“I will speak to him, Wilmot; you are too much agitated,” replied Swinton.

“Is not that the vessel which your mother was lost in?” said Swinton, through the interpreter.

“No,” replied Daaka; “my mother came on shore in a vessel up the little river out there; I was a boy when this large ship was wrecked; and got some iron from her to make assaguays.”

“Merciful heaven! what joy I feel; I trust it is true what he says.”

“I have no doubt of it, Wilmot; I told you he was too old a man,” replied Swinton; “but let me question him further.”

Our readers may imagine the impatience of Alexander while the questions of Swinton were being answered, and by which it appears that Daaka’s mother was lost at the mouth of the Lauwanbaz, a small river some miles to the eastward of the Zemsooboo.  An old Caffre, who had come down with Daaka, now gave a particular account of the wreck of the Grosvenor, corroborating all Daaka’s assertions.

“Were there none of the Grosvenor’s people left in the country?” inquired Swinton.

“None,” replied the old man; “they all went to the southward.”

“Did you hear what became of them?”

“Some lay down and died, some fought the natives and were killed; the wolves ate the rest; not one left alive; they all perished.”

“Were none of the women and children saved and kept as slaves?”

“No, not one; they had no meat, no milk, and they all died.”

After some other inquiries, the old man, who at first did not reply willingly, stated that he had, with other Caffres, followed the last party; had seen them all dead, and had taken off their clothes, and that as they died were buried by those who still survived.

“A better fate, cruel as it was, than living as they must have lived,” said Swinton.

“Yes, truly,” replied Alexander; “you don’t know, Swinton, what a load has been removed from my mind, and how light-hearted I feel, notwithstanding this recital of their sufferings.  My poor uncle!  God grant that he may live till my return with this distinct intelligence, with the assurance that he has no grandchildren living the life of a heathen, and knowing no God.  What a relief will it prove to him; how soothing will it be to his last days!  How grateful am I to God, that I have had so happy an issue to my mission!  Now, Swinton, we will return as soon as you please; as soon as we arrive at Daaka’s kraal, I will take down in writing the statement of these people, and then we will hasten back to the Major.”

“And I dare say,” said Swinton, as he remounted his horse, “that you will make old Daaka a more handsome present, for proving himself no relation to you, than if he had satisfactorily established himself as your own first cousin.”

“You may be sure that my gratitude toward him is much greater than ever could have been my kindred feeling from friendship.  I am so light hearted, Swinton, and so grateful to God that I almost wish to dismount in my anxiety to return my thanks; but I do so in my heart of hearts, at all event.”