“Three years ago our brig, the Valiant, in command of Captain Alexander Bent, was nipped by the ice and drifted hither, after many months of futile attempt to liberate her.
“I was the first mate, James Spencer, and I am to-day the only survivor. Within six months from the nipping of the ship every member of the crew of twelve men, save myself, were dead.
“A fearful disease struck us and all had it but me. I prayed to have it, but fate ordered otherwise.
“I buried them all, one by one, in the ice. Then I was left in solitude. For three years I lived on the stores of the ship.
“But last week the last biscuit gave out. I had no longer strength to hunt. I had given myself up to die when this man appeared before me. Even now it seems as if I must be dreaming.”
“No,” replied Frank, cheerily, “you are not dreaming. Cheer up, my good man, for you are sure of getting back home.”
“What!” cried the castaway. “Do not mock me. You are cast away here like me?”
“No; this is our ship.”
“Ah, but you will never sail it home. This ice will never break up.”
“You are wrong!” cried Frank. “This is an airship. We sail in the air.”