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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Captain of the Polestar"

That is all I
know of the fate of my poor shipmates. Almost immediately
afterwards the large canoe followed us, and the deserted ship was
left drifting about--a dreary, spectre-like hulk. Nothing was
taken from her by the savages. The whole fiendish transaction was
carried through as decorously and temperately as though it were a
religious rite.
The first grey of daylight was visible in the east as we passed
through the surge and reached the shore. Leaving half-a-dozen men
with the canoes, the rest of the negroes set off through the sand-
hills, leading me with them, but treating me very gently and
respectfully. It was difficult walking, as we sank over our ankles
into the loose, shifting sand at every step, and I was nearly
dead beat by the time we reached the native village, or town
rather, for it was a place of considerable dimensions. The houses
were conical structures not unlike bee-hives, and were made of
compressed seaweed cemented over with a rude form of mortar, there
being neither stick nor stone upon the coast nor anywhere within
many hundreds of miles. As we entered the town an enormous crowd
of both sexes came swarming out to meet us, beating tom-toms and
howling and screaming. On seeing me they redoubled their yells and
assumed a threatening attitude, which was instantly quelled by a
few words shouted by my escort. A buzz of wonder succeeded the
war-cries and yells of the moment before, and the whole dense mass
proceeded down the broad central street of the town, having my
escort and myself in the centre.


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