"Land ahead!" came the cry of the lookout.
It was now early morning, and Lord Hastings, Jack and Frank stood on the bridge taking a breath of the fresh, invigorating air.
Glasses were quickly leveled, and soon the distant shore was made out.
"What port are we making for, sir?" asked Jack.
"Port Stanley," was Lord Hastings' reply.
Rapidly the Sylph steamed on, and finally, rounding into the little harbor, they made out a welcome and unexpected sight. Frank and Jack cried out in surprise, and even Lord Hastings was moved to an expression of wonder.
In the little harbor, screened from the sea, riding gently on the swell of the tide, were eight British ships of war!
"Oh, my!" exclaimed Frank joyfully, doing a little clog dance on the bridge, "won't we give it to the Germans now!"
Jack was equally as enthusiastic, though he was not given to such outbursts of emotion, being naturally more quiet.
"It looks like the end of the German squadron to me," he said simply.