“And you took command of the ship?” asked Harris.

“I had that idea at first, but I saw that they distrusted me.  There were live strong blacks on board, free men.  I would not have been the master, and, on reflection, I remained what I was at the departure—­the ‘Pilgrim’s’ cook.”

“Then it was chance that led this ship to the coast of Africa?”

“No, Harris,” replied Negoro; “there has been no chance in all this adventure except meeting you, in one of your journeys, just on that part of the coast where the ‘Pilgrim’ was wrecked.  But as to coming in sight of Angola, it was by my will, my secret will, that that was done.  Your young friend, still much of a novice in navigation, could only tell his position by means of the log and the compass.  Well, one day, the log went to the bottom.  One night the compass was made false, and the ‘Pilgrim,’ driven by a violent tempest, took the wrong route.  The length of the voyage, inexplicable to Dick Sand, would be the same to the most experienced seaman.  Without the novice knowing or even suspecting it, Cape Horn was doubled, but I, Harris, I recognized it in the midst of the fogs.  Then, thanks to me, the needle in the compass took its true direction again, and the ship, blown to the northeast by that frightful hurricane, has just been cast on the coast of Africa, just on this land of Angola which I wished to reach.”

“And even at that moment, Negoro,” replied Harris, “chance had led me there to receive you, and guide those honest people to the interior.  They believed themselves—­they could only believe themselves in America.  It was easy for me to make them take this province for lower Bolivia, to which it has really some resemblance.”

“Yes, they believed it, as your young friend believed they had made the Isle of Paques, when they passed in sight of Tristan d’Acunha.”

“Anybody would be deceived by it, Negoro.”

“I know it, Harris, and I even counted on profiting by that error.  Finally, behold Mrs. Weldon and her companions one hundred miles in the interior of this Africa, where I wanted to bring them!”

“But,” replied Harris, “they know now where they are.”

“Ah! what matter at present!” cried Negoro.

“And what will you do with them?” asked Harris.

“What will I do with them?” replied Negoro.  “Before telling you, Harris, give me news of our master, the slave-trader, Alvez, whom I have not seen for two years.”

“Oh, the old rascal is remarkably well,” replied Harris, “and he will be enchanted to see you again.”

“Is he at the Bihe market?” asked Negoro.

“No, comrade, he has been at his establishment at Kazounde for a year.”

“And business is lively?”