He dropped quietly over the side and swam towards the shore. Orlando, following his example, was alongside of him in a few seconds.
Both men were expert and rapid swimmers. The natives watched them in absolute silence and open-mouthed surprise.
A few minutes sufficed to carry the swimmers to the beach.
“Have your rifles handy, lads,” said the officer in charge of the boat to his men.
“Stand by,” said the captain of the “Furious” to the men at the guns.
But these precautions were unnecessary, for when the swimmers landed and walked up the beach they were seen by the man-of-war’s-men to shake hands with the chief of the savages, and, after what appeared to be a brief palaver, to rub noses with him. Then the entire host turned and led the visitors towards the village.
With a heart almost bursting from the combined effects of disappointment, humiliation, and grief, poor Ebony stood at the stern of the man-of-war, his arms crossed upon his brawny chest, and his great eyes swimming in irrepressible tears, a monstrous bead of which would every now and then overflow its banks and roll down his sable cheek.
Suddenly the heart-stricken negro clasped his hands together, bowed his head, and dropped into the sea!
The captain, who had seen him take the plunge, leaped to the stern, and saw him rise from the water, blow like a grampus, and strike out for land with the steady vigour of a gigantic frog.
“Pick him up!” shouted the captain to the boat, which was by that time returning to the ship.