He clapped his hands twice.
In a moment a tom-tom began to beat from behind, and the people all crowded without the circle. The King of Fire came forward ostentatiously and made taboo. “If, any man cross this line,” he said in a droning sing-song, “till the canoe return from the great oracle of our faith on Aloa Mauna, I, Fire, will scorch him into cinder and ashes. If any woman transgress, I will pitch her with palm oil, and light her up for a lamp on a moonless night to lighten this temple.”
The King of Water distributed shark’s-tooth spears. At once a great serried wall hemmed in the Europeans all round, and they sat down to wait, the three whites together, for the upshot of the mission to Aloa Mauna.
And the dawn now gleamed red on the eastern horizon.
CHAPTER XXXI. — AT SEA: OFF BOUPARI.
Thirteen days out from Sydney, the good ship Australasian was nearing the equator.
It was four of the clock in the afternoon, and the captain (off duty) paced the deck, puffing a cigar, and talking idly with a passenger on former experiences.
Eight bells went on the quarter-deck; time to change watches.