Gil was very positive he saw first a snake and then a toad thrown into the pot, and it hardly seemed possible the cooking would be followed by eating.
The faces of the dancers were painted with vivid red lines, as if the coloring matter was blood, and two of the eldest members had the same kind of ornamentation covering their entire bodies.
When the crowd had apparently exhausted themselves by this sort of exercise, they crouched around the fire, looking more like gigantic frogs than human beings, and the old fellows stirred the contents of the pot, making the most uncouth gestures meanwhile.
Then it appeared as if the “broth” was done.
The performers began to dance and sing once more, and Gil had just thought that it was time for them to retrace their steps, when the two highly-decorated performers set about ladling the disgusting-looking stuff into cocoanut shells.
A dozen portions were taken from the pot, and handed to as many men, each of whom immediately started through the thicket in a different direction, one passing so near Nelse that it seemed as if he leaped directly over the boy, and the remainder of the crowd redoubled their howls and contortions.
Mr. Jenkins pressed the hands of his companions to intimate that it was time for them to leave, and the boys rose to their feet, following him at a comparatively swift pace, to the spot where the boat had been left.
“We must have missed our way somehow,” the mate whispered, when they finally emerged from the thicket, and saw no signs of the craft. “I could almost swear that this is the place where we landed.”
“So it is,” Gil replied, in dismay. “Here is the imprint of her keel in the sand. Some of those fellows who left with the soup have stolen her.”