me outright.'"

By this time the boys were leaning forward, all else forgotten in the
thrilling interest of the extraordinary narrative.

The ensign read on.

"I find no more entries till several days later," he said, "then comes
this one:

"'Since last I wrote I have encountered a fearful experience. The night
succeeding the occasion on which the two villains left the ship, a
terrific gale came up off shore. Unable to reef sail single-handed, I
was compelled to cut the cable and head out for sea. For three days we
scudded before the gale. The canvas was torn to ribbons, and one after
another my masts went. I managed to cut the wreckage free with an axe.

+ + + + +

"'Some days later. What is happening to the ship? She is being drawn by
some strong but invisible current. There is no wind, but she is moving
fairly fast. What can be going to happen to me? One thing is sure, I am
out of the track of ocean vessels. Heaven help me, for I fear I am
beyond human aid!'"

"The poor fellow's mind evidently gave way soon after this," said the
ensign; "the entries grow disjointed and wild. He declares the cabin is
haunted. That the ghosts of the dead mutineers haunt the ship. At last
they cease abruptly with the words, 'God be merciful to me, I am going
mad.'"

A silence fell over the party in the dead mariner's cabin. The mystery,
the spell of the horror of it all, was strong upon them. In each lad's
mind was a vivid picture of the unfortunate captain held in the grip of
a strange current, being driven day by day further from the track of
ships, while his fevered mind pictured ghostly forms all about him.

"How do you suppose his death came?" asked Rob, after the silence had
endured some moments.

"I have an ugly suspicion which I shall soon verify," said the ensign;
"you boys wait here for a time."

Alone he reentered the deck-house, where sat the dead seaman. When he
returned his face was very grave.

"Boys, my suspicions were correct," he said; "by the man's side I found
a pistol. Undoubtedly, crazed by despair, he ended his life."

"After writing this strange paper?" asked Rob.

"Evidently. To judge from the jumble of figures, it was the product of
his poor, demented brain."

"If you don't mind, I'll keep it, though," said Rob. "I've an idea about
it."

"In what way?"

"Why, that it may not be what you think, after all. It bears the
earmarks of an orderly cipher and is not