The orator of Guayana to be impressive must be long, however
little he may have to say. Strange as it may seem, I listened
critically to him, not without a feeling of scorn at his lower
intelligence. But I was easier in my mind now. From the very
fact of his addressing such a speech to me I was convinced that
he wished not to take my life, and would not do so if I could
clear myself of the suspicion of treachery.
I was a white man, he said, they were Indians; nevertheless they
had treated me well. They had fed me and sheltered me. They had
done a great deal for me: they had taught me the use of the
zabatana, and had promised to make one for me, asking for nothing
in return. They had also promised me a wife. How had I treated
them? I had deserted them, going away secretly to a distance,
leaving them in doubt as to my intentions. How could they tell
why I had gone, and where? They had an enemy. Managa was his
name; he and his people hated them; I knew that he wished them
evil; I knew where to find him, for they had told me. That was
what they thought when I suddenly left them. Now I returned to
them, saying that I had been to Riolama.
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