As if his thoughts had been read, a voice of command travelled over the surface of the water and penetrated the uproar with its calm accent.
"Quiet, my children! Make speed, but no more noise."
"The Mahatma," gasped Dan.
"Did you hear him?" Dick questioned. "Did you hear English words?"
"Of course. At least I seemed to hear them."
"But the black Kungoras obeyed. And so did the Taharans. And the Gorols, too! Yet none of those people understood English."
"That's a fact. How do you account for that?"
"The Mahatma sent an order that each man understood in his own language. It was not in words, however. He just sent his thoughts to us all. We imagined we heard the words, but what happened was that we got the idea by some sixth sense."
"That's magic! The real thing!" Dan exclaimed.
"Not magic. It's what I told you about; a kind of mental radio."