"Ay," says I, "they do seem, as you say, a noble race of men."
"Then what a thousand pities it is," says he, "that they should be hunted from their homes, and worried to death by such a pack of dirty dogs as these Portugals."
I made no reply. Nor did he continue his theme for some time, but strolled beside me in silence, which was odd in him, who was wont to utter his thoughts as they came into his head. Yet I perceived his mind was still occupied, for, taking off his hat for the greater convenience of scratching his head, he would now and again give his thigh a slap with it, muttering occasionally betwixt his teeth, though I could catch no words but "dirty dogs of Portugals," and the like.
CHAPTER LII.
MATTHEW LAYS OUT A SCHEME FOR STAYING FIVE YEARS IN THE WILDERNESS.
"What a plague it is, master," says Matthew presently—"what a plague it is for a man who has no learning to get a good notion in his mind. Here am I like a young blackbird who feels he has the makings of a sweet song in his head, and yet can do no more than squeak out of tune."
"Nay, then," says I, "do as the blackbird does—strive to sing, and I warrant the tune will come in time."
"Well, master," says he, "to begin with, do you think these Ingas, if they gathered together and made head against the Portugals, might recover themselves some little corner of their territory, where they could live in peace like Christians, and trade with other nations?"
"The difficulty is," says I, "to get them to combine steadfastly for any length of time, for, according to their own showing, they are divided into a hundred tribes, each more or less hostile to the other."