“What is her name?” inquired Swinton.
“Bess,” replied the chief.
“This is very confirmatory,” said Alexander; “my aunt’s name was Elizabeth; she must have called her child after herself.”
“Whom did your mother marry?”
“She first married my uncle, and had no children; and then she married my father: both were chiefs, and I am a chief; she had five children by my father.”
A long conversation took place after this, the substance of which we may as well communicate to the reader in few words. From the children of Kuma, supposed to be Elizabeth, the aunt of Alexander, were produced a numerous race of the European blood, who were celebrated in the Caffre-land for their courage; they were continually engaged in war, as their alliance was eagerly sought, and in consequence had nearly all perished. Daaka himself was renowned for warlike exploits, but he was now a very old man. In the evening the chief took his leave, and went to his own hut.
As soon as they were alone, Alexander said to Swinton, “I have now so far fulfilled my promise to my worthy relation that I have seen this descendant of his child; but what am I to do? An old man like him is not very likely to consent to go to England, and as for his sister Bess, he states that she is equally infirm; the progeny of the rest of the family are scattered about, and he himself knows nothing about them; to collect them would be impossible, and if collected, equally impossible to remove them, for they would not leave. My old relative fancies, in his mind’s eye, his daughter weeping over her captivity, and longing to be restored to her country and her relations; still retaining European feelings and sympathies, and miserable in her position; her children brought up by her with the same ideas, and some day looking forward to their emancipation from this savage state of existence: I think if he were here, and saw old Daaka, he would soon divest himself of all these romantic ideas.”
“I think so too; but there is one thing which has struck me very forcibly, Alexander, which is, if this Daaka is the son of your aunt how comes it that he is so old? When was the Grosvenor lost?”
“In the year 1752.”
“And we are now in 1829. Your aunt you stated to have been ten or twelve years old at the time of the wreck. Allowing her to marry at the earliest age, Daaka could not well be more than forty-eight years old; and surely he is more than that.”