“Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Be Thou our Guard while troubles last, And our eternal home.” At the end of five weeks we reached Teneriffe Island, where I waited three weeks for the return of the _Volta_ from Liverpool. As we approached the harbour of Santa Cruz the captain called me to the bridge to see an American flag which waved from a mast among the flags of all nations. “Come,” said he, “and feast your eyes on your American gridiron.” It did not take me long to get to the bridge. “Don’t point it out,” said I, “let me find it myself.” Those who have wandered much in foreign lands are more deeply imbued with the sentiment of the flag. But to feel it to the full one must have lived for years in an uncivilized land, where liberty is not yet born. The sight of the flag to me that day was like hearing Madam Patti sing _Home Sweet Home_. I landed at Santa Cruz and remained there four days—days of unpleasant recollection. It was thought best to keep Ndong as much as possible in the open air. Though very weak he could walk, and I led him by the hand. One would think that these Spaniards of Santa Cruz had never seen a black skin before; the poor emaciated form added greatly to their curiosity; and above all, the novelty of a white man caring for one who to them was only a “little black nigger.” I no sooner appeared with the child than a crowd gathered around me, and I found myself the centre of a dirty procession of all ages and genders, that followed me round and round the block in increasing numbers; large girls walking backwards in front of me; women with baskets of clothes on their heads going out of their way to walk by my side and staring with open mouth,—all of them staring. The slightest betrayal of irritation on my part would have served only to increase the crowd, and I tried to look perfectly composed and good-natured. But now and then there was an inward rise of unsaintly feeling that resembled that of the two she-bears of Holy Scripture that rudely scattered a crowd of young Spaniards following hard upon the heels of an ancient prophet. Ndong was at first exasperated by this unwelcome publicity; but later his feelings were relieved by an inadvertent remark. Before reaching Teneriffe, two missionary ladies, to whom I am grateful for many kindnesses, had made a little suit for him out of some of their own clothes. This suit was far beyond anything he had ever hoped to possess. And in addition to this I bought him a pair of shoes at Santa Cruz—little canvas shoes with hemp soles, for which I paid a peseta. When he protested against the rude staring of the Spaniards, and was about to cry, I remarked that perhaps these poor Spanish children were only admiring his fine clothes. He took me more literally than I had expected, and from that time made no more complaint.