CHAPTER XVII.
In High Spirits, They Push On For The Terra Incognita There were now fourteen notches on the loom of the Skyeman's oar:--So many days since we had pushed from the fore-chains of the Arcturion.
But as yet, no floating bough, no tern, noddy, nor reef-bird, to denote our proximity to land.

In that long calm, whither might not the currents have swept us?
Where we were precisely, we knew not; but according to our reckoning, the loose estimation of the knots run every hour, we must have sailed due west but little more than one hundred and fifty leagues; for the most part having encountered but light winds, and frequent intermitting calms, besides that prolonged one described.

But spite of past calms and currents, land there must be to the westward.

Sun, compass, stout hearts, and steady breezes, pointed our prow thereto.
So courage! my Viking, and never say drown! At this time, our hearts were much lightened by discovering that our water was improving in taste.

It seemed to have been undergoing anew that sort of fermentation, or working, occasionally incident to ship water shortly after being taken on board.