Driven to Bay, Volume III by Florence Marryat

During that night a gentle breeze rippled the bosom of the ocean, and the unhealthy mist, like a death-shroud hung over the face of the living, was slowly lifted, and passed away. By morning, when long white shafts of light were appearing in the eastward, there was a clear horizon, and, better still, a fair wind. Then the clouds assumed fantastic shapes, and drifted towards the west, and a rosy hue tinted the white sky, which turned to a deep scarlet, and finally resolved itself to a rich orange, until a majestic ball of fire shot up into the heavens, and lit the day with golden beams.

The _Pandora_ was making her eight knots an hour with flowing sheets. All her sails were spread to the wind, and the sun soon dried and warmed her decks. Several other vessels were in sight -- small coasters -- that were making northerly courses, and occasionally a black pillar of smoke from the funnel of a steamer could be distinguished right ahead. The passengers, recovered from their despondency, had assembled with smiling faces on the poop deck.