race of
Africans with whose appearance he was somewhat familiar, having often
seen them acting as sailors in ships coming from the African coast.

The other slaves were much lighter in complexion, and by the old
man-o'-war's-man were called "Portugee blacks." All had the appearance
of having spent some time in bondage on the great Saaera.

On the first day of their journey the white captives had learnt the
relations existing between the majority of the company and the chief
Golah; and each of them felt shame as well as indignation at the
humiliating position in which he was placed.

Those feelings were partly excited and greatly strengthened by hunger
and thirst, as well as by the painful toil they had to undergo in
dragging themselves over the sandy plain beneath a scorching sun.

"I have had enough of this," said Harry Blount to his companions. "We
might be able to stand it several days longer, but I've no curiosity to
learn whether we can or not."

"Go on! you are thinking and speaking for me, Harry," said Terence.

"There are four of us," continued Harry,--"four of that nation whose
people boast they _never will be slaves_; besides, there are six others,
who are our fellow-bondsmen. They're not much to look at, but still they
might count for something in a row. Shall we four British tars, belong
to a party of ten,--all enslaved by three men,--black men at that?"

"That's just what I've been thinking about for the last hour or two,"
said Terence. "If we don't kill old Golah, and ride off with his camels,
we deserve to pass every day of our lives as we're doing this one--in
slavery."

"Just say the word,--when and how," cried Harry "I'm waiting. There are
seven camels. Let us each take one; but before we go we must eat and
drink the other three. I'm starving."

"Pitch on a plan, and I'll pitch into it," rejoined Terence. "I'm ready
for anything,--from pitch and toss up to manslaughter."

"Stay, Master Terence," interrupted the old sailor. "Av coorse ye are
afther wantin' to do somethin', an' thin to think aftherwards why ye did
it. Arry, my lad, yer half out o yer mind. Master Colin be the only yin
o' ye that keeps his seven senses about him. Suppose all av ye, that the
big chief was dead, an' that his son was not alive, and that the other
nager was a ristin' quietly wid his black heels turned from the place
where the daisies hought to grow,--what should we do thin? We 'ave
neyther chart nor compass. We co