By now hundreds of people, among them many soldiers were hard upon and
indeed around us, but still they seemed too frightened to do anything.
So far the inspiration of Hans' disguise had saved us. In the midst of
them, by the light of the rising sun, I recognised Komba, who ran up,
a great spear in his hand, and for a moment halted amazed.
Then it was that the catastrophe happened which nearly cost us all our
lives.
Hans, who was in the stern of the canoe, began to faint from
exhaustion, and in his efforts to obtain air, for the heat and stench
of the skin were overpowering him, thrust his head out through the
lacings of the hide beneath the reed-stuffed mask of the gorilla,
which fell over languidly upon his shoulder. Komba saw his ugly little
face and knew it again.
"It is a trick!" he roared. "These white devils have killed the god
and stolen the Holy Flower and its priestess. The yellow man is
wrapped in the skin of the god. To the boats! To the boats!"
"Paddle," I shouted to Brother John and Stephen, "paddle for your
lives! Mavovo, help me get up the sail.
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