"Knock him on the head at once," said one. "Throw him overboard, and let the sharks have him," proposed another. "Shoot him with pistol," quoth the big negro,--grinning horribly. These words were uttered with the most cold-blooded indifference, as if the act proposed by the speakers was one of everyday occurrence with them. Jack, as he listened, longed to make an effort to save his life; anything was better than to sit there quietly and be murdered. Far rather would he die struggling bravely for existence. Still, as the pirates did not make any further demonstration, he thought it would be wiser to appear unconscious of their threats, and remained where he was without moving. Jack, however, every now and then, looked over the gunwale of the canoe, to ascertain where they were going. They quickly arrived off the bar, but the slave-dealers or pirates, or whatever they were, seemed to think that there was too much surf to allow them to cross it. They therefore pulled back a little way to the south. Jack observed a patch of sandy beach, with a clear channel up to it, between two rocks. They waited for a short time, and then the canoe, mounting on the top of a roller, was carried rapidly forward, the foam hissing and bubbling round her, till she grounded on the beach. In a moment the crew, jumping out of her, ran her up out of the reach of the succeeding roller, which roared angrily, as if disappointed of its prey. Jack was going to walk on, but he felt a hand laid heavily on his shoulder, and his arms, being seized by two of the black fellows, were bound behind him, and he found himself a prisoner on the coast of Africa, without the slightest prospect, as far as he could see, of making his escape from his ruffian captors.