Brandon rose mechanically in a kind of maze, not yet understanding his good fortune, not yet knowing whether he was alive or dead. He took the flask and raised it to his lips. The inspiriting draught gave him new life. He looked earnestly at the Captain as he handed it back, and then seized both his hands.
“God Almighty bless you for this, noble friend, whoever you are! But how and when did you get here? Who are you? Did you not see my signal on the rock yesterday—?”
“One question at a time, mess-mate,” said the other, laughingly. “I’m Captain Corbet, of the ship Falcon, bound from Sydney to London, and these are some of my men. We saw this light last night about midnight, right on our weather-bow, and came up to see what it was. We found shoal water, and kept off till morning. There’s the Falcon, Sir.”
The Captain waved his hand proudly to where a large, handsome ship lay, about seven miles away to the south.
“On your bow? Did you see the fire ahead of you?” asked Brandon, who now began to comprehend the situation.
“Yes.”
“Then you didn’t pass me toward the north yesterday?”
“No; never was near this place before this morning.”
“It must have been some other ship, then,” said Brandon, musingly.
“But how did you get here, and how long have you been here?”