I answered that I was much of the same opinion, but that Dogeetah insisted upon going and that I had no choice.

“Then let us kill Dogeetah, or at any rate tie him up, so that he can do no more mischief in his madness,” Ganza suggested blandly, whereon I turned him out.

Lastly Sammy arrived and said: 

“Mr. Quatermain, before you plunge into this deep well of foolishness, I beg that you will consider your responsibilities to God and man, and especially to us, your household, who are now but lost sheep far from home, and further, that you will remember that if anything disagreeable should overtake you, you are indebted to me to the extent of two months’ wages which will probably prove unrecoverable.”

I produced a little leather bag from a tin box and counted out to Sammy the wages due to him, also those for three months in advance.

To my astonishment he began to weep.  “Sir,” he said, “I do not seek filthy lucre.  What I mean is that I am afraid you will be killed by these Pongo, and, alas! although I love you, sir, I am too great a coward to come and be killed with you, for God made me like that.  I pray you not to go, Mr. Quatermain, because I repeat, I love you, sir.”

“I believe you do, my good fellow,” I answered, “and I also am afraid of being killed, who only seem to be brave because I must.  However, I hope we shall come through all right.  Meanwhile, I am going to give this box and all the gold in it, of which there is a great deal, into your charge, Sammy, trusting to you, if anything happens to us, to get it safe back to Durban if you can.”

“Oh!  Mr. Quatermain,” he exclaimed, “I am indeed honoured, especially as you know that once I was in jail for—­embezzlement—­with extenuating circumstances, Mr. Quatermain.  I tell you that although I am a coward, I will die before anyone gets his fingers into that box.”

“I am sure that you will, Sammy my boy,” I said.  “But I hope, although things look queer, that none of us will be called upon to die just yet.”

The morning came at last, and the six of us marched down to the canoe which had been brought round to the open waterway.  Here we had to undergo a kind of customs-house examination at the hands of Komba and his companions, who seemed terrified lest we should be smuggling firearms.

“You know what rifles are like,” I said indignantly.  “Can you see any in our hands?  Moreover, I give you my word that we have none.”

Komba bowed politely, but suggested that perhaps some “little guns,” by which he meant pistols, remained in our baggage—­by accident.  Komba was a most suspicious person.

“Undo all the loads,” I said to Hans, who obeyed with an enthusiasm which I confess struck me as suspicious.