Two days had passed since Brandon's rescue. The light wind which had brought up the _Falcon_ soon died out, and before the island had been left far behind a calm succeeded, and there was nothing left but to drift.
A calm in other seas is stillness; here on the Indian Ocean it is stagnation. The calmness is like Egyptian darkness. It may be felt. The stagnation of the waters seems deep enough to destroy all life there. The air is thick, oppressive, feverish; there is not a breath or a murmur of wind; even the swell of ocean, which is never-ending, here approaches as near as possible to an end. The ocean rolled but slightly, but the light undulations gave a lazy, listless motion to the ship, the span creaked monotonously, and the great sails napped idly in the air.
At such a time the calm itself is sufficiently dreary, but now there was something which made all things still more drear. For the calm was attended by a thick fog; not a moist, drizzling fog like those of the North Atlantic, but a sultry, dense, dry fog; a fog which gave greater emphasis to the heat, and, instead of alleviating it, made it more oppressive.
It was so thick that it was not possible while standing at the wheel to see the forecastle. Aloft, all the heavens were hidden in a canopy of sickly gray; beneath, the sea showed the same color. Its glassy surface exhibited not a ripple. A small space only surrounded the vessel, and beyond all things were lost to view.
The sailors were scattered about the ship in groups. Some had ascended to the tops with a faint hope of finding more air; some were lying flat on their faces on the forecastle; others had sought those places which were under the sails where the occasional flap of the broad canvas sent down a slight current of air.
The Captain was standing on the quarter-deck, while Brandon was seated on a stool near the wheel. He had been treated by the Captain with unbounded hospitality, and supplied with every thing that he could wish.
"The fact is," said the Captain, who had been conversing with Brandon, "I don't like calms any where, still less calms with fogs, and least of all, calms off these infernal islands."
"Because to the north'ard is the Strait of Sunda, and the Malay pirates are always cruising about, often as far as this. Did you ever happen to hear of Zangorri?"