“How long will it take us to run to that spot where they think the ship went down?” asked Phil.
“Not more than a day and a half—it depends somewhat on the wind,” answered Captain Sanders.
The boys tried to settle themselves, but this was impossible. Dave could not keep still, and paced the deck by the hour, or scanned the bosom of the ocean with the marine glasses Captain Sanders loaned him.
Only once came a thrill of excitement. A bit of wreckage was sighted and the ship sailed toward it. It was a yardarm, and to it were lashed a cask and several boxes, one of the latter bearing the name Emma Brower. Not a sign of a human being could be seen.
“If a man was on that wreckage the storm tore him loose,” said Captain Sanders.
“How terrible!” whispered Roger.
“And think of it, it may have been Merwell, or Jasniff, or both of them!” returned Phil.
On the following day they reached the latitude and longitude as given by the captain of the tramp steamer. In that vicinity they saw some smaller wreckage, but nothing of importance.
“Cave Island is two miles east of here,” said Captain Sanders.
“Any other islands around?” asked Dave.