Two days after, the 20th of July, Mrs. Weldon and her companions met a
caravan going toward Emboma, at the mouth of the Congo. These were not
slave merchants, but honest Portuguese traders, who dealt in ivory.
They made the fugitives welcome, and the latter part of the journey
was accomplished under more agreeable conditions.

The meeting with this caravan was really a blessing from Heaven. Dick
Sand would never have been able to descend the Zaire on a raft. From
the Falls of Ntamo, as far as Yellala, the stream was a succession of
rapids and cataracts. Stanley counted seventy-two, and no boat could
undertake to pass them. It was at the mouth of the Congo that the
intrepid traveler, four years later, fought the last of the thirty-two
combats which he waged with the natives. Lower down, in the cataracts
of Mbelo, he escaped death by a miracle.

On the 11th of August, Mrs. Weldon, Dick Sand, Jack, Hercules, and
Cousin Benedict arrived at Emboma. Messrs. Motta Viega and Harrison
received them with generous hospitality. A steamer was about sailing
for the Isthmus of Panama. Mrs. Weldon and her companions took passage
in it, and happily reached the American coast.

A despatch sent to San Francisco informed Mr. Weldon of the
unlooked-for return of his wife and his child. He had vainly searched
for tidings of them at every place where he thought the "Pilgrim"
might have been wrecked.

Finally, on the 25th of August, the survivors of the shipwreck reached
the capital of California. Ah! if old Tom and his companions had only
been with them!

What shall we say of Dick Sand and of Hercules? One became the son,
the other the friend, of the family. James Weldon knew how much he
owed to the young novice, how much to the brave black. He was happy;
and it was fortunate for him that Negoro had not reached him, for
he would have paid the ransom of his wife and child with his whole
fortune. He would have started for the African coast, and, once there,
who can tell to what dangers, to what treachery, he would have been
exposed?

A single word about Cousin Benedict. The very day of his arrival the
worthy savant, after having shaken hands with Mr. Weldon, shut
himself up in his study and set to work, as if finishing a sentence
interrupted the day before. He meditated an enormous work on the
"Hexapodes Benedictus," one of the desiderata of entomological
science.

There, in his study, lined with insects, Cousin Benedict’s first
action was to find a microscope and a pair of glasses. Great heaven!
What a cry of despair he uttered the first time he used them to study
the single specimen furnished by the African entomology!

The "Hexapodes Benedictus" was not a hexapode! It was a common spider!
And if it had but six legs, instead of eight, it was simply because
the two front legs were missing! And if they were missing, these two
legs, it was because, in taking it, Hercules had, unfortunately,
broken them off! Now, this mutilation reduced the pretended "Hexapodes
Benedictus" to the condition of an invalid, and placed it in the
most ordinary class of spiders – a fact which Cousin Benedict’s
near-sightedness had prevented him from discovering sooner. It gave
him a fit of sickness, from which, however, he happily recovered.

Three years after, little Jack was eight years old, and Dick Sand made
him repeat his lessons, while working faithfully at his own studies.
In fact, hardly was he at home when, realizing how ignorant he was,
he had commenced to study with a kind of remorse – like a man who, for
want of knowledge, finds himself unequal to his task.

"Yes," he often repeated; "if, on board of the ‘Pilgrim,’ I had
known all that a sailor should know, what misfortunes we would have
escaped!"

Thus spoke Dick Sand. At the age of eighteen he finished with
distinction his hydrographical studies, and, honored with a brevet by
special favor, he took command of one of Mr. Weldon’s vessels.

See what the little orphan, rescued on the beach at Sandy Hook, had
obtained by his work and conduct. He was, in spite of his youth,
surrounded by the esteem, one might say the respect, of all who knew
him; but his simplicity and modesty were so natural to him, that he
was not aware of it. He did not even suspect – although no one could
attribute to him what are called brilliant exploits – that the
firmness, courage, and fidelity displayed in so many trials had made
of him a sort of hero.

Meanwhile, one thought oppressed him. In his rare leisure hours he
always dreamed of old Tom, of Bat, of Austin, and of Acteon, and of
the misfortune for which he held himself responsible. It was also a
subject of real grief to Mrs. Weldon, the actual situation of her
former companions in misery. Mr. Weldon, Dick Sand, and Hercules
moved heaven and earth to find traces of them. Finally they
succeeded – thanks to the correspondents which the rich shipowner had
in different parts of the world. It was at Madagascar – where, however,
slavery was soon to be abolished – that Tom and his companions had been
sold. Dick Sand wished to consecrate his little savings to ransom
them, but Mr. Weldon would not hear of it. One of his correspondents
arranged the affair, and one day, the 15th of November, 1877, four
blacks rang the bell of his house.

They were old Tom, Bat, Acteon, and Austin. The brave men, after
escaping so many dangers, came near being stifled, on that day, by
their delighted friends.

Only poor Nan was missing from those whom the "Pilgrim" had thrown on
the fatal coast of Africa. But the old servant could not be recalled
to life, and neither could Dingo be restored to them. Certainly it was
miraculous that these two alone had succumbed amid such adventures.

It is unnecessary to say that on that occasion they had a festival
at the house of the California merchant. The best toast, which all
applauded, was that given by Mrs. Weldon to Dick Sand, "To the Captain
at Fifteen!"