Every eye was strained towards a little dark dot that appeared far away on the sea's deep blue. She must have been twenty miles to the south when first seen, and all that afternoon they watched her creeping ever so slowly nearer, and still more near, but at sunset she was at least ten miles off, as near as could be judged.
She was becalmed, and only moving with the ocean's current. But never a stitch of canvas could be descried on her when the great red sun went down, and night and darkness fell.
What was the mystery surrounding that strange vessel? It seemed inexplicable. However, they would have to wait for another day seemingly, before it could be revealed.
Slowly down the hill they went, and by many a devious path through forest and glen, till they stood once more beside their tent.
So anxious were they that hardly an eye was closed in sleep that night, and long before the stars had paled before the coming day they were en route for Beacon Hill.
CHAPTER XXVII.
FRANK GAZED AGHAST.
The sun had already risen when the party once more found themselves by the beacon. Frank gazed aghast almost; for almost close to the southern beach of the island, and evidently running ashore, was a strangely dismantled old brig. It was the Resolute.
Her sails hung in tatters from the yards, her jibboom and foretopgallant mast had been carried away as if she had been in collision, and there was not a sign of life to be seen anywhere about her decks. She was drifting almost broadside on towards the shore, on which, long before they could possibly reach her, it was evident enough she would dash like a heap of drift wood. There was, however, no sea on, and until it came on to blow she might lie quietly enough.
No time was now lost in getting back to camp and taking the boat out.