ing
back to back, faced the intruders with calm countenances.

"Sit down, men, every one of you except Antonio," said Harold, in a
quiet, but clear and decided voice.

His men, who, having left their guns in the canoe, were utterly
helpless, quietly obeyed.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded Antonio, by Harold's
order.

To this a tall negro, who was obviously the leader of the band, replied
in the native tongue,--"It matters little who we are; you are in our
power."

"Not quite," said Harold, slightly moving his revolver. "Tell him that
he _may_ overcome us, but before he does so my friend and I carry the
lives of twelve of his men in our pistols."

The negro chief, who quite understood the powers of a revolver,
replied--"Tell your master, that before he could fire two shots, he and
his friend would have each twelve bullets in his body. But I have not
time to palaver here. Who are you, and where are you going?"

"We are Englishmen, travelling to see the country," replied Harold.

The chief looked doubtfully at him, and seemed to waver, then suddenly
making up his mind, he frowned and said sternly--"No; that is a lie.
You are Portuguese scoundrels. You shall all die. You have robbed us
of our liberty, our wives, our children, our homes; you have chained,
and tortured, and flogged us!"--he gnashed his teeth at this point, and
his followers grew excited. "Now we have got free, and you are caught.
We will let you know what it is to be slaves."

As the negro chief stirred up his wrath by thus recounting his wrongs,
and advanced a step, Harold begged Disco, in a low, urgent voice, not to
raise his pistol. Then looking the savage full in the face, without
showing a trace of anxiety, he said--"You are wrong. We are indeed
Englishmen, and you know that the English detest slavery, and would, if
they could, put a stop to it altogether."

"Yes, I know that," said the chief. "We have seen one Englishman here,
and he has made us to know that not all men with white faces are
devils--like the Portuguese and Arabs. But how am I to know you are
English?"

Again the chief wavered a little, as if half-inclined to believe
Harold's statement.

"Here is proof for you," said Harold, pointing to Chimbolo, who, being
scarcely able to move, had remained all this time beside the fire
leaning on his elbow and listening intently to the conversation. "See,"
he continued, "that is a slave. Look at him."

As he