being an old boat, could not possibly last in such a storm, and
added that we should all be drowned. This was not pleasant news,
and as the cabin was already half-full of water, and we expected
each moment to be our last, I remained on deck for ten weary hours,
clinging like grim death to the ropes, while heavy seas dashed over
me, raking the little schooner fore and aft.

Toward evening, however, the wind subsided considerably, which enabled
us to get into the calm waters of the Somo-somo Channel between the
islands of Vanua Levu and Taviuni.

The wreckage was put to rights temporarily, the Samoans, who had
previously made up their minds that they were going to be drowned,
burst forth into their native songs, and we broke our long fast
of twenty-four hours, as we had eaten nothing since the previous
evening. It was an experience I am not likely to forget, as it was the
worst storm I have ever been in, if I except the terrible typhoon of
October, 1903, off Japan, when I was wrecked and treated as a Russian
spy. On this occasion a large Japanese fishing fleet was entirely
destroyed. I was, of course, soaked to the skin and got badly bruised,
and was once all but washed overboard, one of the Fijians catching
hold of me in the nick of time. We cast anchor for the night, though
we had only a few miles yet to go, but this short distance took us
eight or nine hours next day, as this channel is nearly always calm. We
had light variable breezes, and tacked repeatedly, but gained ground
slowly. These waters seemed full of large turtles, and we passed them
in great numbers. We overhauled a large schooner, and on hailing them,
the captain, a white man, came on deck. He would hardly believe that
we had been all through the storm. He said that he had escaped most of
it by getting inside the coral reef round Vanua Levu, but even during