Heads were thrust out of the doors and people ran into the gardens, every one of whom began to yell till one might have thought that a massacre was in progress.

But as yet no one came near us, for they were afraid.
"Push on," I cried, "or all is lost." They answered nobly.

Hans struggled forward on all fours, for he was nearly done and his hideous garment was choking him, while Stephen and Brother John, exhausted though they were with the weight of the great plant, actually broke into a feeble trot.

We came to the harbour and there, tied to the wharf, was the same canoe in which we had crossed to Pongo-land.

We sprang into it and cut the fastenings with my knife, having no time to untie them, and pushed off from the wharf.
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.