Our road ran by the place of execution where the stakes, at which I
confess I looked with a shiver, were still standing, though the graves
had been filled in.
On our arrival Bausi and his councillors rose and bowed to us. Indeed,
the king did more, for coming forward he seized Brother John by the
hand, and insisted upon rubbing his ugly black nose against that of
this revered guest. This, it appeared, was the Mazitu method of
embracing, an honour which Brother John did not seem at all to
appreciate. Then followed long speeches, washed down with draughts of
thick native beer. Bausi explained that his evil proceedings were
entirely due to the wickedness of the deceased Imbozwi and his
disciples, under whose tyranny the land had groaned for long, since
the people believed them to speak "with the voice of 'Heaven Above.'"
Brother John, on our behalf, accepted the apology, and then read a
lecture, or rather preached a sermon, that took exactly twenty-five
minutes to deliver (he is rather long in the wind), in which he
demonstrated the evils of superstition and pointed to a higher and a
better path.
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