It was dark in the hut, for which I was really
thankful, for the darkness seemed to soothe my nerves. Especially was
this so when Brother John said:
"Friend, Allan Quatermain, and you, young gentleman, whose name I
don't know, I will tell you what I think I never mentioned to you
before, that, in addition to being a doctor, I am a clergyman of the
American Episcopalian Church. Well, as a clergyman, I will ask your
leave to return thanks for your very remarkable deliverance from a
cruel death."
"By all means," I muttered for both of us, and he did so in a most
earnest and beautiful prayer. Brother John may or may not have been a
little touched in the head at this time of his life, but he was
certainly an able and a good man.
Afterwards, as the shrieks and shouting had now died down to a
confused murmur of many voices, we went and sat outside under the
projecting eaves of the hut, where I introduced Stephen Somers to
Brother John.
"And now," I said, "in the name of goodness, where do you come from
tied up in flowers like a Roman priest at sacrifice, and riding on a
bull like the lady called Europa? And what on earth do you mean by
playing us such a scurvy trick down there in Durban, leaving us
without a word after you had agreed to guide us to this hellish hole?"
Brother John stroked his long beard and looked at me reproachfully.
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