"I think I saw a fort on either side," cried Phil, "and as I know there is only one harbour on this coast with high cliffs and forts, I feel certain that we are drifting into Sebastopol. Great Scott! We shall be made prisoners again." Tony groaned. "Can't be helped," he shouted, suddenly brightening. "If we are, why, it'll just give us the fun and excitement of escaping again. But, old friend, this here's an escape from sudden and horrible death, and if it hadn't been that the Almighty up there, above them black clouds, had been keeping His eye on us, we'd have been washing about amongst the fishes hours ago." Tony looked upwards to the sky, and his lips moved. Phil watched him curiously, and there, tossing on the storm-troubled water, offered up a prayer for his safety so far. Nor could he help contrasting Tony's condition of mind as it was at that moment with what it had been when first he made his acquaintance in the menagerie many months before. "Hallo! What's that over there?" he suddenly shouted, catching sight of a dark mass in the water. "It looks like a piece of wreckage. Perhaps there is someone on it." Both stared at the object which, being much larger and higher out of the water, bore down upon them quickly. There was no doubt now that it was a portion of a ship, perhaps of the wrecked _Columbine_, and in the hope that it was, Phil and his friend dipped their hands in the water and slowly propelled themselves so as to lie in its path. "I can see something red on it," said Phil, shading his eyes. "Can you make anything out, Tony?" "There's a chap there in red breeches, or I'm an idiot, Phil. Yes, I can see him plainly. He's tied to the wreckage, and as far as I make out there isn't a move in him. Tell yer what, old man, that would be a safer place than these here gratings, and I advise that we swop." When the floating mass reached them, Phil and Tony sprang on to it, securing their gratings to it, and casting off the ropes with which they had fastened themselves. Lashed to a ring-bolt was a little, red-breeched French linesman, apparently dead. Phil cut his lashings free, and turning him on to his back, tore his coat open. "Not dead yet," he cried eagerly. "Lend a hand here, Tony. We'll pull this fellow round. He is as cold as ice, so we'll take his shirt off and rub his chest and arms. That ought to restore the circulation." Setting to work with a will they tore the clothing from the unconscious Frenchman, and chafed his body and limbs with such energy that soon there were obvious signs of returning consciousness, and moreover their exertions had made both of them thoroughly warm, whereas before they had been numbed with cold. Suddenly their ally opened his eyes and stared round wildly.