The Captain now gave out the course as south 76° west, true, and the distance to the point indicated as 540 miles. The course had to be corrected for variation and deviation of the compass before it could be given to the man at the wheel, and the greatest care was exercised in making the calculations.
"If we keep going at nineteen knots," said the Captain, "we'll strike that eastern edge in twenty-eight hours and three-quarters, or at a quarter of five to-morrow afternoon. Whether the weather is clear or thick, at that hour I want a sounding. We ought to get about fifty-five fathoms."
IT BEGAN TO BLOW BRISKLY FROM THE NORTHEAST.
The Golden Fleece continued her westerly flight, but the weather did not remain clear. Before noon the following day it had clouded over, and had begun to blow briskly from the northeast.
"Now," said the Captain to himself, "I shall have that much discussed southerly and westerly current to look out for."
But among the passengers the Captain appeared to be so easy in his mind that they thought he had very little to think about. Yet he ordered the sounding to be made at 4.30, and had the ship slowed down to half speed. No bottom was got at 300 fathoms; but fifteen minutes later the lead struck at fifty-eight fathoms. The course was now altered two degrees more to the westward.
"I steer now," said the Captain, "for longitude 68° west, latitude 41° north. That is the westerly edge of the southern extremity of this bank, and there we should get thirty fathoms. The distance is 240 miles, and as we are now doing about twenty knots an hour, we ought to be there in twelve hours, or at 4.45 in the morning."
Not a star peeped out in the course of the night, and the Captain, running wholly by dead reckoning, was an anxious man. Toward morning he had the lead hove every half-hour, and his wisdom was shown by the result of the soundings, which proved that the Golden Fleece had over-run her reckoning by eight miles—quite enough to cause disaster if near land, or dangerous shoals. The latter was the case, for the Nautucket Shoals were not far away. The weather continued to be thick and "dirty," and Captain Jason Argo was constantly on the alert. There were dangerous shallows ahead of him and uncertain currents under him, and he knew that it was his duty to get the Golden Fleece to port as quickly as possible. But no amount of speed would atone for running the vessel on the Long Island or New Jersey shore, now hourly drawing nearer behind the impenetrable mist. Speed was reduced to fifteen knots, and the lead was hove every hour.
"I am steering now," said the Captain, "to cross the meridian of 70° west in latitude 40° 40' north. But to do that I must pass about six miles south of the South Shoal Light-ship, which is in latitude 40° 46' north, and longitude 69° 56' west. I don't need to see that vessel or hear her fog signal, because the soundings south of her will give me my latitude to a minute, and my longitude almost as well."