At first they had a favouring wind and seas not rough or over-smooth. The ship bore strongly on, and the spirits of most aboard were good. Now and then broke out revelry and boisterousness, but the men of weight kept rule among their followers, and Captain Hugh Bard would have order where he commanded. The wilder sort, of whom there were enough aboard, must content themselves with suppressed quarrels, secret gaming, a murmur of feverish and unstable talk and conjecture. There were those who, wherever they were, must have excitement to feed upon. Their daily life must be peppered with a liberal hand, heightened to a fevered and whirling motion with no line of advance. These were restless, and spread their restlessness upon the Silver Queen. But there was much stolidity aboard, and at first and for many days it counteracted. The wind blew, the sails filled, they drove cheerily on. They came to the Canaries, on the old passage, then drove westward. Days passed, many days. They came to where they might begin to look for islands. And here a storm took them and carried them out of their reckoning, and here their luck fell away from them. The storm was outlasted, but after it there befell a calm. The wind failed, sank away until there was not a breath. Sullen and stubborn, the calm lasted, weary day after weary day. The sails hung lank, the water made not even a small lipping sound, the crowned woman at the prow stood full length and steady, staring at a glassy floor. The sea was oil, the sky brazen, and the spirits flagged like the flagging sails. Day after day, day after day... At dawn one morning Aderhold and Joan leaned against the rail and looked at the purple sea. It lay like a vast gem, moveless and hard. The folk upon the ship were still sleeping. The seamen aloft in the rigging or moving upon the decks troubled them not, hardly looked their way. “If you held a feather before you,” said Joan, “it would not move a hair’s breadth! They are to pray for a wind to-day. Master Evans will pray—all aboard will pray. Is it chained somewhere, or idle or asleep, or locked in a chest, and will we turn the key that way?” “Did you see or speak to George Dragon yesterday?” “No. Why?” “Some of these men brought _aqua vitæ_ or usquebaugh aboard with them. He games for it and wins. And then his tongue wags more than it should.” “I did not know.... Danger, again?” “Yes. He thinks he has done no harm, then is alarmed, penitent, protests that he will not—and then it’s all done again.... Poor human weakness!” “And if—?” “We will not look at that now,” said Aderhold. “It would unroll itself soon enough.—Joan, Joan! I would that you were safe!” “I am safe. I would that you—” “I will match your ‘I am safe.’ I, too, am safe. Nothing here can quench the eternal, flowing life! But until we have lifted this level and built more highly we shall feel its pains ... and feel them for one another. And now I ache for your danger.”