearing, which we guessed at once must be that garden of the god, where twice a year the unfortunate Colubi's were doomed to scatter the sacred seed. It was a large garden, several acres of it, lying on a shelf as it were of the mountain and watered by a stream. Maze grew in it and other sorts of corn, while all round was a thick belt of plantain trees. Of course these crops had formed the food of the god, who, whenever it was hungry, came to this place and helped itself, as we could see by many signs. The garden was well kept and comparatively free from weeds. At first we wondered how this could be, until I remembered that the Colubi or someone had told me that it was tended by the servants of the mother of the flower, who were generally albinos or mutes. We crossed it and pushed on rapidly up the mountain, once more following an easy and well-beaten path. For now we saw that we were approaching what we thought must be the edge of a crater. Indeed our excitement was so extreme that we did not speak, only scrambled forward. Brother John notwithstanding his lame leg leading at a greater pace than we could equal. He was the first to reach our goal, closely followed by Stephen. Watching I saw him sink down as though in a swoon, Stephen also appeared astonished for he threw up his hands. I rushed to them, and this was what I saw. Beneath us was a steep slope, quite bare a forest which ceased at its crest. This slope stretched downwards for half a mile or more to the lip of a beautiful lake, of which the area was perhaps two hundred acres. Set in the centre of the deep blue water of this lake, which we discovered afterwards to be unfathomable, was an island not more than five and twenty or thirty acres in extent that seemed to be cultivated. For on it we could see fields, palms, and other fruit-bearing trees. In the middle of the island stood a small near-house thatched after the fashion of the country that civilised in its appearance, for it was oblong, not round, and encircled by a veranda and a reed fence. At a distance from this house were a number of native huts, and in front of it a small enclosure surrounded by a high wall, on the top of which mats were fixed on poles as though to screen something from wind or sun. The holy flower lives there, you bet, gasped Stephen excitedly. He could think of nothing but that confounded orchid. Look, the mats were on the sunny side to prevent it scorching, and those palms planted round it to give it shade. The mother of the flower lives there, whispered Brother John, pointing to the house. Who is she? Who is she? Suppose I should be mistaken after all. God, let me not be mistaken, for it would be more than I can bear. We had better try to find out, I remarked practically, though I am sure I sympathised with his suspense, and started down the slope at a run. In five minutes or less we reached the foot of it, and breathless and perspiring though we were, began to search amongst the reeds and bushes growing at the edge of the lake for the canoe of which we had been told by the Colubi. What if there were none? How could we cross that wide stretch of deep water? Presently Hans, who following certain indications which caught his practised eye, had cast away to the left, held up his hand and whistled, we ran to him. Here it is, boss, he said, and pointed to something in a tiny, bush-fringed inlet, which at first sight looked like a heap of dead reeds. We tore away at the reeds, and there sure enough was a canoe of sufficient size to hold twelve or fourteen people, and in it a number of paddles. Another two minutes and we were rowing across that lake. We came safely to the other side where we found a little landing stage made of poles sunk into the lake. We tied up the canoe, or rather I did, for nobody else remembered to take that precaution, and presently were on a path which led through the cultivated fields to the house. Here I insisted on going first with the rifle, in case we should be suddenly attacked. The silence and the absence of any human being suggested to me that this might very well happen, since it would be strange if we had not been seen crossing the lake. Afterwards I discovered why the place seemed so deserted. It was owing to two reasons. First it was now noontime an hour at which these poor slaves retired to their huts to eat and sleep through the heat of the day. Secondly, although the watcher, as she was called, had seen the canoe on the water, she concluded that the Colubi was visiting the mother of the flower, and according to practice on these occasions, withdrew herself and everybody else, since the rare meetings of the Colubi and the mother of the flower partook of the nature of a religious ceremony and must be held in private. First we came to the little enclosure that was planted about with palms and, as I have described, screened with mats. Stephen ran at it and scrambling up the wall peeped over the top. Next instant he was sitting on the ground having descended from the wall with the rapidity of one shot through the head. Oh, by Jingo! he ejaculated. Oh, by Jingo! and that was all I could get out of him, though it is true I did not try very hard at the time. Not five paces from this enclosure stood a tall reed fence that surrounded the house. It had a gate also of reeds which was a little ajar. Creeping up to it very cautiously, for I thought I heard a voice within, I peeped through the half-opened gate. Four or five feet away was the veranda from which a doorway led into one of the rooms of the house, where stood a table on which was food. Kneeling on mats upon this veranda were two white women, clothed in garments of the purest white, adorned with a purple fringe, and wearing bracelets and other ornaments of red native gold. One of these appeared to be about forty years of age. She was rather stout, fair in colouring, with blue eyes and golden hair that hung down her back. The other might have been about twenty. She was also fair, but her eyes were grey, and her long hair was of a chestnut hue. I saw at once that she was tall and very beautiful. The elder woman was praying while the other who knelt by her side listened and looked up vacantly at the sky. Oh God! prayed the woman, for Christ's sake look in pity upon us two poor captives, and if it be possible send us deliverance from this savage land. We thank thee who has protected us unharmed and in health for so many years, and we put our trust in thy mercy, for thou alone canst help us. Grant, oh God, that our dear husband and father may still live, and that in thy good time we may be reunited with him, or if he be dead and there is no hope for us upon the earth, grant that we too may die and find him in thy heaven. Thus she prayed in a clear deliberate voice, and I noticed that as she did so the tears ran down her cheeks. Amen, she said at last, and the girl by her side speaking with a strange little accent echoed thee, Amen. I looked round at Brother John. He had heard something and was utterly overcome. Fortunately enough he could not move or even speak. Hold him, I whispered to Stephen and Movovo, while I go in and talk to these ladies. Then, handing the rifle to Hans, I took off my hat, pushed the gate a little wider open, slipped through it and called attention to my presence by coughing. The two women who had risen from their knees stared at me as though they saw a ghost. Ladies, I said, bowing, pray do not be alarmed. You see God Almighty sometimes answers prayers. In short, I am one of a party of white people who, with some trouble, have succeeded in getting to this place and—and would you allow us to call on you? Still they stared. At length the elder woman opened her lips. Here I am called the mother of the holy flower, and for a stranger to speak with the mother is death. Also, if you are a man, how did you reach us alive? That's a long story, I answered cheerfully. May we come in. We will take the risks. We are accustomed to them and hope to be able to do you a service. I should explain that three of us are white men, two English and one American. American? She gasped. American? What is he like, and how is he named? Oh! I replied, for my nerve was giving out and I grew confused. He is oldish, with a white beard, rather like Father Christmas in short, and his Christian name I didn't dare to give it all at once is—er—John. Brother John, we call him. Now I think of it, I added. He has some resemblance to your companion here. I thought the lady was going to die and cursed myself for my awkwardness. She flung her arm about the girl to save herself from falling. A poor prop, for she too, looked as though she were going to die. Having understood some, if not all, of my talk. It must be remembered that this poor young thing had never even seen a white man before. Madam, madam! I expostulated. I pray you to bear up. After living through so much sorrow, it would be foolish to decease of joy. May I call in, Brother John? He is a clergyman, and might be able to say something appropriate, which I, whom only a hunter cannot do. She gathered herself together, opened her eyes and whispered, Send him here. I pushed open the gate behind which the others were clustered. Catching Brother John, who by now had recovered somewhat by the arm, I dragged him forward. The two stood staring at each other, and the young lady also looked with wide eyes and open mouth. Elizabeth, said John, she uttered a faint scream, and then a cry of Husband flung herself upon his breast. I slipped through the gate and shut it fast. I say, Alan, said Stephen, when we had retreated to a little distance. Did you see her? Her? Who? Which? I asked. The young lady in the white clothes. She is lovely. Hold your tongue, you donkey, I answered. Is this a time to talk of female looks? Then I went away behind the wall and literally wept for joy. It was one of the happiest moments of my life for how seldom things happen as they should. Also, I wanted to put up a little prayer of my own, a prayer of thankfulness and for strength and wit to overcome the many dangers that yet awaited us.