"I know it is scorched," he ejaculated at intervals, "but they might trim it up and stick it on to a new body as the original false god.Now they can't, for there's nothing left."As a matter of fact, we were never in any real danger, for our pursuit was very half-hearted indeed.To begin with, now that their first rage was over, the Orofenans who were fond of us had no particular wish to do us to death, while the ardour of their sorcerers, who wished this very much, had been greatly cooled by the mysterious annihilation of their idol and the violent deaths of two of their companions, which they thought might be reduplicated in their own persons.So it came about that the chase, if noisy, was neither close nor eager.
We reached the edge of the lake where was the boat-house of which I have spoken already, travelling at little more than a walk.Here we made Bastin unfasten the better of the two canoes that by good luck was almost filled with offerings, which doubtless, according to custom, must be made upon the day of this feast to Oro, while we watched against surprise at the boat-house door.When he was ready we slipped in and took our seats, Tommy jumping in after us, and pushed the canoe, now very heavily laden, out into the lake.
Here, at a distance of about forty paces, which we judged to be beyond wooden spear-throw, we rested upon our paddles to see what would happen.All the crowd of islanders had rushed to the lake edge where they stood staring at us stupidly.Bastin, thinking the occasion opportune, lifted the hideous head of the idol which he had carefully washed, and began to preach on the downfall of "the god of the Grove."This action of his appeared to awake memories or forebodings in the minds of his congregation.Perhaps some ancient prophecy was concerned--I do not know.At any rate, one of the priests shouted something, whereon everybody began to talk at once.Then, stooping down, they threw water from the lake over themselves and rubbed its sand and mud into their hair, all the while ****** genuflexions toward the mountain in the middle, after which they turned and departed.
"Don't you think we had better go back?" asked Bastin.
"Evidently my words have touched them and their minds are melting beneath the light of Truth.""Oh! by all means," replied Bickley with sarca**; "for then their spears will touch us, and our bodies will soon be melting above the fires of that pit.""Perhaps you are right," said Bastin; "at least, I admit that you have made matters very difficult by your unjustifiable homicide of that priest who I do not think meant to injure you seriously, and really was not at all a bad fellow, though opinionated in some ways.Also, I do not suppose that anybody is expected, as it were, to run his head into the martyr's crown.
When it settles there of itself it is another matter.""Like a butterfly!" exclaimed the enraged Bickley.
"Yes, if you like to put it that way, though the simile seems a very poor one; like a sunbeam would be better."Here Bickley gave way with his paddle so vigorously that the canoe was as nearly as possible upset into the lake.
In due course we reached the flat Rock of Offerings, which proved to be quite as wide as a double croquet lawn and much longer.
"What are those?" I asked, pointing to certain knobs on the edge of the rock at a spot where a curved projecting point made a little harbour.
Bickley examined them, and answered:
"I should say that they are the remains of stone mooring-posts worn down by many thousands of years of weather.Yes, look, there is the cut of the cables upon the base of that one, and very big cables they must have been."We stared at one another--that is, Bickley and I did, for Bastin was still engaged in contemplating the blackened head of the god which he had overthrown.