Week after week for thousands and thousands of miles she sailed.
She had travelled from Rio de Janiero over 10,000 miles and had only
sighted a single sail--a longer journey than any ship had ever sailed
without seeing land.

"Shall we see the island to-day?" the boys on board would ask Captain
Wilson. Day after day he shook his head. But one night he said:

"If the wind holds good to-night we shall see an island in the
morning, but not the island where we shall stop."

"Land ho!" shouted a sailor from the masthead in the morning, and,
sure enough, they saw away on the horizon, like a cloud on the edge of
the sea, the island of Toobonai.[12]

As they passed Toobonai the wind rose and howled through the rigging.
It tore at the sail of _The Duff,_ and the great Pacific waves rolled
swiftly by, rushing and hissing along the sides of the little ship and
tossing her on their foaming crests. But she weathered the storm, and,
as the wind dropped, and they looked ahead, they saw, cutting into the
sky-line, the mountain tops of Tahiti.

It was Saturday night when the island came in sight. Early on the
Sunday morning by seven o'clock _The Duff_ swung round under a gentle
breeze into Matavai[13] Bay and dropped anchor. But before she could
even anchor the whole bay had become alive with Tahitians. They
thronged the beach, and, leaping into canoes, sent them skimming
across the bay to the ship.