All around was a watery horizon, except in the one place only, toward the south, where far in the distance the Peak of Teneriffe rose into the air.
The profound calm, the warm atmosphere, the slow pitching of the yacht, and the dull creaking of the spars all combined to lull into a state of indolent repose the people on board.

Forward were the crew; some asleep, others smoking, others playing cards.

At the stern were Oxenden, the intimate friend of Featherstone, and Dr.Congreve, who had come in the double capacity of friend and medical attendant.
These two, like the crew, were in a state of dull and languid repose.

Suspended between the two masts, in an Indian hammock, lay Featherstone, with a cigar in his mouth and a novel in his hand, which he was pretending to read.

The fourth member of the party, Melick, was seated near the mainmast, folding some papers in a peculiar way.