“It is to be hoped,” muttered the corporal, “that our ball has done her no damage.”
Before long the hull was full in sight. A long trail of smoke betokened her to be a steamer; and very soon, by the aid of the glass, it could be ascertained that she was a schooner-yacht, and making straight for the island. A flag at her mast-head fluttered in the breeze, and towards this the two officers, with the keenest attention, respectively adjusted their focus.
Simultaneously the two telescopes were lowered. The colonel and the major stared at each other in blank astonishment. “Russian!” they gasped.
And true it was that the flag that floated at the head of yonder mast was the blue cross of Russia.
CHAPTER XIV. SENSITIVE NATIONALITY
When the schooner had approached the island, the Englishmen were able to make out the name “Dobryna” painted on the aft-board. A sinuous irregularity of the coast had formed a kind of cove, which, though hardly spacious enough for a few fishing-smacks, would afford the yacht a temporary anchorage, so long as the wind did not blow violently from either west or south. Into this cove the Dobryna was duly signaled, and as soon as she was safely moored, she lowered her four-oar, and Count Timascheff and Captain Servadac made their way at once to land.
Colonel Heneage Finch Murphy and Major Sir John Temple Oliphant stood, grave and prim, formally awaiting the arrival of their visitors. Captain Servadac, with the uncontrolled vivacity natural to a Frenchman, was the first to speak.
“A joyful sight, gentlemen!” he exclaimed. “It will give us unbounded pleasure to shake hands again with some of our fellow-creatures. You, no doubt, have escaped the same disaster as ourselves.”
But the English officers, neither by word nor gesture, made the slightest acknowledgment of this familiar greeting.