“Has she sunk?” queried Caleb in distress, as, in company with his two remaining officers, he swept the horizon with his glass.
“Rather, we have left her behind,” declared Mr. Coffin, making a shrewd guess as to the real facts in the case. “The brig must have sailed slower than we supposed.”
“Then we must turn about at once and run back,” Caleb declared, and the necessary orders were given.
The day following the cessation of the gale was most beautiful, but Caleb cared nothing for that. He neither ate nor slept, but remained on deck nearly all the time, scanning the wide stretch of sea visible from the top of the after cabin.
The day passed and night came on, however, without a sign of the wreck appearing.
During this time the steamer had been running in a direction generally south; while the gale was on she had run northeast. The whole day being spent in fruitless search in this direction, however, Caleb commanded the steamer to be put about again at evening.
All that second night she ran slowly to the eastward, thus allowing for the supposed drift of the Success, but they saw no signs of the derelict, although the night was clear and the moon bright.
The day following they spoke several partially dismantled vessels whose crews were beating into the Bermudas for repairs. None of these, however, had sighted the wreck of the Success.
“They’ve gone to the bottom,” groaned poor Caleb that afternoon, as he sat on the edge of the berth in his stateroom.
He could not sleep, but had taken Mr. Coffin’s advice and tried to.