(From Our Own Correspondent.)

Brisbane, Thursday.

A barque put in here to-day with four men picked up from an open boat south of New Guinea, who reported that the Government survey vessel Albatross has run ashore in a storm on Ysabel Island, one of the Solomon group.  The crew and passengers, including Dr. Thesiger Smith, the famous geologist, were saved, but the vessel is a complete wreck, and the unfortunate people were compelled to camp on the shore.  They are very short of provisions, and being practically unarmed are in great danger of being massacred by the natives, who are believed to be one of the fiercest cannibal tribes in the South Sea.

Four of the crew put off in the ship’s boat to seek assistance, but they lost their mast and had to rely on the oars, and drifted for several days before being picked up in the Coral Sea.  A gunboat will be despatched immediately, but since it cannot reach the island for at least five days, it is greatly to be feared that it will arrive only to find that help has come too late.

Smith ran his eyes rapidly over the lines, then folded the paper, and put it into his pocket.  He did not notice that his hand was trembling.  The station-master looked curiously after him as he strode away with set face.

“Seems to have had bad news,” he said to his head porter.

“Bin plungin’ on a wrong un, maybe,” replied the porter.

Smith left the station, and hastened down the road towards the farm.  He had clean forgotten his intention of bespeaking beds in the village; indeed, he walked as one insensible to all around him until he caught sight of the word garage, painted in large white letters, illuminated by an electric lamp, over a gateway at the side of the road.  Then he swung round and, passing through the gate, came to a lighted shed where he found a man cleaning a motor car.

“Any petrol to be got here?” he asked quickly.

“As much as we’re allowed to keep, sir,” replied the man.

“Send a can at once to Firtop Farm, down the road.”

He turned, and was quitting the shed when a word from the man recalled him.

“Beg pardon, sir, but—­”

“Oh, here’s your money,” cried Smith, handing him a crown-piece.  “Be quick.  By the way, can you lend me two or three men for half-an-hour or so at five shillings an hour?”

“Right you are, sir,” was the reply.  “I’m one; I’ll get you a couple more in no time.  Be there as soon as you, sir.”

Smith hurried away.  On reaching the farm he found that Rodier and the farmer were engaged in a friendly conversation, by the light of a carriage lamp which flickered wanly in the mist.

“Wonderful machine, sir,” said the farmer, whom Rodier had talked out of his ill-humour.  “Your man has been showing me over it, as you may say, leastways as well as he could in this fog.”