Tempest’s first impression that the island was uninhabited proved correct. Nor was there any sign of a ship or natives having visited the place. The island was about a mile long and half a mile wide in the centre. A clear spring bubbled near the camping-ground, so, fortunately, no dread of thirst faced the men. Snakes were conspicuous by their absence. The only animal they encountered was a small species of wild hog. These creatures scurried about in the undergrowth, peeping out in alarm when any one went near and then fleeing, squealing loudly. How they ever came to be on the island was one of the mysteries of the mysterious Pacific. Captain Peters and Bruce Tempest discussed the point at great length, but were unable to come to any conclusion except that the ancestors of the hogs must have landed there from some wreck. “What does it matter, anyway?” said Tempest, smiling. “We’re all fond of roast pork whether we know its history or not.” The twentieth day after the _Manihiki_ ran on the rocks saw the end of her. One of those savage storms that come down so suddenly near the equator burst over the island. Black clouds appeared as if by magic, and long streamers of lightning lit up the boiling ocean. The air was filled with spindrift which swept half-way over the land, and some of the half-finished huts were torn down by the wind. Night fell while the tempest was at its height, but before dawn it vanished as suddenly as it had come. Not even a wisp of mist rested on the sea, and, as soon as the sun rose, the sky was of the same brilliant blue as before. Of the _Manihiki_, however, there was nothing to be seen. Lifted from her rocky bed by giant waves, she had slid off the reef and now lay many fathoms below the surface. The men began to grow restless as time wore on. They did not face with calmness the prospect of being marooned indefinitely. “If we’ve got to die, we’d rather do it putting up a fight to get somewhere in the long-boat than lying around here, Cap’n,” said one of the men while the subject was being threshed out. “I quite agree with you,” said the skipper, “though I wouldn’t give much for the chances of the boat if another tornado like the last one comes along and hits her. Still, it’s no use waiting here like rats in a trap when there is a run of only about four hundred miles to Suva in the Fijis.” “How long do you reckon it should take us to make Suva, sir?” “That’s a problem,” replied Captain Peters. “There isn’t any wind to speak of most days, and, unless it happens to come from a favorable quarter, we might be beating about for a month or more. Still, if you’re all game, I’m ready to start as soon as you like.”