“Did she go to pieces?”
“Ay, not an inch of her left. She was an old rotten tub not fit for sea.”
“Indeed! That’s by no means an uncommon state of things,” said Kenneth, with some degree of warmth. “It seems to me that until men in power take the matter up, and get a more rigid system of inspection instituted, hundreds of lives will continue to be sacrificed every year. It is an awful thing to think that more than a thousand lives are lost annually on our shores, and that because of the indifference of those who have the power, to a large extent, to prevent it. But that is not the point on which I want to speak to you to-day. Was the ‘Fairy Queen’ bound for this port?”
“No; for the port of London,” said Gaff, with a cautious glance at his questioner.
“Then why did she make for Wreckumoft?” inquired Kenneth.
“That’s best known to the cap’n, who’s gone to his long home,” said Gaff gravely.
“Were all lost except yourself?” pursued Kenneth, regarding his companion’s face narrowly; but the said face exhibited no expression whatever as its owner replied simply—
“It’s more than I can tell; mayhap some of ’em were carried away on bits o’ wreck and may turn up yet.”
“At all events none of them came ashore, to your knowledge?”
“I believe that every mother’s son o’ the crew wos lost but me,” replied Gaff evasively.