“That’s true,” replied Disco, going down on his knees, and blowing them carefully.
In a few minutes a spark leaped into a flame, wood was heaped on, and the flame speedily became a rousing fire, before which they dried their garments, while a pot of rice was put on to boil.
Scarcely had they proceeded thus far in their preparations, when two men, armed with muskets, were seen to approach, leading a negro girl between them. As they drew nearer, it was observable that the girl had a brass ring round her neck, to which a rope was attached.
“A slave!” exclaimed Disco vehemently, while the blood rushed to his face; “let’s set her free!”
The indignant seaman had half sprung to his legs before Harold seized and pulled him forcibly back.
“Be quiet man,” said Harold quickly. “If we could free her by fighting, I would help you, but we can’t. Evidently we have got into a nest of slavers. Rashness will only bring about our own death. Be wise; bide your time, and we may live to do some good yet.”
He stopped abruptly, for the new comers had reached the top of the winding path that led to the hut.
A look of intense surprise overspread the faces of the two men when they entered and saw the Englishmen sitting comfortably by the fire, and both, as if by instinct threw forward the muzzles of their muskets.
“Oh! come in, come in, make your minds easy,” cried Disco, in a half-savage tone, despite the warning he had received; “we’re all friends here—leastwise we can’t help ourselves.”
Fortunately for our mariner the men did not understand him, and before they could make up their minds what to think of it, or how to act Harold rose, and, with a polite bow, invited them to enter.