We found Hans, who had not accompanied us, being a little shy of
appearing in public just then, engaged in cleaning the rifles, and
this reminded me of something. Taking the double-barrelled gun of
which I have spoken, I called Mavovo and handed it to him, saying:
"It is yours, O true prophet."
"Yes, my father," he answered, "it is mine for a little while, then
perhaps it will be yours again."
The words struck me, but I did not care to ask their meaning. Somehow
I wanted to hear no more of Mavovo's prophecies.
Then we dined, and for the rest of that afternoon slept, for all of
us, including Brother John, needed rest badly. In the evening Babemba
came, and we three white men saw him alone.
"Tell us about the Pongo and this white devil they worship," I said.
"Macumazana," he answered, "fifty years have gone by since I was in
that land and I see things that happened to me there as through a
mist. I went to fish amongst the reeds when I was a boy of twelve, and
tall men robed in white came in a canoe and seized me.
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