distant gale.

But surmises are idle. A very old craft, she may have foundered; or
laid her bones upon some treacherous reef; but as with many a far
rover, her fate is a mystery.

Pray Heaven, the spirit of that lost vessel roaming abroad through
the troubled mists of midnight gales--as old mariners believe of
missing ships--may never haunt my future path upon the waves.
Peacefully may she rest at the bottom of the sea; and sweetly sleep
my shipmates in the lowest watery zone, where prowling sharks come
not, nor billows roll.

By quitting the Arcturion when we did, Jarl and I unconsciously
eluded a sailor's grave. We hear of providential deliverances. Was
this one? But life is sweet to all, death comes as hard. And for
myself I am almost tempted to hang my head, that I escaped the fate
of my shipmates; something like him who blushed to have escaped the
fell carnage at Thermopylae.

Though I can not repress a shudder when I think of that old ship's
end, it is impossible for me so much as to imagine, that our
deserting her could have been in any way instrumental in her loss.
Nevertheless, I would to heaven the Arcturion still floated; that it
was given me once more to tread her familiar decks.



CHAPTER VIII
They Push Off, Velis Et Remis