"Now show me how you start the jolly old fire," requested Burgoyne on the following morning.

Already the two officers had bathed in the sheltered creek, revelling in the warm water in spite of the fact that not so very long before they had been in dire peril in the self-same element. They recognized that there is a vast difference between "being in the ditch" involuntarily and taking a swim simply for the health-giving pleasure it affords.

And now, feeling fresh and in the best of spirits, they were about to prepare the morning meal.

"Right-o," agreed Peter, and proceeded to uncover a quantity of tinder-like wood from beneath an inverted bucket, where it had been placed to shelter it from the heavy dew. "I'm not very keen on the two pieces of wood method. I prefer drilling—like this."

He produced a strip of bamboo about two feet in length, with both ends rounded off. Arranging the tinder in a hollow piece of wood, he inserted one end of the bamboo, bending the latter by the pressure of his chest, which he protected by means of a hollow shell. Then, rapidly twirling the bow-shaped bamboo much after the fashion of a centre-brace, he persevered with the operation. Presently, thanks to the friction, a faint smoke arose from the heap of tinder. Gently blowing, he still continued to revolve the bamboo until the soft, dry wood burst into a tiny flame.

"That's the trick!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "It takes a lot of doing, I admit; but with a little practice one soon learns the knack of it. Now for breakfast: cold boiled fowl, taro bread and eggs roasted in hot ashes—how will that do?"

"Scrumptious!" declared Burgoyne. "You must be rated chef of this establishment, old son."

Mostyn shook his head.

"It's all very fine when you do it for fun," he said. "When it's a matter of routine it's deadly monotonous. I vote we take turns."

"I might poison the lot of us," objected Alwyn.

"I'll risk that as far as I'm concerned," declared Peter cheerfully. "Now, then, let's search for eggs. There are dozens under the bushes. This island's like Covent Garden or Leadenhall Market. It's a wonder to me how these birds get here. Few of them seem to be able to fly."

With keen appetites, the four castaways sat down to breakfast. Deftly Peter extricated the eggs from the warm embers and distributed them amongst the hungry crew. Then in the height of his culinary triumph came the anti-climax. Every egg was addled.

"We're not running a parliamentary election, Mr. Mostyn," declared Hilda, when the high-flavoured relics of by-gone days were consigned to the sea.

"Aren't we, though?" rejoined Peter. "Burgoyne was proposing the election of a chef. I'm disqualified straight away, so that's all right."

"I believe you knew they were duds," said Alwyn.

"'Pon my word, no," replied Mostyn emphatically.

"Another time you might try the water-test," suggested Hilda. "If they float in fresh water, then they are either stale or bad. New laid ones ought to sink."

"Thanks," said Mostyn. "I'll try and bear that in mind. Now, Miss Vivian, cold fowl? Sorry there's no bread sauce, and I've mislaid the salt."

"We'll try and obtain salt by evaporation," suggested Burgoyne. "How about that bully beef with the fowl? It won't keep, and it's a bit salt, too."

Breakfast over, Alwyn proposed a thorough exploration of the island—a task interrupted on the previous day when Mostyn was found. Burgoyne had great ideas about keeping all hands busy. Provided they had plenty to do to occupy their minds, they would be happy enough. He had a horror of "slacking", contending that it was the first step towards discontent and misery; and the possibility of each of the castaways being at loggerheads with everyone else was to be sternly discouraged.

Accordingly the four set out on their tour of investigation. The men went barefooted. Their footgear was worn out, but, as Alwyn remarked, they might just as well get accustomed to do without as wait. Hilda's shoes were badly worn. She had left the secret base wearing canvas deck-shoes already rather dilapidated. At Mostyn's suggestion they tore strips of canvas, which the girl bound round her shoes. This, she found, wore remarkably well, but Mostyn promised to find an early opportunity of making her a pair of leather sandals, for which he intended using the leather from the oars.

Burgoyne took with him his revolver. He had carefully dried it after its immersion. The cartridges, being well greased and guaranteed damp-proof, should be serviceable, but his reserve of ammunition was too small to justify a trial.

Mostyn carried a coil of rope that had once been the boat's halliard. Beyond remarking that it might be useful, he gave no reason for this apparently unnecessary encumbrance.

Jasper Minalto took his improvised fish-spear, which quickly proved to be of use in clearing a path through the brush-wood.

Following a narrow glade which had been recently traversed by a number of hoofed animals whose tracks were fairly well defined, the quartette walked in single file, Burgoyne leading, followed by Peter; then Hilda and Minalto bringing up the rear.

Their first objective was the hillock Burgoyne had previously noticed from farther along shore. It stood well above the palm tops, rising abruptly on three sides and shelving gradually towards the east. A few coco-palms grew on the southern side, but elsewhere it was covered with comparatively short grass.

Arriving at the summit, the explorers found that the island was but a mile or so broad but nearly twice that distance in length, the land on the north side forming a long tapering neck averaging but a hundred yards in width, with the whole of the neck thickly wooded. It was on this strip of land that Burgoyne, Hilda, and Minalto had come ashore.

The reef entirely surrounded the island, although there were numerous gaps affording a communication between the open sea and the lagoon. It was on the edge of one of these channels that the life-boat struck. Had she been a couple of yards more to the south'ard she might have driven ashore on the island with very little damage, or none at all had she been swept into the small harbour where Mostyn was fortunate enough to land.

As the tide was almost at its ebb all the outlying reefs were exposed, disclosing a veritable death-trap for any vessel unfortunate enough to become entangled in the intricate shoals. At high-water the reefs surrounding the smaller island that Burgoyne had previously noticed were awash, only the mere hummock crowned by three palm trees being visible.

"There's one disadvantage that this island has and which Porfirio's island hasn't," observed Burgoyne. "In calm weather a boat can land here almost anywhere. Properly we ought to maintain a look-out station on this hill, especially if the pirates do attempt to find us."

"Do you think they will?" asked Hilda.

"They may try," replied Alwyn. "That's almost a foregone conclusion. But they'll think we've tried to make Honolulu, which is the nearest known civilized town in this part of the Pacific. If so, they're right off their course."

"Why didn't we?" inquired the girl.

"Head wind and adverse current almost the whole distance," said Burgoyne laconically.

"I'm not questioning your seamanship, Mr. Burgoyne," Hilda hastened to add, imagining by the Third Officer's somewhat brusque reply that he thought she had cast aspersions upon his sound judgment.

"I never had the slightest idea that you did, Miss Vivian," rejoined Alwyn earnestly. "I ought to have explained. Briefly, in a sailing craft the shortest distance between two ports is not always the quickest passage. One must take prevailing winds and currents into consideration But to get to the look-out question. I think we ought to make a point of having someone up here four times a day, just to make sure that no suspicious craft is bearing down on the island. And there's another question: will Porfirio make use of that seaplane of his to try and spot us?"

"That'll be awkward," remarked Peter "unless we can collar the blighter when she's sitting."

"Not much use that," said Alwyn. "None of us could fly the thing even if we did capture it. No, I don't want to see that seaplane again except through the sight of an anti-aircraft gun. Now, suppose we push on."

"Aren't we going to give the island a name, Mr. Burgoyne?" inquired Hilda. "It's the usual thing, I believe."

"Right-o," agreed Alwyn. "I propose we leave the selection of a name to you."

"Then why not 'Swan Island'," said the girl. "From here the outline looks awfully like a swan with an exaggerated neck."

"So it does," agreed Peter. "Done it in one, Miss Vivian."

"An' thet rock out along," said Minalto. "Ut ought to have a name. They three trees make un look like an ole man-o-war. How'd 'Man-o-war Rock' suit?"

"The very ticket," agreed Burgoyne. "So that's that."

Descending the hill, the four castaways proceeded in the direction of the west s............