You think all nonsense?
Well, you see.
Give me match please." Then while we watched he placed some tobacco, at least it looked like tobacco, in a little wooden bowl that he also produced from his basket.
Next he said something to his companion, Marut, who drew a flute from his robe made out of a thick reed, and began to play on it a wild and melancholy music, the sound of which seemed to affect my backbone as standing on a great height often does.

Presently too Harut broke into a low song whereof I could not understand a word, that rose and fell with the music of the flute.

Now he struck a match, which seemed incongruous in the midst of this semi-magical ceremony, and taking a pinch of the tobacco, lit it and dropped it among the rest.

A pale, blue smoke arose from the bowl and with it a very sweet odour not unlike that of the tuberoses gardeners grow in hot-houses, but more searching.
"Now you breath smoke, Macumazana," he said, "and tell us what you see.

Oh! no fear, that not hurt you.