Every one bustled about, and even Sharkey, the sulkiest villain of that ill-assorted crew, made himself useful in some way, or fancied that he did so.
"These men are evidently British seamen," said the captain, as the doctor stooped over each, and raising his head, poured weak brandy-and-water, with some medicament therein, down his throat. "How thirstily they drink! One opens his eyes. All right, my friend, you'll soon come to," added the kind skipper, as he patted Morrison on the shoulder. "Now then," said he, "Mr. Quail, get the quarter-boat hoisted in, and fill the mainyard. Trim the ship to her course."
"Very good, sir."
It was soon done, and the Hermione, as she began again to walk through the water, soon left the piece of wreck astern.
"Did you make out the name of that unfortunate craft, Mr. Foster?"
"Yes, sir; but with difficulty."
"And what was it?"
Our readers, of course, anticipate the reply.
"The Princess, of London—ship rig evidently, from the side chains, the double row of dead eyes, and the gearing of the mizzenmast."
"All right. Now bring up the ship's log."