and having
arranged with his brother to give the signal when the gunboat came in
sight, lay down beside Rodier and was fast asleep in an instant.

He was wakened by a roar of cheering when Captain Warren, with some of
his men, the four members of the crew of the _Albatross_, and a
corpulent little civilian about fifty years old, marched into the
camp, bringing a load of provisions. A huge bonfire was kindled in the
centre of the enclosure, and round it the whole company gathered to
enjoy a royal feast. Darkness had sunk over the land; the flames cast
ruddy reflections upon their features; and no one observing their
cheerful expression, or listening to their merry chat, would have
suspected that, a few hours before, half of the party had been face to
face with a terrible death. Smith was the hero of the day. Lieutenant
Underhill got up and proposed his health; the toast was drunk in wine,
beer, and water, and some wild dogs that had been allured from the
forest by the glare fled howling when the mariners raised their lusty
voices to the tune of "For he's a jolly good fellow." Nor was Rodier
forgotten. Tom Smith called for the honours for him also; he was
acclaimed in shouts of "Good old Frenchie!" "Well done, matey," and
sundry other boisterous tokens of applause.

Nothing would content the party but that Smith should tell the story
of his flight. They listened spell-bound as he related his
experiences at the various stopping-places, and his adventures at sea.
When the story was finished, the cheers broke out again, and the stout
little man who accompanied Captain Warren's party, and whose
spectacles gleamed with good humour, rose to his feet and cleared his
throat.

"Pray, gentlemen, silence for Sir Matthew Menhinick," said Captain
Warren, with twinkling eyes. Sir Matthew was an ex-prime minister of
Queensland, known to his intimates as Merry Matt, and to the whole
continent as a jolly good fellow. Being at Brisbane when the news of
the wreck came, he instantly decided to join Captain Warren's rescue
party. If he had a weakness for hearing his own voice, what could be
expected in a man whose speeches filled volumes of legislative
reports, but who was now in his retirement, deprived of these daily
opportunities of addressing his fellow men?

"Gentlemen," he said, beaming on the company; "officers and gentlemen,
and able seamen of His Majesty's Navy, I am a plain, blunt chap, I am,
as you all know, and I can't dress