Again it sounded,
and again. Now it had moved to the other bow; now back to the
quarter again; now it was near; and now so far that it was but a
faint tinkle on the ear. By this time every man on board, seamen,
archers and men-at-arms, were crowding the sides of the vessel.
All round them there were noises in the darkness, and yet the wall
of fog lay wet against their very faces. And the noises were such
as were strange to their ears, always the same high musical
clashing.
The old shipman shook his head and crossed himself.
"In thirty years upon the waters I have never heard the like,"
said he. "The Devil is ever loose in a fog. Well is he named the
Prince of Darkness."
A wave of panic passed over the vessel, and these rough and hardy
men who feared no mortal foe shook with terror at the shadows of
their own minds. They stared into the cloud with blanched faces
and fixed eyes, as though each instant some fearsome shape might
break in upon them. And as they stared there came a gust of wind.
For a moment the fog-bank rose and a circle of ocean lay before
them.
It was covered with vessels. On all sides they lay thick upon its
surface. They were huge caracks, high-ended and portly, with red
sides and bulwarks carved and crusted with gold. Each had one
great sail set and was driving down channel on the same course at
the Basilisk.
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