It was mid-afternoon by the time that the ripped bag had been patched with canvas, carefully sewn with stout waxed thread and then pitched with a resinous mixture compounded by the captain. By this time, too, the lockers had been filled with provisions from the yacht’s pantry, many of them in concentrated form especially selected by the professor for his projected expedition, the object of which still remained a mystery.

When this had been done, there was nothing left to be accomplished but the launching of the Wondership. The sea remained smooth, but without question the island was sinking rapidly. This made the need for haste imperative. Yet Captain Sprowl allowed nothing to be slighted. Maps of the district where they expected to land, navigating instruments and the ship’s chronometers were placed on board. The professor’s papers were found to have been stolen from his cabin, which had been ransacked from floor to roof; but, luckily, his most important documents he carried on his person.

As for clothes, they could take only what they had on; for when the work of loading was complete, the Wondership carried a pretty heavy cargo, besides the six persons who were to travel in her. This number, too, was augmented by a seventh in the person of Judkins. Feeble groans from his cabin had led to the discovery that the injured man had been left behind by his companions. He was carried out and placed in the machine before it was launched so as to lose no time later in hoisting his helpless form over the side.

The tackles by which the craft had been hauled on board luckily remained intact, and by passing the ropes around a hand winch they found that they could hoist her into the air and drop her gently upon the water. The list of the ship aided the transfer materially, and the work of immediate preparation for their adventurous trip occupied but a small portion of an hour.

When all was in readiness and the Wondership floated alongside, they descended by the companionway, and a few minutes later the engine was started. As they glided off to the westward, they noticed that the island was almost awash. Before they had gone five miles, nothing was visible but the masts of the yacht and her yellow funnel. Within ten minutes more these, too, had vanished, and they knew that the Valkyrie had ended her last cruise. They were alone on the ocean.

Their plan was to keep on a due westerly course, which would bring them in time to land, without fail. Once landed, the proposal was for a part of the castaways to strike off and seek out a town or village where aid might be procured. Aside from this, their plans had been left to such circumstances as might confront them on the Brazilian shore.

The bulky machine did not draw as much water as might have been anticipated, owing to its broad displacement and the lightness of the metal of which it was built. In fact, under different circumstances, the voyagers would have enjoyed the novel experience. Except for the hum of the propeller at the fore-end of the craft she moved noiselessly through the water. All vibration and jar were absent, and the motion could only be compared to that of some gracefully gliding water bird.

“What speed are we makin’?” asked Captain Sprowl, who was leaning back in his cushioned seat smoking luxuriously like a magnate in his motor car.

“About twenty miles an hour,” was Jack’s reply after a glance at the speed-registering device, which formed one of numerous dials and instruments attached to the dash-board. As Tom had once remarked, the dash-board of the Wondership looked “like the bridge of a battleship,” what with its compasses, registers and meters of various kinds.

“That ought to bring us in sight of shore before very long,” commented the captain, “I’d like to land before dark. This coast ain’t very thickly inhabited, so far as I know, and them as do live there may not have a very hearty ‘welcome’ on their door mat for us.”

“We’ve got plenty of rifles and ammunition,” declared Tom boldly, “in case anyone attacks us.”

“A good way to keep out of trouble, son, is not to go lookin’ for it,” was the captain’s response, “and anyhow, what good ‘ud your rifles be in a thick forest of trees with some sort of a savage behind each of ‘em?”

Tom looked abashed and said nothing. But Dick struck in with a question.

“There are savages ashore, then?” he asked.

“Wa’al, I ain’t sayin’ no and I ain’t sayin’ yes,” said the captain evasively; “but Brazil is full of river Indians, and at certain times of the year they come down to the coast to get turtles’ eggs and fish and so forth; and I’ve got a notion in the back of my head that they ain’t just as gentle and refined as they ought to be, ‘specially where they see a chance to get a little loot.”

Nothing more was said for some time, and the Wondership forged smoothly and steadily ahead. Suddenly the captain, who had been looking over the side, drew their attention to the water.

“Look down there,” he said, “if you boys want to see a rare sight.”

They all peered over and saw, swimming slowly along in the translucent water, a large, whitish-colored fish with a huge protuberance of some kind sticking out from its head.

“By the plunging porpoises of Portugal,” exclaimed Dick Donovan, “what under the sun is it?”

“A sword-fish?” hazarded Jack.

“............