“Maybe she was the Emma Black, or Emma Jones,” suggested Dave.
“No schooner by that name here,—at least not for the past month or two. We had an Emma Blackney here about six weeks ago. But she sailed for Nova Scotia.”
“Well, try to think of some ship that might be named something like what we said,” pleaded Dave. “This is very important.”
“A ship that might have sailed from here in the past two or three days,” added Roger.
The elderly shipping-clerk leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair, thoughtfully.
“Maybe you’re looking for the Emma Brower,” he said. “But she isn’t a schooner, she’s a bark. She left this port yesterday morning.”
“Bound for where?” asked Dave, eagerly.
“Bound for Barbados.”
“Where is that?” questioned Phil. “I’ve heard of the place, but I can’t just locate it.”
“It’s an island of the British West Indies,” answered Dunston Porter. “It lies about five hundred miles southeast of Porto Rico.”