The next, looking absolutely unearthly in
that terrible and ominous light, was a tall figure seated on a white
ox shambling rapidly towards us along the open roadway that ran from
the southern gate of the market-place.
Of course, I knew that I dreamed, for this figure exactly resembled
Brother John. There was his long, snowy beard. There in his hand was
his butterfly net, with the handle of which he seemed to be prodding
the ox. Only he was wound about with wreaths of flowers as were the
great horns of the ox, and on either side of him and before and behind
him ran girls, also wreathed with flowers. It was a vision, nothing
else, and I shut my eyes again awaiting the fatal arrow.
"Shoot!" screamed Imbozwi.
"Nay, shoot not!" shouted Babemba. "/Dogeetah is come!/"
A moment's pause, during which I heard arrows falling to the ground;
then from all those thousands of throats a roar that shaped itself to
the words:
"Dogeetah! Dogeetah is come to save the white lords."
I must confess that after this my nerve, which is generally pretty
good, gave out to such an extent that I think I fainted for a few
minutes.
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