"Do go ahead a little faster, Captain," said I, "or they'll saw my legs in two."
We walked for some distance along a level, and then began to ascend a slight rise toward the eastward.
And now the drum began to beat again. The men all around us fell at once into a slow rhythmic sort of movement, in which only the upper part of their bodies moved, except for the fact that they were walking. The drum beat louder, and now I saw as we went up the hill that we came to an occasional guard or sentry posted at some tree by the roadside. This word I use for want of a better. I saw no path, but the route seemed well defined to the marching body of men. Each sentry held a staff or long pennon, to the top of which was tied one of the hateful red cloths. Each one whom we passed stood like a statue, never moving except to give the Skipper and myself a look of scrutiny, in which triumph was mingled.
And now others began to join our number. They seemed to rise from the very ground. I saw them lurking under the shadow of the trees. Then they came by one and two quickly forward, and slipped into our ranks and proceeded with us on our march.
"I hope you're pretty tender, Jones, my boy," said the Captain to me, "for I think our destination's the soup pot." I turned sick at his words. We had a chance for much quiet interchange of thought, for the singing and droning of the dreadful minor chant, repeated with additional words, covered any sound that we might make:
"We are marching toward the East, To the holy Serpent feast; To the worship of the true Calinda, Chica, and Vaudoux, Papaloi, O! Papaloi."
"Get on! get on!"
These words were spoken in my ear. I started. The Skipper could not have spoken them, for he was in front of me. The words came from behind. Who was it, then, who could communicate with me? I looked hurriedly round, but no one seemed to have noticed me. All those black wretches were singing, keeping time to the drum, whose minor cadence timed this dignified dance. And then as I walked along, hastening my steps, and pushing the Skipper ahead a little to save my own shins, I seemed to be hearing familiar words among the din, something like the following ridiculous jargon:
"Don't you have no fear, I will save you, I am here. Just put your faith and trust in me, You'll come out of this scot free,"
followed by the chorus, sung with gusto: