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Updated: May 19, 2025
His name was known, people had written of his character and his sayings; he had even, to his own amazement, delivered a lecture before the members of the Ethnological Society on "Native Folk-lore," and had emerged from the ordeal triumphantly. The guests of Lord Castleberry found Sanders a shy, silent man who could not be induced to talk of the land he loved so dearly.
In the faint light they saw him stiffen like a setter. "What is wrong?" Lord Castleberry was on his feet, and somebody clicked on the lights. But Sanders did not notice. He was looking towards the end of the room, and his face was set and hard. "O, M'fosa," he snarled, "O, dog!" They heard the strange staccato of the Bomongo tongue and wondered.
It was the beautiful daughter of Lord Castleberry who, with the audacity of youth, forced him, metaphorically speaking, into a corner, from whence there was no escape. "We've been very patient, Mr. Sanders," she pouted; "we are all dying to hear of your wonderful country, and Bosambo, and fetishes and things, and you haven't said a word."
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