“Oh, that will be easy enough; but, first, let us put our heads through the leaves, or he will never recognize us,” said I.
Then we put our heads through so that the leaves fell over our shoulders like capes, but of a very odd fashion; and, as Kati pulled nearer, shouted to him. At the sound of our voices he looked around, but (as he afterwards related) taking us for a couple of those forest-demons, which, from his childhood, he had been taught to believe in, he gave a kind of shriek of surprise, and plied his oars the faster.
“Bother! what a fool he is to take us for wild beasts!”
“Wild beasts don’t walk on their hind legs, Martin. No—he takes us for forest-demons,” said I, now really fearing that he would leave us where we were.
“I will jump into the river, and, if it pleases the crocodiles, will swim to him,” cried Martin.
“No, no—for heaven’s sake, no!” I cried, seizing his arm—“you shall not; the river swarms with man-eaters. At least, let us try stones first;” and at once I hurled at the boatman a stone, which hit him on the back.
Now, no greater insult could have been offered to one of his race: thus, forgetting his fear of demons, he turned the prow of his boat, and, leaping ashore, creese in hand, prepared to run “a muck”; but, as he came near, we tore the leaves from our shoulders. He stopped suddenly, as if shot, or petrified.
“What demons,” he cried, “have taken the form of the young sahibs?”
“I told you he would take us for spirits, Martin,” said I.
“No, no,” replied my brother, approaching him, as he shrunk backwards in no dissembled terror; “we are no demons, but real, right-down flesh and blood, though packed in palm-leaves.”