Not unaware that such conversations were held, William became uneasy and restless. He plied the men with strong drink to stimulate their courage, and was frequently observed to enter the church of St. Valery, to remain long in prayer, and to gaze anxiously, as he left the building, at the weathercock that ornamented the belfry. On Tuesday, the 26th of September, while William was occupied with somewhat sad thoughts, a brilliant idea crossed his brain, and filled his heart with hope. Either prompted by sincere faith, or by a desire to dissipate the gloom that hung over his mighty host, he caused a coffer containing the bones of St. Valery to be taken from the church and solemnly carried through the camp. The duke made rich offerings; every soldier gave his mite; and the adventurers in a body joined in prayer. This ceremony had the effect of calming superstitious fears; and when next morning dawned, it seemed as if their prayers had been answered and a miracle wrought; for the weather was fine, and the wind was favourable. No time was now lost. At daybreak the sleepers were roused from their repose; orders for immediate embarcation were given; the soldiers, cheered by the change of weather, joyfully hastened on board; and the mariners made ready to haul up their anchors and spread their sails. William's own ship--a gift of Matilda the duchess--was named the Moira, commanded by a skipper of skill, known as Stephen, the son of Gerard, and ornamented by a figure-head representing William Rufus, then a little boy, with a bent bow in his hands. On the sails of divers colours were painted the arms of Normandy, and at the masthead flew the consecrated banner sent to William by the pope. Large lanterns, fixed on poles, were intended to serve as a rallying-point for the whole fleet. After much bustle and exertion, everything was in readiness for sailing; and, William having embarked, the Moira, followed by fourteen hundred vessels, great and small, made for the open sea, while a cheer rose from sixty thousand tongues. The voyage was, on the whole, prosperous. But the Moira, sailing much more swiftly than the other ships, outstripped them during the day, and at night left them far behind. In the morning William found to his dismay that his friends were not to be seen. "Go to the masthead," said the duke, addressing Stephen; and the skipper obeyed. "I see only sky and sea," said the skipper. "Never mind," said William, affecting a gay countenance; "cast anchor till they come in sight." At the same time, to keep away fear and anxiety, he ordered a copious repast, with spiced wines; and, this having been disposed of, he caused the skipper again to go aloft. "What do you see now?" asked William. "Four vessels," answered the skipper. "Look again," said William. "Ah!" cried the skipper, "I see a forest of masts and sails."