Among Trim’s party there were several who could act as interpreters, and Trim beckoned one of them to his side.
“What has the dark-complexioned gentleman got to say?” asked Trim.
“He demands to know,” was the reply, “who you are and what your purpose is in being here.”
“Ask him who he is and by what right he makes such a demand?” said Trim.
The interpreter spoke to the black man, who replied promptly in words that the interpreter translated as follows:
“We are elders of the tribe of Pombas. We live at peace with all men and trouble none who don’t come bringing war.
“We own this land, although the great white queen has asked for it. We have no trouble with the great white queen, but we still have the right to live here.”
“The great white queen,” added the interpreter, “is her Majesty, the Queen of England.”
“I suppose so,” responded Trim, “and they seem to have a good deal of respect for her. I reckon we shan’t have any trouble with them.
“Tell them that we are the sons of the western stars and that we are passing through their country simply on our way to where the stars have their thrones.