The children’s sharp eyes had read correctly. It was not the _Dayspring_. Our brave little ship had gone to wreck on 6th January, 1873; and this vessel was the _Paragon_, chartered to bring down our supplies. Alas! the wreck had gone by auction sale to a French slaving company, who cut a passage through the coral reef, and had the vessel again floating in the Bay,—elated at the prospect of employing our Mission Ship in the blood-stained _Kanaka_-traffic (= a mere euphemism for South Sea slavery)! Our souls sank in horror and concern. Many Natives would unwittingly trust themselves to the _Dayspring_; and revenge would be taken on us, as was done on noble Bishop Patteson, when the deception was found out. What could be done? Nothing but cry to God, which all the friends of our Mission did day and night, not without tears, as we thought of the possible degradation of our noble little Ship. Listen! The French Slavers, anchoring their prize in the Bay, and greatly rejoicing, went ashore to celebrate the event. They drank and feasted and revelled. But that night a mighty storm arose, the old _Dayspring_ dragged her anchor, and at daybreak she was seen again on the reef, but this time with her back broken in two and for ever unfit for service, either fair or foul. Oh, white-winged Virgin of the waves, better for thee, as for thy human sisters, to die and pass away than to suffer pollution and live on in disgrace! Dr. Steel had chartered the _Paragon_, a new three-masted schooner, built at Balmain, Sydney, to come down with our provisions, letters, etc.; and the owners had given a written agreement that if we could purchase her within a year we would get her for £3,000. She proved in every way a suitable vessel, and it became abundantly manifest that in the interests of our Mission her services ought to be permanently secured.