The poor man, with tears running down his face, and trembling, looking like one astonished, returned, “Am I talking to God or man? Is it a real man or an angel?” “Be in no fear about that, sir,” said I; “if God had sent an angel to relieve you, he would have come better clothed, and armed after another manner than you see me; pray lay aside your fears; I am a man, an Englishman, and disposed to assist you; you see I have one servant only; we have arms and ammunition; tell us freely, can we serve you? What is your case?” “Our case, sir,” said he, “is too long to tell you while our murderers are so near us; but, in short, sir, I was commander of that ship⁠—my men have mutinied against me; they have been hardly prevailed on not to murder me, and, at last, have set me on shore in this desolate place, with these two men with me⁠—one my mate, the other a passenger⁠—where we expected to perish, believing the place to be uninhabited, and know not yet what to think of it.” “Where are these brutes, your enemies?” said I; “do you know where they are gone?” “There they lie, sir,” said he, pointing to a thicket of trees; “my heart trembles for fear they have seen us and heard you speak; if they have, they will certainly murder us all.” “Have they any firearms?” said I.