He looked behind him and there in a heap lay the Ogula around their chief, insensible or sleeping.

He counted them and found that two were gone, lost in the tempest, how or where no man ever learned.

He looked forward and saw a peculiar sight, for in the prow of the drifting canoe stood Jeekie clad in the remains of his white robe and wearing on his head the battered helmet and about his shoulders the torn fragments of green mosquito net.

While Alan was wondering strangely why he had adopted this ceremonial garb, from out of the mist there came a sound of singing, of wild and solemn singing.

Jeekie seemed to listen to it; then he lifted up his great musical voice and sang as though in answer.