For several days the shipwrecked party continued to live chiefly on limpets and mussels gathered on the sea-shore. Only a very little of the pork was used, for the purpose of converting the food into soup. As they could not tell, of course, how long they might be compelled to live there, it behoved them to be very careful of the food-supply already in possession. Fortunately, the weather continued fine, though cold, so that it was not necessary at first to make any alteration in their camp arrangements.
 
During this period much of their time was necessarily spent in laying in a stock of shell-fish, and in attempting to bring down with stones some of the gulls which flew inquisitively about and very temptingly near to the camp, but none of the party was a good marksman with stone ammunition, and it soon became evident that unless some other means of obtaining food were discovered there was every prospect of starvation ending their career.
 
In this emergency Dr Hayward organised an exploring expedition on a more extended scale. He divided the party into three bands—one consisting of Ned Jarring, Tomlin, and himself, to examine the shores; another comprising Joe Slag, John Mitford, and O’Connor, to penetrate the interior and higher lands; while it was appointed to Bob Massey, who had by that time come to be more frequently addressed by his old title of “coxswain,” to stay at the camp, keep the all-important fire going, and guard the women.
 
“You see, we must go about this business thoroughly,” said the doctor, when they were all assembled in the camp one day after their frugal meal, excepting O’Connor, who was a short distance off, trying, with unwearied perseverance and unvaried failure, to kill gulls with stones. “And for this purpose, we must hold a council of war. Where’s Terrence?”
 
“He’s pelting the gulls as usual,” said Black Ned.
 
“A-missin’ of ’em, you mean,” suggested Mitford.
 
“Hallo, Terrence!” shouted Hayward, catching sight of the Irishman at that moment. “Here! we want you.”
 
“Comin’, sor, jist wan more shot at this baste. He’s bin flyin’ round me hid for half-an-hour at laste, winkin’ at the stones as they go by him. Och! missed again—bad luck to ye!”
 
As he uttered the malediction the disappointed man heaved a last stone, angrily and without an attempt at an aim. He did not even look up to observe the result, but turned sharply round towards the camp.
 
That stone, however, was like the arrow shot at a venture. It hit the bird full on the breast and brought it down, which fact was made known to the sportsman by a cheer from the camp and a heavy thud behind him.
 
“Well done, Terrence!” cried Hayward as he came up with his prize. “I regard it as a good omen—a sort of turn in the tide which will encourage us on our contemplated expedition.”
 
The leader then gave minute instructions as to how long they were to be away; how much food they were to take; the direction to be followed, and the work to be done.
 
“In short,” said the doctor in conclusion, “we must use our eyes, ears, and limbs to the best advantage; but bear in mind that the grand object of the expedition is—”
 
“Grub,” suggested O’Connor.
 
“Just so. Grub is our first and greatest necessity. Meanwhile, Peggy, Nell, and Eva will do what they can to make our camp comfortable: gather mussels and other shell-fish and see that the coxswain does not eat more than a fair share of victuals, and conducts himself in all respects like an obedient and trusted servant.”
 
With such and similar touches of pleasantry Hayward sought to cheer the spirits of the party and divert their minds from dwelling too much on the fact that their case was a very serious one—almost desperate, for they were on a comparatively small island, far to the southward of the usual track of ships, without food or shelter, and without any of the ordinary means of procuring either.
 
The remainder of that day was spent in making preparation for the projected expedition. As they had no offensive or defensive arms, except two gully knives, their first business was to provide each man with a spear. Fortunately, some of the surrounding trees had very straight branches of various sizes, so they had only to cut down such as were suitable, and peel the bark off. But the formation of hard points gave them some anxiety, until Tomlin hit upon the idea of utilising the bones of their pork.
 
“The very thing!” said Mitford, with a look of melancholy satisfaction.
 
Having no turn whatever for mechanics, he never saw difficulties till they met and overcame him, and was always ready to rush in where mechanical angels—if we may say so—feared to tread.
 
“And how would you propose to cut the bones, John?” asked Slag, with an air of modest simplicity.
 
“Cut ’em? eh! well—wi’ the knife, of course.”
 
It was found, however, that the knife made but slight impression on the bones, and after one or two vain attempts, they turned to a more effective method. Finding a huge boulder of some kind of sandstone they broke it up, and on the rough surface thus produced, ground the bones into sharp points, and by an ingenious method known to Slag, who learned it from the Eskimos, they fixed these firmly on the ends of their spears.
 
Thus armed, and with a small quantity of cold pork, and a large allowance of cold boiled limpets and mussels in their wallets, they set out on their explorations.
 
It is impossible to accompany two parties at once. Let us follow just now the one composed of Joe Slag, Terrence O’Connor, and John Mitford. These, with Joe as their leader, proceeded along the shore some miles in a northerly direction; and then, turning into the bush, which was nowhere thick, they pushed into the interior of the island. After advancing about ten miles they came on a wide stretch of sandhills or downs, and found that, having crossed a sort of isthmus, they had come out again on the sea-shore.
 
“This won’t do,” said Slag, on making the discovery. “We’ll have to steer d’rect for the highest land.”
 
“That’s so, Joe,” said Mitford, “and yonder’s a height away there, right in the wind’s eye, that will act as a beacon to us.”
 
“I sees it, John—but, I say, what’s the matter wi’ Terrence?”
 
This question was drawn forth by the action of the Irishman, who had walked on about fifty yards in advance of his comrades. He was standing in the attitude of an ancient Roman about to discharge a javelin. Stooping low as if to render themselves less conspicuous, Mitford muttered, “hallo!” and his comrade whispered, “Sh! he sees suthin’!”
 
Whatever it was he saw, O’Connor evidently felt too far off to act effectively, for, after standing a moment in the classic position just referred to, he suddenly lowered his spear, dropped on hands and knees, and made a slow, undignified advance of a few yards. Then he rose again, became classic once more and discharged his spear, in a manner that would have done credit to Achilles himself.
 
The growl that followed, and the “bad luck to ye,” that came faintly back on the breeze, told too plainly that the result was a miss.
 
“Sure it’s a rabbit I saw,” he said, returning to his companions, “an’ if I’d only sent it two yards more to the left, I’d have hit the baste!”
 
To the satisfaction of the explorers, it was found that the sandhills were burrowed all over by rabbits, and that there existed there a large colony of them. Cheered by this—in spite of their bad javelin play—they ............