“What is a god, O Mr. Allen?  Is it not more than man?  Can a god be bound in a pit for a thousand years, like Satan in Bible?  If a god want to move, see new country and so on, who can say no?”

“I don’t quite understand,” I said, to draw her out further, although, in fact, I had more than a glimmering of what she meant.

“O Allan, Holy Flower there a god, and my mother priestess.  If Holy Flower tired of this land, and want to grow somewhere else, why priestess not carry it and go too?”

“Capital idea,” I said, “but you see, Miss Hope, there are, or were, two gods, one of which cannot travel.”

“Oh! that very easy, too.  Put skin of god of the woods on to this man,” and she pointed to Hans, “and who know difference?  They like as two brothers already, only he smaller.”

“She’s got it!  By Jingo, she’s got it!” exclaimed Stephen in admiration.

“What Missie say?” asked Hans, suspiciously.

I told him.

“Oh!  Baas,” exclaimed Hans, “think of the smell inside of that god’s skin when the sun shines on it.  Also the god was a very big god, and I am small.”

Then he turned and made a proposal to Mavovo, explaining that his stature was much better suited to the job.

“First will I die,” answered the great Zulu.  “Am I, who have high blood in my veins and who am a warrior, to defile myself by wrapping the skin of a dead brute about me and appear as an ape before men?  Propose it to me again, Spotted Snake, and we shall quarrel.”

“See here, Hans,” I said.  “Mavovo is right.  He is a soldier and very strong in battle.  You also are very strong in your wits, and by doing this you will make fools of all the Pongo.  Also, Hans, it is better that you should wear the skin of a gorilla for a few hours than that I, your master, and all these should be killed.”

“Yes, Baas, it is true, Baas; though for myself I almost think that, like Mavovo, I would rather die.  Yet it would be sweet to deceive those Pongo once again, and, Baas, I won’t see you killed just to save myself another bad smell or two.  So, if you wish it, I will become a god.”

Thus through the self-sacrifice of that good fellow, Hans, who is the real hero of this history, that matter was settled, if anything could be looked on as settled in our circumstances.  Then we arranged that we would start upon our desperate adventure at dawn on the following morning.

Meanwhile, much remained to be done.  First, Mrs. Eversley summoned her attendants, who, to the number of twelve, soon appeared in front of the verandah.  It was very sad to see these poor women, all of whom were albinos and unpleasant to look on, while quite half appeared to be deaf and dumb.  To these, speaking as a priestess, she explained that the god who dwelt in the woods was dead, and that therefore she must take the Holy Flower, which was called “Wife of the god” and make report to the Motombo of this dreadful catastrophe.  Meanwhile, they must remain on the island and continue to cultivate the fields.