Days did pass; and weeks passed, also. Each morning came the same: the banks of mist rearing from a sea to sky, a thin light seeping through, and then the first sparklings of the sun, and a wind that set the tendrils and banners of the fog a-tossing. Sometimes the direction of the breeze was favorable; the sails flapped as the grudging measures were poured into them, and foot by foot the great ship took her way. The sun traveled hot and red across the sky; the files of dead ships hung steadily upon their quarter. The filthy, vulture-like birds hovered about with hideous expectancy. And night settled, dark, silent, filled with a choking miasma, or burning with brittle stars, and with a quiet moon, spreading a corpse-cloth over the sea. The _Roebuck_, with Corkery aboard, kept in the van; her sails took more of the wind, and her narrower bulk slipped along with greater ease. Then, well into one quiet night, they rode into clear water; Tom Horn heard the sucking pull under the ship's foot and raised a cry; the wind had a snapping vigor and smelled clean; there was a feeling of fine, leaping life in the world. And then morning came dancing toward them across the white, tufted seas; the vast, shining expanse lifted and lowered; and the spotted sky raced over them like charging horses. "God's sun!" said Tom Horn. "God's sky, and God's sea! There is that in a man's soul which will always be the saving of him, if he trusts to it and keeps himself from fear." After they had their breakfast, Anthony fixed their position by the sun; a few fair days sail would lift the Cape Verdes into view; so, signaling Corkery, in the schooner, he turned the ship west by a trifle south, meaning to skirt the Sargasso and fall into the sea roads traveled by ships working north from Rio or the Far East. The sails drew badly and were hard to manage; nevertheless, the vessel made good time. The _Roebuck_ kept her well in view, stepping along under shortened canvas; at night the mate would draw the schooner off; but at daylight he'd creep up once more. One morning when Anthony came on deck he noted Tom Horn forward, with the glass, holding it steadily upon a point almost due west. "A sail," said the clerk; "a spot only, and standing just above the line." There was that in his voice which caught Anthony's attention: the man's hands were shaking; his face was gray. "We'll meet many vessels from now on," said Anthony. "We are coming into the track of them." But Tom Horn said nothing, holding the glass leveled. Another fifteen minutes lifted the sail into plainer view. "She is a brig," said the clerk, "and, by her build and manner of wearing her rigging, she's American." He was silent for a few moments more; then he held out the glass very quietly to Anthony and said: "It was a brig we saw prowling off the coast of the Jerseys when we were there, I think."