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." As it chanced on that stormy morning the wind was blowing strongly towards the mainland.
We laboured at the mast, shipped it and hauled up the mat sail, but slowly for we were awkward at the business.