‘Then the king told me what the Obi man said, and I was glad, and sharpened my knife, and waited for a wind. The men of my nation knew it too, and we were glad, and said that the Obi man was wise. At last a wind came strong over the sea, and rattled the boughs of the forest, and the waves were white on the rocks. Then I went into the sea to swim and dive and cut the ropes. The surf was wild, but I am a great swimmer, and the surf could not drown me; and so I swam away out from the coast. I swam long. When I sank down into the valley between the waves, I could only see water—not land, nor the ship. Thus I passed to windward of the ship. If they saw my head, they thought it was a piece of wood, or a bird, or the head of some creature that lives in the sea. At length I was near the ship, and I saw the great rope from her bows going down into the water. I looked what way the rope went—it was under me. I drew my knife—I took a long breath—I dived. Down many fathoms I saw the rope; it stretched dimly out in the green sea. I clutched it; it shook—it trembled. Sometimes it slackened—sometimes it jerked out like an iron bar. I clung to it. The sea heaved and twisted me round and round it; but the knife was very sharp—my arm was very strong. The knife was half through the rope, when there came a jerk through all its strands, and it was torn asunder. One part was wrested out of my grasp, the other sank slowly into the sea. I rose up to the surface. I was almost spent; I swam faintly; I rested on the rolling sea. Then from the top of a wave I looked at the ship; she was already near the rock, and her side was to the waves. Men were in the rigging and among the ropes; they strived to loose the sails, but they had no time. The ship struck—the waves went over her—the masts fell—the crew were drowned! As I swam to land, I heard the people of my nation—how they shouted and were glad! That ship fared like the others—she broke, and we had the spoil. The powder, the cloth, the iron, and all things which we valued. Only three white men were saved, and we made them slaves. We sent them up the dark river, and into the dark woods far from the sea. They cried, and were in despair. They were sold to another nation, and we had the riches and rejoiced.’ ‘You infernal villain!’ cried Garbo. ‘The fellow talks of wrecking ships and drowning men by his devilish treachery, as if the tale were of building churches and saying masses.’ ‘I say truth,’ replied the negro. ‘Give me more strong drink.’ The captain shrugged his shoulders, and refilled the savage’s cup. The barbarian, whose eyes now began to gleam like a wild cat’s, broke out into a hoarse, guttural laugh, so savage and strange, that the watch on the forecastle called out to know what the noise was. ‘It is only Wooroo singing,’ answered the captain. ‘Go on, Wooroo.’ The negro, who was now getting excited by his story and the drink, needed no spurring.