When at last they dressed, the sun was lower in the sky and the shadows had crept across the pool. Only in one corner gleamed a patch of golden light. They felt tired as they made their way once more toward the beach, climbing from rock to rock along the bed of the stream. Strange birds flew in and out among the dimness of the trees, and once they heard a hollow, almost human, call. Carey shivered a little in her thin pajamas. Her skin tingled from the sun and water, and her legs felt scratched.
When they came out of the shadows of the trees, the beach was no longer white but warm gold in the deep glow of the setting sun.
"I think we're a bit late," said Carey. They shaded their eyes with their hands and looked across the lagoon toward the place where they had left the bed. "There it is," said Carey, almost with relief. "But I don't see-" She hesitated. "Can you see Miss Price and Paul?" Charles strained his eyes. "No. Not unless they're tucked up in bed." he added.
"Then they did go exploring after all," said Carey. "We're back first anyway, even if we are late. Come on." "Wait a minute," said Charles. He was staring across the lagoon. His face looked odd and blank.
"I say, Carey-" "What?" "The water's come up over that bar of sand." "What?" said Carey again. She followed the direction of his eyes. Smooth rollers were pouring over what had been their path, the spit of sand and coral along which they had raced so gaily that morning; smooth, combed-looking rollers that poured into the smoothness of the lagoon, breaking a little where the coral ridge had held the sand. The bed, black against the glittering sea, stood as they had left it on a rising slope-an island, cut off.
Carey's face, in that golden light, looked expressionless and strange. They were silent, staring out across the water.
"Could you swim the lagoon?" asked Charles after a moment. Carey swallowed. "I don't know," she said huskily.
"We might try it," Charles suggested rather uncertainly.
"What about Paul and Miss Price?" Carey reminded him.
"They may be tucked up. in bed." Charles screwed up his eyes. "It's impossible to see from here." "You'd see a lump or something. The outline of the bed looks too thin. Oh, dear, Charles," Carey burst out unhappily, "it'll be dark soon." "Carey!" cried Charles suddenly.
She wheeled round, frightened by the note in his voice. He was looking up the beach towards the shadow of the trees. Three figures stood there, silent, and none of them was Miss Price or Paul; three dark figures, so still that at first Carey thought they could not be human. Then she shrieked, "Cannibals!" and ran toward the sea. She did not stop to see if Charles was following her; she ran without thinking, without hearing, and almost without seeing, as a rabbit runs from the hunter or the cook from a mouse.
They caught her at the water's edge. She felt their breath on the back of her neck, and then they gripped her by the arms. She screamed and kicked and bit and wriggled. There was nothing ladylike about Carey for quite five minutes. Then, all at once, she gave in. Sobbing and panting, she let them carry her up the beach, head downwards. In spite of her terror, she tried to look around for Charles. They had got him too, in the same position. "Charles! Charles!" she cried. He did not, or could not, reply.
The man who had caught her made for the woods, and at each stride he took, her head bumped dizzily against his spine. He smelt of coconut oil and wore a belt of threaded teeth, which, after a while, she took hold of to steady herself a little as she hung down his back. She could see the legs of Charles's captor and glimpses of the third man who ran along beside them. It was very dark in the woods, and, after a while, she heard the faint sound of drums. Of one thing we may be certain; Carey thought very little of the man who had described the island as being uninhabited. "People should be careful," she almost sobbed, pressing her face against the oily back to keep it out of the way of scratchy creepers, "what they write in encyclopedias." "Charles!" she called once when it had grown too dark to see.
"I'm here," he shouted back in a panting, suffocated voice.
After a while, as the throb of the drums grew closer, she heard another sound, the chant of human voices: "Ay oh ... ay oh ... ay ... oh. . . ." Then she saw a gleam of light. It shone on the boles of trees and the fronds of creepers. It became stronger and brighter until, at last, they found themselves in an open, firelit space where shadows moved and danced, and the earth vibrated to their dancing. "Ay ... oh ... ay ... oh ... ay ... oh," went the voices.
It seemed to Carey, from what she could see in her upside-down position, that they had broken through the ring of dancers, because the firelight shone straight in her eyes, and the voices, without changing their tune, swelled to a shout of pleased surprise-"Ay ... oh ... ay ... oh." Bump. Her captor let her drop on her head, as if she were a sack of potatoes. Dizzily she rolled into a sitting position and looked around for Charles. He crawled up to her. His forehead was bleeding, and he looked quite stunned.
Suddenly something pulled her hair. She jumped as if a snake had bitten her. She turned-and there was Paul. He looked very dirty-she could see that even by firelight-but he was smiling and saying something that she couldn't hear because of the noise of drums and voices.
"Paul!" she cried, and suddenly she felt less frightened. "Where's Miss Price?" Paul pointed-it was the easiest way. There sat poor Miss Price in the very middle of the circle. She was trussed up like a chicken, tied hand and foot with creepers. She still wore her sun helmet and a pair of dark glasses, which glinted in the firelight.
Paul was shouting something in Carey's ear. She leaned closer.
"They're going to eat us," Paul was saying. "They've got the pot back there. They're cannibals." Carey marveled at Paul's cheerfulness. "Perhaps he imagines it's a dream," she thought wonderingly.
The dance began to quicken. The writhing bodies twisted and swayed. The voices became babbling so that the "Ay ... oh ... ay ... oh" became one word, and the drums increased their speed to a single humming note. There was a sudden shout. Then the dance stopped. There was a shuffling of feet; then silence.
Paul crept up between Charles and Carey. Carey took his hand.
The dancers stood quite still, like statues. They all looked inwards toward the children. Carey never knew what made her do it, but after a moment's hesitation, she let go Paul's hand and began to clap. Charles followed suit, and Paul joined in, enthusiastically, as if he were at the theater.
The dancers smiled, and looked quite shy. Then there was a mumble of unintelligible conversation, and everybody sat down cross-legged, like boy scouts round a campfire. Miss Price was in the middle of the circle and nearest to the fire. The three children were grouped together, a little to one side.
After a moment there was a rattle of drums. The circle of eyes turned expectantly toward a path that wound between the trees. Then there was a weird inhuman shout, and a curious figure whirled into the firelight. If it had a face, you couldn't see it for paint. Daubs of scarlet and white hid the features. A great tail of shimmering feathers was attached to his belt at the back, and, as he whirled about, it shook as if he wagged it. He wore anklets of monkey's fur, and in one hand he carried a shinbone and in the other-of all things- Miss Price's broomstick! "It's the witch doctor," said Charles in Carey's ear. Carey shivered. As she looked round at the seated dancers, it seemed as if they had all drawn into themselves, as if they, too, were afraid. The weird object, his legs apart and knees bent, came jumping toward Miss Price. Every jump or so, he would whirl completely round. Each time he shook his feathers Paul laughed.