This was indeed the case, but the chief of the tribe now advanced to meet them. He was a tall long-limbed man of a deep brown tint, with grey hair and regular features--not in any one respect resembling the Kaffirs, except as to dress, or rather the want of it. "Well, that is strange," remarked Hughes. "If I was in India, I should say I saw an Arab. Speak to him, Wyzinski." The missionary, using the Zulu dialect, asked his name. "Achmet Ben Arif," replied the man. "It is the first time for many years the trader has reached the ruins of Sofala." "Ruins!" exclaimed Wyzinski, at once mounting his favourite hobby, "where are they?" The Arab, for such in effect he was, together with all his tribe, raised his hand, pointing to a spot a few hundred yards distant, where mounds and fragments of fallen masonry were visible. The missionary was moving away before the chief had done speaking, eager to reach the ruins. "But how," asked Hughes, speaking his own tongue, which he had acquired in India, "how comes an Arab tribe settled here?" "We know not," replied the chief. "For ages have our fathers lived here, near the ruins of the white man's fort." "And yet you have preserved the Arab language, and the Arab blood." "Pure and unchanged, our customs, language and tradition remain as they were; the dress of our people alone is altered. And instead of the bournous of our fathers, we wear skins like the Kaffir. It is our destiny. We have gold if the white chiefs will trade." "We are not traders, chief. But what are the ruins yonder? Who built them?" "The fathers of your own people; the white traders of _Tete_ and the Zambesi." These, then, were the ruins of the Portuguese fort of Sofala, consequently the river the party had descended, which Masheesh called the Golden River, was once the means of extensive trade with the interior. Leaving the chief, Hughes joined the missionary, communicating to him the result of his conversation. The ruins of a large stone fort were crumbling away before them, the masses of fallen masonry gradually disappearing before the slow but steady action of time, besides being partially buried in the sand drifted up before the winter gales. The Arab chief followed them, after having spoken to the men near him, several of whom started off in different directions, two sauntering lazily down to the boat. The old man seemed puzzled as to what interest could attach to the ruins. "The stones," said he, raising his hand as he spoke, and pointing over the ocean, whose waves were rolling in thunder on the bar,--"the stones came from over the big water to build the white man's fort." "That's nonsense," exclaimed the missionary, speaking in English, and wandering from mound to mound. "They were taken from some ruins in the interior, and it is those we seek. The mined cities of Zulu land." "How firmly you have got that into your head, Wyzinski," replied his companion.