After breakfast, I hurried down to the beach to see if Tom Frewin, the skipper of the little cutter, ‘Daylight’, would be likely to keep his promise, and have the vessel ready to start by noon.  I found him busily engaged with his not over-numerous crew —­ for it consisted only of a man and a boy, besides himself, though Mrs. Tom, who also lived in the tiny craft, ought to be counted as no inconsiderable addition to the vessel’s complement, for she did the cooking, and on occasions could take the tiller and steer as cunningly as the gallant Tom himself.  I found him hard at work hurrying the cargo over the side, assisted by the townspeople, who all showed the greatest anxiety that no time should be lost in setting out for the relief of the shipwrecked men.  Everything thus pointing to the probability of our getting away that afternoon, the provision question had to be next considered, for the party would be numerous, and the exact time our expedition would take could scarcely be correctly estimated.  We knew Government would refund us for any reasonable outlay, and so determined our search should not be cut short by any scarcity of food, and our fears of overshooting the mark and laying in more than we could consume, were allayed by Mr. McB—­, the store-keeper who generously offered to supply us, and to take back, without charge, anything that remained at the expiration of the trip.  All difficulties being thus disposed of, we were left at liberty to make our own private arrangements, until one o’clock, by which time the ‘Daylight’ would have laid in her water, etc., and be ready to start.

But I must now say something of the party itself, which we were compelled to limit to ten men, inclusive of the native police.  These consisted of the pilot and his crew of two men, Mr. Dunmore, the officer in command of the police, with the two troopers, Ferdinand and Cato, three volunteers, and myself.  Where all were anxious and willing to aid in the good task, it would have been invidious to select, and the volunteers drew lots from a bag in which all were blanks but three, the gainers of these lucky numbers becoming members of the party.

One other addition we had, and right yeoman’s service she did, for it was a ‘she’, reader as the sequel will prove.  About eighteen months before, the troopers had visited Hinchinbrook Island, to recover stolen property, and in one of the native camps had found an exceedingly pretty gin of some fourteen summers.  The personal charms of this coy nymph of the forest had proved too much for the susceptible heart of Ferdinand, who, regarding her as his lawful prize, had borne her, irate and struggling, to the boat, from whence she was in due course transported to the police camp (mounted on the pommel of the saddle in front of the adventurous swain), where, in a very short time she became perfectly at home, and under the name of Lizzie, made Ferdinand a remarkably pleasant wife.