The Kalubi came up to us, and in a shy kind of way tried to make
conversation. I think that the sight of this mountain, drawing ever
nearer, vividly recalled his terrors and caused him to desire to
efface the bad impression he knew he had made on us, to whom he looked
for safety. Among other things he told us that the hole we saw was the
door of the House of the Motombo.
I nodded my head, but did not answer, for the presence of this
murderous king made me feel sick. So he went away again, looking at us
in a humble and deprecatory manner.
Nothing further happened until we reached the remarkable wall of rock
that I have mentioned, which I suppose is composed of some very hard
stone that remained when the softer rock in which it lay was
disintegrated by millions of years of weather or washings by the water
of the lake. Or perhaps its substance was thrown out of the bowels of
the volcano when this was active. I am no geologist, and cannot say,
especially as I lacked time to examine the place. At any rate there it
was, and there in it appeared the mouth of a great cave that I presume
was natural, having once formed a kind of drain through which the lake
overflowed when Pongo-land was under water.
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