The captain took the paper and examined it. "Yes, I truly believe that these letters were inscribed by Owen Massey. Had he attempted to write more, he knew that the whole would probably be obliterated before it could reach us, so he did the wise and thoughtful thing," he said. "I praise Heaven that he is alive. I was sure from the first that the _Ouzel Galley_ did not go down in the hurricane, and this proves it; though what has become of her, or where Owen is imprisoned, is more than I can make out--for imprisoned I take it that he is, and strictly guarded too, or he'd have long since found his way home." "The more reason, then, that we should go in search for him," exclaimed Norah. "Oh, father, let us sail as soon as possible." "Captain O'Brien will soon be back from Bristol, and nothing need longer delay us, except the want of funds," said the captain, "and they must first be raised. But with the assurance that Owen is still alive--and I think the account we have heard affords that--I believe that my friends Ferris, Twigg, and Cash will no longer hesitate to advance the required amount. For, though we have no evidence that the _Ouzel Galley_ has escaped destruction, my belief is that she is safe, as well as her master, although we are at present almost as much in the dark as ever as to where she is. Had Tim Reardon survived, we should, I have no doubt, been able to obtain much valuable information to guide us; but as he is dead, we must trust to what we can hereafter gain. We'll hear, however, what further our friend the seaman can tell us. Perhaps, after he has had some food, he may remember more of what Tim said to him." "I'm mighty hungry, yer honour--it's the truth," said Larry, looking up; on which Norah hastened to get some cold meat and bread, not forgetting a noggin of whisky, at which Larry's eyes glistened. The captain allowed him to eat in silence, and he proved how hungry he must have been by the quickness with which he devoured the viands placed before him. Another examination elicited little further information, however, from the seaman; his messmate had never mentioned the circumstances under which he had met the person who had given him the paper with the initials O.M. on it. He remembered only that he had once spoken of a fine ship of which O.M. had been master, and which he had not long ago seen, although he either did not know her name or was bound not to divulge it. It was evident, indeed, that the unfortunate Tim Reardon was under some fearful oath which he was afraid to break, and that he had always spoken with the greatest caution, lest he might in any way commit himself.