Northwards

I make no apology to myself, or to anybody who may happen to read this
narrative in future, for having set out the manner of my meeting with
Indaba-zimbi: first, because it was curious, and secondly, because he
takes some hand in the subsequent events. If that old man was a
humbug, he was a very clever one. What amount of truth there was in his
pretensions to supernatural powers it is not for me to determine, though
I may have my own opinion on the subject. But there was no mistake as to
the extraordinary influence he exercised over his fellow-natives. Also
he quite got round my poor father. At first the old gentleman declined
to have him at the station, for he had a great horror of these Kaffir
wizards or witch-finders. But Indaba-zimbi persuaded him that he was
anxious to investigate the truths of Christianity, and challenged him to
a discussion. The argument lasted two years--to the time of my father's
death, indeed. At the conclusion of each stage Indaba-zimbi would
remark, in the words of the Roman Governor, "Almost, praying white man,
thou persuadest me to become a Christian," but he never quite became
one--indeed, I do not think he ever meant to. It was to him that my
father addressed his "Letters to a Native Doubter." This work, which,
unfortunately, remains in manuscript, is full of wise saws and learned
instances. It ought to be published together with a _precis_ of the
doubter's answers, which were verbal.

So the talk went on. If my father had lived I believe it would be going
on now, for both the disputants were quite inexhaustible. Meanwhile
Indaba-zimbi was allowed to live on the station on condition that he
practised no witchcraft, which my father firmly believed to be a wile of
the devil. He said that he would not, but for all that there was never
an ox lost, or a sudden death, but he was consulted by those interested.