By this time they were lying by the gangway. It was found that the girls in spite of their wraps were so stiff with the cold that they had to be assisted up the gangway to the deck. Exercise warmed the blood of the rest, and they were soon on deck. Mr. Atherton, who alone of the men had not been rowing, had some little difficulty in getting up, although, as he said, he had no more right to feel cold than a walrus, protected as he was by nature.
There had been much anxiety on board until the shots fired by Mr. Atherton were heard. The captain had ordered plenty of hot soup to be got ready, and the girls soon felt in a comfortable glow. Mr. Atherton gave a comical account of their adventures, but he did not conceal the fact that at one time their position had been really a perilous one, and that if they had not been pretty vigilant they might have fallen into the hands of the natives.
"Well, all is well that ends well," Mr. Renshaw said, "but I think we will have no more boat excursions as long as we are in the neighbourhood of cannibals. Of course no one could have foreseen the fog coming on so suddenly, but you have evidently all had a narrow escape."
Those who had taken part in the adventure, however, were highly pleased with their share in it, and agreed that although perhaps at the time it was unpleasant it was very exciting, and was an incident that they should never forget all their lives.
The fog continued for three days, at the end of which time an easterly wind set in and the air cleared, and the Flying Scud weighed her anchor and proceeded on her voyage. Ten days later a gale set in from the south. The cold was intense, and the spray as it flew from her bows cased her fore-rigging and deck with ice. The wind increased hourly in fury, and the captain decided to run before it. "We have plenty of sea-room," he said, "and shall get out of this bitter cold as we get further north. It will not last long, I daresay."
Day after day, however, the gale continued, seeming to increase rather than diminish in force. On the morning of the sixth day after it had begun the passengers heard a tremendous crash on deck. Wilfrid ran up the companion and looked out, and reported that the mainmast and the fore-top-mast had gone overboard. Fortunately the gust that had done this damage proved to be the climax of the gale; by nightfall its force had sensibly abated, and two days later it fell to a calm, and all hands set to work to repair damages.
"I have no spar that will be of any use for a mainmast," the captain said. "We must content ourselves with getting up a fore-top-mast and then under what sail we can set upon that and the mizzen make for one of the islands and try to get a good-sized spar for the mainmast. I reckon that we are not more than two hundred and fifty miles from the Austral Group. We have been blown nearly twenty degrees north."
Three days later land was seen ahead, and this the captain, after taking an observation, declared to be Malayta, one of the largest islands of the group.
"I would rather have gone on under this reduced sail," he said to Mr. Atherton, in whom he had great confidence, "if we had been sure of fine weather; but that we cannot reckon upon at this time of year, and I should not like to be caught in another gale in this crippled state so near the islands. So of the two evils I consider it the least to go in and try and get a spar that will do for our purpose."
"What is the evil of going in?" Mr. Atherton asked.