Then Brother John rose and said: 

“We are blood-brethren, Bausi, and therefore I can speak for you.  If you and your councillors are willing, and these Pongos are willing, I and my friends do not fear to visit the Motombo and the Kalubi, to talk with them of peace on behalf of your people, since we love to see new lands and new races of mankind.  Say, Komba, if the king allows, will you accept us as ambassadors?”

“It is for the king to name his own ambassadors,” answered Komba.  “Yet the Kalubi has heard of the presence of you white lords in Mazitu-land and bade me say that if it should be your pleasure to accompany the embassy and visit him, he would give you welcome.  Only when the matter was laid before the Motombo, the oracle spoke thus: 

“’Let the white men come if come they will, or let them stay away.  But if they come, let them bring with them none of those iron tubes, great or small, whereof the land has heard, that vomit smoke with a noise and cause death from afar.  They will not need them to kill meat, for meat shall be given to them in plenty; moreover, among the Pongo they will be safe, unless they offer insult to the god.’”

These words Komba spoke very slowly and with much emphasis, his piercing eyes fixed upon my face as though to read the thoughts it hid.  As I heard them my courage sank into my boots.  Well, I knew that the Kalubi was asking us to Pongo-land that we might kill this Great White Devil that threatened his life, which, I took it, was a monstrous ape.  And how could we face that or some other frightful brute without firearms?  My mind was made up in a minute.

“O Komba,” I said, “my gun is my father, my mother, my wife and all my other relatives.  I do not stir from here without it.”

“Then, white lord,” answered Komba, “you will do well to stop in this place in the midst of your family, since, if you try to bring it with you to Pongo-land, you will be killed as you set foot upon the shore.”

Before I could find an answer Brother John spoke, saying: 

“It is natural that the great hunter, Macumazana, should not wish to be parted from what which to him is as a stick to a lame man.  But with me it is different.  For years I have used no gun, who kill nothing that God made, except a few bright-winged insects.  I am ready to visit your country with naught save this in my hand,” and he pointed to the butterfly net that leaned against the fence behind him.

“Good, you are welcome,” said Komba, and I thought that I saw his eyes gleam with unholy joy.  There followed a pause, during which I explained everything to Stephen, showing that the thing was madness.  But here, to my horror, that young man’s mulish obstinacy came in.