"By morning," said one of the men, "we'll be in that press of wreckage ahead there."
"What wind there is," said Anthony, "will not give us head against this grass and litter; if we move at all it must be forward."
"I've heard tales of this sea," said the other man, putting his weight on the line willingly enough. "It's no place for a human with a heart in his body."
"We'll come safe out of it," said Anthony. "We have sound planks under us, upstanding masts, and a dress of sails. There's wind here, as in other places, and where there's wind and water there a ship can go without a deal a hazard."
The moon's white light bleached the thick top of the sea to a silver; the brittle stars flickered raggedly in their settings of violet; from the topmasts of the Roebuck and from her bowsprit leaped little glowing spots of light.
"Mark that!" said one of the hands. "Did you see it?"
"It's a visitation," said the other. "A hand of fire touches our spars; it may be bidding us to go back!"
Anthony laughed.
"If it is a fiery hand," said he, "it is the hand of St. Elmo. And no honest person has anything to fear from him, for, from the sound of him, he was a fine old hero and well intentioned. As for the fire that carries his name it is nothing at all; for it has shown itself on more than one ship I've sailed in, and no harm came to any of them."
It was some time later that mademoiselle went below; Anthony walked the deck through his watch, with the moon sailing high and free in the sky; the strange sea held his eye; bleached white by the light, it lay flat, motionless; the corpse candles glowed in the hulks; the strange, deep movements of water came now and then from a long way off. About the third hour of his watch, Anthony heard a step at his side. It was Tom Horn.