It was notable that the first and most peculiar effect of this misty environment was the absolute silence.  The empty, invisible sails above did not flap; the sheets and halyards hung limp; even the faint creaking of an unseen block overhead was so startling as to draw every eye upwards.  Muffled orders from viewless figures forward were obeyed by phantoms that moved noiselessly through the gray sea that seemed to have invaded the deck.  Even the passengers spoke in whispers, or held their breath, in passive groups, as if fearing to break a silence so replete with awe and anticipation.  It was next noticed that the vessel was subjected to some vague motion; the resistance of the water had ceased, the waves no longer hissed under her bows, or nestled and lapped under her counter; a dreamy, irregular, and listless rocking had taken the place of the regular undulations; at times, a faint and half delicious vertigo seemed to overcome their senses; the ship was drifting.

Captain Bunker stood near the bitts, where his brief orders were transmitted to the man at the almost useless wheel.  At his side Senor Perkins beamed with unshaken serenity, and hopefully replied to the captain’s half surly, half anxious queries.

“By the chart we should be well east of Los Lobos island, d’ye see?” he said impatiently.  “You don’t happen to remember the direction of the current off shore when you were running up here?”

“It’s five years ago,” said the Senor modestly; “but I remember we kept well to the west to weather Cape St. Eugenio.  My impression is that there was a strong northwesterly current setting north of Ballenos Bay.”

“And we’re in it now,” said Captain Bunker shortly.  “How near St. Roque does it set?”

“Within a mile or two.  I should keep away more to the west,” said Senor Perkins, “and clear”—­

“I ain’t asking you to run the ship,” interrupted Captain Bunker sharply.  “How’s her head now, Mr. Brooks?”

The seamen standing near cast a rapid glance at Senor Perkins, but not a muscle of his bland face moved or betrayed a consciousness of the insult.  Whatever might have been the feeling towards him, at that moment the sailors—­after their fashion—­admired their captain; strong, masterful, and imperious.  The danger that had cleared his eye, throat, and brain, and left him once more the daring and skillful navigator they knew, wiped out of their shallow minds the vicious habit that had sunk him below their level.

It had now become perceptible to even the inexperienced eyes of the passengers that the Excelsior was obeying some new and profound impulse.  The vague drifting had ceased, and in its place had come a mysterious but regular movement, in which the surrounding mist seemed to participate, until fog and vessel moved together towards some unseen but well-defined bourne.  In vain had the boats of the Excelsior, manned by her crew, endeavored with a towing-line to check or direct the inexplicable movement; in vain had Captain Bunker struggled, with all the skilled weapons of seamanship, against his invincible foe; wrapped in the impenetrable fog, the ship moved ghost-like to what seemed to be her doom.