tried to beat them off like flies, but was soon captured, overcome,
and dragged away, crying, in the names of the Kamraviona and Mzungu
(myself), for help and protection; whilst Lubuga, the pet sister,
and all the other women, clasped the king by his legs, and, kneeling,
implored forgiveness for their sister. The more they craved for mercy,
the more brutal he became, till at last he took a heavy stick and began
to belabour the poor victim on the head.

Hitherto I had been extremely careful not to interfere with any of the
king's acts of arbitrary cruelty, knowing that such interference, at
an early stage, would produce more harm than good. This last act of
barbarism, however, was too much for my English blood to stand; and as
I heard my name, Mzungu, imploringly pronounced, I rushed at the king,
and, staying his uplifted arm, demanded from him the woman's life.
Of course I ran imminent risk of losing my own in thus thwarting the
capricious tyrant; but his caprice proved the friend of both. The
novelty of interference even made him smile, and the woman was instantly
released.

Proceeding on through the trees of this beautiful island, we next turned
into the hut of the Mgussa's familiar, which at the farther end was
decorated with many mystic symbols amongst others a paddle, the badge
of his high office--and for some time we sat chatting, when pombe was
brought, and the spiritual medium arrived. He was dressed Wichwezi
fashion, with a little white goat-skin apron, adorned with numerous
charms, and used a paddle for a mace or walking stick. He was not an old
man, though he affected to be so--walking very slowly and deliberately,
coughing asthmatically, glimmering with his eyes, and mumbling like a
witch. With much affected difficulty he sat at the end of the hut beside
the symbols alluded to, and continued his coughing full half an hour,
when his wife came in in the same manner, without saying a word, and
assumed the same affected style. The king jokingly looked at me and
laughed, and then at these strange creatures, by turn, as much as to
say, What do you think of them? but no voice was heard save that of the
old wife, who croaked like a frog for water, and, when some was brought,
croaked again because it was not the purest of the lake's produce--had
the first cup changed, wetted her lips with the second, and hobbled away
in the same manner as she came.

At this juncture the Mgussa's familiar motioned the Kamraviona an