The incredible wonder of the thing, the marvel that their god, who had never before been known to speak, should at this particular and solemn moment see fit to break his long silence, absolutely paralysed the thousands who heard the voice. They could do nothing but stare, open-mouthed, at the gigantic figure, afraid almost to breathe, lest something frightful should happen to them. There were many present who comprehended the meaning of the words, although they were spoken in a different tongue from that generally in use among them, and these began to question themselves:
“Inaguy, son of Mali! Who is he? We know no priest of that name. Is he one of us? Why does he not speak?”
Meanwhile Inaguy, who had once before witnessed such a phenomenon, was not altogether surprised that a god should again intervene to save his master; and turning his face to the idol, he cried:
“Lord, first bid them to release me. It is not meet that I, thy servant, should deliver thy message, bound here to the torture stake.”
“Nay, the man is right,” murmured Jiravai, the king, who understood Inaguy’s speech, and who began to fear that he was like to get into very serious trouble if he was not exceedingly careful. And, rising to his feet, he looked toward Inaguy and demanded:
“Art thou Inaguy, son of Mali?”
“Lord, it is even so,” answered Inaguy.
“Then, release him,” ordered the king. Turning toward the idol and prostrating himself, he continued:
“Great Anamac, god of the Mangeromas, forgive us, thy servants. What we have done was in ignorance—”
“Tell him, Inaguy, that I am displeased with him and his people, for acting as he has done without first consulting me, and that I refuse to listen to him or communicate with him, save through thee,” interrupted the idol sternly.