For some time longer Cousin Benedict continued to lecture. However,
sleep finally got the best of him, and he mounted to the upper cavity
of the cone, in which he had chosen his domicile.

Deep silence fell on the interior of the cone, while the storm filled
space with noise and fire. Nothing seemed to indicate that the tempest
was nearly over.

The lantern had been extinguished. The interior of the ant-hill was
plunged in complete darkness.

No doubt all slept. However, Dick Sand, alone, did not seek in sleep
the repose which was so necessary to him. Thought absorbed him. He
dreamed of his companions, whom he would save at all hazards. The
wrecking of the "Pilgrim" had not been the end of their cruel trials,
and others, still more terrible, threatened them should they fall into
the hands of these natives.

And how to avoid this danger, the worst of all, during their return to
the coast. Harris and Negoro had not led them a hundred miles into the
interior of Angola without a secret design to gain possession of them.

But what did this miserable Portuguese intend? Who had merited his
hatred? The young novice repeated to himself, that he alone had
incurred it. Then he passed in review all the incidents that had taken
place during the "Pilgrim's" voyage; the meeting with the wreck and
the blacks; the pursuit of the whale; the disappearance of Captain
Hull and his crew.

Dick Sand had found himself, at the age of fifteen, intrusted with the
command of a vessel, the compass and log of which were soon injured by
Negoro's criminal actions. He again saw himself using his authority in
the presence of this insolent cook, threatening to put him in irons,
or to blow out his brains with a pistol shot. Ah, why had he hesitated
to do it? Negoro's corpse would have been thrown overboard, and none
of these catastrophes would have happened.

Such were the young man's various thoughts. Then they dwelt a moment
on the shipwreck which had ended the "Pilgrim's" voyage. The traitor
Harris appeared then, and this province of South America gradually
became transformed. Bolivia changed to the terrible Angola, with its
feverish climate, its savage deer, its natives still more cruel. Could
the little party escape during its return to the coast? This river
which he was seeking, which he hoped to find, would it conduct them to
the shore with more safety, and with less fatigue? He would not doubt
it, for he knew well that a march of a hun