into a speech. “We grieve to hear how badly you have fared, and we hope that you are now on the mend. You do not like thanks. I see that plainly. Then I will say very little. I owe you my life, Mr Stapleton, and I and all consider your action to have been an extremely plucky one. Now, may we sit down? It is hot, as Meinheer says. And these steps are steep.”

“Sdeep! Mein word! In Elmina zere are none like dese. Here, in Cape Coast Castle, everyzing is sdeep. You climb or you run downhill. Zere is no level. Id is derrible!”

The fat little Dutchman threw his hands into the air with a comical expression of disgust, and then flung himself back into a basket chair, causing it to creak and groan and bend to one side, till Dick thought it would certainly collapse.

Mr Pepson smiled. “Our friend does not think greatly of this English possession of ours,” he said, “and there I agree with him, for Elmina is by contrast a charming spot. You have been there, Mr Stapleton—Dick I think they all call you?”

“No, I have never been to Elmina,” Dick was bound to admit.

“Ah, well, it lies some sixteen miles to the west, as you will know, and the Dutch held it for many years—in fact, till recently, when England bought the place. It is beautiful in many ways. There is little fever. The spot is drained and the bush cut back into wide clearings.”

“Ah, yes, Meinheer, and led me add, zere is a harbour. Look zere!”

The little Dutchman danced to his feet and tiptoed to the edge of the steep steps by which he had so recently ascended. Then he pointed a condemning finger at the white sandy beach, and at the thundering surf which crashed upon it.

“See id! Ze cruel waves, which so nearly robbed me of a dear, dear friend, for whose life I struggled till Meinheer Dick plunged do ze rescue. Zere is none of zat at Elmina. We Dutchmen made a harbour years ago. You can land at Elmina as you mighd in Holland. There is nod even a—ah, whad do you call him—ah, I have him, yes, a ribble, zere is nod even zat, Meinheer.”

The comical little fellow threw out his chest, as if that were necessary considering its huge dimensions, and patted it gracefully, while he looked round upon his listeners in turn as if seeking for some words of praise and commendation.

“It is true enough,” admitted Mr Pepson, and again Dick thought he detected a half-suppressed smile. “The country to which our friend belongs sent excellent colonists to Elmina. They have a harbour, and why we have not one here passes belief. But there. Why let us compare the two places and their governments? It is sufficient to say that Elmina has advanced as the years have passed, while this possession, which has been in our hands for more than two hundred years, has receded if anything. A cargo of cement and two months’ work would have made a harbour. An engineer with limited skill and knowledge could have erected a breakwater which would have enabled small boats to lie snug and secure, while there would have been no need for surf-boats. As to the bush. They call this ‘the white man’s grave.’ And so it is. But the health of the town could be vastly improved if proper efforts were made. The bush could be cleared and the place drained.”

He paused and looked out to sea, while Dick, as he watched the surf and thought over what had been said, could not help feeling that had the measures just mentioned been carried out, his father might still be living, and many another Englishman with him. Indeed, there is little doubt that at the time and until this period Cape Coast Castle and its neighbourhood had been sadly neglected. No English colony had advanced less, and none was so unhealthy, though a little effort would easily have improved matters.

“You are lately from home?” asked Mr Pepson, suddenly, turning to Dick.

“Four months ago. I came to help my father, who had had a store here for many years. He died a week before you landed.”

“Before you aided us in our efforts to reach the land, I think,” was the smiling rejoinder. “I knew your father slightly, and I sympathise with you in your loss. Do you propose to remain in these parts?”

The question was asked so quietly that Dick could not imagine that Mr Pepson had the smallest interest in the answer. And yet, had he watched this stranger, he would have seen a keen glance of the eye, a movement of the hand which denoted eagerness.

“I shall sail for England as soon as my arm is strong enough. I have been promised help in getting a place aboard one of the ships. I shall work my way home, and then seek for employment. I have been rather unlucky.”

“You were robbed, we hear. But you still have some property left, and perhaps you might find work here. What would you say to a trip up-country?”

Mr Pepson leaned back and surveyed our hero. He drew a cigar from his pocket, bit the end off, and applied a match. And all the while his eyes were on the young fellow who had saved his life. As for Meinheer Van Somering, his cheeks were puffed out with suppressed excitement. He leaned forward till his chair looked as if it would capsize, and he devoured the figure seated before him with eyes which were almost hidden behind the wreathes of fat which clothed his cheeks.

“Mind,” said Mr Pepson, calmly, “a trip such as I suggest would not be a holiday. There are dangers other than connected with fever. There are natives. Have you heard of King Koffee’s hosts of warriors?”

Dick had heard a great deal, and acknowledged the fact.

“Every one seems to think that there will be trouble with them before very long,” he said. “The Fantis, the people on this side of the Pra, go in terror of their lives. Yes, I know that there is danger up-country, but then, Mr Pepson, it is not so great as to keep an Englishman away.”

“Nor one of my gread coundry, Meinheer!”

“Quite right! Quite so, Van Somering. Now listen, Mr Dick. We—that is, Meinheer and myself—are about to march into the interior, to a spot some miles north and east of the Pra. We are bent on gold-mining, and we have bought a concession from this King Koffee. Meinheer has had his agents there for the past six months—a Dutchman and natives—and there are shafts sunk, a stockade erected, and gold is being obtained. Now I have come into the venture. The agent is about to retire, and we desire to see our concession, and to place an agent in charge who can be relied upon. The post is a dangerous one. It is also one of responsibility, for many ounces of gold pass through the hands of the man who is in charge. We have been seeking for a successor, and we believe we have found him. You are the young man upon whom our choice has fallen.”

Dick could have fallen from his chair, so great was his astonishment.

“But—but—I am only eighteen,” he stammered. “And I don’t know anything about mining.”

“We want a reliable and straightforward man,” said Mr Pepson, quietly, “and we believe you to be that. Your age does not come into the question. In England you might be just leaving for college, or have held a commission in the service for a year. You would hardly be deemed fitted for a post of great responsibility. Out here it is different. You have pluck and tenacity. Every one in the place says that. You speak a little of the Fanti language, and you have some knowledge of the country and the natives. As to the mining, no knowledge is required. The natives sink the shafts and get the gold. You take charge of it, and, at stated periods, send it down to the coast. Your greatest task will be to see that all is secure. To make sure that the Ashantees are friendly, and in the event of probable trouble, to secrete the gold and beat a retreat. In other words, we want a sensible individual, with some command over the natives, and with enough pluck to enable him to live almost alone in the forests.”

The offer was a tempting one. Dick saw employment before him, and a life which