“The Nelson!” sighed Willis, “in the latitude of Hawai; no, that is impossible.”

“She is bearing down upon us,” said Fritz.

“Just let me see a moment whether I can make out her figure-head,” said Willis.  “Aye, aye!”

“Can you make it out?”

“No; but, from the sheer of the hull, I think the ship is British built.”

“Thank God!” exclaimed both the young men.

“Yes, you may say ‘Thank God;’ but, if it turns out to be a man-of-war, I must report myself on board, and I doubt whether my story will go down with the captain.”

“But if it is the Nelson?” insisted Jack.

“Aye, aye; the Nelson,” replied Willis, “is not going to turn up here to oblige us, you may take my word for that.”

“I have better eyes than you, Willis; just let me see if I can make her out.  No, impossible; nothing but the hull and sails.”

“It is just possible,” persisted Jack, “that the Nelson may have been detained at the Cape, and afterwards blown out of her course like ourselves.”

“All I can say is,” replied Willis, “that if Captain Littlestone be on board that ship, it will make me the happiest man that ever mixed a ration of grog.  But these things only turn up in novels, so it is no use talking.”

“She has hoisted a flag at the mizzen,” cried Fritz.

“Can you make it out?”

“Well, let me see—­yes, it must be so.”

“What, the Union Jack?” cried Willis.

“No, a red ground striped with blue.”

“The United States, as I am a sinner!” cried Willis.  “Well, it might have been worse.  We can go to America; there are surgeons there as well as in Europe—­at all events, we can get a ship there for England.  But let me see, we must hoist a bit of bunting; unfortunately, we have only British colors aboard, and I am afraid they are not in particularly high favor with our Yankee cousins just now.”

“Never mind a flag,” said Fritz.

“Oh, that will never do, they have hoisted a flag and are waiting a reply.  But let me see,” added Willis, rummaging amongst some stores, “here is one of our Shark’s Island signals—­that, I think, will puzzle the Yankee considerably.”

The Pilot’s signal was answered by a gun, the report of which rang through the air.  The strange ship’s sails were thrown back and she stood still.  A boat then put off with a young man in uniform and six rowers on board.

“Pinnace ahoy!” cried the officer through a speaking trumpet, “who are you?”

“Shipwrecked mariners,” cried Fritz, in reply.

“What is the name of your craft?”

“The Mary.”

“What country?”

“Switzerland.”

“I was not aware that Switzerland was a naval power,” observed Willis.

“She has no sea-port,” said Jack, “but she has a fleet—­of row boats.”

“Where do you hail from?” inquired the officer.