"Well I am not sorry we are off again," Marion Renshaw said as the men ran round with the capstan bars and the anchor came up from the shallow water. "What a contrast between this and Rio!"  
"It is, indeed," Mr. Atherton, who was standing beside her, replied. "I own I should have liked to spend six months in a snug little craft going up the La Plata and Parana, especially the latter. The La Plata runs through a comparatively flat and—I will not say unfertile country, because it is fertile enough, but—a country deficient in trees, and offering but small attraction to a botanist; but the Parana flows north. Paraguay is a country but little visited by Europeans, and ought to be well worth investigation; but, as you say, I am glad enough to be out of this shallow water. In a short time we shall be looking out our wraps again. We shall want our warmest things for doubling Cape Horn, or rather what is called doubling Cape Horn, because in point of fact we do not double it at all."
 
"Do you mean we do not go round it?" Marion asked in surprise.
 
"We may, and we may not, Miss Renshaw. It will depend upon the weather, I suppose; but most vessels now go through the Straits which separate Cape Horn itself from Tierra del Fuego."
 
"Those are the Straits of Magellan, are they not?"[Pg 82]
 
"Oh, no!" Mr. Atherton replied. "The Straits of Magellan lie still further to the north, and separate Tierra del Fuego from the mainland. I wish that we were going through them, for I believe the scenery is magnificent."
 
"But if they lie further north that must surely be our shortest way, so why should we not go through them?"
 
"If we were in a steamer we might do so, Miss Renshaw; but the channels are so narrow and intricate, and the tides and currents run with such violence, that sailing-vessels hardly ever attempt the passage. The straits we shall go through lie between Tierra del Fuego and the group of islands of which the Horn is the most southerly."
 
"Is the country inhabited?"
 
"Yes, by races of the most debased savages, with whom, I can assure you, I have no desire whatever to make any personal acquaintance."
 
"Not even to collect botanical specimens, Mr. Atherton?" the girl asked, smiling.
 
"Not even for that purpose, Miss Renshaw. I will do a good deal in pursuance of my favourite hobby, but I draw the line at the savages of Tierra del Fuego. Very few white men have ever fallen into their hands and lived to tell the tale, and certainly I should have no chance whatever."
 
"Why would you have less chance than other people, Mr. Atherton?"
 
"My attractions would be irresistible," Mr. Atherton replied gravely. "I should furnish meat for a whole tribe."[Pg 83]
 
"How horrible!" Marion exclaimed. "What! are they cannibals?"
 
"Very much so indeed; and one can hardly blame them, for it is the only chance they have of getting flesh. Their existence is one long struggle with famine and cold. They are not hunters, and are but poor fishermen. I firmly believe that if I were in their place I should be a cannibal myself."
 
"How can you say such things?" Marion asked indignantly. "I never know whether you are in earnest, Mr. Atherton. I am sure you would never be a cannibal."
 
"There is no saying what one might be if one were driven to it," he replied placidly. "Anyhow, I trust that I shall never be driven to it. In my various journeyings and adventures I am happy to say that I have never been forced to experience a prolonged fast, and it is one of the things I have no inclination to try. This weather is perfection, is it not?" he went on, changing the subject. "The Flying Scud is making capital way. I only hope it may last. It is sad to think that we shall soon exchange these balmy breezes for a biting wind. We are just saying, Wilfrid," he went on as the lad strolled up to them, "that you will soon have to lay aside your white flannels and put on a greatcoat and muffler."
 
"I shall not be sorry," Wilfrid replied. "After a month of hot weather one wants bracing up a bit, and I always enjoy cold."
 
"Then you should have gone out and settled in Iceland instead of New Zealand."
 
"I should not have minded that, Mr. Atherton.[Pg 84] There is splendid fishing, I believe, and sealing, and all that sort of thing. But I do not suppose the others would have liked it. I am sure father would not. He cannot bear cold, and his study at home used always to be kept up at almost the temperature of an oven all the winter. I should think New Zealand would exactly suit him."
 
Before the sun set they had the satisfaction of sailing out of the muddy water of the La Plata, and of being once more in the bright blue sea. For the next week the Flying Scud sailed merrily southward without adventure. The air grew sensibly cooler each day, and the light garments of the tropics were already exchanged for warmer covering.
 
"Do you always get this sort of weather down here, captain?" Mrs. Renshaw asked.
 
"Not always, Mrs. Renshaw. The weather is generally fine, I admit, but occasionally short but very violent gales sweep down from off the land. They are known as pamperos; because, I suppose, they come from the pampas. They are very dangerous from the extreme suddenness with which they sweep down. If they are seen coming, and the vessel can be stripped of her canvas in time, there is little danger to be apprehended, for they are as short as they are violent."
 
"We have been wonderfully fortunate altogether so far," Mrs. Renshaw said. "We have not had a single gale since we left England. I trust that our good luck will continue to the end."
 
"I hope so too," the captain said. "I grant that a spell of such weather as we have been favoured with is apt to become a little monotonous, and I generally[Pg 85] find my passengers have a tendency after a time to become snappish and quarrelsome from sheer want of anything to occupy their minds. Still I would very much rather put up with that than with the chances of a storm."
 
"People must be very foolish to get out of temper because everything is going on well," Mrs. Renshaw said. "I am sure I find it perfectly delightful sailing on as we do."
 
"Then you see, madam, you are an indefatigable worker. I never see your hands idle; but to people who do not work, a long voyage of unbroken weather must, I can very well understand, be monotonous. Of course with us who have duties to perform it is different. I have often heard passengers wish for what they call a good gale, but I have never heard a sailor who has once experienced one express such a wish. However staunch the ship, a great gale is a most anxious time for all concerned in the navigation of a vessel. It is, too, a time of unremitting hardship. There is but little sleep to be had; all hands are constantly on deck, and are continually wet to the skin. Great seas sweep over a ship, and each man has literally his life in his hand, for he may at any moment be torn from his hold and washed overboard, or have his limbs broken by some spar or hen-coop or other object swept along by the sea. It always makes me angry when I hear a passenger express a wish for a gale, in thoughtless ignorance of what he is desiring. If a storm comes we must face it like men; and in a good ship like the Flying Scud, well trimmed and not overladen, and with plenty of sea-room, we may[Pg 86] feel pretty confident as to the result; but that is a very different thing from wishing to have one."
 
By the time they were a fortnight out from Buenos Ayres, Mr. Atherton and James Allen were both off the sick-list; indeed the latter had been but a week in the doctor's hands. The adventure had bound the little party more closely together than before. The Allens had quite settled that when their friends once established themselves on a holding, they would, if possible, take one up in the neighbourhood; and they and the young Renshaws often regretted that Mr. Atherton was only a bird of passage, and had no intention of fixing himself permanently in the colony. The air had grown very much colder of late, and the light clothes they had worn in the tropics had already been discarded, and in the evening all were glad to put on warm wraps when they came on deck.
 
"I think," the captain said as Mr. Renshaw came up for his customary walk before breakfast, "we are going to have a change. The glass has fallen a good deal, and I did not like the look of the sun when it rose this morning."
 
"It looks to me very much as usual," Mr. Renshaw replied, shading his eyes and looking at the sun, "except perhaps that it is not quite so bright."
 
"Not so bright by a good deal," the captain said. "There is a change in the colour of the sky—it is not so blue. The wind has fallen too, and I fancy by twelve o'clock there will be a calm. Of course we cannot be surprised if we do have a change. We have had a splendid spell of weather, and we are getting into stormy latitudes now."[Pg 87]
 
When the passengers went up after breakfast they found that the Flying Scud was scarcely moving through the water. The sails hung idly against the masts, and the yards creaked as the vessel rose and fell slightly on an almost invisible swell.
 
"This would be a good opportunity," the captain said cheerfully, "to get down our light spars; the snugger we are the better for rounding the Horn. Mr. Ryan, send all hands aloft, and send down all spars over the topmast."
 
The crew swarmed up the rigging, and in two hours the Flying Scud was stripped of the upper yards and lofty spars.
 
"She looks very ugly," Marion Renshaw said. "Do you not think so, Mary?"
 
"Hideous," Mary Mitford agreed.
 
"She is in fighting trim now," Mr. Atherton said.
 
"Yes, but who are we going to fight?" Marion asked.
 
"We are going to have a skirmish with the weather, I fancy, Miss Renshaw. I don't say we are going to have a storm," he went on as the girls looked anxiously up at the sky, "but you can see for yourselves that there is a change since yesterday. The wind has dropped and the sky is dull and hazy, the sea looks sullen, the bright little waves we were accustomed to are all gone, and as you see by the motion of the vessel there is an underground swell, though we can scarcely notice it on the water."
 
"Which way do you think the wind will come from, Mr. Atherton?" Mary Mitford asked.
 
"I fancy it will come from the west, or perhaps[Pg 88] north-west. Look at those light streaks of cloud high up in the air; they are travelling to the southeast."
 
"Look how fast they are going," Mary Mitford said as she looked up, "and we have not a breath of wind here."
 
"We shall have it soon," Mr. Atherton said. "You see that dark line on the water coming up from the west. I am glad to see it. It is very much better to have the wind freshen up gradually to a gale than to lie becalmed until it strikes you suddenly."
 
The girls stood at the poop-rail watching the sailors engaged in putting lashings on to every movable object on deck. In ten minutes the dark line came up to them, and the Flying Scud began to move through the water. The courses were brailed up and stowed. The wind rapidly increased in strength, and the captain presently requested the passengers to go below, or at any rate to give up their seats.
 
"There is nothing like having the deck cleared," he said. "If it comes on to blow a bit and there is any movement, the chairs would be charging about from side to side, and will not only break themselves up, but perhaps break someone's leg."
 
Four sailors folded up the chairs, piled them together, and passing cords over them lashed them to two ring-bolts.
 
"Now, Mr. Ryan, we will get the topsails reefed at once. There is a heavy bank there to windward, and we had best get everything as snug as possible before that comes up to us."
 
The dark bank of mist rose rapidly, and the sailors[Pg 89] had but just reached the deck after closely reefing the topsails before it was close upon them.
 
"Now, ladies, please go below," the captain said sharply. "There is rain as well as wind in the clouds; it will come down in bucketfuls when it does come."
 
This had the desired effect of sending most of the male passengers down as well as the ladies. A few remained near the companion ready to make a dive below when the squall struck them. Suddenly the wind ceased and the topsails flapped against the masts. There was a confused roaring sound astern, and a broad white line came along at race-horse speed towards the vessel.
 
"Get below, lads," Mr. Atherton said as he led the way, "or you will be drenched in a moment."
 
They had but just reached the cabin when there was a deafening roar overhead, and almost at the same moment the vessel started as if struck by a heavy blow.
 
"Rain and wind together!" Mr. Atherton shouted in reply to the chorus of questions from those below. "Now, all you have got to do is to make yourselves comfortable, for there will be no going up again for some time."
 
For five minutes the tremendous downpour continued, and then ceased as suddenly as it commenced. The wind had dropped too; and the silence after the uproar was startling. It lasted but a few seconds; then the wind again struck the ship with even greater force than before, although, as she had not lost her way, the blow was less felt by those below. In five minutes the captain came below with his oil-skin coat and sou'-wester streaming with wet.[Pg 90]
 
"I have just looked down to tell you," he said cheerfully, "that everything is going on well. The first burst of these gales is always the critical point, and we can congratulate ourselves that we have got through it without losing a spar or sail—thanks to our having had sufficient warning to get all snug, and to the gale striking us gradually. I am afraid you won't have a very comfortable time of it for the next day or two; but there is nothing to be at all uneasy about. The gale is off the land, and we have sea-room enough for anything. Now we have got rid of half our cargo the ship is in her very best trim, and though we may get her decks washed a bit by and by, she will be none the worse for that."
 
So saying he again went up on deck. For the next three days the gale blew with fury. There were no regular meals taken below, for the vessel rolled so tremendously that nothing would have remained on the plates and dishes; and the passengers were forced to content themselves with biscuit, with an occasional cup of coffee or basin of soup that the cook managed to warm up for them. The ladies for the most part kept their cabins, as did many of the male passengers, and the absence of regular meals was the less felt as the majority were suffering from sea-sickness. Wilfrid was occasionally ill, but managed to keep up, and from time to time went on deck for a few minutes, while Marion spent most of her time on a seat at the top of the companion, looking out on the sea.
 
It was a magnificent sight. Tremendous waves were following the ship, each as it approached lifting her stern high in the air and driving her along at a speed[Pg 91] that seemed terrific, then passing on and leaving her to sink down into the valley behind it. The air was thick with flying spray torn from the crest of the waves. At first it seemed as if each sea that came up behind the vessel would break over her stern and drive her head-foremost down; but as wave passed after wave without damage the sense of anxiety passed off, and Marion was able to enjoy the grandeur of the sea. Wilfrid, Mr. Atherton, and the Allens often came in to sit with her, and to take shelter for a time from the fury of the wind. But talking was almost impossible; the roar of the wind in the rigging, the noise of the waves as they struck the ship, and the confused sound of the battle of the elements being too great to allow a voice to be heard, except when raised almost to shouting point.
 
But Marion had no inclination for talking. Snugly as Mr. Atherton had wedged her in with pillows and cushions, it was as much as she could do to retain her seat, as the vessel rolled till the lower yards almost touched the water, and she was too absorbed in the wild grandeur of the scene to want companionship.
 
"The captain says the glass is beginning to rise," Mr. Atherton said as he met her the fourth morning of the gale; "and that he thinks the worst is over."
 
"I shall be glad for the sake of the others," Marion replied, "for the sea to go down. Father and mother are both quite worn out; for it is almost impossible for them to sleep, as they might be thrown out of their berths if they did not hold on. For myself, I am in no hurry for the gale to be over, it is so magnificently grand. Don't you think so, Mr. Atherton?"[Pg 92]
 
"It is grand, lassie, no doubt," Mr. Atherton said; "but I have rather a weakness for dry clothes and comfortable meals—to say nothing of being able to walk or sit perpendicularly, and not being obliged constantly to hold on for bare life. This morning I feel that under happier circumstances I could enjoy a steak, an Irish stew, and a couple of eggs, but a biscuit and a cup of coffee are all I can hope for."
 
"I believe you enjoy it as much as I do, Mr. Atherton," the girl said indignantly; "else why do you stay upon deck all the time in spite of the wind and spray?"
 
"Well, you see, Miss Renshaw, you ladies have an objection to my smoking my pipe below; and besides, what with the groans and moans from the cabins, and the clatter of the swinging trays, and the noise of the waves, and one thing and another, there is little to tempt me to stay below. But really I shall be very glad when it is over. The ship has been doing splendidly; and as the wind has blown from the same quarter the whole time, the sea though very high is regular, and everything is going on well. Still a gale is a gale, and you can never answer for the vagaries of the wind. If it were to veer round to another quarter, for instance, you would in a few hours get a broken sea here that would astonish you, and would try all the qualities of the Flying Scud. Then again we have been running south with tremendous speed for the last three days, and if it were to go on for a few days longer we might find ourselves down among the ice. Therefore, I say, the sooner the gale is over the better I shall be pleased."[Pg 93]
 
Towards evening there was a sensible abatement in the force of the wind, and the following morning the gale had so far abated that the captain prepared to haul his course for the west.
 
"We have been running south at the rate of fully three hundred miles a day," he said, "and are now very far down. The moment this warm wind drops and we get it from the south you will find that you will need every wrap you have to keep you warm. If the gale had lasted I had made up my mind to try to get her head to it, and to lie to. We are a great deal too close to the region of ice to be pleasant."
 
The change in the course of the vessel was by no means appreciated by the passengers, for the motion was very much rougher and more unpleasant than that to which they had now become accustomed. However, by the following morning the wind had died away to a moderate breeze, and the sea had very sensibly abated. The topsails were shaken out of their reefs; and although the motion was still violent most of the passengers emerged from their cabins and came on deck to enjoy the sun, which was now streaming brightly through the broken clouds. The captain was in high glee; the ship had weathered the gale without the slightest damage. Not a rope had parted, not a sail been blown away, and the result fully justified the confidence he felt in his ship and her gear.
 
"It is a comfort," he remarked, "to sail under liberal owners. Now, my people insist on having their ships as well found as possible, and if I condemn spars, sails, ropes, or stays, they are replaced without a question. And it is the cheapest policy in the long run. There[Pg 94] is nothing so costly as stinginess on board a ship. The giving way of a stay may mean the loss of the mast and all its gear, and that may mean the loss of a ship. The blowing away of a sail at a critical moment may mean certain disaster; and yet there are many owners who grudge a fathom of new rope or a bolt of canvas, and who will risk the safety of their vessels for the petty economy of a few pounds."
 
The next day the wind had dropped entirely. The topgallant masts were sent up with their yards and sails, and by dinner-time the Flying Scud looked more like herself. As soon as the wind lulled all on board were conscious of a sudden fall of temperature. Bundles of wraps were undone and greatcoats and cloaks got out, and although the sun was still shining brightly the poop of the Flying Scud soon presented a wintry appearance. There was no sitting about now. Even the ladies had abandoned their usual work, and by the sharp walking up and down on deck it was evident that even the warm wraps were insufficient in themselves, and that brisk exercise was necessary to keep up the circulation.
 
"Well, what do you think of this, Mrs. Renshaw?" Mr. Atherton asked.
 
"I like it," she said decidedly; "but it is certainly a wonderfully sudden change from summer to winter. My husband does not like it at all. We never agreed on the subject of temperature. He liked what I call a close study, while I enjoy a sharp walk well wrapped up on a winter's day."
 
"I agree with you," Mr. Atherton said. "I can bear any amount of cold, but heat completely knocks me[Pg 95] up. But then, you see, the cold never has a chance of penetrating to my bones."
 
"Which course shall we take now, do you suppose? South of Cape Horn or through the Straits?"
 
"It will depend upon the winds we meet with, I imagine," Mr. Atherton replied. "If the wind continues from the south, I should say the captain would keep well south of the Horn; but if it heads us from the west at all, we may have to go through the Straits, which, personally, I own that I should prefer. It has gone round nearly a point since I came on deck this morning. If it goes round a bit more we certainly shall not be able to lay our course round the Horn, for I do not think we are far to the south of it now."
 
By evening the wind had hauled farther to the west, and the ship's head pointed more to the north than it had done in the morning. The passengers enjoyed the change, for the temperature had risen rapidly, and many of the warm wraps that had been got up were laid aside. At twelve o'clock the captain had taken observations, and found that the ship's position was nearly due south of the Falkland Isles.
 
"We had a narrow squeak of it, Mr. Ryan," he said to the first-mate. "All the time we were running before that gale I had that group of islands on my mind."
 
"So had I, sir," the mate replied. "I was praying all the time that the wind would keep a bit to the west of north, for I knew that when it began our position was, as near as may be, due north of them. I guessed what you were thinking of when you told the man at the wheel to edge away to the east as much as he dared, though that was mighty little."[Pg 96]
 
"By my reckoning," the captain said, "we could not have passed more than thirty miles to the east of them. We have made about eighty miles of westing since we got on our course, and we are now just on the longitude of the westermost point of the islands. They are about a hundred miles to the north of us."
 
The wind continued from the same quarter, and on taking his observation on the following day the captain announced that if there were no change he reckoned upon just making the mouth of the Straits between Tierra del Fuego and the islands. On going on deck two mornings later land was seen on the port bow.
 
"There is Cape Horn," the captain said; "that lofty peak covered with snow. The island nearest to us is Herschel Island. The large island not far from the Horn is Wollaston Island. As you see, there are several others. It is not the sort of place one would like to come down upon in a gale, and if I had had my choice I would rather have gone a hundred miles south of the Horn. But the wind would not allow us to lie that course, and after the gale we had the other day we have a right to reckon upon finer weather, and in light winds it might have taken us another two or three days beating round."
 
"The wind is very light now," Mr. Renshaw remarked.
 
"Yes, and I am afraid it will be lighter still presently," the captain said.
 
The vessel made but slow way, and in the afternoon the wind dropped altogether. The Flying Scud was now two or three miles from the coast of Tierra del Fuego,[Pg 97] and the passengers examined the inhospitable-looking coast through their glasses. At one or two points light wreaths of smoke were seen curling up, telling of encampments of the natives.
 
"I think, Mr. Ryan," the captain said, "I will take her in and anchor in one of the bays This breath of air might be enough to move her through the water if she were going free, but it is nearly dead ahead of us now. I do not like the idea of drifting all night along this coast. Besides, we may be able to get some fish from the natives, which will be a change for the passengers."
 
The vessel's head was turned towards the shore, and now that the light air was well on the beam it sufficed to enable the vessel to steal through the water at the rate of about a knot an hour. At about four o'clock the anchor was dropped in a bay at a distance of half a mile from land, the sails were furled, and the passengers watched the shores in hopes that some native craft might make its appearance; but there was no sign of life.
 
"Either the natives have no fish to sell, or rather exchange," the captain said, "for, of course, money is of no use to them, or they are afraid of us. Maybe they have been massacring some shipwrecked crew, and believe we are a ship-of-war come down to punish them. At any rate, they seem determined not to show."
 
The next morning the sea was as smooth as glass, and there was not a breath of air.
 
"Would you let us have a boat, captain?" Mr. Atherton asked. "It will make a pleasant change, and perhaps some of the natives might come off and sell us[Pg 98] fish, as they would not be afraid of us as they might be of the ship."
 
"Yes, if you like to make up a party, Mr. Atherton, you can have a boat; but you must not land. The natives are very treacherous, and it would not be safe to set foot on shore. Mr. Ryan, will you get the cutter into the water after breakfast? You had better take with you two or three muskets. I do not think there is any fear of an attack, and besides you could out-row the native craft, still it is always as well to be prepared."
 
Mr. Atherton soon made up his party. Wilfrid and the two Allens were delighted at the offer, and Marion and the Miss Mitfords also petitioned to be allowed to go, although Mr. Atherton had not intended to take ladies with him. Two other young men named Hardy and Wilson were also invited to join, and this made up the complement that the cutter could carry in comfort. The crew consisted of six sailors at the oars, and Mr. Ryan himself took the helm.
 
"You had better wrap up well," Mr. Atherton said to the girls, "for you will find it cold sitting in a boat. The thermometer must be down near freezing-point."
 
Mr. Atherton was the last to take his seat, and he brought with him his rifle.
 
"Why, what are you going to shoot, Mr. Atherton?" Marion asked.
 
"I do not know that I am going to shoot anything," he replied; "but it is always well to be prepared. You see I have made preparations in other ways," he added as the steward handed him down a large basket, which he placed in the stern-sheets.[Pg 99]
 
"But we are only going for an hour or two, Mr. Atherton," Wilfrid remarked. "We cannot want anything to eat when we have only just finished breakfast."
 
"I do not think it at all likely we shall want to open the hamper, Wilfrid; but you see it is always best to be prepared. The weather looks perfectly settled, but, like the natives of these parts, it is treacherous. As I proposed this expedition I feel a sort of responsibility, and have therefore, you see, taken precautions against every contingency."
 
"I do not think there is any chance of a change," Mr. Ryan said. "It looks as if the calm might last for a week. Still, one can never be wrong in preparing for the worst. Besides, this cold weather gives one a wonderful appetite, and a drop of the cratur never comes amiss."
 
By this time the boat was fairly away from the ship, and the sailors, who like the passengers regarded the expedition as a pleasant change, stretched out to their oars. The mate steered for the headland to the west, and after passing it kept the boat at a distance of a few hundred yards from the shore.
 
"Is there any current here, Mr. Ryan?" Wilfrid asked as he watched the rocks and low stunted trees.
 
"Very little," the mate replied. "Sometimes it runs very strongly here, but at present it is not much to speak of. I do not think it was running more than a quarter of a mile an hour past the ship, but no doubt there is a good deal more farther out."
 
To the disappointment of those on board there were no signs of natives.[Pg 100]
 
"It will be very tiresome if they do not come out," Marion said. "I want to see a real cannibal."
 
"I do not so much care about the cannibals, Miss Renshaw, but I want to see their fish. I have not tasted a really decent fish since I left England; but in these cold waters they ought to be as good as they are at home. I believe the natives catch them by spearing them by torch-light, and in that case they ought to be good-sized fellows." The men after the first start had dropped into a long, steady stroke, and as the boat glided along past bay and headland no one paid any attention to time, until the mate, looking at his watch, said:
 
"Faith, we have been gone an hour and a half; I clean forgot all about time. I think we had better be turning. It will be dinner-time before we reach the ship as it is." The boat's head was turned. "I think," the mate went on, "we may as well steer from headland to headland, instead of keeping round the bays. It will save a good bit of distance, and the natives evidently do not mean to show themselves."
 
"They are very provoking," Miss Mitford said. "I can see smoke among the trees over there, and I have no doubt that they are watching us although we cannot see them."
 
"You ought to have waved your handkerchief as we came along, Miss Mitford," James Allen remarked; "or to have stood up and shown yourselves. They would no doubt have come off then and offered presents in token of admiration."
 
The girls laughed. "I do not suppose they would[Pg 101] appreciate our charms," Miss Mitford said. "They are not in their line, you see."
 
"That they certainly are not, Miss Mitford," the mate laughed. "I saw some of them the last time I came through here, and hideous-looking creatures they are, and wear no clothes to speak of."
 
So laughing and chatting with their eyes fixed on the shore the party never looked seaward, until a sudden exclamation from the mate called their attention to that direction.
 
"Be Jabers!" he exclaimed, "here is a sea-fog rolling down on us from the south!"
 
They looked and saw what seemed like a wall of white smoke rolling along the water towards them. At this moment the boat was about half-way between two headlands, which were a mile and a half apart, and the shore abreast of it was three-quarters of a mile distant. The sun was shining brightly upon the rolling mist, and the girls uttered an exclamation of admiration.
 
"How fast it comes!" Marion said. "Why, it will be here directly!"
 
The mate put the tiller a-starboard. "Row, men!" he said in a sharp voice; for they had for a moment ceased to pull.
 
"Have you a compass?" Mr. Atherton asked in low tones.
 
The mate shook his head. "I am no better than an idiot to have come without one," he said. "But who could have dreamt we should want it?"
 
A minute later a light wreath of mist crossed the boat, and almost immediately the great fog-bank rolled[Pg 102] over it. An exclamation broke from several of those on board. So sudden was the change of temperature that it seemed as if an icy hand had been laid upon them.
 
"It is fortunate that we are not far from shore," Mr. Atherton said to the mate. "There is nothing for it but to coast along close in."
 
"That is the only thing to do," Mr. Ryan replied. "But it will be an awkward business; for, as we noticed when we came along, the shore is in many places studded with rocks. However, we must risk that, and by going on slowly and carefully we may get off with slight damage even if we hit one. It is not as if the water was rough."
 
The fog was so thick that they could scarcely see the ends of the oar-blades.
 
"How are we to find the ship?" Marion asked.
 
"There will be no difficulty about that, Miss Renshaw. They will be sure to be firing guns as signals for us. There!" he broke off as the boom of a cannon came across the water. "Besides, with the land on our right hand and this icy breeze from the south, we cannot go far out of our way."
 
"Row easy, men," the mate commanded. "We cannot be far from shore now, and we must begin to look out sharp for rocks. Row light and aisy, and do not make more noise with your oars than you can help. The natives may be listening for us; and we do not want a shower of spears in the boat. Mr. Allen, will you go forward into the bows, and keep a sharp look-out for rocks?"
 
James Allen went forward, and two or three[Pg 103] minutes later cried, "Easy all! Hold her up!" Quickly as the order was obeyed the boat's stem grated on the shore before her way was lost.
 
"Back her off, lads!" the mate cried. As the boat glided off into deep water again there was a yell from the shore, and a dozen spears struck the water round her. Fortunately none of them struck her, for she was invisible to the natives, who had been guided to the spot by the sound of the oars.
 
"Not an encouraging reception," Mr. Atherton remarked quietly. "Well, ladies, you have not seen the cannibals as yet, but you have heard them. I think the best plan, Mr. Ryan, will be to tear up one of these rugs and muffle the oars."
 
"I think we may as well do so," the mate replied "However, their sharp ears are sure to hear us if we are close inshore, and we dare not go far out or we might lose our bearings altogether."
 
"I do not think we can do that. In the first place, you see, there is the breeze that brought down the fog to guide us, and in the second the guns of the ship. We cannot go far wrong with them; and I should say that when we once get out as far as we believe the headland to lie, the best thing will be to steer direct for the ship. The danger in that way would certainly be far less than it is from rocks and savages if we keep near the shore."
 
"I think you are right. We will row straight out against the wind for a quarter of an hour, that will take us clear of the headland, and we will then shape our course direct for the guns."