'It's no use tackling these hobos,' said the latter. 'They 'd fly at you like dogs. Keep pace with them; I 'll run on and talk to the chief.'
Hoole sprinted up the line, past the Papuans, carrying food and cooking-pots, past the drummers and the men who bore the seaplane, past spearmen and dancers, and the retinue of patricians who followed immediately behind Flanso. Laying a hand on the chief's arm, he remembered that the interpreter had been left in the village, and wondered nervously how he was to make Flanso understand. To speak in English would be useless; he knew but a word or two of the native language. Suddenly he remembered the chief's remote French extraction, and the impression made on his father by Trentham's use of French. Could that be turned to account? To explain in French what he desired was beyond him, even if Flanso could understand a continuous speech; what alternative was there? Perhaps if he could remember some French--a French poem, say--and declaim it with appropriate gestures, it might produce the moral effect which was the first necessity at the moment. Hoole was a good elocutionist and amateur actor. Racking his memory for things learnt at school, he could recall but one poem, a song of Béranger's that had taken his fancy. He posted himself at the head of the procession, and facing Flanso, spread his arms to signify that no further advance was to be made. Impressed by his determined mien, the natives halted. And then Hoole, raising himself to his full height, began to recite:
'Il était un roi d'Yvetot,
Peu connu dans l'histoire.'
Rolling the r, he pointed dramatically to the moon,
'Se levant tard, se couchant tôt,
Dormant fort bien sans gloire.'
Here he shot out his right hand towards the village. The natives gasped.
'Et couronné par Jeanneton
D'un simple bonnet de coton:
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!
Quel bon petit roi c'était là!
La, la!'
He accompanied the refrain with a rhythmical clapping of hands; then, without waiting for the mystic effect to dissipate itself, he grasped the chief by the arm, and led him back along the halted line to the spot where the Germans stood paralysed in the hands of their captors. French, he feared, would hardly serve him now; but he pointed to the prisoners, and repeated 'Pas manger; pas manger!' in a fiercely authoritative voice, winding up with 'En arrière!' and pointing towards the village, from which they had come but a quarter of a mile. Then, stepping firmly up to the group of Papuans, he seized the arm of a big man who clutched one of the Germans, and with a dexterous twist forced him to relax his hold. The men snarled, but Flanso, who by this time had apprehended what the white man was driving at, sternly ordered the prisoners to be released.
'You must take them back, Grinson,' Hoole said. 'Their hands are tied; I 'll fasten them to you so that they can't get away. Take them back and hand them over to Mr. Trentham; then catch us up. Bring Lafoa back with you.'
'Ay, ay, sir. I 'll take a spear, case of accident. And I won't be long behind you.'