Komba led us to the feast-house, where the fire in the pit was out, or
had been covered over, and the grid and its horrible burden had
disappeared. Also now all the mats were rolled up, so that the clear
moonlight flowed into and illuminated the place. Seated in a
semicircle on wooden stools with their faces towards the gateway were
the Kalubi, who occupied the centre, and eight councillors, all of
them grey-haired men. This Kalubi was a tall, thin individual of
middle age with, I think, the most nervous countenance that I ever
saw. His features twitched continually and his hands were never still.
The eyes, too, as far as I could see them in that light, were full of
terrors.
He rose and bowed, but the councillors remained seated, greeting us
with a long-continued and soft clapping of the hands, which, it
seemed, was the Pongo method of salute.
We bowed in answer, then seated ourselves on three stools that had
been placed for us, Brother John occupying the middle stool. Mavovo
and Hans stood behind us, the latter supporting himself with his large
bamboo stick.
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