"By Jove! I thought so. It looked like some your doings. And, if you hadn't thought of that method of attack, the whole French fleet probably would have been sunk!"
"Well, somebody had to do it," said Jack modestly. "I notice you weren't far behind yourself."
"Well," said Frank quietly, "I am glad we accomplished the task successfully. Where are we now?"
"I don't know exactly," replied Jack. "But, as we were picked up, I heard someone talking in English. I believe that we are on an English ship that happened on the scene just in time to get into the battle."
"Well—" began Frank, and stopped suddenly, staring open-mouthed at a figure now framed in the doorway of the little cabin.
Jack turned his eyes in that direction, and also was stricken speechless.
"Am I dreaming?" muttered Frank at last. "It—it can't be."
"'But it is," exclaimed a well-known voice, and a dignified and military figure marched into the room—the figure of Lord Hastings, whom the boys had so long mourned as lost.
In spite of their exhausted condition, both boys were upon their feet instantly, and each had him by the hand.
"But you went down with the Sylph," protested Jack.