“Yes,” said the engineer, “and some of them have most interesting histories. There was a curious incident in regard to a barque named the Norton that was abandoned in the Atlantic some years ago. The skipper and the crew were rescued by a sailing vessel, and, after a while, they drew near an English port.
“The skipper of the Norton was pacing the poop deck from force of habit, when he suddenly stopped as if petrified, and his jaw dropped, for there ahead of him alongside of a wharf was his lost and abandoned ship. The explanation was simple. She had been picked up by a passing steamer and towed into port, for salvage.”
The Sea Eagle was now within a half mile of the derelict and she could be made out quite plainly. She was a good-sized wooden vessel, a three-sticker, but the masts had been broken off and the ship had been rendered entirely helpless. She was rolling sluggishly to the motion of the waves, without life or hope.
“She’s the Maria Crothers, London,” said the captain from the upper deck, looking through the glass, “and she looks like she has been floating around for several years.”
In a few minutes the Sea Eagle was lying to, a short distance from the derelict. It was evident that she had been abandoned a long time. The sides and bottom of the ship were encrusted with barnacles and long green streamers of sea weeds on her sides and bow gave her a most ancient and dilapidated appearance.
In the center of the main deck smoke was slowly rising into the air from the charred timbers.
“She is too water-logged to burn,” said the captain.
“We will try to blow her up, Captain,” cried Jim. “She is a dangerous proposition so near to the coast.”
“It’s a good idea, lad,” agreed the captain.