Awhile, they gazed at the sea and at each other in mute amazement. But in the midst of their perplexity, what sound was that which startled them? Was it mere fancy? Was it the reverberation of the cannon still booming in their ears? Or was it not truly the report of another and a distant gun in answer to their own? Attentively and eagerly they listened. Twice, thrice did the sound repeat itself. It was quite distinct. There could be no mistake. “I told you so,” cried the colonel, triumphantly. “I knew our country would not forsake us; it is an English ship, no doubt.” In half an hour two masts were visible above the horizon. “See! Was I not right? Our country was sure to send to our relief. Here is the ship.” “Yes,” replied the major; “she responded to our gun.” “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. “What news can you give us of France, England, or Russia?” continued Servadac, perfectly unconscious of the stolid rigidity with which his advances were received. “We are anxious to hear anything you can tell us. Have you had communications with Europe? Have you--”