By aid of the fast-breaking dawn, they could see the line of high, dark rocks, upon which the ship had met her fate.
With much difficulty and peril, under the captain's cool directions, the crew managed at last to leave the sinking vessel, not without much loss of life. Out of nearly five hundred only a few arrived in safety, amongst whom were Tonza, his wife, children, Savitre, and Panteleone.
When the day broke in calm splendor, the sun shown upon a mournful sight—a group of shipwrecked men and women.
No sign of habitation met their view; only a weary waste of bare land, sheltered by a few trees, from whose branches hung a goodly supply of fruit.
"If we go farther inland, we are sure to find some natives, if only savages," Tonza remarked gravely; and followed by the men, he commenced the long, weary way.
Lianor, pale but firm, holding in her arms her little daughter, walked beside him, heedless of the fatigue which oppressed her and made her long to sink upon the sandy ground to rest.
Onward they went, never pausing to rest their tired feet until, as the day was about to decline, they came to a deep waterfall, over which they had to cross. No easy task, as the only means of doing so was by an uneven path, made from a line of rocks, on either side of which the boiling waters poured in terrific fury.
Tonza—who, now the captain had perished, placed himself at the head of the crew—was the first to put his foot upon the crossing; then, turning to the people, he said:
"Be careful, and not glance behind or down, or you will lose your balance and fall."
Lianor, who, by her husband's wish, had given her child to one of the men, followed closely behind Manuel, who held his boy in his arms.