At daybreak, next morning, Austin, who happened to be on guard, heard Dingo bark, and noticed that he started up and ran towards the river. Arousing the inmates of the grotto, he announced to them that some one was coming.

“It isn’t Negoro,” said Tom; “Dingo would bark louder than that if Negoro were to be seen.”

“Who, then, can it be?” asked Mrs. Weldon, with an inquiring glance towards Dick.

“We must wait and see, madam,” replied Dick quietly.

Bidding Bat, Austin, and Hercules follow his example, Dick Sands took up a cutlass and a rifle, into the breach of which he slipped a cartridge. Thus armed, the four young men made their way towards the river bank. Tom and Actæon were left with Mrs. Weldon at the entrance of the grotto.

The sun was just rising. Its rays, intercepted by the lofty range of mountains in the east, did not fall directly on the cliff; but the sea to its western horizon was sparkling in the sunbeams as the party marched along the shore. Dingo was motionless as a setter, but did not cease barking. It soon proved not to be his old enemy who was disturbing him. A man, who was not Negoro, appeared round the angle of the cliff, and advancing cautiously along the bank of the stream, seemed by his gestures to be endeavouring to pacify the dog, with which an encounter would certainly have been by no means desirable.

“That’s not Negoro!” said Hercules.

[Illustration: “Good morning, my young friend.”]

“No loss for any of us,” muttered Bat.

“You are right,” replied Dick; “perhaps he is a native; let us hope he may be able to tell us our whereabouts, and save us the trouble of exploring.”

With their rifles on their shoulders, they advanced steadily towards the new arrival. The stranger, on becoming aware of their approach, manifested great surprise; he was apparently puzzled as to how they had reached the shore, for the “Pilgrim” had been entirely broken up during the night, and the spars that were floating about had probably been too few and too scattered to attract his attention. His first attitude seemed to betray something of fear; and raising to his shoulder a gun that had been slung to his belt, he began to retrace his steps; but conciliatory gestures on the part of Dick quickly reassured him, and after a moment’s hesitation, he continued to advance.

He was a man of about forty years of age, strongly built, with a keen, bright eye, grizzly hair and beard, and a complexion tanned as with constant exposure to the forest air. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, a kind of leather jerkin, or tunic, and long boots reaching nearly to his knees. To his high heels was fastened a pair of wide-rowelled spurs, which clanked as he moved.

Dick Sands in an instant saw that he was not looking upon one of the roving Indians of the pampas, but upon one of those adventurers, often of very doubtful character, who are not unfrequently to be met with in the remotest quarters of the earth. Clearly this was neither an Indian nor a Spaniard. His erect, not to say rigid deportment, and the reddish hue with which his hair and beard were streaked, betokened him to be of Anglo-Saxon origin, a conjecture which was at once confirmed when upon Dick’s wishing him “good morning,” he replied in unmistakable English, with hardly a trace of foreign accent,—

“Good morning, my young friend.”

He stepped forward, and having shaken hands with Dick, nodded to all his companions.

“Are you English?” he asked.

“No; we are Americans,” replied Dick.

“North or South?” inquired the man.

“North,” Dick answered.

The information seemed to afford the stranger no little satisfaction, and he again wrung Dick’s hand with all the enthusiasm of a fellow-countryman.

“And may I ask what brings you here?” he continued.

Before, however, Dick had time to reply, the stranger had courteously raised his hat, and, looking round, Dick saw that his bow was intended for Mrs. Weldon, who had just reached the river-bank. She proceeded to tell him the particulars of how they had been shipwrecked, and how the vessel had gone to pieces on the reefs.

A look of pity crossed the man’s face as he listened, and he cast his eye, as it might be involuntarily, upon the sea, in order to discern some vestige of the stranded ship.

“Ah! there is nothing to be seen of our poor schooner!” said Dick mournfully; “the last of her was broken up in the storm last night.”

“And now,” interposed Mrs. Weldon, “can you tell us where we are?”

“Where?” exclaimed the man, with every indication of surprise at her question; “why, on the coast of South America, of course!”

“But on what part? are we near Peru?” Dick inquired eagerly.

“No, my lad, no; you are more to the south; you are on the coast of Bolivia; close to the borders of Chili.”

“A good distance, I suppose, from Lima?” asked Dick.

“From Lima? yes, a long way; Lima is far to the north.”

“And what is the name of that promontory?” Dick said, pointing to the adjacent headland.

“That, I confess, is more than I am able to tell you,” replied the stranger; “for although I have travelled a great deal in the interior of the country, I have never before visited this part of the coast.”

Dick pondered in thoughtful silence over the information he had thus received. He had no reason to doubt its accuracy; according to his own reckoning he would have expected to come ashore somewhere between the latitudes of 27° and 30°; and by this stranger’s showing he had made the latitude 25°; the discrepancy was not very great; it was not more than might be accounted for by the action of the currents, which he knew he had been unable to estimate; moreover, the deserted character of the whole shore inclined him to believe more easily that he was in Lower Bolivia.

Whilst this conversation was going on, Mrs. Weldon, whose suspicions had been excited by Negoro’s disappearance, had been scrutinizing the stranger with the utmost attention; but she could detect nothing either in his manner or in his words to give her any cause to doubt his good faith.

“Pardon me,” she said presently; “but you do not seem to me to be a native of Peru?”

“No; like yourself, I am an American, Mrs. ——;” he paused, as if waiting to be told her name.

The lady smiled, and gave her name; he thanked her, and continued,—

“My name is Harris. I was born in South Carolina; but it is now twenty years since I left my home for the pampas of Bolivia; imagine, therefore, how much pleasure it gives me to come across some countrymen of my own.”

“Do you live in this part of the province, Mr. Harris?” Mrs. Weldon asked.

“No, indeed; far away; I live down to the south, close to the borders of Chili. At present I am taking a journey north-eastwards to Atacama.”

“Atacama!” exclaimed Dick; “are we anywhere near the desert of Atacama?”

“Yes, my young friend,” rejoined Harris, “you are just on the edge of it. It extends far beyond those mountains which you see on the horizon, and is one of the most curious and least explored parts of the continent.”

“And are you travelling through it alone?” Mrs. Weldon inquired.

“Yes, quite alone; and it is not the first time I have performed the journey. One of my brothers owns a large

[Illustration: “He is my little son.”]

farm, the hacienda of San Felice, about 200 miles from here, and I have occasion now and then to pay him business visits.”

After a moment’s hesitation, as if he were weighing a sudden thought, he continued,—

“I am on my way there now, and if you will accompany me I can promise you a hearty welcome, and my brother will be most happy to do his best to provide you with means of conveyance to San Francisco.”

Mrs. Weldon had hardly begun to express her thanks for the proposal when he said abruptly,—

“Are these negroes your slaves?”

“Slaves! sir,” replied Mrs. Weldon, drawing herself up proudly; “we have no slaves in the United States. The south has now long followed the example of the north. Slavery is abolished.”

“I beg your pardon, madam. I had forgotten that the war of 1862 had solved that question. But seeing these fellows with you, I thought perhaps they might be in your service,” he added, with a slight tone of irony.

“We are very proud to be of any service to Mrs. Weldon,” Tom interposed with dignity, “but we are no man’s property. It is true I was sold for a slave when I was six years old; but I have long since had my freedom; and so has my son. Bat here, and all his friends, were born of free parents.”

“Ah! well then, I have to congratulate you,” replied Harris, in a manner that jarred very sensibly upon Mrs. Weldon’s feelings; but she said nothing.

Harris added,—

“I can assure you that you are as safe here in Bolivia as you would be in New England.”

He had not finished speaking, when Jack, followed by Nan, came out of the grotto. The child was rubbing his eyes, having only just awakened from his night’s sleep. Catching sight of his mother, he darted towards her.

“What a charming little boy!” exclaimed Harris.

“He is my little son,” said Mrs. Weldon, kissing the child by way of morning greeting.

“Ah, madam, I am sure you must have suffered doubly on his account. Will the little man let me kiss him too?”

But there was something in the stranger’s appearance that did not take Jack’s fancy, and he shrank back timidly to his mother’s side.

“You must excuse him, sir; he is very shy.”

“Never mind,” said Harris; “we shall be better acquainted by-and-by. When we get to my brother’s, he shall have a nice little pony to ride.”

But not even this tempting offer seemed to have any effect in coaxing Jack into a more genial mood. He kept fast hold of his mother’s hand, and she, somewhat vexed at his behaviour, and anxious that no offence should be given to a man who appeared so friendly in his intentions, hastened to turn the conversation to another topic.

Meantime Dick Sands had been considering Harris’s proposal. Upon the whole, the plan of making their way to the hacienda of San Felice seemed to commend itself to his judgment; but he could not conceal from himself that a journey of 200 miles across plains and forests, without any means of transport, would be extremely fatiguing. On expressing his doubts on this point, he was met with the reply,—

“Oh, that can be managed well enough, young man; just round the corner of the cliff there I have a horse, which is quite at the disposal of the lady and her son; and by easy stages of ten miles or so a day, it will do the rest of us no harm to travel on foot. Besides,” he added, “when I spoke of the journey being 200 miles, I was thinking of following, as I usually do, the course of the river; but by taking a short cut across the forest, we may reduce the distance by nearly eighty miles.”

Mrs. Weldon was about to say how grateful she was, but Harris anticipated her.

“Not a word, madam, I beg you. You cannot thank me better than by accepting my offer. I confess I have never crossed this forest, but I am so much accustomed to the pampas that I have little fear of losing my way. The only difficulty is in the matter of provisions, as I have only supplied myself with enough to carry me on to San Felice.”

“As to provisions,” replied Mrs. Weldon, “we have enough and to spare; and we shall be more than willing to share everything with you.”

“That is well,” answered Harris; “then there can be no reason why we should not start at once.”

He was turning away with the intention of fetching his horse, when Dick Sands detained him. True to his seaman’s instincts, the young sailor felt that he should be much more at his ease on the sea-shore than traversing the heart of an unknown forest.

“Pardon me, Mr. Harris,” he began, “but instead of taking so long a journey across the desert of Atacama, would it not be far better for us to follow the coast either northwards or southwards, until we reach the nearest seaport?”

A frown passed over Harris’s countenance.

“I know very little about the coast,” he answered; “but I know enough to assure you that there is no town to the north within 300 or 400 miles.”

“Then why should we not go south?” persisted Dick.

“You would then have to travel to Chili, which is almost as far; and, under your circumstances, I should not advise you to skirt the pampas of the Argentine Republic. For my own part, I could not accompany you.”

“But do not the vessels which ply between Chili and Peru come within sight of this coast?” interposed Mrs. Weldon.

“No, madam; they keep out so far to sea that there would not be the faintest chance of your hailing one.”

“You seem to have another question to ask Mr. Harris,” Mrs. Weldon continued, addressing Dick, who still looked rather doubtful.

Dick replied that he was about to inquire at what port he would be likely to find a ship to convey their party to San Francisco.

“That I really cannot tell you, my young friend,” rejoined Harris; “I can only repeat my promise that we will furnish you with the means of conveyance from San Felice to Atacama, where no doubt you will obtain all the information you require.”

“I hope you will not think that Dick is insensible to your kindness, Mr. Harris,” said Mrs. Weldon, apologetically.

“On the contrary,” promptly observed Dick; “I fully appreciate it; I only wish we had been cast ashore upon a spot where we should have had no need to intrude upon his generosity.”

“I assure you, madam, it gives me unbounded pleasure to serve you in any way,” said Harris; “it is, as I have told you, not often that I come in contact with any of my own countrymen.”

“Then we accept your offer as frankly as it is made,” replied the lady, adding; “but I cannot consent to deprive you of your horse. I am a very good walker.”

“So am I,” said Harris, with a bow, “and consequently I intend you and your little son to ride. I am used to long tramps through the pampas. Besides, it is not at all unlikely that we shall come across some of the workpeople belonging to the hacienda; if so, they will be able to give us a mount.”

Convinced that it would only be thwarting Mrs. Weldon’s wishes to throw any further impediment in the way, Dick Sands suppressed his desire to raise fresh obstacles, and simply asked how soon they ought to start.

“This very day, at once,” said Harris quickly.

“So soon?” asked Dick.

“Yes. The rainy season begins in April, and the sooner we are at San Felice the better. The way through the forest is the safest as well as the shortest, for we shall be less likely to meet any of the nomad Indians, who are notorious robbers.”

Without making any direct reply, Dick proceeded to instruct the negroes to choose such of the provisions as were most easy of transport, and to make them up into packages, that every one might carry a due share. Hercules with his usual good nature professed himself willing to carry the entire load; a proposal, however, to which Dick would not listen for a moment.

“You are a fine fellow, Hercules” said Harris, scrutinizing the giant with the eye of a connoisseur; “you would be worth something in the African market.”

“Those who want me now must catch me first,” retorted Hercules, with a grin.

The services of all hands were enlisted, and in a comparatively short time sufficient food was packed up to supply the party for about ten days’ march.

“You must allow us to show you what hospitality is in our power,” said Mrs. Weldon, addressing her new acquaintance; “our breakfast will be ready in a quarter of an hour, and we shall be happy if you will join us.”

“It will give me much pleasure,” answered Harris, gaily; “I will employ the interval in fetching my horse, who has breakfasted already.”

“I will accompany you,” said Dick.

“By all means, my young friend; come with me, and I will show you the lower part of the river.”

While they were gone, Hercules was sent in search of Cousin Benedict, who was wandering on the top of the cliff in quest of some wonderful insect, which, of course, was not to be found. Without asking his permission, Hercules unceremoniously brought him back to Mrs. Weldon, who explained how they were about to start upon a ten days’ march into the interior of the country. The entomologist was quite satisfied with the arrangement, and declared himself ready for a march across the entire continent, as long as he was free to be adding to his collection on the way.

Thus assured of her cousin’s acquiescence in her plans; Mrs. Weldon proceeded to prepare such a substantial meal as she hoped would invigorate them all for the approaching journey.

Harris and Dick Sands, meantime, had turned the corner of the cliff, and walked about 300 paces along the shore until they came to a tree to which a horse was tethered. The creature neighed as it recognized its master. It was a strong-built animal, of a kind that Dick had not seen

[Illustration: They came to a tree to which a horse was tethered.]

before, although its long neck and crupper, short loins, flat shoulders and arched forehead indicated that it was of Arabian breed.

“Plenty of strength here,” Harris said, as after unfastening the horse, he took it by the bridle and began to lead it along the shore.

Dick made no reply; he was casting a hasty glance at the forest which enclosed them on either hand; it was an unattractive sight, but he observed nothing to give him any particular ground for uneasiness.

Turning round, he said abruptly,—

“Did you meet a Portuguese last night, named Negoro?”

“Negoro? who is Negoro?” asked Harris, in a tone of surprise.

“He was our ship’s cook; but he has disappeared.”

“Drowned, probably,” said Harris indifferently.

“No, he was not drowned; he was with us during the evening, but left afterwards; I thought perhaps you might have met him along the river-side, as you came that way.”

“No,” said Harris, “I saw no one; if your cook ventured alone into the forest, most likely he has lost his way; it is possible we may pick him up upon our road.”

When they arrived at the grotto, they found breakfast duly prepared. Like the supper of the previous evening it consisted mainly of corned beef and biscuit. Harris did ample justice to the repast.

“There is no fear of our starving as we go,” he observed to Mrs. Weldon; “but I can hardly say so much for the unfortunate Portuguese, your cook, of whom my young friend here has been speaking.”

“Ah! has Dick been telling you about Negoro?” Mrs. Weldon said.

Dick explained that he had been inquiring whether Mr. Harris had happened to meet him in the direction he had come.

“I saw nothing of him,” Harris repeated; “and as he has deserted you, you need not give yourselves any concern about him.” And apparently glad to turn the subject, he said, “Now, madam, I am at your service; shall we start at once?”

It was agreed that there was no cause for delay. Each one took up the package that had been assigned him. Mrs. Weldon, with Hercules’ help, mounted the horse, and Jack, with his miniature gun slung across his shoulder, was placed astride in front of her. Without a thought of acknowledging the kindness of the good-natured stranger in providing him so enjoyable a ride, the heedless little fellow declared himself quite capable of guiding the “gentleman’s horse,” and when to indulge him the bridle was put into his hand, he looked as proud as though he had been appointed leader of the whole caravan. 2h5AzMkSUN3IvqXHwak718Xx9TkE1p+laVd2G2INrvkdYCCwDA6Er9TSV5qVIs1z