Lawry rushed out of the room to the other end of the house, the attic window of which commanded a full view of the lake. As his brother had declared, the Woodville was not at her anchorage where they had left her; neither was she to be seen, whichever way he looked.
"She is gone!" cried he, returning to his chamber.
"Of course she is gone," added Ben.
"I don't understand it."
"She has gone to the bottom, of course, where I told you she would go. You were a fool to leave her out there in the deep water. She has gone down where you will never see her again."
"It was impossible for her to sink with all those casks under her guards," said Ethan.
"I guess you will find she has sunk. I told you she would. If you had only minded what I told you, she would have been all right, Lawry."
Both of the boys seemed to be paralyzed at the discovery, and made no reply to Ben. They could not realize that all the hard labor they had performed was lost. It was hard and cruel, and each reproached himself because they had not passed the night on board of the steamer, as they had purposed to do.
"Well, it's no use to stand here like logs," said Lawry, "If she has sunk, we will find out where she is."
"I reckon you'll never see her again, Lawry. Those old casks leaked, I suppose, and when they were full of water the steamer went down again; or else they broke loose from her when the wind blew so hard."