"A sail! a sail!" he exclaimed. His voice sounded hollow and strange; he fancied some one else was speaking. "Are you mocking us?" asked the mate. "No, sir, I am certain it is a sail," answered Owen. His voice aroused Nat and Mike, who turned round and looked over the side. The mate, who just before appeared to have entirely lost his strength, dragged himself up and took Owen's place at the mast. With what sounded like an hysterical laugh, "Yes," he cried out, "a sail! no doubt about it; she is bringing up a breeze, and standing this way. We are saved! we are saved!" He kept his post, grasping the mast tightly, and watching the approaching sail. Owen returned to his seat, from whence he could well observe the stranger. A long time must pass before she could be up to them, and before then she might alter her course. They wore but a speck on the water, and might be passed unperceived. Still the mate kept his post, waving his hand and trying to shout out, as if at that distance he could be either seen or heard. By his behaviour Owen thought he must have lost his senses. Nat and Mike every now and then uttered strange exclamations, showing that they were much in the same condition. The stranger's royals had first been seen, then her topgallant sails, and now the heads of her topsails appeared above the horizon. She was evidently a large ship, and, as her courses came in sight, the mate pronounced that she was a man-of-war, a frigate, or perhaps a line-of-battle ship. She stood steadily on, as if steering for the boat, which, however, could scarcely yet have been discovered. As the expectation of being saved grew stronger, Owen felt his energies--which he had hitherto by great effort maintained, when the lives of his companions seemed to depend on his retaining his senses--giving way. He saw the hull of the ship rise above the water, he could count her guns, he knew that she was a frigate; he was certain that the boat was discovered, and then he lost all consciousness. CHAPTER EIGHT. When Owen regained his senses he found himself in a hammock in the sick bay of the frigate, with Mike and Nat close alongside of him. "How do you feel, Mike?" asked Nat, who had not observed that Owen was awake. "Mighty quare, but not sorry to find myself here. I hope Mr Hartley will come to soon. They seem to treat him as one of us." "He ought to be with the officers aft," said Nat. "The mate is with them, I suppose, but I have not seen him." "Shure he'll not fail to make himself out to be a big man somehow or other," said Mike. "He'll be after swaring he was the captain of the ship, although he will forget to say that it was through him that she was cast away." The conversation was cut short by the appearance of the surgeon, who observed, as he glanced over the hammocks-- "I am glad to see you are coming round again, lads." He stopped by Owen's side. "Well, boy, how do you feel?" he inquired, in a kind tone.