So I drew pictures in sand
and sat down beside them and hooted like one o'clock. Sometimes
they did the things I wanted all right, and sometimes they did them
all wrong. They was always very willing, certainly. All the while
I was puzzling how I was to get the confounded business settled.
Every night before the dawn I used to march out in full rig and go off
to a place where I could see the channel in which the Ocean Pioneer
lay sunk, and once even, one moonlight night, I tried to walk out
to her, but the weeds and rocks and dark clean beat me. I didn't get
back till full day, and then I found all those silly niggers out on
the beach praying their sea-god to return to them. I was that vexed
and tired, messing and tumbling about, and coming up and going down
again, I could have punched their silly heads all round when they
started rejoicing. I'm hanged if I like so much ceremony.
"And then came the missionary. That missionary! It was in the afternoon,
and I was sitting in state in my outer temple place, sitting on
that old black stone of theirs when he came. I heard a row outside
and jabbering, and then his voice speaking to an interpreter.
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