There were several spare spars on board, and the men now set about rigging a couple of jury-masts, which, though only carrying fore-and-aft sails, would greatly add to the good ship's speed.
But more than this had to be done, for she had shipped quite a deal of water, and the donkey-engine had to be repaired and rigged to get clear of it.
While work was going on cheerily enough a poor drink-demented wretch, who had escaped from below, rushed wildly up, and sprang with a shriek, that none who heard it ever forgot, right into the sea.
There was not a boat to lower, and small use would it have been anyhow, for those who looked fearfully over the bulwarks saw but a red circle on the waves, and rising bubbles. It was the poor man's blood and breath, for he had been torn down by a shark.
The other cases recovered, and begged of Duncan not to log them.
The young acting-commander promised he would not, and they returned to duty.
It was a long and a tedious voyage to the Azores, but every one was for the most part happy now, although still sad when they thought of the awful catastrophe which had caused such loss of life.
At the town where the Ocean's Pride at last lay at anchor, additional repairs were made, and in due time Duncan sailed with a fair wind for England's shore.
It was the month of July when the ship was once more lying alongside the quay, and hearing of her terrible adventures the people crowded down in hundreds, and would have crowded on board, too, had not Duncan given strict orders that no one should cross the gangway, except on business.
This did not prevent reporters from getting over the side, however, and although Duncan was very reticent, the whole town was soon ringing with his praise.