village.
Creeping like a serpent through the grass, the scout approached near
enough to overhear their arrangements, which were to the elect that the
attack should take place at midnight of the following day. He observed
that there were many prisoners in the camp--men, women, and children--
and these were to be left behind, in charge of a small party of armed
men; while the main body, under the immediate command of the Portuguese
trader, should proceed to the attack of the village.

From the scout's description of the prisoners, we became convinced that
they were none other than our friends Mbango and his people, and one
woman answering to the description of Okandaga was among them.

"So, Mak, we shall save her yet," cried Jack heartily, slapping the
shoulder of the guide, whose honest visage beamed with returning hope.

"Yis, massa. S'pose we go off dis hour and fight 'em?"

"Nay; that were somewhat too hasty a movement. `Slow but sure' must be
our motto until night. Then we shall pounce upon our foes like a
leopard on his prey. But ask the scout if that is all he has got to
tell us."

"Hims say, massa, dat hims find one leetle chile--one boy--when hims go
away from de camp to come back to here."

"A boy!" repeated Jack; "where--how?"

"In de woods, where hims was trow'd to die; so de scout take him up and
bring him to here."

"Ah, poor child!" said I; "no doubt it must have been sick, and being a
burden, has been left behind. But stay. How could that be possible if
it was found between the camp and this village?"

On further inquiry, we ascertained that the scout, after hearing what he
thought enough of their arrangements, had travelled some distance beyond
the encampment, in order to make sure that there were no other bands
connected with the one he had left, and it was while thus engaged that
he stumbled on the child, which seemed to be in a dying condition.

"Hims say, too," continued Makarooroo, after interpreting the above
information, "that there be one poor woman in awfable sorrow, screechin'
and hollerowin' like one lion."

"Eh?" exclaimed Peterkin. "Describe her to us."

The scout did so as well as he could.

"As sure as we live," cried Peterkin, "it is our friend Njamie, and the
child must be her boy! Come, show us the little fellow."

We all ran out and followed the scout to his hut, where we found his
wives--for he had three of them--nursing the child as tenderly as if it
had bee