Despots and fanatics have exerted their ingenuity to invent torments for their victims—­how useless!—­the rack, the boot, fire,—­all that they have imagined are not to be compared to the torture of extreme thirst.  In the extremity of agony the sufferers cry for water and it is not refused:  they might have spared themselves their refined ingenuity of torment and the disgusting exhibition of it, had they only confined the prisoner in his cell, and refused him water.

As soon as they had satisfied the most pressing of all wants, they rose dripping from the stream, and walked up to the houses of the factory; the inhabitants of which, perceiving that boats had landed, when there was no vessel in the Bay, naturally concluded that some disaster had happened, and were walking down to meet them.—­Their tragical history was soon told.  The thirty-six men that stood before them were all that were left of nearly three hundred souls embarked, and they had been more than two days without food.  At this intimation no further questions were asked by the considerate settlers, until the hunger of the sufferers had been appeased, when the narrative of their sufferings was fully detailed by Philip and Krantz.

“I have an idea that I have seen you before,” observed one of the settlers; “did you come on shore when the fleet anchored?”

“I did not,” replied Philip; “but I have been here.”

“I recollect, now,” replied the man; “you were the only survivor of the Ter Schilling, which was lost in False Bay.”

“Not the only survivor,” replied Philip; “I thought so myself, but I afterwards met the pilot, a one-eyed man, of the name of Schriften, who was my shipmate—­he must have arrived here after me.  You saw him, of course?”

“No, I did not; no one belonging to the Ter Schilling ever came here after you, for I have been a settler here ever since, and it is not likely that I should forget such a circumstance.”

“He must, then, have returned to Holland by some other means.”

“I know not how.—­Our ships never go near the coast after they leave the Bay; it is too dangerous.”

“Nevertheless, I saw him,” replied Philip, musing.

“If you saw him, that is sufficient:  perhaps some vessel had been blown down to the eastern side, and picked him up; but the natives in that part are not likely to have spared the life of a European.  The Caffres are a cruel people.”

The information that Schriften had not been seen at the Cape, was a subject of meditation to Philip.  He had always an idea, as the reader knows, that there was something supernatural about the man, and this opinion was corroborated by the report of the settler.

We must pass over the space of two months, during which the wrecked seamen were treated with kindness by the settlers, and, at the expiration of which, a small brig arrived at the Bay, and took in refreshments:  she was homeward bound, with a full cargo, and being chartered by the Company, could not refuse to receive on board the crew of the Vrow Katerina.  Philip, Krantz, and the seamen embarked, but Captain Barentz remained behind to settle at the Cape.