“We’re goin’ to ketch it,” he declared, “an’ we’ll have a chance to find out how the steamer rides in a gale, whether we want to or not.”
And he was right. While the whaleback steamed slowly ahead, a heavy swell came on, although there was not a breath of air stirring. The sea heaved and rolled, seemingly in throes of agony.
At first the cause was entirely submarine. At length, however, there was a groaning, moaning sound, which gradually increased in volume, until, with a sudden roar, the hurricane swooped down upon them. The waves were tossed toward the wind driven, leaden clouds with awful fury, breaking like surf over the whaleback; but the steamer withstood the fearful shocks as easily as she had the choppy waves which preceded the gale.
She kept but little headway, however, and as the black night shut down about the craft, Brandon realized fully the terrible risks and hazardous chances taken by “those who go down to the sea in ships.”
For two days the gale continued, but with less fury than signaled its first appearance. Number Three might have put back into Bermuda, but she acted so well that Caleb decided to stay outside and thus lose no possible opportunity of sighting the Silver Swan.
Brandon had never contemplated what a storm at sea meant before and he was thankful indeed that he was not upon a sailing vessel.
During the first of the gale they had sighted several vessels, with close reefed sails, scudding before the wind, but all were riding the sea well.
Late in the afternoon of the second day, however, the lookout, who was lashed to the top of the wheelhouse, reported a wreck ahead.
At first Caleb and Brandon, who were both armed with glasses, could not make it out clearly enough to decide what it was.
Finally the old seaman declared with conviction.