etc., etc., etc.

CHAPTER XII.

A SAIL--LAND.

Since the night of the mutiny they had been flying a signal of distress,
and when Frank saw it fluttering at the mast-head, through his bitter,
blinding tears, he wondered if it would bring assistance to him, or must
he float on and on over this wide, silent sea till he, too, died? The
thought was an appalling one, and he threw himself on the deck in an
agony of despair.

So intense was his strange fear and grief and loneliness that he did not
realize the fact that the schooner was driving through the water at the
rate of five miles an hour, though he heard the wash of the waves
against her sides, and felt the momentarily freshening wind blow cool on
his face and pipe lonesomely through the cordage.

Weary, sick at heart, and worn out with watching, he finally fell
asleep, and when he awoke the wind was gone, the sails flapped idly
against the mast, and the sun, in unclouded splendor, was just beginning
to peep above the eastern horizon.

He got up, feeling refreshed, but very hungry, went to the galley,
searched around till he found some bread and a bit of cheese, and then
came back to the shade of the awning to eat it.

The long day passed, the night came and went, and another day dawned,
only to find Frank still drifting aimlessly on before any breeze that
chanced to blow.

A little past noon he saw a sail a long way to windward, and so great
was his joy at the discovery that he shouted at the top of his voice,
and ran hither and thither about the deck in a mad transport of sudden
hope and delight.

The vessel proved to be the British bark Swallow. Frank could hardly
restrain his gladness within rational bounds when he saw her change her
course and stand directly toward the Sea Eagle, with all the speed the
light wind that was blowing would permit her to make.

When within speaking-distance, the stranger hove to and hailed:

"What schooner is that, and where bound?"

"The Sea Eagle, from Ruatan to Philadelphia!" piped the boy's voice from
the schooner's deck.

"Where is your captain?"

"Dead!"

"His name and yours?"

"Captain Calvin Thorne. My name is Frank Arden, and I am all alone.
First we had a mutiny on board, and then yellow fever, and now I am the
only one left."

"Yellow fever!" The captain of the bark repeated the words with a kind
of terrified jerk. "Forward there, men! Bend on all sail and stand off!"
he shouted to his crew, as he tu