Round and behind
there were a number of silent councillors. At some signal or on
reaching a given spot, all the soldiers, including old Babemba, fell
upon their hands and knees and began to crawl. They wanted us to do
the same, but here I drew the line, feeling that if once we crawled we
must always crawl.
So at my word we advanced upright, but with slow steps, in the midst
of all this wriggling humanity and at length found ourselves in the
august presence of Bausi, "the Beautiful Black One," King of the
Mazitu.
CHAPTER X
THE SENTENCE
We stared at Bausi and Bausi stared at us.
"I am the Black Elephant Bausi," he exclaimed at last, worn out by our
solid silence, "and I trumpet! I trumpet! I trumpet!" (It appeared
that this was the ancient and hallowed formula with which a Mazitu
king was wont to open a conversation with strangers.)
After a suitable pause I replied in a cold voice:
"We are the white lions, Macumazana and Wazela, and we roar! we roar!
we roar!"
"I can trample," said Bausi.
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