By dawn on the following morning, the hurricane had lost its strength and settled down into a hard gale from the north-east.  When we crawled out from our shelter, a fearful scene of desolation met our eyes; not more than a hundred coco-palms were left standing on the weather side of the island, and enormous boulders of coral rock, torn off the reef by the violence of the sea, were piled up in wild confusion along the shore, while, at the north end, the surf had made a clean breach over the land, with devastating effect.  On the inner beach of the lagoon, the destructive results of the wind and sea had not been so great, although vast numbers of fish were lying dead on the sand, or among the soaked and flattened undergrowth above high water mark.  We at once collected a few, lit a fire, roasted them over the coals, and made a good breakfast, finishing up with some young drinking coconuts, hundreds of which were lying about us.

We knew that, until the weather moderated, there was little likelihood of our seeing the brigantine and cutter ­if we ever saw either again.  The ocean for many hundreds of miles around us was full of dangers, for it was unsurveyed, and risky even to a ship in good weather.  Many of the islands, shoals and reefs marked on the charts had no existence, but still more were placed in wrong positions, and we both felt that it would be something marvellous if the two vessels escaped disaster.  All we could do was to hope for the best, and wait patiently.

As the rain had ceased, and the sun was shining brightly, although the gale was still blowing fiercely, we decided to cross to one of the other islands and make an examination of our surroundings.  First of all, however, we examined our stock of ammunition, and found we had thirty-five cartridges between us; the rest of our effects consisted of about a quarter of a pound of plug tobacco, a sheath knife and a pocket knife, a small box of vestas, and the clothes we had on.

With some difficulty we managed to wade through the shallow passage dividing the island on which we had slept from the next, and found the latter to be much better wooded, wider, and three or four feet higher; and I had just observed to Yorke that it would suit us better to live on than the other, when I came to a dead stop ­right in front of us was a banyan tree, from a low branch of which was suspended a huge cane-work fishing basket!

In a moment we hid ourselves, and remained quiet for a few minutes, scanning the surrounding bush carefully to see if there were any further signs of human occupancy, or the humans themselves.  From the appearance of the basket, however, I judged that it had not been used for many weeks at least, and had been hung up to prevent its becoming rotten from lying on the moist, steamy soil.

After satisfying ourselves that there were no natives ­in our immediate vicinity at least ­we set out again, proceeding very cautiously, and a short distance further on struck a dearly-defined native path; this we followed, and presently came in sight of half a dozen small thatched huts, under the shelter of two very large trees, from the branches of which were hanging fish baskets similar to that we had just seen.  Most of the huts, though damaged by the storm, were substantially built, and evidently had not long been vacated, for in a sort of cleared plot in front were a number of gaily-coloured crotons, which showed signs of having been recently tended ­the grass had been pulled up around their roots, &c.  In one of the huts we found some smaller fish traps, a number of fish spears, and two large wooden bowls.

“It’s a fishing village, belonging to the niggers on the mainland, I think,” I said to Yorke.  “It is quite a common thing for them, both in New Ireland and New Britain, to have plantations or fishing stations on many of these small islands off the coast, and they come over three or four times a year to plant or fish.  Let us go on further.”

My surmise was correct, for, quite near the huts, was a large taro plantation, on which great labour and care had been expended.  A brief examination of some of the tubers showed us that they were full grown.  This was not a pleasant discovery, for we knew that the owners might be expected to put in an appearance at any moment after the gale ceased, in order to dig them up.

“Well, let us get on, and see what else we can discover,” said Yorke, shouldering his rifle.  “The beggars can’t get across from the mainland in such weather as this, so we need not be under any immediate alarm.”

By two in the afternoon we had thoroughly examined the whole of the four islands, but found no more houses, though on all of them we came across the inevitable fish-traps, and also a good-sized bamboo fishing raft, lying far up on the beach.  This we at once carried off, and were about to hide in a thicket ­little thinking it would prove such a dangerous acquisition ­when Yorke suggested a better course.  It would be a mistake, he said, to leave the raft so far from our sleeping place, instead of taking it away, when not only should we have it near us in case of a sudden attack by the natives, but we could utilise it for fishing, and that by removing it to the southernmost islet, which was farthest away from the fishing village on the largest island, we could easily conceal it from view.

The natives, he argued, would be bound to search for it on the islet where they had left the thing, and would conclude that it had been washed away in the hurricane, and therefore were hardly likely to come down to the southern islet, the inner beach of which could be seen from nearly every point on the lagoon.

“So,” he went on, “you see that if the black gentry do think that their raft might have been carried down to the inner beach of the south islet, they will only need to use their eyes to show them it isn’t there.  But it will be snug enough on the outer side of the island, where they won’t dream of looking for it, and where we can use it whenever we like ­for we’ll shift our camp down there to-day....  God knows how long we may have to live here if anything has happened to the Fray Bentos and the Francesca and so we must run no needless risks.”

“Right,” I assented, “and see, the wind is falling steadily, and there’s not much of a swell inside the lagoon now.  Why not let us try and take the raft away with us at once, instead of coming for her in the morning?”

We cut down a couple of young saplings for poles, carried the raft to the water, and launched it.  It was big enough to support five or six people, but floated like a feather, and, to our delight, we found that we could pole it along in shallow water with the greatest of ease.  By four o’clock we reached the island, and carried our craft up from the inner beach into a clump of trees.  This spot, we thought, would make a good camp, as from it we commanded not only a good view of the lagoon, but of the sea to the south and west, and we felt certain that if Guest turned up all right, he would look for us at this end of the atoll ­even if he made it from the northward, and had to run the coast down.

By supper time we had fixed ourselves up comfortably for the night.  The rain now only fell at long intervals, the wind had fallen to a strong, steady breeze, and we made up a fire, and cooked some more fish, of which there were still numbers to be had on the beach merely for the trouble of picking them up.  Then we ate our supper, smoked a pipeful of our precious tobacco between us, and discussed our plans for the morrow, Yorke listening to my suggestions as if they were put forward by a man of his own age and experience, instead of by one who was as yet but a young seaman, and a poor navigator.

“I am quite sure,” he said in his slow, quiet way, as he passed me the pipe, “that you and I will get along here all right for weeks, months ­years even, if it has pleased the Almighty to take our shipmates, and we have to live here till we are taken off by some ship, or can build a boat.  Your knowledge of ways and means of getting food, and living in such a place as this, is of more value than my seamanship and knowledge of navigation.  Come, let us get out to the beach and take a look at the weather.”

He placed his hand on my shoulder in such a kindly manner, as his bright blue eyes looked into mine, that, with the impulsiveness of youth, together with my intense admiration for the character of the man himself, I could not help saying: 

“Captain Yorke!  Please don’t think I was boasting of what I could do in the way of getting food for us ­and all that.  You see, I have been in the South Seas ever since I was a kid ­and by nature I’m half a Kanaka.  I’ve lived among natives so long, and ­”

He held up his hand, smiling the while:  “I’m glad to have such a good comrade as you, Drake.  You have the makings of a good sailorman in you, but you’re too quick and excitable, and want an old wooden-headed, stolid buffer like me to steady you.  Now let us start.”

We walked across the narrow strip of land to the weather side, and sat down upon a creeper-covered boulder of coral rock.  Before us the ocean still heaved tumultuously, and the long, white-crested breakers thundered heavily on the short, fringing reef; but overhead was a wondrous sky of myriad stars, set in a vault of cloudless blue.

“The gale is blowing itself out,” said my companion.  “We shall see a fine day in the morning.  And, Drake, we shall see the brigantine back in three days.”

“I hope so,” I said, laughingly, “but I’m afraid we won’t.  Both the brigantine and cutter must have had to heave to, or else run, and if they have run, they may be two hundred miles away from here by now.  And I think that Guest would run to the westward for open water, instead of heaving-to among such an infernal lot of reefs and shoals.”

“Whatever he may have done, he, and my cutter, too, are safe, and we shall see them back in three days,” he reiterated, with such quiet emphasis, and with such a strangely confident, contented look in his eyes, that I also felt convinced the vessels would, as he said, turn up safely.

We sat silent for some minutes, watching the sea, and noting how quickly the wind was falling, when presently my comrade turned to me.

“You asked me why I did not try to make the German head station in Blanche Bay, after my crew were killed,” he said.  “Well, I’ll tell you.  I am frightened of no man living, but I happened to hear the name of the manager there ­a-Captain Sternberg, an ex-captain of the German navy.  He and I served together in the same ship ­and I am a deserter from the German service.”

I was astonished.  “You!” I exclaimed; “surely you are not a German?”

“Indeed, I am,” he replied, “and if I fell into the hands or the German naval authorities, or any German Consul, or other official anywhere, I should have but a short time in this world.”

“Why, what could they do?”

“Send me home to be tried ­and shot.”

“Surely they cannot shoot a man for desertion in the German navy.”

“There is something beyond desertion in my case ­ I killed an officer.  Sternberg knows the whole story, and though as a man and a gentleman he would feel for me, he would have no hesitation in arresting me and sending me home in irons, if he could get me.  And he could not fail to recognise me, although eight and twenty years have passed since he last saw me.”

“But he is not an Imperial officer now,” I remarked.

“Yes, he is.  He is Vice-Consul for Germany in the Western Pacific, and, as such, would have authority to apprehend me, and apprehend me he certainly would, though, as I have said, he knows my story, and when we served together, was always a kind and good friend to me, despite the fact that he was an officer and I was not; for I came from as good a family as his own ­and that goes a long way in both the German army and navy.”

I made some sympathetic remark, and then Yorke resumed: 

“What I am telling you now ­and I’ll tell you the whole story ­is no secret, for thousands of people have read of the Brandt extradition case in the United States.  Twenty years ago I was arrested in San Francisco at the instance of the German Consul there, but managed to escape after being in custody for six weeks.

“My real name is Brandt.  My father was a German, my mother a Danish lady ­a native of Klampenborg, a small sea-coast town not far from Copenhagen.  My father was an officer in the army, and was well-known as an Asiatic traveller and linguist, and I was the only child.  At fifteen years ot age, much to my delight, I went into the navy, served one commission in the Baltic, and two on the west coast of South America.  Then when I was about twenty-one years of age, I was given, through my father’s influence, a minor position on the staff of a scientific expedition sent out by the German Geographical Society to Arabia.  I came home at the end of a year, and was given three months’ leave, at the end of which I was to join a new ship.

“Being pretty liberally supplied with money by my father ­who was a man of means ­I determined to spend my leave in London, and there I met the woman who was to prove the ruin of my future.  She was the daughter of the woman in whose house I lodged in Chelsea, and was a very handsome, fascinating girl about nineteen.  I fell madly in love with her, and she professed to return my feelings, and I, poor young fool, believed in her.  Her mother, who was a cunning old harridan, and greedy and avaricious to a degree, gave us every opportunity of being together.  As I spent my money most lavishly on the girl, and they both knew my father was well-off, and I was the only son, they had merely to spread their net for me to fall into it.

“Well, I married the girl, both she and her mother promising to keep the matter secret from my parents until after I returned from my next voyage and got a commission.  I knew well that I should get into very serious trouble with my superiors if the fact of my marriage became known, but was so infatuated with the girl that I allowed no considerations to influence me.

“A month before my leave expired, I sent my wife over to Bremerhaven, where I had some friends on whose secrecy I could rely.  My ship ­a small gunboat ­was being fitted out at that port, and my wife seemed delighted that she would see me pretty frequently before I sailed.  I was cautious enough not to travel with her from London, for that would have meant almost certain detection, and, as an additional precaution, she went to my friends in Bremerhaven under her maiden name.  I was to follow her in a week, by the next steamer.

“That evening, as I was being driven home to my wife’s mother’s house in Chelsea, the horse bolted.  I was thrown out of the cab, and half-an-hour later, I was in a hospital with a broken arm and severe internal injuries.  It was six weeks before I was able to leave England to join my ship; but my father had written to the navy office, telling of my accident, and my leave had been extended.  During all this time my wife wrote to me weekly, telling me she was very miserable at my not allowing her to return to England to nurse me, but would obey me; for I had written to her and told her not to return, as I did not think it advisable ­the doctors and nurses at the hospital knew I was in the German navy, and I was then becoming somewhat fearful of the news of my marriage getting to the knowledge of the naval authorities.

“When I reached Bremerhaven, I had still three days of my extended leave to expire, so had no need to report myself; but at once went to my friends’ house, where I met my wife, who was overjoyed to see me again.  My friends, too, welcomed me warmly, though I somehow fancied there seemed to be some underlying restraint upon them.  They were quite a young couple:  the husband was a clerk in the customhouse, and he and I had been friends from boyhood.

“In the morning I went to look at my new ship, and was greatly pleased to find that my old officer, Lieutenant Sternberg, had been appointed to her.  He saw me at once, came along the deck, and spoke very kindly to me.  Whilst he was talking to me, an officer from the port guardship came on board.  He was a very handsome man, about thirty, with a deep scar across his forehead, and I noticed that he looked at me very keenly ­almost rudely ­and I fancied I saw something like a sneer on his face as he turned away to speak to Sternberg.

“My young friend, the custom house clerk, whose name was Muller, returned every day from his office at six o’clock, when we had supper, and on this occasion I began to tell him of my new ship, and then said casually: 

“By the way, who is that conceited-looking fellow from the guardship ­a man with an ugly scar across his forehead?”

“No one answered, and then to my surprise I saw that Muller was looking inquiringly at my wife, whose face suddenly became scarlet, while Mrs. Muller bent her face over her plate.  Then Muller looked at me and said quietly: 

“’That was Captain Decker.  I believe that he has the honour of the friendship of Frau Brandt.’

“There was something so stern in his tones that I could not understand; but another look at my wife’s face filled me with the blackest misgivings.  She had turned a deathly pale, and, faltering something inaudible, rose from the table and went to her room.  Then I asked Muller what it meant.

“‘Ask your wife,’ he said sadly; ’you are my dear friend, and she is my guest ­but her conduct has not been satisfactory.’

“I now insisted upon him telling me more, and soon learnt the whole miserable story.  My wife had been in the habit of meeting Captain Decker clandestinely ever since she had been in Bremerhaven, although she had denied it when Mrs. Muller had indignantly threatened to write and tell me if she did not at once cease the intimacy.  This she had sworn to do, but, Muller said, she had, he feared, violated her promise frequently, though he could not absolutely prove it.

“I went direct to my wife.  Instead of a shrinking, trembling woman, I found a defiant devil ­a shameless creature who coolly admitted her guilt, told me that she had never cared for me, and that she had only married me to escape from the monotony of her London life with her mother ­if she was her mother, she added with a mocking laugh.

“Thank God, I didn’t hurt her!  The revelation was a heavy one, but I braced myself up, and the rage and contempt that filled me were mingled with some sort of pity.  I did not even reproach her.  I had in my pockets about thirty pounds in English gold.  I put down twenty on the table.

“‘There are twenty pounds,’ I said ­’take it and go.  I will send you another two hundred pounds as soon as I can communicate with my father ­on one condition.’

“‘What is it?’ she said sullenly.

“’That you’ll never try to see me, or harass me again.  If you do, by God!  I’ll kill you.’

“I promise you that much,” she replied.  In half an hour she had left the house, and I never saw or heard of her again.

“That evening I made special preparations.  First of all I wrote to my poor father, and told him everything, and bade Muller and his wife goodbye, telling them I was going on board my ship.  They, pitying me deeply, bade me farewell with tears.

“But I had no such intention.  I wanted to settle scores with the man who had wronged me.  At a marine store dealer’s that night I bought two common cutlasses, and waited for my chance.  I had learnt that Decker went to the service club on certain evenings, and stayed very late.

“My time came the following night.  I saw my man come out of the club, and followed him closely till he entered a quiet street.  Then I called him by name.  He turned and faced me and asked me angrily what I wanted.

“‘I am Theodor Brandt,’ I said, and handed him one of the two cutlasses I was carrying under my overcoat.

“The man was no coward, and fought well, but in less than a minute I ran him clean through the body.  He fell in the muddy street, and by the time I had dragged him away into the shadow of a high wooden fence enclosing a timber yard, was dead.  Half an hour later I was on board a fishing-smack, bound for Wangeroog, one of the Frisian Islands, off the coast.  At that place I remained in safety for a month, then got away to Amsterdam, and from there to Java.  Then for the next eight-and-twenty years, down to this very moment, I have been a wanderer on the face of the earth.  Six years after I escaped I joined an American man-of-war ­the Iroquois ­at Canton, and when we were paid off in the States I took out my naturalisation papers.  This served me well, when, two years afterwards, I was recognised at San Francisco by some German bluejackets as ‘Brandt, the murderer of Captain Decker,’ and arrested.  Fortunately, I had money, and while the German Consul was trying hard to get me handed over to the German naval authorities on the Pacific Coast, my lawyers managed to get me out on bail.  I got away down to the Hawaiian Islands in a lumber ship, and ­well, since then I’ve been knocking around anywhere and everywhere....  Come, let us turn in.”