All of them were exhausted by the anxiety and the hardships they had endured, and as soon as their safety was insured, they sank almost helpless under the pressure of their physical weakness.
"This is a school ship, I'm told," said Captain Greely, the master of the shipwrecked vessel, who had also been invited to the main cabin.
"Yes, sir; we call it the Academy Ship, and we have eighty-seven young gentlemen on board," replied Mr.Lowington.
"They are smart boys, sir.

I never saw boats better handled than those which brought us off from the ship," added Captain Greely, warmly.
"Your voyage has come to an unfortunate conclusion," said Mr.Lowington.
"Yes, sir; I have lost my ship, but I thank God my wife and children are safe," answered the weather-beaten seaman, as he glanced at one of the women while the great tears flowed down his sun-browned cheeks.
"Poor children!" sighed Mr.Agneau, as he patted the little girl on the head; and his own eyes were dim with the tears he shed for others' woes.
Captain Greely told his story very briefly.

His ship was the Sylvia, thirty days out of Liverpool, bound to New York.

She had encountered a heavy gale a week before, in which she had badly sprung her mainmast.
Finding it impossible to lay her to under the foresail, they had been compelled to set the main-topsail, reefed; but even this was too much for the weak mast, and it had gone by the board, carrying the second mate and five men with it.

The Sylvia was old, and the captain acknowledged that she was hardly sea-worthy.