But this time you have none of your iron tubes which alone we fear.

For did not the god declare to us through me that when the white men came back with an iron tube, then he, the god, would die, and I, the Motombo, the god's Mouth, would die, and the Holy Flower would be torn up, and the Mother of the Flower would pass away, and the people of the Pongo would be dispersed and become wanderers and slaves?
And did he not declare that if the white men came again without their iron tubes, then certain secret things would happen--oh! ask them not, in time they shall be known to you, and the people of the Pongo who were dwindling would again become fruitful and very great?
And that is why we welcome you, white men, who arise again from the land of ghosts, because through you we, the Pongo, shall become fruitful and very great." Of a sudden he ceased his rumbling talk, his head sank back between his shoulders and he sat silent for a long while, his fierce, sparkling eyes playing on us as though he would read our very thoughts.

If he succeeded, I hope that mine pleased him.

To tell the truth, I was filled with mixed fear, fury and loathing.

Although, of course, I did not believe a word of all the rubbish he had been saying, which was akin to much that is evolved by these black-hearted African wizards, I hated the creature whom I felt to be only half-human.