“Not so, Harris.  You may well believe that, over there, I had only one idea—­to return to Angola and take up my trade of slave-trader again.”

“Yes,” replied Harris, “one loves his trade—­from habit.”

“For eighteen months—­”

Having pronounced those last words, Negoro stopped suddenly.  He seized his companion’s arm, and listened.

“Harris,” said he, lowering his voice, “was there not a trembling in that papyrus bush?”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Harris, seizing his gun, always ready to fire.

Negoro and he stood up, looked around them, and listened with the greatest attention.

“There is nothing there,” said Harris.  “It is this brook, swelled by the storm, which runs more noisily.  For two years, comrade, you have been unaccustomed to the noises of the forest, but you will get used to them again.  Continue, then, the narration of your adventures.  When I understand the past, we shall talk of the future.”

Negoro and Harris sat down again at the foot of the banyan.  The Portuguese continued, in these terms: 

“For eighteen months I vegetated in Auckland.  When the steamer arrived there I was able to leave it without being seen; but not a piastre, not a dollar in my pocket!  In order to live I had to follow all trades—­”

“Even the trade of an honest man, Negoro?”

“As you say, Harris.”

“Poor boy!”

“Now, I was always waiting for an opportunity, which was long coming, when the ‘Pilgrim,’ a whaler, arrived at the port of Auckland.”

“That vessel which went ashore on the coast of Angola?”

“Even the same, Harris, and on which Mrs. Weldon, her child, and her cousin were going to take passage.  Now, as an old sailor, having even been second on board a slave ship, I was not out of my element in taking service on a ship.  I then presented myself to the ‘Pilgrim’s’ captain, but the crew was made up.  Very fortunately for me, the schooner’s cook had deserted.  Now, he is no sailor who does not know how to cook.  I offered myself as head cook.  For want of a better, I was accepted.  A few days after, the ‘Pilgrim’ had lost sight of the land of New Zealand.”

“But,” asked Harris, “according to what my young friend has told me, the ‘Pilgrim’ did not set sail at all for the coast of Africa.  How then has she arrived here?”

“Dick Sand ought not to be able to understand it yet, and perhaps he will never understand it,” replied Negoro; “but I am going to explain to you what has passed, Harris, and you will be able to tell it again to your young friend, if it pleases you to do so.”

“How, then?” replied Harris.  “Speak, comrade, speak!”

“The ‘Pilgrim,’” continued Negoro, “as on the way to Valparaiso.  When I went on board, I only intended to go to Chili.  It was always a good half of the way between New Zealand and Angola, and I was drawing nearer Africa’s coast by several thousand miles.  But it so happened that only three weeks after leaving Auckland, Captain Hull, who commanded the ‘Pilgrim,’ disappeared with all his crew, while chasing a whale.  On that day, then, only two sailors remained on board—­the novice and the cook, Negoro.”