It was soon after this that I came to a second demolished dwelling, from whence I fancied there issued murmuring sounds of life. Thinking I might be so fortunate as to rescue another unfortunate being, I listened attentively, and speedily, by the slight upheaving of the rubbish, was convinced some person was beneath--whereupon I set to work as fast as I could to clear away the heap so as to make an opening, all the while assuring those inside that there was no cause for fear, the fight was over, and peace concluded. I had nearly effected my purpose, when suddenly a grizzled head was thrust up into the moonlight--the ruined hut looking something like a hencoop fastened about the neck. After glancing quickly round, the possessor of the head exclaimed, to my utter amazement, "Well, jib-booms and top-sails, but this is a queer scene, this is." I reeled back mute with astonishment at the words, which recalled to me the apparition's attention, and he continued-- "Well, you black nigger, how long are you going to stand there? Why don't you help a fellow out, instead of jabbering your confounded lingo, which I don't understand a word of, though I've heerd nothin' but it for nigh a year, and what's more, I _won't_ understand it if I stay another; for it's the devil's own tongue itself, that it are." By this time I had recovered myself, and, dashing forward, tore away the remains of the ruins; then, as the other started up, I threw myself on his neck overcome with emotion. "Now, I say, you nigger, what are you up to?" he exclaimed. "Oh, Thompson. Dear old Jack. My old, old companion," I cried, while actual tears rolled from my eyes, "don't you know me--me, Dick Galbraith?" "Dick Galbraith! and alive! By the Lord, is it possible; but how--how _could_ I know you, dear Dick, my boy, with your face like a nigger's, and rigged out in those queer togs. Oh, lor'! I'm glad of this indeed," exclaimed the old fellow, laughing and crying at the same time as he hugged me and I hugged him, while both of us sobbed like very children for joy at once more looking into the face of a white man--and a friend. CHAPTER TWENTY. WE GO IN SEARCH OF MR FERGUSON--METILULU'S RECEPTION OF MY FRIENDS-- THEIR STORY. No one but those who have lived nearly twelve months with a savage tribe can at all imagine the joy I experienced at once more looking upon the face of a white man and a fellow-countryman. It was some moments even before I could speak my delight, my voice being stifled by rising sobs, while Jack was no better than myself. When, however, we at last drew a few paces off to again look upon each other, I could not help bursting into a laugh as I beheld my companion and recalled his complimentary remarks respecting my personal appearance, for he was as eccentrically attired as myself.