It was not until ten o’clock on the following morning that four of the rescued men put in an appearance in Fosterdyke’s cabin. The remaining three were too ill to leave their bunks. They were, they said, the sole survivors of the American barque _Hilda P. Murchison_, thirty days out from Albany, Western Australia, and bound for Karachi. Three hundred miles east of the Chagos Archipelago an explosion took place, but whether external or internal the survivors did not know. One of them thought it might have been a mine. But it was severe enough to sink the _Hilda P. Murchison_ in less than five minutes, and the sole survivors were the first mate and six hands of the duty watch, who managed to scramble into the only boat that had not been shattered. Without food and with only a small barrico of water, they set off to make their way back to Australia, knowing that with the prevailing winds they stood a much better chance of making land there than if they attempted a three-hundred-mile beat to windward, with the risk of missing the Chagos Archipelago altogether. That was eight days ago. They contrived to exist upon raw fish, tallow candles--which they found in a locker--and half a pint of water per man per diem. Once they sighted a vessel, but their signals for assistance were unnoticed. Then they encountered a white squall, the tail end of a storm that ripped their sails before they could stow canvas, and carried away the rudder. The blow was succeeded by a flat calm. For hours the cutter drifted idly, her roughly repaired sails hanging listlessly in the sultry air. Almost overcome by hunger, fatigue, and the tropical heat, they were on the point of despair when the timely arrival of the British airship snatched them from a lingering death. "I hope we’ll be able to set you ashore at Fremantle within the next eight or ten hours," said Fosterdyke. "Meanwhile we’ll get in touch with the wireless station there and report your rescue. Oh, yes, you may smoke in the for’ard compartment, but you’ll find this ship as ’dry’ as the land of the Stars and Stripes." During the rest of the day progress was well maintained. The westerly breeze increased to half a gale, which meant an addition of thirty to forty miles an hour to the airship’s speed. Barring accidents the "Golden Hind" would reach Fremantle with petrol still remaining in her tanks. "It’s not often one gets a westerly wind in the Twenties," observed the baronet. "South-east Trades are the usual order of things. We’re lucky. Normally we should have to go as far south as 40° to rely upon a westerly wind."