Then out into the opening rushed the savages, still yelling and brandishing their bows and arrows.
But they did not go far.
Less than a rod of the opening was passed when they began to sink into the black ooze beneath the green moss.
They tried to turn back, but it was in vain.
From their ankles they sank to their knees, and then to their waists.
Their war cries changed to shrieks of alarm and then to frantic appeals to their comrades to help them.
Over a dozen were caught in the glue-like bog, and every one of the number was in danger of losing his life.
The whites were totally forgotten, and the others, coming up, turned their whole attention to rescuing those in such dire peril.
Pat Stoodles laughed loud and long over the success of his ruse.
"Now it's good-by to ye!" he cried, shaking his fist at the natives. "I'm no more the grand muck-a-muck, but a dacent Irish sailor come back to his siven senses."