The shrouds were wet with moisture; it dripped from our rigging overhead; and on the underside of our booms drops of water took shape in long swaying lines, which were detached and flung to the deck in mimic showers at each surge of the schooner.

I was aware of a pent, stifled feeling.

As the sounds of the ship thrusting herself through the waves were hurled back upon us by the fog, so were one's thoughts.

The mind recoiled from contemplation of a world beyond this wet veil which wrapped us around.

This was the world, the universe itself, its bounds so near one felt impelled to reach out both arms and push them back.