It was early dawn when they all rose from
the forms which they had impressed on the yielding sand; and, by the
directions of Philip, they separated in every direction, to look for
the means of quenching their agony of thirst. As they proceeded over
the sand-hills, they found growing in the sand a low spongy-leaf
sort of shrub, something like what in our greenhouses is termed the
ice-plant; the thick leaves of which were covered with large drops
of dew. They sank down on their knees, and proceeded from one to the
other licking off the moisture which was abundant, and soon felt
a temporary relief. They continued their search till noon without
success, and hunger was now added to their thirst; they then
returned to the beach to ascertain if their companions had been more
successful. They had also quenched their thirst with the dew of
heaven, but had found no water or means of subsistence; but some of
them had eaten the leaves of the plant which had contained the dew in
the morning, and had found them, although acid, full of watery sap and
grateful to the palate. The plant in question is the one provided by
bounteous Providence for the support of the camel and other beasts
in the arid desert, only to be found there, and devoured by all
ruminating animals with avidity. By the advice of Philip they
collected a quantity of this plant and put it into the boats, and then
launched. They were not more than fifty miles from Table Bay, and although they
had no sails, the wind was in their favour. Philip pointed out to them
how useless it was to remain, when before morning they would, in all
probability, arrive at where they would obtain all they required. The
advice was approved of and acted upon; the boats were shoved off and
the oars resumed. So tired and exhausted were the men, that their oars
dipped mechanically into the water, for there was no strength left to
be applied; it was not until the next morning at daylight, that they
had arrived opposite False Bay, and they had still many miles to pull. The wind in their favour had done almost all--the men could do little
or nothing. Encouraged, however, by the sight of land which they knew, they
rallied; and at about noon they pulled exhausted to the beach at the
bottom of Table Bay, near to which were the houses, and the fort
protecting the settlers who had for some few years resided there. They
landed close to where a broad rivulet at that season (but a torrent
in the winter) poured its stream into the Bay. At the sight of fresh
water, some of the men dropped their oars, threw themselves into the
sea when out of their depth--others when the water was above their
waists--yet they did not arrive so soon as those who waited till the
boat struck the beach, and jumped out upon dry land. And then they
threw themselves into the rivulet, which coursed over the shingle,
about five or six inches in depth, allowing the refreshing stream to
pour into their mouths till they could receive no more, immersing
their hot hands, and rolling in it with delight. 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. "Should I go home," said he to Philip, who argued with him, "I have
nothing in this world to return for. I have no wife--no children--I
had but one dear object, my _Vrow Katerina_, who was my wife, my
child, my everything--she is gone, and I never shall find another
vessel like her; and if I could, I should not love it as I did her. No, my affections are buried with her; are entombed in the deep sea. How beautifully she burnt! she went out of the world like a phoenix,
as she was. No! no! I will be faithful to her--I will send for what
little money I have, and live as near to her tomb as I can--I never
shall forget her as long as I live. I shall mourn over her, and 'Vrow
Katerina,' when I die, will be found engraven on my heart."