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 turned from the rail, where he had stood while speaking to Frank. “We can’t help you, boy. Sorry, but we can’t, if it’s yellow fever you have on board.”
And, to Frank’s unspeakable amazement, the bark was instantly put about, and was soon rapidly widening the distance between him and safety.