[Illustration: There, in the Surf, We Found These Tons of Mahogany,
Pounding Against Each Other.]
In the "round up" of the logs the star performers were the three
Kroo boys at the ship's side. For days, in fascinated horror, the
six passengers watched them, prayed for them, and made bets as to
which would be the first to die. One understands that a Kroo boy is
as much at home in the sea as on shore, but these boys were neither
in the sea nor on shore. They were balancing themselves on blocks of
slippery wood that weighed a ton, but which were hurled about by the
great waves as though they were life-belts. All night the hammering
of the logs made the ship echo like a monster drum, and all day
without an instant's pause each log reared and pitched, spun like a
barrel, dived like a porpoise, or, broadside, battered itself
against the iron plates. But, no matter what tricks it played, a
Kroo boy rode it as easily as though it were a horse in a
merry-go-round.
It was a wonderful exhibition. It furnished all the thrills that one
gets when watching a cowboy on a bucking bronco, or a trained seal.
Again and again a log, in wicked conspiracy with another log, would
plan to entice a Kroo boy between them, and smash him. At the sight
the passengers would shriek a warning, the boy would dive between
the logs, and a mass of twelve hundred pounds of mahogany would
crash against a mass weighing fifteen hundred with a report like
colliding freight cars.
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