I think it is the ghost of Sammy asking
us to bury him."
"Bosh!" I answered, and then listened as hard as I could.
Now I also seemed to hear something coming from I knew not where,
words which were frequently repeated and which seemed to be:
"/O Mr. Quatermain, I beg you to be so good as to open the door of
this oven./"
For a while I thought I must be cracked. However, I called back the
others and we all listened. Of a sudden Hans made a pounce, like a
terrier does at the run of a mole that he hears working underground,
and began to drag, or rather to shovel, at a heap of ashes in front of
us, using a bit of wood as they were still too hot for his hands. Then
we listened again and this time heard the voice quite clearly coming
from the ground.
"Baas," said Hans, "it is Sammy in the corn-pit!"
Now I remembered that such a pit existed in front of the huts which,
although empty at the time, was, as is common among the Bantu natives,
used to preserve corn that would not immediately be needed. Once I
myself went through a very tragic experience in one of these pits, as
any who may read the history of my first wife, that I have called
/Marie/, can see for themselves.
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