Daaka did not at first appear to know what they wished, and inquired, through the interpreter, whether they meant the ship that was wrecked on the sea-coast, pointing to the eastward.  On receiving an answer in the affirmative, he agreed to set off with them that afternoon, saying that it was about forty miles off, and that they could not get there until the next day.

About noon they set off on their journey, and as they made but slow progress over a rugged although most beautiful country, they stopped at night at a kraal about half-way.  Early the next morning they were led by Daaka and some Caffres who accompanied him to the sea-shore, and when they had arrived at the beach, it being then low water, Daaka pointed to a reef, upon which were to be seen the guns, ballast, and a portion of the keelson of a ship—­all that remained of the unfortunate Grosvenor.

As the sea washed over the reef; now covering and now exposing these mementoes of misery and suffering, Alexander and Swinton remained for some time without speaking; at last Alexander said—­

“Swinton, you have read the history of this unfortunate vessel, I know, for you asked me for it to read.  What a succession of scenes of horror do these remains, which from their solid weight only have defied the power of the winds and waves, conjure up at this moment in my mind.  I think I now behold the brave vessel dashed upon the reefs—­the scream of despair from all on board—­the heart-rending situation of the women and children—­their wonderful escape and landing on shore, only to be subjected to greater suffering.  See, Swinton, that must have been the rock which they all gained, and upon which they remained shivering through the night.”

“It is, I have no doubt, from its position,” said Swinton.

“Yes, it must have been; I think I see them all—­men, women, and helpless children—­huddled together, half-clothed and suffering, quitting that rock by this only path from it, and setting off upon their mad and perilous journey; the scattering of the parties—­their perils and hunger—­their conflicts with the natives—­their sufferings from heat and from thirst—­their sinking down one by one into the welcome arms of death, or torn to pieces by the wolves and hyenas as they lagged behind the others.  How much more fortunate those who never gained the shore.”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Swinton; “except the eight who reached the Cape, and the five that Daaka asserts were saved, all the rest must have perished in that dreadful manner.”

Alexander remained for some time in painful thought; at last he turned to Daaka and said, as he pointed to the remains of the wreck, “And this then is your mother?”

Daaka looked at him and shook his head, “No, not my mother this,” replied he; “my mother down there,” pointing out in a northerly direction.

“What does he mean, Swinton? he says this is not his mother.”