Father steered toward the derelict. It had clearly seen hard weather. Its sails had been stowed but the canvas was fraying beneath the ropes. Little paint remained on the cabin, splintering wood showed on every surface. We saw no crew.
Oldham rubbed his eyes. “She’s the Providence, sure enough. It’s a miracle she’s afloat after that storm.”
Father looked at the ship and shook his head. “Something is keeping her going, on that we can agree.”