I asked Komba what it might be, and he answered that it was the Home of the gods in Pongo-land.
"What gods ?" I asked again, whereon he replied like a black Herodotus, that of these it was not lawful to speak.
I have rarely met anyone more difficult to pump than that frigid and un-African Komba.
On the top of this mound we planted the Union Jack, fixed to the tallest pole that we could find.

Komba asked suspiciously why we did so, and as I was determined to show this unsympathetic person that there were others as unpumpable as himself, I replied that it was the god of our tribe, which we set up there to be worshipped, and that anyone who tried to insult or injure it, would certainly die, as the witch-doctor, Imbozwi, and his children had found out.

For once Komba seemed a little impressed, and even bowed to the bunting as he passed by.
What I did not inform him was that we had set the flag there to be a sign and a beacon to us in case we should ever be forced to find our way back to this place unguided and in a hurry.

As a matter of fact, this piece of forethought, which oddly enough originated with the most reckless of our party, Stephen, proved our salvation, as I shall tell later on.

At the foot of the mound we set our camp for the night, the Mazitu soldiers under Babemba, who did not mind mosquitoes, making theirs nearer to the lake, just opposite to where a wide hippopotamus lane pierced the reeds, leaving a little canal of clear water.
I asked Komba when and how we were to cross the lake.